Safe Enough!

 

    What is meant by “safe enough?” Safe enough where, here in the village, is that what is meant? And who, who is safe enough if someone is to be safe I wouldn’t have thought the village safe enough for anyone! Perhaps something has been hidden, if so from what, and why does it have to be hidden? And how safe is “safe enough?”
    “Tell me why you resigned” No.2 said from the comfort of his globe chair “that’s really all we want to know.”
    “If I tell you why I resigned I’ll be safe?” the prisoner asked nervously.
    “As safe as houses” No.2 said trying to sound reassuring.
    “In my cottage.”
    “Yes.”
    “I don’t know.”
    “You don’t know what?”
    “Whether to tell you or not” the prisoner said.
    “You’ll tell me sooner or later, sooner or later you’ll want to tell me.”
    “And I’ll be safe?” the prisoner asked.
    “Why did you resign?”
    The prisoner simply shook his head.
    The pair of steel doors opened and the slim figure of No.22 dressed more for Carnaby Street than the village, walked down the ramp into the purpled walled office.
    “Our friend here is not ready to talk just yet. Take him home and give him some friendly persuasion on the way.”
    “Yes Number 2.”
    No.22 helped the prisoner out of the black leather chair, and taking his arm led him across the floor, up the ramp to the opening steel doors.
    “And Number 22, friendly persuasion, no strong arm stuff.”
    “Yes Number 2.”
    Leaving the Green Dome No.22 escorted the prisoner down the steps, across the street, across the square, up some more steps and into the cottage.
    “Here you are, back home.”
    “Safe and sound!” the prisoner said.
    “And you will remain here” 22 told him.
    “For how long?”
    “Until you are ready to talk, all you have to do” 22 instructed “is pick up the telephone and call Number 2. Be seeing you.”
    “Not if I see you first!” he muttered under his breath “safe enough is it......we’ll see.”
    No.22 returned to the Green Dome.
    “I want you to keep an eye on our friend, 22, he might try and do something reckless, and we wouldn’t want him to do that now would we?”
    “Wouldn’t we? Reckless, what sort of reckless?”
    “I do wish you would dress more in accordance with village attire.”
    “I like to wear my own clothes, they make me feel comfortable” he told him.
    “You have been noticed you know, and one day I will no longer be able to protect you!”
    “Don’t worry about me, I can look after myself. And I’ll keep an eye on our friend Number 32.”
    “Good, safe enough!” No.2 said in a relaxed sort of way.
    “Why don’t you make him talk, once he’s told you why he resigned all the rest is bound to follow.”
    “You would think so wouldn’t you?”
    “He sat behind a desk” 22 said “he was never a field agent; he should be easy enough to break.”
   “But I do not want him broken!” No.2 told him.
   “Why?”
    “Because we are going to send him back..........eventually.”
    “Send him back sir, what to sit behind that big oak desk of his?” 22 queried.
    “A great many files pass across that desk, as well as all kinds of information, information we want” No.2 explained.
    “And the Colonel’s going to work for us, just like that?”
    “Well not quite just like that” 22 “but after a little persuasion from us and he will.”
    In his cottage No.32 sat thinking over his current situation. Basically he was a prisoner in a village that pretends to be a holiday resort; in a place God knows where and for no better reason that to extract any, and all, information from inside his head. Then what? Keep him here to live out the rest of his life in peace and quiet! Escape....was that possible, but how, and who can be trusted? First find out the lay of the land, get to know a few people, search out people’s interests, join in a little if necessary.

    The door to his cottage opened and a middle aged woman in a black dress, white filly apron, and a white sailor’s cap entered.
    “Who are you?”
    “Your personal maid sir” she said with a warm smile.
    “And you are here why?”
    “To flick a duster about the place.”
    “Does my cottage look as though it could do with a good dusting?” he said looking about the room.
    “I’m only doing as I was told” she said.
    “Who told you.....Number 2?”
    The maid looked insulted.
    “Don’t mind me, do what you must” the Colonel said “I’m going out.”
    And he did, he needed time to think. He wandered the streets and cobbled paths of the village aimlessly, until he hit on the taxi rank upon which an empty white Mini-Moke was parked. What’s more the key was in the ignition.
    In his office No.2 and his assistant were enjoying a cup of afternoon tea.
    “I wonder how the Colonel is” 2 said pressing a button on the control panel of his desk.
    The Colonel wasn’t in the lounge, No.2 pressed a second button.
    “Hello Colonel” No.2 said his voice carrying through the whole cottage via the black speaker.
    But of the Colonel there was no sign!
    No.2 picked up the yellow ‘L’ shaped telephone “Control room, the supervisor......supervisor I can’t find the Colonel, find him!”
   “Yes sir....scan” the supervisor instructed his Observers “we’re looking for the Colonel.”
   The Observers scanned the village, then out over the wide expanse of sand that was the estuary, the tide being out.
   “Supervisor a taxi is heading out along the beach, heading towards the outer zone” an Observer reported.
    The supervisor ordered Orange Alert then reported to No.2.
    Out on the sand the Colonel steered the Mini- Moke away from the village to the open beach ahead. He had driven quite away, and thought to escape would be easy. And then he saw it, a white sphere ahead, and heading straight towards the moving vehicle. As the sphere approached the Colonel drove straight towards it and watched as the balloon type thing bounce off the bonnet and up over the windscreen as the Mini-Moke sped away.
    The steel doors of the control room slid open and No.2 accompanied by his assistant No.22 entered, they stood on the gantry at the hand rail.
    “What is happening?” No.2 asked.
    “It’s the Colonel, he’s escaping in one of our vehicles” the supervisor reported “the Guardian chased the vehicle, and attempted to attack the driver several times, but being in the vehicle has made that impossible. We shall have to activate the beam sir.”
    “The beam?” No.2 asked.
   “The village electronic defence system” the supervisor replied.
    No.2 simply nodded.
    “Activate the beam” was the supervisor’s instruction.
    An operative at a control panel pressed a number of buttons in sequence. The top of the flagpole lifted up and a steel rod rose up out of the flag pole then tilted at an angle.
    “Beam maximum strength” the supervisor ordered.
    The taxi was a good distance away from the village by this time, and the Colonel thought he was clean away when the white sphere gave up the chase. But suddenly the engine coughed and died, the vehicle began to slow and ground to a halt. The Colonel turned the ignition key but nothing, the beam had disrupted the electrics to the vehicle. Then he saw the white sphere come rolling and bounding along, it emitted a curious noise the sound of a bicycle pump, crossed with someone breathing through an aqua lung, mixed with Gregorian chant. It slowed as it reached the stationary vehicle, and remained on station until the burly looking guardians arrived in another Mini-Moke to take the Colonel back to the village.
    No.2 and his assistant watched the scene on the beach play out on the wall screen in his office. As the Colonel was being helped into the Mini-Moke No.2 switched off the wall screen and he smiled at No.22. “Safe enough” was all he said.

Be seeing you

Out of The Village!

    The walls of the so called tunnel of love, where death lurks, is littered, or rather decorated, with a large number of white masks. I cannot help but wonder if these are the white death masks of the girl’s past victims whom she has loved to death!
    I am not saying those white masks are death masks you understand, its just they are suggestive!

Be seeing you

Further Tales From The Village

 

   People were once again “sailing” aboard the Stone Boat, well at least clambering about her deck, climbing the rigging and with one man at the helm, the ex-Admiral.
    The tall figure of No.2 leaned on his umbrella shooting stick, the old college scarf wound about his neck and shoulders. His assistant No.12 stood next to him behind the balustrade looking down at the quayside.

    “They’ve made an excellent job of the refit” No.2 said with a pleased expression on his face.
    “They have indeed sir” No.12 replied “I think the choice of a black sail was a good one.”
    “Oh you do.”
    “Yes sir.”
    “Why?”
    “Why sir?”
    “Yes why sir?”
    “Well it helps the Stone Boat stand out.”
    “Yes it does, doesn’t it” No.2 replied thoughtfully.
    Bunting fluttered in the breeze amid the rigging of the Stone Boat, but No.2’s eyes were on something not quite right about it.
    “Who ordered the Stone Boat to be decorated with bunting?”
    “I don’t know sir.”
    “You don’t know sir?”
    “I believe the instruction was on the worksheet.”
    “Who signed the job off upon completion?”
    “I did sir.”
    “You did sir?”
    “Yes sir.”
    “Why did you do that?”
    “Well I know you to be a busy man, I didn’t see the need to bother you sir.”
    “Oh you know me to be a busy man, and you didn’t want to bother me, that was very good of you sir.”
    No.12 stood quietly smiling to himself.
    “The bunting is one thing, but what about those flags?”
    “Flags sir?
    “The distress signal flags.”
    “Are they sir?” No.12 said in feigned astonishment.
    No.2 turned to face his assistant “You know damn well they are!”

    The pair of steel doors slid open and No.2, followed by his assistant, marched smartly into the domed chamber that is No.2’s office. No.2 propped his shooting stick against his desk and unwound the scarf. He picked up the yellow ‘L’ shaped telephone.
    “The works department……..works department, the bunting on the Stone boat I want it removed………never mind that my lad, just get it removed!” and replaced the telephone on the desk.
    “So what’s the game Number 12?”
    “Game sir?”
    “Don’t play the innocent Number 12; you know what I’m talking about.”
    “I don’t sir.”
    “The black sail to attract attention from a passing ship or plane, and then the recognition of the distress signal flags in order to bring help and possible liberation.”
    “You should talk to Number 66 the ex-Admiral” 12 suggested.
    “I’m talking to you!” No.2 barked out losing his composure, which he quickly regained “what do you mean the ex-Admiral?”
    “Well he’s always banging on about the Stone Boat and how she needed a refit. If it wasn’t for him……”
    “I see” No.2 said thoughtfully “and you think this old fuddy-duddy of an ex-Admiral added the flags to the bunting?”
   “No sir.”
   “Neither do I sir. But I’m bound by duty to find the culprit. What about this Number 6, would he be up for something like this?”
    “He might sir, except direct action is more his style, he’s attempted escape several times.”
    “And once it became clear that escape is not possible, he might try to attract someone’s attention and think to bring about a rescue. And if he were part of that work gang how easy for him then to help hang the bunting and send his distress signal.”

    Two men in dove grey overalls stepped aboard the Stone Boat, one climbed on top of the forecastle, while the other climbed in the rigging to take down the bunting. On the lawn of the Old People’s Home two men in black overcoats and Top Hats, wearing dark glasses sat at a table drinking afternoon tea.
    “Those two men are taking down the bunting” said one.
    “So I see” said the other.
    “It didn’t work!”
    “It was worth a try though.”
    Just then No.12 and two burly set men marched passed and approached a table at the far end of the lawn.
    “Number 6 you’re to come with us” No.12 said in an authoritive  tone of voice.
    “Why should I?”
    No.12 tipped the two Guardians the wink, and they pounced on No.6 tipping him out of his chair and onto the grass. There was a struggle and a fight broke out with No.6 giving as good had he got. But in the end was over powered and frog-marched across the lawn in front of the citizens, who abhorred such behaviour, to the waiting Mini-Moke.
   The pair of steel doors slid open and No.6 was manhandled into the domed office and set down in a leather chair. Behind the grey curved desk No.2 sat in a black global chair, he waved a hand and the two Guardians withdrew.
    “You can remain Number 12, I might need you.”
    “Yes sir.”
    “Well Number 6.”
    “As well as can be expected, under the current circumstances.”
    “I wasn’t asking after your health.”
    “What then?”
    “You have become suspect!”
    “Really, and what am I supposed to have done now?”
    “Don’t you come the old acid with me; I know what you have been up to.”
    “Which is more than I do!”
    “You stole a pair of overalls and cap, and joined a work gang working incognito with the refit of the Stone Boat, you helped rig the bunting, adding a couple of flags to the decoration.”
    “I did!”
    “You see sir” said No.12 “he admits it!” 
    “I should be careful Number 12; you yourself are not beyond suspicion just yet” No.2 warned.
    “Perhaps we did it together!” No.6 suggested.
    “There’s one way to find out” No.2 raised himself out of his chair and pressed a button on the control panel of his desk.

   The large wall screen came to life the picture showing a number of workmen working on board the Stone Boat. No.2 pressed a second button and the film went into fast-forward, and the refit of the Stone Boat was carried out in double-quick time. Then a third button was pressed pausing the action, the surveillance camera zoomed in on the two men busy decking out the Stone Boat with bunting.
    No.6 had been seated watching the action take place on the screen “Well that’s not me!” he declared.
    “Me neither” said No.12 quick to respond.
    No.2 stared at the screen “You can go.”
    “Thank you very much” No.6 said rising out of the chair “What no apology?”
    “Don’t push your luck” No.2 told him.
    No.6 walked across the floor, up the ramp towards the pair of opening doors, No.12 turned to follow him.
    “Not you Number 12.”
    He stopped and turned to face his superior.
    “Number 12 of Administration, you recognize the two men on the screen, it’s written all over your face.”
    “They are Top Hat officials of Administration” No.12 confessed.
    A general alarm was put out for the two administration officials, No.’s 128 and 213. There was a cottage set beyond the Old People’s Home on the extreme of the village built into the sea wall. At the foot of the sea wall was a sailing skiff, the two Top Hat officials had changed into swimming trunks, and now walked casually along the sand by the sea wall as not to attract any attention. Together they picked up and carried the skiff across the sand towards a deep water filled gully. They managed to paddle the skiff a short way as not to raise the alarm too soon before raising the sail.
   In the control room an Observer looked up from her monitor and attracted the Supervisor’s attention.
    “Let’s have it on the screen” the Supervisor said.
    A good strong breeze filled the sail sending the skiff along the gully and out towards the mouth of the estuary. There was apprehension on both the crewmen’s faces knowing their escape attempt would not be plain sailing, being only too aware of the danger which lay out at sea.
   The yellow ‘L’ shaped telephone began to bleep No.2 picked it up.
    “Yes.”
    “Supervisor here sir, there’s a sail boat leaving the village, they have almost reached the mouth of the estuary.”

    No.2 pressed a button and watched the boat sailing towards the mouth of the estuary and the sea beyond.
    “Tell me what visual range do you have out to sea?”
    “Do you mean direct TV transmission?”
    “Yes.”
    “Two miles, after that we’re on radar.”

    No.’s 128 and 213 were making good headway, but expected an attack by the Guardian at any moment. But the Guardian was conspicuous by its absence, and as time passed they began to relax.

    A small Motor Ship was on its way back from a night cruise, the first mate was on look-out and the boatswain was at the wheel.
    “Small sail three points off the starboard beam” the first mate suddenly called out.
   Instantly the boatswain turned the wheel to set the vessel on an  intercept course.
   Aboard the skiff it was 128 who saw the Motor Ship first, and drew 213’s attention to it. They began to shout and wave, and they leapt for joy as the vessel drew alongside. The first mate stood at the safety rail ready with a rope.
    “What do you two think you’re about?”
    “We’ll tell you once we’re aboard” 213 said.
    The first mate threw the line which helped the two men scramble aboard the Motor Ship. In the wheelhouse the boatswain gave each of the two men a blanket.
    “Where have you two sprung from?” asked the boatswain.
    “A village along the coast” 213 said throwing a blanket about him.

    “Where were you headed?” the first mate asked.
    “Anywhere you will take us” 128 told them.
    Below deck in the galley, a third crewman was busy brewing up a hot beverage he emerged into the gangway and climbed the ladder into the wheelhouse. The two men gratefully took a mug of tea each and drank deep of the warming brew.
    “Now” said 213 “if you can tell us where you’re headed.”
    “A small Village-next-the-Sea” said the Boatswain.
    “What?” 128 asked, suddenly he wasn’t feeling too good.
    213 stared at the mug he held him his hands, he suddenly felt woozy-headed. The mug slipped through his fingers, and he passed out on the floor. No.128 tried to get to the door of the wheelhouse, he managed to slide it open then he too passed out.
    “I hope you didn’t make it too strong” said the man pictured on the television screen.
    The chemist was busy checking the two bodies lying on the floor “No Number 2, the drug was made to exact proportions. They will be fully cognisant in time for their interrogation.”

Be seeing you

Village Life!

 

    “Would you say we we’re completely impartial?”
    “What, you mean in an official capacity?”
    “Yes.”
    “As Civil Servants?”
    “Yes.”
    “Well I would say we are completely impartial.”
    “Treating each new interim No.2 equally would you say, without showing favouritism?”
    “Without question!”
    “Yes that as well.”
    “Why do you ask?”
    “It just makes me wonder where they find them!”
    “How do you mean?”
    “You saw yesterdays Tally Ho.”
    “Yeeeessss.”
    “That article, you don’t think Number 2 was referring to us do you?”
    “Do you?”
    “An increase in vigilance indeed, we’ll be watching each other before too long!”
    “I should be careful if I were you, you never know who might be listening!”
    “Don’t you think Number 2 has become rather unhinged?”
    “Well he’s rather erratic I suppose.”
    “Do you think the security of the community is at risk?”
    “Only from within!”
    “Within the Civil Service you mean.”
    “Any Number 2 is only as good as the Civil Service which backs up his term in office.”
    “You know he’s become completely obsessed with Number 6!”

    “I heard he not only threatened No.6 with a sword, but that he physically assaulted him!”
    “A sword, Number 2 has a sword, that’s outside the pale of the law isn’t it…what’s he doing with a sword…I’ve never seen it.”
    “It’s hidden in his shooting stick!”
    “I thought there was something wrong with that shooting stick.”
    “Its certainly not regular village issue!”
    “So security is the word of the moment!”
    “Security is not a dirty word.”
    “I never said it was.”
    “Security is the responsibility of us all.”
    “Really?”
    “Security is our duty.”
    “So if I said I was going to put a bomb at the front door of the Green Dome you’d grass me up!”
    “Are you jamming?”
    “Jamming?”
    “Number 2 talks of Jamming.”

    “How do you mean?”
    “He said we know there are those who believe they can get away with their plots and conspiracies, jamming!”
    “Sometimes I wonder where they get these Number 2’s!”
    “Probably from within the Civil Service!”

    “You mean he’s one of us!”
    “I heard Number 2 drove Number 73 to her death.”
    “I thought that was Number 6, be fair, Number 2 hadn’t laid a hand on her, well that’s what I heard, that she didn’t leap to her death until she laid eyes on Number 6 when he went bursting into the room.”
    “Poking his nose in again I call it.!”
    “But with Number 73 having suicidal tendencies what was the hospital window doing left wide open?”
    “Are you going to hold an inquiry?”
    “No, I thought we might have a cup of tea at the café before the meeting!”
    “Good idea, with toast and jam.”
    “International.”
    “What is?”
    “Jam on toast for breakfast.”
    “I thought that it was Belgian.”
    “International!”
    “Here we are.”
    At the café they ordered tea with jam on toast.
    “Who eats jam on toast for breakfast? The waitress asked.
    “Its Belgian.”
    “International.”
    “Oh…continental!”
    “Whatever!”

Be seeing you

Knowledge Freedom Escape

 

    “Escape....escape to where?”
    “Through knowledge comes freedom to escape.”
    “What knowledge, and what price freedom?”
    “If I knew where I was escaping from, I might calculate where I was escaping to!”
    “Escape...how, do you know what’s out there?”
    “No.”
    “A wasteland that’s what, there’s nothing between here and the mountains, nothing for hundreds and hundreds of miles, in all directions.”
    “But there is a road, and roads lead to places, stands to reason.”
    “Reason, what reason is there here?”
    “More the reason for escape, you are a taxi driver!”
    “Me?”
    “Yes you.”
    “Look man I’m only the local service, I make local destinations.”
    “Good, then you can drop me off at the village shop, while you fill the taxi with gasoline.”
    “What do you want to go to the village shop for?”
    “Provisions!”

    “Okay mister I think this has gone far enough, if 2 finds out what we’re doing he’ll take my license away from me, and he’ll do worse.”
    “No.”
    “No, what do you mean no?”
    “You won’t be here, now drive!”
    No.232 drove his taxi around the village until he was flagged down by a man standing on a street corner.
    “Where to mister?”
    “Take me to the nearest town” No.37 said climbing into the back of the taxi.
    “I’m only the local service.”
    “Alright then, take me as far as you can!”
   The taxi driver took the main drag through town, then took a left at Conway and Brewster, a right at 54the street, and then he floored the accelerator out of town following the road out into the wasteland. This had not gone unnoticed by the Observers.
    The taxi travelled the road which stretched out for mile after mile. Driver and passenger took turns to drive through both day and night in the heat of the wasteland. Then......brakes were applied, the tyres squealed, rubber burned, the taxi fishtailed and finally the taxi came to a stop, they had run out of road!
    232 and 37 got out of the taxi, the road had come to the end at the edge of a plateau, and below the wasteland stretched out as far as the eye could see. 37 turned to look back from where they had come it was implausible to think they would have to go back to the city, then he saw a small cloud of dust.
    “The Guardian!”
    In the control room 2 and the supervisor watched via a camera mounted on a drone.
    “That’s a mile and a half mile drop” said the supervisor.
    “What are you telling me?” 2 asked “that it’s going to hurt when they hit the ground!”
    “I can’t go back” 232 said.
    “Neither can I, I’ve an appointment at the clinic I have no wish to keep” 32 said.
    “We could just sit it out in the taxi” 232 suggested.
    “For how long, they would simply send a team of guardians.”
    The two men looked at each other, both realizing there was only one way out. They were about to get back into the taxi when the drone hovered just above them.
    “Do not do it” the voice of 2 said “that’s not the way.”
    They stared up at the drone, saw the dust cloud was getting ever closer, the got back into the taxi, the vehicle reversed back along the road. The drone descended and hovered in front of the blue and cream coloured car. 323 engaged first gear and floored the accelerator and the taxi shot forward, the drone rose high into the air avoiding being destroyed in the collision. The taxi travelled at speed along the short piece of road, but then the wheels lost contact with the ground.

Be seeing you

Who’s That On The Telephono?

 

    Go on then….answer the telephone, intercom or whatever you like to call it! It’s nice to know that No.1 has been keeping your progress under such close surveillance, because once your failure had become apparent No.1 was on the blower to you a mere 21 seconds later! Oh I realize it wasn’t all your fault old chap, had No.14 told you that No.6 had opened his eyes and saw her even before the experiment had begun…..well you could have dealt with that. But she didn’t, and I bet you had no idea that when the good doctor went to the laboratory that No.6 followed her……you see. I believe by allowing herself to be followed to the laboratory No.14 was undermining you. Perhaps you should not have threatened to have the drug proved on her if she failed to get it right! You bullied and cajoled her, its no wonder she appeared to be pleased when No.6 succeeded. Sometimes I think the doctor used both the third dose of her drug and No.6 to put one over on No.2, to bring about his failure. Go on No.2….don’t keep No.1 waiting!

Be seeing you

Further Tales From The Village

 

    It was raining! It had to be admitted that when its raining in the village there’s really nothing much to do. No.16 wondered or not to make a dash through the rain to the café, but he put the kettle on instead. No point in getting wet unnecessarily. And no doubt even if the rain were to stop, the village green would still be too wet for a game of croquet. The cottage door suddenly opened and the maid came in carrying a breakfast tray.
    “What’s the matter with you?” she asked.
    “It’s raining.”
    “Yes, I know” she said taking the tray into the dinette.
    “You’re wet, and the breakfast will be cold.”
    “I’ve a good mind to report you” she told him.
    “But why come out in such weather?”
    “I have my job to do.”
    He picked up a slice of soggy toast out of the toast rack “To bring me a cold soggy breakfast, I applaud your devotion to the job, but I am capable of making my own breakfast.”
    “Now you’re simply being ungrateful, I thought better of you” she told him making for the door.
    “Aren’t you going to do the dusting, oh and my laundry wasn’t collected yesterday.”
    “Do your own housework, you’ve clearly nothing else to do” she told him opening the door.
    The door to his cottage closed. He stood at the window watching the maid dash down the steps and through the rain. In the dinette he made a cup of coffee and boiled himself a couple of eggs, and by late morning the rain had eased to a slight drizzle.

    By lunchtime the rain had stopped altogether, so No.16 decided to go out for a walk, and putting on his blazer he made for the door but his exit was blocked by two middle aged women.
    “Good day” No.38 said.
    “And what can I do for you to ladies?”
    “It’s flag day” 26 announced.
    It was then he noticed each of the ladies had a small cardboard box secured with a string about their necks, and each carried a clipper.
    “Flag day, flag day for what?”
    “We’re collecting donations for the building of the new concert hall” No.38 informed him.
    No.26 stood ready to pin a tiny flag to the lapel of his blazer.
    “Sorry” he said brushing passed the ladies “I’m not a concert goer!”

    Disappointed the two women went on their way, and No.16 went on his. He had descended the steps, reaching the road when a man bumped into him.
    “Sorry” the man said.
    “That’s alright, but you need to watch where you’re going.”
    “Yes I will” the man said and went on his way… walking backwards!
    “Oi”
    “What are you doing?” 16 shouted after him.
    “I’m walking backwards!”
    Ask a stupid question!
    Walking along the street he met with the ex-Admiral “My word, that’s a fine model you have there Admiral.”
    “Yes, the Titanic built her with my own hands, took me a few weeks but isn’t she magnificent, she’s complete with an electric motor.”
   He stood there examining the vessel “And what are you going to do with her now?”
    “Break her in half and chuck her in the free sea!”
    “She’ll sink” he said.

    “That’s right” the ex-Admiral said and went on his way whistling a sea shanty.
    He hadn’t walked far when he was almost run over by a chap riding a Penny Farthing bicycle. A chap in a peaked cap shouted “Get out of the way”, he did and the man riding the penny Farthing had lost control of the bicycle as it went pell-mell down the road. It was clear to him that he wasn’t going to make it round the corner at the bottom of the road. He didn’t. The Penny Farthing collided with a low stone wall and tipped the rider over the penny wheel and into the bushes. He ran down the road towards the accident.
    “Are you alright?” 16 asked moving the bicycle out of the way, and attending to the rider.
    “Yes I think so” the man said clamouring out of the bushes.

    “Why do you ride that thing?”
    “I have to, I’m the village postman!”
    He helped him to his feet and he brushed himself down.
    “You’re Number 16.”
    “Yes.”
    “I’ve got something for you” he said and ferreted about in his post bag.
    “Something for me?”
    “Yes” he said ferreting about in his postbag “here you are sir.”
    “It’s a picture postcard” 16 said.
    “That’s right.”
    “Who would be sending me a picture postcard?”
    “It’s from Number 2” the postman said “he says having a wonderful time, the weather is fine, going to the beach later. Wish you were here.”

    “You’ve read this?”
    “Yes.”
    “It’s private.”
    “It’s a postcard” the postman said “postcards are fair game!”
    No.16 turned the postcard over, the picture was of the pink and white Georgian house “What fool sends postcards to people here?”
    The postman picked up his Penny Farthing bicycle “I shouldn’t say that too loud sir; you never know who might be listening.”
    “You’re not going to try and ride that thing again are you?”
    “It goes with the job” the postman said “might I ask you if you know the way to Gatehouse Passage.”
    “I’ve never heard of it.”
    “Oh well I expect I’ll find it” and with that the postman pushed the Penny Farthing then mounting the bicycle he peddled off, wobbling about the road as he went.
    No.16 read the postcard, it was just as the postman had said, turning it over he looked at the picture of the pink and white house, which was through the turquoise wrought iron gates nearby.
    “Of course I sent you the postcard, when on holiday people send postcards” No.2 said cheerfully.
    “People who want others to know where they are do. Just a minute, you’re on holiday?” 16 asked.
    “Yes.”
    “You’re on holiday in the village?”
    “Yes.”
    “And you’re staying here?”
    “Of course, would you like some tea?”
    “It’s a bit grand” No.16 commented “Georgian isn’t it?”
    “Yes but only on the outside” 2 replied from the dinette busy making the tea.
    “So who is in the Green Dome?”
    “An interim Number 2, while I’m on holiday.”
    “You know ever since I went out this morning I have encountered nothing but eccentrics!”
    No.2 carried the tea things on a tray into the lounge “And you count me as one of those eccentrics?”
    “Where is he?”
    “Who?”
    “Your butler?”
    “Oh he’s in the Green Dome serving the interim Number 2, milk and sugar?”
    “Yes please, just a splash and two lumps. You could have gone anywhere for a…..no just a minute, whoever heard of Number 2 going on holiday, I’d have thought they’re never here long enough to warrant a holiday!”
    No.2 added milk and sugar and handed No.16 his cup of tea “Well quite, but nevertheless I intend to enjoy my holiday.”

    The grand pink and white Georgian house certainly looked its part set in its own private garden, and at the bottom of the garden, at the end of a long path, a pair of turquoise iron gates. And yet as he closed the gates and looked back, there was even something eccentric about it, because despite is grandeur the grand looking Georgian house was after all, a poky little cottage! 
    There was an archway in a wall on the opposite side of the road through which a middle aged man appeared.
    “Excuse me sir” he said.
    “Why what have you done?” No.16 asked.
    “Done, I’ve done nothing, why should you have thought I had done something?”
    “No reason. What do you want?”
    “I wondered if you can direct me to Gatehouse passage.” No.88 asked
    No.16 stood there in the road thinking, I couldn’t think of anywhere in the village called Gatehouse passage.
    A cyclist rang her bell to warn us of her approach, she stopped “Is there anything wrong?” the woman asked.
    “This man is asking directions to Gatehouse Passage.”
    “Gatehouse Passage, I’m not sure. I think its back up the road, through the first arch; no it’s not that way.”
    Two pedestrians stopped to help “What’s the problem? They asked
    “Gatehouse Passage” No.16 said.
    “Gatehouse Passage, Gatehouse Passage of yes it’s through the arch, across the Piazza.”
    “No” said another “it’s not that way, you want to do along the road, passed the café, no not that way. Look you need to go…….”
    Quite a crowd had now gathered all giving quite different directions to Gatehouse Passage.
    “It’s round the back of the Town Hall isn’t it?” No.176 suggested studying his map of the village.
    “No, if you go out of the village and take the first turning on the left……”
    “If you go back the way you came, passed the café and watchmakers shop….”
   In the control room an Observer reported a disturbance in the road.
    “Let’s have it on the screen” the Supervisor ordered.
    The large wall screen was activated displaying a large throng of people all gesticulating this way and that.
    “That’s vision, now let’s have the audio” the Supervisor said.
    The control room was suddenly filled with different voices all giving directions to Gatehouse Passage.
    “Alright turn off the audio. Gatehouse Passage, I’ve never heard of it” said the Supervisor.
   An Observer turned round in her chair “If you go down the road, turn left, down the steps, along the cobbled lane…….”
    “No you’re wrong” said No.20 “It’s that short path just after the pink Pavilion.
    “Surely not” said one of the Observers of the steel See-Saw “If you go passed the Labour Exchange, through the Triumphal arch, round by the bridge its just on the left.”
    “No you’re wrong” said No.20.
    “Stop” the Supervisor shouted suddenly “does it really matter?”
    “It does if you want Gatehouse passage sir.”

   Outside in the road it was at this point that No.16 remembered that none of the roads and paths are named in the village, so there was no Gatehouse Passage. So he left the crowd of people in the road, and went for a quiet stroll. Eccentric behaviour in the village is no better exhibited than by those citizens who promenade daily around the Piazza for no better reason other than to be seen. Unless it was one individual who stood listening to a loudspeaker of the public address system.
    “Do you hear that” asked the man in a striped jersey with his ear cocked towards the loudspeaker.
    No.16 stood still and listened “No” he said.
    “No, neither do I, see you soon!”

    Deciding to make for the Outlook above the cliff, No.16 made his way along the road passed the Green Dome, through the first arch under 12 Private, then along the road taking the narrow path to the right called Gatehouse Passage……at least that’s what the sign on the wall said. 
    It was a clear bright afternoon as No.16 sat on the wall of the Outlook, enjoying the view he had enjoyed so many times before. The tide was in and the late afternoon sunshine glistered on the water turning it to silver. Suddenly No.16 heard voices, he peered over the edge of the Outlook, but all there was, was a steep drop to the beach. Of the two people talking he could see nothing, they are in the grotto beneath the Outlook. Sitting quietly he listened to see if he could hear what the two people were saying. They clearly thought they were in the perfect place not to be overheard.
    “We must wait for the signal.”
    “Signal, what signal?”
    “When we see the signal we know they are on their way. They are our liberators.”
    “How do you know this?”
    “My code name is XB4 and I have a transistor radio. I’m expecting a message any time now.”

    The two voices fell silent, No.16 strained his ears to listen, he was sure that someone, probably XB4, was tuning in a radio. Then…

    “Nowhere is there more beauty than here. Tonight when the moon rises, the whole world will turn to silver. Do you understand, it is important you understand. I have a message for you, you must listen, the appointment cannot be fulfilled. Other things must be done tonight. If our torment is to end, if liberty is to be restored we must grasp the nettle even though it makes our hands bleed. Only through pain can tomorrow be assured.”

    The radio transmission was picked up in the control room.
    “That message, can we get a fix on it?” the supervisor wanted to know.
    The communications monitor triangulated the radio signal with two other monitoring stations positioned around the village.
    “Supervisor, the origin of the radio transmission has been located.”
    “Good, where?” the supervisor said keen to know.
    “Here….in the village!”
    “The voice” began the supervisor “If you were to ask me…….”
    “Ask you what?” said the interim No.2 from the gantry.
    “The voice sir, it sounded like a former Number 2!”
    “Really, how curious!” No.2 said.
     “Supervisor, Number 16 is climbing the Bell Tower again” a Observer reported.
    “Why does he do that?” No.60 asked.

    “Because he’s an eccentric” the Supervisor replied “no more reason than that, the village is full of them!”

    So no-one was coming! And yet from that day No.16 kept a keen lookout for a sign, a light, a plane, ship someone from his World. Daily he even climbed the Bell Tower which in itself could seem to be an eccentricity. Yet as 16 found, there are more steps leading down from the top of the Bell Tower than there are going up, and you cannot get more eccentric than that!

Be seeing you