SHERIFF FATTY MILLSTONE had an adage that rarely failed him in his assessments of current events: ‘Whenever you believe you have solved a major problem, think again before it’s too late.’ Any other officer of the law who had personally contributed to the continued safety of the Earth when a conflict on the opposite side of the universe threatened to engulf the cosmos in a prolonged, destructive civil war might have spent his waking hours in self-congratulation and, in doing so, would have let down his guard.
Only the day after the good tidings arrived from Sogguth’s messages about the latest at the Universe Council, Millstone was enjoying a pint of bitter at the Cracked Bell pub listening to the banter of Crenshaw and Straight, the newshounds who never seemed to entertain an original thought. The topic of the day was speculation about the real meaning of the new exercise machines. The gentlemen of the yellow press had outdone themselves dreaming up fantasies to ‘explain’ current events. Now they were shouting at each other across the table with sidelong glances at the sheriff as if appealing to his wisdom to arbitrate their dispute.
Crenshaw’s point of view was simplistic but contained a grain of truth: ‘The software in those machines, if properly integrated, would provide a single control capability for the entire nation. What appears to be focused on individual health is potentially, upon instantiation, an invasive compiler of data at the community, the county, the region, the nation, and the world levels all at once. Without proper regulation, we could all become slaves to our machines.’
Straight sat up in his chair, sipped his pint and volleyed back his considered opinion: ‘My dear Mr Crenshaw, pardon me, but you are missing the most salient point altogether. You must ask why this machine has been endorsed at this specific juncture in the nation’s history. Thereby lies a story few in power would have the honesty to vouchsafe. By that I mean WAR! Tomorrow my newspaper will run a lengthy piece by yours truly warning the public of nearly forgotten events that led up to World War II, including the programs established among all the future combatants to make the people physically fit to be soldiers.’
Instead of rising to the tantalising bait, the sheriff yawned as if in boredom, signalled for Olive the waitress to refill the glasses of the pub’s patrons and studied the dark corner where the floor divided on its path to the two restrooms in the rear.
Straight was not easily dissuaded from his pursuit of a story, so he tried to draw out the sheriff by appealing to him directly. ‘What do you think of my theory, Sheriff Millstone? Is it not true that we have evidence that among the opposing forces of Germany and America, exercise programs were the first indicators of their intention to wage war?’
‘Mr Straight, you are treading on dangerous ground. To make your point cogent, you would first have to prove beyond reasonable doubt that a global threat exists. After that, you would have to find documentary evidence that the authorities of the major powers had formed mobilisation plans within which conscription would play a significant role. Third, you would have to produce evidence of budgetary allocations to support the plans you write about. In fact, you have nothing of the kind to support your fantastical speculation. I therefore warn you not to stir up the people with fears beyond their ken. Of course, if the evidence you cannot find actually exists in classified form, you would be in violation of the Official Secrets Act. In that case, nothing I can do at my level could save you from a long term in prison.’
Straight’s face fell as if it had been deflated. Crenshaw saw the devastating effect of the sheriff’s words on his colleague, and immediately he came to Straight’s aid. ‘You have to admit, Sheriff, that my contention about the violation of privacy the machines represent is true on the face. My friend Straight may have gone a bit far in his allegations, but I am sure he can wicker and tone his article to avoid the Government’s wrath whatever their intentions.’
‘Mr Crenshaw, please do not get in the line of fire here. I can fend for myself, and my editor is willing to stand by me as he is old enough to recall the events leading up to the last war. Keeping those memories alive could possibly avoid a catastrophic repetition of a tragic chain of events. If I am to be a martyr, I welcome the moniker. I understand the need to protect the people’s right to their privacy, but they also need to be told the truth about our security situation.’
The newshounds chattered for a while longer, but Millstone had heard enough to know where the danger lay. He rose and headed out the back door into the alley behind the pub. It was drizzling and a thick autumn fog was already rising. Fatty liked this bracing weather as long as the rain did not run cold down his spine, and he was so absorbed in his cogitations that he walked like a somnambulist as he made his way to the park.
Millstone knew the truth about the nation’s security situation, and he had struggled with the facts for weeks before reaching his conclusions about how to deal with the situation. Yes, his nation had woeful vulnerabilities. Yes, the health of the people had to be improved to make them ready for a war of indeterminate kind and duration. He sympathised with the Prime Minister, who had to manage the nation’s responses to insistent realities daily. Keeping a balance between equanimity and readiness was part of Sir Douglas’s job description, and he did well preserving that balance.
In the mist and rain, the sheriff almost walked into Dolly the village cow, who lowed at him and shifted her ground to get at the greenest, wettest rye grass on the greensward. Absent-mindedly, the sheriff picked up Dolly’s tether to lead her back to her barn for the night. No one else seemed to be walking in the park, and the sheriff thought he might be a symbol of a vulnerable nation needing to pick up its business and return it to a former status, only sketchily understood.
Fatty found Dolly’s barn and led her to her stall. He saw to it that her hay rick was full and her water trough was full of fresh water. He was sure to latch the barn door before he left to return to his tenement. Again, he wandered in a daze, somewhat confused about how to proceed. He figured he would go directly to the hot tub to relax. It was almost the end of the normal working day, and Sarah would be coming down to join him. The Prbzts also would arrive soon after their late high tea. Perhaps the PM’s amanuensis would drop by to save him the trouble of reporting Straight’s unsettling deductions.
Charles slipped into the hot tub, and it was clear he had a message for his father’s attention. ‘The latest numbers from Irma are heartening. The nation’s healthcare is manifestly improving on all levels. Dr Sarah dropped by to analyse the data three hours ago, and she will share her thoughts with you when she comes down to bathe.’
Fatty always felt better after talking with Charles, as he was the eldest among the clones. He was capable of understanding problems from many perspectives simultaneously. When others needed to sleep, Charles, like his father, could continue for weeks without rest and remain sharp. ‘One day,’ Fatty thought, ‘I shall have to find Charles a partner worthy of him, but if he should marry, I will miss his listening talents and his loyalty.’
Charles was curling and uncurling his tentacle. ‘I must mention Irma’s conclusions after her review of the data. She said it would not be long before the citizens realised the national importance of the new exercise regimen.’
‘That connects to something I heard at the pub today. What specifically did she say?’
‘It may seem prescient, but Irma is the Cassandra of my clone sisters, so she is liable to be right. She thinks intelligent folks will deduce we are using the exercise machines to prepare our people for war—but the people have no notion what the threat is, and they will become unsettled speculating about the matter. May I ask what you heard today that converges with that thought?’
‘Mr Straight, the tabloid newshound, has written a speculative piece asserting precisely what Irma has divined. It will appear in his newspaper tomorrow morning. His editor may want to tone down his thesis, but there is nothing I can do to prohibit publication. If I meddle, it will only indicate our sensitivity about the subject.’
Fatty and Charles soaked in the warm, soapy tub water with the water jets turned on high. The next person who came to the tub was the PM’s amanuensis. The sheriff gave the man a full description of the events of the day pertaining to Straight’s unsurprising surmise. Because of the urgency of this news, the amanuensis terminated his bath prematurely so he could report the matter to the PM.
Sarah and the Prbzts entered the tub next. She looked at Fatty and Charles with her practiced eyes. ‘I can see you have shared critical information. Does it, perhaps, pertain to Irma’s speculation about the health data?’
Charles decided to return to the Command Centre, where he spent most of his time. Fatty meanwhile drew figure eights on the surface of the water with his tentacle while he gathered his thoughts. ‘You know about Irma’s gifts, so you won’t be surprised that in the pub today, Mr Straight announced his suspicions that the exercise machines were rolled out to prepare the nation physically for war.’
‘Ouch! The newsman cannot have any evidence to support his intuition.’
‘Evidence or none, his tabloid is going to press tomorrow morning with his story. And I will have to deal with the consequences.’
‘Does the PM know?’ Dr Prbzt asked.
‘The PM’s amanuensis was just here. After I told him about our predicament, he hurried off to brief the great man. I would not be surprised if he came for a bath directly after he understood what was happening. Of course, he will want to work out a response.’
Trudy Prbzt, who was always quick to catch on, said, ‘Why not just announce that the exercise machines are part of a routine national security assessment and training exercises of many kinds will be involved in their use?’
Sarah thought about this course of action for a moment. Then she said, ‘Good for you, Trudy! When the PM comes to this tub this evening, you will present that idea to him yourself.’
Dr Prbzt said, ‘Don’t worry, Trudy, we shall be here to back you up. Training exercises cover a multitude of sins, but who can argue against having them? After all, the nation has to be ready for whatever will come.’
Fatty said, ‘Are we agreed, then?’
Sarah spoke for everyone: ‘Yes. Definitely.’
The bathers continued to relax until, as predicted, the PM arrived with his amanuensis. ‘Harumph!’ the PM said as he and his amanuensis entered the hot tub. ‘My amanuensis has told me all about Mr Straight’s intuition. The question is, do we have a retort? Sheriff, I am certain you have been working on this problem. What is our solution?’
‘The person who saw most clearly what we are to do is Mrs Trudy Prbzt, wife to Dr Ibngort Prbzt. Trudy, please tell Sir Douglas what we advise him to do.’
Trudy nodded to her PM and said, ‘Earlier, I suggested, “Why not just announce that the exercise machines are part of a routine national security assessment and training exercises of many kinds will be involved in their use?”' The young woman stopped right there to let the substance of her suggestion sink in.
The PM and his amanuensis leaned back against the side of the hot tub as they considered the proposition. Simultaneously, they knit their brows and nodded in agreement. ‘Thank you, Trudy! Your response is perfect. We shall prepare a statement I will read in Parliament at the opening tomorrow. Whatever the tabloids contain, the articles will not be countered and, in fact, they will be confirmed, but to the government’s advantage. I can hardly wait to stand in Question Time to address the subject of national vulnerability and the use cases we are going to deploy to remedy any discovered weaknesses.’
Fatty said, ‘It hardly matters that we have no immediate national security threat. We shall be proactive in thinking about future threats of any kind. Besides, in good health, our citizens will feel better and live longer than they would have done. I recommend that you mention the issue of privacy of citizens’ health data as a future election issue.’
‘Mr Prime Minister, I heartily endorse what my husband just said. And I shall provide the data you can publish tomorrow in the government record substantiating that assertion.’
‘Harumph! Thank you. You have all helped me out in a difficult situation. I must reluctantly depart as I have a late state dinner to attend. My amanuensis will remain here to receive the data you mentioned, Sarah. He will draft my speech for tomorrow’s Parliament meeting. I am very much relieved.’
The sensation made by the tabloids with Mr Straight’s surmise was dwarfed by the Prime Minister’s salvo about readiness and healthcare requiring active measures like the exercise machines. He presented the latest data from Irma to show the exercise machine regime was already working.
In the Cracked Bell pub on that drizzly afternoon, the tabloid newshounds were still arguing, but the PM’s speech had changed the character of their dialogue. Straight stood tall because he had been vindicated by the Training Exercise argument. Crenshaw’s concerns about privacy had been addressed in the PM’s address as an abiding concern of the Transparency Party and an issue in the next general election.
Instead of contentious, the pub’s conversations were constructive. When the farmer who owned Dolly the cow arrived to thank the sheriff for rounding her up and installing her in her barn, Fatty invited the man to have a pint of bitter on the house. Crenshaw and Straight wanted to do a feature on Dolly for their respective tabloids, but the man would not countenance anything that denigrated his animal. ‘The owner has spoken. May I involve members of the press that animal rights must be maintained in my jurisdiction? Olive, please fill everyone’s glass. This is an unusually thirsty afternoon. Gentlemen, a toast to Dolly!’ |
