This Machine Kills (32 page)

   Their goal, when they entered each of the wings, was to head for the main control room where they could open all the doors to the dorms and free the residents. Perhaps more importantly for Taylor, they could also brighten the lights so he’d stop bumping into things. In the first two wings, the residents release had triggered the sort of reaction that had been expected. Unlike the men though, most of the females did not try to attack their captors once they were free. Apart from the occasional kick at the guard’s groins and a few volleys of phlegm directed at their faces, most of the women held themselves back with just the right amount of dignity.

   It was in the family wing that the celebrations had been particularly muted. Taylor reasoned this was because these were the people who had the most to lose. In comparison to the others they looked relatively healthy, with more weight on their bones and ruddier in complexion. Unlike in the single sex wings, where the tiny dorms slept up to twenty residents, it was one couple per dorm in this wing. The inhabitants were only there in the first place because they’d behaved themselves. If the prison break went wrong, these were the people who would pay the highest price.

   When the centres were first created, ClearSkies spent vast amounts of money developing breeding programmes that would provide them with the best workers for the centres. They tried to create designer babies, especially made to meet their needs. They wanted drones who could work for hours without their eyes straining and muscles getting tired. Psychological profiles were explored to identify why some people could embark on mindless tasks for hours and maintain their concentration, whilst others quickly lost interest. The more they tried to look for the perfect worker, the more the costs spiralled until the whole thing was threatening to become uneconomical; a taboo word in the ClearSkies dictionary.

   Taylor had heard that it was Milton himself who helped nip that particular problem in the bud. Instead of looking to the future and advances in genetics, the company decided to take a leaf out of the books of the ancient civilisations to get the best out of their workforce.

   Milton saw that past rulers didn’t get the best and strongest people to be their slaves, they recognised that as a waste of resources
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Instead they realised that what they needed to build their cities and temples was a large enough workforce to not have to worry about such things. If it took the deaths of ten thousand hungry slaves to build the pyramids then so be it; they knew there were plenty more where they came from.

   This was how the production centres changed their tactics. Instead of trying to create perfectly adapted tools for the job, they would just use what they already had until they were ready to drop with exhaustion. As far as developing the next generation of workers was concerned, they would simply let the residents of the centres become producers in more ways than just on the assembly lines.

   The promise of reproduction became the warden’s main bargaining tool in order to get the best out of his ‘staff’. If they behaved themselves and worked hard, after a few years the workers would be matched with someone from the opposite sex and moved into a couple’s dorm where they could have their own families. The offspring of course, would be the property of ClearSkies and part of the company’s next line of ready-made workers.

   The system worked amazingly well as it played to the human instinct perfectly. Once the women in the centres reached a certain age, most of their body-clocks would kick-in with a vengeance and the desire for children would overwhelm them. They were unconcerned with how suitable the men they had been coupled with were. All they wanted was to create a family; who the father was, became irrelevant. Likewise for the men, locked up away from female company, most of them were desperate for sex. Most of them weren’t particularly interested in the procreation aspect of it but if that’s what it meant to fulfil their body’s need, then so be it. At least they wouldn’t have to endure the children too long.

   Once the mother had given every ounce of herself in ensuring the child survived their first few years, the offspring would be removed from its parents. The child was then sent to one of the centres that specialised in the types of skills that children were especially good at (they were particularly adept at sewing, which required nimble fingers and excellent vision). The parents were then sent back to their respective wings, where if they behaved themselves, they may get a chance at rearing more young. If the children only survived a few years in the centres then it was no problem for ClearSkies. They had thousands of volunteers crying out to provide them with more of the same.

   With a small army now following behind, still not knowing what was in store for them, Spencer led Taylor out of the accommodation block and into the manufacturing sector. When the doors first opened he thought he had been blinded as the glare from the lamps pierced his eyes. Unlike the area they had just left, it was so bright in this new expanse of space that everything in it, the people included, looked like they had been bleached white.

   When the pain in the back of his eyeballs eased, he was able to see that he was standing in a huge building that resembled one of hangars he had seen at SecForce’s airbases. Instead of planes, the building was filled with numerous assembly lines. Thousands of people, who half an hour before had been busy enhancing the products that flew down the conveyor belts, now stood back from the machines that had ground to a halt. They were waiting to see what would happen next.

   Some of them were looking up at the figure of a man who stood alone on the mezzanine level. Leaning over the balcony, looking back at the blank faces that now stared at him was Jacob, or at least this was who Taylor thought it was. As his hood was kept firmly over his head, the figure’s face was well hidden from the curious observers below. When he saw Taylor enter the room the hooded figure beckoned him up.

   From the upper floor, Taylor could see better what was going on in the area below him. Of the three assembly lines closest to him, one was home mainly to men and was filled with large pieces of moulded plastic. On the second belt, housed predominantly by women, thousands of electrical components sat idly by. Positioned at regular sites alongside the line were large bins where the faulty or irregular pieces were thrown. On the third station worked a mixture of men and women. There was no conveyor belt here. Instead they worked on tables soldering what Taylor thought was microchips onto the electrical components from the previous line. Despite all the clues, he had absolutely no idea what they were making.

   Jacob stepped back from the balcony and looked to Taylor, “They’re getting restless, I think it’s time you told them why we’re here.”

   “Me tell them?” Taylor shook his head, “I don’t think so. My job was to get you in, which I’ve done. You’re the brains of the outfit, you talk to them.”

   “I told you before,” Jacob answered patiently, “they aren’t interested at what I’ve got to say. It’s you they want to hear it from. That was the reason we got you involved, or have you forgotten that?”

   Taylor inhaled deeply, “What would I say?”

   “Just be honest with them, that’s all they want.”

   He looked down to the crowd then back to Jacob, “What if they don’t buy it?”

   Jacob stepped forward and placed his hand on Taylor’s shoulder, “Remember what I said before we got here, I trust you. You didn’t let us down then and you won’t now.”

   Next to them were three steps that led to a small platform with a microphone in front of it. It looked like a church pulpit and must have been the place from where Richardson would offer words of encouragement to his workforce as they carried out their labour.

   Jacob nodded to the raised area, “Go on, it’s your turn now.”

   “Some of you may know me.”

   Taylor stopped to clear his throat. At least this time he had managed to get a few words out. On his first attempt, he had opened his mouth to speak but no words came out. He tried to step away from the microphone but Jacob, who stood just behind him, gently pushed him forward. Luckily, this temporary loss of nerve looked to the crowd like he had merely forgotten to turn on the microphone and was making the necessary adjustments.

   He stepped back up to the pulpit and looked down at the army of ghosts in orange jump-suits that silently stared back up at him. They looked like they were about to drop dead from exhaustion. He seriously doubted if these people, whose spirit had been crushed long ago, could help them at all.

   “My name is Taylor,” he said, “and for as long as I can remember I’ve been a fighter, or at least that’s what I thought… Before the uprising I fought in the cage.”

   There were a few murmurs of recognition from the crowd.

   “After that, I joined SecForce…” he waited for the boos to stop before he continued, “I went to Canada and fought against the rebels there…Then I came back to this country and instead of foreigners, I ended up fighting against the people in the Old-Town. My own people.”

   Even if he’d wanted to continue speaking, Taylor had to stop as the roars of disapproval drowned him out. It wasn’t just boos they were yelling either. The crowd were shouting the most explicit profanities they could conjure, at the man who stood above them.

   When the cries died down he started again, “I’ve always been a fighter…”

   “Fucking traitor,” an angry male voiced yelled at him.

   Taylor watched as one of Jacob’s men barged his way toward the perpetrator. He was about to grab him when Taylor intervened.

   “No leave him, he’s right.”

   Jacob’s man gave him a nod and backed away from the heckler.

   “You’re right my friend, I was a traitor. I was born in the Old-Town just like you, but I turned my back on it in the hope of a better life. I was wrong to do that just like I was wrong to think I was a fighter. A fighter is someone who goes into battle for something they believe in, not knowing whether they are going to win or lose. But for me, I always knew I was going to win. In the cage I was always better than my opponents and on the battlefield I was always part of the much bigger army. I knew I was never going to lose…”

   Even though some of the crowd were still yelling at him, most had quietened down as they listened to Taylor’s words.

   “But now, for the first time in my life I’m being a real fighter, and I’m fighting for you. I’ve realised that things need to change. That they can’t go on like this, with you living like slaves, making this shit just to keep  the City in luxury. It’s time to bring an end to ClearSkies’ rule and give you back the lives you deserve. It’s time we took the City back.”

   Some people were now cautiously cheering Taylor on.

   “But to do this, it’s not going to be easy. Freddie Milton and his men aren’t going to lie down and let you take what’s rightfully yours. They will fight with everything they’ve got to keep you out here, away from their riches… If you do what I ask and join me, many of you will not live to witness our victory. I want to make it clear to you now that not all of us will make it.”

   There was now a raised mixture of boos and cheers from the crowd. It was impossible for Taylor to tell which were loudest.

   “It may have taken a little time, but I’ve finally realised what should be done and I’m asking you to help me. Join me in the fight for your freedom.”

   From nowhere, a flash of inspiration struck him,

   “This machine,” he said, pointing at the assembly lines below him, “is killing you all. Now is the time to put an end to that.”

   As the crowd started cheering him on, he seized the shift in momentum. It was hard to gauge, but it sounded like the cheers were starting to dominate the room.

   “Don’t listen to him!” a female voice shouted from near the front of the line. Taylor looked down to see a petite woman who would have once been pretty, before the enforced labour had ravaged her looks.

   “It’s a trap,” she wailed, her voice far too loud for a woman of such stature, “he’s been sent by Milton to find out how many of us are willing to turn on him. If you say yes, they’ll just take you outside and shoot you. He’s a liar!”

   Taylor could hear the angry voices growing again amongst his audience.

   “Let’s say it is a trap,” he spoke calmly, knowing that arguing with the animated woman would be useless, “what’s the worst that could happen? That we did what she said and shot everyone who said yes to us?”

   His tone suddenly acquired an aggressive edge, “If that was the case I’d be doing you a favour. Surely being dead has got to be better than staying in this prison, working until you drop just so your kids can take your place on the line. Is that what you want?”

   He let the crowd absorb his words, “It’s up to you, your lives are in your own hands. You can come with me and change things or stay and rot in this place. You decide.”

   A man’s voice now raised itself above the noise, “What if we don’t want to do either. What if we just want to leave this place. Will you let us find our own way.”

   Taylor was slightly taken aback. Despite the obviousness of it, he hadn’t considered any alternative to his choices.

   “The doors are open to everyone,” he said, “if you want to go your own way, that’s fine. I don’t know what’s out there, outside of the Old-Town’s perimeter, but if you want to find out that’s up to you. We’re not going to stop you.”