BDCEMF - Chapter Two

2

It was three years after the Mishap, a period in which the world was finally settling into its new regime, when Jeff Talbot, a mere Roustabout, walked into the wrong bar. Having secured a substantial bonus for tapping a new oil strike, Jeff was taking a well deserved break from the land-rigs. He had travelled to the nearest town to the Welsh Desert Plains in which he worked; a former industrial hub that now offered more pleasurable things to the discerning purchaser than vehicle parts and iron smelting.

As he walked down the broken asphalt road, skirting around prostitutes and crack dealers all intent upon selling their unseemly wares to the passing citizens, Jeff had noticed an inconspicuous doorway set back from the main thoroughfare. A broken neon sign simply saying ‘EAR- OF - -RE--‘ hung over the shadowy entrance, from which tinny guitar music and blue cigarette smoke spilled.

His ears pricked up as the unmistakeable bastardisation of one of his favourite childhood songs captured Jeff’s interest. With the bonus money burning a hole in his pocket, Jeff followed the distorted notes through the door and into a smoky tavern. With on long bar set to the left of the entrance, and a large Surround Sound video jukebox taking up most of the right hand side, Jeff felt funnelled in to a booth at the rear of the bar.
On a nearby table sat a small group of the new religious sect that had sprung up after the Mishap. Wearing the vermillion robes of their order, the members were huddled over the small round wooden table, playing a complicated looking card game for small brass tokens. Their religion obviously allowed the members to take indulge themselves in some sins, and Jeff couldn’t help but wonder what other transgressions were so easily forgiven.

Taking off his sand-worn leather jacket, Jeff counted out a number of small copper ingots from his pocket. He still couldn’t get used to this new denomination, having been brought up with coins instead of the cold metal cuboids that had been brought in by the New British Mint.
Sighing at his memories past, Jeff stood up from the table and walked steadily to the bar.
A heavy built man with dirty skin and long sideburns stood behind the bar, glancing up at a televised cage fight that was taking up one of the monitors of the video jukebox opposite.
Only noticing Jeff when he heard the clank of metal upon the scuffed wooden surface, the landlord looked his new customer up and down in a disapproving manner.

‘What’ll it be?’ grunted the barman.

Jeff pointed at a bottle of non-descript lager behind the smeared window of an old refrigerator. The barman mumbled a quick ‘Okay then’ and retrieved the bottle from its chilled container. Placing it on the bar, the landlord held out his hand for payment. Jeff pressed a few of the ingots into the barkeeps clammy palm and began to turn away.

‘You know, we don’t get many of your type in here these days...’ said the barman.

Jeff looked him straight in the eyes and raised his eyebrows.

‘Not that way...I mean oilfield workers.’ blustered the barkeep nervously ‘Seems to me that the demand for the wells has been drying up recently. Not that much need for oil now we’ve got the new power is there?’

Jeff merely shrugged and walked back to his booth, leaving the barkeep to mutter curses under his breath. Sitting down at his table, Jeff moved his jacket out from under him and drank thirstily from the lukewarm bottle of weak lager. Trying his best to ignore the wails and shrieks coming from the video jukebox, Jeff’s attention was drawn by the card game still continuing at the adjacent table. The members of the Nova Order (Jeff recognised the embroidered golden symbol on one members robes) were becoming increasingly involved in the fast paced gambling.

Jeff smiled to himself as he reminisced over the games he played with his colleagues on the oil fields. Long nights of boredom were broken up often by the games but, Jeff chuckled, he had earned more in that one strike than he would ever earn from playing cards.
His recollections were rudely interrupted by the door to the bar slamming open. A Guardsman of the new Regime was standing in the doorway, a Taurus semi-automatic pistol in one hand, a lead with a Doberman pinscher in the other.

‘This is a Regime inspection!’ ordered the Guardsman ‘Stay in your seats and present your ID Cuffs. We have reports that there is a violator of New British Ordnance 714/A in this vicinity. You will remain where you are until all scans have been completed!’

Jeff remained motionless as the Guardsman moved to aside to allow two small floating iron orbs through the doorway. Jeff slowly raised his left arm above the table and placed it down, with his wrist facing up. The other citizens in the bar did the same. Jeff sighed at how easily the populace had fit into this new routine. These inspections occurred on a daily basis and it was not rare to see chains of people being led onto a large Coffin Slab for transport to a local gulag.

The orbs floated silently through the air as they scanned the metallic ID Cuffs bound around each citizen’s wrist. One of the orbs was drifting lazily towards Jeff’s outstretched arm when a young man sat across the room from Jeff leapt from their chair and burst through a fire exit at the rear of the bar. Both orbs immediately followed behind him as the Guardsman barked a coded instruction into his radio whilst walking after them. The sounds of gunfire and screams followed shortly as the young man had been brought down by the trained eyes of the Guardsmen standing guard at the other end of the alleyway.

Jeff saw this as his opportunity to leave the bar without any further trouble and he got up to leave, taking his jacket with him. The last thing he wanted was a Guardsman asking him why he was in this type of bar when he was carrying so much money. This was the type of nuisance he was trying to avoid on his break.

Walking at a steady pace through the door, Jeff pulled his jacket collar around his neck as a cool wind blew through the street. Averting his gaze from the Coffin Slab hovering at the roadside, Jeff, sighing inwardly, began his long walk back to the hotel.