2o34 The Future?

2o34

The Next Generation?

Nik Olsen

Independence is a valuable part of our Heritage

Don’t Lose It.

Odd facts have been taken from the news and some existing places alluded to in order to provide an element of realism, but all characters are entirely fictional; any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

Originally published 2018

Copyright

Nik Olsen 2018

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form without the express permission of the author.

Also by Nik

Friend & Foe (a trilogy)

Set in Stone

Short Stories for Self-Isolation

2o34

The Future?

Europe is experiencing seismic changes that the bureaucratic fossils in Brussels are incapable of understanding. Their malaise feeds into UK and ignites fury over the Brexit debacle, depriving the whole region of energy and productive focus. The US is disillusioned with the torpor of its Western allies and is struggling with nationalistic movements of its own, creating isolation and rebellion. The East continues its’ program of destabilisation, but has never been able to coordinate strategies outside its own suppressed regions: even they are seeing signs of unrest as the world stumbles into a predictable dystopian abyss of our own making.

The following is fiction but based upon plausible possibility.

Chapter 1

2034

The elderly lady caught sight of the dishevelled shape making her way towards her and turned away, hoping the abject creature would take the hint and move on: but no, it would appear people needed putting in their place by more demonstrable means.

‘What do you want; who are you, and why are you annoying me? Go back to your hovel before I call the militia.’ The recipient of the outburst appeared taken aback; shaken by the vehemence of the uncalled for protestation.

‘I am only asking for help; if you would be so kind as to show me the way to..’

‘Help…Help me someone; I’m being accosted by this vagrant…Get away – go: aaarrrrggghh; I’m bein molested,’ she screamed out loud. People began pointing and some came towards the agitated woman, gesticulating. The terrified young woman backed away, confused, not thinking she had done anything to warrant such a torrent of abuse. Her arrival in the town after many days wandering the countryside had been a relief, with thoughts of sustenance and the possibility of transport home. She quickened her pace as a crowd had gathered around the old lady who appeared to be enjoying the attention; she was desperate for rest now the earlier euphoria had evaporated and the griping of her stomach hampered her movement. As the agitated woman pointed towards the departing culprit there were shouts, but no one bothered to chase the scruffy individual, as acting on one’s initiative could be detrimental to their welfare.

Fleeing the town centre had drained her of the few reserves remaining and exacerbated the bilious feeling in the pit of her stomach, which she put down to the constant fear and awful diet she had been forced to endure. It was late afternoon as she staggered along the empty road on the outskirts of the town, not having passed any recognisable refuge or form of transport to take her somewhere safe. Refuse of all description littered the pavements and parcels of open ground; starving animals and carrion clawed at meagre scraps, spreading malodorous contents in all directions: her face contorted as she continued her unsteady path, trying not to succumb to the abortive attempt to clear the acidic remnants of her empty stomach.

Her eyes constantly scanned the horizon for any suitable refuge, with relief from unwanted attention; acknowledging that her pathetic state would prevent escape from any determined pursuer. The surrounding opportunities were contemplated with a remote awareness, as if external to her body - only processing the relevant information. In the distance were allotments; her mind focussed briefly, assessing the possibilities. Sheds littered the ground amongst the patches of brown and green, offering up the potential for shelter; though a few persistent gardeners continued their efforts to extract any remaining produce from their oblong parcels of land. She found a spot to shelter and waited; the persistent heaving racking her spare frame.

As the light began to fade and the final stragglers had left, she tentatively walked towards the haphazardly organised field, looking for a prospective sanctuary as her condition worsened. One shed appeared tidier than the others, though the rusting padlock presented a seemingly insurmountable problem. She rattled it in frustration, only to find it wasn’t locked, the mechanism seized long ago. Inside, the draughty panels had been covered with fabric and a dilapidated deck chair was folded in a corner: it would have to do; she couldn’t walk any further; closing the door behind her and gingerly testing the deck chair. In minutes she succumbed to her exhaustion, falling into a disturbed sleep.

She woke with a start as something brushed against her leg; desperately needing water, but unable to focus clearly, she attempted to raise herself from the chair - falling out of it - crawling to the door - the abrupt realisation of her infected condition causing her to weep. There were noises outside but she no longer cared; she managed to stand and force her way out of the shed, barely noticing the few people starting early on their plots. She staggered back in the direction she had come from the previous night, not knowing where she was going any more, only that she had to leave. There was a shout as someone noticed her stumbling across a plot, attempting to reach the lane that ran around the jumbled allotments. The sounds had diminished but the bewildered woman didn’t believe she had escaped and was determined to fight her way out of what had now become a chilling nightmare: the sickness was disorienting and her objective congealed in a swirling maelstrom of torment that had no sense. Time stood still as she stumbled up the narrow lane, desperately trying to concentrate on the forward movement of her suffering limbs: she vaguely noted the shout emanating through the fog in her brain, but paid it no heed as she began crossing a field, heading for trees where she believed lay safety. The reverberating sound of the shot was immediately followed by a searing pain: as she fell, the only thought was of home and her loved ones who she would never see again. Was it only fifteen years since she left university with such high hopes?

2019

The young woman laughed, throwing her head back, letting her dark hair flow, unconstrained by the hairgrips that normally kept it in place. Her companion shared the joke with others in the small party celebrating their end of term results at the university. Natasha was popular, but maintained her privacy; striking a strange relationship with Edward, who had been shy when he first attended the campus, but found a new passion when introduced to the socialist society.

‘What are your aspirations for the future Natasha?’ asked a colleague who shared the same subjects as she did.

‘To reshape the NHS and enable it to provide succour to all who are unfortunate enough to need it,’ she responded, to great acclaim.

‘We should all drink to that,’ Edward chimed in, raising his glass. He was about to add some left wing political comment, but Natasha looked him straight in the eye, daring him to spoil their special occasion. After a typical fast-food snack they headed towards a lively bar with music, where a few of the group embarrassed the rest with their version of dancing: Edward didn’t join in but was an enthusiastic spectator. Natasha tapped Edward on the shoulder, shouting in his ear that she was leaving, but Edward refused to allow her to leave on her own.

‘Sorry Ed, I didn’t mean to cut your evening short, you were having such a good time.’ They put their coats on as they stepped outside the building to a noticeable drop in temperature. Spring was morphing into summer but hadn’t yet relinquished its grip, cooling the night air as the sun dipped over the horizon: Edward looked flushed and dishevelled as he zipped up his old parka style garment that he wore everywhere, shedding his inner layers before discarding his garment of comfort.

‘No, don’t worry Nat, I have to be up early anyway; the bills don’t stop coming in just because we’ve finished our courses, and your dad would be furious if he thought I’d left you to find your way home alone.’ They walked to the tube station rather than call for a taxi, enjoying the evening stroll. ‘It’s good to be outside in fresh air; and I could do with a bit of clear ozone to refresh my alcohol clogged brain cells,’ he continued, watching Natasha who was looking up at the stars, distorted through the light pollution and hazy atmosphere.

‘Sorry Ed, I was just thinking, well; reminiscing I suppose. We have had some good times, and some awful ones, but all of them have been memorable, and I hope we don’t lose track of one another as we pursue our separate ambitions.’ They were both silent for a while as the train pulled into the station, reflecting on her words. Edward sat down next to her as the train pulled away and held her hand.

‘You are the only real family I’ve got Nat; you can’t get away from me that easily.’ She smiled, squeezing his hand in return.

‘Yes, I suppose there is that to consider. Who else can you turn to when no one else will listen to your outlandish proposals?’ They both laughed, but stopped as the doors opened and a group of youths boarded the train noisily. The atmosphere was tense as all but one sat down not far from them: the other stood, holding the upright pole, swaying back and forth, his eyes roving as if in some disconnected dance.

‘We can get off at the next stop Nat, it’s a bit further to walk but it’s a nice evening.’ She nodded, but said quietly.

‘I have a taser and will use it if necessary. Dad has always insisted I am prepared for anything that might crop up; but yes, you are probably right. Here, the station is approaching.’ They both rose from their seats, pointedly looking away from the sinister group who had obviously been drinking or taking substances; sighing with relief as they walked towards the stairs and the exit.

‘Seriously Nat, what do you think of the current situation? We’re paying massive amounts in tax to the state who use it to pay for multiple layers of bureaucracy instead of front line services, ensuring no one is responsible for the many failures.’ Natasha hesitated a moment before answering; taking in the surrounding vista, noticing how much brighter the stars appeared in the suburbs, without the plethora of neon clad advertisements.

‘That’s a subject for another time Ed; besides, you are the socialist, and they are socialist policies,’ Natasha responded, taking Edward’s arm as she nearly fell over the uneven paving slabs. The street was silent and shadows formed by the moon produced eerie shapes: the orderly facades of the town centre were now replaced with a cross-section of shops displaying signs of neglect, or with notices advertising for tenants, and graffiti daubed walls; rough sleepers jostled for prime position in shop doorways and bins overflowed with a week’s rubbish causing them to tread carefully. She reflected on the disparity and was about to speak when they both heard the unnerving scream: it carried across the empty night with a faint echo, lifting the hairs on their necks. Shadows appeared from around a corner, crossing the street, causing them to laugh nervously.

‘I should have known better,’ said Natasha. ‘We’ve a family of foxes living out the back of our store and they make a frightening din, though I prefer them to rats that make the bags of litter look as if they are alive. You don’t need to take me all the way home Ed, it’s out of your way.’

‘Not a chance Nat; I’d never forgive myself if anything happened to you. I can look after myself.’ Natasha was pleased but concerned.

‘Do you want to stay the night, mama and papa won’t mind?’

‘Thanks for the thought, but no; all my stuffs at the flat: it won’t take long, I might jog back. Who knows, I might even see a copper on my travels.’ They laughed together; Natasha held his arm tighter and they continued on their way.

‘Hello papa, why aren’t you in bed?’

‘Why do you think Natasha? I’ve been waiting up for you; what time do you call this, it isn’t safe out there this late?’

‘Edward walked me home papa,’ Natasha responded indignantly, feeling that she was old enough to look after herself.

‘Your mother was worried and you have a job to do early in the morning; don’t forget that young lady.’ Natasha was annoyed and about to speak her mind when she saw the moistness in her father’s eyes.

‘Oh papa,’ she said, throwing her arms around him. ‘I’m so sorry.’ He hugged her closely in return, trying to contain his composure.

*

Eoin stared at the results of his exams: he was aware his course work was towards the top end of the class, but flattered by the As and Bs in the other categories. The offer of higher education would be available, but he had spent the welcome legacy from an aunt and was now in debt; so needed to begin preparations to forward his CV to prospective employers.

‘A year or so ago you could have walked into any job lad, but now you can’t be too choosy, unless of course you’re some whiz-kid with brilliant inventions in your head.’

The man was at least honest. Eoin was one of six applying for the job, and the works manager who sat in on the second interviews, had taken him to one side after the various candidates had been seen. He thanked the man, thinking that was possibly his way of saying not to ask for too much if he received an offer.

The offer duly arrived, and as interpreted, was somewhat less than hoped for. It had been his eighth application and the only offer of a job: he rocked back and forth on the chair with the letter in his hand, deliberating briefly before making the call. The bills were mounting and his landlord was chasing him: he sat down at the table and began making a list of his anticipated income and expenditure.

*

Several months later Eoin sat at his bench and looked at the clock; an archaic feature from a bygone era: the half eaten sandwich lay next to his few possessions on the table, where his various tools were also laid out. The workbench was one of many in the open plan production area, and was littered with scraps of wire and components surrounding the motor and intricate housing he was working on. The notepad to the side contained tiny sketches, dimensions and notes pertaining to the device he was assembling, which should be examined by the designers in the drawing office, if they hoped to produce something practical with the prototype. Boxes lay around the workshop floor of unfinished and rejected models, adding to the sense of inertia. Eoin had come to realise that the only way to overcome the pedantry was to set targets, but today was Friday and he would pick up his sixth monthly pay packet and payslip.

Eoin lay in bed looking at the brightness through the faded curtains, debating a lie in; sorting his finances or a run, but rather than waste time in bed thinking, he decided his body craved action and sprung from the bed, before inertia claimed the upper hand.

The sun had yet to produce any significant warmth as he set off from his flat, relishing the crisp, clear morning; clearing his brain as he jogged around the park, sprinting in short bursts, combined with stretching. Returning to the flat afterwards was not appealing, so he made his way to a café he used to frequent during his university days. The waitress took his order without comment, deciding the abject looking customer probably couldn’t afford one of their tempting choices from the menu. He was on his second mug of tea when he heard a familiar voice.

‘Eoin? Eoin, it is you; I haven’t seen you for months – where’ve you been?’

‘Oh; hello Darren; uh, nowhere really, I mean, working, you know, trying to earn a living. What about you?’

‘I’ve been away for a while, but I still visit the old place when I have time. You seein anyone at the moment?’ Eoin looked at Darren and smiled, shaking his head.

‘Who would want a hard up, scruffy introvert like me; besides I never get out to meet anyone?’

‘You never were one for the ladies Eoin; not that it’s a bad thing as they’re expensive and argumentative. I’ve been seeing someone for a while now, but my travelling makes it tricky to maintain a relationship.’

‘What is it you do now; is it still in finance?’

‘Sort of, yeah. I work for fund managers, doing the leg work: that’s why I have to travel so much; but the pays not bad and I get to see places on expenses, and don’t ask too many questions about some of the dubious deals. Anyway; what’re you doing, the amount of studyin you did you should be on a good whack?’

‘I joined a firm that designs and builds prototypes for the engineering industry, but I’m the gopher, assembling parts designed by the drawing office, but they seem to have no practical ability in their make-up and don’t take kindly to criticism. I thought it would be a step in the right direction, but now realise that I would rather be out on site fixing stuff, or at least involved in the planning and development.’

‘My uncle works for the government in the infrastructure department, and they’re always looking for engineers; pensions good to, but I don’t know if the pay is any better than yours is now for people on the first rung. It’d give you job satisfaction though as a lot of work is on sites and you’d be helping the local community.’ Eoin looked at his friend, wondering if this was too good an opportunity to pass up. Whilst he was thinking, Darren added another little sweetener. ‘You’d also be eligible for their gym membership; as I recall, you spent quite a bit of time in the uni gym when you weren’t studying.’

‘I could certainly do with it; this is the first exercise I’ve had in ages. Could you really put in a word for me? I mean, I know you can’t guarantee anything, but I don’t know if I can take much more in the job I’m in now.’

‘My pleasure Eoin. Just remember your old friend when you’re in charge of the department and I’m needin a hand-out is all.’ Darren grinned at Eoin as he got up from his seat.

‘Are you leaving already?’ asked Eoin; sad that their meeting was coming to an end.

‘Yeah; I’m off very early in the morning and have a load of catching up to do before I go. Be lucky, and see you around.’ They swopped contact details and shook hands; Darren left, winking at his chum as went.

Two weeks later Eoin received a letter in the post, asking him to call and make an appointment with the council admin department. A week later he was sitting in a sparse office opposite a large man who was obviously as uncomfortable in his surroundings as Eoin.

‘I’ll not beat about the bush laddie; we’re short of engineers – well, good engineers that’re prepared to get their hands mucky; and we have it on good authority that you’re capable and have the qualifications. Money’s not great, but with application you should expect to improve your pay grades pretty quickly. I’m more a general foreman than desk jockey, but I happened to be here and they wanted me to see you and give them my opinion. I’m happy with what I see and providing your references and qualifications stack up, you could be offered a probationary three month period in two to three weeks; if that fits in with your current arrangements.’ Eoin was startled at the lack of formal procedures but liked the bruff, no-nonsense approach of the north-country senior engineer.

‘I am not sure if my current employers will insist on a month’s notice, as stated on my contract of employment; not that I do anything you could call vitally important.’ They shook hands and Eoin was welcomed to the club. Eoin said he would enquire about the notice stipulation and looked forward to being a member of the team. His immediate thought was to call Darren and thank him; but he had not heard from him since he had left London: he walked to the café where they had met; not expecting to find anyone there to share his good news with.

Spring was arriving and Eoin had settled in to the new job, appreciating the diverse and numerous projects the department oversaw, and the continuing scarcity of capable engineers. He was willing and always happy to attend any sites needing the involvement of a qualified representative of the council, though the gym aspect proved a little disappointing. During one of his trips to site he noticed a sign advertising a camp for army reservists, and on a whim, stopped off to register his interest. Life was becoming bearable at last.

Chapter 2

Louis held the paper in a tight grip; breathing deeply, he forced himself to read the passage again to make sure there was no mistake. He hesitated, unsure whether to tell Jamalya before he had formulated a considered response; her pragmatic and reasoned approach had been fundamental to their decisions in the past – but this? He sat back in his chair, removing his glasses, looking upwards for inspiration.

‘We have never shied away from anything in the past and I am not inclined to do so now Jamalya. We will contact our MP to see if there is anything that can be done to reverse this monstrous decision;’ their language had always been formal in English as Jamalya was ten years old when her parents brought her to Britain, and she shunned the trendy colloquialism used by the younger generation.

‘We must take precautionary measures never-the-less: we can’t afford to lose all we have worked for these past years. I will tell the two girls to be prepared to move away so it doesn’t come as a shock: they will no doubt treat it as a remote possibility, which is best for now, but we have never found the authorities to be considerate in the past, and I don’t believe it will be any different this time.’ Louis looked at his wife and nodded; pleased he had her complete backing. Between them they devised a response to the council’s declaration, and made an appointment at the clinic where their Member for Parliament held his sessions.

‘Our hands are tied Mr & Mrs Rodgers. The rules are laid down in the European courts and we simply have to follow them, whether we agree with the principles or not; though yours is a tricky case and could be seen to be outside the ruling, but proving it is another matter, and would be costly.’ Louis was dressed formally and looked uncomfortable: Jamalya answered the politician, who appeared genuinely aggrieved by their plight.

‘I thought the majority of people in our country voted to leave the European Union; to get away from policies that are not in our best interests. Clearly the arcane structures in place in Brussels cannot be expected to suit everyone, but in truth, they suit very few, except the rule makers and their cronies. We are insignificant and our own government has disowned us, passing responsibility to unelected charlatans hiding behind layers of obfuscation.’ Louis knew that her words were largely symbolic as the minister couldn’t change anything, but at least they had made their point. Jamalya patted his hand and smiled, though he could see it didn’t touch her eyes; that shone when she was happy.

‘I will raise your issues with the ministers in charge of the relevant departments. If enough people complain, we can draft a petition: we have seen too many small businesses close due to unfair practices that favour national and international corporations, who have convoluted webs linking them with highly placed politicians.’ There was little else to add, so they politely thanked him for his time and left.

*

Edward listened to the group leader whose rhetoric was inspiring some of the less well informed spectators, many of whom were regulars, lapping up the banal, left-wing phrases that had been uttered by similar speakers for decades. He knew he could do better but treated it as a learning curve, and as proof of his commitment to the cause, which he trusted would be appreciated by the senior members of the union and local council. The date was set for the protest march and he would be joining them in their remonstration against the iniquities of the incumbent right-wing government.

‘Hello Eddie; we’re gonna show them capitalist cronies their days’re numbered and they’ll regret writin us off as a lost cause, eh?’ Edward sighed.

‘Hello Barnie; I suppose it depends how much support we can muster. Are you going to be able to persuade many from your district? I don’t have that many friends I can count on, but will try and raise twenty or so.’

‘Yeah; reckon I can get fifty or more, and some of them will pass on the message, so word should spread fast. Alec reckons we’ll have more’n ten thousand. Can’t you spread the word through your work on the council; there must be plenty there that wouldn’t hesitate to join in?’

‘I’m a little fish in a big pool Barnie; my work is of little consequence and the union will have had prior notification of the march, so anything I say will just be repetition. Look, I need to go; see you next week?’

‘Oh, yeah; okay – you not goin to the café for refreshment; they’ve got some of that new opioid derivative health drink; s’posed to be good for you?’

‘You be careful with that stuff, I’ve heard it’s addictive, and possibly not quite as healthy as they make out; though with the tax on it you won’t hear the government confirming that.’

‘You read too much Eddie; that’s probably worse than takin the drink,’ Bernie replied, before adding: ‘did you feel a bit scared by the antics of the guys on the podium tonight; I felt they were sending a message to anyone that didn’t agree with them?’ Edward winced; no one else called him Eddie, but he had given up trying to persuade Bernie to call him Ed.

‘It’s common practice now Bernie; they don’t mean anything by it, and want to get your attention, so they make it appear frightening, that’s all. See you in a week’s time.’ Edward walked off quickly, not wanting to become involved in drug or alcohol fuelled recriminations. As he left the built up areas where shops continued to display fashionable goods for the gainfully employed and traffic congestion spewed polluting fumes, he couldn’t help but notice the change: trendy outlets had been replaced with pound shops, charity shops and coffee or fast food emporiums - or were empty: evidence of a deeper malaise in the form of wilful damage, graffiti splashed walls and uncollected litter, emphasised the stark difference between sections of society. He chose his route carefully, not wishing to become another statistic of the local news channels.

*

The American vice consul continued speaking in what Julian Symonds, the assistant head of foreign affairs technical division, could only describe as a dull monotone, intended to portray the seriousness of the matter. He managed to interrupt at the third attempt, to the obvious disapproval of the pontificating official.

‘I understand what you are saying sir, and agree that Europe is not being totally transparent in its dealings with countries outside its fractured, quasi republic; but the fact of the matter returns to the nationalistic terms of your own trading agreements, where third parties, supposedly on WTO terms are held to ransom if they want to deal with you at all.’

Before the plainly irritated man could respond Julian continued. ’I don’t mean to say that happens all the time, but it does give some our European allies a reason to impose their own draconian tariffs, citing unreasonable behaviour on your behalf. We are unfortunately still tied to their rules, but do want to continue to reach out to our global partners, cementing our international relationships.’

‘Your technical and financial expertise, along with a fair sense of play is welcomed in our country son, and we trust our security forces will continue to share vital information in order to secure our borders: but, we have to tell you that our leader is disposed to revert to nationalistic tendencies when he sees others not playing by the rule book.’

Symonds was aware the conversation was not going to lead to anything productive, and the senior official was not about to accept justifiable criticism: he looked at the secretary, introduced earlier, who was taking notes. She glanced at him, rolling her eyes, but keeping silent. The vice consul was speaking again, re-iterating his earlier statements as if they were new and of significant importance. Symonds acknowledged what was being said, but didn’t add anything, hoping the pompous representative would consider he had done enough and conclude the meeting.

The secretary produced her contact details when her boss had finally finished, saying he was to contact her when he had managed to persuade his department to consider the proposals with a view to implementing them. He smiled gratefully, saying he would be in touch, and left; wondering what his boss would say when he returned to the office.

‘Yes, I know you have listed the facts Julian, but you have totally missed the enormous possibilities promised by our allies: ones that the media can speculate on, but we would never dream of confirming, though some less security minded civil servants may well do so under the veil of secrecy, so to speak. We need to play up