Culture Shock

by Christopher Nuttall

“But the bodies have to be buried,” Yale protested. “Joel ...”

  “The Stewards can prepare them for burial,” Joel said, crossly. Maybe he’d expanded too far, too fast to ensure his people were loyal. But he’d had no choice. The Elders would have betrayed him - and the entire community - if they’d been given a chance. “Until then, place the bodies in storage.”

  Yale frowned. “What storage? There’s no power ...”

  “Wrap the bodies up, then put them somewhere cold,” Joel snapped. Honestly! Couldn't anyone think for themselves? The government had cut off the power, along with the water and food. Thankfully, he’d stockpiled enough ration bars over the last few weeks to keep the commune going for some time. “And dig a grave at the rear of the estate.”

  He gritted his teeth in annoyance as Yale turned and hurried away. His head was starting to pound, reminding him that he hadn't slept for nearly two days. He needed rest, but he didn't dare leave the estate without supervision. No one could be trusted completely, not even his loyalists. Betrayers were everywhere. And did everyone have to come to him with their pettifogging complaints?

  You wanted to be in charge, his own thoughts mocked him. And now you are.

  He strode along the edge of the fence, watching as hundreds of young men set up barricades and dug trenches. Most of them seemed to be working with a will, but he could see several of them casting dark glances at Joel’s armed men. They doubted the wisdom of arming themselves, Joel knew. They feared the consequences of all-out war. And yet, the only way they would get any autonomy was by standing up for themselves. They had to make it clear, to all the bullies out there, that anyone who tried to pick on the Forsakers would get a bloody nose.

  A dozen other men were picking up the bodies from outside the fence and carting them away from the estate. They might not be Forsakers, Joel knew, but something would have to be done about them soon. The weather was getting colder, unfortunately, yet it wasn't cold enough to keep the bodies from decaying. And he had no idea when they could be returned to the local government ...

  He shivered, fighting down the urge to yawn. His body was reminding him, once again, that he hadn't slept a wink. Gritting his teeth, he reached into his pocket and removed the injector tab, pressing it against his upper arm. Stimulant drugs were technically forbidden, he reminded himself as a rush of energy shot through his veins, but he was in charge now. He could make the rules.

  There’s nothing wrong with embracing modern technology, he told himself, as long as it is done in a goodly manner, for the good of the community.

  “Joel,” a voice called. He turned to see Olaf, heading towards him. “The fire teams are in position.”

  “Very good,” Joel said. Olaf was loyal, if only because he was too stupid to be disloyal. “Do they have their orders?”

  “They are to fire warning shots if anyone enters our territory,” Olaf said. “And if the invaders refuse to turn back, they are to kill them.”

  “Very good,” Joel said. He found himself grinning, widely, as another surge of energy ran through him. He’d taken too many stimulants, without having eaten anything like enough to support them. He felt as though he was on the verge of jumping out of his own skin. “Make sure they know who to obey.”

  Olaf nodded. “What about the girls?”

  Joel blinked. “What about the girls?”

  “We captured seventeen unmarried girls,” Olaf said. “When are we going to marry them?”

  Joel stared at him, his thoughts confused. Who had put that idea into Olaf’s head? He had the awful feeling it might have been him, once upon a time. God knew he had promised to arrange wives for his supporters, the young men with no prospects, with no hope of finding a wife and raising a family. Olaf and the others like him had leapt at the chance. And now ...

  “They have to be taught their place first,” he said, finally. It had been rare, over the last two decades, for newcomers to enter the commune. Very few remained long enough to marry and have children. “It isn't going to be easy.”

  Olaf giggled. “They can just lie back and open their legs,” he said. He reached out and clapped Joel on the shoulder. “We’re in charge now, aren't we?”

  I’m in charge, Joel thought.

  He found it hard to think straight. Olaf ... Olaf was acting in a manner Joel would have considered impossible, only a few days ago. But now, all the old certainties were gone. The Elders were locked up and they were at war. Why bother with courtship, with appealing to the girl’s patriarch, if he was the supreme leader? He could order the girls to marry his men, if he wished. And Olaf - and the others like him - certainly expected that he would do just that.

  And the only reason they follow me, he told himself, is because they think I can give them what they want.

  “You can marry them tonight,” he said, finally. It wasn't as if the hostages were true Forsakers, even the ones descended from Forsakers. No one would really care what happened to them, would they? It wasn't as if he was ordering young girls from the commune to marry his men. “But we have to ...”

  “Joel,” Yale called. He was running forward, waving his gun in the air. “We have a prisoner!”

  Joel blinked, oddly relieved to see him. “A prisoner?”

  Yale smirked. “Guess who?”

  ***

  John knew, all too well, that he wasn't particularly brave. A brave man would have claimed the patriarchy for himself, a brave man would have stood up to Joel well before the commune had been dumped on Arthur’s Seat. His legs felt shaky as he strode down the street, feeling utterly exposed. The buildings surrounding him were supposed to be empty, their inhabitants having fled the chaos, but it was quite possible that Joel had started to move his people into them. They’d make good defensive positions for the commune.

  A cold wind blew down the street as he kept walking. The surroundings were eerily silent, so quiet he thought he could hear his own heartbeat. There weren’t even any birds singing in the cool morning air. He walked past a handful of smashed cars, wincing as he caught sight of a body that had been battered into a shapeless mass. There was no way to tell if it had been male or female, let alone anything else. He muttered a quiet prayer for the dead as he walked onwards, feeling the back of his neck prickling with fear. Someone was watching him ...

  Joel isn't a real soldier, he told himself. The policemen had asked him if Joel had spent time watching violent movies, but John rather doubted it. It was forbidden to bring entertainment terminals into the commune, let alone use them. The policemen seemed to think that gave Joel an advantage, but John preferred to think otherwise. He doesn't know what he’s doing.

  He shuddered as he spotted a shop, one of the many small greengrocers dotted throughout the city. It had been looted, its shelves stripped bare ... he winced, again, as he saw a body lying on the counter, utterly unmoving. A young woman, judging from the long hair ... although he’d seen enough long-haired men on Arthur’s Seat to know that long hair didn't necessarily prove anything. Someone had carved a sign into her forehead, but he couldn't read it without going closer. He hesitated, then walked up to the broken window and peered inside. The girl’s trousers and underclothes had been torn away, revealing bare flesh ... John recoiled, fighting down the urge to be sick. It was clear the girl hadn't died kindly.

  It is forbidden to touch the dead, he thought, recalling one of the more interesting sermons he’d had to endure, back when the world had made sense. They are to be buried as soon as possible ...

  He flinched as he heard someone moving up ahead, but kept going, careful to keep his hands in front of him. The police had warned him that the Forsakers would be jumpy, ready to fire at once if they thought he was a threat. John half-wished he had a weapon of his own, even though he knew it would be worse than useless. And then he stopped, dead, as a trio of armed men appeared out of the alleyway. Their guns, their hellishly intimidating guns, were pointed at him.

  “John,” a familiar voice said. John fought - hard
- to keep his face impassive. Colin was a worse bully than Joel, a young man who delighted in humiliating others. He would have been kicked out of the commune years ago, if there had been anywhere that would have taken him. “Well. What a surprise.”

  “I have to speak to Joel,” John said. It was impossible to keep his voice from shaking, but Colin would probably be pleased. He enjoyed making other people fear. “My stepbrother needs to hear what I have to say.”

  Colin stared at him for a long moment, his piggy eyes twitching as he reasoned it out. John could practically see the thoughts flowing through his ugly head. Joel was in charge, wasn't he? And John was Joel’s stepbrother ... maybe, just maybe, antagonising him would be unwise. John wondered, absently, just what Joel had told his allies about Hannah. He wouldn't want to admit that Hannah had fled him after a beating, would he? He’d be a laughing-stock.

  “We will take you to him,” Colin grunted. He reached forward and caught John by the shoulder, shoving him down the road. John wanted to resist, but he knew Colin was just itching for a chance to use his fists. “March.”

  John didn't offer any resistance as Colin half-pushed him onwards. Instead, he looked around, silently assessing the scene before him. Dozens of buildings had been converted into strongpoints, armed men marching up and down as though they ruled the world. The unarmed Forsakers - it didn't look as though Joel had enough weapons to arm the entire commune - seemed torn between delight and fear. A number of them glanced nervously at John as he was walked past. None of the Elders were in sight.

  Joel will want to keep them locked away, John thought. He couldn’t see any women either - but then, Joel would have locked them up too. The women had to be protected - and kept away from their husbands and sons, lest they inspire divided loyalties. What has he done to mother?

  The thought cost him a pang. He loved his mother, but he understood - now - that his mother had made a whole series of bad choices. She should never have married again, not at such a steep price. And she hadn't even paid the price herself! Hannah had paid - and would spend the rest of her life paying, if Joel dragged her back. John had no illusions about how her married life would go.

  And if Joel isn't stopped, John told himself, the local government might surrender to him.

  Joel was standing by the fence, Olaf and Yale standing next to him. John wasn't surprised to see Olaf - he was one of Joel’s loyalists, after all - but Yale was a disappointment. He’d always been a nit-picking humourless nag, yet he’d never been evil. But then, times of crisis - he’d been told - brought out the best and worst in people. God knew the crisis had certainly done that to Joel.

  John met his eyes ... and froze. Just for a second, he wondered if it actually was Joel. The face was identical, but the eyes were too bright and his entire body was twitching, his fingers flexing backwards and forwards. His face looked off, somehow; his eyes flickered from side to side, his tongue licking his lips nervously ... John would have advised him to get some sleep, if he didn't think it was already too late.

  “John,” Joel said. He took a step forward. John had to fight the urge to step back. “What a pleasant surprise.”

  He swung his arm. John had no time to dodge before Joel slapped him across the face, sending him staggering backwards. He would have fallen if Colin hadn't been holding on to his arm. A chill ran down his spine as he realised that Joel could do anything to him, if Joel wished. There was nothing holding him in check, not any longer. He could kill John if he wanted ...

  “So tell me,” Joel said. Even his voice was different. John couldn't help thinking of the teenagers, back on Tarsus, who had experimented with narcotic drugs. They'd acted all funny too. “Why have you come crawling back?”

  “Hannah,” John said. It was easy to push bitterness - and fear - into his voice. “She’s going to marry a local.”

  He'd thought long and hard over what to actually tell Joel. Hannah was the only bait they had, the only thing that might bring Joel out of the estate, but ... but who knew what would actually set him off? Technically, Hannah could leave the commune at any moment ... yet Joel would never let her go. The idea of her marrying a local would be utterly maddening.

  “I took her to hospital,” he admitted. Let Joel think he didn't care about the beating he’d given Hannah, if he wished. Hannah would hardly be the first person to be beaten so badly she’d risked permanent harm. “She met someone there. She’s going to marry him.”

  Joel leaned forward, his voice dangerous. “And you didn't think to stop it?”

  “I can't forbid her,” John said. “I ... she has to be stopped before she leaves hospital ...”

  “Of course you couldn't stop her,” Joel said. He reached out and shoved John in the chest, hard. This time, Colin let him fall to the ground. “You have always been weak. And now you have come crawling back to beg for help.”

  John flushed. Joel was right. He had been weak, very weak. And he’d cost his mother and sister dearly. Joel loomed over him, his face twisted between rage and a certain bitter amusement. If Joel killed him ... it would be just, if it saved Hannah from a fate worse than death.

  “You will take us to the hospital,” Joel said. He bent down, caught hold of John’s shirt and yanked him to his feet. “And we will bring her home.”

  “The police are there,” John said, desperately. Joel had bought it! Against all the odds, Joel had bought it. “They’ll ...”

  “Be crushed,” Joel hissed. “And when I bring her home, we will finally be married.”

  John shuddered.

  ***

  “This is not wise,” Yale said. “Joel ...”

  “Shut up,” Joel hissed. “Olaf, assemble a team!”

  His temper overflowed. This was the very last straw! Hannah was not going to escape him again, let alone marry a local. She would pay, of course, for her betrayal, but after she’d been punished they would be man and wife. He would love her and care for her and protect her from the outside world. And her milksop brother ... Joel glanced at John, then smirked to himself. John would die during the attack on the hospital, his death blamed on the policemen. Konrad’s stepson would make an excellent martyr to the cause.

  “She’s just a girl,” Yale said. He didn't understand. Of course he didn't understand. “There are countless girls who would be happy to marry you ...”

  Joel hit him. “I promised my father that I would marry her,” he snapped. Why did Yale have to keep questioning his every word? Couldn't he see that Joel was struggling to protect the commune? “And I will not disobey my father.”

  “Your father is the patriarch,” Yale reminded him. He rubbed his cheek, his eyes hard. “I think you should check with him ...”

  “Shut up,” Joel snapped. He turned to see Olaf and a group of his most loyal followers, all carrying weapons and plenty of ammunition. They wouldn't question his orders - and he’d make sure they married the hostages, once the day was over. A mass wedding ceremony would cement the new order for all to see. “Let’s go.”

  He caught John by the arm and pushed him towards the gate. “Take us straight to the hospital,” he ordered. “And don’t even think about taking us anywhere else.”

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  But the weaker worlds were torn apart by ethnic conflict. They rarely survived in any recognisable form.

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

  “What we need,” Smith muttered, “is one of those drones the marines use.”

  Mike shrugged as he checked and rechecked his rifle. It would be nice to have a UAV, peering down on the estate from so high that it couldn't be seen with the naked eye; it would also be nice to have stunners, powered combat armour and - while he was wishing for things he couldn't have - a patriotic scriptwriter. He’d certainly watched enough awful flicks where the enemy fired millions of bullets at the heroes, but - somehow - none of the heroes were actually hit. Real life was very different.

  “There’s a spotter team
on the rooftop,” he reminded Smith. Their firing position wasn't perfect, but it would have to do. “We’ll have some advance warning.”

  Assuming everything goes to plan, he added, silently. The briefing had made it clear that the Forsakers, if they took the bait, would be walking straight down the road towards the hospital. Several barricades had been hastily removed, just to give the bastards a false sense of security. If it doesn't, we might be in some trouble.

  He rubbed his forehead tiredly, wishing he’d had a chance to call Jane. But the Incident Coordinator had ordered him to get some sleep instead, warning that they’d need to be fresh when the shit hit the fan. Mike couldn't help feeling a strange mixture of frustrated, irritated and scared. He hadn't signed up to be a soldier, or a soldier-wannabe; he’d signed up to be a policeman, to protect and serve the people. And, in all honesty, he wasn't sure he wanted to stay a policeman. The job had changed radically in the last two months.

  His radio buzzed. “This is Giles,” a voice said. “They’re on the way. I make fourteen men, thirteen armed.”