Empire of Fashion

[Pleater]

Prologue

Within a gloomy warehouse men are hauling heavy bundles wrapped in cloth. They are carrying them on their shoulders up a ramp and dropping them over a rail into a huge canvas cylinder which is being packed by men using a sort of paddle to push them into the mass of bundles already swelling the cylinder.

From time to time the supports of the bag are adjusted so as to lift the as yet unfilled portion of it to the rail, and to draw the distended lower part closer to the far wall.

The work goes on relentlessly. There are men dressed in smart turquoise uniforms directing the workers. Although they carry no weapons their disapproval sends the brown clad workers scurrying like frightened mice across the floor of the building to fetch more of the bundles which are being brought from a delivery area with numerous bays. The delivery vehicles are horse, or rather pony drawn wagons. Each one has four or six rather unkempt ponies and the harness is of poor quality too, with worn out padding replaced with wadded rags, broken straps dangle. The little beasts stand with lowered heads. They have been driven hard, and yet they have had no care. Their coats are wet with sweat and they are shivering in the chill beneath the overhang, which casts its shadow upon them.

At last the wagons are all unloaded and the bundles are packed into the canvas bag. The men in turquoise order the men in brown to haul up the bag so it hangs horizontally in the air. When they are satisfied that it is positioned correctly there is a silence, and then a gentle susurration begins. At one end of the bag a blue green circle appears. At first it is not exactly aligned with the bag, but it rotates, and then in one rapid movement it traverses the bag, which vanishes as the circle passes over it. When it has entirely gone the circle stops, and hangs there for a few minutes. The ropes which held the bag now hang free.

The men in turquoise watch and wait. The circle sinks towards the floor, rotates until it is horizontal and then rises to reveal a white cylinder. The men walk towards it, and a door opens. They file inside and seat themselves, the door is closed. A man in brown garments rises from the top of the cylinder and jumps to the floor, then sprints away as the circle descends, missing him by inches.

The circle hovers for a few seconds, and then vanishes. Silence descends.

The workers turn on the newcomer and shout at him for risking so much to travel on the ring car. He does not argue, but apologises quietly. Eventually the men begin to leave on the wagons, leaving the newcomer behind.

He stands and watches them go for a few moments, then looks around to get his bearings before setting off across country at a slow but steady pace.

[Arlen]

Hmm.... I am reeled in.

[Splash_4]

Oh my, another adventure begins!

[Panache]

What fun!

Cheers

Jamie

[Pleater]

It was a Saturday in early spring, and I woke to the normal sounds of the MHICE stable block at weekends, which thankfully did not include the weekday sounds of the construction of our new research building.

It had turned out that the House and Rotunda were on the only areas of land within the grounds that could support such structures, and so the New Wall had been partly demolished and the rather pleasant area of woodland to the West had been partly felled to allow the lorries and machinery to gain access to the site. Unfortunately the road from the west had proven impassable due to the outgrowing branch of a large and very protected oak tree, and so everything had to approach from the East, past the House, which shook at the passage of each and every one of them.

As civilised living at the House was impossible, it had been closed, and the students sent off on various projects. As usual I had drawn the short straw and the other directors had departed for Australia or various ski slopes, or a cruise. During my solitary dictatorship I had decided that I would be absent for the entire month of April – if not longer. One of the technicians has shown a good affinity with the small animals usually my responsibility, and had already taken over the day to day running of the poultry yard, and was becoming very competent in the warren.

I am thinking of passing on responsibility for security to Ian McGreagor, as he already has the computerised part of it at his fingertips and it should not be too difficult to involve the rest of him – particularly the feet.

There is the added advantage that his father is able to distort time and reality, so if anything ever went wrong, we would probably never know about it. That was assuming that James Brown ever returned. He had not been seen around the place for some time and he left in mysterious circumstances, but perhaps he was simply as averse to heavy construction going on close by as I have proven to be.

After breakfast I thought about going out, up to the stone circle perhaps. Our usual neighbours, and regular passers by in case there should be some reason to call in, have been called away to conduct a war, and it is very quiet at night. Almost the sort of quiet where the man replies ’Yes, too quiet.’ and suddenly has an arrow in his chest. Not that there is anyone out there – that’s the point, there isn’t the usual surveillance and it is rather lonely. It did mean that areas usually off limits were now accessible, and I had already packed some lunch and filled up two water bottles when the postman delivered the mail. He pressed the bell to Morse out PCL – very fast, he being retired from Special Forces, and I used the new ability to open the gates remotely to let him in, and I could watch his progress caught on camera.

The parcel was my annual delivery of all the new items in the catalogue of a rather good plant supplier, but this year, instead of the usual easily portable box, I had been sent a fairly hefty container. I dumped the rest of the mail in the general office to deal with on Monday, and got a sack barrow to transport my goodies off to the walled garden set conveniently close to the stables, so it could, in former times, benefit from the products of the stable block. It is a well established garden, with fruit trees trained against the walls, raised beds of excellent soil, several greenhouses and a potting shed, and a couple of technicians to see that it stays tidy, but they do not interfere with the plants or seeds.

So eager was I to discover what was in the box that I did not change out of my modern Morrison kilt, but went just as I was dressed for my jaunt up to the stone circle, and even took my back pack along so I would not have to break off work in the greenhouses for lunch. The weather was still rather chilly, so I kept the plaid as well, so that I could happily look around the beds to see where there was space, as I have some perennials growing too.

I detected nothing at all amiss as I dragged the barrow across the cobbled yard and went through the wrought iron door, but I stopped suddenly as before me was not the neat and well ordered garden, but a wasteland of bramble, thistle and nettles. I looked back and saw that the stable block looked derelict, and the gate was rusty and one of the hinges had given way so it had fallen awry and immovably half open. The sky was dark, the air decidedly cold, and it looked as though bad weather was on the way. I could not get the sack barrow back through the gate, so I hauled it along the weedy path, past a collapsed greenhouse to the potting shed, which despite having one wall fallen out looked fairly stable as it was built as a lean too against the garden wall.

As I returned to the gate I became aware of being watched, and slowed down. The watcher emerged from cover and waited for me to approach. She was wearing Army uniform, ribbed jersey and green trousers, with the rank of Captain. She was also me. Rather slimmer, I noticed, and so did she. She grinned.
‘Hello. Did you bring me here?’
‘Not me.’ I declared. ‘I was wondering if Mister Brown might have something to do with it.’
‘Ah. I’ve not seen him for a while.’ She turned and moved towards the gate. ‘Let’s go and see if he’s at home here.’
I followed her, moving carefully around the rusty ironwork, and we walked towards the rotunda. We had not gone far when the Captain stopped and turned to me.
‘There’s a man in the shadows over there.’ She said quietly.
‘He’s moved – I think he’s one of us.’
‘Us?’
‘One of me’
She rotated and stared at the man. He was frowning at us.
‘Hello.’ Said the Captain, ‘was it you who brought us here?’
‘Not guilty.’ He declared, ‘am I seeing things?’
‘You aren’t seeing things that aren’t here, as far as I can tell. We seem to be the same person. You resemble my father.’
‘Is this something to do with Mister Brown, do you think?’
‘We were going to find out – this is getting silly’
Along the path from the gazebo came another woman, dressed in a blue gown and rather floppy hat. She clutched a book which was A4 in size but not very thick, and she looked rather worried.
‘What happened?’ she enquired.
‘No idea,’ said the man, not unkindly ‘lets go to the Rotunda to see if Mister Brown is there.’
She did not seem at all reassured by that, but we set off once more, and this time we reached the place where the topiary chessmen should stand. There were some rather sad looking bushes in this reality, and two men standing by the entrance to the building. When they saw us coming they walked to meet us.
‘The place is a ruin, open to the sky’ said the man in the pinstripe kilt suit. He must have gone to a good school.
‘You all wear kilts.’ I realised.
‘What else is there?’ they enquired.
‘Well – trousers is an option.’ I ventured.
There was an in taking of air which seemed to indicate that trousers were not considered suitable attire.
‘It is going to rain,’ said the woman in the blue gown. ‘We’d better find shelter.’
‘Perhaps some part of the House is habitable,’ said one of the men.
‘Let’s hope the natives are friendly.’
‘There might not be any. The place seems very neglected, it might be abandoned.’
‘Then why are we here?’
The man in black made a warning sound, and we all fell silent, listening. The sound of footsteps on gravel came closer.

[Pleater]

The wrought iron gate in the high wall which separated the gravel at the front of the House from the paving stones at the side of it swung open smoothly, it clanged gently against the stop.

I realised that the Captain and the man in the DPM kilt had both vanished into the shrubbery, and that three of the remaining four of us had drawn knives.

It seemed that the weather was conspiring in the drama, for it grew gloomier, and the wind blew raindrops into our faces.

A man looked around the pillar of the archway, and smiled, then stepped out onto the flagstones, his hands held out in greeting. He had to raise his voice to be heard over the wind.

'He said that he was going to try to get to the equipment and find someone who could perhaps help up. He seems to have suceeded beyond all expctations.' He beamed at us. 'Welcome to this continuum. I'm afraid it will not be at all like your usual situation, but we will do our very best to keep you safe from the fashion police.'

We were all staring, for we all knew of this man - at least in our own reality we did. Now we met him in person, but he was wearing such apparel as we never would have imagined.

He wore trousers. Cheap and nasty fabric, rather like poor quality curtain material, dark blue trousers and a jacket with fine stripes of three shades of blue. A white shirt and a dark blue tie the same shade as the trousers. His belt and shoes seemed to be made from black plastic.

The Captain and the man in the camo kilt came out from hiding and joined us as we chorused his name.

'Hamish?'

[Pleater]

We spent several hours in the depths of the House - it has seven stories if you include the belvedere - though in this reality it was no longer safe to ascend the western staircases. The ground is bone dry so there is no danger of damp, and the room we sat in was quite pleasant even though it was only normally accessible from the lowest celler level.
'In case of need,' Hamish had told us 'you can climb up onto the table, then onto that book case and in the corner there are rungs which enable you to climb up - it comes out in the sunken garden. It is checked every month, to ensure it is safe and clean.'

We were shown a heap of hand written journals - though some were simply pieces of paper sewn together - which dated from the last one hundred years. They gave information about the arrival of representatives of an organisation called Fashion Furs. They now ran the entire planet, and had distorted its economy and population beyond recognition, and perhaps recovery.

The journals gave the details of how economies had been undermined, governments brought down, officials had been bribed or intimidated to bring about the sad state of affairs which had prevailed for decades.

'Some of us were selected to visit the Home world, and to work there. We were told that it would benefit our families back here - and in a way I supose it did. I was one of those who went to the Fashion University, and I designed garments and selected the fabrics for one of the most powerful families in the Fashion business, until the Boss decided to put a grey fabric without any warmth with a rather red brown.'
He looked at us for understanding.

'But that would not look right at all,' said the Chorister, flapping the sleeves of her gown in agitation at the image created. 'Did he not realise that?'

Hamish sighed and shook his head, 'It was a woman, so I supose I should not have argued with the lady, but I persisted, as I was sure that she would see sense. That same day I was sent back here. They were not vindictive, I can wear the blue uniform and I have a small pension, but of course all the benefits to my family were stopped.
I could still make some money by hunting for furs here - but now - over the last twenty years or so, the light furs are no longer wanted. Our young men are now forced to venture into the far north to hunt a dreadful creature not native to this reality - there have been many deaths and maimings.
A resistance movement has developed, to try to combat the Fashion Furs operations here, and your arrival here is part of the plans of that movement. We want to drive these people from our reality and restore some kind of normalityl'

'But what can we do that you can't do yourselves with this evidence?' enquired the pin stripe clad civil servant.

Hamish gave us a spaniel look.
'You can tell us how we could live. You can give us hope for a better future.'

There was a silence.

'Tell us what needs to be done.' I said.

[Arlen]

This just gets better and better!

[Pleater]

Our lowly status as females actually gave us more freedom, and the office was on the mezzanine floor so one of me could watch the coming and goings, and make notes in the notebook. Paper and pens were not easily available.

Once we had begun the work we stayed late in the evening, and then we began to leave to eat dinner and then return to work. Although there was a night watchman the offices were never locked, as there were deliveries at all times of the day and night - presumably whenever there was room in a car boxes of papers were loaded on and then they were brought straight to the town hall.

Thankfully our work brought us better food, and we were given dark blue shawls in recognition of our usefulness. They contrasted rather oddly with the pale lime green coloured gowns which were now what we had to wear.

We shared a small apartment which was intended for four, but which we had to ourselves as there were no other women office workers. We even had a radio, and were woken each working day by the cheerful announcement of the time followed by happy morning music. There was no off switch, and the volume control did not rotate far enough to make it inaudible. As there were news bulletins and announcements from time to time we did not dare try to disconnect the speaker entirely just in case we missed something.

Once we were fairly sure we knew the systems, or at least what other departments did, we began to move, and to steal paperwork. We tried to make it as random as possible, and we put our shawls around our hands so as not to leave finger prints. About two thirds of the papers were put into wrong files, and almost one third was shredded small then put into a sink full of water and rubbed to pulp, then washed away. We were careful to include some papers from our own office, some from those already processed and some from the stacks waiting to be done. We used different washrooms around the building, and we waited for our sabotage to take effect.

It seemed that there was nothing happening for a long time, weeks passed, but we resisted the temptation to increase the thefts. Then, when the Captain noticed an alteration in the routine of the Golden, we decided to call a halt.

Two days later there was an almighty disruption as a small army of auditors arrived and we were all excluded from the offices.

After a couple of days we asked a supervisor if it would be alright for us to go home, as there was nothing to do, and promised faithfully to return in a week to see how things were going.

We were sent to the Hall of the Rings, to keep the records there.

I heard the Captain humming a tune as we waited to be assigned, and the Chorister and I exchanged smiles, though just why we found the Ride of the Valkyrie amusing I could not really say.

[Pleater]

The Hall of the Rings was being guarded. There were Fashion Police everywhere, armed with small automatic weapons and strutting about getting in the way.

The Hall was in use day and night, and from the records we were set to keeping we knew that for most of the time the transfers were done in only a few hours each week. It was soon obvious that there was something going on which was disrupting normal working. After overhearing a few comments it seemed that there was a rebellion amongst the wolf hunters, that a ring station had been taken over and several consignments of meals had been highjacked, so there were plans to do something to restore control.

The Captain heard that if not for the consignment of acryli-beast pelts expected from the high Arctic at the end of the summer hunting season, that 'the pins would be pulled' on this world, - which seemed to mean that the Fashion Fur personnel would withdraw and leave the locals to survive as best they could. That would be tantamount to a death sentence for most of the population, and it was rather chilling to think that it was most likely Hamish and the three male me's fault, as I had managed to listen in on one side of a phone conversation between two Golden, and the description of the kilts meant it could only be the Copper, the Civil Servant and the Chemistry Teacher.

'We will have to do something soon, or it will be too late,' said the Chorister. 'There is something going to happen tomorrow in the Hall of Rings, we have to be out of here by ten o'clock.' She waved the notice just delivered to our office by a sneering Blue Meanie. The Captain made signs to be quiet and went to the door in case there was someone able to overhear. It seemed that all was clear but she walked over to the Chorister and spoke softly.
'I'm sorry, but this is really making me feel ill, all the sneaking about and,' the Chorister gave a sob and felt for a tissue. 'If only we could do something, anything, so we could go home.'

The Captain put a hand on her shoulder.
'Tomorrow you can leave the Hall, and we'll stay and try to see what is going on. We'll probably have to stay overnight, and meet up again the morning after, if we can't get out unseen.'

A few minutes later we were called to help in making records of the arrival of several hundred people from the Home world. They had been sent home abruptly and with no explanation, many of them with only the clothes they were wearing. We took names and copied the off world ID cards they had, and then they were sent to the stations closest to their homes, after they had been issued with the latest grayish pink garments which were the latest seasonal alteration.

I had a sudden thought, and quickly acquired two sets of the new clothes for the Captain and myself. If the deadline was declared during the time we were hiding we would stand out like sore thumbs in our present attire. I held them under my blue shawl until I could lay them in the bottom of the box I was using for the records.

My heart skipped a beat when I saw one of the Fashion police approaching, as he might have been about to take the boxes, but he ordered us to take them to an office quite close to where we were working, and so we could hide the garments undetected.