This is the fifth chapter of a novel being published in serial form in the Daily Sceptic. It’s a dystopian satire about the emergence of a social credit system in the U.K. in the near future. Read chapter one here, two here three here and four here.
Ella sat at her desk, contemplating her to-do list for the day: preparing for Thursday’s hearing, filing some more Freedom of Information Act requests – bugger all good that would do – starting a letter of complaint, email to school to check arrangements for Libby’s art trip next week, MUST REMEMBER TO BUY POPPY NEW TRAINERS, collect kids!!!
She had cases coming out of her ears; people who felt pissed off and let down and some – many – whose lives had been all but destroyed. Angry, devastated, many felt the same fury as she did about what was being done to them under the banners of ‘efficiency’, ‘safety’ and, lately, ’sociality’, especially to the kids.
IT IS NOT OKAY!!!! She had wanted to howl on so many occasions since it started. But to what end? To who? Better to get busy fighting.
What had started as a solo gig, something she’d managed to squeeze in seamlessly around the kids was now a full-on, full-time operation involving three colleagues and devouring, it seemed, every spare minute of her day, and more besides.
There was Arthur – wise, cutting, insightful Arthur who resigned a few months back from the ranks of the senior civil service with half a century’s experience under his belt and who was now committed to “spending the rest of my days bringing the bloody bastards down”. There was Jeannie who, like Ella, was a lawyer but had walked the tightrope that Ella had at some point tumbled off; astute and far-sighted and keeping her views to herself, Jeannie now led something of a double-life — General Counsel for one of the big media conglomerates by day, stealth freedom fighter by night. And then there was Danielle, their get-it-done and hold-the-rest-of-them-to-account kind of gal. None of them really knew her background, a point which occasionally gnawed away in some dark recess of Ella’s mind. However, Danielle was extremely competent and sufficiently essential to the whole operation to mean it was best not to think too hard about it.
Top of Ella’s list today was the prep for next week’s appeal in front of the Industrial Processes Appeals Tribunal.
She read through the file that Danielle had sent over, another involving Zeeta, “Your Children are Our Future”.
“What have they done now?” she shook her head, picking up the file.
Dr Rolander, Zeeta’s Sales Director, had given a TV interview during which he shamelessly promoted Zeeta’s “pioneering” ATTENTIONLOCK implant for 5-11 year-olds. He’d made a series of outlandish claims:
“The average attention span of under-fives will increase by at least 300%”, “the benefit lasts into adulthood” and is “more effective than natural concentration for improving memory and productivity”.
But soon after the implant had been authorised parents had started to report children were developing eye problems, headaches and splitting migraines. A regrettable concatenation of a media blackout on the possible safety issues, children being seduced by the snazzy colours of the ‘Child Safe Bim’ and parents attracted to the promise of docile kids and the stigma of not wanting Jack or Jane to be the only kid in the class without one, meant that the implant was being dished out to the nation’s young at an alarming rate.
The little boy in Ella’s case was called Billie Fralard. Two days after his implant the headaches had started. At first, it was nothing serious, but they’d got gradually worse. His eyesight deteriorated and now, six months later, he was near blind. His distraught parents were convinced the implant was to blame but had got nowhere with Zeeta, the hospital or the eye specialist. They couldn’t afford to sue Zeeta, and anyway the web of indemnities and immunities had made it all but impossible to launch the sort of claim that would make a difference. However, there were, in theory at least, still rules about what these companies could and couldn’t say to the public when trying to flog their wares and there was a chance they might be able to get Rolander for good old fashioned lying.
She read through the file and bit her pen, thinking. It looked remarkably straightforward, too straightforward even. Wanting a second opinion, she rummaged through her desk drawer for her old brick-phone – the only mode of communication that, as far as she knew, wasn’t being snooped – and texted Arthur, the old-fashioned way.
“Can we speak quickly? Want to check we are agreed wrt next week’s hearing.”
She’d barely put the phone down down when Arthur, as efficient and eager to help as ever, called her back.
“How can I help?” he said.
“Hey, thanks. It’s this Zeeta case, Billie’s one about the attention implant. Presumably we’re going for a straightforward breach of Clause 12, right? Misleading the public and making unfounded claims?”
“Yes, I think so,” said Arthur. You might also try them for false marketing and if you wanted to be really punchy, you could try for a Clause 7 ruling too — endangering the life of a minor, that’s the biggie really — but I doubt the Tribunal will give you that, too much risk of the press deciding they need to report on it.”
“Okay, that’s helpful, thank you. No harm in giving it a shot, I guess.”
“Hang on”, said Arthur. “Just before you go. Are you sure taking on another of these cases is the best use of our time? I’d be surprised if we don’t win this one – I can’t see they’ve a leg to stand on – but it’s not like anything will happen to them, is it?”
Ella thought for a moment, then stood up. Pacing the room she could feel herself getting defensive.
“I know, but I’m not sure we have a better plan do we? I get that the fines won’t be big but at least they’ll be guilty of something that will stick?”
“Yes, maybe,” said Arthur, his voice betraying his lack of conviction. “I’m just conscious that it’s another week – at least – of our time and at best they’ll get a slap on the wrist. I doubt they’ll even get a proper fine. It’ll be a mosquito bite for those guys.”
Poised to reply, Ella was interrupted by the jarring vibration of the Biometer. She recoiled, as always every inch of her body resisting the twang it punched up her arm.
“FOUR HOURS SINCE YOUR LAST WALK,” the miniature orange screen flashed, more annoying than even the most nagging of spouses.
“Urgh, I have to go,” she said. “I’ll have a think about what you said – thanks again for the chat.”
Staring out of the window Ella debated with herself. Arthur wasn’t wrong; this would be, what, the fifth time they’d taken a worthy case to a hearing before the Tribunal, and although they’d basically won them all nothing ever seemed to come of it.
But, it was 2:15pm, and with less than an hour to go before she risked failing to do the third and most essential item on the kidmin list – collect the dear little critters from school – she pushed those doubting thoughts out of her mind and beavered on.
Look out for chapter six next week.
M. Zermansky is a pseudonym.
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