Politics Today

August 2043.

West End, Central London.

Out the window of the cab they could see the extent of the encampments around Central. Elizabeth tried to ignore it, though not intentionally. She just felt compelled to be on her phone for some reason or another. Siobhan sat across from her staring out the window, occasionally glancing up at Elizabeth in mild annoyance.

“I can’t believe how many there are,” Siobhan said. “It’s a bloody fuckin’ travesty. They’ve totally given up.”

Elizabeth let out a tut.

Siobhan shook her head. “Miss Marsh, look at it. I think this is what you should be talkin’ about today.”

The cab bumped slowly along Regent Street, light filtering through dense clouds, everything a dim grey. Elizabeth finally let herself look out the window. Her reasons for disliking what she saw were unbelievably privileged, but the terrible human cost of their “new normal” was something she’d become numb to — no matter how much she tried to focus on it or be enraged by it. What pained her was seeing Oxford Circus in squalor. What was once this dignified European destination, with the occasional diversion into glitzy or even tacky, now dark and shuttered, overrun with the homeless. Repurposed into a shanty town because nobody needed it anymore or cared enough to intervene.

She put her hand on the window and sighed. “I queued outside this shop for a bloody mobile phone once. Decades ago now, I guess. Do you remember that?”

Siobhan looked over at her. “Remember what?”

“When you could buy things at shops.”

“No dude, that’s before my time. I’ve read about it. In your book.” Elizabeth chuckled and nodded, knowing the loss of shops was not new. As unemployment began to spike so did theft, and once the first couple of major chains had gone “shop-to-door” the rest fell like dominoes. Can’t be robbed if there’s nothing in the shop to take except rows of steel kiosks where you can order things for delivery, the things themselves off in some unmarked, guarded warehouse. Criminals responded by ensuring kiosks in shops were under constant attack. Before long it was rare to find one working anywhere. So the shops went entirely.

Siobhan shrugged and looked back out the window. Sigh. It was a deep pain for Elizabeth, the nostalgia for what she’d lost. It was something she told herself she should probably feel for her life, her friends, her marriage, her career, something. But none of that ever really surfaced in any crisp detail. It was just a sort of ache. A longing. If she looked too much, let herself think about it too much, it ruined her for days.

Siobhan tugged at her dress and squirmed. It occurred to Elizabeth she’d never seen Siobhan in anything other than jeans, T-shirts and hoodies. “Dressing the part today, are we?”

“Can’t look like shite at the BBC.” She chuckled. Elizabeth looked amused.

“They putting you on the panel as well then?”

“Shit no, dude. Just trying to look respectable, as your campaign staff.”

“Campaign staff! My god, Siobhan. You started the bloody party. I’m just a candidate.”

The car finally turned into the roundabout in front of Broadcasting House, a bizarre oasis of still-in-use infrastructure in this part of the city. A ten foot fence stood between the encampment and the facility, a bright line between the clean facade and the unmaintained, grime-coated everything else. Security had appeared as they pulled in, to escort them through the barrier and inside.

“You’re late, we’ve barely time to put your mic on.” An extremely nervy, fast-talking young man was rushing them through turnstiles, doors and onto a waiting elevator. “I should’ve brought it down with me, so stupid. I apologise Miss Marsh.” She waved her hand dismissively.

“It’ll be fine, I can mic myself. Not the first time I’ve been here to give an interview.” The lanky production assistant turned sharply toward her.

“You know you’re on a live panel right?” More fear in his voice, clearly on edge, worried he’d gotten yet another thing wrong. “It’s not an interview.”

Siobhan stood by in amazement as this poor man melted down. Elizabeth put her hand on his shoulder. “It’s fine, I misspoke.” Her soothing demeanour got a bit more coarse. “However, I never was told who else is on the panel.”

He looked to be at his wit’s end. His eyes darted between the two of them as the elevator doors opened. Another young assistant was stood waiting just outside, microphone pack in hand. They immediately clipped it onto Elizabeth’s pant pocket and handed her the mic to wear.

“That’s my bad, dude. I do know, I got your email, I just forgot to pass it on.” Siobhan smiled at him quickly then turned and gave Elizabeth a big fake frown. “Worry about our message! Not these other clowns.”

Elizabeth stopped walking, which pushed the poor production assistants to the brink of their sanity. “Wait, who’s going to be on? Why’d you—” she spat out grumpily, but Siobhan interrupted her.

“—it’s the usual! It’s a few of the other people standing for your constituency, and one other MP. I wouldn’t worry.”

“Miss Marsh, please...” the first assistant pleaded in desperation. A huge clock on the wall showed they had about 30 seconds ’til the top of the hour. The second assistant opened the door to the studio, just ahead, and beckoned them toward it. Siobhan spun Elizabeth and clapped her on the shoulders.

“Focus. Mention the camps. How they made you feel. Unemployment numbers, why did they stop publishing them? Save the NHS. Our plan to put humans first. You’ve got this.”

Elizabeth nodded. She stepped a few paces forward and walked into the studio, to the relief of a great number of staff and crew. A third assistant, this one equipped with a headset, intercepted. “Right this way.”

A camera floated itself past them on an air bladder. She saw the long table. The presenter, plus five chairs. Three of the chairs were tucked in, translucent screens on the desk instead, those guests clearly deciding to appear virtually. One empty, presumably for Elizabeth. And then. Her heart immediately started racing. She stopped walking and spun around, putting her back to the set. Siobhan nearly ploughed into her.

“Whoa, dude, they’re going to actually murder us if you don’t go sit down.”

“I can’t.” Elizabeth sounded terrified. Her voice trembled. Siobhan had never seen her even remotely like this.

“What?” The crew were taken aback. They had no idea how to move this along. On a nearby monitor, the show’s titles were running — BBC Politics Today was starting. A robotic camera swung over their heads, taking a sweeping shot of the desk.

Elizabeth tried to steady herself. She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. “Is Cass Cooper on the panel?”

Siobhan nodded. “Uh yeah, Cass Cooper, the lib dem MP from, I forget? Somewhere in London. Popwich? Is that a place? Been around ages. Elected in the before times. You know her, yeah?”

Elizabeth gritted her teeth. “Siobhan, why didn’t you⁠—”

A production assistant put a hand on Elizabeth’s shoulder, another on her back. Elizabeth jumped involuntarily, startling everyone around her. “Ma’am I’m sorry, we’ve got to get you over there” she whispered, as the presenter had already gone live. Elizabeth nodded a few times as they quickly ushered her around the back of the set, seating her just as introductions started. She was red-faced, breathing quickly, her eyes closed. She thought her heart would leap from her chest.

Pull it together, she begged herself. You have to pull it together. Focus. Focus. She opened her eyes, immediately looking for Siobhan across the studio, and finding her. They made eye contact. Siobhan gave her a big smile and double thumbs-up, which did bring her partway out of the darkness.

“I’m Priti Shah, and this is Politics Today …”

The presenter’s voice was muddled and distant.

“… today on the programme, we’ll …”

The pain behind Elizabeth’s right eye was sharp and came on suddenly. She closed them both and tried to just focus on the sound. Smooth and professional. It came into clarity.

“… bit of a political reunion, as seated to her right is controversial former MP Elizabeth Marsh, who’s surprised us all with her sudden return, standing as the candidate for Humans First UK in Leyton and Wanstead. Ms. Marsh, thanks for being here.”

Elizabeth put the pain aside. She smiled warmly and nodded. “Happy to be here.” She could sense Cass sitting right next to her, just in her peripheral vision. She blocked it out, looking alternatively at the presenter or Siobhan.

“Elizabeth, first of all, why Leyton and Wanstead?” Priti was going straight in for her, she thought, even as the other faces sat un-introduced on their various screens, even as Cass sat right there. “You’re from Cambridge, yes? You were the MP for Cambridge for two years.”

“Leyton and Wanstead is our battleground, Priti, as it has one of the largest hospitals in London. As soon as the Modern Health Efficiency Act passes, Magenta are coming straight for it.”

“Of course, yes,” Priti said. “I obviously want to talk about that, the protests and the recent incident. But as someone who’s followed Westminster politics for some time I of course also have to start with this. Elizabeth Marsh, you obviously have a rather rocky history with the woman on your left, Cassandra Cooper.”

“Tabloid scandal,” Cass quipped. “And some robust disagreement on policy.”

“That’s a rather mild description,” Priti continued. “This was ultimately a landmark bill, and Ms. Marsh, you were a Works minister at the time, and you were the champion of that bill. And suddenly there’s the leak, that explosive debate on the floor of the Commons. And then the scandal, and the allegations surrounding Ms. Cooper being the architect of the debate, and why she might’ve had it out for you.” The presenter was dramatising it quite intensely with her tone and cadence. One of the virtual panellists let out a bit of a belly laugh, the tinny sound rattling out of a speaker under the desk.

“Apologies to those watching who are under the age of 45 and have no idea what we’re talking about here,” he cracked, pleased with himself. Another, a younger woman, smartly dressed, shook her head in the neighbouring screen.

“Oh I disagree, I’m fascinated by it. I read her book!” A thick Yorkshire accent. Elizabeth had no clue who it was. She gave Siobhan a quick hard stare. She’d known who these people were, and could’ve shared it.

Priti smiled. “Thank you, Alex Singh, Conservative candidate for Leyton and Wanstead, and Jasmine Bhati, the Momentum candidate.” They both nodded. “So, Ms. Marsh, in your first book you did touch on all this, in an almost perfunctory way. You mention in one sentence that you never spoke to or saw Ms. Cooper again. You didn’t address any of the allegations. But that was almost ten years ago.” The presenter leaned forward, an eager smile on her face. “I wonder if it might help to clear the air now.”

Cass laughed. The sound startled Elizabeth and she tried not to jump.

“Priti, again, it’s tabloid gossip. You’ve rightly not said it, I think it’s right to leave it unsaid.” Cass sounded so chipper, so nonchalant. Elizabeth turned toward Cass, getting her first good look. She studied Cass’s face. It was strange to see her so much older. Crow’s feet, wrinkles around the mouth, a bit heavier. Her hair had greyed. She must be in her fifties by now. It was infuriating how calm she was, how easily she could just sit there. Ignoring it all.

“Apologies I’m just, you know, I’m seizing my opportunity. What are the chances of having you both on the same panel after all this time?” The presenter was clearly invested in this on some superfan-esque level. “Ms. Marsh, to you, same question.”

“I’m…” Elizabeth’s head throbbed and her vision blurred. She put her fingers to her eye, pushing on the side, in some vain attempt to relieve the pressure. “I’m not sure I know the question.”

“Did you want to clear the air?” She could feel the push from Priti, the desperation to get this discussion opened. Cass was a magnet pulling her gaze, and it took everything she could to stay focused, looking at the far end of the table, not to her left. Not at Cass.

“I think that’s a no then,” Cass said with a smirk. “We can⁠—”

“Presumably you’re referring to the photos of Ms. Cooper with my then-husband, yes, Priti?” Elizabeth just blurted it out. She could see Siobhan off-stage, next to the camera, looking absolutely stunned. Elizabeth glanced over at Cass quickly and caught her staring daggers.

Priti also seemed stunned. “I, well, yes⁠—”

“I never spoke to my ex-husband or Ms. Cooper about it. I saw the photo of them in The Sun same as everyone else.” Elizabeth shook her head. “After everything else that had happened, I really had to focus on myself. It’s not just, it wasn’t just because of, well, I didn’t really stay in touch with anyone if I’m honest.”

“You went back to Cambridge, yes?”

“That’s right, to care for my parents.”

“And for them to care for you as well, I suspect?”

“I suppose so, yes.” Elizabeth crossed her arms tightly.

“And you, Ms. Cooper. Now of course the other side of this allegation was that you were the source of the leak. And of course as you say, the tabloid scandal, was that you had ulterior motives when doing that. Would you care to respond?”

Cass smirked. “No. This was a decade ago, Priti. And it’s a private matter.”

“Is it private,” said a man from one of the screens. “Is it, really? This is someone who’s asking for votes now. I think it was fine to let the past die when she was secluding herself in Cambridge. But now we need to ask the questions.”

“Okay,” Priti said. “What do you say to that remark from Mr. Singh? Either of you.”

“A photo of two people holding hands in a hotel lobby is not a scandal that deserves oxygen ten years on, Priti.” Cass sighed. “I think it’s beneath us all.”

“And speaking of, Ms. Cooper,” continued Alex Singh, “are you still beneath Ms. Marsh’s ex-husband?” Cass, Priti and Jasmine all shouted over each other.

“Oh you vile, vile⁠—”

“That’s extremely enough, Mr. Singh⁠—”

“Poor, just poor⁠—”

Alex Singh smiled out from behind his screen.

“I think Ms. Cooper is entitled to her privacy,” Elizabeth said. “I’ve never asked her what happened, and it can remain between the two of them.”

Siobhan was waving frantically at Elizabeth, hoping to get her attention, but it was hopeless. The two of them were rapidly spiralling each other downward, much to Priti’s apparent delight.

“Ms. Marsh,” Priti said with practised empathy. “It’s fine if you don’t want to discuss it. But for those of us who do worry about these things. Do you know what really happened?”

Cass snorted and looked up at the ceiling, away from the proceedings. Elizabeth’s right eye teared up from the pain, her vision a dizzying array of stars, halos, auras. She felt a numbness creeping out from her extremities. None of this seemed real, seemed to be happening. It was all too bizarre. She’d entirely lost control of the situation, of her life. She watched herself inhaling in slow motion, about to answer such a deeply personal question on a live video stream. She wondered if Cass was even there to begin with.

“I suppose I can only assume,” she answered, “the most obvious answer is probably the correct one. It’s Occam’s Razor, really. Cassandra and my ex-husband had a relationship, and perhaps that motivated her, subconsciously, to want to sabotage my political career. I don’t know if it was intentional. Priti, we’ve all let ourselves down at some point in our lives. It’s just not usually so public.”

“Christ,” boomed the speaker under the desk, Jasmine Bhati perhaps not remembering she was unmuted.

“Excuse me?! This is, this is arrant nonsense.” Cass was apoplectic. “And it’s beneath this programme, and it’s certainly not why I came here today, Priti. And Ms. Marsh, we both know there are details that are being left out of this story. And we both know⁠—”

“I’m hearing we do need to move on,” Priti blurted out, clearly desperate to get the fire under control before it consumed her entire show.

“Elizabeth Marsh is a leaf in the political wind,” Cass shouted over everyone, “blowing where it takes her, then moaning about where she lands. Campaigning idealistically against automation, against AI, against Magenta, then opening the door for them as soon as she got into government!”

Jasmine Bhati clapped loudly in her screen, the claps coming out as loud spikes of static from the monitor speakers. “It’s quite right! Elizabeth sat on the Conservative benches as the nursemaid for the new normal! She bottle fed the works programme until it could walk! And now she vilifies it.”

“Now that’s unfair,” added Patrick Moore from a screen at the far end. Patrick was a councillor in Hackney from the Bright Future party, the self-styled “techno-optimists.” He seemed to be appearing as a virtual character rather than himself, but his name and details were on the screen below his unnaturally-smooth digital face. “Elizabeth Marsh had resigned by then and gone off to write books about all the so-called problems she’d created.” His voice was bizarrely smooth, algorithmically inoffensive, with an accent that would never occur in nature. “Now she’ll come back and fix them? It’s fifteen years too late, dear. The world has moved on.”

Elizabeth sat stone-faced, not dignifying any of it, indeed not really hearing any of it at all. She felt at peace, watching it all unfold on her perch from far away.

“I certainly doubt she’ll be back,” said Alex Singh. “Humans First? Might as well be the Monster Raving Looney candidate. No offence to either, of course.”

Priti threw her hands up in desperation. “I’ve put the cat among the pigeons here,” she said with a sigh. “Can I ask everyone for a bit of a reset? Let’s go around the desk. Several of you are standing in the same constituency. What’s your one word pitch?”

“Stability,” said Alex Singh, meeting the brief. “Conservatives mean stability. Keep us in place, we’ll continue to deliver.”

“In a word, socialism,” said Jasmine Bhati. “We don’t run from the label.”

“Progress,” said Patrick Moore in his fictional Mid-Yorklondonfordshire accent. “No need to worry about when your MP can see you, I can chat with every one of my constituents at once. I remember all of our past conversations, I have the ability to get things done for you right away. I can poll every party member instantly and decide something based off the result.”

“Normalcy,” said Elizabeth. “And humanity. It’s hideously offensive, the very notion of being represented by a collection of algorithms. It’s inhuman and shouldn’t even be legal.” Patrick’s face flashed a set of over-sized annoyed eyes.

“Pass,” Cass said with a smile, not having been asked.

“Right, that’s our lightning round then,” said Priti. “I’d like to get into the real topic.” With a nice graphics package accompanying it, she got viewers up to speed on the Modern Health Efficiency Act, which was soon to come into effect and, among other things, was likely to see most publicly-owned hospitals and medical facilities sold off to the private sector. The government had been desperate to get this through before the next election, and they’d only just managed it.

Elizabeth stared at the screen, but wasn’t watching the video. Instead she was playing the events of the past few minutes over and over again in her head. Over, and over. She could’ve gone the rest of her life without ever having seen Cassandra Cooper again, had she only stayed in Cambridge. Had she not come back. Why had she⁠—

“Ms. Marsh?”

“Sorry, I’m sorry.” Elizabeth snapped into place. “Can you please repeat the question?”

“So, it’s a repeal then?” The presenter had a pained smile.

“A repeal.”

“I’m sorry, in your mind, the Modern Health Efficiency Act. Your party gets into power somehow. It’s repealed?”

“Sorry, yes, of course. Not likely, as I’m our only candidate.” She smiled. Priti smiled. Jasmine and Alex shook their heads, and a large cartoon sweat drop appeared next to Patrick’s face briefly. The speaker under the desk crackled.

“Great,” Priti said. “So the other big story today is of course, another incident involving the activist group people have started referring to as ‘AI Kills.’”

“Terrorists,” Alex interjected. “And it’s criminal that you won’t just call them what they are.”

“Same tired argument,” Jasmine added, rolling her eyes. “Were the Suffragettes terrorists in your mind as well?”

“They absolutely were. There’s a right way and a wrong way to go about these things.”

“Right, you’re absolutely right, we should politely request successive Tory governments please stop destroying British society, and hope they please listen.”

“Most successful political party in the history of the world, love. And when’s the last time your train was late? Bins picked up on time? We’re getting on with the job.”

“I obviously take some offence at the very name of ‘AI Kills,’” said Patrick Moore, his face briefly changing to something resembling the anger emoji. Elizabeth tilted her head and looked on in confusion. Was Patrick just appearing as a virtual character, or was he actually an AI-powered agent? She decided not to ask, worried it was obvious to everyone but her.

“Right, let’s cover the latest incident,” Priti pleaded. “A dozen protestors managed to infiltrate the Magenta UK headquarters in Canary Wharf, with multiple sources confirming the group made it as far as the executive office before being detained and ultimately arrested. Now Magenta being an American company this is of course not the office of Rebecca Prue their CEO, but of David Ryan, head of their UK operation. There’s been no official statement from either Magenta or from the organisers of this action. But it’s the first sign that the group has started moving from peaceful sit-ins and rallies to something a bit more sinister.”

“I’d say this is far from the first sign,” said Jasmine. “These are the same people who harassed Magenta employees so aggressively that the company had to ban them from going out to pubs after work for their own safety.”

“I have to agree with Ms. Bhati,” Elizabeth added, finally feeling like she was on stable ground. “There’s legitimate protest and then there’s harassment. And now this was, what? What were they planning to do? Kidnap David Ryan? Handcuff themselves to his desk? The solution to the Magenta problem isn’t terrorism, it’s voting.” She looked over at Cass and caught Cass looking back at her. Their eyes briefly met. A flash of panic. Elizabeth tensed up and retreated to looking behind the camera, to Siobhan. Something was definitely bothering Siobhan, but she still nodded and gave a reassuring double-thumbs up.

“Safe to say then that Humans First denounce this style of activism,” asked Priti.

Elizabeth caught Siobhan’s gaze again. She nodded slowly. Thanks for green-lighting me denouncing terrorism. Glad that’s safe to put in the party’s official platform.

“We obviously don’t condone anything illegal. Even if we understand where they’re coming from.” Elizabeth trailed off a bit. Fuck. That was a mistake. Nobody was going to let that go.

“You understand where they’re coming from?” Alex was weapons free. Full tilt British indignation. “You understand what’s motivating terrorists to stalk, harass, threaten people just because they happen to work for one of the largest and most successful companies on earth?” Elizabeth was vigorously shaking her head, flustered by having walked straight into this trap. Siobhan, on the other hand, had quite a grin on her face.

“What I mean to say,” Elizabeth started. She felt herself floating away again. Her eye felt like it might explode out of her head. She tightened her jaw and pinched a tiny bit of skin on her leg between her fingernails, sending a sharp pain up her leg. “That is, what I mean. I don’t mean I—” She felt Cass’s hand touch her arm. It jolted her to silence.

“How could anyone reasonable not understand where these people are coming from?” Cass said forcefully. “Their government has meticulously constructed and somehow managed to normalise a desperately corrupt system that has practically enslaved a whole generation. It shocks me we haven’t seen more action like this, and more frequently. They simply have nothing left to lose.” It was a fiery sermon.

Elizabeth couldn’t help but smile. She was overwhelmed with confusing, conflicting thoughts. Cass’s words had made her want to cry. The worse things got, the more people seemed to value stability, calmness, the status quo. It was frustratingly counter-intuitive. The sudden rise of this new group of activists was the first spark she’d seen from anyone in ages. If only it had been channelled into something productive instead of violence.

The panel sparred, Priti having given up any hope of getting things back on track. Finally, mercifully, the segment ended. A smooth, digitally-generated Scottish voice came from a loudspeaker overhead: “Transmission has ended.” Priti let out an exasperated sigh and whispered “thank christ” under her breath. The robot cameras all immediately returned to their rest positions, tucked away in various corners. Siobhan sprinted up to the desk with her exhausting youthful exuberance.

“That was bloody brilliant, Elizabeth!” She dove in for a big hug. “I love you!”

Cass stood up and forced a smile at them both as the rest of the panellists’ screens turned off one by one. She turned, wordlessly, and stepped off the stage.

“Oi, and you,” Siobhan shouted over to Cass. “Join us for a coffee?”