2079
Beyond the Blue
Book 2
The Transparency Trilogy
Florence Watson
Copyright © 2019 Florence Watson
All rights reserved.
Acknowledgements
Thanks to my husband Jeff for Editing and Listening
Also thanks to Alicia and Brenda for their eloquence and eagle eyed diligence.
Once again special thanks to Adam Ford for his fantastic artwork.
Previously in 2078 Shadow of a Doubt
(Book 1 of the Transparency Trilogy)
In the year 2078, ‘The Future Party’ has been in power for over thirty-five years and British citizens have embraced the ‘Manual’ a new regime based on fitness, nutrition, and the Points Healthcare System. A new drug called ‘LIFE’ is guaranteed to heal, cure and extend the lives of those who can afford to buy it. Automated systems, ‘bugs’ have superseded the majority of manual labour, thereby creating a society where the populace undertake needless occupations. A profiling system called ‘Genie’ has replaced social media and internet dating sites. Genie ensures that the right people are ‘matched’ genetically and according to their status. Those who fail to follow the ‘Manual’ and fail to take responsibility for their own health are called ‘LOSERS’.
A young woman, Starla Carr, lives with her sick father on the south coast of England. Starla works for Govco, a government warehouse, as she cannot afford higher education or a vocational upload. Starla’s mother died in a freak accident with a baggage bug eight years ago, leaving her to care and provide for her father.
Starla becomes infatuated with a young man she has seen frequenting her local shop. One evening while trying to find him, she is turned into an alley and questioned by the man, Inigo ‘Jo’ Jones and his ‘Shadow’ bodyguard. When Starla confesses that her interest is romantic, Jo, strangely, invites her for tea. Their conversation leaves Starla realising that there is something decidedly odd about Mr. Jones.
Despite her misgivings after their first meeting Starla’s curiosity leads her to find him again. She learns that Jo is a journalist investigating LOSERs, in particular, the mysterious suicide of Elaine Steele at a Health farm; a government institution for those on the brink of failure.
Jo prevails upon Starla to aid him and Hero, his Shadow, with their investigations. In return he will get a friend in the legal system, Jessica, a solicitor, to try to reopen Starla’s mother’s case. He will also pay for a vocational upgrade so that she can change her profession and obtain a position within Greenlees, the suspect Health Farm he is investigating.
Starla starts work at Greenlees and all seems well. She begins to believe that Jo is delusional with nothing better to do with his time. But then things change. Jessica proposes that the murders were committed by a serial killer. Jo reveals that he believes that a secret government agency is working inside the Health Farms and that the same agency is responsible for the deaths of both Elaine Steele and Starla’s mother.
Starla then talks with a patient in Greenlees who opens her eyes to the grim reality of the Health Farm. Starla is finally forced to accept that the government could be responsible for the murders and accompanies Jo to visit Elaine Steele’s husband who provides them with a very valuable piece of information. Having learned the truth about the Future party and the government agency, Starla returns to Greenlees to gather evidence but having obtained the proof she is confronted by an agent and is forced to flee.
Starla, Jo and Hero plan to leave the country, but all three are captured before they can escape.
The Final days of 2078
‘Starla. Can you hear me? Starla?’
I wake with a start then sit upright. It always takes me a few seconds to remember where I am. I look around the room. I see a white chest of drawers with a mirror above it, a tall palm in a yellow pot and my clothes neatly folded on the floating shelf where I left them. This is my bedroom. I’m at home. Thank goodness. My hair is damp and clings to the back of my neck. It’s the same dream every night and most mornings I wake the same way.
I’m in a big old house in the countryside. Dad is with me. We walk from a grand entry hall into a dining room with red striped wallpaper and a long table piled high with food. In the centre is a crystal bowl, filled with big black grapes. Dad invites me to sit but I tell him that we mustn't; we don’t know whose house it is. A cleaning bug scurries across the floor then darts under table as if somehow it’d been aware that I’d seen it. Suddenly two men burst into the room. They’re dressed in black and holding rifles. The larger of the two is wearing a baseball cap. Both their faces are masked but I get the feeling that I know them. I run to Dad to protect him but I’m too late. There’s blood everywhere. But when I look up, the two men are gone and another gunman is standing in their place. I definitely know this man. I know the face when I’m in the dream, but I can never remember it once awake. He killed Dad and he’s going to kill me too. There’s no time to reason with him or plead for my life. He points the gun at my chest and pulls the trigger. But nothing happens because I’m wearing a protective vest; the bullet just bounces off. So he aims the gun at my head and that’s when I hear the nurse’s voice; as he fires a second time, it jolts me out of sleep. The psychologist told me that this type of dream is normal after a shock. The nightmares will end soon.
It’s been eight weeks since the incident that changed everything. Dad and I were on our way to London. It was meant to be a treat. We took the shuttle most of the way then got a taxi from the outskirts so that we see the skyscrapers from a distance. There was a crash but I don’t remember anything after that.
‘Starla, can you hear me?’
At first the voice is an echo in the dark. I try to open my eyes but the light is too bright and everything is blurred, including my recollection of recent events. There’s a regular beeping sound on my left and a faint, constant humming coming from somewhere above. A fan. Air conditioning. The circulating air is cool and smells like disinfectant. My head is resting comfortably on a high pillow and I feel warm and relaxed. Squinting through heavy eyelids and the glare of a whitish over light, I see that I’m in a bed sectioned off from the rest of the room by an opaque blue divider. Standing before me is a female in a white jumpsuit with a navy blue cross on the top right pocket.
‘Starla. Can you hear me?’ She asks softly.
‘Yes.’ I say sleepily. ‘Why am I in hospital?’
‘There was a terrible incident.’ She replies, with dutiful sorrow. ‘Do you remember anything at all?’
I think on it briefly then slowly shake my head.
‘You’ve been in a coma for three weeks and four days.’
‘Three weeks!’ I exclaim and immediately attempt to pull myself upright.
‘No sudden movements.’ She orders, gently pushing me back down, and then straightening the sheets. ‘You’ve only been out of the healing pod a few hours. Don’t worry; your job at the Health Farm is safe and your medical bills are covered.’
‘My job at the Health Farm?’ Then I remember. Holloway, Islington. That’s where I work now. It’s one of the largest Farms in the country. I was relocated from Greenlees due to staff shortages but never actually started there. It was the weekend before my first shift. I was treating Dad to a day trip to the capital. We were going to visit the Institute first because he'd never been, then maybe take a walk in Hyde Park if he wasn’t too tired.
‘Oh my goodness, Dad! Where is my…’ I begin, but she cuts me off.
‘There was a fault with the taxi’s brakes. The diagnostics failed to detect the problem. The company was found to be careless so they are paying for your treatment.’
‘But where is my father?’
I ask, desperately searching her eyes. ‘Was he hurt? Is he alright?’
She lowers her head. ‘I’m sorry but your father is dead.’
2078 Epilogue
They moved all my things into the new flat. Compensation from the cab company covered the costs. I didn’t need a two bedroom place anymore so I was downgraded to a studio apartment and relocated closer to work. It’s good to know that the government steps in when a person has no spouse or relatives to manage their affairs for them whilst in a coma. Islington is nice. It’s only a ten minute walk to Holloway Health Farm and there’s plenty to look at on the way. The pavement is always busy with human billboards, walkers and cyclists and there are still lots of beautiful old buildings in this part of London. It’s as green as the south coast but the Beehives are fewer and further between.
I thought I’d miss the sea but I don’t, not really. And the new flat isn’t all that different to the old one, less the two bedrooms. But I miss my father. I was told that he didn’t suffer. He died instantly, which I take some comfort from. But I never got to say goodbye, just like with Mum. That’s the nature of sudden departures I guess; the feeling that perhaps there were things left unsaid. However much I tell myself that he knew I loved him, something remains unresolved. But I don’t know what it is. It nags at me daily. We were probably in the middle of a conversation when the crash happened, or one of us was about to speak and I've forgotten the details. That’s probably it.
I’ve merged my parent’s virtual headstones. It made sense to put them together again and I keep Dad’s compressed ashes in a tiny silver plated vial on a chain around my neck. I would have had Mum’s put in the same bottle, but they were lost. Apparently they didn’t find them when clearing out the old flat. Dad must have put them somewhere so safe that they could never be found, or perhaps accidentally thrown them away. He’d gotten worse; I remember that much. He was due to be assessed for admission to a Health Farm the week he died.
I can’t deny that I’ve thrown myself into my work since the incident. I take as many shifts as I can. It keeps me busy and my mind occupied. It’s the sort of experience that could defeat you if you let it. But I’ve recovered fully from my injuries. It’s as if nothing ever happened, but then, the compensation I received from the crash afforded me the best medical care. So for the first time in my adult life I feel like I'm finally getting somewhere. I’m climbing the career ladder and starting to fulfil my potential. I think my parents would be proud of me. My stats based on performance so far show that promotion to Senior Health Worker is likely within eighteen months. That would be a new record at Holloway. The area manager, Giles, came to visit last month and congratulated me on my early success. He’s very easy to talk to. We went for a smoothie after work and chatted like we’d known each other for years. Sometimes you meet someone and you get along so well that they seem almost familiar. I guess that's called compatibility. He lost his parents recently too so we have that in common. Genie has assessed us as an acceptable match, but an even better pairing if and when I get promoted.
It was on the way home from the juice bar that evening that I first got the feeling that I was being followed. Like most people, I’m wary of LOSER’s and as the vast majority of the assaults have been in the capital, I’m extra cautious since moving here. But I know that LOSER attacks are sudden and unexpected. There’s never any warning. This person is not trying to attack me. He or she seems to be spying on me. They know my routine; the way I walk to the Farm, what time my shifts end and when I go running in the park. I suppose it’s not that difficult to work out, but still, they took the trouble to do so. A few times I've sensed them close behind but when I’ve turned, the most I’ve ever caught is a shadow. He or she wants me know that they are there. What kind of person watches and follows someone and makes it obvious?
So this morning I decided to change my route to work. I went out of my way off the main road to see if I could lose the stalker. It seemed to be working; if I was followed, I wasn't aware of it. Then five minutes after leaving the Farm this evening, I felt a set of eyes on me once again. It’s now six o'clock. The street lights have just come on and the paving slabs have started to light up when I step on them. I’d planned to run the rest of the way home but then I changed my mind.
On the narrow side street, suddenly I see a sign for a café and something tells me to turn in. The smell of hot coffee and bacon hits me as I push open the door. It’s not a nice place; grubby looking and dingy, with a retro American diner feel. I spot the caffeine and sodium addicts as I look around for somewhere to sit. They’re the ones over fifty (which is practically everyone) sitting alone and eating very slowly; savouring every bite of their overpriced salted meat, and sips of their sugar poisoned milkshakes. Sadly, this is the kind of place that Dad would have eaten in, given the choice. As much as I dislike the smell and the atmosphere, I tell myself that the diversion is necessary because even if I lose this person tonight, the same thing will happen tomorrow. So if I’m followed in, I will get a picture and send it to the police.
The tables are arranged in rows against the walls. I find an empty one near the front and when the waitress comes, I order a carbonated water then sit waiting. The windows are dark mottled glass so it’s hard to make out passersby. Bodies with blurred faces float by like ghosts in the street light, and I start to wonder if it was all in my head. No one would be stupid enough to follow another person.
A moment later the door creaks open and a very large man with olive skin enters. He’s all in black and wearing a baseball cap and just briefly, my heart leaps remembering my dream. He finds a seat on the opposite side of the café and I’m relieved that he appears not to notice me. The waitress arrives to serve him. To avoid any possibility of eye contact, I bring up the news and pretend to read. Two minutes later, the waitress delivers him a tall glass of cloudy apple juice with a straw. Something about the scene is very familiar. But it’s like déjà vu; just a temporary loop and soon forgotten. It was a tough work shift, I must be tired.
Suddenly he stands and collects his glass. I think at first that he’s going to find another table; perhaps the one he chose is somehow unsuitable. But then I see that he’s heading towards me. I blink away the news and sit up straight ready to take a picture. I don’t know that he is the stalker, but better to be safe than sorry. I tap my fingers to bring up my eyecam but he keeps his head down under the cap so I can’t see his face. When he reaches my table, he slides his six foot plus and extremely wide body into the seat next to me.
‘What do you want?’ I ask, looking up at the side of his face past his shoulder, as he stares ahead.
Without turning, he lifts his hand slowly out from under the table and puts one finger to his lips. I understand this to mean that I mustn’t speak. His hand then comes to rest on the tabletop and something falls from it. It’s a tiny, rolled up piece of paper. He uncurls it, then slides it across to my side. I look down. Handwritten in black biro is the word ‘hello.’
I look up again, but he continues staring ahead. Aside from the fact that nobody says hello anymore, it’s an odd way to begin interacting with someone. He takes a drag on the straw in his drink. He appears to be waiting for me to react, silently of course. I shrug. I have no idea what this is. Maybe he’ll produce another piece of paper, this time with his name on it, then continue to communicate in this way; dropping little notes onto the tabletop until eventually, several handwritten messages later, I find out what on earth is going on. He turns suddenly and pushes back his cap, and I notice his big green eyes. They’re stunning; I’ve never seen such bright eyes before. But then they fall to the front of my t-shirt and I begin to feel uneasy. This man is a complete stranger, possibly even a dangerous predator. I ought to be wary. Though something tells me that he’s neither. I look down as he then reaches for the silver vial resting on my chest. He lifts it gently then slides his thumb across it and I’m certain that I feel a buzz, not unlike a static shock. He lets go of the vial and
it falls back onto my chest.
‘Now you can talk.’ He says in a deep rumble that’s unexpectedly reassuring.
I look up again and this time, there’s a spark of recognition. But I have no idea who he is. I’m certain I’d remember knowing a tanned giant with emerald eyes. The only men of his size I’ve seen recently are in my recurring dream. I look him over carefully and the more I do, the more I think that he does resemble the larger of the two masked men I see every night. If so I ought to be afraid, though more so perhaps that a person in a dream could somehow turn up reality. Everything I know tells me that that’s not possible.
‘Who are you?’ I say, frowning up at him.
He leans in and whispers into my ear. ‘My name is Hero. Your father sent me.’
Prologue
'What if I scream?’
'You won't because if you do, she'll call the police.’ Says Hero, nodding in the direction of the waitress. ‘I'll be taken away and you'll never see me again. Then you'll always wonder if I was telling the truth.’
Starla takes a moment to think, looking down at the tatty piece of paper on the table with the word ‘Hello’ written on it. Everything she understands to be true about the last twelve weeks of her life now hangs in the balance. But this note, handwritten by her father, doesn’t prove that he’s still alive. How could he be? If so, where has he been all this time and why has he sent this man who bizarrely, has appeared in her dreams almost every night since the incident in which her father supposedly died?
‘What did you do for Christmas?’ He asks, abruptly changing the subject.
‘Are you serious?’
‘Yes.’
2079- Beyond the Blue Page 1