The Three R's Pt. 02

Inge Kerring smiled at the remaining student. The girl she was talking to was less than happy but Kerring was pretty sure that the girl's demeanour had little to do with the professor's lecture. "They were very pleased. Upstairs. It was a good piece of work," Professor Kerring said.

"My arm is still bloody sore."

"Your tattoo? A worthwhile sacrifice for the intelligence from Inky Skin. The observations on CRMRE were most enlightening. SHE was very pleased indeed."

"Oh, good. I'm glad SHE was happy."

"Don't be churlish." It was always the same, Inge thought. Field agents saw themselves as the centre of everything. Their trials, their tribulations, their concerns; all these were supposed to be the things that were the most important. Running an agent was a juggling act; keeping their motivation up, making them feel their problems were understood, making them feel that their work was important if that was what drove them. Making sure they got paid if it was that. Mostly, the material they brought back was only ever part of the picture. One or two jigsaw pieces, maybe more. Sometimes you didn't know if it was any use at all. This little project had been better than many. In this case, praise was due for the work done, Inge knew. "The tip on the ExCel Centre break out was very helpful. It did help our dear Home Secretary to avoid a potential embarrassment. You should be pleased SHE was able to make use of your input.."

"I'm sure my name was right there in HER report. Probably in bold and capitals too. Maybe even in highlight."

The sulky gratitude was typical, Inge thought. She still found it annoying. They both knew how this whole thing worked. "You know that's not how it is. Besides, I didn't think you were in it for the glory."

"Well, it's not for the cocktails and caviar."

"Neither is teaching at this university," Inge snapped. "It's just one of those tedious things in life we have to put up with in pursuit of a higher goal." The girl grunted, evidently unconvinced. "Now, next steps. Presumably Gerry will reappear from the woodwork at some point. SHE would be very interested when that happens; especially if his little band of friends get together again, anything like that. I mean they are completely hopeless but still, they just might get lucky. Any more clever little ideas like ECR. SHE had a good laugh about that. Any suggestion that there might be something a bit more, let's say, dangerous than sticking up posters and spraying paint. I mean, Safewords? We never heard any more from them after the Fordswell bombing, did we? Assuming they were ever anything more than a figment of Anders' imagination. Oh, and Daisy, do keep us up to date on the boy Jack. He sounds as though he might be a little more competent than the rest. So don't get shag-happy with him. All right? We'd hate to find that he'd wormed his way into your affections. It would be a shame if you forgot where your loyalties are. Prick sex can become so addictive, if you are not careful, I'm told. And not just for boys."

The End

Coda

I guess that some people may feel this story has not so much reached an ending as stopped.

In some ways that's true. Jack hasn't resolved his feelings about how he should resist the rule of New Order. Spencer and Gerry haven't worked out how, and indeed if, they are going to achieve anything. Norm isn't sure what Eire is going to bring in the future. Catherine is still finding it hard to balance her heritage and her current life and Daisy isn't sure how to cope with her undercover existence.

My feelings are that's pretty much like real life.

I think stories like this can be either portraits or landscapes. Portraits are focussed on individuals or specific challenges (like most novels, I guess) whereas landscapes portray a world and invite the reader to try to envisage what it might be like to live in it. That's what I've tried to do here. In that sense the story can't have a conclusion.

I've tried continuing the story in five different ways with sequel related stuff that makes no sense so far and seems to be opening things up rather than closing story lines down.

So, I've decided to stop it here. I may go back to that pile of work-in-progress if I can see a way to make something coherent, rather than just more of the "this is what life is like under New Order" landscape.

In the mean time, I hope you've enjoyed it.

In spite of the not-an-ending-at-all ending.

Freddie Clegg

P.S. Attentive readers (and some that have already commented) will have noted that this tale includes an excellent example of nominative determinism : the tendency for people to gravitate to jobs on the basis of their names so that in the real world Dr Gavin Breeds was bound to become a obstetrician and Keith Weed could hardly have avoided becoming President of the Royal Horticultural Society (we had another excellent example in the UK recently when the BBC sent a reporter to cover fuel shortages at petrol stations and viewers were delighted to see a caption with the name "Phil McCann"). So, yes, Daisy was (is) a plant. Its surprising what you can overhear if people thing you are listening to music on headphones. In my defence, when I named the character, I hadn't worked out what her role was going to be in the story (no surprises there). I think that, if I had, I might have named her differently. Anyway, well done to those that spotted it - I didn't notice the connection until the comments!