The Blurt of Richard Davies

Chapter Thirty Six

Despite the disorder erupting above ground the tubes continue to run. Our train arrives and I cram aboard with everyone else. Squeezed up; painfully so in my condition against the carriage partition, I can pause for thought. Soon will come the moment of truth; a calculated risk, but one I must take. If I want to leave the country I'll have to do it soon before my window of opportunity closes; and that means checking-in at the Eurostar terminal. If I've been placed on a watch list I'll soon find out there.

I arrive with ten minutes to spare. The announcements are already warning of the train's departure. That's a relief; my plan appears to be back on track. I wanted to arrive here at about this time in any case, not wanting to hang around here for too long in advance and risk being tagged. The Eurostar embarkation process is very similar to entering the LEZ. In a moment I'll have passed through the smart tunnel without incident, or alarms will sound, barriers will close, and my goose will be well and truly cooked. Well here goes...

Much to my surprise I pass through without any drama; obviously the connections have yet to be made. There before me, standing poised at the platform, is my sleek, streamlined escape from the Federation. Suddenly from behind me I can hear a bustling commotion approaching. Fuck it! I was so close to getting away! Then I realise it's not a belated chasing after me but a flustered group; yes a family - two adults and three children - rushing through the portal at the very last minute before it closes.

There's something familiar about one of them. I'm sure I've seen his face before, but at the moment I can't put a name to it. I could FacePop him if I really couldn't contain my curiosity, but I don't want to attract attention to myself right now; and I suspect that the well-built man accompanying them - no doubt a minder - would take exception to my doing so.

No, this isn't a family priviliged enough to be able to holiday abroad rather than at one of the rejuvinated seaside resorts who have arrived at the last minute to catch their train. From the small, lightly packed bags each of them is carrying, their apparent unaccustomedness to wearing obviously new Fedwear in the hope of remaining inconspicous, as well as their uneasily furtive expressions I deduce this is a mid-level Connie functionary and his family attempting to avoid being interned by the new regime.

So it seems I'm not the only refugee making a hasty exit this morning. I wonder how many other seats on this train would have remained empty had circumstances been different? How many of these nondescriptly dressed passengers, like me, have secrets to hide?

Exactly on time the train departs. As it burrows underground into the tunnel which will take it below London and out into the Kentish countryside I can allow myself a slight measure of relief. But I'm by no means out of the woods yet. At least being French-run trains and mostly reliant on their nuclear energy there is less chance of the Eurostars breaking down or suffering a power failure. Even so I won't feel safe until the train has stopped at Ebbsfleet International station, then passed on into the French territory which begins at the mouth of the Channel Tunnel. Only when we're speeding through the Pas de Calais will I hook my slate on to the train's HyperFi. I'll know I've finally made it if I can pass through the portal at the Gare du Nord without raising an alarm. Once in Paris I'll withdraw what I can from an ATM; then find a cheap, anonymous hotel to go to ground in and prepare my story. But I'm getting ahead of myself: First I have to get out of the Fed.

Before I know it we're slowing and the announcements about our next stop being Ebbsfleet are broadcast. This is the first hurdle; then there are the stations at Ashford and Dover where the train may be boarded.

This doesn't look good. As the the train draws in I can see a host of Border Security Force officers waiting on the platform. The doors at the end of the carriage open and a squad of stern-faced guards file along the central corridor towards my seat, not stopping to check any other passengers as they pass... Well I tried. I wanted to do the right thing and now it seems I'll be paying the price for daring to expose the truth. I hope they've not been able to trace and delete all of my cached timeblurts; in theory that shouldn't be possible as I've lodged a few of them in some dark spaces only I should be able to find. All it needs is for just one of them to activate, and for only a few of the recipients to take the message seriously enough to forward it on for the rolling snowball to gather momentum and become an avalanche of truth which will smother this deceit in its tracks. That's my only hope now.