For this Tuesday Twist; a tale of choice, or the lack of it. Perhaps made even more relevant by the current referendum on the alternative vote.
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I caught up with Mills at the East Bank site with a day to spare. He was camping out on the 10th floor of a tower still under construction; an open shell of resmetal, waffle-board and dirty plastic sheets flapping in the wind. I say camping but it was a sorry, hasty affair. A weather-proof sleeping bag and gas stove. A torch, some food sachets.
He saw me as soon as I stepped out, had probably heard the workers’ lift, but he just sat, slumped against a thick corner beam, shivering slightly. It was probably unnecessary to say ‘It’s over, Mills’. But I said it anyway.
‘So what now?’ he asked.
I shrugged. ‘I take you back. Everything is arranged for tomorrow.’
He looked thoroughly miserable. But then they all did. Running never works. Mills should count himself lucky it wasn’t Ballard assigned to bring him in. Or Judd. Christ, those two would have dragged him back by his hair. And damn any dignity. Still, I covered him with my stunner. You can never be too careful. Heck, he may just decide to throw himself off.
‘What if I get it wrong?’ Mills said. He started crying.
I sighed and looked out across the city, resting my eyes on the distant Echo 3 Array. Spindly antenna pushing into a peach sky scratched with contrails. So help me I’ve done this a thousand times but it doesn’t get any easier.
‘Look, it’s the process. There’s no wrong or right. Not really.’
‘You know what I mean.’ He rubbed wet cheeks with a fist.’
‘OK, so you make a mistake. It’s not forever.’
‘Fuck you,’ he spat, face darkening. My stunner twitched.
‘Time to go,’ I said, walking forward. He started crying again but I grabbed his arm and pulled him up.
‘Nope,’ I said, as he bent to pick up his things. ‘Someone will fetch them later. We need to get you installed.’
We rode down in the lift. At the bottom, newshounds had gathered, poking lenses and shouting questions. Pushing Mills ahead of me, we navigated the crowd, and got into my bug. I hit the screamers and powered out of there, tailed by the various cars and trucks of our esteemed press.
‘Why?’ Mills said. They always ask.
‘You know why. It’s the only system that works.’
‘Who decided that? I bloody didn’t.’
I veered onto the Chalice Medway, losing a few followers at the busy ramp, and headed straight for the city centre.
‘Give over, Mills. I get it, I really do but it’s one fucking day. Everyone takes a turn.’
‘Have you?’
‘I don’t have to’
‘Oh yeah,’ he sneered. ‘I forgot. You just enforce it.’
I bit my tongue. Judd would have rapped him on the head with the butt of his stunner.
He was right. We did enforce it. But I was right too. After decades of tried and failed systems, it’s the one that yielded the best results. The elimination of old-style politics and voting had led to a better life for everyone. Mostly, at any rate. Look, I never said it was perfect.
Mills was silent for the rest of the journey. Thirty minutes later, we cruised into the hotel garage and were met by the installation team who exchanged him for a quick scan of my ID tattoo. Before they left, I called out.
‘Hey, Mills. Stay positive.’
He just glared at me. And then he was gone. I say the same thing to everyone.
As it turns out, he didn’t do so badly. I caught the news next evening, Mills emerging from the control suite, tired but smiling. Essentials had remained stable; food, fuel, water. The markets had held steady aside from a slight dip around midday. Nothing had ground to a halt. I could have told him it’d be OK but there’s always the chance it won’t. A small fluctuation in the wrong place at the wrong time can bring an entire sector, or worse, to its knees.
It’s not as if there’s a great deal to do, however. They plug you in and the machine takes over, guided by the subconscious. No doubt the next candidate was being prepped right now. Their own personal Choose Day.
Good luck everyone. I’ve always thought it was something of a misnomer.
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