Thursday 29 September 2011

Disasters and other experiments

The headline hadn't caught his attention, but the first line of the article had.  "Disasters and other experiments carried out by the aluminum industry..." it started, and he'd had to stop and buy the paper.  Then, knowing that he was now twenty-seven seconds behind schedule, he'd hurried up, pushing through the people trying to get to the tube-station, elbowing men, women and children aside, waving his Oyster card gracelessly at the reader, and half-running down the escalator.  He reached the platform three seconds ahead of when he normally did, so he stopped, arranged his tie, and then walked along the platform to his accustomed spot, where the train would stop and open doors right in front of him.  It was important to get these things right.
He read the first line of the article again as the train closed its doors and pulled away from the station, leaving behind the light and barrelling into the darkness.  The carriage shuddered, the lights flickered, and the wheels screeched against the track as it cornered, then it settled down again.  The article was disturbing.
Not least for the American spelling of aluminium in a British newspaper; he was aware that some misplaced sense of journalistic integrity had probably impelled the writer to keep the spelling the same as the report they were quoting from.  But the lack of a comma after Disasters – now there was as issue.
Because, as he was very well aware, a certain sector of the aluminium industry (well, aluminum, he allowed in the privacy of his head, because it was after all American-owned and -funded) was very definitely conducting experiments with disasters.  The public weren't supposed to know about it though.  Most of the people involved in the experimental disasters didn't know that they were part of an experiment.  Even the analysts who looked over the rubble afterwards, collected data and drew conclusions rarely knew that what they were looking at had all been carefully orchestrated.  Now and then an unusually percipient investigator – usually a woman, though they'd not identified why yet – would note that there seemed to be rather more data than she might have expected, or that surprising care had been taken in preserving records prior to the event.  But that was expected, and there was a protocol built in to each experiment now to deal with that.
He decided he'd prefer not to think about the protocols.  They were long documents, very carefully protected.  No-one connected with the documents wanted to find themselves answering questions about them, whether in a board meeting, a news conference, or a court room.  There were sections... entire pages, actually, in those documents that no-one was proud of.  That no-one actually wanted to have to carry out.  But had been on at least –no, he really didn't have to think these thoughts.
He looked back at the article and its damning first line.  The journalist would have to be found.  His grammar evaluated.  Possibly interrogated.  To find out why the comma that should have come after the word Disasters was missing.
The wheels of the carriage screeched again as it rounded another corner, and lights appeared outside the windows again as the train came into the station.  He stood, and exited the train, waiting for exactly two people to leave before him, and then overtaking them with quick, meticulous steps on the platform.  This was a reasonably high underground station and there were stairs to exit rather than lifts or escalators, and he took them two at a time, his long legs allowing him to stride up them without running or seeming anxious.  Appearing calm at all times was important.
There were people already at the gates to the tube station, and men dressed as police were starting to turn people away from the station approach.  The public were as always, mostly moving away with the occasional protest.  Foreign exchange students seemed to have most difficulty with the concept that the station could just be closed like that, at a peak time, and the British would simply locate an alternate route and wander on, thinking about how they'd present this importunation when they spoke to their family or colleagues later on.
He walked out of the station and checked his watch; exactly on time.  Behind him the gates rattled shut and he heard the click as they locked.  There was no outcry yet, the other passengers would still be looking to see what was happening and what they were supposed to do next.
He sighed, and made himself turn round.  He didn't want to, but protocol required that there was an eyewitness for this disaster experiment.
He waited, his fingers resting lightly on the dial of his watch so that he could feel the tiny pulse of each passing second.  Four to go.  Three.  Two.  On–

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