 
### A disparate jumble of short stories that will hopefully entertain the reader

### They may make you laugh or make you cry - they may even make you wonder why?

Table of Contents:

  1. An Urban Family & the Para-Olympics.

  2. A Terrorist Plot

  3. The Boy Who Could See

  4. A Ministers Lot (sketch)

  5. A Spooky Warning

  6. Anthropocine Decline (A novella)

  7. Not Brexit Again!

### An Urban Family & the Para-Olympics.

Miriam was at the sink as usual, but she didn't find it a drudge. The window looked out onto her small garden, where there was nearly always some activity going on. At the moment it was her two daughters, Mollie and Megan, who were enjoying their Easter break from school. It was a late Easter and the weather was warm; thankfully. She preferred the girls outside in the fresh air to being cooped up in their small but adequate, semi-detached, suburban home.

'Mum,' called her youngest, aged seven, from the edge of the patch of lawn by the flower beds.

'What is it Mollie?' Miriam replied, looking towards her daughter.

'Megan is walking in the flower bed and there is a lot of buzzing. Will she get stung?' Miriam noted a hint of glee in Mollies question, thinking her sister might be attacked by a swarm of insects.

'No, if she is careful and doesn't alarm them, they won't harm her. Did you tidy up the patch by the shed?' There was some disappointment or resignation in her daughters response, as she confirmed they had finished the small chore, but realised that the possible element of excitement in seeing her sister fleeing from an angry swarm of bees was not about to happen.

They came through the door arguing. 'I saw more birds than you did, and more bees. What's more, I know what they are called,' shouted Mollie defiantly.

'Mum, can you tell her it isn't a competition, and unless one of us is blind or not paying attention, we can both see the same things,' responded Megan in exasperation.

'That's enough you two, go and wash, it looks like you have been crawling in the compost. Lunch is nearly ready.' The two girls exchanged devilish looks and bounded up the stairs.

Their garden wasn't big, but Miriam had planted herbs, wild flowers and a variety of small plants to encourage wild life, serving as a reminder of fields near where she grew up. There were also feeders for the birds, and a neglected patch, deliberately left untidy alongside the compost, for any small mammal in need of a home. Her intention was to recycle as much as possible, but it didn't always work out as well as in her original plans. Her thoughts were disturbed by noises from upstairs.

'That's enough you two, come down, I am putting lunch on the table. Do you have to do everything at full pelt? Can't either of you act responsibly?' Again the mischievous looks, as one attempted to apportion blame on the other. 'Sit down and we will have talk about what you did outside, and what you saw.'

'I saw the biggest bumble bee in the world,' said Mollie, jumping in first.

'It was a queen bee, searching for a nesting site,' said Megan. 'We have been doing insects in our school biology classes.'

'That's very good,' replied Miriam enthusiastically. 'Have they told you how many types of bee there are as well?'

'Not exactly, I don't think they know precisely, although the teacher said around twenty thousand.'

'Yes, that's right. We had farms near where I used to live when I was your age, and there was a beekeeper on the edge of the village where we bought our local honey.'

'Ooh, was it nice?' asked Mollie.

'Yes, from what I can remember, it was very nice,' Miriam answered with a wistful note. 'We had a lot of fresh products, there was even a farm shop, before they became popular and expensive. Do you know anything about bees Mollie?' Mollie thought hard.

'They have yellow stripes and fly between flowers and make honey.'

'Well, yes, but there is a lot more to it than that. We'll take a ride out to Giles's farm some- time this week, and visit the bee keeper sanctuary. Would you like that?'

'Umm, I think so, but I don't want to get stung.' Replied Mollie: before Megan could answer.

'No, they are very careful to ensure you are protected; the rules are very strict these days.'

'Will Dad come with us?' asked Megan.

'I don't know. He has to maintain a very strict training regime, and with the para-Olympics starting soon, he is under a lot of pressure to improve. The world will be watching and you wouldn't want him to let everyone down who has worked so hard to help him achieve his chance of fame now, would you?'

'No, it is just that we rarely see him these days. He has left before we get up, and rarely gets home before we go to bed; and he is always with that awful man.'

'I know dear; I miss him too. The accident was just one of the tragedies of life, but at least he has recovered and is nearly as good as before. The man has to help daddy with some of his exercises, and to make sure he stays focused on the task ahead. We will all go and see him perform at the Olympic stadium; don't you want to do that?'

'Of course I do. When it is over, will daddy be able to spend time with us again, he is funny, and plays games.'

'We shall have to wait and see. I don't want to press him whilst he is under a lot of pressure, it wouldn't be fair. That's enough now, if you are going back outside, don't disturb the bees, they are busy, they have an important job to do. What you can do for me is: find out how important their work is and how it affects us here, at home ...

The hive was a in a state of frenzied activity. The queen bee had found an ideal home and was busy producing numerous offspring. Most of her offspring would be worker bees, all of them female, a lesser number of male drones and just a few pliable queens. The nest must be built quickly and workers sent out foraging for food to supply the rapidly growing array of eggs. Ooh; occasionally she felt a twinge as an egg came out awkwardly. Time had come to produce a queen, so it was a little larger than the workers, and seemed to appear a little different. There could be problems with too many queens in the nest so she kept a careful watch on them, limiting their numbers, after all there had to be successors, but this one was odd. Was it an omen?

A little more than two weeks later a small queen emerged from her cocoon like wrapping, struggling to rid herself from the tiny cell. She was welcomed by the numerous workers, who praised her generous features.

'Well my dear, what shall we call you? We are starting to run out of names; it needs to be something royal, to suit your stature.' Bzzzz, bzzzz, bzzzz, was all the new edition could emit. But so loud!

'My word, that is a loud buzz; I know, we will call you Buzzbee, it isn't very royal - but it is apt.'

Buzzbee just buzzed some more whilst being fed, and told to calm down. It wasn't too long before she was becoming well known in the hive, eventually coming to the attention of the queen.

'It just won't do dear. I am the one supposed to receive all the attention; you will have to go. Take some drones with you and start another nest; there isn't room for both of us.' Buzzbee was devastated, where would she go? She had better start looking around, but where? Up until now she had only ventured out a small distance from the nest.

It was during one of her forays that she came across a small garden with flowers and plants; at least it would provide some food, and possibly shelter whilst she searched for a new home. There was little noticeable danger in the garden, although some human activity had to be put up with. Her experience with humans was minimal, but the few she came across did not give cause for concern. There were many other bees and insects for company, so for the time being she was content in her new surroundings...

'Quick you two, we are going to be late. You don't want to miss daddy's big day do you?' Miriam had the tickets and instructions, but as she wasn't sure of traffic and local conditions with all the crowds, she wanted to leave in plenty of time. As it turned out, reaching the site was easier than anticipated, with staff and volunteers moving huge numbers of people from all over the world to their allocated places with clockwork efficiency. They took their seats and waited in excited anticipation of the start of the events.

At last: he could just be made out by his mop of red hair, talking to some track officials. It was always strange, seeing him without the customary false legs covered by his trousers. These were specially adapted for running, and looked out of place, almost like something from one of those sci-fi movies.

'Can you see him mum?' asked Mollie.

'Yes dear. Look; that is where they start from, so we should see them clearly when they cross the finish line. Keep your fingers crossed and pray for him.' The runners looked so bunched up on the start line. How they didn't run into one another was a wonder. Her thoughts were confused, she wanted him to win, or at least do well and get a medal, but if he did, would that mean more years of torture? Physical torture for him, mental torture for them without him.

They were off; suddenly her mixed emotions settled and she was cheering with her daughters, urging him to win. Less than 150 metres to go and he was lying third; as the 100 metre mark was passed, the field kicked; now the sprinters would come into their own. Fifty metres left: six of the ten men in the field were all within a space of two metres; slowly the pressure told on the weaker participants. He was unable to maintain the pace and dropped off, with the back markers closing the ground between them. His teeth gritted, the pain showing through his grim determination he crossed the finish line and collapsed in a heap. Officials were on hand to check competitors were fit and healthy, albeit exhausted.

Adam rose to his feet wearily and looked around him, acknowledging his opponents, and their achievement. The times were fast; too fast for him, although he thought he was not far from his personal best. He looked out towards his family and smiled, they were waving enthusiastically. It didn't matter to them that he had not won. He waved and walked towards them, looking a bit deflated.

Sometime later.

Miriam was leafing through a sketch pad of her youngest daughter Mollie; she had drawn some good pictures of bees and their garden, but it was all inside a running track. No doubt mixed thoughts of her father racing and her new fascination with wildlife, which Miriam encouraged. Thankfully both girls enjoyed being outside, not always harmoniously; and Mollie had taken to running, following in her father's footsteps. He had promised to spend more time with them, but had not yet signalled when it would start, and she had not pressed him.

Suddenly screams were coming from outside; not screams of play, or perceived fright, but terror! It was Mollie - where was she? Where were the screams coming from? She looked out into the garden, the side gate was open; she dashed back through the house and out of the front door. The screams were louder: Mollie appeared across the short wall of the drive running as fast as she could, straight through the side gate, not seeing her mother on the other side of the bush. Following close behind was a powerfully built dog, teeth bared, mouth slobbering. Miriam screamed for help and chased after them.

Mollie charged through the garden, across the flower bed and tried to climb the fence the other end... but the dog was nearly upon her-snarling and snapping. Then his acute hearing homed in to a strange sound, distracting his hitherto focused attention... The noise became deafening and the first sting disturbed his headlong flight. The dog was now the quarry, as hundreds of angry bees joined in the fight to rid their patch of the unwelcome intruder. Yelping, the dog rushed past Miriam, who had followed him into the garden. She rushed over to Mollie, who was crying and a little shaken.

By the time Adam had rushed home, it appeared as if little had happened. Miriam ushered him to the window to see little Mollie administering safety first to the bees.

'She is giving her saviours some honey solution; many of the bees will die, she can't help the workers who have used their sting, but some others may survive. It can't hurt, and it takes her mind off what could have happened.'

'Listen children; mummy and me have decided to put some money towards a bee hive, there are schemes to increase the number of hives in areas free from pollution and contaminants, and, after what they did for Mollie, it is the least we can do for them. Wait; hold on Mollie I haven't quite finished, and we know you like to get the last word in.' Mollie frowned and looked at her mother who was trying not to laugh.

'I want to apologise to you all for not being a good father... Not yet Mollie. It has been hard for you as well as me, this past few years: I have struggled to come to terms with my injury and incapacity; the camaraderie and fulfilment felt with other sport minded individuals who have overcome their disability has been very rewarding, and helped me recover my self- esteem.'

'Shush Mollie, we'll tell you what it means when daddy has finished,' her sister hissed.

'I have been lucky to compete in world class company, sharing part of my life – no, a good deal of my – our – precious time, with them. But, I have been even luckier to have had an understanding family, and now I promise to devote all my efforts towards our combined happiness. Thank you.'

'Yes Mollie, you can speak now.'

'Dadddyyyy...'

Buzzbee reflected on the past few weeks. First their peaceful, sheltered spot had been rudely shattered by a charging animal: she grieved over lost friends who had died saving their comrades. Then as she struggled for life giving energy, one of the young humans brought a dish of syrupy honey, which she and others were so desperate for to recharge their batteries. To top it all, a prospective home had appeared not far away, in an ideal location, far away from all the nasty chemicals sprayed at some nest sites. All in all, satisfactory. BBBzzzzzzz!

### *

### A Terrorist Plot

Gregori, a third generation immigrant from Spanish parents, was seated on his customary stool sipping a pint of beer with his audience who were in thrall to his garbled rhetoric: he was in his element; slightly tipsy with a varied group hanging on his every word as if it were gospel and buying rounds for him. It was rarely the same people, though he did have his ardent followers who set him on a pedestal, a suitable alternative to Che Guevara with his easy manner and sparkling anecdotes; little understanding the torment of his partially autistic mind.

Gregori Fassilli was a failed soldier who had been summarily booted out of the army for general incompetence and failure to follow orders; though from his stories you would assume he was a hero whose exploits would be recounted by eminent historians. His apparent left wing bias following failed revolutionaries was not innate, but born out of romanticism and a conceptual persona, exaggerated to enhance his mystique.

'Gregori you were supposed to deliver that piece about the misanthropes who chained themselves to the railings outside Parliament before being carted off; there's a good story which will see our readership bounce back up if you can get an exclusive, but if you can't spare the time I will get someone else to cover it and you can go back to the pub.' Gregori knew the editor had no one else that was sufficiently qualified to cover the story; he had helped save the left-wing rag from extinction with his anti-capitalist rhetoric, appealing to the less well informed public who held a grudge against the authorities and anyone in power. They were tolerated by the police who dismissed them as full of hot air with no substance or threat.

Unbeknown to the editor or Gregori, there were those who viewed their local bulletin with some interest, considering their usefulness in furthering their own cause without any repercussions for themselves. They had been persecuted and many had lost their lives in the struggle, but the cause was just and any means of revenge was acceptable, though their religious leaders may have to deny their involvement until their eventual victory over the sclerotic Christian usurpers. Two of their group began attending the gatherings hosted by Gregori, pushing the agenda for action, inciting others in the crowd to encourage greater promises from Gregori, who was becoming alarmed at the increase in size of his group and increasingly violent undertones. He didn't believe his column in the newspaper could be responsible for the sudden expansion, and he was forced to accept the offer of someone who was concerned for his safety by agreeing to conduct the meetings in a private dwelling.

'What are the chances of success Phillipe; we cannot be seen to be involved or our families and contacts will all be rounded up and our historic fight delayed for many more years?'

'We will put everything in place sir; there are some who have no qualms about providing the explosives and having them delivered to the underground cellars as long as they too are not seen to be involved; and we can lay the blame on the malcontents who are always attempting to cause carnage in our great city which the authorities do little to quell.'

'I am putting my trust in you Phillipe; do not let me or our esteemed fraternity down.' Phillipe acknowledged the responsibility and scurried off to prepare their plans and inform their secretive contacts.

'What will happen if the duped conspirators are caught and the plot leads back to us William?'

'It won't sire; our people have never met anyone to do with the conspiracy, and if someone was recognised we would simply have them removed. The plan is foolproof, and whether the attack is successful or not, we can use it to accuse our enemies of plotting against us and have them detained or otherwise. The contact placed the order for the explosives which we shall arrange to put in place for their agents to distribute along the cellars underneath Parliament. It is doubtful they will get away but that is not our concern; we will then be fully justified in closing down all contentious operations and establishing absolute monarchy with no dissenters.'

'That would be most agreeable William; let me know when it is going to happen and I will absent myself from any potentially incriminating duties.' The meeting was over and William left the room delighted with the prospect of furthering his own position and removing many covert rebels.

'Action not words,' was shouted from the back of the room which was packed with many more standing outside. Gregori was perspiring freely, his position was becoming highly inflated with news of his exploits in the army and contacts with dissidents unrivalled. The crowd was in a belligerent mood demanding some form of action against the oppression of the poor and working class. There was news of people being removed from the streets suspected of harbouring rebels or attending illegal meetings, of which this was one, and the punishment severe. Gregori was cajoled into promising a heinous plan for the next meeting and his two new helpers would ensure he complied with the promise.

On his own, back at the room he shared with another, he lay down on the soiled mattress cursing his stupidity, wondering how he could get out of whatever devious exploits they had in store for him. The knowledge that there would be others persuaded to enlist did nothing to appease his distress.

'Well Phillipe; how goes it; will we be rid of the usurpers soon?'

'The plan is all set and explosives in a safe place; we just have to arrange the men on a date to be specified by our agents in concert with the volunteers and the secret order supplying the materials and access information.'

'Yes, remind me Phillipe; who are these people, I know you said they were rebels with informants within the government; but can we really trust them?'

'We don't need to sir. Our involvement is at arms-reach, with nobody able to link any action to you or our people. Our persecuted religion has lasted millennia and soon will return to its rightful place in society, allowing us to impose our sanctified doctrine.' The scene was set and they anxiously awaited news of the anticipated event.

'Do we have a date William, the wretched liberals are getting too much, demanding their right in government as if they owned the place?'

'I have a date in mind sire: Parliament will be sitting and you have an appointment out of the city, but I will confirm once the details are agreed and arrangements made. You won't have to accede to any frivolous demands from the commoners ever again.'

'No; I cannot carry out your preposterous plan on Friday; my sister is getting married and I am to be in attendance. My family and relations will all be there; I cannot miss it.'

'No matter; if you start early you will be finished before anyone knows you have been away, and by attending the wedding you will have the perfect alibi. The plan is set and you will be there,' the burly assistant said menacingly, indicating the penalty for any delay. Gregori felt his life was no longer his own, dictated by others upon threat of death – he would obey.

The cellars were damp and Gregori was drenched in sweat, even though it was cold and they waded through water knee deep in places. Holding the explosives and detonators up was a constant struggle with the uneven and slippery floor: they were a rag-tag bunch of impressionable dissidents being led by a failure put in place by those in a senior position with personal agendas. The same has been perpetrated throughout millennia with those in power influencing the masses with propaganda propelling them towards their own demise in defence of their master's edict.

These thoughts were swilling around the head of Gregori as he stepped tentatively along the dim passageway, realising he had been duped along with others into a crackpot scheme in which he had no special interest or ability. They arrived at the first of their designated points sweating and cursing and struggling to assemble the easy ignition procedures. After a protracted effort they decided the fuse had been set and moved to the next point, constantly aware they could be discovered at any time and marched into the deepest dungeons where their screams couldn't be heard. They hastily completed their tasks before making their way back along the increasingly pungent and rat infested sewers, aware that soon the charges would ignite with a resulting surge along the passages they were attempting to exit.

As they emerged from the concealed exit provided by the unknown agents, Gregori realised something was wrong, the first of the explosions should have begun the sequence demolishing the foundations of the venerable building. His emotions were mixed as he crawled from the hidden drain cover in the graveyard; thankful they hadn't been discovered and relieved the anticipated carnage had failed, though his mentors would not be pleased.

There was a hue and cry when the soggy munitions were discovered following a tip off from an unidentified source, with huge implications for the supposed security in the most inviolable building in the country. Gregori attended the wedding where his brother scolded him for his abject demeanour on a happy day. He did not return to his room after the wedding, using it as pretext to visit family; stating he was also investigating some vague case for the bulletin. The furore was promulgated from the very top and all other cases suspended in the search for the perpetrators. Leaks were subtly spread, implicating many diverse factions, though it was some time before the finger was pointed in the direction of Gregori. Had it not been for the torture of the papist scholars and their aides he might well have escaped the cloak of justice, but no; he was unceremoniously thrown into the cart with other suspects and dragged into the grandly named interrogation centre, where obtaining every last element of truth was just a matter of time, providing the unfortunate prisoner lived long enough.

There was jubilation in enlightened circles that the perpetrators had been apprehended, though Gregori was only mentioned as a mere accomplice, forced to do the wishes of the Catholic Church, who were the main protagonists along with rebels in the government determined to make amends with the Pope.

'Our objectives were not quite accomplished in full sire, though you have rid yourself of many tiresome individuals and plotters against our faith.' James considered the excuses of his aide and decided to let him live for the moment as he didn't have anyone to take his place.

'Make sure the leader of the gang is hanged publicly; I don't want some excuse for him dying in the cells. There will be repercussions from abroad and we will have to let some of the plotters go unless we have absolute proof, though they will of course be exiled and unable to cause further rebellion.

It was a cold December day when the hastily convened court heard the evidence and the jury, who had been hand-picked, delivered their verdict.

'Has the jury reached a verdict?'

'We have your honour.'

'Do you find the defendant guilty or innocent?'

'Guilty your honour.'

'Very well: Mr Gregori Fassitch, or would you rather I used your common name?' Gregori shrugged, knowing it meant no difference to his fate, unless perhaps for the history books. The judge peered at his files looking for the date of the failed plan. Gregori saw the dilemma, recalling the date easily as it was his brother's wedding day.

'It was the fifth your honour.'

'Ah yes, just so: On the day of November 5th 1605, Mr Gregori Fassitch; also known as Earnesto Guido Fawkes: you have been found... The rest is history – oft repeated, but in a popular format, for commercial purposes.

### The Boy Who Could See

The boy understood the deserts with restless shifting sands: experienced snow and the cold, penetrating numbness that saps the inner soul. He knew of the vast oceans with their many secrets and uncharted depths, and wondered at the jungles, teeming with so much life and diversity, it was impossible to categorise it all. Above all, he marvelled at his ability to be able to appreciate such an amazing phenomenon, surely a gift that must be treasured above all else.

As he lay in his bed, unable to sleep - though it was still quite early; these thoughts played through his mind like chords from a forgotten tune. He enjoyed this time of morning more than any other part of the day, everything was fresh and pristine. The air; heavily scented with the flowers and herbs from his garden, and the fruit tree that grew near his window. The curtains were drawn and he opened the window wider to savour the moment; taking a lung full of exquisite ozone. The sheer enjoyment was worth the effort of rising early: no pressures: to be at one with nature. His mind not yet clogged with the daily ritual of learning and accepting ideologies elicited by his elders. His senses acute; absorbing the innocent dawn of a new day.

He stood by the window, his brain beginning to map out his day, reminding him of the routine soon to start: he reflected on his own circumstances: how lucky he was for an ordered, safe, and, relatively secure life. Who is it that decides upon the fate of an individual? Or is it just the luck of the draw? It is easy to be envious of those better off: but that would be ignoring the many that were far worse off than he, and essentially, blaming his family for his perceived ill fortune. His mother was the most wonderful person and he would always be grateful to her for his existence; even if he sometimes blamed himself for the demands he placed upon her.

As his mind wandered; distracted by the sounds of early cars and larger vehicles in the distance, his thoughts turned to subjects less agreeable: general items of news, encountered either in the media, or recounted by peers and family. His mother would often rail at some insignificant article in the press or on TV; he would then adopt the part of the hapless individual, arguing their case to the best of his ability. This form of discourse was extremely enjoyable, often throwing up obscure angles, giving some credence to the maligned soul, and would often lead to them both helpless with laughter at some hypothetical character they had invented to defend their argument.

Their discussions invariably included some reference to planet earth and how they were slowly destroying a perfectly balanced eco system, often in the name of progress. But what was progress? Certainly the standard of life now was far better than in the middle ages, but the intervening period had been detrimental to local ecology, if not global. How far do we push the delicate balance before an irreversible point is reached, condemning earth to gradual, inevitable, decline.

Global ecology and pollution was an issue regularly featured in the tabloids and news channels: politicians from around the world all agreed something must be done, and attended numerous costly conferences to initiate some agenda; but they never did. The situation degenerates whilst the powers that be, pat each other on their respective backs, voting themselves a bonus for a job well done. We are led to believe they are doing their best for us and the planet.

He understood that events portrayed in the media are not always as they seem; even the BBC occasionally airs the view of the presenter or corporation, rather than from a dispassionate, unbiased perspective. In many instances there is a hidden agenda operating - a factor that must be understood by the unsuspecting audience - and the irrelevant information discarded. Why external influence occurs, he concluded, is obvious: people in elevated positions want to be recognised, or increase their wealth and standing. What is not so obvious, at least to the man in the street, is that we are often the ones that pay for this largesse; either financially, or through some other form of lost benefit.

All of this the boy discussed with his mother, and they were in complete agreement. But why is it allowed to happen? Democracy was supposed to ensure voters an equal say in the choice of government. However, the options are always limited; the few at the highest level understand the value of popularity, and being seen as one who can be trusted to do what is best for the people. If this entails offering everyone a hand-out; albeit surreptitiously; then that is what is promised. That's another thing: why are so many promises broken and no recourse ever demanded? It seems the system is flawed; but what is the alternative? Some leaders do seem to have good intentions, but lack the full support of their peers and the nation to implement them.

The arguments played in his head, with no solution. Snippets of disparate news entering his awakening brain, dispelling the earlier rapture of nature's wonders. We need to endorse the aspiration to succeed; to improve quality of life, and to explore future horizons; but at what cost? There must surely be a limit to the extent at which dreams become, not impossible, but unrealistic; considering the hurdles to climb, and damage being caused. Teaching was now becoming much more cautious and idealised, with unions and numerous governmental bodies attempting to ensure some aspirational standard was being realised without individual strife. This proliferation of layers of bureaucracy prohibited the very competition and initiative that was earlier considered beneficial – but - could it encourage a more benign outlook, dispelling the urge to progress at all cost?

He knew that society needs entrepreneurs, adventurers, scientist and teachers: they form the backbone of a multicultural, pluralist society. Where the problem lies is in the insistence of government, or a governmental body, manipulating an essentially capitalist entity for their own benefit. The recent economic crisis was not brought about by capitalism, but by government collusion and interference in free markets. A capitalist route would have forsaken the badly run business's, including the banks, and, after a period of austerity; the recovery would have begun naturally. When nature, or the economy, is allowed to run its' course, a natural level re-asserts itself after a period of turbulence. So his rational mind continued to play out the scene, continually questioning the 'system'; a habit that has perpetuated students concerns for generations. Though he would not leave for university or college, for another year yet, and was hopeful of good results in his forthcoming exams.

What can I do to benefit society? A question he repeated to himself regularly. He did not want to be a burden, but society can be cruel, and the hopes and aspirations of many able bodied individuals have come crashing down; unable to overcome the antipathy or prejudices of a deluded culture. He reprimanded himself for such pessimistic thoughts, considering them ill- conceived and selfish, returning to his earlier deliberations.

The Olympics and Paralympics were coming to an end; what a spectacular event it had been. Surely the dedicated competitors will leave behind a legacy that will inspire the British, if not entire nations, for many years to come. A mixture of teamwork, self- denial and many long months training, have gone into the preparations: there would be some winners, but many more losers, who would return home with nothing to show for their effort, apart from memories. But memories are, once again, what sets us apart; another reason to be thankful for our existence.

He knew he would never know why mankind was blessed with the innate ability to enjoy nature and the beauty of the universe; though he did consider that, should something be deemed precious, we would take care of it; ensuring its' continuation for generations to come. If that were the case, there would be more individuals in positions of authority, possessing that appreciative faculty, ensuring a lasting, beneficial legacy for our descendants! The ability to understand, to enjoy, the culmination of evolutionary process, was being usurped by a common belief that wealth, comfort and luxury are the essential ingredients for a successful, contented life. These failings he could see clearly.

His daydreams were suddenly interrupted. A familiar voice called out to him. 'Are you awake? Breakfast is ready and we need to be leaving soon. Can you manage, or do you want a hand with anything?' Could he manage? Of course he could, he always had done. He gave his customary reply to the rhetorical question. After all, he may be blind, but he could see more clearly than many, less fortunate individuals who, apparently - chose not to see.

### *

### A Ministers Lot

Minister without portfolio ; the Rt Hon Philip, Roger, Airey-Tome: MP

His aide & nephew; Justin Airey-Tome

CAR DOOR CLOSES FROM OUTSIDE HOME; SHORTLY AFTER DOORBELL RINGS AND OUR MAIN CHARACTER ANSWERS.

Minister: Ah; Justin time.

Aide: That wasn't funny the first time you cracked the well-worn pun uncle. Are you ready to join the bustle of the real world?

Minister: Yes, yes; we need to add a bit of sanity to the bedlam out there.

Aide: And how do you propose to do that minister? Shoot some non-conformists?

Minister: Very funny Justin. You mustn't let your aunt hear you say such things; you know she is a vegan pacifist!

FRONT DOOR CLOSES AND THE TWO WALK TO THE CAR

Aide: Sorry uncle, my crude attempt at humour to lighten your mood – first stop Westminster, minister?

CAR DOORS CLOSE AND ENGINE STARTS

Minister: Yes, the whip has insisted we all turn up to vote for the government on the gagging order; a tiresome affair being contested by tiresome agitators who ought to leave such matters to those who know best.

Aide: Like you and the other pliable Rt. Hon. Members you mean?

Minister: Yes; no – I mean don't be obtuse. It is a democratic process and we have to allow the nimbys' their say before we overrule them.

Aide: That doesn't sound very democratic to me.

Minister: Look, you are new at this game and have a lot to learn; I promised your father I would teach you everything I know, and he is doing the same for our Kate – it wouldn't do to have any hint of nepotism levelled at us. Have you spoken with your cousin recently? We don't see much of her since she moved out, it was quite a surprise.

Aide: No, you keep me busy here so our paths rarely cross unless we are on some training jolly.

Minister: Training jolly! They are hosted at great expense for the benefit of you heathens, to teach you the fine art of diplomacy.

Aide: Great expense? Not for you or me.

Minister: No, paid for by kind, benevolent business people hoping to impart their expertise on ungrateful plebeians.

Aide: You mean ambitious parasites hoping to gain the ear of any prominent member for their own personal gain, normally at the expense of the taxpayer.

Minister: You are very cynical for a young man Justin. Ah, here we are; will I see you for coffee?

Aide: Yes, I have to finalise your agenda for the day and run through it with you after you know when the voting will finish.

CAR DOOR CLOSES AND FOOTSTEPS RECEDE. JINGLE FOR TIME LAPSE AND SOUNDS OF CANTEEN AS THE TWO SIT WITH A COFFEE.

Minister: No, I can't leave yet, there are still two members waiting to speak, wasting more valuable time and money, waffling on about points some inconsequential expert brought up.

Aide: But isn't that what they were elected to do minister? Debate matters of public interest and seek expert advice in order to arrive at a definitive decision?

Minister: Don't be naïve Justin; haven't you learnt anything? They have been paid by certain segments of the media to delay, and if possible, prevent the bill from being passed.

Aide: So it is all a waste of time? The whip will ensure members vote according to party line, no matter how justified and plausible the argument is against the issue.

Minister: 'Sighs' No Justin; of course not. We are all capable of making our own decisions and striking out for justice – after all, it was me who pushed for reform of the expenses system and setting up the transparent Parliamentary committee to oversee them.

Aide; A committee set up by MPs', paid for by the public purse, consisting of ex MPs' and friendly business acolytes who are regular bureaucrats in a self-perpetuating circle of quango's and investigative boards! Where is the transparency in that?

A BELL RINGS SUMMONING MINISTERS TO VOTE

Minister: Ah, they have finished talking. Time to do my bit for Queen and country.

FOOTSTEPS; TIME LAPSES; POSSIBLE MURMERS IN BACKGROUND BEFORE FOOTSTEPS RETURN AND CHAIR SCRAPES.

Aide: Did the government win the day minister, or did justice prevail?

Minister: We were victorious Justin, but it was close: luckily a few celebrities turned up and persuaded some of the waverers to vote for the bill by offering to sign their books, or photographs and promising to send special invitations for gala openings to their performances.

Aide: But that's bribery minister!

Minister: Nonsense; do you know one of the turncoats had the effrontery to produce a petition with over a hundred thousand signatures opposing the bill – outrageous!

Aide: Surely minister that is true democracy: where a non-profit making organisation, consisting mostly of volunteers, expresses the will of the people.

AUDIBLE SIGH

Minister: Justin, we are the elected party and as such have been given the authority to do what is considered best.

Aide: Best for who? For you and a minority of privileged officials; not the poor, hard-working voters, who are the backbone of our country!

Minister: The trouble is Justin, they don't know what is best for them, which is why we make the rules and laws and they have to obey them. It really is very simple.

Aide: That's odd; I thought the EU made the rules now – that unelected, bureaucratic entity that is even more idiosyncratic than we are!

Minister: I really would love to continue this philosophical debate Justin, but I believe we have work to do. What's next on the list?

Aide: You are opening a new factory on that industrial complex outside of town.

Minister: Ah, yes (pause) remind me why I am doing it instead of one of our juniors.

Aide: Because it has an EU grant, and the owner was a big donor to your election campaign.

Minister: How big?

Aide: Well, in the top ten.

Minister: So; mildly effusive, but not ecstatic; leaving room for a more generous donation next time round. Let's go and mix with our less fortunate but necessary electorate.

TIME LAPSE: THE TWO MEET AFTER THE OPENING IN A SIDE ROOM AND BEGIN TO WALK OUT, TOWARDS THEIR CAR.

Minister: That all went reasonably well don't you think Justin?

Aide: Depends on your interpretation of 'reasonably well', minister. You insisted on calling the proprietor – a major donor I hasten to add, Henry; but the company name is Henry Clark Holdings: his name is Joseph with the J pronounced as Y. That old anti-Semitic joke didn't go down too well either, especially with some of his potential customers with the long beards and top hats.

Minister: Yes that probably was a bit unfortunate. I thought there was supposed to be some elaborate refreshments afterwards.

Aide: There was minister, in order to let guests mingle and network; but they decided not to invite us in order to limit their losses.

Minister: Do you think we will have to remove them from our list of prospective donors?

Aide: I think he mentioned he would rather support the monster raving loony party; though he did appear to be incoherent and foaming at the mouth at the time.

Minister: I take that as a yes then.

CAR DOORS OPEN AND CLOSE; ENGINE STARTS

Minister: Do you know who I will be seeing at the clinic?

Aide: Well it won't be the major's wife after you confused her with the wife of the manager of the local hostelry.

Minister: Anyone can make a genuine mistake.

Aide: Yes, but getting colour, race, religion and considerable size difference wrong, requires a definite knack.

Minister: Well all she ever did was complain, so no big loss, and no more complaining!

Aide: Her husband supported our party and was involved in charitable work when he died suddenly overseas: all she wanted was for his body to be repatriated, but instead, the mongrel he befriended whilst working away was brought back in his place!

Minister: Their names were similar; the embassy made a simple error.

Aide: Based upon your instructions, as an official who knew the family.

Minister: How was I to know he named the dog after himself? The courier was told to ask for someone of that name and when they gave him the dog he assumed there had been a mistake in interpretation and that was what he had to pick up.

Aide: Not exactly a coffin though was it? Anyway your first customer is due so better be prepared. It's farmer Bill Fanshaw.

AUDIBLE GROAN; SHORT TIME LAPSE; FOOTSTEPS AND DOOR CLOSES

Minister: Mr. Hamshaw; how nice to see you again, do sit down and make yourself comfortable – oh, I see you have. Now tell me, what can we do for you today?

TIME LAPSE; DOOR CLOSES; INTERCOM SOUND AS MINISTER CALLS AIDE

Minister: How many more Justin?

DOOR OPENS AND CLOSES AS JUSTIN ENTERS

Aide: They've all gone minister. The hysterical wailing of the last lady persuaded the last few resilient wretches to leave whilst the going was good.

Minister: It isn't my fault she can't speak the Queen's English. I can't be expected to understand every dialect our many varied constituents use; I thought she was trying to say something about an hysterical history; something funny from the past, so I tried to be amusing.

Aide: Yes but the emergency operation that was necessary after her botched hysterectomy is still a painful memory, and her case keeps being delayed, which is what she was trying to discuss with you. And what about poor Mr. Fanshaw? You repeatedly referred to him as Mr. Hamshaw, and the subsidy you promised you would help him with once you were elected is no nearer to being agreed, although his farm was never contaminated and his claim straight forward. The flooding claim was disputed by the insurance company due to the new housing estate built nearby on flood plains, and his set aside rejected by the European courts as his land was under water!

Minister: The EU.

Aide: Pardon?

Minister: The EU...They change the rules as often as you consult your ipod.

Aide: iphone.

Minister: Pardon.

Aide: It's an iphone, not an ipod; you listen to music on a...oh, never mind. So we can't be blamed for any of the fiasco's relating to farming policy? In that case why do we have a department for farming and agriculture?

Minister: To ensure the rules are observed and everyone is treated fairly of course. We can't have any jack-the-lad claiming subsidies he isn't entitled to, and we need to show Brussels that we are observing the rules, even if we disagree with them.

AUDIBLE GROAN

Aide: Keep the money-go-round spinning too fast for anyone to notice nothing is being done and the illusion of efficiency is observed.

Minister: There you go being cynical again, it really isn't a good trait; you should try and understand your father and me and how we have survived in the face of adversity, and fought to preserve the British way of life! Our negotiations with adept cut and thrust parries have ensured our heritage remains intact.

Aide: So when did you last make a momentous decision, upholding British interests?

Minister: What are you talking about now?

Aide: A ruling; something beneficial for the electorate, that you acted upon and was passed by Parliament.

Minister: Oh, you mean me personally?

Aide: If not you singly; then any one of your many overpaid, underworked peers.

Minister: Well now, let me see. A bill was passed to look into the true cost of green energy, which my fellow ministers and I instigated.

Aide: You mean you voted for yet another quasi-representative quango to deliberate what? Your concerns; the feasibility, or true cost to the taxpayer in behind-the-scenes subsidies?

Minister: Now don't go getting on your high horse, we have many important decisions to make all the time – it's just that the media prefer to ignore the good work we do.

Aide: But you can't even explain to me in your own words! What appears to be the case, is that a growing number of elected members choose to support a growing number of friendly technocrats, who, like the EU bureaucratic megalith, dish out more and more irrational white papers to foist on an already overburdened workplace because the honourable members do not want to be seen making an unpopular, or possible career ruining, decision.

Minister: You are exaggerating again Justin; you really must learn to control your over exuberant nature. Look at our pledge to address global warming with the green energy bill, and in particular, £1m towards flood defences. There, you see; that is doing something important we can all be proud of!

Aide: Doing something! Global warming as you so inaccurately term it has little to do with the flooding we have experienced. If you recall, your friend and colleague in housing promised much more scrutiny on building projects, on or near flood plains, and that a significant proportion of the income derived from building new estates would be ploughed back into infrastructure, which has been neglected for so many years!

Minister: Ah yes, but you see everything has to be in proportion.

Aide: Proportion! What does that mean?

Minister: (VOICE CALM AND SOOTHING) Education, health, transport, energy, security, and of course welfare. All have to be considered and budgeted for; we can't give all proceeds to one department now can we: after all – where would all the redundant ministers go?

Aide: Oh yes, I forgot, silly me: they may be totally ineffective and costly, but tradition must be upheld; after all, 90% of government ministers have always been thus!

Minister: I say, that's a bit harsh – 90%! I think a more realistic figure would be around 70%, which would account for most of the old and infirm who are incapacitated in some form or another.

Aide: So you admit the majority are useless and perform negligible functional purpose!

Minister: Ah; I didn't say that at all: there you go again trying to put words into my mouth. Ineffective and technically bereft – admitted; but they do have their uses.

Aide: Good grief: and what, pray tell are they?

Minister: Why – to make the rest of us look good of course!

MUSIC PLAYS; TIME LAPSE

Aide: Is that it for the day uncle?

Minister: Absolutely not. I have emails to reply to; my twitter account to write and facebook updates.

Aide: Why do you bother? Who do you think reads them? Only sad, bored and lonely misfits, or the media – trolling the garbage for the occasional faux pas, which then goes global; demeaning the unfortunate author.

Minister: My constituents.

Aide: Your constituents?

Minister: Yes; they have a right to know what I am doing on their behalf, and how hard I strive for them.

Aide: But your last postings included family snapshots, an argument between members in the canteen and an allusion to the God particle!

Minister: Exactly: topical and progressive. Science and religion especially popular at the moment, although difficult to make much sense out of either!

Aide: Yes, your mention of quantum theory and the ability of believers to bend light at will was illuminating, even our renowned particle physicists were scratching their head over that one! And what about those family snapshots you posted? They were years old!

Minister: Obviously: it keeps the terrorists guessing – wouldn't do to give them up-to-date information would it?

Aide: They probably have more information on you and your peers than your respective constituents have – not that they would be in the slightest bit interested; in fact targeting any of you would probably be counter-productive.

Minister: What do you mean?

Aide: Well, if they were successful in removing you or destroying your ability to perform your tasks, the great British public might well rejoice and offer them the freedom of the city!

Minister: That's not a nice thing to say: what would your parents think if their son turned out to be an anarchist with a criminal record?

Aide: It was meant as a light-hearted joke uncle...they wouldn't be eligible for freedom of the city!...Buut; what interest to your devoted followers was the plebeian argument in the canteen?

Minister: Please don't use that word.

Aide: What word? Devoted?

Minister: You know very well what word; it refers to those less fortunate; that have not had the kind of education you have had and is demeaning.

Aide: That's the kind of patronising piffle cooked up by liberal appeasers pandering to the pathologically unhinged minority groups, set up with grants, who can have no possible beneficial use to society or even themselves!

Minister: National interest.

Aide: What?

Minister: Of national interest – the argument.

Aide: Uh? In what way?

Minister: They were arguing over the EU referendum, so it was in the national interest to broadcast their heated debate.

Aide: Heated debate! They were yelling obscenities at each other!

Minister (Calmly) Yes but from different viewpoints: it's good to have a balance in these things, that's where the beeb goes wrong – not enough balance.

Aide: (Confused) Just a minute: you harangued them recently for allowing that respected scientist to have his say against the global warming alarmists; but his argument appeared valid, and none of the government advisors even understood the technical aspects and figures he produced.

Minister: That was different.

Aide: How?

Minister: We employ specialists at great cost to provide impartial advice based on the facts, within the guidelines we set.

Aide: Impartial! The whole debacle was backed by one of the biggest recipients of the carbon credit scheme, so hardly impartial! He was the one that sponsored the team who produced that hockey stick graph, which has now been completely discredited; yet it is still being used to back the case for global warming!

Minister: Now you're believing everything you read in the newspapers and are quoted on dubious news channels. The select committee has ruled on what is acceptable evidence and what is not, and we should defer to their superior knowledge.

Aide: Most of them aren't scientists, the few that are, are old or inept hacks reliant on government support for their income.

Minister: Ah, so you are against government grants and funding the arts and sciences.

Aide: I didn't say that: merely that it is hard to be objective when your employer or donor wants to achieve a particular outcome.

Minister: Now look what you have made me do.

Aide: Me? What did I do?

Minister: Talking about the media, news channels, scientists and grants – I've put multi-media grants scientists their way; instead of, multi-media shows science the way.

Aide: Yes; so?

Minister: Well don't you see? I've transposed the meaning, so it appears the media are accepting the findings of the scientists instead of leading them! Now I will be hounded by both lobbies, one wanting to find out why I have changed my tune, and the other wanting me to join their fringe groups!

Aide: I shouldn't worry uncle. If anyone at all picks up on it, just say you were doing a test to see if anyone was reading your blog, and that you are pleased by the response, and that you will re-tweet your actual thoughts later.

Minister: There: you are useful after all. That was my sentiment exactly. Okay, we're done for the day – oh, if you're not doing anything, can you pick me up in half an hour and take me to the gym, do another session on that boring treadmill?

Aide: Swapping one boring treadmill for another?

Minister: Oh very funny. You should try it, you're getting flabby.

Aide: It's perverse isn't it?

Minister: What is?

Aide: You want a lift to and from the gym, where you jog on a treadmill for a period, then you leave and shower at home. Why not jog around the block and do your bit for the ecology?

Minister: I need to be seen by my electorate as contributing to the local economy and supporting the community.

Aide: But you don't pay for anything – you put it down on your expenses.

Minister: Ah but they don't know that, and it isn't in their interests to be informed of such trivialities. I need to be there by seven, which will give me time to finish my blogs. Can you pick me up in fifteen minutes?

MUSIC PLAYS; TIME LAPSE; DOORBELL RINGS; MINISTER HUMMING TO HIMSELF AS HE FINISHES HIS TWEETING AND GETS UP TO ANSWER THE DOOR.

Minister: Ah, there you are – Justin...Oh, never mind.

END

### *

### A Spooky Warning

'Can I help mum, you shouldn't have to do everythin yourself, it's not fair.' Alice looked down at her son and wondered how two boys could be so different.

'I can manage thanks Bobby; why don't you go and play with your friends; you need to be in the fresh air, not stuck inside an airless room with no air-conditioning?' Bobby nodded, but wasn't happy leaving his mum to cope on her own.

His friends were playing in the nearby park; they had made a small pitch with discarded garments and were kicking a plastic ball that had seen better days.

'C'mon Bobby,' one yelled. 'Git in goal; it's your turn an we're two goals down.' Bobby soon forgot his concerns and threw himself into the game, shouting as loud as any of them.

His sterling efforts in goal allowed them to finish with a draw, accepting some pats on the back before they retrieved their sweaters and caps and made their way home. Bobby paused as he reached his drive, seeing the motor-cycle that his brother had managed to persuade their father to buy him in the corner under the lean-to. He walked past the living-room where his brother was sprawled on the sofa drinking a beer, into the kitchen where his mother was finishing the preparations for their dinner. He didn't have long to wait before the anticipated rebuke.

'Just in time for dinner eh; a nice easy day at school, play with your mates after and expect mom to do all the work; typical of your spoilt upbringin. You need a lesson in bein less selfish.'

'No, don't;' Jess tried to say to Bobby before he responded, but it was too late.

'Oh yeah: a lesson from you in anythin other than drinkin an playin truant would be a miracle: just gettin off your lazy arse to reach the fridge door is gettin to be an effort.'

You worthless little sh t; I'll show you who's boss round here;' but Bobby had outmanoeuvred Cody, who had become sluggish through lack of exercise, cold beer and fast food.

'Will you two pack it in; I've enough problems without sortin out your arguments.'

'Don't worry ma; I'll tell pa when he gets back how the little critter treats you. Is he comin back soon?'

'I'm not sure when he's gettin back; I just expect him when I see him; now, sit yourself at the table with your brother for tea and no more arguin.'

It was the mid-morning break when Cody and his gang rolled up at school, though he would just say that as he was a sixth former with reduces studies, he wasn't compelled to arrive with the riff-raff at the start of lessons; and the teachers didn't argue with him, being thankful it was his last year. Some of the staff had already agreed to provide a good report at the end, providing he didn't cause any more disruptions.

The youth sitting on the bench obviously hadn't noticed their arrival in the playing area and was tucking into a sandwich from his lunch-box: Cody sat down next to him with another gang member sitting the other side.

'That looks nice; what is it? There's far too much food there fer a scratty kid like you; d'yer wanna get fat?' The nervous boy shook his head. 'Good: now what we'll do is help yer finish it off without ya putting on any weight – won't we boys?' The gang laughed as Cody began distributing the contents, throwing the empty container on the ground afterwards. The boy quickly collected it and ran off.

*

The days were getting shorter and Bobby was told to be in before dark, reducing his time with school friends, but he was an inquisitive child and found many things to do at home without continually asking his mother for help. There was an added bonus that Cody had found a part time job stocking shelves in an Amazon warehouse, so didn't arrive home until later, by which time Bobby was normally in his room.

The mid-term Halloween ball was just a month away, and Bobby had noticed a slight change in the combative nature of his brother. He had never shown any inclination to join in any school activities in the past, and treated girls with disdain, though that was due mainly to the fact that none of the girls in the neighbourhood liked him.

Bobby became aware that whenever a particular girl was around, Cody would be there showing off to impress her. Bobby understood that Cody had reasoned none of the girls his age were interested, but someone younger could be fooled: she was in the next year up from him and very pretty, but didn't seem to have any interest in the exploits of his brother.

As the days wore on and Cody became more agitated at the lack of attention by the stupid girl, so his antics in the classroom became more extreme and his general antipathy towards others increased, leaving his mother stressed and Bobby more careful how he trod; though a plan was beginning to hatch in the creative region of his brain.

*

The school magazine publicised the upcoming ball with a devilish twist: one of the girls was to be a maiden in distress, held at a secret location where ghouls and werewolves were said to roam during the hours of darkness. Her saviour would be the dashing prince charming who would escort her to the ball after the gallant rescue, spending the evening together.

Discretely Bobby let it be known that Debbie, the one his brother coveted, was to be the damsel, and began to goad his agitated brother at every opportunity; saying he was too much of a coward to venture into the woods in the dark, and put the word around his pathetic gang members as well. Unable to take the taunts of cowardice, and buoyed by the thought of a night out with Debbie, Cody put his name forward for the event, unaware of the draconian implications.

The copy of the Halloween publication with all its references to facts backing up the argument for real life ghosts and figures of the underworld had somehow crept into the bedroom of Cody, and whenever he came into the living room at home a scary film would be on the TV, or the Rolling Stones track, Sympathy For The Devil would be playing at high volume, adding to his disquiet. As the impending date came nearer and the vague innuendos increased, he ceased his belligerent nature, constantly seeking out his friends, not wanting to be alone. Bobby meanwhile was kept busy, though quite what he was involved in his mother could only hazard a guess.

The venue for the event was disclosed the day before Halloween, causing a bit of a stir amongst some at the school who considered the disused graveyard to be sacrosanct, although it was the wood that had grown around it that was to be the centre-point.

Bobby would use every possible excuse to create dark scenes with eerie sounds and sudden bangs, even switching off the power at their home on one occasion, to further increase the dread that had instilled itself in his brother's mind.

That night Cody hardly slept, though the sounds through the night were partly responsible, sounds Cody had never heard before; and what was that shuffling noise outside his bedroom door? He didn't bother to investigate, curling beneath the sheets, even though it was sweltering.

CRASH – bang. 'Sorry ma; I was only carryin the bookshelves from my room when I slipped and dropped them. I'll try and be more careful;' Bobby shouted loudly at the top of the stairs near to Cody's bedroom door. Cody awoke with a start, having eventually fallen asleep after a restless night – he was groggy and looked at the clock, groaning as he saw it was only 6.30 am, and flopped back on the bed. But it was THE day: he couldn't get back to sleep; on the back of his door was another picture showing rampant ghouls about to dismember a screaming woman. He vowed to slowly eviscerate his brother when this was all over and offer the bits to any ghouls that were interested.

'Why are you up so early anyway Bobby?' asked his mum.

'A project at school ma, so I need to be away before he gets up,' he replied, nodding towards the stairs, where he knew his brother would eventually appear and didn't want to be on the receiving end of his justifiable retribution – not yet anyway.

It was only 6 pm but the clouds were dark and menacing with a hint of rain to come. Cody's friends were egging him on and shouting out to anyone who would listen, how brave he was, and how no-one else put their names forward for the rescue of a fair damsel. Cody though kept quiet; he was wearing his leather biking jacket with studs and had secreted a knife and ex-police baton inside, just in case he encountered anyone – or anything.

With a last encouraging slap on the back and hearty shouts claiming their superiority to the rest of the world, they left him: he was only just on the outskirts of town where the dirt track meandered steadily upwards, towards the wood and derelict graveyard. He started to walk tentatively, surveying the surrounding countryside when an owl hooted causing him to stop and curse, pulling the hidden baton from his inside pocket. As he walked he became more confident: all he had to do was find the girl: if she was out here how could he possibly be scared?

Ooouuuugghhh- what was that? There weren't any wolves or coyotes around here. His hair tingled and nerves began to reassert themselves after a brief respite. The track led into the wood, increasing the gloom, leaving him with a greatly curtailed vision; he cursed for not bringing a torch. The girl was supposed to be at the end of the track, so he shouldn't have any difficulty in finding her and leaving the awful place. He stopped: what was that? He strained to listen to the weird sound; cackling or? But he couldn't hear it any more. The track deviated; he hadn't been told anything about that: suddenly he was at the graveyard; there was no fence or warning; the wood seemed to be slowly enveloping it.

The scream was loud, penetrating his whole body; he jumped up, turning around, waving his baton, shouting defiance.

'Here: help me,' pleaded a strained voice that seemed to emanate from a tree in the graveyard.

OOoowwwooooo - the sound came from inside the wood; then the cackling again, this time louder.

'Where are you; tell me where you are,' he cried out, twisting around to make sure nothing was creeping up on him.

'Here – over here, by the big bush; I am tied up and...'

'And – yes, and; and what; what is it?'

AAaaarrrgggghhhhh. A terrible scream rent the air: he turned and ran, but the path had gone and he tripped, dropping the baton. A cacophony of sound rent the air and suddenly, in front of him there was an apparition; a ghostly ghoul with long straggly hair and vacant eyes; though the face within the lines etched deep into a grey leathery texture seemed familiar.

'Come with me,' the old hack screamed, stretching out a withered hand; 'I am going to make you regret you wetted your bed and keep you inside my hovel where you will keep me company – eh,heh,heh, heh,' she cackled.'

He screamed and ran for his life, anywhere; track or not, he wasn't staying here. He didn't stop til his lungs could bear no more: he was on the other side of the graveyard, but would find his way back eventually, without going through the wood again.

Bobby and his friends were nearly wetting themselves as they watched the scene play out exactly as planned. The video he had taken with his phone wouldn't win any awards, but the general shapes and sounds were sufficient to work out what was happening. After they had finished whooping and slapping each other on the back, returning to a semblance of calm, they helped Johnny, who was the biggest of their group, out of his gown and mask that crudely represented the face of their old nanny, who Bobby never really knew, but had heard, frightened Cody near to death when she looked after them, and removed the speakers and wiring, carefully erected the previous day.

The next few days were strange. Jess asked Bobby what had happened; she knew something was up and was worried.

'There's no need to worry ma. Cody just had a bit of a shock, that's all, an he's takin a while to get over it. You gave me the inspiration fer the little episode when you told me about the nanny you employed when you were workin and I was a baby, and how she used to frighten Cody. Well, we were fed up of his bullying an takin school fer his own pleasures, so we all got together an arranged a Halloween surprise that he couldn't get out of.' Bobby explained what they did and Jess tried hard not to giggle whilst telling Bobby that he shouldn't have done such an awful thing.

School became a pleasant place to learn again: even the teachers were visibly relaxed.

*

### Anthropocene Decline

A mildly disturbing dystopian, speculative prediction: shortish (12,700 words), novella.

Roger Beliot listened intently as his father brought his speech to a resounding conclusion, arguing for more research funds for their aeronautical and energy industries, which he saw as symbiotic and necessary to maintain their tenuous lead over the East and their arch rivals in the Middle East. The rationale was sound, but whether the powers that made the decisions could be persuaded was another matter.

During the drive home Roger questioned his father about the future and their uncertain role in helping the country progress through difficult times.

'We have been involved in this ploy of bargaining for as long as I have worked at the establishment; no doubt you will continue the time consuming exercise long after I am gone, sometimes achieving your aims, but more often than not, accepting some unsatisfactory compromise. The world is changing at a faster rate than ever and I struggle to keep up, becoming dismayed by the childish antics of our leaders and the simple bureaucrats occupying positions of power, evading their responsibilities and pursuing selfish agendas. You will need to be alert and stay one step ahead if you are to preserve our glorious traditions.'

Roger listened patiently, although he struggled to maintain his composure as well as his father in the face of political posturing.

'Why do you bother dad; you have enough money to retire on and travel around the world in style; why put yourself through the wringer for no personal gain?'

'It's our country son – your country; and some of us feel a certain responsibility for our heritage. I want you to have the best chance possible of a fruitful life so you can pass it on to your children: there's a trade-off between personal pleasure and duty; and anyway, your mom'd be bored stiff with just me for company for months on end. Your life is just getting going so you've lots to learn and experience, and I hope my little contribution will help steer you through the impenetrable maze.' Roger looked at his father, who didn't return the gaze as he drove the car along the highway towards their home, an hour's drive from the National Conference centre in the southern regional district bordering the outskirts of Jerusalem.

'Will you stop the night son, or do you have to be away; I know your mom would be pleased to feed you up as you appear to have lost weight?' He glanced briefly towards his son who was smiling.

'Guess I'm in no particular hurry, and the choice between some processed bread with a bland pasteurised filling and a home cooked meal is no contest. Is Henry going to be there; I haven't seen him in a while?'

'He may be a bit late, but yes, your younger brother will be home; I don't think he'll ever leave, he knows when he's onto a good thing.' Roger allowed himself a satisfied smile; being in the company of his family was one of the few places he could be himself.

*

The day dragged on. Elsa fidgeted, unused to being so inactive, but the processes were necessary she presumed. Her thesis and work record was being minutely scrutinised by the directors and technical team of the international pharmaceutical company, though she had been informally told the job was hers provided she didn't hold out for too big an offer. An hour later a smiling director approached her, thanking her for her patience, taking her through to the boardroom where they explained the offer details and what would be expected of her.

Later that evening she called her mother to give her the news. 'That's wonderful Elsa, but does it mean we won't see as much of you?' her mother enquired.

'I will be travelling a lot, but there will also be periods of leisure where I have built up overtime and can take the time off in lieu, so I can fly out for long weekends and help out at the farm. Is daddy still injured or has his arm healed?' Her mother replied that apart from the incurable argumentative tendency, he was as well as could be expected and helping with the menagerie when he wasn't tending some other chore on the farm. Elsa said she would drop by soon and finished the call from her hotel room, where her new employer had agreed to pay her expenses whilst she attended the meetings at head office.

Elsa soon settled in to the frantic schedules, making some new friends and earning the respect of her fellow colleagues. Renting a flat in Zurich would have depleted her considerable wages, so she made some enquiries and answered an ad on the company's web site, finding someone to share with. She liked the cosmopolitan atmosphere in Europe, though the weather could be bitter in winter, and the central base meant she could reach most of their diverse operations without the tiresome need to stop over. The flight to Israel was also a breeze, meaning she could be at her parents farm less than ten hours after leaving her flat.

*

Europe was changing and the people were a lot less outwardly optimistic than at any time in recent history. Elsa had been working at the pharmaceutical company for three years, spending a lot of time abroad and gaining huge experience in the field of Genetics, DNA sequencing and the exciting CRISPR technology, though her involvement in that was peripheral. Her work was starting to become more laboratory based, and the onerous regulations imposed by the European cabal, severely restricting, though the executives of the company seemed to enjoy an extravagant lifestyle, encouraged by the politicians, who also benefited from the reciprocal arrangements offered by the system. Elsa's work in a marginal section of the conglomerate, contributed a minor amount of the massive turnover, but was considered a necessary feature as long as the cost was covered. Whilst she felt her work important, she realised that the company didn't have any real interest in pursuing the possibilities her reports suggested as they weren't considered profitable.

The decision to leave Europe and the company was almost made for her as bureaucracy and a stifling atmosphere that had been building, suddenly exploded, causing the establishment to rein in what they had considered generous benefits, slapping embargoes on technological companies and currency restrictions on everyone. Europe had finally succumbed to the delinquent policies of the central cabal and the Euro was headed for the dustbin; though measures were being put in place by the ECB to save euro and the fragmenting framework propping it up.

*

Elsa delayed the call to her mother until she had made preparations for her departure, giving the requisite notice to her boss. Her mother was pleased she would see her daughter more but concerned that she would not settle easily.

'Are you sure you want to come back permanently Elsa?' her mother asked hesitantly. 'Everything is changing; it's not just happening in Europe; our neighbours across the border are becoming more violent and less concerned about any reprisals as America is reluctant to provide the backup they used to do; and it is difficult to know exactly who the aggressors are or even where they come from. We would love to have you back, but I need to make it clear what the problems are.' Elsa was pensive: travel had become more difficult recently, with some countries adopting currency restrictions and others insisting on the new digital currency, supposedly backed by gold deposits and guaranteed by the UN: a replacement for the much maligned SDRs, brought into disrepute by too many members with vested interests.

South America was degenerating into the same cesspit that former African colonies had endured, although the word genocide wasn't being used – yet; it was obvious armed militias were acting on behalf of despotic regimes, but the numbers involved were inconclusive, similar to the disbelief in previous conflicts where propaganda made factual reporting subjective. Most people not actually involved in any of the reported conflicts, continued as if the government and ingrained constitutional precepts still applied, though law and order and trust in the fabric of a just society was being steadily eroded in the pursuit of personal gratification of those in privileged positions. The end of democracy was purported to have emerged at the start of the new millennium, though many opinions differed, and even the meaning of democracy was being hailed as a right wing ruse by numerous ideological sycophants.

Global enterprise was no longer flaunted as a worthy objective as the East capitalised on the steady withdrawal of the West from the global scene, securing their power within the region, extending their range into Asia and the Middle East, though the ability to control hugely diverse economies and people by force or corrupt entreaties declined as the geographical proximity increased. Corruption begat insurrection; and poverty added the fuel, exacerbating a societal decline where continual failures of the ruling class to address the economic and moral decline, resulted in the spiralling loss of faith and trust, and the beginning of the end.
Chapter 2

The aerospace industry was not immune from the deterioration of trading relations and as Roger sat opposite the CEO of the part nationalised industry, accepting the offer of shorter working hours, his mind strayed to the future. His position was far better than many others as the family wealth, built up through generations, was sufficient to cover their costs and those of any future generation. His concern was for his brother, who revelled in hard work and fresh air, which was another matter for concern, with constant warnings of poor air quality.

They were sat around the family table one Sunday when Henry informed them he had been notified his work was being split between two regions if he wanted to stay fully employed, and he would have an assistant so that travel and costs were efficiently maintained.

'Are they paying you any more for the extra hours and responsibility?' his father asked, worried at the way external factors were beginning to affect them personally.

'No,' Henry replied, looking down, unable to meet his father's steely gaze. 'Some argued the point but it was futile as the amount of credit available is insufficient for the company to operate profitably.' His father didn't seem surprised at the answer but his lips tightened and Roger noticed an almost imperceptible shake of his head.

'It's becoming more widely accepted now dad. The idea grew in the West after Russia and China effectively curtailed the traditional cross currency transactions, where the US dollar had a major influence and could use that strength to economic advantage. The East prevented their industries from dealing in anything other than their digital currencies, so eliminating the outflow of funds and securing total control over its citizens through monitoring and issuing something akin to vouchers or coupons for being a valuable, or obedient, citizen: the West waited for the idea to become accepted, but with QE and fiscal stimulation, it had already been heading the same way.' Henry nodded, happy for his brother to explain the detail more concisely than he was able to.

'You are basically telling me that modern monetary theory, or a fabrication of it is becoming accepted in our country. This is nationalisation by the back door; a failed concept in every country that tried it. Printing money that hasn't been earned and giving it to anyone who accepts your dominance is worse than communism and can only lead us back to a feudal system at the mercy of any tin pot despot who happens to have more power than his neighbour.' As Abe finished, his voice had risen an octave, portraying his disgust: he looked from one brother to the other, and at his wife, who had kept silent, but understood the potential implications.

Later, the two brothers were sitting on the porch; Henry asked his brother what he was going to do in his spare time.

'You know I have been worried for some time about global warming, the escalation of proxy conflicts utilising drone weaponry, hiding the perpetrators, and the perverse actions of our less than esteemed leaders; well, I have decided to embark on a project that will keep us all busy for years to come. I have already made some plans, but it needs to be kept away from prying eyes, and your recent loss has provided me with a possible location to set up the workshop.' Roger went on to describe the venture to his bemused brother.

*

'Hi mom, it's great to be home;' Elsa gave her mother a big hug. 'Hi dad; how are you feeling today, does the weather make any difference?' Her father had risen from the chair slightly awkwardly, but didn't appear too bad.

'No, not the weather; just your mother's edicts when she has me cleaning out the pens and forking the hay. You're looking well; not too weary from travelling?'

'I stayed over in the city as I had an appointment this morning to sign a few documents and go over the details of my contract. The atmosphere was better in their offices than my old job, but that's probably because it's a smaller company, and I can work flexi hours – as long as I produce results.'

'You've never failed in that respect yet, so I don't suppose you'll start now; anyway, what about a drink before dinner?'

Two months later, Elsa was feeling the benefits of moving to a smaller company with less pressure, and the added perk of seeing her parents most weekends. Travel was restricted to essential projects, but the pressure to complete the work within a short period was gone, so she was away a little longer each time and able to explore the diverse cultures, cataloguing flora and fauna. The company prided itself on its environmental work and Elsa attended some of the meetings, arranged by different companies with different strategies. At one of the meetings she met a man, who, like her, appeared to be on his own, detached from the groups who frequented the occasionally boisterous gatherings.

'What did you think of the speaker?' Elsa asked the man, who watched as she approached him.

'His motives were commendable but he was a little light on substance; but that seems to be the norm these days as few have the wherewithal to actually act upon any sound suggestions.' Ah, thought Elsa, someone who thinks through the rhetoric; she pressed on.

'So, what would you do, if you had the time and money to save the world?' Roger eyed the slender woman, who was as tall as him and pleasantly attractive, with light brown hair and hazel eyes.

'I now have the time, and should have sufficient funds, so the question is possibly more pertinent than it would at first seem.' Elsa raised her eyebrows but didn't respond. After a brief pause he continued. 'I have been asked if I will accept shorter working hours, but the pay is still generous, so I will have time to exercise my personal dreams, though the mentality of such a dream may be questionable.' Elsa laughed, appraising this young man who acted older than his countenance suggested.

'The way the country is headed I wouldn't be surprised if most of us weren't on a short working week within the next few years. What do you do that pays so well.'

'I work in the aerospace industry; design and build; but the prospects for the immediate future are grim, and the budgets set by the government diminish by the month; what about you?'

'Pharmaceuticals industry; or to be precise, genetic r & d, taking DNA samples and testing them; saving them for the future and checking what aberrations occur under adverse conditions: pretty boring apart from the field work where I get to visit some wonderful places.' Roger had suddenly become interested in this charming young woman; the first he had met that offered a challenge to his constantly enquiring mind.

'Where are you based?' Elsa told him where she worked and where she had come from before emigrating to Europe. 'I know it, or the surrounding area,' he said, after she explained where her parents lived. 'My brother works on the huge farm about ten miles north of there, or did until they changed his rota. What does your family do in that remote part, the land isn't particularly good for agriculture?'

Elsa explained they originally farmed livestock, but now relied upon a handful of prime stock that provided regular batches of cell samples to the nationalised livestock and agricultural industrial laboratories; and her mother had started a small zoo where people would take injured animals for them to try and nurse back to health.' It was Roger's turn to laugh.

'Do you take DNA samples of all the zoo animals they keep?' he asked, light-heartedly.

'No; we don't have anything like the facilities needed for doing that: perhaps you could build some in your spare time?' she ventured.

'Strange you mention that;' he whispered so low, that she wasn't sure if she was intended to hear.
Chapter 3

Although travel to exotic destinations were far less frequent than when she had been working in Europe, the laboratory work was more interesting as she was working with fellow scientists who were among leaders in their field, and the progress with the CRISPR technology, allowed quicker, more accurate, cheaper and efficient genome editing; enhancing her abilities and understanding of the processes.

Most weekends she would try and visit her parents, though work and seeing Roger now featured prominently, especially as he had agreed to involve her in his project, using her experience and knowledge to help him with certain design aspects.

They were spending the weekend together at his apartment and he was telling her about his scheme in more detail, trying to impress on her the need to make preparations for a cataclysmic breakdown in the climate and, or, civil disobedience. Although Elsa remained sceptical, she could see no reason to argue against the project as it would be a technical masterpiece when it was finished, with a roving laboratory.

'I will soon have finished the temporary lab where we shall store whatever specimens you can provide, but I need to have a fully detailed specification for the vehicle, including if possible, the maximum power requirements, as everything will be powered through the sustainable generating equipment on the vehicle.'

'My trips away are being scaled back as more countries fall to powerful despots, or are consumed by internal conflicts, making the journey too dangerous for our teams. I can obtain samples of the more easily accessed DNA specimens from our stores when you are ready, but...'

'Don't worry too much; we'll be travelling the world picking up samples wherever we go if it all goes to plan: our main concern will be the natives, who may not be friendly, especially if my predictions come true.' The casual answer, with unintended ambiguities startled Elsa slightly, though she couldn't determine any intention of a double-entendre from Roger's demeanour. She ignored it as a slip of the tongue, having become used to the occasional lapses where his mind would appear to be somewhere else.

*

Roger was finding the stress of dealing with supposed experts debilitating. He often had to inform them as diplomatically as possible that they would have to remove pieces of equipment or sections of superstructure and replace them exactly as he had stated. He wondered if he had sufficient liquid assets to leave his job and work full time; his time with Elsa was limited and revolved around the project, and as he realised, consisted mainly of him complaining about the time being taken and poor standard of work by qualified engineers. Elsa never complained, though she was also busy with her own work, collecting various samples and offering advice, as well as helping her mother on their farm where her father was less able to cope with the daily chores.

International trade was a fraction of its earlier volume as the East had developed their separate currency standard with favoured partners, and continued to divide and harass the West at every opportunity. A major conflict hadn't erupted, but tensions were even higher than in 2019 when perverse actions by nationalistic leaders led inexorably to a worsening of diplomatic relations. Internet wars meant the much anticipated opening of the airwaves had collapsed and personal data used to ensure citizens behaved; as was the case in western China with the Uighurs, restricting freedom to a travesty of its original meaning.

Henry was more reserved than usual, turning down the offer an extra helping of desert. Roger looked at their parents, but could see they didn't want to impose, so he waited until they had finished their meal and the two of them were seated outside on the porch.

'You've been very quiet brother; is something wrong, or have you met someone special?' Henry smiled, but shook his head.

'That would be nice, but no; it's all to do with the new monetary system the government are introducing, and the way they want to impose their will on our personal lives. We have been told that our wages will be paid by two separate methods: initially it will be split in half, but the voucher scheme will increase incrementally so the cash element will be reduced to mere pocket money, or possibly nothing, over time. The culmination of policies begun by QE, into ZIRP and NIRP have conveniently mutated into MMT, providing those in power with complete control over the workers, leaving us beholden to them for any begrudged consideration.' Roger watched his brother, whose dejected countenance conveyed his deep misgivings.

'How would you feel if I asked you to tell them what to do with their job and help me with my project? You don't need the money, though I would of course pay you, and I wouldn't issue any ultimatums; you would be your own boss.' Roger thought Henry would be pleased, but his look betrayed no obvious pleasure. 'What's wrong; do you...'

'It's Asher: I can't leave him behind; he's...'

'Even better; much of the work is two handed and I can't always arrange to be available: anyway, you two are far better than I am at actual building work – when can you start?' Thankfully Henry's face had brightened, relieving Roger, who had always felt a strong bond with his brother. They talked about the project and where the three of them could optimise their contributions, though Henry was not entirely convinced of the veracity of the venture.

*

The call was not unexpected as Elsa had told Roger she had a few days leave, leaving him to make contact as she didn't want to be seen pestering him if he was busy. He was excited and breathing quickly; another stage had been completed.

'You must come round now and see it. Henry and Asher have been working solidly to obtain a completely blemish free finish, so it is at last beginning to look like a futuristic travel machine.' Elsa couldn't deny Roger his moment of glory, and his enthusiasm was infectious.

'It really has come on faster than I expected Roger; what are you going to call it?' Elsa looked at Roger whose demeanour had suddenly changed; looking embarrassed and unsure. 'What is it; is there something wrong?' Roger took Elsa's hand, but couldn't look her in the eye.

'I want to call it Elsa,' he said quietly; 'and I wondered if; that is should you not have any other commitments; if you, or we - could get engaged - no, it doesn't matter if...?' But Elsa put her arms around him and kissed him; stopping his abject apologies before he talked himself out of the proposition; though she would wait before offering her view on the name.

*

The marriage ceremony was a local, small affair, with the reception at the home of Roger's parents, where a marquee had been erected and accommodation arranged for many guests who had travelled great distances. Work colleagues of Elsa's and Roger's attended, bringing the total to around a hundred people, making it one of the top annual events in the community, and a front page spread in the local magazine, which had seen off all the digital competition over the years.

'What's this talk about a time machine?' asked the reporter, when he had a chance to corner Roger on his own. Roger smiled openly, having prepared himself for exactly that kind of question from various interested parties in the neighbourhood.

'I think that is possibly an exaggeration Benjamin. I have an interest in futuristic machines and travel, and now have the time to indulge my fantasies. Whether or not it will have a material benefit to anyone at the end is impossible to say.' He left it there, not willing to expand on his underlying concerns for their future.

'But surely you have some plans for it; you can't spend all that time and effort for no eventual reward?'

'How many wealthy, egotistical entrepreneurs, do you know of that were going to fly paying passengers to the moon, or into earth's orbit, or even to colonise Mars? Their projects were considerably more fanciful than mine, and more costly, but few derided them, and new technology was inspired through their processes: or consider virtual reality, video gaming and e-sports interactive pursuits, which may occupy the minds of the less inquisitive, but lack individuality. I hope to travel on the exploration machine, and harvest a cornucopia of diverse flora and fauna samples, much as the earlier explorers like Alexander von Humboldt did on their travels around the world; so it won't be a complete waste of time, and may even produce unexpected benefits.'

The reporter didn't seem convinced, but that wasn't something Roger was unduly worried about. Once people had heard of the venture and the vague rationale behind it, they would write it off as just another crackpot scheme costing the developer a fortune, and possibly his sanity. Roger patted the reporter on the shoulder, telling him to try the haunch of marinated, seared goat; taken from the livestock of the farm belonging to his bride's parents. He walked over to another guest who had made the long journey, giving him a warm embrace.

*

Later that evening, as they were laying together, Elsa asked what he had said to the reporter.

'Nothing that we haven't discussed in the past. I don't want to try and keep it a secret, encouraging nosey reporters around the area. If they believe me to be an eccentric oddball, that's fine.'

'And are you?'

'What; an oddball? My answer is probably subjective, so perhaps you should ask someone else, with an unbiased view.' Elsa's hand played with the hairs on his chest: she leaned to whisper in his ear.

'I'll wait to find out: I'm not in a hurry.' He turned to her.

*

It was the first time that Roger had taken the time to show Elsa all the refinements of his machine, though some were still in the development stage. The laboratory was of special interest to her, as it could possibly be somewhere she would be spending a great deal of time, if Roger's assumptions turned out as predicted; and the course of the past few years were leading towards that conclusion.

The day was hot and humid with little air movement except the occasional little plumes that erupted sporadically, bringing warm air and dust in its wake, choking the unwary. The sight of a clear blue sky had become a rarity; hot dry periods were followed by torrential rain and high winds, washing nutrients from the land but insufficient to restore depleted reservoir levels. Farming had become a lottery and the expansion of multi-layer indoor factories using hydroponic propagation, storing excess produce in a dried powder form, three decades earlier, had become a vital source of the essential food chain, and meat followed soon after; now just the required cuts were being manufactured from vials of frozen animal cells.

They wore masks to visit the site in the country where the farm used to be, but now resembled a dust bowl with dilapidated buildings occupying one corner and a massive shed, housing the leviathan. The humming of the generator in the adjacent building could be heard; a constant annoyance for Roger who prided himself on his green credentials, but the solar generation required for their continual schedule of work would have been prohibitive. He guided Elsa to a separate building which housed some of her collections.

'I have made a few changes here to accommodate the restrictions we have encountered within the machine, but don't anticipate it having any significant impact on your samples. I think you will admit, it is a lot more efficient in space preservation. The detail was incredible; Elsa considered it better than provided at her place of work.

'Just how many specimens exactly are you considering to store; and for how long?'

'The world is our garden, and we will keep harvesting until there are no new products to reap. How long is more subjective, so I will refrain from offering an unsubstantiated opinion on that matter. My main concern at the moment is having everything ready before the rioting depicted around the world expands into full anarchy or worse, threatening our homes and our project.

Next on the tour was the machine in all its glory: Elsa gasped as the size, with the partially finished wing like structures moulded to the huge shiny hull, appeared so much bigger now the finish had been applied. Elsa asked about the strange carbuncles attached to the upper sides.

'That,' he explained triumphantly is the 4D propulsion housing. Elsa looked at him stupefied; the explanation having zero meaning to her. He continued: 'it really is a truly exceptional feature involving state of the art design and technology, where the changes in the substance surrounding the boat will automatically be analysed and used to determine the most efficient form or shape to configure the traction device in.' Elsa pursed her lips, deliberated momentarily before responding.

'Are you saying that without any instructions or mechanical involvement from persons on the vehicle, that these wings, for the want of a better word, will transform their shape or purpose to suit the prevailing conditions?'

'I couldn't have said it better,' Roger replied; a big grin on his face. The structure of the molecules is arranged in such a way for self-determination. The wing like structures will act as stabilisers in the water as well as a means of secondary propulsion, and when we hit land, the gear unfolds and a caterpillar track drops below the keel for land based travel. But the coating is even more momentous. Have you heard of entropy alloys?' Elsa shook her head, a mild look of disbelief clouding her bright features. Roger began to explain the random molecular structures formed using different elements to give a material, unheard of properties. He stopped as he saw her eyes glaze over.

'Sorry, I get carried away with the enormity of it; but this material is like steel, except it is anti-corrosive, remains strong to temperatures below -200 degrees Celsius, and can withstand huge pressures or blows.' He stood triumphant, and Elsa used all her will-power to prevent the peel of laughter attempting to escape from the depths of her body. Once she had regained her composure she asked where all the assaults would come from, but he just shrugged his shoulders, muttered that safety was going to be paramount, and continued the tour.

As Roger reached the top of the long ladder and stepped through the open railings onto the deck, he noticed Henry's bare torso dashing towards the bridge; as he helped Elsa on board, Henry reappeared in a scruffy T-shirt, already damp from perspiration. He smiled at his brother.

'I have a special guest here to critically appraise your standard of workmanship,' he said loudly, competing with the noise of machinery.

'Don't take any notice of him,' Elsa called out: 'he's immensely proud of your work and so am I; the transformation is incredible – when do you think it will be finished?' Henry looked at his brother before replying.

'That depends on how many changes to the specification happen between now and the end; and the availability of some of the rare earth metals hybrids my pedantic brother insists are used, but the 4D printing facility has allowed us to create many of the intricate parts Roger has specified, so hopefully within our lifetime.' Henry returned Roger's look with a grin. 'Come this way it's safer and less noisy.' He led her past the bridge towards the stern where a massive dome covered most of the deck; turning between the bridge and the dome he opened a door inviting her to follow him. It was a little tight with the three of them inside the capsule: he pushed a button and the cylindrical glass container transported them two floors below deck silently. Elsa was admiring the simplicity of the capsule as Roger spoke.

'It's purely weights and balance, no motor or energy source apart from the control: as near a perpetual motion device as we could engineer.' They stepped out into a living area that was devoid of any fittings, but still a wonder to behold. 'No lighting during normal daylight hours; the dome fragments the rays of light and showers the room with equal luminosity whilst generating solar power from the sun, replenishing our power source based around an aqueous organic flow battery.' Elsa looked around the empty space with corridors leading away from the central area. 'They lead to the sleeping quarters, but like this, there isn't much to see yet; we were hoping you might have some ideas for furnishings as it's not something we are good with, but they must be practical and robust.'

Elsa gave Roger a withering look before replying. 'I don't have much more idea than you guys, but I will ask mom and make some enquiries. How long have I got?'

'That's a good question, and one better directed to our intellectually bereft leaders who insist on antagonising our belligerent neighbours. We aim to be running the commissioning trials within six months and ready to launch soon after, though it may be brought forward if the riots on the West Bank and attacks by Hezbollah, backed by Iran, from the Lebanon, escalate into something more serious. Will that give you enough time?'

'I'm sure we can manage a few bunk beds and benches for seating in that time,' Elsa replied sarcastically. 'What are all those banks of drawers for?' She had wandered through an open doorway into a clinical looking room with a metallic worktop and numerous receptacles for keeping whatever items Roger was planning on. It was also considerably cooler in the room and she shivered.

'This is what keeps us alive; our food store, or where we store the freeze dried ingredients to make our food, many of which will originate from our immediate surroundings, but especially the sea, where once again the 4D processor assimilates the vast quantities of produce filtering through the inlet chamber and assembles them according to the type of nutrient or potential pathogen ingested. We will have a constant flow of information regarding our immediate environment and be able to determine if it is hazardous.' Elsa stood quietly, looking around her, taking in the control panels and sophisticated equipment, slowly coming to terms with the anticipated breakdown of society and necessary precautions. She turned to him and spoke quietly.

'Do you really think it will come to this; you are contemplating a nightmare scenario of biblical proportions?'

'I would be the happiest person in the country if this turned out to be waste of time, and the machine was only used for our personal pleasure, roaming the world, collecting rare samples and saving them for posterity: but, if our worst fears materialise – we will have a means of survival – at least for a few years. It isn't the first time this has been tried,' he added, attempting to lighten the mood which had become sombre. Roger changed the subject and explained some of the other facilities they would enjoy aboard.
Chapter 4

Roger and Henry arrived together back at the home of their parents after a long day at the farm, which was the casual term used for the hub where the machine was being built. Unusually neither parent was in their normal place; instead they were both in the living room glued to the television.

'Has something happened?' enquired Roger, squinting at the screen.

'Sit down; watch, there's been a massive explosion in Kashmir. A large drone; HCV or HCM they are speculating; from the East they are saying, but no details: India blame Pakistan and China, whilst Pakistan blames India and Japan; though most probably it is a rogue nation or state acting on behalf of one of the major players, trying to secure an advantage in the beleaguered region.' Roger and Henry sat down, watching the events unfold on the screen. The reporter was saying how the occurrence had been considered an increasing possibility due to the lack of strict control over the number of people able to arm the readily available weapons, many of which could be transported with relative ease. She compared it with the rise of firearms around the world in the mid twentieth century, but even more deadly. The worry now was about retaliation and further escalation as the leaders of each nation chose sides and adopted an increasingly belligerent posture, believing they were in the right and would prove victorious in the event of all-out war.

The family sat transfixed. Roger was the first to move, saying he needed to go home as Elsa would be waiting. Their rented apartment was not very far away and twenty minutes later he unlocked his front door, calling out to Elsa as he walked in.

'Have you heard the news?' she called out to him, walking from the kitchen to meet him.

'Yes, I dropped Henry off as we were working late and saw it there. Has anything else happened in the last twenty minutes?'

'No; plenty of rhetoric and speculation, but nothing of any substance. Tell me – has it started?' Roger looked at her, sensing an underlying concern, so any considered levity was dismissed.

'I don't think so; not yet, but this could be the start of an intensifying route towards the path of no return. We at least have an escape route, but for many it could bring disaster.'

'How many could we take with us: so much room is taken up with equipment and storage: I know there are twelve rooms with twin or double beds, but can we take more?'

'It's unlikely we will even fill those: when the time comes I imagine there will be riots and wholesale panic, with crowds wanting to escape. I anticipate the machine being in the water before then, ready to go; if not...' he paused for the information to take effect before continuing. 'The question you asked last year will quickly become apparent and the vehicle will have to withstand sustained assaults.' Elsa put her arms around him and whispered in his ear.

'Let's pray it doesn't come to that. Sit yourself down, dinner is almost ready.' Roger watched her return to the kitchen: these were supposed to be the happiest times of their lives, but the constant threats of war in its various guises, made any instances of happiness, fleeting.

*

The tremendous range of power exerted by China, and to an extent, Russia, had been eroding for many years: Asia and the Indian continent, once considered insouciant vassals were descending into a religious fervour where warlords ruled in far flung fiefdoms, under constant attack from the growing bands of travelling marauders. Disease was rampant and the life-span halved to less than forty. Anger and hatred for anyone other than like-minded compatriots fuelled a spate of anarchistic rebels with the ability and weaponry to devastate their regions: the only counter-balance being someone with more powerful weapons.

Though central control was becoming less effective, more havens in the shape of cities where the brigands didn't venture, emerged, offering a little protection from attacks, but not starvation, as the ability to tax and implement social procedures was absent. Panic reined across continents as cyber warfare and the desperate race for satellite domination resulted in numerous casualties, mostly unconnected with the rivalry, offering no prospect of self-defence. Looters, many fleeing the persecution, became more desperate and willing to commit increasingly violent crimes as the world degenerated into a feudal maelstrom.

Henry looked up; startled at the appearance of his brother, who should have been at work, for the aeronautical company.

'What's the problem brother, you look worried?' Roger just nodded, his face devoid of expression.

'I think it's time: I know we are not quite ready, but you can finish whatever work needs completing in the water; the situation is becoming too dire to rely on common sense prevailing. You should tell Asher to arrange any family matters and be prepared for a quick departure: I must transfer the last samples and essential items to the hold so we are ready...' he paused but obviously had more to say, so Henry waited, knowing his brother well. 'I have spoken with mum and dad and they are resolute: they say that someone younger should go; someone with the time and energy to face the future; I tried to persuade them, but...' Henry put down the tool he was working with and nodded.

'I feared as much. Do you think they will survive?'

'No-one knows; we can only hope. I am going to tell Elsa to get ready: she will need to see her parents and ask them, though I feel I already know the answer. I have a few chores and then I will return; can you be back here in, say, three hours? Oh, and don't forget the last of the packages; we need to stow those safely in the keel.' Henry nodded. 'Good, we will take her on her first long run; hopefully without breaking down,' he added with a wry smile, quickly turning to leave.

Elsa was at home helping her mother tend to her father when Roger arrived.

'I was expecting you,' she said, as he walked towards her, his eyes betraying the feeling behind them.

'I don't think we can afford to delay. There are riots in nearby settlements and the national guard has been called out to assist the police, but they are being overwhelmed by the sheer numbers: the next phase is the depleted army will be drafted in with live ammunition, and after that...'

'Revolution,' Elsa said quietly, not wanting her parents to hear. 'Mum won't leave dad, and he is too ill to travel; they know what to expect and are prepared to die peacefully rather than allow themselves to be taken. I have given them everything they might need to survive, and arranged our finances so only a minimum is left in the government banking scheme. Have you managed to secure our assets?'

'The last of the packages will soon be stowed safely away. I'm sorry; it shouldn't have come to this.' Roger held her, looking over her shoulder at the array of sketches, photos and paraphernalia hung on walls and shelf spaces, a meeting of disparate memorabilia harvested from her many trips abroad. 'Do you need a hand with anything?'

'No, I have moved everything from here that I need. Will I see you at home later; we need to check last minute items together?' Roger nodded and they walked into the living room to see her parents, possibly for the last time.

Elsa was already home by the time Roger arrived, after completing his final rounds in town and at work, where he said farewell to colleagues; some of whom envied him but most thought him eccentric. The weather patterns were looking ominous as he travelled home, with reports of severe storms in the Mediterranean.

'How was it?' she asked, seeing him looking more flustered than usual.

'Not good: there's an air of apprehension everywhere and many stores are having their shopfronts boarded in anticipation of the riots spilling out of the main towns. We may well come across some of the armed groups as we travel to the sea, though at the moment the activity is mainly concentrated in built up urban areas: the farmsteads and rural villages will be targeted later when there is little left in the towns to plunder, though the atrocious weather system that's predicted may well deter them for a while. Have you collected everything we need?'

Elsa looked around her before replying. 'I can't think of anything else that could be important, but lots that might be handy that I am going to miss: my main concern is for my samples and equipment which are already aboard. What did you do with our money and valuables?'

'Some valuable jewellery is in the hidden compartment, but the gold ingots are in the keel, and the new polymer notes with fine gold strands running through them are secreted in the various nooks and crannies we discussed a month ago. Henry is probably putting the last of it away now.' They both did a final check before leaving to see his parents, taking a few personal items for them to store, should their worst fears not materialise, allowing them to return.

*

Only a few trusted friends and family were aware of their intended departure, and due to the weather closing in with warnings of gales and flooding, nobody ventured out to offer their blessings for the momentous occasion. The massive doors to the hangar were removed and all nearby equipment safely secured in the event they were able to return: there was little to be said as they all went about their designated duties with trepidation. Andrea and Alex were the only others on board, with no family commitments and a tendency towards travel and adventure. They were friends from the environmental group who they had become close to in recent years.

The huge legs unfolded from the wings and the caterpillar track unfurled, providing the support for the vehicle as the last of the chocks and scaffolding was removed - the machine inched forward and they were on their way – a new life awaited.

*

Storm clouds gathered as they made their way cautiously across the barren and pockmarked landscape, slowly getting used to the cumbersome movement, the apprehension dissipating as the machine took every obstacle in its stride. Reports were coming through on their multi-faceted communication system incorporating every usable feature of transmission, from the old citizens band radio to the 5G networks so despised by the environment lobby. They also had a direct link to a satellite as a fail-safe back-up. The storm had hit the coast-line and was moving in a north-easterly direction, crossing their westerly path, but their attention was locked onto the breaking reports of the volcano eruption showing on one of the panels on the screen.

'Will that affect us?' asked Elsa, looking from one brother to the other.

'It depends on how severe and on the duration,' answered Roger, whose attention had moved to another screen displaying animated crowds rampaging through streets.

'Where's that?' said Elsa, following his gaze.

'That is where we're headed if we stay on this tack, or to be precise, five miles to the north of it, but close enough to be caught up in it if the rioting spreads outwards. I'm making a slight adjustment to the route, but what I want to do is steer clear of any built up areas where we may encounter hostility.'

Elsa looked closely at the images. 'They look terrifying; whatever is it that propels people to revert to savagery so readily?'

'Hunger; desperation; fear; or more usually - following the crowd. History has shown repeatedly how easily mobs can be worked up into frenzy, committing atrocities that belie humanitarian principles. Our best option is to stay as clear from crowds as possible. See this area now on the screen - that is where we are now headed, and for the time being, it's clear?'

'So do those pictures come from a satellite; they seem very well defined?'

'No, just one of the drones; we will have a drone in the sky whenever there's a possibility of encountering danger, though I might bring it in now as that storm is approaching and I can't see anyone willing to risk being caught out in the open when that hits: it'll give Elsie her first real test; an indication of how she'll perform when we hit a real storm.'

Elsa nodded, unable to take her eyes from the screens, portraying the acts of the outside world and their abstract involvement in it. 'I'll go and see if I can help Andrea and Alex in the kitchen as it's their first experience of preparing the reconstituted meals on the ark,' she said eventually, the colloquial name for the craft now being used openly. Roger nodded and Henry squeezed her shoulder, seeing she was uncertain and needed something to do to keep her mind off the disturbing developments.

Asher was still completing a number of tasks around the vessel that they hadn't had time to finish before leaving, so was being let off shift work, spending most of his time in the recesses of the boat.

Roger and Henry were splitting the shifts between them to begin with as there were still many facets of the control room they were coming to terms with, and wanted to be completely aware of all idiosyncrasies before instructing the others. There were also disturbing scenes on the screens that were better kept between the two of them, at least until they were settled in.

Heavy rain made normal visual contact impossible, so they were relying on the computer's simulated generation for guidance, lending an eerie focus in the dimmed room with little sound.

'I'll be very sorry when we finish the last of this Arabica coffee and have to move onto the home made equivalent,' Henry muttered, not speaking specifically to Roger, who had appeared behind him, ready for his shift.

'Yeah, well don't go hogging it all, we all know how much of it you can drink; besides, too much is bad for you. Anything happened whilst I've been gone?'

'Only an earthquake reported somewhere in Turkey; what with the volcano in Italy spewing vast clouds over the northern Med and now an earthquake, I really am beginning to believe we may be experiencing some kind of apocalypse.'

'Just pray it doesn't precede a tsunami, that's all we need on top of this storm,' Roger replied, rubbing his eyes as he peered at the screens. 'Go and get some rest, if you can sleep after all that coffee.' Henry grinned.

'I don't have any trouble sleeping; it's you that suffers with insomnia – too much on your mind, worrying about things you've no control over.' Henry stood up and moved away from the console, which resembled that of a sophisticated jet aircraft, or spacecraft, but four times the size. Roger didn't reply, but patted his brother on the shoulder and smiled.

An hour later Henry was woken by his personal monitor. He took a few seconds to come too, having been in a deep sleep: he quickly slipped into his loose fitting trousers and T-shirt before joining Roger at the monitoring station.

'Is there a problem? He enquired. Roger pointed to the screen where a number of vehicles of all shapes formed a ragged line, moving away from the coast, which, according to their calculations, should be less than a mile away.

'Looks like a mass exodus: sorry for waking you but I may need you here if matters turn nasty.'

'No problem; do you want a coffee?' Roger nodded, his shoulders hunched.

'One thing I've noticed as we're nearing the coast,' he replied, just as Henry was turning towards the galley. 'The land has eroded, with fissures, boulders and slippery rock where it has surfaced due to the loss of the top soil. We are on a level one minute, then as the ground gives way, we can be slipping down an incline. Job has managed to control her til now, and the multi-purpose flexible pads on the tracks are preventing us from sliding about, but I won't be sorry when we make the sea.' Henry had stopped to listen to his brother, acknowledging his fears: there was nothing to say; he continued to the galley.

'What the...!' Roger exclaimed just as Henry arrived with the coffee, nearly causing him to spill some of the precious liquid. 'Look at this...What are they doing; are they mad?' Henry put the cups down in the secure holders and watched the screens. A four by four had left the column and headed into their path, the slight decline across the uneven terrain and minor subsidence, making the trip more difficult than it would appear at a first glance. On their current heading they would probably cross paths in ten minutes as the lumbering beast crawled across the bleak, devastated landscape. The 4 x 4 jeep came to a halt and three men got out; one raised a megaphone, resting it on the roof as the other two stood next to him, watching from the other side of the vehicle.

'Stop your boat: we are acting on behalf of the port authority and demand you produce your permit for that machine to travel onto our property.' Roger looked at Henry, who shrugged.

'I don't think they have any authority, but it could cause a bit of a problem if they report back that we didn't obey some arcane restriction.' Roger didn't say anything; switching on the external speaker system and selecting the configuration to deliver their response to the target.

'Sorry, we are having difficulties with the conditions and manoeuvrability of the vessel. Please remove your vehicle to a safe distance as we can't stop.' They looked at three men conferring and were pleased when the rear door was opened, thinking they were going to leave – but they mistook the move as the two other men hoisted rifles onto the roof and lined their sights. The loudspeaker was switched on again as the first man spoke.

'If you do not obey our orders we will pepper your hull with bullets and you will leak like a sieve in the water, forcing you to stop sooner or later, and we will be waiting to impound that monstrosity.' The man had puffed himself up, smiling and nodding to his two accomplices who had their sights trained, waiting for the order. Roger waited momentarily before responding.

'We are unable to stop: please get out of the way as we don't want an accident; you only have minutes to leave before we reach you.' The man with the megaphone shook his head and then said something to his colleagues. The shots rang out smacking into the re-enforced steel hull, some ricocheting off and causing the men to duck behind their vehicle. Seeing the lumbering giant unscathed and moving inexorably towards them the men jumped in the car and turned it around, wheels spinning and sliding on the loose, slippery surface.

'What's all the noise about?' Elsa asked, as she appeared in a dressing gown through the doorway.

'Oh, nothing, just some idiots wanting us to stop and fill in some forms for their bosses and weren't happy when we declined,' Roger answered, glancing quickly at the screen as the vehicle slid back towards them: he saw one man fling open the rear door and launch himself out, trying to gain traction on the slippery ground. Henry looked up from the screen at Roger, who switched the monitor off. Henry walked purposefully towards Elsa saying.

'Don't s'pose you could rustle up some coffee could you; we're nearing the sea and it looks like there's been a tsunami or similar, and all the people are leaving. Our route may need changing so we'll both need to be at the station?' Elsa looked from Henry to Roger, but Roger didn't return her gaze, concentrating on anything else he could think of; not wanting to become involved in taxing explanations. The slight lurch of the machine was nothing they hadn't encountered before, but both brothers glanced at each other momentarily, not wanting to contemplate the possibilities.

Andrea and Alex appeared soon after. 'Was that the smell of coffee wafting down the aisle?' Andrea enquired. Elsa laughed saying to drink it quickly as they were on duty for the daily log reports, and would probably be needed in the control room when they reached the sea in less than an hour's time. Elsa began preparation for a meal before the envisaged launching, which she was dreading, but kept to herself.

The land had been scoured leaving a thin coating of silt and bits of debris scattered around: as they came closer they saw the devastation wreaked upon the small port, with wreckage of boats, cabins and anything not firmly rooted. From what they could tell, by the time the massive wave had reached this far, it had lost a lot of its power and size, hopefully causing few fatalities, though how many would survive the trek in the storm and lack of amenities elsewhere, was something they didn't discuss, or intend to dwell upon.

'This is where the small and medium size boats were launched from; it's a good size slipway and the water drops away quite quickly, though the caterpillar tracks will withdraw when firm ground gives way to water and the buoyancy tanks will be automatically deployed, adjusting to provide suitable stability in whatever conditions we encounter.' Roger was speaking to no-one in particular as he surveyed the surrounding damage with the others. The drone was back out showing them the grisly scene and their best approach to the slipway.

'Everyone strap themselves in; I will try and head her down the ramp evenly, but when we hit the waves they may cause her to tilt before the stabilisers kick in.' Asher had been summoned from his personal fiefdom and they proceeded to their designated positions, each with a monitor, where the scene outside was reminiscent of some of the old maritime movies; the storm throwing heavy squalls intermittently, high winds, limited vision with a bucking and swirling sea. Roger and Henry sat together, ready to employ the override system if the automatic sensors failed or were misinterpreting the situation. The machine rocked as the tracks lost support at the front, then rectified itself before encountering the first of the waves: half way into the sea one side of the bow was hit by a strong wave fifteen metres high, forcing it sideways; Roger immediately tried to counter the move but the weight and limited traction made it impossible.

'We may be tipping,' he called out; 'I am engaging maximum thrust, but it depends on us getting fully afloat.' The vessel began to slide and topple, at the mercy of the elements; Roger trusted his calculations and the workmanship of his brother would see them through, but there was little more he could do as the angle increased; the bow had turned fully ninety degrees leaving one caterpillar track connecting with the slipway and the other in the sea. Another wave crashed over the stern tipping it further than Roger thought possible, sending anything not fastened down, skidding across the room. During this time the automated system had withdrawn the caterpillar tracks on the port side and deployed the stability tanks. The vessel was nearly on its side as the buoyancy tanks came into play: the starboard side tracks had also lost their connection with the slipway and so were withdrawn: by the time the boat righted itself the buoyancy tanks on that side were deployed and the boat was rocking violently, but in an upright position.

A muted cheer went up from the relieved crew, though there were still many dangers to overcome. Roger looked at the charts showing the preferred route and set the course through the Mediterranean, hoping the rolling sensation would soon be dampened automatically by the ballast adjustment sensors, allowing the vessel to ride lower in the water, even if it meant some of the largest waves crashed over the superstructure. He told Henry to go and rest as Asher and Alex would be on call if needed, though Henry thought his brother needed sleep more than himself.

Three hours later Henry reappeared looking refreshed and was pleased to see Asher and Alex sitting at the station. He nodded to them; 'everything okay?' he asked casually.

'She's in safe hands,' Asher replied with a boyish grin; obviously relishing the task of skippering the boat. 'D'you want to take over?' he added.

'No; let me know if anything out of the ordinary happens, or when you have to go back to your post; I want a bit of exercise as it doesn't look as if we'll make land in a hurry. Oh; what happened with the exo-skeletons we were working on, we'll need those when we do eventually dock?'

'I have nearly finished yours and Elsa's is much the same, but the others still need work; Alex has been helping as his medical skills haven't exactly been required,' Alex joined in the conversation as he had become the subject.

'There's only so much medical theory you can pack in at a time, and I want to know as much about the ship as possible, in case it might be needed in the future. We both love adventure and this is something you wouldn't think of in your wildest dreams, though the reason for it does warrant a sober reflection.' They were all silent, weighing up the words. Henry nodded, muttering.

'With those thoughts I think I will leave you in charge,' as he walked through the door towards the stern of the boat.

*

International trade had virtually ceased and countries struggled to supply a trusted form of currency to pay for goods so food was limited to processed cells in modernised communities, and scarce elsewhere, leading to rioting and anarchy. Central control in China & Russia where data from an ever increasing number of subjects was drowning the ability to process it, was being steadily eroded with the security forces vying with the armed forces for superiority, and generals acting more violently to promote an unassailable position: similar to the German services in the second world war.

No country trusted another as nationalism prevailed, and any suffering was blamed on neighbours or past enemies. The digital miracle was consigned to the bin as the internet was compromised and satellite systems that were still operating were controlled by the few remaining powers. As power moved down to less reliable demagogues the chances of a serious incident increased: climate change was happening but survival was becoming paramount.

*

Henry listened to the news as he went through his exercise routine, wondering when it would be safe to make dry land, and where. He showered in the adjacent room before returning to the station, where Elsa was standing behind the two men who had a hot drink in their hands.

'I'm pleased you have time to sit and drink, but what about the rolling of the boat; can't you keep her steady?' Elsa smiled and Alex sat back, exaggerating his recumbent position as he viewed Henry over his cup, before answering.

'Well, y'know; we weren't shown that particular routine during our crash course; perhaps you would be so good as to illuminate us second rate deck-hands?' Asher took up the running, buoyed by the casual attitude of Alex.

'I second that proposal; this rolling motion is disorientating and below decks is even worse when I'm trying to work on the machines.' Henry grinned at them, pleased there was no feeling of not being completely equal.

'Delighted,' he replied, 'but first I need a coffee, then if I have time...' he murmured quietly as he turned towards the galley, but didn't finish the sentence. Elsa joined him.

'Have you seen the news?' she asked as they reached the galley.

'Yes and it's not good; does Roger know – how is he?'

'Sleeping; but he doesn't seem to recover afterwards, he is always tired and I am worried for him.'

'I think he's worried about doing the right thing; the responsibility and culmination of divisive actions which have split our families up and many friends. He shoulders the burden and can't easily share it; but he's the person I would want leading in any dangerous situation.' Elsa put her hand on his arm to thank him for his loyal support.

'So what do you think about the news and impact on our heading,' she asked.

'Personally I don't think the canal is an option. The seas are still wild and forecasts, if they are to be believed, would make the mouth a funnel, multiplying the ferocity of the storm, and the news, though secondary, is concerning. Egypt hasn't descended into anarchy as far as we know, but it is volatile and our presence could be seen as intimidating, so though I would like to make land sooner, rather than later, I believe the Atlantic crossing is the only option.' Elsa had listened to Henry's rational explanation in silence and couldn't fault his conclusion.

'I think you are right and the others will come to the same conclusion. We ought to have a meeting as soon as Roger surfaces.

Two hours later they were all seated enjoying a meal; their first taken as a group, together, and Andrea had made a piquant sauce to obscure the blandness of the processed food. Roger spoke when they had finished, bringing the harsh realities back to life.

'I think we have all seen the news,' he said simply, looking around the table as they nodded in reply. 'It really hasn't left us with a choice, but that means we will be at sea for longer than originally planned. We can obviously keep an eye on any nearby land as we head towards the straights between Spain and Africa, but if nothing presents itself we will probably head south towards the Canaries before striking west for the Azores, where hopefully we can rest for a while on terra firma without being attacked.' The others nodded accepting the decision, if not delighted. Andrea was first to speak.

'We are receiving reports of air pollution, but not from the volcano; we are not sure but it could be from old style weapons using depleted uranium. If so, it could mean that nowhere around the Med is safe: we have reports about the Gulf States wars, but not much detail due to the comm's disruption. Do we know how far afield the various factions are waging their battles?'

'It's educated guesswork only: we have to interpret the news as best possible using the limited satellite coverage left. We can safely assume that the more belligerent Gulf States are involved in active warfare, but we don't know what weapons are being used, or whether China and Russia still have significant interests and presence there. The power of central government has been declining for many years, leaving more power in the hands of the generals or heads of other clandestine departments, and their officers in the field, meaning less control and more chances of a catastrophic mistake or decision.' Roger waited momentarily before continuing.

'We must err on the side of caution: with the volcano in Italy, the earthquake somewhere in south east Turkey, this slowly subsiding storm and the news regarding the fragmented Middle East conflict, the American continent seems a comparable haven; but,' he hesitated, adding gently. 'I could be wrong.' Elsa waited before adding to the decision to sail to the America's.

'The prospect of better air quality, ready supply of food and clean water are also appealing, even if some of the inhabitants may not be particularly friendly. From reports, those away from the main cities are being hit hard by shortages, and rioting is frequent, so we still need to be vigilant. From my personal perspective, I will be able to gather more specimens in South America, when we eventually reach land; which was one of the main reasons for building this craft.' There was general agreement between them and they all started moving, aware of their uncompleted tasks. Alex had a quiet word with Roger after the others had gone.

'I am helping Asher with the flexible exoskeletons and Rover, the ATV, but wondered if I could give you a break and take over some watches?'

'That could be useful, thanks Alex. We won't need any of the suits for quite a while and the all-terrain-vehicle for even longer, so there's nothing urgent with any of that, and I would like to spend more time with our reconnaissance efforts, establishing where to make land and what all of the reports being generated by the various news stations are saying.' Alex thanked Roger, saying if there was ever anything he wanted, just to ask.

*

Sicily was coming up on their starboard side: the reports from the air quality processor were not encouraging – though it would be possible to breathe without masks, there was a risk to the lungs, especially for anyone with existing conditions. Apart from the obvious reasons of personal preferences, it was decided there was no practical benefit in stopping, so they continued towards the mouth of the Med, along southern Spain, past Gibraltar and into the Atlantic, turning south towards the Canary Islands, where a decision could be made about docking or landing. The global picture was grim, far exceeding anything Roger had believed possible, but his correct interpretation of the decline didn't give him any satisfaction.

Elsa came over to him later, having observed his taut posture and intense concentration. 'You should take a break dear; we don't want you falling sick, how about thirty minutes in the exercise bay followed by a massage and hot shower?' Roger looked up at her, trying to smile, but the frown remained in place.

'Maybe a little later; there are a few more reports to file and a final decision on our bearing past Gib. I have to be brutally frank and tell you that I have reservations about the future.' Elsa waited, looking at him, not sure she wanted to hear.

'What has changed?' she said simply, knowing he needed someone to confide in.

'I have been looking at the pictures returned by the drone over Gibraltar, and hearing the news feeds from various sources,' he stopped, unsure how much to divulge. 'Gibraltar has been overrun: there seems to have been a major battle between those in mainland Spain and the locals; though it is being said that it is no different to other regions where partisan groups bully and force weaker groups into submission or to fleeing to where their parties or sides hold the upper hand. Criminals are being freed with a choice to ply their violent trade in other countries or die in prison; massive ghettos are being formed and battles fought over scraps of land or anything that one side perceives as being beneficial to their existence. The herd mentality is being fed by disillusioned nationalists from the left and right extremes bringing anarchy to Europe.'

'We discussed the direction Europe was heading after I left fifteen years ago: the arrogant and undemocratic constitution couldn't last, and Eastern Europe was disputing the implementation of the corrupt and self-interested policies even then. I think our decision to cross the Atlantic was the right one, and...' Roger seemed distant, not to have taken in what she was saying; he spoke quietly.

'Don't hold up your hopes too much. The reports aren't verifiable, but we know that crackpot dictator allowed vast swathes of the Amazon rain forest to be burnt or denuded by logging companies, losing about one percent a year. Some pundits now are saying the balance has been tipped and there is no return; that the rain clouds are already losing their power and the region will probably be desert within twenty years...' he broke off, speaking more slowly and quieter as he reached the end. Elsa decided to change direction; this was not helping anyone.

'Well – doesn't that mean you have done the right thing, and that we must preserve whatever wild-life remains while we have time – it's our duty for the planet. We can't afford to procrastinate or feel sorry for ourselves, we must act, and quickly, and it's your responsibility as skipper to give us direction – we need you to be strong.' Roger was taken aback by the strength of Elsa's argument, and knew what she said was right. He stood up and put his arms around her, whispering in her ear.

'I always knew I married the right woman; I'm just not so sure you married the right man.'

'I know I did,' she replied, holding his lined face and kissing him. 'So; what's next on the agenda?'

*

Roger provided a daily pep talk with news of the outside world and a summary of the reports with his own personal views; offering the subjects open to discussion – considering even outlandish suggestions: though he didn't divulge all the bad news – there was little point in depressing everyone, or making the atmosphere in the partially claustrophobic environment any more dismal than need be. Elsa helped him through the worst times, providing the strength when he needed it most.

Their journeys would take them around the world, encountering diverse cultures and habitat, exploring in their exoskeleton, elephant trunk like, flexible suits, enabling much more area to be covered with each trip. The scenes of devastation were having an effect on them and their eventual target became more obscure as the days passed into weeks and months.

The second and final part is being drafted and I anticipate making it freely available to anyone offering an objective review to this compilation or my other books - https://www.amazon.co.uk/s?k=nik+olsen&i=digital-text&ref=nb_sb_noss

If you enjoyed the subject of this last short story you may enjoy 2o34, which is of a similar ilk, though through the narrative of a popular dystopian style novel.

As all the work is a product of my deliberations , I must assume total responsibility, and apologise for any mistakes or exaggerations that might offend. Polite and objective comments are always welcome, and could possibly assist me in improving my distinctive efforts.

### Finally 'Not Brexit Again!'

'But minister shouldn't we inform our constituents of the facts? They can surely make their own minds up if we present them in a straight forward fashion, omitting the excessive jargon employed by the bureaucrats.'

'Now what good would that do Justin? Our masters know what is best and promote the view that is best for all of us; that some may argue against the facts is the beauty of a democracy.'

'But a democracy means allowing the voters a vote, and in order to vote they should be informed of the facts; what our dear leaders have produced is propaganda with no attempt at any balanced information.'

'I am not sure where you had your education Justin, or where you get these old fashioned notions; if you belong to a party you accept the party line and persuade the electorate in your constituency to do the same, you can't have all and sundry putting in their subjective views; we would never get anything done. No, take my well informed advice and heed the instructions of our leaders if you want to survive and succeed: they have the ears of workers and businesses up and down the country and have to assess the broad picture.'

'You mean they don't want to upset the corporate sector who provide much of their party finances, and when they retire from politics are offered a plum position using their contacts within government. And what about immigration; they need it to prop up the economy and continue paying the vastly excessive state expenses?'

'You are being cynical again Justin and it really is a most irritating habit, I thought my sister brought you up better than that, but it seems the education system is prone to the machinations of the ill-disposed liberal contingent, which means students have to be re-educated after leaving college.'

'You would rather a formal or regimented system with an officer class issuing commands to their subjects in dictatorial fashion where we would in effect be conscripts into the 'system'. The world has moved on since the days of institutionalisation, freeing up the ability to innovate and improve – I believe it is called freedom uncle.'

'And a lot of good the relaxed approach to tuition has done with most subjects taken at a higher level being in the arts, social media and general disruption: we need innovators, entrepreneurs and scientists to pay for the social benefits everyone else expects as their 'right'.'

'So reduce bureaucracy and the multiple layers of management built up over the past hundred or more years; central government has failed to improve society so decentralise and allow power to be devolved; the EU has become a vast nonentity, apparently set up to fleece the public and create a comfy bastion for the 'Insiders'.

'Oh, so you are in favour of Brexit are you? I would have thought as an idle intellectual you would have been firmly in the Remain camp, preserving the status quo. So are you going to vote with your deluded conscience or tow the party line as expected of a true party member?'

'I haven't made my mind up: the scale of corruption and bureaucratic edicts that emanate from the undemocratic edifice strangles society and prevents natural evolution. They can't agree upon anything important so fill their time making up puerile rules that most countries apart from ours totally ignores. I am perplexed as to quite why our esteemed leader is fanatically in favour of staying in, the arguments put forward are fatuous and full of subjective rhetoric; where is the reasoned argument?'

'Democracy Justin.'

'What?

'Do you believe in the democratic process and the inviolable will of the people to determine their own fate through their elected representative?'

'Er, yes I believe so, if I understand what you mean.'

'Very good Justin, you are beginning to learn how it all works. Well; if a hundred people vote for someone they believe will act in their own interests, they must assume that person knows more than they do and will weigh up all the options before making the best decision based on the facts. The decision will generally please the majority but rarely everyone, ergo, a democracy cannot be all things to all people; and I believe Plato mentioned something along those lines. Now, take the ball game to a much bigger level where the political scene has been playing out for decades and you begin to understand that the people should trust their leaders who have a much better understanding of the complexities, and follow their lead in this vote.'

'But if they actually know more than the rest of us why don't they give us the facts instead of entering into slanging matches; it seems to me that the ones who are towing the government line are doing so for party reasons and not because they know something the rest don't: the more reasoned argument is coming from the leave side, and I have to admit their reasoning appears more acceptable to any rational unbiased bystander. I would never join a club where I didn't know the rules as they were too opaque and liable to alter to suit the inner sanctum, or the cost and liability was open ended with red tape stifling our productive businesses.'

'Welcome to the real world Justin, or the 'New World' as some would have us believe. I reiterate my earlier statement about democracy, but will enter a caveat: the rationale behind the EU was plausible after the war, being commended by Churchill and bankrolled to a large degree by America; unfortunately as with all conglomerates it lost its way and a huge bureaucratic monstrosity evolved; but the concept is still sound and if there was a complete breakdown, the results for the West could be catastrophic. The mess we are in has been brought about partly due to the common currency, though the reason for it was not unreasonable; the EEC may not continue in its present form for very long, but we should hope it manages to survive without being broken up as it is in all of our interests. In a globally connected world big means powerful, and united we can fight or deny our enemies and belligerent partners the opportunity of imposing their will on us; but individually we will eventually be absorbed by one of the larger aggressors. Europe had a chance to show its strength in the East but failed dismally, allowing Russia to expose our weakness; it mustn't be allowed to escalate to other Baltic countries, and the Americans see our involvement as paramount in securing our borders, though the immigration fiasco is admittedly making us a laughing stock.'

'But the Americans want us to give up our sovereignty to an unelected autocracy, where they would never even consider doing so – it's a bit rich - and what about all the riots and rebellions against immigration and appeasement to despotic nations? Many right wing groups are forming alliances with left wing rebels espousing nationalist if not fascist tendencies; so surely that must prove the experiment, for want of a better word, is failing.'

'That may well prove to be the saviour of the republic.'

'What?'

'The slow disintegration of parts of the bureaucratic machine will bring about new life with new hope. Certainly there will be pain for years to come as a more realistic entity emerges from the ashes of the defunct autocracy, but the federation will be stronger and hopefully more democratic; there may be mini-revolutions as the extreme left and right wing, bankrolled by the likes of Iran and the Kremlin cause mayhem, intent on destroying the united block, but good will prevail and we shall be victorious again.'

'Great speech uncle, and we all know who will be the losers in your predicted game and who will survive moderately intact; now are you ready to see the psychiatrist?'

'Eh; what do you mean?'

'Your delusions; hallucinating again with visions of grandeur; a distorted form of neo-colonialism.'

'Come now Justin, you didn't really believe any of that did you? But it was good to think aloud and clear the air with some fresh perspective.'

'I rarely take what you say at face value uncle.'

'Excellent Justin; we will make a first class minister of you yet.'

First penned in 2017 when Brexit was in its infancy.
