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  In her delight that Vicky had chosen to stay on Lindisfarne, Naomi assumed she and Phoenix would be moving into Dex's apartment; she was less than pleased to discover that he'd put her name down to share a flat with Suzanne and Rosie.

  "Just as a temporary measure—it'll be better for Phoenix not to be separated from Suzanne and Rosie, for now," Dex told her. "Eighteen-month-old toddlers need continuity, don't they?"

  At some point in the near future he will have to think of other excuses, but she is placated for the time being.

  He feels no remorse about Vicky. The relationship was way past its sell-by date, and Lindisfarne itself would have become so; he can see, as he walks around this new development—the future!—that it was but a stepping stone.

  It's a shame about Rowan, who was possibly the best lay he's ever had, but there will be others. There always have been.

  While Naomi tosses and turns on a camp bed in the noisy holding bay, Dex lies on his comfortable bed with its fresh, black and grey striped bed linen, looks up at the clean, white ceiling, and decides he will enjoy UK Central very much. So much can be his for the taking. Already his mental images of Lindisfarne's stark, wild beauty are fading, like the memories of a pleasant holiday. Walking away is like shedding a burden that he didn't realise was so heavy until it was lain down. His mother used to say this was the Gemini in him, his butterfly mind forever flitting off to the next bright flower. He likes that.

  He is exhausted. Tomorrow he will meet with Verlander, and explore. Now, he slips into a deep, untroubled sleep.

  "The way I see it," Verlander says, "is that, as head of a successfully functioning community, you've proved that you excel in organisation and personal interaction."

  "Oh, I'm only just getting started," Dex smiles. He is most impressed by the Hub. He can see that its initial impression of grandeur is but superficial, the construction not of old world quality, but he likes the luxurious foyer, the clinical appearance of the enormous, open plan offices. "What sort of position do you have in mind for me?"

  Verlander narrows his eyes, considering. "You're an academic, right? Teaching, literature? I need the right person to manage the Learning Zone."

  Dex smiles, shakes his head. "That part of my life was light years ago. One thing I absolutely do not want to do is step back into the schoolroom."

  "Cool, I get it. We're only just setting up Learning; got some teachers who came in from a vast settlement near Oswestry and other suitable candidates from the new influx. We'll determine educational needs, and the best way to instil in the kids the basic ethos of UK2—"

  "So you're okay for teachers, that's good. I'm more of an ideas person; I see my role as people management and consultancy." He smiles. "I have much to offer this place that has nothing to do with Geoffrey Chaucer, I promise you."

  "Well, we're all about utilising the skill sets of the individual here, Dex. Okay, what say you we grab a coffee in the Hub staff restaurant so you can have a parlez with some workers? Then we'll take a drive round the Rez Zones, and you can tell me exactly what you have in mind."

  Later, Dex visits Naomi in her newly allocated apartment in Rez 4. As soon as he walks through the door she hits him with a barrage of complaints about the indignity of having to spend a whole twenty-four hours in the holding bay, but nothing can dampen his spirits. He throws Phoenix up in the air and the boy screams; Dex is rewarded by a severe reprimand from his mother.

  He was honest with Verlander. With great care, he introduced the subject of Project Renova, and admitted that he worked against the establishment back in the old world, but his work had taught him much about influencing the opinions of the masses for the benefit of all.

  "I see the bigger picture now; you could say I've changed sides."

  Verlander was not put off by Dex's Unicorn involvement; though he made no comment on the Project itself, his demeanour changed. He relaxed. He nodded, slowly and often, and when he spoke again Dex saw the ace manipulator behind the suntanned salesman; he knew that Verlander saw before him a kindred spirit.

  "Perhaps your skills will be best utilised if you're working alongside Erika and myself, which may, after a period of careful assessment, afford you direct contact with the Group," he said, quietly, and laughed. "We might even give you a job title."

  Dex liked that. "Perhaps you can tell me more about how this new society will function."

  "I most certainly can. Let me just call my girl to make us some coffee, and I'll give you the full, unadulterated, no-bullshit version. Then I can introduce you to Harry North, head of the Contract Enforcement Team, commonly known as the CETs. They keep the peace around here. That sound good?"

  Naomi is delighted that he has been given a management position, but she nags him about how soon she and Phoenix will be moving in with him.

  He thinks quickly. "Not immediately. Much of my work will be of a highly confidential nature, and it's not nine-to-five. I'm not sure Alex would have offered me the job if he thought I was going to have a child running around my apartment. I'll talk to him about it once I'm more established."

  "Okay, I understand—I suppose. But this place is so poky!" She assumes her complaining stance, hands on hips, and he notices how skinny she is. Tits like fried eggs. Everyone's lost weight over the past two years, but it doesn't suit Naomi. She is not appealingly trim like Vicky, or strong and lean like Rowan. She's just thin.

  "It'll do for now," says Suzanne, coming out of the children's bedroom. She looks at Dex, the direct stare that once contained so much animosity now appealing to him for help. "It is only temporary, isn't it?"

  "Of course," he lies.

  "Well, I'm not keen on Phoenix and Rosie sharing a room," Naomi says, folding hairy arms over her bony chest. Why doesn't she shave them? Or at least wear a push-up bra, anything that might make her look more fuckable. A place in his heart she may have, but why would he want to screw a woman with a chest and arms like a man?

  "It doesn't matter when he's this young," he says, "and I'm sure Rosie likes it." Indeed she does; their squeaks and laughter float out of the bedroom. They don't have very far to float. The kids' room—with rickety bunk beds and one chest of drawers—opens off the right of the narrow entrance hall, as do two other bedrooms, each big enough only for a single bed, a narrow wardrobe with built-in shelves, and a chair—they had the option of one bigger, shared room, but Naomi complained about Suzanne's snoring.

  The living room contains a couple of compact, two-seater sofas, a TV screen on a wall, and a foldaway table and four chairs next to a small shelf unit. Opposite the front door is the tiny kitchen alcove—clothes washing takes place in a communal laundry—and past the living area is the bathroom, which has a shower but no bath, a miniscule basin and, as Naomi rightly says, would be a no-go area for anyone who hasn't shed all their excess weight since July 2024.

  The flat is on the first floor, along a corridor of twenty-four identical residences. The fenced, narrow garden at the front is shared by everyone in Rez 4B; B blocks are for single adults with children. It is, Dex thinks, a bit like a newer, cleaner, more compact version of a London council estate. Four blocks, each with four floors, built in a square, with a car park, waste and recreational area for all, in the middle. The laundry for each block is built onto the side. Each one has six washing machines and six dryers.

  Each Rez Zone houses approximately a thousand people.

  Twenty-four washing machines for around a thousand residents; armed 'supervisors' lurk in each laundry to maintain a fair rotation.

  A far cry from Hub Residential, with its high security gate, guards and intercom.

  Another smart compound is also under construction, with larger gardens and its own facilities; Verlander says this is for those who will take part in an 'exciting new initiative'.

  Suzanne is complaining about being shoved in with the riff-raff.

  "It wouldn't be so bad if it just had a balcony," she says.

  "It'll seem a lot bigger once P
hoe and I have moved in with Dex, won't it?" Naomi says, linking her arm through Dex's and looking up at him, expectantly.

  Suzanne picks at a loose thread on the back of a sofa. "Perhaps Dex can pull some strings and get me a posh flat, too?"

  Dex unlinks his arm. "I can't start making demands yet."

  "I miss the space." Naomi looks out of the window at the recreation area; a group of young men are sitting in cars with the doors open, drinking beer, not a stone's throw from the huge waste skips. Children hurtle about in the playground, skinny arms and legs navigating the climbing frame. "I miss the island."

  "I suppose we'll be okay, for now," says Suzanne. "Let's try to look on the bright side. I know there's not enough room to swing a cat, but isn't it wonderful to be able to take a shower, and not have to shit in a bucket or that godawful compost bog?"

  Naomi whips round. "Suzanne, will you please refrain from using that sort of language in front of the children? It was bad enough with Ozzy—"

  "Sorry. Sorry, sorry, sorry." Suzanne moves over to Naomi and envelops her in a sisterly embrace; Naomi extricates herself quickly, with a look of distaste, and Dex remembers her saying how sick she was of the female huggy thing.

  "I miss the island, too," Suzanne goes on. "But there's a reason why population has always moved from rural and coastal areas to the towns and cities. It's about jobs, education, shops, culture. Okay, so the flat's cramped; look, I'll stop moaning if you will. We can find out about teaching jobs, and they're building cafés here, Nay! Barney told me that, eventually, there will be a bowling alley, a cinema, and live music venues. We'll meet other people like us, be able to go out and about, not have to scrimp every last bit of fuel—it's real life again, at last!"

  For a moment, Dex thinks back to his castle. The sunset over the water. No matter. Thank God he doesn't have to live in this awful box, anyway.

  He accepts a cup of disgusting green tea from Naomi, and listens to them talking. Suzanne thinks she's going to be running around, drinking wine with like-minded people, starting women's groups and enjoying a stimulating job, like when she lived in Birmingham. Naomi's even talking about dinner parties. He wants to laugh. They're going to get a few shocks, starting at the induction meeting in the morning.

  He doesn't tell them about the curfews that Verlander mentioned. Everyone inside the UK Central barriers by eight o'clock, in their apartments by ten. No one can go outside the barriers before eight in the morning, unless on an outside job that starts earlier.

  Unless they have a specific reason and a pass, the worker bees are not allowed to leave at all.

  "Can't allow it," Verlander said. "Their safety, my responsibility." He winked. "And it's easier to effect control if they're all in the same place."

  Dex doesn't mention the microchips to Naomi and Suzanne, either.

  He is exempt from chipping. Verlander said that, in his case, perhaps they could 'hold off for now'.

  Dex shook his head.

  "Ain't happening at all. As you said, chipping is for worker bees. I'll do everything I can to assist you in keeping them in order, but you're not treating me like one."

  Nevertheless, he asks Verlander to repeat his speech on its benefits, so he can remember the key points to reiterate to others when they complain.

  Next day Dex attends part of the induction, which takes place in the meeting hall of the Hub; the masses do not know this is the first and last time most of them will be allowed into the building.

  He admires the structure of the meeting; first, they are shown computer images of edifices yet to be built, of the balconies in the Hub that currently house just two functioning establishments: a café bar, and a hairdressing and beauty salon, with a small gym.

  "I'm afraid these are only for the use of those who work in the Hub or live in Hub Residential," says Verlander, "but now and again we do have vacancies for admin and data analysis roles within the Hub, along with hair and beauty technicians, cleaning, kitchen and bar staff."

  While Davina Lincoln and little Flora clutch each other's arms, enraptured by the images of the proposed shopping mall—currently nothing more than a cleared space of ground out beyond Rez 8—Dex wonders if they have compared them with the existing retail outlet, which is somewhat more basic. The huge Supplies Zone is a vast warehouse that sells all food, clothing, household and luxury goods, with choice depending on what has been scavenged by the Collections Team, and whatever food has been grown or made on site. But all the new arrivals hear is that they will be paid real salaries for real work, after which they can go home to their own, safe apartments. They will have hot showers, washing machines, sanitation. They scarcely listen when told that running water 'may' be limited at certain times of the day, or when they are reminded that many of the plans for the site are still in their infancy.

  In other words, they're just ideas on paper.

  Their selective hearing serves them so well that when Lennie, a friendly, smiling mountain of an African-American guy, complete with gold tooth and do-rag, talks about how Perimeter Security will keep them safe from feral rogues in outlying settlements who might want to steal goods that Central workers toil so hard to acquire, they accept that curfews are necessary.

  The words 'safe', 'safety' and 'security' are used often, Dex notices. Their very utterance, repeated over and over, convinces the worker bees that all is well.

  An earth mother type called Mary shows them pictures of smiling women baking bread, of vast growing tunnels, a positive riot of red, shiny tomatoes, with Lennie's men positioned around the perimeter of the Grow Zone.

  "We've had some attempted invasions from outlying communities," Mary says, "but they were no match for Lennie's army!"

  Laughter echoes around the room; as the day goes on, more references are made to the dangerous types who live outside UK Central. By the end of Induction Day, they've gained an official name. The Outliers.

  And so the us-and-them situation has been created. In the same way as the green wristbands separated the clean from the unclean, the new arrivals will go back to their hutches with the feeling of being special, privileged. Superior. Not like the scavenging, dirty Outliers, who will try to steal all they have.

  The curfews and perimeter limits will hardly be necessary. It's a frightening world out there. They will choose to stay safe, inside UK Central.

  And so the threat of terrorism is used to control the masses once again.

  Dex nods his head, and smiles. He can work with these people. Better to be in the driving seat than throwing stones at the car, trying in vain to educate those who don't want to hear the truth.

  Even Paul Lincoln's protests are minimal. He is the first to stand up and speak against the microchips, but has his mind put at rest by the smooth, charming and just-sexy-enough Erika Thiessen.

  After a swift glance at the sheets of paper on her desk, she says, "You're a builder, Paul, is that right?" She gives him the benefit of her smile, and he looks pleased that she knows this about him; he feels important.

  "Was, and hope to continue being," Paul says. "There's nothing I want more than to do an honest day's work to provide for my family."

  "And we're here to make that a reality for you." With that cultured accent and appearance that puts her a couple of rungs above Paul in the looks market, she's exactly the right amount of unattainable. He's flattered that she's singled him out for attention; she'll probably star in his wank fantasies in the shower tonight.

  "Think about it, Paul. When you're busy working on housing for families just like yours, won't you be happy knowing that your wife and children are safe?" She puts her head on one side. "That they haven't been accosted by a band of desperate Outliers?" Everyone laughs. "That's what the chips are for, Paul. Safety first. You must all miss being able to contact your kids on their cells; the chips take away the fear factor, just like they did. Say your daughter is ten minutes late for curfew. Is she playing hookey, or sprawled at the bottom of a staircase with a broken ankle? If i
t's the latter, we can find her, take her to Medical—hey, if she's just playing hookey we can find her, too!"

  More laughter. Paul is persuaded. They are all persuaded.

  A woman from another group speaks out against the chips, too; this time Alex Verlander reassures her that if she takes a job in, say, Collections—for which she would be ideally suited, as she was a van driver in the old world—her chipping will be absolutely vital.

  "You might come up against a band of Outliers when you're out gathering supplies—your team can't find you, they radio in and we can tell them exactly where you are. We're building a caring society, Vanessa, all of us working together for the common good."

  He links his fingers as he says the word 'together', and his demeanour is almost flirtatious. Dex is sure this plain, grubby woman has never had such attention from a man who, in the old world, would be so far out of her league that she wouldn't be able to see the soles of his feet in the clouds.

  Next, a modest young chap called Jared steps up to explain how the chips are inserted, while behind him a screen shows smiling people going through the process with no more than a slight wince, and a reassuring hand hold from an attractive nurse.

  The next three days are taken up with medical and psychiatric evaluations, after which jobs are allocated. Suzanne is delighted to be given the position of Behavioural Counsellor in the Learning Zone. As a mother of a child under three, Naomi does not have to work, but she can choose to do so part-time in order to receive more than subsistence credits.

  "So I'm going to work at the Supplies Zone in the afternoons, on Clothing, and I can put Phoenix in the crèche, isn't that great? And you'll never guess who's got a job in the crèche—Flora! So it'll be just like home, won't it?"

  The arrivals enjoy their evaluations, Verlander tells him. They have the opportunity to talk about their experiences, the family members they have lost.