by Mark Leigh
‘Our hands’, Susan added, although Dick had already realised this.
Dick anticipated the answer to the next question before it left his lips, but asked it anyway. ‘But you have the Internet, don’t you?’
By now Edward’s expression was so blank that Dick instinctively wanted to grab a marker pen and draw two eyes, a nose and a mouth on it – and possibly a little pointy beard for good measure.
‘I don’t think so’, Taylor said. ‘What does it do?’
‘Well, you can send jokes, buy and sell shit you don’t need and search for information and pictures on any subject, especially sex’. Dick thought that was a pretty thorough explanation but added for good measure, ‘It’s a sort of network which links all the computers in the world’.
More blank looks.
Dick became slightly more worried. ‘You do have computers, don’t you?’, he enquired nervously.
Taylor saw the panic in Dick’s eyes. ‘Yes, we have computers’, he explained. ‘But from what I know, they are very rudimentary compared to those in your time. It’s another case I’m afraid of the Party controlling and restricting the technology’.
‘OK, you have computers, but no Internet?’
‘It sounds like we have something similar whereby people can access data from a large central memory bank’, Taylor advised.
‘That’s great!’ Dick exclaimed.
‘It’s good in principle’, Taylor agreed, but then looked sullen. ‘But not in practice. For a start, the Party heavily censors all the data. You can only access what they deem as being suitable. By controlling the information they control the balance of power’.
Dick was astounded. ‘That’s incredible. I knew you guys had it bad but to deny you online porn is denying you the most basic of human rights. It’s what the Internet was invented for!’ The more Dick learned about the future, the more it sounded less like a Brave New World and more like a Shit New World.
‘I can’t believe you live like this’, he exclaimed. ‘Progress has been replaced by, well, you know…’ Dick struggled for a few seconds to find the right words, ‘…the opposite of progress’.
‘And that is the very reason, Mr. Longg, that the resistance movement exists’. Taylor consulted his pocket watch. ‘Look, it’s nine o’clock so I suggest you take a well-earned rest after your journey here. Tomorrow we can tell you more about our world and your mission’.
‘My mission, yeah’, replied Dick. ‘Sure, and after I’ve kicked some Party butt I can leave you a better world and then go back to mine’.
Taylor looked confused, ‘What do you mean, “go back”?
‘You know.’, Dick said, ‘”Go back” as in “go back”’.
Taylor frowned. ‘You can’t go back. The Temporal Bracelets that you and Alice wore were also stolen from the Party. The original New Victorians brought them; it’s how they transported themselves to the future. There were only four functioning bracelets left and we managed to steal two. For reasons no one understands they can each only be used for one journey back in time and one forward. After that they cease to function.
Dick looked down at his wrist and noticed for the first time that the lights that had once pulsated had now dimmed. What had previously been a Temporal Bracelet was now just a bracelet, and a particularly unattractive one.
‘So you’re saying that I’m stuck here?’ Dick asked.
‘Yes’, said Taylor, matter-of-factly before adding, ‘Didn’t Alice warn you about that?’
‘No!’ Dick exclaimed.
‘Oh. Well it probably just slipped her mind’.
‘Slipped her mind? Slipped her fucking mind!’, Dick exclaimed. ‘Forgetting to buy milk when you’re out shopping… forgetting to set the video timer when you leave the house… They’re the things that “slip your mind”, not forgetting to tell someone that they’re going to be trapped in the fucking future!’ Dick was incensed. ‘She brought me here under false pretences!’
‘I’m sorry Mr. Longg. She did have rather a lot to think about’.
Dick was confused, angry, frustrated and bewildered all in rapid succession but then settled on just being angry. When he had calmed down enough to speak he said rather aggressively, ‘Now I don’t know if I want to help you. You’ve misled me. What happens if I want to leave here right now? Is anyone going to stop me? Well, are they?’
Taylor sympathised, ‘Mr. Longg. We are all peaceful here. We save our anger for the Party and its policies. The last thing we want is to keep someone here against their will. You are quite free to go if you decide you don’t like being here and don’t want to help us’.
‘You mean it?’ asked Dick, surprised by this response. Taylor nodded. ‘So I can just walk out of here?’
‘Of course’, Taylor replied. ‘You obviously can’t go back to your own time but I’m sure you’ll manage to find a way to blend in with our society on your own. Naturally, without having an implanted biometric identity chip like every citizen has, it probably won’t be long before you’re picked-up by the security forces and thoroughly examined and interrogated’. Dick listened intently as Taylor continued. ‘I’m sure that they’ll find your over-size endowment something of a novelty and might even deem it “unconstitutional”. In fact, I wager it won’t be long before it’s removed on the grounds of medical research’.
Dick didn’t like the sound of that. Not one little bit. Living in a world without sex was one thing but living in a world without a sex organ was something else. He considered his options which didn’t take long because he really only had one.
‘OK I’ll help’, he said, with as much enthusiasm as he could muster.
- - o O o - -
Dick was lead down yet another corridor and shown to his quarters, a sparsely decorated room housing a bed, a desk and a chair, with a toilet, shower and sink in one corner. He removed the bracelet and disdainfully threw it into a bin before taking a cold shower (Taylor had previously explained that the resistance headquarters could only offer some home comforts, and a satisfactory supply of hot water was obviously not one of them). Dick dried himself, put on the pyjama bottoms that had been left out for him and climbed wearily into the bed. Although he was anxious, worried and a bit scared by recent events he was surprised to find that sleep came easy. Very soon he was dozing like a baby. Albeit a baby that had travelled over a hundred and forty years into the future.
Dick’s deep sleep lasted only for two or three hours; any thoughts of a long and refreshing rest were rudely interrupted by a series of muffled noises that gradually increased in volume. At first these sounds remained rooted firmly in Dick’s subconscious but as they became progressively louder they made that sneaky and unwelcome move into his consciousness, which is when Dick woke up. Initially he thought he’d been woken by the sound of a car backfiring but soon realised that this probably wasn’t the case. He was pretty certain that hovercars didn’t backfire and even if they did, then he was even more certain that there wasn’t a hovercar lurking in the corridor right outside his room.
Then the realisation dawned that the ‘popping’ sound belonged to something far more dramatic and dangerous than a vehicle loose in the building. The sound Dick heard was actually the muffled sound of gunfire and this was swiftly followed by the not very muffled sound of his door being broken down. The wooden panels splintered easily under the onslaught of constant kicking. Soon, enough of the panels had been broken away to reveal the perpetrators, two top-hatted figures; the very same men that had tried to kill him on the film set. As the door continued to disintegrate in front of him Dick wiped the sleep from his eyes and swung himself out of bed. He instinctively knew he had to find something to defend himself with and his eyes quickly darted around the small room. Dick realised that his only chance of survival would be to improvise a weapon. Then he saw it; the soap dispenser right next to his wash basin. The perfect means of attack.
Two forceful, well-aimed kicks later and the door was no more. Stumbling over the sha
ttered timber the two assailants stumbled into Dick’s room, guns raised. If all had gone according to plan Dick would have sent a stream of stinging liquid soap into his attackers’ eyes, temporarily blinding them while he ran passed them and raised the alarm.
Unfortunately, as often happens in situations like this, all did not go according to plan. All that actually happened was the dispenser emitting a squirty, farty sound followed by a tiny bit of soap bubbling at the nozzle, and very little else. This was the exact point that Dick expected to be dead but astonishingly the two attackers didn’t seem to want to kill him, or if they did, then they were being very relaxed and casual about the whole thing. They stood facing him, their weapons still raised but seemingly rather amused by his pathetic escape attempt. Dick shouted out for assistance. To Taylor. To Alice. To Edward, Susan or Grace. To anyone who could hear his pleas. The two men didn’t try and stop Dick as he pushed past them. Edward was the first person he bumped into. Well, not so much bumped into, as fell over. Edward was lying prone on the floor. Dead. And if not dead, then the large hole in his forehead would certainly cause him severe problems in later life.
Dick ran into the lounge. His newfound friends were all there, and all equally incapacitated due to additional holes in their anatomy. Faced by this carnage Dick felt sickened and stunned. As he looked forlornly at the bodies, considering just how much danger he was in, for example was it ‘extreme’ or just ‘severe’, one of the two men lifted some sort of syringe to his arm. Dick immediately went limp. He knew this was never a good state to be in whatever the circumstances, and now was no different.
CHAPTER 6
Dick drifted in and out of consciousness for what seemed like several days. In moments of lucidity he recognised that he was in some sort of secure hospital, being interrogated and examined by doctors. He wasn’t aware of being tortured however his captors seemed extremely interested and concerned about his penis and Dick lost count of the number of times he was poked, prodded, measured, photographed, scanned and X-rayed. He even recalled being fondled but not in a nice way. It was by a man standing behind a glass screen using one of those mechanical claw devices more commonly used to handle dangerous plutonium fuel rods.
The treatment continued for a tedious length of time until he woke up one day in a different environment. This time Dick found himself naked in almost complete darkness in what he assumed was a prison cell. There was a rudimentary toilet and an uncomfortable sleeping bench against one solid wall while unyielding steel bars formed the other three. Dick was aware of a man shouting in the distance, accompanied by a low murmur that was becoming louder by the minute. Suddenly a klaxon sounded and his cell was flooded with a glaring white light.
As his eyes slowly became accustomed to the brightness Dick was aware of two things. Firstly, that his cell was actually more of a cage; one of many in a large tented enclosure. And secondly, that he had an audience that was slowly increasing in size. Not the previous collection of security personnel, scientists or medics. This was a completely new mix of civilians; men, women — even small children. It took a few minutes before the realisation of Dick’s situation began to sink in. He wasn’t just a prisoner, he was an exhibit in a Victorian freak show — the Elephant Man of 2150. To his audience, he must have appeared just like Joseph Merrick, hideously deformed and a sight to be pitied. Only unlike the real Mr. Merrick, Dick definitely did possess something resembling a rather large trunk. Smelling salts were being administered to a number of women who had fainted. Children were crying. Even grown men were crying but Dick didn’t know whether this was out of horror, pity or just jealousy.
Dick could hear the voice of the barker become louder as he moved through the astonished crowd. Soon he was in sight wearing a bright chequered showman’s costume and carrying an ornate silver-topped cane that he used as a pointer. Eventually stopping outside Dick’s cell he clanged the bars loudly with the cane.
‘There he is ladies and gentlemen’, he barked (because that’s what barkers did), ‘Before your very eyes, a freak of nature like no other! A living example of the dangers of sexual intercourse out of wedlock! This man has indulged in the sexual act far too frequently and became contaminated… infected… resulting in his current, hideous, pestiferous condition. Look how malformed he is. A man in human form for the most part, but between his legs hangs a gruesome appendage… a macabre tentacle!’
The inquisitive crowd surged forward as the barker whipped them into a fervour. ‘Have you laid your eyes on such a pitiful specimen? Not so much as man as a monstrous beast! There is no known cure for this sexual deviant. There is no relief from his suffering… apart from one!’
In expectation of the answer the crowd’s murmuring died down. ‘The only remedy’, the barker continued, ‘Is…’, (here he gave a theatrical pause), ‘Amputation!’
At this exact moment the barker pulled the top off his cane to reveal a swordstick. Catching the glare of the lights, the blade almost glowed and the crowd gasped. Dick gasped too, but for completely different reasons. He really, really, really hoped the barker had revealed the swordstick just for dramatic effect. He’d never hoped for anything in his life so much. To Dick’s immense relief the barker replaced the blade and continued his shpiel.
‘Step right up and take a look but and let me remind you: approach the cage at your own risk. Remember ladies, he could put anything through those bars!’
The barker put obvious stress on the word ‘anything’, at which point there was another collective gasp from the audience. Dick now realised why he’d been spared. Now that he was no longer involved with the Resistance, or whatever remained of them, he was relatively harmless. In this state he was obviously more use to the Party alive than dead. He was their greatest propaganda coup and as such would probably spend the rest of his pitiful days in this cage, entertaining the public. He imagined he was part of a large collection of ‘freaks’ used to promote the dangers of promiscuity. As he couldn’t see them properly he could only take a wild guess at the identity of his fellow exhibits in the other cages. Maybe there was a man with four testicles. Maybe he had more. Or none. A woman with two vaginas. Or a penis. Or three breasts.
Dick wasn’t sure whether it was the sense of danger, the fact he was naked and being watched or the thought of a woman with three breasts, but he felt an erection in progress. He wasn’t the only one to notice and it was obvious that the barker, let alone the spectators, had no idea how big it was going to get. As they backed off, Dick, feeling braver by the moment, moved to the edge of his cage until he was holding the bars, his face wedged up against them, waggling his stiff member and bellowing defiantly like a latter day Tarzan. He heard shouting. Lots of it. Faced with this spectacularly terrifying sight, many of the women and a number of men in the crowd passed out. Most of those who remained had run away crying in blind panic. A few of the more brave or inquisitive souls had decided to stay and stare. The barker, fearing for his life, had instinctively separated his cane again.
The blade came slicing through the air towards Dick’s groin, much too fast for him to react.
He screamed a primeval scream.
This was still bellowing from his lungs when Alice burst through the door.
‘What’s wrong?’, she asked. She looked extremely concerned.
Dick sat up in his bed and saw he was in his room once more. His sheets were in disarray and he was drenched in sweat from this truly terrifying nightmare.
‘Alice. You can’t imagine how pleased I am to see you’.
‘I’d noticed’, she replied, looking down at his lap.
- - o O o - -
Dick slept far more soundly the second time and awoke fresh to face whatever challenges the next day brought, just as long as they didn’t involve being abducted by any members of the Party. Or having a sharp sword heading directly towards his penis. He was towelling himself dry after another cold shower when Taylor knocked on his door, requesting his presence in the lounge.
&nbs
p; ‘Dick, there’s someone I’d like you to meet’.
‘Is it someone who’s discovered a way to return me to 2010?’, Dick spoke back to the door with misplaced optimism.
‘No’, came Taylor’s disembodied voice, adding Dick thought, to try and make him feel better, ‘But I’ve made you coffee and a hearty breakfast’.
Taylor had left the equivalent of a New Victorian sweat suit out for Dick to wear, a grey-coloured brushed-cotton ensemble, more functional than fashionable. In fact, not fashionable at all, unless you lived in a retirement condo in Fort Lauderdale, Dick thought. He finished dressing and headed for the lounge, contemplating that eggs, tomatoes, hash browns and bacon, even if it was the really crispy type he liked, were definitely no substitute for reverse time travel. He pushed opened the panelled door and found himself looking at a plump woman in her late forties. Her pale face was framed with a mass of unruly frizzy ginger hair, the style sported by the lead character in The Hair Bear Bunch.
‘Good morning Dick’, said a smiling Taylor who was standing beside her. ‘I’d like you to meet the Oracle’.
Dick shook her pallid, chubby hand with an expression that was part polite smile and part disappointed sneer. So this was the Oracle. When Taylor had first mentioned her, Dick had visions of a mysterious, wizened crone whose decades of wisdom were etched in deep lines that criss-crossed her expressive face — not an unattractive middle-aged woman with an orange ‘fro. Dick considered himself extremely liberal in his views but there were some popular prejudices he shared and could not shake off; an unconditional dislike and distrust of Turks, the Welsh and the ginger. He hated everything about the latter; their hair colour (obviously), the way they insisted on describing themselves in a quasi-exotic way such as ‘flame-haired’, ‘strawberry blonde’ or ‘Titian’ and their skin — the colour of watered-down milk; so pale you can almost see their internal organs. But there was one thing he hated above all else, and this was the reason he refused to work with ginger-haired girls: orange pubes. And here he was, now standing facing the woman who was ultimately responsible for him being kidnapped and now trapped in this horrendous future.
