“Order, order,” the Speaker shouted. Silence fell over the chamber. “The Leader of the Opposition has the floor.”
“Honourable members,” Troutman said. His voice was under tight control, but William could hear hints of anger in his tone. “Mr. Speaker. I come before you to demand a vote of no-confidence in the current government.”
There was a long chilling pause. “My honourable friend” - he nodded towards William - “has repeatedly failed to come to grips with the challenge posed by fifty thousand unwanted immigrants. He has allowed them to flout our laws, he has allowed them to drain our resources, he has failed to bring them to heel. And what do we have now? Violence on the streets and hundreds dead, including fifteen policemen and a government official! This is a disaster!”
William kept his face expressionless with an effort. Valetta Melbourne was dead. He’d never liked the woman - he knew she had always been Sondra’s puppet - but her death was a nasty blow. What good was the government if it couldn't even protect its own people? And, from a cold-blooded point of view, her death meant she couldn't be blamed for the disaster, even though she’d played a role in starting it. What had she said to the Forsakers anyway?
“The situation is out of control,” Troutman snapped. “You have all seen, have you not, the list of demands? For a state of their own, for a constant supply of food, drink and power, for the eventual transfer of farmland and farming equipment ... they have gone mad! We cannot allow ourselves to be dictated to by ... by ungrateful bastards!”
No one challenged his words. That, for William, was clear proof that it was over.
“This situation is beyond partisan politics,” Troutman said. “We must put the good of our own people first. The current government has not only lost its grip on the situation, it has lost the confidence of the people! I think I speak for the entire population of our homeworld when I say the current government must go.”
He paused, dramatically. “Warnings were issued. They were not heeded. Signs of impending trouble were clearly visible. They were not heeded. One mistake might be forgivable, but our current government has shown a willingness to ignore trouble, to suppress bad news, to do everything in its power to hide its incompetence. It cannot be tolerated. I call for an immediate vote of no confidence and the formation of a government of planetary unity.”
William forced himself to think as Troutman sat down. Troutman would become the new Premier, assuming he won the vote of no confidence. He’d have to assemble a new cabinet quickly - William rather suspected he already had a list of potential candidates. His shadow cabinet would make up the majority, but he’d need to invite representatives from the other three political parties too ...
The Speaker cleared his throat. “I call upon the Premier to respond.”
William rose, hastily considering his options. There hadn't been time to sit down with anyone, even Sondra, and plan a response. But then, he rather suspected the game was definitely up. He’d acted, as he saw it, in the best interests of his homeworld, but hardly anyone would agree with him. The remainder of the cabinet ministers were already considering their options, hoping to position themselves for a leadership bid. William’s fall - and Sondra’s - would open up plenty of opportunities for ambitious men. And yet, something in him refused to simply give up.
“There is no point in trying to disguise the scale of the crisis,” he said, flatly. “My honourable friend is quite right to call this a disaster. There is nothing like it in our entire history. It is shocking and horrific and utterly unacceptable. We certainly cannot allow this crime to go unpunished.
“But we must also look to the future, beyond the immediate problems ...”
He broke off as loud boos echoed through the chamber. William cursed under his breath as the Speaker gavelled for silence, knowing that at least half the boos came from his own side of the chamber. He’d lost them. They’d heard too many promises about the future to put much faith in them, not now there was blood on the streets. There was no way he could shove Sondra under the bus, either. The whole failure rested on his shoulders.
“The crisis can be handled,” he said, finally. “I ask you all - I beg you all - to look beyond rhetoric and consider the future. How hopeless would the challenge of integration have seemed, to our ancestors? And how much did they achieve?”
He sat back, knowing that it would be futile. MP after MP rose to denounce him, hardly any daring to speak in favour. Those who had supported him earlier were now amongst the most vitriolic. They needed to burnish their credentials quickly before their enemies took advantage of the situation to recall them. And hammering a Premier who was on the way out was an easy - and safe - way to do just that. William wouldn't be in any position to take revenge.
I could always write my memoirs, he thought, as the Speaker called for the vote. I’d have my revenge in print.
By long tradition, anyone facing a vote of no confidence wasn't allowed to cast a vote in their own defence. William was tempted to defy tradition, but as the MPs filed through the doors it was clear that it would be utterly pointless. Only thirty MPs supported him, seventeen more remaining in the chamber and abstaining. He’d lost. He'd lost so badly he knew there was no way he could hope to retain his seat in the next election ...
And yet, technically, he still had a seat on the cabinet. He was the Leader of the Opposition now.
He stumbled through a concession speech, torn between anger and an insane urge to giggle at the situation. The Empire Loyalists would need to choose a new leader - and that would take time, time they didn't have. William would still be their nominal leader until someone was voted into his place, which might be a poisoned chalice with the election on its way. He would still have a seat on the cabinet ...
And he can't kick me out, he thought, hysterically. Any more than I could get rid of him.
***
“The situation is fluid,” the Chief Constable said. There was something bombastic about his attitude now, something William found depressingly predictable. The Chief Constable needed to prove himself useful - and loyal - before the new government started a long-planned housecleaning. “As you can see, we have established barricades” - he stabbed a finger at the map - “in position to intercept any enemy force leaving the Kinsman Estate.”
Enemy force, William thought. Have we really fallen so far so fast?
Troutman cleared his throat. “Can the police hold the line?”
“We’ve moved our armed response teams into position,” the Chief Constable said. “I have also taken the liberty of ordering the remainder of the police to be armed. However, very few officers outside the new armed response teams have experience using their weapons on the job. We never planned for large-scale insurrection.”
“A terrible oversight,” Troutman said, dryly. He shot William an annoyed look. “This crisis was predictable.”
William resisted - barely - the temptation to point out that the only people who might have started an insurrection, until recently, were the Freeholders. God knew there had been a lot of angry muttering about the Unionist scheme to rationalise the government. That was probably a dead letter now, along with the Unionists. They were already on the verge of a leadership struggle of their own.
The Chief Constable leaned forward. “Right now, we assume that they can defend the estate against us, at least until they run out of ammunition. We have no idea just how much they have left, but they have no way of getting more. In the long-term, they will begin to starve very quickly. We have already turned off both the water and power; there will be no food deliveries. Again, however, we have no idea how much food and water they have on hand.”
William cleared his throat. “And as they start to starve,” he said, “they will do something desperate.”
“It’s very likely,” the Chief Constable said.
Troutman smiled, coldly. “The Orbital Guard could solve this problem with a single KEW strike.”
Commodore Charles Van Houlton l
ooked back at him, evenly. “Quite apart from the morality of condemning fifty thousand people to death for the crimes of a few, dropping KEWs on the estate will do immense damage to Lothian. Assuming that all the KEWs land in the right place, there will still be a considerable amount of damage. And, naturally, the hostages will be killed too.”
William tensed. “Hostages?”
“They claim to have over a hundred hostages,” the Chief Constable said. “There’s over two thousand people unaccounted for, but we have no way to know if they’re hostages, dead, lying low or simply weren't in the area when all hell broke loose.”
“They may also have terrorists loose in the rest of the city,” Troutman said. “There’s already been a shooting incident on Main Street.”
He looked at the Chief Constable. “Can your men rescue the hostages?”
“We don’t have a dedicated hostage rescue team,” the Chief Constable said. “Even if we did, getting the team to the estate would be problematic. My staff have been looking at options, but they’ve come up with nothing they think has a reasonable chance of success. There is no way to storm the estate without massive casualties on both sides.”
William winced. Arthur’s Seat had just lost more policemen in a day than it had lost over the last three hundred years put together. Policemen just didn't die in the line of duty, not on Arthur’s Seat. If they had to storm the estate, hundreds would die ... along with thousands of refugees. He hated to think about the interstellar reaction to the chaos. It was possible that no one would care, but it was equally possible that the whole affair had been engineered to provide an excuse for intervention.
But what do we have, he asked himself, that would be worth the effort?
“Then we starve them out,” Troutman said. “A number of posses are already assembling. I can call them here to reinforce the police and provide security. Once they start to starve, they can surrender or die.”
“The posses are not trained to patrol the streets,” William pointed out.
“There’s no choice,” Troutman said. “Training up new policemen is going to take months.”
William cursed under his breath. The posses had always been a two-edged sword. They worked to protect their freeholds - and their neighbours - but they weren't trained soldiers, let alone policemen. There was a good chance that they would be outmatched by the refugees, as long as the ammunition held out. And there was also a good chance that they would lynch refugees, if - when - they caught them. The posses weren't trained to gather evidence so their captives could be prosecuted, either. They were more concerned with ending the threat by any means necessary.
“They’ll come out fighting,” he warned. “They’ll try to take the food they need.”
“Then we will meet them in a place where we have the advantage,” Troutman said. He met William’s eyes. “Do you have a better idea?”
William shook his head. Negotiation wasn't a possibility any longer, not after so many people had been killed. The public wasn't in any mood to accept anything, apart from unconditional surrender. William had lost power because he’d failed; Troutman, damn him, wouldn't make the same mistake. He’d grasped power because he’d pledged to deal with the crisis. Now, he had no choice. He had to deal with the crisis.
And the quicker the better, William thought. But how?
“They’ll see reason as they start to starve,” Troutman said. He sounded confident. William had to admit he might be right. “They can be marched out of the estate, once they surrender. We’ll move them to detention camps until we figure out a more permanent solution ...”
“That might be what they want,” William said, without thinking.
Troutman blinked. “Explain.”
“Shipping the refugees here would have cost a considerable amount of money,” William said, slowly. He knew very little about interstellar economics, but the principles had to be largely akin to planetary economics. “Tarsus could have isolated the Forsakers - or simply exterminated them. Their government is certainly unpleasant enough to do just that. Instead, they put them on freighters and sent them here.”
“It was the Imperial Navy that brought them here,” Troutman said, tartly.
“But Tarsus would have needed to press for it,” William said. He’d dismissed the idea. But maybe Troutman would take it seriously. “Maybe the whole idea is to provide an excuse for intervention. For invasion.”
“Maybe,” Troutman said, finally. He sounded as though he was taking William seriously, although it was hard to be sure. “But what alternative do you propose?”
The new Premier waved a hand at the map. “A chunk of our capital city is no longer under our control,” he said. “We have them sealed in, but our lines are brittle. They might be able to do a great deal of damage if they smash their way out and start rampaging through the city. It will take days to get the posses here ...
“We have to find a way to deal with the situation,” he added. “Or we might as well drop KEWs and spend the next few years cleaning up the mess.”
The hell of it, William knew, was that Troutman had a point. Holding the lines might prove futile until the posses arrived - and even then, it would be chancy. God alone knew how much ammunition the refugees had. William had seen estimates ranging from confident claims they were running out of ammunition to hysterical suggestions that the refugees had enough ammunition to take on the entire planet and win. Even the more restrained - but still pessimistic - suggestions were alarming. If half the crates the Imperial Navy had landed were crammed with ammunition, the war could go on for weeks.
We could lose the entire city, he thought. And then ... and then what?
“My people are considering other options,” the Chief Constable said. “Once we have the posses in place, we should be able to hold the line.”
“And yet, more people will die,” Troutman said. “A battle for Lothian will leave a great many people dead and the city devastated.”
“And the economy will go belly-up,” Gavin Stuart added. He didn't sound unhappy. Like most Freeholders, he viewed the interstellar-based economy with a sceptical eye. “Hundreds of people will be put out of work.”
“Putting yet more strain on our society,” Troutman said. He traced out a line on the map, thoughtfully. “We need a silver bullet.”
He sighed. “And if we can't find one, we may have to go for the direct solution.”
William shuddered. Tens of thousands of people died on Earth every day - or had died, before the entire planet collapsed - but nothing like it had ever been seen on Arthur’s Seat. They’d considered themselves immune to the chaos gripping the galaxy, the waves of civil unrest and interstellar conflict as the galactic order fell apart. But now ... it was hard, so hard, to speak. It felt like the betrayal of every one of their civilised principles.
He found his voice, somehow. “You’d kill fifty thousand people and ... what? Over a hundred hostages?”
“It might come down to them or us,” Troutman said. He met William’s eyes. “And if it is a choice between them and us, I’ll vote for us.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Bigger worlds, ones with police and military forces, often rounded up the unwelcome newcomers and deported them, either to unsettled territories or other planets. Ironically, in doing so, they perpetrated the crimes that had been committed against them.
- Professor Leo Caesius. Ethnic Streaming and the End of Empire.
“Joel did that for me?”
Judith looked down at Hannah, then back up at the television. The scenes on the display were horrific, snapshots and videos taken by personal coms and uploaded onto the datanet, then stolen by the television studios as reporters and cameramen were chivvied away from the Kinsman Estate. Dead bodies, burning cars ... it looked like a nightmare out of a bad flick, not real life. And yet, she could hear gunshots in the distance, echoing over the city.
“I don’t know,” she said, finally. “Joel was the one who beat you?”
&nbs
p; Hannah nodded. “He’s always been a little unstable,” she said. “Being a Steward just made it easier for him to push people around.”
Judith winced. “What’s wrong with him?”
“He’s unstable,” Hannah said. She shuddered. “And if he’s doing that” - she waved a hand at the screen, which was now showing a pillar of smoke rising over the estate - “he’s certainly taken control. The Elders might be dead.”
“Why?” Judith asked. “Why does he even want you?”
Hannah laughed, bitterly. “My father died when I was twelve,” she said. “I ... I earned a reputation for being ... for not being pure. People were talking. My stepfather married my mother, on the condition I married his son when I came of age. I told you that.”
“I remember,” Judith said.
“Joel is unstable,” Hannah said. “I think ... I think he truly believes that I have to marry him - more, that he has to marry me. That it is his duty to marry me. Normally ... he wouldn't have been given much more of a choice. My stepfather would have told him his choices ... he may even have thought that he was sacrificing himself for his father.”
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