untitled, 2,200 words Options

[Guest_Toumai_*]

Untitled (suggestions welcomed, plus tough crit, please)


On a viciously cold February afternoon, Jack Tarrant committed a murder and was executed twenty minutes later.

“He weren’t a suicide.” Belle Tarrant sobbed on Helen’s shoulder.

“No, of course not,” Helen agreed, while inwardly sighing. Of course Jack was a suicide: no one set out to commit a Category A crime these days unless they wanted to die. The amazing thing was how many there were. The suicide rate was up tenfold since immediate punishment was introduced. “They said he was delusional,” Helen patted Belle on the back.

“Yeah … perhaps,” Belle pulled away and huddled into her cardigan. “Yeah, I guess so.”

* * *

Closing the door of her flat, next to the Tarrants’, usually made Helen feel she was shutting out her work, shutting out the world. Today she paused; seeing all her belongings, her detritus, as if through a new lens. One of her favourite photos, part of a montage on the wall; herself with Belle and Jack, clowning for the camera as Jude snapped them; a touch of red-eye from the flash. She reached up to touch the glass as she shrugged off her jacket, dropping it on her desk where it covered her webcam. She snapped her fingers and ordered the computer to sort the news. “Immediate punishment is such a success the Government is pleased to announce its extension.” For a moment Helen’s eyes focused inwards, seeing Belle’s fearful, tear-streaked face rather than the screen. “Fines will be levied for misdemeanours in line with those already prescribed for the transgressions. Greg is in the city centre; Greg, what do our good citizens think of this extension?”

“I’m with Mrs Little; Mrs Little, what do you think?”

Mrs Little adjusted her silver curls for the camera, simpering. “Ooh, I think it’s a great idea. I’ve got a neighbour as always lets her dog do number twos on the path. Now she’ll get back home to find the fifty quid’s already bin taken off her bank account. Just as soon as there’s a few more cameras, of course.”

“So you’re not worried by the proliferation of cameras?”

“Ooh, no. They keeps us safe. No lurking flashers or burglars now, are there? If you’re not with us, you’re against us! – so true.”

“Aren’t you worried that the cameras are watching you?”

“They only looks at them as is naughty, don’t they? All us good people, we’re safe now, aren’t we?”

“Don’t you ever do anything naughty?” Greg flirted.

Mrs Little giggled, “Ooh, no … not since I were your age, anyway.”

Define naughty, Helen thought, switching channels.

“The Cabinet have issued a new edict on the status of criminal behaviour, again avoiding lengthy, time-wasting and expensive debate in the open political chamber. Anyone selling banned substances – drugs, of course, but also explosives, and, controversially, even embryos or endangered species – will be now defined as guilty of a Category A crime.” The presenter cocked his carefully coifed head to one side. “I’m just getting news of the first noted transgression under this new statute. We’re going live to watch – excuse the poor picture quality, folks: this is one of the older cameras.”

Helen watched, half fascinated, half disgusted as the main screen now showed a shadowy doorway where two young men were standing close, apparently talking. The presenter’s voice overlaid the picture. “Here we have two know addicts in close proximity. Al, on the right” – an arrow appeared on the screen, just to make sure Helen could tell what was right – “has just given something to Ben, on the left,” (another arrow). The picture became a slo-mo flashback, showing a blurred movement where the lads might have touched hands for an instant. Helen asked to see that again; she watched intently, but there was no obvious exchange of drugs or payment.

“And here come the Enforcement Officers.” The satisfaction in the presenter’s voice made Helen shudder. The doorway was empty but the picture cut to a wider view of the street, the lads heading in opposite directions as the patrol vehicles slid into position; Enforcement Officers wearing full body armour and helmets leaping forth.

The youths fled, brought down within a few paces by accurate Taser shots.

“These are new-design, homing Taser bolts,” the presenter explained. “A criminal’s tag details are programmed into the gun, then it simply has to be pointed within 90 degrees and the shot will hit the identified target.”

The Officers dragged the two writhing bodies towards a vehicle: a squat, windowless van. One Officer – it was impossible for Helen to tell them apart, with their sleek uniforms and mirrored visors – seemed to be asking the men questions. The news presenter was listing their previous crimes and prison incarcerations. They were lying motionless now, perhaps in shock, but when the Officers started to lift them into the chamber of the execution van they both struggled and Helen caught a glimpse of their faces, screaming – in silence as there was no sound transmission from the street cameras – as they were heaved inside.

The Officer in charge – or was it a different one? – took a small canister from another vehicle, clipping it to a port on the side of the van. “The van computer has verified authorisation, so he can go ahead with the execution,” the presenter assured her as the Officer pressed the button that would break the canister’s seal, injecting its lethal gas into the interior. How do we know it is a “he”? Helen wondered. The Officer’s visor revealed nothing.

The presenter’s forehead was dewy with perspiration. “There you have it, folks: justice in action. Those two criminals will be dead within a couple of minutes. The van will be opened at Justice Central and their remains incinerated.”

* * *

“A triumph for democracy,” Jude declared, bouncing on the balls of his feet as though about to take a wild lap of honour around the offices. A gangly, angular man, Jude’s buoyant black hair swept close to the ceiling lights as he stretched. He seemed to fill the entire area as he talked; heads peered over cubicle parapets then dropped quickly out of sight as he span, gesturing expansively. “And we have played our part.”

“Yes,” Helen agreed tersely, slightly nauseated by his excitement. Enthusiasm should be contagious, but these days Jude’s ebullience had the opposite effect on Helen; she sank into herself, becoming quieter, sterner, greyer.

“When they said they would rebuild this country for the people, who believed them?” Jude thumped Helen’s desk with missionary zeal. She caught a glimpse of his eyes and there was anger in them – or was it fear? “A place where citizens can live in freedom, knowing that all those they work with, live with, shop with are the same as them – honest, law-abiding, belonging. They said they would reclaim this land for the people: and they have – and we have been part of this; proud of this.” He took a deep breath, noticed Helen for the first time, nodded at her and strolled into his office.

What is he on? Helen glanced at the camera nearby and managed not to grimace. Perhaps she needed a day off, a break – a holiday, even; somewhere away from so much justice. Her eyes slid around the office area. A few metres to her right, Jack Tarrant’s cubicle was unoccupied, desktop free of clutter for the first time ever. Why, Jack? Helen dragged her gaze away – the cameras were trained to spot any peculiarities in behaviour on the streets and she wondered if that carried over to office life, too. Or maybe it is peculiar NOT to stare at his desk? For a while she almost managed to focus on the figures she was processing, but she kept seeing them as Jack or the two druggies, not the faceless statistics they should be. Three prostitutes taken off the streets for attempted murder of a punter; a drug-production gang closed down for good; a hit and run driver who had received what the people thought he deserved; the two dealers she had seen served with justice on the newscasts the previous evening.

“Show me those lads,” she asked the computer. The blurry footage ran through. Yes, something changed hands as they talked. Why hadn’t she been able to see that the previous night? Has the film been enhanced? “Previous convictions,” she requested.

“Authorization required,” said the computer.

“What? I am authorised – this is the Justice Records Office. We’re all authorised.”

“Authorization required.”

Stupid machine! “I am Helen Clark, Senior Statistical Administrator, Justice Records Office, as you can damn-well tell from my voice analysis and iris recognition.”

“Authorisation rejected.”

“What?” Helen sat back and stared at her blank screen.

“Authorisation rejected. Helen Clark does not have authorisation.”

“I heard the first time,” she snapped. “Why do I no longer have access to records?”

“Authorisation required.”

Helen clenched her fingers, fighting the pointless urge to slap the screen. “Who does have authorisation to see those records now?”

“Authorisation required.”

Authorisation required to even know who has authorisation? Helen sat and stared at the screen, willing it to change its digital mind, to say, “Oops, sorry, Helen; my mistake, what was I thinking of? How silly am I?” and then to regurgitate all the information she wanted.

She could hear blood pounding: her own heart rate thudding from her anger; elsewhere low voices as others talked to their screens; one or two not so low, also asking for information that was suddenly forbidden. Slowly, she pushed her chair back, stepping the few paces to Jude’s half-open office door. He was on the phone and took a moment to notice her. Then he beckoned her in, pointing to a chair. She obediently sat, listening to the one-sided conversation. “…it’s crazy, Harry, really crazy – how are we going to check anything? …. Yeah, I respect that, but …. Well, I’ll do my best ….” He dropped the handset into its cradle and ran his hands through his hair, elbows resting on his desk, not meeting her gaze.

“Excuse me, Jude, but the computer says I do not have authorisation to check criminal records.”

“No,” he said, almost inaudibly, head bowed. “None of us have authority to examine Justice Data now.” At last he moved, sitting back so she could see his grim expression. She was transported back almost five years to when the office opened, to the serious, determined Jude who had pushed them all so hard to clean up the country. “We’re the front line,” he had often reminded them. “They make the policy and it is up to us to interpret it, to follow through, to benefit society.”

“But we are the Justice Office,” she said. Behind her, others had begun to gather, as news of the system’s betrayal spread through the office.

“Listen to this,” Jude said, calling up the latest news on his screen.

A murmur of horror as a picture of their own building filled the screen; a reporter standing on the wind-swept steps. “The Cabinet have moved swiftly to block potential criminal access to the Justice Records. The Justice Office has just this minute been shut down.”

“So they knew before we did,” someone complained. “The News people knew.”

“Why?” wailed one of the assistants. “We’re on their side.”

“The entire Office?” Another incredulous voice. “That’s two thousand employees.”

“Central are still operational,” Jude said.

Everyone started talking at once. Only Helen and Jude were silent, sitting either side his desk, weighing implications. “Was Jack their bad apple?” Helen said, quietly. Only Jude heard her. He gave an almost imperceptible shrug. “What now?” Helen whispered.

Jude shrugged again, his expression bleak as he rose to his feet. “OK, everyone. I’m sure this will be sorted out soon enough,” he said, shooing the indignant Justice Records staff from his office. “Meanwhile, please all return to your work stations.” Helen was the last to leave. “I’m sorry,” Jude breathed in her ear as he ushered her out.

For what? She wanted to ask, but he had turned away, already.

* * *

Helen’s gaze slid across the visor of the Enforcement Officer, seeking a hint of a human face behind the mirror-polished surface.

“Who are you?” she asked, unnerved by the lack of expression.

“You do not need to know,” it replied, the external voice computer-moderated, monotonal and sexless.

“Bollocks. All those interviewed by an Officer are entitled to know his or her identity and rank.”

“New rules,” it said. “If criminals are to be terminated it is imperative that Officers’ identities are protected.”

“What if you decide to beat me up?” Helen asked – then wished she hadn’t. Her face, pale and wild-eyed, was reflected in the gloss of the visor, distorted by the obsidian curve.

“For your security, we are all connected to the Central Justice System,” it explained. “My cameras and microphone” – its hand touched the visor – “are monitored and all data stored by the Justice Office.”

“But I work for the Justice Office and we can’t access any …” Helen’s voice died.


© Toumai, 2006

[Cleo_Serapis]

Hi Fran.

I just glimpsed your opening paragraphs and I must say the suspense is very intriguing!

I will print this one out and have a good read of your story as soon as time permits.

Will be back again soon.

~Cleo

[Guest_Nina_*]

Hi Fran

A cheerful look at life in the future under a Big Brother regime, very well depicted. Most chilling indeed. Eventually everyone will be killed because this paranoid Government trusts no one.

I felt this read more like an excellent beginning to a longer story where Helen and Jude join the resistance movement and fight to overthrow this evil regime, rather than a complete short story. The end was a little flat and left me unsatisfied in contrast with the very powerful, attention-grabbing beginning. I’m left unsure whether her voice died because she was shot or just stunned by realisation.

As always your characterisations and dialogue are very good and come beautifully to life.

I have been quite harsh in my crit (you did ask for tough crit) but as always take what you like and discard what you don’t.

Nina


On a viciously cold February afternoon, Jack Tarrant committed a murder and was executed twenty minutes later.

“He weren’t a suicide.” Belle Tarrant sobbed on Helen’s shoulder.

“No, of course not,” Helen agreed, while inwardly sighing. Of course Jack was a suicide: no one set out to commit a Category A crime these days unless they wanted to die. The amazing thing was how many there were (this is confusing because it could relate to Category A crime). The suicide rate was up tenfold since immediate (I can’t explain why but instant or on-the-spot feels better than immediate) punishment was introduced. “They said he was delusional,” Helen patted Belle on the back.

I have a problem with the logic here. Why would someone wanting to commit suicide, first kill someone else. Why not just kill themselves?

“Yeah … perhaps,” Belle pulled away and huddled into her cardigan. “Yeah, I guess so.”

* * *

Closing {the door of her flat, next to the Tarrants’}[her front door], usually made Helen feel she was shutting out {her} work, shutting out the world. (there is an expectation from this sentence that it doesn’t work however your next sentence doesn’t really show the “but not today” side) Today she paused; seeing all her belongings, her detritus, as if through a new lens. One of her favourite photos, part of a montage on the wall; herself with Belle and Jack, clowning for the camera as Jude snapped them; a touch of red-eye from the flash (this sentence hangs…one of her favourite photos……what about it?.). She reached up to touch the glass as she shrugged off her jacket, dropping it on her desk where it covered her webcam. She snapped her fingers and {ordered}[instructed] the computer to sort the news. “Immediate punishment is such a success [that] the Government is pleased to announce its extension.” For a moment Helen’s eyes focused inwards, (can eyes focus inwards?) seeing Belle’s fearful, tear-streaked face rather than the screen. “Fines will be levied for misdemeanours in line with those already prescribed for the transgressions. (I’m not quite sure what this sentence means) Greg is in the city centre; Greg, what do our good citizens think of this extension?”

suggestion for the above para:

Closing her front door she paused; seeing all her belongings, her detritus, as if through a new lens. She was drawn to one of her favourite photos, part of a montage on the wall; herself with Belle and Jack, clowning for the camera as Jude snapped them; a touch of red-eye from the flash. She reached up to touch the glass as she shrugged off her jacket, dropping it on her desk where it covered her webcam. She snapped her fingers and instructed the computer to sort the news. “Immediate punishment is such a success that the Government is pleased to announce its extension. For a moment Helen saw Belle’s fearful, tear-streaked face rather than the screen.

“I’m with Mrs Little; Mrs Little, what do you think [about the Government’s extension to immediate punishment]?”

Mrs Little adjusted her silver curls for the camera, simpering. “Ooh, I think it’s a great idea. I’ve got a neighbour as always lets her dog do number twos on the path. Now she’ll get back home to find the fifty quid’s already bin taken off her bank account. Just as soon as there’s a few more cameras, of course.”

“So you’re not worried by the proliferation (Mrs Little comes across as a little stupid. She wouldn’t have a clue what proliferation means) of cameras?”

“Ooh, no. They keeps us safe. No lurking flashers or burglars now, are there? If you’re not with us, you’re against us! – so true.”

“Aren’t you worried that the cameras are watching you?”

“They only looks at them as is naughty, don’t they? All us good people, we’re safe now, aren’t we?” (are people really that naive!!!)

“Don’t you ever do anything naughty?” Greg flirted.

Mrs Little giggled, “Ooh, no … not since I were your age, anyway.”

Define naughty, Helen thought, switching channels.

“The Cabinet have (should have be has?) issued a new edict on the status of criminal behaviour, again avoiding lengthy, time-wasting and expensive debate in the open political chamber (would a news presenter be making pro Government political statements like that and if he were doing it sarcastically he'd probably lose his job?). Anyone selling banned substances – drugs, of course, but also explosives, and, controversially, even embryos or endangered species (are embryos and animals substances?) – will be now defined as guilty of a Category A crime.” The presenter cocked his carefully coifed head to one side. “I’m just getting news of the first {noted}[recorded] transgression under this new statute. We’re going live to watch – excuse the poor picture quality, folks: this is one of the older cameras.”

Helen watched, half fascinated, half disgusted as the main screen {now} showed a shadowy doorway where two young men were standing close, apparently talking. The presenter’s voice overlaid the picture. “Here we have two know[n] addicts in close proximity. Al, on the right” – an arrow appeared on the screen, just to make sure Helen could tell {what}[which] was right – “has just given something to Ben, on the left,” (another arrow). The picture became a {slo-mo}[slow motioin] flashback, showing a blurred movement where the lads might have touched hands for an instant. Helen asked to see that again; she watched intently, but there was no obvious exchange of drugs or payment.

“And here come the Enforcement Officers.” The satisfaction in the presenter’s voice made Helen shudder. The doorway was empty but the picture cut to a wider view of the street, the lads heading in opposite directions as the patrol vehicles slid into position; Enforcement Officers wearing full body armour and helmets {leaping forth}[jumped out] .

The youths fled, brought down within a few paces by accurate Taser shots.

“These are new-design, homing Taser bolts,” (when I first read about the taser shots, I assumed they were bullets that would kill them. It confused me that later they go into a mobile gas chamber. I think you need to explain what the tasers do.) the presenter explained. “A criminal’s tag details are programmed into the gun, then it simply {has}[needs] to be pointed within 90 degrees and the shot will hit the identified target.”

The Officers dragged the two writhing bodies towards a vehicle: a squat, windowless van. One Officer – it was impossible for Helen to tell them apart, with their sleek uniforms and mirrored visors – seemed to be asking the men questions. The news presenter was listing their previous crimes and prison incarcerations. They were lying motionless now, perhaps in shock, but when the Officers started to lift them into the {chamber of the} execution van they both struggled[.] {and} Helen caught a glimpse of their faces, screaming – {in silence}[silently] as there was no sound transmission from the street cameras – as they were heaved inside.

The Officer in charge – or was it a different one? – took a small canister from another vehicle, clipping it to a port on the side of the van. “The van[‘s] computer has verified authorisation, so {he can go ahead with} the execution [can go ahead],” the presenter assured her as the Officer pressed the button {that}[which] would break the canister’s seal, injecting its lethal gas into the interior. How do we know it is a “he”? Helen wondered. The Officer’s visor revealed nothing.

The presenter’s forehead was dewy with perspiration. “There you have it, folks: justice in action. Those two criminals will be dead within a couple of minutes. The van will be opened at Justice Central and their {remains}[bodies] incinerated.”

* * *
(this threw me a bit. One minute we’re home alone with Helen watching the computer screen and now suddenly she’s at work only it isn’t immediately apparent)

“A triumph for democracy,” Jude declared, bouncing on the balls of his feet as though about to take a wild lap of honour around the offices. A gangly, angular man, Jude’s buoyant black hair swept close to the ceiling lights as he stretched. He seemed to fill the entire area as he talked; heads peered over cubicle parapets then dropped quickly out of sight as he span, gesturing expansively. “And we have played our part.”

“Yes,” Helen agreed tersely, slightly nauseated by his excitement. Enthusiasm should be contagious, but these days Jude’s ebullience had the opposite effect on Helen; she sank into herself, becoming quieter, sterner, greyer.

“When they said they would rebuild this country for the people, who believed them?” Jude thumped Helen’s desk with missionary zeal. She caught a glimpse of [anger in] his eyes {and there was anger in them} – or was it fear? “A place where citizens can live in freedom, knowing that {all} those they work with, live with, shop with are the same as them – honest, law-abiding, belonging. They {said they would}[promised to] reclaim this land for the people: and they have – and we have been part of this; proud of this.” He took a deep breath, noticed Helen for the first time, nodded at her and strolled into his office.

What is he on? Helen glanced at {the}[a nearby] camera {nearby and managed}[just managing] not to grimace. Perhaps she needed a day off, a break – a holiday, even; somewhere away from so much justice. Her eyes slid around the office area. A few metres to her right, Jack Tarrant’s cubicle was unoccupied, desktop free of clutter for the first time ever. Why, Jack? Helen dragged her gaze away – the cameras were trained to spot any peculiarities in behaviour on the streets and she wondered if that carried over to office life, too. Or maybe it is peculiar NOT to stare at his desk? For a while she almost managed to focus on the figures she was processing, but she kept seeing them as Jack or the two druggies, not the faceless statistics they should be. Three prostitutes taken off the streets for attempted murder of a punter; a drug-production gang ( ring?) closed down for good; a hit and run driver who had received what the people thought he deserved; the two dealers she had seen served with justice on the newscasts the previous evening.

“Show me those lads,” she asked the computer. The blurry footage ran through. Yes, something changed hands as they talked. Why hadn’t she been able to see that the previous night? Has the film been enhanced? “Previous convictions,” she requested.

“Authorization required,” said the computer.

“What? I am authorised – this is the Justice Records Office. We’re all authorised.”

“Authorization required.”

Stupid machine! “I am Helen Clark, Senior Statistical Administrator, Justice Records Office, as you can damn-well tell from my voice analysis and iris recognition.”

“Authorisation rejected.”

“What?” Helen sat back and stared at her blank screen.

“Authorisation rejected. Helen Clark does not have authorisation.”

“I heard the first time,” she snapped. “Why do I no longer have access to records?”

“Authorisation required.”

Helen clenched her fingers, fighting the pointless urge to slap the screen. “Who does have authorisation to see those records now?”

“Authorisation required.”

Authorisation required to even{ know}[find out] who has authorisation? Helen sat and stared at the screen, willing it to change its digital mind, to say, “Oops, sorry, Helen; my mistake, what was I thinking of? How silly am I?” and then to regurgitate all the information she wanted.

She could hear blood pounding: her {own} heart {rate} thudding {from her anger}; elsewhere low voices as others talked to their screens; one or two not so low, also asking for information that was suddenly forbidden. Slowly, she pushed her chair back, stepping the few paces to Jude’s half-open office door. He was on the phone and took a moment to notice her. Then he beckoned her in, pointing to a chair. She obediently sat, listening to the one-sided conversation. “…it’s crazy, Harry, really crazy – how are we going to check anything? …. Yeah, I respect that, but …. Well, I’ll do my best ….” He dropped the handset into its cradle and ran his hands through his hair, elbows resting on his desk, not meeting her gaze.

“Excuse me, Jude, but the computer says I do not have authorisation to check criminal records.”

“No,” he said, almost inaudibly, head bowed. “None of us have authority to examine Justice Data now.” At last he moved, sitting back so she could see his grim expression. She was transported back almost five years to when the office opened, to the serious, determined Jude who had pushed them all so hard to clean up the country. “We’re the front line,” he had often reminded them. “They make the policy and it is up to us to interpret it, to follow through, to benefit society.”

“But we are the Justice Office,” she said. Behind her, others had begun to gather, as news of the system’s betrayal spread through the office.

“Listen to this,” Jude said, calling up the latest news on his screen.

A murmur of horror (whose murmur of horror?) as a picture of their own building filled the screen; a reporter standing on the wind-swept steps. “The Cabinet have moved swiftly to block potential criminal access to the Justice Records. The Justice Office has {just} this minute been shut down.”

“So they knew before we did,” someone complained. “The News people knew.”

“Why?” wailed one of the assistants. “We’re on their side.”

“The entire Office?” Another incredulous voice. “That’s two thousand employees.”

“Central are still operational,” Jude said.

Everyone started talking at once. Only Helen and Jude were silent, sitting either side [of] his desk, weighing implications. “Was Jack their bad apple?” Helen said, quietly. Only Jude heard her. He gave an almost imperceptible shrug. “What now?” Helen whispered.

Jude shrugged again, his expression bleak as he rose to his feet. “OK, everyone. I’m sure this will be sorted out soon enough,” he said, shooing the indignant Justice Records staff from his office. “Meanwhile, please all return to your work stations.” Helen was the last to leave. “I’m sorry,” Jude breathed in her ear as he ushered her out. (Jude seems to have had a very rapid change of attitude towards the Government's policies. Earlier they could do no wrong)

For what? She wanted to ask, but he had turned away, already.

* * *

Helen’s gaze slid across {the visor of} the Enforcement Officer[‘s visor], seeking a hint of a human face behind the mirror-polished surface.

“Who are you?” she asked, unnerved by the lack of expression.

“You do not need to know,” it replied, the external voice computer-moderated, monotonal and sexless.

“Bollocks. All those interviewed by an Officer are entitled to know his or her identity and rank.”

“New rules,” it said. “If criminals are to be terminated it is imperative that Officers’ identities are protected.”

“What if you decide to beat me up?” Helen asked – then wished she hadn’t. Her face, pale and wild-eyed, was reflected in the gloss of the visor, distorted by the obsidian curve.

“For your security, we are all connected to the Central Justice System,” it explained. “My cameras and microphone” – its hand touched the visor – “are monitored and all data stored by the Justice Office.”

“But I work for the Justice Office and we can’t access any …” Helen’s voice died.(is she dead or has she just stopped talking? )

[Guest_Jox_*]

Hi Fran, Nina,

Fran - sorry I don't have the time at present to tooth-comb this; but it seems very good and Nina has given you a first excellent and thorough crit.

Nina:

>N> I have a problem with the logic here. Why would someone wanting to commit suicide, first kill someone else. Why not just kill themselves?

By the same token one could ask why all suicides don't simply and quietly take pills in bed: why do some jump off buildings and others drive their cars into other cars and so on.

What Fran mentions is actually a known and growing occurrence - especially in the USA. Many people are now, apparently taking the option of "suicide by cop" - presenting police officers with little option but to shoot.

I took it that a Cat A was not necessarily killing someone else - rather simply not towing the state line?

BTW - "Tasars" are now carried by many British Police services - I believe including Hampshire and The Met. They are electric stun-guns, delivering several thousand volts to offer sub-lethal stopping power. (They can kill but do not usually so do).

From Hansard - the House of Commons official journal:

Metropolitan Police—Deployment of Taser

Number Deployed - Fired
October 2004 213 - 2
November 2004 168 - 1
December 2004 174 - 2
January 2005 148 - 1
February 2005 057 - 2
March 2005 176 - 2
April 2005 241 - 4
May 2005 262 - 5
June 2005 264 - 2
July 2005 301 - 3
August 2005 268 - 2
September 2005 273 - 2

NB The Metropolitian ("Met") Police Service is the main London police force and the UK's largest by far.

Cheers, J.

[Guest_Toumai_*]

Hi Fran.

I just glimpsed your opening paragraphs and I must say the suspense is very intriguing!

I will print this one out and have a good read of your story as soon as time permits.

Will be back again soon.

~Cleo

Hi Lori

Thanks

Hugs

Fran

[Guest_Toumai_*]

Hi Nina

I just wrote my reply then somehow lost it all ...

A cheerful look at life in the future under a Big Brother regime, very well depicted. Most chilling indeed. Eventually everyone will be killed because this paranoid Government trusts no one.

Yes, paranoia rampant.

I felt this read more like an excellent beginning to a longer story where Helen and Jude join the resistance movement and fight to overthrow this evil regime, rather than a complete short story.

No happy endings ... revolution usually leads to violence, anarchy and corruption.

The end was a little flat and left me unsatisfied in contrast with the very powerful, attention-grabbing beginning. I’m left unsure whether her voice died because she was shot or just stunned by realisation.

The uncertainty and dual possibility was intentional. The flatness isn't, so I will have to work on that, thanks

As always your characterisations and dialogue are very good and come beautifully to life.

Thank you

I have been quite harsh in my crit (you did ask for tough crit) but as always take what you like and discard what you don’t.

Thanks very much for examining it so carefully, as always, and for the suggestions and detailed help.

“No, of course not,” Helen agreed, while inwardly sighing. Of course Jack was a suicide: no one set out to commit a Category A crime these days unless they wanted to die. The amazing thing was how many there were (this is confusing because it could relate to Category A crime). The suicide rate was up tenfold since immediate (I can’t explain why but instant or on-the-spot feels better than immediate) punishment was introduced. “They said he was delusional,” Helen patted Belle on the back.

I have a problem with the logic here. Why would someone wanting to commit suicide, first kill someone else. Why not just kill themselves?

I had tried to "get inside" the characters and that "way out" seemed right for Jack so I was a bit concerned. Then I saw from James's post that "suicide by cop" is a recognised, if strange (and disturbing), phenomenon. There is even a Wiki entry on the subject. So I think I will keep it, weird though it may seem.

Closing {the door of her flat, next to the Tarrants’}[her front door], usually made Helen feel she was shutting out {her} work, shutting out the world. (there is an expectation from this sentence that it doesn’t work however your next sentence doesn’t really show the “but not today” side)

OK, thanks. I will think about that.

Today she paused; seeing all her belongings, her detritus, as if through a new lens. One of her favourite photos, part of a montage on the wall; herself with Belle and Jack, clowning for the camera as Jude snapped them; a touch of red-eye from the flash (this sentence hangs…one of her favourite photos……what about it?.).

Again, deliberate; you are supposed to wonder what about it? (sorry).

For a moment Helen’s eyes focused inwards, (can eyes focus inwards?)

Ooops, no they cannot

seeing Belle’s fearful, tear-streaked face rather than the screen. “Fines will be levied for misdemeanours in line with those already prescribed for the transgressions. (I’m not quite sure what this sentence means)

No idea ... gov't speak, methinks.

“So you’re not worried by the proliferation (Mrs Little comes across as a little stupid. She wouldn’t have a clue what proliferation means)

Well-spotted; she wouldn't, would she? I can easily remedy that - ta.

“They only looks at them as is naughty, don’t they? All us good people, we’re safe now, aren’t we?” (are people really that naive!!!)

Unfortunately, they do seem to be. It was someone in the gov't here who recently said, bemusedly, when being harrangued about recent errosion of civil liberties, "But we're all good people." Define good ...

“The Cabinet have (should have be has?) issued a new edict on the status of criminal behaviour, again avoiding lengthy, time-wasting and expensive debate in the open political chamber (would a news presenter be making pro Government political statements like that and if he were doing it sarcastically he'd probably lose his job?).

He was just stating facts as the news company sees them - probably having sponsored that "kwik-law" staute like the one we've had to contemplate recently (and that, quite amazingly, has caused barely a ripple).

Anyone selling banned substances – drugs, of course, but also explosives, and, controversially, even embryos or endangered species (are embryos and animals substances?)

Oops, no - thanks.

“These are new-design, homing Taser bolts,” (when I first read about the taser shots, I assumed they were bullets that would kill them. It confused me that later they go into a mobile gas chamber. I think you need to explain what the tasers do.)

Tasers fire barbs that cause agonising electric shocks, incapacitating criminals. They have been very widely used in the States for a number of years (and I see James has listed their use in Britain, too ... I didn't know we had them yet). They have been implicated in a number of deaths in custody (heart failure etc) but with none proven they are on the up.

I see what you mean about why would they incapacitate them and then kill them ... hm ... how about if they are not to be the executioners, but the van itself - through it's computer link with Justice Central - checks their IDs (maybe the Officers have to take a pin-prick blood sample for DNA analysis) and decides on the sentance ... so they may or may not be dead when the van returns to Justice Central?

(this threw me a bit. One minute we’re home alone with Helen watching the computer screen and now suddenly she’s at work only it isn’t immediately apparent)

Hm ... I shall think about that, thanks.

Helen was the last to leave. “I’m sorry,” Jude breathed in her ear as he ushered her out. (Jude seems to have had a very rapid change of attitude towards the Government's policies. Earlier they could do no wrong)

I don't think he's apologising for the policies, necessarily. Also, his manic performance earlier may not have been genuine; I rather think he was hamming it up for the office surveilance cameras ...

“But I work for the Justice Office and we can’t access any …” Helen’s voice died.(is she dead or has she just stopped talking? )

Good question. If we can no longer talk, is it a form of death?

Thanks, Nina

Fran

[Guest_Jox_*]

Hi Fran,

To Nina... "Tasers fire barbs that cause agonising electric shocks, incapacitating criminals."

Gentle Q: Now who is playing the same game as the media? :) (It is so easy to do).

Gentle A: People remain innocent until proven guilty, despite Bush/Blair attempts to the contrary.

I think this slip proves your story very well!

Best wishes, J.

[Guest_Toumai_*]

Hi James

Fran - sorry I don't have the time at present to tooth-comb this; but it seems very good and Nina has given you a first excellent and thorough crit.

No problem. I know you are very busy with your novel and other things. Thanks for dropping by and your comments on suicide and Tasers.

I took it that a Cat A was not necessarily killing someone else - rather simply not towing the state line?

A serious crime but certainly not necessarily murder (hence drug-dealing, embryo sale etc). But perhaps the prostitutes were defending themselves against a violent client? Grey areas, as always.

To Nina... "Tasers fire barbs that cause agonising electric shocks, incapacitating criminals."

Gentle Q: Now who is playing the same game as the media? :) (It is so easy to do).

Gentle A: People remain innocent until proven guilty, despite Bush/Blair attempts to the contrary.

I think this slip proves your story very well!

LOL, indeed.

Thanks, James.

Fran

[Cleo_Serapis]

HI Fran.

A very interesting sci-fi tale here! My favorite genre!

I read this in the car on the way home yesterday but do need to go back to my notes and comment further.

I felt the ending was a bit too abrupt for me, leaving me with questions...

The moral is FAB - politics always wins and those who oppose the "regime" will be 'corrected' via death. OUCH.

As for a title, somthing along the lines of "Justice (in the New Regime)" could work or simply "Justice".

I'll be back again soon when I unpack my notes and can spend some more time on it for you.

TTFN
~Cleo

[Cleo_Serapis]

Hi Fran.

I enjoyed the languages you used in this one, "he weren't a suicide" in particular is also a great opening. I suggest switching the first two sentences aroundas follows:

“He weren’t a suicide.” Belle Tarrant sobbed on Helen’s shoulder.

On a viciously cold February afternoon, Jack Tarrant committed a murder and was executed twenty minutes later.

“No, of course not,” Helen agreed, while inwardly sighing. Of course Jack was a suicide: no one set out to commit a Category A crime these days unless they wanted to die. The amazing thing was how many there were. The suicide rate was up tenfold since immediate punishment was introduced. “They said he was delusional,” Helen patted Belle on the back.


You have introduced us to a fresh setting, and the characterizations of 'Helen' and her questioning of the politics and Jude, who goes with the flow is a nice conflict. I envision this like a futuristic movie.

I felt the ending was too abrupt - not letting the reader know what the final outcome was, but we are left to imagine that Helen is murdered for not going with the flow, and comes to realize that the enforcement officers are human.

A few notes I made for you to ponder:

“Here we have two known addicts in close proximity. Al, on the right” – an arrow appeared on the screen, just to make sure Helen could tell what was right – “has just given something to Ben, on the left,” (another arrow).

“A triumph for democracy,” Jude declared, bouncing on the balls of his feet as though about to take a wild lap of honour around the offices.
I'm not certain if 'wild' is what you mean there? I offer 'disorderly' as a sub.

Instead of 'authorisation rejected' - how about 'denied' ?

I think wind-swept is one word?

"Central are is still operational," Jude said.

Cheers
~Cleo

[Guest_Phot's Moll_*]

two know addicts

- typo?

I liked the idea here, the system taking over etc.

Your main character is good, I like the way we follow her thoughts. Her reactions and feelings are convincing and bring the story to life.

A few things jarred slightly for me,

Red eye in the photo - it's already possible to correct this before printing pictures(if you take digital pics), in your futuristic world this seems out of place.

The 'drug dealers', if they're known offenders why manufacture evidence?

When you mention punishing those who sell embryos you use the word contraversial, I don't see why - surely that's a very serious issue?

I like the ending, I got the feeling that she gave up on this particular battle, but would continue to work for true justice.

[Guest_Toumai_*]

Hi Lori

A very interesting sci-fi tale here! My favorite genre!

Thanks, Lori. I'm not sure this is even sci-fi - too close for comfort, in terms of technology and inclination.

I felt the ending was a bit too abrupt for me, leaving me with questions...

Yes, I shall take it further ...

The moral is FAB - politics always wins and those who oppose the "regime" will be 'corrected' via death. OUCH.

If we let them, yes. 1984 is alive and well (as a fable, at least).

As for a title, somthing along the lines of "Justice (in the New Regime)" could work or simply "Justice".

Thanks; good names.

I enjoyed the languages you used in this one, "he weren't a suicide" in particular is also a great opening. I suggest switching the first two sentences aroundas follows:

“He weren’t a suicide.” Belle Tarrant sobbed on Helen’s shoulder.

On a viciously cold February afternoon, Jack Tarrant committed a murder and was executed twenty minutes later.

“No, of course not,” Helen agreed, while inwardly sighing. Of course Jack was a suicide: no one set out to commit a Category A crime these days unless they wanted to die. The amazing thing was how many there were. The suicide rate was up tenfold since immediate punishment was introduced. “They said he was delusional,” Helen patted Belle on the back.

Thanks. When I work on this again I will definitely add that to the ideas pile.

You have introduced us to a fresh setting, and the characterizations of 'Helen' and her questioning of the politics and Jude, who goes with the flow is a nice conflict. I envision this like a futuristic movie.

Thanks.

I felt the ending was too abrupt - not letting the reader know what the final outcome was, but we are left to imagine that Helen is murdered for not going with the flow, and comes to realize that the enforcement officers are human.

I'm not sure what happens to her yet. My latest draft has more of Belle and some history between the characters to add to the fun.

“Here we have two known addicts in close proximity. Al, on the right” – an arrow appeared on the screen, just to make sure Helen could tell what was right – “has just given something to Ben, on the left,” (another arrow).

Thanks. Yup.

“A triumph for democracy,” Jude declared, bouncing on the balls of his feet as though about to take a wild lap of honour around the offices.
[color=#3333FF]I'm not certain if 'wild' is what you mean there? I offer 'disorderly' as a sub.

I meant energetic, uncontrolled. Disorderly kinda goes with "drunk" here, so I'll pass on that but I'll try to think of a more suitable word.

Instead of 'authorisation rejected' - how about 'denied' ?

yes, that works well, thanks

I think wind-swept is one word?

could be

"Central are is still operational," Jude said.

Depends on if it is one orgainisation or a hive of people?

Thanks, Lori

Fran

[Guest_Toumai_*]

Hi Patsy

two know addicts

- typo?

Yes (oops)

I liked the idea here, the system taking over etc.

There is a fine balance between our need for government and our need for personal freedom. At the moment there is a worrying swing to totalitarianism - loss of civil liberties in the name of "safety" for society as a whole.

Your main character is good, I like the way we follow her thoughts. Her reactions and feelings are convincing and bring the story to life.

Thanks. I am glad she works in a rough draft.

A few things jarred slightly for me,

Red eye in the photo - it's already possible to correct this before printing pictures(if you take digital pics), in your futuristic world this seems out of place.

you are so right!

The 'drug dealers', if they're known offenders why manufacture evidence?

Laziness. An easy stich-up rather than wait for an actual situation. (It happens)

When you mention punishing those who sell embryos you use the word contraversial, I don't see why - surely that's a very serious issue?

Hm ... maybe i need to reword: I meant conroversial re the death penalty

I like the ending, I got the feeling that she gave up on this particular battle, but would continue to work for true justice.

Thanks. I shall have to see what I can do with her and omneity.

Fran