The Zeno Effect

by Andrew Tudor

  As far as she could work out from the confusion of reports and video fragments, a large section of the crowd broke away from the demonstration and marched on the Northwood Homestead. This was despite attempts to restrain them by the demonstration’s co-ordinator who called vainly for all to remain at the peaceful protest on the common. Along with the familiar anti-Zeno placards, the red-and-black banners of the ERA were prominent among the breakaway group, and several of those filming zoomed in on the distinctive figure of Jerry Rowlands. On arrival at the Northwood gates they were met with a small military force. When it became clear that by sheer weight of numbers the crowd was intent on breaching the Northwood periphery, the soldiers were ordered to use their weapons, which they did, although with some reluctance as a number of observers noted. Rumours spread that several had declined to open fire on their fellow citizens and that their NCOs had been ordered to threaten and even to shoot them if they continued to refuse.

  The truth of this was never established, either at the time or subsequently, but the allegations spread like wildfire serving to further enrage the crowd who stormed the gates and, in spite of fatalities, overwhelmed the military defenders. Making their way to the underground complex’s main entrance, they routed the skeleton crew of guards and invaded the Homestead itself. Information was scarce as to what happened once they gained entry. Explosions were heard and there were certainly deaths and injuries on both sides. After an hour or so there was no more gunfire and, as smoke began billowing from the entrance and from ventilation ducts, the demonstrators emerged and could be seen carrying loot of various kinds: weapons, food and drink, even some small items of furniture. The Homestead continued to burn for several days, deemed impossible to contain by the short-staffed fire services, and a huge pall of smoke loomed threateningly over the north of the capital city.

  Widespread dissemination of images, vlogs and news reports of these events then served to precipitate actions elsewhere across England. Where government safe havens were known to exist – and many were identified by local workers who had been involved in their construction and fitting out – they attracted massive demonstrations and variously successful attempts to emulate the Northwood assault. The already stretched forces of law and order proved incapable of exerting control over these large crowds, and in many regions, already fragmented by the emergence of independent local enclaves, the official authorities simply gave up and fled.

  During all this, central government continued to issue pronouncements, condemnations, and fruitless appeals for calm. Somehow the location of the PM and the cabinet remained secret – it emerged later that they were concealed in a Homestead in deepest East Anglia – but that was not sufficient to keep them in power. After a month of continuous unrest and violence a group of high-ranking military officers took over the reins of government in a coup, although they insisted that this was approved by the elected administration and was only a temporary measure. Their first act was to declare a state of martial law.

  The existing curfew was extended, travel even more restricted, and public assembly forbidden on pain of death, a policy which began to have some effect after a heavily publicised series of summary executions. The impact of the declaration across the breadth of the country was limited, however, since the military focused its entire resources on London and the home counties. Of course, the military junta continued to claim to be the legitimate government of the whole of England, but in practice everywhere outside the South-East became prey to local fiefdoms and varying degrees of chaos. Material infrastructure quickly disintegrated, leaving large areas without electricity or potable water and with limited food supplies. In both the established and newly emerging fiefdoms, those aspiring leaders who could find ways to satisfy their population’s basic needs gained a degree of legitimacy, some of them by preying upon weaker neighbours, others by attempting to construct and defend local facilities. The net result of all this was that England collapsed into variously warring groups whose activities were overlaid upon unstable regional alliances. The dark ages had returned.

  The rapidity of this decline in just a few months shocked Ali to the core, and in spite of her government’s best efforts, as she looked around at her own country on this late August day she was registering similar warning signs. Only the week before in Dundee, which had been ravaged by a particularly aggressive strain of flu, there had been a near riot when it emerged that their local health services had been starved of drugs and funds in favour of support in other cities, most notably Edinburgh. This blatant inequality of treatment horrified Ali, though it no longer surprised her as it once would have done. Her faith in the government for whom she worked had taken a considerable battering since the first Zeno revelations.

  So far, though, other than that one occasion in Dundee, there had not been massive shows of violent dissent of the kind now commonplace in England. In part this was because Scotland had put in place public health initiatives very early on in the crisis, which, however limited their effect in restricting the flu’s spread, had at least demonstrated that the government was willing to do what it could. As well as this intervention, Scotland was not yet facing the scale of shortages that were feeding radical action south of the border. Although there were some constraints on energy consumption in the large cities, the now long-standing Scottish commitment to renewables meant that there had as yet been no sustained power cuts. Water supply was not a problem and unlikely to be so given Scottish rainfall, only provided that sufficient of the industry’s workers remained healthy. Inevitably there were limitations on food since a significant proportion was still imported. This had not yet led to rationing other than by price, but the available range of foods was steadily decreasing and, Ali’s father told her, in the Highlands the clandestine taking of red deer was on the rise. Since the deer population was much larger than ideal this was not really a problem, except for those landowners accustomed to treating deerstalking as a significant source of income and status. But as so many of their clients had historically been from the affluent English, this market had anyway collapsed – a fact that gave her father considerable satisfaction.

  Nevertheless, Ali knew that sooner or later food shortages would intensify in Scotland even allowing for the fact that, at a little less than six million, her country’s population was only a tenth of that of their southern neighbour. Though not yet self-sufficient, the Scottish authorities had for some years prior to independence sought ways of enhancing food security and minimising reliance on imports for basic foodstuffs. That process was by no means complete, but it had been sufficiently effective to ensure adequate provision thus far, even where the spread of flu had interrupted the supply chains.

  There was an unintended consequence of this limited success, however, as Douglas had pointed out when Ali questioned the scale on which they were stockpiling food with her father. In the border regions it had become all too apparent to those on the English side that, unlike them, the Scots were as yet neither rationed nor suffering serious shortages. In consequence, as law and order failed in northern England, raiders increasingly crossed into Scotland and were soon identified as a new generation of Border Reivers, although unlike their historical namesakes they invaded only from south to north. It was just a matter of time and of growing desperation, Douglas suggested, before the Reivers would form larger alliances and venture as far as the Central Belt or perhaps even further. Scotland would once more face invasion from the south.

  This was, Ali believed, a distant prospect, but one which she supposed that she should take seriously. Given the terrible things that were already happening in England, marauders from across the border seemed as likely as anything else. Even Sarah, who retained a residual loyalty to her country of birth, conceded that when faced with starvation otherwise decent people would resort to desperate measures. She had said as much that very evening when she and Ali had been setting up their regular CommsTab v-call to her mother – remarkably, the Comms
infrastructure was still functioning, largely because it was internationally implemented and, apart from isolated areas where booster stations were required, ran direct via satellites.

  For weeks now Sarah had been concerned that her mother looked very worn out and, under pressure from her daughter, Irene finally admitted that she had been laid low by a bad case of the flu and was still not fully recovered.

  “Why didn’t you tell me before?” a frantic Sarah asked.

  “I didn’t want to worry you unnecessarily,” Irene replied. “And I’m much better now.”

  “But how did you manage on your own? When Hugh had the flu he couldn’t even get out of bed.”

  “Oh, a friend came and nursed me through it. She’s still here organising food and stuff.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “No one you know, Sarah, but she’s been a great help. The food situation in London is getting difficult, that’s true, although we’re doing OK at the moment so we’ll try to stick it out together.”

  Ali turned the CommsTab so that Irene could see her face. “Why don’t you both try to make it up to here? You were a senior civil servant. Couldn’t you use your influence to swing some travel arrangements?”

  “No Ali, I don’t think you grasp quite how bad things have got. It’s pretty well impossible to travel anywhere, whoever you are. Martial law isn’t much of a respecter of persons, even harmless unemployed old ladies. We’ll just have to do our best here. But I’m really happy that you’re all safe and especially that my lovely granddaughter will have a better chance of a future.”

  With that, they could see tears welling up in Irene’s eyes and she hastily brought the call to an end. Sarah and Ali looked at each other in shared misery.

  “Can’t Douglas arrange something? Like he did with us,” Sarah asked.

  “No, I don’t think so.” Ali was despondent. “He’s had to pull all his people out of England, and even the goods lorries aren’t crossing the border now. It’s too dangerous. If Irene can’t fix anything I’m afraid there’s not much we can do from this end.”

  “I’m scared, Ali,” Sarah said, after a long pause. “Not just for mum but for us too. Things keep getting worse, and I’m afraid that just like we did in York we’ll lose all this.” She gestured around the room in which they were sitting. “It’s a good apartment, Bruntsfield is a nice area, Charlotte’s made new friends, and we can walk to work at the virology unit. But how long can it continue like this? And then what?”

  “Maybe it won’t get as bad as it is in England,” Ali said, though not with any great conviction. “Perhaps someone will come up with a medical solution. There must be so much money and expertise being thrown at the Zeno problem now, right across the world.”

  “Well, it sure as hell won’t be happening here.” Sarah frowned. “Our research group are getting nowhere at all, just going round in circles. And from what we hear from researchers elsewhere that’s par for the course. If a breakthrough is to happen, it will have to come from some completely unexpected line of inquiry. Don’t hold your breath.”

  Irene and Julie sat at their kitchen table looking mournfully at the meagre supplies assembled in front of them.

  “The rations are so low now that there’s hardly enough for one person, let alone two,” Irene complained. “Look at you, Julie. You were never fat but now you’re skinny enough to be a supermodel. It’s not healthy. We can’t go on like this.”

  Julie nodded her agreement. “I’ll just have to use my card and hope that they’re not looking for me any more. Otherwise we’re going to get weak and then we’ll have no resistance to any infection that comes along.”

  “You can’t do that,” Irene said firmly. “We’re under martial law. They’re sure to be still looking for you after all the trouble your reporting caused. Come on, you’ve seen what’s happened to some of the Zeno campaigners. Simply disappeared. No trace at all.”

  Julie knew that Irene was right. Rumours had reached her that both Rosa and Albert had not been seen since shortly after the Northwood demonstration, along with several other prominent figures in the anti-Zeno movement.

  “I know, I know,” she said, “but what else can we do?”

  “I’ve been thinking about that. How about we try to pass you off as Sarah? We can go to the local Authentication Office and tell them that you’re my daughter and that you managed to get all the way down here from York to look after me, but along the way you were robbed of your possessions, including identity documents. If we approach it right I think we can get them to issue you with authorisation for food rations.”

  Julie looked uncertain. “Do you really think they’ll buy that? It doesn’t sound too plausible. And won’t their central computer records have a picture of Sarah on file?”

  “If we cut your hair and give you an old pair of her glasses we might get away with it,” Irene said. “Besides, the local systems are so rickety now that they may not even be able to check the central records. And anyway,” she added mysteriously, “I think I know just what to do to make this work.”

  So it was that the very next day, with Julie’s once long hair newly cut, they were to be found waiting patiently for attention in the Authentication Office on Streatham High Road. Irene had warned Julie to say as little as possible and to follow her lead. When it was finally their turn with the solitary Authentication Officer, Irene introduced herself as a retired Professor and Scientific Adviser, then immediately launched into a vivid account of her daughter’s valiant struggle to reach her ill mother and the terrible travails that she had suffered along the way. The official did not look overly impressed with her story – no doubt he was accustomed to hearing much more fanciful appeals – but, grumbling about the lack of a computerised application system, he gave her a folder of forms to complete while he attended to another applicant. When they returned to his desk with the completed documents, he looked them over carefully.

  “Hmmmn. Yes, that seems to deal with most things,” he murmured, then, giving Irene a meaningful look, he handed the folder back to her and added, “I think I need one or two more details.”

  “Ah, I see,” Irene said, and to Julie’s astonishment withdrew several twenty-pound notes from her bag and surreptitiously slipped them into the folder before handing it back.

  “Will that cover it?” she asked.

  The official made a show of once more examining the contents of the folder. “Not quite,” he said, returning it to Irene. “I think perhaps just a couple more details are needed.”

  Irene slid two more notes out of her bag and passed them over hidden in the folder.

  The official smiled, albeit mirthlessly. “Yes, that does it I think. Just hold on while I sort out the card.” He turned to Julie and told her to look into the lens of the camera mounted on his desk, pressed a key to take her picture, then disappeared into the back regions of the office.

  “Oh god, he’s going to report us,” Julie whispered.

  “No, I don’t think so,” Irene replied, looking unconcerned. “We’re home clear.”

  After a minute or two the official returned and made a show of presenting Julie with her card.

  “That will serve for identification as well,” he told her. “The military are trying to streamline the process by having one card to serve all purposes, so keep it safe Miss… um… Johnson. That’s right, isn’t it.” He nodded to Irene. “Good day, Professor,” he said, waving them towards the door.

  When they got outside Julie let out a huge sigh of relief.

  “How did you know that would work?” she asked Irene. “We could both have ended up under arrest.”

  “Not at all,” Irene replied. “You have to understand that when things get as bad as they are now, self-important bureaucrats, people who have been accustomed to exerting petty power, they realise that they have an opportunity to lord it even more and to improv
e their own situation at the same time. It’s a recipe for corruption. They see that those further up the ladder have been making the most of it so they want their share too. That’s why I went out of my way to use my title – to make the guy feel even more potent because he was in charge of me, a well-paid senior civil servant and professor. This is what happens when legitimate social order collapses. Everyday ethics go out the window and then self-interest rules.”

  “I never thought of you as so Machiavellian,” Julie said, looking at Irene with new eyes.

  “I’m not really,” Irene replied, “but I did spend a lifetime in university and government circles so I had plenty of opportunity to see how it’s done.” She looked into the distance and smiled at this thought. “At least I learned something,” she added, then, turning to Julie, took her by the arm and set off down the street.

  “Let’s go buy things,” she said, as if the world was as it always had been and they were embarked on a mother–daughter shopping spree.

  They brought him breakfast at 7am. A piece of mouldy cheese, some stale bread, and a bowl of what was described as coffee but bore little resemblance to it. He didn’t deserve this, Georges thought, all he had wanted to do was feed his surviving children. He had lost his wife and his youngest son to the flu, he was out of work, and there was no food in the house. He had stolen just a little and he hadn’t meant to hurt the shopkeeper. But only last month France had introduced the death penalty for food theft in a desperate attempt to halt the descent into chaos in provincial towns. Georges was the first to be sentenced in Lille. They had offered him the services of a priest, which he had refused. What comfort was there in a god who permitted all this misery? When they came for him at 8am he could think only of his children. What would happen to them now?