by John Lilley
‘Sorry mate, I get so pissed off with the whole thing. I’m just trying to do the best thing by signing up with one of the NHS girls, but they always seem to be disappointing. Look at that redhead Camilla I had last year. I thought it was all going well and then the next thing I knew she’d shacked up with Charles, the 4th-floor Janitor in my dorm. Now I have to endure them in the canteen every other day,’ said Dave.
Trevor put a tea-bag in his now scrubbed mug and filled it with hot water from the spigot.
‘I suggest that you change dorms, there are some free in 252 near my place. Maybe you can also get some help from the relationship councillors? ’ said Trevor.
‘There is nothing wrong with me,’ said Dave.
‘I’m not suggesting there is. All I’m saying is that they may be able to give you some tips that allow you to polish up your game?’ said Trevor.
‘Sorry, I hadn’t thought of it like that,’ said Dave. ‘You could be right. Perhaps I’ll give them a ring this week. I’ll definitely pop round when you get back from Cleveland and run through the next batch with you. Cheers mate.’
‘OK, but I only want to see the ones with big tits,’ said Trevor.
They were both still laughing as they left the kitchen.
Back at his workstation, Trevor found himself rerunning his conversation with Dave and thinking about his own situation with Julie. He promised himself that he would try to explore some changes to their relationship when he visited Cleveland.
Shifting his thoughts back to work he had assembled the exact configuration of bike and rack that had been giving all the problems. He wheeled the assembled bike down to the test rig and bolted it in place. The protective mesh screens slid into place when Trevor pressed the large red button to start the test cycle. It would be another hour before the tests were completed.
Trevor had a wander around the other test rigs to see what was happening then walked out onto the balcony by the lagoon. Looking into the distance towards Britannia he could see a large ship heading towards the central locks. He palmed his link and called his boss Brian Armstrong.
‘Hey Brian, how’re yer doin’?’ he said as Brian’s face appeared on the small device.
‘OK Trev’, I’ve just had my arse kicked about those racks. Have you found anything yet?’ said Brian.
‘It’s in the test-rig now, should be done within the hour,’ said Trevor. ‘I thought you might be down at the Liver Building. You should look out across the lagoon, I think something interesting is about to go past you?’
‘You’re not wrong,’ said Brian. ‘I’m looking at it now. It’s one of the big coastal patrol boats. I’ve never seen one this close before, looks pretty mean with all those deck guns. The strange thing about this one is that there are tin-men crawling all over it. I thought that they only kept one in a cupboard in case of emergencies?’
‘Weird,’ said Trevor. ‘You’re right, they normally only have one on board. Perhaps something has gone wrong with it? They must be taking it into the large dry-dock for a better look?’
‘Yeah, perhaps one of its racks has fallen off? I’d hate to be on the receiving end of the arse-kicking for that one,’ said Brian.
Both men laughed.
‘I’ll call you Brian when I’m through with the tests.’
‘Okeydokey, see ya.’
Trevor turned his attention in the other direction across the lagoon. Numerous brightly coloured sails were emerging from the nearby marina. In the waters beneath the bicycle repair facility, he could see several grey seals (Halichoerus Grypus) making the most of what the patrol ship had stirred up. At high tides, the seals could come and go from the lagoon, but many of them preferred to stay in its calmer waters permanently. There were a few small colonies along its banks, mostly on the Welsh side, away from man’s activities. Staring across to the other bank, Trevor’s mind wandered to focus on his imminent trip across the Yorkshire Sea. Before he knew it the hour had passed, and he went back inside.
The bike emerged from the test rig, complete with a broken rack.
Success, Trevor thought, but now for the clever stuff.
Back at his work station he put the bike on his service stand and took some core samples around the point of failure of the rack. The analyser on his desk sliced the samples into microscopically thin wafers and displayed their highly magnified images on the screen. Trevor played different wavelengths of light on the samples to broaden the picture. The analyser then dissolved some samples and heated others to their melting point. Trevor watched the figures accumulate on-screen while he manipulated the view from the camera he’d fixed to the bike. It now looked like the manufacturing process was not to blame, but it was in fact, the material of the rack that was at fault. He took some further samples from a new rack to confirm his finding. His workstation searched the provenance of the metal in the racks, confirming that there had been a change in supply to a different batch of aluminium recently. All he needed now were samples from older racks to complete his investigation
14 AFRICA ARRIVES
Wendy left her house ten minutes early to give herself a bit more time to reach the food bank. Her hip had stiffened over the last two days, and although she was only limping slightly, there was pain with every step. The thought of trying to get some help with it was quite daunting. She’d already tried locally but was told that they didn’t do chronic orthopaedic problems and that she would need to walk to the nearest Medicentre over 20 km away, too bad if your legs weren’t good. Cynically she wondered that if she’d had bad eyesight, they’d have made her go at night. The distance was not the problem, she was sure she could make it there and back, but it would mean at least a day away from the food bank. That meant, of course, no work and therefore no food, but her main concern was that she would need to walk through some intimidating areas, in particular, close to one of the oldest African migrant processing camps in the region.
Work that day was not easy. Standing for long periods while she served thousands of people with their only source of food was just killing her. Her supervisor Jackie managed to get her a high stool she could prop herself on for part of the time, but the pain seemed to be spreading, and by the afternoon the seat of the stool was unbearable. The pressure point was somewhere on the lower edge of her pelvis, where the hamstring inserted, so sitting on a hard surface, kneeling or crouching exacerbated the problem. By break-time, she was exhausted and just lay down on the grass verge next to the empty carpark for the full thirty minutes. Staring into the cloudy sky, she watched as a Red Kite (Milvus Milvus) was mobbed by a Blackbird (Turdus Merula). The birds were in a dogfight around the huge Tesco sign at the entrance to the food bank, its highly durable and brightly coloured plastic now appeared out of place, suggesting business as usual, where shoppers could park their cars and wander around the brightly lit store picking up produce from around the world. Where everything was in season all year round and easily affordable, but a system for which they were all now paying a hefty price.
Ironic that the site was now a soup kitchen in the new world order, thought Wendy.
She struggled to get up from the verge, but the thirty minutes had been good, lying down now seemed to be the only position that didn’t hurt. Too bad she had another six hours of standing up ahead of her. Before she left work that evening, she made arrangements to take the following day off to go to the Medicentre. Jackie was worried about what Wendy was planning.
‘Why not wait until next month and I’ll see if we can get you a lift on the maintenance truck?’ she said.
‘I can’t wait another day, the pain is getting really bad. The doctor said that I should really be on morphine, but even if he were allowed to prescribe it, he doesn’t have any. I’m so worried that there is something seriously wrong with me and I just want to get it over with as soon as possible,’ said Wendy.
‘But you’ll have to go close to the Mandela camp, it’s just not safe,’ said Jackie. ‘Please Wendy, just wait a few more days, a
nd I’ll come with you. Maybe I could persuade one of the guys to go with you?’
‘Thanks Jackie, but I’ve made up my mind. I’m going to be OK you know how tough I am normally.’
‘I know how stubborn you are too. Let’s just pop back into the kitchen, I’ve got something for you.’
They walked back through the two sets of giant flexible plastic doors and across the industrial scale food preparation area to the lockers. Jackie took out her coat which seemed a big bulkier that usual. She nodded her head in the direction of the toilets. Once they were inside and Jackie was sure that the cubicles were empty, she pulled a small package out of her coat and gave it to Wendy, who immediately opened one end to peer inside.
‘Look, you know what the score is with this stuff I’m giving you, but it will keep you going. I suggest you eat most of it before you set off and please don’t show it to anyone along the way. Also, keep the knife hidden but handy, especially near the camp,’ said Jackie.
Wendy slept well that night, and it was good to have breakfast in her tiny, spartan room first thing, rather than having to walk to work for it. It was still dark when she set off, but she knew the immediate area well enough so managed to avoid the worst of the craters in the roads and footways. Heading west along the main road, she tried to keep out of the shadows where ever possible. The whole area where she was living was due for demolition and reclamation at some point in the next twelve months, so no effort was being made to maintain any of the existing infrastructure. The latest talk was that they would all be shipped out to the East where workers were required for construction of the main forest wall. Wendy had moved around all her life and liked the idea of moving east, away from the migrant processing camps. She had spent her first 10 years living in tents and the rest in converted industrial or office buildings. There was always a need for people to work in the food banks, it was a thankless task, but the job had served her well. A far cry from her original ambitions to become a hairdresser, but she was happy with the choice she had made.
A crash of breaking glass up ahead made her dash for cover in the nearest doorway. The section of the street she was on was at one time a main shopping area. She quickly checked out the shop she had entered: it had been stripped bare, just the broken counter fitting remained, but most importantly there was no one else there. She had the feeling that further illegal reclamation work was currently in progress a few metres up the high street. It would almost certainly be some of the residents of the nearby camp. She could hear more noise now and what sounded like voices, although they were not speaking English.
After a few years of moving around from one work area to another, limited in terms of personal possessions to what could be carried, with no security at all in accommodation, most citizens had learnt the hard way when it came to owning something desirable. But in the camps things were different, and a black market still thrived. This was what drove the camp residents to plunder what they could from the surrounding area.
Wendy crouched down behind the counter and waited until she was sure that the people outside had moved on. She was soon out of the old high street area but stuck to the main road because if anyone else was out looting, then they would usually be working the houses on the back streets. Four kilometres further, and she was outside the town. The road climbed slowly for another six kilometres before cresting, and from the top of the hill, she could see the boundary fencing of the camp only 500 metres further down the road. The sun was now high in the sky but as always was struggling to get through the thick grey clouds. Two minutes later a heavy shower started, and Wendy pulled up the hood of her coat and thrust her hands deep into its side pockets. Jackie had told her that she would be skirting the edge of the camp for two kilometres. In theory, with three concentric 15-metre razor wire fences, watched over by surveillance drones and dog patrols, there should have been nothing to worry about for a lonely walker on the road, but apparently, the looters were getting in and out despite the fences so they could be anywhere along the road. Wendy increased her pace as much as her hip would allow and continuously scanned the bushes to the right of the road; the side opposite to the fence. When the undergrowth thinned out, she took a few longer glances through the fences. A dog handler between the inner fences saw her, and so did his dog, which lunged violently towards her only to be pulled back by the handler. He signalled to her to pull down her hood and waived her onwards when she did so. The hood stayed down after that despite the heavy cold rain running down her face and dripping off her nose. Being identified as a regular citizen from a distance was now more important to her than getting wet. Once the dog handler continued with his round Wendy was aware of numerous pairs of eyes staring at her from inside the inner fence. Several small children were running along matching her pace while they chanted something and pointed towards her. A few metres further on a group of six young African men were watching her intensely; one appeared to be holding a phone to his face. It had been many years since Wendy had seen a phone let alone used one. They were magic devices from the past, so how had one of the Africans got one, how was it working and who on earth was he phoning? Wendy frantically looked again to the right of the road. She saw nothing at first, but then about 200 metres away from the road she saw a dark figure attempting to cross the boggy heathland and heading directly for her. Wendy just ran and didn’t look back. Up ahead she could see the main gate of the camp, roughly 300 metres away. She sprinted as fast as she could, but the throbbing pain in her hip grew rapidly stronger. After a further 50 metres her left thigh cramped up completely, and she almost fell, face-first. Gasping for breath, she kept going, now in a running-limp with a stitch in her side adding to her miseries. She could see someone on the road up ahead near the gatehouse, were they watching her? She could not tell. Then she was pushed off the road from behind. Her arms flailed as she tried to break her fall and she spun around. Her attacker let her fall onto the rough verge then crouched down close with his knife inches away from her face. Wendy’s heart was pounding, as she stared beneath his hood but all she could see were the penetrating stare of his white eyes and a brief flash of his prominent white teeth.
‘Quiet,’ He said waving his knife closer and putting a finger to his lips. Making a brief glance back towards the gatehouse he grabbed Wendy by her coat at the shoulder and pulled her to a crouching position then shoved her across the verge away from the outer fence. After a 50-metre struggle across the rough ground, he pushed her into a trench which was just big enough for both of them. He continued to push her along the trench which got deeper and widened slightly. When Wendy saw the wooden trap door at the end of the trench, her mind went into overload: men outnumbered women by four to one in the camps, there could be only one reason why he was trying to smuggle her into the camp. She could feel her knife in its sheath just beneath her bra. As casually as she could, she reached into her coat, under her vest and pulled the knife free. The rain had turned the trench into a quagmire; their feet were sinking in up to the tops of their boots. Wendy saw her chance and feigned a fall backwards, knocking her attacker into the side of the trench. She spun around and stabbed him in his arm.
Lebang Mosemanagape had not had a charmed life so far. Born near Sun City and orphaned at six he had been taken on by one of his many aunties. She had been an engineer with one of the South African telecom companies before the trouble had started. Having no children of her own she had doted on him, but that would not have been his view at the time since he found her to be much stricter than his parents ever were. However, what he eventually came to realise was that she was probably one of the best engineers he would ever meet and that she was keen to see that he received a good education, as good as she could achieve in the current state of chaos. She managed to instil in him the need to be always learning and armed him with the main tool to achieve this: an enquiring, problem-solving mind. By the time he was in his teens, he could take apart, repair and rebuild just about anything, a talent which unfortunately came to the
notice of the local warlord Kefentse. Lebang didn’t particularly enjoy working for Kefentse, but he frequently found that he had been manipulated into doing the work, usually with the threat that something might happen to his Auntie. There was often little or no payment involved, and he frequently found himself in the midst of violent situations. One evening his Auntie suggested that they both moved away from the area down to the coast. Her view was that where they were was drying out too fast to be viable for much longer and predicted that the food just would not be there within the next two years. Her contacts in Cape Town would take them on in return for work. Lebang was keen to get away from the clutches of Kefentse, so he immediately agreed to the move.
By mid-afternoon the next day they were already on the other side of Jo’berg. After an overnight stop, their coach was making good time when after a few loud bangs from the engine, it ground to a halt. Most of the passengers got off and sat in the shade beside the vehicle. Lebang and his Auntie went to see what they could do to help with the engine. Nobody noticed the arrival of the three pickups until the first shots were fired. The attack was swift and efficient, only the young people were spared. Before the gravity of his change in circumstance could sink in Lebang was bouncing along in the back of one of the pickups, bound by cable ties to another teenager. Their captors showed no compassion: anyone who started to complain was whipped or kicked until they stopped. Lebang closed his tear-filled eyes and tried to think what his Auntie would have done in his situation. He was sure that grief would not have come into it. Observe and learn she would have said, look for an opportunity and be ready to take it.
Five years later he was stood on the walkway just outside the bridge of the New Africa, the largest of the ships in the fleet. At 400 metres in length she was longer than the Petronis Towers and at 500,000 dwt dwarfed even the biggest military aircraft carriers. Lebang surveyed the other fifty ships in the fleet, all now in formation and ready for the departure signal. They had over one and a half million people on board, all seeking a new life in the UK. The ten ultra-large-crude-carriers made up the outer escorts of the fleet, but all of the other 40 ships were significant in size. It had been Lebang’s job to ensure that all of the rusting hulks were capable of the voyage which would take them from their native ocean around the Cape of Good Hope then across to the Azores and finally on to their target of the Ribble Estuary in the UK.
