by Jem Tugwell
Serge had arrived first and entered. As always, he stopped to watch the light flooding through the large stained-glass wall and diffusing colour into the church. Serge walked down the white stone steps and approached the altar, he genuflected and headed to the curved wooden bench pew against the white back wall.
A tall man in an expensive looking blue suit followed Serge’s route down the steps and approached the altar, stood for a few minutes in contemplation and then took his place on the pew next to Serge, head bowed in prayer.
‘It’s been a long time, old friend,’ Jack whispered.
‘You look well. How did you get away?’
‘I told my hosts that I needed some time for a personal tribute and what better place than here. My security wasn’t happy that I came in alone, but I told them nothing could happen in a place of God.’
‘And they believed you?’ Serge laughed.
‘They’re too suspicious to believe I’m safe anywhere, but they stayed by the door.’
They had talked for a while, Jack describing what he wanted and Serge listening.
‘Why this game?’ he asked when Jack stopped.
‘The game will generate enough money to cover the costs and then a nice present for us both.’
‘Sure, but the game adds so much risk.’
‘If we simply make four deliveries, then of course it will generate news, but the iMe traces will find all of our supporters who helped and they’d be sacrificed. I need them, and the game adds so much more shock and drama. All those desperate gamers following the updates, and then tweeting their shock and outrage. The news will generate a huge storm in the media. A global focus.’
Serge nodded his appreciation of Jack’s vision. ‘As you wish.’
‘Life’s so easy for the young. No war, no hunger, no shortages. The number of friends on their TrueMe account is all that matters to them.’
‘It’s the same here in France,’ Serge agreed.
‘They don’t need to make any sacrifices. All they offer back to society is selfies.’
‘But you want to give them a game to watch?’
‘Exactly. Life’s a game to them – so we’ll give them a game. They’ll flock to it.’
Jack stood and bowed towards the altar. He started to walk towards the exit and paused next to Serge.
‘There are no martyrs anymore, Serge. If this place teaches us anything, then it’s the power of a martyr.’
Serge looked up and nodded.
‘We’ll give them martyrs,’ Jack hissed.
Chapter 27
Tatsuko couldn’t believe the convenience. It was nothing like at home in Boston. Or France. Or Spain.
The last hotel she had stayed in was in Bilbao. She had flagged taxis, walked, queued at the check-in desk, presented her passport, filled in a lot of her details and given her credit card all before she was checked in. They gave her a key for the room’s door.
Here she had pressed the Taxi button and a car appeared and knew all about her.
‘Hello, Tatsuko,’ it said. ‘Shall I take you to your hotel?’
‘Errh… yes,’ Tatsuko said, slightly unnerved by the familiarity of the taxi compared to the silence and distance of the people.
‘Sorry, I need to go on a slight detour as some of the roads are closed for the ongoing eco-protests,’ the taxi said.
‘Tell me about them,’ she replied.
The car did before offering her a ‘tour guide’ option. She accepted the option, and chatted with the taxi as it pointed out the notable sites as the journey progressed.
Tatsuko felt the taxi was almost a friend by the time she was dropped at the hotel door.
She climbed out of the car and the hotel doors opened. As she stepped into the cool of the reception area, she started to head to the desk, but was stopped by a tingle on her arm where the iTourist was attached. The display screen showed a scrolling message: ‘Check-in complete… Room 537… Fifth floor.’
Tatsuko shook her head in wonder at the contrast to Bilbao. She diverted from her path towards the desk and headed to the lift. When she got in, the lift said, ‘I’ll take you to your floor, Tatsuko.’
Room 537 was halfway along a carpeted white corridor. Small sections of the corridor lit up as she walked through them and snapped off as she passed. The carpet was deep enough to silence her footfalls, but not so deep as to snag the wheels of her case.
She reached the door of 537 and stood, unsure of what to do. She had no key and there wasn’t an obvious handle – only a small red light glowing above a metal push plate. She reached out and was rewarded by a small click from the door and the light turned green. Tatsuko pushed the door open a small amount against the heavy spring mechanism. She pulled her hand back, the door swung closed, the door clicked, and the light turned red again.
Cool.
Tatsuko’s head swung both ways along the corridor, a furtive check for other people. Seeing none, she took a pace right and stood outside room 535. She reached out and pushed the door. There wasn’t a rewarding click this time. The light remained a defiant red and the door stayed resolutely shut.
She stepped left to her room and went inside.
A large screen on the wall clicked into life as she entered the room. After saying ‘Welcome, Tatsuko’ for a few seconds, it redrew with a window showing her ‘Status’. Like on the iTourist, she could see the credit she had left, and time left on her visa. It also showed her pulse, blood pressure and other vital signs as well as details of her check-out time and the hotel’s menus.
Tatsuko touched the iTourist in admiration. Very cool.
She dropped onto the bed, feeling the days of travel catching up with her.
‘Please schedule your voluntary exercise session,’ the display wall said.
Thinking that some exercise would wake her up and shake the travel out of her, she pressed ‘Start in five minutes’.
‘Only approved footwear is allowed on the treadmill.’
‘Er…’ Tatsuko said, looking around for a treadmill. There wasn’t anything obvious, but then a small trap door in the floor slid open to show the base of a treadmill. In a box at the end, she could see a pair of shoes. They looked similar to ordinary trainers, but each sole was split into multiple sections.
Tatsuko pulled her case onto the bed and rummaged around for some clothes loose enough to exercise in comfortably. Finally, she offered up one of the shoes to her foot. It seemed the right size, so she put them on. They fitted perfectly. Now the question on the immigration form made sense.
The display wall started counting down to zero and told her to get on the treadmill.
When she did, the treadmill started and Tatsuko ran. The display wall took her through a thirty-minute cycle, adjusting the speed of the treadmill to keep her pulse in an aerobic range.
At the end of the session, the treadmill slowed and stopped.
The display wall flashed a yellow warning triangle and it said ‘Issues found. Say “OK” to view.’
Tatsuko was really fit and strong, so she couldn’t think what the issue could be. Intrigued, she did what she was told and said, ‘OK.’
The display wall redrew to show a screen with the representation of the soles of two feet and the heading ‘Gait Analysis.’ The display wall said, ‘Say “OK” for details.’
Tatsuko said ‘OK’ again and the display wall went through details of how she landed on each foot, contrasted it with how she should land and the muscular impact analysis if not corrected.
Tatsuko dropped into a chair, stunned at the details. Everything here was brilliant. Why do the people who live here complain so much?
***
Energised by her impromptu exercise session, Tatsuko headed out into the evening. The temperature had dropped, and the sunshine had been replaced by low grey clouds and a persistent drizzle.
She had programmed the names of the shops she wanted to visit by following the prompts under the iTourist’s ‘i’ button. She selected ‘
Program Route’, chose the ‘Return to start point’ option, and watched an hourglass symbol as the iTourist worked it all out.
The iTourist’s screen redrew to show ‘Route calculated’ and scrolled through the route, showing the shop names in the order it had calculated. It finished back at the hotel.
She pressed ‘Start’ and the iTourist showed the first shop as only four hundred metres away. Having seen the rain, she tried to use the Taxi button.
Don’t waste money when you can walk, lazy girl, her mother said, and the iTourist agreed, telling her that the journey was too short, and it was healthier for her to walk. She strode out, starting to feel damp from the drizzle.
The first shop she wanted was in an arcade and the walk didn’t take too long. As she entered the arcade, she saw a small shop selling umbrellas and raincoats. She detoured in and found a lightweight one-piece raincoat with a hood. It came with a neat little bag the raincoat could be stuffed into and a handy hook to attach it to a belt.
Useful for the walk back to the hotel. Useful for the game, she thought.
She headed to the shop she was aiming for and found it tucked in the back of the arcade.
The assistant glanced up from her book and smiled, seeming pleased that someone had actually come into the shop rather than ordering whatever they wanted online and getting it shipped. She looked to be in her early sixties, with greying hair and laughter lines.
‘’Elp you, luv?’ she said.
Tatsuko described what she needed.
‘Few in the back. They’re all out of date obviously with everything on iMe.’
Tatsuko found the section and chose the newest map. It was nine years old and must have been the last of its breed. It covered southern England, with both road maps and more detailed town plans. She looked at the page detailing London, but the scale of the map was too small to be useful. She scanned the adjacent shelves and picked out an old A to Z Maps of London. She knew she shouldn’t buy it, but the other map wasn’t detailed enough.
She weighed up the risk of her purchase being tracked, versus the risk of not finding her way. She needed to get to the finish and London was a big place. She took both maps to the front desk.
She paid and headed out of the arcade. It was still raining so she slipped on her new raincoat and put the maps into a pocket.
She would need them. She couldn’t use her iTourist in the game.
She headed for the next shop on her route, keen to get the rest of the things she needed.
Chapter 28
Clive’s Health Bank bracelets allowed his hedonism to be cost-free, and for chocolate to be his substance of abuse. And his diabetes to return.
He hadn’t admitted it to anyone. Wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but he was scared. Diabetes was serious. He’d escaped it all those years ago, and now it was back. Bucking and fighting the system hadn’t got him anywhere. He knew, deep down, that he couldn’t win.
Maybe he needed a different outlook. If only he could find a way to live inside the system and its rules and be happy. If not happy, then at least accepting of it, his life would be easier and more contented.
A year ago, Clive would have thought the idea crazy. Even two weeks ago before the hospital, he wouldn’t be going to a meeting at the Church of the New Modelists.
‘I can’t believe you’re finally here,’ Sophia said, ‘even if it took Dilani to persuade you.’
‘Sophia, please. Can we put it behind us? I’m here with you and I’m going to try.’ And he actually was thinking positively about the situation.
Clive hadn’t been to the Vansittart Estate in Windsor for years, and even then, it had been run down, and on a downward trajectory. A victim of newer, bigger, better developments. When Sophia had told him the address of the meeting, Clive had done a double-take, it seemed so unlikely.
As he scanned the area, he couldn’t quite believe the transformation. The old buildings had been demolished and replaced with a large irregular structure.
‘Who are they?’ Clive asked, pointing at a group of six people climbing out of a van. They all wore multicoloured hoodies and carried placards. They didn’t look like eco-protesters and as the group formed in a ragged line and raised their placards, Clive could see the messages for the first time – ‘Don’t be a slave to the Model’, ‘Leave out the control’, ‘Leave in the convenience’, and three ‘Liberation, Empowerment, Responsibility’. He felt a stir of genuine interest and empathy. These were his sort of people.
‘Ignore them, they’re Control Rebellion. They always come.’ Sophia grabbed Clive’s elbow and pulled him away and they joined a stream of people heading through the arch and towards the church.
Clive marvelled at how much time and effort it would have needed to build. The structure almost looked handmade, or at least made from recycled materials, but it had to be a professional build. Not even a church could use volunteers on a building site and conform to all the regulations and health and safety.
The roof appeared to be a living sea of wild grasses and flowers that swayed and sang in the breeze. Along one wall that led to the large, arch-shaped entrance, the Church’s mantra was emblazoned: ‘Conformity is Contentment, Conformity is Peace’.
They filed through the door. The use of recycled products continued on the inside. Lighting dangled from an uneven ceiling, but whatever building materials had been used were strong enough to provide a large circular room with no obstructing pillars.
In the centre of the room, two people fussed at a circular table covered in a green cloth. They both wore jackets and trousers with one half-green and the other half-black. Circles of chairs rippled out from the table, in ever increasing diameters. Some in the strange half-green, half-black colours, others pure green, and the rest a uniform grey.
Clive stood at the outside edge of the chairs as Sophia chatted with people she knew. He scanned the people arriving and saw Dilani coming through the archway with a group of others. She waved and headed over to him.
‘Clive, so glad you came,’ she said.
‘Hi.’ He touched Sophia’s arm to bring her into the conversation. He knew that talking to Dilani without introducing Sophia would be a disaster.
‘Sophia,’ he said, ‘this is my doctor, Dilani.’
Sophia stared at Dilani, who seemed confused about why she was getting such a frosty response. Clive began to wonder if this was such a good idea.
‘Citizens,’ a loud voice said, amplified around the room by little speakers. ‘It is time.’
All the conversations in the church snapped off like they were controlled by an invisible switch, and people started shuffling to find a seat. Clive headed towards the nearest chair.
‘Not there,’ whispered Sophia, grabbing Clive’s elbow and steering him away from the half-green, half-black chairs and also from Dilani. ‘Ultras only.’ Sophia’s grip tightened on Clive’s arm. ‘You didn’t tell me Dilani was so pretty. Is that why you changed your mind?’ Sophia hissed.
‘I hadn’t noticed,’ Clive said. ‘Anyway, what’s an Ultra?’
Sophia hissed, ‘Sure you didn’t notice,’ and edged Clive past the green chairs and towards the mass of grey ones.
Clive settled into his chair and the room waited in silent anticipation. Clive scanned the expectant faces and saw Dilani on the other side of the hall.
Sophia’s elbow nearly tore a hole in his side.
A young woman approached the circular table with the green cloth in the centre of the room, and picked the large wooden pole off its ceremonial supports. It must have been heavy as she needed both hands to hold it and place one end on the floor. Wrapping both hands around the top of the pole, she lifted it and, still holding on with both hands, let it drop.
The pole made a booming, echoing thud on the hard floor.
Clive spun left as he heard a door open. A column of people, two abreast and all dressed in green emerged from a large door painted in a matching green.
The pole boomed on the f
loor again and the column took a stride. Boom, stride, boom, stride. About forty people, all Pure Greens, made their way across the room to the green chairs and sat. Clive recognised the teacher who had reported Summer to the police.
The silence resettled, before the woman lifted the pole and allowed it to drop again. A second door, painted half-black and half-green opened and this time, the booming pole heralded the entrance of a single file of eight, dressed in green and black robes.
Clive, guessing these were Ultras, made a note to ask Sophia later.
The Ultras settled and the young woman replaced the pole on its supports and scuttled off to take a lowly grey seat.
An older woman, maybe sixty, sitting in the middle of the front row of Ultras stood and approached the table.
‘Citizens,’ she cried as she reached it. ‘Let us pray.’
All heads bowed, and Clive followed suit.
‘Hallowed be the Model Citizen for it shows us the path of enlightenment,’ the Ultra said.
The congregation muttered, ‘Amen,’ in response.
‘Let the purity of a life conforming to the Model bless each of us.’
‘Amen.’
‘Modern life has no purpose, but the Model takes away our fear and uncertainty.’
‘Amen.’
‘When everything is dangerous…’ the Ultra said, raising her voice.
‘The Model keeps me safe,’ the congregation replied, matching her volume.
‘When temptation faces us…’ Louder.
‘The Model keeps me pure.’
‘When the planet is overpopulated…’ Louder.
‘The Model keeps my footprint small.’
‘When exercise is needed…’ Louder.
‘The Model keeps me healthy.’
Clive heard everyone around him stand and Sophia’s hand pulled at him to rise. He stood and watched the Ultra raise her hands to the ceiling.
‘Praise be to the Model Citizen, for our choices are simple.’
‘Amen.’
‘To follow the Model is to follow the light.’
‘Amen.’
The congregation sat and Clive followed them down. He hadn’t expected such an atmosphere of devotion and belief. No, it was beyond simple belief, it was real faith. Sophia’s face beamed with joy.