The Yeomen of England (Posleen in England)

Chapter Eight: Civil Defence

Rusholme, Manchester

21 August 2001
Sameena lay beside Brad, his hand gently stroking her back. Like many other people around the country, she’d taken the news of the impending war hard; even through her brother had assured her that the Posleen existed. Sarfraz’s emails and letters had grown less frequent as he became more and more part of the army, but his tone had been grim.
“I’m going to continue my training as a doctor,” she said, and Brad nodded. She sensed his unwillingness to let her work for herself – as if she doubted his ability to provide for her – and his understanding of the position. If the conscription program went ahead – and the C-word had been used by the talking heads on the BBC – Brad would probably have to join the army. She knew that thousands of young men had applied for Fleet, but the BBC hadn’t been encouraging; there was too little time to train new recruits up from scratch.
“I am almost tempted to join you,” Brad admitted. “I…I don’t want to fight.”
“Me neither,” Sameena said. The announced conscription plans, by her calculation, would have Brad conscripted in a year or two, unless he became indispensable or fled the country. She’d read a report on draft dodgers fleeing to Canada and – the paper had taken on an amused tone – promptly being conscripted into the Canadian Army. The Irish, on the other hand, seemed to disbelieve in the threat altogether.
“I don’t seem to have much choice, however,” Brad continued, and she recognised the sheer determination that had attracted her in the first place. “I wonder if your brother’s regiment would be interested in me.”
“They don’t want people to enlist at the moment,” Sameena said. It was odd; the BBC had asked for people to give their names, but not to actually enlist. The explanation had been the need to expand the recruiting for the rejuvenated soldiers. She shuddered; Uncle Ackbar had been very clear on the subject. He wanted to be rejuvenated, and so did many of the Asian population.
“I’ll give in my name before I have a sudden attack of brains to the head and realise how dangerous this is,” Brad said. “Will you wait for me?”
She kissed him, suddenly, passionately. She’d refused his gentle invitations to take their relationship to an all-new level, just because it would have been dreadful to have been found out by her parents. Virginity tests – something that couldn’t be done to a boy – were not uncommon, even though they were about as fallible as Iman Ahmed’s voice box.
She smiled. The old Iman had been kind, even to the girls, but his voice had been very weak indeed. Every time he led prayers, his voice had stumbled, causing the children some giggles. It hadn’t been until much later that she’d realised that he did it on purpose, just to keep them at their ease.
“You know I will,” she said, feeling his hand slip under her shirt. “You know I will.”
***

She returned late to the house – having told them that she had university work to do with friends – to step into the middle of an argument. Almost the entire extended family – but only the male members – were gathered in the big room, packing it tight. Her mother didn’t ask her any questions, perhaps not wanting to draw attention to her daughter’s behaviour; she merely ordered her to take in some food. They didn’t thank her for it, even though some of the younger men smiled at her.

She shuddered. She was marriageable age by now – by some standards she would have been marriageable age when she started her menses – and she knew that her parents had discussed her wedding at length. Sarfraz’s…desertion, as they phased it, had put such plans on hold. Their silly pride wouldn’t allow them to run the risk of a second failure to marry off their children, nor – she suspected – did they want to lose her services in the home.
“I do not believe in the alien threat,” Jafar said. She’d seen Aladdin and had thought that they’d actually used her uncle, several times removed, as the model for the evil vizier. Her father had laughed at it; he wasn’t so keen on Jafar himself. “It is a plot to keep us down forever, or to force us to fight for them.”
Sameena slipped into a corner, wishing that she were a man. Sarfraz would have pointed out that if they were forced to fight, then there would be someone to fight. A woman couldn’t say things like that. Jafar…wasn’t quite right in the head, a man who believed so passionately in the rightness of his own soul that he couldn’t see any rightness in anyone who disagreed with him.
“We will be among the first conscription wave,” he said. Sameena understood; a disproportionate percentage of young Asian men – and women – were unemployed, and so would be rounded up into the army first. “We have also been denied access to our families.”
That wasn’t quite accurate, Sameena knew. The government, understanding that rationing would have to be instituted, had ordered a flat ban on further immigration, along with the other European governments. Illegal immigrants had been returned to their countries of origin; their rights were no longer a pressing concern with the Posleen breathing down their necks.
“We have to stand up for our rights,” Jafar snapped. He was no Iman, but his group murmured with understanding. “We have to protest at being dragged into the military.”
“Bed, now,” her mother muttered. The men ignored them. Sameena left quickly, followed by her mother. “Sayresh says that you were talking to a man.”
“One of my fellow students,” Sameena said. Sayresh was one of her mother’s closest friends, a woman with a sharp tongue and sharper eyes, a terror to anyone who sought to do anything not quite right. She sighed. “What’s it any of her business anyway?”
Her mother replied in their language, just to clarify the point. “She is a woman of great renown.”
“She’s a danger to shipping,” Sameena snapped, feeling all of her frustration breaking out of her. “I’m going to start my enhanced training tomorrow.”
“You cannot,” her mother said. “I need you to help prepare food for the…”
“Why?” Sameena asked. “What’s in life for me? I’m going to become a doctor because that’s what we need!”
She stormed up the stairs, shaking inside. She’d never snapped at her mother before; her mother had always been willing to use a hairbrush if necessary. As soon as she was home, she composed an email to Sarfraz, and then went to sleep. Whatever her mother said, she had a busy day tomorrow.