by H. R. Moore
‘The highest scoring pair in the universe?’ mocked Penny. ‘Back in the real world, where it matters, you’re about the lowest scoring pair I know. Look at you,’ she said, indicating the mess strewn across the room. ‘You’re both grown men, lying about, crap everywhere, smoking weed, like grungy teenagers. Who do you expect to clean up this mess? Hey? Because it’s not going to be me anymore. I’ve had enough of running around after you ungrateful, lazy scroungers.’
‘Come on, mum,’ said Ben, the more laidback of the two, sitting forward in his seat. ‘What else are we supposed to do? There aren’t any good jobs, and it’s not like we need to work; UBI gives us enough money to live on.’
This was too much for Gerry. ‘Aren’t any good jobs?’ he repeated, harshly. ‘So the jobs we do, to keep this house going, to pay for you to sit around on the sofa, playing computer games like a pair of children, aren’t good enough for you?’
‘No,’ said Sam, shrugging his shoulders as though this were obvious. ‘We’re clever. We’re almost the best in the StarGaze universe. You get a lot of respect when you’re in that position. We don’t want to do menial work where we’re at the beck and call of robots,’ he said, emphasising the word as though it were disgusting.
‘And anyway,’ said Ben, ‘we give you some of our UBI, so it’s not like we don’t pay our way.’
Penny laughed, a cruel, hard laugh, the kind that indicated something bad was coming. ‘We can no longer work extra hours at the factory, so you’re going to have to do more than just give us some of your UBI. You’re going to have to get menial jobs, and help us cover the debt repayments.’
‘No,’ said Sam, squaring up to his mother. ‘As you said, we’re adults. You can’t make us do anything we don’t want to. It’s not our fault you decided to have a third child. It’s not our fault you decided to try and give us everything, living beyond your means to do so. It’s not our debt.’ Sam was on a roll, clearly enjoying the sound of his own furious voice. ‘We didn’t make you do any of it, so it’s not our responsibility to bail you out now you can’t keep breaking the law to pay for it.’
‘How dare you,’ said Gerry, astounded. ‘You’re drunk and high; that can be the only explanation.’
‘Why don’t you ask your favourite child, Thomas, to pay for it? He’s rich enough. He wouldn’t even notice such a paltry amount,’ said Ben, calmly, although with hatred in his eyes. ‘And, if you think about it, it’s all his fault anyway. If you hadn’t had him, you wouldn’t have had to cover all the costs for three children, with only the UBI meant for two.’
Gerry shook his head. ‘For Christ’s sake. Yes, we had three children, because we weren’t willing to have an abortion. That made money tight, but we gave all of you everything we could. Only Thomas, though, was willing to get off his arse and work for something. He didn’t complain about doing menial work. He worked hard. He looked for opportunities, and he took them. Why did you two turn out so differently?’
‘You introduced Thomas to Guy, your idol,’ said Ben. ‘That’s why he became successful, because you put your favourite son, and only your favourite son, I might add, in a position where he could do well.’
‘And if you’d shown any interest, we would have done the same for you,’ said Gerry, his face a bright shade of red. ‘Instead, you’ve turned into jealous, indolent, bitter people, who do nothing but sit around in your parents’ house, playing computer games.’
‘And anyway,’ said Penny, ‘we might have asked for Thomas’ help, but you know full well we’re not on speaking terms at the moment.’
‘Not our problem,’ said Sam, his face a blank, impenetrable, heartless mask.
‘Well then,’ said Penny, fury taking hold, ‘you are no longer our problem. I’ve had enough of supporting you. You’re ungrateful, idle, and have never had to lift a finger to help anyone but yourselves. That’s partly my fault, I know, so now you can take your UBI and go and look after yourselves.’
‘What?’ said Ben, the wind taken out of his sails. ‘You can’t do that. Where would we go?’
‘Not my problem,’ said his mother again. ‘Hopefully this will shock you into taking some responsibility and thinking about people other than yourselves. Maybe this will make you understand all the things your father and I do for you that you take for granted. We’ve mollycoddled you for far too long, so now it’s time to try something different. You can’t even change a tire for goodness sake; it’s embarrassing.’
‘People don’t change tires any longer,’ said Ben, as though his mother were a moron. ‘You ask a robot and they do it for you.’
‘Exactly,’ said Penny, ‘you always think there’s going to be someone else to do everything for you. Well, that stops today.’
‘We know about your extra hours at the factory,’ said Sam. ‘We’ll turn you in.’
‘Get out of our house,’ said Penny, shaking with rage. ‘You’re no longer welcome here, and if you so much as think about turning us in, you’ll never be welcome again.’
* * * * *
Richard and Thomas sat in their autonomous car on the way to Bristol University. Bristol was known as a hub of both creativity and technology, and had been for decades. Richard had jumped on that bandwagon early, sponsoring the university when it had led the way in several fields of technological research. Unfortunately, these days, companies led the way, and Richard was yet to find an appropriate way to terminate his expensive relationship with the university. It was also an annoying drain on his time, as he had to turn up to this event and that opening, making it look like he gave a damn.
Universities had reverted to their original purpose, which, he thought, was a good thing. Those who attended focused on pure, hardcore academia: researching, developing and furthering knowledge in their areas of interest. Richard thought it was good that people studied English Literature, or History, or Philosophy, but it had little relevance to him or his company. Far fewer people attended, and the ludicrous practice of the early 2000s, where successive governments had perpetuated the insane idea that it was good to get as many people to university as possible, was thankfully over. All it had led to was massive debt, a chronic skills shortage, and unmet expectations. There had been too many graduates, most of whom had no real, distinguishing, desirable skills, and when they’d completed their three- or four-year romp through university life, and realised they still couldn’t get a high-paying job at the end of it, they hadn’t been very happy.
Companies had finally taken ownership of the problem, because they struggled to find employees with the skills they needed. They’d started their own training programmes, or part-funded industrywide training colleges, where students got hands-on experience of real-life problems, as well as being taught the actual, hard skills they needed.
Over time, people realised these programmes were the way to get a well-paid job, and they became hugely oversubscribed, especially as they often paid students to attend. Universities became less relevant, and everyone agreed it had been a bad move to try and use universities, which had never been intended as training grounds for employment, for that purpose.
It took the government a while to catch up, but they did eventually, and managed, after considerable lobbying from all angles, to entirely overhaul the primary and secondary education systems as well. Now, as much credence was given to artistic endeavour, creative pursuits and helping people find areas of real interest, as to maths, English, coding, critical thought, and leadership. Students were taught about financial management, online dangers, mental health, and the importance of community. They were told that they might not ever get a job, which was why it was important to find their passion, and use the financial freedom afforded under UBI to pursue it.
Of course, wealthy parents, dying for their children to get a job without a working hours cap, paid career consultants ludicrous sums of money to help find the route through which their child was most likely to be financially successful. Whether this was best for the child or not w
as irrelevant; they would thank their parents later (of this the parents had no doubt).
The most prestigious universities were, naturally, still doing a roaring trade. A degree from Oxbridge had never been in greater demand, especially as people had more time on their hands, and courses were free, paid for by the government. But, the degrees were in demand from people pursuing their genuine interests, and often later in life, once they’d managed to work out what their interests actually were. Many other universities had either closed down, turned into skills colleges, or partnered with companies to help deliver their internal training programmes.
Bristol was a prestigious enough university that it was still in high demand, and they still managed to churn out some good research every now and again, so it wasn’t a bad thing to be associated with them. However, Richard planned to hand the running of the relationship over to Thomas; let him spend his time handing out prizes and cutting ribbons. Richard had a tennis forehand to work on.
‘You haven’t announced my appointment as interim finance director yet,’ said Thomas, casually.
Thomas and Richard were facing each other in the car, on plush, cushioned seats. Richard always chose spacious town cars, with seats facing each other and a table which could be raised in the middle, or lowered down to become part of the floor. This meant he could work in comfort when he travelled, and it was a good, mobile meeting venue. It had a fridge, and compact tea and coffee maker too.
‘No,’ replied Richard, continuing to look out of the window at Bristol’s impressive gorge.
‘When do you plan to?’ asked Thomas, watching Richard carefully.
‘I’m not sure,’ said Richard, still refusing to look Thomas in the eye. ‘It depends on the applications I receive in the next few days for the replacement FD position.’
‘Oh?’ asked Thomas. ‘How so?’
Richard finally turned to look at Thomas’ face, meeting his eyes with a cold, dark stare. ‘If I find someone good, who can start immediately, then there will be no need to appoint you as interim FD at all. It will allow for a smoother transition.’
‘Will it?’ asked Thomas, smiling lightly, clearly amused.
‘What’s so funny?’ asked Richard, beginning to anger at Thomas’ impertinence. He was nettled not only by his smug facial expression, but his body language was all wrong too. He was lounging back in his seat, legs crossed, arm out, as though he were talking to a peer in the country club, not trying to convince his boss to give him a promotion.
‘It’s probably for the best,’ said Thomas, ignoring Richard’s question.
‘What is?’ asked Richard, confusion taking hold of his features. ‘You don’t want to be FD?’
‘Not any longer,’ Thomas replied, cryptically, taking his time, clearly enjoying the upper hand.
‘And why is that?’ asked Richard, twitching with irritation.
‘Because there’s a bigger job I’ve got my sights on.’
‘There is only one bigger job,’ said Richard, his face turning red with rage. ‘My job.’
‘Yes,’ said Thomas, calmly looking at Richard. ‘And that’s the job you’re going to give me.’
* * * * *
Richard told the car to stop. He knew something significant was about to come out of Thomas’ mouth, and he didn’t want to be anywhere near the press that would be awaiting them at the university when it did.
Richard paused for a moment, taking a deep breath and getting a hold on his emotions. Thomas was clever, measured; there was no way he would act in this way unless he knew he had an ace. This was going to require careful attention, and for him to get himself under control. He’d seen this happen before, the transition from employee to rival, and underestimating your enemy was never a good idea; many a CEO had been toppled that way. His arrogance, which had thus far shaped his relationship with Thomas, had no place here.
‘Okay,’ said Richard, evenly, respectfully. ‘What’s this about?’
‘You’re finished,’ said Thomas, ‘of that, there can be no doubt.’ Richard held his breath. ‘All there is left to discuss is how we deal with the transition. We can do it amicably, or we can do it in a way that will be embarrassing for you.’
‘But that embarrassing route might jeopardise your succession,’ said Richard; he was not dead and buried yet. ‘What have you got?’ he asked, openly.
Thomas paused, drawing the silence out, Richard unused to being treated this way. ‘You’ve been having multiple affairs, keeping multiple mistresses, and, what do you call them? Misters? Male mistresses? Either way,’ said Thomas, ‘it would be humiliating for you, and your family, if evidence of these affairs should come out.’
‘Mortifying,’ agreed Richard, ‘but not necessarily terminal.’
‘No,’ agreed Thomas. ‘But if anyone found out about the robots, or the virtual reality rooms you like to visit, it would be a different story.’ Richard gasped. ‘I know, I know,’ said Thomas, as though he agreed it was desperately unfair, ‘you thought you were there anonymously. The problem is, nothing’s really anonymous any longer; there’s always a way to be traced.’
‘How do I know you have proof of any of this?’ asked Richard, but he knew in his gut this final attempt to save himself was futile.
‘Shall I show you some footage?’ asked Thomas, enthusiastically reaching for his smart glasses, as though nothing would give him more pleasure.
‘Show me,’ said Richard, grimacing, but he’d be a fool if he didn’t make sure Thomas had what he claimed.
‘What would you like to see?’ asked Thomas, glasses on, flicking through the files. ‘Ah, here’s a particularly depraved one; you’re in a room full of underage girls,’ said Thomas, projecting the image onto one of the empty car seats.
‘They’re computer simulations,’ said Richard, weakly, ‘and they’re fifteen; practically of legal age.’
‘Do you think the press would feel compelled to grant you any leeway based on that fact?’ asked Thomas. ‘Would you like me to show you more?’ he asked, continuing to project as he flicked through the files.
Richard bowed his head in defeat. ‘No. That won’t be necessary. You’ve got it all planned out?’ he asked. Thomas nodded. ‘Tell me.’
‘You’ll announce your resignation and me as your successor. You’ll tell the world this has been planned for a while. After the investigation by Iva, you decided the corporate world is no longer for you and you want to spend more time enjoying your life: playing tennis, spending time with your family, whatever. You will stay for three months to guarantee a smooth transfer of power, but, in reality, you’ll be powerless from this moment on. I will call the shots, starting immediately. You will meet with the shareholders, reassuring them, talking up my appointment. You will do everything you can to make sure the company is not adversely affected by this transition.’
Richard nodded, slowly, taking in Thomas’ demands. ‘I would like a ceremonial role,’ said Richard, requesting, not demanding, which was unusual for him. ‘I’ve given my life to this company. I’ve built it into what it is today. Whatever you might think of me, or my methods, that’s God’s honest truth. And aside from the fact I don’t want to cut all ties, it would look strange to the investors, journalists, anyone who knows me, if I did. People would start digging for the real reason why I, suddenly and without any real explanation, had departed my company. I’m known for my staying power, so the press would smell a story.’ Richard paused to gauge Thomas’ reaction, and Thomas nodded.
‘I’m not asking for any power or authority,’ Richard continued, ‘but it would need to be a respected position, or it won’t be credible. I’d suggest chairman,’ he said, confidently but not insistently, before waiting for Thomas to make the next move. Richard had witnessed enough of these situations to know he wasn’t entirely without power. He was a very public man, with a big personality, and plenty of influential friends. If Thomas exposed Richard, Richard would be sure to take Thomas down too, so it was important that
all sides were happy enough.
‘Okay, fine,’ said Thomas, ‘but it will be an entirely ceremonial role; cutting ribbons, attending charity events, that sort of thing. And, if you get too big for your boots, you’ll find yourself suddenly deciding that you want to step down completely,’ said Thomas, his eyes cold, Richard believing every word. ‘I don’t care if it looks suspicious.’
Richard nodded. ‘Fine,’ he said, resignedly.
‘And I’ll need a significant number of shares,’ said Thomas.
‘Yes,’ said Richard. ‘It would look suspicious otherwise. Anything else?’
‘I don’t think so,’ said Thomas, ‘but I’ll let you know if that changes.’
‘I just have one question,’ said Richard, almost wistfully.
‘Yes?’
‘I went to great lengths to ensure my anonymity. Where did you get that footage?’
‘You know I can’t tell you that,’ said Thomas, with an infuriating smile. ‘Suffice it to say, it’s unlikely that anyone else will find it.’
Thomas instructed the car to continue on its journey and they pulled up outside the university a few minutes later, the chancellor rushing forward to greet them. They climbed out of the car and he made a great fuss over Richard, virtually ignoring Thomas. They chatted for a few moments outside, smiling for the cameras, before the chancellor ushered them towards the door. ‘After you,’ said Thomas to the other two, smirking, as they reached the entrance.
‘No,’ said Richard, meeting Thomas’ dangerous eyes. ‘I insist. After you.’
The chancellor looked from Thomas to Richard and back again, then followed them through. ‘Thomas,’ he said, hastening after them to catch him up, ‘tell me, what is it you do?’
CHAPTER 12
Guy took hold of Lulu’s hand as they got out of his car, Lulu giving him an ‘are you sure?’ kind of look, Guy replying with a silent ‘I’m game if you are’. They smiled at each other and Guy squeezed Lulu’s hand as he led her towards the crowd.