The Oracle had left the lounge to try and stop her nosebleed which had shown no sign of abating. As Dick picked at his breakfast, which was quite good even though the bacon wasn’t anywhere as crispy as he liked, Taylor explained that the other resistance members were at their various places of work; their colleagues and employers blissfully ignorant of their extraordinary double lives. By day, trusted and loyal supporters of The Party. By night and in their spare time, revolutionaries, plotters, and advocates of, and participants in, free sex.
‘So?’ Dick asked, indicating the china cup in front of him, ‘Is your sex life as steamy as this coffee? I mean I know married citizens are only meant to make love once a week but all of you here must do it more frequently?’
‘We do’, Taylor replied. There are a few bedrooms here like the one you have and members are free to use them with colleagues whenever they want. It’s not without problems though’.
‘What do you mean?’ asked Dick. ‘Apart from possible lubrication issues how can having frequent sex cause problems?’.
‘You have to remember our two purposes’, Taylor explained, ‘Yes, we want to learn how to enjoy sex so we can teach other like-minded citizens that they are sexually-repressed — to open their eyes to what life could, and should, be like.
‘But our main aim is to bring about the downfall of the Party. Only by achieving this will everyone truly be free. At the moment though’, Taylor continued, ‘We’re doing too much of the former and not enough of the latter’.
‘And the problem is…’, Dick enquired.
‘The problem is’, said Taylor, ‘that the sex is getting in the way of the plotting and the planning. We hold formal meetings and training sessions but everyone has become so sexually frustrated that these gatherings tend to degenerate into group sex sessions. This has even spilled over into actual field missions. Many of these have become compromised or even failed because a team has ended up having intercourse when they should have been carrying out covert operations’.
‘So they’ve been infiltrating each other rather than infiltrating the Party’, Dick quipped, quite pleased with this comment.
‘You could say that’, said Taylor dryly. ‘We once had two members smuggled into the Party’s communications centre, concealed in a bank of dummy electrical equipment. They were there to observe and gather information, then escape; we had an audio-link so we could eavesdrop on conversations. Unfortunately the close confinement became too much and overcome with passion they tried to have sex, causing the equipment to start shuffling around before it eventually fell over.’
‘Did they get out?’, asked Dick.
‘Alas, no’, said Taylor sadly. ‘The shuffling equipment and the panting sounds from within it alerted security. Our operatives were captured and never seen again’.
‘Do you think they were interrogated or tortured?’ enquired Dick.
‘Without a doubt’.
‘But then wouldn’t they have revealed everything about you, the Resistance and this headquarters?’, asked Dick.
‘No. The location of this building is an extremely closely guarded secret. Virtually everyone who comes and goes is blindfolded. Only members of the Resistance High Command know its location. That’s me, Alice, Susan and Edward.
‘But what happens if any of you are captured?’ asked Dick.
‘That would obviously cause problems, which is the main reason why the High Command never go on field missions. We train, we encourage and we lead’.
‘OK’, asked Dick, by now getting quite animated. ‘If anyone else in the Resistance was caught and tortured, wouldn’t they reveal their colleagues’ identities?’
‘They couldn’t. Everyone uses false names and we keep our addresses, our places of work, in fact all aspects of our private lives completely confidential. If anyone was captured, all they could do is describe the general appearance of other resistance members but the Party knows it would take forever interrogating every ‘tall man with brown eyes and dark hair’ or every ‘thirty-five year old woman with blue eyes and short blonde hair’.
Taylor continued, ‘Most of us have partners who are not in the Resistance and who don’t know anything about our secret lives. When we come here we tell them we’re working late, visiting friends, out with colleagues — anything that makes a believable cover story’.
‘So you have to avoid arousing suspicion in order to get aroused?’. Dick was even more pleased with this latest quip but Taylor ignored him and there was an uncomfortable silence for a moment or two, broken by Dick asking, ‘How do you identify potential Resistance members?’
‘We all keep our eyes open for signs, however small, of anti-Party sentiment. It could be a throwaway remark, a small symbolic act of rebellion or even a minor public order offence. We then observe the citizen for at least six months to make sure they are who they appear to be, that they are genuine and not Party members masquerading as people sympathetic to our cause in order to infiltrate the Resistance. We could recruit a lot more members but we can't afford to be lax in our vetting procedures’.
‘OK, but then how do you make an approach?’ enquired Dick.
‘Very carefully at first. Usually by dropping a subtle comment here and there to establish how we feel about the Party. Of course, you have to understand that for all they know, the potential recruits we approach might consider us Party members, secretly testing their loyalty. That means there has to be a high degree of trust from both sides’. Taylor continued, ‘Anyone who comes here is not only taken and brought back blindfolded, they keep the blindfold on throughout all our discussions with them. It only comes off when we’re satisfied they are genuine. The outer entrance door incorporates sensors to detect concealed bugging devices, homing beacons, recording equipment or indeed weapons. That way we make doubly sure we’re not inviting back any disguised Party operatives’.
‘But surely people can work out where they are once the blindfold comes off?’, enquired Dick.
‘Why should they?’, replied Taylor. ‘Look around you. This facility could be anywhere. In an office building, the basement of a museum, a private house, an underground storage depot, a factory outbuilding, a disused hospital — even in one of the Party’s own facilities, operating under their very noses!’
‘So where are we then?’ asked Dick, looking around his surroundings with renewed interest.
‘Even though you have been brought here to act as our main weapon against the Party I still cannot divulge that information. You remember that other man who was trained by my predecessor in much the same way as we will train you…’
‘Ah yes. That would be the person the Oracle saw in a previous very accurate dream’, Dick said with more than a hint of sarcasm in his voice.
‘Yes. That was him’, Taylor said uncomfortably. ‘Although we don’t know exactly what happened, supposing he was captured…’
‘Which he most definitely was’, added Dick.
‘Just supposing…’ continued Taylor, ignoring Dick’s barbed comment, ‘that happened and he knew our exact location, he would have lead the Party right back here. That’s why we have to take these precautions. It’s not that we don’t trust you, it’s that just we can’t take the risk’.
‘That’s OK. I understand’, said Dick.
‘Good’, said Taylor rising from the table. ‘You need to learn a lot more about our time. Alice’s brief film showed you something about our world but there is much more to find out. Only by understanding our enemy can you learn how to defeat it. Before we start a formal induction course we thought it would be good for you to discover as much about our society as you can on your own’.
Dick followed him out of the room to another that contained a number of computer terminals. He sat himself in front of one.
‘Er, how is Alice?’, he asked.
‘She’s fine thank you. She was a bit disturbed after seeing you in distress after your nightmare last night but apart from that she is fine. She’s at work at the moment’. Taylor pulled another chair up to the terminal.
‘How long has she been in the Resistance?’
‘About three years. She’s one of our greatest assets. She’s dedicated and almost fearless. She’s a very special girl Mr. Longg. Very special indeed’.
Dick nodded in agreement but then couldn’t help himself adding, ‘With a great rack’.
Taylor looked confused. ‘Rack?’ he asked.
‘You know’, Dick explained, ‘Boobs… Bazookas… Funbags… Hooters… Tits… Jugs…’
Seeing Taylor’s confused expression Dick resorted to using his hands and gave the universal gesture for a ‘great rack’, which, he was pleased to see, was still readily understood in 2150.
Taylor nodded his comprehension. ‘Ah yes. She is unusual in that respect. The mandatory monthly injections don’t just reduce the population’s sex drive, they also contain hormones that will reduce the size of a woman’s bust although it doesn’t work on every single woman. The Party know that breasts can be stimulating and even provocative so they promote a flat-chested look as desirable and fashionable. In this society, Mr. Longg, women with large breasts are considered unattractive. Those cursed with this physical condition try and disguise it by wearing loose, unflattering clothing or restrictive foundation garments’.
Dick shuddered. This world was becoming more and more crazy and more and more scary.
‘Come on. Let’s get you started’, said Taylor, reaching over and activating the terminal. He explained how it worked and within a few moments Dick was familiar with its operation. He was connected to the 2150 version of the Internet — an Internet without pornography, he remembered despondently. From here he could access information, news stories, magazine articles, images — in fact everything he needed to give him a thorough understanding of his new world, or more accurately, the things that the Party deemed suitable for him to see. With Taylor’s last comments still ringing in his ears Dick decided that he would first try and find out if what he had been saying about bust size was true (well, that seemed as good a place as any to start his research).
He typed in the word ‘breasts’ and was taken to a list of 364,793 sites about chicken recipes. He typed in ‘tits’ and found 642,652 sites on bird watching. And when he entered ‘bosom’ he received the message, ‘No matches found. Are you sure you don't mean the words “Party Ideology?”’. Thinking laterally he soon located the Victoria’s Secrets Internet site. He was pleased and amazed to discover the company was still in business but dismayed to learn that the bosomless look was most definitely in. Their best-selling lingerie line was a range of uncomfortable-looking corsets designed to reduce the appearance of the bust. Furthermore, bras larger than a 34A had to be specially ordered and as a disincentive to having a large bust, these were brutally over-priced and had a delivery time of six to nine months. Further research showed him that glamour magazines, or what passed for them in this society, featured cover girls and models so flat-chested that it would be quite understandable if you mistakenly addressed them as ‘sir’.
Dick also learned that most of the wealthy and the vain indulged themselves with breast reduction operations, while the very wealthy and the very vain opted for what he could only describe as complete bosom liposuction. It didn’t take long for Dick to follow the links from cosmetic surgery to medical procedures to medical conditions and several clicks later Dick came across a whole series of sites about masturbation, an act the Party viewed as an acute and dangerous medical condition. He knew the practice was frowned upon but didn’t realise that there was such a lucrative industry in this era manufacturing and marketing anti-masturbatory devices. These were examples of Victorian engineering and ingenuity at its very best. Dick discovered that these devices were compulsory for all men between the ages of thirteen and nineteen; being fitted for your first anti-masturbatory device was viewed, ironically, as your coming of age. After that you could wear them voluntarily (and many did) while chronic masturbators would have them prescribed irrespective of whether they were single or married.
Dick also became aware that there was a huge choice of appliances on the market designed to discourage self-love. Although he didn't have intimate knowledge of torture implements or practices he was sure that the Spanish Inquisition or the SS would have fallen over themselves to get their hand on such equipment (this pre-supposed, of course, that the Spanish Inquisition or the SS would ever have suffered the indignity of falling over in the first place). Most of the devices involved penile rings or tubes lined with miniature spikes or blades that came into contact with the penis whenever it became aroused. To Dick, these simple devices seemed a pretty foolproof way of making sure you didn't get excited, voluntarily or otherwise, so he was surprised to see there was a need, let alone a market, for even more sophisticated and painful versions. But he guessed that even when it came down to anti-masturbation devices, some people just had to have the very best.
Some of these more extreme versions included batteries and capacitors to give the wearer an electric shock if he started ‘pleasuring himself’ — as the description explained. The most sophisticated device he saw looked like the Lexus of anti-masturbatory aids. Not only did this particular model involve electricity and tiny blades, but it also included some sort of small wire noose that went round the testicles, and a very mild acid spray. The way these devices alerted others was also as ingenious. Most just set off an alarm but the more sophisticated also gave a visual clue that masturbation might be in progress including bright flashing lights that were visible under even the heaviest clothing — or versions that emitted coloured smoke or which drenched the wearer in an indelible purple dye.
Masturbation crossed all social divides, and in Dick's experience the wealthiest people he had known were among the most chronic masturbators (or at least, that's the impression they gave), so he was pleased to see that these people could indulge themselves by buying devices which were gold or silver plated and embellished with precious stones. Designer brands were rife with contraptions branded by Gucci, Armani and Dolce & Gabbana while more sporty users were provided for by the likes of Adidas, Puma or Reebok. Nike versions, he noted, were marketed with the slogan. ‘Don’t Do It’.
After a while Taylor, carrying a well-worn leather briefcase, came back to see how Dick was progressing. Dick rubbed his eyes and slumped back in his chair, glad of the distraction.
‘Wow. I didn't realise how weird your world is. And depressing. And people are happy to live this way?’
‘They have no choice. They don't know any better’, Taylor shrugged.
‘But what about your parents or grandparents. They must have told people what life used to be like’, Dick enquired.
‘Sadly, no’, Taylor added. ‘The Party has been in power for over a hundred years so none of us have surviving relatives to tell us about what they would have surely called ‘the good old days’ — the days ‘pre-Party’. The Party have made sure that the history books have been re-written; any trace of a more liberal existence has been almost completely erased’.
‘But what about old books?’, asked Dick. ‘There must still be some around that give people an idea of life in my time’.
‘Occasionally we do find old literature but we’re not sure whether to believe it or not’, Taylor explained. ‘Some of it might actually be fake, planted by the Party to further confuse us. They are so devious we’re really not sure what to believe’.
‘Well, what about people in other countries? The people there must be enjoying the future of 2150 and not some weird throwback era. The British people must know what life is like outside their borders. What it’s like in the real world’, Dick stated, demonstrating rare logic that surprised even him.
‘To all intents and purposes’, Taylor explained. ‘These countries don’t exist’.
It was time for Dick to frown again.
‘The Party have, in effect, cut themselves off from the outside world. There is obviously some contact to enable the import and export of food or goods, but this is very tightly controlled and monitored. Unlike the original Victorians who wanted to expand their empire and protect their colonies, the Party practice a much more severe and extreme form of “Splendid Isolation”. That way they have control over the population’.
‘So most people don’t have any idea of what sex can be like or what they’re missing?’, Dick enquired.
‘Not really. Any stories that have been passed down are dismissed as old wives’ tales or fanciful myths. And it doesn’t matter if anyone believes them anyway; the Party will detect and make sure they stamp out any “unnatural” acts or behaviour before they can spread’.
‘Yeah, but according to the Party, having sex more than once a week is an “unnatural act'!” exclaimed Dick. ‘l could tell the Party a thing or two about unnatural acts that would make their hair curl! Sex with pets. Inserting fruit in your ass. Inserting fruit in your pet’s ass. Inserting pets in your ass — with or without fruit’.
‘Ass?’, asked Taylor.
‘You know, your rectum…’, explained Dick who suddenly smelled that distinctive rose-scented perfume again.
‘But why would you want to insert a pet in your rectum?’ asked a soft, feminine voice.
Dick turned around to see that Alice had entered the room.
‘Good question’, Dick responded, slightly embarrassed. ‘The thing is, I personally don’t know, but people got turned on by many different things’.
‘Turned-on?’, Alice enquired blankly.
‘Yeah. You know. Get off to’.
More blank looks. ‘Stuff that gives you the horn’, continued Dick.
Alice looked even more confused, ‘The horn?’
‘Stuff that makes you aroused… sexually excited’.
Alice nodded her comprehension and Dick continued. ‘In my time there was a market for photographing and filming every variation of the sex act. People wanted to see heterosexual sex, same-sex sex, group sex, sex with dwarves, sex with fat people, sex with old ladies, sex with transsexuals, sex with transvestites, sex with old fat dwarf transsexuals.
‘There was a demand for seeing people dressed up having sex’, continued Dick. ‘I'm not just talking about revealing outfits or sexy uniforms, I'm talking about dressing-up as bee-keepers, fishermen, coal miners, even deep sea divers complete with the big brass helmets and lead boots. Hell, I know of two films, ‘Three Ring Circus’ and ‘Banging Bozo’ where the male star was a sex-crazed clown. I guess some people out there found size 24 shoes, green hair and a bright red nose erotic’.
‘And it was a fact, was it not,’ interrupted Taylor, ‘That many people liked watching others being harmed when they had sex — or they derived pleasure from harming others?’
‘True’, confirmed Dick. ‘There was a huge market for movies featuring people being spanked, whipped, beaten or punched. And don’t even get me started on golden showers’.
‘Golden what?’, asked Alice.
Dick opened his mouth to explain but as the words were on the way from his brain to his mouth another part of his brain went into action to comprehend how ridiculous his explanation would sound and fortunately the two actions cancelled each other out. While a completely different part of Dick’s brain considered what to do next, Taylor interjected to save Dick’s embarrassment.
‘Well, that’s enough small talk for now. We’ve got a busy schedule’.
‘So’, Dick asked, now relieved he wouldn’t need to tell Alice about urination as a source of sexual pleasure. ‘I assume the Resistance High Command has a plan.’
‘We do’, said Taylor optimistically.
‘ls it a good one?’
‘lt’s the best one we've thought of’, Taylor added, with slightly less optimism than before. ‘And we think it's the only one that can succeed. It involves infiltrating the Party, gaining their trust, finding out about this rumoured secret weapon and then destroying it’.
‘And I'm going to be the one infiltrating the party’, said Dick, still secretly hoping that Taylor might say something like, ‘Actually no. We've thought about it some more and decided that you're not really suitable. Oh, and by the way we've just discovered a way to send you safely back to your own time’.
But he didn't.
What he did say, showing Dick the small electronic chip implanted just below the skin in his palm was, ‘You're the best choice. All of us have been tagged by the ID chips I mentioned. These record our name, address, occupation, family records — anything and everything about us’. He continued. ‘We can give you a fake identity to avoid detection. One of our members works in the Ministry of Population Control and through him we've arranged to get you a pre-programmed biometric chip that will give you a complete new identity’.
‘Great’, replied Dick. ‘But how can I suddenly ‘pop-up’ in your society from nowhere? Won’t it seem odd when a brand new member of the population appears out of the blue?’
‘Not at all’, said Taylor, this time with renewed confidence. ‘We’ll also be able to create all the records relating to your existence. Your education, employment, taxation, medical history. As far as the Party is concerned it will be like you’ve always existed here. There will be absolutely no reason to think otherwise’.
‘And all the falsified records will withstand the most detailed scrutiny’, added Alice. ‘We are absolutely certain of that’.
‘Well it still sounds like a high risk strategy’, said Dick.
‘I’d be lying to you if I told you it wasn’t’, said Taylor adding, ‘But desperate times require desperate measures’.
Dick voiced his doubts. ‘But surely you must have given this same sort of fake identity to the other guy you mentioned. The one that was probably exposed by the Party and killed?’
Ignoring this remark Taylor just repeated what he’d said earlier, ‘You’re the best choice’ and from the briefcase, handed Dick a bulky folder crammed with every single detail of his invented life. Dick flicked through it anxiously. As an actor in his particular field, Dick didn’t usually have many lines to remember but now he found himself having to memorise a whole back story. He left the room and returned to his temporary quarters to study his file and learn more about the oppressed world of 2150. As the door closed Alice spoke to Taylor.
‘Will he succeed?’, she asked gravely.
‘He has to’, Taylor replied, even more gravely. ‘For all his faults he’s the best chance we have. And given the time scales, he’s the only chance we have’.
‘But he knows about the previous attempt’, Alice commented.
Taylor nodded. ‘Whatever happened, happened’. He put both his hands on Alice’s shoulders and looked intently at her. ‘But we need to play that down since we don’t want to dishearten him. This time the Oracle says she is completely certain’.
Taylor moved his hands down from Alice’s shoulders to her chest and began opening her blouse. A few minutes later he was enjoying energetic sex with her on the table, not the sort of behaviour you’d expect from a serious-looking leader of the Resistance given the fact that he had just started co-ordinating their biggest, most important and critical mission. But he was only human, after all.