But the other seven duly popped up on my screen, and all of us on each other’s. I decided to say nothing about Aaronson and Rutherford, and just shrugged when their absence was remarked in the pre-meeting chit-chat as people shuffled paper, booted up notepads, settled in their seats and looked at me expectantly.
‘OK, comrades,’ I began, ‘from here it looks like we’ve woken up to not just a new government, but a new regime. Now, call me a romantic old fool, but I think it’s the start of a revolution. A very British revolution, I’ll give you that, but it’s been a long time coming and revolutions are a law unto themselves more or less by definition. I wouldn’t bet on this one staying in the proper channels. This could be good news for us, or bad, depending on how things turn out. The question is, can we make a difference?’
All the eyes on the screen made a laughably simultaneous swivel as everybody checked everybody else’s reaction. Ewan Chambers, the Scottish rep, spoke first.
‘I agree with Jon. Things were looking pretty wild in Glasgow last night, something a bit more than a street party and no’ quite a riot. And from what I can see there’s a kindae uneasy calm in Edinburgh. The Workers’ Power Party is carrying on like it won the election instead ae just a couple of seats.’
‘It’s the same down here,’ said Julie O’Brien, our South London youth organiser, ‘but I don’t think we have to worry just yet about the Trots taking over and everybody starving to death. If you look at how the new government’s put together, right, there’s no doubt at all that we’re gonna get a Republic, but beyond that the kind of programme they’ve been talking about is a real mish-mash of libertarian and statist. On the one side – easing immigration controls, ending prohibition, pulling the troops out of Greece and all that, but on the other hand the Labour parties are pushing this industrial policy, cabling up everything on one big system and all sorts of TwenCen shit.’
‘Including a space programme, funnily enough,’ I said. ‘Any thoughts on that?’
A wrangle followed which I cut across as soon as somebody mentioned Ayn Rand. ‘Here’s what I suggest,’ I said. ‘We don’t support it, don’t oppose it, and if it ever flies, demand they privatise it.’
Nothing like a moment of shared cynicism for pulling a committee together. ‘Right,’ I said when we’d stopped chuckling, ‘serious business. Good bloody riddance to the Hanoverian regime, but as Julie says the question is what happens afterwards. The political structure’s going to be pretty flexible for a while. How about we try to get our hands on some derelict area and make it an enterprise zone or freeport or something, and put our money where our mouth is?’
Adrian Moss frowned. He was in charge of the movement’s lobbying activities, such as they were. ‘We could probably swing it,’ he said, ‘but why? Free zones are better left to real businesses, not political organisations.’ His smile flicked around the screen. ‘You know, that reminds me of some fringe ideology I’ve heard about!’
‘I’ll tell you why,’ I said. ‘If things work out smoothly, fine, a few more of our ideas get tested. But this country might be headed for a breakup. We’ve all seen what that means, time and time again. Everybody grabs what they can. Having a bit of land to call our own might give us a head start.’
This caused some commotion. Only Julie and Ewan were in favour. I feigned demurral and suggested that we put it to a poll of the membership. Those against my suggestion agreed, confident that it would be rejected.
By this time the absence of Aaronson and Rutherford had pushed itself onto the agenda. I donned my moderate hat and managed to convince the committee that if it turned out that they’d been spies all along and had now fled the country, we would quite definitely not have them assassinated.
Late that afternoon the investigations I’d initiated revealed that they’d both been discreetly offered jobs in the promised National Space Authority, and had been too embarrassed to tell us. At this point I was quite tempted to have them assassinated, but after some thought decided just to throw them off the committee.
In the membership referendum on making a bid for a local enterprise area my position won overwhelmingly, as I knew it would. With all the political excitement, even a rabble of libertarians couldn’t help wanting to do something constructive for a change.
A year later FreeSpace had control of an abandoned North London industrial estate with a few blocks of empty high-rise flats thrown in by a local council desperate to get rid of them. Six months after that we had the place swarming with enthusiastic volunteers and Adrian was pulling in outside investment hand over fist. After a further six months a delegation of workers’ and employers’ representatives told the committee that they were very happy with the security our militia provided, but there was one little extra assurance they wanted.
Just for their peace of mind.
Julie said it was immoral, Ewan said it was illegal, Adrian said it was far too expensive and I said I knew a man who could get it for us cheap.
Transcript of telephone conversation, released 01/10/50 under Freedom of Information (Previous Governments) Act.
[reception-program voice ends].
JW: Hi, Dave.
DR: Oh, hello you old bastard. What can I do you for?
JW: Uh, this encrypted?
DR: No, but I’m sure you know what to say.
JW: Fuck, [pause] We’re thinking of going private for, uh, the big one. [pause]
DR: Are you outa your fucking mind?
JW: Don’t think so. I, gather some of your friends in the communistans –
DR: – deformed workers’ statelets – [laughter].
JW: – might have the best deals. Can you swing it?
DR: Oh, sure. We’ve got policies,
JW: Better than politics, [laughter]
DR: I can’t see you needing it, that’s all.
JW: Not much of a salesman, are you? [pause]
DR: Oh well, it’s your life. Lemme check. Shit, okay, make it next week…Tuesday, oh-nine-thirty, Stanstead. Charter desk,
JW: See you there mate.
DR: Great. Love to the wife and weans, [laughter]
JW: Likewise, to your mistresses and bastards.
DR: Well, thank you mate. Cheers,
JW: Slandge. [human voice ends]
We hit turbulence over the southern Urals. I was standing in the narrow corridor towards the tail, braced against the sides and looking straight out of the last window. As the aircraft dipped I got a clear view of the mountains. In the long shadows of dawn they looked remarkably like a papier-maché model of mountains. Not too far below, a regular series of small white clouds were simultaneously dispersing. Curious.
Another wing-dip, another moment of free-fall, then a rapid climb. A yell came from the tiny toilet.
‘Are you all right?’
‘I’m fine,’ Reid shouted. ‘Just cut myself.’
‘What are you doing in there?’
‘Shaving.’
Ten, no, fifteen minutes earlier I’d seen him sand down his cheeks and chin with an electric razor, just before I’d recklessly given him precedence for the toilet. My bladder sent me a sharp note of protest. You may have had surgical microbots crawling around your plumbing, it told me, but there are limits…It was high time, I thought, for me to start practising the egoism I preached.
‘Shaving what? Your legs?’
‘The – backs – of – my – hands,’ said Reid. I could hear the clenched teeth. ‘Forgot the fucking rubber gloves, first time I used the scalp treatment.’