No Future Ch 68

LXVIII

Ivory Towers

Sally

2091

Sally had a great deal to be satisfied about even though she wasn't the kind of person to take good fortune for granted. She was blessed with relatively affluent parents who loved and cherished her. She was similarly blessed with the intellectual ability to secure a place on a postgraduate course at Oxford, one of England's two greatest universities and one which still ranked moderately highly in the world. She was a talented sportswoman, a girl with an extensive social network and, as she was often reminded, attractive and beautiful.

How could she have been born so lucky?

Sally was aware that each one of her good fortunes reinforced the others. A beautiful woman without brains and money was unlikely to be able to achieve very much in the modern world if she didn't marry well or trade her looks for money. A beautiful woman with brains alone could only succeed if she slept with the right men or women. But a beautiful woman with both intelligence and a generous allowance could gain the academic qualifications necessary to succeed in one of the shrinking number of well-remunerated professions. Sally genuinely enjoyed studying for her doctorate. Who would have known a generation ago just how exciting the growing synthesis between robotics and biochemistry would become? And as someone already ahead in an area of academic research that was attracting Chinese and Brazilian investment, maybe she could one day study abroad. Perhaps she could become a fellow at a university in a prosperous city like Beijing, Pyongyang or Buenos Aires.

Still, Oxford was a pleasant enough city on the edge of the Cotswolds. It was almost the very last corner of Old England. The colleges and most of the city were walled in to keep out the proles and peasants that were a nagging and uncomfortable reminder of how far it was possible to fall. Sally had no understanding or sympathy for England's great unwashed. All she knew about them came from the few moments of prole television she occasionally stumbled upon. They were a dreadfully uncouth bunch unhealthily obsessed with quiz shows and vulgar situation comedies. They were often appallingly racist and homophobic. You certainly wouldn't expect to have much of an intelligent conversation with any one of them.

There was a sense that Sally and her friends were surrounded by an ocean of the less well-off. Labour was so cheap these days that almost everyone could afford to employ a servant or two. Sally had two maids whose names she could never remember who slept in the communal servants' quarters just outside Oxford's city walls and whose task was to ensure that Sally was properly cared for while she stayed in her room in the student halls. Servants were best when they were just there when you needed them but at the same time kept themselves discreetly out of the way when you didn't. Sally expected them to be on hand even when she took a young man or woman back to her room for the sexual exercise that she practiced as enthusiastically as her daily jogs along the city centre river.

Sally was a woman of routine. It was the best way to get ahead in life. Up at six; an early morning jog; breakfast prepared by one of her maids who stood attentively by while she shared her muesli and yoghurt with the lover with whom she'd enjoyed the night; and then a day of study and research. It was only after she'd eaten in the halls that she would choose to socialise with her wide circle of friends during which she would invariably imbibe a glass of wine and even some coke or hash. And finally she'd go to a bed either in her own room or in the room of one of her lovers to keep toned those muscles that more formal exercise could never properly address.

"Do you want to stand as president of the MCR?" Simon asked one evening as they lay together in Sally's bed.

"MCR?" asked Sally, who for a moment wondered whether Simon was talking about a biotech company. "Oh, the Middle Common Room. I'm not sure. It could be a lot of work."

"It isn't at all," said Simon. "I've been doing it for the past year and I think you'd be ideal to take over the role. It'd look perfect on your CV. Employers care about that kind of shit. It shows maturity and leadership and a respect for tradition."

"Tradition," repeated Sally with a slightly mocking edge to her voice. What did she care about tradition? She was a thoroughly modern woman who had no time for outdated fripperies at all: even though she lived in a city that was steeped in a thousand years of academic history. All around her were buildings from the nineteenth and twentieth centuries and some even older than that. She frowned and then beckoned towards the maid on duty. It was the black one with the skinny legs. "Pour the both of us another glass of sherry, will you?" she ordered. She was totally indifferent to the fact that both she and Simon were naked. And she was similarly untroubled that they'd just been openly fucking while the maid was in attendance.

What the maid thought about this was really of no concern to her at all.

"How much will it cost to be president?" was the question uppermost in Sally's mind.

"It's got a lot more expensive over the years," said Simon. "You might need to clear the outgoing with your parents. It's all about outspending the opposition. But I don't think it'd be more than the cost of a year's fees."

"How guaranteed am I that I'd even win?"

"The first week of the campaign should see off the most talented competition. They're generally the ones who got into university by the skin of their teeth. You know: by academic excellence alone. They're the guys with scholarships from charitable foundations and internet companies. You should outspend them by the end of the second week. Then what you'll mostly have to deal with are the talentless no-hopers with a tonne of dosh. Be careful. Money definitely makes a difference. That's when you'll have to spend your money wisely. I'll be able to tell you who to bribe and whose public support you need."

"The campaigning sounds as if it's more hard work than the job."

"Well, that's democracy for you," said Simon. "It's all about buying votes and knowing how to get the job rather than knowing what to do with it once you've got it. Employers know that. Someone who can run a good campaign would be well set up for a life in modern corporate business. I take it your parents can spare the cash."

"It won't take long to persuade them. I just need to convince them that it'll be money well spent."

"I don't think there's anyone who's got the money who'd be able to put up a good fight against you."

"You're such a sweetie, Simon," said Sally affectionately. "What I need now," she continued while she twiddled with her crotch, "is for you to show just how much you love me and not with words. But your cock's shrivelled somewhat."

"Your maid's got pretty hot lips," said Simon with a wicked smile.

"She has?" said Sally who hadn't really noticed. She glanced over at the maid who was standing by the sherry decanter in a flimsy skirt and cheap plastic sandals. "Come here and get my friend properly prepared," she ordered.

"Yes'm," said the maid who shuffled over towards the couple. She knelt down between Simon's knees and took his penis between her hands and thick lips.

"Show a bit more enthusiasm," Sally ordered. "We haven't got all day."

"She's not doing too badly," said Simon as his penis began to swell.

"It's for

my

benefit not hers," said Sally dismissively. "I want your cock in my snatch not tickling her tonsils."

She also didn't want her maid to actually enjoy herself with her boyfriend. Although maids were cheap and plentiful, it wasn't unknown for people like Simon to get a little too attached to them. If this maid showed any signs of pleasure from having Simon's cock up her throat, Sally would have no choice but to dismiss her.

"Fucking get on with it," she said to the maid as she pressed her hand firmly on her short-haired pate. "Show some enthusiasm!"

The following morning, however, it was Sally who was assessing her own enthusiasm. Simon wouldn't have suggested that she stand for president of the MCR unless there was a very good chance that she'd win the position, but every hour of every one of her days was already taken. And Sally also wondered just how easy it would be for her to persuade her parents to bankroll her candidature. They'd often complained about the burden of financing their daughter's expensive education and there were also Sally's two younger siblings who had to be considered. On the other hand, Simon was undoubtedly right. Most employers would be as impressed by Sally's experience as an MCR president as they would be by her academic qualifications. Perhaps she could get on the fast track for a place on the board of directors and soon earn a generous salary (supplemented by bonuses). And Sally already had pedigree. She'd been head girl at public school which had been the result of a costly election campaign also paid for by her parents.

Sally was jogging along the banks of the River Thames with her mind focused on such elevated matters when she happened to notice that there was a body floating face downwards on the river surface. She abruptly stopped in her tracks and watched it bob by. One leg had lodged against a floating log and this caused the body to spin slowly around so that Sally could get a more leisurely view.

The body belonged to someone who was far too badly dressed to have been a student or lecturer. In that sense there wasn't much for her to worry about. The death of a prole wasn't a serious matter, although Sally knew she'd still have to make a phone call to the university authorities about it. Proles were always dying from something or other in the wasteland beyond the city walls. If it wasn't from natural causes such as starvation or disease, it would be from murder. Even though it was strictly speaking a police matter, it would be pointless to call them. They'd be too busy patrolling the outer suburbs to have time to spare. Such deaths were routine police business, but it would be treated with far more alacrity by the university authorities.

Sally called the University of Oxford Security Services and described what she could see from the river bank. While she spoke the leg became dislodged and the body continued to drift with the river towards an ancient bridge. The questions she had to answer were all to the point. It was obviously not such an unusual occurrence that the security services didn't know how to handle it. Their main concern was that the body might be a vector for one of the unpleasant plagues that beset the proles who weren't quarantined behind high walls and didn't benefit from regular health checks.

When the call was over, Sally clicked off her mobile phone and sat on a bench that had been donated to the city of Oxford by Sigma Cybernetics plc. She watched the corpse float towards a bend in the river. How had it managed to drift so far into the city? Had it been carried through the tunnels under the imposingly high Oxford City walls? Had someone somehow thrown the corpse over the top? However it had got there, Security Services would soon drag it out of the river and then incinerate it and that would be the end of the matter. Unless someone came asking for it, no one would even be bothered to determine the prole's identity.

What could Sally learn from this? It wasn't something she often thought much about, but it reminded her that if she should somehow lose a grip on her good fortune there was a precipitous fall towards the absolute poverty that most English people suffered. This wasn't a fate she'd welcome at all. The unfortunate truth was that the trend in the Republic was for the proportion of those who were relatively affluent to steadily drop and part of that tendency was caused by bankruptcy and business failure. Although everything seemed perfect for Sally now, at any moment her fortunes could dramatically decline and there would be no safety net to catch her as she fell.

If being president of the MCR would in some way help to bolster Sally's future prospects, then the ridiculous expense of campaigning for the position would be well worth it. Sally had no intention of ever being let loose amongst the hyenas and vultures of the wicked world beyond and she was resolved to do whatever was necessary to ensure that this would never happen.