“Room service?"
"Yes Madam?" the voice was distant and cold.
"Could you send up a bottle of vintage champagne and some smoked salmon on rye, with fresh slices of lemon please, to the penthouse suite?"
"Certainly Madam."
Bella was alone at last, time to reflect on the evening. Corporate dinners had become a bore. At thirty-seven years old, she had reached a position of financial security that was the envy of many.
She had since graduation from Oxford, fought her way alongside her partner through a maze of software deals that had seen their company flourish in the global market place. For fifteen long, dedicated years, she had given her time and energy to promoting their packages and programmes in the world of computer boffins, now she was bored, and it was fast approaching the time to get the hell out. Get the hell away from the "whiz kids," the stuffed shirts, the boardrooms, and the structured predictability of the never ending feeding of the "cuckoo" that she and her partner had created. It was all becoming too demanding. It was time to reap the fruits of her labour and move on.
She undressed, and showered. The warm refreshing water running over her body brought her back to life. She dried herself slowly then put on her silk pyjamas and slippers. There was a knock on the door.
"Room service Madam."
She looked through the spy hole undid the latch and stepped back from the door. The waiter entered pushing a small-wheeled trolley.
"Where would Madam like me to place this?"
She smiled to herself. "Please take it out onto the veranda."
He opened the French windows carefully, and gently pushed the trolley out beside the glass topped table and chrome and wicker chairs. He came back in.
"Will that be all Madam?"
She went to the bedside table produced her wallet, and gave him a £50 tip. He bowed every so slightly, "Thank you Madam and goodnight." he said with a slight smile.
He turned and left the room, his highly polished, black leather shoes, squeaked slightly on the plush carpet. She locked the door after him.
Outside, the still air of a summers evening greeted her with a warm embrace. She looked out over the city. It was an Old City.
She opened the champagne and poured herself a glass. She stood up, moved over to the wall of the veranda and rested her elbows gently on top and looked outwards across the expanse of Hyde Park.
Far below her, the city traffic moved slowly down Park Lane towards Knightsbridge, an endless parade of small luminous beetles crawling home.
Through the park trees, she could see the white lights on the arched bridge that carried the road across the Serpentine. They twinkled and danced on the dark waters.
By the bridge stood an illuminated 30 meter hoarding, with the words "Have you been Winstoned yet?" flashing its gold coloured lettering across the park. For miles around it was visible. Even passing pilots touching down in the new west London Terminal at Shepherds Bush remarked on its vivacity.
It was one of her sources of civic pride that she had managed to have an amendment made in the Royal Charter governing the park that allowed only her company to advertise there.
All day it had been a succession of meetings, and now in the stillness of evening, she had time to think on what would be the biggest decision of her life. She wanted "out" of the partnership and Davie was prepared to offer her a deal that would secure her future.
She had a mouthful of her salmon and rye and drank more champagne. She sat down and placed her glass on the table beside her. Putting her head back, she looked up into the night sky and stretched, and thought of home.
Her house overlooked the sea on a quiet coastline. She often went there in her mind at moments of stress. She longed to be their now. To be able to listen to the waves crashing on the rocks beneath her window
The light from the room shone on her face. She stood up, went, and got her handbag. Returning, she sat down and started brushing her long black hair in preparation for sleep. She was starting to feel tired.
Success may bring its rewards, but as far as Bella was concerned, there was a great deal of squalidness behind success at times. It was the moral flabbiness, which attached itself to certain dealings in business, which she had grown tired of. Pretending almost constantly not to see or hear the sycophants bowing and touching their hats, in the mock charade of seeking to please.
The underhandedness of it all caused friction with her own consciousness now and then and was alleviated only when she thought of the wealth it would bestow. Moreover, if this day were to bring anything, it would be the finding of her spirit once more, for to gain the world and lose ones self in doing so, was no longer an option that she would consider.
Yes, she had played the game of Western Empire building in the far-flung cultures of the known world. Destroying the values of civilisations, she had known little about. Providing they bought the company wares what difference, did it make to her whether thousands of years of understanding, of their significance in the world, went out of the window?
What did it matter to her if the ancient tribes of South America were consumed in communication and surveillance devices, just as long as they were "Winstoned?"
The Governments of the west had seen the wisdom of such ways. They actively cajoled their populations to inform and report their surveillance information to them.
"If you've nothing to hide, then you won't mind being spied." rang out on billboards across the nation.
Banks of computer equipment, which had once only monitored the so-called black spots of society, were now in place on nearly every street corner. Cities vied for custom by announcing how many cameras they had in place.
“Into the valley of Blackpool rode the six hundred. Cameras to the right of us, cameras to the left of us and cameras to the front! Not only on every street corner but also in every household within the city limits! Book early for your spy weekends – Grass your neighbour parties welcome!”
Instead of building affordable homes for people, they built more prisons to house the increase in population of those who committed crimes, at the same time as they increased the amount of punishable offences for which you could be imprisoned.
Principal among them was Section 7a of the Home Securities Act paragraph 61 ‘Failure to inform on others or to install cameras when ordered is punishable by 12 months rehabilitation at any of the said Correctional Institutions.’
Now, it was time to move away and realise the full potential of her life. To expand in an ocean of diversity and more importantly to seek love and find love and dispense with the ever-revolving carousel that now offered so little.
With such thoughts, she entered sleep. Warmth of expectation at the new horizons, which now presented themselves, tiptoed silently into her day and she was oblivious to the network of whirring, revolving cameras and computers that littered the world of others.
The following morning the expected small parcel arrived at her suite by registered mail. ‘For the attention only of Bella Berlouschi’ and was dated July 31st 2084.
There was very little emotion when opening it, partially because she knew it was merely confirmation of her appointment to the board of directors of the ‘Feel Good Organisation.’ This was to be her next venture on return from her six month rest period.
The ‘Feel Good Organisation’ was an international concern that prided itself on taking the human touch out of the production of all wares, goods and food production. The thinking behind this position and selling line was the vast research carried out on their behalf, which proved as far as they were concerned that by removing the human touch, you could also remove human feeling, and that without human feelings, then it was possible to control the lives of people more easily. This had resulted in any human endeavour being eliminated at source in the making of nearly everything.
Bella knew for example that the salmon she had had for supper the previous evening was fed, harvested, weighed, de-boned, transported and packaged by robotic machines.
All seedlings were monitored and selected by robots and computerised machines that then coordinated the appropriate type of field, weather conditions, planting arrangements, and nutritional needs. In addition, ‘Prince Charles nurse maids’ were dispensed who spoke to them in gentle automated voices to encourage growth and strength.
All fields were sowed, reaped, and planted with not a human in sight.
Furniture, carpets, bedding, clothes, electrical goods, books, medication, ornaments, decorations, paintings, required no humans.
The world to the poor was cold and uninviting.
To the rich there were still their restaurants and meeting places, which required membership.
There were no restaurants for the lower classes only food halls that dispensed chemical burghers and chemical drinks via ‘tough guy’ machines that gave out electric shocks when attempted vandalisation took place. Public houses were banned.
Most forms of employment in the main comprised of collating data on all citizens. All phone calls were monitored. All e-mails were read. All medical conditions were reported to central command. Confidentiality was not allowed.
The police and military were on constant standby to crush any rebellion.
In all public railway and underground stations was the following notice: ‘Any sign of humanness displayed by citizens must be reported immediately. Particularly: Smiling, laughter of any kind, cheerfulness, looking content, drunkenness, and the playing of any instruments, if in doubt consult information machines and type in queries.
Peace be with you my children!’
