Black & White

by Nick Wilford

  Wellesbury was about to interject that Mallinger, when he’d spoken to him, had been absolutely adamant about wanting to return to his family in Fusterbury, such as it was, but someone in the crowd shouted out first.

  “How can you prove all this?”

  “The DNA record speaks for itself,” replied Tindleson smoothly. “You’ll be able to come and view it at the science department after this meeting. In fact, we’ll soon be opening up the whole of government headquarters for public inspection and accountability. Everything will be transparent from now on.

  “On that note, I think we should set the record straight about Fusterbury and about Loretania - what we call the Under-Region. Before the Reforms, everything was in disarray. Disease had become endemic. Something called cancer was the worst one. People were angry; riots were frequent, at least among those who had the strength to take part. No one felt they had anything to live for, the government was doing nothing, or so it seemed, and things had just degenerated.

  “Well, when things are as chaotic as that, that’s when revolutions happen. A group of scientists – my predecessors – had been working on some groundbreaking research. It wasn’t sanctioned by the government, and the rumour persisted that they stole the money to carry this out – not that it matters now either way.

  “So, this revolutionary group – who we call the Reformers now, which sounds peaceful, but they were ruthless and cutthroat – seized power by force. There were deaths, certainly. In those days you could kill people. The public listened to them – they were people with the soul sucked out of them, they would listen to anyone who was making big promises. They didn’t care about the methods. The Reformers – well, especially the leader, Crannimon – were offering them an end to their suffering and a long and healthy life.

  “There were demonstrations. The scientists took subjects in the final stages of being ravaged by cancer – and others with tumours, others who’d lost limbs – and put them through a machine that restored them to a state of peak fitness, almost like they’d been born again.”

  Wellesbury looked at the crowd, who all seemed just as captivated as he was.

  “And all the white - it wasn’t always like this. It’s all variations of this synthetic compound, which never wears out, never dirties. The government never has to do much building any more, and there’s zero upkeep needed on anything. Crannimon’s big idea was to purify everything – strip it back to a simple, perfect state. And of course get rid of the dirt, viruses and everything else that was impure. But it had to go somewhere.

  “Once upon a time, Fusterbury was pretty similar to this place. It’s hard to believe, I know... Maybe slightly worse in terms of disease. Of course, there’s a whole country, Loretania. It was called something else then. Everything was.”

  Tindleson looked into the middle distance. “The people there... well, they weren’t so aggressive as they were here. They seemed to be accepting of their lot, and made the best of it. There was only a rudimentary government system. Crannimon sent envoys to take that over too. And then... well, he set about turning Loretania into what you see on the film up there. How? The science department was given an enormous budget – so much so that other things suffered. The people of Loretania were exploited from day one, with extortionate taxes. So they were forced first into poverty, then unspeakable squalor. Here, things got better and better. The nanotechnology was developed to an incredible degree. Everyone’s genetic structure was reprogrammed to have a hyper immune system – so there was nowhere for the disease to go. The scientists changed the very atmosphere, so it was impossible for dirt to exist here, changed the weather so it was always... neutral, and did the opposite in Loretania. There, cancer and everything else could rage unchecked, and frequent extreme weather conditions take their toll as well, causing large numbers of casualties because everyone is so weak and susceptible.

  “And, well...” Tindleson waved his hand in the air. “Obviously, the Refomers didn’t want what was going on in Loretania to become public knowledge. So Harmonia shut itself off from the rest of the world, allowing no one to get in or out. They did the same with Loretania - I know for a fact there are ruthless border patrols around its perimeter, trained here and sent over. There are other countries too – but I know nothing about them.

  “Rumours still got out, though. The government headquarters are not completely airtight. Inevitably, morality came into it. The people there must have done something really bad to be living like that – whereas, hey, look at us, everything’s perfect. I don’t know who first mentioned the word demons, but it stuck, and the government came up with the Under-Region thing. Since then, that’s been the official line.”

  “Where’s the Supreme Grand Ruler?” shouted a woman.

  “Yeah, how are you getting away with all this?” another man yelled. Portions of the crowd erupted again into fierce debate before Tindleson appealed for quiet.

  “You asked about the whereabouts of our Supreme Grand Ruler – or Lord Hubert Histender, for that is his name. Well, I can now reveal that to you. Histender is safely within his own quarters – for now, at least. You are about to see the face of your leader for the first time – please do not be alarmed.”

  Some members of the crowd turned to look at each other, but most kept their eyes trained firmly on the screen, which was still showing the footage from Fusterbury on a loop. Tindleson fiddled with the controls on the projector and the image changed to that of a luxurious, well-appointed bedroom, with four-poster bed, paintings hanging on the walls, and an ornately carved armchair. Wellesbury noticed that like George’s office, the room was full of colour, not just plain white. The chair and bed were decorated with swirling leaves of gold. Much more shocking than this, however, was the sight of the occupant, a grossly fat man, writhing and moaning on the bed and clutching his sides in agony. Sweat dripped from him and vapourised in mid-air. The open-mouthed crowd watched as Lord Hubert Histender, for presumably it was he, walked with a waddling gait over to the open door of the bathroom and vomited in the vapouriser. The audience wouldn’t have a clue what was happening to him, but Wellesbury knew only too well. So did Ezmerelda – and Mallinger.

  “Citizens of Whitopolis, meet your esteemed Ruler,” announced Tindleson in a rather mocking tone. He pressed another button on the console of the machine and addressed Histender. “Your Lordship, it is good to see you are bearing up well.”

  Histender, who had been leaning forward on the edge of the bed with his hands on his knees, jumped at the sudden eruption of the voice in his room as if from an electric shock. But then his face contorted in rage, his eyebrows pulling down and towards each other and his eyes becoming even smaller and harder than they were before.

  “Tindleson! What is the meaning of this? What have you done to me, you deranged, insubordinate slime? Reverse this immediately, and I might not even have you sent to Fusterbury to suffer an unspeakable and humiliating death!” Histender took a deep breath, and his shoulders rose and fell rapidly. The exertions of his outburst seemed to have exhausted him.

  Tindleson stood with one hand in his pocket and stood casually watching as his master was wracked by a fit of hacking coughs. When Histender was finished, he said, “Ah, excellent, Your Lordship!”

  “What? What are you blithering about, you nincompoop?”

  “You have just admitted the existence of Fusterbury to a watching audience of at least a thousand citizens.” Tindleson closed his eyes and smiled as if in his own personal rapture. He then turned to the crowd. “Does everyone want to give His Lordship a big hello? On the count of three, everyone shout ‘Hello, Your Lordship’. One... two... three!”

  “Hello, Your Lordship!” The noise was absolutely deafening. A sense of safety in numbers, and some generally held qualms about the regime, even if up until now submerged, seemed to have overcome any uncertainty felt by individual members of the crowd.

  “What on earth is going on, Tindleson?” Histender’s face had been purple w
ith rage, but now it was deathly pale. The watchers, silent once again, waited anxiously for his next words. Histender was quieter now, but his voice still had a hard edge. “What have you done? And why aren’t I being kept informed of events?”

  “Ah,” said Tindleson, shrugging. “Well, your Chief Adviser, Gennikin, has unfortunately suffered a similar mishap to yourself, as well as others in your close circle and all the Heads of Department – except myself. It seems I must have made a grave mistake when preparing the booster shot. So, for the moment, it looks like normal operations have been inadvertently shut down.”

  Histender gritted his teeth, and his slit-like eyes searched furiously for the camera in the room. “You’re a murderer, Tindleson,” he growled. “I’ll see you burn in the fires of hell for this.”

  “Ah, but as you have admitted, in a roundabout way, those fires do not exist. What does exist is an entire country, doused in filth and squalor, where the average life expectancy is twelve, and where an agonising death from the very same condition you are now suffering from is guaranteed. And this has been going on for hundreds of years. You did not create the situation, I know, but you allowed it to continue when you took office. So who is the murderer now?”

  Histender looked ready to respond with another enraged retort. Then he hesitated, perhaps remembering the hordes of his subjects watching and listening.

  “I have here with me the two young people, Wellesbury Noon and Ezmerelda Dontible, who bravely made their way to Fusterbury in order to try to help the young man who travelled here only to be thrown into a jail cell,” continued Tindleson. “Both made video recordings of the sights they encountered. Ezmerelda managed to artfully conceal hers from the authorities who apprehended them on their return, and every single person in this audience – not to mention millions more across the country, watching their TVs – has seen the footage.”

  Histender was sitting very still. The lines which had coruscated his face in anger had melted away, leaving his expression eerily blank. Wellesbury scanned the crowd again. Some had fearful expressions, but quite a few looked elated.

  Then the Leader erupted, howling in a deranged, primal roar. He started to stomp around the bed, but his yelps turned to ones of agony as the disease worked against him.

  Finally he slumped to the floor and put his head in his hands. This made his next words very difficult to hear, and Wellesbury felt the utter silence in the square as he spoke.

  “You are going to get rid of this poison you’ve put in me, Tindleson, and do the same for everyone else who’s fallen victim to your insane scheme. Then you will be banished. You will never see another face for the rest of your miserable life. As for your little... assistants, I haven’t decided what to do with them yet.”

  “Lordship, they are only children,” said Tindleson, unfazed by the threats.

  “They are old enough to be accountable for their own actions.”

  Tindleson crossed his arms and smiled as if he was about to lay a trump card. “Yes, they are. But you would prefer they not be. You would prefer if everyone followed you blindly, never questioning. I am so glad these two youngsters thought for a moment and asked questions. There are good reasons why they should. I’ll get to that shortly. And now, everyone knows the truth. What do you think will happen if you send me away? Things will go on as before? No one trusts you now, Your Lordship. Your predecessors overthrew an immoral government and claimed to build a utopia. Now the cracks behind the facade have been revealed. And revolutions tend to go in circles – if you’ll pardon the pun.”

  Histender had lifted his head by this point, and Wellesbury could clearly see his eyes on the larger-than-life screen, hemmed in as they were by folds of flesh. They had a faraway look. The fight had left the Leader, for now at least.

  “I never had any intention of letting anyone die. Of course you and all your colleagues will be given the antidote. I just wanted to give you a taste of your own medicine, what you have allowed countless innocent people to suffer. We will come to an agreement on what to do about Loretania. I feel sure I can eradicate the disease altogether, but this will mean a return to a state of normality for both nations. For example, we will once again be able to feel pain. If we scrape our knee it will bleed. That is the natural order of things.

  “I will want to take my equipment to Fusterbury, to start to heal the place. I know it’s possible to get there the old-fashioned way, over the sea. No one here knows what the sea is. I want the borders of the country opened up, and free movement to occur. That goes for all aspects of life. No more regulated leisure time.

  “If you don’t agree, I have a two week window before you will really be in danger. That gives me time to make the changes anyway, if I get a move on. That means you’ll be able to feel pain. The headquarters are currently defenceless – you never saw the need for security, as no one knew where it was and your anaesthetised public weren’t interested in finding out. Things are different now. You’ll be able to become injured, and feel pain, and I won’t be held responsible for what some people might do to you if they get to you. So, what do you say?”

  Wellesbury held his breath. It felt as if everyone else in the world was doing the same.

  Finally, Histender nodded, and the crowd erupted, as years of a tension that most people felt but couldn’t begin to describe melted away.

  “Excellent. Thank you. Well, I think that’s about all for now. I’ll get back to you very shortly, Your Lordship.” Tindleson abruptly ended the transmission and switched off the screen. He jumped down from the platform and motioned for the other two to follow him, as the crowd erupted once more into a susurration of urgent voices.

  “We did it!” squealed Ezmerelda, beaming from ear to ear. “I can’t believe it. Thanks for everything, George.” She hugged the scientist, and then hugged Wellesbury too, planting a kiss on his cheek. Their eyes met for a moment, and they both looked down coyly, recalling the chaotic circumstances of their previous kiss.

  Tindleson cleared his throat. “Er, if I can have your attention for just one moment, there’s something else I wanted to say. I meant to say it up there, but... ah... I didn’t quite get round to it.”

  They turned to him and waited.

  “Listen... I hope you won’t hate me for this, Ezmerelda, but... I always suspected you would have a part to play if a day like this ever came. It just needed the right catalyst to set it off, and that catalyst was Mallinger.”

  “Where is he, by the way?” said Wellesbury.

  “Staying at my house for now. I thought this would be a bit overwhelming for him. As we thought, it was easy to get in, treat him with the mobile stasis tank, and get him out once I threatened not to give the antidote to the prison warder. You two will be reunited soon enough.

  Wellesbury nodded happily. He couldn’t wait to get to know his brother properly.

  “Go on with what you were saying, George,” said Ezmerelda.

  “Right... I told Wellesbury I was just an underling when his twin was sent off to Fusterbury. That wasn’t quite true, but I was still a subordinate and it didn’t seem like I could prevent it. But it gave me an idea. What would happen if someone from Fusterbury was brought up here? Altering people’s very DNA so they can’t contract disease – well, that can also have an effect on their mind. The opposite is true. Having someone come here who is geared to be susceptible towards it – well, some part of them is going to know deep down they don’t belong here, even if they know nothing about the actual place they’re from. I don’t know why I picked your parents. I mean, you’ve probably seen that your father and I don’t get on. But neither do you, do you?”

  Ezmerelda took a step back, horror and confusion clouding her pretty eyes. “You mean... you mean you swapped me? For someone from Fusterbury?”

  “It was... an experiment. I know it wasn’t an ethical thing to do, at all.” Tindleson held his hands up. “But don’t you see how it’s paid off? You had that seed in you that questioned things here
. And you and Wellesbury kept pushing forward to achieve change. Look at what we’ve done now.”

  He stopped, waiting for Ezmerelda to speak. She had her arms crossed, looking down at the ground. Wellesbury couldn’t see her expression.

  “It’s weird to think they’re not my parents, although we never really got on. That seems to be pretty common, though. And hey, Dad came through for me when I needed to be cured. I’m not going to write them off or anything... but I’m kind of glad they’re not mine. That was why I could contract the disease so easily from you. But you couldn’t have known that.”

  She lifted her head, and looked at Wellesbury, reddening slightly. She had more colour on her than anyone he knew, he thought. And that made sense, too.

  “I didn’t,” he said, trying his best to look her steadily in the eye this time. “And it could have all gone horribly wrong... but it’s worked out, hasn’t it?”

  “Yeah,” she said. “It has.” And they both smiled.

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