by John Lilley
Inside each one was a small dull looking pistol with an extremely thick barrel made from an unusual translucent material.
‘OK gents what we have here is the latest in personal weaponry, the Phased Microwave Disruptor or PMD as we call it, not to be confused with PMT, which as we all know gents, is far deadlier than any pistol. Please take them out of their boxes,’ he said.
They were all smiling, and there was a Boys-Own atmosphere about the room for Derek: So I get to play with a real ray-gun, he thought.
Arthur seemed equally bemused as he examined the exotic device. The Instructor beckoned them over to the shooting positions. His own weapon for the demonstration was already hung up in the third booth.
‘OK watch carefully while I show you what these little beauties can do. They come with a charge pack that clips into the butt like so. Depending on what you do the pack should be good for up to 50 shots, but it will get rather hot if you shoot quickly. You have a spare as well. Unfortunately, there’s a half second delay between shots while it cycles each charge. I know this is not what you are used to, so please make allowances. Their effective range is only 50 metres, so not much different there from a standard sidearm, but the range does decreases slightly if it’s raining. There are many options for the beam that you deploy. You can vary the width, intensity and modulation to suit your intended target. The three pre-set modes are available on this switch here; you get “Paralyse”, “Kill” and “Max”. It’s not gentle, there is no “Stun” setting, and any exposure to the beam causes some sort of permanent damage. In effect, you’re cooking your target from the inside out. It’s lethal against real flesh and blood but absolutely devastating against simulated flesh, especially on the “Max” setting. Probably the main reason that this type of weapon has come about is that as you know, bullets are, excuse the pun, a bit hit and miss against simulants. Now, to business, let’s see what it makes of a standard target face.’
He set the pistol to the Paralyse setting and turned so that he was sideways to the target. Then extended his gun arm towards the target, turned his head to take aim and squeezed the trigger. Nothing seemed to happen, no sound, no flash or yellow beam of violent destruction. In the distance, a small brown patch appeared on the paper target face, flamed briefly and then went out with a puff of dark smoke.
‘Silent, but you do get a small artificial vibration in the stock to tell you something has happened. Now let’s try the Max setting.’
He fired the weapon at the next target, a 3D synthetic human. Its head instantly exploded with a loud bang.
‘OK gents now it’s your turn,’ he said to his now startled but eager audience.
By the time that they left the building, Derek’s mind was a whirl of mixed emotions and speculation about the trip. It was digging up too much tragedy from his past. Arthur, of course, was his usual chatty self and was getting pissed-off with Derek’s terse replies by the time they got back to the MT terminus. They took their seats on the next train to the east coast.
‘OK, so just what’s you’re bloody problem mate?’ said Arthur.
‘Oh I just have a bad feeling about this one,’ said Derek.
‘Why do you think it’s going to be any different? As usual, I bet there won’t be anything there. We will, of course, be scratched by the undergrowth, have to walk through numerous piles of wild beast shit while being bitten excessively by our own personal entourage of midges, but yet again there will be nothing there,’ replied Arthur.
‘I wish I had your pragmatic view on this one mate,’ said Derek ‘I just have a strange feeling about the whole thing. Being armed for a simulant attack would imply that one is coming from the far west. It just brings back all those memories from 25 years ago, that last time I saw Harry as he left with his little pals on the school trip. I waited 10 years before watching all those videos from the dropship attack. Perhaps I shouldn’t have watched them even then, but I just wanted some form of closure on the whole thing. I’m sure that losing Harry led to losing Diane and Tom. My blood’s boiling, sorry.’
‘Hey, no problem mate, I’d no idea what you were going through. I’ve watched those videos; it must have been terrible to lose Harry like that. Sorry for being such a nerd,’ said Arthur.
‘Oh shit, sorry Arthur, I forgot that you never met my family. So do you really think there’ll be nothing there?’ said Derek.
‘Look, nothing that significant has ever got through since the Paris attack. Mother has cast a web of steel out 2,000 km from our shores. Nothing larger than a newt swims, flies or walks across that web without being checked out. We all know that there is still something active way out west, but we aren’t even sure if it’s human. The occasional drone gets blasted, but that may only mean that the last person standing left the lights on in the drone factory. If they get nearer than Iceland, they’ll be destroyed,’ said Arthur.
‘Well, I hope you’re right mate and sorry to drag up my ghosts from the past, but they’re still very real to me. Hey, but as the saying goes “Nothing’s a match for a good blaster.”’ said Derek, patting the bulge of his new shoulder holster.
40 HOLIDAY
It was Thursday, and Trevor had just returned to his dorm after a quick and light evening meal. His holiday in the Cleveland forests had begun. There really was not much to pack, just his clothes and wash-bag. His saddlebags easily swallowed everything he wanted to take. He would be picking up the tent, binoculars and other camping gear at the Rangers Lodge. In effect, the Rangers Lodge was a holiday resort, but quite an expensive one at that. Visitor numbers were also strictly limited to avoid too much intrusion on the wildlife. He had applied for permission to make the trip eight months earlier. It was not quite as popular as the other forests, mainly because it didn’t have their range of fauna. However, it was usually much drier, although nobody was bothered by a bit of rain anymore.
There was only one thing Trevor needed to do this evening: talking directly to his dorm console: ‘Message to work, Sim-286, I noticed a small oil leak from the high-pressure manifold on number six milling machine. Please look into it, bye.’
Well, that was work over for the next seven days. He slipped his saddlebags over his shoulder, pocketed his link and left his dorm. The corridor and stairs were still quite busy. A familiar face towered above the surrounding crowd on the stairs between the fourth and third floors.
‘Bon Voyage, my friend. Love to Julie,’ said Pav with a wink.
‘Cheers mate, see ya,’ said Trevor giving the giant a high-five as he passed.
Outside, the cycle-rack lighting could not decide whether to come on or not because the gathering storm clouds had reduced the evening light levels significantly. As he approached the racks, the lights flickered back on briefly. Trevor then heard a familiar sound and turned in its direction. He could see his two goldfinches sat high in a nearby lime tree.
‘Tswitt-witt-witt’ they repeated in pure tones.
‘Bye guys. Hope you find some nice thistles while I’m away,’ said Trevor.
His bike was, of course, a test-bed of the latest innovations in bike technology. Design in the 23rd century always started with sustainability as the main criteria, followed closely by durability and functionality. No flashy gimmicks, no profit-driven built-in obsolescence, just no-nonsense, pragmatic solutions to long-term problems. If it wasn’t broken, it wasn’t fixed. Everyone appreciated the fact that things “just worked” and that they didn’t feel that they had to always have the latest model because things didn’t continuously change and could always be repaired. After over 400 years of bicycle manufacture, as anyone could imagine, most of the core design problems had been ironed out. With over nine million bikes currently in the “fleet”, Trevor’s primary research concerned the material science of reducing maintenance and energy costs. Using 23rd-century technology, it would have been possible to build the whole bike from advanced synthetic materials, incorporate fuel cells into the tubing and eliminate the need for pedalling altoge
ther. The whole bike would weigh less than a plate of chips but would be immensely complicated and require frequent servicing. The main design criteria of the bikes were to provide cheap transport, but also to ensure regular exercise for their riders, so some additional weight and pedalling were not a problem.
Trevor slipped his bike from the rack and clipped his saddlebags onto its rear mounts. The route to the MT station wasn’t busy since most people were still finishing off their evening meals back in the canteen. The cycle track was still wet from the latest afternoon downpour, making the gravel of the track noisier than usual in the damp evening air. Trevor took his time; his link’s screen glowed from its handlebar mount showing the minutes remaining before the next train arrived.
Bags of minutes, he thought.
The passing hedgerows were teaming with noisy birds, which was always music to Trevor’s ears. Trevor strolled through the barriers of his local station and onto the virtually empty platform. Although the barrier had been modified a few years back to be capable of preventing him from travelling, Trevor had only seen it activated once, and that was when a severe storm had damaged the power supply. The barrier had scanned his implanted tag to positively identify him and then logged the incident of his appearance in the station’s knowledge-space. The system was already aware that he was bound for Cleveland and had primed his link with useful information for his journey. Trevor knew there would be no malicious use of the data and he didn’t feel that he was being spied on, or in some way controlled by the State. It was something that he’d been used to all his life, ever since the tag had been inserted at his birth. He knew that he could gain access to most of the information held on him at any time and the rest was really none of his business because it had been deemed to be of national security value. Trevor had no problem with this arrangement either since it had successfully kept society free from the worst social elements for over 200 years.
On the train, Trevor found that he was almost glued to the window as he absorbed the unfamiliar countryside flashing by. For the first few kilometres, he was specifically looking for any changes to the buildings. There was a serious over-provision of dorms since the Government had decided that population levels were fine and no longer wanted to increase them to the levels declared in the first draft of the Grand Plan, well not just yet anyway. This 40% over provision of dorms presented a challenging dilemma for the energy efficient and material conscious British society. Although the dorms had been designed to be recycled and moved to suit demand, it still required a significant amount of energy to make those changes. Since they could quite easily be shut-down and moth-balled, there was little incentive to demolish them other than for recycling their materials. The dorm next to Trevor’s had been empty for over 50 years. Internally all dorms were of exactly the same dimensions, but their fittings did vary depending on how old they were. If it did happen, then it was usually the older dorms that got the chop. Despite his best efforts, Trevor didn’t see the tell-tale cranes anywhere along the MT route that would have signified a dorm coming down. He was always on the lookout for a better dorm location, limited of course by the Grand Plan to within 20 km or thirty minutes travel time from his place of work. Moving further afield could mean a change of career. He liked the view from his current dorm and the added attraction that most of his cycling friends lived nearby, but he always felt it did no harm to keep looking.
The train terminated at the forest security wall. All its passengers had to get off and walk through the gates in the wall to pick up the east coast train that was waiting for them on the forest side. Built mostly from reclaimed bricks and concrete the 10 metres high double walls looked intimidating. The wall on the forest side bristled with security monitors, while a single carriageway road ran along the top of the other wall. Some stretches of the walls near the coast and at strategic gates also featured additional automated gun turrets. There was no undergrowth taller than 100 mm within 200 metres of the walls on either side. Automated service machinery continuously monitored and repaired the walls and kept them free from vegetation. They had been one of the last major construction events of the Grand Plan. The guns were part of the border defence network and were aimed at the many bad-tags who attempted to enter from the new forests, once they’d run the gauntlet of the offshore and inshore defences. Nowadays, anyone staying in the mainland forests for some time would find that they already had a lot to deal with from the indigenous wildlife.
All the Cleveland-bound passengers had walked across the drawbridge over the deep moat between the two walls and through the second security gate. They were now officially recorded as being in the wild area and would be tracked continuously to ensure they did not wander into the many restricted special conservation areas. As he was boarding the new train, he looked out across the wall’s 50 metres apron on the forest side. A cleaning machine was busy keeping the apron clear of any wind-blown debris. He watched it turn around for its next pass and out of the corner of his eye he noticed one of the automated gun turrets on the wall turn so that it was aiming at the cleaning machine.
Perhaps that’s how those guys get their kicks, he thought as he smiled to himself.
His connecting train took him along the new Yorkshire coast to the Cleveland ferry terminal. The train would then continue up to the Scottish Islands. Since most of the land north of the Humber had now been returned to forest, there were very few travellers on the train, and only a small percentage of those people were not on business trips. With so few people around it was always a pleasure to meet and greet them. Trevor found the commuter trains into Britannia a lot less interesting since many of the regular passengers kept themselves to themselves, just playing with their links. Not so, on the east-coast line where everyone tried to get in the same two carriages so they could have a good old chat. Trevor sat next to a family who was also going camping in Cleveland. He’d met them before when their youngest was a toddler, but both kids were now in their teens. How time had flown was consequently the main topic of conversation.
The train continued at great speed taking them along some of the more picturesque areas of Britain’s new coastline. The shallow Yorkshire Sea was home to an enormous diversity of creatures. In the early evening light the train provided a ring-side seat to the playful antics of the ever-present dolphins (Delphinus Capensis) and porpoises (Phocoena Phocoena), but also several hump-backed whales (Megaptera Novaeangliae) were breaching only metres from the shore. Inland the view was no less spectacular as the train flashed across viaducts and through tunnels, the steep sides of the now heavily wooded valleys revealed themselves in all their glory. The old hills of Derbyshire and the Peak District were just about discernible on the horizon if you knew what to look for.
Time flew, and before Trevor knew it, the train journey was over. There just seemed to be so much to talk about with his re-found friends. Even the usually sulky teenagers had some worthwhile contributions to make. The boy was interested in material sciences and wanted to work on the coastal fleets, the girl was heavily into genetics and was keen to work for the NHS. Life all seemed so exciting when seen through the eyes of these young people. Their parents were both Central Systems workers from Britannia City. It was evident that they’d reached a high level within that organisation because Trevor’s enquiries about the detailed nature of their work were met with well-rehearsed vague replies. He didn’t push it; there was no point in needlessly expanding his data footprint.
The train pulled into the ferry terminal station where most of the passengers got off. There was no need to pick up bikes since the gangways were only 300 metres from the MT platform. With 90 minutes to spare before the ferry departed, Trevor and his fellow travellers took the opportunity to eat at the quayside canteen, something that they’d all looked forward to. It was much smaller than their dorms’ canteens and was staffed by the families who maintained the ferry terminal. It was interesting to encounter such levels of individual service when it came to food preparation. The train
brought in most of the food, but the ferry families did have access to as much line-caught fish as they wanted. All of the travellers ordered from this fine fare, it was too great an opportunity to miss. Trevor had deliberately had a small snack at tea-time in his dorm, to save room for this treat and went for the scallop (Aequipecten Opercularis) starter with Conger (Conger Conger) steak and kelp (Laminaria Digitata) as his main, washed down with a strong dark ale. What the heck, he was on holiday.
For their hosts, the abundant seafood was one of the main perks of the job. On the downside, there was the relative isolation, lack of the major facilities and generally windier weather to cope with. Not everyone’s cup of tea, which always meant the remote Coastal community positions were some of the hardest to fill.
Feeling more contentedly full than he’d done for some time, Trevor left the canteen and headed for the ferry security barriers. They were the maximum security “+iris” type. Although he’d been used to the barriers all his life, even Trevor would admit that as he went through them, he occasionally thought: ‘Have I done something wrong?’
The gangway onto the ferry was slightly slippery and could have done with a good steam clean to remove the thin film of green slime that covered everything. Trevor placed his saddlebags on a seat in the main saloon and then joined the other travellers on the foredeck. The sky was getting darker up ahead, and he anticipated that they would need to retreat inside before too long. The gangways clanged and clattered as they were retracted from the ferry and the faint vibration from the engines that everyone had been aware of since boarding, grew stronger. The boat eased itself free from the dock and headed for the gap that had just opened in the high-security sea wall.
Despite the protection afforded by the distant island chain and the shallowness of the sea, it was still quite a rough ride. The ferry made a good 30 kph, but the forward motion was not enough to remove all the effects of the strong tidal swell. Trevor had never got used to this and began to taste the conger eel once more.
