Last Man in London, page 1
Last Man in London
and
The New World Order
(2021 Edition)
Albert Jack
Albert Jack Publishing
Copyright Page
Last Man in London
(2021 Edition)
ISBN-13: 978-149-4358-433
Copyright ©December 2013 Albert Jack
Cover Art: Albert Jack
Cover Design: Albert Jack
All rights are reserved to the author. no part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
This is largely a work of fiction although the author could not resist the temptation to be creative with historical detail wherever possible. Any reference to any real life character or name used is purely coincidental, for the most part. The moral right of the author has been asserted.
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Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Also By Albert Jack
Dedication Page | This book is for Ha Nguyen Thu
About the Author | Albert Jack is a writer and historian. His first book, Red Herrings and White Elephants explored the origins of well-known idioms and phrases and became an international bestseller in 2004. It was serialised by the Sunday Times and remained in their bestseller list for sixteen straight months. He followed this up with a series of bestsellers including Shaggy Dogs and Black Sheep, Pop Goes the Weasel and What Caesar did for My Salad. | Fascinated by discovering the truth behind the world’s great stories, Albert has become an expert in explaining the unexplained, enriching millions of dinner table conversations and ending bar room disputes the world over. He is now a veteran of hundreds of live television shows and thousands of radio programmes worldwide. Albert lives somewhere between Guildford in England and Cape Town in South Africa.
Other Books By Albert Jack
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Also By Albert Jack
About the Author
Dedication Page
This book is for Ha Nguyen Thu
About the Author
Albert Jack is a writer and historian. His first book, Red Herrings and White Elephants explored the origins of well-known idioms and phrases and became an international bestseller in 2004. It was serialised by the Sunday Times and remained in their bestseller list for sixteen straight months. He followed this up with a series of bestsellers including Shaggy Dogs and Black Sheep, Pop Goes the Weasel and What Caesar did for My Salad.
Fascinated by discovering the truth behind the world’s great stories, Albert has become an expert in explaining the unexplained, enriching millions of dinner table conversations and ending bar room disputes the world over. He is now a veteran of hundreds of live television shows and thousands of radio programmes worldwide. Albert lives somewhere between Guildford in England and Cape Town in South Africa.
Other Books By Albert Jack
Red Herrings and White Elephants
Shaggy Dogs and Black Sheep
Phantom Hitchhikers
Loch Ness Monsters and other Mysteries Solved
Pop Goes the Weasel
The Old Dog and Duck
What Caesar did for My Salad
Its a Wonderful Word
Money for Old Rope Part 1
Money for Old Rope Part 2
The Jam: Sounds from the Street
Want To Be a Writer?
Rose Versus Thistle
They Laughed at Galileo
The Greatest Generation
Chapter One
Of course he was nervous; he often was at times like these. Especially today as it was the first day of his contribution. His contribution to The Corporation that had been training him for his life’s work. For sixteen years their academy had been teaching him to be George Willoughby. And it was finally time to start giving something back to the people who had invested so much in his future. And, of course, in their own. George fumbled in his trouser pocket for the packet of diazepam he had collected from the smoke store on his way to the Hydrostation. A couple of those would stop his internal organs from rattling. They usually did. He pulled gently on his earlobe and peered up at the departures board. The concourse of the main hydro-terminal at Waterloo Station was, as usual, neat, clean and with people moving casually around as they collected breakfast, met with friends or simply headed for their allocated platforms. Nobody appeared worried, nobody appeared hurried. And yet George stood upon legs that felt as if they had no bones.
Everybody appeared to know their purpose and George wondered how many of them were about to begin the first day of their working lives. It was, after all, the first week for his year of graduates to make their way to new work zones. To begin the life they had been preparing for since their career selection process sixteen years earlier, when all students had been assessed, at the age of ten, and allocated a suitable role within The Corporation. A role they would then spend the remainder of their education being carefully prepared to carry out. Finally George found what he was searching for. Platform 12, the South West Hydrotrain to Exeter was leaving at 09.15am and scheduled to arrive at the Southern Central Terminus at 09.37am.
‘Man, these Hydros are getting faster,’ he thought. ‘That’s 235km in 22 minutes.’ From Exeter he could catch the Sub Atlantic Pulsed Plasma Hydro to New York, Washington, Miami or Rio de Janeiro, if he wished. They were even quicker.
George sucked the air in between his teeth and studied the terminals along the line between Waterloo and Exeter until he found Guildford; arriving at 09.22, which allowed him more than enough time to reach his work zone and begin at 10am. George was never late for anything. Nobody ever was.
‘Willoughby,’ called a voice marginally high enough above the low hum of the concourse to attract his attention, ‘where were you placed?’ George turned to see one of his oldest friends, Will Grainger, approaching with his usual wide smile. The pair had been neighbours as children, had attended assessment school together in the Central Complex and, despite being parted when Will was assigned a position in the Industrial Training Programme, whilst George had been placed on the Literature Updating Curriculum, they had remained close friends.
George felt relief. He had spent the entire weekend trying to control his nerves and, at one point, had felt as if his lower intestine had turned into ragged ice, dropped a little and was repeatedly stabbing him in the kidneys. He was pleased to see a friendly and familiar face.
Will seemed to have no similar concern. ‘Dude,’ he called again, ‘where were you placed in the end?’
‘Guildford,’ George replied. ‘There is a Department of Literature just outside the old town and a pod-car runs right beneath the building. I’ve plenty of time.’
George hesitated but his friend was already heading for the dispenser. ‘Ok, he called after him, but I’m taking mine with me and not sitting around here wasting time with you. Besides, I am keen to get there, see what the place looks like, to see where I am going to be spending the next thirty years.’
’Thirty years,’ Grainger repeated quietly. ‘They program us for sixteen years to make one single, repeated, contribution to the company for the next thirty. Then withdrawn at fifty six and free to spend the rest of our lives doing what exactly?’
‘As many twenty-five-year olds as I can,’ George joked. Grainger knew he wasn’t joking. George began to calm down a little as the pair made their way to Platform 12 and the diazepam started to work its magic.
‘Don’t mind if I do,’ said Will as George offered him the packet.
‘Keep them,’ he told him, ‘I’ve plenty.’ Will stuffed the tube into his pocket.
Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad after all, thought George. At least he wasn’t the only one making his debut into the real world, as his training supervisors had repeatedly called it.
‘The Real World?’ Grainger echoed his thoughts. ‘It won’t be any different to the role-play world we have become used to. I was fully trained two years ago and have spent all of my time since then doing exactly what I will be doing today, after the induction morning. Simple Transition they called it.’
George already knew as he also graduated two years earlier, as had everybody else from their respected education programmes, and spent that final twenty four months on the Advanced Supervised Preparation Programme (ASPP). The whole point of that was so graduates could start contributing to the company from the moment they took their placements. It was the same each year; a seamless placement, zero disruption to those who had already begun their life contributions and without disruption to the work supervisors and the rest of the department.
The Hydrotrain slid to a silent halt at the terminal and the pair stepped on. George turned to his friend, ‘you also stuck to the ten-till-three work period then?’ he asked.
‘I don’t like early mornings and want to be back at Central Complex by half three,’ said Will. ‘That leaves me the rest of the day to do what Will does best.’
George shuddered. ‘Count me in later then, I will need some of that by the end of this day.’
During their final two years on the ASPP all graduates were invited to choose their daily working program. Each employee of the company had to contribute a full five hours of work for each of four days in a week. George opted to continue his ASPP hours as they suited him, Will had done the same but anybody could change, after checking the contribution pattern on their company issued hydro-devices, selecting available shifts and then logging them onto the central server which would alter their tracking patterns accordingly. The Global Positioning System on their hy-devs would record their contribution routines for the work period although, in truth, they recorded everything.
Will and George both knew, as they scanned their ident-cards at the platform gate, and again as they entered the work zone, that their movements were registered at the Divisional Database. So what; it was they same for everybody. It had been for all of their lives and, besides, the only time anybody checked it was during their annual appraisal, or if anybody had gone missing. Such as the famous case of Ivy George. She was the student who dropped hers in a lake whilst taking digi-pics on a lone, day trip to Boston. When the Divisional Database failed to pick up her signal for thirty minutes her Education Supervisor had been alerted and within seconds the entire Corporation had been informed and her picture profile was automatically displayed on everybody’s hy-dev main page.
Poor Ivy had some explaining to do when she finally arrived back at the Central Complex Hydroport, where the cameras immediately recognised her, alerted the nearest supervisor and she was taken to the personnel officer for a de-brief and retraining day. In truth, Ivy had quite enjoyed it. The following morning people she didn’t know smiled warmly at her, having recognised her digi-profile, which had been embedded on every home screen the previous day. Ivy found herself enjoying the slight attention and was disappointed when, within hours, something else had occupied everybody’s focus and she seemed to be forgotten about again.
George settled into his seat and studied his reflection in the smoked glass window opposite him. He had a narrow head with a small pointed nose and prominent cheekbones. Shoulder length blond hair and, at around 6’2, was carrying a few kilograms of extra weight, which his supervisor had already recommended a fitness programme for. It began the following week.
‘It’s your own fault you fat bastard,’ Will goaded him as if reading his thoughts. ‘You want to cut down on your pies and pints mate, and get some exercise.’
George laughed, pulled gently on his earlobe and then traced his finger along the port wine birthmark, around the size of a thumbnail, which drew attention to his right cheek. His supervisor had also recommended a clinic that would remove it for him
‘And leave the birth-mark,’ Will added, ‘it gives you character. It’s part of you and there is nothing perfect about perfect.’
George laughed again and sipped his coffee whilst considering the reflection of his friend as the Hydro sped out of the Central Complex and through the countryside. Will was shorter and with brown wavy hair. By the look of it his obsession with his hairdresser was not reciprocated. He was also leaner than George and fitter. He had a round, friendly face with a near permanent smile that revealed a prominent gap between his two front teeth.
‘I probably will,’ George said aimlessly. ‘As long as you leave the teeth alone.’
Will grinned widely as the Platform Pods of the Woking Terminal pulled alongside the Hydro and connected. ‘See you later then,’ said Will as the main doors opened and he stepped into the pod, after making way for those who were joining the Hydro. With that the doors smoothly closed, the Pod disengaged and peeled away from the main train. George sped onwards and watched as the Woking pod slowed into the terminal and the Guildford pods pulled up alongside and quietly connected. He stood up to wait for his turn. The tablet in his pocket had pinged a reminder that Guildford was only fifteen seconds from Woking.
Looking out of the smoked glass window George studied the building ahead as the hydro-pod slowed into its terminal. It was old, very old and built from red bricks with tinted windows and painted white window frames. ‘Like something from the old books,’ George grinned to himself. ‘Like many of the buildings in Cape Town. Ahh, Mira,’ George thought. ‘Still, no time for her now.’ He would see her at the weekend. At that moment George’s hy-dev pinged him a personal message which he checked as he moved towards the assembly area for the new intake.
Mira: ‘good luck today babes like you need it, see you on Friday night x’ George tapped a single letter reply and slipped the device back into his pocket. She would know what that meant.
As he approached the intake lounge he checked his watch; 09.25. Looking through the smoked glass windows he cast his eye around the group of around twenty five graduates and recognised only one from his ASPP training. Hugo Gomez had not exactly been a friend but at least he was a friendly face, a familiar one.
‘Hugo,’ called George as he walked into the room. ‘Georgie boy,’ came the reply and the pair hugged like the friends they were not.
‘So, you were given Guildford too?’ Hugo asked rhetorically.
‘I applied,’ said George. ‘It seemed obvious to me, within seven minutes of the Central Complex so I can stay in my old apartment there. Edgar is on the Complex too...’
‘Edgar?’ interrupted Hugo.
‘He is my father’s grandfather. The only relative I know about these days, I go and see the old boy once a week, take him some whiskey and smokes and he sometimes talks about the old days. Never gives much away though, the old bastard, but he has seen it all and I often take my advice from him. He has been a sort of mentor to me, outside of the Corporation.’
‘We are not supposed to have those,’ replied Hugo, ‘but, I suppose, if he is family.’
