Gregg World

Gregg was driving along the road late one night. He saw that the bridge was closed. There were fire engines, ambulances and police cars all around. Gregg drove down to the quayside, trying to get to the old swing bridge. He saw a road closed sign. He had to turn the other way. Was he going the wrong way to get to the swing bridge? He drove on into the dark along the side of the huge river. For several miles he drove. He became lost. Suddenly he saw what he thought was a police car. Yes, the police would help. They would be able to tell him where to go. He stopped the car. Close up, the vehicle didn't really look like a police car. It was bigger than that and much rounder. Suddenly, Gregg found himself inside, talking to two strange creatures that looked like men but had long pointy noses, grey skin and almond eyes.
"We want to conquer your world," said one creature.
"Why?" asked Gregg.
"You have developed weapons of mass destruction," said the second creature. "The interplanetary council regard your planet as a threat."
"What? I know we have a few atomic bombs and moon rockets, but we couldn't do anything to attack you."
"Not now," said the first creature, "but maybe in a hundred years time."
"Don't worry," said Gregg, "the government don't spend anything like the necessary amount of money on space research. Our spacecraft are twenty years old and they're falling apart."
"At the moment, that might even be true," said the second creature, "but one day you'll make the breakthrough."
"Which breakthrough?" asked Gregg.
"Don't tell him," said the first creature.
"It won't be long before you can attack us," said the second creature. "You have the potential to develop weapons of mass destruction. You must be conquered or you might become a danger to us."
"What has this got to do with me?" asked Gregg.

"You will help us conquer your world," said the first creature.
"I'm only an art student," said Gregg. "How can I help you conquer the world?"
"We have items of military hardware," said the second creature. "You can help us hide them, so that earth men won't know what they are."
"How can I do that?"
"Tell your leaders that our military installations are works of art," said the first creature.
"There are all sorts of things we need to do," said the second creature. "We need navigation beacons. The spacecraft all need to gather at one point when they bomb a city. Rusty pieces of metal 70 feet high, carved into unusual shapes."
"Yes," said the first creature, "art."
"We also need an ark," said the second creature. "It'll be about seventy feet high, and made from rusty metal. It'll look like a ship, but of course, it won't be a ship. Just tell Middlesbrough council how many jobs it would bring to Middlesbrough."
"Why do you need an ark?" asked Gregg.
"To repopulate the earth," said the first creature.
"Repopulate it? You mean you're going to wipe it out. I won't help you conquer my planet."
"Gregg," said the second creature. "Life under alien rule would be lovely. There'd be no famine in Ethiopia. We'd make sure people got their 2,000 calories a day. There'd be no obesity either. Or global warming. Or crime. You know why? There'd be no money."
"Then people would refuse to work," said Gregg.
"Oh no, they'd work," said the first creature. "They'd be shot if they didn't. I assure you they'd work. They'd work for us. We'll revive your manufacturing industry, all right. You earthmen haven't got the faintest idea how to run your planet. It is in your interest to become one of our colonies."
"We are simply going around the universe setting it to rights," said the second creature.
"Why are you so concerned about our welfare?"
"We need other planets to manufacture cheap imported goods," said the first creature.
"Is that the real reason for the war?"
"There are many reasons for the war," said the second creature, "or it wouldn't be in everyone's interests."

"We need to photograph lots of people naked," said the first creature. "There'll be big events in the summer, people standing in the nude being photographed."
"Why naked?"
"To select breeding stock for the ark," said the second creature. "When the invasion comes, the soldiers go and find the people who were identified as the best breeding stock and take them to the ark."
"What soldiers?"
"Robot soldiers," said the first creature. "They are covered in rusty metal. You will put them on the beach and they will look like statues."
"Why does everything have to be rusty?"
"It's a sacrificial coating," said the second creature. "The soft iron outside is designed to rust. That way the metal underneath is protected. The structures could last for hundreds of years."
"It will take a long time for us to actually invade the earth," said the first creature. "We need to do all these things slowly and make them seem normal everywhere, so that nobody notices. Then one day the soldiers on the beach will come to life."

"What's in it for the artists?"
"The artists will be able to rebuild a devasted world," said the second creature. "You will be able to design the buildings." Gregg was sorely tempted when he heard this.
"I'd be able to design great big blocks of flats that looked like a loaf of bread, I'd be able to design bedrooms that were shaped like egg shells and joined together with staircases that go down plastic tubes."
"Yes, we'll need those," said the first creature. "Cheap, high density accomodation that allows people to live right next to where they work."
"Will you assist us?" asked the second creature.
"I'll assist," said Gregg, although he wasn't really sure whether he meant this. He was tempted by the thought of being an architect but distressed by the thought of aiding a terrible war that would cause billions of people to die.
"When you get back into your car you need to turn left, drive half a mile, and follow the sign onto the industrial estate," said the first creature. "When you come to the end of the industrial estate you turn left again, drive another mile down that road and you come to a big roundabout and a dual carriageway. You'll be able to find your way home then, it's signposted."
"Thanks very much," said Gregg, and found himself back in the car.

Years later, Gregg was standing up in the huge plastic cocoon he had created in a local park. Another thing the council understood as a work of art which actually had a dual purpose. It was an air raid shelter for artists. The same thing was going on all over the world. The spacecraft looked like the Gateshead angel, one man modules with solar panels on the wings. They weren't seventy feet tall, they were no bigger than humans. Gregg could hear the balls of lazer light from the spacecraft pounding the city, descending on the houses and buildings with a loud whooshing noise, followed by explosions that set whole streets on fire. He asked himself, "What have I done?" After the Gateshead angel, artists had built many similar structures. Gregg himself had commissioned an angel of his own design that looked like an old jumbo jet standing on its tail. It was an old jumbo jet standing on its tail, except for the outer coating of iron that had turned to rust. Other cities had even stranger statues. Glasgow had a seventy foot tall human ear. Gregg had also commissioned the big statue of a ship into which all the people selected for breeding would be taken. Every city that had ever built ships or employed dockworkers had been persuaded to have one of those.

Earlier that day a child had been building his sand castle on the beach next to the iron statues which were really robot soldiers. He had worked on the sand castle all day, building several castles one on top of the other and around it he had dug a moat, filling it with water from the sea.
"Do you like my sand castle, Mam?" he asked.
"Yes love, it's a beautiful sand castle, it's lovely."
"Mam, I think that statue just moved its hand."
"No, it can't have."
"Mam, look, it is, it's moving." The robot soldier began to walk towards the sand castle and completely demolished it as he marched through it. The child began to cry. The robot soldier grabbed ahold of his mother and carried her away.
"Stop! Stop!" she screamed.
"Mam! Mam!" screamed the child.

The robot soldiers were marching down the streets, pushing their way through people's front doors and going into their houses. A man tried to defend himself with a chair. The robot soldier snapped off one of its legs. The man put the chair down and the robot soldier carried away his wife.

The telephones were ringing at the police station. The sergeant picked up a receiver.
"Robot soldiers? Statues come to life? Don't talk rubbish. I'll be having a look around your house to see what kind of drugs you're using." At that moment one came into the police station. The sergeant turned to look. "Aaaagh!" The robot soldier walked past the sergeant and carried away another police officer.
"Why are they only carrying away some people?" asked a WPC. "Why don't they carry away everybody?"
"You are not suitable breeding stock," said the robot soldier, who was still only a few yards away.
"What does he mean?" asked the sergeant.
"Inspector Fowler went to that thing in the summer where they photographed everybody in the nude," said the WPC. "He must have put on the form that he was a policeman. That thing knew where to look. That's why they organised it. They wanted photographs of people in the nude. The aliens needed them to decide who was suitable breeding stock."

When all the humans had been safely taken to the big statue of the ship the aliens had begun their bomardment. It was a sleepless night for Gregg. The cocoon wasn't big enough to lie down in but he managed to lie against the side. He was kept awake not only by the deafening noise of the city being bombed but by the fearful pain of conscience, the terrifying realisation of being personally responsible for starting a war against his own people, his own friends, his own family. The sides of the cocoon were white and opaque. Gregg could not see through them clearly, but he was aware of the orange flames of the buildings burning around him. Gregg was not close to his parents. He had a poor relationship with his family and hadn't seen them for years. But he knew that they were out there. Had they gone to the nudist exhibition on the quayside in the summer? If they had, had they been selected as suitable breeding stock? If they had, they would be in the safety of the ship. If not, they were probably dying. Gregg had never had a girlfriend, but he thought of the girl he worked with in the art gallery who was quite attractive and he thought of the girl he sometimes stood next to on the bus who wore that pretty coat in the winter. What was happening to them?

Gregg must have fallen asleep for a few hours in the early morning, after the bombing had ceased and things had become quiet. He woke up lying against the side of the cocoon, with the sun blazing hot against the white walls. He opened the cocoon. Outside was a wasteland. Where houses, shops and factories had been there was nothing but hot, bent, twisted metal and scattered pieces of stone, brick and wood. He walked several miles to the big statue of the ship. It could not be seen from the cocoon. He walked away from the river, up the steep hill. He continued walking for several hours. Eventually he recognised the estate that he usually walked through to view his works of art. Recognised what was left of it. The streets and shops were rubble. The field where young men used to ride around on their motorbikes had turned to rock hard soil, and the trees were bare of leaves and burned black. Over in the distance he could see the statue of the aeroplane and the huge ship. It was still a good twenty minutes walk. He walked across the huge expanse of what yesterday had been grass but was now rock hard soil.

Gregg approached the ship and one of the aliens came out to meet him. He looked like a man but had a long pointy nose that took up most of his face, scaly grey skin and big almond eyes.
"We've won," said the alien.
"Yes, I suppose we have," said Gregg, turning around to look at the ruined city.
"Don't be sad, be happy. Come inside with me. You can take your pick of the breeding stock." Gregg looked at a large number of men and women inside the ship who were all physically beautiful. They were all perfect specimens. He saw the woman he had stood next to on the bus. She had her pretty winter coat on.
"I'll have her," he said, pointing. He walked right up to her. "Hi," he said. She slapped his face.
"Collaborator!" she screamed.
"Insubordination!" shrieked the alien. "It's all right, I'll kill her for you."
"No, please don't," said Gregg. "We can still be friends."
"Can we?" asked the woman. "You had something to do with this. You brought the aliens here."
"I was an art student when I was taken on board a flying saucer. They promised me everything. Not just fame, not just fortune, I would design houses for them. I would rebuild the world in my own image."
"My children are dead. So is my husband, but I couldn't care less about him. He left me for another woman."
"Yeah, there's always a good side to every downer. At least I killed your husband. What's your name?"
"Gwendolin."
"Gwendolin? I always thought it was Amy or Yasmin or something pretty like that."
"What's wrong with being called Gwendolin?"
"Nothing, really. I love you, Gwendolin." Gregg put his arms around her and gave her a hug.
"I don't love you, traitor."

A few days later, Gregg and Gwendolin sat inside an alien spacecraft which was parked on a scorched, barren field. Gregg was working on the spacecraft computer.
"Look Gwendolin," he said, "I'm designing the world. I'm deciding how to make agriculture very efficient. What are the most efficient ways of growing food that contains the necessary amount of protein, carbohydrate, vitamins, iron and calcium? Different countries could be used to produce different kinds of food. North America could grow all the world's wheat. Hard wheat, useful for making bread and pasta. Europe could produce all the world's milk. They've produced a European milk lake and a European butter mountain already, they'd be good at doing that. Africa could produce all the world's maize, for making into cornflakes. Asia could produce all the world's rice. The area that used to be the Soviet Union could produce all the world's vegetables. South America, Australia and the Middle East could produce all the world's fruit. We're not going to waste resources by taking precious food and giving it to animals."
"Would we all be better off?" asked Gwendolin.
"Not quite. What the government are really trying to do is to lower the number of people employed in agriculture by making it more efficient. Then they can employ more people in manufacturing. We'll have a healthy diet, although a simple one. Bread, fruit, cornflakes, vegetables with rice or pasta for the main meal. We'd be able to run factory canteens quite efficiently too. Food like that doesn't take an awful lot of cooking."
"Wouldn't people cook their food at home?"
"No, the houses I'm designing would be too small. We need high density accomodation close to the factories." Gregg changed the computer to another screen to show Gwendolin the houses he was designing. "A bedroom shaped like an egg shell, with only just enough room for a double bed. Thousands of them together, joined together by tubes. The tubes can contain staircases if they are vertical or just a flat floor if they link them horizontally. Washing and eating facilities will be in the factories, and the workers will wear a factory uniform. They wouldn't need anywhere to put their clothes. The bedrooms could be very small. They would have few possessions, perhaps they would have their own small computer on which they could watch television or read books."
"What's that over there?" asked Gwendolin, pointing at the screen.
"That's a factory."
"Why does it look like a loaf of bread?"
"I thought a loaf of bread seventy feet high and half a mile long would look pretty. I was going to make the flats like that as well, but I'm not so sure now. I could leave them like egg shells joined together by tubes. They look so beautiful. As for you and me my dear, we are government officials. We shall not live like this." Gregg changed the screen again to show Gwendolin the mansion he was designing. "This shall be our home."
"Why does it look like a huge blueberry muffin?"
"I thought you would like it. Forty foot muffin shape with purple windows on the side. Why not? It's got five bedrooms for all the children we're going to have, and you'll never believe it when you see the garden."

Thirty years later a journalist was visiting Gregg and Gwendolin, who were by now an elderly couple.
"It was very nice of you to show me around your house," she said, "and it was very nice of you to answer all my questions. No one else from the city council was available for comment. I've never had so much to eat. This bread is very nice. What's this brown stuff on the top?"
"Meat," said Gwendolin.
"I've read about meat in books, but I didn't think they made it anymore."
"Actually beef," said Gregg, "from dairy calves. The cattle are kept in calf all the time to make sure they produce plenty milk, and the calves go off to slaughter. We could inject them with hormones to make them milkable, but the calves are an important by product."
"Do you want a walk around the garden again?" asked Gwendolin.
"No, I'm tired," said the journalist. "I've done enough walking to last a week. I can't believe all the trees and all the waterfalls you've got in there. Your garden is wonderful. I've never seen anything like it. Do your children still live with you?"
"No," said Gregg. "They've got their own mansions. We're a titled family. We're privileged people. I feel bad about it sometimes."
"Why?"
"I killed an awful lot of people when I started this war."
"But that was to make a better world."
"I'm not sure if I made a better world. People were quite happy with the world as it was."
"But before the war there was so much unemployment and people were starving."
"Not everywhere and not all the time. Some people are quite well off. You're a slave."
"I work thirty five hours a week in a factory and write in my spare time. That's hardly slavery."
"You haven't any money."
"What's money?"
"Well, why do you bother turning up in a factory for thirty five hours a week? Why not stay in bed?"
"If you take too much time off, they shoot you."
"Wouldn't you rather eat meat?"
"I'm an animal lover."
"An awful lot of animals died in that war. There's a few sheep in the mountains to make wool for the textiles industry, there's dairy cattle in Europe. There's no animals anywhere else. I didn't help the aliens because I wanted a better world. I did it all for me. I had a fantastic life. I designed factories and houses all over the world. I lived as a government official in the lap of luxury. But I destroyed my soul. I eat, but I do not live." The journalist looked shocked.
"Oh well, thank you very much. I can write a really good article for our college magazine."
"College magazine? I thought you were from one of the big newspapers."
"No. I'm doing an A' level in English. I'm going to do a degree in journalism. I really would like to work for a big newspaper one day."
"Forget about doing a degree," said Gwendolin. "Send them a story like that, it's dynamite."
"We'll make sure you don't come to any harm," said Gregg.