Hatred (Collpase, #1)

Chapter One – 23 years and 11 months before the collapse “Sergeant Smith?” Jim awoke and looked none too pleased at being disturbed. “Sergeant Smith, we’ve landed,” said the automated voice. He looked out the window. Through the darkness, he could see that it was still raining. Jim disembarked. He shared an automated jeep with two military police officers all the way to the train station at Grateley, where he was just in time to get the 22:28, the last one of the day. Civilians and soldiers packed the train, and everyone was talking about the mobilisation. “It wasn’t as peaceful as they’d have you believe,” said one soldier. “There’s only so much robots and drones can do, I always knew they’d end up resorting to conscription.” “I still think the real trouble lies ahead,” said another. “There’s no way the rioters in London will give up without a fight. They can make protests as illegal as they want, but it hasn’t stopped them yet, has it?” “They are just copying the protesters in Wall Street,” said his friend. “No. It’s all about race,” said another. “It’s not about race,” said a third. “It’s everyone against the police.” Jim found a table seat opposite two soldiers. “Where are you off to?” one asked. “Edinburgh,” said Jim. “But I’m planning to stay in London tonight to visit my sister.” “There’ll be trouble in London tomorrow,” said the other soldier. “You’d be better off travelling straight through,” said the first. “Who knows if you’ll get a train tomorrow,” said the second. Jim took their advice and sent a message to his sister, apologising and explaining the reason behind his change in plans. When they alighted from the train at London Waterloo at five minutes to midnight, the soldiers pointed out the bullet holes in the station’s brickwork. Jim said goodbye to them and headed straight for the underground. A man next to him on the tube shared his recent experiences of the turmoil that had troubled the capital. The unrest at home was one reason the war overseas had ended before the Government had achieved its objectives. It reminded Jim of the unrest in the US which had accompanied the end of the war in Vietnam that he had learned about in all those streaming documentaries that had obsessed him when he was little, and that his father had encouraged him to watch. “I was at the station when it happened,” the man next to him said. “We heard this noise, like a machine g*n, so we ducked under the arches and shots started coming from the other side too and people were piling in under the arch. It was a real scramble. They got three of them and took them and threw them in the river, someone said.” Jim was glad when the train arrived at Kings Cross and he could take his leave of the old fellow. He made his train with minutes to spare, and the only spare seat was next to another sergeant in uniform. “Are you going to Edinburgh?” the sergeant asked him. Jim nodded. “What are you going to do when you get there?” “I shall have to go home and wake my wife,” said Jim. “No, I mean after that, what are you going to do?” “Well, I expect I shall have to report to my company HQ.” “I doubt they’ll expect to hear from you.” “What do you mean?” “Once a soldier is out of the grasp of their company or battery, they can go anywhere. As long as they don’t make demands for pay or plunder, they can consider themselves discharged because who wants to search for an individual in this chaos?” Jim nodded. “Which regiment are you with anyway?” the sergeant asked. “51st MI Company.” “Oh, intelligence, I see.” The man was silent for the rest of the journey, which suited Jim. He watched the rain track across the window. Jim wanted a discharge, but he wanted to do it properly and receive the proper papers. He didn’t want any complications later. He arrived at Edinburgh Waverley at 8 am. Crowds of men in khaki gathered around the command post where rows of machines were refusing requests, being ranted at and refusing requests. “What’s happening?” Jim asked one man who had broken from the crowd for some air. “They just keep booking us return tickets to our units and denying us home leave,” the man said. Jim decided it was a dead loss and turned to leave, but on the way out, he encountered a man in civilian clothes who must have also been part of the independence organisation because he was wearing a blue armband. “There’s nothing doing over there,” said Jim to the man. “They’re just following procedures. Can you help me? I want to get my military papers in order for my discharge.” “I can help you,” the man said. “Follow me to my office.” He led Jim up the stairs and into a sparsely decorated office with a single desk on which sat a laptop. He scanned Jim’s NFC[1] tag, checked his ID app, charged his food app, and told him he was free to go. Jim left. He could now go home and see his wife, Annabel. He had not told her he was on his way and could enter the building with his fingerprint so she would not see him until he knocked on the door. “Did you look after the philodendron plant?” he asked when she opened it. “What do you think?” she said, throwing her arms around him. “Thank you, darling.” For a few weeks they lived the life they had enjoyed before conscription, only it felt better because he was now out of the Army and free to pursue the lectureship the university had offered before the troubles began. “Don’t count your chickens before they’re hatched,” Annabel warned. “Remember what happened before.” Jim remembered only too well what had happened before. The university had offered a professorship, but the Army had refused to release him from military duty. The troubles had annoyed Jim. They had impeded what he wanted to do with his life. “You won’t believe what happened at the barber’s this morning,” said Jim. Annabel’s silence suggested that not only did she not know, but she wasn’t about to guess. “He started telling me how many guns he had bought from soldiers, reckons he can sell them for twice the price.” Annabel shook her head in disappointment at the direction the country was heading. “Oh, I almost forgot,” Jim remembered. “Sam Patel invited me to an event tonight at the university. Do you want to come?” “No. You go, you know how I hate those things.” “I’ll wear my uniform. Spare my civvies.” “Come on Jim, things aren’t that bad.” “No? When was the last time you saw a banana? There’re blackouts every night.” “Probably just as well, we can barely afford the electricity.” “We could join a payment strike.” “Don’t think I’m not tempted. But then, look what happened in Leeds and Bristol.” “Yes, at least we’re not the ones having to house bomb victims. Those poor souls.” “They built a camp for the homeless while you were away. I’ve heard rumours they’re rife with disease.” “Not paying the water bill for two weeks is hardly a capital offence.” “Yes, but you need to wait until the Shorters get in touch, otherwise it doesn’t work.” “Why not?” “They have to identify who owns the debt first.” “What about the late payment fees?” “They pay it through crowdfunding.” “Does it work?” “Well, the utilities are going bust and so are the banks and this time it looks like the Government won’t bail them out.” “Really?” “Yes, the Government is talking about re-nationalising the utilities.” “But what about the banks?” “We are all going to get a Government bank account, apparently. And it’s not just the banks, the companies with the worst zero hour contracts, environmental performance are being targeted too.” “Is it working?” “Well, the pension funds are divesting from equity funds containing these companies.” *