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    Last Man in London
    Last Man in London
    Last Man in London
    Ebook233 pages3 hours

    Last Man in London

    By Albert Jack

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    About this ebook

    From the author of the internationally Bestselling Books - Red Herrings & White Elephants, What Caesar did for My Salad, Shaggy Dogs, Pop Goes the Weasel, They Laughed at Galileo & 9/11 Conspiracy
     

    Originally written in 2014 the story chillingly predicting many of the great events between 2016 & 2019, such as the election of Donald Trump, the Islamic suicide attacks in Europe and the dreaded VIRUS that was used to restrict movements of people and restore order.  


    Now re-released the story is also narrated by its author Albert Jack
     

    Imagine a world with no countries, no religion and no democracy. Imagine the fall of the Great Western Empire. Historically, most Empires created by man have risen and fallen during a period of around 500 years. 
     

    The Romans, Greeks, Egyptians, the Moors and the Ottomans all, in their turn, reigned supreme until apathy, arrogance and, laziness led to their downfall. However, Mankind would never become extinct as new societies inevitably replace existing social structures sooner or later. 
     

    By 2022 AD the great and so called democratic Western Empire, which began with the Age of Discovery during the 15th century, was tired, corrupt and had run out of ways of oppressing, cheating and taxing the societies it was supposed to represent, democratically.
     

    Western values and the religion of Islam were non-compatible and the conflict became so intense that the system of democracy would fail.
     

    Other ethnic tensions increased; violence and disorder followed mass migration and people longed for a return to their own traditional values. 
     

    Chaos requires strong leadership. Men of authority. Men like Julius Caesar who could restore the natural order. Bring in a New Order. If the West is to survive then Democracy must be sacrificed.
     

    The question is 'what happened next?'

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherAlbert Jack Publishing
    Release dateJan 24, 2021
    ISBN9781386545736
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      Book preview

      Last Man in London - Albert Jack

      Dedication Page

      This book is for Ha Nguyen Thu

      About the Author

      Albert Jack is a writer and historian. His first book, Red Herrings and White Elephants explored the origins of well-known idioms and phrases and became an international bestseller in 2004. It was serialised by the Sunday Times and remained in their bestseller list for sixteen straight months. He followed this up with a series of bestsellers including Shaggy Dogs and Black Sheep, Pop Goes the Weasel and What Caesar did for My Salad.

      Fascinated by discovering the truth behind the world’s great stories, Albert has become an expert in explaining the unexplained, enriching millions of dinner table conversations and ending bar room disputes the world over. He is now a veteran of hundreds of live television shows and thousands of radio programmes worldwide. Albert lives somewhere between Guildford in England and Cape Town in South Africa.

      Other Books By Albert Jack

      Red Herrings and White Elephants

      Shaggy Dogs and Black Sheep

      Phantom Hitchhikers

      Loch Ness Monsters and other Mysteries Solved

      Pop Goes the Weasel

      The Old Dog and Duck

      What Caesar did for My Salad

      Its a Wonderful Word

      Money for Old Rope Part 1

      Money for Old Rope Part 2

      The Jam: Sounds from the Street

      Want To Be a Writer?

      Rose Versus Thistle

      They Laughed at Galileo

      The Greatest Generation

      Chapter One  

      Of course he was nervous; he often was at times like these. Especially today as it was the first day of his contribution. His contribution to The Corporation that had been training him for his life’s work. For sixteen years their academy had been teaching him to be George Willoughby. And it was finally time to start giving something back to the people who had invested so much in his future. And, of course, in their own. George fumbled in his trouser pocket for the packet of diazepam he had collected from the smoke store on his way to the Hydrostation. A couple of those would stop his internal organs from rattling. They usually did. He pulled gently on his earlobe and peered up at the departures board. The concourse of the main hydro-terminal at Waterloo Station was, as usual, neat, clean and with people moving casually around as they collected breakfast, met with friends or simply headed for their allocated platforms. Nobody appeared worried, nobody appeared hurried. And yet George stood upon legs that felt as if they had no bones.

      Everybody appeared to know their purpose and George wondered how many of them were about to begin the first day of their working lives. It was, after all, the first week for his year of graduates to make their way to new work zones. To begin the life they had been preparing for since their career selection process sixteen years earlier, when all students had been assessed, at the age of ten, and allocated a suitable role within The Corporation. A role they would then spend the remainder of their education being carefully prepared to carry out. Finally George found what he was searching for. Platform 12, the South West Hydrotrain to Exeter was leaving at 09.15am and scheduled to arrive at the Southern Central Terminus at 09.37am.  

      ‘Man, these Hydros are getting faster,’ he thought. ‘That’s 235km in 22 minutes.’ From Exeter he could catch the Sub Atlantic Pulsed Plasma Hydro to New York, Washington, Miami or Rio de Janeiro, if he wished. They were even quicker. 

      George sucked the air in between his teeth and studied the terminals along the line between Waterloo and Exeter until he found Guildford; arriving at 09.22, which allowed him more than enough time to reach his work zone and begin at 10am. George was never late for anything. Nobody ever was.   

      ‘Willoughby,’ called a voice marginally high enough above the low hum of the concourse to attract his attention, ‘where were you placed?’ George turned to see one of his oldest friends, Will Grainger, approaching with his usual wide smile. The pair had been neighbours as children, had attended assessment school together in the Central Complex and, despite being parted when Will was assigned a position in the Industrial Training Programme, whilst George had been placed on the Literature Updating Curriculum, they had remained close friends. 

      George felt relief. He had spent the entire weekend trying to control his nerves and, at one point, had felt as if his lower intestine had turned into ragged ice, dropped a little and was repeatedly stabbing him in the kidneys. He was pleased to see a friendly and familiar face.    

      Will seemed to have no similar concern. ‘Dude,’ he called again, ‘where were you placed in the end?’   

      ‘Guildford,’ George replied. ‘There is a Department of Literature just outside the old town and a pod-car runs right beneath the building. I’ve plenty of time.’  

      Grainger looked up at the departures board. ‘I got Woking,’ he added, ‘it’s only one stop before yours and look, there is another Hydro leaving at 09.45. Guildford is only seven minutes away, let’s sit for coffee.’ 

      George hesitated but his friend was already heading for the dispenser. ‘Ok, he called after him, but I’m taking mine with me and not sitting around here wasting time with you. Besides, I am keen to get there, see what the place looks like, to see where I am going to be spending the next thirty years.’ 

      ’Thirty years,’ Grainger repeated quietly. ‘They program us for sixteen years to make one single, repeated, contribution to the company for the next thirty. Then withdrawn at fifty six and free to spend the rest of our lives doing what exactly?’  

      ‘As many twenty-five-year olds as I can,’ George joked. Grainger knew he wasn’t joking. George began to calm down a little as the pair made their way to Platform 12 and the diazepam started to work its magic.

      ‘Don’t mind if I do,’ said Will as George offered him the packet.  

      ‘Keep them,’ he told him, ‘I’ve plenty.’ Will stuffed the tube into his pocket. 

      Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad after all, thought George. At least he wasn’t the only one making his debut into the real world, as his training supervisors had repeatedly called it.

      ‘The Real World?’ Grainger echoed his thoughts. ‘It won’t be any different to the role-play world we have become used to. I was fully trained two years ago and have spent all of my time since then doing exactly what I will be doing today, after the induction morning. Simple Transition they called it.’ 

      George already knew as he also graduated two years earlier, as had everybody else from their respected education programmes, and spent that final twenty four months on the Advanced Supervised Preparation Programme (ASPP). The whole point of that was so graduates could start contributing to the company from the moment they took their placements.  It was the same each year; a seamless placement, zero disruption to those who had already begun their life contributions and without disruption to the work supervisors and the rest of the department. 

      The Hydrotrain slid to a silent halt at the terminal and the pair stepped on. George turned to his friend, ‘you also stuck to the ten-till-three work period then?’ he asked.  

      ‘I don’t like early mornings and want to be back at Central Complex by half three,’ said Will. ‘That leaves me the rest of the day to do what Will does best.’  

      George shuddered. ‘Count me in later then, I will need some of that by the end of this day.’ 

      During their final two years on the ASPP all graduates were invited to choose their daily working program. Each employee of the company had to contribute a full five hours of work for each of four days in a week. George opted to continue his ASPP hours as they suited him, Will had done the same but anybody could change, after checking the contribution pattern on their company issued hydro-devices, selecting available shifts and then logging them onto the central server which would alter their tracking patterns accordingly. The Global Positioning System on their hy-devs would record their contribution routines for the work period although, in truth, they recorded everything. 

      Will and George both knew, as they scanned their ident-cards at the platform gate, and again as they entered the work zone, that their movements were registered at the Divisional Database. So what; it was they same for everybody. It had been for all of their lives and, besides, the only time anybody checked it was during their annual appraisal, or if anybody had gone missing. Such as the famous case of Ivy George. She was the student who dropped hers in a lake whilst taking digi-pics on a lone, day trip to Boston. When the Divisional Database failed to pick up her signal for thirty minutes her Education Supervisor had been alerted and within seconds the entire Corporation had been informed and her picture profile was automatically displayed on everybody’s hy-dev main page.  

      Poor Ivy had some explaining to do when she finally arrived back at the Central Complex Hydroport, where the cameras immediately recognised her, alerted the nearest supervisor and she was taken to the personnel officer for a de-brief and retraining day. In truth, Ivy had quite enjoyed it. The following morning people she didn’t know smiled warmly at her, having recognised her digi-profile, which had been embedded on every home screen the previous day. Ivy found herself enjoying the slight attention and was disappointed when, within hours, something else had occupied everybody’s focus and she seemed to be forgotten about again. 

      George settled into his seat and studied his reflection in the smoked glass window opposite him. He had a narrow head with a small pointed nose and prominent cheekbones. Shoulder length blond hair and, at around 6’2, was carrying a few kilograms of extra weight, which his supervisor had already recommended a fitness programme for. It began the following week.  

      ‘It’s your own fault you fat bastard,’ Will goaded him as if reading his thoughts. ‘You want to cut down on your pies and pints mate, and get some exercise.’

      George laughed, pulled gently on his earlobe and then traced his finger along the port wine birthmark, around the size of a thumbnail, which drew attention to his right cheek. His supervisor had also recommended a clinic that would remove it for him  

      ‘And leave the birth-mark,’ Will added, ‘it gives you character. It’s part of you and there is nothing perfect about perfect.’ 

      George laughed again and sipped his coffee whilst considering the reflection of his friend as the Hydro sped out of the Central Complex and through the countryside. Will was shorter and with brown wavy hair. By the look of it his obsession with his hairdresser was not reciprocated. He was also leaner than George and fitter. He had a round, friendly face with a near permanent smile that revealed a prominent gap between his two front teeth.

      ‘I probably will,’ George said aimlessly. ‘As long as you leave the teeth alone.’  

      Will grinned widely as the Platform Pods of the Woking Terminal pulled alongside the Hydro and connected. ‘See you later then,’ said Will as the main doors opened and he stepped into the pod, after making way for those who were joining the Hydro. With that the doors smoothly closed, the Pod disengaged and peeled away from the main train. George sped onwards and watched as the Woking pod slowed into the terminal and the Guildford pods pulled up alongside and quietly connected. He stood up to wait for his turn. The tablet in his pocket had pinged a reminder that Guildford was only fifteen seconds from Woking. 

      Looking out of the smoked glass window George studied the building ahead as the hydro-pod slowed into its terminal. It was old, very old and built from red bricks with tinted windows and painted white window frames. ‘Like something from the old books,’ George grinned to himself. ‘Like many of the buildings in Cape Town. Ahh, Mira,’ George thought. ‘Still, no time for her now.’ He would see her at the weekend. At that moment George’s hy-dev pinged him a personal message which he checked as he moved towards the assembly area for the new intake.

      Mira: ‘good luck today babes like you need it, see you on Friday night x’  George tapped a single letter reply and slipped the device back into his pocket. She would know what that meant. 

      As he approached the intake lounge he checked his watch; 09.25. Looking through the smoked glass windows he cast his eye around the group of around twenty five graduates and recognised only one from his ASPP training. Hugo Gomez had not exactly been a friend but at least he was a friendly face, a familiar one.  

      ‘Hugo,’ called George as he walked into the room. ‘Georgie boy,’ came the reply and the pair hugged like the friends they were not.  

      ‘So, you were given Guildford too?’ Hugo asked rhetorically.  

      ‘I applied,’ said George. ‘It seemed obvious to me, within seven minutes of the Central Complex so I can stay in my old apartment there. Edgar is on the Complex too...’  

      ‘Edgar?’ interrupted Hugo.  

      ‘He is my father’s grandfather. The only relative I know about these days, I go and see the old boy once a week, take him some whiskey and smokes and he sometimes talks about the old days. Never gives much away though, the old bastard, but he has seen it all and I often take my advice from him. He has been a sort of mentor to me, outside of the Corporation.’ 

      ‘We are not supposed to have those,’ replied Hugo, ‘but, I suppose, if he is family.’  

      George ignored the remark and continued, ‘he was something to do with the Corporation at a high level but retired in the early days, back in AI03, I think. He was given a fantastic top floor apartment in an old converted warehouse as a life reward. You should see the views from there. Right across the Complex and he has the whole floor so it’s a 360 degree panorama. And besides, my subject is history and he has lived in it, so I have learned a lot from him’ George watched as the supervisor walked into the room. ‘I will take you there one day, you can meet the old man, he is full of stories’  

      Hugo, George and the others straightened to face the last man into the room.

      ‘I would like that,’ Hugo whispered. ‘Seen much of Will?’ he asked.  

      ‘On the hydro this morning, he got Woking for his Industrial Placement.’ George replied.

      ‘I saw it, just seconds along the line, I will make sure I am on the same hydro as you both tomorrow, it would be good to see him again and...’ Hugo tailed off. 

      ‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ interrupted the Graduate Supervisor, ‘and welcome to your first day of contribution, the first day of your working lives and, of course, the first day of the rest of your lives.  

      ‘What a twat,’ whispered George. ‘I hope he is not going to talk in clichés all morning.’  

      Hugo ignored him and listened alertly. ‘My name is Vincent Baptist and I have been the Intake Supervisor at this department for the last twenty years. There is nothing I do not know about what goes on around here and so if you need anything at all then I am the man to ask. I will be supervising you until I am withdrawn, which is in ten year’s time’

      George listened as he surveyed the other graduates. They were all of the same age and all of them, like himself and Hugo, would have been assessed for this contribution at the same time and received a variation of the same training and preparation at one of the five hundred and twenty academies throughout the Corporation.  

      There were marginally more young women than men and he realised that, apart from Hugo, he knew none of them. George’s gaze stopped and rested upon a beautiful, brown-skinned girl with shiny, black hair who was staring up at the supervisor, listening intently. George found himself staring at her. She glanced quickly towards him and then back again as a small smile, which began in those brown eyes, briefly lit up her face. George quickly turned back to the supervisor and realised he had not been listening. He pulled gently on his ear with his thumb and forefinger and forced himself to concentrate.  

      ‘You haven’t missed anything,’ whispered Hugo. ‘And yes, she is cute. I noticed her earlier.’  

      ’What did he say?’ hissed George. 

      ‘Just some crap about where the sports centre is, the dining room, overnight suites and everything else. It’s all in the induction PDF anyway, I read it earlier. Don’t worry about it.’ The supervisor’s words became audible to George again as he tuned back in.  

      ‘And so, as you know, there is very little I can tell you about what you will be doing here. You are all fully trained, completely prepared and can go to your work zones right away, if you like. However, for those of you who are interested I can offer you a tour of the archives. Here you will see books. Real books as they were first printed back in the days when we used to use paper for everything.’

      Some of the graduates started chattering excitedly. They had never seen a book before. They had all been recalled during the first years of the Incorporation and replaced by a brand new updated digital version that was uploaded automatically to everybody who handed their old battered, original copies into the re-cycling facilities. 

      Edgar, on the other hand, had an old chest full of them in his storage area back at the warehouse. He had shown George once, but hadn’t let him read any since they were considered to be against company policy to own, when everybody had the new digital copies safely on their hy-dev bookshelves. The Main Board’s Public Relations Department had sent an email to the entire corporation reminding everybody that paper was a valuable resource that needed to be preserved and recycled. Although George had never been told of what it was being used for instead. He had never seen any, apart from the old, tattered copy of a story called Treasure Island that Edgar had once, briefly, let him see before locking it back into the chest with what appeared to be a couple of hundred others. 

      The supervisor’s voice faded back into range again as he announced, ‘so, remember that the old democratic governments of the

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