converse freely with passengers on journeys longer than 10 miles or a half hour in duration (whichever was shorter), as long as you showed due deference. The New Victorian class system was alive and well in the front of this hovercar as it sped westwards through London. After about fifteen minutes the Party HQ came into sight, an austere tower block on the south bank of the Thames. Dick had travelled past it many times, always wondering what went on behind its faceless exterior. Now, he hoped, he was going to find out.
It took a lot to impress Dick but the glazed triple height atrium and thirty-foot fir trees growing within it with squirrels leaping from bough to bough almost did the trick. Looking around at this grand entrance Dick could easily see where the population’s taxes were being spent. He scanned the trees again. There were squirrels everywhere he looked. He scanned the lobby and the only thing more numerous than the squirrels were armed guards. Those who weren’t positioned at security stations were on patrol, and those who weren’t on patrol were milling about, getting ready to go on patrol. Dick guessed that the security here was tighter than the pussy of a Mother Superior (Dick had never had sex with a Mother Superior, although he once got a blow job from a novice nun who it turned out, struggled more with his zip than with her faith).
Dick had his fingerprints and voice scanned and then re-scanned. Then he was frisked and only then was he allowed into the elevator that whisked him to the twenty-second level. The elevator came to a gentle stop, far gentler than the elevator in the Ministry of Information. The doors glided silently open and Dick was met by an anonymous Party member who escorted him into a high-ceilinged antechamber. Dick’s escort told him that someone would collect him in ten minutes and in the meantime he should make himself comfortable. There was little to entertain Dick. On a small console table were the de rigueur copies of the Bible and the Party manifesto, and adorning the walls, a selection of framed posters from recent campaigns run by the Ministry of Information, including one Dick himself had devised about the perils of syphilis. He wondered if he should point this out when he met whoever it was he was going to meet — but thought better of it. He was sure that the Party knew more about him than he knew about himself, and to be boastful about his work, would be considered distasteful and a sign, no doubt, of ill-breeding.
Dick had learned soon after starting work that the Party ran everything like clockwork, which was quite appropriate given their Victorian influences. In this society, being promised a wait of ten minutes meant ten minutes and not eighteen, fifteen or even eleven minutes. And so it was exactly ten minutes later when the opposite door to the antechamber was opened by another anonymous Party member who ushered Dick through into what turned out to be another ante-chamber. In effect this made the first room, the one containing the framed posters, an ‘ante- antechamber’ not an ‘antechamber’. (If you want to be really picky you can change this in biro where relevant. If you don’t want to do this in case it ruins your book, well fair enough. It won’t spoil your reading pleasure). Anyhow, in the real ante-chamber Dick was scanned and frisked again although this seemed rather pointless as all he could have concealed since his first frisking and this latest one were the Bible and Party Manifesto, neither of which would make effective weapons, even if you dropped them on someone’s foot.
The same Party member then ushered Dick through yet another set of heavy double doors into another room. Don’t worry though. This wasn’t yet another antechamber, requiring you to make yet more amendments in biro. No, this was a Grand Room. Dick’s polished brogues sank sensuously into deep pile blue woollen carpet. Concealed pelmet lighting painted a warm glow on the vaulted ceiling. The focal point of this room was a long polished walnut burr table surrounded by twelve sumptuously upholstered chairs that complemented the colour of the carpet. The door closed almost silently behind Dick leaving him alone to contemplate the splendour of his environment; more surroundings seemingly at odds with the austerity preached by the Party. A matching set of double doors were set into the opposite wall and in one corner of the room was an elegant inlaid mahogany drinks cabinet. Dick was peering through the small inset glass panels when he was startled by a sudden deep, rich voice.
‘I know what you’re thinking’.
Dick turned around and froze. ‘Fuck me’, he thought, thankful he hadn’t actually said it aloud. Facing him was the Leader. Not the Deputy Leader or the Assistant Leader. Or even the Assistant to the Deputy Leader, but the actual Leader himself. He hadn’t heard him enter the room but there he was, standing just feet away from him accompanied by an older, elegant-looking grey-haired man. The Leader was tall, well-groomed with an air of sophistication about him and he strode towards Dick, smiling.
‘You’re thinking how can a Party which promotes such a sober, stern, serious image and an almost puritanical approach to governance, surround itself with such luxury, such ostentation?’
The Leader was quite right, That was exactly what Dick had been thinking about. But when he saw the Leader this close and in the flesh for the first time, this thought was immediately replaced by another. The new thought was how familiar the Leader looked.
‘Is everything all right Mr. Brunel?’, the Leader enquired. ‘You look somewhat perturbed’.
‘Y-yes sir. Thank you sir. I… You surprised me when you entered’.
The Leader and Dick faced each other. The Leader offered his hand and Dick grasped it. This time it was the Leader’s turn to look ever so slightly surprised.
‘We haven’t met have we Mr. Brunel?’
‘N-no, sir’, Dick said nervously.
‘Of course not’, replied the Leader, holding Dick’s hand very firmly, still looking intently at him. ‘It must be the photograph in your file. I’ve seen it many times. It must be that’.
‘Yes sir. Probably’.
‘Good, good!’, the Leader finished shaking Dick’s hand and motioned to his companion to come over.
‘Mr, Brunel, this is Carter my faithful manservant and bodyguard’.
Carter nodded at Dick who graciously nodded back.
‘Whiskey?’ asked the Leader.
‘Yes please,’ replied Dick.
Carter opened the well-stocked cabinet and carefully poured two generous straight whiskies from an elegant lead-crystal decanter.
‘To Jack and to success’, the Leader toasted. ‘Your success’.
Dick gave an embarrassed smile. ‘Thank you, sir’.
‘I’ve been following your progress with great interest, Mr. Brunel. It was only down to my full diary that it’s taken so long for us to meet. I’ve been impressed with your abilities so far. Very impressed’.
Dick felt uncomfortable. He was still shocked from the combination of having an audience with the actual Leader and having all this praise heaped upon him. But there was also the weird feeling that he’d seen the Leader somewhere else. Then it struck him — and Dick felt very stupid. Very stupid indeed. As stupid as someone who had the nickname ‘Shit-For-Brains’. It was obvious. He’d recognised the Leader from all his inspirational early morning announcements and speeches.
Gesturing around the room the Leader spoke. ‘Now, let me explain, or as some less charitable people might say, justify, these grand surroundings hidden from public gaze’.
The ever-attentive Carter refilled both their glasses. The leader continued. ‘You see, Mr. Brunel, I govern in a slightly different way from my predecessors. Of course, it’s vital that we continue to promote the beliefs and values of the original New Victorians. That is essential to the well-being of the population and the prosperity of our great nation. But I also feel that those in a position of power should be able to enjoy certain, shall we say, guilty pleasures as an antidote to the pressures of governing and as a means of relaxation’.
‘Work hard, play harder?’, offered Dick, summarising his own life philosophy.
The Leader beamed. ‘Precisely, Mr. Brunel. Precisely’. He chinked glasses with Dick again. ‘All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy’.
‘Not my Jack’, added Dick.
The Leader smiled and put a firm hand on Dick’s shoulder. ‘I like the cut of your cloth Mr. Brunel. You are a like-minded fellow, and someone I feel who could be a real asset to the Party in the future’.
‘I hope so, sir. I am dedicated to furthering the cause of The Party and feel I have a lot to offer’, Dick replied with a cringing degree of obsequiousness.
‘Good. We could always do with more men like you. You would be a useful addition to my Ruling Council’.
‘Ruling Council?’ Dick enquired, slightly shaken at hearing that such a body existed, let alone being invited to join it. ‘I didn’t know there was one. I thought you alone made all decisions’.
