again, burying her head in Dick’s chest. ‘And now you’re leaving anyway!’ Vera was now sobbing uncontrollably. Dick tried to give her a comforting hug but the wide expanse of her back meant he couldn’t quite manage to get his hands to meet. Only by breathing in could he even get his fingertips to touch.
‘I’ll take that with me to the grave Vera. Thank you for everything. I won’t forget you. No matter where I end up, I’ll always keep in touch’. Dick knew this was a complete and utter lie but it seemed an appropriately reassuring and consoling thing to say.
‘Good luck Jeremy!’ Vera wailed. ‘Now go! I don’t want you to see me this way!’.
She broke out of his grasp and Dick took one last look at her swollen, red, mucous-ridden face and had to agree with her sentiment. Leaving his identity pass on his desk he left the room without looking back. Taking the elevator to the ground floor, Dick said goodnight to the security guard in the lobby and walked out of the Ministry of Information for the very last time. In the cool night air Dick re-read the letter in detail. It confirmed that his new position took effect tomorrow and that he should report to the Party Headquarters at 0800. Dick decided to walk home that night, thinking about his future with a smile on his face. It was only a few weeks ago that he arrived in this strange world and now, here he was, relishing the no-doubt painful death of his ex-colleague and about to become a trusted advisor to the Leader.
Dick’s promotion to the Ruling Council didn’t just give him a new opportunity to gather information; it gave him a new impetus and motivation. Dick was determined to find out about this so-called secret weapon once and for all, and before David Parnell. He thought about Parnell’s entry to the Resistance being expedited by Taylor and smirked. ‘Fast tracked?’, he thought to himself. ‘You don’t know the meaning of the fucking word’.
CHAPTER 26
Dick underwent the usual identity checks when he reported to the Party headquarters the following morning but before he was allowed past security, he was asked to sign an NDA. Dick thought this was a very unusual request. Sure, the Nude Disability Act of 2003 had been worthy legislation that made it illegal to discriminate against disabled porn stars, and which made it possible for actors like John ‘Limpy’ Large and ‘Paraplegic’ Tiffany Titts to forge niche careers for themselves, but Dick didn’t see why it was relevant to him or his new job. Then he realised what he was being asked to sign was in fact a Non Disclosure Agreement, and that made far more sense.
This declaration stated that he would not reveal his new responsibilities or any aspect of his job to anyone. The document was worded so strongly that Dick was intimidated just scanning the text and felt threatened at the turn of every page. Dick expected that these restrictions would last forever, but discovered they actually existed in perpetuity, and that was a very, very, very long time indeed. The document didn’t actually state what would happen if he did break his pledge and Dick didn’t ask as he knew it would almost certainly be something that involved a long, lingering, agonising death. Dick signed the NDA and waited in the lobby, looking up at the trees and counting the squirrels scampering about. He’d just got up to eighteen, although he was concerned he may have counted the same particularly energetic one three times, when he heard his name being called in a monotone.
‘Mr. Brunel?’
An unremarkable looking man in his late forties approached. ‘I’m Stanley Carrington. Welcome to the Party headquarters. I’ve been appointed as your mentor’.
Nearly everything about Stanley was dull; his voice, his clothes, his posture, his handshake – and especially his name. The only thing about him not dull was his moustache, a fanciful waxed effort which proved Dick’s unwritten ‘Law of Facial Hair’ that stated that the extent of extroverted facial hair was in inverse proportion to the personality of the wearer. Stanley escorted Dick to a glass elevator and pushed a button marked ‘ten’. The voice of the elevator announcing the floors as they ascended had more personality than Stanley.
‘So, the Ruling Council’s on the tenth floor?’, asked Dick.
‘No. It’s not on any floor’, Stanley said in his dull way. ‘The existence of the Ruling Council is a secret and so is its composition. Members are spread across the whole building. They all have different job titles as a cover for their real roles’.
‘So what’s my job going to be?’, enquired Dick.
‘Assistant to the Deputy Assistant Under Secretary for Legislative Administration Ratification’.
Dick was disappointed. He wanted the prestige of being able to tell people, especially girls, that he was a member of the Ruling Council. That would have been impressive. It was a job title, Dick felt, which would make doors open and knickers drop.
‘Why that particular position?’ Dick said, trying to hide the considerable disappointment in his voice.
‘Because it’s so bland and innocuous that no one will bother to ask further questions about your work’, Stanley explained.
As the doors to the elevator opened on to the tenth floor Dick knew he was right. He couldn’t foresee anyone who he told about his job ever saying to him, ‘Wow, that must be interesting’ or ‘No way! That’s my dream career!’
Stanley showed Dick his office in the Legislative Administrative Ratification Department and helped him settle in. It was an office well-suited to an Assistant to the Deputy Assistant Under Secretary. Not too big and not too small, with office furniture that was not too grand and not too functional. Sitting down for the fist time Dick found his chair wasn’t too hard and wasn’t too soft. It was, Dick thought, the office that Baby Bear would have loved — if the Three Bears had been corporate animals.
With the door closed to prevent their conversation being heard Stanley spent almost the whole day, including the lunch hour, giving Dick a comprehensive induction about the remit and politics of the Council, its history, all of its very many protocols and of course, its membership. Throughout, Dick wore a rictus grin which didn’t slip even when Stanley, who had been a member for two years, droned on in intricate detail about all office procedures including lunch breaks, tea breaks, dress code (including Formal Fridays), disciplinary procedures, holiday bookings, sickness reporting and all the complexities of stationery ordering with particular reference to the new forms HB5546b and 2B662289 that had just been introduced for the requisition of pencils. Dick was super keen to get started and wanted to meet his colleagues on the Council and begin making decisions. That’s why he was extremely disappointed to learn that the next Council meeting was half a day away, on Wednesday afternoon.
‘What do I do in the meantime?’, Dick asked, knowing that this society despised idleness and he wouldn’t be allowed to sit in his office throwing scrunched up paper into his waste bin or doing online Suduko (not that this was possible).
‘Each Council member belongs to one or two committees; usually areas they have a keen interest in’, Stanley explained. ‘These committees are tasked with reviewing specific issues and devising the proposals that the whole Council will then consider. I, myself, serve on the Technology Committee but here’s the entire list.’
Stanley handed Dick an alphabetical list of committees that Dick worked his way down: Agriculture, Architecture, The Arts, Bridges, Canals, Culture, Diet, Engineering, Education… He got bored at Housing and had all but lost interest at Museums. Dick yawned inwardly and scanned down the names to see if there was a committee on Secret Weapons. There wasn’t of course, but where it would have been on the list, another committee caught his eye. Security.
‘That’s the one’, Dick said with great conviction. ‘That’s the committee I was born to be on. Count me in!’
‘Really? That’s very good to hear’, said Stanley, adding in his inimitable dull way, ‘And you feel you can make a useful contribution to this committee?’
‘Yes. Definitely’, said Dick nodding enthusiastically, before giving his mentor an inquisitive look and asking ‘What exactly do they do?’
Stanley explained that the security committee dealt with threats against the State, from individuals or organisations, and how these could be identified and dealt with. Dick knew that combating the resistance movement must be a major part of that committee’s remit. Once Dick was in, he could find out exactly what they knew about the group and what steps they were planning to take against it.
‘I’ll inform the head of the committee of your interest and she’ll make contact with you’, Stanley advised. ‘Now’, he said, leaning conspiratorially towards Dick. There are some rather special fringe benefits in working here
