New Order, New Opportunity Pt. 01

This story was originally posted some time ago but then deleted. I'm re-uploading it in response to the feed back to "Year One". It was the first New Order story that I wrote but takes place about eight years after my story "Year One".

Chapter 1: Stop & Search

"Identity card. Papers." The police officer peered through dark glasses at James Leonard as he stood sheepishly, fumbling inside his jacket.

"I have them, really I have," he stammered, disconcerted by the officer's fixed stare. With relief his hand closed on the plastic folder that held the card that carried his social identity number and photograph. He pulled it out and passed it across.

The officer peered at the card and checked the photograph carefully, holding the card up against James's face. "Locality permit?"

James found the folded paper that showed he was entitled to be in the area. Again the officer examined it and passed it back. "OK, you haven't forgotten the curfew have you?"

"No, officer. Thank you officer," James said gratefully putting the papers back into his jacket. "I'll be home in good time, don't worry."

"Your worry, not mine," the officer laughed. "And I'd get yourself a sponsor if I were you. We're keeping a close eye on 'solitaries' like you."

James said, "Yes, of course, thank you," and scuttled off towards his home, not daring to look behind him at the waiting police car.

He closed the door behind him with relief and sank down on the battered couch that was one of the few pieces of furniture in the grubby, three room, apartment. He looked at his watch. Two minutes to six. There was just enough time. He turned on the video screen in the corner of the room, the one piece of technology there. "Ident Card?" the screen said. He pulled the card from his pocket once more and slipped it into the slot on the front of the video. As he did so, there was the familiar click of the video connecting to his phone line. "Validated" the screen said and faded to show the familiar view of the Houses of Parliament and Big Ben just as the giant clock began to strike six.

"This is the six o'clock news from the BBC," the video screen intoned, "read by Samantha Just." The scene dissolved again to show the news reader sitting in the studio. James was always careful to catch the news. You never knew, he thought, when some new directive or some new regulation would be introduced. He'd known too many people that had fallen foul of some rule or other and then ended up in one of the camps.

"As part of a series of new measures intended to increase social cohesion, the Government announced today that taxes levied on un-sponsored ident card holders are to increase to 75% from next month." James felt distraught. As it was, he barely had enough money for food after he'd paid the rent. Loosing another £50 a week would mean he would starve if he couldn't find a sponsor. "Grants to sponsors will increase at the same time, in order to recognise the important and increasing contribution that sponsors make to the stability of society. The Minister for Home Affairs provided the BBC with this statement..." The stern face of Florence Daniels, Secretary of State, filled the screen. "We are determined to push ahead with the New Order programme. This was what we were elected on and this is what we intend to deliver. It is clear that strong sponsorship results in more stable households. The incidence of curfew offences and other antisocial behaviour from sponsored households is negligible. However, we recognise that it is not always easy to find a sponsor. To address this we will offer sponsorship interviews to all un-sponsored ident card holders as part of ident card holder reviews." Daniels' face faded from the screen and the newsreader returned. "A group of seven dissidents was arrested this morning following a raid on unlicensed occupation premises in South London." The picture cut to a shot of a derelict apartment block. "A government spokeswoman could not comment on whether the arrests were connected with recent speculations concerning plots to abduct government ministers. The government has confirmed that all those arrested were on their dissident watch-list as potential subversives and have been charged with various offences under the prevention of social disruption legislation."

James Leonard gave a tired shrug. "Social Disruption," that was what they called anything that didn't fit in with the New Order agenda. It was almost impossible to do anything now, except to buckle under and accept the system.

It was different for some though. He looked back to the TV screen. "This afternoon, in London's Park Lane, business leaders gathered for the Entrepreneur of the Year Award." The screen cut to pictures of a series of business women emerging from limousines outside the Dorchester Hotel and then dissolved into a picture of a smiling blonde woman. "Anne Tennant, ahead of all the other directors of the UK's major companies has demonstrated the creativity and energy that characterises the new breed of British businesswomen. The New Order Government is pleased to be associated with these awards."

James let the news run on but he was scarcely watching it. He was thinking about what the new round of sponsorship interviews would mean. They would force him to accept a sponsor or at least they would try to. He valued his independence. He liked living alone. But that wasn't what New Order wanted. Maybe it was just as well. He couldn't afford to stay here anyway. There was nowhere cheaper to rent in the locality - heaven knew he had tried to find something. And he couldn't move. He would never get a permit for another locality. He'd watched as one of his friends had filled in a locality change application at the interview centre last week. The interviewer had taken one look at it and then, as the man had left, James had watched it being dropped into a waste bin.

He turned the television off. He had no stomach for yet another evening of Government propaganda.

***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** *****

In Anne Tenant's suite at the Dorchester, Florence Daniels raised a glass of champagne as a toast to the winner of the Entrepreneur of the Year. "Well, many congratulations!" Daniels said, lounging back on the well padded couch.

Anne Tenant smiled. "Thank you," she said. "The New Order Government has been a great support."

"We're pleased you see it that way. Prosperity of new businesses is very important to the wealth of the country."

Anne Tenant took her own glass and sipped it. "And that is exactly why I invited you here, Minister," she said.

"Well, how can I help, your company's endorsement of our policies has been a great help we should find a way to return the favour."

"How nice of you to see it that way. Before we discuss business though, I thought of something you might like." She reached down and rang a small hand bell. Moments later a naked man entered. His muscular body was tanned and oiled; his hair, close cropped to his head and straw blonde.

"My!" said Florence Daniels. "So different from the civil servants they find for me."

"I thought so," Anne replied, "but a treat occasionally is something we all deserve."

"I can resist anything except temptation," Florence laughed. "That's why this dress has a few secrets!"

Anne smiled, she knew the problem too. She found it a constant battle to keep slim. It was only now that she looked closely that she realised the Minister's long evening gown had been cleverly cut to conceal a thickening waist that was held in place by well hidden boning. She flicked her fingers. The naked man fell to his knees beside Florence's feet and started removing her shoes. Following the instructions he had been given earlier by Anne he set to pleasuring the Minister's feet. "There," said Anne, "I think you will find him quite skilled and you're free to make use of him for the rest of the evening. There were a few things I wanted to discuss though, first; things that you might like to discuss with your cabinet colleagues that might help reinforce the strength of small businesses, like mine."

"Mmm," said the Minister, partly distracted by the attentions of the slave at her feet. "Tell me how I can help."

Chapter 2 : The Work Ethic

He decided to walk in to work. It wasn't much of a decision; it was that or go without something to eat at lunch. Besides the men-only buses were getting fewer and further between.

It was a grey morning. He hunched his shoulders up against the cut of the east wind as it sliced around the edge of the buildings. His coat was threadbare, he hadn't been able to afford a new one for a couple of years and it was the only one he had. There were a few other men, shuffling along as he was, this was one of the main commute-routes from the dormitories on the edge of town, even some of those with sponsors had to make the trip out from the centre, unless they were lucky enough to have a live-in job. Or unlucky enough, James thought.

A black and white police car slowed as he stopped at the road junction. There were always plenty of black and whites around. He'd see four or five of them most mornings. He watched the pedestrian crossing light change to green. He didn't want to give the police any excuse for stopping him. The last thing he needed was to be late. He crossed the road. The police car turned up the street alongside him and slowed to a walking pace. It kept alongside him for maybe a hundred yards or so before the officer driving wound down her window. James tried to keep looking straight ahead, pretending that the police car wasn't there.

"You off to work, boy?" James turned to see the woman looking at him through mirrored sun glasses. She was peering out from beneath the shiny peak of her uniform cap. She lounged back in her seat, one arm on the window sill, the other laying loosely on the steering wheel.

"Yes, Ma'am," James replied not breaking his stride. He knew if she had any real reason to stop him she would have done so by now.

"Got your locality permit, boy?"

She was going to stop him. It would be half an hour or more while she sat him in the back of the black and white and "ran checks"; until she'd finished or decided it was time for a coffee and doughnut somewhere. "Yes, Ma'am," he said as emphatically as he could, waiting for the next call to stop.

The call didn't come. The radio in the black and white crackled. He didn't hear what was said; just the officer replying, "I'm on it." - That and the roar of the car's engine as she sped away.

He breathed a sigh of relief. He had experienced plenty of this casual harassment and now it seemed to be getting worse.

Then he was out of the worst areas; he was in to the business district. The street started to get more crowded as others converged with him on their places of work. The cars weren't just the black and white's now, There were more of the two-seater sports cars that the girls favoured for their commute and a few of the comfortable women-only buses. The Venus symbol beside each passenger door made it plain who they were for; even if you didn't notice the smaller Mars symbol in a red circle with a red diagonal line through it.

The office block was up ahead; white marble frontage, broad steps, great glass doors. Of course that wasn't the way he went in. He turned down the side of the building into the alley that led to his entrance, a small chipped, wooden, door propped open by an old beer crate.

He passed the peeling election poster from eight years before. "New Order : New Opportunities," it said. Though of course it hadn't made it clear for who. The poster carried the New Order symbol, the Venus sign but inverted, the cross at the top. James remembered someone explaining it on the radio. The circle represented the womb, the productive power of women, they'd said; the inverted cross - the outstretched arms of inclusion; the nurturing nature of women. Now it was hard to see it as anything other than triumphal. It hadn't been long before the corresponding male symbol had appeared on graffiti. A Mars symbol but with the arrow pointing down like a flaccid penis. There was one here alongside the poster, in chipped white paint on the soot stained brick.

James punched his personnel number into the clock-in pad and scanned his ident card as he went inside. The corridor was gloomy, lit by only one naked bulb. At least the room beyond was warm and, by comparison, bright. Four of his colleagues were already there, enjoying a mug of tea before the day began. "Jim," one of them acknowledged as James came in.

"Geoff," James responded with a nod, hanging his threadbare coat with the others.

"Zak won't be in," Geoff said. "Picked up by a black and white last night - Pete saw it."

Pete, the balding, senior one of the team, grunted. "Detained for questioning, the word from upstairs is. They'll be after any of us without a sponsor. This latest dissident scare is just an excuse."

"I had a narrow escape this morning," James started, "down at the junction of ..."

"You got time to chat Leonard; you can come chat with me." The words were almost snarled. It was Kath, the office supervisor, the one that gave them their work, that kept them scuttling around the building; cleaning up, delivering files, fixing things. She wasn't too hard on them most of the time; not like the girls on the fifth and sixth floors - you'd be lucky to get by them without a kick. Mind you she didn't have the figure and looks that they did, either. That was probably why she'd been sent down there to keep an eye on the men. James looked at her scowling at him. She had on a pale, shapeless sweater and a dark brown corduroy skirt that hung around her like a sack. She pushed a strand of greasy black hair back from her face. "That was, like, now," she said.

James followed Kath out of the room and along the corridor. She carried on up the back stairs to the second floor; out from the peeling paint and chipped plaster of the service areas and into the main part of the office with its bright lighting, potted plants and air conditioning.

He hated coming up to the main areas of the office. There were two types of women here, those that looked at him as if he'd crawled out from under a stone and those that delighted in prick teasing. Either way he had the discomfort of watching toned, tanned and well dressed women wandering by, while knowing that he wasn't of the least concern to them. New Order had delivered to women the independence, wealth and self confidence that enabled them to look good. The only problem was that there wasn't a man in the country that benefited. But, James guessed, that hadn't been the idea.

Kath stopped outside one of the offices. "In here," she said, waving him inside while she stayed in the corridor.

Inside was one of the company's personnel officers. A real ice maiden, James thought as he looked at her carefully tailored shirt, her blonde hair up at the back in a French plait, blue eyes piercing into him as he entered. She looked down at the dog eared file on her desk. "James Leonard, is it?" she said, not bothering to look up from the file.

"Err, yes." James couldn't imagine what the problem was. He'd not missed a day's work for two years now. As far as he knew no one had complained about him. Even Kath's regular bitching and nagging had been at a fairly constant level.

"You're not sponsored are you?" she flipped the pages of the file back and forth, as if she was finding it hard to believe what she was reading.

"No... the company couldn't and I haven't been able to ... but with the new round of sponsorship interviews I might..."

"Sorry, Leonard, not my problem." She was holding forward an envelope. "We've got to let you go. Government directive, I'm afraid. We have to complete additional returns for employees that aren't sponsored. We don't have the resources to do that." James looked over her shoulder, out through the glass wall of the office to where one girl, her skirt practically up to her hips as she perched on the edge of a desk as she chatted to another sipping from a mug of coffee. No, thought James, no resources to do that. Plenty to drink coffee though. "Not our choice, you understand. Ms. Barrant will show you out."

She tossed his file into her out tray. James didn't argue. He couldn't think of anything to say. He supposed that he had expected it one day; just not yet. She didn't wait for him to say anything but instead picked up her phone and was soon chatting away. "Laura, wonderful. ... Well, when? ... Yes of course. Oh hang on." She looked up at James. "You have to go now," she said.

"Yes," responded James, flatly, uncertain what to do next. "Of course. Sorry." He picked up the envelope and left the room as the woman returned to her phone conversation.

Kath was waiting for him outside the office. "That way," she pointed to the steps that led down to the office lobby. As they walked along the corridor they passed the gym that had been put in for the benefit of the female staff, a few girls were pounding away on exercise bikes. Two others were stretched out on massage tables while oiled and muscular male attendants attended to them - some of the few male workers allowed into this part of the building. Two girls walked by them. Wearing minute, tight shorts and tight fitting vests, clutching towels they were obviously headed to the gym as well.

"Hmm, fit," one of them said as they passed James.

"Not!" exclaimed the other, bringing forth peels of laughter from the two. He was used to it now, the casual remarks, the outright insults, the constant prick teasing. He did what he always did, took a deep breath and ignored it.

James and Kath reached the stairs. He followed her down. His coat was piled in a heap on the front desk, being regarded with distaste by one of the uniformed attendants that looked after the building's security. Having got him this far, Kath left without a word to James. "He's got his envelope," she said to the attendant. "I'll leave him with you. I've got real work to do; have to re-jig the rosters now we're one down. Hope none of the other buggers turn out to have sponsorship problems."

"Sure. Good luck," the attendant said and then, turning to James. "Employee pass?" She held out her hand. James fumbled in his pocket and found the laminated card. She took it from him and tossed it into a box under the counter of the reception desk. "This yours?" She looked down at the coat. James nodded and picked it up. "Any other company property?" James shook his head. "OK then that's it." She pointed to the door.

James, unable to see any alternative, went to leave. He punched in his four digit code. The door lock beeped and a red light blinked. He looked around at the smug grin on the security attendant's face. "That won't work any more," she said with a smirk. She punched in her own code, the lamp blinked green and the lock gave a clunk. George pushed it open and found himself on the street.

Now he not only didn't have a sponsor; he didn't have a job either.

***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** *****

Kath Barrant's flat wasn't large but it was comfortable. The building managers had a good crew of men and they made sure the building was kept clean and well maintained. There was a good security service, Kath often shared a joke with the girls on reception as she went to work. It didn't cost too much and it was convenient for the office.

She switched on the video set. The new chat show, "Girls Talk" was playing. It might amuse, she thought. She stretched a bit stiff after the day at work. She unfastened the belt and waistband of her skirt and let it fall to the floor. "Better!" she thought and sprawled in her armchair wearing just her sweater and stockings.