Inside the shower room, fifteen men scrubbed and washed their bollocks. At just under three metre square, it was a snug fit. The hot air was thick with the smell of disincentive soap which condensated on the bright white walls. The spray swarmed and circled around everywhere. John had not seen the showers working so well for a long time. Like a snake he turned and writhed, as the flowing flood bounced from his skin. Facing the forced spray he continually swept it back over his forehead and hair, again and again pulling it through to the very tips. The next part John really hated. Stepping out, he wiped most of the water from his body before entering the noisy drying room. Here, large blowers mercilessly powered cold air onto the quivering group of men. John stared at the camera high on the wall. He had visions of Max peering down on him. He imagined him laughing at the pathetic sight of that sorry band of naked, hairy bodies standing shivering in the corner.
Being subjected to that kind of unnecessary humiliation was enough to enrage even the most placid of men.
“Christ they could have given us some towels,” he thought.
Most of the men did not wait to get properly dried and John was no exception. Stepping back out into the corridor he hurriedly searched through the bundles of tee-shirts, underpants and socks. Four of each was the month’s allocation and he quickly took his quota. The neat piles of garments started to look mauled as successive waves of men vigorously searched for their sizes. On to the boiler suits marked chest 110 cms, John continued with his quest to find one pair. Although he was not as big as 110 he liked the slack fit. He noticed a fairly new pair down near the bottom of the pile and plunged in to retrieve them. He could relax now. Putting on one of the pairs of under pants he gathered up the recently acquired spoils and strolled back along the corridor. He passed a continual stream of bodies which hurried in the opposite direction. John smiled with quiet satisfaction at his decision to make an early start to the day.
He laughed out loud as he remembered, when on several occasions, he had been so late down, that by the time he had reached the clothes, nothing had fitted him at all. He could put up with the oversize garments, but there was that one time when the crotch of his boiler-suit had been so far up his arse that he had been forced to walk around on his tiptoes for a month. His work mates had continually taken the piss out of him, mimicking his mincing little walk. For a while they had even started calling him “Lightfoot.” John, however, had taken it in good spirit and had won the respect of his work mates who had not let up for the duration of the month.
Back in his room John moved slowly and deliberately. He was enjoying the act of getting dressed at his own pace. It felt good to get washed and to pull on clean clothes. John was enjoying every moment.
“There’s nothing to rush for,” he thought.
He had all day to do what he wanted, or to do nothing. The choice was his. The boots were still a bit rich though.
“They could find their own fucking way to the city,” he said as he picked them up, having a quick sniff just to make sure they were as disgusting as he thought.
He was not due to get another pair until the summer. Reaching under the bed for the plastic bottle filled with black market baby powder he proceeded to tip a substantial quantity into each of the offending boots. Now above his head he shook each in turn like a cocktail waiter mixing a large dry martini. Wandering over to the window John stared across to the adjacent tower block. It was now mid-morning. None of the lights were on. He could not accurately distinguish which of the opposite windows was Orion. Hhe focused on one where he thought he had seen that female form yesterday. Holding the pose for a long while he desperately scanned for any sign of movement. Any sign of shadows. Time and again he lost the particular window as the vertical and horizontal lines played tricks with his brain. His eyes glazed over forcing him to blink repeatedly. Realising it was a futile exercise he turned away, picked up the packed lunch and left.
Out into the warm morning sunshine, John walked slowly past crowds of sprawling workers who were enjoying their newly found freedom. As he approached the long avenue he heard the sounds of men shouting and cheering as they urged on their newly adopted team players. Since the introduction of the six day week eight months earlier, a new pastime had seized the thoughts and imagination of the majority of men. Football was sweeping round the tower blocks like wildfire. Now each of the twelve vertical cities had several teams who competed every week. There was even talk of starting a league. Seven players per team, four teams played side by side along the length of the seven hundred metre avenues. White painted goal posts marked on the inner side walls was the target for which they aimed. Scores of supporters lined the concrete pitches, some sat on the walls at either end, their legs dangling into play. Often, opposing supporters sitting just to the side of the painted posts would intervene at the crucial moment by deflecting the ball with their feet. Then scuffles would breakout as players accused spectators of preventing what would have been a certain goal.
John recalled that one Sunday six weeks earlier. One of the games had become so out of hand that pain blocks were applied on mass to several hundred people. He had not been involved himself but as an on-looker he had witnessed the strange spectacle as the pain blocks systematically took effect on the crowd. After calm had been restored several of the games had to be abandoned because some of the players were incapable of continuing.
“Christ, imagine scrapping over that crap. If they were that desperate to fight I’m sure they could find a better fucking cause than that,” thought John as he wandered passed the pitches.
Just then a loud roar went up from the nearest game as another goal was scored. John paused momentarily, then continued to head in the direction of the solitary mast which stood in the centre of the middle distance.
There were seven avenue entrances leading to the vast underground city. One from each of the six sets of giant tower blocks, which in turn formed a 10 kilometre circumference. Also one from the underground city leading nowhere except straight to the perimeter fence. The fence itself ran 1 kilometre around the outer face of the tower blocks. John thought it funny that it was there at all.
“After all there was no point to it!” he thought.
“No one could get within five hundred metres of it anyway.”
The workers were prevented from going any closer by the graduating pain blocks which became increasingly more intense with each step that they took. This was the outer edge of John’s known universe. From all of the avenues far and near came the sounds of men engrossed in their new Sunday pastime.
It was a still calm morning as John walked slowly across the well kept grass lawn towards the tall mast. He felt clean and relaxed. Beneath his feet the ground gently accepted the passing of his footprints. Stopping for a moment he rotated to survey the scene and enjoy a cigarette. In all directions small pockets of men enjoyed the fine morning sun.
“From here at ground level the other diagonal avenues could hardly be noticed,” he thought, unlike the side view from his seventy-sixth floor tower block window showing a complex web design of criss-crossed patterns on the vast circular grass area hundreds of metres below.
He continued to walk repeatedly over avenues and grass in turn, these occasionally broken by intersections which seemed to take forever to cross. It was almost lunch time but very few people had made it that far out into the centre yet. As John approached the base of the black carbon mast he looked up towards the large cigar shaped dome at the summit, some three hundred metres in the air. He was also aware of the high mounted camera which looked directly down at him now like a Cyclops’ eye.
John stood motionless glaring back at the prying object. He wondered if it was Max following him, watching his every move, stalking him.
“Fuck him,” he thought.
Laying down he closed his eyes and slowly emptied his mind. The rich smell of the fresh moist grass teased and tantalised his nostrils like the aromatic fragrance of fine perfume on a sm
ooth white neck. His out-stretched hands wandered gently over the blades of damp grass as he softly caressed their tips. Slowly he moved his palms back and forth, back and forth stroking and touching. After some moments he opened his eyes. The camera which had watched him had changed position. It now roamed the sky as a hawk stalking its prey, the lens zooming to capture a new perspective on the surrounding vista. John sat back bracing his spine against the base of the cool black mast. From the breast pocket of his boiler suit he produced a small stick of chewing gum which he had found on the lift floor last Tuesday. He had been looking forward to this moment. Delicately he unwrapped the shabby silver foil which surrounded the thin warped wafer. It was slightly soft to the touch, he pressed the warm minty gum to his nose and inhaled deeply.
“Smells great!” he thought, as he finally popped it in his mouth.
As John relaxed his thoughts turned to that very first Sunday off. He had never paid attention to his surroundings before that day. Every working day, before that first Sunday eight months earlier, was an endless blur of working, eating and sleeping. He had always been too far tired to think about his situation. He remembered how the announcement had caused great excitement on that particular Saturday morning.
“Good morning, get up now and have your startfast. Remember, eat well now it will give you the lift, courage and strength to finish your shift! Here is a special announcement. The company have decided, that until the start of the next project, every Sunday from tomorrow until further notice, may be taken as a regular day of rest.”
Max had then signed off. John had stood motionless. Had he been hearing things? Had Max really said that?
“A regular weekly day off.” Finally after some moments the enormity of the announcement had begun to sink in.
He had then stepped out of his room and had headed off to see Mark 21363 hoping to verify the news. But by the time he had gone half way along the corridor, it had already been verified. There was no mistaking the joy and adulation which had surrounded every person that he passed that morning. People who had ignored each other over the years, stopped to hug one another like drunks on New Year’s Eve. They clung together and danced pathetic circular jigs bouncing and bashing their way along the corridor and shouting at the top of their voices. The atmosphere had been electric. John had never experienced anything like that before, or since. He remembered how once the exuberance had finally subsided, it had been replaced by embarrassment. The many self conscious individuals had skulked back off to their rooms, happier, but all wishing to forget the embarrassing incident.
That very first Sunday off was one of the strangest days of John’s life, only matched by his arrival at the city on that very first morning? He remembered how along with the other twelve year old boys he had stepped from the totally enclosed soundproof transporter into the fresh morning air. He had stood motionless for some seconds staring up at the two immense tower blocks which dominated his immediate vision, rising into the sky like beanstalks in the story. They seemed to go on forever, upwards and upwards further into the clouds. Looking up, he recalled being puzzled at the spiralling flumes which wrapped round the great buildings like oversized anacondas crushing their prey. All the boys had gazed towards the heavens on that first morning, waiting to see if the big bad giant would climb down the snake and eat them up. Looking back now to those early days filled with excitement and wonder, John smiled quietly to himself recalling the naivety of that fresh faced young boy. The boy who had stepped from the transporter on that very first morning no longer existed. He had gone. Dispersed in the sands of time. Lost forever in a memory maze, like a dream from another world. It was only in the last few months that he had begun to think about his future.
“What fucking future!” he silently mouthed.
Through an evaporating mirage he watched two distant figures walking in his direction. An empty feeling now gnawed his guts like a rat feasting on rotten flesh. John felt dejected. He swept his gaze round one hundred and eighty degrees. His field of vision had taken in six of the twelve tower blocks far off in the distance. High in the sky and far beyond that point was the vapour trail left by one of the military jets. High above the city they regularly patrolled the empty skies - making sure they stayed that way! He sighed deeply and lit another cigarette.
“What the fuck is this City all about?” he pondered.
“The company have decided that until the start of the next project, every Sunday may be taken as a regular day off! What fucking project?” he asked out loud.
“How long will that one last?” he asked again.
The two figures John had noticed off in the distance kept straight on their course as they headed towards him. He felt uneasy as he watched their rhythmic steps rise and fall. Peering hard John screwed his eyes almost closed as he tried to focus on the bobbing pair. One was taller than the other, the smaller of the two seemed to have an irregular gait. John continued to stare in the direction of the relentless pair. He could sense his muscles tighten as they approached even closer. He was prepared for the worst. There was something sinister about their determined walk. It suddenly dawned on him who they were! It was the two guys he had met in the dispensary last night.
“Jesus!” exclaimed John.
“We’ve lived in the same tower block for nine years and I had never seen them before last night. And now, here they are again! Twice in twenty four hours!” he thought.
As the distance closed even further to around two hundred and fifty metres, the taller of the two waved.
John, who was still propped against the mast with his knees tucked up, waved back. But something was not quite right! Something bothered him!
“How could they have recognised him from that distance? It was far too far away!” he thought.
To him it had looked as if they had been heading in his direction from the start. One hundred metres. John’s shoulders tightened again.
“Christ stop being stupid. I’d made a bee-line for the centre why shouldn’t they?” he said from under his breath.
The two men were almost on him.
“You two look as if you’re on a mission,” John said shouting ahead.
“Thought it was you crouched there,” replied Matt with a broad grin.
“Brilliant morning eh? Don’t mind if we join you do you?” he said descending to the ground. John was about to reply,
“I’m afraid that seat is taken,” but instead said,
“We must stop meeting like this, people will talk!” Matt and Luke gave a charitable smile and dropped their eyes.
John immediately knew that his joke had not been appreciated and cleared his throat to acknowledge the point. The atmosphere surrounding the men suddenly became quite tense.
“How did you know I was here?” inquired John, holding them firmly in his gaze. The two men passed a quick glance. Matt started slowly, struggling to find the right words. John had caught him off guard.
“You’re right,” he said. “We did know you were here.”
“How?” asked John sharply? In a small gesture Luke raised the index finger of his right hand and pointed towards the top of the mast, all the while the one eyed gaze never leaving John’s face.
“What, the camera?” asked John disbelievingly.
“We’ve been watching you for a while,” said Matt, who then continued,
“Look, I’ll get straight to the point. After talking to you last night, we think you’re the sort of person that we can trust.” Now John was really intrigued but he said nothing, as he waited for Matt to continue. Slowly he started again.
“A secret organisation was formed around eight months ago. We’re called “The Brotherhood!” he said.
“Our aim is to find people who have similar feelings about their own captivity as we have about ours. It’s not been all that easy to identify potential members, although we do have some help in that area. The real risk comes when we finally approach them. Like now, for instance.”
John remained mute! He did have an idea of what they were talking about, but he was playing his cards close to his chest. Besides, he was enjoying the sport of seeing Matt squirm a little.
“It is difficult to confront someone,” Matt continued, “without attracting unwanted attention. We have been watching you for weeks, just waiting to make the right move.”
“I thought you said you were going to get straight to the point?” said John. Matt took a deep breath and started.
“We detest the regime that keeps us in this place against our will! We detest the forced labour which we have endured all our lives! We resent being kept in the dark about the purpose of building the City! We resent the fear and humiliation caused by the use of pain blocks. What life is there beyond the boundary fence? None of us have ever seen or touched a real woman, yet we know they exist because we’ve seen them on screen. We know you feel the same as we do.”
Matt reached out towards John, his open palms facing skywards in a bid to emphasise the next point.
“We want you to join us! Join us John. Help us to find more people who feel the same way as we do, so that one day soon we can all do something about it.”
“You said that you had been watching me for a while,” enquired John, “how, what do mean?”
Matt proceeded cautiously. “The person who started The Brotherhood in the first place, is a manager.”
“A fucking what!” gasped John in disbelief.
“A manager,” repeated Matt deliberately.
“Look! I know what you are thinking, but this guy is on our side, honest! Let me explain. These first level managers and second line guys are supposed to be better off than us, but they’re not, they’re worse off now than they were before. They don’t even get the Sundays off like we do, they’re still working seven days a week! Every fucking week. Ok, so they only work eight hours a day instead of twelve, big deal!”
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