Peter Hamilton - Manhattan in Reverse

63) In order to prevent the mistakes of the old country being repeated on New Suffolk, members of extremist political parties and undesirable organizations are banned from passing through the wormhole, as well as criminals and others I deem injurious to the public good.

Examples of prohibited groups and professions include (but are not limited to) the following:-

a) Labour Party.

b) Conservative Party.

c) Liberal Democrat Party.

d) Communist Party.

e) British Nationalist Party.

f) Socialist Alliance.

g) Tabloid journalists.

h) European Union bureaucrats.

i) Trade union officials.

j) Corporate lawyers.

k) Political lobbyists.

l) Traffic wardens.

Abbey was waiting for me at Liverpool Street Station. It was a miracle I ever found her. The concourse was overrun by backpackers. I’m sure there wasn’t one of them over twenty-five, or maybe that’s just the way it is when you’re looking at young people from the wrong side of thirty-five. And I certainly hadn’t seen that much denim in one place since I went to the Reading Festival in the early nineties. Their backpacks were huge , I didn’t even know they manufactured them that size.

I gawped in astonishment as the youngsters jostled around me. Nearly all of them were couples. And everybody had a Union Jack patch sewn on their clothes or backpack. I don’t think one in ten was speaking English; and under half of them were white. Ha, how do you like that, Murray? One of your big rules was that everyone had to speak English — and we all know what that implies.

Abbey yelled a greeting, and walked towards me, pushing her way aggressively forwards. She’s not a small woman and her progress was causing quite a disturbance amid all the smiley happy people. Her expression was locked into contempt as they flashed hurt looks her way. It softened when she hugged me. ‘Hi comrade darling, our train’s on platform three.’

I followed meekly behind as she ploughed onwards. The badges on her ancient jacket were clinking away; one for every cause she’d ever supported or march she’d been on. The rusty Pearly Queen of the protest nation.

Half the station seemed to want to get on our train. Abbey forced her way into a carriage, queuing being a bourgeois concept to her. We found a couple of empty seats with reserved tickets, which she pulled out and threw on the floor.

‘I don’t know where this lot all think they’re going,’ she announced in a too-loud voice as we settled in. ‘Murray doesn’t approve of poor foreign trash. There’s no way he’s going to let Europe’s potheads live in stoner bliss on his liars-paradise planet. They’ll get bounced right off his hole for middle-class worms.’

‘His restrictions are self-perpetuating,’ I said. ‘He doesn’t actually have lists of all the people he doesn’t like. And even if he did there’s no way of checking everyone who goes through. It’s pure psychology. Tell Tory tax-dodgers that no big bad pinkos will be allowed, and they’ll flock there in their hundreds. While the rest of us see who is actually going and we steer the hell clear. Who wants to live in their world?’

‘Ha! I bet the security services sold him our names in return for a nice retirement cottage on the other side.’

You can’t argue with Abbey when she’s in this mood, which admittedly is most of the time.

She pulled a large hip flask out of her jacket and took a slug. ‘Want some?’

I looked at the battered old flask, ready to refuse. Then I remembered I didn’t have the kids tonight. I wasn’t stupid enough to take a slug as big as Abbey’s. Thankfully. ‘Jesus, what the hell is that?’

‘Proper Russian vodka, comrade,’ she smiled, and took another. ‘Nathan went through last week,’ she said sourly.

‘Nathan? Your brother Nathan?’

‘Only by DNA, and I’m not even certain of that after this. Little prick. He took Mary and the kids with him.’

‘Why?’

‘Why do any of them go? The economy, sticking with their fellow traitors, blackouts, global warming, pay cuts, taxing the poor, NHS collapsing. Or in other words, the real world that everyone actually has to live in and try to make work, that’s what he’s running away from. He thinks he’s going to be living in some kind of tropical tax haven with fairies doing all the hard work, the dumb shit.’

‘I’m sorry. What did your mum say? She must be devastated.’

Abbey growled, and took another slug. ‘She says she’s glad he’s gone; that he and the grandkids deserve a fresh start somewhere nice . Can you believe that? Selfish cow, she’s gone senile if you ask me. And who’s going to be looking after her, hey? Did Nathan ever think of that? Oh no, he just sold out, took off and expected me to pick up the pieces, just like everyone else left behind.’

‘I know. Steve’s school is talking about classes of sixty for next term. The remaining governors have been having emergency meetings all summer, so I know how many staff have left.’ I hesitated. ‘It surprised me, I thought they were more dedicated than that.’

‘They would be if they were paid properly.’

‘The principal has to recruit another fifteen teachers before term starts, or they won’t be able to open at all.’

‘Fifteen? He wouldn’t have managed that many in a normal year.’

‘He said he’s quite confident. There’s all sorts of new placement agencies starting up to source overseas professionals for the UK. A lot of people are coming in to fill the gaps. Life’s going to go on pretty much the same as before once the exodus is over.’ That last was a straight quote from Gordon Brown last week. Damn, I so much want to believe it.

‘Great,’ Abbey grunted. ‘Just what we’re fighting for.’

Our train started to pull out of the station. The backpackers were squashed down the length of the aisle, nobody could move anywhere. There was a big cheer when the PA announced the stop at Bishop’s Stortford.

Abbey took another swing, and muttered: ‘Wankers.’

‘Don’t worry,’ I said. ‘If we ever get our own wormhole to a new world, we wouldn’t let any of this lot through.’

‘That’s the whole fucking point, isn’t it?’ Abbey snarled. Her anger was directed at me now, which was kind of scary. She gulped back another mouthful of vodka. ‘We wouldn’t want to have a new world even if we could open a wormhole. It’s a stupid waste of talent and wealth that could be used to help people here and now. We have to solve the problems we’ve got on this world first, starting with the biggest problem there is, that traitor Murray and his rathole. Colonization is imperialism, and the bastard knows it. We’ve got to teach people to have social responsibility instead.’ She jabbed an unsteady finger at a badge on her lapel. It was one showing an Icelandic whaler being broken in two by a Soviet-style hammer; but above it was a shiny new Public Responsibility Movement badge. ‘That’s what today is all about. Murray isn’t building him and his kind a new world, what he’s doing is ruining ours. You can’t just do that, just open a doorway to somewhere else because you feel like it, it’s fucking outrageous. When did we ever get to make that democratic decision, eh? He never consulted, never warned us. They’ve got to be stopped.’

‘You can’t stop people leaving,’ I said. ‘That’s Stalinist. What we’re not ready for is this panic exodus that the wormhole has made possible. Emigration to North America in the nineteenth century was slow, it lasted for decades. There was time to adapt. This is too fast. Two years, that’s all he’s giving us. No wonder the country can’t cope with the loss as it happens. But it’ll settle down in the long term.’