Arun D. Ellis's Blog, page 4

'Uprising' - what happens when the masses have had enough

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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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

Why the battle against Covid19 can now only lead to WWIII

Covid19 started in Communist China - it doesn't matter how or why - what matters is that the Communist Government tried to hush it up and pretend that it wasn't happening - this very act will cost the world trillions - it could even bankrupt countries - cause decades of economic hardship for whole continents - it will leave our children with unimaginable debt which will take them decades to pay off - it could threaten the military security of the West or the East and could, either way, tip the world into war - it will certainly end in the deaths of hundreds of thousands if not millions of people - meanwhile China is recovering and strengthening its economic and military position - with this in mind, when the world does eventually get a grip on controlling this virus [which it hopefully will] countries will begin to ask how and why such despair has been foisted on their peoples and they will come to the obvious conclusion - that it could all have been avoided if the Chinese Communist Government had acted wisely and speedily like any Western democratic country would - at that point and with the devastating costs to their own societies governments will look for retribution - it will be at this point that countries like Russia, North Korea & Iran etc. will have to chose sides - the only thing that will save China from invasion will be revolution and the creation of a democratic Republic - but it doesn't seem like the Communists are losing control anytime soon - so the world will have to interfere in the internal affaires of China - and that means war - how big a war depends on which side of the fence Russia, North Korea and Iran etc come down on - it is likely that Covid19 is just the beginning, ahead of us lies a very new and very uncertain future.

Uprising - what happens when the masses work out they've been had

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


Other books in the series










'Daydream Believers' is the Compendium edition which includes










'Wise Eyed Open' is the Compendium edition which includes

Corpalism by Arun D Ellis

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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The Corpalism series - something to read whilst in lockdown

The Barn
History is written by the victors.
Winston Churchill

“We might as well relax,” said Don, “we can’t do anything ‘til they get here.”

“Is that going to be a problem?” asked Terry.

“Could be,” said Don.

“Will the truck still be there?” asked Terry. Don narrowed his eyes; he’d thought Terry had been kept out of the loop on that one. “Oh, I’m not meant to know about a truck, am I?”

“I’m interested to hear how you do know,” said Don.

“Donald told me.”

“He wouldn’t do that,” said Don.

“Well, Sand persuaded him.”

Don thought about it for a second, “What else did he tell you?”

“Nothing.”

Don shrugged, still not convinced “We just need to bed down and sleep the day out.”

“Okay to knock up a quick brew?”

“Sure,” said Don, “they’re not Apaches you know.”

Terry laughed, “‘course not.”

∞

Working in Relocations had given Terry a healthy respect for Galaxy’s ability to link RR 2 RA, i.e. ‘Resource Requirements’ to ‘Resources Available’ across continents; it had not given him knowledge of other aspects of Galaxy’s achievements.

For example, he knew nothing about a recent insidious software update to Signus and its connection to the newly introduced SpyGrid, a network fed by the satellite permanently stationed above the UK. This satellite homed in on the chip located in the forearm of every UK citizen.

The ubiquitous, innocent chip; introduced two decades previously as a useful aide to the responsible citizen to enable quick access to funds and buildings, implanted on a voluntary and trial basis, now a mandatory tool of the state and as such, introduced in a simple operation at birth.

With the upgrade to Signus, and permission for its use embedded as a paragraph in the recent 400 page amendment to the Enabling Act and other anti-terrorist legislation, amendments required ostensibly to combat the recent spate of terrorist activities of groups like the Black Hands and the Red Freedoms, the chip could be used to inform the whereabouts of any UK citizen at any given time.

The data received from SpyGrid was filtered through the Signus databank; holding GPS information on the controlled location of each citizen and programmed to activate on receipt of location anomalies in the form of a warning notice to the security forces.

On the 24th June Don, Terry and Dale were flagged as location anomalies and, given their status as ghetto inhabitants, within seconds Signus was issuing the relevant alerts to the relevant security forces.

∞

Dale lit a small fire and started to brew up. He couldn’t for the life of him imagine what had happened, where the others were but he knew that somehow it would be his fault.

“Fuckin’ Jimmy,” he muttered, “he’s fuckin’ useless, he’s too fuckin’ slow.”

Dale sat back and pulled his coat tight, it was heavily overcast and he was cold. He looked up through the trees and saw the helicopter far off in the distance, moving back and forth along the same line. He watched it for several minutes before it started to bother him. The water started to boil in his cup so he removed it from the fire and added the tea bag. He wandered to the edge of the wood, saw 3 police vans parked down the bottom of the hill. Then he saw the line of coppers spread out along the hedge at the foot of the hill, “Shit!” Dale tossed his tea and ran off into the woods.

He kept a good pace for the five minutes it took him to get from one end of the small wood to the other where he stopped in his tracks; more police. This time they spotted him and as they started to run up the hill Dale darted off to his left. As he neared the edge of the wood he found more coppers, this time in the tree line. He ran back into the woods and threw himself into a bush but the helicopter had moved in closer and was now hovering above him; the pilot knew exactly where Dale was hiding from the beeping on his console.

He was surrounded. He burst from his hiding place and tried to break through the growing crowd but he was Tasered without warning and fell to the ground, writhing and twitching.

“Taser, Taser, Taser,” shouted another copper as he tasered Dale again.

“Hit him again,” shouted someone and Dale was tasered a third time. Then a fourth and a fifth. Then he stopped moving.

“Cuff him,” ordered a sergeant.

“Won’t need to Sarge,” said one, his finger on the pulse point on Dale’s neck. “ He’s a gonna.”

“It’s one of those O’Connell brothers - fuckin’ stupid mick,” said the sergeant.

∞

Terry was on first watch. He’d made another brew and sat watching the road; he saw the police vans arrive. He lay down and watched as the coppers piled out. Then he saw the helicopter far off in the distance. He wriggled backwards until he felt safe enough to rise to a crouch and scurry back to camp, “Don, Don.”

“What?” said Don shaking himself awake, “what is it?”

“Cops, an’ there’s a bear in the air.”

“What? A bear?” He was on his feet in a second.

“Chopper,” said Terry, pointing.

“But how?” queried Don.

“We should move,” said Terry. Don nodded but stayed where he was. “Which way?”

“I don’t really know,” said Don, “it’s never happened before.”

“Wha…?” asked Terry.

“We’ve never needed an escape route before,” said Don, “so we’ve never planned one.”

“Well we fuckin’ need one now,” hissed Terry, “I tell you I don’t fancy being caught by these fuckers.”

“Me neither,” said Don, “Let’s try this way.”

“Why that way?” asked Terry.

“Don’t ask me,” said Don “seems as good as any. You got a better idea?”

They ran through the wood for five heart-thumping minutes before pausing to catch their breath.

“What do you think?” asked Don. “Do you think they’re following?”

“Well, they’re here for something,” said Terry, “and I have a nasty feeling it’s us so yeah, I think they’re following.”

“Shit,” said Don.

“Hang on,” said Terry, “the chopper’s almost overhead.”

“Where?” asked Don.

“Get down,” said Terry, “let it pass over.”

It held position, hovering directly above them, a whirring arrow pointing to their exact location.

“What’s it doing?” asked Don.

“I don’t know,” said Terry.

“They can’t have seen us,” said Don.

“No,” agreed Terry, “so how do they know where we are?”

“We should move,” said Don.

“No, wait a bit; I need to think. How do they know we’re here? They can’t possibly know.”

“Terry,” hissed Don, “we gotta move.”

“I know that,” said Terry, “but how did they know where to find us?”

“Someone must’ve blabbed,” said Don. “Perhaps Jimmy and the others got caught and talked.”

“I don’t see Jimmy talking,” said Terry, “I don’t know about the others.”

“Sean would crack under pressure,” said Don.

“I guess he would at that,” said Terry, “but that still doesn’t explain how that chopper is hovering right above us”

“Coppers,” hissed Don pointing.

They ran into the trees, hoping to lose their pursuers in the density of the woods, leaping fallen trees and branches, tearing through bushes and stumbling over brambles for what felt like mile after mile, all the time hearing the shouts of police on their heels. Terry and Don were fit and highly motivated and gradually the distance between them and those in pursuit was lengthening; but somehow the helicopter stayed with them. They burst from the woods and ran down the hillside towards the road.

“There,” Terry shouted, pointing.

Don nodded and they headed for the lay by and the nearest car.

Terry ran to the driver’s side and wrenched open the door, “Get out!” he shouted, “NOW!”

The driver, startled out of any form of resistance, complied with alacrity. Besides him the car was empty. Terry threw it into gear and they sped off down the road; behind them the police huffed and puffed.

“How the fuck did they find us?” asked Terry.

“Don’t know,” said Don, “it’s never happened before.”

“But that was a lot of fucking police as well, what the hell kinda shit do you guys nick?”

“Nothin’ of any value” said Don, “not really.”

“Well they seem to think it is.”

“Where’re we going, anyway?”

“Fuck knows,” said Terry, looking at the dash, “not far by the looks of it. Bastard was out of gas…Where’s that chopper now?”

Don stuck his head out the window, “right above us,”

“They’ll have road blokes ahead then,” said Terry, “we need to get off the road, into the woods.”

“Here, quick, here,” said Don.

Terry swung the wheel and they bounced down a dirt track that lead directly to a rundown farm but no woods, no cover beyond a ramshackle barn.

“Good call,” said Terry sarcastically as they got out of the car; above them hovered the sentinel helicopter. “Check the farm house, I’ll check the barn.”

After a few minutes Don reappeared holding an unbroken shotgun. “Whoa, is that thing loaded?”

“No,” said Don, “I couldn’t find any cartridges.”

“Then what good is it?” asked Terry.

“Well it might prove useful,” said Don, “especially if we find some ammo.”

“Yeah,” said Terry, “don’t want to spoil your party but an old thing like that will only get us killed, besides a shot gun isn’t the best of weapons in this situation.”

“Why not?” asked Don.

“Short range and the spread of pellets – we’d need to be close,” said Terry, “what we need is a proper hunting rifle.”

“Yeah, well this is all we’ve got, how’d you know so much about guns, anyway?”

Terry looked up at the helicopter, “Well, it might be useful in a bluff,” he said, “Come on, we’d better move before they get here.”

Don and Terry jogged across the fields, cursing the invention of barbed wire, until they reached a derelict shed; the helicopter kept pace.

“What’s the point in running?” said Don, “We’re never gonna shake that thing off.”

“I know,” said Terry. “That’s why I wanted the rifle.”

Don looked at him with a modicum of respect, dropping the shotgun to the floor. Then he mumbled something and started looking round for somewhere to sit down.

“We don’t have time for that,” said Terry.

“Oh, what, you gonna out run a fuckin’ helicopter, are you?” asked Don, “’cause unless you can I don’t see the point in keeping on going.”

Terry looked up at the chopper just hovering way up in the sky, “Bastards.”

“Why are you really here, Terry?” Terry turned and scoured the fields behind them. “I mean, ‘I got sacked’ is a bit thin, isn’t it?”

“Might well be, but it’s what happened.”

“Come on,” said Don, “you can tell me, cops are about to wrap us up, game over, nothing to hide and all that.”

“As I said,” said Terry, “I got sacked.”

“Really? Why? You had it made, why’d you be such an idiot?” Terry’s expression was not friendly but Don wanted answers. “Look, all I’ve even known is the sink; I’m fucked, always was and always will be, never had a hope, never had a chance but you? From the sounds of it you had everything, why fuck it up?”

Terry turned away, “Dunno.”

“That’s not good enough,” said Don angrily, “you had everything Terry. We got nothing. We struggle with poverty every day and no-one gives a fuck.”

“Cops,” said Terry as the first one crested the hill. He was a way off and seemed in no hurry to proceed; he’d out stripped his mates and appeared to be waiting for back-up. Besides the helicopter place marker was still in situ.

“So, what was so bad with your life that you had to go and fuck it up?” demanded Don.

“We better move,” said Terry.

“No!” said Don, “Not until you tell me why you fucked it all up?”

“Fuck off!” snapped Terry.

“I’m serious,” said Don, “Why’d ‘you fuck it up?”

“I just didn’t fit in, that’s all.”

“Oh! Come on,” yelled Don, “What kinda crap is that? I didn’t fit in. Bollocks.”

“Fuck you,” yelled Terry. Don grabbed Terry’s coat, as he did so Terry turned, breaking Don’s hold with the motion and threw him to the floor, “I said …I didn’t fit in.”

“An’ what?” said Don, rolling over into a seated position, “this suits you more does it? Living on the sink?”

“Actually it does,” said Terry. Don’s incredulous, sneering expression tipped Terry into abrupt fury. “What do you know about life out there? It’s not so fuckin’ great, ya know.”

“Well it’s gotta be a damn sight better than on the sink,” said Don.

“Really? Have you got tuition fee debts hanging around your fuckin’ neck? You got a mortgage you could never fuckin’ hope to pay off? Massive loans with inflated fuckin’ rates of interest bleeding you dry? Credit cards all max’d out to their fuckin’ limit sucking the life out of you?”

Don stared up at him, unimpressed.

“Not to mention the ever increasing rate of inflation, the cost of fuel, and food, exorbitant taxation, VAT. Oh yeah I had it cosy alright, working all hours … the minute we’re born we were saddled with debt. D’you realise that? D’you have any idea how much it costs to have a baby? £50 grand! …who do you think gets saddled with that debt? The parents? No, the baby. It’s marked on your fuckin’ chip,” Terry waved his forearm in Don’s general direction, “as soon as you start earning they start taking the money back. Can you believe that? Giving birth costs money. You have to pay a hospital. You have to pay tax on it. How the fuck did the human species ever get out of the jungle if you need hospitals to have a baby? How the fuck did we progress without taxation? Does any other creature on the planet have to pay to have a baby? Does it? Does it have to pay taxes? NO! But we do in spades and why?”

Don was now on his feet, dusting himself down, he didn’t answer.

“Because the state and the wealthy want us in debt from word go” Terry fairly frothed as he answered his own question, “so we’ll be willing to work and keep the wealthy living a life of luxury, but yeah, you’re right Don, I had it made, we all did.”

“We still have to pay for stuff in the sink, you know,” said Don.

“Oh yeah, what?” demanded Terry, “most of you are on benefits and those who are working are on bare minimum so don’t meet the income ceiling.”

“Babies cost the same for poor people as well, you know,” said Don.

“Yeah, but you’ll never be expected to pay, will you?” snapped Terry, “’cause you’ll never earn enough to activate your chip, but those of us working in the system just get shafted every which way.”

Don smirked, “so that’s why you got sacked – bein’ arsey.”

“Yeah, well, fuck you,” said Terry, a grudging smile in his eyes.

Don scanned the sky line; he counted about twenty coppers, moving in tight formation across the field, “We’d better get moving.”

Terry bent down and picked up the shotgun, “You don’t say.”

Cheers for reading

Arun


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'Corpalism' by Arun D Ellis - 1st in the series and the conspiracy lovers dream

The next meeting was being held at Donald’s. Terry had wanted to be there early but Donald had said he’d need time to prepare the rest of the committee. Reluctantly Terry’d agreed to arrive a little after the meeting started, about 8:15. The group was in place, desultory conversations underway before the meeting proper was called to order. Tom had arrived promptly, happy to have the meeting away from his home, and now stood in conversation with Jimmy who’d been filling the rest of them in on his brief spell in incarceration, some nonsense about birds falling and the Bible. Donald was still working out how to broach the subject of Terry when the doorbell rang, causing immediate consternation and a couple of those present got up to leave.

“It’s alright,” said Donald, “that’ll be Terry.”

“How’s that alright?” asked Tom.

“We’ve vetted him,” said Donald.

“Without the committee?” questioned Eric.

Sandra and Terry entered the room. Donald got up and whispered something in Sandra’s ear; she nodded and took Terry through to the kitchen.

“Yes, Eric” said Donald, “there were exceptional circumstances.”

“There must’ve been,” said Tom.

“Like what?” demanded Dave, a short man, pugnacious and handy-looking.

“Dad has it sorted,” said Don, stepping in to cover his father, “we’ll explain when Terry comes in.”

“I’m not sure I want to do this,” said Tom.

“I don’t see why we need anybody else,” said Eric, remaining seated but perched on the edge of the chair, a long-legged creature preparing for flight, “I mean, there are a lot of us already and the risks of discovery are only growing.”

“Come on Eric, Terry can help us,” said Don, now firmly convinced, he was displaying all the vigour in Terry’s defence of an ex-smoker denouncing the evil weed.

“He can fight,” said Jimmy, “I vouch for that and that comes in useful when you’re out there.”

“Maybe,” said Eric, “but what does that have to do with us? Why does he have to see us?”

“Because we’re all in this together,” said Donald, “besides I’m hoping he can teach us all to fight a bit.”

“What the hell for?” demanded Tom, “I’m not fighting anyone.”

“And what if we’re discovered ever? What do you think they’re going to do with us? Pat us on the head? Tell us we’ve been naughty?” Donald was almost biblical in his sudden fury. “You know what happened to Mike …they’re either going to murder us in our homes or in their cells or they’re going to throw us in prison, you know what kind of people exist in prison?”

“Nobody said any of this before,” said Tom, “I’ve never wanted any trouble, you know that, Donald.”

“D’you want to run the daily risk of being beaten to death? Of being murdered in your cell for the want of being able to handle yourself? Do you want to be gang raped in the showers?”

“No but,” struggled Tom.

“Oh, come on, Tom,” said Dave, “we’ve always known there’s risks to all this, that’s why you were so keen to get out the door just now.”

“But I don’t think we should antagonize them.”

“Look,” said Donald, striving for calm, “it’s a fact, we’re all breaking their laws by doing what we’re doing, we’re breaking them right now by have this meeting. If they ever catch onto us or decide to stamp down on the sink then we’ll have no choice but to try and defend ourselves.”

“Yer, right on,” said Jimmy.

“You know what I think,” Tom was insistent, “I think if they come we could always just comply, let them do what they want and then maybe they’ll let us go.”

“Why?” murmured Eric, still teetering on the edge of his seat, “why would they let anyone go?”

“It makes sense,” said Tom, “they can’t lock everyone up and they certainly can’t kill everyone.”

“Can’t they?” questioned Donald, “it’s been done before, we all know that.”

“It wasn’t like that,” said Tom.

“Wasn’t it?” demanded Dave, pushing close to Tom “what planet have you been living on? Don’t tell me you’ve managed to put all that stuff out of your mind? Hidden it away somewhere?”

“No of course not,” said Tom, “but that was so long ago now, they’d never do it again, besides there was always the element of doubt.”

“Doubt?” snapped Don, “What the fuck do you mean doubt?”

“Well I didn’t mean anything by it,” said Tom defensively, “just that the government always said that they were terrorists and revolutionaries…”

“Oh, so you believed they were all enemies of the state, did you Tom?” demanded Dave, “since when? As I remember it, you were there with the rest of us on the picket lines demanding fair rights and decent incomes for all.”

“I know,” said Tom, “Look, stop … you’re getting me all mixed up.”

“Are you sure it isn’t you we should be worried about?” asked Dave, “I mean you’re the weak link here.”

“That’s enough, Dave,” said Donald. “Leave him alone.” Dave looked like he had more to say but shrugged instead and sat down. “Come on Tom, sit down and we can explain.” Tom fidgeted from foot to foot and then returned to his seat. “Alright, all of you listen … Terry was sent here on penal, for various reasons he got behind with his loans and rent and as we all know they don’t like it when you can’t pay.”

“So what you sayin’ now, he’s a debtor?” asked Eric, he rose up from his perch and looked towards the door, “’cause we all know, if they’ve got something on you like that, they use it.”

“Yeah,” said Lawrence, speaking for the first time, “he could be a plant or a snitch.”

“We‘re aware of the possibility,” said Don, “but Dad has thought this one through.”

“Oh?” questioned Eric; “Donald has done all of this, has he?”

“Come off it Eric,” said Dave “Donald’s got us where we are today.”

Eric breathed deeply, “Well go on, you might as well finish, we’re here, he’s here, let’s just hope he didn’t bring the police with him.”

“Do you think he could’ve done that?” asked Tom.

“No, you idiot,” said Dave, “he’s messing with you.”

“Are you Eric?” asked Tom, “Are you …”

“Well, Donald? Am I?” said Eric.

“Look I’ll level with you,” said Donald, “it’ll probably get out anyway … these things always do.”

“What will?” asked Lawrence.

“Terry used to work for Relocations.”

The room fell silent as they considered the implications.

“And we’re sat here, having this discussion?” asked Eric eventually.

“We should be in there,” Dave pointed to the kitchen, “beating the crap out of that bastard.”

“By all means be my guest,” offered Jimmy, “but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“He’s one of them, Donald,” pressed Eric, “he’s the enemy.”

“We should just leave now,” said Tom.

“No, he’s not,” said Donald forcefully, “he’s just like us.”

“How can he be?” demanded Dave, “he worked in Relocations, he could still work for them.”

“If he does then he must be some kinda masochist,” said Jimmy, “’cause they really beat the crap out of him, I’m not kidding.”

“Well, if they could do that then what use is he to us, I mean if he’s not that good a fighter he can’t….” began Lawrence.

“Oh, he can fight alright,” said Jimmy, “Don’t misunderstand, they had him trapped in a cell and they swamped him, not much anyone could do.”

“Okay,” said Lawrence, “but Donald, really? Relocations? And you think we can trust him?”

“Yes I do,” said Donald “and I think you should all talk with him, hear what he has to say, how he says it. Then I think you’ll understand my confidence in him.”

There was a moment of silence whilst each man thought a bit and scanned the reactions of his colleagues.

“Well, okay,” said Eric finally, “we’re here and so…well, I guess we should hear him out.”

“Okay then, I agree,” Dave nodded, illustrating the point, “you’ve never lead us wrong before Donald, so yeah, let’s have him in here.”

“I still don’t know,” said Tom.

“Well, if Don and Jimmy both go for it,” said Lawrence “I guess it might be okay.”

“We’re already in,” said Don, speaking for Jimmy who nodded vigorously.

“Tom?” asked Donald, “you know we need your ‘yes’ vote.”

“Oh, come on, for Christ sake,” said Dave, “strap on a pair won’t you.”

“Don’t you…” snapped Tom, pointing his finger at Dave, “you’re always riding me; I just don’t like the sound of it, that’s all. He’s already admitted to working for them in Relocations… I mean, Relocations,” his voice rose on the word, “so he must be one of them.”

“Look,” said Donald, “all I’m asking is that you listen to the boy and give him a chance.”

Tom looked down and clenched his trembling hands, “I don’t like it, Donald,” he said, “I really don’t.” He looked round for support and finding none, nodded once.

Consensus achieved, Donald quickly left the room and came back in with his daughter and Terry; hand in hand. Releasing Sandra gently Terry took up position into the middle of the room, casually maintaining a visual all round. He appeared relaxed and only mildly interested; a condition only Jimmy knew not to trust.

“Okay,” said Donald, “if you have anything you want to ask Terry, now’s the time.”

“Are you a spy for Relocations?” asked Dave, his head pushed forward, a belligerent terrier.

“Dad!” said Sandra.

“Oh come on, Dave,” said Eric, “that’s not how you do it.”

“Yeah, that’s right Dave,” said Tom, “you ask him.”

“Guys,” said Donald, “let’s just keep it civil shall we, okay.”

“It’s okay, Donald,” said Terry, “I was expecting this, look for what it’s worth I was never one of them and I was never a part of the system.”

“But you worked for them in Relocations,” said Eric, putting the same question but more gently.

“Yeah,” said Terry, “but remember, I was born into that stuff, I didn’t know the ins and outs of it all. It was just what was expected of me.”

“And that makes it alright does it?” asked Dave, “The fact that you didn’t know you were a Nazi bastard.”

“Dad,” said Sandra.

“Come on guys,” said Donald.

“And what do they expect of you now?” asked Lawrence.

“I think they expect me to rot,” answered Terry, “and to work for nothing until the day I die.”

“But you could understand us not trusting you,” said Lawrence, “I mean you were one of them.”

“As far as I knew, as far as any of us knew we were the good guys, it was the people we were relocating who were the villains, the thieves, the slobs, the benefit cheats, the lazy lay-a-bouts, the rebels, the revolutionaries, the trouble makers.”

“Okay,” said Don, “we get the picture.” He was affronted; Terry was not making defending him an easy task.

“Yeah, well,” said Terry, “it was all we knew, so it was only natural that we did everything that was expected of us. I mean my ex-colleagues are still in there doing it and they won’t know what’s wrong with that. As far as they’re concerned they are on the side of right.”

“But that doesn’t justify it,” said Dave, “it doesn’t justify anything.”

“I’m not saying it does,” said Terry.

“And it doesn’t excuse you,” added Eric.

“And I’m not looking for that either, I know now that what I did was wrong, that I was sending people to a ghetto. Not to put too fine a point on it - I know we were servants of a corrupt system, one designed to control and manipulate people. But that’s my burden and I expect to carry it.” He was doing his pompous bit but they didn’t seem to notice.

“Yeah,” said Tom, “but how do we know you aren’t still working for them?”

“Let me see…” Terry leaned his head to one side, pretending to consider the question. “I’ve lost my job, my home, I’m stuffed financially, I live in virtual squalor, I clean some of the most disgusting toilets you’ve ever seen, I’ve been abducted, beaten, starved, interrogated and generally fucked over, so exactly what kind of job description covers that?”

“It would fit comfortably with a plant,” said Eric.

Terry looked at him, “What can I say, if that’s what you think then I don’t know how to convince you otherwise.”

“I didn’t say it’s what I think,” said Eric, “I just said it’s what you’d expect of a plant.”

“Look,” said Donald, “let’s get this into perspective; we’re not a big crime syndicate or a major terrorist cell, we just smuggle stuff into the sink to help make people’s lives a bit better. They wouldn’t have to do these things to a plant, not for us, we’re low level on their books. They’d just have to have someone snooping around, someone who was inconspicuous and just fitted in, that doesn’t exactly cover Terry, does it?

“You’ve got a point,” said Dave, “he has stuck out a bit. And to be fair if they’re going to go to such lengths for a bit of smuggling, what would they have to do for real terrorists?”

“Probably beat them to death,” said Don smirking.

“And then piss on them,” added Jimmy.

“And burn the ashes.”

“Where’d the ashes come into it? And anyway, you can’t burn ashes, Don” said Eric.

“I know that, don’t I, it was just something to say.”

Donald lay back in his chair, listening to them bicker, ‘Sorted’.

“Alright, Donald,” said Eric, “I’m in.”

“Me too,” said Dave and Lawrence at the same time.

“Tom?” asked Donald.

Tom grimaced a bit, rubbed his hands then said, “I guess so, if everyone else thinks it’s ok, Donald, then I’m in too.”

“Good,” said Donald, “then let’s talk about the 23rd.”

Cheers for reading

Arun

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'Daydream Believers' is the Compendium edition which includes










'Wise Eyed 'Wise Eyed Open' is the Compendium edition which includes

FREE BOOK 'Corpalism' by Arun D Ellis from Amazon for Kindle/PC/mobile from Friday 28th Feb 2020 to Tues 3rd Mar 2020 - perhaps something to read whilst we're all in quarantine

The next meeting was being held at Donald’s. Terry had wanted to be there early but Donald had said he’d need time to prepare the rest of the committee. Reluctantly Terry’d agreed to arrive a little after the meeting started, about 8:15. The group was in place, desultory conversations underway before the meeting proper was called to order. Tom had arrived promptly, happy to have the meeting away from his home, and now stood in conversation with Jimmy who’d been filling the rest of them in on his brief spell in incarceration, some nonsense about birds falling and the Bible. Donald was still working out how to broach the subject of Terry when the doorbell rang, causing immediate consternation and a couple of those present got up to leave.

“It’s alright,” said Donald, “that’ll be Terry.”

“How’s that alright?” asked Tom.

“We’ve vetted him,” said Donald.

“Without the committee?” questioned Eric.

Sandra and Terry entered the room. Donald got up and whispered something in Sandra’s ear; she nodded and took Terry through to the kitchen.

“Yes, Eric” said Donald, “there were exceptional circumstances.”

“There must’ve been,” said Tom.

“Like what?” demanded Dave, a short man, pugnacious and handy-looking.

“Dad has it sorted,” said Don, stepping in to cover his father, “we’ll explain when Terry comes in.”

“I’m not sure I want to do this,” said Tom.

“I don’t see why we need anybody else,” said Eric, remaining seated but perched on the edge of the chair, a long-legged creature preparing for flight, “I mean, there are a lot of us already and the risks of discovery are only growing.”

“Come on Eric, Terry can help us,” said Don, now firmly convinced, he was displaying all the vigour in Terry’s defence of an ex-smoker denouncing the evil weed.

“He can fight,” said Jimmy, “I vouch for that and that comes in useful when you’re out there.”

“Maybe,” said Eric, “but what does that have to do with us? Why does he have to see us?”

“Because we’re all in this together,” said Donald, “besides I’m hoping he can teach us all to fight a bit.”

“What the hell for?” demanded Tom, “I’m not fighting anyone.”

“And what if we’re discovered ever? What do you think they’re going to do with us? Pat us on the head? Tell us we’ve been naughty?” Donald was almost biblical in his sudden fury. “You know what happened to Mike …they’re either going to murder us in our homes or in their cells or they’re going to throw us in prison, you know what kind of people exist in prison?”

“Nobody said any of this before,” said Tom, “I’ve never wanted any trouble, you know that, Donald.”

“D’you want to run the daily risk of being beaten to death? Of being murdered in your cell for the want of being able to handle yourself? Do you want to be gang raped in the showers?”

“No but,” struggled Tom.

“Oh, come on, Tom,” said Dave, “we’ve always known there’s risks to all this, that’s why you were so keen to get out the door just now.”

“But I don’t think we should antagonize them.”

“Look,” said Donald, striving for calm, “it’s a fact, we’re all breaking their laws by doing what we’re doing, we’re breaking them right now by have this meeting. If they ever catch onto us or decide to stamp down on the sink then we’ll have no choice but to try and defend ourselves.”

“Yer, right on,” said Jimmy.

“You know what I think,” Tom was insistent, “I think if they come we could always just comply, let them do what they want and then maybe they’ll let us go.”

“Why?” murmured Eric, still teetering on the edge of his seat, “why would they let anyone go?”

“It makes sense,” said Tom, “they can’t lock everyone up and they certainly can’t kill everyone.”

“Can’t they?” questioned Donald, “it’s been done before, we all know that.”

“It wasn’t like that,” said Tom.

“Wasn’t it?” demanded Dave, pushing close to Tom “what planet have you been living on? Don’t tell me you’ve managed to put all that stuff out of your mind? Hidden it away somewhere?”

“No of course not,” said Tom, “but that was so long ago now, they’d never do it again, besides there was always the element of doubt.”

“Doubt?” snapped Don, “What the fuck do you mean doubt?”

“Well I didn’t mean anything by it,” said Tom defensively, “just that the government always said that they were terrorists and revolutionaries…”

“Oh, so you believed they were all enemies of the state, did you Tom?” demanded Dave, “since when? As I remember it, you were there with the rest of us on the picket lines demanding fair rights and decent incomes for all.”

“I know,” said Tom, “Look, stop … you’re getting me all mixed up.”

“Are you sure it isn’t you we should be worried about?” asked Dave, “I mean you’re the weak link here.”

“That’s enough, Dave,” said Donald. “Leave him alone.” Dave looked like he had more to say but shrugged instead and sat down. “Come on Tom, sit down and we can explain.” Tom fidgeted from foot to foot and then returned to his seat. “Alright, all of you listen … Terry was sent here on penal, for various reasons he got behind with his loans and rent and as we all know they don’t like it when you can’t pay.”

“So what you sayin’ now, he’s a debtor?” asked Eric, he rose up from his perch and looked towards the door, “’cause we all know, if they’ve got something on you like that, they use it.”

“Yeah,” said Lawrence, speaking for the first time, “he could be a plant or a snitch.”

“We‘re aware of the possibility,” said Don, “but Dad has thought this one through.”

“Oh?” questioned Eric; “Donald has done all of this, has he?”

“Come off it Eric,” said Dave “Donald’s got us where we are today.”

Eric breathed deeply, “Well go on, you might as well finish, we’re here, he’s here, let’s just hope he didn’t bring the police with him.”

“Do you think he could’ve done that?” asked Tom.

“No, you idiot,” said Dave, “he’s messing with you.”

“Are you Eric?” asked Tom, “Are you …”

“Well, Donald? Am I?” said Eric.

“Look I’ll level with you,” said Donald, “it’ll probably get out anyway … these things always do.”

“What will?” asked Lawrence.

“Terry used to work for Relocations.”

The room fell silent as they considered the implications.

“And we’re sat here, having this discussion?” asked Eric eventually.

“We should be in there,” Dave pointed to the kitchen, “beating the crap out of that bastard.”

“By all means be my guest,” offered Jimmy, “but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“He’s one of them, Donald,” pressed Eric, “he’s the enemy.”

“We should just leave now,” said Tom.

“No, he’s not,” said Donald forcefully, “he’s just like us.”

“How can he be?” demanded Dave, “he worked in Relocations, he could still work for them.”

“If he does then he must be some kinda masochist,” said Jimmy, “’cause they really beat the crap out of him, I’m not kidding.”

“Well, if they could do that then what use is he to us, I mean if he’s not that good a fighter he can’t….” began Lawrence.

“Oh, he can fight alright,” said Jimmy, “Don’t misunderstand, they had him trapped in a cell and they swamped him, not much anyone could do.”

“Okay,” said Lawrence, “but Donald, really? Relocations? And you think we can trust him?”

“Yes I do,” said Donald “and I think you should all talk with him, hear what he has to say, how he says it. Then I think you’ll understand my confidence in him.”

There was a moment of silence whilst each man thought a bit and scanned the reactions of his colleagues.

“Well, okay,” said Eric finally, “we’re here and so…well, I guess we should hear him out.”

“Okay then, I agree,” Dave nodded, illustrating the point, “you’ve never lead us wrong before Donald, so yeah, let’s have him in here.”

“I still don’t know,” said Tom.

“Well, if Don and Jimmy both go for it,” said Lawrence “I guess it might be okay.”

“We’re already in,” said Don, speaking for Jimmy who nodded vigorously.

“Tom?” asked Donald, “you know we need your ‘yes’ vote.”

“Oh, come on, for Christ sake,” said Dave, “strap on a pair won’t you.”

“Don’t you…” snapped Tom, pointing his finger at Dave, “you’re always riding me; I just don’t like the sound of it, that’s all. He’s already admitted to working for them in Relocations… I mean, Relocations,” his voice rose on the word, “so he must be one of them.”

“Look,” said Donald, “all I’m asking is that you listen to the boy and give him a chance.”

Tom looked down and clenched his trembling hands, “I don’t like it, Donald,” he said, “I really don’t.” He looked round for support and finding none, nodded once.

Consensus achieved, Donald quickly left the room and came back in with his daughter and Terry; hand in hand. Releasing Sandra gently Terry took up position into the middle of the room, casually maintaining a visual all round. He appeared relaxed and only mildly interested; a condition only Jimmy knew not to trust.

“Okay,” said Donald, “if you have anything you want to ask Terry, now’s the time.”

“Are you a spy for Relocations?” asked Dave, his head pushed forward, a belligerent terrier.

“Dad!” said Sandra.

“Oh come on, Dave,” said Eric, “that’s not how you do it.”

“Yeah, that’s right Dave,” said Tom, “you ask him.”

“Guys,” said Donald, “let’s just keep it civil shall we, okay.”

“It’s okay, Donald,” said Terry, “I was expecting this, look for what it’s worth I was never one of them and I was never a part of the system.”

“But you worked for them in Relocations,” said Eric, putting the same question but more gently.

“Yeah,” said Terry, “but remember, I was born into that stuff, I didn’t know the ins and outs of it all. It was just what was expected of me.”

“And that makes it alright does it?” asked Dave, “The fact that you didn’t know you were a Nazi bastard.”

“Dad,” said Sandra.

“Come on guys,” said Donald.

“And what do they expect of you now?” asked Lawrence.

“I think they expect me to rot,” answered Terry, “and to work for nothing until the day I die.”

“But you could understand us not trusting you,” said Lawrence, “I mean you were one of them.”

“As far as I knew, as far as any of us knew we were the good guys, it was the people we were relocating who were the villains, the thieves, the slobs, the benefit cheats, the lazy lay-a-bouts, the rebels, the revolutionaries, the trouble makers.”

“Okay,” said Don, “we get the picture.” He was affronted; Terry was not making defending him an easy task.

“Yeah, well,” said Terry, “it was all we knew, so it was only natural that we did everything that was expected of us. I mean my ex-colleagues are still in there doing it and they won’t know what’s wrong with that. As far as they’re concerned they are on the side of right.”

“But that doesn’t justify it,” said Dave, “it doesn’t justify anything.”

“I’m not saying it does,” said Terry.

“And it doesn’t excuse you,” added Eric.

“And I’m not looking for that either, I know now that what I did was wrong, that I was sending people to a ghetto. Not to put too fine a point on it - I know we were servants of a corrupt system, one designed to control and manipulate people. But that’s my burden and I expect to carry it.” He was doing his pompous bit but they didn’t seem to notice.

“Yeah,” said Tom, “but how do we know you aren’t still working for them?”

“Let me see…” Terry leaned his head to one side, pretending to consider the question. “I’ve lost my job, my home, I’m stuffed financially, I live in virtual squalor, I clean some of the most disgusting toilets you’ve ever seen, I’ve been abducted, beaten, starved, interrogated and generally fucked over, so exactly what kind of job description covers that?”

“It would fit comfortably with a plant,” said Eric.

Terry looked at him, “What can I say, if that’s what you think then I don’t know how to convince you otherwise.”

“I didn’t say it’s what I think,” said Eric, “I just said it’s what you’d expect of a plant.”

“Look,” said Donald, “let’s get this into perspective; we’re not a big crime syndicate or a major terrorist cell, we just smuggle stuff into the sink to help make people’s lives a bit better. They wouldn’t have to do these things to a plant, not for us, we’re low level on their books. They’d just have to have someone snooping around, someone who was inconspicuous and just fitted in, that doesn’t exactly cover Terry, does it?

“You’ve got a point,” said Dave, “he has stuck out a bit. And to be fair if they’re going to go to such lengths for a bit of smuggling, what would they have to do for real terrorists?”

“Probably beat them to death,” said Don smirking.

“And then piss on them,” added Jimmy.

“And burn the ashes.”

“Where’d the ashes come into it? And anyway, you can’t burn ashes, Don” said Eric.

“I know that, don’t I, it was just something to say.”

Donald lay back in his chair, listening to them bicker, ‘Sorted’.

“Alright, Donald,” said Eric, “I’m in.”

“Me too,” said Dave and Lawrence at the same time.

“Tom?” asked Donald.

Tom grimaced a bit, rubbed his hands then said, “I guess so, if everyone else thinks it’s ok, Donald, then I’m in too.”

“Good,” said Donald, “then let’s talk about the 23rd.”

Cheers for reading

Arun


Amazon.co.uk
https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B007PJJE2...


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

FREE BOOK 'Corpalism' by Arun D Ellis from Amazon for Kindle/PC/mobile from Friday 28th Feb 2020 to Tues 3rd Mar 2020 - perhaps something to read whilst we're all in quarantine

7:25 p.m.

“All I’m saying,” said the Pirate, “is that the super heroes stick up for the establishment.”

“They do not,” said Mr. Spock.

“No, hear me out, they all fight to preserve the status quo and thus defend and preserve the rights of the rich.”

“Rubbish,” said Mr. Spock.

“Okay,” said the Pirate, “what about Batman?”

“Well, he’s rich anyway,” said Mr. Spock, “so it’s hardly surprising.”

“All the villains, some of whom have had what can only be described as a raw deal, are victimised by this dude with loadsa cash who has the law in his back pocket and can spend as much as he wants on god knows what kind of weapons.”

“OK, but look at the Penguin and the Joker,” said Mr. Spock, “they were pretty evil dudes, man.”

“Really? I’d like to see how you turned out if your parents dumped you down a sewer just for being deformed and ugly… Batman’s parents loved him but were gunned down, he inherited a fortune and look at what kind of nut job he turned into.”

“Not the same,” said Spock, “Penguin and Joker are insane, they have to be put down or they’ll kill everyone just for laughs.”

“It still doesn’t change my point,” said the Pirate, “all super heroes stick up for the establishment, there’s never one that fights for the rights of the ordinary man.”

“What about the Hulk?” said Mr. Spock, “He’s always attacking the establishment?”

“Yeah, but not with purpose,” said the Pirate, “it’s always random and chaotic.”

“So?” said Mr. Spock, “It still disproves your point.”

“No, because the Hulk isn’t fighting for anyone or any particular cause and he’s portrayed as bad for what he does; the establishment is always portrayed as being on the side of right.”

“Yeah, but you always feel sorry for the Hulk, don’t you,” said Mr. Spock.

“That’s not the same thing, that’s just sympathy for another poor sucker who got screwed by the establishment.”

“Okay, what about Spider Man?” said Mr. Spock, “He fights villains and he protects everyone.”

“Hey, you two,” Charlie Chaplin interrupted the debate with a bang of his glass, “any chance we can talk about something else?”

“But again,” said the Pirate, “Spidey's fighting crime and geezers who are stealing huge amounts of money from the banks or the state. He’s maintaining the status quo.”

“No he’s not,” said Mr. Spock, “he’s always defending the little guy.”

Charlie Chaplin nodded vigorously, and nudged the Lone Ranger to do likewise.

“Only because the little guy gets in the way of the action,” said the Pirate, “the real plot is always about power, wealth and greed and that is way above the average person’s status so it has to be about protecting the rich again, about protecting those with all the wealth against those who are trying to take it.”

“That’s bollocks,” said Mr. Spock, “Okay, what about Superman, he’s always sticking up for the man in the street.”

“Again,” said the Pirate, “that’s only because the little man gets in the way.”

“Rubbish,” said Mr. Spock, “this is all just silly twaddle.”

“No it’s not,” said the Pirate, “and I can prove it.”

“Okay prove it,” said Mr. Spock.

“Yeah, prove it,” mimicked Charlie Chaplin.

“Okay,” said the Pirate, “all of the super heroes, they all have special powers which lift them above all others, am I right?”

“Yeah, that’s right, that being the point of super powers….”

“And enables them to fight crime?”

“Right.”

“Right,” echoed Charlie, now seriously bored.

“But the only crime they fight is against the poor down and outs who are resorting to the only means they have available, namely violent crime, to get ahead in this warped and twisted world. Does Batman ever arrest a banker? Does Superman ever grab hold of a devious politician? Does Spiderman ever…..”

“Oh what?” said Charlie, “Now, that’s just silly…hey, Tranny tell him he's bein’ silly.”

He looked across at the Transvestite who was completely absorbed, trying to win back all the money he’d lost on the fruit machine. “Oh, don’t bother…”

“No, it’s not,” said the Pirate, “everyone knows that the real crime is white collar crime.”

“He’s right, you know” said Hiawatha.

“What?” said Mr. Spock, “I didn’t know you were listening.”

“I wasn’t,” said Hiawatha, “but it’s our round so the Lone Ranger is getting ‘em in.”

“Oh, ok,” said Mr. Spock, “but you’re both wrong.”

“No, we’re not,” said Hiawatha, “it’s all just part of our social conditioning and it starts when we’re young.”

“Here we go,” said Charlie Chaplin, “Karla Marx is off and running.”

“No,” said Hiawatha, “I’m not going to say anything else other than that the whole deal with super heroes, as the Pirate says, is to protect the rich, protect the powerful, maintain the state and to punish the poor villain who is just trying to get ahead.”

“Poor villain who’s just trying to get ahead?” wailed Mr. Spock, “are you completely mad, woman? We’re talking about some real sick fucks here.”

“Actually we’re talking about comic books,” said Hiawatha, “which isn’t quite the same thing…and don’t call me ‘woman’.”

“Huh,” sighed Mr. Spock, “well you’ve ruined that simple pleasure for me, haven’t you.”

“No,” said Hiawatha, “the underlying truth remains that comic book heroes and the spin off films are designed to get us to relate to the rich and to want to fight to maintain the status quo, to fight to keep the rich and the poor in their accustomed place.”

“No!” hissed Charlie, “That’s a big leap!”

“She’s right though,” said the Pirate, “and as I was saying, these super heroes have super powers but do they ever use them to lead the people in a revolutionary war of freedom?”

“A what?” said Mr. Spock.

“A revolutionary war of freedom, he said,” Hiawatha responded crisply, “and I agree. Does Superman fly to Thailand and free the kids slaving in the sweat shops owned by the rich corporations? No, he doesn’t. Does Batman break into prison and free the wrongfully convicted and over sentenced black man whose rights were trampled on when he was incarcerated? No, he doesn’t. Does Spider man break into a house in suburbia and beat up the abusive and violent husband? No, he doesn’t.”

“Do the Fantastic Four ever fly out to third world countries and defend the rights of the poor civilians against greedy American corporations? No, they don’t,” said the Pirate, not to be outdone.

“They’re all just tools used by the state to maintain the status quo,” said Hiawatha.

“But they are entertaining, though,” said Charlie, trying to lighten the atmosphere.

“The truth is, we’ve forgotten who the real heroes are,” said Hiawatha, “all we have now are fantasy heroes, rich celebs, movie stars pretending to be heroes, pop stars and sports stars. What happened to real heroes like William Wilberforce or Lord Shaftesbury or Abe Lincoln or Washington or….?”

“Washington was a traitor,” said the Pirate, “and he led the revolution against us.”

“Against the King,” said Hiawatha.

“Oh yeah,” said the Pirate, “That’s okay then.”

“Oh, that’s ok then,” mimicked Charlie Chaplin, making a silly face, quite difficult to spot when dressed as a clown.

“And Oliver Cromwell, and …” said Hiawatha.

“My favourite,” said the Pirate, “Ollie Cromwell, cut off that bastard king’s head.”

“Oh yeah and what about Danton, Robespierre and Napoleon?” said Mr. Spock, “Heroes or villains?”

“Ask the French,” said the Pirate.

“Yeah right,” said Mr. Spock, “you just use the argument you want.”

“Actually I think the French revolution was good for the people,” said Hiawatha, “Okay it got a little out of hand….”

“A little out of hand?” said Mr. Spock, “Napoleon tried to take over the world.”

“Well he wouldn’t’ve done if the monarchies hadn’t tried to crush the revolution and tell me, what was so different between the French revolution and the American Revolution and our own revolution?” demanded Hiawatha.

“Well…” began Mr. Spock.

“Wow, it’s a crush up there,” said the Lone Ranger, returning to the table, drinks in hand, “If any of you lot want crisps say so now before it gets really chocker…”

“Yeah,” said the Pirate, “salt’n’vinegar.”

“Pork scratchins please,” said Mr. Spock.

“Oh yeah, me too,” said the Pirate.

“Make up your bloody mind,” said the Lone Ranger.

“I’ll have salt and vinegar as well,” said Hiawatha.

“As well as who? I’m having pork scratchins.”

“Cheese and Onion,” said Charlie Chaplin.

“What about Tranny?” asked the Lone Ranger.

“He’s in his own world,” said the Pirate, nodding over at the fruit machine, “just get him salt’n’vinegar.”

“He likes plain,” said Hiawatha.

The Lone Ranger gave her a dark look.

“I can’t help it,” she muttered, “I’m just sayin’.”

Hope you have a nice week

Cheers for reading

Arun


Amazon.co.uk
https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B007PJJE2...


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

FREE BOOK 'Corpalism' by Arun D Ellis from Amazon for Kindle/PC/mobile from Friday 28th Feb 2020 to Tues 3rd Mar 2020 - perhaps something to read whilst we're all in quarantine

The Barn
History is written by the victors.
Winston Churchill

“We might as well relax,” said Don, “we can’t do anything ‘til they get here.”

“Is that going to be a problem?” asked Terry.

“Could be,” said Don.

“Will the truck still be there?” asked Terry. Don narrowed his eyes; he’d thought Terry had been kept out of the loop on that one. “Oh, I’m not meant to know about a truck, am I?”

“I’m interested to hear how you do know,” said Don.

“Donald told me.”

“He wouldn’t do that,” said Don.

“Well, Sand persuaded him.”

Don thought about it for a second, “What else did he tell you?”

“Nothing.”

Don shrugged, still not convinced “We just need to bed down and sleep the day out.”

“Okay to knock up a quick brew?”

“Sure,” said Don, “they’re not Apaches you know.”

Terry laughed, “‘course not.”

∞

Working in Relocations had given Terry a healthy respect for Galaxy’s ability to link RR 2 RA, i.e. ‘Resource Requirements’ to ‘Resources Available’ across continents; it had not given him knowledge of other aspects of Galaxy’s achievements.

For example, he knew nothing about a recent insidious software update to Signus and its connection to the newly introduced SpyGrid, a network fed by the satellite permanently stationed above the UK. This satellite homed in on the chip located in the forearm of every UK citizen.

The ubiquitous, innocent chip; introduced two decades previously as a useful aide to the responsible citizen to enable quick access to funds and buildings, implanted on a voluntary and trial basis, now a mandatory tool of the state and as such, introduced in a simple operation at birth.

With the upgrade to Signus, and permission for its use embedded as a paragraph in the recent 400 page amendment to the Enabling Act and other anti-terrorist legislation, amendments required ostensibly to combat the recent spate of terrorist activities of groups like the Black Hands and the Red Freedoms, the chip could be used to inform the whereabouts of any UK citizen at any given time.

The data received from SpyGrid was filtered through the Signus databank; holding GPS information on the controlled location of each citizen and programmed to activate on receipt of location anomalies in the form of a warning notice to the security forces.

On the 24th June Don, Terry and Dale were flagged as location anomalies and, given their status as ghetto inhabitants, within seconds Signus was issuing the relevant alerts to the relevant security forces.

∞

Dale lit a small fire and started to brew up. He couldn’t for the life of him imagine what had happened, where the others were but he knew that somehow it would be his fault.

“Fuckin’ Jimmy,” he muttered, “he’s fuckin’ useless, he’s too fuckin’ slow.”

Dale sat back and pulled his coat tight, it was heavily overcast and he was cold. He looked up through the trees and saw the helicopter far off in the distance, moving back and forth along the same line. He watched it for several minutes before it started to bother him. The water started to boil in his cup so he removed it from the fire and added the tea bag. He wandered to the edge of the wood, saw 3 police vans parked down the bottom of the hill. Then he saw the line of coppers spread out along the hedge at the foot of the hill, “Shit!” Dale tossed his tea and ran off into the woods.

He kept a good pace for the five minutes it took him to get from one end of the small wood to the other where he stopped in his tracks; more police. This time they spotted him and as they started to run up the hill Dale darted off to his left. As he neared the edge of the wood he found more coppers, this time in the tree line. He ran back into the woods and threw himself into a bush but the helicopter had moved in closer and was now hovering above him; the pilot knew exactly where Dale was hiding from the beeping on his console.

He was surrounded. He burst from his hiding place and tried to break through the growing crowd but he was Tasered without warning and fell to the ground, writhing and twitching.

“Taser, Taser, Taser,” shouted another copper as he tasered Dale again.

“Hit him again,” shouted someone and Dale was tasered a third time. Then a fourth and a fifth. Then he stopped moving.

“Cuff him,” ordered a sergeant.

“Won’t need to Sarge,” said one, his finger on the pulse point on Dale’s neck. “ He’s a gonna.”

“It’s one of those O’Connell brothers - fuckin’ stupid mick,” said the sergeant.

∞

Terry was on first watch. He’d made another brew and sat watching the road; he saw the police vans arrive. He lay down and watched as the coppers piled out. Then he saw the helicopter far off in the distance. He wriggled backwards until he felt safe enough to rise to a crouch and scurry back to camp, “Don, Don.”

“What?” said Don shaking himself awake, “what is it?”

“Cops, an’ there’s a bear in the air.”

“What? A bear?” He was on his feet in a second.

“Chopper,” said Terry, pointing.

“But how?” queried Don.

“We should move,” said Terry. Don nodded but stayed where he was. “Which way?”

“I don’t really know,” said Don, “it’s never happened before.”

“Wha…?” asked Terry.

“We’ve never needed an escape route before,” said Don, “so we’ve never planned one.”

“Well we fuckin’ need one now,” hissed Terry, “I tell you I don’t fancy being caught by these fuckers.”

“Me neither,” said Don, “Let’s try this way.”

“Why that way?” asked Terry.

“Don’t ask me,” said Don “seems as good as any. You got a better idea?”

They ran through the wood for five heart-thumping minutes before pausing to catch their breath.

“What do you think?” asked Don. “Do you think they’re following?”

“Well, they’re here for something,” said Terry, “and I have a nasty feeling it’s us so yeah, I think they’re following.”

“Shit,” said Don.

“Hang on,” said Terry, “the chopper’s almost overhead.”

“Where?” asked Don.

“Get down,” said Terry, “let it pass over.”

It held position, hovering directly above them, a whirring arrow pointing to their exact location.

“What’s it doing?” asked Don.

“I don’t know,” said Terry.

“They can’t have seen us,” said Don.

“No,” agreed Terry, “so how do they know where we are?”

“We should move,” said Don.

“No, wait a bit; I need to think. How do they know we’re here? They can’t possibly know.”

“Terry,” hissed Don, “we gotta move.”

“I know that,” said Terry, “but how did they know where to find us?”

“Someone must’ve blabbed,” said Don. “Perhaps Jimmy and the others got caught and talked.”

“I don’t see Jimmy talking,” said Terry, “I don’t know about the others.”

“Sean would crack under pressure,” said Don.

“I guess he would at that,” said Terry, “but that still doesn’t explain how that chopper is hovering right above us”

“Coppers,” hissed Don pointing.

They ran into the trees, hoping to lose their pursuers in the density of the woods, leaping fallen trees and branches, tearing through bushes and stumbling over brambles for what felt like mile after mile, all the time hearing the shouts of police on their heels. Terry and Don were fit and highly motivated and gradually the distance between them and those in pursuit was lengthening; but somehow the helicopter stayed with them. They burst from the woods and ran down the hillside towards the road.

“There,” Terry shouted, pointing.

Don nodded and they headed for the lay by and the nearest car.

Terry ran to the driver’s side and wrenched open the door, “Get out!” he shouted, “NOW!”

The driver, startled out of any form of resistance, complied with alacrity. Besides him the car was empty. Terry threw it into gear and they sped off down the road; behind them the police huffed and puffed.

“How the fuck did they find us?” asked Terry.

“Don’t know,” said Don, “it’s never happened before.”

“But that was a lot of fucking police as well, what the hell kinda shit do you guys nick?”

“Nothin’ of any value” said Don, “not really.”

“Well they seem to think it is.”

“Where’re we going, anyway?”

“Fuck knows,” said Terry, looking at the dash, “not far by the looks of it. Bastard was out of gas…Where’s that chopper now?”

Don stuck his head out the window, “right above us,”

“They’ll have road blokes ahead then,” said Terry, “we need to get off the road, into the woods.”

“Here, quick, here,” said Don.

Terry swung the wheel and they bounced down a dirt track that lead directly to a rundown farm but no woods, no cover beyond a ramshackle barn.

“Good call,” said Terry sarcastically as they got out of the car; above them hovered the sentinel helicopter. “Check the farm house, I’ll check the barn.”

After a few minutes Don reappeared holding an unbroken shotgun. “Whoa, is that thing loaded?”

“No,” said Don, “I couldn’t find any cartridges.”

“Then what good is it?” asked Terry.

“Well it might prove useful,” said Don, “especially if we find some ammo.”

“Yeah,” said Terry, “don’t want to spoil your party but an old thing like that will only get us killed, besides a shot gun isn’t the best of weapons in this situation.”

“Why not?” asked Don.

“Short range and the spread of pellets – we’d need to be close,” said Terry, “what we need is a proper hunting rifle.”

“Yeah, well this is all we’ve got, how’d you know so much about guns, anyway?”

Terry looked up at the helicopter, “Well, it might be useful in a bluff,” he said, “Come on, we’d better move before they get here.”

Don and Terry jogged across the fields, cursing the invention of barbed wire, until they reached a derelict shed; the helicopter kept pace.

“What’s the point in running?” said Don, “We’re never gonna shake that thing off.”

“I know,” said Terry. “That’s why I wanted the rifle.”

Don looked at him with a modicum of respect, dropping the shotgun to the floor. Then he mumbled something and started looking round for somewhere to sit down.

“We don’t have time for that,” said Terry.

“Oh, what, you gonna out run a fuckin’ helicopter, are you?” asked Don, “’cause unless you can I don’t see the point in keeping on going.”

Terry looked up at the chopper just hovering way up in the sky, “Bastards.”

“Why are you really here, Terry?” Terry turned and scoured the fields behind them. “I mean, ‘I got sacked’ is a bit thin, isn’t it?”

“Might well be, but it’s what happened.”

“Come on,” said Don, “you can tell me, cops are about to wrap us up, game over, nothing to hide and all that.”

“As I said,” said Terry, “I got sacked.”

“Really? Why? You had it made, why’d you be such an idiot?” Terry’s expression was not friendly but Don wanted answers. “Look, all I’ve even known is the sink; I’m fucked, always was and always will be, never had a hope, never had a chance but you? From the sounds of it you had everything, why fuck it up?”

Terry turned away, “Dunno.”

“That’s not good enough,” said Don angrily, “you had everything Terry. We got nothing. We struggle with poverty every day and no-one gives a fuck.”

“Cops,” said Terry as the first one crested the hill. He was a way off and seemed in no hurry to proceed; he’d out stripped his mates and appeared to be waiting for back-up. Besides the helicopter place marker was still in situ.

“So, what was so bad with your life that you had to go and fuck it up?” demanded Don.

“We better move,” said Terry.

“No!” said Don, “Not until you tell me why you fucked it all up?”

“Fuck off!” snapped Terry.

“I’m serious,” said Don, “Why’d ‘you fuck it up?”

“I just didn’t fit in, that’s all.”

“Oh! Come on,” yelled Don, “What kinda crap is that? I didn’t fit in. Bollocks.”

“Fuck you,” yelled Terry. Don grabbed Terry’s coat, as he did so Terry turned, breaking Don’s hold with the motion and threw him to the floor, “I said …I didn’t fit in.”

“An’ what?” said Don, rolling over into a seated position, “this suits you more does it? Living on the sink?”

“Actually it does,” said Terry. Don’s incredulous, sneering expression tipped Terry into abrupt fury. “What do you know about life out there? It’s not so fuckin’ great, ya know.”

“Well it’s gotta be a damn sight better than on the sink,” said Don.

“Really? Have you got tuition fee debts hanging around your fuckin’ neck? You got a mortgage you could never fuckin’ hope to pay off? Massive loans with inflated fuckin’ rates of interest bleeding you dry? Credit cards all max’d out to their fuckin’ limit sucking the life out of you?”

Don stared up at him, unimpressed.

“Not to mention the ever increasing rate of inflation, the cost of fuel, and food, exorbitant taxation, VAT. Oh yeah I had it cosy alright, working all hours … the minute we’re born we were saddled with debt. D’you realise that? D’you have any idea how much it costs to have a baby? £50 grand! …who do you think gets saddled with that debt? The parents? No, the baby. It’s marked on your fuckin’ chip,” Terry waved his forearm in Don’s general direction, “as soon as you start earning they start taking the money back. Can you believe that? Giving birth costs money. You have to pay a hospital. You have to pay tax on it. How the fuck did the human species ever get out of the jungle if you need hospitals to have a baby? How the fuck did we progress without taxation? Does any other creature on the planet have to pay to have a baby? Does it? Does it have to pay taxes? NO! But we do in spades and why?”

Don was now on his feet, dusting himself down, he didn’t answer.

“Because the state and the wealthy want us in debt from word go” Terry fairly frothed as he answered his own question, “so we’ll be willing to work and keep the wealthy living a life of luxury, but yeah, you’re right Don, I had it made, we all did.”

“We still have to pay for stuff in the sink, you know,” said Don.

“Oh yeah, what?” demanded Terry, “most of you are on benefits and those who are working are on bare minimum so don’t meet the income ceiling.”

“Babies cost the same for poor people as well, you know,” said Don.

“Yeah, but you’ll never be expected to pay, will you?” snapped Terry, “’cause you’ll never earn enough to activate your chip, but those of us working in the system just get shafted every which way.”

Don smirked, “so that’s why you got sacked – bein’ arsey.”

“Yeah, well, fuck you,” said Terry, a grudging smile in his eyes.

Don scanned the sky line; he counted about twenty coppers, moving in tight formation across the field, “We’d better get moving.”

Terry bent down and picked up the shotgun, “You don’t say.”

Cheers for reading

Arun


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

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FREE BOOK from Amazon for Kindle/PC/mobile from Friday 28th Feb 2020 to Tues 3rd Mar 2020 - perhaps something to read whilst we're all in quarantine

The Independents -The Debt Makers

“Hello, my name is Sandeep Rajan and I’m standing as independent candidate for London Borough of Ealing and like my esteemed colleagues, I have no party affiliation. Whilst I thank Chris for diplomatically introducing me as an entrepreneur, which I am, yet I prefer to stand before you in unvarnished truth: I’m an ex-trader who made and lost a lot of money in this broken system of ours and that makes me a bit of an expert in how it all works and what we actually did with all the money.”

He stood quietly, waiting politely to give the floor time to exercise their democratic right to boo him off the stage. Instead the audience greeted his words with complete silence; he decided to take this as permission to continue.

“I’m only going to speak to you briefly but I’m going to discuss ‘austerity’, why we have austerity and what they want from us.”

Silence; broken by the odd cough.

“As we all know the banks lost a lot of money back in 2008. We know this because they told us; we had the threat of a financial Armageddon. But was it the truth? What really happened with the banking crisis? What really happened to all of that money and whose was it in the first place?”

A few people leaned forward, more alert, interested.

“Well the banks definitely lost a lot of money, and that’s for sure. But what they didn’t tell you is that they lost all of the money, everything, all of it,” he used quiet emphasis, no shouting and that somehow made it all the more believable. “And by that I don’t just mean what they had in their vaults” he shook his head slightly; “I mean all of the imaginary money as well.”

He left that with them for a few moments, glanced over at Colin, received a nod of affirmation then continued, “I have assumed you know how the banking system works, although a lot of people don’t. So, if you will forgive me, I will go through the process for you.”

He walked away from the rostrum, towards the front of the stage, the better to engage; a slim figure, immaculate in a bespoke city suit, an impossibly white shirt and expensive shoes. He hadn’t thought it tactful to dress down, clearly.

“A lot of people don’t realize how much of a confidence trick the whole process is; most people think that money comes from the government, and that Parliament dictates the amount of money that the Bank of England distributes. However, that is not the case, the banks do that.”

He waited for a response but there wasn’t much forthcoming.

“When someone puts their money in a bank, say £100 for simplicity sake… the bank can lend 90% of that money to someone and keep 10% in their vaults. In other words, the bank can lend £90 to someone who spends it and the £90.00 they spend ends up being deposited in another bank. That bank can then lend 90% of that £90 to someone else; or £81, as long as it keeps 10%, in this case, £9, in its vaults. The £81 is spent and ends up in another bank and this bank can lend 90% of that or £72.90 to another person and so it goes on. So what have we got? Add it up…we’ve lent out £90 + £81 + £72.90. So in total we’ve lent out £243.90 in three transactions when there was only ever £100 in the first place. And this practice goes on and on with ever larger sums of money. They even have a name for it; it’s called Fractional Reserve Banking.”

There was some shuffling in the audience and some noises indicating increased interest and, Sandeep hoped, a slight lessening of hostility. “And that’s only the tip of it,” he said, excitement in his voice, “because what do you think they issue money against in the first place?”

He scanned the crowd, “Did someone say gold? No, no, we’re no longer on the gold standard; we’re not on any standard. They just issue money, and that’s it.”

He drank some water from a bottle he’d brought with him. “Let’s say, for argument’s sake, that you want a loan. You phone up the bank and say ‘Hi, I want to borrow £10,000’”. There was a stifled titter from the crowd and Sandeep smiled, “Well, how does it go after that? If your credit rating is good they will lend it to you, if your credit rating is not, then they will not. That is all there is to it. They don’t go to their vault and see how much is in there….They don’t get a warning come up on their screens saying ‘not enough money left’…They just give it to you and add your debt to their figures, it’s as simple as that.”

He paused, comfortable and relaxed, sipped more water, “so the question now is, if the banks don’t really have the money in their vaults and they just make up the money they lend to you… who are the banks? …Surely, you might say, it must be the government…it must be regulated in some way. They can’t just lend money they don’t have, surely? ...But they can and they do. The banks are owned and run by private investors. The private investors are making up the amount of money that they want to lend out and for this service they are charging you interest.”

There was a stunned silence; in part because a lot of the audience hadn’t ever thought about the concept before and in part because now they were being forced to do so and weren’t sure what to make of it.
Sandeep gave them time, then judging them ready, continued, “Let me put it another way …you go into a shop and you buy a chair, and what have you got? Simple…You’ve got a chair, it’s solid, 3 dimensional, and you can sit on it, it’s real… but if you phone a bank for a loan they type a few things into a computer and you have a loan. You have no real money, you understand, you have pretend money that you can spend on their say so.”

He paused to look around the hall, no doubt, they were all listening now “They pass the numbers across to your bank account and when you spend it the numbers go to another bank. There’s no requirement to dig hard cash out of a vault; they transfer the numbers across on the PC. It’s a numbers game and they have us all trapped in it. Our wages are paid directly into the banks. Who amongst you can remember when that was not the case? Or has older relatives who tell you about those days when paper money appeared in a little brown envelope in your hand each Friday? The good old days when you could choose to put your cash in a box under the bed or into a building society? It is now a job requirement that you have a bank account; you have no choice. You are encouraged to pay by direct debits, incentivised so to do, the transfer is made invisibly from your bank to another bank, you don’t see any cash, so where is the money? Where is the real money?”

Sandeep stared around the hall, “Think about it, they’ve lent you something that doesn’t exist. It isn’t theirs, they haven’t taken any hard earned cash out of their pockets, it’s not real, it’s just made up money, but they’re going to charge you interest on this. They’re going to charge you interest on money that doesn’t exist, that they never had, that isn’t theirs and isn’t real. But they are going to charge you real interest on it; they are going to take money by direct debit directly from your bank. And make no mistake – this is real money which you have earned by your labour, and the banks are going to deduct this from your wages to cover interest on money that never existed.”

Sandeep watched whilst the audience digested his words, then launched again, “We accept this craziness because we think we get something out of the deal; a new car, the latest TV or a new kitchen. What we ignore is that we are being robbed by the banks. The only real money in this whole process is your money, you pay back real money on the loan and you pay back real money on the interest. They have lost nothing during the period of the loan. So, to recap, what they lent you did not exist so the lack of it for the period costs them nothing, the interest they charge is pure profit on a loan of nothing. It’s a cheap confidence trick.”

He paused briefly, “Well when deregulation started to come in the high street banks merged with the investment banks they started gambling with people’s savings, then we had the subprime loans - all of which combined to lead to the ultimate crash, now what was the crash? I mean what happened and what did it actually mean?”

He seemed to actually expect answers from the floor but it appeared no-one was willing to betray ignorance, so he was forced to continue, “Not to put too fine a point on it, the banks lost all of the money, not just the real money in their vaults but all of the made up money as well. They lost everything; which is why people started talking about a financial Armageddon. But was it really that bad? This is the big question because it’s why we have austerity today and why if they get their way, we will have austerity for decades to come.”

Sandeep paused again to let his words sink in, “I can see a question in your eyes…” some in the audience turned to look at their neighbours, “You’re asking, if the banks created all the money from nothing in the first place why, when they’ve lost everything, don’t they just go and create more?”

He lifted his hands and his shoulders went up, “The answer is simple; the banks never created any real money in the first place, they simply created the impression of money. Now people have lost faith and want their real money back from the banks that haven’t got it to give them.”

He drank more water from his bottle, “So now the banks have creditors on their backs; they have debts they cannot honour and if they were an ordinary company they would have gone bankrupt. They would’ve crashed without a government bailout and by government you need to read taxpayer… you and me. So if we had let the banks fail? What then? Well, you and I, the small investor would have lost our savings and that’s bad. We would have lost a few thousand, but would still have our homes and our jobs.”

Sandeep looked around the hall, “And the pension schemes, they would have lost a fortune as investments turned bad and share prices crashed. But that is an even spread, bad news for some, but not disastrous.”

There was movement in the hall, as they wondered where he was going with this.

“Then there’s the super rich investor, the millionaire, the billionaire; the wealthy 1%. Where do you suppose their money actually is? It’s invested by the financial services, by the banks and that is the reason the banks weren’t allowed to fail.”

He left a moment for his audience to absorb his point, “The banks were bailed out using PAYE tax payers money only because the wealthy 1% were about to lose everything; this greedy 1% of individuals would have lost all of their millions, all of their billions, their many homes, their jets, their yachts and their livelihoods. They would have been rendered poor. That is why the governments bailed out the banks, not to save us but to protect the investments of the rich, of the wealthy, of the 1%.”

Finally, applause from the hall.

“The wheels have come off the wagon but they will not admit that this is due to their profligacy and bad management. They are using our money to prop up these institutions to protect the super-rich, so that the rich 1% can keep their investments and keep cashing in their interest payments, and keep hold of their valueless shares until the market recovers, so they can keep their many houses and yachts and jets and fleets of cars.”

More applause and a few cheers, some people were standing to clap.

“That is why we really have austerity; we have austerity so that you and I can give more of our hard-earned money to the government so that it can continue to bail out the rich. That is the reason you are being taxed so heavily, that is the reason they are privatising the NHS, the reason they have raised VAT, the reason they are cutting public services, and that is the reason they are reducing funding to councils who in turn are reducing community services.”

He walked to the edge of the stage, clearly emotional for the first time.

“ Make no mistake about it…they are robbing the poor to pay the rich; robbing the 99% to prop up the 1%.... and it is not fair, it is not just and ….it is not democratic.”

The hall erupted.


Cheers

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