Culture Shock

by Christopher Nuttall

  He paused. “Midway to our destination, we were attacked by a swarm of refugees,” he added, grimly. “The prisoner closest to me crashed into me, sending me sprawling as the refugees attacked our lines. I curled up to protect myself, then stood as soon as the attackers vanished, intending to assist those who needed it. At that point, I discovered that Constable Parkhurst had been attacked and molested by two of the refugees.”

  Vinewood nodded. “Do you believe her attackers were the men in the courtroom today?”

  “Yes, sir,” Mike said.

  The prosecutor nodded. “Mr. Oscar?”

  Mike gritted his teeth as the defence counsel rose. He’d never met Bill Oscar, but he’d heard stories about him. Someone was clearly determined to give the refugees the best possible chance at getting away with their crimes. It was bad enough that most of the attackers weren't going to be prosecuted ...

  “Constable Mike Whitehead,” Oscar said. He had a plumy voice that annoyed Mike more than he cared to admit. “By your own account, you were knocked to the ground fairly quickly. Is that true?”

  “Yes, sir,” Mike said, hiding his irritation.

  “Which means that you were in no position to observe the remainder of the episode,” Oscar continued. “And yet you believe that the accused were the ones who assaulted Parkhurst. A slight discrepancy?”

  “No, sir,” Mike said.

  “Explain.”

  Mike met his eyes. “During the immediate aftermath of the attack, sir, I assisted in collecting both video recordings of the incident and witness statements,” he said. “I viewed the whole incident repeatedly. There is no doubt in my mind that the accused are guilty.”

  Oscar studied him for a long moment. “But you did not see the attack with your own eyes?”

  “No, sir,” Mike said. “However, I did see the recordings.”

  Vinewood rose. “My Lord,” he said. “The recordings in question have been admitted as evidence.”

  “That is correct,” the judge said.

  Oscar nodded. “One final question, Constable,” he said. “Do you believe that the police force brought the attack on itself?”

  Mike had to fight to keep down the hot flash of anger. “No, sir,” he managed. “We were just doing our duty. The prisoners we were escorting had been arrested in the aftermath of the riot and on their way to be processed. They might have been released later for lack of evidence, but they were legitimately prisoners. We were doing our duty.”

  “Thank you, Constable,” Oscar said. He looked at the judge. “I have no further questions, My Lord.”

  “Thank you, Constable,” the judge said. “Please wait in the antechamber until you are either recalled to the stand or dismissed.”

  Mike nodded and turned to leave, his gaze sweeping the room. Most of the audience appeared to be locals, but a couple were very definitely Forsakers. Relatives of the accused, come to watch and pray? Or merely witnesses? He wondered, not for the first time, just what sort of bargain had been struck between the government and their unwanted guests, after the riot. The government had shown that it wasn't willing to fight ...

  And if this trial ends badly, he thought, it may bring down the government.

  ***

  Joel had decided, not without a slight pang, to discard his traditional clothing and wear a shirt and jeans combination when he strode into the courtroom. His claim to be representing the Elders might have gotten him passed through the guards, but he was grimly aware that the ordinary citizens were turning against the refugees. He’d heard stories about clashes between rival groups of protestors, clashes that could easily lead to attacks on the Kinsman Estate ...

  If the bad guys win, he reminded himself, as he watched Constable Mike Whitehead leave the stand. He vaguely recalled seeing the constable before, one of the men who’d snatched the Outsider girl out of their arms. We have to be ready before the balloon goes up.

  A low murmur ran through the audience as the next witness - Constable Bobbie Parkhurst - was escorted to the stand. Constable Whitehead had worn his uniform, Joel noted, but his partner was wearing a civilian dress that wouldn't have been too far out of place in the commune. It definitely didn't disguise the shape of her body, unlike the uniform she’d worn earlier. And there was something about it that suggested she shouldn't be allowed outside without an escort.

  “Constable Parkhurst,” the prosecutor said, once Bobbie had sworn the oath. “Please would you describe, in your own words, just what happened when you were attacked.”

  Bobbie ... looked unsure of herself. Joel couldn't help feeling a flicker of sympathy, mingled with contempt for both the poor girl and her society. What sort of monsters expected a young woman to do a man’s job? She shouldn't have been allowed to wear that uniform, let alone put herself in harm’s way. Didn’t the men on Arthur’s Seat know it was their duty to protect women from the outside world?

  “We were marching the prisoners along the street when we were attacked by a mob of refugees,” Bobbie said. Her voice was shaky. Forcing her to relive her experiences was cruel. “The attack happened so fast that we couldn't do anything to stop it. Two men slammed into me and knocked me down. I felt a hand groping my breast, then two hands holding my arms. Another man was struggling to pull down my pants.”

  She paused, tears glimmering in her eyes. “He got my pants around my ankles, then forced my legs apart,” she added. “At that point, someone punched him in the stomach, shoving him away from me. I fell back to the ground as the first man let me go. Everything after that is a little hazy until I was back at the station.”

  The prosecutor nodded. “Do you recognise the assailants in the courtroom today?”

  Bobbie pointed at Jack. “That’s the man who pulled down my pants and forced my legs apart,” she said. “I can't swear to the other one.”

  There was a long pause. “No further questions, My Lord,” the prosecutor said. “Mr. Oscar?”

  The defence counsel rose. Joel leaned forward, interested. He’d been told that Bill Oscar was the best public defender on the planet, the only man who might be able to mitigate the charges levelled against Adam and Jack. Hiring him was worth every last penny, he had been told. And yet, there was something slimy about him, slimy enough to make Joel shudder in disgust. Maybe, just maybe, something could be done ... afterwards. The man had no place in civilised society.

  “Constable Parkhurst,” Oscar said. “Did you, in any way, suggest to the two accused that you were, in some way, sexually available.”

  A low series of gasps ran around the courtroom, followed by angry muttering. Joel winced, silently grateful he hadn't worn traditional clothes. The crowd didn't sound pleased. And the judge, behind his desk, looked furious.

  “No, sir,” Bobbie said. Her voice was shaking, despite her best efforts. She kept her hands firmly clasped behind her back. “I did not.”

  “And yet the accused, in their recorded statements, both agree that you came on to them,” Oscar continued. “How do you account for that?”

  Bobbie made a visible effort to stand straighter. “They’re lying?”

  “Both accounts agree,” Oscar said.

  He looked at the jury. “The accused are from a society where, pardon me, women are expected to wear loose-fitting clothes and refrain from contact with men,” he said. That, Joel admitted, was true enough. “Their lusts were inflamed by the sight of a woman in pants!”

  Joel blinked in shock. He’d heard that before, from both Adam and Jack before they’d been lashed, but he’d never expected Oscar to say it. The crowd didn't seem pleased either, judging by the angry mutterings. And the prosecutor ...

  “It is of no concern how lusty they were,” he stated, flatly. “Such lustfulness does not count as an excuse for anything.”

  “I must remind you of the case of Regina V. Hemlock,” Oscar said. “It was clearly determined that a person unwillingly under the influence could not be held accountable for his actions. We have a clear precedent
.”

  “Which covered a lone case,” the prosecutor said. He made a show of consulting his datapad, although Joel had no difficulty in recognising someone arguing from memory. “It was clearly established that Mr. Hemlock was drugged, against his will. His acts while under the influence were appalling, but not his responsibility. This case, however, is different. There is no suggestion that either of the accused were drugged, drunk or in any way suffering from impaired reasoning.”

  “But they were,” Oscar countered.

  The judge cleared his throat. “Might it be too much to ask that the defence counsel comes to the point?”

  “Certainly, My Lord,” Oscar said. “The defendants were not raised in a society where tight-fitting clothes were the norm. They were unprepared for the surge of lust they experienced when they discovered that Constable Parkhurst was a woman. As such, they cannot be held wholly responsible for their actions. I might refer you to the case of Imperial V. Sakkara and Imperial V. Wesley, both of which recognise the problems caused by cultural differences.”

  Joel couldn't follow the argument. Judging by the mumbles running through the audience, the spectators either couldn't follow it themselves or thought it was absolute nonsense. Oscar seemed to be gambling, but gambling on what? Joel honestly wasn't sure he wanted to know.

  “There is a further issue, My Lord,” Oscar added. “Both of the accused were tried and punished by their own people. I would direct the court’s attention to the medical report, based on an examination conducted as soon as they were in custody. Both men were soundly whipped by their peers. Double jeopardy ...”

  “Has no meaning here,” the prosecutor snapped. “My Lord, this is an inappropriate line of questioning - and, frankly, is rather more like making a speech!”

  “Agreed,” the judge said. “The defence will drop this line of questioning.”

  Oscar nodded. “As your lordship pleases,” he said. “I have no further questions.”

  Joel kept his face impassive as Constable Parkhurst was escorted off the witness stand, despite a churning mixture of emotions he couldn't even begin to name. The idea of handing his people over for trial ... it was horrific. He knew, all too well, just how badly it had gone for the commune, in the past. And, even without that consideration, watching Oscar at work had left him with an uneasy mix of guilt and shame. The man was completely without morals.

  And if we win, he mused, it will not please the crowd.

  ***

  “Gentlemen and ladies of the jury,” the usher said, after the jury had filed back into the courtroom and the doors had been closed. “Have you reached a verdict?”

  Mike leaned forward. Witnesses weren't allowed to re-enter the courtroom, but they could - if they wished - watch the final proceedings on the monitor. Bobbie sat next to him, saying nothing. They’d been forbidden to talk about the case, even though they’d both been told they wouldn't be recalled, but she hadn't wanted to talk at all. There was something brittle about her now, something broken.

  “Yes, we have,” the jury foreman said.

  The judge inclined his head. “And is it the verdict of you all?”

  “Nine to four, My Lord,” the foreman said.

  “Shit,” Bobbie said. “That’s ...”

  She put her head in her hands and began to cry. Mike reached out to give her a hug, then pulled back as he remembered what even a platonic touch could do to her. Nine to four ... they needed a unanimous vote for the death penalty. He wondered, sourly, just which members of the jury had not found the defendants guilty. The bastards deserved to hang!

  “Nine to four,” the judge repeated. He looked as if he wanted to demand answers, but legally he couldn't. The jury had the right to keep its reasoning to itself. “Thank you.”

  He turned to face the prisoners. “Adam of No Family,” he said. “Jack of No Family. You have been found guilty of sexually assaulting a policewoman with the obvious intention of going further, had you not been stopped in time. You will be taken from this place to a detention centre, where you will have the choice between spending five years on a chain gang or immediate exile from civilised society. Should you refuse to decide, you will be exiled from this planet.”

  Mike gritted his teeth. Five years on a chain gang wasn't pleasant - years spent breaking rock, clearing fields or even picking up litter couldn't be said to be fun - but it was far less than what the bastards deserved. Hanging was far too good for them. And as for exile ... he wasn't even sure if they could be kicked off Arthur’s Seat. The Imperial Navy might not take them back, while Mike hadn't heard of any other ships visiting the system. They might just have to stay in jail, at the taxpayer’s expense, until they served their term.

  Bobbie let out a little gasp. “I’m sorry.”

  “It wasn't your fault,” Mike told her.

  “Yes, it was,” Bobbie said. She looked up, tearfully. “If I hadn't been so weak ...”

  “I got knocked down too,” Mike said. He wished - not for the first time - that they had some powered combat armour. But there was none on the planet, as far as he knew. “You weren't the only one to be hurt.”

  But the only one to be molested, his own thoughts added. The kicks he’d taken didn't compare to nearly being raped. She was subjected to a very sexualised assault, stripped of her dignity in front of her fellows as well as her self-worth.

  He rose, pacing the room as he struggled to contain his anger. The original set of prisoners had already been judged, but their rescuers ... they’d been allowed to get away with it. Sure, the would-be rapists had been whipped and then handed over for judgement, yet they hadn't been alone. A gaggle of refugees had been allowed to assault the police and get away with it, convincing half the population that they could no longer rely on the police to protect them.

  There was a knock at the door. It opened to reveal a pair of proctors, looking grim. “The protests outside have grown,” the leader said. “Both sides are summoning reinforcements through the datanet. You are advised to remain here until further notice.”

  Mike nodded, wishing he had his uniform and truncheon. The urge to go out and crack heads was uncivilised - and unworthy of a police officer - but he had it anyway. If he marched out and started clobbering people ... he’d probably get arrested and thrown into the same cell as Adam and Jack. If it gave him a shot at them ...

  Don’t be stupid, he told himself, sharply. Jane wouldn't thank him for getting himself thrown in jail. A police officer who went off the rails would be lucky if he wasn't exiled. Just be glad they’re off the streets.

  He shook his head, bitterly. He knew it was just the beginning.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  But such conflicts often failed to stop on command. A show of force could dull the flames of war, if only for a few years, but none of the underlying problems were actually addressed. The war might start up again as soon as the occupation forces were withdrawn.

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

  “I’m afraid the message from Lanark hasn’t changed,” Sondra said. She sounded quietly furious. “They’re flatly refusing to take any refugees.”

  William scowled. Lanark was a large town, population 10’000. There was no reason they couldn't take a few hundred refugees, save for the simple fact that their council was facing re-election and their opponents wouldn't hesitate to make political capital out of it, if they agreed to accept the refugees. And besides, rumours were still spreading wildly, growing more and more out of control. By the time one rumour was countered, a thousand more were already percolating over the datanet.

  “It gets worse,” Sondra added. “New Glasgow has called out a posse. Their District Hall states that it is ready to resist any attempt to send refugees in their direction, by force if necessary.”

  William shook his head, striding over to the window to peer down at the streets below. Two crowds of protesters, kept apart by a thin blue line of policemen, were hooting and hollering, shouting accu
sations that were lost in the din. One group supported the refugees; the other wanted to kick them off the planet ... from so high, it was impossible to tell which group was which.

  Sally cleared her throat. “With all due respect, Premier, there may be a more serious problem.”

  William turned. “Troutman?”

  “No, sir,” Sally said. “Economics.”