The Blurt of Richard Davies

Chapter Thirty Three

May the 4th.

There are smiles beamed and congratulations backslapped to me as I make my way through the offices; along with a few knowing looks. There he goes, off to claim his reward... If only they knew what was really going through my mind; the fear and uncertainty, the moral dilemma I'm wrestling with even as I smile back at them. No doubt some of my colleagues are already eyeing my post when it becomes vacant as a result of my moving onward and upward.

I suppose I ought to appreciate all the warmly meant good wishes but instead I have an air of numbed detachment; as if this is the last time I'll see this place or these people. To be honest I don't think I'll miss any of them; I hope my feelings don't show, for they might raise suspicions. With any luck any preoccupation on my part will be mistaken for the effects of tiredness, or the haughty separation of the powerful from those they have power over already setting in. I should be back soon I tell them; we'll sort out any reorganisational issues out then. Who am I kidding? Neither myself or them but we all know the score; or at least they think they do.

In the reception the few NatPols and Zone security staff loitering there watching the election news on the large wall screen are hopefully thinking much the same thing. The NatPols are still politely deferential which is a good sign but their new commander, one I've not seen before, insists on calling his patrols in the nearby area just to be absolutely sure there's no risk before allowing me out.

I'm offered a ride in one of their armoured urban battle trucks the short distance to Portsmouth and Southsea station, which I decline as politely as possible. I say I'd prefer to walk, and I could really do with some reviving fresh air. Call it paranoia but once inside one of those dark grey brutish vehicles with its complement of uniformed thugs I'd have no control as to where it was driven, or what might happen next. Well-learned habits die hard; you don't get involved with the pols unless there is no alternative.

My new found authority appears to get him to relent, but he insists he and two of his officers escort me to the station; I agree to his suggestion. It's best not to push it too far yet for fear of arousing suspicion, but I have to ask.

"Isn't the city centre secure?"

"We're patrolling the area and a selective curfew is in force, but it's best we accompany you just to avoid any problems. We managed to nip what little local dificulties there were in the bud; and now we're in control we're not expecting any further trouble, but it's always best to be sure."

"Indeed!"

"We've been ordered to look after you, and that's what we'll do!"

"Very well then; let's go!"

At this time of the morning, even in the busy all hours Fed, the city centre is quiet. Given the situation I expected to hear some distant sounds of commotion or celebration, but there is nothing to disturb the calm underneath the milky streetlights. It makes my nervously vigilant minders in their robotesque equipment look even more incongruous. Wanting to break the awkward silence and pump them for as much information as possible, I ask the commander what has happened so far, feigning I've been too occupied in directing the technical aspects of the night's 'casting and trying to bypass the effects of some hostile frazzling to get a comprehensive view of the situation.

"The Consensus supporters were intent on causing trouble, but we managed to arrest most of them at the count at the Guildhall; a good thing we arrived when we did as a number of them were trying to break into the office where Mr Moore was taking shelter. It appears they'd decided on that course of action even before the Consensus national office ordered their supporters to physically disrupt the electoral process." His use of stilted police language and that particular tone of voice unique to the force irks me; attempting to beat someone up, especially a friend of mine, amounts to quite a bit more than 'physical disruption'. I wonder if Neil is a knowing party to the great fraud? I conclude he probably isn't. A secret of this magnitude would be restricted only to those who needed to know it.