The Paper Eater (20 page)

Hannah suddenly put a face to Benedict Sommers. He was the one chewing green gum who she’d met in the lift, on the way to the party. The one who was being questionnaired. What was he doing, working as a Liaison associate in St Placid? Nothing made sense.

– What happens is, we talk about the subsidence for a bit, and he says Mrs Park, you’re known to us as a highly responsible citizen, I note that you’ve been a VIP Customer since the beginning. And I say well, I’ve tried to do my bit, and the loyalty vouchers come in handy, don’t they. And then he wants to know if he could discuss something important with me, as a more senior member of society. Pride in her eyes now; the voice wavering a bit. And a quick glance at Hannah, who allowed her mouth to move in acknowledgement.

– And what was it?

– Well, what he said got me really nervous. Tilda gulped, and the loose chickeny skin of her neck trembled.

– He told me that there’s – She dropped her voice to a whisper. – A sect. Operating here, in St Placid. Possibly all over the country.

– A sect? asked Hannah, puzzled. It was news to her. What kind of sect?

– Terrorists, said Tilda, fanning out her skirt over her knees. It gave her the look of an ancient, cracked doll. – Eco somethings. They’re opposed to the Waste Pledge. Opposed to any type of progress, I think Benedict said. I remember types like them from the old days, before
Libertycare. Thought we’d got rid of them, but he says bits of society are mutating, it happens when things are going too well. Anyway, they’re having to bring in a new code, he said, to curb them. They’re going to socially readjust them.

– Readjust them? Hannah was confused. Was this some sort of fantasy? Was her mother beginning to lose her marbles?

– Mass Readjustments, he said, to nip it in the bud.

Hannah sighed in frustration. All she wanted to do was get her hands on Leo’s envelope and then leave. Tilda’s garbled story was making her feel exasperated and restless.

– Nip
what
in the bud, exactly?

– Well. You know. It. The
activities
. The
criminal activities
. They’re ever so dangerous, you see.

– Who are?

Tilda tutted in annoyance.

– Haven’t you been listening? So anyway, he says we’re to keep a sharp lookout, because they’ve got followers everywhere. Tilda dropped her voice to a shaky whisper. – They’re involved in sabotage. It’s very hush-hush. They don’t want panic.

Nothing made sense. Hannah hadn’t heard any of this at Head Office. Surely the Department would be the very first to know of any new social disturbance. Why hadn’t Wesley Pike held a meeting?

– They’ve been funding it with all kinds of fraud, said Tilda.

– Fraud? Suddenly, she was listening.

– I mean, you name it, they’ve been involved, apparently.

– Like what? A weird sickness slapped at her.

– Well, they were experts on money, I know that much. They had zillions of companies, you know, those illegal offshore ones, the Cayman Islands and whatnot.

Hannah gulped back the nausea. The room suddenly felt very hot.

– Benedict says it’s all going to come out soon, though. There’s going to be a thing on TV about it at four, a sort of public-warning programme, it’s called
Evil in Our Midst
. You could stay and watch it, it’s on soon. Benedict says they keep a low profile themselves, the ringleaders.

– What ringleaders, Hannah said faintly.

Tilda leaned forward conspiratorially.

– They’ve got mug-shots of them. Benedict gave me some posters to put up on my front door, and on all the lamp-posts in the street. He said to wait till after the documentary, then pin them up.

The room seemed to be whirling now. To try and stop it, Hannah clamped her hands on the arm-rests of her chair.

– All the VIPs have been getting them. Tilda’s voice shook with pride. – We’ve got to study their faces, and memorise them, and stay alert. Fanny Urdle’s going nuts, she’s plastered the whole of her lobby with them already, because she reckons she’s actually seen one of them loitering in the street. Anyway, Benedict said to always keep my windows locked, and to get an extra bolt put on the front door. Some of their followers, they’re known rapists.

Hannah tried to keep her voice level. Something was thudding inside her, clotting her thoughts.

– And who are they, these – people?

– There are five of them, said Tilda. Three adults and two kids – just teenagers, I think. They’re all related. They’re a family. It’s all in the documentary apparently, so I guess all will be revealed. I’ll show you the posters though, look. Tilda hauled herself up painfully and slid open the drawer of the coffee table. She pulled out a glossy printed poster and spread it out in front of Hannah. – That’s them, she said.

And it was. Five faces. Mug-shots. Distorted, but recognisable. Staring back at her.

– They’re called the Hoggs, said Tilda. I don’t like the look of them, do you?

EVIL IN OUR MIDST

I’m in the Social Adjustment Office on the seventh floor.

– Sit down, Harvey, says the boy who opened the door, reaching for a pocket scanner and bar-coding the paperwork. He can’t be more than a teenager. – I’m your Social Adjustment associate, Marcus Hooley. Sorry about the heat in here, the air-conditioning’s on the blink, but we won’t keep you long, will we, Georgia? This is Georgia, who’s in charge of downloading the files onto paper.

There’s a girl sitting splay-legged on a swivel seat by a computer terminal.

– Hi there, Mr Kidd, she says, smiling. She’s got little dimples like puckered dough. – We’ve processed loads of stuff on you; your caseload’s running to thousands of pages. It doesn’t often get that big, does it, Marco? She giggles.

– So when’s my trial?

Marcus Hooley laughs at that.

– Nice one! The Georgia girl’s laughing too, and swivels a full circle in her chair. You can see from the way she does it, it’s a thing she’s practised. They’re just a couple of kids fresh out of a playground. – Welcome to planet Earth, Harvey, Marcus Hooley goes. OK. I’ll run the formula past you. The Liberty Machine assesses the evidence, see, and makes a decision on how far to adjust you. It’s probably
in the system already, but it’s not scheduled to appear till the designated time.

My mouth sagged open. It hadn’t made sense when Pike’d said it. It’d just washed over me, I guess. I sighed, and slumped further into my seat. There didn’t seem anything more to say. So we waited in silence – him shooting flirty glances at the girl, me watching the clock and wondering when I’d next see Hannah. The minutes ticked by, and then all of a sudden the screen in front of Georgia flashed.

– Da-da! she said, her voice glittery and bright. Twelve o’clock on the button! Told you! She was addressing Marcus, not me. – We do bets, she smiled.

Hooley slid over to where the girl was sitting and leaned over her shoulder, one hand sliding round her waist.

– Looks like I owe you a drink then, he went.

She gave a little squeal. His eyes scanned the screen, and then he tapped a few keys.

– Right, Harvey, he said eventually, sucking in his cheeks. I’m afraid you’ve been declared an Enemy of Liberty. He scrolled down further with the mouse. On account of being the financial enabler of the Sect.

– Sect? What sect? I didn’t get it. – There’s been a mistake, I said. I don’t belong to a sect, I do fraud! Simple honest-to-goodness white-collar fraud!

– Well, don’t ask me, he said. I only work here! And he winked at Georgia, who giggled. Hooley turned back to the terminal and scrolled up.

– Fraud isn’t what it says here, he said, squinting at the screen. The girl’s head leaned forward too. It says here terrorism. See? And he pointed. The word was there all right. – Libertycare finds you guilty of multiple terrorist activities, Harvey, he read.

He scrolled through some more.

– Uh-oh, he went. Georgia looked over his shoulder, and sucked in her breath.

– Wow. I haven’t seen one of those in here before.

– What? I said.

– You stay sitting down, mate, OK?

– Why?

– Cos I’m afraid it’s pretty bad news, Adjustment-wise.

– I’m kind of prepared for that, I said. They said ten years, max, but I could have it reduced for co-operation.

And then he told me.

It all happened in a swift whirl, no time to think, no time for anything to sink in.

From Head Office I was transferred to a massive holding station, with five or six hundred other blokes. You weren’t allowed to talk, and if you did, you got a blast from a stun-gun. Within the hour we were driven off in a fleet of white transit vans to Estuary Docks, and loaded on to a conveyor belt which shunted us up a gangway on to the
Sea Hero
. Everyone looked scared out of their wits, and some guys were crying. It was clear that none of us knew what was going on, or why we were there. There’d obviously been a mistake.

When the mess hall was packed to bursting, the smell of gas-pumped geranium kicked in to fight the stink of sweat and fear. I had a feeling that something unhealthy was about to happen, but I didn’t know what, and the not-knowing was like a horrible itch cloistered deep in my blood.

Then some twangy salsa-like music starts up, and Captain Fishook strolls in like a stocky little magician. He’s small but dense with energy, as if his blood might be made of mercury. With a startling movement, he pounces on to the raised platform at the far end of the mess, and stands there taking us in for a moment, his hands clasped together as though they’re glued that way. Beneath the peak of his Captain’s cap you can see he’s alert and shiny with his own success. You can picture him, ushering customers on
to a roller-coaster ride, or congratulating himself – It was a team thing – at an AGM. Then he adjusts the clip-microphone on the collar of his gold-buttoned jacket and waits for silence. He smiles when it comes. He’s got charisma, so he’s used to this. Achieved it before, in other settings.

– Hi, folks, he goes, welcome aboard the
Sea Hero
. I see this as the beginning of a big new adventure for all of us. We set sail tomorrow, for a long voyage, to new horizons. Once we’ve established ourselves on an even keel …

Blah-di-blah, he continues in the same vein, until there’s a disturbance.

– Fucker! yells a bloke at the back. You can’t do this to us! I’m a lawyer! This is against all the –

But an orange-gloved hand has slapped itself over his mouth. He’s still trying to yell as the two crew-members haul him off. One on each side, the lawyer’s legs kicking in the air like an insect’s. It’s so speedy-smooth it might have been staged. Fishook isn’t fazed.

– As you see, he says, I run a tight ship. Any more mutineers?

Silence as we get the picture. The bloke next to me, he’s quivering like a frightened squirrel.

– Sorry, he says in a little whisper. But I’m scared shitless here.

Me too, but I’m not admitting it. I can feel he wants me to do something sissy, like pat him on the arm or something, but I can’t bring myself to. It’s a tough world, and I decided earlier that I’m not gay. So I just grunt.

Now Fishook’s making a signal to a crewman in the projection room behind us, and the lights are dimming around us.

– Before we leave shore, we’re going to join the rest of Atlantica in witnessing a historic television moment, he goes. There’s a special message in it for our Atlantican Voyagers. Many of you – I have this on good authority – are still clinging
to the idea that you’re innocent. That
everyone but you
was involved.

His words have frozen us for a minute.

Then – What the fuck –? says a man behind me, and a nervous vibe’s crackling and pulsing through the mess.

– Well, after this film, goes Fishook, I want you to look into your hearts. Because the truth is in there. He pauses, looks around the room. – Remorse, he says, is the first step in the long journey to freedom.

Before we can take in what he’s said, the lights have suddenly plunged right off, and the whole hall’s pitch black. The sissy man next to me gives a little whimper, and reaches for my hand. I shake him off. There’s only one person whose hand I want to hold, and she isn’t here.

The screen’s so big it covers the whole wall. We watch as it flickers to life.

The commentary began over the familiar map of the island.

Our own Atlantica
, said the voice. It was familiar; big and meaty. Where had I heard it before?
But there’s another map that you don’t see, a map of corruption that extends deep into the very fabric of society
. Of course, I thought. It’s Craig Voice of the Fucking Nation Devon. As he spoke, a tissue of thin red lines began to criss-cross its way out from the cities until the whole map was cobwebbed depravity. Cut to a weeping woman.

– If I’d known that’s what he was involved in, she sobbed, I’d never have let him out that day.

Some wobbly footage followed; it showed a small white coffin, a child’s, carried by two boys of about thirteen, who were crying.

Then a bloke popped up.

– I had no idea the Sect was behind it. It only dawned on me when it was too late, like. But it was them gave the orders, I know that.

– There
is
such a thing as pure evil, said a man in a dog-collar. Even in Utopia.

I almost laughed. If the customers fall for that, I thought –

But then I stopped and a huge shiver shuddered its way right up from my feet to my bald patch and down again. I thought of your typical Atlantican. He’s not used to thinking. And to be fair to him, why should he be, with Customer Care second-guessing his urges? Of course he’d fall for it. I was beginning to get an inkling now of what was coming. As the dread sprouted and homunculised inside me, the others seemed to be making connections too. The quivery squirrel-like man next to me had put his hands over his face, but was peeking through the lattices made by his little claws. The Liberty anthem had started up now: the muzaked version you heard in supermarkets and waiting rooms. Over it came the Atlantica the Beautiful shots we’d all seen a hundred times before on promotional videos: the Bird of Liberty flying across a blushing horizon, a family picnicking at Mohawk Falls, a lithe woman in her prime taking a mud bath at a health spa, cheery faces at a sample handout in a twinkling mall.