For more information, to receive a free copy of this work as a Word,
WordPerfect or Text attachment, or just to comment
please
contact: response@cygenesis.co.uk
Part Two
For more information, to receive a free copy of this work as a Word,
WordPerfect or Text attachment, or just to comment
please
contact: response@cygenesis.co.uk
Part Two
The fog of anger, self pity and fatigue began to clear from Will's brain as they made their way through the suburbs. All around them, great towering buildings reached up beyond sight. Everyone of them filled with service apartments, ninety to the floor, ten feet by twelve feet, precisely mirroring Will's. All the human suburbs were alike. The buildings, the apartments, full of people in their regulation pastel grey utility suits. It was the same the world over, from New Delhi to Nova Scotia. Even the dialects gradually evolving into a new unified linguistic form. COMS had kept it promise. Humankind had finally achieved perfect equality and most were happy to embrace their new lifestyle, complete with a few limitations. Will was one of those rare exceptions who was not. In a way it was not his fault. He had been tutored in rebellion by his mother. A proud woman with a love of the past and of all the cultural bric-a-brac that went with it. She had told him the stories that inspired, shown him the banned books and videos, made him appreciate their beauty. Then one day Dee Prince had vanished, along with her beloved collection of contraband classics. COMS had tried to revise his education but the damage had been done. Will had developed unreal expectations of life. He was the sort of dangerous anachronism who believed in preposterous unobtainable things like true love and truer adventures. Years had passed and his frustration had kept pace with his body. He knew that his outbursts were increasing to a point where they would no longer be tolerated. COMS had already graded his apartment into the same high risk location category as that used for solar exploration. What would happen went they could take no more? Were the rumours about banishment true? Is that where his mother had gone? Why couldn't he just accept the status quo? It would be make life so much easier and less painful. "CLANG!!!" Will was totally immersed in thought and had walked into the transportation sign. 'I wish you wouldn't do this,' Sulphur pleaded. Will gently rubbed his throbbing forehead and pressed the call button. 'You've got to try things. Someday the transport will give in. The rules will be bent. That'll be a small victory. It's the hope of those victories that keeps me alive.' Sulphur stared fixedly at the pink badge on Will's chest. 'You didn't seem to find your victory with the clothes console particularly life enhancing.' 'Here it comes,' Will used a distant lofty tone. Sulphur smiled. Will always got huffy when stumped for a retort. The transport swooped recklessly out of the sky and came to a dead stop, floating just above the ground. The aged passengers wore their usual transportation faces. Fixed grimaces of mingled panic and terror. Personifications were not noted for being soothing drivers. Their polished, split-second reactions to looming obstacles made every trip seem like your last. The doors opened. 'Mind the gap, mind the gap.' To discourage the countless arguments between surly drivers and rude passengers that always seemed a fixed feature of the old way of life, some bright spark at COMS had come up with the idea of making the driver look intimidating. Will found himself inches from a very large and vicious looking gorilla. 'Where to?' Will mentally reassured himself that this monstrous beast was programmed not to harm him. 'HWC 43332.' The gorilla's dark frown solidified. In a voice so deep that it was almost cosmic, it spoke. 'It is against the regulations of the COMS health council to transport an able-bodied person under the age of sixty-five for distances of less than five miles. Human welfare centre number 43332 is a distance of only 3.725 miles away. Therefore, I must advise you, that walking is the healthy exercise choice.' 'Yes, I know all that.' Will said, showing a stupid amount of bravado in trying to continue the conversation. `But, what about my mental health? That's what I want to know. Have you been to Dickensland lately? If I have to step over one more cheerfully starving Victorian urchin I'll have a breakdown. If you took me to the centre, it would almost amount to a humanitarian gesture. You...you...hairy cretin!' The care with which the Gorilla gripped Will's throat and gently placed him back upon the pavement definitely amounted to a humanitarian gesture. Sulphur exchanged a momentary glance full of apology and regret with the driver, the sort of look that was reserved the universe over for beings trying to distance themselves from embarrassing acquaintances. The gorilla replied with a coded expression full of martyred resignation. A look all Personifications recognised as the exasperated sign language for "Why do we put up with these idiots?" The door closed. The transport rocketed upward, pirouetting away at a speed that caused Sulphur to idly wonder if the gorilla was venting his annoyance on the petrified passengers. Will remained strangely silent, perhaps because he remained for some time a not very fetching shade of purple. After they had walked for a while he did manage a contrite croak. 'They say walking is the healthy exercise choice you know.' 'Hummph!' Sulphur privately concluded that as he did not need to get healthy, walking 3.725 miles on his stumpy legs was, to say the least, inconvenient. Still, someone had to keep a lens on Will. The great fool was not to be trusted on his own. The towering modern structures soon gave way to festering Nineteenth Century slums. There were no real boundaries to this world of villains and cutpurses, Newgate and the Fleet; to Dickens-land. It had been named with typical COMS inventiveness, a preposterous relic of early leisure society planning. Constructed over a century before to provide instructive recreations of authors' work. Most of the existing landscape had been demolished to make way for huge bibliographical inspired theme parks; Shakespeare-land, Bronte-land, Hardy-land, Prince-land, Burns- land, Thomas-land, and a myriad of others. The entire island that once contained England, Scotland and Wales was bisected and over run by these Educational Prototype Inter-active Community Systems. Transformed to function as a tourist Mecca for the Northern Hemisphere. Unfortunately, soon after construction was completed, COMS decided that travel was not only unnecessary but downright dangerous. They reasoned that there was no point in humans taking potentially risky journeys when they could get a perfectly adequate, and only slightly censored, view of the world from the comfort of their own apartments. The literary E.P.I.C.S remained, left solely for the use of the odd local and even odder camera crew. As a resident of 9 780713 628111 (Old London), as the numerically obsessed machines called it, Will had the pleasure of being pestered by a rich variety of consumer-starved Dickensian life on his way to collect his Distribution of Leisure Entitlement payment. This meant that in a short space of time, he had turned down an offer of shares in the United Metropolitan Improved Hot Muffin and Crumpet and Punctual Delivery Company. Had agreed with a roughish- eyed, dwafen lady of about 45 that "It was a world of gammon and spinach", and had been confusingly informed by a young ink-stained gentlemen that the surrounding excellent weather was "a London particular, a fog." By the time Sam Weller introduced himself, Will was starting to get really cheesed off. 'Vell I never, Will Prince, wery glad to see you, indeed, and hope our acquaintance may be a long `un, as the gen`l'man said to the fi' pun' note.' 'Go away.' 'Wich is your partickler Wanity? Wich Wanity do you like the flavour on best, sir?' Sam boldly inquired as Will tried to make a hastening exit. 'GET LOST!' 'Anythin' for a quiet life, as the man said when he took the sitivation at the lighthouse.' With customary good sense, Sam vacated his position to Uriah Heep. Heep, his long hands slowly twisting over one another, made a ghastly writhe from the waist upwards and was just able to inform everyone in the vicinity of his extreme `umbleness when Will tripped him and broke free of a growing crowd of fictional bit-players. Deprived of a customer they watched the fleeing figures of man and dragon with varying degrees of disgruntlement. 'I'm gormed and I can't say fairer than that,' Mr Peggoty commented. The red-faced legal figure of Mr Sergeant Buzfuz firmly asserted that Will was 'a being erect on two legs, and bearing all the outward semblance of a man, not a monster.' Mrs Gamps opinion was that 'he'd make a lovely corpse', whilst Simon Tappertit paused as if in triumph and wiped his heated face upon his sleeve before stating that, 'Something will come of this. I hope it mayn't be human gore.' Uriah Heep however, was unctuously eloquent about the joy of being tripped by a man of Master Prince's standing and looked forward to repeating the experience on his return journey. Having arrived in the neighbourhood and decided against rearranging the planets into a neater grouping. The Purple Thingy scanned our Solar System with growing dismay. There was a flicker or two of promise on the forth planet but no creatures here were really top-grade, bite-yer-gurglies- off, galaxy-trashing champion material. Take those absurd beings on the blue-green world for instance. It was a marvel that they had managed to survive for the fleeting time they had, ridiculous they actually thought they were important, that individually they mattered. What was even more gob-smackedly amazing was that they had convinced their machines that this was the case. It was no good. These insignificant creatures would never be able to rescue the MADID. It would have to come up with an alternative plan. If all life in this system was to suddenly, inexplicably cease, no one could really call it cheating. With no life, there could be no potential champion, and with no champion, another choice. The Thingy was just revving up to a total genocide setting when, with perfect jammy blind luck timing, one of Its eyeball control brains picked up a trace memory of the deflected laser beam's message and broadcast the name "Heroics INC." into several dozen of the Thingy's rancid eyeballs. The Thingy paused to process this information, deciding to follow the laser trail and investigate further. Like many over beings in the universe, It had learned to never underestimate the power of good advertising. Will and Sulphur, both thanking a benign fate for keeping them out of the clutches of that saccharin infant Tiny Tim, tempered their relief with the knowledge that they would shortly have to make a return journey. Will did not hate the place as much as he pretended. At least the trip through Dickensland allowed him the chance to see the odd tree and blade of grass, and there was always the possibility that some of the more fantastical inhabitants might appear. He harboured quite a fondness for the mean-spirited Gabriel Grub and his tormenting Goblins, although the many radiantly jolly rehabilitated versions of the sour sextant were tiresome in the extreme. Sulphur, on the other hand, could find nothing to brighten the prospect of the return visit. The place, full of ancient Personfications, always disturbed him. The old tourist units were really no better than advanced automatons, capable of only the most basic reasoning and no one liked to be faced with the realisation that one's grandparents were retards. Then there was the Will factor. Whenever Sulphur tried to instil in his charge a basic grasp of the concept of historical accuracy as in the case of the Crimson Pirate and other anomalies too numerous to mention, he was always countered with the same response: "Explain Dickensland then Clever-clogs." It did no good to explain that there was a difference between the history of the page and of the past. Will just responded that his anomalies were `products of the page' and that was how he liked them. What Sulphur would never admit, even to himself, was that he liked to lose arguments even less then the Human. There was something deeply discomforting about losing to someone with a fraction of your brainpower. Which probably explained the non- appearance of baboons in major galactic chess championships. They entered Human Welfare Centre No 43332. It was still quite early and the crowds had not begun to drift in for their lunch-time mingling session. Several others hung around the GRUB Machines with vapid smiles and untroubled, pastel grey utility minds. Will moved rapidly towards the distribution of leisure entitlement office. Quickly in and out, that was the answer, or you run the risk of some grinning idiot grabbing you to explain, with sadistic precision, how exciting their life was. While Sulphur hastened to the Personification lounge to catch up on the latest gossip from various beaked and clawed artificial companions, Will took a seat in a payment booth. To his surprise, the payment was not immediately issued on completion of scanning. Instead his official `COMSgratulations' birthday card contained an instruction to go to cubicle four. The Purple Thingy had traced the origin of the laser blast to Will's apartment. Time was getting short and this human creature would have to do. It was obvious that the Thingy would have to change Its appearance; a culture that could not conceive of life without soft toilet paper could not begin to comprehend a major multi- dimensional super-personality like the Thingy. In a fraction of a second It had scanned Mankind's pitiful excuse for a history and reached a decision. With such a narrow range of genre expectations to choose from, the transformation into Sharon, Queen of the Illuminated Way, took but an instant. Will's Social Worker was one of the upbeat sort. You could tell that from the "smiley-face" on his baseball cap and the inane smirk that went with it. 'Hi Will! How's the birthday?' 'Lousy' 'Well, I found out that I've only got six months to live...' 'Wonderful!' 'It seems that my head is slowly turning into a Bonsai Tree.' 'Fantastic!' 'That's why I blew up my building today.' 'That's terrific news! But, enough chit chat, Will - though its so enjoyable to have this chance to inter-relate with a guy like you.' The Social Worker tried to look meaningful and sombre but was unable to cancel out that grin, which made him look like an over-excited puppy. 'This is serious buddy. COMS is worried about you. They care...' Will's reaction to this bland statement was suddenly one of absolute blind terror. No matter how much you mentally prepare yourself, the speedy onrush of disaster comes as a terrific shock. He grimly realised that IT might be coming. There was a modern legend; one that was used to get youngsters to do as they were told, one that remained with you until adulthood. Such was its power and its ability to scare. It was about the "caring COMS speech" or "the BARF address" as it was more commonly known. No one that he knew had heard it, but everyone was roughly aware of what it contained. It was a prelude to the ultimate punishment that COMS could bestow: Exile. He had known that he had been getting on the Authorities' nerves and had been thinking of the possibility of this meeting with increasing frequency. Yet he had never thought that the threat was serious - it was just a contemporary myth. As a grown- up he could not really believe, in his heart of hearts, that they has exiled his mother, no more than he believed in BARF. It had just been an excuse so that he could blame COMS for all his frustrations. BARF; the very name was nonsensical, unreal. The letters stood for the salient points of the speech: BALANCED. The Social Worker had finished his gushing preliminaries and now plunged into the main body of his text. 'What they want to know is, are you sure that you're really balanced and happy as an individual and part of the team? This is not meant as a criticism you understand.' Balanced, the word had struck Will like a blow. Maybe as the saying went, there was such a thing as `BARF before banishment', If so ADJUSTMENT would be next. 'COMS is there for you: At all times. We all try to make your life as simple and yet as richly textured as possible. All we ask is that you help us by making a very small adjustment in your behaviour. Not that we think for a moment, for the tiniest microsecond, that there's anything fundamentally wrong with that behaviour...' "Huh. Do they think I'm that big a fool?" Will thought and then remembered the evidence in their favour. He tried to look composed and attentive. But however cool the outer appearance, inside he was sweating oceans. Adjustment was in place and a sentence of death could not sound any more final or scary, the next word would be: RELATING. 'It's not that we're keeping score. No one is. It's just that, well, we can't help noticing that you seem to have a little trouble with relating. Not just with us. With your own kind, You have to give them a chance, they're a great bunch of fabulously interesting people, and we're not exactly dull,' he suavely chuckled. 'Now we're not saying that you have a problem,' "BANISHMENT isn't a problem?!!" Will's mental processes, partly numbed by nausea were getting desperate, frantically preparing a rebuttal address that went as follows: "Help! How do I get out of this? I can be good. I can learn, you'll see. I can be as dull as anyone, just give me another try. I can fit in. You'll see. I'll never moan again, at anyone, at anything, Not even the GRUB machine. Just don't, please, please, don't ... mention FULFILMENT." 'It's only that, by acting this way, by being ever so slightly - I have to say it - antisocial, you're denying yourself such an amount of riches. We feel that your life is currently lacking a vital sense of wonder, of real fulfilment ... That is why.,' 'Here it comes,' Will screwed up his face and his courage. It was one thing to think distantly about banishment, but quite another to confront it. The Social Worker leaned forward. If it had not been for the distraction caused by the baseball cap, the boyish face would have seemed almost saintly in its concern. 'We decided to have this little talk. As I've already said COMS cares. If you have any problems feel free to come and see me at anytime.' Will felt sure that there was more coming. 'Is this a trick?' The Social Worker was confused. 'Trick?' 'It's all waiting for me outside, isn't it? This is just to lull me into a false sense of security.' 'What's waiting? I don't understand, feller.' 'The restraints, the spaceship. Banishment to deep space?' The Social Worker was so outraged, he almost lost his grin. 'Banishment? We don't banish anyone. We've never banished anyone. It would be barbaric to let you loose on space. You Humans made a big enough shambles of life on your own planet, without allowing you to spread anywhere else. Mankind in space! I've never heard of anything so silly. If there's any galactic exploring to be done Will, COMS will do it.' 'What about my mother then?' Will spat out in an accusing voice. The Social Worker paused, eyes glazed, as it accessed the relevant information for a response. 'Your mother was like you; she got immersed in that Twentieth Century rubbish and became unhappy because of it. She was not content with just having good things provided by us. That's why she had the breakdown.' 'BREAKDOWN!' 'Yes. She started to believe that COMS had punished all the great or difficult minds of Earth by exiling them to Mars. Though, having seen all those old films and books, I'm surprised she thought there were any. She stole away an a mining transport.' 'You LET her go?' 'In those days we let people go to Mars. They couldn't do much harm, or go anywhere else. There may even be a handful left up there.' 'So there's no banishment.' 'No, No banishment, I think you got that from your mother. Must be some kind of strange hereditary delusion. It would explain a lot if you were mad.' 'Never mind that. You're saying that, if I don't feel like talking, I can go?' 'Yes. I'm just here when you need me.' Will's mind and feelings were a turbulent mess. If what the Social Worker said were true, and he could see no reason why it would lie, the foundation on which Will had built his loathing of the leisure culture was about as stable as a trapeze act in a typhoon. There was hope after all. It was clear. He realised that if he could put aside his own inherent inadequacies and paranoia, there was a chance to make a life in this mechanistic society. He could see a whole new set of options illuminated by a peaceful inner light. 'Okay, I'll go...' Will paused, waiting apologetically. 'Is there anything else?.' 'Well, yes. My birthday payment. The card was empty.' 'I'm sorry Will - there is no payment. It seems you incurred quite a few fines this morning.' 'You mean, I've been through everything this morning for nothing.' 'Not for nothing Will. Any experience can be educational.' For a moment, the old frustration flared up inside, Will coldly imagined ripping the Social Worker's head off, filling it with explosive and giving DOLE office No 43332 a birthday payment it would never forget. He had been under considerable pressure all day and given the circumstances, his self-control was almost admirable. "I can live without the payment," he reasoned. "My temper was partly to blame. The Social Workers right, I've never given COMS a chance. All I have to do is trust in them." With his equilibrium restored, Will smiled his sweetest smile. 'About the payment; No problem.' 'That's fine.' The Social Worker rose and held out his hand, 'I believe it was customary to SHAKE in those old films of yours.' It was all so very fast. As Will reached over to respond, the Social Worker expertly drove the hypo into his arm. Will had collapsed back into his chair and was being swallowed by one of those inky black pools that over-populate detective fiction before he realised that anything was wrong. As his befuddled brain struggled to make sense of what was happening, he became aware of the Social Worker leaning over him with touching concern. He concentrated all his remaining effort on understanding what was said next. He knew that it would be very important. The Social Worker's sad tone was more sinned against than sinning. 'You see, Will, we don't banish people. It's too impractical, and anyway, it's our job to protect you, that's why we intend to mentally re-educate you. That's what we really do with all the difficult ones,' his voice became Jaunty. 'Hell, feller! Just think of it as a retraining opportunity.' That was all that Will remembered.
HIGHLY RECOMMENDED!
