Slavery 2050 Pt. 01: The Economy

Modern British History

The early 21st Century Part 3 - Return to Conscription

Paper written by Dr David Richardson, Imperial College London, 21 September 2054

A quarter of a century ago, the New Liberal Party swept to power in the Reunited Kingdom general elections. The New Liberals, formed in 2024, started out with a large group of senior businessmen and woman as well as leading non-political figures dissatisfied with the centuries old Government-opposition status quo. Their plans, including scrapping the parliamentary system, imposing draconian punishments for crime and the re-introduction of Conscription, were considered too radical in early-21st century Britain as it was then still known. At election after election, they failed to attract even a small percentage of votes. Three events would soon change the fortunes of the New Liberal Party, along with Britain and millions of its young men, more than any of its well-off late 20th century citizens could have imagined.

In early 1990's Britain, an already huge recession became a depression overnight following a botched Government European Monetary Project. Millions became unemployed with little or no state support. Crime soared to previously unseen levels. The resultant corruption forced foreign companies and investors to quit Britain enhancing the misery and ever increasing poverty gripping this once prosperous land. With the army patrolling the streets, the Government had to admit defeat and dissolve parliament. Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher resigned one week later.

Swallowing its pride, the United Kingdom resorted to a series of loans from the International Monetary Fund. By 1993, Britain was on its feet again, albeit without a Government or any industry and heavily in debt. Another recession at that point would undoubtedly have sent Britain into Third World status. The hung parliament finally agreed to hold elections in summer 1995. The Iron Lady Margaret Thatcher stunned the world by coming out of retirement and announcing her intention to stand for parliament as the leader of the New Liberal Party - Working to keep Britain Great!

Dr Richardson's paper will be continued in next months' edition of The Economy.

Thursday 23rd February 2055

Conscript 38604E/2052 - unknown date 2055

Here she comes, the new PR girl. I don't know why she always looks so glum. She should try trading places with me for a day. By the time she strolls into this factory at 9.30, I've already been standing at this damn machine for four hours. At least she looks a bit happier going home in the afternoon. I wonder if she ever spares a thought for me working through until midnight. I guess not. Why should she notice me out of three thousand naked men chained to machines? It's the only highlight of my day, my life, watching the office girls walk past along the gangway right next to my machine. I only know when it's a week break because there are no office girls to watch. Well, when I say watch, I mean look out of the corner of one eye. Mrs Bates, our section chief, gets paid a commission for our work sois pretty handy with that damn whip. The twenty guys in my section, we have our little tricks. My favourite is to drop one of the components on the floor, bend over to pick it up and have a good long look at a passing secretary's legs. In fact, new girl is walking past right now. Whoops, I'd better pick up this part. Wow! Her ergo suit is bright red this morning. Those legs get better and longer every day. Great tights, or maybe stockings, no doubt made by some conscript chained up at that hell hole in Nottingham we toured at school. I wonder who polishes her shoes. Some guys get all the good jobs. Now, when I straighten up, I usually swing round to check Mrs Bates is reading her DenWa. That's strange, she's not in her chair.

The leaded whip slashed into my back just as I was straightening up. Shit! The skin on my upper back feels like it's hanging off.

"Eyes front, slave!" She hissed. "Concentrate on your Owner's Spending Targets!"

Mrs Bates had been right there all the time. The camera data must have predicted I'd stop work as new girl approached, and now Mrs Bates was ready for another blow if I didn't make up for the lost time.

I dare to turn and see Mrs Bates returning to her chair. She paused at machine 34/S on the way, but that conscript was a lot luckier than me. I see the slave 31008H/2051 next to me. He has been here maybe a year longer. His back is red raw. Do I look the same? His testicles are blue and swollen from the knee of Mrs Bates and those psycho HM overseers. Will I look like that?

I can't believe I've got another fourteen hours left. I can't believe I've only been here just over two years. At least two more years chained to this machine, being kneed and whipped.

For motivation, I look up at the holo above my machine. Our Honourable Owner Tan Sri Lady Noor smiles down on me. Will you ever honour us with a visit, Ma'am?

Daniella Peterson - Thursday 23rd February 2055

Traffic! I've been late every day since I started. I knew this new job would be dull, but it's excruciating. I just had to get out clubbing last night. I sure regretted it this morning, though. Mum and Dad's new house slave isn't much better than the old one. When I got home last night, he was asleep and I couldn't see any sign of my clothes for the morning. I left a note for him to sort out my clothes. Mum and Dad say I'm too soft but he has to wake up at 4am, do his regulation physical training, wash the cars, prepare the bathrooms and then make breakfast for the four of us. So, I let him sleep. Mum is very strict. Our last slave was sent back to God only knows where. At least Mum has one saving grace, she lets our slaves wear shorts. The slaves in this place aren't so lucky. Yuk! The last thing I need every morning is to look at those factory slaves' bruised testicles.

How I already hate this place. A big ugly concrete building with Keep The Reunited Kingdom Great in massive red letters. I suppose I'd better smile at the Receptionist. Those four slaves standing to attention at the "Spare Slaves" area are still there today. Now the part I really hate - the main factory. Rows upon rows of slaves chained by one ankle to noisy machines. I'm told they wash, eat, sleep and go to the toilet at the machine. I've no idea how. My older brother did his time in a hotel laundry and they were unchained at night, for obvious reasons. My other brother, we are twins, has about 18 months left and isn't so lucky. I think he works, no doubt permanently chained, as a ship building slave in Scotland.

It never ceases to amaze me. When I stopped off for a charge today, I had no credit on my DenWa again after last night's poppers. I went inside to sweet talk the fat ogling jerk. The men in the forecourt and in the shop stopped everything to stare at me. You'd think they'd never seen a woman in an ergo before. Now, walking through this noisy factory, you'd think the slaves, chained up for God knows how many years, would look too. Not at all. Every single man has his eyes directly ahead concentrating on his work.

I've come to recognise a few of the slaves, the ones chained to machines by the gangway. There is "fat boy" slave 31236A/2053 with thick glasses in the very first row. One thing I noticed straight away was the skin on his flabby right ankle sticking out either side of his shackle. Disgusting. If these slaves also have to do regulation PT every morning, I would think fat boy has a very hard time indeed. Maybe it's my imagination but his back looks a little more scarred and his balls a little darker and more swollen than the other slaves. Yesterday, "Gorbachev" slave 30913A/2049, with the birthmark on his shaved head, stopped work as I wandered by. He was reaching into his machine maybe trying to clear some sort of blockage. His section chief stormed across screaming at him to stand to attention. Seconds later I heard a grunt of guttural pain and spun around to see him sprawled on the floor clutching his genitals, or whatever they should be called on a man who won't have used them for five or six years. Fair to say these boys don't have much fun in here, but it's just a few years, boys, and look at the benefits.

So, on this Thursday morning, my hangover clearing I am half way along this noisy gangway. A slave 38604E/2053 who I hadn't noticed before appears to throw a piece of metal on to the gangway. With his ankle chain nearly at full extension, he walks across, bending to pick his part up. His section chief is already out of her chair, whip high in the air. WHACK! Ouch, even I felt that!

I've never even held a whip, I don't have a "Whip Certificate" but my company is sending me on a course next month.

Vanessa Bates - Thursday 23rd February 2055

It's not a bad job, 9 to 4 Monday to Thursday. I've been here for nearly three years now. I'm responsible for Section 20/B at BMC alloys, a subsidiary of the car giant AUTO. My section has 62 slaves working at pressing machines making brackets and other smaller parts. I studied Manufacturing Engineering at Bristol University majoring in Conscript Production so am also involved in planning the workload and estimating the output of each slave team.

It's so hi-tech now that lights flash and alarms ring if even one of my slaves falls behind schedule. Of course, I can't sit and watch them work for twenty hours a day so an automatic system lets me know every morning what they get up to when I'm not here.

A typical day starts with me scanning the output for the previous evening and early morning. I don't usually expect any surprises. The real overseers from HM Conscription Service patrol the factory in the evening and morning, and they scare the hell out of me as it is. After checking the outputs, I call the slaves to attention and order each man to report. "Report Slave!". "No problems to report Ma'am". Of course, some slaves lose concentration and jam their machine causing a delay to production. I already know about this of course but have to let them know such clumsiness is not tolerated. I'll give an example from last week:

"Report slave 31726D/2053."

A bead of sweat ran down his right ribcage. He had something to fear alright.

"Problem Ma'am at 5.47am. Had to clear debris from upper die, Ma'am."

I let his Adam's Apple rise and fall before snarling, "Why didn't you keep your upper die clean, slave?"

"I umm, Ma'am, with respect I think I cleaned it at..."

"Think!" I slammed my knee squarely into his groin. I felt the rush of air and smelt his disgusting CarbPro feed as he groaned in pain.

"Straighten up, slave! Stand to attention!"

"You caused a delay of 7 minutes, slave" I nod up to the holo above his machine. "Do you think Lady Noor will be pleased if her staff report you?"

"No, Ma'am."

I nodded my head in disgust. "Get on with your work slave!"

"Yes, Ma'am."

Of course, it was an everyday problem on any machine which was working so many hours at high speed. The welts on his back told me that the HM overseer had encouraged him to hurry up with his seven minutes cleaning, but I have to instil discipline and respect into my slaves. Our Uppers need to know their slaves are being worked well. Jane Sanderson in Section 18/A took home a lot more money than me last month. Why should I lose out because of some stupid slave?

So, this Thursday another boring morning. No problems to report Ma'am - music to my ears. Whip on the table, make myself comfortable, time to order a coffee. Even this is automatic. The slave sees it's my DenWa, and that's it. Coffee slaves are very well disciplined. In two minutes, white coffee with one sugar is placed on my table by a smart slave. It's no wonder. They know they are one mistake, one complaint away from spending their remaining time chained to a machine.

From my chair, I have a good view of all 62 slaves. Slave 31726D/2053 with his back now looking very sore is working very well. So, feet up, a quick check of the DenWa newscast.

Thud!

What on Earth! That new slave at the end 38604E/2053 has dropped a bracket on to the gangway. It could've hit that woman. I don't believe this! He is crouching in her way, she has to walk around him. What a cretin! I won't tolerate such incompetence on my section. His output is already low, especially between 9 and 930am. I almost run across, whip arm raised, catching his upper back as he gets up, classic training manual stuff. His face turns in shock, frozen in agony. He'd learnt his lesson but as always, follow up words were needed.

"Back to work slave!"

"Yes, Ma'am."

It makes me laugh. Slaves say those two pointless words "Yes, Ma'am" because it's part of their training. They're hardly likely to say "No, Ma'am" chained to a machine.

OK, back to coffee and news. Two hours to lunch.