New Order, New Opportunity Pt. 01

A man appeared at the door from the kitchen carrying a tray with a large glass.

"Mm, gin," said Kath. "Much needed. Bring it over, Geoff boy and then put away that skirt and come back here," she ordered.

"Yes, Ma'am," Geoff said, jumping to obey. He scooped up the skirt and hurried away to Kath's bedroom to tidy it away.

When he returned to the lounge she made it clear what she wanted him to do. Soon he was on his knees in front of the armchair, Kath's nylon clad legs, stretched out across his back. "There's a good boy, Geoff. See how much better life can be if you have someone to look after your interests? Poor old James couldn't see that could he? Still that's his misfortune, I guess."

Geoff didn't reply, he was just glad that Kath hadn't taken him upstairs to the second floor even if it was going to cost him a few evenings at least on his knees. And, who knew, maybe Kath would be a reference if he ever got the chance of a sponsor?

Chapter 3 : On The OC

James didn't go straight back to the flat. The last thing he wanted was his landlady asking why he was there in the middle of the day. He managed to make a coffee last an hour at a stand up booth round the back of the bus station. He'd moved on when a black and white had pulled up, its crew looking for their morning break. He walked for another hour or more, staying off the main streets. Then he queued up with others - no doubt also newly work free as a result of the latest initiative - at the mis-named "Opportunity Centre" to make sure that he was at least registered as looking for work. The girl behind the counter hadn't made any effort to suggest any likely "opportunities" she couldn't even tell him when the next round of sponsorship interviews were likely to be scheduled.

"No," she said, pushing his registration card across the counter, "we've heard nothing here. Been a rush on today. Lots of you solitaries having a change of heart are you?"

He shrugged and took the OC - as the Opportunity Card was known to all. It was a joke. "Being on the OC" meant doing nothing in the slang of his mates. Still, he thought as he slipped it into his pocket, at least it gives me a reason for being out on the streets.

He stepped out on to the street. Women were pouring out of the office buildings, heading for lunch. He tried to stay out of the way of the more boisterous groups as they went in search of vodka and sushi - the currently fashionable lunchtime deal. They'd be even worse when the bars turned out he thought.

The sharp stainless steel and neon facades of the vodka bars held no attraction for him, even if he'd been able to go in, which he couldn't; even if he had the money, which he hadn't. Every one of the doors on the main street had the same sign, the Mars symbol in a red circle with a red diagonal line through it. One of them even used a graffiti style sign with the arrow pointing down as its logo. 'The Broken Arrow' it said over the door. He glanced through the window as he passed. Male waiters, of course, made their way between the tables, dressed in short skirt like garments barely covering their genitals and strappy sandals. They were naked from the waist up. James knew the sort of reaction they'd get from the clientele. But at least they had jobs.

There were still a few places where he could get a sandwich or a bowl of soup. There was one down towards the river. He could try down there. It started to rain. He didn't even bother to turn up the collar on his coat. He'd be soaked soon enough whatever happened. The first place he tried was shut. Black and yellow tape criss-crossed the door. "Police - Crime Scene - Do Not Enter" it said on the tape. James could imagine what the crime had been. Serving food to solitaries was enough to attract the attention of the black and whites.

Around the corner, one last place was open. It was filled with others like himself. He got a bowl of soup and a crust of bread and found an edge of a table to perch on. A discarded copy of the day's free newspaper lay on the table. He took it up without much hope of finding anything other than government propaganda.

It was pretty much as he had expected. The news pages had details of the previous night's ministerial broadcast, scare stuff on plots against the government and the threat posed by dissidents. There was an article by the minister responsible for the Sponsorship Programme highlighting the contribution it made to public order and social cohesion and announcing the launch of their new hot line allowing public spirited individuals to call in details of anyone suspected of being an unregistered solitary.

He managed to spend another hour on his soup. Finally he was attracting enough disapproving looks from behind the counter to encourage him to leave.

James found his way back to his flat. Luckily, his landlady was out. He let himself in and sank down on the couch.

He slipped his ident card into the television set and got the validated message. It seemed to him that it took a little longer than usual. Why was that? Paranoia, he thought. He flipped through the channels, three of them had blanked screens with the "no males" symbol showing. He didn't waste his time staring at them, the ident card made sure he couldn't access "unsuitable" material as the government had it. The fourth screen at least was showing a programme he could watch, More news though; more current affairs, more propaganda. Florence Daniels was being interviewed again, this time about some of the latest measures introduced by the Ministry of Home Affairs. "It's very important," she was saying, "that sponsored males have the chance to contribute to the household fully. That means being engaged in the domestic tasks of the household as well as contributing by their earnings from the workplace. After all it's only reasonable that sponsors should benefit from the time and effort they put in."

"Would you like to comment Minister on reports that the government is to legislate on aspects of sexual behaviour within the household?"

"I'm not sure I want to give these reports any credence by commenting on them, Kirsty, The position of New Order has been consistent on this. We don't believe in interfering in people's personal morality. Of course there are some practices that we don't believe are appropriate in today's society."

"You're talking here about fellatio and male on female penetrative sex?"

"Yes. I think it's hard to see those activities as consistent with the sort of society we are trying to build. I think we've been pretty clear that we feel that sort of thing is symptomatic of a failure to recognise the new position of women in society and that there is really no justification for its continuation. These practices aren't widespread, though, and we certainly see no need for legislation on these matters at this time."

Even the mention of sex made James nervous. Of course he masturbated, what man didn't? What woman for that matter? And, as far as he knew, the government hadn't outlawed that. Yet. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had sex with a woman though. Before the first New Order election, certainly. As Florence Daniels said, they hadn't legislated against it, but the social climate sure as hell had made it unlikely! Unless you were in some sort of relationship or sponsorship, in which case you'd be having sex in some other way whether you wanted it or not.

"Well thank you Minister," the interviewer was winding things up. She turned back to the screen. "There will be a discussion later tonight on the Government's measures to counter dissident activity. So be sure to tune in to News Night with Gail Trimble at 22:30."

James frowned. The 'dissidents' just seemed to be an excuse for whatever repressive measures the government wanted to introduce. He decided to get some coffee and got to his feet.

Just as he did so, he heard a knock on his door. He opened it warily. There were three women there, two uniformed police officers and another in plain clothes. The woman in plain clothes peered at him distastefully. "James Leonard?" she said.

She flashed an identity card at him. He didn't really get the opportunity to read it.

"Accommodation check," she said. "Stand by the wall please," and then after a noticeable pause, "Sir."

James knew about the checks. Last year, when a number of dissidents had been arrested on conspiracy charges, the Government introduced spot checks on accommodation occupied by un-sponsored, ident card holders. He had heard about them but this was the first time they had called on him. It wouldn't take them long he thought looking around the room.

"By the wall, the officer told you," barked one of the uniformed women. James jumped to respond. "Thank you, Sir," she said with snarled politeness. "But turn around please." As he did so he felt the women push the top of her night stick between his buttocks. She stood very close to him and hissed in his ear, "and if you make a move, I'll shove this so far up your arse you'll feel it in the back of your throat."

James froze. He was keen to give the women no opportunity to cause any more trouble.

The other uniformed policewoman set to searching his apartment. The officer walked over to him. "Lived here long, have you?" she asked.

"Err, about three years," James responded, "since just before the last elections. My job moved and I had to move here."

"Happy with that, were you?

James shrugged. "It's OK," he said. The searching officer upended a drawer, spilling contents on the floor. James made to object but felt the night stick press against him and stopped. The searching officer went through to the bedroom.

"You're not sponsored are you?" the officer went on.

"No, Ma'am," James responded. He knew where this was going. "My employer wasn't ready to take on a higher quota and I haven't been able to find a private sponsor." Like many other solitaries he had ignored the possible sources for sponsorship when the Government had first introduced the programme and he hadn't been able to find one since. Actually he hadn't really tried up until now. Losing his job had focused his mind though. Not having a sponsor was getting to be a real problem. Everyone assumed that solitaries had some sort of subversive agenda, opposed to the regime, reluctant to be under the sort of scrutiny that sponsorship implied. Now it sounded like, with the new scheme, he'd have to take whatever sponsor they assigned him to, assuming they could even find him one.

A voice came from the bedroom. "You'd better look at this Ma'am," she called. The officer went in response. James started to move after her and received a jab in the back from the other policewoman's stick. "Nobody told you to fucking move," she snarled. He stood still.

The officer emerged from his bedroom carrying half a dozen, well thumbed, magazines printed on cheap paper. James didn't recognise them. "Would you like to explain these?" she said holding one forward with a look of distaste on her face. He took a look and he knew he was in trouble.

"I've never seen them before," James said as he looked at the pictures of helplessly bound and gagged women.

"Even though they were under your bed? Beneath the mattress?" She raised her eyebrows. "You must think we're stupid."

James didn't know what to do.

The officer turned towards him. "James Leonard," she said, "I'm arresting you on suspicion of possessing seditious literature. You do not have to say anything at this time but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence." The officer nodded to the police woman that had been keeping close to James. She pulled a pair of handcuffs from the pouch on her belt, pulled James's arms behind his back and cuffed his wrists.

"But they are nothing to do with me. Nothing. I'm telling the truth."

"Explain it all later, fuckwit," the policewoman said, squeezing the cuffs tighter. James winced. "Huh! Not so good when it's you in bondage is it?"

She was manhandling him towards the door as the other policewoman appeared with more papers. "These look like recruiting papers for a dissident group, ma'am," she said as she handed them to the officer.

"Oh dear," said the officer, grim faced. "This is even more serious. Let's get him down to the station. Forensic can go over this place. If there's any more of this filth they'll find it."

James looked in horror at the papers and tried to protest his innocence. A blow to the ribs knocked the wind from him and left him with no will to resist. As he fell back against the wall, the night stick cracked into the back of his legs pitching him on to his knees. A boot kicked into his arm and he yelped as more blows fell on his shoulders. "That'll do," the other officer called.

"Stupid scum," his assailant snarled, kicking him in the ribs. "Get up and don't try any more of that."

Gasping with surprise at the sudden and ferocious attack, James struggled to his feet.

They pushed James down the corridor of the apartment towards the stair well, not taking much care to help him make his way around the rubbish strewn in his path. He staggered down the steps and across to the police car parked outside. The policewoman holding him pushed him into the back of the car and slid into the back seat alongside him.

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

Florence Daniels had welcomed the suggestion of a meeting with one of Anne Tenant's public sector sales executives. Tanya Charles sat down, and leant forward to the Minister's desk. Behind her stood a smartly dressed young man holding a small leather case.

"I'll come straight to the point Minister," she said. "We think that some of the Government's programmes are being handicapped by lack of appropriate technologies. We have some skills that we think could help to improve the effectiveness of some of them.

"Well," Florence responded, "Anne Tenant's innovation is almost as well known as her entrepreneurial skill. I'd be interested to hear what you have to say." And, Florence thought to herself, I'd be interested to see how that young man can amuse me, too.

Tanya turned around and beckoned the young man forward. He put the case down on Florence's desk, opened it, and then stood back.

"Perhaps you'd like to try this Minister. If you pick up the key pad in the case there and tap in #105 Enter..."

Florence picked up the small device. It fitted neatly her hand and was perfectly smooth except for a dozen or so keys on the face of it. She tapped in the number that Tanya had suggested. Almost at once the young man grimaced in pain and fell to his knees, clutching at the side of the desk.

"Now press 'Cancel' if you would."

As Florence touched the key the young man seemed to recover. "What exactly is the idea of this?" she said.

Tanya gestured to the young man. With resignation he dropped his neatly pressed grey trousers and his underpants. Tanya picked up a ruler from the Minister's desk. "May I?" she asked.

"Of course," Florence said, intrigued.

With the end of the ruler, Tanya lifted the young man's shirt tail revealing a solid metal cage clamped around his penis.

"A chastity device? Hardly innovative. We've been suggesting that sponsors use them in their schemes for some time."

"I think you'll find that this is quite clever, Minister. You saw that the device can be radio controlled from that pad to either constrict or expand. It can deliver short electric shocks too. This can be controlled by a remote like the one you have there or linked in turn to a household or workplace wireless network. Then if the individual wearing it should venture outside the network's range it can be set to deliver an appropriate, shall we say, 'disincentive' to encourage them to return to where they should be. Using this you could run the dissident custody programme without the need for secure accommodation."

"Well, that would be useful. But wouldn't the public be concerned? About the risks? How effective it might be?"

"Not, I think if the Government gives the lead. If, for example, a minister were to already be using it in their own household for example. That's why we thought you might like to take advantage of our demonstrator here," Tanya pointed at the young man who was still standing quietly by, his trousers around his ankles, "for a while at least. Give it a go. See how you like it. You'll find that with practice the control can summon him from where ever he may be around the place. Two short shocks for come here, three for 'and bring a large gin as well.' Try it out with our compliments. You'll find him most accomplished in the usual areas and of course with all that youthful vigour as well!" Tanya smiled and winked at Florence. The young man blushed and then gripped at his crotch as Florence tapped some more keys on the control. "And we can talk about the sort of quantities you think might be needed to support a government programme when you've satisfied yourself that the system works and that public concerns can be allayed."

"Well," said Florence, glancing across to the young man's muscled calves and thighs. "I think that's an excellent suggestion. I shall have to thank Anne for bringing this to my attention."