Arun D. Ellis's Blog, page 3

Uprising - book 1 in the 'Corpalism' series is FREE from Amazon for PC/Kindle download from 1st August to 4th August 2020

Suddenly

A man may die, nations may rise and fall,
but an idea lives on.
John F. Kennedy

Cramming the last piece of toast into his mouth Terry Jones grabbed his jacket and left his apartment for the office.

He’d had the option of a high-rise within walking distance when he was first assigned to Relocations; his reasons for turning it down had seemed sound; cost = astronomical, space = minimal. Now, and not for the first time, he wished he’d taken it. That morning he’d set his alarm earlier than usual in the hopes of beating the rush hour traffic, problem was he never really managed to keep to his schedule (poor time management or lousy schedule?) and he found himself, yet again, bumper to bumper and yet again, late for work.

Brian Olsen made the final adjustments to his tie, jacket and hair before leaving the men’s room and heading to his desk; all the while diligently maintaining an erect 6ft 6in posture, a copy of today’s Times clamped under his right arm, his brief case gripped firmly in his right hand, and as he strode he repeated his mantra over and over in his head ‘today I will excel, today I will exceed all expectations, today I will excel, today I will exceed all expectations….’

Rain Morgan, stared at the free drinks machine for a few moments before selecting a cappuccino with sugar. Her actual name was Rainbow Sunset, her mother having one her odd moments, but she preferred Rain. She was quickly joined by Debby Jenna and Phillippa Djukovic; just time for a quick debrief of Phillippa’s date with Simon Brookes from Finance.

Peter Illyffe, the divisional manager for Relocations 1, left his office and headed for the usual 8:30 briefing in meeting room 3, aka the cupboard due to its lack of size and windows. His staff fell in behind, a well-rehearsed troupe, that is everyone except Terry Jones who was still driving fruitlessly round and round the car park.

The room filled quickly; those lucky enough to get in the door first grabbed a seat at the table, Peter at their head.

“Morning everyone,” he said, to which there were the usual responses of “morning, morning Peter,” a few nods and coughs and a silky “morning, Boss” from Brian, tall even when sitting down. “No Terry, I see?”

This too was greeted by the usual responses, initial silence, then embarrassed coughs or ums…. followed by a clear and unequivocal “he’s not in yet, Boss” from Brian. Peter made a note in the top corner of his meeting notes, as usual.

“Ok, everyone got a copy of today’s agenda?” general nods everywhere, “good, ok – item one then – the recent merger with Alderson’s. As per our meeting yesterday morning I’ve checked up the line and can confirm that Alderson’s Relocations are being wound down and we will ‘inherit their workload’.”

“Relocations are being relocated.” Phillippa’s quip was not altogether unexpected; there were a few groans.

“Thank you Phillippa,” said Peter.

“How big a workload we talking?” asked Rain.

“Approx half again our existing workload,” replied Peter.

“Will we be getting more staff?” Rain again.

“No,” said Peter.

“But how are we meant to cope with that?” asked Debby, saying what the others were thinking.

“By ‘working smarter’,” Brian jumped in, borrowing one of Peter’s ‘phrases of the moment’, “and if some people spent less time at the coffee machine talking then we’d get a lot more done.”

“Who’re you on about?” demanded Debby, realising too late that by asking the question she had singled herself out. Peter made another note at the top of his meeting papers.

“Moving on” said Peter, sounding tired, “there will be a further meeting at 2pm today with the team from Alderson’s so we can ‘manage the handover’ smoothly. Rain and I will attend that. Another quick point, the company will no longer be providing free drinks.”

There was a collective gasp, then “Why’re they changing it?” asked Debby, “I mean we’ve had free coffee for years now.” For some reason her mouth seemed to be working overtime this morning, in the absence of Terry it could be deemed she had assumed his mantle.

“As you all know we’re facing ever ‘stiffer competition’ out there, which is one of the reasons we’ve been merged with Alderson’s. The Efficiency Department has identified that the company could save almost £100,000 a year by moving to a ‘pay for your own’ drinks environment.”

“Can we bring a kettle and make our own drinks?” asked Phillippa.

“No,” replied Peter, “that would mean providing kitchen facilities – an added expense.”

“What about a flask?” asked Brian.

“Flasks are OK,” said Peter, flashing him a grateful smile.

“If you can drink anything from a flask,” muttered Rain.

“Everyone, now, come to order, please.” Peter was becoming irritated and the strain of not showing it was telling on his stress levels. At that point Terry opened the door and slipped into the room, “Ah! Mr. Jones, glad you could join us.”

“Sorry I’m late,” said Terry “couldn’t find anywhere to park.”

“There were loads of spaces when I got here at 8:00,” said Brian.

“I got held up in traffic,” offered Terry, his expression hopeful.

“Then might I suggest you leave earlier,” replied Brian, “we all make the effort to be here on time, it’s only ever you who’s late.”

“Thank you, Brian,” Peter interceded. “OK the final point, we’ve had a report from C.I.T, the Counter Intelligence Team,” he elaborated, staring pointedly at Phillippa over whose head most things of import were known to sail, “that we have a ‘heightened terror threat’ as a result of our merger with Alderson’s.” He waited for the information to sink in then continued by way of explanation, “Apparently we’re now the 3rd largest provider of labour resource in the EU so it makes us an even bigger target.” Phillippa looked on the verge of tears, possibly at being singled out for the stare, the rest were demonstrating variously dismay or affected disinterest but no-one spoke. “So everybody please ‘stay alert, stay vigilant’ and re-watch the compulsory DVD ‘Terror and Counter Terrorism’. Remember, ‘we’re all in this together’ and it’s up to each and every one of us to …‘keep the workplace safe’.”

Terry winced; he was convinced that Peter’s insistence on speaking in inverted commas and quoting the company watchwords at every opportunity had a damaging effect on his psyche.

“Did anyone see the news this morning?” asked Rain, too brightly. “There was an explosion in the town centre.”

“Yeah,” chipped in Debby, “near Macheson’s.”

“They said something about 20 casualties,” Rain added, “it’s awful”.

“Did they say who it was?” asked Terry.

“It’s a bit early for that kind of info,” snapped Brian.

“I dunno,” defended Terry, “they sometimes give a warning.”

“That’s the Red Freedoms,” said Debby, “the Black Hands don’t give a warning.”

“Which could imply the Black Hands,” said Terry, settling in for a natter on the merits and demerits of one terrorist organisation’s way of doing business versus another.

“OK,” interrupted Peter, forestalling further chat, “Any questions?”

“Parking,” said Terry, opportunistic as ever, “when are they doing something about parking?”

“As we said yesterday and the day before and, oh yes, as we’ve been saying every day in all these months since you joined us, they aren’t going to do anything about the parking, thank you, Terry.” Peter stared round the table, lingering on Phillippa, as if daring any more utterances.

“When are they going to fix the tower clock?” she asked, making a sterling effort to fight back tears.

“And they aren’t going to fix the clock, either, Phillippa. As we’ve already said it will cost too much to repair. Any more questions?”

Silence.

“Good, back to work all of you, except you Terry, if you could just stay back a minute.”

The others filed out of the room and closed the door behind them.

“You were late again Terry.”

“I know but it was the traffic….”

“Traffic is not an excuse, Terry,” said Peter, “you should know to factor that in to your plans. Also, as I recall, Human Resources offered you an apartment close by when you joined us, a much sought after facility that had only come available due to the unfortunate demise of your predecessor.” He fell silent, possibly in recognition of human frailty and the fact that the previous occupant had thrown himself ungratefully off the 7th floor balcony of the much vaunted facility. “You are paid to be here between the hours of 8:30 and 5:00. It’s up to you to get yourself here on time.”

“Yes,” said Terry, for once recognising a time when the less words said might be the better.

“Everyone else manages to be here. I have to come from further away than you so I leave earlier. Brian always gets here at 8:00.”

“I know,” Terry murmured, humbly, while thinking 'yeah but Brian hasn’t got a life…'

“And he doesn’t leave his desk until 5.45 whereas you are packed and out the door by 5:10 if you can get away with it.”

Again, Brian hasn’t got a life …“I always do my hours…”

“Do you want to see your clocking in sheet?” asked Peter. Terry ducked his head; he knew what it would show. “The thing is Terry, it’s not working out for us; I think we need to move you on.”

Terry grimaced “I’m sorry Peter, I promise I will get here earlier in future.”

“I’m afraid it’s too late, Terry, Galaxy has already collated your data and raised it with Human Resources. They’ve spotlighted you and put in the transfer request.”

“You mean I’m already on the List?” asked Terry. “That was quick.”

Peter gave him a look; he was a strange one and no mistake, “Should come through in a few days. …Obviously you can’t be on site when it comes through, that would create a conflict of interest so your employment with Peter Brookes will be terminated this morning.”

Terry placed his head in his hands; his date with Cathy in Finance had just gone down the pan.

“I’m sorry, Terry but you knew your stats were in the system. It was only a matter of time before Galaxy highlighted you. You know the drill; it’s out of my hands.”

“I know, I know,” said Terry.

“I’m afraid I have to escort you off the premises.” Terry nodded. “Straight from this meeting.”

“Right now? Don’t I get to say goodbye to anyone?”

“Afraid not, you will be clocked out …” Peter flicked through his paperwork, “5 minutes from now. Sorry but there’s nothing I can do.”

“Yeah, I know,” said Terry, “I know how the system works.”

Cheers

Arun


Amazon.co.uk
https://www.amazon.co.uk/s?k=corpalis...

Amazon.com
https://www.amazon.com/s?k=corpalism&...

Other books in the series



'Corpalism' is the compendium editions which includes -










'Daydream Believers' is the Compendium edition which includes










'Wise Eyed Open' is the Compendium edition which includes

Uprising - book 1 in the 'Corpalism' series is FREE from Amazon for PC/Kindle download from 1st August to 4th August 2020

Uprising - book 1 in the 'Corpalism' series is FREE from Amazon for PC/Kindle download from 1st August to 4th August 2020

Have a great weekend

Arun

Other books in the Corpalism series



'Corpalism' is the compendium editions which includes -










'Daydream Believers' is the Compendium edition which includes










'Wise Eyed Open' is the Compendium edition which includes

Uprising - book 1 in the 'Corpalism' series is FREE from Amazon for PC/Kindle download from 1st August to 4th August 2020

Uprising - book 1 in the 'Corpalism' series is FREE from Amazon for PC/Kindle download from 1st August to 4th August 2020

Have a great weekend

Arun


Other books in the Corpalism series


'Corpalism' is the compendium editions which includes -









'Daydream Believers' is the Compendium edition which includes










'Wise Eyed Open' is the Compendium edition which includes

The 'Corpalism' series by Arun D Ellis

'Corpalism' is the compendium editions which includes -










'Daydream Believers' is the Compendium edition which includes











'Wise Eyed Open' is the Compendium edition which includes

Insurrection

Enough is enough.

The octogenarian inhabitants of Eden Hall Retirement Village make a final stand for their way of life

Uprising

It's a Thriller

It's about a left wing social revolution in the West

Power Grab

A world trapped between a rock and a hard place

Where money is god and oil its habit

Sample from the book 'The Cull' also in the compendium edition 'Daydream Believers'

Prologue

The world is governed by very different personages
from what is imagined by those who are not behind the scenes.

Prime Minister Benjamin Disraeli (1844)


Of all the women in the group, for Sir Digby Chalfont, a connoisseur, one stood out. She was tall, with impeccably cut gleaming bronze hair. He noted the Givenchy Pandora box bag slung over the shoulder of her black crepe trouser suit, a Tyrwhitt, if he was not mistaken, and the raspberry shirt that softened the aquiline face was certainly an Emilio Pucci. He imagined a crop twitching against her Eleonaro black riding boots; the thought causing him to smile as he homed in. He had no idea of her standing in the group, although the clothes gave a hint to her status, he cared little; she was the most attractive person in the room and he intended to make himself known to her; his newly acquired knighthood must be good for something.

The faint silk scent of the window drapes was now combined with the perfume of luxurious colognes. The Chairman, a portly man with a well-used face, experienced the effect without enjoyment; well used to the smell of money. Taking advantage of his central seat on the small platform he surveyed the room. He was impressed all over again at the power of the Committee; to summon two hundred people from the international political, military, industrial and social elites at such short notice and achieve their attendance was no mean feat. Clusters of men, mostly white and middle-aged, their dark, sombre suits offset by a few in full dress uniform, others in crisp white djellabas and several in multi-coloured dashikis. He noted the women; not enough to tip the balance. All were veterans of this type of gathering, some chatting easily to each other, most keeping their own counsel. At his nod, the man who'd been awaiting the signal detached himself from the group and walked to the podium; tall, slim, dark hair at the distinguished stage.

Kurt Silverman, Head of the Institute of Research. He cut an athletic figure; he looked good and he knew it. He also knew that he was amongst those for whom personal appearance mattered less than power and holdings; in that respect he was not their equal, he was there to serve them. The view offered to him from the uplifted podium was of rows of seats, each one occupied by a glossy A4 booklet he'd prepared and placed there earlier.

Gradually, as if in response to an unspoken suggestion, members of the group began to move to their seats. After a short time the Chairman rose to his feet, his dark grey Kiton suit struggling valiantly to contain and command his ample body. "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome," he said, his voice carrying without effort to the back of the room. Given the ratio of male to female and, more pertinently, the balance of power he might have been forgiven for saying, 'welcome gentlemen'. Having caught the eagle eye of the auburn-haired woman in black, seated next to Sir Digby, such a lapse had been rendered impossible. He waved his hand towards the podium, introduced Kurt in a few crisp words and resumed his seat.

Kurt spoke, his voice betraying a slight nervousness; this was an august company and he would have been a fool not to have regard for their power, "Thank you for inviting me here to deliver, for your consideration, the proposed solution to the most pressing issue of our times; 'Peak Oil'."

He paused, making deliberate eye contact with the front row, then continued, "As you know, in the 70s it was estimated we would reach Peak Oil somewhere around 2015, after which the rate of production was expected to enter terminal decline, giving us a global fuel crisis somewhere about 2075."

He clicked a hand held device and the screen behind him came to life, showing a map of the location of the last known oil reserves, "However, increased warfare, rises in manufacturing and rampant population growth has meant a massively increased demand. We passed Peak Oil in 2005. As a result, we will reach the projected fuel crisis much sooner than expected."

He clicked again and the screenshot changed, "Of course, we took steps over the last few decades to try and contain the situation. Thanks to the work of the Neo Liberals in the eighties and nineties we were able to offset the increasing costs of oil production by shifting costs of manufacturing to the more cost effective labour force of the third world."

Kurt indicated with a smile the six-strong delegation from China, all male, in identical Prince of Wales check suits and to his eye, with identical faces. He gestured to the smaller group from India, two serious-looking men and one elderly, petite, sari-clad woman.

"You may recall it was estimated that we'd need a further three decades before the third world would be strong enough to take over the consumption of the West."

He paused before delivering the punch line, "I'm happy to say our recent studies have revealed that the new consumers are there in abundance as we speak, and more than able to take up the slack."

A few heads looked up at this revelation, most didn't react at all. Kurt had no time to wonder if they'd already had this information, he had to move on to the crux of the matter.

"This being the case not only have we no further need of the northern hemisphere labour market, we now have no interest in their continued ability to buy our products. In short we have no further need to sustain this part of the population."

Kurt was moving with poise now, as another chart appeared on the screen showing world population levels, "You will be aware of various natural phenomena supporting our aims of constraining population growth; the greatest of which are Aids and famine. The policy of appearing to work towards their eradication whilst achieving very little seems to be working. That takes care of Africa. Helpfully, Eastern and Southern European countries are being depopulated via sustained civil war and ethnic cleansing."

He paused, then, "Rapid economic cleansing is also underway; highly desirable areas of France and Spain are being de-populated and in the UK, London is being cleared to make way for settlement by the very wealthy, with the rest of the South-East to follow."

He couldn't prevent the smug grin that crossed his face; he'd recently snapped up some exquisite properties just outside Primrose Hill, so felt he had to follow up with, "Of course, you will get first pick of these prime slices of real estate as they become available. In fact, I believe you can book your plots now, is that right, Mr. Chairman?"

The Chairman rose awkwardly, caught out by the change of subject, but the words flowed with practiced ease, "Superior Homes has created an exclusive brochure, copies of which will be available in the foyer as you leave conference. You'll find outline plans for a deluxe chateau in an average lot size of 3,000 hectares in the new territories. "

An electric buzz swept the room.

Kurt judged the time was right for the big announcement, "However, attritional reduction of population in these areas is not enough for our needs. We must contain America, the biggest oil consumer on the planet." Kurt looked round the room, then invested his voice with strength, "We now need to move into the last phase of our plan, which we are calling 'Operation Downsize'. I'd like to introduce General Nathan Goldhirsch of the US Army who will explain it to you."

The US contingent stirred in their seats and a tall man in full dress uniform rose to his feet and headed towards the platform. "That's US Marine Corps, Kurt," he said, smiling. There was a smattering of laughter, quickly suppressed.

"Okay," said the General, his frown bringing them back to complete order, "let's get down to business. We need to reduce the US of A population by at least 25% and we can't pussy-foot around. Economic destabilisation brings its own problems and we have one helluva civilian army out there, all armed. If they get a sniff of what's going on all hell will break loose. So, we gotta do it quickly." He turned to the screen and pointed at the image that appeared, "This here is La Palma, one of the Canary Islands."

A hush settled on the room, this was where it started to get serious.

The screen changed. "And this is the Cumbre Vieja volcano, it is extremely volatile." The screen changed again, "This is the western face of the volcano, which is gradually collapsing. One day, in the natural course of things this side will fall into the sea creating a mega tsunami which will sweep across the Atlantic, ravage the Bahamas and reach the Eastern seaboard in a matter of hours."

He allowed the magnitude of the pronouncement a few moments to settle then delivered the coup de grace, "Well, we don't have time to wait for the natural course of things, ladies and gentlemen, so we intend to blow the whole damn thing sky high. And we're doing it soon."

Hope you have a nice week

Cheers for reading

Arun




'Corpalism' is the compendium editions which includes -









'Daydream Believers' is the Compendium edition which includes










'Wise Eyed Open' is the Compendium edition which includes

The book 'Corpalism' is FREE from Amazon for PC & Kindle download until Sunday 24th May 2020...

Suddenly

A man may die, nations may rise and fall,
but an idea lives on.
John F. Kennedy

Cramming the last piece of toast into his mouth Terry Jones grabbed his jacket and left his apartment for the office.

He’d had the option of a high-rise within walking distance when he was first assigned to Relocations; his reasons for turning it down had seemed sound; cost = astronomical, space = minimal. Now, and not for the first time, he wished he’d taken it. That morning he’d set his alarm earlier than usual in the hopes of beating the rush hour traffic, problem was he never really managed to keep to his schedule (poor time management or lousy schedule?) and he found himself, yet again, bumper to bumper and yet again, late for work.

Brian Olsen made the final adjustments to his tie, jacket and hair before leaving the men’s room and heading to his desk; all the while diligently maintaining an erect 6ft 6in posture, a copy of today’s Times clamped under his right arm, his brief case gripped firmly in his right hand, and as he strode he repeated his mantra over and over in his head ‘today I will excel, today I will exceed all expectations, today I will excel, today I will exceed all expectations….’

Rain Morgan, stared at the free drinks machine for a few moments before selecting a cappuccino with sugar. Her actual name was Rainbow Sunset, her mother having one her odd moments, but she preferred Rain. She was quickly joined by Debby Jenna and Phillippa Djukovic; just time for a quick debrief of Phillippa’s date with Simon Brookes from Finance.

Peter Illyffe, the divisional manager for Relocations 1, left his office and headed for the usual 8:30 briefing in meeting room 3, aka the cupboard due to its lack of size and windows. His staff fell in behind, a well-rehearsed troupe, that is everyone except Terry Jones who was still driving fruitlessly round and round the car park.

The room filled quickly; those lucky enough to get in the door first grabbed a seat at the table, Peter at their head.

“Morning everyone,” he said, to which there were the usual responses of “morning, morning Peter,” a few nods and coughs and a silky “morning, Boss” from Brian, tall even when sitting down. “No Terry, I see?”

This too was greeted by the usual responses, initial silence, then embarrassed coughs or ums…. followed by a clear and unequivocal “he’s not in yet, Boss” from Brian. Peter made a note in the top corner of his meeting notes, as usual.

“Ok, everyone got a copy of today’s agenda?” general nods everywhere, “good, ok – item one then – the recent merger with Alderson’s. As per our meeting yesterday morning I’ve checked up the line and can confirm that Alderson’s Relocations are being wound down and we will ‘inherit their workload’.”

“Relocations are being relocated.” Phillippa’s quip was not altogether unexpected; there were a few groans.

“Thank you Phillippa,” said Peter.

“How big a workload we talking?” asked Rain.

“Approx half again our existing workload,” replied Peter.

“Will we be getting more staff?” Rain again.

“No,” said Peter.

“But how are we meant to cope with that?” asked Debby, saying what the others were thinking.

“By ‘working smarter’,” Brian jumped in, borrowing one of Peter’s ‘phrases of the moment’, “and if some people spent less time at the coffee machine talking then we’d get a lot more done.”

“Who’re you on about?” demanded Debby, realising too late that by asking the question she had singled herself out. Peter made another note at the top of his meeting papers.

“Moving on” said Peter, sounding tired, “there will be a further meeting at 2pm today with the team from Alderson’s so we can ‘manage the handover’ smoothly. Rain and I will attend that. Another quick point, the company will no longer be providing free drinks.”

There was a collective gasp, then “Why’re they changing it?” asked Debby, “I mean we’ve had free coffee for years now.” For some reason her mouth seemed to be working overtime this morning, in the absence of Terry it could be deemed she had assumed his mantle.

“As you all know we’re facing ever ‘stiffer competition’ out there, which is one of the reasons we’ve been merged with Alderson’s. The Efficiency Department has identified that the company could save almost £100,000 a year by moving to a ‘pay for your own’ drinks environment.”

“Can we bring a kettle and make our own drinks?” asked Phillippa.

“No,” replied Peter, “that would mean providing kitchen facilities – an added expense.”

“What about a flask?” asked Brian.

“Flasks are OK,” said Peter, flashing him a grateful smile.

“If you can drink anything from a flask,” muttered Rain.

“Everyone, now, come to order, please.” Peter was becoming irritated and the strain of not showing it was telling on his stress levels. At that point Terry opened the door and slipped into the room, “Ah! Mr. Jones, glad you could join us.”

“Sorry I’m late,” said Terry “couldn’t find anywhere to park.”

“There were loads of spaces when I got here at 8:00,” said Brian.

“I got held up in traffic,” offered Terry, his expression hopeful.

“Then might I suggest you leave earlier,” replied Brian, “we all make the effort to be here on time, it’s only ever you who’s late.”

“Thank you, Brian,” Peter interceded. “OK the final point, we’ve had a report from C.I.T, the Counter Intelligence Team,” he elaborated, staring pointedly at Phillippa over whose head most things of import were known to sail, “that we have a ‘heightened terror threat’ as a result of our merger with Alderson’s.” He waited for the information to sink in then continued by way of explanation, “Apparently we’re now the 3rd largest provider of labour resource in the EU so it makes us an even bigger target.” Phillippa looked on the verge of tears, possibly at being singled out for the stare, the rest were demonstrating variously dismay or affected disinterest but no-one spoke. “So everybody please ‘stay alert, stay vigilant’ and re-watch the compulsory DVD ‘Terror and Counter Terrorism’. Remember, ‘we’re all in this together’ and it’s up to each and every one of us to …‘keep the workplace safe’.”

Terry winced; he was convinced that Peter’s insistence on speaking in inverted commas and quoting the company watchwords at every opportunity had a damaging effect on his psyche.

“Did anyone see the news this morning?” asked Rain, too brightly. “There was an explosion in the town centre.”

“Yeah,” chipped in Debby, “near Macheson’s.”

“They said something about 20 casualties,” Rain added, “it’s awful”.

“Did they say who it was?” asked Terry.

“It’s a bit early for that kind of info,” snapped Brian.

“I dunno,” defended Terry, “they sometimes give a warning.”

“That’s the Red Freedoms,” said Debby, “the Black Hands don’t give a warning.”

“Which could imply the Black Hands,” said Terry, settling in for a natter on the merits and demerits of one terrorist organisation’s way of doing business versus another.

“OK,” interrupted Peter, forestalling further chat, “Any questions?”

“Parking,” said Terry, opportunistic as ever, “when are they doing something about parking?”

“As we said yesterday and the day before and, oh yes, as we’ve been saying every day in all these months since you joined us, they aren’t going to do anything about the parking, thank you, Terry.” Peter stared round the table, lingering on Phillippa, as if daring any more utterances.

“When are they going to fix the tower clock?” she asked, making a sterling effort to fight back tears.

“And they aren’t going to fix the clock, either, Phillippa. As we’ve already said it will cost too much to repair. Any more questions?”

Silence.

“Good, back to work all of you, except you Terry, if you could just stay back a minute.”

The others filed out of the room and closed the door behind them.

“You were late again Terry.”

“I know but it was the traffic….”

“Traffic is not an excuse, Terry,” said Peter, “you should know to factor that in to your plans. Also, as I recall, Human Resources offered you an apartment close by when you joined us, a much sought after facility that had only come available due to the unfortunate demise of your predecessor.” He fell silent, possibly in recognition of human frailty and the fact that the previous occupant had thrown himself ungratefully off the 7th floor balcony of the much vaunted facility. “You are paid to be here between the hours of 8:30 and 5:00. It’s up to you to get yourself here on time.”

“Yes,” said Terry, for once recognising a time when the less words said might be the better.

“Everyone else manages to be here. I have to come from further away than you so I leave earlier. Brian always gets here at 8:00.”

“I know,” Terry murmured, humbly, while thinking 'yeah but Brian hasn’t got a life…'

“And he doesn’t leave his desk until 5.45 whereas you are packed and out the door by 5:10 if you can get away with it.”

Again, Brian hasn’t got a life …“I always do my hours…”

“Do you want to see your clocking in sheet?” asked Peter. Terry ducked his head; he knew what it would show. “The thing is Terry, it’s not working out for us; I think we need to move you on.”

Terry grimaced “I’m sorry Peter, I promise I will get here earlier in future.”

“I’m afraid it’s too late, Terry, Galaxy has already collated your data and raised it with Human Resources. They’ve spotlighted you and put in the transfer request.”

“You mean I’m already on the List?” asked Terry. “That was quick.”

Peter gave him a look; he was a strange one and no mistake, “Should come through in a few days. …Obviously you can’t be on site when it comes through, that would create a conflict of interest so your employment with Peter Brookes will be terminated this morning.”

Terry placed his head in his hands; his date with Cathy in Finance had just gone down the pan.

“I’m sorry, Terry but you knew your stats were in the system. It was only a matter of time before Galaxy highlighted you. You know the drill; it’s out of my hands.”

“I know, I know,” said Terry.

“I’m afraid I have to escort you off the premises.” Terry nodded. “Straight from this meeting.”

“Right now? Don’t I get to say goodbye to anyone?”

“Afraid not, you will be clocked out …” Peter flicked through his paperwork, “5 minutes from now. Sorry but there’s nothing I can do.”

“Yeah, I know,” said Terry, “I know how the system works.”

Cheers

Arun


Amazon.co.uk
https://www.amazon.co.uk/Corpalism-Ar...


Amazon.com
https://www.amazon.com/Corpalism-Arun...


Other books in the series




'Corpalism' is the compendium editions which includes -











'Daydream Believers' is the Compendium edition which includes











'Wise Eyed Open' is the Compendium edition which includes

Uprising - FREE on Amazon for Kindle and PC download until Wednesday 6th May 2020

Suddenly

A man may die, nations may rise and fall,
but an idea lives on.
John F. Kennedy

Cramming the last piece of toast into his mouth Terry Jones grabbed his jacket and left his apartment for the office.

He’d had the option of a high-rise within walking distance when he was first assigned to Relocations; his reasons for turning it down had seemed sound; cost = astronomical, space = minimal. Now, and not for the first time, he wished he’d taken it. That morning he’d set his alarm earlier than usual in the hopes of beating the rush hour traffic, problem was he never really managed to keep to his schedule (poor time management or lousy schedule?) and he found himself, yet again, bumper to bumper and yet again, late for work.

Brian Olsen made the final adjustments to his tie, jacket and hair before leaving the men’s room and heading to his desk; all the while diligently maintaining an erect 6ft 6in posture, a copy of today’s Times clamped under his right arm, his brief case gripped firmly in his right hand, and as he strode he repeated his mantra over and over in his head ‘today I will excel, today I will exceed all expectations, today I will excel, today I will exceed all expectations….’

Rain Morgan, stared at the free drinks machine for a few moments before selecting a cappuccino with sugar. Her actual name was Rainbow Sunset, her mother having one her odd moments, but she preferred Rain. She was quickly joined by Debby Jenna and Phillippa Djukovic; just time for a quick debrief of Phillippa’s date with Simon Brookes from Finance.

Peter Illyffe, the divisional manager for Relocations 1, left his office and headed for the usual 8:30 briefing in meeting room 3, aka the cupboard due to its lack of size and windows. His staff fell in behind, a well-rehearsed troupe, that is everyone except Terry Jones who was still driving fruitlessly round and round the car park.

The room filled quickly; those lucky enough to get in the door first grabbed a seat at the table, Peter at their head.

“Morning everyone,” he said, to which there were the usual responses of “morning, morning Peter,” a few nods and coughs and a silky “morning, Boss” from Brian, tall even when sitting down. “No Terry, I see?”

This too was greeted by the usual responses, initial silence, then embarrassed coughs or ums…. followed by a clear and unequivocal “he’s not in yet, Boss” from Brian. Peter made a note in the top corner of his meeting notes, as usual.

“Ok, everyone got a copy of today’s agenda?” general nods everywhere, “good, ok – item one then – the recent merger with Alderson’s. As per our meeting yesterday morning I’ve checked up the line and can confirm that Alderson’s Relocations are being wound down and we will ‘inherit their workload’.”

“Relocations are being relocated.” Phillippa’s quip was not altogether unexpected; there were a few groans.

“Thank you Phillippa,” said Peter.

“How big a workload we talking?” asked Rain.

“Approx half again our existing workload,” replied Peter.

“Will we be getting more staff?” Rain again.

“No,” said Peter.

“But how are we meant to cope with that?” asked Debby, saying what the others were thinking.

“By ‘working smarter’,” Brian jumped in, borrowing one of Peter’s ‘phrases of the moment’, “and if some people spent less time at the coffee machine talking then we’d get a lot more done.”

“Who’re you on about?” demanded Debby, realising too late that by asking the question she had singled herself out. Peter made another note at the top of his meeting papers.

“Moving on” said Peter, sounding tired, “there will be a further meeting at 2pm today with the team from Alderson’s so we can ‘manage the handover’ smoothly. Rain and I will attend that. Another quick point, the company will no longer be providing free drinks.”

There was a collective gasp, then “Why’re they changing it?” asked Debby, “I mean we’ve had free coffee for years now.” For some reason her mouth seemed to be working overtime this morning, in the absence of Terry it could be deemed she had assumed his mantle.

“As you all know we’re facing ever ‘stiffer competition’ out there, which is one of the reasons we’ve been merged with Alderson’s. The Efficiency Department has identified that the company could save almost £100,000 a year by moving to a ‘pay for your own’ drinks environment.”

“Can we bring a kettle and make our own drinks?” asked Phillippa.

“No,” replied Peter, “that would mean providing kitchen facilities – an added expense.”

“What about a flask?” asked Brian.

“Flasks are OK,” said Peter, flashing him a grateful smile.

“If you can drink anything from a flask,” muttered Rain.

“Everyone, now, come to order, please.” Peter was becoming irritated and the strain of not showing it was telling on his stress levels. At that point Terry opened the door and slipped into the room, “Ah! Mr. Jones, glad you could join us.”

“Sorry I’m late,” said Terry “couldn’t find anywhere to park.”

“There were loads of spaces when I got here at 8:00,” said Brian.

“I got held up in traffic,” offered Terry, his expression hopeful.

“Then might I suggest you leave earlier,” replied Brian, “we all make the effort to be here on time, it’s only ever you who’s late.”

“Thank you, Brian,” Peter interceded. “OK the final point, we’ve had a report from C.I.T, the Counter Intelligence Team,” he elaborated, staring pointedly at Phillippa over whose head most things of import were known to sail, “that we have a ‘heightened terror threat’ as a result of our merger with Alderson’s.” He waited for the information to sink in then continued by way of explanation, “Apparently we’re now the 3rd largest provider of labour resource in the EU so it makes us an even bigger target.” Phillippa looked on the verge of tears, possibly at being singled out for the stare, the rest were demonstrating variously dismay or affected disinterest but no-one spoke. “So everybody please ‘stay alert, stay vigilant’ and re-watch the compulsory DVD ‘Terror and Counter Terrorism’. Remember, ‘we’re all in this together’ and it’s up to each and every one of us to …‘keep the workplace safe’.”

Terry winced; he was convinced that Peter’s insistence on speaking in inverted commas and quoting the company watchwords at every opportunity had a damaging effect on his psyche.

“Did anyone see the news this morning?” asked Rain, too brightly. “There was an explosion in the town centre.”

“Yeah,” chipped in Debby, “near Macheson’s.”

“They said something about 20 casualties,” Rain added, “it’s awful”.

“Did they say who it was?” asked Terry.

“It’s a bit early for that kind of info,” snapped Brian.

“I dunno,” defended Terry, “they sometimes give a warning.”

“That’s the Red Freedoms,” said Debby, “the Black Hands don’t give a warning.”

“Which could imply the Black Hands,” said Terry, settling in for a natter on the merits and demerits of one terrorist organisation’s way of doing business versus another.

“OK,” interrupted Peter, forestalling further chat, “Any questions?”

“Parking,” said Terry, opportunistic as ever, “when are they doing something about parking?”

“As we said yesterday and the day before and, oh yes, as we’ve been saying every day in all these months since you joined us, they aren’t going to do anything about the parking, thank you, Terry.” Peter stared round the table, lingering on Phillippa, as if daring any more utterances.

“When are they going to fix the tower clock?” she asked, making a sterling effort to fight back tears.

“And they aren’t going to fix the clock, either, Phillippa. As we’ve already said it will cost too much to repair. Any more questions?”

Silence.

“Good, back to work all of you, except you Terry, if you could just stay back a minute.”

The others filed out of the room and closed the door behind them.

“You were late again Terry.”

“I know but it was the traffic….”

“Traffic is not an excuse, Terry,” said Peter, “you should know to factor that in to your plans. Also, as I recall, Human Resources offered you an apartment close by when you joined us, a much sought after facility that had only come available due to the unfortunate demise of your predecessor.” He fell silent, possibly in recognition of human frailty and the fact that the previous occupant had thrown himself ungratefully off the 7th floor balcony of the much vaunted facility. “You are paid to be here between the hours of 8:30 and 5:00. It’s up to you to get yourself here on time.”

“Yes,” said Terry, for once recognising a time when the less words said might be the better.

“Everyone else manages to be here. I have to come from further away than you so I leave earlier. Brian always gets here at 8:00.”

“I know,” Terry murmured, humbly, while thinking 'yeah but Brian hasn’t got a life…'

“And he doesn’t leave his desk until 5.45 whereas you are packed and out the door by 5:10 if you can get away with it.”

Again, Brian hasn’t got a life …“I always do my hours…”

“Do you want to see your clocking in sheet?” asked Peter. Terry ducked his head; he knew what it would show. “The thing is Terry, it’s not working out for us; I think we need to move you on.”

Terry grimaced “I’m sorry Peter, I promise I will get here earlier in future.”

“I’m afraid it’s too late, Terry, Galaxy has already collated your data and raised it with Human Resources. They’ve spotlighted you and put in the transfer request.”

“You mean I’m already on the List?” asked Terry. “That was quick.”

Peter gave him a look; he was a strange one and no mistake, “Should come through in a few days. …Obviously you can’t be on site when it comes through, that would create a conflict of interest so your employment with Peter Brookes will be terminated this morning.”

Terry placed his head in his hands; his date with Cathy in Finance had just gone down the pan.

“I’m sorry, Terry but you knew your stats were in the system. It was only a matter of time before Galaxy highlighted you. You know the drill; it’s out of my hands.”

“I know, I know,” said Terry.

“I’m afraid I have to escort you off the premises.” Terry nodded. “Straight from this meeting.”

“Right now? Don’t I get to say goodbye to anyone?”

“Afraid not, you will be clocked out …” Peter flicked through his paperwork, “5 minutes from now. Sorry but there’s nothing I can do.”

“Yeah, I know,” said Terry, “I know how the system works.”

Cheers

Arun


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