Gaston Le Dratsab sat bent and furiously involved with his deleting machine, to his left was a large box in which he put printed sheets of poor quality yellow paper; these were for the administrator and it sat there as the only record of what had been deleted that day. To his right there were three black boxes stacked quite neatly atop of each other, the bottom two sealed with two strips of thick red masking tape, with the third box opened. The boxes contained what was to be no more. Around him in the vague gloom of the damp cellar other deleting machines could be heard, crunching some town, poet or religion out of existence. The operator of the deleting machine would take a piece of paper from the black box; upon this the operator would see the Cultural Identification number printed in thick letters, which the operator would type into the computer. The computer would then find all relevant sources relating to the number and slowly delete them, filing the references and relevant information onto a disk. The operator would then extract the disk and re enter the cultural identification number, which nearly always resulted in
ERROR! PLEASE CHECK AND TRY AGAIN, THANKYOU!
Appearing in infinitely large black letters on the screen these words always made Gaston Le Dratsab smile his sweaty lips wide apart, revealing a row of pure and sparkling teeth, to know that some town he would probably have hated, or some person who may have viciously mugged him or plotted against him was gone forever.
"Ha ha you bastards won't forget me
he would be heard to mutter sometimes in the thick dark, no one ever replied or gave any hint that they had heard these ejaculations of glee. Then the disk would be inserted into another computer that printed the information from the disk onto endless reams of dirty yellow paper. The disc would not return from the computer and the operator would never see it again; at the end of the day the boxes of deleted numbers would be collected and taken away; Gaston did not know where exactly they went, merely that the administrator may one day require them; after the printing was complete the screen on the second machine would simply request
PLEASE INSERT DISC, THANKYOU!
Which Gaston Le Dratsab detested, those words put a dread in his heart that he could little comprehend. For he knew at that moment that he would have to spend another hour deleting all references to some town or other and this invariably sent him into a deep sullen flunk.
"Those evil bastards, I will show them, can't work me to death, oh no
he would mutter shaking his fist at the vague ceiling above, before cracking on rather enthusiastically in an attempt to thwart those foes above him. The desk that Gaston Le Dratsab worked at was very small and too low. Thus sat upon his too high chair he always had to lean forward into his work and squeeze his long legs uncomfortably under the steel desk. There were four rows each containing ten deleting machines.
However on his way into work that morning, sat upon a community shuttle, spying the grey rain drops splutter against the thin windscreen glass. He had uncharacteristically overheard two short ugly fat women in black cabbage stinking shawls gossip about some trouble in the Happy Housing district the previous night.
"That's it you filthy bitches, disturb my peace this morning, don't worry about me who works all day, I'll get you back for this
thought Gaston Le Dratsab and a warm sensation swelled from his stomach upward reducing the affect of the outside chill upon is body; for on that morning the heating pipes upon the shuttle were not functioning
"Typical, they can't kill me by freezing me to death, no not Le Dratsab, not good old Gaston, I am too smart for them
said Gaston Le Dratsab keenly as he shuffled gladly in his extra pair of socks upon his feet. Upon alighting from the shuttle and giving one last revengeful glance at the faceless old women, Gaston Le Dratsab joined the impenetrable mass of dark grey, dark blue and blackly attired throng as it shuffled into a large space, which come Long day or Short day (as Gaston had named them) was too hot, the heating always seemed to be set to maximum, and the foyer with its too high roof always made Gaston Le Dratsab feel weak and awkward! Gaston rarely dared to glar up from the faceless hordes waitingly rather too patiently. He did not know why, but up for him and the many hundreds of people about him was something detestable.
Each door that opened up into the Task Applicator Foyer connected to a walk lane which corralled the workers into a single file leading up toward the many Task Desks. Gaston Le Dratsab waited in a great degree of discomfort for ten minutes before the black mass of steaming cotton before him was ascribed a task for the day; which came out on a piece of dirty yellow paper that jittered suddenly out of a thin letter box shaped gap set into the Task Desk.
"You look like a strong man (thought Gaston as he spied the tall healthy looking man before him) I bet it's the slaughter trenches of the front for you, so long healthy boy, you won't get me now
said Gaston Le Dratsab spying the ambling man before him with distrust. Gaston stepped up to the machine, typed in his Cultural Identification Number, glancing about him suspiciously as he did so. After a further ten minutes, a piece of paper suddenly spluttered out. It read
DELETING CELLAR! SECTION A! ASK AT INFORMATION DESK UPON ARRIVAL! ENJOY!
Gaston Le Dratsab smiled, for he had been in the deleting cellar for fourteen years now. He had been given many different tasks in his youth, every day almost it seemed to him that the Task Desk would splutter out some dangerous town to go to and some perilous job for him to do. Yet Gaston Le Dratsab had always liked the Deleting Cellar and he was glad each morning to go there. He mumbled away to a door behind the Task Desk happily. Clambering down the many small steps of the slim low entrance corridor that led to the cellar, Gaston gasped to see only seven of his colleagues had turned up for work.
"Lazy rat faced bastards (he thought in a moment of weary indignation) more work for me I see, well this won't stop me, no! I'll show them
he muttered under his breath, nervously carrying his bleak black satchel under his arm, and shaking a fist at the empty seats that confronted him. But he sat down, squeezed his too large legs under the abrupt steal desk and bent to his work with his usual furious glee. The crunching continued until his Joy Break, in which Gaston Le Dratsab would usually spend in the lavatories reading his papers until the appropriate klaxon sounded signalling he had to return to his desk. Yet today he sacrificed his glorious time alone in the lavatory to make some headway into the pile of work he had been lumbered with in the mass absenteeism of his colleague's.
For many happy months previously Gaston Le Dratsab's days had been unchanged. Each morning he would avoid the warm gruel scented and friendly aired canteen and the smiling people there in, who had also spent the night at that particular housing tenement. Grubbing wildly for the doors and peering fearfully over his shoulder at nothing or no one in particular
"Thought to snare me this morning did you, be my friend then garrotte me as I eat that slimey muck, tough luck to you sons of rat bitches
He would fiercely proclaim, proud and happy that once again he had outwitted his enemies. He would walk to the shuttle platform, through quiet and but cluttered streets. Use the community shuttle wait in line for the Task Desk and happily go to the deleting cellar. Where he would crunch many things out of existence until the klaxon sang to signal the beginning of Joy Break, and then onward until the Klaxon wined signalling that he had to leave the building. He would amble up the exit corridor, wait inline at the Exit Desk which would print out where he would be sleeping that night, with directions on the dirty yellow paper directing him to some apartment in a large community tenement, where he would enter the canteen early, eat and shuffle to find his room number.
Only once in his life had Gaston Le Dratsab slept in the same bed, in the same building, and this he put down to a computer error for it had not occurred again. The apartments were all rather similar, containing a Vision and Knowledge Console adjoining chair and a bed. Gaston Le Dratsab enjoyed the Vision and Knowledge Consoles very much.
"My enemies won't know what I know
he would giggle in the dark of the room as the bright screen flicked upon his too handsome face. For the entire data base told the eager inquirer everything they should ever wish to know. Gaston Le Dratsab would use all his salary points to print out reams of information, which he later read in the lavatory at work. This information was logged under his Cultural Identification Number and could only be printed out once; occasionally when he would sit to access the Vision and Knowledge Console, a message would appear on the screen reading
PLEASE INSERT ITEM 4b SERIAL NUMBER 34628735 'WHY THE WAR IS BEING WON' INTO THE COLLECTION TRAY BENEATH THIS CONSOLE NOW, THANKYOU!
Reluctantly Gaston would fish out the item from his satchel and place it in the greedy tray, which would slide slowly forward, receive the item and suddenly slam shut. Gaston never knew why the machine would request back information it had previously permitted him to print out at such expense, yet he complied naturally not through fear but simply because he had been asked to do so. Only once however had the console printed out a duplicate copy. It had occurred when he was younger, and had gone through a spell of admiring poetry. He had spent two months pay on 'Home' a poem by some man named Rupert Brooke it read
I came back late and tired last night
Into my little room,
To the long chair and the firelight
And comfortable gloom.
But as I entered softly in
I saw a woman there,
The line of neck and cheek and chin,
The darkness of her hair,
The form of one I did not know
Sitting in my chair.
I stood a moment fierce and still,
Watching her neck and hair.
I made a step to her; and saw
That there was no one there.
It was some trick of the firelight
That made me see her there.
It was a chance of shade and light
And the cushion in the chair.
Oh, all you happy over the earth,
That night, how could I sleep?
I lay and watched the lonely gloom;
And watched the moonlight creep
From wall to basin, round the room,
All night I could not sleep.
Gaston kept the two copies when to his joy he noted that his Cultural Identification Knowledge account had only registered one copy as having been printed, he knew it was a malfunction for it had not occurred again; also some years later the Console had requested that
PLEASE NOW INSERT ITEM 23pl SERIAL NUMBER 1913 'HOME' INTO THE COLLECTION TRAY BENEATH THIS CONSOLE, THANKYOU!
Gaston had obeyed but kept the second copy in his satchel for safe keeping, telling himself that no doubt the machine would note the error and request the second copy; and upon the request of the item it would be better for Gaston if he could produce it as oppose to destroying it himself. That had been the highlight of his early life, and he guarded his secret poem from all vague friends, of which all grew fainter and lost over the years.
Gaston went about his business in a contented mood for he was down to the final box when the Klaxon sounded. His computer went off immediately, and to his left and right colleagues silently began ambling toward the exit corridor. Gaston pushed his chair back and stood up in the dark, he could make out very little of the room, he stretched as the sounds of cloth and bag shuffled past him. Then picking up his satchel and gripping it close to his chest in both hands he manoeuvred toward the green exit light. He felt reasonably happy despite the fact his day had come to an end, yet eager he was to research the war when he arrived at what ever tenement housing the Exit Desk would allocate. Suddenly out of the myriad thoughts of burnt tanks, wrecked schools and missiles that exploded before launch; with soldiers yelping in dying agony as impressively winged Gaston whispered dark images into their ears, words of lascivious unfaithful wives with other men; out of this especially glorious and first rate day dream, Gaston who usually lurched and ferreted about with his head down caught the eye of a new face, she was young and she smiled. Gaston turned from her in a rage
"those bastards are trying to use women to ensnare me now
yet although he knew the dangers the same curiosity that tricked him into keeping the second illegal copy of 'Home' also forced him to glance back again, as they both stood waiting for some confusion ahead to clear up. She smiled again and looked as if she was about to speak, the horror of this eventuality, this indescribable intrusion caused Gaston to release a startling yelp, he stepped backwards into the dim cellar his eyes undulating with alarm in the murky sea green dark; the girl looked bemused but not afraid and she began climbing the exit stairs, with a final glance down toward him she was a few steps above him. Gaston glared out of small eyes at her lithe body, her straight young and strong looking back. If she had peered down toward him, he would have seemed as a boy, misplaced in a veil of unfathomable baleful confusion, vicious and yet imploring eyes staring back as she sashayed up into the light of the Exit Foyer.
"Bitch, give me some horrible gut rotting disease will she, I would sooner snap her flighty whoring neck, I'll show her what's what
he growled in the deep of his mind as he reluctantly plodded up the stairs cautious and weary. Out into the Exit Foyer, he joined what seemed to him to be the longest line and waited, he noted a few dozen police officers scuffling in a far off corner with some strange men holding placards aloft; no one else seemed to be too concerned so neither was Gaston.
Gaston looked at his yellow paper and back up at the machine, it remained impassive and unmoving. Gaston felt more than heard the irritation of the person behind him, so he put one foot forward and staggered toward the street. Peering back at the machine all the while, he bumped into a few men, but neither spoke so he continued out into the fading light street. It was home time, he knew this because at certain times when it seemed to rain more heavily and to be chill always in the air, with strong unfriendly winds and dying things, the day seemed not to last as other times; he had been aware of a vague reason for this, he had learnt in his youth, yet he merely took it now as absolute knowledge; it was darker.
Gaston sat in the community shuttle; knees tight toghether, head down and satchel safe in his arms. The lights across the roof were bright and he looked horribly pale when he spied out of the corner of his eye his reflection in the glass. The journey seemed to last which was unusual for it always seemed to him at least that the Shuttle service was especially swift; however he let this go out of his mind, the disturbance with the police and the girl he let go out of his mind. However the address on his dirty yellow paper perturbed him immensely.
OUTER CITY GARDENS ' SHUTTLE 23 ' NO CONNECTOR ' EXIT AT STATION - SILENUS FIELDS, DO ENJOY YOUR EVENING SIR!
Gaston alighted from the community shuttle into a strange and well lit station, carrying his usual satchel and feeling deeply bewildered. He paused momentarily as the doors closed behind him and the shuttle was swift away. Gaston seemed to feel none of his usual revulsion and peril; he stood upright and oddly brave looking in a strange place for his senses were dulled momentarily by the awkward beauty of the station. There seemed to be unattended flowers, left to grow without protection or a guard fence. The flowers looked heart wrenchingly wonderful in a little square red box filled with some dark mud. Gaston abruptly looked up to the pigeon free and well kept roof, he cocked his head to one side, his rodent eyes glazed with a veil of wonder and his hands let his satchel fall, for there was a strange noise being omitted from large and regular boxes strung along the wall of the station; it was not the type of noise the Joy and Worth klaxons omitted, harsh and brutal, sudden and shocking. But this new sound seemed to Gaston like the flowers themselves, he could think of no other description. He decided the music was like the sky, but not; a sky with flowers like the ones before him, but possibly not in a red box no matter how pretty.
"The music of sky flowers he said out loud.
-Hello! Said a women's voice.
Gaston was deeply proud of his observation and he could not find a reason not to be
"The music of sky flowers
he said again, ears to the music and his eyes upon the flowers, to sit so well and happy. Gaston took a tentative step forward, and it was not the presence of an odour that startled him, but the lack there of. The usual grime and oily stench of all the stations he had known all his life were startlingly absent, it was the scent of nothing that infused his nostrils with a painful freedom, he suddenly felt quite dizzy. He fell, yet not to the smooth clean hard floor but into something softer; his mind swam incoherently as he seemed to be supported and gently coaxed to a wooden apparatus that stood clean and undamaged beside the flowers in the red box.
-Are you Gaston Le Dratsab, how silly clearly you are, I know this must be a shock for you; but let me explain something of deep importance and interest?
Suddenly it materialised before his eyes, it was the same girl. Gaston now fully equipped with all his powers of hazard, dread and loathing immediately gripped the girl by the throat, she let out a startled wheeze, as Gaston now implausibly strong fell upon her, both tumbled from the bench onto the clean cool floor. However stronger Gaston was, she seemed to have some skill and manoeuvred so that Gaston was below her with his hands wrapped about her throat
"ha ha you filthy slut, I'll give you a game
snarled Gaston in a gurgling voiceless voice that if one heard from the bottom of some dirty stair or out from some long chill alley, it would seem incapable of uttering flowers only death, hatred and suspicion. Gaston suddenly felt a hard crack to his skull, and whatever he had in his hands he let go
"my satchel (he thought in a fading moment of clarity) I have dropped my satchel, those soiled urchins will take it, I'll show those dirty fat bitches he raged in his insane fright before all was dark and sleepy like.
