The Blurt of Richard Davies

Chapter Thirty Seven

Saturday.

Shit! Is that the time? It's early on Saturday morning. I wake disoriented by my strange suroundings. I feel fucking awful and hurting all over, which isn't surprising given what I've been through recently. My leg aches and feels overly warm to the touch; I think it might be infected, as if I didn't have enough problems to deal with. If it gets any worse I'll have to find a services d'urgences to take a look at it, and risk blowing my cover. I'll try to postpone it for a while yet.

My catch-up sleep ambush has thrown my plans into disarray as well. Even in the era of constantly updated news some habits from the past still hold sway. There is always less happening on a weekend, so there are fewer staff on duty and more autosists will be running the 'casters I'll to contact. It'll be much harder to talk to a human decision maker who can give my story the go-ahead, and I'll be at greater risk of just being bounced around from 'sist to 'sist.

The other problem will be the amount of time I've carelessly allowed to slip past. It's quite possible by now the plotters would've taken steps to create a wholly ficticious election record they would claim and verify to be genuine.

My leg has stiffened again, which makes getting across to the bathroom a slow agony. Once inside the shower cubicle and peeling off the bandages it's clear from the reddening, weeping edges of the wounds an infection has set in, and is gaining ground; I won't be shaking off this one without help. I give it another excruciating scouring before dressing it. It's clear I can't waste time playing around at being a furtive whistleblower; today's the day I'll have to get the news out and then get my leg seen to by a professional.

There's no terminal or filmscreen in this bare little box; only the standard LibriFi. Here you're expected to use whatever device you have brought with you to connect to the world. I'll wait until I'm in the relative obscurity of a public 'fi area before I flick on, catch up with events, and start hawking my story; it's best not to use this node as it would be easier to trace it back to this specific location. Anyway, it's high time I took the Metro into the city centre.

After a late breakfast-early lunch I'm feeling a bit better, but my leg is still tender and puffy. I've settled into to a coffee shop and am using it as a base from which I can reach out to the world. So far I appear to be banging my head against a wall of disinterest; I find myself either dealing with 'sists or being told outright by low-level editorial staff that without further evidence and corroboration my story can't be taken seriously. It may well be an opening negotiating gambit but I'm not daft enough to give away the whole narrative at once. This is a gun loaded with a single bullet I'm holding, so when I fire it I want my aim to be true. I also get the sense the election result is something the semi-official French media has welcomed; <<Les Feds rejeter leur folie enfin!>> - The Feds reject their madness at last! is one of the more striking editorials I've seen today. If only it were truly so!

Catching up on the news it appears the attempted Connie insurgency has been brought largely under control, with few qualms about the mass arrests being voiced either in the Fed or here in mainland europe; it's just going unremarked as a something which needed to be done. Even after all these years and the erosion of so many of the liberties we once took for granted I find such a matter-of-fact indifference shocking. Am I the only one outside of the conspiracy who has any inkling of what is going on? Surely someone must have had their suspicions aroused, or some hint of what has happened have leaked out?

Further research discloses the person chasing me who was struck by the bus on Harleyford Road was pronounced dead on arrival at hospital. I don't feel any emotion upon learning that news; it was his decision to chase me, and if he hadn't involved himself in my attempted abduction he wouldn't have put himself in danger. It was his own fault, not mine. I've more sympathy for the moped rider who is reported to be suffering serious injuries. He, like me, was a victim of circumstance; I hope he recovers soon. Police are still appealing for witnesses to the events surrounding the incidents on the South Lambeth and Harleyford Roads to come forward; there's no mention of my name in the public reports which means either I've not been connected with the events or I'm being airbrushed from history; becoming a non-person who can be easily dismissed or disappeared without undue notice being taken.