Culture Shock Sample

(The Empire’s Corps – Book XII)

Christopher G. Nuttall

http://www.chrishanger.net
http://chrishanger.wordpress.com/
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Cover by Alexander Chau
(www.alexanderchau.co.uk)

All Comments Welcome!

Series Listing

Book One: The Empire’s Corps
Book Two: No Worse Enemy
Book Three: When The Bough Breaks
Book Four: Semper Fi
Book Five: The Outcast
Book Six: To The Shores
Book Seven: Reality Check
Book Eight: Retreat Hell
Book Nine: The Thin Blue Line 
Book Ten: Never Surrender
Book Eleven: First To Fight
Book Twelve: They Shall Not Pass
Book Thirteen: Culture Shock

Culture Shock Cover Blurb

Arthur’s Seat had never sought a galactic role.  A relatively new colony world, a mere three hundred years old, the planet was always isolated from the galactic mainstream.  But with the Empire crumbling after the fall of Earth, and other planets taking advantage of the chaos to make their own bids for power, Arthur’s Seat suddenly finds itself playing host to tens of thousands of unwanted immigrants, refugees who have been kicked off countless other worlds.

But as the planetary government struggles to integrate the newcomers, powerful factions plot to take advantage of the situation and the refugees struggle to carve out a place for themselves, it becomes clear that the entire planet is on the verge of anarchy ...

... And outright civil war may not be far away.

Author’s Note

“I am, of course, not a lover of upheavals. I merely want to make sure people do not forget that there are upheavals.”
-General Aritomo Yamagata, Imperial Japanese Army, 1881.

Like the other odd-numbered books in the series, Culture Shock is completely stand-alone.  You do not have to be familiar with the other books to read and (I hope) enjoy it.  However, historically, it takes place roughly six months after When The Bough Breaks, at roughly the same time as No Worse Enemy.  You can download samples and suchlike from my website.  

If you enjoy the book, please leave a review.

Prologue

The tension in the air as darkness fell over the estate was so thick, Steward Joel thought as he paced the lines, that one could cut it with a knife.

Earth was gone.  And so was the government that had protected the Forsakers against their enemies.  Tarsus was still reeling after the news had finally arrived from Earth, its government trapped in endless debates over what should be done, but some of its population had already taken matters into their own hands.  The attacks had begun almost at once, targeting isolated Forsakers on the streets and killing them.  And the government had done nothing.

Of course they did nothing, Joel thought, bitterly.  There are no votes in protecting us.

He gritted his teeth as a cold wind blew over the estate.  The Forsakers had never been popular, not on Tarsus.  They’d been moved from world to world by the Empire, seeking out a home that had never materialised.  Joel had no doubt his people could have made a go of it, if they’d been given land and support, but no one had been interested in actually helping them.  Instead, they’d been shoved into an estate and told to stay there.

It was no place for a Forsaker community, he thought, as he turned to walk back towards the warehouse.  The estate was grey and soulless, despite their best efforts.  No amount of work could hide the fact that it wasn't designed to hold people, not for long.  The facilities were poor, privacy was very limited and opportunities for employment were non-existent.  Some of the young men had tried to work, in hopes of earning enough money to buy land, but they’d been cheated and robbed by their employers.  It was technically illegal, yet the government hadn't given a damn even before the economy had collapsed.  They might have been forced to take the Forsakers, but the government felt no obligation to make them welcome.

He stepped into the guardhouse, his eyes flickering over the five young men on watch.  They were armed, but only with baseball bats and other improvised weapons.  Tarsus had strict laws forbidding the private possession of firearms and the Elders had forbidden the Stewards from seeking out illicit weapons.  They’d warned of the dangers of provoking the government, but Joel found it hard to care.  The government had made its feelings on the matter quite clear.  They wanted the Forsakers gone.

“My brother hasn't returned,” Steward Joshua said.  He sounded grim.  “He and his wife never came back.”

Joel winced.  Joshua’s brother hadn't quite been Fallen - the Forsaker term for men who left their community - but he’d loudly argued that they’d reached the end of the line.  He’d been beaten for his heresy, of course, yet no one knew just how many other Forsakers quietly agreed with him.  And now he was gone.  He might have been caught by a mob and killed ...

... Or he might have decided to vanish into the planet’s population, forsaking his heritage in exchange for a safe place to live.

And his wife probably encouraged him, he thought, sourly.  She never quite fit in either.

“I’m sure he will be back,” he lied, smoothly.  Joshua’s brother had taken his wife and left the community.  It suggested he had no intention of returning.  “And you can rebuke him then, if you wish.”

He kept his real thoughts to himself.  The Forsakers didn't look any different from the rest of the planet’s population, not really.  Their clothes might have marked them as outsiders, but it wasn't as if changing one’s outfit was difficult.  And Tarsus was cosmopolitan enough to accept a newcomer if that worthy made a definite attempt to blend in.  He closed his eyes in pain as he turned back to the door.  Joshua’s brother was merely the latest Forsaker to forsake his heritage.

Traitor, he thought.

***
The attack began at midnight.

Joel had been sitting in the guardhouse when he heard the sound of several people moving outside.  The patrol had only just gone out to sweep the edge of the estate.  They shouldn't have been back so soon.  And yet ... he grabbed for his baseball bat as the door burst open, a trio of black-clad men smashing into the room.  He barely had a moment to recognise the stunners in their hands before there was a flare of blue-white light and his entire body jerked violently.    His legs buckled beneath him and he hit the ground face-down, utterly unable to move.

“Clear,” a voice said.  “Only one guard.”

Joel tried to struggle as he felt strong arms rolling him over, but his body felt as limp and powerless as a sack of potatoes.  A man, his face hidden behind a mask, patted him down, then rolled him back over and cuffed his hands behind his back.  Joel fought a wave of bitter helplessness as the men walked out of the room, leaving him there.  No matter how desperately he struggled, he couldn't move a muscle.  His body was completely useless.

He heard shouts and screams, male and female, as the policemen worked their way through the estate.  Rage flared through his mind at the violation of their most sacred spaces, but there was nothing he could do.  His body was starting to twitch uncomfortably, a pins-and-needles sensation almost driving him insane ... the stun blast was wearing off, he realised numbly.  But his hands were still cuffed.  It was hopeless.

A man strode into the room, caught hold of Joel by the scruff of the neck and hauled him to his feet.  Joel stumbled, his legs still feeble, but somehow he managed to force himself to stagger though the door.  Outside, he saw a nightmare.  Hundreds of men and women were sitting on the ground, their hands cuffed; dozens of armed policemen were watching them, weapons at the ready.  And, right at the edge of the estate, a mob of angry locals, shouting and jeering as the police completed their task.  Joel had no doubt of what would happen, if he somehow managed to get away.  The mob would beat him to death, then dump his body in the gutter.

His cheeks burned with humiliation, for himself and his community, as he sat there, forced to watch as the estate was searched and their possessions confiscated.  God alone knew what would happen to the tools, the motley collection of hand-powered devices they’d preserved ever since they’d been forced to leave their last home.  They needed them, damn it!  But the policemen didn't seem to care ...

It felt like hours before they were ordered to their feet and marched towards the lorries.  The crowd’s jeering grew louder as they were pushed into the lorries, the doors slamming shut as soon as each vehicle was crammed.  Joel heard the engine roar into life as he struggled to find a comfortable position, the lorry shaking as it turned and headed out of the estate.  He wished he could see outside, but there were no windows.  All he could do was wait.

“They’re going to kill us,” Joshua said.  He sounded as though he was on the verge of outright panic.  “They’re going to kill us!”

Joel found his voice.  “They’re not,” he said, although he wasn't sure of it himself.  “They can't kill us.”

But he wasn't sure of that either.  The Empire was gone.  All the old certainties were falling everywhere.  The Imperial Navy was fragmenting, planetary governments were bidding for independence ... and Tarsus, which had resented the Forsakers from the moment they’d been ordered to take them, might have decided to rid themselves of a nuisance.

We should have fought, he thought, savagely.  We could have learned to defend ourselves.

The lorry lurched to a halt.  Moments later, the doors banged open and the Forsakers were pushed and prodded outside.  Joel had half-expected a detention camp or a firing squad, but instead ... it took him several moments to realise that he was looking at a spaceport.  A dozen shuttles sat on landing pads, surrounded by heavily-armed guards.  Behind them, there were more lorries and more guards ... had the police rounded up every last Forsaker on Tarsus?  It was starting to look like it ...

He glanced at the nearest policeman.  Experience had taught him that it was dangerous to talk to policemen, but there was no one else to ask.  “What’s happening to us?”

The policeman’s face was hidden behind the mask, but there was a hint of heavy satisfaction in his voice.  “You are being deported.”

Joel stared.  “Deported?  To where?”

But the policeman said nothing, merely nodded towards the shuttles.

Joel swallowed, hard.  Tarsus hadn't been a friendly place, but ... but where would they wind up next?  The entire community had just been uprooted without a fight, men, women and children yanked out of their beds and transported to the spaceport.  And then ...?  Who knew where they were going next?  Cold bitter rage throbbed in his breast as he watched the shuttle hatches opening.  They looked like the gateways to hell.  

Never again, he promised himself silently.  He should never have listened to the Elders when they’d forbidden him to buy weapons.  They could have fought.  Whatever happens, never again.

Chapter One

In theory, unlike pre-space Earth, the Empire should have had no problems with ethnic, racial and cultural conflict.  As a noted philosopher of the times pointed out, what cultures needed to learn to get along was distance and space - enough space for everyone.  Naturally, it didn't work out like that.
- Professor Leo Caesius.  Ethnic Streaming and the End of Empire.

“Premier?”

Premier William Randolph Huntsman cursed under his breath as he opened his eyes.  He wasn't sure how long he’d slept, but it felt as though he had barely closed his eyes when his butler stepped into the bedroom.  It had been yet another late-night Cabinet meeting, debating precisely what - if anything - Arthur’s Seat could do about the news from Earth and the economic crisis it had brought in its wake.  And, as always, nothing had been decided.  They knew too little to make any long-term decisions.

Sitting upright, he rubbed his eyes.  The clock on the wall insisted that it was 0445, local time; 1445, Galactic Standard Time.  Sykes, the butler, looked coolly professional, wearing a suit even though it was the middle of the night.  William didn't know how he did it, although he had a theory.  Sykes, damn him, didn't have to worry about anything, beyond serving the Premier.  He’d serve William’s successor as well as he’d served William himself.

“Yeah,” he said, finally.  “What is it?”

Sykes held out a mug of steaming coffee.  “We have received an alert signal from the Orbital Guard, sir,” he said.  “An Imperial Navy cruiser - ISS Harley - has dropped out of Phase Space and transmitted a text-only FTL message.  Her commander wishes to speak with you as soon as his ship reaches communications range.”

William blinked in surprise, torn between relief and shock.  Arthur’s Seat had no real defences, save for a pair of destroyers so old he sometimes thought they predated the Empire itself.  They certainly predated his homeworld!  The ships were enough to deter pirates, but he had no illusions about their ability to stand off a real attack.  If one of their neighbours decided to launch an invasion - and they might, now the Empire was gone - Arthur’s Seat’s ability to resist was almost non-existent.  Commodore Charles Van Houlton had made the point very clear during the planning sessions, when he’d asked for more money for the Orbital Guard.

But we can’t build warships for ourselves, William thought.  And no one is likely to sell them to us.

He pushed the thought aside, savagely.  “Did Harley say why she’s here?”

“No, sir,” Sykes said.  “Merely that it’s urgent.”

William contemplated the problem as he sipped his coffee.  It was excellent, as always ... and yet, it was growing increasingly rare.  The Jamaica Blue blend came from Earth ... and Earth was gone.  Arthur’s Seat grew its own coffee beans, of course, yet it didn't quite seem to live up to Jamaica Blue.  But William suspected he would have to get used to drinking it soon, whatever happened.  The price of anything from outside the star system had already skyrocketed.  It wouldn't be long before there wasn't a single can of Jamaica Blue available for love or money.

“How long until she enters communications range?”

“Two hours, as of the last communication,” Sykes informed him.  “She's red-lining her drive.”

William gritted his teeth.  He was no spacer, but even he knew that trained engineers and spare parts were in short supply.  Harley’s commanding officer was taking a considerable risk in pushing his ship so hard.  Whatever was going on - and his imagination provided too many possibilities - it had to be urgent.  There was no way Arthur’s Seat could repair an Imperial Navy cruiser.

“Inform the Cabinet that I want an emergency meeting in three hours,” he said, finally.  “And then prepare a breakfast for when they arrive.”

“Yes, sir,” Sykes said.

William finished his coffee, then swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood.  His head swam for a long moment, reminding him that he hadn't had anything like enough sleep.  He glanced at the bedside cabinet, where he kept a small collection of painkillers and stimulants, then dismissed the thought.  He had a feeling he’d need to keep his wits about him for the coming discussion and stimulants could be dangerous.  Sykes fussed about him, wiping his face with a hot towel before producing a neatly-pressed suit and shirt.  William shook his head in tired amusement as his butler helped him to dress, then peered into the mirror.  As always, Sykes had ensured that there wasn't a single hair out of place.

But I still look old, he thought.  Too old.

He studied his reflection for a long moment, feeling a twinge of dismay.  He’d been Premier for two years, elected just in time to face the decline and fall of the Empire ... and it had changed him.  His brown hair was now grey, his face was lined ... he looked more like a bureaucrat or an accountant than a planetary leader.  He honestly wasn't sure he wanted to stand for re-election, even though he was midway through his first term.  The job was taking a toll.

And if it does this to me, he thought, what does it do to other Heads of State?

It was a bitter thought.  Arthur’s Seat was not an important world and never would be.  She lacked the economic and military base necessary to reach for greatness.  And really, she didn't want greatness.  William had never dreamed of building an empire of his own, even though he knew that at least two of the neighbouring worlds were planning their own conquests.  Arthur’s Seat was a quiet sleepy backwater ...

... And yet, serving as her leader had drained him more than he cared to admit.

He pushed the thought aside as he walked through the door to his office and sat down at the desk, keying the terminal to bring up the latest briefing notes.  His staff had done their usual efficient job, yet they had very little information to draw on.  ISS Harley had been attached to the sector fleet, they’d noted, but there was little else about her in the files.  Even her commander’s name was a mystery.  William shook his head slowly, then started to write a quick letter to his ex-wife.  If trouble was coming, he wanted her to be aware of it.

It was nearly two hours before the communications link came online, the terminal blinking up alerts and warnings that William had honestly never seen before, outside drills.  The communications link was completely secure, isolated so completely that no one else could hope to intercept and eavesdrop.  It struck William as needless paranoia, but if something was dangerously wrong ...

And if this level of paranoia is justified, he thought grimly, just what is happening out there?

He straightened as a face appeared in the display.  The officer - an Imperial Navy Commodore, if William was reading the rank badge correctly - could have stepped off a recruiting poster, save for the tiredness etched into every line of his face.  William felt a shiver running down his spine as he studied the newcomer.  This was a man, he realised slowly, who no longer cared.

“Premier,” the officer said.  “I am Rear Admiral Carlow.”

“Premier Huntsman,” William said, automatically.  He’d never heard of a Rear Admiral Carlow, but that proved nothing.  There were more crewmen and officers in the Imperial Navy than there were people on some planets.  He keyed his terminal, ordering his staff to check for the Admiral’s file, then leaned forward.  “Welcome to Arthur’s Seat.”

“I’m afraid I can't stay,” Carlow said.  “I must inform you, Premier, that Arthur’s Seat is about to receive a number of refugees.”

William blinked in surprise.  “What?”

“Tarsus has kicked a vast number of Forsakers into space,” Carlow said.  “I’m in the position of having to find a new home for them.  Their transports will be arriving within the next two days.”

“Impossible,” William said.  Forsakers?  Arthur’s Seat had a long history with the Forsakers, but that was all in the past.  “Admiral, we cannot ...”

“Under the terms of the Imperial Charter, you are obliged to take them,” Carlow said, cutting him off.  “My legal staff will be quite happy to forward you a copy of their briefs, if you wish.”

“Please,” William said, stunned.  “Admiral ... why can’t they stay on Tarsus?”

“They are no longer welcome,” Carlow said.  “But then, they never were.”

William cursed under his breath.  Tarsus wasn't anything like as powerful as Terra Nova or Kennedy, but her system defence force was powerful enough to give the Imperial Navy pause.  A confrontation could only have one outcome - or would have done, before Earth had fallen - yet it would have cost the Imperial Navy dearly.  And now, with Earth gone and the Empire steadily collapsing, Tarsus was powerful enough to bend the sector fleet to her will.  

And us too, he thought, numbly. 

“They need a home,” Carlow said.  His voice was curiously flat.  “And they do have a claim on Arthur’s Seat.”

“A claim that was dismissed by the Supreme Court,” William said, automatically.  It hadn't taken long.  The planet’s original settlers had been conned by the man who’d sold them the settlement rights.  “Admiral, are you planning to merely dump them here?”

“Yes,” Carlow said.

William stared at him in absolute disbelief, realising that protest would be futile.  He’d met polite officers and officers who enjoyed lording it over the weaker worlds, but he’d never met an officer who was just too tired to proceed.  Carlow no longer believed in the Imperial Navy, let alone the Empire.  He was trying to rid himself of one problem before a nastier one reared its ugly head.

“Once the convoy arrives, they will be transported down to the surface,” Carlow informed him.  “And then they will be in your hands.”

“I see,” William hedged.  “And how many people are we talking about, Admiral?”

“Around fifty thousand,” Carlow said.  He hesitated, noticeably.  It was clear he didn't quite believe his own words.  “Perhaps more.  Tarsus is not the only world to consider forced relocations.”

I suppose we should be grateful they didn't just kill the poor bastards, William thought.  It would have been easy - and no one would have cared, not after eighty billion people died on Earth.

He kept his face as impassive as possible.  “I will have to discuss the matter with my Cabinet,” he said.  Fifty thousand?  Were they coming in one convoy or several?  He had no idea where they could be held, let alone how they could be integrated into the wider community.  Arthur’s Seat had never attracted many immigrants.  “I trust you can wait that long?”

“I can wait until the convoy actually arrives,” Carlow informed him.  “But after that I need to empty the ships as quickly as possible.”

William nodded in understanding.  Transport ships had been in short supply ever since the Grand Senate’s taxes and regulations had driven independent spacers out of business or sent them fleeing to the Rim.  Carlow would need those freighters back as quickly as possible ... and besides, the life support would be red-lined too.  A small systems failure, harmless under normal circumstances, might be absolutely catastrophic.  He didn't want to imagine just how many people could die if the life support failed.  

“Accordingly, I must demand that you put your shuttles at my disposal,” Carlow added, grimly.  “Their crews will be required to serve under my authority.  I can cite Imperial Law if necessary ...”

“We don’t have many shuttles,” William said.  He cursed under his breath.  What were they going to do?  “But those we have will be placed under your command.”

“Then I will contact you again, when the convoy arrives,” Carlow said.  “Thank you for your time, Premier.”

His image vanished.  William stared at the terminal for a long moment, then tapped the message that had just appeared in his inbox.  Admiral Carlow’s file - which listed him as a commodore - was surprisingly detailed.   Carlow’s family had close ties to the Grand Senate, which probably explained the promotion.  But they were listed as living on Earth ... they might be dead, if they hadn’t managed to get off the planet before the end.  Carlow wouldn't know, any more than William himself.  Doubt and fear were no doubt already gnawing at his mind.

Maybe he got promoted as an emergency measure, William thought, as he finished reading the file.  Or maybe he promoted himself.

He shook his head, mentally.  Carlow hadn't struck him as the type of vainglorious fool who would promote himself, let alone invent a whole new title just for himself.  But it hardly mattered.  All that mattered was that Carlow’s solution to his problem had created a whole new problem for William.  Arthur’s Seat had enough problems without adding one more.

“And this will give the Opposition all the excuse they need to push for a vote of no-confidence, if they want it,” he muttered as he rose.  He raised his voice.  “Sykes?”

The door opened.  “Yes, sir?”

“Inform the cabinet that the meeting is now being held immediately,” William ordered, grimly.  None of them would be pleased at being dragged out of bed, not even his political allies, but there was no choice.  Carlow had seen to that, damn him.  “And ask the kitchen staff to hold breakfast until after the meeting.”

Sykes looked doubtful.  “They will need to eat, sir.”

“I know,” William said.  Sykes had always insisted that politicians - and everyone else - should take the time to eat before making any final decisions.  A good meal made people feel better.  “Have biscuits sent in with the coffee, but nothing else.”

“Yes, sir,” Sykes said.  He didn't sound approving, but William knew Sykes would do as he was told.  “I’ll see to it at once.”

William nodded, then walked through the door into the conference room and strode towards the window.  Lothian - the capital city - seemed to glow in the darkness, streetlights marking out roads that seemed to twist and turn at random.  Visitors to Arthur’s Seat had often commented on the randomness, William recalled, but there was something about the twisting streets that looked more natural than the straight lines and planned communities so common on many other worlds.  Arthur’s Seat had never planned its own growth, beyond the bare minimum.  The government had allowed the planet to evolve naturally.

For better or worse, he thought, morbidly.

He shook his head, slowly, as he picked out patches of darkness.  Arthur’s Seat wasn't heavily dependent on interstellar trade, unlike some of their neighbours, but his homeworld hadn't been able to escape some dependence.  A number of businesses had already failed, as economic shockwaves rolled over the planet; others, too, would fail as the full impact finally became clear.  The cabinet had been debating ways to relieve the pressure on surviving businesses, but hours of argument hadn't led to any conclusion.  Arthur’s Seat simply wasn't rich enough to buy what it needed, even if anyone was selling.

And no one is selling now, he thought.  Not now they have a pressing need for such supplies themselves.

His eyes sought out the Parliament building, positioned on the other side of the city from Government House.  The Empire Loyalists had ended up with egg on their face after the Empire collapsed, but so far the Opposition hadn't made a big issue of it.  William rather suspected they didn't want to take responsibility for solving the problems themselves.  If they managed to get a vote of no-confidence through Parliament, they might just win the General Election.  And if that happened, they’d find themselves caught in the same bind facing William and his allies.

And if they could do a better job, William told himself, they’d have tried to remove me from office by now.

He saw a faint glimmer on the horizon and shivered.  Dawn was breaking, the sun rising over a planet that no longer quite knew what was going on.  Thousands of people had already lost their jobs; thousands more knew their own jobs were on the line.  And, no matter what the Freeholders said, not everyone was qualified to run a farm or work in the planet's very limited industrial base.  Arthur’s Seat couldn't just batten down the hatches and avoid the interstellar turmoil washing through the galaxy.  But his homeworld couldn't play a major role on the galactic stage either.

Sykes entered the room, his measured tread echoing in the quiet air.  “Sir,” he said.  “The Cabinet members are on their way.  The staff are already deflecting calls from their aides, asking for background briefings and suchlike.”

He hesitated.  “The media has already caught wind of something.”

William nodded, never taking his eyes off the city below.  Someone in the Orbital Guard would have talked, of course.  It wasn't as if they had a professional military.  An Imperial Navy starship racing towards Arthur’s Seat like a bat out of hell?  Of course someone would have talked!  And the Cabinet being summoned so early in the morning?  The media on Arthur’s Seat wasn't anything like as intrusive as the media of a dozen other worlds, but they did keep an eye on the government.  They knew something was up.

Centuries of galactic peace coming to an end, he thought.  It still stunned - and terrified - him.  The Empire had been omnipresent for over a thousand years.  Dominoes falling everywhere.  And everyone wondering just when the next blow is going to fall.

“It doesn't matter,” he said, quietly.  There was no point in making a fuss about it, not now.  “Have the Cabinet shown into the conference room, then serve the coffee.  The rest of the world will know soon enough.”

“Yes, sir,” Sykes said.

Chapter Two

This may seem perplexing.  As of Year Fifteen of the Post-Empire era, over four thousand life-bearing worlds were charted and colonised by humanity, not to mention the eleven thousand worlds that could be terraformed with a certain amount of investment.  How could there not be enough room for everyone?
- Professor Leo Caesius.  Ethnic Streaming and the End of Empire.

The starship felt profoundly ... unnatural.

John, Son of John, made his way down the long corridor, trying desperately to keep from flinching at every random sound as he looked for his sister.  The entire hull was quivering slightly, an omnipresent background hum echoing through the air.  He’d spent his entire life on Tarsus, waiting desperately for the promised farm.  The starship felt utterly unreal, utterly dangerous beyond words.  A single mistake could kill him.

They told us that high technology could solve all our woes, he thought, remembering the founding words.  But it only made them worse.

He shivered as he heard a clunking sound, then turned and inched through the hatch into the observation blister.  Very few Forsakers had dared to make their way out of the holds, let alone explore the remainder of the giant ship.  It was the perfect hiding place for someone who didn't want to be found, someone who knew her own people wouldn't dare to come looking for her.  And, as the eerie lights of phase space flickered outside the blister, John found himself in perfect agreement.  The primal urge to run back to his bedroom and hide under his bed was so overwhelming that it was all he could do to keep walking forward.

“John,” his sister said.  She didn't sound pleased to see him.  “Why are you here?”

“Looking for you,” John said.  He forced himself to close the hatch.  “Why are you here?”

Hannah said nothing for a long moment, then turned her head so she was staring out of the blister again.  “I wanted to be alone.”

John nodded as he forced himself to walk up to the bench and sit down next to her.  It was hard to believe, sometimes, that they were twins.  He was tall, but slightly pudgy; Hannah was shorter, but so thin that it was easy to believe she was actually taller.  They shared their mother’s dark hair, yet hers was so long it touched the small of her back while his was cropped close to his skull.  And while she should have been wearing the white cap of an unmarried girl, she was bareheaded.  It took him a moment to realise that she was holding it in her right hand.

“You shouldn't be here,” he said, softly.

Hannah glanced at him.  “Neither should you.”

“I came here after you,” John said, ignoring her tone.  “Hannah, this isn't a safe place ...”

His sister snorted.  “As opposed to spending my time in the hold?”

“You’ll get a whipping for sure if someone else catches you here,” John warned, frantically.  There were times when he thought Hannah liked provoking the Elders.  He couldn’t name another girl who had quite so many remonstrances to her name.  “You could be contaminated ...”

Hannah shrugged.  “I’ve had worse.”

“I’m serious,” John said.

“So am I,” Hannah said.  She sobered.  “I should have stayed on Tarsus.”

John winced.  He’d heard that all of the young women - particularly the unmarried ones - had been offered the chance to stay, if they chose to abandon the Forsaker lifestyle.  Hannah ... Hannah had been dissatisfied for years, dissatisfied enough that John thought she would have left, if she’d been given the opportunity.  He’d assumed the whole story was a rumour, one spread by the starship’s crew.  There was little love between them and their unwanted passengers.

“I’m glad you didn’t,” he said, truthfully.  Hannah could be a handful at times, but he loved her.

“Mother needed me, I thought,” Hannah mused.  The bitter regret in her voice shocked him.  “I told myself I couldn’t leave her.”

She shook her head.  “And now Joel is bringing me flowers.”

John stared at her.  “Joel?”

“Joel,” Hannah confirmed.  “And do you really think Konrad is going to turn him down?”

John bit off a nasty word that would earn him a whipping, if their mother had heard it pass his lips.  Konrad, their stepfather, never denied Joel anything.  If Joel wanted Hannah’s hand in marriage, Konrad was unlikely to raise any real objections.  It wasn't as if Joel and Hannah were actually related, after all.  And people had been muttering for years that Hannah should be married.  There was something profoundly unnatural about a nineteen-year-old girl without a husband.

“You could refuse him,” he pointed out.

Hannah snorted.  “And you expect Joel to accept it?  Or mother?”

John shook his head, slowly.  Joel was a Steward, with every prospect of becoming an Elder when his father died.  No one doubted he had the well-being of the community at heart, even though his zeal worried - if not terrified - quite a few people.  And Hannah’s reputation didn’t help, either.  Very few fathers would approve their sons playing court to her.  Their mother was worried, desperately worried, that Hannah would never get married.  She’d do everything in her power to make sure that Hannah and Joel were married without delay.

“You should have told me,” he said, finally.

Hannah snorted, again.  “And what would you have done about it?”

John flushed angrily, but he had to admit she had a point.  He’d never had the nerve to stand up to anyone, not even his sister.  He hadn't even fought when the police had arrived to round up the entire community and march them onto shuttles.  It had just seemed ... pointless.

“Mother will nag me senseless if I go back,” Hannah said.  She rose and paced over to the blister.  “And Konrad will push Joel’s suit.”

“She sent me to find you,” John said.  “Hannah ...”

His sister turned to face him.  “I should have stayed,” she said, again.  “I could have blended in ...”

John couldn't disagree with her.  The Forsakers had been forced to send their children to local schools, back on Tarsus.  It hadn't been an enjoyable experience for John, but he knew Hannah had enjoyed it.  She’d been free, if only for a short time, from the demands that came with being a young girl in the community.  And she’d fitted in far better than himself.  John knew he should have reported her for wearing Outsider clothes, listening to Outsider music and watching Outsider flicks, but he hadn’t.  In truth, he wasn't sure why he hadn't.  Everyone knew that learning about the Outsiders was the first step to Falling ...

And if she had left, he thought, I would be alone with Konrad.

He shook his head, slowly.  Everyone said that Elder Konrad had done their family a favour by marrying their mother, after her husband had died.  And perhaps he had, John admitted, reluctantly.  He’d been too young to succeed his father as head of the household.  But Konrad was too stiff, too unbending, to make a good stepfather.  John had been able to talk about anything with his father, even matters that would get him in trouble if he spoke about them to anyone else.  He’d never been scared of his father.  But he didn't dare talk openly to Konrad.

“You would have Fallen,” he said, finally.  “Hannah ...”

Hannah laughed, bitterly.  “Would it have mattered?”

“It would have mattered to me,” John said.  “Hannah ...”

His sister cut him off.  “What sort of life was it?  Being trapped on a stinky estate, endless promises of farms and lands that were never kept ... John, do you think the promises would have been kept?”

John shook his head, morbidly.  The Forsakers had been promised farms and land of their own for years.  But the farms had never materialised.  His entire generation had grown up without ever seeing anything outside the city.  Hell, many of the younger children had never left the estate.

“Exactly,” Hannah said.  “And really ... why stay?”

John shook his head.  He had no answer.  

The first Forsakers had had land, he knew.  There was no doubt about that, although schisms in the community had sometimes obscured precisely what the founders had and hadn’t believed.  They’d moved away from modern technology, founding communities that had been almost completely self-sufficient.  John had heard enough stories about their world to know it sounded like paradise.  But times had changed, the community had scattered ...

... And they’d become unwelcome guests on a dozen worlds.

They could have rebuilt the first communities, John was sure, if they’d been given land and space.  The tools they needed had been carefully preserved, ever since they’d been moved from Haven to Tarsus.  But it was clear that Hannah was right.  Tarsus had never intended to give the Forsakers anything, certainly nothing more than the bare minimum.  And the Empire, which had guaranteed their safety, was now gone.  It hadn't taken long for Tarsus to rid itself of its unwanted guests.  

And they would have kept me, he thought, if I’d left the community.

He shuddered at the thought.  There was nothing stopping him from leaving, but he wouldn't have been able to return.  The Fallen were permanently excluded from the Forsakers, stricken from their families ... his mother would have disowned him, his stepfather would have pretended he’d never existed.  And anyone who stayed in touch with him would have been shunned by the remainder of the community.  He couldn't have severed all ties to his family and friends.

“I should have stayed,” Hannah said.  It would have been easier for her, John was sure.  She had few friends in the community.  Most girls her age were already married.  “No one would have missed me.”

“I would have missed you,” John said, honestly.

“And now we’re going to some other hellhole where we will be trapped too,” Hannah added, ignoring him.  “They should have just dumped us on a penal world.  It would be more honest.”

She met his eyes.  “Does Konrad talk about arranging a match for you?”

John shook his head.  It bothered him, more than he cared to admit.  Men weren't encouraged to marry until they were at least twenty-one and believed mature enough to raise a family, but it was common for betrothal talks to start earlier.  His father would have started them already, John was sure; Konrad, a man who was technically in a better position to arrange a good match, had done nothing of the sort.

“I think he’s too interested in arranging a match for his natural son,” he said, sourly.  “I ...”

He broke off.  “I’m sorry ...”

Hannah sighed.  “If I had left,” she said, “it would have been easier for you to marry.”

“It doesn't matter,” John said.

“Oh, goody,” Hannah said.  She didn’t believe him.  “Are you sure?”

John shrugged.  He’d never had a real conversation with any young woman, save for his sister.  Young men weren't encouraged to talk to young women.  He couldn't say he knew any of the unmarried girls very well.  When the time came to marry, the two sets of parents would chat and come to a final decision before allowing the youngsters to meet under careful supervision.  A young man and woman who talked without supervision would be in deep trouble, forced to either marry or leave the community.  John ... didn't think he was ready to marry, not yet.

“It isn't as if you’re older than me,” he said, lightly.  “My marriage isn't dependent on yours.”

“True,” Hannah agreed.  “But how long will that last?”

John shook his head.  He didn't want to think about it, not yet.  He’d told himself that he would get established before he started asking Konrad to find him a bride, but as the years passed getting established had started to seem more and more like a pointless dream.  He wasn't going to be one of the men who did nothing, apart from keeping his wife pregnant, yet he didn't know what else he was going to do.

“I have to go back to the hold,” he said, instead.  Talking to Hannah had helped him to forget that he was on a starship, but he still wasn't comfortable.  “You should come with me.”

Hannah smirked.  “Aren't you going to try to drag me?”

“No,” John said.  He wouldn't have dared.  Their mother would never have forgiven him if they’d made a scene.  Konrad and Joel wouldn't have been happy either.  “Hannah ...”

“I’ll be along in a minute,” his sister promised.  She turned until she was staring into the eerie lights of phase space.  “You can tell them you never saw me, if you like.”

John sighed.  “Mother won’t be pleased if I lie to her,” he said.  “I’ll stay out of her way until you get back.  She’ll be too mad at you to ask questions.”

He turned and strode out of the compartment, hurrying back down the corridor towards the lower decks.  A couple of crew passed, their eyes narrowing disdainfully at him.  Both of them were women, wearing clothes so tight that it was hard not to stare.  Their bodies might have been covered, but it was easy to see the swell of their breasts and the shape of their thighs.   He had to fight the urge to look behind him as they passed, reminding himself that it would only get him in trouble.  The security detachment on the ship hadn't hesitated to use neural whips whenever the passengers got uppity.

A faint smell wafted through the air as he walked down the stairs.  The women were cooking in their compartment, trying desperately to turn their rations into something edible.  John wasn’t sure if the passengers were being given unpleasant-tasting rations deliberately or not, but nothing the women had done had succeeded in improving the taste.  The best of the ration bars tasted like cardboard, no matter how many sauces were smeared onto the muck.

He frowned as he saw an opened hatch and peered inside.  Joel was standing there, his back to the hatch, talking quietly to one of the starship’s crew.  John blinked in surprise - the Elders had insisted that none of the passengers talk to the crew, save when absolutely necessary - and stared.  It looked, very much, like a friendly conversation.  A set of boxes lay on a table, all unmarked.  And Joel was passing something to the crewman ...

John inched backwards, trying not to be seen or heard.  Seven Forsakers - four boys, three girls - had been harshly punished for ignoring the Elders.  They’d chosen to talk to the crew, to ask them questions about their ship and life in space ... even though no true Forsaker would want anything beyond a farm.  John had no idea what they’d asked, or even what they’d been told, but it didn't matter.  He didn't want to be punished himself.

“Thank you,” Joel said, loudly enough to be heard outside.  “And if you have any others ...”

The rest of his words were lost as John slipped down the corridor and turned the corner.  A pair of Elders were standing outside one of the female cabins, making sure the unmarried girls weren't disturbed by the crew.  They didn't know Joel was talking to a crewman, John guessed.  Joel might have Konrad for a father, but Konrad wasn't the only Elder.  The others wouldn't be amused if they caught Joel defying his father.

I never defied my father, John thought, as he reached the hold.  He wondered, suddenly, just how different his life would have been if his father had survived.  But Hannah would have defied him too.

“John,” a stern voice said.  John turned to see Elder Peter, an old bearded man given to long-winded sermons on the sins of the modern world and the rightness of the Forsaker path.  “Your father is looking for you.”

Stepfather, John thought.  He didn't dare say it out loud.  Correcting an Elder would get him in real trouble.  It would be taken for cheek, even if he happened to be right.  Perhaps especially if he happened to be right.  He’s my stepfather, you ...

He stopped that thought before it showed on his face.  “Thank you, Elder,” he said, as politely as he could.  The Elders might choose to maintain the polite fiction that John was Konrad’s son, but John knew better.  “I’ll go find him at once.”

“He’s in his section,” Peter informed him.  “And I expect to see you for prayers tonight.”

John nodded.  There was no point in trying to get out of it.  Someone would notice his absence and report him to his stepfather, who would throw a fit.  John’s behaviour would reflect badly on Konrad, after all.  Perhaps that was why he was trying to get Joel to marry Hannah.  Hannah’s behaviour was already reflecting badly on him.

And if I had half the courage Hannah has, John thought, I would have told him off by now.

He shook his head, feeling - not for the first time - utterly trapped.  Even if he did tell Konrad where to go, the remainder of the community would turn on him.  Hannah, he acknowledged, probably felt the same way too.  They were bound by invisible chains, held in place by silent disapproval and the threat of punishment.  And there was no way to resist.

“John,” a new voice said.  John felt a sinking feeling in his chest as he turned to see Joel, slipping into the compartment as if he had just been at bible study, rather than an illicit meeting.  “You will be coming to the sermon tonight, won’t you?”

John kept his expression blank.  Joel had been known to react badly to any hint of disagreement.  He was young, barely four years older than John, but he already had a fearsome reputation.  If Konrad hadn't been his father ...

“Of course, Steward,” John said.  He knew there was no getting out of it.  “I’ll be sure to attend.”

Chapter Three

The answer, alas, lies in the twin demons of human nature and the response of political and corporate elites to perverse incentives.
- Professor Leo Caesius.  Ethnic Streaming and the End of Empire.

“Out of the question,” Steven Troutman snapped.  The Leader of the Opposition thumped the table to make his point clearer.  “We can barely support ourselves!  We cannot take umpteen million new immigrants on a day’s notice!”

“Fifty thousand,” William said, quietly.

“And how do you know,” Troutman demanded, “that it will stay at fifty thousand?”

He went on before William could say a word.  “There are Forsaker settlements all over the sector,” he added, sharply.  “How many other worlds don’t want them?  How many other worlds will dump them on us, if we give them half a chance?”

“There are Forsakers on our world,” Vice Premier Sondra Mackey pointed out.  Her red curls shivered angrily as she spoke.  “Many of us are descended from Forsakers.”

“And when was the last time you worked on a farm?”  Troutman asked.  He looked Sondra up and down.  “And when was the last time you stepped aside to let the men make the hard decisions?”

Sondra coloured.  “My family hasn't followed those traditions for three hundred years!”

“Quite,” Troutman agreed.  “And what makes you any different from the rest of us?”

He thumped the table, again.  “Your family dates all the way back to the first settlements on our homeworld,” he said.  “But if you don’t look or act any different from the rest of the population ... is there any difference at all?”

William hated to admit it, but Troutman had a point.  Sondra was an effective political operator, a woman who had climbed through the ranks until he’d had to offer her a place in his government.  There was no way she could be mistaken for a traditional Forsaker woman, a woman who cooked, cleaned and otherwise stayed out of sight while her menfolk ran the farm.  Wearing traditional clothes on Remembrance Day didn’t make her a Forsaker.  But, at the same time, Sondra did have ties running all the way back to the first settlement.  It wasn't something she could easily deny.

“Right now, we are in the midst of an economic crisis,” Troutman continued.  “We are having problems keeping basic services going, for crying out loud!  And you want to add fifty thousand newcomers?”

“We can't just turn them away,” Sondra said.

“Of course we can,” Troutman snapped.  “This is our world.  We settled it ...”

“My ancestors got here first,” Sondra snapped back.

“Yeah,” Troutman said.  “And just how relieved were they when we arrived?”

William sighed.  It wasn’t uncommon for settlers to arrive at their new home, only to discover that someone else had got there first.  Even in the days of the Empire, claim-jumping had been a major problem.  The Forsakers who had settled Arthur’s Seat had been sold the settlement rights by a con artist, who’d correctly reasoned that the Forsakers were so desperate for a homeworld that they wouldn't check his credentials before making the purchase.  And then they’d discovered that Arthur’s Seat was nowhere near as habitable as they’d been told.  By the time the real settlers arrived, the Forsakers had been on the verge of extinction.

And they realised the folly of living without technology, he thought.  They practically abandoned their culture overnight.

“That isn't the point,” Sondra said.  She jabbed a finger at the map.  “We have plenty of land to share!”

“That’s our land,” Troutman said.

“You’re always saying we need more farmers,” Sondra said.  “And here are fifty thousand men and women who want to farm!”

“Fifty thousand people who won’t fit into our culture,” Troutman said.  “And who will probably need help to tame and settle the land, help we cannot afford to provide.”

He looked around the table.  “We should tell them to leave.”

“We can't,” Commodore Charles Van Houlton said, quietly.

“We should,” Troutman snapped.

Van Houlton cleared his throat, loudly.  “The Forsakers are being shipped here by the Imperial Navy,” he said.  “There is no way we can keep them from dumping the poor bastards on the surface.  The Orbital Guard doesn’t even begin to have the firepower to stand off a naval squadron.  If we tell them to leave - and they refuse to go - we have no way to enforce it.  They have already demanded the use of our shuttles and spaceports.”

“Which I have granted,” William added.

“They have no right to dump unwanted guests on our world,” Troutman snarled.

“Might makes right,” Van Houlton countered.  “Earth no longer exists, sir.  There’s no higher authority to appeal to, not now.  That squadron can do whatever the hell it likes.”

Troutman glared.  “I told you that trying to build ties to the galactic economy was a mistake!”

“I don’t think it would make a difference, if we’d tried to remain self-sufficient,” William pointed out.  “We would still seem a convenient dumping ground.”

“Then let the bastards dump them on Minoa,” Troutman said.  “There’s plenty of room there.”

“They’ll die without help,” Sondra snapped.  “You’d be condemning fifty thousand people to death!”

“And our duty is to the ten million people on our homeworld,” Troutman snapped back.  “I am not unsympathetic, but there is no way we can absorb so many people without serious problems.  And what the hell are they expecting from us?  Land and farms?”

“You’re the one who wanted to encourage more people to move out to the farms,” Sondra sneered.  “Or are you reluctant to take on new farmers after all?”

“My plan was to have new farmers spend five or so years learning the ropes beforehand,” Troutman said.  “I don’t think we could accommodate fifty thousand new farmers.”

“Not all of them will be farmers,” Chief Constable Jacob Montgomery said.  “A number will be women and children.”

“Maybe only ten thousand of them are farmers,” Troutman said.  “That’s still more people than we can accommodate in a hurry.”

He paused.  “The Freeholders will not tolerate it.”

“The Freeholders are not in government,” Sondra said, nastily.

Troutman gazed back at her.  “And how long do you think that will last?”

William kept his face impassive, although he had to admit it was a direct hit.  Arthur’s Seat had four political parties:  Empire Loyalists, Freeholders, Unionists and Isolationists.  The Empire Loyalists had been in power for the last six years, but the economic shockwave had weakened their grip at the worst possible time.  And while the Freeholders and the Isolationists didn't normally have enough support to unseat the government, it was just possible that a combination of economic disaster and unwanted immigrants could give them a boost.  Hell, the Unionists might not be so keen to remain allied with the Empire Loyalists if the economic crisis got worse.  

There are two years until the next election, he reminded himself.  Unless they push for a vote of no-confidence.

He cleared his throat.  “This is no time for petty bickering,” he said, sternly.  Two years ... a lot could happen in two years.  “I believe the facts are simple.  Fifty thousand refugees are going to be dumped on us.  And there is nothing we can do about it.”

“We could say no,” Troutman said.

“Which we have no way to enforce,” William reminded him.  In hindsight, maybe it had been a mistake to refuse to strengthen the Orbital Guard.  But the only realistic concern for over three hundred years had been pirates.  “They’ll dump them on us anyway and to hell with our quibbles.”

He paused, trying to gauge his support.  “We cannot simply let them die,” he added, after a moment.  “It would be utterly inhuman.  There is no way I will give orders designed to indirectly slaughter fifty thousand men, women and children because I find their presence inconvenient.  And I do not believe that the vast majority of our population would condone mass slaughter.”

“Now, perhaps,” Troutman said.  “But that is likely to change.”

“These are Forsakers,” Sondra snapped.  “We’re not talking about Nihilists or Reformed Vagabonds or some group that may actually pose a danger!”

William slapped the table before the argument could restart.  “We always intended to expand our settlements,” he added.  “Let us welcome the newcomers and blend them into our society.”

“And what will you do,” Troutman asked, “when they refuse to blend into our society?”

Sondra blinked.  “My ancestors did.”

“Your ancestors were starving because they were stupid enough to believe their own lies,” Troutman sneered.  “They had no choice.  It was join or die.  And even then there were problems.  Now ... fifty thousand people, born and raised in a very different culture, without the incentive to just give up ... it isn't going to end well.”

He met William’s eyes.  “And why were they expelled from Tarsus in the first place?”

“They weren't wanted there,” William said, flatly.

“Yes,” Troutman said.  “They’re not wanted here, either.”

“We are going in circles,” William said.  “They are going to be landing soon.  We have to be ready for them.”

Troutman shook his head.  “I want it clearly noted, on the record, that I was against allowing them to land,” he said.  “There is no way we can provide everything they need, at once.  I don’t know if we can even provide food and drink ... we didn't bother to stockpile vast quantities of ration bars, did we?  With the best will in the world, sir, we cannot provide for them.  And even if we do, the cost will be immense.”

“These people are not criminals,” Sondra snapped.  “It isn't fair to blame them for ...”

“No?”  Troutman smiled, rather coldly.  “And if they were such paragons of decency, why did they get kicked off Tarsus in the first place?”

He shrugged.  “In any case, it doesn't matter,” he added.  “There is no way we can absorb so many people in a hurry.  Their culture will not be diluted by contact with ours.”

William nodded slowly.  “Commodore,” he said.  “How quickly could you empty the freighters?”

“It would depend on a number of factors,” Van Houlton said.  “Assuming we red-lined the shuttles, which would be grossly unwise, we could evacuate the ships within two weeks.  If we followed a more practical course, we could have everyone down within a month.  Frankly, though, a great deal depends on how many shuttles the Imperial Navy sent along.  I don’t know if they were counting on us to assist or not.”

“And let us not forget,” Troutman added, “that we cannot replace a lost shuttle.”

William nodded, curtly.  Troutman was right - Arthur’s Seat couldn't build a shuttle from scratch, let alone a starship - but there was no point in making an issue out of it.

The Chief Constable cleared his throat.  “The problem of accommodation will not be solved easily,” he admitted.  “We dismantled the old transit barracks over a hundred years ago.  If we started now, we could probably assemble a whole set of replacements within the next four weeks, but until then we might have a problem.  We certainly don’t have a stockpile of tents or other forms of portable accommodation.  We might have to resort to using schools and requisitioning other buildings until we can build barracks.”

“Or we could put out an appeal for families to take in refugees,” Sondra said.  “I’m sure there are many people who would be happy to take guests, at least for a few weeks.”

“I’m not,” Troutman said.

Sondra scowled.  “The Forsaker families will be delighted ...”

Troutman laughed, unkindly.  “How many families like yours practice strict segregation of the sexes?”

He looked as if he wanted to say something else, but held his tongue.  Instead, he looked at William.

“I think I speak for most of the rural dwellers when I say that we will not accept having refugees quartered on us, unless they can work,” he added.  “And that means they actually have to be able to do useful work.  I don’t want untrained monkeys wandering around a farm.”

“People can learn,” Sondra said.

“Yes,” Troutman agreed.  “But providing training would be a nightmare.”

“There will be other problems,” the Chief Constable added.  “And some of them will only become apparent after we get started.”

He paused.  “With your permission, Premier, I would like to put the police on alert,” he added.  “And summon the medical staff we’ll need to vet the newcomers.”

William nodded.  “Can they handle it?”

“I’m not sure,” the Chief Constable admitted.  He looked doubtful.  “Our contingency planning was always very limited, sir.  About the only practical experience we have comes from evacuating city districts during a fire and ... well, this is on a much greater scale.”

“And with newcomers,” Troutman added.  “People will be much less willing to provide emergency accommodation.”

“There are going to be a lot of problems along the way,” the Chief Constable agreed.  “I don’t say we can't handle it, sir.  I just say it isn't going to be easy.”

“Vetting immigrants is going to be impossible,” Troutman said.  “And scaling up the process, such as it is, to cope with over fifty thousand newcomers ....”

William nodded, reluctantly.  Arthur’s Seat had never been a magnet for immigration, not when there were other worlds with more land or larger industrial bases.  The handful of immigrants who did arrive were easily absorbed into the population.  Hell, it was rare for the planet to get more than a few hundred immigrants a year.  But fifty thousand ... no matter how he looked at it, absorbing them was going to be hard.

We cannot refuse to take them, he reminded himself.  And we cannot leave them to die.

“We can handle it,” he said, firmly.  “And if we all pull together, we can make it happen.”

“This is a fool’s game,” Troutman said.  “And I will take no part in it.”

“You have a seat on the Cabinet,” Sondra reminded him.

“I don’t get a vote,” Troutman countered.  “And I doubt Parliament will accept this so calmly.”

He rose.  “Enjoy your small triumph,” he added, as he strode towards the door.  “It won’t last.”

“It will have to,” William said, as the door closed behind Troutman.  “Commodore, have the Orbital Guard coordinate with the Imperial Navy, but don’t put too much strain on the shuttles.  Chief Constable, make the preparations for receiving the newcomers ... get the spaceport ready and empty out some of the disused factories.  They’ll do for the moment.  Schools too, if necessary ...”

“That’ll get you the schoolchild vote,” Sondra commented.

“Thanks,” William said.  He had to smile.  “But I’ll have to wait for a decade before they can vote for me.”

He dismissed the rest of the cabinet to breakfast and turned to her.  “Do you think Parliament will approve an emergency spending bill?”

“If we can get enough MPs to support us,” Sondra said.  She considered the issue for a long moment.  “Steven is going to be rustling up the Opposition ... we might have to do some horse-trading with the Unionists.  The Isolationists aren't likely to side with us.”

“Not over this,” William agreed.  “I don’t think they’ve realised that everything’s changed.”

He scowled.  The Isolationists wanted to isolate Arthur’s Seat from the rest of the universe, something he considered to be a dangerous and futile goal.  They’d oppose mass immigration on principle, pointing out the danger of a large ethnic minority population - and the troubles it could cause - that could be used as an excuse for intervention.  Hell, the Empire had done just that several times in the last decade alone.  But now the Empire was gone.  There was no one willing and able to do the intervention.

Unless our neighbours start getting frisky, he thought.  Arthur’s Seat didn't have much to attract an invader, but imperialists had never been interested in practicalities.  And if they do, we’re screwed.

“See what the Unionists want, in exchange for their support,” he said, finally.  “And then arrange a press conference for later this morning.  I’ll need to tell the people what’s coming before it leaks.”

“It will leak,” Sondra said.  “Steven will see to that.”

“I know,” William said.  There were some advantages to living on a world without a first-rate datanet or a thoroughly disrespectful media culture.  “But hopefully it won’t spread very far before I get my version out there.”

“Hah,” Sondra said.  She shook her head.  “Did you speak to your wife?”

“I’ve asked Molly to come back to Lothian today,” William said.  “There’ll be opportunities for her to talk to the newcomers.  If there are minor problems ... we can smooth them out before they become major problems.”

“I would like to speak with them too,” Sondra said.  “I feel a certain responsibility towards them.”

William smiled.  “Don’t let Steven hear you say that,” he warned.  “He’ll see it as outright treason.”

Sondra shuddered.  “Does he have to object to everything?”

“He’s the Leader of the Opposition,” William said.  “It's his job.”

He sighed.  “And besides, the Freeholders love him for it,” he added.  “That’s why they keep returning him to Parliament.”

“Yes,” Sondra agreed.  She met his eyes.  “And if we did manage to integrate fifty thousand newcomers, William, what would that do to voting demographics?”

William frowned, totting up the numbers in his head.  “It would give us a boost, at least at first,” he said.  “Enough, perhaps, to keep power for the next decade.”

“Exactly,” Sondra said.  “The Freeholders will be outvoted, constantly.  And that would keep them firmly out of power.”

“True,” William agreed.  He wasn't sure if he would benefit, but Sondra certainly would.  She was well-placed to take his position when his term expired.  “And yet, it all depends on managing the situation perfectly.  We must not mess up.”

He watched her leave, shaking his head in amusement.  Trust Sondra to find a way to profit from the situation.  And, perhaps, to ensure that the entire party profited.  But a single mistake would be disastrous.  Troutman wasn't wrong.  Absorbing so many people would be difficult.

But we can do it, he told himself, as he followed her out the door.  We’ve done it before.

Chapter Four

Humanity’s expansion into space can be said to fall into four phases.  First, there was the expansion into the Sol System itself.  Second, there was the launch of multiple ‘slowboat’ (STL) starships aimed at prospective colony worlds relatively near to Earth.  Third, there was the early phase drive expansion into the Sol Sector and beyond.  Fourth, and last, there was the Empire’s determination to transport as many people from Earth as possible.
- Professor Leo Caesius.  Ethnic Streaming and the End of Empire.

Joel wrinkled his nose in distaste as John entered the compartment, looking around nervously at the other young men.  Joel found it difficult to understand how a young man with such a heritage could be so weak - John’s father had been a stern man, one of the few who had even cowed Joel - but he supposed it had its advantages.  A strong man in John’s position might have objected to Joel’s father assuming the role of family head and control of Hannah’s ultimate disposition.  He might even have brought his sister to heel.

“Close the hatch,” he ordered, curtly.  

Ben, one of his closest allies, scrambled to obey, slamming the hatch shut with a disconcerting thud.  A number of young men winced, their reactions clearly visible no matter how hard they tried to hide it.  The starship felt claustrophobic at the best of times.  Joel kept his own face carefully expressionless as he motioned for his friends to sit down, silently assessing their suitability for their roles.  They were all young, they all burned with rage and humiliation ...

“When we were moved to Tarsus, we were promised lands and farms,” Joel said, as soon as everyone else was sitting down.  “Instead, we were herded into estates and fed promises.  We will be given land next year!  No, next year!  No, the year after that!  And while we waited, desperately praying that those promises would be kept, our children were fed lies that seduced them from the path.  How many of our people chose to Fall rather than stay with us?

“And then we were dragged from our homes, as pitiful as they were, and thrown bodily onto shuttles.  Our homes were smashed, our women were abused, our children were threatened with dogs ... we were uprooted, as casually as one uproots a plant!  We were wrenched from our lives and dumped on this ship!  And wherever we are going now, is there any reason to think it will be any better?”

He paused, assessing their response.  He’d always been good at reading his audience - it was why he’d become a Steward so young - but this was different.  This was no ordinary sermon, not really.  None of the Elders, not even his father, knew why he’d gathered forty-one young men in a single compartment.  And while he hoped they would understand, when they found out the truth, he knew it wasn't certain.

The Elders have been in charge for too long, he thought.  He’d been raised to respect and obey his father, but the old man was sometimes painfully wrong.  And it is time we chose a different path.

“Why?”

He let the word hang in the air for a long second, then continued.  “Why did this happen to us?”

Ben watched him with shining eyes.  Joshua seemed grimly determined - his sister had been one of the harassed women, although she’d chosen to stay with the community rather than move away.  And John ... John’s face was weak as always, his doubts clearly visible to anyone who knew to look.  Joel felt his lips twist, once again.  John was truly contemptible.

“We were weak,” Joel said.

“We were not allowed to gather weapons until it was far too late.  Even when we were allowed to purchase weapons, the Elders forbade us from obtaining anything lethal or training in its use.  They obeyed the planetary government, never realising that the government hated us, that the government would do nothing to help us.  And when the police came for us, what good were we?  We were overwhelmed in moments, forced to watch as our lives were destroyed.”

Humiliation burned through him.  He swore, once again, that he would put the emotion to good use.

“We should have made a stand for our rights,” he hissed.  “We should have prepared ourselves to fight.  We should have armed ourselves and stood tall, making it clear that we were prepared to fight!  And yet, the Elders wouldn't let us prepare for war.  We had to just sit there and endure the hostility, endure the threats, endure the knowledge that one day we would be wiped from the planet.  And it happened!  We were lucky they didn't decide to merely kill us all.

“Never again.

“I say to you, never again.

“We will soon be dumped on a whole new world,” he warned.  “And when that happens, we have to be ready to make it clear that we are going to fight for our rights.”

He paused, once again.  Officially, they hadn't been told their destination, but it hadn't been hard to find a spacer willing to take a bribe.  Arthur’s Seat ... a world embedded in Forsaker hearts.  And a world with a population that might - just - remember its roots.  And, perhaps most importantly of all, a peaceful world.  Fighting on Tarsus might have been suicidal, giving the government all the excuse it needed to exterminate the Forsakers, but fighting on Arthur’s Seat ...

And his friends were ready to fight.  They had been humiliated; worse, their families had been humiliated.  Wives and mothers had been molested, unmarried girls had been urged to abandon their families and stay on Tarsus.  Oh, it had been easy to keep the pot boiling, to keep reminding his brethren of the humiliation they’d suffered.  The only problem had been in keeping the pot from boiling over before it was time.  

“I have obtained weapons,” he said, into the silence.  “We will spend the next two days learning to use them.  And we will be ready when the time comes to fight.”

He turned and picked up one of the boxes he’d placed on the table, opening it up to reveal the assault weapon within.  A low hum of admiration and fear echoed through the room for a long chilling moment.  It was rare, almost unknown, for civilians on Tarsus to own weapons, certainly not assault rifles.  Joel had planned to find contacts amongst the criminal underworld, hoping to purchase weapons, but his father had scorched that plan.  It would give the government all the excuse they needed to take decisive steps, he’d argued.  He hadn't realised that the government didn't need an excuse.

“This is power,” Joel said, bluntly.  “And this” - he opened up another box to reveal the ammunition - “is the key to making it work.”

He removed the weapon from the box, holding it in the air.  “This is the last resort,” he said, grimly.  “But, when the time comes, we will use them.”

There was a long chilling pause.  “Any questions?”

John looked as if he wanted to say something, but held his tongue.  Joel was tempted to call him out, to find out what he’d wanted to ask, yet it would have been pointless.  John wasn't the most popular man in the compartment, even if he was Joel’s stepbrother.  And John being beaten halfway to death would have been hard to explain.  God alone knew what would happen if the Elders reacted badly.

It was a gamble, Joel admitted.  They wouldn't use the rifles, not at first.  They’d use baseball bats and other improvised weapons, devices that could be used to fight without posing a serious threat.  Arthur’s Seat could not be goaded into taking strong action until it was too late.  And yet ... he had no illusions.  A war against the entire planet would end badly.  But at least they’d go out fighting.

We cannot give up what we are, he thought, as he opened the hatch.  The Outsider was unpleasant - Joel had caught him eying some of the girls, even in their shapeless dresses - but useful.  And if we have to make use of Outsider technology to preserve ourselves, then that is what we shall do.

“This is a friend,” he said, simply.  “He’s here to help.”

The Outsider - damn him - had promised him that the weapons were easy to use.  And he was right, going through the motions time and time again until Joel and his loyalists could use the weapons without hesitation.  They hadn't actually fired a shot, unfortunately - there was no way to hide the noise - but he thought he could handle a weapon if he had to fight.  And, by the time the meeting finally came to an end, so could his allies.

“We’ll be meeting again tomorrow,” he said, after a final speech.  “You know what you have to do.”

The Elders would not be amused, he thought, as his loyalists slipped back into the corridors and vanished.  Some of them would be horrified, either at Joel’s preparations to fight or his embrace of the demon technology; others, more perceptively, would see it as a challenge to their power.  And they would be right.  He bore them no ill will, but they were old and feeble and utterly unprepared for the changes buffeting the Empire.  Some of the old geezers were even still talking about appealing to Earth!

“John,” he said, when the room was clear.  He didn't know why his unwanted stepbrother had stayed, but it hardly mattered.  “Where is Hannah?”

John’s face flickered.  “I think she’s with mother,” he said, flatly.  Joel was almost sure it was a lie.  “They were sewing.”

“Oh,” Joel said.  “And where was she before, seeing she wasn't with her mother?”

A wave of emotions washed over John’s face, coming and going too quickly for Joel to identify them.  Not, he supposed, that it mattered.  John was weak, ineffectual ... really, what could one make of a brother who allowed his sister to walk all over him?  Part of him was tempted to admit that Hannah certainly had more life about her than two or three other girls her age put together, but it wasn't right.  A young woman her age should be married - she would be married, once the date was set.  And her brother had given up the right to object.

“Answer the question,” he said, coolly.  He might not be married yet, but he still had certain rights.  “Where was she?”

John blinked, then made the visible decision to lie.  “In the female quarters.”

Joel lunged forward, allowing his anger to show.  “No, she wasn't,” he said, as John scuttled backwards.  “Where was she?”

It was a bluff - even Joel wouldn't have dared enter the female quarters, not when trying would have gotten him shunned by the entire community - but it worked.  

“Exploring the ship,” John said, reluctantly.

“You should make sure she doesn't leave the hold,” Joel said.  “She’s your sister.  Who knows what could happen to her.”

John flushed.  “She’s safe.”

“No, she isn't,” Joel said.  A starship wasn't safe and both of them knew it.  “You have to keep her safe.”

John looked as though he wanted to say something, but didn't quite have the nerve.  Joel wondered, absently, why John hadn't simply left, back when he’d had the chance.  He wasn't quite as aggressive as some of the other Forsakers.  He’d even done his best to actually earn money, even if it had meant working in an Outsider office.  Joel wasn't sure what John had done to earn money, but he had.  And yet, he'd come back to the estate every night and been rounded up with the rest of his family.

He probably just didn't want to leave his sister, he thought, amused.  There was no doubt that John loved his sister, even though he wasn't doing right by her.  And his mother.

“When I marry her, she will be taught the error of her ways,” Joel added.  His stepmother had insisted that Konrad find Hannah a husband, nagging Joel’s father until he’d agreed.  “A young woman should not be so defiant.”

“She isn’t defiant,” John protested, weakly.

“She shouldn't have left her mother’s side,” Joel pointed out, sweetly.  It was easy to make John aware of his own failings, failings he didn't seem interested in addressing.  “Who knows what could happen to a young girl like that?”

He shrugged.  Tormenting John was fun, but it grew old fast.  John didn't seem capable of resisting, not even in defence of his sister.  It was pathetic.  Joel would have gone through hell to protect his sister, if he’d had a sister.  His mother had died in childbirth, her infant son stillborn.  Perhaps she would have survived, if she’d had proper medical care.  But no one on Tarsus wanted to help a Forsaker ...

“Go back to father,” he ordered.  His father would have lectured Hannah until her ears were bleeding - perhaps literally - but he hadn't had a go at John yet.  Joel would keep his opinions to himself, at least until they were actually married.  Hannah would learn to behave herself after that, or else.  “I’m sure he’s waiting to speak to you.”

“I’m sure,” John said.  He paused.  “Why did they sell you the weapons?”

He paused, again.  “And how did you pay for them?”

“Outsiders are always interested in profit,” Joel reminded him.  They’d been told that right from birth.  Outsiders put profit ahead of everything else, from common sense to long-term thinking.  An Outsider would sell his son, his daughter ... or his coat, even if the weather was growing cold.  “It was easy enough to make a friend.”

He shrugged.  He didn't care why someone would choose to sell fifty assault rifles and several thousand rounds of ammunition.  It wasn't as if they could take the freighter and sail off into the sunset.  He would be the first to admit he didn't know how to fly the giant starship, even if they could.  All that mattered was that they had the weapons they needed to make a stand, if their rights were disrespected again.  Who cared?  There was little to be gained from looking a gift horse in the mouth.

“But you had money,” John pressed.  “How did you ...?”

Joel moved forward with stunning speed, shoving John back against the bulkhead.  “Don’t ask such questions,” he snarled.  John’s face paled.  “It’s none of your business!”

He stepped back, letting go of his stepbrother.  “Go back to father,” he hissed.  John would obey.  He was too much of a coward to do anything else.  “And keep your damn mouth shut!”

John turned and practically fled the compartment.  Joel watched him go, snorting in disgust at such craven cowardice.  Hannah was braver than her brother, even though she was a young woman.  Maybe she’d inherited their father’s masculinity even as she’d inherited their mother’s body.  Joel pitied John’s future wife and children.  Without a strong hand to guide them and keep them in line, they’d Fall for sure.

I might wind up having to take them in, he thought.  If John is unable to do it ...

He returned the rifles to their boxes, then sealed and locked the crates.  No one should touch them, but he knew better than to take chances.  There was very little private property amongst the Forsakers.  Almost everything, save for a handful of small possessions, was communal property.  He took one final sweep around the compartment, just to be sure, and then hurried through the hatch.  The Elders would probably notice if he wasn't on duty with the other Stewards as the day drew to a close.

Although no one would notice that the day is over, he thought, sourly.  There was nothing natural about the giant starship.  The lights burned constantly, day or night.  Joel had a feeling the crew refused to dim them just to be unpleasant.  We don’t even know what time it is on our new world.

He stopped as he turned the corner and saw a young couple kissing.  Mary - a distant relative of his - was kissing a starship crewman.  She broke off as she saw him, her face flushing bright red.  Joel stepped forward, bunching his fists and caught her arm.  The crewman had no time to object before Joel had dragged her into the hold and sealed the hatch behind him.

“You utter idiot,” he snapped, as he marched her over to her parents.  “Do you know what could have happened to you?”

He pushed Mary into her father’s arms, then gave a brief explanation before turning to find the other Stewards.  Mary would probably be shunned for the next few days, once word got round.  Kissing an Outsider ... it was dangerous, very dangerous.  Mary couldn't have married him without leaving the community, cutting herself away from her entire life.  And if the Outsider had refused to marry her ...

Behind him, Mary’s mother started screaming her outrage.  A slap echoed on the air.  He didn't look back.

She could have fallen pregnant, he thought, morbidly.  It had happened before.  Young girls were taught almost nothing about their bodies until it was far too late.  Hell, Joel himself was still a little fuzzy on the details.  Or worse.

He shook his head as he stepped into the outer compartment.  Tarsus had been dangerous as well as unwelcoming.  There had been too many temptations for men and women, threatening to seduce them from the path.  Things would be different, he promised himself, on Arthur’s Seat.  He’d make them different.  Lands of their own, farms ... a place where they could grow, away from the demon technology.  The Forsakers would become what they were meant to be, rather than parasites on Outsiders ...

... And if a few Outsiders got hurt ... well, he didn't care.  But then, they hadn't cared either.

Chapter Five

The first expansion phase gave birth to a number of cultures that considered themselves to be space-based, first and foremost.  Like the modern-day RockRats, they tended to distance themselves from the ‘groundhogs’ and move further away as launch systems improved and governments extended their control over outer space.
- Professor Leo Caesius.  Ethnic Streaming and the End of Empire.

Constable Mike Whitehead was in the shower when the telephone rang.

“I’ll get it,” his wife called, as he stuck his head out of the bathroom.  “It’s probably Suzie.”

Mike rolled his eyes as he stepped back into the shower.  Suzie and Jane, his wife, had been plotting something over the last few weeks, probably something to do with his birthday.  He wasn't too worried about it.  His wife had a mischievous sense of humour, which led to the occasional practical joke, but she wasn't particularly cruel.  He’d fallen in love with her sense of humour, years ago.  She still made him laugh.

Which is something you need on the job, he thought.  Something to keep you from losing your humanity.

He scowled at the thought as he turned off the water and reached for the towel.  Police officers on Arthur’s Seat had an easier time of it than officers on Earth, if the entertainment flicks were to be believed, but it was still a taxing job.  He'd seen more accidents and crimes than he cared to think about - and, even if they were small fry compared to problems on Earth, they still took a toll on innocent civilians caught in the middle.  He wouldn't have worked on Earth for anything, even enough money to buy his own planet.  The horror stories he’d heard, filtering through the police grapevine, made him wonder why anyone would want to live and work on Earth.  Humanity’s homeworld seemed trapped in a permanent nightmare.

Was trapped, he reminded himself.  Earth was gone.  The news had shocked Arthur’s Seat, although very few people had ever set foot on Earth.  Earth has been destroyed.

There was a tap on the door.  “Mike, that was the office,” Jane said, sharply.  She sounded alarmed.  “They want you there now.”

Mike glanced at the clock, alarmed.  Was he late?  No, he still had two hours before his shift was due to start.  An emergency?  He hadn't heard anything, but emergencies rarely announced themselves in advance.  Cursing under his breath, he finished drying himself and hurried out of the bathroom.  His blue uniform was lying on the chair, waiting for him.  He donned it quickly, taking the opportunity to study himself in the mirror.  There was no way he’d win any beauty prizes, but he looked honest, friendly and trustworthy.  Police on Earth might go around looking and sounding like soldiers in a war zone - an apt description of Earth’s CityBlocks - but Arthur’s Seat preferred a softer vision of policing.

“You spend more time in front of that mirror than I do,” Jane teased.  “Would you like to borrow some of my make-up?”

Mike glanced at her.  She was shorter than him, her dark hair falling nearly to her shoulders and spilling around a white blouse and skirt.  Her pregnancy was only just starting to show, a faint bump he would have missed if he hadn’t known to look for it.  It wouldn't be long before they had to talk to her bosses and make arrangements for her to take maternity leave, even though there was a good chance she’d lose her job.  The economy was too weak for someone to be allowed to take long-term leave.  

But she’s a nurse, he thought.  She shouldn't have any trouble finding a new job.

“I think I look handsome enough already,” he said, striking a dramatic pose.  His muscles failed to ripple, much to his disappointment.  Fictional cops were either strikingly handsome, if they were the good guys, or ugly as sin, if they were the bad guys.  Flicks rarely portrayed decent cops as ugly or vice versa.  But then, the flicks were about as realistic as the old novels about a girl who went to magic school.  “And make-up wouldn't improve my looks.”

“Probably not,” Jane agreed.  She glanced at her watch.  “I’ll be heading out in an hour.  Text me if you’re coming back late.”

Mike nodded, feeling a flicker of nervousness.  It wasn't common for him to be called into the station ahead of time.  If he was in trouble ... but he wasn't in trouble.  He knew he hadn't done anything to earn the ire of his superiors.  And there was no drill scheduled, no football game on ... something must have happened.  But what?

He kissed his wife and walked out the door, collecting his bike from its shelter beside the garden path and wheeling it onto the road.  A handful of people were already going to work, but the streets still seemed largely deserted.  Rush hour didn't start for at least another hour as people hurried to their workplaces.  Even then ... he mounted the bike and peddled down the street, glancing from left to right.  If there had been a disaster of some kind, there was no hint of it on the streets.  In hindsight, he should have checked the datanet before he left the house.

Kicking himself, he kept pedalling until he finally reached the police station, a small building on the edge of the city centre.  He dumped his bike into the rack - no one would dare to steal from a police station - and hurried into the building.  It was surprisingly quiet, only two prisoners sitting on the benches waiting to be processed.  They both looked like teens who’d had a little too much to drink the previous night, their eyes flickering nervously from side to side as if they expected the death penalty.  Mike rather suspected their parents would be called to take them away, but nothing else.  Arthur’s Seat wasn’t the kind of planet that locked up teens - still children, really - for drinking.  If no one had been hurt, there was no need to take it further.

He smiled at the two prisoners, then walked through the security gate and into the briefing room.  It was crammed.  The room hadn’t been designed to hold more than twenty men, but now there were nearly seventy packed into the compartment.  Sergeant Steve Cox stood at the front of the room, glaring at the constables, while Captain Duncan Stewart was reading a datapad, his face growing darker and darker.  Mike had never seen Stewart quite so upset before.  Something must have gone really badly wrong.

“Take a seat,” Cox ordered.  

Mike nodded.  Some helpful soul had brought in chairs and coffee from the cafeteria.  Mike snagged a plastic cup of foul coffee and found a seat.  It was so cramped that there would be complaints from the jails, if prisoners were forced into such close confines.  His eyes swept the room, silently matching names to faces.  There were just over a hundred constables assigned to the station - one of five in Lothian - and it looked like nearly all of them had been called in.  He couldn't remember seeing so many officers in one place before, not even before football matches, when tempers ran high and fist-fights were the norm.

“Hey, Mike,” Steve said.  He’d entered training at the same time as Mike himself and they’d become fast friends.  “You have any idea what’s up?”

“Nothing,” Mike said.  “You?”

“Apparently, there was an emergency Cabinet meeting this morning,” Steve said.  “But I don’t know what they were talking about ...”

Mike frowned.  Was the planet about to be attacked?  Arthur’s Seat had little to interest any rational conqueror, but he’d been a policeman long enough to know that some people - most people - weren't rational.  And the Orbital Guard was puny.  If Tarsus or Night’s Dawn or Haven had decided to invade the system, there was very little standing in their way.  And then ... what?  Were the police about to be told that they would have to serve an invading force?  Or go into POW camps because they might lead resistance?

Not that it would make any difference, he thought, numbly.  He was no military expert, but he’d read a lot of books set in the glory days of the Empire.  As long as the enemy controls the high orbitals, they can hammer us into submission.

“Quiet,” Cox said.  The babble died away to nothingness.  “Captain?”

Captain Stewart took the stand.  “An emergency situation has developed,” he said, his voice icy cold.  “You - we - are being charged with dealing with it.  I shouldn't have to say this, but I will.  The matter we will be discussing today is classified.  I will break any man who shares this information before a formal announcement is made.”

Mike glanced at Steve, who looked equally puzzled - and concerned.  Captain Stewart wasn't normally that much of a hard-ass.  His men respected him as well as liked him.  He didn't need to stamp around like a fictional police chief to get the point across.  And that meant ...

Someone must have been leaning on him, Mike thought.  A chill ran down his spine.  And if there was a Cabinet meeting earlier today ... it can't be a coincidence.

“Within the next couple of days,” Stewart continued, “a substantial number of refugees will be landed at the spaceport.  These refugees were kicked off Tarsus shortly after the local government heard that Earth no longer existed.  The Imperial Navy - or what’s left of it - is shipping those refugees here.”

Damn, Mike thought.

“The Cabinet has decided to accept the refugees,” Stewart continued, darkly.  He lowered his voice.  “Reading between the lines, I suspect they weren't given a choice.  This will put immense pressure on our emergency services, but we will rise to the challenge.”

He paused.  “You have all been assigned to relief services,” he added.  “You’ll be moving out to the spaceport after we finish this briefing, with orders to start preparing emergency supplies, control lines and everything we need to ensure that the refugees are registered as quickly as possible.  We’ll be taking over the entire spaceport complex, working hand in hand with the other emergency workers.  This will not be an easy task.”

Mike swallowed.  He couldn't help noticing that Captain Stewart had not mentioned any numbers.  Stewart was too smart to miss that accidentally, which meant ... what?  Did he know?  Or did he feel that his men didn't need to know?  How many refugees were they talking about?  And what were they?

Constable Mathews stuck up a hand.  “Captain, can we rely on the civilian emergency workers?”

“We’re about to find out,” Stewart said.  He didn’t sound pleased.  “They were called up shortly after yourselves.”

Mike winced.  The civilian emergency workers hadn't been mobilised for years.  Hell, if he recalled correctly, the last full-scale drill had been three years ago.  The civilians might have seen signing up as nothing more than a way to get an extra note on their résumé.  It wasn't as if they were needed.  The entire set of contingency plans had come close to being junked, several times.  Disasters just didn't happen on Arthur’s Seat.

“The estimated ETA for the refugees keeps changing,” Stewart added, when no one else tried to interrupt.  “The least-time estimate is thirty-six hours from now.  I want to have the bare bones of a reception service ready before then.  This will not be easy, but we can do it.”

“Hah,” Steve muttered.

Mike was inclined to agree.  The police did have stockpiles of emergency supplies, but how long would they last?  God knew they’d never been allowed to increase the stockpiles - the damned beancounters had insisted they were nothing more than a useless drain on resources - and they were scattered all over the continent.  It would take a great deal longer than thirty-six hours to assemble them all in one place.  And then?  Who knew?  

We might have to collect supplies from the farms, he thought.  That won’t go down well.

“These people have been through hell,” Stewart warned.  “They’ve just been kicked off one world and transported to another.  Expect them to be distrusting, at first.  Be calm, be reasonable, be understanding.  They are not bad people merely because they’ve been dropped on us with only a few hours warning.”

Sure, Mike agreed.  But there might have been a reason they were kicked off Tarsus.

“The briefing notes are in the office processor,” Stewart concluded.  “Get yourselves some more coffee - and breakfast, if you need it - and then assemble at 1000 in the vehicle bay.  We’ll be moving the portable command post to the spaceport.”

Mike rose with the rest of the officers.  It was 0934.  Just enough time to grab a bacon sandwich and another cup of foul coffee.  He’d eaten breakfast, of course, but he had a feeling he was going to need more.  There wasn't much at the spaceport, not when interstellar travel had been on the decline for years.  And the emergency planning was so disorganised that it was quite possible that someone would forget to send food.

“Refugees,” Steve said, as they hurried down the corridor.  “What sort of refugees?”

Mike shrugged.  “Good question.”

***
“You do realise we’re late for class?”

Judith Parkston shrugged.  An evening dancing at the club, a night spent making love and a morning filled with gentle cuddles ... she found it hard to care if she missed a class or two.  Besides, she’d heard rumours that the entire course was going to be cancelled in the next month or two.  The Arthurian University had never been a very big institution and it didn't have the political clout to keep claiming funds from the planetary government.  And then ... who knew?

She smiled at her girlfriend as Gayle rose and straddled Judith.  They were different, strikingly different.  Gayle was dark-haired, her narrow face suggesting descent from one of the Forsaker lines; Judith was blonde and bubbly, her muscles testament to her childhood on a farm.  And yet, they’d found enough in common to share an apartment - and a bed - for the last six months.  God alone knew where it would end - she doubted Gayle would be happy on a farm, if Judith had to go back home - but for the moment they were happy.

The phone bleeped just as Gayle’s fingers were stroking the space between Judith’s legs, sending shudders of ecstasy down her body.  She cursed bitterly, then reached for the phone on the dressing table.  She would have ignored her professor - as if the old goat would have bothered to call and find out where she was - but it was an emergency call.  She'd been told, years ago, that failing to answer would result in a fine, perhaps even jail time.  Judith wasn't sure how seriously to take the threat, but she knew her parents would be disappointed in her if she didn't answer.  They were already annoyed with her for going to university.

She tapped her lips, warning Gayle to be quiet, then keyed the phone.  “Parkston.”

“Miss Parkston,” a man’s voice said.  He sounded oddly familiar, but she couldn't place him.  “This is an emergency situation.  The designated assembly point in your area is the University Hall, 1100 hours.  Your presence is requested.  I say again, your presence is requested.”

The call cut off before she could say a word, leaving her staring down at the phone in shock and disbelief.  Her parents had urged her to sign up for emergency work, pointing out that she could use the stipend - and her skills might be useful, if there was an emergency.  But she’d never really believed there would be an emergency.  She’d certainly passed up several chances to withdraw her name from the roster before it was too late.

Gayle’s hand reached down again.  Judith pushed it away, gently.

“I need to go,” she said.  Gayle rolled off her, looking hurt.  “That was an emergency call.”

She swung her legs over the side of the bed and rose.  The bedsit was standard student accommodation; she hurried into the kitchen to switch on the coffee maker, then ran into the bathroom.  She should have enough time to take a shower and dress ... what was she supposed to wear?  She’d never given it any thought.  She cursed herself under her breath as she washed away the evidence of their lovemaking, then dried herself and hurried back into the bedroom.  Most of her student outfits would be grossly unprofessional, but she did have a tunic and shirt that would probably be suitable.  Hell, if nothing else, she could sit through the briefing and then find something different to wear if necessary.

Gayle was sitting on the bed, her legs drawn up to cover herself.  It was odd, Judith had thought, how her modesty came and went at the oddest of times.  Gayle might have come from a Forsaker family, but none of them could be said to follow the old ways.  Her distant ancestors were probably turning in their grave at the thought of Gayle’s relationship with Judith.

“Do you have to go?”

“Yeah,” Judith said.  She pulled on her panties and bra, then found her trousers.  “I get paid to go.”

Gayle nodded.  “Do you want me to come with you?”

“Not yet,” Judith said.  She’d never encouraged Gayle to sign up too.  That might have been a mistake.  “If they want additional manpower, do you want me to recommend you?”

“If you like,” Gayle said.  She paused.  “It isn't going to be dangerous, is it?”

“It’s probably just a drill,” Judith said.  The last drill had been chaotic.  She'd only just signed up and she hadn't had the slightest idea what she was doing.  “I’ll be back tonight, ready and raring to go.”

“Good,” Gayle said.  “And be careful.”

Judith looked at her.  “Why ...?”

Gayle flushed.  “It might not be a drill.”

Chapter Six

These people were often the pioneers of the slowboat era.  Choosing to break all contact with Earth, they fitted fusion drives to their starships - in reality, hollowed-out asteroids - and boosted themselves into interstellar space.  In the absence of a workable FTL drive system, they believed that interstellar traffic would be very limited - indeed, that it would never become practical to build and maintain an interstellar empire.
- Professor Leo Caesius.  Ethnic Streaming and the End of Empire.

“Well, come on,” the spacer snapped.  “We don’t have all day.”

John braced himself and inched through the airlock into the shuttle.  The air smelt faintly unpleasant, the scent of high technology blending with the stench of too many people in too close proximity for too long.  It wasn't the first shuttle he’d ridden in, but last time he’d been too distracted to take note of his surroundings.  This time, he couldn't help noticing that there was something oddly fragile about the shuttlecraft.  The chairs looked ... flimsy, as if they were made of plastic.

He made his way slowly down to the front of the craft and sat down by the porthole.  There was nothing outside, but darkness.  Surely there should be stars?  It took him longer than it should, he realised numbly, to deduce that the porthole was pressed against the freighter’s hull.  The darkness was nothing more than hullmetal.  Hannah sat next to him, her face pale and wan.  A nasty bruise on her cheek showed where their mother had slapped her, several times, after she’d finally returned to the hold.  She’d practically spent the next day as a prisoner in the female quarters.

John winced, cursing - once again - his own weakness.  Their father had forbidden their mother to beat her daughter, but now their father was gone.  And John himself was too weak to forbid their mother - or Konrad - from disciplining Hannah as they saw fit.  He hoped, desperately, that they could find a way to save Hannah from marrying Joel, but nothing had come to mind.  Joel was popular and powerful even without his network of fighters.

I’m sorry, he thought, bitterly.  Why am I so weak?

He turned his head as a stream of passengers slowly filed onto the shuttles.  Five of the nine Elders, led by Konrad ... the remainder would stay on the freighter, at least until they knew it was safe to land.  Not that it would matter, John thought.  Joel had made it pretty clear that the Forsakers were going to be dumped on their new homeworld, whatever they had to say about the matter.  And while John wouldn't normally have trusted anything Joel said, he doubted Joel would see any point in lying.  The truth would come out very quickly.

“Buckle your straps, then remain in your seats until you are ordered to move,” a voice said, firmly.  “Anyone who attempts to get up and walk around will be stunned without warning.”

John looked up and saw a spacer, standing by the hatch to the cockpit.  A female spacer stood next to him, wearing yet another form-fitting outfit.  He forced himself to look away, knowing that his mother might see him staring and report it to Konrad.  God alone knew what Konrad would say, but John doubted it would be anything pleasant.  He rubbed his forehead as the outer hatch slammed closed, a loud clang echoing through the shuttle.  It was a relief to be finally off the big ship, but the shuttle was terrifyingly claustrophobic.  He wouldn’t feel safe until he was down on the surface, once again.

And what, he asked himself, if we’re being dumped on a penal colony?

He’d heard the stories, back when he’d been forced to attend school on Tarsus.  He hadn't believed them.  Worlds where hardly anything grew, worlds where survival was a constant battle against the elements, worlds ruled by the strong ...  Surely, no place so unpleasant could exist.  But if his entire community could be rounded up and kicked off Tarsus, maybe penal worlds did exist.  And if they were being dumped on one ...?

At least we’ll be a community, he thought.  And there’s a lot of us.

He pushed the thought aside as the shuttle shook once, the gravity field seeming to grow stronger for a long second before slowly returning to normal.  Hannah let out a quiet gasp as the shuttle shook again, then leaned forward so she could peer out the porthole.  John followed her gaze, feeling a cold shiver running down his spine.  The view had changed.  The freighter hung in the midst of an endless darkness, cold pinpricks of light glaring down at them ... below it, a green-blue orb dominated the scene.  It looked terrifyingly small against the vastness of space ... John felt his head spin as he tried to make sense of what he was seeing.  The starship ...

Man is not meant to walk amongst the stars, he thought.  He’d been told that, again and again.  And yet, the Forsakers had left their original homeworld over three hundred years ago, settling dozens of other worlds.  What does that make us?

He gritted his teeth as the shuttle picked up speed, turning away from the freighter and heading down towards the planet below.  John felt ... something ... running through the craft, a faint sensation that felt vaguely unpleasant.  Behind him, he heard someone start to pray, calling on God to preserve them from the demon technology.  The spacer, sitting on the other side of the row, looked annoyed, but did nothing as the prayers grew in volume.  John wasn't sure if he should be relieved ... or annoyed himself.

The shuttle rocked, suddenly.  Outside, the darkness of space was blurring into blue-white wisps ... the shuttle rocked, again and again.  The sound of panic grew louder as the hull started to creak ominously, suggesting the entire craft was on the verge of falling apart.  Had they been sent to their deaths?  Cold logic suggested the freighter could have been depressurised - easily - if the crew had wanted them dead, but it was so hard to cling to logic as the shaking grew worse.  A loud BANG echoed through the compartment, as if God had reached down and slapped the shuttle.  John cringed, reaching out for Hannah’s hand as another BANG shook the craft.  What was going on?

“Remain in your seats,” a voice said, calmly.  “We are currently experiencing some mild turbulence.”

Mild?  John thought.  The shaking was growing worse.  This is mild?

He heard someone being noisily sick behind him.  The stench was appalling, but there was nothing he could do.  He closed his eyes, muttering prayers under his breath, hoping desperately that the shaking would end soon.  If it was the end ... he thought he might accept death, if it saved him from life.  But instead ...

The shaking slowly faded away, but he refused to open his eyes as faint tremors continued to run through the shuttlecraft.  He was dimly aware of Hannah pressing against him as she peered out the porthole, yet he found it hard to care.  No doubt Konrad would give him a hard time over letting her peer outside, but what was he meant to do about it?  Cover her eyes and tie her hands?  If she could bear to stare out of the shuttlecraft, more power to her.

Hannah elbowed him, none-too-gently.  “Konrad’s thrown up,” she whispered.  “Serves him right.”

John swallowed, hard.  “Keep your voice down,” he hissed back.  “He’s right behind you.”

He opened his eyes, somehow.  Bright light was streaming through the porthole.  He braced himself, then peered outside.  They were flying over - or through - a vast blue expanse.  A sea?  He’d heard about the sea, yet he’d never seen it.  Children at his old school had been offered trips to the seaside, but Konrad had refused to pay the fee.  He had no interest in allowing his adopted children to play by the seaside.  Hannah had been furious about it, afterwards.  She could have gone with her friends.

The shuttle shuddered again, lightly.  John tried to ignore it as he peered down towards the blueness below.  Were those water-ships down there?  He’d seen plenty of ships in picture books, but he’d never seen one in person.  Did the children on their new home play on the water?  It had seemed so much fun, according to the videos ... yet he’d never had the chance to do that either.  When he hadn't been at school, he’d been studying the holy books and learning to recite prayers.  He certainly hadn't been taught anything useful.

“That must be the land,” Hannah breathed.  “We’re going to be landing soon.”

John sighed as the shuttle dropped towards the green land ahead.  It looked pleasant from their height, but he was sure it wouldn't be any different from Tarsus.  The people would be unwelcoming, there would be nothing for him to do ... and, in the end, he’d be trapped with Joel and Konrad and the rest of the Forsakers, denied even the room they needed to breathe freely.  There would be no farms or land, nothing but another grey estate.  And it would be far worse for Hannah.  Joel’s wife wouldn't have any freedom whatsoever.

Unless Joel manages to get us all killed, he thought, morbidly.  Or if we get shipped back off-world in the next few weeks.

“If I could have your attention, please,” a voice said.  It wasn't the spacer, not this time.  The voice came from overhead.  “We will be landing in twenty minutes, once ground control clears us a space.  When you are told to rise, unbuckle your belts, get to your feet and walk to the hatch.  You will have to pass through immigration processing before being allowed to proceed further.  Obey all orders from personnel on the ground, whatever they are.”

There was a long pause.  “Oh,” the voice added.  “And welcome to Arthur’s Seat.”

Arthur’s Seat?  The name meant nothing to John.  He’d known a kid called Arthur in class, years ago, but he doubted the planet was named after the kid he’d known.  He tried to recall any starcharts he might have seen, yet nothing came to mind.  He’d never taken any interest in space and space technology, knowing that it would merely get him in trouble.  But ...

Hannah gripped his arm.  “This is where the lost colony went,” she whispered.  “They landed here, hundreds of years ago.”

John blinked.  Trust Hannah to remember something the Elders would probably prefer she forgot.  He remembered hearing about the lost colony, but he didn't recall any actual details, save for Elder Chisholm using it to remind his flock that Outsiders couldn't be trusted.  The settlers had been cheated, if he recalled correctly.  And something else had gone wrong.

He looked back at his sister.  “Do you think they’ll welcome us?”

“I don't know,” Hannah said.  “The colony failed.”

The shuttle seemed to come to a halt, then dropped.  John clutched his stomach, all thoughts of the lost colony vanishing as the craft plummeted like a stone.  He was sure, just for a second, that they were all about to die, a moment before the craft steadied itself.  Outside, grey buildings were coming into view.  They looked no more or less soulless than the buildings he remembered on Tarsus.  A handful of people were standing by the nearest building, watching the shuttle as it came in to land.  It was hard to make out details, but none of them looked like Forsakers.  One of them was definitely a woman; the others probably male, although he wasn't sure.  

Outsiders don’t care what they wear, he thought.

He smiled, even though his stomach felt as if he’d left part of it behind.  The tunic he wore - and the dress Hannah wore - told people everything they needed to know about him.  He was male, old enough to marry and yet unmarried ... they didn't need to know anything else.  But Outsiders ... women wore trousers and men wore skirts ... it made no sense.  How could you tell the difference?

You look, he told himself.  And you try not to look too closely.

The hatch opened.  “You may rise,” the voice said.  “And walk, one by one, out of the shuttle.”

John looked at Hannah.  “We’re here,” he said.

“Yeah,” Hannah agreed.  She sounded distracted.  “We are.”

***
Getting everything ready had been a nightmare, Constable Mike Whitehead thought, as he watched the first shuttle come in to land.  Fifty thousand refugees?  An estimated ten thousand landing every day?  His experience told him that the estimate was wildly optimistic, but even so ... how the hell were they going to process fifty thousand refugees in a reasonable space of time?  He hadn't anticipated more than a couple of thousand during the desperate struggle to prepare the spaceport for guests.

He shook his head, slowly.  The old transit barracks were long since gone, as were the prefabricated buildings that could have been assembled in short order.  They’d had to commandeer the nearby warehouses under emergency powers, which had meant assisting the owners in clearing out the goods and finding somewhere else to store them.  Mike suspected, from what he’d overheard, that the goods couldn't be sold any longer, not with the economic downturn in full swing.  Hell, the owners were probably losing money all the time.  

At least we got the warehouses cleared, he thought.  And stockpiles of food, drink and bedding are on their way.

“Hey,” he heard a female voice say.  Mike turned to see a blonde girl walking towards him, wearing overalls that marked her as a civilian emergency worker.  Her overall really was quite distractingly tight ... he reminded himself, sternly, that he was married.  “Sergeant?”

“Constable,” Mike corrected.  He’d occasionally thought about trying for promotion, but the qualification examinations were more murderous than the last five murderers arrested on Arthur’s Seat.  Besides, he didn't spend enough time with Jane as it was.  “What can I do for you?”

The girl looked pained.  “Is it necessary to seal off the entire spaceport?”

Mike hesitated.  She wasn't the first civilian to question the need for wire.  Hell, Mike wasn't sure himself why they had the wire in stock.  None of the emergencies they’d planned for had any reasonable call for it.  But they’d used it to seal off the entire spaceport and warehouse complex, leaving only two entrances.  No one would be entering or leaving without checking with the guards.

“Yes,” he said, finally.  “We have to keep control of the situation.”

The girl gave him a sharp look.  “Are we going to be able to fit fifty thousand people into the complex?”

“They’ll need tents,” Mike said, grimly.  The warehouses were huge, but fitting even a thousand people into the complex would be an absolute nightmare.  Lothian spaceport hadn't been designed to handle thousands of passengers, let alone thousands of long-term guests.  “It will not be comfortable.”

He sighed.  Winter was coming.  He’d been in rough places before, during his training, but he had to admit he didn't like the idea of living in a tent during winter.  Snow alone would make the tents largely unliveable.  And who knew what would happen then?  It would be hard to blame the refugees for rioting and demanding better accommodation.

Except there isn’t that much better accommodation, he thought.  It’s too soon to see how many people will open their homes to refugees.

“Of course it won’t be comfortable,” the girl said.  Mike dragged his attention back to her with an effort.  “Something must be done.”

“I suggest you speak to the captain,” Mike said, after considering and rejecting several possible answers.  When did a young girl from a farming background - she didn't sound like someone who had been raised in the city - get so demanding?  It must be something in the university’s water.  “I’m just a constable.  I do what I’m told.”

He turned his attention back to the shuttle.  Three men were disembarking and advancing towards the welcoming committee, two looking like Forsakers from the historical documentaries that detailed life during the early settlement period.  Long beards, handmade clothes ... there was something oddly primitive about them, something that bothered him more than he cared to admit.  And yet, he couldn't put his finger on it.

“They’re real,” the girl said.

Mike glanced at her, sharply.  “Did you think this was all a drill?”

The girl flushed.  “That’s not what I meant,” she said.  “I meant ... they wear those clothes as if they mean something.  You know ... like you wear your uniform.”

Mike stroked his chin.  Any fool could dress up as a policeman - although it was technically illegal - but no impostor would be able to fool a real policeman for long.  And fooling a member of the public would be difficult too.  Wearing the uniform alone didn't make someone a policeman.  They’d need everything from stance and posture to a comprehensive knowledge of the law.  He had training and experience no imposter could hope to have.

And the girl had a point.  The two Forsakers weren't actors, they weren't some of the older families wearing traditional clothes for the Harvest Festival or Winter Night; those were their clothes.  They had nothing else.  Hell, who knew what had happened to their communal possessions?  The manifests Mike had seen hadn't been too clear.   

“They are Forsakers,” he breathed.  He couldn't help wondering what some of the older families would make of their cousins.  Good news ... or bad?  “And they’re here?”

He turned away from the girl, studying the newcomers.  The older man looked resigned, the younger man ... looked like a fighter.  Mike had seen people like that before, men - usually men - spoiling for a fight.  They could be dangerous ...

I must bring it to the captain’s attention, he thought.  And let him decide what to do.

Chapter Seven

The various governments on Earth rarely sponsored these programs, seeing the asteroid ships as giant wastes of resources at best.  Accordingly, those who did set sail on the interstellar sea tended to be self-selected groups, people who tended to be strikingly monocultural.  Whatever their culture, they could not tolerate the prospect of dissent within an enclosed ecosystem.
- Professor Leo Caesius.  Ethnic Streaming and the End of Empire.

Joel couldn't help feeling a flicker of concern as his father stumbled towards the shuttle hatch and out onto the landing field.  Konrad hadn't enjoyed the flight at all, throwing up several times into a bag the spacers had generously provided.  Even now, with his feet on a planetary surface once again, Konrad looked weak and feeble.  Joel was quite prepared to believe - and spread the word - that the Elders were weak and feeble, but he was worried about his ancient father.  The old man couldn't be allowed to die just yet.

Because that would complicate matters, Joel reminded himself, as he took his first breath on Arthur’s Seat.  And because I would miss him.

The air tasted ... strange.  It was better than the canned and recycled air on the freighter, yet bore unfamiliar hints of something alien.  Arthur’s Seat had had a surprisingly strong native biosphere, according to the files he’d read.  It was part of the reason the original colony had run into trouble before the second group of settlers had arrived.  The spaceport itself was a gray monstrosity: a giant control tower, a network of hangars and terminals and buildings with no obvious function.  He glanced up, sharply, as he heard another shuttlecraft high overhead.  But he saw nothing. The skies appeared clear.

He put out a steadying hand - as a good and dutiful son should do - and supported Konrad as they walked towards the welcoming committee.  One of them was clearly a woman, with curly red hair and a narrow face that reminded Joel of his mother.  A Forsaker?  Or, perhaps, someone who had a Fallen somewhere in their family tree.  Would that make her a Fallen herself or an Outsider?  He didn't particularly care to know.  The others were all men, he thought.  None of them looked particularly threatening.

Good, Joel thought.  That will make matters easier.

The spacer glanced at them, then stopped.  “Go on,” he said.  “I’ll speak to them afterwards.”

Joel frowned, but kept walking forward.  The woman greeted them with a blinding smile, an expression so wide and open that Joel distrusted it on sight.  What was she doing amongst the group?  If she was a Forsaker, she should know better than to put herself forward.  And her outfit ... Joel had seen worse, on Tarsus, but still ... he wouldn't have allowed any wife, sister or daughter of his to wear anything of the sort.  It didn't show much bare flesh, yet he could still make out the shape of her body.

“Greetings,” the woman said.  She didn't have a Forsaker accent, he noted absently.  But then, that proved nothing.  “Welcome to Arthur’s Seat.”

Konrad stiffened, clearly unsure how to proceed.  Joel didn't blame him.  One simply did not talk to an unrelated female, at least not without a very good excuse.  It was considered polite to simply ignore the woman’s presence, rather than call attention to her.  But who should Konrad address?

“I am Vice Premier Sondra Mackey,” the woman continued.  If she was aware of Konrad’s bemusement, she showed no sign of it.  Her title made her sound fairly senior, although Joel had no idea how Arthur’s Seat was governed or where a Vice Premier fitted into the structure.  “We are truly sorry that you were evicted from Tarsus.  We intend to do everything in our power to make sure you fit into our society as quickly as possible.”

“I ... thank you,” Konrad managed.  He stood as though he was addressing everyone, not just Sondra.  It was, Joel considered, an admirable compromise.  “It has been a very long journey.”

A flicker of ... something ... crossed Sondra’s face.  “You and your people should vacate the shuttle as quickly as possible,” she said, indicating one of the giant buildings behind her.  A massive door led into darkness.  There didn't seem to be any light inside.  “Once the shuttle is empty, it can return to orbit for the next load.”

Joel nodded in approval.  The more people on the ground, the harder it would be for the locals to push them around.  And more of his allies would be coming down on the next two shuttles.  They’d have to explore their new environment as quickly as possible, learn how to sneak around without being detected ... and then start pressing demands.

Konrad seemed to have other ideas.  “We were promised lands,” he said, flatly.  “When will we be able to take them?”

“A final decision will be made once you have passed through immigration,” Sondra said, carefully.  Joel suspected that meant that no lands would be forthcoming.  He would have felt betrayed, if he hadn't already anticipated it.  “We had no time to make preparations for you.”

“Understandable,” Konrad said.

He glanced at Joel.  “Call the others out of the shuttle.”

“Yes, father,” Joel said.

He blinked in surprise as Sondra held out a hand to his father.  Did she expect him to shake her hand?  Perhaps she did ... Outsiders had no understanding of the importance of keeping a barrier between male and female.  Konrad was an Elder.  He couldn't speak to an unrelated woman, particularly an Outsider, without having his position questioned by his fellows.  And if Konrad happened to be stripped of his title, Joel doubted it would come to him.

Sondra withdrew her hand, her face expressionless.  She was a practiced politician, but Joel thought she was irked.  It hardly mattered.  Her embarrassment was irritating, yet his father losing his position would be far worse.  And besides, it would make it clear that the Forsakers would not be changing their ways.  He turned, shouted for the rest of the shuttle’s passengers and then allowed a young man to lead them into the giant warehouse.  It was immense, larger than the warehouses on Tarsus, yet far too small for the freighter’s passengers ...

And then there are the other freighters, he thought.  And there might be others still.

He smiled at the thought as he collected a blanket, a bedroll and a small packet of rations from the immense pile.  The spacer had warned him that other planets might follow Tarsus’s lead and start deporting their Forsakers too.  And if that happened ... 

We might grow to be the majority very quickly, he thought.  And won’t that be interesting?

***
Judith barely noticed when the cop excused himself and headed off to do some police work on the other side of the spaceport.  She was too busy watching the Forsakers as they disembarked from the shuttle, many of them staggering around like students who’d just drunk themselves silly for the first time since leaving home.  Forsakers didn't drink, according to the briefing notes.  They’d probably reacted badly to the flight through the upper atmosphere and down to the ground.  Judith was no expert in space technology, but she wouldn't have willingly boarded the shuttle they’d used.  It looked as though it was steadily falling apart.

It probably is, she thought, as she studied the next set of immigrants.  She'd seen a bulletin on the datanet from a Rear Admiral Carlow, practically offering the sun and the moon to any space-certified engineers willing to sign on with the Imperial Navy.  If they’re that desperate for manpower, what does it say about their ships?

She dismissed the thought as the immigrants slowly gathered themselves and marched towards the hangar.  They looked odd, although it was hard for her to put her finger on why they looked odd.  They moved with a sullen resignation mixed with defiance, their eyes flickering around as if they were unsure if they should be cowering back from a blow or getting ready to deliver one.  The older men and women just kept their heads down, the younger ones seemed more alert.  She found herself staring at a handsome young man, his face covered with flecks of stubble, wondering just what was going through his mind.  Men had rarely interested her, but there was an oddness about him that called to her.

Gritting her teeth, she moved her attention to a pair of young girls.  It was impossible to be sure, if only because their dresses were utterly shapeless, but she placed them at being no older than seventeen.  Their eyes were constantly looking down, as if they were reluctant to look up and make eye contact with anyone.  An older woman was following them, watching them like a hawk.  Judith couldn't help noticing that they shied away from men, even their fellow Forsakers.  Were they that reluctant to be near them? 

She’d been right, she told herself.  These weren't men and women wearing traditional clothes for a day, either to celebrate or to remember what they’d left behind.  These were their clothes and ... and that was their life.  She'd never really considered the Forsakers to be different from their fellows, but none of the Forsakers she knew - like Gayle - were true Forsakers.  How could they be?  Their ancestors had been so desperate, when the rightful settlers arrived, that they’d abandoned their traditions with terrifying speed.

But these people are different, she thought, grimly.  They never had that experience to shape their lives.

She felt a stab of pity as a dozen children, boys and girls wearing archaic clothing, were escorted across the tarmac and into the hangar.  They looked ... beaten down, their faces shadowed by their experiences.  Judith had no idea what it was like to be disliked, if not hated, by everyone, just for being different, but she could imagine it.  Her life would have been unliveable if everyone had hated her family.  The children were thin, terrifyingly thin ... had they been fed?  Or had the spacers not bothered to provide food for the children?

The ground crew hurried over to the shuttle and started to work, helping a handful of older men and women out of the craft.  Judith felt another flicker of sympathy, mixed with a strange kind of contempt.  The older folk looked ill, their skins pockmarked with the remains of diseases ... diseases that could be beaten, easily, with the right kind of medicines and vaccines.  But the Forsakers had never been keen on any form of modern medicine, if she recalled correctly.  Their women still suffered through monthly bleeding a simple implant could halt.  

Poor bitches, she thought.  Judging by the way the ground crew was working, some - perhaps most - of the passengers had thrown up.  There were treatments for that too.  It’s no life for anyone.

She sighed as she turned back to the workplace.  More shuttles appeared overhead, dropping down towards the spaceport.  She’d been on a break, but there would be more work for everyone in the next few hours.  The newcomers would have to be processed before they were moved into the warehouses, where they would be held until ... until what?  No one she’d met had had any idea of what would happen in the future.  Fifty thousand ... Judith’s father had often ranted about the need to get more farmers into the countryside, but fifty thousand untrained newcomers?  She hadn't forgotten the handful of students who’d volunteered to live and work in the country without the slightest idea of what they were getting into.  Only five out of twenty had lasted the entire month ...

... And only two of them had chosen to stay, afterwards.

We’ll have to see what happens when it happens, she told herself, firmly.  Making a mental note to call Gayle - her friend might have some insight - she headed back to the control room to receive her next assignment.  Until then, all we can do is take care of them.

***
John and Hannah hung back as the shuttle emptied, allowing the others to go first before they reluctantly left the craft.  The air smelt funny, but it was better than the stench of vomit from the craft’s interior.  Konrad hadn't been the only one to be sick, apparently.  John knew it was cruel, but he savoured the memory anyway.  It was nice to know that Konrad was weaker than he acted.

And perhaps he wasn't the only one, John thought.  Did Joel throw up?

He barely noticed the giant warehouse - or whatever it was - as he stared around the spaceport.  It was immense, huge beyond words ... it seemed large enough to take the entire community and have room left over.  And yet, as more shuttles dropped from the sky, he couldn't help thinking that he wouldn't be happy there.  The spaceport practically stunk of technology.

“Move along,” a voice called.  “This isn't a safe place.”

John looked up.  A man was standing there, wearing a blue uniform that made him look like a spacer.  His face was pleasant, although there was a hint of paternal firmness that reminded John of his father.  A man who was on his side, a man who would fight for him ... but also a man who wouldn't hesitate to correct him when he was wrong.  John felt a stab of bitter regret, which he swiftly suppressed.  His father was in a better place, leaving him and his family alone.  If only he’d been older when he died ...

“Nowhere is safe,” Hannah said, bitterly.

John glanced around, automatically, as she spoke.  Speaking to a strange man ... their mother would be furious.  Konrad would be upset too.  And Joel ...

“No one is going to hurt you here,” the man said.  He pointed to the giant warehouse as another flight of shuttles screamed overhead.  “Go get something to eat and drink, then wait.”

John met his eyes.  “For what?”

“For processing,” the man said, simply.  

“Thank you,” Hannah said.  “Who are you?”

“Constable Mike Whitehead,” the man said.  He smiled at her.  “But I suggest you move, now.”

John stared at him.  “You’re a policeman?”

“Of course,” the policeman said.  He sounded amused, rather than upset.  “I’ve been a policeman for nearly seven years.”

Despite himself, John nearly accused the older man of lying.  The policemen on Tarsus had never struck him as trustworthy.  They’d walked around in groups, wearing armour, carrying weapons and generally looking more fearsome than soldiers.  And they’d done nothing, nothing at all, when gangs had hurled insults, threats and rocks at Forsakers.  They’d made their opinions quite clear.  And there were plenty of horror stories about what happened to their prisoners ...

But this man was a policeman?

“Move now,” the policeman advised.  His voice was gentle, but firm.  “There’ll be more people passing through in a moment.”

John caught Hannah’s arm and led her towards the warehouse, his mind spinning.  A nice policeman?  It was unthinkable.  And yet, he was sure the policeman was a good guy.  He hadn't looked at them with scorn or hatred, his eyes hadn't undressed Hannah - or John either, for that matter - he’d treated them like real people.  What, he asked himself, did that mean?  

And if the policemen are nice, he thought as they stepped into the giant building, what does that say about the rest of the world?

It wasn’t as dark as he’d feared inside the building.  The fifty-odd shuttle passengers were clumped up at the far end, some lying on bedrolls while others were eating from small ration packs.  Joel and a couple of others were trying to rig up a shelter for the women, hiding them from the couple of locals near the main doors.  John rolled his eyes, then took a ration pack and a bedroll for himself.  Hannah took one too, then winked at him as they made their way down to the far end.

“Hold this,” Joel directed, holding out one end of a blanket.  “And keep facing outwards.”

John nodded, unwilling to speak.  The policeman had upended everything he’d feared about their new world.  And he’d done it just by being a nice guy.  And that meant ... what?

“Anyone who looks back will get a beating,” Joel added, raising his voice so everyone could hear.  There was no disagreement.  “The women are to have their privacy!”

Konrad coughed in agreement.  He didn't look any better, John noted.  His stepfather looked as if he were on the verge of outright collapse, as if the only thing keeping him upright was his cane.  John knew he should feel guilty for thinking that, but it was hard to care.  Konrad might have tried to do his duty by them, yet he put his own son first.  John might have been less offended by that if Konrad hadn't been planning to marry Joel to Hannah. 

But we’re not settled yet, he thought, as he shifted position.  The next set of refugees were already spilling into the warehouse, led by a pair of Stewards.  Joel hurried forward to talk to them, leaving the human shields alone.  And they can't get married until they’re settled.

He yawned, suddenly.  He wanted to sleep, but he knew that wasn’t possible.  Joel probably hadn't thought to ask if the women could have a separate compartment all to themselves.  Or perhaps he hadn't had time to make his wishes known ... no, that wasn't possible.  Joel was very good at making his wishes known.  Konrad practically gave him everything he wanted, without question.  John’s father hadn't been quite so accommodating.

And if anyone gets a farm, John thought bitterly, it will be him.

He shook his head.  The policeman had given him hope, but all he could do now was wait ...

... And see what happened next.

Chapter Eight

And then the Phase Drive was discovered.  All of a sudden, high-speed interstellar traffic became possible.  The result was an immediate land grab, resulting in the establishment of settlements all across the Sol Sector.  These colonists either landed on worlds settled by the slowboats or established colonies before the slowboats arrived.  
- Professor Leo Caesius.  Ethnic Streaming and the End of Empire.

“You are to take their fingerprints and check them against the records,” Director Melbourne said.  Judith listened as the older woman spoke, her voice tired.  “If they don’t raise red flags, screen their blood, give them the vaccination injection and send them on to the next chamber.”

Judith nodded.  She wasn't a qualified medic - although she did have a first aid badge - but any fool could handle an injector tab.  Sitting down at the table, she ran her eye down the checklist, silently reminding herself of the potential dangers.  Most people didn't have any bad reactions to broad-spectrum vaccines, but it was well to be careful.  A bad reaction could be very dangerous.

But so could allowing them to set foot outside the spaceport without it, she thought, as she lifted her eyes and surveyed the room.  Even bringing them down to the planet without a blood test could be dangerous.

The room itself was clean and sterile, mind-numbingly bland.  Director Melbourne and her team had set up a row of six tables, crewed by her personnel.  It would take hours, Judith knew, to get the refugees - or at least the ones who had already landed - through the screening process.  And weeks, perhaps, to screen all fifty thousand Forsakers.  The refugees had been landing for barely two hours and the hangars were already crammed with warm bodies.

At least they’re not on the ships any longer, Judith thought.  She checked her terminal, then the alarm button as the main doors opened.  That has to count for something, doesn't it?

“Form into lines,” Director Melbourne ordered.  Her voice echoed in the air.  “Once you have been screened, proceed immediately into the next chamber.”

The refugees started streaming into the room.  Some looked dazed, glancing around as though they didn't quite know where they were; others looked tired or angry or just plain wary.  Judith felt a stab of sympathy as the lines started to form up.  The sooner they were through the screening process, the better.  And yet, the refugees seemed to be milling about, rather than advancing forward.  Why were they reluctant to move?

She looked up as a middle-aged woman limped towards her.  Judith frowned - modern medicine would have fixed that in an hour, perhaps less - and then keyed her terminal as she motioned for the woman to sit down.  She wore yet another shapeless dress, so baggy that Judith honestly wasn't sure if she was desperate to hide her body’s curves or really just incredibly fat.  Her face looked disapproving, her eyes crossing Judith’s body in a manner that made Judith want to cover herself.  She’d known jerk jocks who were more subtle about ogling her.

“Please, be seated,” she said.  It crossed her mind, suddenly, that the woman might not speak Imperial Standard.  Legally, everyone had to speak the same language, but a Forsaker community might have evaded the requirement.  “I need to ask you a few questions.”

The woman eyed her, balefully.  “Why?”

“We need to know who we are dealing with,” Judith said.  She’d expected the refugees to be a little more grateful.  “Do you have a birth certificate?”

“No,” the woman said.

Judith blinked.  Everyone had a birth certificate, without exception.  Imperial Law mandated it.  She couldn't imagine any world, certainly not one as cosmopolitan as Tarsus, neglecting to issue birth certificates.  Its population couldn’t travel off-world without one.  Hell, the fines alone would have been disastrous.

“You never had a birth certificate?”

“It was stolen when we were deported,” the woman said.  Her voice twisted, bitterly.  “It isn't important.”

Judith swallowed the urge to correct her, sharply.  Birth certificates were important.  How else would anyone know the woman’s history?  But there was no point in demanding a certificate the woman didn't have.  She shook her head, then leaned forward.

“Name?”

“Alicia, Daughter of Bridget,” the woman said.  “Mother of Sven and Elsa.”

Judith frowned.  “Is your mother in the refugee party?”

“My mother died months ago,” Bridget said.  “She was killed by a mob.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Judith said.  The system wasn't set up to track Forsakers.  The more traditional families didn't even have surnames.  “And your children?”

“With their father,” Bridget said.  She nodded to the rear, then turned and motioned them forward.  “They’re sweet kids.”

Judith kept her face impassive as Sven, Elsa and a middle-aged man she assumed was their father appeared behind Bridget.  Both children looked to be in their early teens, although their clothes were so baggy it was hard to be sure.  Sven took one look at her, then looked away; Elsa eyed her expressionlessly, her eyes flickering over Judith’s face.  Judith looked back at her for a long moment, wondering what was going through the girl’s mind.  Her brother, blushing furiously, was easy to read.  And their father ... Judith couldn’t help feeling that he was looking at her as if she was something particularly nasty he’d scraped off his shoe.

She entered their details into the database, then held out the scanner.  “I need to check your blood, just to make sure you’re not carrying anything dangerous,” she said.  “Bare your upper arms, please.”

Bridget recoiled in shock.  “You’re going to take blood?”

“Yes,” Judith said.  She felt her patience start to crack.  The older man was still staring at her with deep hostility.  “And when your blood has been tested, you will be given a vaccination to make sure you can live on our planet safely ...”

“Out of the question,” the older man snapped.  He pulled his children back.  “We do not allow our children to be vaccinated.”

Judith - barely - managed to refrain from asking how they’d survived on Tarsus.  A cosmopolitan planet - and city - would have visitors from all over the galaxy.  The prospect of catching something nasty, perhaps one of the innumerable variants of the common cold, couldn't be dismissed.  Children normally received vaccinations at birth and booster shots throughout their lives, just to prevent diseases from spreading.  Maybe they’d just been very lucky.

“It's a requirement,” she said, glancing towards Director Melbourne.  The older woman seemed to be in the middle of an agitated discussion with two of the other refugees.  “If you don’t have your blood tested and your children screened, you can't leave the spaceport.”

She looked up at him.  He seemed torn between glaring at her and looking away, his face twitching as if he wasn't quite sure what to do.  His son seemed torn too; his wife and daughter studiously looking away, allowing him to deal with the situation.  Judith wondered, suddenly, just what sort of life the womenfolk endured.  If they weren't allowed to have vaccinations, what else weren't they allowed to do?

“We are not going to be staying here,” the man thundered.  “We were promised land!”

Judith flinched back as he waved his fist under her nose, her finger hitting the panic button as the crowd pushed forward, shouting in several different languages.  She couldn't understand most of them, but it was clear that half the crowd didn't understand.  They thought she intended to take all of their blood, then poison them.  And Director Melbourne seemed entirely incapable of taking control.

She half-rose, then stopped herself as the shouting grew louder.  The police would be on their way, wouldn't they?  And then ... and then what?  More and more refugees were being landed, every hour on the hour.  If they all refused to be vaccinated, the spaceport population would keep growing until the wire burst.  And then ...

Someone pushing at her table brought her back to reality.  The crowd was pushing her back, pushing them all back.  A terminal fell off a table, smashing to the ground; an aid worker, one of the youngest in the group, turned and fled.  The sign of weakness seemed to embolden the crowd, just as the rear doors opened and a stream of policemen flowed into the room.  It crossed Judith’s mind, just for a second, that the police weren't carrying any weapons ...

***
Riots, Mike knew, were rare on Arthur’s Seat.  The occasional football match might end badly, a few dozen people might have too much to drink and end up starting a fight ...  but outright riots were rare.  He’d never seen anything more dangerous than a drunken brawl in a pub after nightfall.  Dealing with them wasn't too difficult ...

... But the scene before him was different.  Hundreds of Forsakers were pressing forward, smashing their way through the tables and chairs by sheer weight of numbers.  He couldn't understand half their words, but it was clear, just from what he did understand, that they were angry about something.  Director Melbourne was doing her level best to calm the crowd, yet it was clear - even to her - that they weren't listening.  There was a lot of pent-up frustration being released ...

“Form up, truncheons out,” Sergeant Cox snapped.  “Get the workers out first!”

Mike winced.  And then what?

He cursed under his breath.  The makeshift registration centre was no place for a fight, not when they didn't have any stunners or anything else that could be used to control a riot.  Two constables hurried over to the fire hose mounted on the wall and started to get it ready for use, but he doubted it would be enough to do more than drench the rioters.  Perhaps it would bring them back to sanity, perhaps it would just make them mad.  But they were already mad.

“We keep them in here,” Cox added.  He’d put in a call for reinforcements as soon as the alert had sounded.  “And we don’t let them out!”

Mike gritted his teeth as he took a firmer grip on his truncheon.  He’d rarely needed to use it, not outside combat training.  It was designed more for intimidation than anything else - and even that was considered a last resort.  But now, with a mob advancing on him, he wanted something more solid.  A gun ... the police didn't use guns, not on Arthur’s Seat, but perhaps it was time they changed.  They didn't normally face rioters bent on tearing them apart either.

They’ll be summoning a posse, he told himself.  There just weren't many other policemen within easy reach of the spaceport.  But will they get here in time?

The mob surged forward, shouting and screaming; the constables turned the hose on them, playing the water over their bodies.  Mike watched in relief as the crowd came apart, their bodies drenched in cold water.  They didn't seem inclined to keep going, thankfully.  But he knew that wouldn't last.  Standard procedure was to break up a riot into smaller, more manageable groups, but there were too many people confined within too small a place.  The Forsakers outside the compartment would just keep pushing into the room ...

“Enough,” a voice said.

Mike stared.  An older man - probably in his fifties, although it was impossible to be sure - had clambered onto one of the tables.  He looked formidable as he harangued the crowd in a language Mike couldn't understand, although the tone was clear.  The crowd was being stupid and needed to stop.  Mike wasn't sure if he should admire the man’s nerve - it took courage to berate an angry crowd - or suspect trouble.  Was the man their leader?  Or was he trying to take advantage of the near-riot?

Fuck, he thought, morbidly.

The crowd, looking surprisingly shamefaced, started to inch out of the room.  Mike watched them go, unsure if he should be relieved or worried.  Training or no training, a fight in close quarters would probably have gotten a lot of police and refugees killed.  They hadn't practiced riot suppression in months.  It had just never seemed important.

Director Melbourne looked badly shaken.  “Thank you for coming.”

“You’re welcome,” Cox said.  “What now?”

Mike ignored the brief discussion as he glanced around the room.  Tables had been tipped over, computer terminals lay on the floor ... they were designed to be tough, he knew, but would they survive the combination of the impact and water damage?  The aid workers looked shocked, two almost looked catatonic.  None of them had expected the refugees to turn nasty, all of a sudden.  A handful had already started to put the tables back upright and test the computers.  Mike wasn’t sure if he should applaud their resilience or be concerned about their refusal to grasp what had just happened.

“We let too many people in at once,” Director Melbourne said.  She sounded stunned - and frustrated.  “And others followed them in.”

“You’ll need to be more careful,” Cox said.  His voice was grim.  “What set them off?”

An aid worker - the girl Mike had met earlier - leaned forward.  “They objected to blood tests and vaccinations, sir,” she said.  She sounded shaken, although she looked unharmed.  Her shirt was wet, clinging to her body in a manner that made Mike look away hastily.  “That’s what set them off.”

Mike frowned.  The original Forsakers had forbidden genetic enhancements, if he recalled correctly.  He couldn't remember if they banned vaccinations or not, but the vast majority of modern-day vaccinations were designed to splice improvements into a person’s genome.  Or so he thought.  It hadn't been covered at school and he’d been more concerned with first aid than long-term medical treatments during his training.

“They need them,” Director Melbourne said.  “We can't let them pass through the gates unless we’re sure they’re safe.”

She closed her eyes for a long moment.  “It will have to be referred to higher authority.”

Mike wasn't surprised.  Director Melbourne hadn't struck him as the type of person who would pass the buck, but the whole situation had already spun out of control.  Either she insisted on the refugees taking the vaccinations anyway - probably restarting the riot - or she waived the requirement, which would run the risk of triggering a health crisis.  And he honestly wasn't sure if they could stop another riot so quickly.  

They’ve discovered that they can intimidate us, he thought, sourly.  It was a chilling realisation.  Most people he dealt with respected the uniform, even if they didn't respect him personally.  None of the newcomers would have that experience.  And we’re not allowed to intimidate them.

“See to it,” Cox urged.  He reached for his radio.  “I’ll get the reinforcements briefed.”

“Can you station some men here?”  Director Melbourne asked.  “It might keep the situation from getting out of control.”

It’s already out of control, Mike thought.  And that isn't going to change.

He glanced at her.  “Can you stop the inflow of refugees?”

“I can try,” Director Melbourne said.  She didn't sound optimistic.  “But the Imperial Navy is trying to get them down as quickly as possible.”

Mike nodded, running through the math in his head.  There were fifty thousand refugees in total, give or take a few hundred souls who’d been overlooked.  Assuming that two thousand were landed every hour, there were at least four thousand refugees on the ground now and another two thousand incoming.  By the time the government made its decision, there might be upwards of ten thousand refugees on the ground ... by which point the spaceport would be bursting at the seams.  It just hadn’t been designed to hold so many people.  

They can't keep dumping so many people into a confined space, he thought.  There were definite limits, surely.  Even converting the entire spaceport into a refugee camp wouldn't provide enough space.  But will they just start dumping them outside the spaceport?

“Mike, Joe, Roger, stay here and look intimidating until the captain gets here,” Cox ordered, briskly.  If he resented being left in the hot seat, he showed no sign of it.  “I’m going to talk to the leader.”

“Just ask them to take you to their leader, Sarge,” Constable Johan said.

Cox gave him a stern look, then allowed Director Melbourne to lead him towards the rear doors.  Mike took a moment to admire his nerve - walking into an angry crowd might easily get him killed - then cursed under his breath.  They’d need to get more weapons - and training - before it was too late.  And he honestly wasn’t sure if the weapons they needed were anywhere on the planet.

Perhaps we should ask the Imperial Navy to lend us some spacesuits, he thought.  He made a mental note of the idea, intending to pass it on to his superiors as soon as possible.  They’d serve as makeshift armour if we couldn't get anything better.

He cursed under his breath as the reinforcements arrived, led by Captain Stewart.  Stewart had been at the other side of the spaceport when the riot began, Mike knew, but that didn't stop him feeling a flicker of resentment.  It was unfair - he knew it was unfair - yet he felt it anyway.  Stewart should have been with his men, facing the danger ... a danger they weren't trained to face.  Hell, it wasn't as if Arthur’s Seat had a real army.  The Orbital Guard wasn't a military in anything more than name.  

Of course not, he thought.  We never saw the need to build starships and raise an army.

He shuddered at the thought.  The police were the closest thing to a professional military on Arthur’s Seat and, really, very few of them had any experience with firearms or military tactics.  But he had a nasty feeling that was about to change.

Chapter Nine

Unsurprisingly, this led to conflict.  The settlers might not be willing or able to integrate the newcomers.  Worse, the side with FTL could and did bring in help from Earth.  The slowboaters tended to get the worst of these conflicts because they hadn't thought to prepare for a war when they reached their destination.
- Professor Leo Caesius.  Ethnic Streaming and the End of Empire.

Joel had to fight to keep the glee off his face.

It had worked perfectly.  Hell, it had worked better than he’d expected.  And he hadn't really had to do anything, beyond making sure his friends and allies were ready to take advantage of the chaos.  Something had been bound to happen, someone had been bound to protest, when the community was told they needed to be vaccinated.  And someone had.  The only real surprise had been his father standing up and quieting the crowd before matters got even further out of hand ...

He still has influence, Joel thought.  But does he have enough influence to make a difference?

The waiting room was surprisingly quiet.  Being drenched had shocked the Forsakers, even before Konrad had opened his mouth.  A number of girls were trying, desperately, to hide themselves, their fathers and brothers forming protective circles around them.  Their humiliation wouldn't be forgotten in a hurry.  Indeed, a deep anger was burning through the room, threatening further trouble in the future.  Konrad had calmed them, for the moment, but that wouldn't last.  It wouldn't be long before the issue of vaccinations reared its ugly head again.

Konrad rose from his squatting position as the door opened, revealing a man and a woman stepping into the room.  The woman looked shaken - Joel felt a flicker of cold satisfaction - while the man looked grim.  His uniform marked him out as a person of authority, even though Joel found it hard to believe he was really a policeman.  What sort of policeman didn't carry a gun?  Or a stunner?  Or a neural whip?  The blue uniform made him look like an actor, not a very dangerous man.

He followed his father as he walked to greet the newcomers, trying not to stare too openly at the woman as he basked in her discomfiture.  A woman should not try to assert authority over men, over the outside world.  Nothing but embarrassment and humiliation would result.  Joel would no more take orders from a woman than he would invade the female quarters and start cooking for himself.  Women had their place, just as men did.  People who tried to live in both worlds were doomed to disappointment.

“Greetings,” the woman said.  Even her voice sounded shaky, as if she had no true authority of her own.  Clearly, she’d been allowed to think she had authority.  “Who are you?”

“I am Konrad, Elder and First Speaker,” Konrad said.  He addressed the policeman, rather than the woman.  “Our people will not be vaccinated.”

The woman’s face twisted.  “You need to be vaccinated, if only to make sure you do not catch any diseases,” she said, bluntly.  “Your people will be vulnerable to diseases on our world.”

She paused.  “And you will not be allowed to leave the spaceports without registering, having your blood tested and being vaccinated,” she added.  “You’ll be spending the rest of your lives in the spaceport complex.”

Joel rather doubted it.  He hadn't seen much of the spaceport, but he doubted it could hold over ten thousand people at once.  Tarsus had uprooted and deported dozens of Forsaker communities.  Cramming them all into the spaceport would be utterly disastrous.  He had no doubt sheer numbers alone would allow them to break out and escape.

“I will not force my people to inject themselves with the demon technology,” Konrad said, firmly.  “It would be wrong.”

The policeman leaned forward.  “How did you escape vaccinations on Tarsus?”

“The government chose not to vaccinate us,” Konrad said.

It was true enough, Joel knew.  He had a private suspicion that the government had quietly hoped that something particularly nasty would reduce the Forsaker population to a more manageable level.  He'd certainly used the suggestion to convince his allies that fighting was the only option, particularly when the government might eventually use more direct methods to rid itself of a problem.  But they had escaped infection, proving that the Forsakers had been right all along.  The demon technology brought misery in its wake.

“Our government is less equipped to deal with health problems,” the woman said.  She paused.  “At the very least, we need to be sure you’re not carrying diseases.”

Joel felt a flicker of triumph.  A sign of weakness, already!  If they were prepared to compromise on vaccinations, what else were they prepared to compromise on?  Blood tests weren't as bad as vaccinations, as far as the Forsakers were concerned ... they took something out, rather than putting something in.

“We are clean,” Konrad insisted, firmly.  “None of us are diseased.”

“We didn't mean to say that you were,” the woman told him.  “But we have to be sure before we let you leave the spaceport.”

“We also need to register your population,” the policeman added.  “Why don’t you have birth certificates?”

“Tarsus wasn't interested in issuing them either,” Konrad said.

And the ones they did issue were stolen or destroyed, Joel thought.  He allowed himself a cold smile.  Passive resistance hadn't gotten them very far, but it was something.  And I sold a number of official birth certificates to raise money.

“We will address the problem,” the policeman said.  “Until then, you will have to wait.”

Joel smiled as Konrad nodded in agreement.  Unless he was very wrong, the Outsiders would come back with an agreement to skip the vaccinations, if the Forsakers agreed to have their blood tested.  And that was a concession, no matter how they chose to dress it up.  They’d negotiated with the Forsakers, rather than forcing them to take the vaccinations.  

And they have tacitly conceded some control, he thought.  He smiled as the two Outsiders retreated.  A hole in their defences we can exploit.

He allowed his smile to widen, even though his father was looking irked.  The Elders would not be pleased.  But it didn't matter.  He turned back to the crowd, his eyes picking out John standing protectively in front of Hannah.  It was nice to see the weakling protecting his sister, even though Joel doubted he would stay there for long.  But at least Hannah’s dignity would be preserved.

She must remain above suspicion, he thought, although he knew it was probably already too late.  If Hannah hadn't had an Elder for a stepfather, she would have been shunned completely by now.  And when I marry her, she’ll learn to behave herself.

***
Her entire body was shaking.

Judith had undressed as soon as she’d reached the changing room, dumping her wet clothes in her bag and taking a warm shower before dressing in her spare outfit.  She felt warm again, after feeling so cold her bones were shivering.  And yet, she couldn't keep herself from shaking.  She’d had accidents in the past, near-disasters that could have crippled or killed her if she’d been a little less quick, but this was different.  The mob would have torn her limb from limb if the crowd had caught her.

She tried to calm herself, but the shaking refused to fade.  She'd never been so scared in her life, not even when she’d accidentally driven her father’s tractor into the ditch.  The impact had been jarring, but she’d managed to climb out and summon help.  She'd certainly never felt her father was going to kill her.  But the crowd ... who would have thought, really, that the mere suggestion they needed to be vaccinated would set them off so badly?  Their rage had grown so rapidly that she’d been in trouble before she realised it was already too late.

Damn them, she thought.  Why don't they listen?

She wrapped her arms around her legs, trying to control the shaking.  Part of her was tempted to just walk out of the spaceport and head home.  She would be fined, of course, for deserting her post, but she thought she could afford it.  And even if she couldn't ... being a debtor, working to pay off the fine, would still be better than putting her life on the line for ungrateful bastards.  

And yet ...

She remembered Elsa and shivered, again.  The girl - and the other girls - were trapped, dominated by their parents in a manner Judith found hard to accept.  Her father had been strict, when he’d been teaching her how to farm, but he’d never attempted to dominate her life.  He’d pointed out all the problems with going to university, when Judith had announced that she intended to apply, yet he’d never tried to stop her.  And if he had ... well, Judith had been eighteen, a legal adult.  She could have moved out if he’d tried to control her life.  

But Elsa had been different.

Judith sighed, slowly releasing her legs and standing up.  She was scared.  She was honest enough with herself to admit she was scared.  And yet, the refugees did need help.

But if they threaten us, she thought, why should we help them?

It was an odd thought.  Her father had taken in guests before - children from other farms, students trying out the farming life - but they’d all been expected to work.  Judith still smiled at the memory of how some of them had been unable to cope with rising before cockcrow, their bodies aching after a few hours of easy labour in the fields.  But none of them had acted as though the farmers owed them anything.  

There was a rap on the door.  “Judith!  Are you decent?”

“More or less,” Judith said.  The door opened, revealing Henry.  “What’s up?”

“The Director wants to see us in the conference room,” Henry said.  He’d made a cheerful pass at her last night, only to be turned down.  “As in, right now.”

“Oh,” Judith said.

She put her bag in the locker, then followed him through the maze of corridors and into the conference room.  It hadn't been designed as a meeting room, she was sure - the tables and chairs looked as though they had been kept in storage for years before being brought out and dumped in the room - but it would have to suffice.  There was something oddly unfinished about the spaceport, even though it was over three hundred years old.  But then, Arthur’s Seat had never really invested in space travel.

Director Melbourne was standing at the front of the room, looking grim.  She’d changed her jacket, Judith noted as the remainder of the room started to fill up, but her outfit still looked ruffled.  None of the others looked much better, particularly the city-folk.  They all looked as though they’d been in the wars.  Judith couldn't help noticing that several faces were missing.  

Were they hurt, she asked herself, or did they simply go home?

“Please, sit down,” Director Melbourne said.  “Take a cup of tea or coffee if you want it.”

Judith winced, inwardly, as she poured herself a cup of coffee.  She hadn't met Director Melbourne before the refugees had arrived, but she’d seen nothing to suggest the director was a particularly nice person.  Judith rather suspected that Director Melbourne, like Judith herself, had added her name to the emergency roster in a fit of absentmindedness, never really believing that she’d have to do the job.  She did have some role in government, but Judith had no idea what it actually was.

Bureaucrat, probably, she thought, darkly.  Her father hated bureaucrats so much that he would have disowned her if she’d even considered joining the civil service.  And to think that the civil service on Arthur’s Seat was almost reasonable.  The horror stories from other worlds about bureaucracy were truly terrifying.  She’s certainly got the right attitude.

She sat back down and sipped her coffee, waiting.

“I did not anticipate,” Director Melbourne said, “that the refugees would react so badly to a suggestion they needed vaccinations.  The decision of how to handle the issue has been forwarded to the Cabinet, who will make the final call.”

“They won’t be the ones issuing the vaccinations,” someone said, from the back.

“No, they won't,” Director Melbourne said.  She paused.  “And while I understand that most of you have been shocked, I have to remind you of your duty.  Emergency powers are currently in effect.  If any of you decide to desert your post, you can and you will be jailed.”

There was an immediate roar of outrage.  “I didn't sign up to be attacked,” someone shouted, loudly.  “None of us did!”

Judith nodded in agreement.  They hadn't signed up for a posse, after all.  They certainly hadn’t expected to be threatened, let alone have to fight for their lives.  God alone knew what would have happened, if the police hadn't taken quick action.  And yet, the water hadn't done more than shock the refugees.  Next time, it might take more to stop them from rioting in the spaceport.

“This isn't easy for any of us,” Director Melbourne said, holding her hands in the air in the hopes of calming them down.  “But we have a duty ...”

“They’re not being reasonable,” someone else snapped.  “They’re the ones at fault!”

“That is not up for debate,” Director Melbourne snapped back.  “You have your duties.  And you will carry them out!”

Judith gritted her teeth.  If they all went on strike, if they all dared Director Melbourne to put them in jail ... she had no idea what would happen.  Technically, a jury would have to stand in judgement, but under emergency powers ... they could be held indefinitely without trial, even though it would embarrass the government.  She was tempted to dare Director Melbourne to arrest her anyway, yet ... it would cast a baleful shadow over her life, even if she was released shortly afterwards.

Sharon stood up.  “What sort of protection are you offering?”

Director Melbourne stared back at her.  “What do you mean?”

“Those ... creeps ... were staring at my breasts,” Sharon said.  Her tunic jacket had been at least two sizes too small, making her breasts disturbingly prominent.  Judith couldn't help noticing that Sharon had changed into a loose-fitting jacket.  “What are they going to do next?”

“The police will be stationing additional guards in the registry room,” Director Melbourne said, grimly.  “And they will only be let through one at a time.”

Which isn't going to make them feel any better about us, Judith thought.  We’ll be treating them like prisoners.

And how, her own thoughts answered, are they treating us?

“I don’t feel safe,” Sharon said.  There was another murmur of agreement.  “What if they do try something?”

“Then maybe you shouldn't have worn such provocative clothing,” Director Melbourne snapped, loudly.  “These people have been through hell.  They’re not going to relax in a hurry, are they?  Give them some space!”

Judith felt a hot flash of anger.  Her father had always taught her that she was responsible for what she did, regardless of the provocation.  He’d certainly told her off for punching Jimmy Fisher in the face after he’d insisted a boy could do more work on the farm than a girl, although she had a feeling he wasn't as angry as he’d pretended.  Sharon couldn’t be blamed if someone tried to molest or rape her, no matter what she was wearing.  How could she be?

But they may feel differently, she thought, remembering Elsa’s baggy clothes.  They dress their women to hide their sexuality.

She shuddered at the thought.  

“You will report back to your desks in an hour, once I hear from the cabinet,” Director Melbourne insisted.  Her voice was so loud that Judith was sure she was using a megaphone to drown out everyone else.  “And if you refuse to report for duty, you will be jailed.  Do you understand me?”

Judith fought to keep her anger under control as Director Melbourne turned and swept out the room.  She was a volunteer, damn it!  She’d put her name forward because ... because part of her had believed she’d never be called upon.  But she’d come to help ... she hadn't signed up to be threatened, or molested, or abused.  And now Director Melbourne was snapping at her workers, instead of the refugees.  She was just as shaken as Judith herself.

She glanced at Sharon.  Judith had been honestly surprised when she’d seen Sharon at the first meeting.  She’d met the older girl a couple of times, at university, but Judith had never thought much of her.  Sharon had basked in male attention, rather than concentrating on her studies.  She’d never struck Judith as the kind of person who’d risk her life for others.  She too might have assumed that they would never have to actually do the job they’d signed up to do.

Careless of us, she thought, grimly.

She considered, briefly, just walking out of the gates and going home.  Her ID card would get her past the police checkpoint, she was sure.  Gayle would be pleased to see her, if no one else.  But afterwards ... she’d be jailed, if Director Melbourne had her way.  And even if she didn't, Judith would definitely be expelled from university.  Her father wouldn’t be impressed either.  One should not make commitments, she heard his deep voice rumbling, without intending to keep them.  He’d never trust her again.

I never signed up to be threatened, she thought.  Her people were sensible.  Any genuine evacuation would be easy.  Hundreds of people would volunteer to help.  Hell, they’d recognise the limits, instead of making impossible demands.  None of us signed up for it.

She sighed.  They were trapped.  And there was nothing she could do to escape it.

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