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.

[Standard]

Good beginning Pleater, you definately have me hooked.

int:

[Pleater]

Hamish's expression was interesting.

It dawned on me that although in this reality there had been no Great War, nor any of the subsequent difficulties, there had also been none of the alterations in the position of women in society. The Captain, who was pretending to read one of the larger journals looked at me over the top of it and raised an eyebrow.

I was distracted for a moment - the hours I have spent trying to make my eyebrows work independently to achieve just that result.

The man in black - who was some sort of policeman - cleared his throat. 'I expect that the ladies will be of great help to us, we will have a great deal to organise, and there is nothing like the fair sex to see that everything gets done.' He had retained his black leather hat, and as he nodded in my direction and the wide brim partly eclipsed his face, he winked at me.

From this distance in time it is difficult to remember those first hours of being with multiple versions of myself. As an avid reader of science fiction in my youth I had, on a philosophical level, already considered all sorts of eventualities which had become real experiences.

I can only remember that it was not at all disconcerting, and perhaps it gave me some insight into what separated twins experience on being reunited.

I was rather surprised to see that all three of the men had silver hair, though the copper had a beard which still retained some darker hairs. It was logical, as my - our - father's hair had turned silver very early on. They were very alike - rather more alike than we three women. Apart from the beard the three men looked identical - had they exchanged clothing they would have been distinguishable only by their accents. The civil servant had good crystal vowels, the copper must have lived in the Midlands longer than I did, and the man in DPM was a part time soldier and full time chemistry teacher, with a northern accent.

We were saved from what might have been a petulant protest by myself as just them there was a tap at the door, and we were invited to go to take lunch.

The woman wore brown garments, a just above ankle length sack like dress with sleeves to the elbow. A plain white cap and apron indicated her position in the household was fairly low - I soon learned to read the hierarchy of caps and aprons. She came in and curtsied to Hamish, which we soon came to realise was entirely normal.

We went out through the lower cellar then up into the ground floor of the House. There was a room next to the kitchen where we could wash our hands before eating, and as I was the first to do this, I went into the kitchen - first of all to be nosy, and secondly to unpack my lunch, which I had forgotten about until them.

There were some twenty rather elderly women around, and they soon came to look at what I had placed on the long wooden kitchen table and exclaim over the different foods.
'Strawberries! I haven't seen strawberries in thirty years.'
'Do you not grow them here?' I inquired.
'Grow them? It is not allowed to grow anything.'
'There are no plants, anyway, so we could not even if we dare.'
'Well - if I scrape the seeds off these, then there could be plants - and if they were grown in the walled garden - who would know?'
They seemed unable to comprehend the concept of disobedience.
I quickly removed seeds from the berries, and gave the rather mangled remains to the women. There was about half a berry each, but they exclaimed over them, and a couple were moved to tears.

The housekeeper recollected the meal, and chivvied the staff back to the serving of it, and to the washing up from a meal already eaten - the staff ate earlier than the gentlemen, and I was encouraged to go into the dining room to join them and the others of myself so we could be served.

There were five men in the Committee to Overthrow Fashion Furs, as we came to call them. They were all related, for it suited Fashion Furs to deal with people who had obligations to eachother. With the loss of men in the hunting it was necessary for there to be a clan system, with older men and survivors as the heads of increasingly large groups of wives, widows and children.

We sat down to eat what was possibly the worst meal I'd eaten in my life up to that point.

[Pleater]

In the afternoon we returned to the underground room and the members of the committee told us of the various rebellions which had occurred, and of which they had some knowledge, over the last one hundred years.

We learned that in revenge for their uprisings entire nations and races had been removed to other realities, to places where Humans had died out. As far as they knew, on this version of the planet everyone had brown hair and brown eyes with a fairly light skin.

In the New World the native Americans hunted various types and colours of buffalo, deer and bear, Africa teemed with fur bearing creatures, as was probably the case in places further East - but they were a closed book to the Committee, places such as Australia and Japan were as remote as the far side of the moon.