At the far end of the rink, Timothy and Patricia prepared the cones that would seal part of the rink off so that the children who were lined up could collect their small badges in exchange for performing a sequence of moves. There was joy, initially, for these keen boys and girls, until it eventually became tempered by some judge on some day, and in most cases killed off in time as a consequence of multiple failure. It was inevitable, though, in a profession that was determined to accommodate no more than two per cent of its would-be entrants. The tears on one girl’s face told it all. No wonder did so few children even bother to attempt the learning process.
*
Sunday passed, and there was nothing unusual about Monday other than that it was the day that Gary had to go into Reading to continue his registration as a jobseeker, and the small matter of a strange card which had somehow found its way onto the floor behind the front door.
The card was seemingly hand-delivered, lacking any kind of postmark or other clue as to where it had come from. Upon it were merely printed the words:
‘Gary Loman,
You are kindly requested to dine at the Home From Home restaurant in Benson, Oxfordshire, at 20.00 hours, tomorrow evening (Tuesday). Please do your best to make yourself available unaccompanied as this is a once in a lifetime opportunity to begin a new life in a new land.
Signed,
A Friend.’
Gary showed the card to his parents.
“Why unaccompanied?” his father asked
“Seems a bit odd, I don’t think he should go,” his mother advised.
“Maybe someone’s playing a practical joke,” said Gary. “Or trying to set me up for something, like that Ivan for example.”
“Who’s he?” asked his mother.
“Victoria’s boyfriend. You know, the girl that dances with me on Fridays. He warned me this week to stop touching her up.”
“So you ought,” said his father. “I always said that one day this strange behaviour of yours would get you into trouble.”
“Oh, he mustn’t go,” his mother urged.
“Give me that card,” his father demanded. “Let me see what it says.”
His father scrutinised the card carefully, noting particularly the gold on blue imprint of Saturn in the top right-hand corner.
“Promise me you won’t go, Gary,” insisted his mother. “It’s not safe.”
“Hang on,” said his father. “This could be something interesting.”
“Why’s that?” asked his mother.
“That logo on the top right-hand side. I’m sure it means something. I have seen a picture of it somewhere, I know I have, and I’ve read something about it as well. I swear it’s supposed to be lucky if you get one. I don’t somehow think that a practical joker or a disgruntled boyfriend would be likely to know about or use that symbol. It’s too obscure. In fact that could even be why it’s kept obscure, to stop it from being misused.”
“I don’t think I would have much to lose by going, would I?” Gary concluded. “I couldn’t see that Ivan going to all that trouble to lynch me. If he were going to do that he would have done it there and then on Friday night. Besides, I don’t think he knows where I live anyway.”
“I see whoever it is has provided directions on the reverse of the card,” his father said, handing the card back to Gary.
“Well, if you do decide to go, for God’s sake be careful,” advised his mother.
Chapter Two
Home From Home
The next evening Gary drove out to the Home From Home. It was a quaint old coaching inn which lay along a remote country lane not too far from Benson airfield. There was no doubt that he needed the directions which had been supplied. When he arrived, however, he did wonder if he really should have come all that way, as not only was the car park deserted, but also the building itself was in total darkness.
He strode towards the entrance and tried the front door. It was locked. Then he knocked three times. There was no answer. He knocked again and waited for a couple of minutes. Still there was no answer, and after a further two minutes he decided to make his way back to his car. It was only when he arrived back at the car and turned round briefly that he noticed the appearance of a small candle alight behind one of the downstairs windows. He turned around and began to walk back toward the inn. It was at that instant that a jet black cat sprinted across his path before slowly advancing to the door. As it mewed the door gradually creaked open and the cat shot in. Then a woman’s hand beckoned Gary to enter.
“Gary,” whispered a voice, as he entered the pitch-dark passageway.
He crept forward, puzzled by the lack of light and total absence of people. Then he saw the dark-haired woman, who was about twenty-two years of age and wore a black dress to which was attached a distinctive badge which bore the same logo as that which was embossed on the card.
“We’ve been expecting you, the table is set,” the woman said in a soft voice as she led him into the candlelit dining room, where one table only was set for two and a short, dark-skinned waiter stood expectantly.
“Please,” said the waiter, pulling one of the chairs out and directing Gary to be seated.
“As you can see, we don’t open to the public at the beginning of the week,” the lady commented as she sat herself opposite him.
The waiter, who also wore the distinctive badge, handed them menus.
“Boa tarde,” he said in Portuguese.
“Boa tarde,” replied the woman.
Gary scrutinised the list of dishes and the accompanying wine list. There was nothing especially unusual about the menus, except for the absence of prices, but, as it was not in Gary’s nature to commit himself to any good or service without being assured of its cost, he felt honour bound to ascertain just exactly what the costs were.
“I see there are no prices on either the menu or the wine list, so can you tell me what the prices are?”
“No is prices,” replied the Portuguese waiter. “Here we have Non-Capitalist Economics”.
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand,” said Gary.
“Don’t worry about it,” the lady reassured him. “All will be revealed. You can make your choice.”
“Seafood roulade looks nice, and then the Bacalhau grelhada.”
“Good,” said the lady. “And I will have the Beignets dos Legumes and the Pescada com Arroz and Batatas do Dauphin.”
“And for you some wine?” the waiter asked. “Vinho regional do Ribatejo branco goes well with the fish. I recommend it.”
The woman nodded.
“So, you are Gary Loman, birthdate May ninth, 2082,” the woman said, as she produced a file from the black bag which she had placed between her chair and the wood-burning fire which the waiter presently tended.
“Yes. How do you know my name?”
“And you have been skating now for almost seven years, never worked, left school a year late and rather fluffed it when it came to examinations,” she continued.
“Yes, but how do you know all of this? I have never even seen or met you before. I don’t even know your name. Who are you and where do you come from? And what does the emblem on that badge signify?”
“That would be telling,” replied the woman coyly.
“There must be some reason why you asked me to come here.”
“There is. Let me just say that someone who is in an influential position has put in a kind word for you.”
“But why me?”
“Because we think you are a deserving case and would respond well to what we have to offer. Your background and character would suit our society well, and would be far more productive for both us and yourself than for you to stay in what really is an inappropriate place for a person like yourself. In other words, we need you.”
“Society, what society?” Gary asked.
“I represent a place, an organisation, you could say a nation,” the woman explained.
“What nation?”
“Collec
tively and historically we are known globally as The Island. It’s actually been going for some time, seventy years in fact, but in recent years it has opened its doors a little so as to provide more opportunity to people like yourself. People who deserve a choice rather than being made to have their lives sub-optimised as a consequence of being domiciled in a capitalist world which is quite unsuitable for certain types of individuals.”
The waiter presently arrived with the starters and uncorked the wine. He filled the two glasses.
“Thank you,” acknowledged Gary.
“Obrigado,” replied the waiter.
“So, where is this Island?” Gary asked
“We operate throughout the world,” explained the woman “But our original site was a small island that was once part of the Azores. That is where you will spend your first year, meet your contemporaries, and learn about how our society functions. For whilst you may be well suited to our ways, they are very different to those here and you definitely have to be shaped to fit, as we say. New ways of working and new ways of thinking are always needed. After a year you and your contemporaries should be ready to join our society in full in the main territory of Kamchatka.”
“I thought that was part of Russia?”
“To the outside world it is, but it is fully owned and managed by The Island and has been since 2077. Tell me, have you ever heard of Non-Capitalist Economics?”
“I have heard of the theory,” answered Gary. “But as far as I was aware that was all it was, just a theory that has never materialised.”
“Well, I can tell you that it has evolved into far more than just a theory. It has been well and truly put into practice. Money is not used at all but everything is privately owned. Goods and services are distributed according to need, but the driving force is to reduce waste and improve quality rather than to apply targets or quotas. It is a system that trades with the capitalist world, but does not use capitalism. There is no such thing as credit control and the only bank account that exists is the single one that The Island maintains in Switzerland for the purpose of maintaining its import and export balance of payments. There are no wages, but also no taxes. There is full employment, but nobody is overworked.”
“But how do people get what they want?” Gary asked
“A feedback and control system combined with high mobility of labour and multiskilling matches supply with demand. Believe me it does work.”
The main courses arrived.
“More wine, senhor e senhora?” asked the waiter.
“Sim, Jose,” replied the woman.
The waiter topped up the two glasses.
“I still don’t understand why I have been selected for this”.
“The places are highly prized, and in the opinion of our pre-selection committee you have the qualities that are required to be able to adapt to our way of life.”
“Such as?”
“A creative mind and a determination to persist even when things start to become difficult. Then there is the methodical approach to tasks and challenges, a negative reaction to competition, a corresponding positive reaction to cooperation, no excessive striving for monetary rewards, and an integrity that displays an unlikely probability that you would be inclined to cheat in any way. These attributes are by no means as common as you may think. We need people who are keen to learn and work hard, so of course we would be looking to harness your talents in exchange for giving you a better life than you are likely to get here. On top of that you can skate, not perfectly, but reasonably well. You will be well trained to enter into a way of life that is fast becoming the envy of the world.”
“Who is in charge of this Island, nation or whatever it is?”
“We are a Queendom,” replied the woman. “That is all you need know for the present.”
“And this Queen decides who gets what and when?”
“Not at all. People are free to claim whatever they wish as long as they feel they have need of it. It’s very relaxed. In fact, it’s a lot more relaxed than capitalism. People are trained not to waste things needlessly, and as long as they keep to that in spirit and just take what is generally regarded as reasonable the system remains stable, unless of course there is some natural disaster, then that’s different, but so it would be under capitalism.”
“What kind of work would I do?”
“We have planned initially that you be trained as part of a highly talented skating team to tour the world representing the automobile manufacturer Kamchatskiy Auto, located just outside Petropavlovsk Kamchatskiy. Not only that you will form a skating partnership with a compatible person for your personal life also.”
“How do you know that we would be compatible?”
“Because we have compiled a file detailing both your and her characteristics. You will be compatible, believe me.”
This sounded to Gary like a dream come true, to have the chance to become a skating celebrity and actually meet a compatible wife. Was it too good to be true though? He pondered a moment.
“What if I don’t like The Island when I get there?”
“Highly unlikely. I don’t know of anyone who has ever wanted to leave. It may feel a little strange for you at first, but I’m certain that once you are there you will never want to go back to as you are now.”
“But if I wanted to come home I could?”
“Of course. But if you did you would have to accept that there would be no readmission.”
“So if I accept, what happens next?”
“The plane leaves Benson at ten tomorrow morning. You will stay here overnight. Any personal belongings that you require can be forwarded on, once your next of kin have been informed that you have decided to accept a place on The Island.”
“Para sobremesa?” interrupted the waiter.
“He’s asking you if you would like a dessert,” said the lady. “I can recommend the apple strudel.”
Gary nodded
“Dois,” she said, before asking Gary if he had any more questions.
“You know I am willing to give anything a try if it sounds reasonable,” Gary said. “And I feel that if I were to turn down this opportunity I could quite possibly live to regret it. So I am going to accept.”
“Therefore I need you to complete a few documents for our records. Then, if you would make your way upstairs, Jose will show you to your room. Overnight kit is provided, breakfast is at eight o’clock and the chauffeur will be outside ready to take you to the airfield at half past nine. Good luck with your new life. Adeus.”
“Adeus,” Gary replied, as the lady bid him farewell and he sat quietly contemplating his new future.
Chapter Three
Departure
Gary awoke at 7.30. A breakfast had been laid out for him, but there was no sign of the woman in black whom he had met the night before, nor of the Portuguese waiter Jose. As he helped himself to it, he wondered again if he had made the right decision. Was this promised land of The Island of Dreams going to live up to expectation? Only time would tell.
The chauffeur arrived exactly at the time stated. He was then escorted by the well-built, pale-skinned driver to the awaiting limousine which transported him to the nearby airfield. Gary made one last glance at his own car as he left, contemplating the new future which awaited him, and the life that he was leaving behind. He noted particularly the gold letter K on the bonnet and steering wheel of the limousine which confirmed the fact that for the first time in his life he was riding in a Kamchatskiy.
“You might as well give me the keys to your old vehicle,” said the chauffeur, who had a strong Russian accent.
“Will I get another?” Gary asked.
“You will not need a car on The Island,” the chauffeur explained. “When you leave and go to Kamchatka you will have shared cars with your setmates.”
“What are setmates?”
“Principals and secondaries. You will learn all about these when you arrive on The Island. We do our best to match people togeth
er who are compatible and to join them in union with others who are like-minded and share the same ideals in life. In that respect our society is much less random than is the case here.”
“Do you have setmates?”
“Of course. All of our citizens do, unless they choose to contract out. You do not have to accept the partner or the set that has been found for you, but experience has shown that most people would rather be in a set than not, and one in which they feel they can belong without frustration or conflict. You’ll settle in okay. Trust me”.
“What will happen to the old Ford?”
“The keys will be returned to your father of course.”
A few minutes later the car drew up alongside the plane. At first it looked just like an ordinary small jet aircraft, but on closer inspection he could see that, like the limousine, it was not a standard type, but a supersonic design, something like a miniature Tupolev or Concorde.
“That my dear friend is your plane,” the chauffeur said, pointing to it. “A Kamchatskiy Aerospace Hebden Three”.
“Never heard of them.”
“Made in Opala in Southern Kamchatka. They are made to order by Kamchatskiy Aerospace for the top of the bizjet market. We also use them internally for a few of our inter-island services. Like most things in our society quality takes precedence over cost. We believe in making things to be as high quality and reliable as possible. Most capitalist manufacturers would consider such a model to be totally uneconomic from a marketing perspective, but the world is slowly changing.”
The limousine drew up alongside the steps that led up to the flight deck, from which a petite oriental hostess emerged. She bowed to the chauffeur, who responded in kind. The chauffeur then opened the car door for Gary, for him to make his way up the steps.
“Enjoy your flight,” said the chauffeur.
*
The Island of Dreams Page 2