by Jen Cole
“Don’t we have anti-monopoly laws to prevent that kind of thing?”
“We do, but laws are only as good as the governments that enforce them and governments are made up of politicians, who have their own power bases to defend. I know. I’m involved in politics myself. The links connecting apparently independent companies in the world today can be hard to find. Campaign contributions discourage politicians from looking.”
“So BEAM looks for those links?”
“That’s right. It’s how we discovered the H Group and their purpose.”
“But their plan – surely it would take years, hundreds of years to achieve.”
“Years, yes, but not as long as you’d imagine when the plan is organized by a group already immensely wealthy and powerful.”
The line of waiting cars crept forward.
“Well I don’t see any evidence of them in Shep. The cannery owns some large orchards, but there are still plenty of smaller independent farmers.”
“Like Mitch and Fran Davies?”
“Okay, they sold up, but their orchard was bought by a school teacher who came into an inheritance.”
“So it appears, but this is a classic H Group technique for acquiring farms without resistance. BEAM investigated the schoolteacher and found he’d purchased the orchard under a business name. That business was a subsidiary of a larger business, which in turn had links through other businesses, to a company we know is controlled by the H Group.”
“Are you saying the teacher is a member of the H Group?”
“No, of course not. Just one of their stooges. He was a real teacher, but perhaps he was disillusioned and ready to jump at any deal that would change his life. Someone offered him that deal. Act as the front man in the purchase of a farm and stay on it for a few years pretending to be a farmer. Over that time he’d receive funds to keep the farm in good order and running smoothly. To the community, it would look like our ex schoolteacher had a profitable farm even when he was selling his apples for next to nothing.
“The buyer waiting in the wings for your farm is another H Group stooge. With each fake farmer that moves in, pressure on the real farmers increases, since they can’t drop their prices that low.”
“We may have one fake farmer, but the rest are real and no one intends to sell up,” said Jo.
“Unless they’re offered enough incentive. With the squeeze from the supermarkets, it’s getting harder for farmers to make a decent profit, is it not? They complain but as long as there appear to be independent farmers doing okay, people will always say the complainers just aren’t working hard or efficiently enough.
“There’s only so long anyone will put up with working like a dog just to stay above the breadline, so one by one they’ll sell to ‘buyers’ who come along with a reasonable offer, until all the independents have been replaced by stooges. Once that’s happens, the stooges will all sell up to a single company, and there’ll be no real farmers left to make a fuss. The company they sell to will openly join all the orchards and use mass production techniques along with its new strong bargaining power to make a good profit. In each community it’s a different company, but all of them have hidden connections to the H Group.”
Jo’s head was spinning. “For such a conspiracy to work, wouldn’t the supermarkets need to be in on it?”
“Supermarkets can be manipulated like anyone else. It’s in their own interests to keep their buy prices low, so they’ll always offer primary producers as little as possible. If the price they offer is too low, the farmers will refuse to sell. During such an event, the farmers will have no income and the supermarkets won’t have enough stock. The winner will be the one who can hold out the longest.
“This is where the H Group comes in. Their principals have large holdings in supermarket chains around the world. Through the boardrooms they keep the pressure on to continually cut buy-prices, and try to ensure that if say, orange growers in one area are not selling, other supermarkets will on-sell their oranges to the supermarket in that area cheaply for a short time, enabling them to hold out until the local farmers concede. If local farmers are able to co-operate and support each other for long enough, their supermarkets usually give in and the farmers are able to continue to make a reasonable living.”
“That’s what Dad was trying to organize.”
“Yes, with Rick’s assistance. We have ways of helping to support farmers through such holdouts, and when a farming community wins its battle with the supermarkets, the H Group lets go and moves on to more susceptible communities. Meanwhile, BEAM has gained more evidence about their operations.”
“Richard believes the H Group is responsible for my father’s death.”
“He does, but I don’t think it’s likely. In rare instances they’ve been known to use murder, but only when there was a threat of discovery. They’re experts at covering their tracks. That’s why BEAM moves so carefully and quietly. When we’ve gathered sufficient evidence, we’ll release it all at once to the world and there will be no doubt in anyone’s mind who the principals of the H Group are and what they’re up to. It’ll be impossible for them to pull a vanishing trick only to re-emerge in a different form later on.”
“But if you can pin an actual murder on them, you could go to press earlier?”
“It would certainly help and it’s why we’re actively investigating the names Rick gave us, but don’t get your hopes up. There’s no proof yet that your father’s death was anything other than an accident.”
Jo said nothing. The line had edged forward during their conversation and now only three cars were ahead of them. She could see the couple in the front car talking to police officers standing on either side. A third officer was lifting the boot lid. Her stomach knotted and she noticed her fists were likewise clenched. She felt as far removed from a carefree student returning from a wonderful holiday, as it was possible to be.
Marilyn had also gone quiet and Jo could see her knuckles above the steering wheel.
“We need to try and loosen up,” Jo said. “Do you like singing?”
“It’s not something I feel like doing right now.”
“But it will take our minds off what’s coming up, and wouldn’t it help our story if we were singing together when they got to us?”
“What do you suggest?”
“Just something simple that we can harmonize on or sing in rounds, to show we have a tie – that we really are sisters, mucking around and having a ball.”
“Okay, how about Frere Jacques?”
Jo began singing it and Marilyn joined in. It was a weak effort on both parts, but it broke the ice and Marilyn began again more strongly. Jo let two bars pass and then she began, the result being a pleasant round, which they continued for a while, increasingly louder and more laughingly.
“Okay, enough,” said Marilyn, and started Row, Row, Row Your Boat. Jo joined in and they continued the round laughing and clapping until flashlights shining in from each side caught them by surprise. They lowered their windows and smiled up at the shadowed faces of two police officers – a young female on Jo’s side and an older male on Marilyn’s.
The male spoke. “Turn off your engine please.”
“Good evening.” Marilyn turned off the engine and shaded her eyes from the light. “Or perhaps I should say good morning.”
The officer responded with a single word. “Licence.”
Marilyn produced her driver’s licence and passing it over, exclaimed, “You poor things, you must be so cold. Is this just an exercise or is there a reason for the roadblock?”
“We’re looking for a fugitive,” began the female officer, but the male cut her off.
“You’re Marilyn Gibson?”
“I am.”
“What’s your address?”
Marilyn reeled it off while he checked it on her licence.
“Date of birth?”
She likewise passed this test.
“Who’s your passenger?” he said, r
eturning the licence.
“This is my sister, Claire.”
Jo waved to him and then the policewoman on her side drew her attention asking, “Do you have some ID you can show me?”
“Sorry, I left my student card at home.” Jo shaded her eyes from the flashlight, and with her feet, pushed the plastic bag on the floor, further forward under the dash. “I’m on a semester break and my wonderful big sister has just shouted me to a week at the Lake Retreat. We had the best time!”
A knocking sounded on their boot and the policeman on Marilyn’s side told her to release the boot catch.
“You must have some kind of identification,” the policewoman insisted.
“Of course I do,” laughed Jo. “Marilyn’s my identification. Marilyn, tell this nice police officer who I am.”
Marilyn looked across to the policewoman and rolled her eyes. “Claire can be a bit trying at times, but there’s no harm in her.”
“Did you say you were looking for a fugitive?” Jo tried to divert the policewoman from the ID question. “Has he escaped from jail?”
The constable cast an anxious glance at her superior.
“Nothing for you to worry about,” he said.
The boot lid slammed and a third officer called out, “Vacationers’ luggage.”
The senior policeman spoke. “Drive on.”
“Thank you,” Marilyn said, but the three officers were already on their way to the next car.
The girls raised their windows and Marilyn started the engine, easing slowly around the barricade before gently accelerating down the highway. For a few seconds they sat numbly, and then Jo swiveled to observe the receding lights of the roadblock and gave a whoop. “We did it!”
Marilyn flashed her a grin and took one hand off the wheel to slap Jo’s in a triumphant high five. “That,” she said, “was scary.”
“You’re telling me, but we were brilliant! Marilyn, I can never thank you enough for all this. You’ve been amazing.”
“Well I have to admit, you helped me rise to the occasion.” She laughed. “I’ll never be able to hear Row Your Boat again without thinking of tonight.”
She turned into Vine Street and cutting the engine, flipped off the headlights. The sudden stillness quietened the mood and Marilyn came to a realization.
She liked Jo. And she’d been hanging onto Richard for too long. Her grandmother was right. Rick had been part of her rebellion. They’d both got something out of the relationship, but there’d never been any real love. If she wanted to move forward, she had to let go of that last piece of the past.
Her words came softly. “I’m giving Rick up.”
Jo twisted, but it was too dark to see what lay in her eyes.
Marilyn continued more strongly. “We’ve had a good run, but I’m about to travel a different road and it wouldn’t help either of us if he came with me.”
She was glad Jo stayed silent. The van’s headlights appeared and pulled in behind them. Impulsively Marilyn took Jo’s hands and squeezed them. “He’s yours if you want him. Good luck.”
She opened her door and stepped out to meet Richard. As they exchanged car keys, Marilyn smiled. “Make sure you look after my baby.” Then she glanced back at Jo. “And keep her safe.”
Richard gave her a hug. “I will… to both.”
~~~~
CHAPTER 40
Danny Fitani sat alone in the transport vehicle, red helmet on his lap. He’d been released from his work shift an hour early! His hands trembled. It was unheard of. The cycle was immutable... and yet here he was. It could only be bad news. They were about to tell him to cancel the show. And then what of the extra hour? The prison silo? Fitani felt a wash of shame and fear. He’d been an exemplary employee all his life. Surely they wouldn’t send him there?
The transport rumbled to the middle of no-man’s-land and stopped. A virtual screen appeared and Secretary Melvin Briggs glared at him.
“Fitani, you’ve let me down. You’ve let The Company down. You’ve let the employees down.”
Danny opened his mouth but no words came out. He tried again but only managed a squeak. The Secretary sat silently, watching him squirm.
“Sir,” he finally got out. “Secretary Briggs.”
“If you have something to say for yourself, man, then say it.”
“It’s true the Prey spoke on the forbidden subject, but it happened so quickly and I wasn’t there at the time to stop her.”
“The CEO is most disturbed,” Briggs pronounced somberly. “He mentioned cancellation and punishment. I risked his anger to speak on your behalf.”
“Secretary Briggs,” Fitani was flabbergasted. “I… thank you, I…”
“Do not thank me yet. You have disappointed me greatly, Fitani. I entrusted you with the Microwave Time Viewing technology and you used it to obtain and spread subversive literature among the employees.”
“No,” Fitani cried. “It wasn’t me! Someone hacked into our pipeline to the past. By the time our programmers discovered and blocked the hack, it was too late.”
Though he gave no indication of it, Melvin was relieved. Fitani had been sloppy in not sufficiently safeguarding the technology, but at least he’d not personally been involved in the dissemination of the histories. He was still trustworthy.
“Then you’ve chosen your team badly,” said Melvin. “You assured me you had the best programmers.”
“I do, I did, I…”
“Enough. Your lack of control over both the game and the technology has resulted in a great number of employees becoming confused, upset and even unhappy with The Company. Do you accept responsibility for this?”
Fitani gulped and nodded miserably.
“You have been remiss, but I have assured the CEO that your heart is in the right place and you are a Company man all the way.”
“Yes,” Fitani spoke eagerly. “I am.”
“Now you need to prove it to the CEO.”
“How?”
“I persuaded the CEO that cancelling the game outright would not be good for The Company. It would give Jo’s words the appearance of truth, causing needless extra distress among the employees.”
Melvin waited, but Fitani was hanging on his words and not about to interrupt. “The CEO has therefore decided you must continue to broadcast Play or Die, and that your penalty shall be financial. Beginning immediately, the rental on your studio Playroom has been raised tenfold. You are likewise required to raise Play or Die’s hourly access fee to two hundred Personal Points.”
“Two hundred Personal Points! But that’s far beyond the reach of most employees.”
“Would there be enough wealthy employees willing to pay, to enable you to keep the show going?”
“Maybe… just, but…”
“Do you wish to show the CEO your loyalty?”
“Yes of course, b…”
“Then I suggest you adhere to his wishes. Pay the penalty rental by putting up your prices. The CEO doesn’t mind if only a few people can afford to access Play or Die, as long as access is possible.”
“But the employees will blame me,” Fitani protested. “They could storm the studio!”
Melvin was surprised Fitani had found the courage to object. It was a concern, as it meant the mood of the employees was even uglier than he’d realized.
“If the CEO feels he has less than your full loyalty, he might well go back to his first idea of a more physical punishment,” said Melvin. He knew Fitani’s abandonment by his mother had left him with a terror of being isolated. Just the suggestion of the prison silo should be enough to bring him into line. It was.
“I’ll pay the new rental,” said Fitani quickly. “And put up the price of Play or Die. The CEO has my complete loyalty.”
Melvin smiled and threw in some softeners. “It will only be for the next three days. After that your rental will revert to the usual rate. And during that three-day period, The Company will drastically reduce prices on the most expensive ente
rtainments. You needn’t worry about employees storming your studio. They’ll be too busy taking advantage of all the new bargains.”
…
Angela Karpin had been asleep for only two hours when the message siren woke her. Blearily she checked the clock. What was going on? She had another six hours of Tube-Time and she’d left a ‘Do not Disturb’ message linked to her access code. A message siren overrode such instructions, but was for emergencies only. Her children! Angela accepted the call and her partner’s face appeared.
“Collis? What’s happened? Are Ben and Sandra okay?”
“They’re fine Angela. Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. It’s just that everyone’s wanting to know what’s going on. Fitani’s incommunicado and you had a ‘Do not Disturb’ on your access code.”
She rubbed her eyes. “Fitani’s on work shift right now and I’m trying to get some sleep.”
“Then who put the price up?”
“What?”
“Try accessing Play or Die – not through your direct line but through the employee catalogue.”
Angela called it up and was in the process of dismissing the usual rental window by touching the ‘I accept the fee’ icon, when she froze. At twenty Personal Points per hour, Play or Die was quite expensive, but such was its popularity that most employees were prepared to pay that, even if it meant settling, over the days of the broadcast, for basic foods, and spending more time on Playroom activities that earned points rather than used them.
The number she was staring at now was not 20. It was 200. The fee had increased ten times! It had to be a mistake. Only the very wealthy could afford two hundred Personal Point per hour. Stunned, Angela touched the ‘No I don’t accept’ icon and immediately a bright and blaring advertisement took its place. For three days only, access to the five most expensive entertainments had been cut to twenty Personal Points per hour. Numbly she looked up at Collis.
“The only one with authority to change the Play or Die price is Fitani, and he can’t do it from the edge. Someone must have hacked us. Let me investigate and I’ll call you back.”
