Culture Shock

by Christopher Nuttall

  “Adam and Jack,” Joel said. He didn't mention their family names, a clear warning that they were on their own. “Do you accept this punishment?”

  “Yes,” Adam said.

  Jack merely nodded. John gritted his teeth. He’d never liked Jack. The young man had always struck him as dangerous. It was possible that he’d turn on Joel, at some point, after being humiliated in public. But, if Joel had bothered to uphold tradition, Jack could also have left the commune instead of accepting his punishment. He was more than old enough to make his own decisions.

  Unless his father pushed him into accepting punishment, John thought. There was no way to know. He might not want his son kicked out of the commune.

  He tensed as Joel raised the whip, then brought it down on Adam’s back. He’d wondered, morbidly, if Joel would go easy on his own men, but it was clear - as an evil red mark appeared on the young man’s back - that the stroke had hurt. Adam gasped in pain, gripping the frame tightly as the second blow fell. John forced himself to look away, but there was no way he could hide from the sound. Adam was sobbing helplessly after ten strokes.

  Joel moved on to Jack, lashing him with brutal force. John turned his head, just in time to see blood trickling down Jack’s back. Joel had broken the skin, he realised. John was no doctor, but he couldn't help thinking that was a bad sign. Cuts could easily become infected. But Joel kept lashing the bigger man until Jack’s back was covered in blood. John caught a glimpse of Joel’s face and shuddered. He was pissed.

  “They have paid for their crimes,” Joel informed the crowd. He released Adam from the frame, then gave him a hug. “Let no one hold it against them from this day forth.”

  John watched, grimly, as Jack was freed too. The older man looked angry, blood staining his trousers and dripping to the ground. He declined Joel’s hug. Instead, he turned and stormed off, heading back towards his tent. John felt a stab of sympathy for Jack’s roommates, mixed with a desperate hope that Jack would attack Joel. A great many problems would be solved if Jack killed Joel, then was killed himself by the rest of the Stewards.

  And I wonder, he thought. Did Konrad and the others really authorise this?

  A young boy - one of the children who idolized Joel - hurried through the crowd towards Joel. John recoiled in shock. Whippings - public whippings - were no sights for young boys or women. Hell, they were so rare that he’d never attended one until now. Had Joel let the youngsters watch? Or was the boy bringing him a message?

  Joel stepped forward to address the crowd. “Steward Roth will speak now,” he said. “I have been called away.”

  He turned, following the young boy out of the crowd. John watched him go, wishing he dared follow. But someone would notice if he crept out and report him to Konrad ... no one was allowed to skip a sermon, particularly not now. Shaking his head, he turned and listened as Roth began a lengthy sermon on the proper treatment of young women. It made him wonder, grimly, just what Jack and Adam had actually done. Joel wasn't normally concerned about Outsider women ...

  Maybe they defied orders, John thought. It was as good a guess as any. And Joel decided to make an example of them.

  ***

  William had only visited the spaceport four times in his entire life, three of them after becoming Premier. There hadn't been any real need to visit, save for a handful of diplomatic functions that had been - thankfully - rare. The Sector Governor had never seen any need to pay more than a brief visit to Arthur’s Seat when the world was neither rich enough to be worth courting nor vulnerable enough to be worth taking. Even then, the spaceport complex had struck him as a giant white elephant. It was easily three or four times the size it needed to be to handle the - very limited - traffic that passed through the system.

  Not that we’re complaining, not now, he thought. We needed space for the refugees.

  He shuddered at the sight before him. The rows upon rows of tents stretched as far as the eye could see, their inhabitants staring at him as the car carried him towards the spaceport terminal. Despite everything, his heart went out to the refugees. Their clothes were tattered and torn, their faces pale and wan ... it was clear, all too clear, that they didn't have anything like enough food to eat. They’d been stripped of everything, even human dignity. Who could blame them for chafing against their restraints? He saw a young boy kneeling outside the tent and shivered helplessly. There was something bleak and hopeless in the young boy’s gaze.

  We need to get more people to sign up to house them, William told himself. A number of names had been removed from the list, after the riot in Lothian. The remainder would probably want security guarantees before too long. Even putting them in the estate isn't going to be enough.

  The car passed a police checkpoint and came to a halt in front of the terminal. William waited for his driver to open the door, then stepped out into the biting cold. The air stank of fear and faeces and sheer desperation. He could see faces pressed against the wire, staring at him with palpable resentment. And who could blame them? He was well-fed, wearing a tailored suit that had cost enough money to feed hundreds of refugees for a week ... the policemen fell into formation around him as he walked into the terminal, his footsteps echoing oddly on the shiny floor. There was something eerie about the deserted building, something he didn't want to face. It looked as though it belonged to another world.

  He glanced at the policemen and shuddered, again. They looked ... grim, their hands never far from their truncheons. A couple were carrying other weapons, weapons that looked strikingly lethal. William was no weapons expert - he’d grown up in Lothian - but they looked terrifying. He wondered, absently, if the refugees were scared of the police.

  We penned them up like animals, he thought. He couldn't help feeling guilty. His office was being bombarded by waves of angry messages, demanding that something be done about the refugees, but none of his constituents had visited the refugee camp. And we weren't even the first to pen them up, either.

  The meeting room looked identical to a dozen others he’d visited over the years; a table, a set of comfortable chairs, a drinks machine that looked to be non-functional ... he took a seat as the other doors opened, allowing two refugees to step into the room. William studied them both with interest, knowing they were studying him too. The elder of the two looked old enough to be his grandfather - William had to remind himself that Forsakers rarely used rejuvenation treatments - while the younger looked ... young. It was vanishingly rare for anyone to become an MP on Arthur’s Seat before they turned thirty-five, even though it wasn't illegal. A youngster would lack the maturity of his elders.

  “Premier,” the elder man said. His voice was firm, but raspy. William had the impression that Imperial Standard was very much his second language. “I am Elder Konrad. This is my son, Steward Joel. We are honoured to meet with you.”

  William nodded, rising to shake hands with both of them. Troutman was going to have a field day if - when - he heard about the meeting. The Premier of Arthur’s Seat, deigning to meet with a bunch of refugees as equals? William knew, all too well, that he was gambling his position - and his entire government - on the meeting. A failure now would bring everything crashing down.

  “Please, sit,” he said. He sat himself, taking the opportunity to quietly study Joel. The young man burned with a deep-seated anger, an anger William understood. Anyone stuck in a refugee camp would be angry, all the more so after being rounded up and kicked off their previous homeworld. “We have to talk.”

  “Indeed we do,” Joel stated. “The conditions here are unacceptable.”

  William nodded in hasty agreement. Which of them was actually in charge? William knew very little about their community, but he understood human dynamics. Konrad and his fellows would only remain in charge as long as they met the needs of their people. If they failed to do so - if they clearly failed to do so - their followers would turn to leaders who promised to actually come to grips with their problems. Hell, Troutman was quietly positio
ning himself to present himself as a leader who actually understood.

  “I agree,” he said, out loud. “But your behaviour has also been unacceptable.”

  He looked directly at Konrad. “Several of your people were arrested after attempting to assault a young lady,” he said. “And then more of your people snatched them back, assaulting another young lady in the process. We want those people handed over to us for trial.”

  “Because you will surely give them a fair trial,” Joel said. “We’ve had our people put on trial before, Premier. It has never ended well. We will deal with them.”

  “This is our planet,” William said. He suspected he understood the true problem, regardless of what they were saying. Could Joel and Konrad hand the bastards over? If they couldn't, trying would merely undermine their position. No politician worth a damn would issue orders he knew would cost him everything. “We cannot allow ...”

  “We have already punished them,” Joel said. There was an edge in his voice that made it impossible to doubt him. “They were flogged, only thirty minutes ago. I assure you they will not repeat the offense.”

  William shuddered. “They were flogged?”

  “Publicly,” Joel assured him. “Their crimes were read out, then they were flogged. They have paid for their crimes.”

  Konrad cleared his throat. “They were judged by the Elders,” he said. The look he gave his son was unreadable. “And they were found guilty. They chose to take their floggings rather than leave the commune.”

  William took a breath. “I’m afraid that isn't acceptable to us,” he said. “We need all of them handed over to us.”

  “Oh,” Joel said. “And what are you prepared to offer in exchange?”

  We have to bargain, William told himself. In truth, even if they could storm the spaceport, they didn't even know who to arrest. The Chief Constable had made that very clear. And we have something to bargain with.

  “Your people cannot stay here,” he said, quietly. “The conditions are disgraceful.”

  He paused. “My government was not expecting to have to deal with you,” he added. “That said, we have managed to secure an estate to serve as temporary housing. It isn't perfect, but it will suffice until we disperse your population throughout the countryside.”

  “We insist on a place we can remain together,” Joel said.

  “The estate will be yours,” William said. “In the long-term, you will eventually be able to set up farms of your own.”

  And that will change them, he added, silently. Their farming methods won’t let them raise a proper crop, not here. They’ll have to embrace modern technology to survive.

  Konrad and Joel exchanged a long glance. “That would be suitable,” Konrad said, finally. “I will insist on inspecting the estate first, of course.”

  William held up a hand. “Once the prisoners are handed over,” he said, firmly. “We need to try them ourselves.”

  Joel smirked. “I thought it was a principle of interstellar law that a man can’t be tried and punished for the same crime twice?”

  “Your Elders are not an accredited court,” William pointed out. “And you didn't follow interstellar procedure.”

  “We’ll try and do better next time,” Joel said. His voice suggested that he thought he’d won a point. “But they were punished for their crimes.”

  “I'm glad to hear it,” William said. “However, we must insist on having the former prisoners and their rescuers handed over.”

  Konrad started. “Out of the question,” he snapped. “You would not give the rescuers a fair trial.”

  “They assaulted police officers,” William said. “And a female officer was nearly raped.”

  Konrad’s face twisted. “A female police officer?”

  Joel snorted. “The would-be rapists were flogged, hard,” he said. “I can have their bare backs paraded in front of you, if you wish.”

  William felt sick. Attempted rape would get a man five to ten years on a chain gang, if his victim pressed charges. A flogging ... that was cruel and unusual punishment. And, in all honesty, it wasn't enough.

  And yet, he could see their point. Their experience on Tarsus had taught them that their people couldn't expect a fair trial ... and they might lose their positions if they tried to hand the rescuers over. They’d be seen as heroes by the rest of the commune, heroes who had been callously betrayed by their leaders. And whoever replaced Konrad and Joel would know better than to compromise.

  “Hand over the would-be rapists and the original prisoners,” he said. Troutman was going to turn it into a political nightmare, but at least he would have got something from the deal. “If you do, you can have the estate. You’ll have a chance to relax and fit into our society.”

  He sighed, inwardly, as Konrad and Joel chatted rapidly in a language he didn't recognise. It was a bad deal, perhaps the worst since ... since the Kinsman Estate had been built and abandoned. Troutman wasn't going to be the only outraged MP, no matter how they tried to spin it. But it would have to do, if only to buy time. Crushing the commune and slaughtering its members was not an option. And nor was penning them up.

  Diplomacy is the art of saying ‘nice doggy’ while you find a big stick, he reminded himself, firmly. And more exposure to our culture - and life on Arthur’s Seat - will wear them down.

  “We accept,” Konrad said, finally. “The former prisoners - and the flogged fools - will be handed over to you, once we see the estate. And then ... when can we move in?”

  “As soon as possible,” William said. “We have to get the rest of the refugees down to the ground.”

  “We also need our supplies,” Joel said. “They’re still on the ships.”

  “I’ll have them sent directly to the estate,” William said. He rose. “I’ll have a car and driver assigned to you. He’ll take you to see the estate.”

  Joel smiled. He thought he’d won, William suspected. And he seemed to think that he’d won more than William thought. There was a glint in the younger man’s eye that bothered William more than he cared to admit. But the more contact the commune had with the mainstream culture, the more its society would change. They, like their distant cousins, would blend into the rest of the world.

  Sure, his thoughts mocked him. And what if you’re wrong?

  But to that, he had to admit, he had no answer.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Accordingly, the problems facing the colonials simply didn't register to them. They were unreal. How could a man born and raised in the high towers of Imperial City understand the life of a dirt-poor farmer on the edge of explored space?

  - Professor Leo Caesius. Ethnic Streaming and the End of Empire.

  It would have been undignified, Joel thought as he clambered into the government car, to shout and jump for joy. He was a Steward, after all, and Stewards had a reputation to maintain. But he couldn't help a colossal wave of exultation as John, Hannah and his father followed him into the car. He’d won! And he’d solved two problems at a stroke.

  The car rumbled to life, cruising past the checkpoints and onto the road. Konrad had wanted to surrender, had wanted to hand over the prisoners without hesitation ... it had been Joel who’d encouraged him to take a hard line, Joel who had sworn that the local government didn't have the nerve to pick a fight. The simple failure to storm the spaceport within hours of the riot - or even to reinforce the policemen on duty - suggested that the government was more interested in calming tensions than bringing matters to a speedy conclusion. And he’d been right!

  And Jack will be on his way to jail, he added, in the privacy of his own mind. Losing Adam was a pain - Adam had been loyal - but Jack? Getting rid of Jack, after Jack had proved himself dangerously unreliable, was an unexpected bonus. And maybe I can even convince him that he’s still working for us.

  He shrugged, trying to meet Hannah’s eyes. She looked away, staring pointedly out the window. Bringing her along might have been a mistake, Joel considered, but ther
e were no other candidates. Someone had to check the female quarters, after all. And he wanted to show off, just a little. Hannah couldn't question his suitability as a husband after this. It meant bringing John too, just to ensure that no one could question their conduct, but that didn't matter. John wasn't brave enough to oppose him, even if John didn't want to join him.

  The car turned, heading down a long - and almost deserted - motorway. Joel hastily recalled the maps he’d studied, weeks ago. They were on the ring road, cruising around the edge of Lothian. The locals seemed to have more cars per person than Tarsus, he thought, even though they were oddly primitive. But then, Arthur’s Seat didn't produce anything like enough HE3 for a modern economy, let alone the raw materials they needed for an advanced industrial base. It was why the first settlers had been so keen to settle the world, so many years ago. They’d never anticipated a more modern bunch of settlers arriving.