The ‘Sweet Rebellion’ as it has come to be known was short lived between 2043 -2045. Punishment was as severe for members of the MDBF as it had been for ‘Candy Pushers’ during the Prohibition. Establishments using illegally imported ingredients and flour sold for less than market value from factories owned by Ministry supporters were closed down and licences to practice as chefs or to run food establishments, removed for life. Those who continued to campaign and fight the dying cause were placed under permanent surveillance until eventually imprisoned....

  Dad wakes with a start. I'm not sure how much he missed; fifteen maybe twenty years of history. I didn’t notice until I heard the gentle snoring.

  ‘This is the bit I want you to see.’ He says sitting up straight then squinting at Linden Rush, whose three dimensional form still occupies the space between the sofa and the wall.

  ‘Following the sudden, tragic death of Jon Myers, many feared that his successor would struggle to live up to his greatness. The Future party had become an ideas factory, turning out what many considered to be definitive solutions to social and environmental problems at an unprecedented rate for over twenty years, unchallenged by any other political party.’

  ‘Jon Myers II had been a member of his father’s cabinet for only four years when his father died. He’d had a successful early career in long distance running, but his involvement in politics began at an early age. Like his sister Dita, the young Jon occupied himself with his father’s campaigns, supporting him at conferences and accompanying him on many public engagements. By the age of twenty one, he was already a seasoned politician with the makings of a leader. An unofficial poll revealed a unanimous decision; Myers II was the only man for the job. Now, fifteen years after being elected the new Future party leader, he continues to improve our nation’s health and wellbeing.’

  ‘Dad, this is not news to me.’

  ‘Wait for it.’

  ‘Can I at least get a drink?’

  ‘Ok, if you’re quick.’

  I take my time getting a glass of tap water and then shinning up an apple whilst leaning against the cupboards. I can hear the HV from the kitchen.

  ‘Twelve years ago saw the launch of 'Genie', the fruition of an ambitious plan originally conceived by Jon Myers, to make the DNA, genetic map and medical histories of citizens available to all on the government social networking and compatibility site of the same name.’

  ‘Dita Myers who completed the project, speaking twelve years ago at the official launch:’

  ‘Reducing risk and total transparency have always gone hand in hand for the Future party. Making the right choice means having all the information to guide our decisions – that’s the only way to ensure that we don’t compromise ourselves when it comes to who we socialise with or decide to form romantic attachments to. That’s why we need Genie, and my father would have been proud of what we have accomplished today.’

  ‘Just like Internet dating or social networking sites of fifty years ago, you know a great deal about a potential partner before meeting. But with Genie you can also work out their career prospects based on intelligence testing and history of career progression. In addition, you have access to their family background and health records, including the probability of them developing disease due to any combination of deterministic genes.’

  ‘Genie can help us to plan ahead in order to meet future health costs by predicting what is likely to happen to us, as well as save us time, potentially years of our lives, by selecting our best matches for us. Genie is crucial to reducing risk and the breakdown of partnerships and marriages.’

  ‘The site is already being used by employers as a recruitment tool, as well as the police and other monitoring agencies. The merging of intelligence into one accessible system is crucial to efficiency, as well as to our safety and wellbeing. Genie, like all other applications, is accessible from chips. You’re future is in the palm of your hand.’

  ‘Genie and the universal, external software developed for ID chips has transformed the way we manage existing relationships and form new ones. In addition, contacts, data, music, and tools like cameras, are instantaneously accessed as the technology is in us - a fusion of electronic and organic matter.’

  ‘Genie is also responsible for the further fall in crime in the last fifteen years, to the extent that the role of the police officer today is almost entirely surveillance. ID chips are linked to the central system, keeping us all safe. Emergency services are instantly alerted to respiratory failure and falls in oxygen levels in red blood cells, which might indicate suffocation or blood loss. The ID chip cannot be removed as exposure to light and sudden temperature change combined would send out an alert signal. Undoubtedly, the public feel safer.’

  ‘But the biggest threat we face today is from LOSER’s; those suffering Loss Of Strength, Endurance and Responsibility. These dangerous individuals who have given up on themselves and subsequently chose to commit suicide, don't care who they take down with them. Police work closely with health officials and employers to ensure that those ‘at risk’ are closely monitored, or removed and rehabilitated before they are able to harm loved ones or members of the public. But the official advice is to stay vigilant....’

  ‘Again Dad, I know all this.’ I say, walking back to the sofa with my half eaten apple.

  ‘Shush. This is the bit.’

  I know what he wants me to see. I also know that turning off the HV won’t stop him going on about it. Once he gets a bee in his bonnet about something, it’s almost impossible to redirect his attention.

  ‘Myers II realised the final ambition of his late father nine years ago with the introduction of Health Visitors. The job of the Health visitor is largely preventative; to ensure that those identified as ‘at risk’ of becoming LOSER’s are given advice and guidance on lifestyle choices, and Points deductible health care where appropriate. Health visitors have gradually replaced clinics and surgeries as they are trained to diagnose and sometimes treat people in their own homes. They are effectively ‘super nurses.’

  ‘Myers II has taken the original plan one step further however, with the establishment of Health Farms. He was met with fierce opposition from within the Future party for going against their values; free treatment in some cases, for those too weak to change or failing through their own mistakes only reinforces the old societal standards of dependency on others and on the State. But Myers has rejected this view.’

  Our Prime Minister appears before us, standing in the House of Commons.

  ‘Time out for recovery and lessons in independence can prevent the breakdown of families where one member refuses to pull his or her weight, thus compromising the family’s quality of life. The government will enable the victims in these situations to put themselves first.’

  ‘Disused prisons across the country have been transformed into Health Farms for the treatment and rehabilitation of the weak and unhealthy. Of course, there are those who don’t make it back into the community after admittance to a Health Farm. It is now recognised that a small number of LOSER’s are incurable.’

  As the sound of applause for the PM’s speech fades, Linden Rush’s voice introduces the lady now standing before us.

  ‘Leading Psychologist Susan Hatt explains:’

  ‘The will to survive must come from within. It’s not something that we can prescribe for and administer. Using a variety of therapeutic techniques, we are sometimes able to ‘activate’ that will; that determination to continue. But it is not effective in all cases.’

  ‘Health Farms have helped many families facing difficult decisions about how to manage the care of a helpless relative - especially an elderly one. This time can be invaluable to husbands, daughters, wives and sons tolerating or providing for a needy family member. Some forecasts suggest that an increase in long term stays is inevitable if Myers’ makes Health Farms ‘too comfortable’ or lowers the threshold for eligibility. But Myers has made it clear that Health Farms will always be ‘a last resort, for complete and utter LOSERs.’

  ‘I know what you’re going to say Dad.’

  ‘You’re clever enough. You just need to go back and study a bit more.’

  ‘Actually, you don’t need a degree to be a Health Visitor; you just need a record of clean living and at least sixty five percent in your seventeen plus exam. The training programme is an upload, but it’s not cheap.’

  ‘See! You know more about it than I do! They get paid lots of money too; more than you do at the warehouse.’

  ‘It’s not about the money. I don’t want to do it. It’s a horrible job.’

  ‘What, helping people?’

  ‘No, not helping people. Interfering. You know what it’s like when our Health Visitor is here. You don’t like her; you’ve said so enough times. You think she’s nosy.’

  ‘But what about the money? I want you to have a future.’

  ‘Even if I could afford the training upload Dad, I still don’t want to do it. I’ll find something else. Something better. Anyway, since when have you promoted the ideas of the Prime family? That’s my job.’

  ‘This one is different Star; he’s not like his Father. He cares what end people come to otherwise there wouldn’t be Health Visitors and Health Farms. Yes, she is a nosy so and so. But better that than no care at all. Too many people died before. One Chance wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right.’

  ‘Are you sure he’s not just trying to reduce the number LOSER attacks? Or using Farms as part of infection control?’

  ‘Whatever the reason, he’s still doing the best by people. Even if they do nothing to help themselves, they are still human beings who deserve basic treatment. I want you to think about it. Otherwise, you have to go to University. You’re wasted in that....’

  He trails off, his eyes suddenly fixed on a spot on the wall.

  ‘Warehouse?’

  He doesn’t answer. He’s gone again.

  The Health Visitor comes in four days. That means the whole of Sunday devoted to steam cleaning the flat. We don’t own a cleaning bug so I’ll have to use the steamer. She’ll take swabs from the kitchen surface and the floor of every room to test bacteria levels. She’ll check for particles in the air that could trigger an allergic reaction as Dad had a dust mite allergy as a child. She’ll then ask him how his fortnight has been and use the scanner to check for physical changes in his brain that will no doubt correspond with his symptoms. I will lose two hours work on Monday morning as a result of the visit, then try to make it up in overtime, half hour over four days.

  She’s just doing her job. But I wouldn’t want to do it. I wouldn’t want to scrutinise and inspect people in the way that she must. Our home is the only private place we have. Our lives are out there for everyone to see including the Health Visitor’s reports. So in a way, these visits are also public. She said it will take a while for his medication to start working. I’m hoping that by the end of the year he’ll be half the man he used to be, then she won’t ever have to come back. We will never be 'at risk.'

  ‘I fancy a walk.’ I say, jumping up off the sofa.

  ‘Do you want company?’

  ‘No, I just need a few minutes by myself. Will you be alright?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ Then grinning up at me. ‘Bring me back something nice.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘A chocolate bar. Whatever you pick up first; I’m not fussed. I think there’s a couple of quid in my jeans. Go and have a look.’

  ‘Dad. This is the 2078. You can’t just ‘buy’ a chocolate bar, it’s too expensive. And people don’t carry cash anymore, remember?’

  ‘Oh.’ He says, his eyes returning to the HV, now showing the LIFE Institute in London. I stand waiting for him to say something. Eventually, after I’ve fetched and put on my trainers: ‘Where are you going now my love?’

  ‘My love’ usually means that he thinks I’m my mother. It’s just ‘love’ when he means me. There’s nothing wrong with his eyes so it must be the angle I’m standing or the fact that I’m wearing my hair down. ‘Dad, it’s me Starla. Mum died seven years ago.’ I squat down and take his hand. He frowns as I hold it up against my cheek. ‘It’s just you and me now. I’m sorry. Now, I’m going to the shop. Can I bring you back anything?’

  He thinks it through again, then: ‘Get me some chocolate. Anything you like, I’m not fussed.’

  Chapter 3

  Cassie works alongside me in the warehouse. There are forty of us on fruit and veg, the largest unit at Govco, the state owned food retailer. We collect the fresh produce and load the trays in the bugs, ready to be delivered to homes in the districts. We can complete orders faster than any of the other workers, which is why we were both promoted from household goods within months of starting the job. We usually keep talk and eye contact to a minimum as distractions reduce productivity, and less trays filled means less money. Performance related pay is the only fair way to work. We started two hours ago. Dad has only messaged me once, so it’s been a quiet morning so far.

  ‘So how was your day off?’ She says, collecting a couple of apples from the container on her right.

  ‘I took Dad for a stroll in the park, then went to the gym.’ I reply, as the next order rolls across my eye.

  ‘The gym in your complex? How much electricity did you generate?’

  ‘A hundred a twenty watts.’

  ‘Well you’re pedalling and rowing for two, aren’t you?’

  I should get Dad in the gym more often. But I like the hour or so in the evening on my own; it’s how I wind down as well as keep our fuel bill low. It would help if he peddled in the day while I’m here, but I can’t trust him anymore outside the flat alone. He gets confused and forgets where he is or what he’s meant to be doing.

  ‘What did you do yesterday?’ I ask, changing the subject.

  ‘We travelled up to Saturn to pay tribute. It was really busy. We were gridlocked near the front, just outside the entrance to the stadium. The ceremony was fantastic as always, but it took us took forty minutes to get back to the BUS port because of the crowds.’

  I remember her saying the same thing last year; crowds are to be expected. Dad wouldn’t cope, which is one of the reasons we never go.

  ‘Everything alright?’ She asks suddenly, without looking up.

  I complete the order I’m working on, and push in the last draw. The loaded bug then starts forward and the next to be filled takes its place. I should say nothing; that would be sensible. But she knows too much already and frankly, I think I’d feel better if I got it off my chest.

  ‘Starla? What’s up?’

  'I saw him again last night.'

  She fires a disapproving look.

  'What?’ I say innocently, and then turn to the peaches.

  'Nothing.'

  'You want to say something.'

  ‘No, I don’t.’ A few seconds pass, then sighing wearily: 'Just tell me what happened. I know you're dying to.'

  She's right; I am. 'I went for a walk into town and suddenly I spotted him going into the shop. So I waited outside.'

  'You waited outside?'

  'Yes. Then when he came out again, I walked in the same direction.'

  'You followed him?'

  'No, I went the same way.'

  'It's the same thing, isn’t it?'

  'No.'

  'Yes, it is.' She says sternly. 'You're stalking this man.'

  'No, I'm just looking...'

  'And now following. That is stalking.'

  'Only if it happens more than once, which it hasn’t. Otherwise it’s just coincidence that we happened to go in the same direction. Anyway, I didn't know he'd be there. If I was stalking him, I'd have more information about his habits and whereabouts by now.'

  'Well of course he’s going to be there sometimes if that's his local shop because it’s also yours. People have routines. It's more likely than unlikely that you see him.'

  'So you can't really call it stalking then.'

  She rolls her eyes then collects four limes. 'Ok, so then what happened?'

  'I went home.'

  'You just went home?'

  'Yes. What did you think I was going to say?'

  'After two weeks of watching, and now following this man? '

  ‘I prefer ‘looking’ to ‘’watching’. Watching has negative connotations.'

  'Whatever.' She glares up at me, but quickly breaks into a smile. 'I've never met anyone like you Starla. That's not a compliment by the way. I mean, you live by the Manual more than most I know, and yet sometime your behaviour is completely....'

  I playfully shrug off the insult she was about to give. I know she doesn’t mean it.

  'So what are you going to do about this mystery male?'

  'I need a name.'

  ‘I'm guessing you didn't get close enough for a decent photo for an image match?'

  'Nope.'

  'You need to get a picture. Then you'll have a name. Then you can look him up and discover that he’s a failure; no career or prospects, no interest in sport and a family history of expensive to treat medical conditions. Then you can move on and start looking for a good match, the normal way.'

  'Well, there’s positive.'

  'I’m being realistic.'

  'He can’t be a failure Cassie; I’ve seen him buying confectionary. You need money to buy as much chocolate as he does. You remember me telling you that, right?

  'So he's throwing away any money he does have on junk food; all the more reason to avoid him. What does he do for a living? What’s his intellectual banding? What did he get in his seventeen plus exam? What’s his sexual orientation? Why is he so scruffy? Do you know the answer to any of these questions?'

 

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