From Cradle to the Grave

[Havenshire]

ALBERT REDMOND MEMORIAL HOSPITAL,
Thursley, Western Havenshire
April 25th, 1990

Darkness.
Then, suddenly, with a great push, there is Light. A mind dimly awakes. It feels cold, and there is a sharp pain.
SCREAM.

"Congratulations, Mrs.Morton. You have a healthy girl." The doctor says, passing the newborn to its weary, exhausted mother. She is almost too weak to hold the baby, but the Midwife carefully helps her. "Do you wish the Father to be present?" asked the Doctor.

"..Yes..tell George he can come in."
Anxious, George rushes in, still wearing his Foreman's overalls. He had rushed from work when he had been telephoned that his wife's water broke. The Union would understand.

Doffing his cap and stuffing into his backpocket, George approached his wife gently. His wife and newborn daughter. He smiled with joy. He had been concerned about wether his child would be born safely. He did not have much, but the State provided. His child had recieved the same care as any other child would, thanks to the Central Health Service.

"Would you like to hold her, Mr.Morton?" asked the Midwife, startling him from his reverie. "But...she seems so frail..." His wife gave him an encouraging, if exhausted, smile. "She's your's too George." she weakly joked.

Gently, he took the bundle within his arms. She seemed so frail and young. She was bawling loudly, though. He had read somewhere that this was a good sign. She also had a thick fuzz along her soft head. She at least would not suffer the male pattern baldness that he suffered, he thought wryly. "She seems so pure..."

After a moment, the Doctor asked if they'd like to be taken into the Recovery Ward. "The child will likely have to spend a few days here, recieve vitamin supplements and necessary vaccines...."
The mother nodded wearily. "Her name...we need a name, George."
George sighed gently as the Baby was lifted out of his arms carefully by a Nurse. "Yes. What about...Ellery?"

Beat. Beat. beat.
Her heart beat increases. At some deep level, Ellery is becoming slowly self-aware. She will not remember this moment, but George her father will recount it with happiness many years later.

She has begun her life as Citizen 22,479,065 of the People's Republic of Havenshire. Soon she will citizen 22,479,064, as a hundred miles away an 80 year old has a heart attack. Then she will be 065 again as another child is born, this time in Carnforth General. And so goes the rythym of life. All of this is recorded, filed, and forgotten by the State. A State that has shrunk and been rejuvenated by the policies of Emily Browning, Havenshire's first female Premier. Ellory Morton, firstborn to George and Martha Morton, is just another cog in a vast machine, a machine changing as it shrinks and grows. Her life is virtually insignificant.

This is her story.

 

[Havenshire]

In the Long Autumn of 1935, Fighter Robert Morton was only 16. He wore the simple black brimmer and a frayed khaki longcoat, the distinctive non-uniform of the People's Army at that time. The uniform was slightly too big for him, as it had been made for an older man, now dead. It was that kind of War.

"This is your Lee-Enfield Rifle. And these are your five rounds. You're a lucky man, Fighter Morton. Most people get just the rifle." The Quartermaster laughed. Robert sighed. He had joined the People's Army when they had come recruiting, back in the early summer, filled with passion and stories of the glory of Robert Clynes and his right-hand man, John Walker, the Red Labeller.

Now he was standing here, along with about a thousand other men old and young, about to storm Dunbarding Castle, a Rikerist stronghold. The Rikerists, they had been told, were pyschotic fascists and reactionaries, led by the Mad Colonel, William Riker. Their distinctive emblem, A strange silver triangle with a star-shaped hole, on a black background, flew over the 15th century fortification, which had been adorned with barbed wire, sandbags and Browning machineguns.

"Comrades, Fighters of the Cause, You are gathered here today to smash an enemy of the Proletariat!" shouted their leader, a Commissioner in a thick trenchcoat. "In this Castle are parasites, criminals, degenerates who want to smash everything that Clynes has built! The sweat and blood of Workers would be rendered yet more vain toil! Some of you think our real fight is against the Breotonians and the Royalists. They may be a larger army, but a tick can kill a sheep as easily as a wolf! We must crush these leeches, before they can grow any fatter off the blood of true proletariat!"

There was a roar of approval as the Fighters pysched themselves up. Robert had little experience of war, but he had heard it was a glorious endeavour. His experience over the last few months had begun to suggest to him it was, at the very least, deeply uncomfortable and often very filthy. Now he was to experience a real battle, at last.

"Onwards, Comrades! Take that Castle! It's walls may stand strong, but they have no portcullis nor drawbridge! The Gate is held only by sandbags and mere men! Storm forward and take this pile of stones! For Clynes! For Walker! For the People!" With a dramatic flourish, the Commissioner drew an old sabre, and began running towards the Castle. Suprisingly, Robert Morton felt the press of men around him follow. He quickly began running himself. The mass of men quickly began to fan out into the open space. Six hundred yards to the Castle.

They charged, screaming. Somewhere, distantly, someone was banging some old drums, the loud vibrations seeming to match the heartbeat.

At four hundred yards the Castle opened up. Machinegun Fire cut through the front ranks like a scythe through corn. Robert Morton's eyes went wide, as blood splattered across his chest. The man beside him was torn in half. He had never even imagined that such violence was possible.

"Keep running, boy!" shouted a voice. It was an older Fighter, with a beard streaked with Grey. He had a long scar across his face, and he carried an old Trenching Shotgun. Suppressing the desire to tremble, Robert simply nodded, and kept running.

At two hundred yards, they began throwing grenades, and the explosions quickly sent clouds of dirt and gore into the air. The men spread out even more. Those who stood and tried to take potshots were quickly picked off by rifle-fire from the Castle.
As they approached the old Gate, they realised the sandbag wall was much higher than it had seemed. On top of it there was a heavy 12.7mm Machinegun, its loud bursts of fire echoing off the stone walls. It blew the head off their Bold Commissioner, and killed the man standing behind him aswell. Suddenly this bold charge seemed like a massively stupid idea. Men began to falter, wheezing, and some turned to look back whence they came.

Truck drivers and handlers, who had seemed so cheery, were now standing menacingly on top of their flatbeds with submachineguns. There was no retreat permitted.

Something changed within Robert. He was not going to die this day. He refused to be another shattered body, leaking red into faded green grass. He ran forward, ignoring his own pain and fear, and picked up the fallen sabre of the Commissioner. "FORWARD!" He shouted, and, with a recklessness that would amaze him for years to come, charged the Machinegun.

Fate smiled kindly on him that day, and, after a further three hours of bloody close-quarters fighting, He emerged from Dunbarding, caked in gore, the Rikerist flag torn down. A mere five hundred men, fully half their starting force, had died to take the Castle. Eighty-nine Rikerists lay dead behind them, bayonetted and shot. Their Officer, a so called Star Captain, was being hoisted from the battlements now, to be hung in place of his offensive fascist banner.

"You did well, lad." Said the old man. "Maybe you should be our next Commissioner?"
"But...I'm only 16."
"This is a Clynesian outfit, lad. If the majority vote for you to take charge, yer will. But no, you're not ready for that yet. Still, feels good to be alive doesn't it?"
Robert nodded. "I know I should...feel shame and guilt for killing, but... they deserved it, didn't they?"
"Aye, lad, that they did."

==============================================================
THURSLEY STATE CEMETARY,
Western Havenshire
June, 1994

"What did Granpa do, Momma?" asked a young girl, with curly brown hair. Martha dried her tears, as the simple Black coffin was lowered into the ground. She clutched her young daughter's hand. "He was...a Hero, He fought for the people." She said, numbly. Ellory scrunched her face up, and was about to ask another question, when the Music began to play.

It was a long mournful note. A Bagpiper, she would later learn they were called, began to play Flowers of the Forest. Something about the sound captured her child-mind, and she no longer wanted to ask questions. For the time being at anyrate. Granpa had always been a distant influence in her formative years, a big crinklyface with a whitebeard. It seemed strange that they'd put him in a box. Did he do something really, really bad?

The Funeral was well attended. Over a hundred people were there, not just from the extended Morton family, but from over two dozen other families. Other, old men were there aswell. "For the Old Commissioner." They said. They wore funny old clothes, simple black uniforms and widebrimmed hats. When the music stopped, and the Coffin was fully in the ground, They raised their old, worn rifles, and fired off a salute, breaking the still air. The noise startled and scared Ellory, who clung to her mother's leg.

It was a memory that would stay strong in her mind, far into her adult years. Later she would wonder, when she herself was sixteen, what it must have been like for that man, to charge a Castle with nothing but a sabre and a rifle with five rounds, to overcome his fear and the odds and to kill a dozen other men. She would even dream about the Castle, having seen it in pictures and films, and imagine doing the same herself. It was that commitment which would haunt her.

But for now, it was simply a strange odd tableaux, of black and sombreness beneath a Blue sky. Later there would be cake.

Later still, a Simple, Black Slab was placed carefully above the now covered grave. It read simply "Robert Morton, 1919-1994. Fighter and Foreman, Loved by all."

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[Havenshire]

Thursley, Western Havenshire
January, 1995

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The snow was thick on the ground, crunching underfoot with heavy resonance. Ellory wore bright pink wellington boots, and a thick purple coat that muffled her, making her feel much heavier than her young form would bely. Winter's Eve had come and gone, and her family were still groggy from the New Year's celebrations. She had sipped a little sherry, and found it disgusting, a revulsion which would carry far into her adult years.

She crunched about in the allotments, the large space behind the long terraced houses that her family were a part of. Like every family in Thursley and other small communities in Havenshire, they were given some space in a communal green area, to grow vegetables and fruits and herbs. But now, the ground lay fallow, covered in a thin blanket of snow, and perfect for children like Ellory to play upon.

These would be part of her happiest years. Her father was doing well at the Factory, and had bought a Television for the family to view, instead of sharing one with the other two families who lived in their shared house. Her mother was also moving up in the world, having given birth to a son, she now qualified for State family support, and was planning on using the money to send Ellory to school in the Spring. Ellory wasn't sure if she wanted to go to this school, as she had heard scary rumours about it in Playgroup.

For now, though, she was entranced by the colour pictures on the new television, which included such shows as The Klankers, Ragpuss and Tamberwick Green. Her parents would often chide her for spending hours in front of the screen, entranced by these cartoons. But they did so gently, secretly envious and proud of their daughter, enjoying a childhood still, when in their day, in the grim 70s, even at her young age they were being prepared for work. But now, thanks to the Market reforms, the Mortons were beginning to enjoy the fruits of their labour. The Socialist Dawn had come at last.

Playing in the snow, she spotted a group of boys building a snowman. They had built the bottom, and were now heaving up a heavy block of snow for its torso. "Ooh that looks fun, can I help?" She said.

"No, your a girl, go away." Said one boy rudely. He wore a red scarf and had curly brown hair. His mean words struck at her, but she resisted the instinct to cry. Instead she simply puffed out her cheeks, and blew a raspberry at them. "Fine, then. I'll go make my own snowman!" she shouted, and ran off.

She began furiously grabbing handfuls of snow in a corner, and piling them into a damp pile, tears at her eyes. She would go her own way, and to hell with boys.

A small cough from behind her. It was one of the boys from earlier. He wore a flat-cap, and had horn-rimmed spectacles too big for his eyes. He had short, chopped brown hair, and wore a brown jumper. "Can I...Can I help?" he said, in a wheedly voice. He seemed to be shivering in the cold.
Ellory was about to say something mean, but then remembered how she had felt, and decided she didnt want to be like those other, older boys.
"Sure." She said brightly, her anger fading quickly.
"Name's Ellory Morton, by the way."
"Um...Jim. Jim Hake." the boy said.

As they built the snowman, other kids, mostly younger or weaker, began to accumulate, and Ellory found herself trying to organise them all. For some reason, even though she was younger than some of them, they looked up to her, and naturally followed her lead.

Watching them all from a distance was a middle-aged man in a dark brown coat and with thick spectacles. He smiled, and made a note of what was occurring. He was one of the Teachers at the Community Primary school, and he had been meticulously trained to identify marks of character in developing children, and nurture it. Unlike many other countries, Havenshire invested huge amounts of resources in Education, especially the crucial 5-9 period. It was believed that the seeds of later criminality were sowed in this age range, and that if a child was not guided and directed towards maximising their own potential, they would eventually chafe and rebel against the system, seeking to prove themselves through wasteful acts of sabotage or disunity.

His name was Mr.Sharpe, and he would soon become very interested in this young girl with a knack for leadership...

 

[Havenshire]

March, 1997

It was late spring, and Ellory's third year of formal schooling was about to begin. She had initially found it difficult to adjust to, unfamiliar with the somewhat artifical enviroment that school consisted of. At first she resisted being told what to do by strangers who weren't her family, but she had quickly adapted once she had been sent to the naughty corner a number of times. Boredom quickly trumped her resistance, and she soon found the challenge of learning how to read and write exciting. There was something innately mysterious about the letters and the way you could assemble them, like the blocks she had played with as a baby. Ellory later found that it was difficult to make friends with the other girls, as they liked to talk about dolls and playing house and baking cakes and riding ponies. Ellory had had no such gendering in her upbringing. For whatever reason, her parents had given her stories, toy soldiers, paper and crayons and lego blocks, which had stimulated her inner creative side.

Now as she prepared to begin her 1st day in Year 3 of schooling, she found that she was actually looking forward to it. This year she would start History, Social Studies and her first lessons in a Foreign Language. She hadn't known which to pick, so her mother had ticked a box at random for her. Apparently she was to begin studying Germanic, whatever that was.

As she filed in to her homeclass, she made note of new faces, and said hello to old ones, including Jim Hake, her oldest and bestest friend. He was a shy boy, and seemed to do poorly in physical education classes. She had tried to encourage him to stand up to his frequent bullies, but sometimes he had lashed out at her. She found boys immensely frustrating and complex, and didn't like it when they said she was his girlfriend. She didn't know why she didnt like it, but she hated the way they said it.

To her suprise, she recognised her home tutor, though she wasn't sure why.
"Good Morning, children. I'm Mr.Sharpe. I will be your learning supervisor this year, and your home teacher. That means that if any of you slack off classes, it'll be me writing letters to your parents!" He was a tall man, with clever eyes, and dark black hair. He wore the black formal crisp suit that she had come to expect all teachers, regardless of gender, to wear. However, he had a polka-dot hankerchief poking out of the breast pocket, which clashed with the sombreness of his outward appearance, hinting at mischief.
"Of course, that also means that those of you who do well, will also be getting not only more classes you like, but sweets aswell!" He produced a battered metal tin which had the word RATIONS written on it, and produced some golden-wrapped bon-bons from it, letting the class regard the prized delicacies with rapt gazes, before quickly hiding it again.

"Now, i'm going to call out your names, say aye if your here, and no if you're not." This got a giggle from everyone in the class.

After the register was taken, Mr.Sharpe told the kids that their first lesson was to be History. This aroused some groans, but he only smiled. "It's Mrs.Nelson." This drew some cheers from kids who remembered or knew her, but didnt elicit a reaction from those who hadn't.

Mrs. Nelson was quite a shock to Ellory, who was used to seeing women either in black teaching suits or long dresses. Instead, she wore a cream-coloured cardigan and blue jeans, a garment that her parents hated for some reason. Her hair was also cut-close, like a young girl's, and was a weird, artificial-looking blonde. She was nothing like the women that Ellory had met before. She was also suprisingly pretty.

"Alright you lot, What's the schedule this week? History? eurgh, thats boring!" She said, to the cheers of some of the class. "In fact, why don't we watch a movie instead." More cheerrs, whilst others remained silent, somewhat worried. This wasn't routine, what was expected.

"Now, shush you lot, we're going to watch a very exciting movie, with lots of blood and violence-" cheers from the boys-"and Romance and cool clothes." predictable cheers from some of the girls, though Ellory opted to remain silent throughout.

The Movie began to play on the class Television. It was an oldish movie, Ellory could tell, as it was that weird kind of colour old movies had, too bright and saturated.
The title was ROBERT CLYNES: HEART OF A NATION and began with some patriotic-sounding old music.

Ellory quickly realised, as the film unfolded, that this was, in fact, History, and that Mrs.Nelson had done a clever thing. She had in fact, lied to them. She found the idea of an adult lying, especially a teacher, scandalous, but noone seemed to mind. It was then she realised that lies could, in fact, be good things. After all, if she had not lied, they would be reading from boring books instead, right?

The movie was very stilted and full of sombre, incredibly serious adult voices, talking about stuff that seemed very complicated. There was one exciting scene- which enthralled Ellory, even if it scared the other girls- where the men in the fancy uniforms began shooting at the people wearing working overalls. Then a man in a black formal suit, like a teacher's, strode out of the crowd, and simply threw his arms wide. For some reason, this caused the fancy men to get scared, and stop shooting. Some even began to run away. Then the camera zoomed in close on his face, and he said, in dramatic tones, "A man with a gun is no match for a man with the heart of a nation." Stirring music began to play, and suddenly the crowd of workers began shouting and running at the others, waving pickaxes.

After the Movie was over, Mrs.Nelson asked what everyone thought of it, and told them to draw their favourite scene. For the girls it was the Ballroom scene with the Princess and everyone dancing, or the scene where everyone was working in the fields with the horses. For Ellory, it was the scene with Robert Clynes's eyes. There was something about the way he stood up for others that really inspired her.
Mrs Nelson saw her drawing, and asked her about it. She tried to explain, but Mrs Nelson seemed to understand, and said that she was a special girl.

After that, her lessons in Maths, Geography and English seemed boring by comparison. It was an exciting day for her, and one that would again draw attention from Mr.Sharpe, who had not forgotten this young girl...

 

[Havenshire]

June, 1999

It was the final year of primary school for Ellory. Soon it would be Sports Day, and Ellory was determined to win a medal in the Track and Field. She had gotten really good at running, and had shed much of her babyfat. Although she didn't care much for Sports, she found a certain freedom and clarity in running, and the respect that doing well in Phys Ed brought her amongst her peers helped her avoid the worst of the bullies.

The sun was shining brightly in the sky, high overhead. Her Father had promised to buy her a Personal Computer if she did exceptionally well in the Long Distance running. She had spent the weeks leading up to it practicing, adjusting her breathing and taking advice from the School PE Teacher. She was going to do this. Not so long ago, even owning a PC was illegal in Havenshire. Then, it had been allowed, but Modems banned. Now even Modems could be had, for an exorbitant price. The Central Congress was developing a Firewall to "protect" its citizenry from dangerous ideas and content. But Ellory was blissfully unaware of all this, of the mile-long queues outside Hardware stores. Of the strings her father would have to pull to accquire her a modern computer. But he didn't mind. His special girl never ceased to make him proud. Her mother, though increasingly stressed by having to raise an increasingly wild boy, Ellory's super annoying brother Thomas, also couldn't help but favour Ellory, who seemed to do so well in her classes. They were confident she could get into a Good Trade School, once she graduated from Primary School, and perhaps be fast-tracked into an Appretinceship. Such seemed like the height of Ambition to the Mortons.

Now the Big Day was approaching fast. It was the afternoon of the day before the Sports Day itself. All the local families of Thursley would be there, to cheer their kids on. School was officially over, but Mr.Stamford, the P.E Teacher, had agreed to provide some last minute practice for those competing tomorrow.

As she limbered up for practice, she was suprised to see Jim Hake coming up to her. He hadn't entered any of the Sports Day events due to his physical frailty, but he was the School Chess Champion, and had scored highly enough on his tests that there was a good chance he'd be entered not into Trade School but into a highly prestigious Junior Academy. She liked Jim, as he wasn't like the only other boys, smelly and into boring sports or playing soldier. He seemed to provide a certain...calmness and orderliness that was alien to the otherwise very masculine world that Ellory had gotten used to. Not that she would have put it in those terms, of course.

"What you doin' here, then Jim?" she said playfully, adopting the argot that many Thursleyites spoke in.
"Nothin' much." he replied. "Just come to see you practice." he mumbled, fidgeting.

"Um, cool." She said. "I'll be with you in a minute, Mr.Stamford!" she shouted. She tied up her shoelaces on her running shoes, and began walking out to the track where the other girls and boys practicing were waiting.

"Wait, um...there's something I wanted to say." Jim said, blushing crimson.

"Oh?" Ellory asked, starting to feel uncomfortable. She didn't want to be late.

"Um...didyoueverwonder...who sent that Valentines Card?"

"Jim! That was months ago! Whoever it was probably a meanie trying to make fun of me." She snorted, wondering why he was bringing that up now.

"Um...we've been friends forever, right?" he said. "Do you think we'll always be friends?" he asked, gulping.

"Of course! Whats the matter, Jim? You're not moving away are you?"

"N-No! That's not it..it's just...um..."

"Um what, Jim?" she said, with gentle exasperation.

"Um, Ireallyreallylikeyoudoyouwanttogoout?" he said, in a sudden torrent of words, before turning bright red and running away.

Ellory just stood there, and blinked. Boys WERE silly. She shook her head, and sighed. He was a nice boy but.. It was all too confusing! Stupid Jim. Trying to confuse her before the race... Nonetheless, she felt guilty somehow. She followed, even though it meant she might be late for practice.

Jim was hiding in a corner of the cloakroom. "I'm sorry, Please go away." he said, shaking.

"Jim...um..." She found herself saying um now. Bother.

"Do you want to go see Box Full of Toys with me? I've heard its a good film..." she said, fidgeting.

Jim stopped shaking. "You sure? It's just...you know..Would you parents be ok?" he said, slowly turning, his voice straining as he forced the words out.

"Oh, dad said he might do something nice for me if I do well in Sports day." she said, lamely. "Look, we'll always be friends, right? Best of friends. If...you want to see me more often, that's ok. Even-Even if we go to different schools, I'll still be around." She said lamely, not used to having to think about this. She'd seen movies and cartoons and stuff, but it all seemed so silly and confusing and boring. Other girls liked to talk about Boys and giggle, but after going to Jenny's sleepover she had quietly promised herself not to do that stuff again. It was just too dull.

"You sure? Promise?"
"Pinky swear." she said, smiling despite herself.
"Hang on a sec." He said, suddenly rummaging in his pockets. "I want you to have this." He said, finding confidence from somewhere. He gave her a small, plastic model of Frank Whittle, the inventor of the Jet engine. It seemed to be a collectible. "It's super rare. I want you to have it, so you'll remember, yeah?" he said, looking her in the eyes.
"Thank you, Jim. I'll always remember." She promised, though not sure what exactly it was she was promising.


Later, during Sports Day, Jim was in the front, cheering her on. Although her lungs burned and her legs ached, She won silver medal and came second, to the cheers of the kids and parents. Mr.Sharpe himself gave her the medal. "Only second? Distracted, perhaps?" He whispered to her, causing her to blush furiously, though she wasn't sure why.

As she walked away from the Podium, the school band playing some merry tunes, she was bearhugged by her father. "I knew you could do it, pumpkin." He teased. "Yer alright." He said, trying to hide the tears of pride in his eyes.

Her mother hugged her more gently. "My special girl. You make us so proud." She said, softly, remembering her own failures, her own trials in life.

"Aww, mum! Dad!" Ellory squealed, embarassed. "You ran fast!" said Thomas, all of 5 years old, and still not very clever. It seemed that where she had been a natural leader, he would be a natural follower, though he would never do anything his big sister told him.

"Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs.Morton. You have raised a superb child. I just wanted to congratulate her myself. You have come a long way, Ellory." said Mr.Sharpe, stepping through the crowd. He handed a gold-leaf envelope to Ellory. "Keep it, and don't open it till you get home. Its a suprise worth savouring." He said, with a broad, mysterious smile.

She beamed, happy. Jim came over, shy, once Mr.Sharpe had left, and her parents had wandered off to talk to some other parents to boast.

"You did really well, Ellory." he said, with a sincerity and conviction that made her blush a little.
"Thanks Jim. How did the chess go?"
"Oh, it was a doddle. Beat the champion for Dunsborough in 12 moves." He said, breezily. In truth, Ellory often harboured the suspicion that Jim was alot smarter than he let on in class, hiding his true genius to avoid the bullies.

"Awesome! Listen, I'll sort the movie-thing out with my dad or something. I'll call you, yeah?" she said, smiling broadly.

"Sure." He said, and he then awkwardly hugged her, blushing. "Jim! What did you do that for, silly!" she said, chiding.

"Um, just to say thank you." He said, blushing. She frowned, but he seemed sincere, though she had no idea what he was thanking her for.

When she got home later that evening, full up from celebratory fizzy pop and marzipan cakes, she remembered the envelope, and decided to open it.

Carefully, she unfolded the stiff cream-white paper inside, and her mouth gaped at the neatly-printed words inside.

Dear Ellory,

Congratulations on being the star you are. Now that your Primary Schooling is over, your parents are probably thinking of sending you to Trade School. I think you'd be wasted here in Thursley, as lovely a town as it is, learning to be a seamstress or a mechanic. But, if we're both honest, Science and the Arts aren't really your calling either. Therefore, I offer you a unique opportunity. How would you like to go to Leadership School? You don't have to accept right away, or accept at all. I know Mr.Stamford would love to see you attend the Gymnasium and train to be an Athelete. I'm very confident you could get into the best Trade Schools if you really wanted. If you'd like to know more, of course, the local Library has an excellent roster of information. Tell them I sent you.

Regards,
Mr.Sharpe


Later, Ellory would wonder if this was the Best Day of Her Life. But at the time, she couldn't imagine what the consequences would be....

=================================================

 

[Havenshire]

September, 1999

Bright blue the sky.
Sun upon high—
This is the little boy's picture He drew for you
Wrote for you too.
Just to make clear what he drew.

Chorus:
May there always be sunshine,
May there always be blue skies,
May there always be my mama,
May there always be me!
-Leadership Cadet's Song

Ellory found her new uniform to be quite uncomfortable and baggy, but her mother had told her she would grow into it. This annoyed her, but she put up with it. She wore a bright red sash across a khaki top, and an ugly brown skirt, with long thick stockings and tight black shoes. Her haid had been slicked back and tied into a single, neat ponytail, and glistened in the sunlight.

She was one of over a hundred new "Cadets" being inducted into the Academy, and the only one from Thursley. Already she felt alone, and wondered how Jim was doing. He had gotten into the Scientist's School in Stanchester, and would be spending the next six years training and preparing for a career as a researcher. For Ellory, her next six years would be very different.

The sun hang high in the sky, blazing down with fierceness on the asphalt playground they had lined up in. They stood in neat lines, facing a high flagpole, over which fluttered the Academy's flag. The Academy itself was a tall two-story building made of brick and mortar, and looked to be at least two hundred years old. The teachers were an even mix of men and women, and each wore a red armband with a number on it, and stood facing the new cadets, along with about several hundred other pupils of various ages behind them.

"Welcome to George Anderson Academy. Some of you are here because you were reccomended by special teachers. Some of you are here because your parents are Party members. And some of you do not belong here. As you may have heard, unlike other Specialist Schools, we do regularly assess and grade you all, and those who do not meet the standard, will find themselves being transferred to a different path." The stern headmistress spoke. She wore thin spectacles, and her armband had the number "1" on it. She also wore a grey formal suit, to distinguish her further from the usually black-office suit of teachers.

"That being said, I congratulate you all on getting this far, and I am confident that you will come to appreciate your time here at George Anderson. Whilst in time you will be expected to meet the responsibilities of State and Party, you will also be given access to a wealth of knowledge and leisure activity afforded to few. As you will grow to appreciate, All are equal, but those who deserve it are more equal than others." there was a groan from the more experienced cadets at this. Apparently this was a line the headmistress used often.

"I am Headmistress Style. You will refer to me as Headmistress, or, if you are in my class, as Mrs.Style. We maintain a strict protocol at George Anderson, but as you are new some leniency will be afforded you, untill you are more settled in. But with every rule and every responsibility that you are required to learn and eventually master, you will also gain opportunities for rewards." She smiled thinly. "As my senior cadets well know." There were some sniggers and chortles from the back row.

"However, the rumours that once you reach final year that you are given the run of the place are flatly false." She said sternly and sharply. "Untill the day you leave, and not a day before, you will grow to appreciate that whilst George Anderson is not the millitary or the Party, it is nonetheless a vital proving ground for those seeking a career in either. Excel, and life will be excellent. Slack off or be proven inferior, and a path more suited to your aptitudes will be found, elsewhere."

The Headmistress then began to call out names for assignment to classes. Morton, Ellory was called, and she quickly strode across to her new teacher, a Mr.Thurbolt. She was suprised at how small the class was- around sixteen or seventeen of them, mostly girls.
"Welcome to my first year class. Is everyone here? good. Since you are first years, you will not yet be mixing with much of the other years of cadets, though you will meet them at break time, lunch time, and at dinner time. If they try to extort you or bully you, do not be afraid of reporting it to me or another member of staff. The seniors do not run this place, we do, and we take a dim view to attempts to intimidate the new and young. I won't repeat Headmistress Style's speech about protocol and discpline-" He smiled at this- "But i will say that things do tend to soften out by the end of your first year. You will be learning a great many things here, after all, and discpline and teamwork are only some of the things we prize as virtues."

"Now, I shall take you to your dormitories, where you have half an hour to get accquainted and sort out your posessions. Then I will gather you for a guided tour of the Academy, before giving you a brief afternoon class on all the rules and traditions of the Academy, and take any questions. After that, you will be allowed into the playground with the other first years, and then brought back for dinner at five." He smiled.

And so began Ellory's first day at Leadership Academy. She still wasn't sure exactly what she would be learning here, or wether she was really "leadership material". But she had little time for introspection, as she sought desperately to learn everything she could about this strange new enviroment. It reminded her a little of a book she had been wanting for some time, about a boy wizard who goes to a magical school, but that was set in Breotonia, the capitalist enemy, and as such whilst buying and selling the book was legal, it was still considered taboo to read it. It only made her more curious.

She was suprised at the number of girls, however. Thursley had been very male-dominated, but she could see already that most of her peers were females. One or two were even obviously not from Havenshire- having dark brown skin of varying shades. She would learn later that George Anderson maintained exchange programmes with Carentania and Vangala, and that it also accepted immigrant children, usually from Touzen or Yujin, on scholarship programmes.

She realised that this world was going to be very different to what she had known, and found herself growing afraid. Would she be able to meet this challenge? She then remembered what Mr Sharpe had said, and her parents. She couldn't let them down, she reminded herself. This was the path that they said would challenge her the most, but also present the best possible future. She didn't really know what she wanted to do when she was older, but she knew that she didn't want to end up like her Dad's friends, beaten and worn down by a long, exhausting life of industrial labour. She didn't want to end up like her mother or her friends either- endless chattering gossip as they worked at sewing machines, washing clothes, and helping plant and tend the allotment food. Such constant physical labour seemed so dull and repetitive, and none of the heroes in any of the films or books she had seen spent their lives doing this. She wanted adventure, and, yes, to see more of the world than dull towns.

George Anderson was a step in this direction, she knew. The question was: would she be up for it?

 

[Havenshire]

February, 2000

Revolutions are not made for export.
-George Macclesfield

All in all, your just another brick in the wall.
-Common Havenshire Urban Graffiti, Greathamptonshire

"What's this your writing, Morton? Is it the anwser to the question I just asked? No. It's a fairy story." Mrs Rodham said primly, lifting up Ellory's hefty workbook, and examining the childish, feminine scrawl. The teacher held it up, as if presenting evidence, and inviting the children to tut along with her.
"If you enjoy practicing your penmanship so much, perhaps you will enjoy also writing out for us the geometry i have just now explained to the class."

Mrs Rodham was one of Ellory's first experiences of someone who was, for lack of a better word, an out and out Bitch. She was also the school's maths teacher, a subject that Ellory was struggling with. Maths with Mrs Rodham was a shocking new experience for her- She had never really before experienced the casual dismissal or cruelty that a teacher is capable of carrying out, nor had she really encountered a subject that, whilst not only incredibly difficult, also sapped her will to master it. In the past, she had always found herself willing to meet any demand, no matter how strenuous, to push herself, and she was rewarded frequently for it. Now, however, despite the increasingly open contempt Mrs Rodham- or "Old Rod" as she was known amongst the students of Thurbolt First.

Ellory had grown up believing that the system was perfect, and that it would carry her from childhood to adulthood in neat order. From Cradle to the Grave. Now, in mrs Rodham at least, she was beginning to realise that, Life could be really, really unfair sometimes.

Ellory stepped up to the board, shaking. The whole of Thurbolt First's eyes bored in to her, silently willing her to fail. Oh yes. She had developed enemies, another new development that scared her. She'd seen bullying before, of course. But she had stood up to them, and overcome them. Here, anyone stepping out of line was given one warning, and one warning only. If they repeated the offence, the whole of the class would be punished, making everyone hate the offender more. Naturally, the real bullies knew ways of not getting caught by this. Ellory did not.

Her mind raced, as she tried to recall the exact geometry that had been explained. She could feel it, like a splinter in her mind, but it stubbornly refused to come out. Something about Triangles...

Her cheeks burning with shame, she let the chalk drop from her fingers. She simply couldn't remember. "I-I'm sorry, Miss..."
"Not good enough! Again, Miss Morton. I shall have to award you a demerit. Thats six this term, yes? One more and you'll be seeing the Headmistress."

Ellory once again seated herself at her desk. Her best friend, Ruth, shot her a sympathetic look, but did so silently. Mrs Rodham then went into her cat-licking-cream mode, a look of smuggest satisfaction crossing her face as she then, with reluctance, explained what was so patently obvious. "What Miss Morton here has failed to grasp is the isoceles triangle. It is very simple indeed...."

After math class, Lydia, another bitch whose father was a Party Councillor and didn't she know it, came up to her. "You screw up again, Elly? Not so perfect are you?"

Ellory bit her lip tightly, and tried to count to ten to calm herself down. It was true- Ellory did well in almost every subject she had to study, except Maths. There, she did very poorly indeed. It was becoming a real problem, and not just because Lydia was constantly bitching at her.

Letters from home often contained mixed praise. Apparently the School had informed her parents, and now it was her parents duty to remind her of the need to meet her responsibilities to the State and excel in the subjects assigned to her.

"Leave it Lydia. Now's not the time." Ruth stepped in to help her friend. Ruth was from even more common stock than Ellory herself, albeit much shyer and less self-confident. Apparently she was something of a child prodigy at her Walkerton elementary, and the state had interceded with her poor parents, taking her to George Anderson's so her potential could be developed fully.

"Ickle Ruthie sticking up? You coaldusts are all the same. Not the brains for true leadership." Lydia snapped, her eyes burning with venom. But despite her harsh words, she seemed to relent, and quickly left. "I have better things to do then trade words with the likes of you."

Ellory burned with frustration and rage. The existence of someone like Lydia seemed to fly in the face of everything she had been taught, was being taught, about the nature of the perfect socialist state. Horrible things were only supposed to happen in other countries, to other people, to the lazy. She wasn't lazy, and yet she was finding life increasingly difficult here at George Anderson.

"Are you all right Elly?" Ruth asked quietly. She adjusted her specs. Ruth lacked the natural cuteness Ellory posessed. She had freckles, large regulation specs, and unruly bushy hair of a tawny brown colour. Lydia, despite also being a First Year, was already hinting that she had a boyfriend, like that was a good thing, something to be proud of. Thinking about boyfriends made her think about Jim, which made her uncomfortable. She hated Lydia for that too. Ruth, however, blushed furiously whenever she was in Homeroom with Mr Thurbolt. It seemed she had a crush on their erstwhile mentor.

"I'm fine Ruth. I just... I can't get another demerit!" She said, bursting with emotion. "Damn it..."
"It's fine, look, I'll help you with your work..."
"It's no use, I'm just no good at math..."

Ellory sighed, and began walking slowly to her next class. She'd probably be late, but she didn't care. It was Art, and the teacher was lenient with her there. But still, she needed to overcome this block she had about Maths. Somehow she had to meet her full potential, and figure out a way to fix this...brokenness in the system. If the world wasn't perfect, she decided, she would have to find some way to make it that way. But first, it seemed, she'd have to fix herself. It was a thorny problem.

 

[Havenshire]

May, 2000

The Vanguardist analysis has got nothing to do with what happened in Kyrobaijan: it's like blaming Jesus Christ for the Inquisition in Solaren.
-Anthony Benn

The Enemy's Gate is down.
-Anon Graffiti, Greathamptonshire

Ellory sat with concerntration in the large sports hall, her feet tucked in under the worn wooden desk. The hall was silent save for the sound of hundreds of children scribbling, and the pacing of the invigilators. Large clocks ticked oppressively overhead. The smell of floor polish and decades of adolescent sweat pervaded her nose as she struggled to think. These exams seemed to get increasingly harder, and required a great deal of creative thought from her. Unlike standard tests in most schools, the exams given to those at Leadership School were much less about reciting known facts and dates and more about arguement and puzzle-solving. The maths exams consisted of maybe 10 questions, ranging from simple algebra to complex logistical problems, such as how many 100 kilogram bombs would need to be manufactured to destroy an area the size of Lunden, Breotonia's largest city.

The history exam was easy enough. She just had to pick a Premier and write something controversial about their policies, but not -too- controversial. A common tactic for students even as young as she was to write about how Walker made a mockery of Clynes's teachings. Instead, she decided to take the opposite tact, and argue for why Walker's millitant ultra-vanguardism was necessary at that time to avoid destruction in the Civil War, and later avoid being sucked into the Great War that ravaged the world in the 40's. Simple enough.

But this exam was different. It was the Civic Ethics exam, and presented 3 hypothetical scenarios, and asked simply for her to outline her reactions. This was much harder, as she had never encountered anything like this before, and had no idea what was expected of her here.
The problem presented to her on the first page had to do with the son of a Party official stealing a sweet roll from you, and offering three possible responses. The first was to tell on him, but Ellory knew from her own experience that would not lead anywhere. Who would take her word over that of a Party Representative's son? The second was to steal something from him of equal value. This seemed plain wrong, but she couldn't quite articulate why. The third was to challenge him to a fight, which seemed equally stupid as the second. She scratched her head with the end of her pencil, and looked up at the clock. 40 minutes to go.

She turned the page over, and looked at the other scenarios. One was a problem she had seen in her class. Two men block two paths. You may ask only one question and take only one path. That one seemed easy enough, and she wrote out her anwser to that one. It took only a few minutes. The other problem related to something much more complex, about capturing someone who was comitting a crime, but lacking any evidence of their wrongdoing. Between that and the first problem, she was stumped. Throughout her education, she had been taught repeatedly to trust in the wisdom of Council-Communism and its ideas for how to live one's life. Whilst she didnt fully understand what Council-Communism was yet, she had so far had little reason to doubt that it was for the best. But nothing from what she had been taught about it seemed to apply in any of these situations.

The clock was ticking away, and she couldn't decide on any of the options given. Finally, realising that she had to put something and hope for the best, she decided to pick an anwser at random.

Suddenly, an idea ignited in her head. The test wasn't asking her what the right anwser was. It was asking her what -she- would do, and why. She almost slapped herself with realisation. Why hadn't she thought of this before!

She decided to ignore all the options presented, and wrote out exactly what she would have to do in the sweetroll situation. Namely, she would go hungry, and focus on making herself smarter and stronger and more valuable to the state to earn not just more sweetrolls, but a position of power over the Party official's son. She smiled at the idea, at the boldness of her statement. Not even 11 and already dreaming of being in the Central Congress! The idea seemed almost too big for her to believe, but the more she thought about it, the more she realised it was the logical, ultimate conclusion of what she wanted, no, needed, to do.

For the third question, she stated boldly that she would have to keep a watch on the prisoner untill a trusted friend brought evidence or untill the prisoner broke and confessed. If she knew he had done wrongdoing, after all, it would be silly to let a bad person go without recieving punishment, and even sillier to accuse someone falsely. She smiled satisfactorily, only putting her pencil down when the Invigilators announced that there was three minutes to go.

She smiled, confident that she had passed this test, and would be ready to do the next one in a few hours.

==============================================
"So, she continues to show promise. And you really think a ten-year old girl like that has the potential we need?"

"I'm confident of it. She hasn't wavered yet. We need to increase pressure though. She still relies too much on this idea of the state as being reality, rather than an active goal she personally needs to strive to achieve. Her Civic Ethics exam anwsers show the promise she speak of, but she needs much more work."

"...I'll see what I can do. But Battle School? Before she's even 13? I don't even know if she's started menstruating yet. And you know how male-dominated that school is."

"I do. Which is why we need sharp girls like this there. Its essential for the long-term plan."