Hatred (Collpase, #1) E-Book

M J Dees

• Herausgeber: M J Dees
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2021

Beschreibung

A terrorist attack on Parliament plunges the country on to a destructive path.

Jim just wants his discharge from the Army and return to his life in academia.
He returns from military service to find a country in chaos and a new regime bent on blaming everything on citizens with foreign heritage like him and his wife, Annabel.
She just wants to practise her music and live in a house in the country but with no-one lending to those with foreign heritage, the chance of building on the land they bought is impossible and it is confiscated by the new regime.
When they are evicted they find themselves and their daughter in a struggle for survival.
Can they survive long enough to witness the end of the regime or will they become victims of hatred?

Hatred is the first book in M J Dees' new dystopian series, Collapse.

"Excellent story, gritty & really gets you thinking." Sam Stokes, Beta reader.
"... vision of the brutality of the regime and its obvious flaws and failings and the desperate ever-increasing hardline initiatives to uphold it, are all very believable if chilling. I certainly won't forget it in a hurry, a thoroughly thought-provoking read which I have really enjoyed." Beta reader.   
"It felt as though the book was based on what is going on here in the states and what might be in store for us down the road." Peggy Coppolo, Beta reader.
"Was totally drawn into the plot/characters and love your descriptive narrative. As I have been reading, it has been playing as a film in my imagination. A testament to such good writing." Miss A D Morrey, Beta reader
 

Leseprobe

Hatred

Collpase, Volume 1

M J Dees

Published by M J Dees, 2021.

This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

HATRED

First edition. June 20, 2021.

Copyright © 2021 M J Dees.

ISBN: 978-1393922605

Written by M J Dees.

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright Page

Hatred (Collpase, #1)

Part One – Edinburgh

Chapter One – 23 years and 11 months before the collapse

Chapter Two -  23 years and 10 months before the collapse

Chapter Three – 23 years and 9 months before the collapse

Chapter Four – 23 years and 8 months before the collapse

Chapter Five – 23 years and 7 months before the collapse

Chapter Six – 23 years and 6 months before the collapse

Part Two – London

Chapter Seven -  23 years and 5 months before the collapse

Chapter Eight – 23 years and 1 month before the collapse

Chapter Nine – 22 years and 10 months before the collapse

Chapter Ten – 22 years and 9 months before the collapse

Chapter Eleven – 21 years before the collapse

Part Three - Manchester

Chapter Twelve – 19 years 8 months before the collapse

Chapter Thirteen – 19 years and 7 months before the collapse

Chapter Fourteen - 19 years 6 months before the collapse

Chapter Fifteen – 19 years and 4 months before the collapse

Chapter Sixteen – 19 years 3 months before the collapse

Chapter Seventeen – 19 years 2 months before the collapse

Chapter Eighteen – 18 years 9 months before the collapse

Chapter Nineteen – 18 years and 4 months before the collapse

Chapter Twenty  - 17 years 11 months before the collapse

Chapter Twenty-One – 17 years 2 months before the collapse

Chapter Twenty-Two – 14 years 2 months before the collapse

Chapter Twenty-Three – 13 years 10 months before the collapse

Chapter Twenty-Four – 12 years 10 months before the collapse

Chapter Twenty-Five - 11 years 10 months before the collapse

Chapter Twenty-Six – 11 years 10 months before the collapse

Chapter Twenty-Seven – 10 years 9 months before the collapse

Chapter Twenty-Eight – 10 years 5 months before the collapse

Chapter Twenty-Nine – 10 years 2 months before the collapse

Chapter Thirty – 9 years 5 months before the collapse

Part Five – On the Road

Chapter Thirty-One – 7 years 8 months before the collapse

Get a free and exclusive bonus epilogue to Hatred, only available here.

Endnotes

Not ready to leave Jim, Annabel and Olivia? | Collapse, Book Two in the Collapse Series | Pre-order your copy now

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

ALSO BY M J DEES | Living with Saci

Living with the Headless Mule

The Astonishing Anniversaries of James and David: Part One

When The Well Runs Dry

Fred & Leah

Albert & Marie

DEDICATION

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

COPYRIGHT

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You can discover details at the end of Hatred

Part One – Edinburgh

“History doesn’t repeat itself, but It often rhymes,” – accredited to Mark Twain.

Chapter One – 23 years and 11 months before the collapse

“Sergeant Smith?”

Jim awoke and looked none too pleased at being disturbed.

“Sergeant Smith, we’ve landed,” said the automated voice.

He looked out the window. Through the darkness, he could see that it was still raining.

Jim disembarked. He shared an automated jeep with two military police officers all the way to the train station at Grateley, where he was just in time to get the 22:28, the last one of the day.

Civilians and soldiers packed the train, and everyone was talking about the mobilisation.

“It wasn’t as peaceful as they’d have you believe,” said one soldier. “There’s only so much robots and drones can do, I always knew they’d end up resorting to conscription.”

“I still think the real trouble lies ahead,” said another. “There’s no way the rioters in London will give up without a fight. They can make protests as illegal as they want, but it hasn’t stopped them yet, has it?”

“They are just copying the protesters in Wall Street,” said his friend.

“No. It’s all about race,” said another.

“It’s not about race,” said a third. “It’s everyone against the police.”

Jim found a table seat opposite two soldiers.

“Where are you off to?” one asked.

“Edinburgh,” said Jim. “But I’m planning to stay in London tonight to visit my sister.”

“There’ll be trouble in London tomorrow,” said the other soldier.

“You’d be better off travelling straight through,” said the first.

“Who knows if you’ll get a train tomorrow,” said the second.

Jim took their advice and sent a message to his sister, apologising and explaining the reason behind his change in plans.

When they alighted from the train at London Waterloo at five minutes to midnight, the soldiers pointed out the bullet holes in the station’s brickwork. Jim said goodbye to them and headed straight for the underground.

A man next to him on the tube shared his recent experiences of the turmoil that had troubled the capital. The unrest at home was one reason the war overseas had ended before the Government had achieved its objectives. It reminded Jim of the unrest in the US which had accompanied the end of the war in Vietnam that he had learned about in all those streaming documentaries that had obsessed him when he was little, and that his father had encouraged him to watch.

“I was at the station when it happened,” the man next to him said. “We heard this noise, like a machine gun, so we ducked under the arches and shots started coming from the other side too and people were piling in under the arch. It was a real scramble. They got three of them and took them and threw them in the river, someone said.”

Jim was glad when the train arrived at Kings Cross and he could take his leave of the old fellow.

He made his train with minutes to spare, and the only spare seat was next to another sergeant in uniform.

“Are you going to Edinburgh?” the sergeant asked him.

Jim nodded.

“What are you going to do when you get there?” 

“I shall have to go home and wake my wife,” said Jim.

“No, I mean after that, what are you going to do?”

“Well, I expect I shall have to report to my company HQ.”

“I doubt they’ll expect to hear from you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Once a soldier is out of the grasp of their company or battery, they can go anywhere. As long as they don’t make demands for pay or plunder, they can consider themselves discharged because who wants to search for an individual in this chaos?”

Jim nodded.

“Which regiment are you with anyway?” the sergeant asked.

“51st MI Company.”

“Oh, intelligence, I see.”

The man was silent for the rest of the journey, which suited Jim. He watched the rain track across the window.

Jim wanted a discharge, but he wanted to do it properly and receive the proper papers. He didn’t want any complications later.

He arrived at Edinburgh Waverley at 8 am. Crowds of men in khaki gathered around the command post where rows of machines were refusing requests, being ranted at and refusing requests.

“What’s happening?” Jim asked one man who had broken from the crowd for some air.

“They just keep booking us return tickets to our units and denying us home leave,” the man said.

Jim decided it was a dead loss and turned to leave, but on the way out, he encountered a man in civilian clothes who must have also been part of the independence organisation because he was wearing a blue armband. 

“There’s nothing doing over there,” said Jim to the man. “They’re just following procedures. Can you help me? I want to get my military papers in order for my discharge.”

“I can help you,” the man said. “Follow me to my office.”

He led Jim up the stairs and into a sparsely decorated office with a single desk on which sat a laptop. He scanned Jim’s NFC tag, checked his ID app, charged his food app, and told him he was free to go.

Jim left. He could now go home and see his wife, Annabel.

He had not told her he was on his way and could enter the building with his fingerprint so she would not see him until he knocked on the door.

“Did you look after the philodendron plant?” he asked when she opened it.

“What do you think?” she said, throwing her arms around him.

“Thank you, darling.”

For a few weeks they lived the life they had enjoyed before conscription, only it felt better because he was now out of the Army and free to pursue the lectureship the university had offered before the troubles began.

“Don’t count your chickens before they’re hatched,” Annabel warned. “Remember what happened before.”

Jim remembered only too well what had happened before. The university had offered a professorship, but the Army had refused to release him from military duty.

The troubles had annoyed Jim. They had impeded what he wanted to do with his life. 

“You won’t believe what happened at the barber’s this morning,” said Jim.

Annabel’s silence suggested that not only did she not know, but she wasn’t about to guess. 

“He started telling me how many guns he had bought from soldiers, reckons he can sell them for twice the price.”

Annabel shook her head in disappointment at the direction the country was heading. 

“Oh, I almost forgot,” Jim remembered. “Sam Patel invited me to an event tonight at the university. Do you want to come?”

“No. You go, you know how I hate those things.”

“I’ll wear my uniform. Spare my civvies.”

“Come on Jim, things aren’t that bad.”

“No? When was the last time you saw a banana? There’re blackouts every night.”

“Probably just as well, we can barely afford the electricity.”

“We could join a payment strike.”

“Don’t think I’m not tempted. But then, look what happened in Leeds and Bristol.”

“Yes, at least we’re not the ones having to house bomb victims. Those poor souls.”

“They built a camp for the homeless while you were away. I’ve heard rumours they’re rife with disease.”

“Not paying the water bill for two weeks is hardly a capital offence.”

“Yes, but you need to wait until the Shorters get in touch, otherwise it doesn’t work.”

“Why not?”

“They have to identify who owns the debt first.”

“What about the late payment fees?”

“They pay it through crowdfunding.”

“Does it work?”

“Well, the utilities are going bust and so are the banks and this time it looks like the Government won’t bail them out.”

“Really?”

“Yes, the Government is talking about re-nationalising the utilities.”

“But what about the banks?”

“We are all going to get a Government bank account, apparently. And it’s not just the banks, the companies with the worst zero hour contracts, environmental performance are being targeted too.”

“Is it working?”

“Well, the pension funds are divesting from equity funds containing these companies.”

*

Jim wore his uniform and as he entered the university, a student came running up to him asking if he was from the Independence Council.

“No, why?”

“They banned the event an hour ago,” explained the student. “They thought it was a counter independence gathering. The Army was preventing people from entering the building.”

Jim looked around; he couldn’t see evidence of any military.

“Twenty minutes ago they lifted the order after we phoned and told them they had made a mistake,” the student explained.

This made sense to Jim. Sam Patel had explained to him that the university chancellor had to step down after a dispute with the Independence Council about flying the independence flag on the university building. This was the Council’s way of making a point.

Jim took his place in the lecture theatre, enjoying the comfy seat while he waited for proceedings to begin.

Sam Patel gave a talk on the poetry of Danny O’Toole which seemed apt given the independence mood surrounding everything. There were only a handful of students and teachers there.

“Welcome back,” said Patel, as he greeted Jim after the lecture. “Don’t worry about numbers. Most watch online these days.”

“Good to see you,” said Jim. “How are things?”

“Tensions are very high, Jim. It feels like the entire country could erupt in civil war at any moment.”

“It already has, hasn’t it? It couldn’t get much worse, could it?”

“Depends who you speak to. These Shorters are causing chaos on the stock exchange. They’re blackmailing the pension funds. How’s Annabel?”

“Practicing the piano, she has exams coming.”

“And how are you?”

“I’m eager to get back to teaching.”

“Good, that’s what I like to hear. Jim, do you want to know what’s going on?”

“Of course.”

“There’s a meeting tonight in a pub near the river. Let’s go, we can catch the end.”

When they entered the pub, the first thing Jim saw was an enormous portrait of the King on one wall. The next thing he saw was that at least 200 people packed the pub. 

A large middle-aged man got up on a stage which occupied a whole end of the room. When he called the room to order, everyone fell silent at once. Jim was amazed at how polite the gathering was. 

“We are the small people, the poor, the bottom of the heap, the abandoned,” the man spoke with calm, deliberately formed sentences. “We don’t have an Oxbridge education like those who caused this so-called independence. Independence does not help us. It helps the rich, the politicians, the bankers, the arms manufacturers.”

He paused and looked at the enormous portrait of the King.

“They stole our data and turned us against each other, getting us to follow fake causes, made up marches, put-up protests. They say if you want to remould society, break it. Well, they broke our society and are trying to remould it how they want. We must stop them. The payment strikes are good, but they are not enough.”

Jim observed the room. The gathering was attentive and passive.

“This poor excuse for a government has betrayed us,” the man carried on. “They are just as hostile to us and have demonised us for decades. The media are owned by a few in-league with the rich and their puppets. They say we have freedom of speech, they say we have a free press but we are not free. They feed us lies, making us believe things that are not true. The rich will make up the majority in the planned Assembly. We will be in the minority there and have just as little influence there as we do in the media. There is no declaration of human rights that can help us, at least not for the time being. We must stop the creation of the Assembly, take the media into our own hands and only our hands. We must hold the power so we can get what they have denied us.”

The man paused and surveyed the room, satisfying himself that his message was being absorbed. The audience was nodding and applauding with conviction.

“We can only achieve this by force,” he continued. “Why shouldn’t we use force? The rich have spilt so much blood, why shouldn’t a little flow for our cause?”

Shouting now accompanied the nodding and clapping. A second man got onto the platform and delivered an almost identical speech to the first. 

“Waste of time,” Jim commented to Sam Patel as they left. 

“Do you not sympathise with them?”

“Not at all, he’s just bitter at being banned from social media. I hope the government can keep them in check without bloodshed. But if they cannot avoid violence, I hope they still follow through on the election of the Assembly.”

“You don’t think it’s worrying that the DMU can turn off anyone’s account whenever they want?” Sam asked. “Independence has come at an unfortunate time, in the wake of the strikes and all the troubles.”

“It’s selective, don’t you think? They haven’t suspended Robert’s account.”

“He’s not a politician.”

“No, but his tweets incite abusive messages aimed towards those he doesn’t like and all this talk about ‘reclamation of British value’.” said Jim. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he starts his own party.”

“He’s a TV host, and he’d never form a government. Besides, he’s still young.”

“I hope not, but he is a very popular TV host, and he treats anyone with a different opinion like an enemy.”

“Most of the politicians do that now anyway, and did you know, there have been rumours of people going missing.”

“Really?” Jim was surprised and yet, at the same time, not surprised. He ground his favourite axe. “I still think the freedom and democracy these people are speaking of can only reach everyone if we abolish the monarchy. This country has never had a written constitution, and it should have one. I don’t see why parliament shouldn’t be accountable to an elected upper house rather than a monarch.”

“You think they can’t achieve what they want?”

“I sympathise with these people’s love of their monarchy,” Jim said. “But they will not dig us out of this mess that they got us into in the first place when they left Europe, and all so they could keep their dirty tax avoidance schemes. GDP down 5%, car production down a third. Aerospace, automotive, chemicals, food and drink and pharmaceutical industries ceased to be competitive, and the Government permitted foreign companies to buy out the ailing companies and most have now moved production elsewhere.”

“Someone’s been doing some research.”

“They call themselves patriots, Sam, but they’re not even nationalists.”

“What’s the difference?”

“John le Carré once said that for nationalism, you need enemies. That’s what Roberts would give them if he could.”

“You don’t think he’s just a reaction to the tyranny of the cancel culture?”

“Neither side listens to the other, there’s too much hatred, I think that’s the problem. And since the BBC lost its charter, there’s no impartiality in the media either.”

“Was there before? Ah, here’s your stop.”

At the tram stop, Jim said goodbye to Sam Patel, who went on his way. When the tram arrived it was already full but two soldiers helped pull Jim up and he felt like a sardine as the tram rattled away.

“We are suffering this independence because of our sins,” an old man continued an argument that had begun long before the tram arrived at Jim’s stop. “The country is  overpopulated. Someone should arrange a proper scheme of assisted emigration like they had in the 60s. It would do good to get rid of some people.”

“I love independence,” laughed a boyish man whom Jim noticed was wearing the independence armband. “I am touring the country to see where it is progressing best, and I get a free ride wherever I go. There is always an independence council willing to charge my food app or give me a place to stay.”

As he alighted from the tram in the centre, Jim noticed they had decorated every building with blue and white flags of Alba with a smattering of union jacks, and there were one or two Edinburgh flags with their three towered castles. Jim had marvelled at the idea that Alba had not even completed its independence from the Union, and Bernican separatists were already suggesting another regional assembly.

The only flag missing was the European flag. He wondered whether the flags were a sign of joy for independence or for something else. Despite the previous year’s revolution, Spain was still threatening to block a devolved Alba’s entry into the EU.

He noticed posters pasted on the walls declaring that security forces would use firearms without leniency against anyone disturbing the peace ‘regardless of political persuasion’. Other posters warned the population to use petrol in moderation.

The square was full of people reading posters and gathered around flip phones. There were groups of people debating, the people in the centre listening, those on the outside craning to listen.

Jim wondered whether the crowd signalled the imminent arrival of another strike, or worse, a riot. For the moment, the people just seemed excited and amused. It was almost as if they had created a political carnival for their amusement.

The streets were also full of soldiers, but Jim perceived they were also there for the show rather than an attempt at preserving law and order. No-one asked to see his ID app, and it didn’t look like they wanted to enforce the ban on protests.

Jim realised there were Europeans in the square that were being treated with respect. The struggle with Europe was over and the Scottish people held no animosity against their people, only against their governments who had thrust their country into such an unreasonable divorce settlement, and their own government that had let it happen.

Chapter Two -  23 years and 10 months before the collapse

Jim remembered his to-do list and pulled out his flip. He had promised Annabel he would call Evans to ask whether she could continue her piano studies. Evans was very polite and even promised to cut some red tape.

Next on his list was a new flat. The cheapest one bed flats were in Leith. There were some outside of the fenced off crime pacification zones and the transport to the university was fine. He knew they couldn’t afford more and so far inquiries with estate agents had been fruitless, each recommending another. Any of the flats Jim had liked, they had ‘just’ let to someone else.

Their furniture had been in storage for four years, but the housing shortage was getting worse since the collapse of the country’s largest house-builders.

Jim had still not received a reply from the Army regarding his petition for discharge, and he visited the company headquarters site online.

He scanned his NFC tag in his flip. The screen flickered, and a lieutenant appeared.

“We will discharge you, Sergeant Smith,” said the lieutenant. “Report to the infirmary for your medical.”

Jim thanked the lieutenant and clicked the link for the infirmary.

He waited in an online queue for a while. Jim had heard stories of soldiers faking symptoms, attempting to achieve either leave or a medical discharge, but they did not easily fool the online doctors and just made it take longer for genuine visitors.

When the site connected Jim, the doctor dealt with him with courtesy and efficiency, and soon Jim was free to click back to the main site to end his business.

Back in the main site, Jim was told he would receive back pay and four weeks leave prior to the discharge coming into force. They also added more credits to his food ration app and told him his discharge certificate would arrive via his message app.

Jim felt the experience had gone very well and clicked five stars on the post-service survey. At that moment, although independence made little sense to him, he was pleased that at least the military still seemed to function as it should.

*

Dr Green had invited Jim to the faculty meeting at the university, but no-one seemed to be there. They held it in the same auditorium in which Jim had watched lectures years earlier, but most of the lecturers were being shown on big screens as they connected from home.

As soon as Jim entered, Green beckoned him over, along with Dr Joe Wood and the chubby Dr Turner.

As the meeting progressed, Jim developed the impression that they had taken all the important decisions already. The full professors guided the discussion and there was no room for dissent or debate. It went on for hours and only drew to a close because of the academics growing hungry.

The chancellor, Professor Cooper, declared that the discussion had been gratifying and an important point of contact for the university staff at a ‘difficult time’.

Jim noticed that the chancellor said nothing about the fact that they would pay the staff less than they paid them before independence.

However, the meeting did not end at that point but disintegrated into a series of questions about who would pay the staff, who would pay the university, and what the policy on student fees would be under this new regime.

As the arguments continued, Joe Wood pointed out various members of staff to Jim. There was Hill, who hated Green because he had wanted the head of faculty position for himself, and Ward, Morris and King whom Wood introduced once the questions had ceased. 

An old man cornered Jim for a brief chat, and it was only when he limped away that Joe Wood explained he was Baker.

“The poet?” Jim asked. “I didn’t know I was talking to such an illustrious figure.”

“He’s old hat,” Wood explained. “Turned to drink, he’s already had a minor stroke.”

As they left the university, Jim and Joe Wood walked alone.

“Tell me about yourself,” said Jim, trying to be as friendly as possible. “Are you married?”

Wood’s face fell, and Jim regretted his question.

“I was married,” he said, painful emotions resurfacing as he spoke. “They arrested my wife as the ringleader of an illegal protest. She committed suicide in prison.”

“Oh, my God. I’m sorry,” said Jim.

“That’s okay. It was back in January. I’m afraid I’m not good company at the moment.”

“Don’t worry, it’s to be expected.”

“No, it’s not just that. I’m afraid that our future as lecturers at the bottom of the ladder is not rosy, in particular with Green in charge of our department. If I didn’t have any savings, it would worry me.”

Jim had no savings, and he was worrying. He thought about how prices were rising daily and he felt ill. He visited his good friend, Carter Rodriquez.

Carter lived in a flat with his girlfriend, Mia, whom Jim struggled to find at first because of the quantity of boxes which seemed to fill every room.

“I see you are still in the import, export business,” said Jim.

“Ah, yes,” said Carter with a smile. “But now I’m shifting stuff.”

“You’ve always had a scheme. Do you remember Kabab?”

“Ah, yes, the taxi delivered your kebab and took you home.”

“What happened to that?”

“The drivers got fed up cleaning up the vomit on the back seat. Do you remember Tu-bar?”

“Tu-bar? What was that?”

“A bar on London Underground Trains.”

“Oh, yeah. What happened to that one?”

“Transport for London wouldn’t go for it. But I got the Chroaster off the ground.”

“The Croaster?”

“It was a toaster that browned the bread in the shape of the face of Christ.”

“Did you sell many?”

“Not really, but the import, export thing has been doing well for a while.”

“This independence hasn’t affected you then?”

“Not at all. Walker will turn the fortunes of the country around. You’ll see. I know him personally, I know his cabinet personally. They take advice from me, they give me work.”

Jim was sceptical about Carter’s role in the new government.

“I’m what you call an active bystander,” Carter continued.

“Why don’t they give you a lucrative position, some high office?”

“They’ve offered frequently, but I always refuse.”

“Why?”

“I’m a smuggler, Jim. I always have been. My hands aren’t clean enough to join the government. Don’t get me wrong, Jim. I’m tempted to play the game.”

Jim now understood why Carter had refused those posts. It wasn’t that he was too humble; he was too relaxed, disorganised and nice to be a politician. Also, despite his enthusiasm about the cause, he was too sceptical, and preferred to do just the odd job here and there.

“Your radicalism will always be a game,” said Jim.

“And you will always be a harmless reactionary. Come with me to the meeting tonight.”

“Oh God, not another one. Patel dragged me to a pub full of bloodthirsty reactionaries last night.”

“If you humoured him, then I have a right that you should humour me. It’s a kind of political club for intellectuals called ‘blue matter’, you know it’s like a play on grey matter.”

“I get it.”

Jim was astonished, not only by the size of the gathering but at how many of them Carter seemed to know. They took their seats, together with Carter’s girlfriend, Mia, near the front of the room in the expensive-looking hotel.

On the platform was the poet and novelist, Owen Stewart. He stood to address the audience.

“Before independence,” he began. “Those who only had their own interests at heart governed us. They took us out of Europe and tied us into this disastrous deal to hide their own offshore tax avoidance. They manipulated us, but it was not only them, also those who control our media. We pride ourselves on our independence, but whose independence was it?”

Stewart was reading from his papers as if reading an essay aloud. 

“Those of us fortunate to live in comfort,” he continued. “Must prepare to forgo some of our luxuries for the benefit of the whole.”

Stewart finished, and the debate began.

“You were the poet laureate for the King and now you are supporting the independence movement that rejects him.”

“When I was the laureate, I believed in the Union,” Stewart replied. “But this entire business with Europe has changed the country.”

More questions followed, and the whole debate descended further and further into chaos. An adolescent came to the microphone.

“The population does not care about being educated,” he began but could not finish because of the shouts of indignation.

Jim wondered whether the crowd was protesting so much because the adolescent had hit a nerve. People weren’t interested in fact or reason any more, they were only interested in statements which matched their own opinions.

When they had exhausted requests to speak, the chair brought the meeting to a close, and Jim thought it had all been embarrassing. The speakers had been writers and artists and musicians, all pretending to be politicians.

“Don’t be too hard on them,” said Carter. “They feel more affinity for the working classes than the middle classes who buy their work. Even if they are not politicians, they have come together to politicise themselves.”

Jim did not look convinced.

“Look,” said Carter. “Meet me tomorrow. I’ll show you the real politicians. It’s a meeting of the independents who left the other parties. They’ll change your mind. Walker himself will be there.”

The next day, Jim and Carter met up again and went to the meeting where, instead of hundreds from the middle classes, there were thousands of working-class people. The crowd was in an agitated mood and, when Jim and Carter arrived at around 7 pm, the venue was full and police had closed the doors.

Jim was going to take a photo with his flip.

“What are you doing?” asked Carter. “Do you not know it’s illegal to take photos of the police?”

“They finally got that one through then.”

Carter said he knew of a side entrance through the utility rooms.

Jim marvelled at how Carter convinced the security guard that he was a friend of Walker’s, bearing a personal message. No wonder he was so good at smuggling.

They emerged right next to the stage and people, eating and drinking, packed the auditorium. It reminded Jim of the last time he visited Oktoberfest. 

The first speaker was a man in his thirties. Carter whispered in Jim’s ear that the man was Walker’s son-in-law.

“We, the independents,” the man began. “Have come from both the left and the right, united in a common cause because the left and the right have abandoned us. The old parties are no longer fit for purpose. A common purpose unites us: to make our assembly work. We no longer want Westminster to govern us, just as Ulster no longer wants Westminster to govern them. What have they ever done for us?”

It reminded Jim of the Monty Python sketch: What did the Romans ever do for us?

“Sanitation?” he whispered in Carter’s ear.

“They gave us nothing,” the man continued. “The only investment in the north came from Europe, and the gammons made sure they got rid of that. Walker is the sword of independence and not just our Scottish independence. He is our brilliant leader and I will stand by him. The only way to get to Walker is over my dead body.”

Rapturous applause, which lasted for minutes, greeted his words. However, this adoration of speakers was not universal. The crowd shouted down the next speaker.

Dr MacDonald followed, in military uniform, and lambasted the Government in Westminster.

When someone in the crowd tried to heckle Dr MacDonald, questioning his patriotism, he responded with venom.

“Were you in Afghanistan? Were you in Iraq? Were you in Sudan?” he beat his breast. “This is the uniform of a patriot. I am a patriot.”

The room was growing louder and hotter, and Jim worried the mood of the crowd might turn. More than ever when an older delegate spoke and no-one seemed to understand him.

Then there was a commotion from one side, and word passed quickly that Walker had arrived. The crowd went quiet.

“Long live our president,” shouted the speaker. It was the only thing he said that Jim understood.

Walker entered, very close to Jim, a delicate, tiny, frail, stooped little man. A balding head edged with dirty grey hair, a full reddish beard, also turning grey. Tired eyes peered through his glasses. An unremarkable-looking man. When he reached the platform, he had to stop and rest for a while. When he got up and moved to the microphone, he could speak softly because the entire crowd had gone silent, holding its breath.

“I have just finished work,” he began. “I have heard nothing of the claims of the previous speakers, of any accusations which they might have levelled against me so I shall start by denying everything.”

The crowd cheered.

“I’m not afraid of anyone who wants to push me forward,” Walker continued. “I’m the pushiest of all, because I’m a dreamer, I have a vision.”

The crowd applauded wildly.

“I am not speaking as a president, I’m speaking as an independent and as a traitor. I’m supposed to ask you to vote independent but I’m not going to. Follow your beliefs and let us unite.”

More cheers.

“Just give me a little time. I just want to serve you as president for a few days longer.”

“A hundred years!” someone shouted from the crowd.

“I will attempt to comply with your gracious request,” Walker joked. 

The crowd erupted in cheers once more.

Jim marvelled that this was the man who was in charge of the independence movement. Stewart could have delivered the same speech at the previous day’s meeting to the middle-classes and it wouldn’t have gone down as well.

After the meeting, Jim said his goodbyes to Carter and got on a tram, where he was drawn into an unwanted conversation with another passenger.

“Walker is a babbler,” the man said. “He has no thoughts of his own. He has no future. Hughes is the name you ought to watch.”

“How do you think Walker came to power, then?” Jim asked.

“Westminster brought themselves to ruin.”

“How?”

“They abandoned us after the floods. Alba is tired of Englishmen telling them what to do.”

“But Walker was born in England.”

“And that’s why he will fail.”

“But you should have heard the crowd cheering for him.”

The man laughed.

“That was all Scottish fun,” he said. “It won’t last. I need to get out of the country for a while.”

Chapter Three – 23 years and 9 months before the collapse

Jim dedicated himself to preparing the lectures he would have to deliver when the university resumed after the New Year. 

For Christmas, Dan and Scarlett Knight had invited him and Annabel to have dinner with them. They had also invited Sam Patel.

Patel was drinking whiskey like it was going out of fashion, and Jim asked him if everything was okay.

“Writer’s block,” Patel lamented. “I used to write a good lecture. You know that feeling that you used to be able to do something?”

“Don’t worry, Sam,” Jim said. “It’ll come back. It always does. You’ll be back in the swing of things in no time.”

Patel seemed to brighten a little at this.

“How are you getting on with your lectures?” he asked Jim.

“They’re getting there.”

“Well done. I wish you the best of luck. Not that you’ll need it.”

“Thanks, Sam.”

“How did you like today’s meal?”

“It was nice.”

“Synthetic meat.”

“What?”

“Synthetic meat, grown in a factory, fed some kind of grain and electricity.”

“I’ve heard about that. I couldn’t tell the difference.”

“Well, it is real meat after all.”

*

In the new year, as Annabel and Jim walked to the polling station, they discussed the riots in London and the emergency powers the Government had given itself. The Army was on the streets and the deaths of some key opposition figures had sparked rumours that the Government was murdering its opponents. The bush fires, floods, drought and famine in Africa didn’t seem so important anymore.

The deaths had also sparked protests in Edinburgh, and protestors had caused more damage. 

Jim watched Annabel as she went into the booth, and she waited for him as he posted his slip in the ballot box.

“Do you think we are wasting our time?” asked Annabel.

“It’s never a waste,” said Jim. 

When they arrived home, there was no power again, and they had turned the water off.

“Do you think it’s another strike?” Annabel asked.

“No, just lack of capacity I imagine.”

Besides the lack of power, they had no water in the kitchen. To ration water, the water company only turned on the supply between 6am and 6pm. In the flat, the water tank would fill, which served the shower and taps in the bathroom, but the taps in the kitchen, which were connected directly to the mains, stopped working in the evenings. 

Jim showed Annabel a cartoon on his flip showing Walker having calluses manicured into his hands to make him look more like a worker. 

After Jim had given his first lecture, he felt a tremendous relief from all the worries which had been surrounding him. He felt freer and calmer. 

However, when he browsed the online library, his anxiety soon returned. The range of specialist literature intimidated him with the apparent gaps in his knowledge. He felt uncomfortable with so many unfamiliar titles.

He retreated to the staff room, but his heart sank when he saw Joe Wood there.

“I can’t believe it,” Joe said, seeing Jim enter. “They’ve moved the complaints tablet.”

Joe always had something to complain about.

“What are you going to do now?” Jim asked.

“Look, this is where it should be,” Joe pointed to an empty plinth. “I’ve left a post-it note. Lecturers may not move the complaints tablet from its usual place.”

Jim had contemplated working from home rather than the staff room but as he and Annabel were renting a room in the house of an interfering elderly landlady who rented rooms to other house guests in her large terrace house together with her noisy granddaughter. The complaints of Joe Wood seemed the lesser of two evils. Annabel spent her days at the music academy for the same reason.

The landlady would cook an evening meal for her guests, but it never satisfied Annabel and Jim. There were still shortages in most of the shops, and the price of coffee had become exorbitant. They would buy what they could find and then barter with the other tenants in the house. 

“Live well,” Dr Baker would say as they sat down for dinner and everyone surveyed the paltry spread. “We will live well again.”

“Do you believe that?” Annabel would ask.

“Oh yes, and I am going to run a hospital. But it won’t happen with just knowledge and competence. Connections are important, maybe the most important. Though I wish I had the musical talents of you, Annabel.”

Dr Baker would argue with the bad-tempered John Morgan, though the two men liked each other, and it always amounted to harmless banter. The two were in contrast to the soft Wyatt Harrison, whom Carter had introduced to the house.

Annabel and Jim couldn’t work out what Wyatt did, but from his connection with Carter, Jim imagined he might be a smuggler. Wyatt told Jim that he had served in the army as an interpreter and that the authorities had denied his wife and child visas to enter the country. How much of what he said was true, Jim could not tell, but sometimes Wyatt would cry as he told his stories, lamenting his failed life. No-one knew where his money came from but claimed he often played online chess with Dr MacDonald, whom he described to the rest of his housemates as depraved.

He joined up as a volunteer police officer and returned almost every day with stories of how the police force was becoming more and more xenophobic. 

“What’s that got to do with me?” Annabel asked. “I was born here.”

“But your parents weren’t, and that’s what matters,” said Wyatt.

“Then they’re racist, not xenophobic. My father was British.”

“Whatever.”

Jim saw Carter every day. Carter was still a big supporter of Walker, even though the distributions of seats in the new assembly were not in Walker’s favour.

They went for a drink together and ended up at the same table as a young man who was unwillingly dragged into one of Carter’s rants.

“This country has its roots in many places,” Carter argued. “You might see artists, writers, musicians and athletes from many backgrounds but they still belong to this country.”

The young man nodded.

“Why is it then,” Carter continued. “That the media questioned the President’s heritage because his mother was foreign and his father a communist? Walker himself admits he was born in the south and yet even those in his own party seemed to have turned against him. His opponents are no more Scottish than he is.”

The young man agreed with Carter, but without conviction.

“Duncan, whose journey began in Peckham, illuminated The Calders with his presence, but his roots were in Peckham,” Carter was picking up steam. “Then there is Dr MacDonald, who plays the most serious role in the assembly and who takes the side of the strikers in London. Arrested and released again after sizable protests. The Government does not want any martyrs. He refutes any claims he is a foreigner. True, he was born on foreign soil but to parents that weren’t foreign, and he served his country in the Middle East in a conflict that left him wounded.”

The young man didn’t know how to react to this statement, so he just looked non-committal.

“The inhabitants of this country are so proud of their heritage, so averse to all things foreign, in particular those areas with the most refugees.”

This, the young man agreed with. He knew Carter was referring to the gammons and not to him.

“Scottish politics is like Scottish sport,” Carter continued. “You need not be Scottish to take part. And in Alba, sport, religion and politics are the same thing.”

The young man wasn’t one for sport, but didn’t say so.

“In other revolutions, at other times and in other places, the leaders have come from the streets, now sports people, artists and musicians become politicians and they are just as interested in profiteering and backhanders. Does Walker not consider himself to be an artist, a writer as he insists?”

The young man shrugged. He didn’t know. 

“I’m sorry,” Jim interrupted Carter’s diatribe. “You must think us rude. We haven’t asked you anything about yourself. What is it you do?”

“I’m living on a commune,” said the young man. “We bought a farm near Loanhead to prove that we can live an idyllic life in a community without money.”

“A communist!” Jim exclaimed. “I thought they had become extinct. How do you join? Do you have to contribute to the investment costs? Kind of buy your way in?”

“Oh no, you can’t buy your way in.”

“Then how can you join?” asked Carter.

“We’ve borrowed the land, we don’t own it ourselves, we’ve been friends for a long time and if someone has a benefactor, they help everyone else.”

“Are there any farmers in your group?” asked Jim.

“One woman is a gardener and the rest are students, a couple from retail and a couple that are... well... or... that have alternative lifestyles.”

“Do you have married couples?” asked Carter.

“Oh no, we consider marriage to be nothing more than legalised prostitution.”

Jim raised his eyebrows. Carter smiled.

“There are two schools of thought in our community,” the young man explained. “One is that couples should cohabit freely without the institution of marriage, the other is that we should overcome sexuality, it won’t be important anymore.”

“How do you mean?”

“We all live in friendly unsexual fellowship. If the beast stirs in two people, they feed the beast and everything goes back to the way it was.”

“The beast, eh?” said Carter. “And where do the women in your community stand regarding these two views?”

“They are divided.”

“What you need is to give the power to the working classes,” said Carter. “It just requires a little educational work.”

“Walker has already shifted to the right,” Jim began again, “So as not to ruin his chances of maintaining a government in the new assembly. He better be careful he doesn’t go too far. He’s only in power because people hate Duncan and MacDonald even more.”

“Now that I agree with,” said Carter.

The young man nodded his agreement as well.

“I think he can hold his ground as President and not just because he’s perceived as the lesser evil. Duncan and MacDonald won’t attack him, they are brothers, hostile brothers but brothers all the same.” 

Jim and Carter attended the memorial service held for the independence activists whom the rumour mongers and conspiracy theorists claimed the Government in Westminster had murdered. The crowd was modest, and there was a speech by a short man who spoke as if he was a prophet. He was Jack Allen, the self-styled apolitical politician, and he talked about the victims as if they had been personal friends whom everyone should hold up as martyrs to the cause.

“If we had listened to them,” he said. “The country would not be in the situation it now finds itself in and the only authentic way to honour their memory is to carry through Walker’s work, work that they, the fallen heroes, have started. The country will rise like a phoenix from the ashes of the current troubles, but to achieve this resurrection, everyone must work.”

*

Jim had asked Carter whether he would introduce him to Walker, more to call his bluff about his so-called connections than anything else, so it came as a surprise to Jim when one day Carter came to see him and said that the Walkers were going over to his place for coffee that evening and why didn’t Jim and Annabel join them.

They went over to Carter’s full of expectation and were a little disappointed to discover that only Walker’s second wife and the daughter from his first marriage were there.

“I’m afraid it is impossible to tear my husband from his work,” Walker’s wife apologised. “But his efforts are rewarded.”

She spoke of him more like a missionary than a politician.

“Nobody who hears him speak can resist him,” she continued. “Even the most hardened of strikers have wept at his words.”

Jim remembered the cheers he had heard at the meeting where he had seen Walker speak, and he could not disagree now that Walker could move people.

“I would love to meet your husband at some point,” said Jim.

“My husband is a big friend of Carter,” she said. “I am sure that he will make up for having missed today.”

Despite the disappointment of not having seen Walker, Annabel and Jim enjoyed the evening at Carter’s and went home speculating about a possible next occasion where they might meet him.

“I’m sure it’ll happen,” said Jim. “Are you okay?”

Annabel was clutching her cheek.

“I think I have an abscess.”

“What? You need to go to the dentist.”

“I will.”

A few days later, Jim was trying to make progress on his lectures in the university staff room when the door swung open and a security guard burst in.