Personal Blogs

I have just sworn the oath, on the Bible.  I don’t consider myself to be religious, but I could not be bothered to enter into a discussion about it.  I want this to be over as quickly as possible.  Here comes the first question.  At least, I think it does.  I wish he would stop rambling and get to the point.  What has been the nature of my relationship with Kelvin?  I am talking now.  I am saying something.  I don’t really know what I am saying.  The nature of my relationship with him is that I agreed to join his mission to colonise a new planet.  Don’t ask me why I did that, because I did not previously know him, but I did agree to it.  We were then lovers, briefly, for a period of six weeks while we in transit from Earth.  Our time together was physically passionate and I thought I was falling in love with him, but it was very difficult to know whether I did love him because he was so difficult to get to know.  Once I heard about his so-called “companion”, I experienced a feeling of repulsion and did not want to be with him anymore.    This seemed to wear off eventually, probably because I foolishly allowed myself to forget what a big part this “companion” had played in his life.  I simply assumed that he would want his partner in life to be a flesh-and-blood woman rather than a machine manufactured to look like a woman. 

            Here comes another question.  I suppose I should be paying attention, instead of scanning the public gallery to see how many people I can recognise.  There is that awful Vallance woman.  She has been told off by the usher for taking notes.  Every time there is a recess, she goes outside and scribbles frantically.  I am looking for The Machine, to see if she will still glower at me, but she is not there for some reason.  Kelvin seems remarkably composed in the dock (is that what it is called?)   I wonder if they will actually put him in prison, if he is found guilty.   The next question is: do I think that Kelvin was glad when news of the invasion arrived, because he knew it would mean conflict?  Yes, I am convinced he was.  For a start, he was the only person who wasn’t surprised.  He reacted as if being invaded was an ordinary, everyday occurrence.  In other words, he didn’t react at all.  He just started talking about something called “Plan K-13”.  I asked him what “Plan K-13” was, and he said that it would be revealed on a need-to-know basis.  I asked him why it was called “K-13”, and he said it had to be called something.  I told him it sounded like something out of an unpublished novel by John Le Carré,  and he thanked me.  I didn’t tell him that the reason why the hypothetical novel would remain unpublished is because it was crap.   

            Now he is asking me if I knew anything about Operation Meat-grinder.  No, I didn’t.  My duties had nothing to do with the fighting.  Oh, that’s the end.  That didn’t last as long as I feared.  I can’t go home, however.  I have to hang around in case I am wanted again. 

*

            ‘How should I address you?’

            ‘Most politely.’

            ‘I mean, by what form of address?  What title?’

            ‘How about “Mrs Stark”?’

            ‘Very well.  Mrs Stark, what was your…’

            ‘Before you proceed with your examination in chief, Mr Greenwood, I wish to raise a point of order.’

            ‘I beg your pardon?’

            ‘I wish to question your right to examine me as a witness.’  The judges lean forward and listen more attentively.  Greenwood looks surprised and annoyed.  Those people in the public gallery who have been paying attention start muttering to each other.  Judge Lansakaranayake intervenes.

            ‘Mrs Stark, could you explain to the court what it is to wish to question?’

            ‘Your Honour, it occurs to me that, under the legal system in Mr Greenwood’s country, he could not ask me any questions, even if he wanted to.’

            ‘Why not?’

            ‘Because I am an android.  I am not a natural person, in the eyes of the law of England and Wales.  According to Mr Greenwood’s legal system, I am merely a machine.  If he wants to know anything about me, if he wants disclosure of anything that my data acquisitions systems may have recorded, he can serve a court order against my legal owner.  But he can’t question me.’  Greenwood’s face falls.  He knows I’m right.  Lansakaranayake looks puzzled.  Gonzales looks amused.  The two judges exchange a words which no-one else can hear. 

            ‘Will Mr Greenwood and Miss Johnson please join us in our chambers, please?  Mr and Mrs Stark are each dismissed until further notice.’

*

Violet’s point was upheld.  We are making the law governing this trial up as we go along, but the assumption is that, where no law has been codified by the colonists, we will fall back on English Law.  Greenwood had already committed himself to that principle and, in this regard, English law is very clear: androids are not legal entities, except inasmuch as they incur liability for their legal owners.  Greenwood tried to argue that Violet was capable of being treated as an independent person, but the judges said that he could only appeal to the written law of this colony if he wanted things done differently from the way they are in England.  No law on this subject has been passed in the colony.  In desperation, Greenwood asked if Kelvin could produce his certificate of ownership of Violet.  This was duly produced.  Greenwood then observed that Kelvin and Violet are married, and asked how he could marry something that wasn’t a person.  The judges asked what relevance the validity of Kelvin’s marriage had to the matter in hand.  Greenwood could not answer that question.  The judges conferred for about two minutes, and came back with a joint decision that Greenwood did not have a leg to stand on.  He could apply to the court (subject to various exemptions) for orders to obtain from Kelvin the disclosure of Violet’s data, but he could not put Violet back in the witness box.  I asked if Violet would be allowed back in the public gallery, and received permission for her to continue watching the trial. 

            There is still some time left today, and so we are re-convening after lunch. 

*

Greenwood’s next witness is a prisoner called Darren Cartwright.  He looks well-nourished and healthy enough, apart from a rather appalling case of acne.  Greenwood starts questioning him about what he saw and heard of his fellow invaders being scalded in the concrete tank that Kelvin ordered to be built.  I interrupt, and read a pre-prepared statement which concedes all the factual  points that Greenwood has been trying to make and adds that they are not in dispute.  It includes everything about the poisoned food,  the drinks that had been adulterated with methanol, the booby-traps, and the cutting off of the water supply.   When I finish, Greenwood thanks me unconvincingly, and closes with a few questions to Cartwright about how he is being treated.  He says that the prison is boring but comfortable enough and the food is to his liking. 

            We are getting close to the point I have been dreading.  I just hope we have done enough preparation.  I hope Kelvin remembers my instructions and does as he has been told. 

*

Kelvin gives his evidence from the dock.

            Kelvin’s atheism re-opens the question of what he will swear on.  After dismissing all the religious books on the usher’s shelf, Kelvin asks if there are any secular titles.  The usher peers at each spine in turn.

            ‘There is just one,’ he reports, with resignation.

            ‘What is it?’ Kelvin asks.

            ‘It is a copy of Whitaker’s Almanac for the year 2125.’

            ‘That’ll do.’

            ‘What?’ Greenwood exclaims.  For once, I agree with him.

            ‘What did you say earlier, Professor Gonzales?’ Kelvin asks, addressing the bench.  ‘It has to be a book the contents of which you are broadly familiar with, in the truth of which you have a strong conviction, and whose principles you believe should be upheld.’

            ‘Yes, Dr Stark, I did say that.  Are you sure that Whitaker’s Almanac satisfies all those criteria in your case?’

            ‘I am certain of it.’

            ‘What principles does Whitaker’s Almanac set out?’

            ‘Democracy, for a start, and accountability.  It gives you the address of every member of parliament and holder of public office in the United Kingdom – in Mr Greenwood’s country.  I will swear on a book that attests to the accountability of Mr Greenwood’s employer.’  Gonzales and Lansakaranayake look doubtful, but they hold a brief conference which is inaudible to the rest of the court. 

            ‘Very well,’ indicates Gonzales to the usher, with deadly seriousness, ‘You may proceed with the taking of the oath.’

            ‘You are Kelvin Stark,” asserts Greenwood, after this (in his opinion) travesty has been played out. 

            ‘That is my name,’ confirms Kelvin, with a slight emphasis on the word name.  Oh, no.  The examination in chief is just starting, and he is already forgetting his lines.   Come on, Kelvin: pull yourself together.  

            ‘What office do you claim to occupy in the administration of this community?’  The question is obviously framed to be as offensive as possible without breaching the decorum of the courtroom.

            ‘The title of King was conferred upon me by the parliament which we refer to as the Assembly.  I attempted to abdicate from that position after the war was over.  This had been my stated intention when I accepted the title and the office of Commander-in-Chief of the Armed Forces.  That abdication was not accepted by the Assembly.  It therefore seems that I am still King.’  Kelvin speaks more quietly than he usually does.  He must remember some of what I told him.

            ‘You must have been very gratified to find that you were still regarded as King.’

            ‘No. In fact, it was a pain in the arse.’  A ripple of laughter moves round the courtroom.  Greenwood is annoyed to see that even some of the jurors he selected himself are laughing.  He glances expectantly at the judges, hoping that they will reprimand the accused for having used the word arse in court, but they say nothing.  I am wondering whether Greenwood knows that it was Judge Gonzales himself who suggested that Kelvin be King and not simply Commander-in-Chief.

            ‘I believe, Mr Stark, that…’

            ‘Doctor Stark.’  Greenwood pauses for a moment and looks at the ceiling, but he has not started gripping the table-top yet.  I suppose he is wondering how many of these blasted colonists have doctorates.

            ‘Dr Stark,’ he resumes, ‘I believe that, after this assembly, you affected the title of Field Marshal.’

            ‘If you really insist on putting it as offensively as that, then yes, I did.’

            ‘Did you have any previous military experience?’

            ‘None.’

            ‘Then how could you do it?’  With an air of wearied resignation, Kelvin picks up the copy of Whitaker’s Almanac that the usher has absent-mindedly left on the partition next to his chair, and turns to the page described in the index under Royal Family, Military Titles.

            ‘The King,’ he reads aloud, by which he means Henry IX.  ‘Lord High Admiral of the United Kingdom, Field Marshal, Marshal of the Royal Air Force. Admiral of the Fleet, Royal Australian Navy. Field Marshal, Australian Military Forces, Marshal of the Royal Australian Air Force.  Admiral of the Fleet, Royal New Zealand…’

            ‘Yes, yes, thank you, Dr Stark,’ Greenwood interrupts.  ‘What, precisely, is your point?’

            ‘Yes, I was wondering that,’ adds Gonzales, and so am I.  

            ‘It is the role of a leader to give his or her followers something to look up to and admire – something that inspires confidence.  If I was to give orders to soldiers, then clearly I had to outrank them, and the easiest way to ensure that was to take the rank of Field Marshal.’

            ‘But on what basis did you expect to give the orders?  I understand that some of the men you commanded had military experience, whereas you had none.’

            ‘Some of the women I commanded had military experience as well.  I accept that.  There were three reasons why I was in command and they were not.  Firstly, it was my idea for us to travel to this planet in the first place.  That, I felt, burdened me with a certain amount of responsibility.  Secondly, although I had no previous military experience, I did have considerable experience of fighting fascists and Nazis.  What we were up against was not just a military force: it was a political and psychological one, and in this I do claim to speak as an expert.  Lastly, I believed that the conflict  had the potential to last a long time and to involve the entire colony.  The economic and strategic implications of this are something else on which I claim to speak as an expert.  Adolf Hitler said precisely one thing with which I agree.’  Oh shit damn hell bugger.  This is not going well.  This is not what we rehearsed.

            ‘And what, may I ask, is that?’

            ‘People believe in that which is seen to be strongly believed by others.  For this reason, and because I believed in our eventual victory, I found it necessary and desirable to behave like a victor, even when we encountered set-backs.’

            ‘Set-backs?  Would you describe what happened to Major Downing and his men as a set-back?’

            ‘In military terms, yes.  In human terms, it was an appalling tragedy, and a waste of life.’

            ‘Would you have conducted this operation differently if you had had the chance?’

            ‘That is a hypothetical question and I do not propose to waste the court’s time by answering it.’  Greenwood puts down the paper he is holding and looks angry. 

            ‘Dr Stark, I am trying to give you the opportunity to show the court that you are a human being after all, and not the unbalanced despot whose character one infers from the accounts we have heard of recent activities on this planet.  This chance is one that you seem determined to throw away.’

            ‘Well let me reciprocate, Mr Greenwood, by offering you the chance to spell out what it is that I am supposed to have done which is so heinous.  I landed on this planet with the knowledge and permission of a civil, constitutional, democratic government.  My peaceful existence here and that of my fellow colonists was rudely interrupted by invaders who were trying to rape, kill, maim and torture us.  Some of those invaders were shot.  Some of them were poisoned.  Some of them were bayonetted.  Some of them were burned alive.  Some of them were drowned.  Some of these actions, I deeply regret to say, incurred collateral damage.  In other words, in order to prevent the loss of innocent civilian lives, I had to kill some innocent civilians.  I have never made a secret of that.  It makes me desperately sad, but not criminally culpable.

            ‘I am the King.  This is the most unexpected thing that has ever happened to me in my life, and I must admit that I still find it impossible to comprehend sometimes.  However, when I attempted to stand down, the people would not let me.  It was my application to the Alpha Project that got us all here, and I suppose some of them see me as a symbol of their hope for peace and security in the future. In spite of unfavourable odds, every major undertaking that this colony has embarked on has succeeded, and that makes me very proud.

            ‘If I am a King (which I am) then I belong to the least violent royal dynasty in the history of the human race.  Monarchy on this planet was constitutional from the outset.  My position was conferred upon me by a popular assembly – a point which it took the United Kingdom many centuries to reach.

            ‘If the worst thing that you can accuse me of is that I shot a known and dedicated fascist when he did not have his machine-gun in his hands, or that I ordered the sinking of a ship that killed some of my own people, then I challenge you to go to the rulers of any state back on your planet and insist that they govern in the same just and pacific way you seem to be espousing here.

            ‘The people of this planet, though they sincerely wish to remain on good terms with your government, are not subordinate to that government.  Even considering recent advances in technology, you are too far away for your wishes to be taken into account here on a daily basis, and your troops were absent when we were in our hour of need.  Your presence here now is wearisome, obstructive and superfluous.  We will go our own way and, though I cannot promise that we won’t make mistakes, we will attempt to learn from yours, of which there have been a great many.  I daresay the agents of your government committed more errors in one day of the First Battle of the Somme than I have in my entire time as Commander.

            ‘Do you have any more questions for me?  If you do, I beseech you to be as brief as possible.’        Kelvin stops speaking, and the public gallery breaks into loud applause.  Some of them are on their feet.

            The disturbance is only slightly shortened by the two Judges calling for order.  When order is finally restored, there is a pause in which nobody says anything, and then Judge Gonzales asks Greenwood if he has anything further.  I can see indecision in Greenwood’s face.  On one hand, he has succeeded sooner than he expected in getting Kelvin to stand on his dignity but, on the other, Kelvin seems to have endeared himself to most of those present.  Gonzales presses him and he reluctantly admits that he has finished.  The judges turn to me.

            ‘The defence rests, Your Honours.’  

            Now it is all up to the jury.

*

The jury has been deliberating for four days, and the foreman (one of the colonists) has asked for them to be released.  The jury is split, eight to four in favour of “not guilty”.   How the hell are we going to sort this out?  The only person who seems gratified by this situation is Greenwood.  

Oh, for Christ’s sake.  I was in the middle of sampling some sediments on C-1 and I was effectively put under arrest by a gang of armed men in uniform.  It seems there has been another invasion, but this time there is going to be a court case instead of a war.  The journey from my bore-hole to this place was so short that I am still in mud-stained shorts, T-shirt, walking boots, and utility belt.   Once I had been frog-marched into the court room (or whatever it was) I unbuckled the utility belt and dropped it on the floor before I sat down.  It made quite a crash when it landed on the floor.  I didn’t care.

            I was sitting before a long table, behind which sat some-one I recognised but could not put a name to (her nameplate said Cecily Johnson).  Next to her was a smug-looking man whose nameplate said Secretary Greenwood, and various juniors and hangers-on.   At the back of the room was an audience which contained some men and women in uniform, and some fellow colonists, including Kelvin, his assistant, and that creature of his.

            ‘What do you want?’ I asked.  I was playing with my hair.  I knew I was.  I tend to do that when I am agitated.

            ‘We’re asking the questions,’ said the smug man called Greenwood.  I suppose he was trying to sound polite but firm, but he just got up my nose even more.  Greenwood and his lackeys whispered to each other and shuffled papers for a few minutes.  I just sat there and did not even bother to try to keep still.  The room was silent except for the occasional sound of a baby gurgling.  The infant had kept up a uniform babble, which had not even wavered when I dropped the utility belt.  I wondered that Mr Greenwood did not object to this, but he seemed ready to ignore it completely.  Eventually, he condescended to begin his questions.

            ‘Your name is Prudence Tadlow?’

            ‘Yes.’

            ‘You currently occupy the position known as Speaker of the Assembly?’

            ‘That is not what it is known as; that is what it is called.’

            ‘Indeed.  Please answer the question.’

            ‘Yes. I do.’

            ‘Your election to this position was, on the last occasion, unopposed.’

            ‘Yes.  I suppose it was.  Yes, I had forgotten about that.  Thank you for drawing it to my attention.  I must be popular, mustn’t I?’

            ‘Please confine yourself to answering the questions as truthfully and as concisely as possible, Miss Tadlow.’

            ‘Ms!’

            ‘Ms. I apologise.’

            ‘You could always call me Dr Tadlow.  I do have a PhD.’

            ‘Yes.’

            ‘From quite a reputable awarding body, I think you will find: Imperial College of Science, Technology and Medicine.’

            ‘Yes.  Thank you.’

            ‘My thesis won a prize, you know.’ 

            ‘Yes, thank you, thank you, Dr Tadlow.  May I ask whether you would consider yourself to be a suitable person to preside over a trial in which the principal defendant was Kelvin Stark?’

            I thought about this for a long time.  I expected that Greenwood would start badgering me, but he did not.  He waited and waited.  I looked at the floor.  I looked at the ceiling.  My mind went blank, and then back to a recollection of the work I had been doing on C-1, standing in my slit-trench on a duck-board, taking samples and labelling them.  And then I returned to the question I had been asked.

            ‘No, I would not.’

            ‘Please allow me to point out that lack of legal training need not be an obstacle here: you would be supported by impartial legal experts who could give you all the advice you would need throughout the proceedings.  It is your judgment that would be your chief qualification.’

            ‘It is nothing to do with lack of legal qualifications, but the judgment that you refer to would in my case be impaired.’

            ‘Why is that?’

            ‘I understand that the quality you are looking for is impartiality.’

            ‘Certainly.  It is the utmost duty of a judge to be impartial.  That is one of the very qualities that I have been led by others to believe that you possess.’

            ‘I could not try Kelvin Stark because I would not be impartial.’

            ‘Your previous membership of any body appointed by him, also, need not be an obstacle.’

            ‘It is not that.’

            ‘Well, can you explain to the bench what you see as the problem?’

            ‘The reason why I could not act as an impartial judge in the trial of Kelvin Stark is because I love him.’  I heard a ripple of chatter move through the public gallery.  Greenwood turned a bit red, coughed, and started moving papers around for no apparent reason. 

            ‘Hmph.  Ah.  Well.  Mm.  Yes, then.  Er, you may be excused, Dr Tadlow.’

            ‘Don’t you want to ask me any more questions?’

            ‘Er, no.  Thank you.  That will be all.’

            ‘You brought me all this way just for that?  It hardly seems worth it.’   Now he was ignoring me.  I picked up my utility belt and walked back to the door at which I had come in, passing Kelvin as I did so. Our eyes met for a moment.  All he gave away was that he recognised who I was.  As I turned my gaze away from him, my eye was caught by the sight of his creature.  She looked at me.  She had Kelvin’s baby on her knee.  It was almost like looking at a real person.   She looked as if she was about to attack me, in spite of the baby.  I didn’t hang around.  I wanted to get out of there.  I had arranged to stay with a friend on a farm a few miles away.  I wanted a bath, a long drink and a lie-down in a darkened room. 

            Afterwards, while I was mulling over what had happened, it occurred to me that “the visitors” (as they had become known) would be going back to Earth eventually.  I felt that I should approach them to ask if I could go back with them. 

*

My name is Rose Thorne and I don’t know what to do.  Coming to this planet has certainly given me a lot to think about.  When I split up with Kelvin, it was hard, and upsetting, but at the time it seemed to make a kind of sense.  What is happening now doesn’t make sense.  I know this is stupid – as stupid as unprotected sex with a sailor who has just come back from Thailand – but, when I found out I would be coming here, I allowed myself to believe that Kelvin would still be available.  Now I find that, not only is he head of the government here, but he is married and has a baby son.  I never imagined that.  It just doesn’t seem right. 

            I need to talk to him.  It looks as if I am going to be here for quite a while, but I can’t leave without talking to him.  I need to work out how I can get some time alone with him.  I need to work out how people communicate in this place.  He seems to have a subordinate who wears a Gurkha uniform and sometimes brings him messages in little envelopes.  I wonder if I could pass a message to him.  I wonder what the subordinate’s name is, and where I can get some envelopes.  I suppose they must have shops here, but I have not seen any so far.  I wonder what sort of money they use. 

            It is really strange seeing Kelvin in uniform.  When we were together back on Earth, he seemed like the archetypal civilian: undisciplined, lazy, badly organised, always late, and unable to prioritise things properly.  The idea of seeing him in uniform would have seemed like a joke.  I must say, now I have seen him, he does seem to have a military bearing.  And that Gurkha chaps jumps at this every word.  I only caught a glimpse of them.  Kelvin was signing things, and reading messages from a wad of those envelopes that the Gurkha gave to him.  They exchanged a few words and then the Gurkha took two steps backwards, bowed gravely, and then ran off at the double.  It was like something out of a black-and-white film.  Kelvin was wearing a beret, a khaki battledress, combat trousers, gaiters, and boots.  I don’t know who looks after his kit, but his boots shine like conkers.  He doesn’t polish them. I am sure of that. 

            I can’t talk to him.  I just wouldn’t know what to say. 

*

Ed’s temperature has gone up nought-point-three-three centigrade in the last four thousand two hundred and eighteen seconds.  I have also noticed that Kelvin’s has been going up at almost the same rate.  I hope they are not both coming down with something.  We had Ed immunised against space flu as soon as he was born.  Since then I have been including things to boost his immune system in my milk.  Kelvin doesn’t know about this.  I don’t think he would object, but I am not interested in his opinion on this subject.  I am Ed’s mother and I know what is best for him. 

            Something else that Kelvin does not know is that Ed now has a simulacrum.  It can do just about everything that Ed can do, except bleed, and it also has data acquisition systems which are wirelessly linked to me and to my file server and which report at four hundred millisecond intervals on a range of data, as well as recording streaming video and sound.  Kelvin started talking a few weeks ago about baby-sitters.  I asked him what we needed a baby-sitter for, and he went on about how it would be healthy for us to leave him with some-one else for a few hours now and then.  Three of our neighbours have now had a go at looking after Android Ed.  This was quite difficult to arrange without Kelvin’s finding out about it, and had to be done by taking Android Ed to the baby-sitter, not having the baby-sitter round to our house.  Nevertheless, Android Ed acquired a great deal of data.  He was too cold when he was with the Petersons, overfed when he was with the Van den Bergs, and variously too hot, too cold and under-stimulated when he was with the Howards.  Mr Howard also dropped him during a moment of horseplay, and was apparently amazed at how little damage he sustained from the fall and how little he complained about it.  Quite.  When he had had time to settle a bit, I sent an instruction to Android Ed to crawl over to Mrs Howard’s nearly-finished embroidery, which she had absentmindedly left on the floor, and vomit copiously all over it.  Android Ed is back in my lab now. 

            This court case is another of Kelvin’s charades.  He is maintaining an outward appearance of dignified resignation tinged with moral outrage, but it is obscenely obvious to any-one who knows him that he is wallowing in every minute of this, with potentially dire consequences for his appearance in the dock.  Fortunately, I have an ally in this matter: a competent ally whom I believe I can rely on.  She is Counsellor Johnson.  She asked to speak to me after her first consultation with Kelvin, and I could see by her state of agitation that she had quickly come to regard him as a problem client.  Cecily said that it was blatantly obvious that Greenwood’s strategy would be to get Kelvin riled up to the point where he would make self-righteous speeches.  Greenwood would then ask Kelvin to give detailed accounts of what was inflicted on the invaders and why, and these Kelvin would provide, with total honesty.  That would be enough to make any-one think that Kelvin was a psychopath, and find him guilty.  We then had a long talk about how this might be avoided, but we did not reach any firm conclusion and we are both still thinking about it.  

            ‘Would it make him less abrasive if he were very tired during the hearing?  Couldn’t we just keep him awake the night before?’

            ‘No.  He tends to get an adrenalin rush when he goes without sleep, and that makes him aggressive.  That would be doing Greenwood’s work for him.’

            ‘Could we give him something?  No, I didn’t say that.  That would be completely unethical.’

            ‘Drugs, you mean?  I think it would be difficult to formulate something that would have the desired effect without being noticed.  We don’t want the jury thinking he is a druggie.’

            ‘Indeed not.  What then?’

            The best idea I could think of at that point was to lock Kelvin up, and send a simulacrum to stand in the dock.  I didn’t say that.  

I told Pamela that I was thinking of going on a tour of the other colonies.  She asked when I was expecting us to leave, and I told her I was thinking of going on my own, so that she could stay behind and look after business.  She went mad.  She said, ‘No, no, no.  Not again, you bastard.’  I asked her what she meant by “again”.  She said, ‘You are not going to leave me the same way that you left Violet.’  I said, ‘I have no intention of leaving you.  I am planning to go on a tour and then come back.’  She doesn’t believe me. 

            I’m still going. 

*

You can still call me Paddy, even though I’m the Mayor.  The town doesn’t have a name, yet, but it is growing.  We have got a harbour, a crane, three warehouses (one for food, one for livestock, and one for imperishables), a town hall (of sorts), various shops and houses, and a pub.  The pub has the same name and management as the bar on The Irish Rover called O’Mally’s.  It is popular even with non-drinkers, because it is very well insulated and usually cool, even in our hot climate.  I come here nearly ever day after work.  My more sober-minded clerk, Cecily Johnson, joins me only occasionally.  She is still working at the moment.  Some-one has discovered a new mineral deposit and she is looking over the application for the mine workings.  I think she’s coming over later. 

            The speciality drink here is lager brewed from unrefined sugar-cane juice and served in a glass tankard frosted with ice.  It is the most thirst-quenching drink around. 

            I can hear a strange noise.   It sounds like a helicopter.  There are no helicopters on this planet that I know of.  Yes, it definitely is a

*

I had just finished work for the day, and was walking from the office over to O’Mally’s to have a drink with Paddy, when I heard a helicopter flying low over the town.  I looked up and saw it.  It was dark green and looked like a military helicopter.  Without any warning or apparent cause, the helicopter fired a missile which scored a direct hit on O’Mally’s, and blew the building to pieces in a fireball.  I did not bother to approach the wreckage: nobody could have survived that attack.  I was hit by flying debris.    

            I turned on my heels and ran back to the town hall, where I knew I could communicate with the other colonies.  Just as I got to the front door, I heard an engine.  I looked round and saw a tank driving past the wreckage of O’Mally’s.  I ran upstairs, and got as many of the other town clerks as I could on a video chat session.  This is what I said to them.

            ‘This is Counsellor Cecily Johnson.  I am the town clerk from the main settlement in I-2.  This is an emergency.  This is a life-or-death emergency.  I want to give you some details of what has happened, and I need you to pass them to as many of the other colonies as you can.  Do you understand?’  The faces on the screen all nodded.  ‘Our colony has been invaded.  We are under attack.  I repeat: we are under attack – we are under threat of our lives.  This is not an exercise.  Have you got that?’  They nodded again.

‘The invaders are men in uniforms.  They have armoured vehicles.  They have a helicopter which fires deadly missiles.  They arrived earlier today.  They fired a rocket at a public house in our town called O'Mally's and killed many innocent people, including the Mayor.  Mayor Patrick Fitzgerald is dead.  I repeat –.’  I had to stop for a moment.  ‘Paddy’s dead.  I think about thirty people might have been killed so far.’

            ‘Counsellor Johnson,’ said one of the faces on the screen, a very young chap on I-13 whose name I think is Waverley Diggle, ‘Are you hurt?’ 

            ‘I think I have something lodged in my right shoulder.’

            ‘Well, we need to come and find you: give you some medical treatment.’

            ‘Don’t worry about me, you idiot!  I want you to do something to save this planet and this population.  I can’t talk more now.  I have to escape.’ 

            I grabbed the keys to the safe and ran all the way home.  I threw some things into a rucksack, changed my clothes, and put a lead on Junc’s collar.  Junc is my Labrador (his name is short for injunction).  We headed for the hills.  My shoulder was killing me.

*

As soon as I heard what that lady said, I went straight to see Mr McLean.  He is not the mayor, but he still runs the island.  The mayor is usually drunk at that time of day, anyway, and pretty useless for anything.  The last time I woke him up after he had passed out, he threatened to cut my penis off, the stupid sod. 

            Mr McLean was in his office, as usual.  I don’t think he ever eats or sleeps.  Even when he has a drink he has it while sitting in his office. 

            It was night-time, and the moon was shining.  I could see it reflected in the harbour.  It seemed very peaceful and calm.  It seemed crazy that there was fighting happening on another island. 

            Mr McLean’s “office” is a set of pre-fabs which keeps growing and growing.  It isn’t very nice to look at.  Part of it is a shop, where you can buy just about anything – bananas, carpets, knives, live chickens – all kinds of stuff.  Another part of it always has men in it who are drinking.  I don’t know if it is a pub or a club or what, but they are always there.  When I got there, Mr McLean was writing figures down in a ledger-book by the light of an oil-lamp.  As usual, he was wearing a dirty tracksuit with dog hairs all over it.  For a man who is one of the richest on this planet, he dresses like a tramp. 

            ‘Hello, stranger,’ he said when I went in. ‘What brings you here?  Have you run out of gin?’

            ‘Mr McLean, sir, we’ve got a very serious kind of, er, um, problem.’

            ‘I’m intrigued, my boy.  What kind of problem, and why do you say “we”?’

            ‘It’s a situation, er - it looks like a problem that will be very bad for business.’  I said that because I thought he was not listening properly and I wanted to grab his attention.

            ‘Go on.  What is it?’

            ‘A few minutes ago, I got a call on the video phone from a woman on the next island called Cecily Johnson.’

            ‘Aye, I’ve met her a couple of times.  She’s the lassie you have to deal with if you want to get anything done there.  She’s true to her word, if a wee bit obstructive now and again.’

            ‘Yes, well.  She phoned a few minutes ago to say that her town was under attack by men in uniform, who had gone mad and started firing missiles.  She said they’d blown up a place called O’Mally’s and killed the mayor.’

            ‘They’ve WHAT!’  He sounded so pissed off that I moved two steps backwards without thinking.  I knew that would upset him.  In Mr McLean’s world, the only reason you ever demolish a building is to re-use the materials and put up an even bigger one in its place.  

            Mr McLean took a couple of his men and me into another room, where he had his computer terminal.  Mr McLean never uses the computer unless he has to.  We tried to get in touch with some of Mr McLean’s contacts.  When I left, I think he was still talking to some-one on I-11.  I hope it was Kelvin Stark.  

*

I am more angry with Kelvin than I have ever been since he first mentioned this fucking Alpha Project.  He has pissed off on some “tour” of the other colonies.  He was last heard of heading for I-2, which is on the other side of the world.  He goes away, and we get a message to say that we have been attacked by an unknown force.  We don’t know if the attack on O’Mally’s was perpetrated by terrorists, or gangsters, or a commercial organisation, or a government.  The one time when we need the originator of this charade to provide some leadership, and he isn’t here.  He has no computer or mobile communication device with him, other than the ones I implanted without his knowledge

            I am going to have to contact him via satellite and these devices.  Kelvin is about to hear voices.

            My name is Violet, and I’m back.