Changed times
Flash Fiction from the Vault
The dawning sun peeked over the horizon of a small English town, and a young man named Michael ran. His morning run took him through a former industrial site. Power instability and skyrocketing prices drove the local engineering company out of business. Michael cut through an empty building where plastic sheeting covered the large, opaque windows and flapped in the breeze. He pushed himself harder; a busy day awaited.
Energy rationing kept the streets dark until the designated period ended. Michael first needed to drop off his younger sister, Ruth, at school. He took his compact electric car across town, arriving just before 9:00 AM, as the lights flickered on for lessons. The hours ahead preoccupied Michael as he navigated the throng of parents and children. The car’s controls lagged, sluggish under his hand, and Michael didn’t believe the miles-left estimate. Something in the world felt wrong.
At work, Michael met a group of American investors in his family’s construction firm, led by an older lady named Anne. He steered the company car towards an urban parking garage serving the bustling high street nearby.
“How did you find the crossing?” he asked.
“Fair winds and two bright days helped the electric drive gain us almost a day,” Anne replied.
Business class now meant a bunk on a transatlantic “New Era Solar Sail Clipper.”
The shopping centre hosted a conference. Michael remembered fuller shelves and lower prices. However, the decades-long war in the Arabian Gulf drove up the cost of everything year on year.
The Global Commercial Foundation, or GCF, representatives made a startling arrival. The pod-like aircraft descended using proprietary gravity engines, resembling an egg-shaped spaceship. Two political leaders and their staff occupied it.
Michael studied the craft as it approached, a slow, measured descent to the ground. As the press thronged, an excited swarm, the air-car opened, panels unfolding like flower petals, an elevated platform for its occupants to address the crowd. The Leader grinned as he answered fawning questions from the reporters. The Foundation planned to bestow a major infrastructure project involving modular nuclear reactors to “favoured areas”.
Seizing the moment, Michael stepped up to the pod, slipping through the press. He listened, watched for an opening, and eased himself into the conversation. His thoughts and suggestions proved insightful, surprising many. He captured the leaders’ attention. Michael invited Anne to join him, and together, they held the ear of the power. Michael wanted a reactor for his town to enjoy 24/7 power again.
Hope rose as Michael treated Anne and her team to coffee, splurging a month’s rations at the GCF’s Venustag cafe chain. Michael approached Anne’s bodyguard, Ryan, an older man with salt-and-pepper hair, who shared his thoughts on the nature of his work.
“You know, if someone meant to get to my employer, they wouldn’t confront me,” Ryan’s tone sounded resigned. “They’d take a shot from a distance.”
Neither of them looked at GCF-branded security cameras.
“Thanks for the coffee; beans are like gold these days,” Ryan said.
“You can trade them.” Michael flashed a sardonic smile. “If you wish to get arrested for a code violation.”
The old soldier shook his head. “Hard times.”
“Make harder men?” Michael asked.
“The hardest choices.” Ryan pointed at the GCF air-car taking off to cross the world to the leaders’ next meeting.