A Greener Tomorrow

July 2041.

Somewhere east of Trawsfynydd, Wales.

The last bit of the drive to Trawsfynydd had been serene, almost beautiful. Kevin and Gemma hadn’t really spoken in hours. She hid mostly inside her co-opted, oversized hoodie, with her big headphones on, watching out the window as the Welsh countryside rolled by the windows. She didn’t know if her low mood was because of well, everything, or because she’d been listening to a specially-curated playlist of extremely sad songs. But it was well and truly low.

It surely didn’t help that every one of these songs would’ve been from the label she used to work for. Hell, she’d probably met half the artists. She even remembered meeting half of that half. She wasn’t trying to toe the company line when she’d do that – when she’d build a playlist entirely of their artists – she just genuinely preferred them. And she liked to think she’d had a hand in guiding them toward such a strong catalogue of artists capable of making deeply, deeply depressing music. Soul-crushingly sad. Not all of it, of course. They had plenty of pop, funk, R&B, trance, lo-fi. That was not what the day called for, though.

It had just finished raining, and the sun struck the emerald hills just right, a golden light filtering through a lingering storm cloud. It was the upper to mix with her downer. She floated right in the middle.

“I’m a city mouse” came her reply any time friends, colleagues, family members, random Tinder matches had wanted to go upcountry somewhere. “Come with me to Nottingham for a wedding” said the boy from the events company, with the mullet and the disgusting flat. “My family have a little place outside Glasgow, we can hit the munroes” said the jacked middle-class backpacker with no discernible profession. “The Bath Christmas Market is so much fun,” said Blaine with the scary neck tattoo who turned out to be off-puttingly wholesome. It was always a no, no, no. Ibiza, sure. New York, at least twice a year. Dubai, once, for a work thing. The North of England? You had to be fucking joking.

But now she regretted having never come here, to Wales, when she had the means. Because everything she saw now just came with a tinge of pain or irritation at knowing she no longer had the freedom. All the gorgeous lakes and hills of Snowdonia National Park, with Snowdon itself looming in the distance. She knew it wasn’t called that anymore, and wished she knew what it was called instead. A Welsh word, she suspected. Kevin would know. She refused to ask him. But Snowdon being a benevolent mountain didn’t mind whether you knew what it was called, it let you behold it all the same. Everything so green, so unspoiled. A remarkable restraint they’d shown in leaving it lie, and this was the reward.

She fumbled round in the back seat for the rest of the vodka, but didn’t feel it anywhere. Kevin seemed to be talking, she noticed out of the corner of her eye. She lowered her headphones and glanced over. “Hm?”

“I put the rest of the booze in the trunk,” Kevin repeated.

“Well, now’s as good of a time as any to pull over.”

“We’re nearly there. Can you do without for 20 minutes?” He sounded disappointed in her. Bloody child.

They’d been driving through the park for quite a while now, down this narrow stretch, and finally they seemed to be turning toward some trace of civilisation. She saw in the distance some businesses, some houses, random bits, like a proper little village. Was this where they were going?

And then she saw: between the car and the village was a massive chain link fence.

Stretching across the road and into the distance as far as she could see in either direction, topped with barbed wire. It cut indiscriminately through the green, with signs dotted on it here and there. CCTV cameras seemed to be monitoring it at regular intervals. Kevin started to slow down as they approached the imposing gatehouse. A massive concrete sign indicated that this was Wales Site F (Trawsfynyd Cymru), with a smaller metal sign proclaiming that it was operated as a partnership between HM Government and Magenta Energy. A faded vinyl banner strung across the top of the gate house had what looked like a little sketch of Snowdon and the slogan “Magenta + UK Government: Green Energy for a Greener Tomorrow.”

And of course, there was the much less friendly sign, metal, attached with a couple of wires through punch-holes, flapping in the breeze against the fence. It indicated that this was a secure facility, and that lethal force would be used to protect it.

Kevin stopped the car in front of the gate. Two heavy mounted guns tracked them as they approached, atop concrete pillars on either side of it. The gatehouse was empty. There didn’t seem to be anyone around for miles.

A screen, almost like an old drive-through fast food window, was at the gate. Kevin rolled down the window. A digital agent appeared, with an unnerving grin and matinee idol looks.

“Hello, and thanks for visiting Wales Site F.” The voice was male, extremely polished, speaking in received pronunciation like some 1950s radio address. Gemma peered around Kevin to get a look at the screen. The head unnervingly did not have a neck or body. “For your safety, and the safety of our staff, this facility is not open to the public, I’m afraid. I am terribly sorry for the inconvenience, but if you could please turn around and leave as soon as possible.”

“I’m dropping someone off who works here,” came Kevin’s sheepish response.

“Of course! My apologies for the confusion. Anyone assigned to Wales Site F would’ve been given a return code upon their departure through the gate. I’ll just need that code and we can get this gate open for you.” A light on the gun turret blinked at a regular interval. It remained pointed right at them, feeling much closer than it probably was.

“I’ve never been before, I’ve got no code.” Gemma shouted past Kevin at the face on the screen.

“Thanks for letting me know you’ve never been before, and therefore you don’t have a return code. It’s important to note that for your safety and the safety of our staff, Wales Site F is not open to the public, and therefore no visitors are allowed. Additionally, I’m only permitted to allow you a certain amount of time near the gate before I’ll have to ask you to please turn around and leave.” It sounded so incredibly chipper as it issued a vague threat.

“I work here ya naff robot, I just missed my train.” Gemma was instantly annoyed. She was presenting herself voluntarily for imprisonment, and the prison wouldn’t take her.

“Of course, I understand, and I do apologise for the mistake. However, it’s important to note that Wales Site F is not open to the public, and therefore no visitors are allowed. Therefore⁠—”

“Can you please give us two minutes to find the paperwork?” Kevin jumped in, hoping to avert a gunning-down.

“Yes, I understand you’d like a bit more time to find any relevant paperwork. Please note that you’re permitted to be at the gate for five minutes, starting from when you arrived. If you are still in front of the gate without authorisation by the sixth minute, measures will need to be undertaken. Thanks for understanding.” The face flashed an unholy grin, then vanished. It was replaced with a timer counting down from 3 minutes 47 seconds in a pleasing serif font.

“Christ.” Gemma panicked. She grabbed her backpack from the floor of the car and started rootling through it like mad, looking for the papers she’d been sent.

“This is insane, I’m going to turn around and leave.” Kevin appeared to be keeping it together, as well as one can when automated defences were ready to remove you from the equation over a misunderstanding. Gemma dumped the papers out of her bag onto her lap and started flinging them behind her as she checked then one by one. Kevin looked behind him and went to put the car in gear.

“Wait!” Gemma held up a paper in front of her. “I’m with orientation class 1534!” She shouted her employee ID and her national insurance number for good measure. The timer vanished and the upsetting face reappeared.

“That’s fantastic, thanks very much Gemma Thomson. You’re permitted entry to Wales Site F with one medium-sized piece of luggage and one hand-carry item such as a backpack or handbag. No vehicles or guests may accompany you at this time.” A smaller gate to the side, at the pavement, began to slide open. The main gate remained shut. “Please exit the vehicle and proceed to the gate with your luggage. A bus will be along per the regular schedule to bring you to the facility. You’ll find the transport schedule and a waiting area just on the other side of the gate. Please do enjoy your time at Wales Site F, a fruitful partnership between the UK Government and Magenta Energy. Green energy, for a greener tomorrow.” The face winked, then vanished. The screen went dark.

Kevin had started rolling up the window. He let out a huge sigh. “Well, we’re not dead.”

“I can’t imagine we were in any danger,” Gemma laughed. “Regrettably.” It’s possible in that moment she pictured herself dying here, at the gate. Shredded into an unrecognisable heap by government bullets. Would she be a martyr? Or just another anonymous victim of the gate to Wales Site F? That wouldn’t really have mattered. The important bit would be that she was dead.

She climbed out of the car quickly, avoiding any chance of eye contact with Kevin, looping quickly round to the boot of the car. It popped open and she grabbed her medium-sized piece of luggage and her one hand-carry item. Bullet dodged there. Just for good measure she also reached in and grabbed the bottle of vodka, tossing that into her bag.

And then she stood there. The air was crisp. The wind pushed hard against her face. The wide open green space, the edge of a nearby reservoir with its eerily still water. She took a long, deep breath. The country air filled her lungs. What a rare treat for them.

“I don’t know how long I can sit here.” Kevin had a real urgency to his voice. Fine. She could still see all this, breathe this air, from the other side of the fence. It was just some fence. Put here by people. It held no sway over the air, or the majesty of Snowdon.

“Yeah, yeah.” The wheels of her bag clicked and clacked across the gravel road until she hit the smooth pavement. She turned back to face Kevin, still sat behind the wheel of his car. He didn’t even get out. “Kevin? Going to hug me goodbye?”

“I don’t know if I’m allowed to get out of the car.” Her stomach churned. She tutted and shook her head, putting on an extremely foul expression.

“Well, thanks, man. Sorry you got more than you meant to get. Enjoy that drive back.” Kevin stared out the window of his Corsa, expressionless. She doffed her invisible cap to him. “Adieu.”

The car started to back away from the gate as she stepped through the door. It slid closed behind her. Everything in her wanted to turn around to see him one more time, but she absolutely would not, instead cutting into the alcove and flopping down on the cold metal bench. A poster hung near her face with a bus schedule. Today’s schedule was quite quick to read: there weren’t any.

She squinted and saw the edge of the village in the far distance. Maybe she’d stay a while longer though. She stood and faced back out the way she came, back at the wide green plain, the distant hill, the reservoir. It still looked quite beautiful through the chain link fence.

The vodka was a little over half-full when she arrived. Not ideal, but probably enough to get her through the night. She alternated sitting, pacing, standing, sitting again. She tried to shout for the gate guard, but it wouldn’t activate. An ancient Relient K song blared from the tinny speaker on her phone, and she scream-sang along with it. Again. And again. And again.

The gate house was locked, dark inside. It looked like it hadn’t been used in years. Flood lamps made her concrete perch an oasis in a sea of blackness as the sun went down. The harsh halogen light gave her a massive headache. The vodka was mostly gone, and so was her phone battery. She thirstily gulped down the rest of both. Her backpack was a suitable-enough pillow, but the bench had an arm rest down the middle making it impossible to lay on. At some point, not long after, the floodlights went out. Complete darkness. She curled up on the ground, her arms pulled inside Kevin’s hoodie, shivering and crying in the freezing cold Welsh air.

Her dreams were scattered, chaotic, terrifying. Not anything she could particularly remember. A nightmare of loneliness and running, chasing, being chased. Slipping, falling into an abyss. Landing in an endless ocean. Soaking wet.

She gasped and coughed, her eyes suddenly open. It was absolutely pissing it down. “Fucking christ!” Her head, her back, her arms and legs, everything was in some terrible state. Six different kinds of pain, and completely soaked through. How was there no cover?! She looked at the gate house, with its definitely bolted-shut door. Its window looking into the dusty, empty, bone-dry interior. And in her mind’s eye, the blinking light on the heavy weaponry just feet away. Surely it would forgive this trespass.

Her fingers curled around the empty bottle. She struggled to get to her feet as the world spun around her, as every centimetre of her nerves, as all her muscles, her bones and her soul cried out in pain.

SMASH! The window easily shattered, the bottle landing safely inside the gate house, out of the rain. Jagged glass shards jutted randomly out of the frame. Lovely.

Torrential rain poured down on her. She looked up briefly and got a face full, feeling like she’d drown instantly. Sure, fuck it.

She clamoured over the waist-high wall and into the gate house, cutting and scraping herself all over her hands and tearing random cuts and rips all over her hoodie and jeans. She thudded down onto a small counter just under the window. Phew. No fall to the ground. And her cuts weren’t nearly as bad as she thought they might be. The glass seemed to be dull, rather than sharp. Only a couple seemed to be bleeding.

This was the biggest win she’d had in a long time.

She lay on the counter, completely drenched, panting, her adrenaline briefly masking the pain. Her chest rose and fell, rose and fell. Her breathing slowly came under control. Her heart rate lowered. She burst into a laughing fit and threw her arms straight up into the air. “WOOOOOOOOO!” Even that, though, came with a cost. Joints cracked and popped. She gingerly put her arms back down and scanned the room. Completely empty. Not even a chair, a disused cabinet, a stool. Not even a piece of paper. An absolute joke, this was. Searing hot pain started to spread through her lower back. More grim laughter. “Useless, I’m so fucking useless.” She closed her eyes and stared up at the plain white ceiling, focusing on the sound of the rain.

“Uh. Hello?” She opened her eyes and saw a man standing a ways back from her in the room. The sun was nearly whiting him out. “Are you okay? What happened?”

“The—” She started to speak, but went into a coughing fit. “It was pouring rain outside and there was no bus. I came in here to stay dry.”

“What happened to the window?” He sounded calm, but extremely curious.

“It uh, I’m not sure. It was broken. Lucky though, it’s how I got in.” She raised her hand with a grimace, showing her cuts.

“Why not use the door?” He gestured to the door behind him, which was wide open. She propped herself up a bit with her elbows and stared.

“It was locked. Bolted shut.”

“Really? It shouldn’t have been. I don’t think it would be. This is the waiting room. It’s never locked. There isn’t a lock.”

She let out a groan and shook her head. “Whatever. Who are you? Why are you?”

“I’m driving the shuttle today. Brought someone here. Saw the broken window. Saw you. Do you need a ride back to town?”

The seat of the shuttle was an honest-to-god delight. So plush. So much pain relief. She sank into it and worried she’d never be able to get back up. The same greenery, the same open space, the same crisp air all existed on this side of the fence. It was easy to just put it out of your mind, she thought as she watched the distant buildings get closer.

Her chauffeur, Roger, was a young buck of around 24, messy blonde curls, extremely forgettable face, but kind enough even if he did like to ramble. She noticed he was a bit perturbed that she’d climbed into the front seat with him, rather than the back. But her glare seemed to suffice in calming down any objections. Apparently driving the shuttle was a gig he did for extra credit, which sounded very much like a school thing.

“Not credit, credits. You uh, you new here?” was Roger’s fumbling response. Classic Roger.

“Fresh off the boat. I know I look like I fell overboard, spare me the joke.”

“Aye right, you’ll be keen on credits soon enough, soon as you learn what they are.”

She cast her mind back to all the reading she’d done on Understairs. So many bookmarked threads, so much note-taking, so many concepts she’d talked through with Kevin. It was all gone. Where had it gone? Her brain felt like a lemon that’d already been juiced. Not a drop of thought left in there, just rind and bit of zest. Hopefully she’d be able to make sense of the notes on her currently-dead phone.

“I’ll be honest, I’m not so good at the learning these days. Mostly get by on my looks and charisma. Usually relied on my assistant for the rest.”

“Assistant? Oh, this is gonna be hard for you, huh.”

“You’re very observant, Roger. I can tell we’re going to be fast friends.”