by Andrew Tudor
“But can it be fixed?” enquired Marie.
“Ask your husband,” Kenny said, “he’s the expert.”
“Yes, it can be done,” Stuart responded. “We might need to pirate some bits and pieces from elsewhere but we can make it work. The hydro element is fine. It’s some of the electrics that need repair. Me and Kenny reckon we could sort it all out in, say, three or four days. Assuming we can find the stuff that we need, of course.”
“Somebody knowledgeable must have adapted it to feed the local grid in the first place,” Ravi said. “What happened?”
“The guy died in the really bad flu epidemic they had over in Gairloch last year,” Jimmy replied, looking glum. “Took out over half of what little population was left. There’s an awful lot of abandoned houses around the bay now.”
The group fell silent at this reminder of the precariousness of post-Zeno life, an unwelcome thought at odds with the beauty of the summer evening that they had been enjoying.
Finally, Jimmy continued. “There’s something else. To do with local politics. There’s clearly a lot of tension between that guy Alasdair Fleming and some of the Gairloch people.”
“Who’s Fleming?” Irene asked.
Ali looked across at Douglas. “You tell her,” she said. “You’ve had more to do with him than the rest of us.”
Douglas grimaced. “For my sins, yes,” he said. “Not a pleasant man. He’s a major landowner around here and considers himself to be the laird and therefore the person who knows what’s best for the area. He’s widely disliked, but has too often been able to impose his will on the locals. It’s been very hard trying to negotiate things with him. He resents us, sees us as a threat.”
“And so he should,” Ali said. “He does his best to obstruct whatever we do to encourage co-operation. He’s a divide-and-rule man.”
“Well,” Jimmy said, “they certainly don’t trust him over there. When we told them that we could probably fix the system they were a bit wary about having us do it. They think that because we ‘belong’ – their word – to Fleming then that would give him a way to take over the whole thing. In the end I persuaded them that we were our own people, so they do want us to do the job. But I’m sure we’ll get trouble from Fleming.”
“Somebody should just shoot the bastard,” Kenny added vehemently. “He did my family out of some money years ago. He’s an evil wee shite.”
“We can worry about him later,” Jimmy responded, giving his partner a warning glance. “For now we have to find the stuff that Stuart and you need, then get the job done. We can probably get some spares across the loch at Aultbea. The old NATO ship refuelling dock has all sorts of kit and we could do with getting some more fuel anyway. Once the hydro’s working again the Gairloch folk are willing for us to run power across to here on the existing lines, so that will be a good supplement to our own generating systems.”
To avoid them having to travel back and forth every day in the ATV, Marie volunteered to sail them to Gairloch Harbour and moor The Cormorant there as a kind of temporary workers’ accommodation. It was not far from the harbour to the power station and their local contact, who was eager to learn about the electrical installations, could transfer them and their equipment in a garron cart each day. As Marie confessed to Irene, she was more than happy to have an excuse to take the boat out. At least it allowed her to feel that she was contributing to the general good rather than simply sponging off everybody else’s hard work. She and Stuart were still living on The Cormorant even though there were empty houses that could have been renovated for them. At heart, she said, she was just happier on the water.
This arrangement produced an unexpected bonus in that, while the two men were repairing the electrical systems, Marie befriended the family who operated a fishing boat moored next to her. Between them, and the owner of a second fishing boat that worked out of the harbour, they came to a provisional agreement to trade fish for vegetables as well as for other supplies and technical services, initially with the Cove group but in the longer run, Marie hoped, with the entire Poolewe community. As she pointed out to Ali and Douglas on her return, they needed to make the most of Inverewe Gardens, which boasted the richest soil in the area. Even back in its days as a National Trust for Scotland tourist attraction some of the gardens had been given over to growing vegetables. Now, with the NTS no more, the estate had in effect become an arable smallholding and, therefore, a major local asset.
This new-found co-operation with their neighbours to the south was all the more remarkable for exactly that: being new. Why hadn’t the Poolewe and Gairloch communities already conjoined their resources? Kenny supplied the answer.
“Fleming, of course,” he said. “The Gairloch people never trusted him, and for good reason. So although it’s obvious to us that working together would be better for everyone, the history of relationships with him makes it impossible. He just tries to screw anybody he comes in contact with.”
“So we should bypass him,” Ali suggested. “Let’s try to arrange a meeting of people from both settlements and sort out a way of collaborating. If we stick together there won’t be much he can do.”
“Good idea,” Sarah said, adding with a mischievous grin, “and who was always the outstanding go-between for obtuse, uncooperative scientists?”
“Yes,” said Douglas. “I think organising that definitely falls to you, Alison. With Kenny and Marie to help since they already have contacts.”
Ali smiled sheepishly, clearly pleased to have the task. “OK,” she said. “I’ll start on it first thing tomorrow.”
“Keep an eye out for Fleming’s factor,” Kenny warned her. “Long thin beanpole of a guy called Carter. He came across us when we were checking the power cables. Told us we were trespassing on Fleming’s land, so we said we were just ensuring their safety. But he’ll have told his boss and they’ll know something’s up. He’s the only other person left living on the estate. Fleming’s wife and kids left him years ago, and now even the keeper has chucked it in and gone back to stay with his family up Ullapool way.”
Fortunately, Ali encountered neither Carter nor Fleming in the several weeks she then spent drumming up interest and persuading people to attend the meeting. As she confided to Douglas, she rather enjoyed the challenge set by those who had long since become disillusioned with any kind of public involvement. It was good to be using her diplomatic skills once more, and now in the service of a much more important cause than scientific liaison. This time, after all, their lives might depend on it.
By the time the day of the meeting finally arrived, Ali had managed to speak with almost all the survivors in Poolewe and Gairloch. Compared to the pre-Zeno population it was piteously few, but enough of them showed up on the day to make Inverewe Gardens’ former café look moderately crowded. Wanting to ensure that there was no dominant position from which the meeting would be run, Ali had the tables and chairs scattered at random across the room. She seated herself off to the side, as one person among many, and began proceedings by pointing out that she had no special authority. She was simply trying to encourage discussion, reminding them that they were there to plan a better future for them all. To set things going she explained that Stuart and Kenny had agreed to take responsibility for maintaining and monitoring the Kerry Falls hydro system. They expected no payment for this, nor was there any question of charging for the electricity. It would be their first contribution to a programme of mutual aid.
“Mutual aid.” Ali emphasised the phrase. “This is what we need if we are to survive. A determination to contribute whatever we can to the well-being of all.” She paused and surveyed the room, noting several nodding heads as well as one or two sceptical expressions. “Some of you have told me that you feel doubtful about that, worried that there will be freeloaders who take what is given but offer nothing. That’s possible, of course. But it can be dealt with if it arises and it’s we
ll worth the risk if it allows us to make the best use of our limited resources.”
Just then she was interrupted by the crash of a door being flung open at the back of the room, causing the entire group to turn and look. It was Fleming, followed by the much taller figure of Carter. Fleming swaggered in, as small men with large egos are inclined to do, noisily taking a seat in a central position and waving blithely to Ali as if giving her permission to continue. Ignoring his condescension, Ali simply carried on as if nothing had happened, refusing him the pleasure of obliging her to recap the meeting for his benefit.
“So,” she said, not even looking in Fleming’s direction, “what we need to do today is map out some of the things that different people can contribute and how we can best organise a co-operative through which everything can be channelled.”
There followed a somewhat uneasy silence during which people looked expectantly at each other. Finally Conrad piped up.
“Perhaps we need to appoint a leader, someone authoritative who can sort these things out?”
Fleming looked pleased at this, turning to check where the contribution came from and favouring Conrad with a smile. “I’d support that,” he said. “After all, I’ve had many years’ experience of leading this community, something I’d be willing to carry on with in these difficult times.”
Julie shot Conrad an icy look and spoke: “I’m not at all sure that’s a good idea. We need to be working together, not passing the responsibility to one person.”
“I must say I agree with Julie,” Irene added. “I used to work with people who thought that strong leadership was the solution to everything – politicians, civil servants, that sort of person. Frankly, it solved very little and generally made things worse. It’s one of the reasons that the Zeno crisis got to be so bad in England.”
“That may have been your experience down there,” Fleming said haughtily, “but here my leadership has been very effective.” He gazed around seeking confirmation, but found only people looking at their feet and fidgeting until a sotto voce comment floated across the room.
“Aye, effective at lining your own pockets.”
There were some smiles and nods at this, leaving Fleming red-faced and angry. He stood up and tried to position himself at the nearest thing to a focal point in among the tables and chairs.
“Who said that?” he demanded.
No one responded, although Ali noticed Kenny smiling to himself, while most people defiantly met Fleming’s gaze until his eyes passed on.
“All right,” he continued, “if that’s the way you want it.” He turned to address Ali directly, his voice gaining in volume by the second. “I’ve had enough of you lot moving in and stirring up my people against me. You’re not welcome. I own much of the land around here and I don’t want any of you on it, running electricity, travelling over it, anything at all. If I find you trespassing I’ll have you physically driven off the place. No, in fact I’ll set the dogs on you. Then we’ll see how you like living here.”
By now he was virtually apoplectic with rage, his face turning a disturbing shade of puce.
“Is that understood?” he bellowed, loud enough to make the people immediately in front of him flinch.
The words hung in the air for what seemed like minutes but must only have been seconds. Then Stuart’s calm voice filled the silence.
“I’m afraid not, Mr Fleming. I think you’ll find that ownership of land has fallen into abeyance. There’s no longer a functioning central government. I very much doubt if the land register records survive anywhere. And even if they did, there’s no one to enforce any claims to legal ownership. Scottish land must now be counted as a collective resource for the people who live on it, a resource which they all share and draw upon. That’s why Ali MacGregor used the word ‘co-operative’ earlier. That’s what we’re trying to do – create a situation in which we can all co-operate to ensure the best use of what we have. As one resident you’re welcome to be part of that process. But if you’re not prepared to accept the framework, then I’m afraid that you have no business here with us.”
There followed a stunned silence in which even Fleming was rendered momentarily speechless. Then, directing a look of disgust at Stuart, he waved to Carter to follow him and strode through the tables towards the door.
“You’ll regret that,” he announced as he walked, adding, “uppity nigger.”
He was almost level with Irene at this point and she leapt to her feet in front of him, stopping him in his tracks.
“What did you say?” she asked.
“Get out of my way, you stupid bitch,” he shouted.
Irene, who was several inches the taller, stood her ground and leaned down towards him until her forehead and nose were almost touching his. She spoke quietly and with menace.
“You are an appalling, racist little man without an ounce of decency in you. If you ever come near me or my friends I shall make it my personal business to kick you so hard in the balls, assuming you have any, that you will never walk upright again.”
Fleming, exploding with incoherent fury, reached out to grab her, but before he could do so Jimmy and Kenny, who had silently come up behind him, took an arm each and lifted him clear off the ground. Kicking and screaming hysterically like a small child in the depths of a tantrum, he found himself carried out of the door and deposited unceremoniously on the concrete outside. Carter, who had carefully avoided the fracas, rushed to his side and helped him up while Jimmy and Kenny returned to the meeting, grinning broadly and making a great show of brushing off their hands.
Fleming’s humiliation seemed to release something in the assembled company and suddenly everyone was talking animatedly to everyone else. For the next hour or so, people traded information on what resources they had access to and what expertise they might offer to each other. Ali wandered around, listening in on the conversations, occasionally contributing, but mostly making notes as to who was proposing what. Then she sat down by herself and began to arrange what she had written into some kind of order. When she was satisfied that she had established a workable series of headings, she restarted the general discussion.
“That was really useful,” she said. “We’ve learned a great deal about what we can do together. I’ve made a list of the things that you’ve all been talking about and provisionally attached some names for each topic. What I suggest we do is go away and, in these smaller groups, work out how we can co-operate in each area. Then, in a week’s time say, we can come back and fit the pieces of the jigsaw together. How’s that?”
Mostly there were nods and smiles, although some looked a little doubtful. Finally, one of the doubters, a Gairloch fisherman, voiced his concerns in the liltingly accented English of a native Gaelic speaker.
“That’s aye well and good, but it’s going to take an awful lot o’ time. I’ve no got much o’ that – the fishing takes it all.”
One of two of the others nodded agreement whereupon Conrad, who had been sitting in grumpy silence since his earlier intervention, saw his opportunity.
“It’s like I said before,” he announced. “You need a leader to take all the information on board and sort out policies. You can’t just leave it to busy people; they don’t have the time or the expertise. A leader, taking advice of course, can decide on courses of action. If it were me, I’d set up markets through which we can trade products and expertise. It was free markets that made English society work so effectively before Zeno.”
Ali looked at him, dumbfounded.
“You think England was working effectively? Effectively for whom?” she asked. “It was deeply divided and unequal, people were starving, obliged to resort to food banks, exploited by self-interested irresponsible employers even where they did have jobs. The long-promised economic miracle, where riches would cascade down through society, turned out to be an ideological delusion.” She shook her head in despa
ir. “All the deregulated markets did was make the rich richer and the poor poorer. Why do you think there were all those crises? Why was Scotland so keen to become independent in spite of the obvious economic risks? England may have worked for you and for your rich father, but it sure as hell didn’t for most people. And all those so-called strong leaders that you admire, they did nothing to resolve the problem even when it was staring them in the face.”
She stopped and took a deep breath. Her audience, transfixed by her evident passion, looked on and waited for her to continue.
“No,” she said firmly. “Strong leaders and free markets are a recipe for disaster. What we need here is co-operation not competition, a willingness to help each other in common cause. That doesn’t need a leader. What it needs is collective commitment. Human beings first dragged themselves up out of the mud by working together. It was only later that you got people trying to be better than the next person, wanting to put one over the others, to become more important, to become boss. If we’re to survive we have to avoid that kind of thinking, find ways of living that don’t reflect those destructive attitudes.”
She smiled at the fisherman who had been worried about finding time for all this. “Yes, it will take up our time. But we can manage that. We can recognise that some people, like you, will have quite enough on their hands ensuring our basic survival and no time left for organising or helping out in other activities. But many of us will be able to share those tasks and it’s vital that we do. That way we’ll all have a real sense of being in this together. This…” she pointed out of the window, “this is our world now. Only we can make a success of it, not some disembodied agencies away in Inverness or Edinburgh or London. It’s ours to make work for us.” She paused for a moment. “Us,” she repeated, and gestured again to the world outside. “We need to create a way of life in which all is for all.”
Realising that she had been wandering among the tables and waving her arms as she spoke, Ali blushed and hastily sought out her chair, subsiding into it. A silence followed, which was at last interrupted by a tremulous voice. It was a very old woman who had been seated quietly in a corner for the whole afternoon.