Declined: Chapter 18: The Unthinkable

This is the 18th 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 UK in the near future. Read previous chapters here.

Theo wolfed down breakfast, stood up, put his shoes on and, placing Libby’s letter, carefully folded, in his back pocket – he’d need the extra steel today, he was sure of that – opened his villa door. It was his 23rd day in the National Harmony Re-education Centre, and he was determined it would be his last.

In three days it would be Libby‘s birthday. Missing it wasn’t an option he would contemplate.

He turned right out of the bungalow and, with only one purpose in mind, followed signs to the ‘Reception Zone’. He was going to find the person in charge, speak to them, and demand – DEMAND – they release him.

Striding purposefully along the walkways, his eyes scanned the encampment. The bungalows spread as far as the eye could see. They were interspersed with waterways carving through the centre of the camp designed, he’d surmised only after a few days here, to keep guests away from the outer edges of the grounds.

How big was this place, he contemplated, his eyes resting on a row of high trees in the distance, beyond the villas. Was that the perimeter? The distance was significant – 750 metres? Perhaps more. Was it far fetched to suppose that he might actually need to escape?

He stopped his thoughts in their tracks.

Escape might yet prove too strong a word. After all, there remained a dimly receding chance that a dignified, drama-less exit might be within grasp, that this was all a big misunderstanding and….

A National Harmony Officer passed him, walking the ‘wrong’ way along the walkway. One way rules apply to us, Theo pointedly thought, not them. The guard nodded; Theo nodded back, waiting until he was safely past before looking again at the perimeter. Something glinted back at him from the distance. A fence? A wire?

A popping sound jolted him from behind. He looked around, eyes narrowing, but not detecting any obvious source, he carried on. As had so often been the case, he saw no one, and wondered, as he did every time he ventured out of his bungalow, at the kind of institution that could afford, need or want such a barely populated, vast enclosure.

For the umpteenth time he strained to visualise the letter notifying him of his detention. Why why why WHY hadn’t he thought to bring it with him? It was so unlike him to be so disorganised and he upbraided himself for such reprehensible rashness.

He thought back to the letter.

Twenty-one days it had said, he was sure of that. Twenty-one days in a Re-Education Facility. He could think of nothing indicating any possibility of extension. Surely not without some kind of process, surely not?

His eyes rested on something poking out from behind the rushes of the waterways. He slowed, looking more closely than usual. Buried almost out of sight beneath the overhang of the canal, there was a dark, cargo green box. It blended almost imperceptibly with the vegetation around it. Just visible poking out from its upper surface, a red light, like an emergency services siren.

His heart pumped faster and he quickened his pace.

After what seemed like a small age, but was in fact a further 11 minutes, he was at the Reception Zone, a gated area with an imposing horizontal black-and-white building at its centre that was almost offensively incongruous with the gentle greens and greys of the surrounding fenland. Signage over the building read:

WELCOME TO THE EAST OF ENGLAND NATIONAL HARMONY RE-EDUCATION CENTRE

REHARMONISING THE PEOPLE, FOR THE PEOPLE

Visits to the Reception Zone were discouraged and, other than on checking in on the first morning, he’d been there only twice before. Once when they hadn’t served him dinner — “we can only apologise, Sir, our mistake, we’ll serve you a double portion of desert”; and once when he’d ventured over to flag that his laptop hadn’t been returned after the previous morning’s sweep, following which the lady in the red trouser suit had mysteriously appeared delivering it back. He felt an untimely and inconvenient pang remembering quite how attractive he’d found her to be.

He approached the gate, cautiously, noticing as he passed a sign that read:

BEWARE!!!! POLICE GUARD-DOGS PATROL THIS AREA

He paused, feeling like he hadn’t seen it before and, his palms sweating, wondering why not.

Reaching the buzzer at the gate he took a long, deep breath, and pressed it, firmly. For comfort, he felt again the letter to Libby in his back pocket. “Don’t take no for an answer, Dad!!”, Libby‘s voice echoed back.

A stern sounding male voice emanated over the intercom.

“Good morning. How may we help you?”

Theo lent into the machine.

“Oh. Hi. It’s Theo Oberman from Bungalow 592. I would like to speak to you about leaving, please.”

There was a long pause. A camera overhead shifted its focus to point directly down at him. He felt his face turn red and hot, and a single bead of sweat formed below his hairline. He resisted the urge to wipe it away, not wanting the sensors to detect his anxiety.

The voice spoke again.

“Of course. Do come in.”

The gate opened.

Taking possibly the deepest breath of his life, he headed inside, marvelling at how much it resembled a second-rate, slightly jaded, airport hotel. A sign over the front desk read:

Always here to serve your needs

Words which apparently were not to be taken literally, as there was not a person in sight.

Looking around, he wondered if he’d been conned, if it was all some awful trap.

“Excuse me, Sir,” a low voice rose from behind him. “I’m so sorry you’ve had to wait, I was just making myself a cuppa.”

A plain looking gentlemen, grey hair, dungaree style trousers, walked by the side of him holding a cup of tea. He smiled at Theo, and gesticulated to the nearest booth.

“Please. Have a seat. How can I help?”

Theo, willing his hands to stop shaking, said, “I would like to go home. I don’t believe you have grounds to keep me here.”

The officer looked at him for a moment, as if working out how best to respond.

“Could you remind me of your name please?”

“Yes, of course. It’s Theo Oberman.”

The officer turned to his screen. Before he could check Theo’s record, Theo interjected —

“I failed the Harmony exam a couple of days ago. I assume that’s why I’m here. But there was nothing in any paperwork about any further period of detention, and as a matter of law —“

“Ahhh. Mr Oberman,” the officer interrupted, scrolling down the screen and then looking back up towards Theo.

“Of course. I recognise you now,” the officer said, leaning into Theo and with eyes opening wide. And then, adopting an altogether more conspirational tone, “I must say, I used to be rather a fan of your articles. Yes, brilliant. I read your columns every week. Terribly sorry to see the paper let you go,” and then shaking his head for emphasis, “Terribly sorry.”

“Now, let me just check what your records say. Oh yes, sir, I can see here. You did fail your exam, although looking at this,” he squinted into the screen, “only by three marks. And yes, of course you’re very right, we can’t keep you here, oh no, there would need to be a justice hearing for that. It looks like there’s been a mix-up, you were meant to be released yesterday and then asked to apply for a re-sit, but that seems not to have happened. I can only offer my sincerest apologies for the inconvenience, Mr Oberman.”

Theo looked at him in astonishment.

“Please Mr Oberman. If you head back to your room and pack your bags, we’ll send a buggy round to collect you. You’ll be out of here in no time and back with your family. Definitely in time to make your daughter‘s birthday,” he smiled.

He stood up and, putting a friendly hand on Theo‘s back, gently escorted him out. “I assume it won’t take you long to pack up?” he said. “If I arrange for a buggy in 30 minutes, will that work for you?”

Theo nodded, speechless. It seemed almost impossible that it could be this straightforward, but…

“Would you like an escort back to your bungalow?” he asked.

Theo looked, alarmed.

“No, that won’t be necessary. I like the walking. Thanks though.”

“Of course, Sir, nice to enjoy the scenery one last time.”

Without pausing to look back, Theo stood up and let the officer buzz him out of the Reception Zone. As soon as he was safely clear of the gates his pace quickened to a near jog. He looked back around him, half expecting to be tracked, or chased.

But there was no one. The place was as empty as it had been a few moments ago, and the surrounding fenlands were silent and eerily still.

He looked again at the surroundings. Thirty minutes, and he’d be on his way out of here. Thirty minutes and he’d be back on his way to them. Thirty minutes and this nightmare would – at least for now – be in the past.

Arriving back at his bungalow he took out of his key card, went into his room, looked around, and almost ecstatic, mouthed goodbye. His mind started to turn to what he’d say to the kids, to Ella, how they’d need to start afresh, with energy and urgency, their search for a new life abroad. He took the letter from Libby out from his back pocket and kissed it – thank God thank God thank God thank God THANK GOD. He’d be free to give it to her in person, now.

And it was then, staring at the letter from Libby, seeing her carefully hand-drawn signature and with his mind turning to her birthday on Friday that, with a cold, sharp start, he realised that he’d never actually told the officer when Libby‘s birthday was.

Momentarily he froze, then scurried with the haste of a rat escaping a sinking ship to throw the last of his possessions into his bag – laptop, toothbrush, wash-bag – and involuntarily, out of 40 years impeccable ‘last day of holiday habit’, scanned the room for one final check, and turned to leave —

— and it was then that the room filled with a clashing, crushing bang; the unmistakable clanging of metal on metal.

Doing a 180 degree he sprung to the door to pull down the handle, a caged animal clawing to get out, realising with a crushing certainty, even before he’d tried, that it would be to no avail. It didn’t budge. He pulled and pulled and pulled and then banged desperately, at first shouting and then screaming “LET ME OUT”, “LET ME OUT”, but understanding there would be no one there to meet his call. He was unable to sit, unable to stand, unable to do anything, save stay frozen to the spot, time reversing and temples pounding so hard he thought his skull might split, only interrupted after a minute or two – he couldn’t say how long – by a rustling sound from near the door.

As he looked, an envelope appeared beneath the door.

He ran up to the door again. Banged again. Shouted again. Nothing. He picked up the envelope – it was addressed to him – and opening it, read furiously:

Mr Theo Overman,

NOTICE OF FURTHER DETENTION

This is hereby to inform you that the Senior National Harmony Officer for the East of England Facility, acting in their sole discretion, has determined that you meet the criteria necessary to be accommodated in this re-education facility until such time as the National Harmony Re-Education programme has been fully and finally completed to the satisfaction of the Senior Officer acting in their sole and exclusive discretion.

Then, an official, circular stamp, bearing the words: