James is taking a walk around the part of the ship where the food is grown. There is a walkway that spirals around inbetween the outside of the ship, and the plants growing in the centre. A walker can either walk slightly up, or slightly downhill (one in fifty?) with the plants on the inside of the spiral, and the perpetual night sky shielded with huge curved sheets of glass.

James thinks: I just seem to spend all my time being depressed and thinking about depression. It's just such a waste. If only everyone from home was on Progen, the place'd be such a laugh. For me maybe, but everyone else here seems to be getting on alright. Strange that: the only reason I was brought onto Progen was for my sunny disposition. Whatever happened to that eh?

Sometimes Puter comes up with some real crap amoungst all the ace stuff. Depression is an illness of the brain: who on Earth wrote that? There's nothing wrong with my brain, it's working perfectly. Lets face it, your mind can only be formed from the experiences that it gets. When almost every input to the brain is negative, maybe not badly so, just as long as not many good things happen and none of these are too good, can you really be surprised at the results? The brain is designed to make judgements on what it knows. It's fairly obvious that a good healthy mind will start to ask itself 'What's the point?' and 'Why carry on?'

Oh, I'd best turn in here, go up on the stairs for the next few floors (which he does) cos I'm almost up to that restaurant floor. That bloke from work'll be there tonight, he'll see me walk around the outside. Oh James, surely that's exactly the thing you shouldn't do. You should turn around now and walk past looking for him and then go over and have a chat with him, he's not a bad bloke. Oh, I'd just be so false - 'Will you be my friend?' Well someone's got to make the first move. Anyway, I just want to be alone walking and thinking for the moment. Oh yeah? You've actually convinced yourself of that haven't you James.

James has now made it back to the walkway.

James thinks: Change the subject James. (Blank frame.) This really is a pretty cool walkway actually. It's nice to see all the plants all stacked up. They look so squashed, it's odd to think that they've all got exactly the right amount of space to live in. Bit of a shame there's no animals though. Being vegan's not bad, but it was always nice to have real milk and cheese, and meat for special occasions. Then again, that's not really in keeping with that 'all living beings are equal' philosophy they've got here. It seems a bit stupid when you think of an insect flying into someone's eye on Earth. So maybe the fly is dead, but it's caused a lot of pain to the human. Even when you try to look at it from the fly's point of view, you can't help feeling more for the human than the fly, cos it's a much lower form of life. You can take the same argument further to justify keeping farm animals to frollic and roam and have a laugh shagging anything that moves. They've got all their food found for them and not a care in the world. Until their last day that is, but it's still a wholely reasonable existance. Same for abortion. I mean, who would deny someone the freedom and fun of their life just so that another life can cause such destruction of their standard of life.

James, use your brain. Everyone else stops there. Why? Go on James make that step into philosophical history, just by taking the same argument one step further: all human life can't be equal. I suppose it's been recognised slightly by 'women and children first.' Nah, that's rubbish. Surely someone who actively contributes and participates in society's life is worth more than someone who's a leach on sociey, giving nothing but taking lots. Even just someone who is on a par with society isn't worth as much as the contributor.

Oh classic James. All men are not equal and they shouldn't be. You smart git. Come on then, lift back to the room to tell Miranda about it all.
 

H/I 8 Knowledge
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...(Half way through the letter.) It's great being able to change your veiws when suitable arguments are formed to challenge them. Honestly, being a hypocrit is the largest luxury one can allow oneself.

I've been doing alot of learning on Progen. It's amazing how well most of it is written and how much sense all these things make. When you just hear the odd keyword every now and then in converation it all seems so daunting, but an hour infront of a screen when you're in the right mood (which seems to be most of the time with me) and it all makes sense and goes in so easily. I find it wholely plausible that most people these days only use about a third of their brain capacity, but that can really be bumped up by sitting and learning stuff, and using your left hand.

One thing I have found though is that knowledge messes you up. If you're blissfully ignorant of all these issues then you can go about life content, wondering who's going to be down the boozer that night. But all these contradictions start appearing even when you've only just start aquiring knowledge.

There really is no end to the amount of knowledge you can get, but I wonder if you reach a sort of saturation point, where you don't know everything, but any additional little snippet of info comes as no surprise to you, they all fit into a general pattern. You'd reach a sort of nirvana and can spend the rest of your life with your legs crossed eating yoghurt!

I'll tell you what though, one thing that's interested me has been how far back humanists (sort of aetheists who reject the supernatural) go in history. At every stage of man's development there seems to be someone at the fore who you just KNOW didn't but any of this religion rubbish. I suppose that proof that they were really thinking men is that they were recorded by history in the first place. Even though the contemporary people didn't understand their more subtle thoughts they certainly admired them for the things they could understand. It's ace having some historical characters to empathize with.

Something I've found a tad embaressing is that I've been forced to be a hanger on to John? (Sleepy, the hanger on to us on Gensim.) Sometimes you're put into situations where you've got to stand or sit with someone, or be alone. So I tend to sit with John fairly often. The odd thing is that he doesn't act half as badly as we did to him. We'd just turn our backs on him and ignore him. He often indulges me in converstion and that. It makes me feel like a failure, having to borrow Happy's (John's) friends.

I've been wondering how I got onto Progen. Looking back, I don't seem to have made an active decision anywhere really. Throughout my education and work, I've had a set of choices at various stages, and I've always chosen the 'best choice'. I'd make the same decisions even now. Everything was made so easy I never really thought about it all, I just stayed on the escallator at every point. That escallator brought me here, but this is certainly not the ideal place for me to end up. But I don't see how I could have avoided it. I'd have had to get off the escallator somewhere, and to get off the escallator you'd have to be thinking about it all, or the escallator would have had to take you to a place you didn't really want to end up. Still there's no turning back now.

Wanta know what really naffs me off. The boneheads on Progen. We had some film come on the tele that wasn't straight forward. You know, you had to think a bit. Not like a ridiculously complecated story that's only complex for the sake of being complex to try and justify itself, but one that sometimes has parts that appear totally disjoint from the rest of the story, or is almost consistanty disjoint. They were all making out that the writer / director must be a complete freako, and making out that their mind must be a complete mess. Only being a little cocky, I understood which side of the spoon she was looking through. It didn't seem too much of an intellectual barrier to cross, but apparently it is for most people. Then again, maybe by disjointing the story a tad it's just adding gimmical value and drawing attention to itself.

You can only attempt to change society to a certain degree. After that point is passed you no longer hold views that the general populus have, and become a freak. You will not be in contact with man and so will start to forget why he reacts in certain ways. That then leads you to being unrealistic about the need to and the nature of change required. To address this I'm trying to make a concious attempt to letch at women for instance, and push people around on the dance floor.

Anyway enough of this crap, I think I'm getting carried away: K1 -> Q2

Lots of love,

James xx
 

H/I-a 10 New Business
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Knock on door.

Boss: Come in.

Miranda: Hello, only me.

Boss: Ah, good. Sit down. I've got a sort of request to make. I wonder if you'd mind taking a slight shift in the content of your work, from basically reporting on events that have happened, towards a more researchy sort of role.

Miranda thinks: Oh, right.

Boss: That doesn't mean you'd not do any more reporting, but we need more people to spend time understanding how the world runs. Then when a report comes in, we can judge how important an issue it may be. We don't just magic up sanctions on the whims of whoever happens to be around when it's mentioned. It's carefully calculated. You'd gradually become a bit of a guru, and participate in policy decisions. I don't need an answer right now, you can think about it a bit if you like, but I think you'll enjoy it.

Miranda: Yeah, that's fine.

Boss: Great. I thought you said you'd quite like a move this way. Well, we'll phase you in gradually, but no time like the present. I've got someone who's just started their own business. Could you find out from him the mechanics of it all. He's got something to do with insurance I think, well you can find that out I'm sure. He's expecting you to call and he's a nice man. Find out what you can from him, he's very bright, you never quite know what gems he'll come out with. Oh, and the motto is: there's no question too stupid to ask him.

Miranda: Oh, thank you.

Boss: No no, thank you.

Cut to Miranda at her screen.

Miranda: Hello, I'm Miranda from Contempary News. I gather you've just started up your own business. I wonder if I could ask you a couple of questions about it.

Bloke: Hello, of course you can. I've been expecting your call.

Miranda: OK. Could you start by telling me a little about the new company.

Bloke: Yeah OK. It'd probably be clearer If I start off with compensation in general. Say someone's house burns down. The first thing they do when they've got a roof over their heads is to contact one of the compensation companies, usually one from their own conglomerate. The compensation company then estimates the loss, and where compensation should come from: husband and wife may well work for companies in different conglomerates, what proportion of the cost of rehousing and replacing all their posessions should each conglom pay? It's a fairly simple system to use and run as long as the compensation companies make good estimations and the comglomerates respect the decisions and don't run out of money. But of course it's not that simple since dreaded Man's involved. The comgloms are quite rightly concerned about the amount of shod they're dishing out. And of course, it turns out that some people claim for everything they loose or misplace (some losses are even made up), and other people never claim and would only do so if something like their house burned down. These types of people are the extreames in both directions away from the 'ideal citizen' (but who knows one of them?) Needless to say that since both of the extreame types work equally hard to earn money for their conglomerate (not strictly true but we'll run with it) the Claimers are effectively taking money from the Non-claimers. As it is very hard, and pretty pointless to force the Non-claimers to claim more, the Claimers are therefore taking money from the congloms. A fairer system would obviously reduce the Claimers rewards, and use the shod saved for the community as a whole rather than the greedy few.

With such catholic compensation, the tendancy is to not really care for things since you'll get new ones regularly if things happen to them. So it is reasonable to consider what claims people have made in the past before deciding on what to give them now. The more claims, the less compensation. This serves as a deterrant from clumsyness, and leaving yourself open for things to happen to you as well as reducing God this is boring. If someone has made so many claims that she's only getting about 10% of an item's worth every time she claims now, and then her house burns down, you can't only give her 10% of the value of everything she owned. It goes against the concept of the conglomerate provider: shielding and helping all it's members. So the system becomes very complecated and each compensation company carrys out its work in slightly different ways. In my old job working in a compensation company I gradually spent proportionally more time per claim checking that my customer would not be better off going elsewhere. Other companies used to call me up to make sure that what they were offering wasn't wildly off the mark. There was obviously a need for someone to collate all this information independantly on a full time basis. So that's what I've done.

Miranda: Oh, I see. How did you go about starting the company once you got the idea then?

Bloke: Well you're quite right that the idea is the most important thing. You get help with everything else, but the market has got to be identified by yourself. I'm going to take a liberty with you seeings as you're paying for the call, and dip into a bit of the history of company finance first.

In the past, all the small new companies were started up by people who were willing to lay their home and all their possessions down on the line to achieve finance for the company through a bank. The type of person willing to do that isn't always the person with the most innovative ideas, and the best person to run a company. Apart from that, you'd never find anyone these days who'd dream of putting themselves or their families through that, and why should they? Starting up larger companies was done by offering a number of sources of finance the chance to own a proportion of the new company, by paying that proportion of the total amount required to set the company up. If the company turned out to be a good one, then these investers got a proportion of what they called profit. In their definition, a company's profit for a year was the difference between the amount that they charged for the goods they'd sold over the year, and how much they were worth. This could amount to quite a bit, which was then given to these 'Shareholders' on a pro rata basis. They didn't consider that the people who actually made the goods were entitled to divide the money between them, or that the customers were entitled to a fair price. But that wasn't the half of it.

When the 'Shareholders' needed more cash, they would sell all or part of their share in a company. As any new buyer of the shares might not be available immediately, and he (they generally were male) might well want a significantly larger or smaller proportion of the company, other people who didn't actually want to own a part of the company, acted as middle men. Buying parts of the company for less than it was worth, and selling it for more than it was worth. Phenominal amounts of money could be acquired in this way. As administration of this type became substantial, these 'easy money' financial institutions keeping themselves extreamely busy with unproductive work, became a serious leech on the whole of society, much moreso than even the banks and forcing almost every company to make profits that once achieved were simply given away.

The system wasn't really as grim as I make out, since the people who benefitted from it all and had most of the money did spend it, which kept everything moving, but society in general had to work much harder than it should have needed to to compensate for the massive inefficiency of the system. As all the congloms now are cooperatives 'owned by the staff', there's no owners to sell their shares and support that huge administration, or to force the companies to make profit to divide amongst them. Also, as the structure is there to setup you're own new company, under the wing of the conglom (which I promise I'll get onto soon) to provide finance and help in terms of sales, marketing etc. all with no personal risk other than loss of face. So there is no role for banks to leech from the new companies. All lovely and efficient.

Anyway, so much for what's happened so far. Now, you've got a good idea and there's enough demand for what you intend selling to enable the company to pay its way eventually. You go along to your conglom's innovation council or whatever it's called, and try to justify it to them. They're pretty good I think. They look into it all in quite a bit of detail: if it's a no hoper, then they'll weed it out, but most of the time they get fairly reasonable suggestions. The congloms need to invest money in new companies. Some of them will go to the wall (eg. no one can ever judge fashion consistantly correctly for all but a narrow subculture,) but the other ones will be successful and will help form the backbone of the conglom in the future. It's much better to have ten innovative and exciting projects on the go with a couple of dedicated staff working on them, and have nine of them fail. In the long term the other one will pay for the failed attempts several times over, and then some.

It's much easier to tailor a new company's structure to a new market, than to change an old one. There's another contrast with the old system of industry. Companies tended to start off small, specializing in one small area - much like the whole of industry now. I'll take the example of a design firm. All their designs would be manufactured by specialist manufactures, and external accountants would sort their exceptionally complecated financial system out. To start up a business in the first place, the designers would have a good concept of the markets, but as the company growed, the designers would tend to have less and less involvement with the market, and 'Marketing Departments' WITHIN THE DESIGN COMPANY would start up. Ideally these marketeers would have a technical background, but, although in our educated age it is hard for us to appreciate how it could be, this was seldom the case. The company would actually find it cheaper to start up its own manufacturing plant, and accounts department. Although these ancillary departments could justify full time employment, the whole emphasis is away from the area of expertease. Also, cumbersome company structures must be put in place to ensure that the departments communicate directly. This shouldn't be a problem, but just compare it to our system: each company only deals with its area of expertease. To take the design example again: each engineer has direct contact with its component suppliers, the product manufacturers, and direct contact with its customers. They know both the supply and demand and are their own marketeer. They are all directly financially accountable so there is no need for accountants. (It is sometimes argued that a comglomorate's policy committee are basically accountants.) Admittedly, the volume of output each engineer 'produces' in terms of numbers of designs much less than his oldern equivalent, but that output is of a significantly higher quality. The engineer has a broader responsibility and hence a richer life experience. Also, if you get naffed off with your manufacturers doing things badly, you can change them (Capitalism at work.) Of course, you can't do that if they're part of your own company.

In those oldern times, they were obsessed with economical growth and recession, rather than sustaining a level. The whole economy would boom and almost every company would suddenly do well, and then during recession, would virtually cease trading. True, the excitment of a boom period is a feeling we can only conjecture about, but the waste and depression of recession can't justify that feeling. It seems bizarre compared with the obvious status quo of, old, obsolete industries declining, and new exciting ones expanding proportionately. But I suppose their whole system was a bit naff with companies shirking their responsibilities (and potential power), and artificial governments ruling over artificial boundaries pretending to know everything about everything and generally moving very slowly. The figureheads that used to run the countries are quite analogous to the chairmen of the congloms these days in many ways. Although to the uninitiated, the old voting systems gave the power and mandate to these governments, the respect that we have for the our chairmen and the shod they get in return for giving us what we want, gives them both the power and the mandate in a much fairer and more responsive system.

Miranda: That's great, I've not heard such a good summary as that before: you know alot about history don't you?

Bloke: Well you pick things up don't you. I hope I've been some help.

Miranda: You certainly have, thankyou.

Bloke: That's alright. Anytime you want to know anything you didn't know you want to know: call me.

Miranda: Good luck with your company.

Bloke: Thanks, I don't know if it'll work, but it might catch on, nothing ventured... Bye then.

Miranda: Bye thanks. Bye.

Miranda pushes the hang up button and the window closes.

Miranda: Call my sister will you James.

Miranda: Hiya, how's things?

Sister: Ace yerself?

Miranda: I've just been promoted to doing research work.

Sister: Ace! James'd be pleased.

Miranda: You won't believe it, but I just got another letter off him.

Sister: With the chess on it?

Miranda: Yup.

Sister: I don't bloody believe it every time. You still coming up?

Miranda: You bet. I'll tell you all the guff later. Should be a couple of hours, I've still got a couple of things to do.
 

H/I-a 11 Gary
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Miranda and Gary are dancing away pretty groovily on some dance floor. After a couple of frames of merriment her sister comes up and shouts into Gary's ear.

Sister: I don't think I'm going to loose this headache, so I'm going home. Rory's coming back too.

Gary: Oh, OK.

She then waves to Miranda.

Gary (to Miranda): Dancing?

Miranda: Asking?

Gary: Asking.

Miranda: Dancing!

Miranda hugs ther sister. Gary and sister have a quick peck and a hug.

All: See ya later.

They carry on boogying for a few frames whilst she leaves. New page? Time has passed, but they're still dancing even though we've turned the page. A new track comes on. Gary looks at Miranda with a 'screwed up on one side', questioning sort of face. As if to say: 'I'm not really too bothered about dancing to this, but I've been dancing for the last half an hour to a string of other tracks that sound almost exactly the same, so I don't mind carrying on really. Oh and my legs are tired too! Miranda tilts her head so that one ear is marginally closer to the speaker. God knows why, cos it's certainly loud enough to hear. NB It isn't so loud as to cause anyone permanent hearing damage. Spend a frame trying to work out which track it is. Then she shakes her head and they walk off towards the cloakroom.

Cut to a view from outside the disco with them walking out adjusting their jackets. They hold hands as they turn onto the street.

Gary: So, you're still living down south then? (Nod reply.) Why don't you move up here and stay in the commune? You always have such an ace time when you're up here and everyone loves you up here.

Miranda: Yeah, I know. Its not that bad down there though. You just get to hear about all the bad points from me, you know, all the things that really get you down. When something good happens I don't tend to go on and on about it.

Gary: You don't have to be an alternative you know. Just cos we all are. You could work as a journalist up here and everything'd be ace.

Miranda: Yeah, I know. I suppose I really should consider it shouldn't I? (Nod reply.) I don't know. There's not much there for me anymore with Sis moving up here I suppose. But work's starting to pick up now, and I'm at a stage now where I'm just learning so much. If I move jobs, they'd want someone with either no experience or fairly broad experience, not sort of inbetween. It'd be really hard to get the right job. At the moment though, I'm at a stage where I'm learning so much that I'll have the experience in just over a year. I also owe them a bit of work too. I mean they've sent me though school and trained me up. I want to do some proper work for them. Do I sound like I'm trying to justify it to myself?

Gary: Well, er just a tad. Come on: everyone educates and trains people. Your replacement would have been educated by someone else. It all cancels itself out. You know that.

Gary kneels down to do his laces up.

Gary: Hang on a sec.

Miranda pushes Gary over on the pavement. Gigles abound exponentially. Frollocks as Gary attempt to continue doing up his laces. Eventually he's done it and Miranda pulls him up, and their faces just carry on moving together until they're bleedin' snogging.

Both think: Bloody hell!

Drag the snog out as long as you dare. They stop and hug eachother for a frame or two. With arms around eachother they start walking slowly home.

Miranda: We'd best enjoy the walk home, it'll not happen again.
 

H/I-a 12 Miranda's Crash
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She's travelling home, the only person on the bus, on a quiet road, on a very windy, dark winter's night. Snow covers the whole countryside. A large tree falls diagonally across the road right infront of Miranda's bus so that rather than feeling the full force of a square hit, she glances off the trunk and the bus is thrown off the road into the woods.

Miranda thinks: Bloody hell, that was close. You're alright though, quick check. Everything seems to be there.

Miranda: James. James. JAMES! Oh bugger it. What do I do now? Does the door work?

She pushes the manual override. It opens.

Miranda thinks: God that's cold (she slams it closed immediately.) I haven't seen any houses for the last couple of miles, and I'm not about to go walkabout in this. Transport'll realize that they've lost me from the road. Someone'll be out to find me in no time. Best to stay here. Keep yourself warm and occupied (write James's letter?) God it's getting cold bloody quick. You shouldn't have opened that door you daft tart. Get as many clothes on as possible. Still feels like there's a draught. God there's a hole from the crash. Best cover it somehow.

Get her looking absolutely ridiculous, but warm: socks on her hands, jumpers upside down on her legs. Some way of keeping her toes and feet warm (sitting on them under her legs?) Somehow she's wielding a pen, and peering out of some garment that, although not meant for one's head, is actually keeping exceptionally hot.
 
 

Dear James,

I've crashed on the way home from my sisters. It's quite late on the Sunday night and I was the only person on the bus. There's snow all around and it's bloody freezing. I'm not sure if the tree that we hit is still on the track, but I don't think it moved. I'm just expecting a speeding truck to hit it in the same way that we did and then pile in the back of us. I'll freeze to death if I leave the bus, so I'm sat in the back (now the furthest point away from the future point of impact) facing any oncoming vehicle. I'm scared. The car's getting colder and colder, but my ears are so wrapped up that they're burning, but I'm soded if I'm going to let them cool down.

Now's probably a better time than most to review my life. OK lets try and think what is wrong with me (the symptoms):

i) Lack of motivation to do things. I'm sure that I would normally (or abnormally on the last year's performance) be over the moon by work at the moment, I'm really starting to do exactly the design work that I'd like to. I was visibly unwilling to accept the design of the Omega power supply. I can't find the motivation to cook, so I have beans on toast EVERY night with a little slice of cheese. Even though I prooved conclusivally that it takes as much effort to produce some thing much more tastey/interesting/different - you know. Even washing is a chore that requires so much energy that it is made into a formidable barrier in my mind.

ii) Money. How I managed to accumulate such a visa bill is partly the fault of my CD player. The car has been the worst one though. In the three months from August I've spent £180 on work done to get her through MOT. £90 on two (only two!) tyres, £57 on an exhaust. Claire of course, went into the back of Vicky and didn't tell me. Danielle told her I'd assumed that it was kids and Claire just put of telling me. To say I feel let down, betrayed etc. is an understatement. Whilst I thought it was just kids I went to buy what I thought would be a £10 glass piece and discovered that it was a £70 sealed unit. The bloke in Hadley's Rover parts bit takes pleasure in doing everything so tediously slowly that everyone hangs around for ages and is really wound up by the time they leave. I just wanted to throttle the fucking cunt and shout in his ear whilst shaking his whole body "just fucking hurry up." It's exactly the emotion he wanted. Glee of Glee, he was out of stock of integral offside Metro headlight/indicators and so he'd have to order it. I thought if he want paying now he can fuck off. Now after half an hour waiting the other bloke who serves at parts turned up to serve in exactly the way that happened when I wanted a new wheel (oh that's another £30). His reply to my reluctance to pay was that he could get it tommorrow morning but it may have been gone when I come in.

Now, observing that it takes half an hour to serve 3 people I though that the likelyhood of it going was pretty minimal, but I knew the trick he might play. So I rang up at 5:00 pm (I wasn't going at lunchtime again) to check it was there. At 5:40 after a 15 minute customer he tried to tell me that it must have been sold. "No no no no my good man. I think you find that it is there I rang to check." He insisted it wasn't there and the man I spoke to must have put it aside in a place he didn't know (after a couple of other malicious tacks.)

Just tell me if I'm letting little things get ontop of me.

Ringing the bank to ask for £30 extra on my Credit Zone because I spent too much over the weekend. I had £4 to last me the week. On Monday Grace needed to borrow £1 for lunch (more pressure). Laura owed me £1 from last week and wasn't in until today. Would she remember (more pressure) - she did. Got to phone the bank again because Frizzel will take £30 out for car insurance on Friday. Only having the cash to buy 1 stamp when you need two.

I went to the doctor on Monday & got some pills for my sore throat (more things) -

Couple of months ago I was cool & confident especially with the blokes. Where are they now? I can get that confidence again I know, but things will have to work first. I feel that I could inflict an injury upon myself and not really worry. It wouldn't make me really feel better, I wouldn't be doing it to attract attention, but I could just thrust a sharpend matchstick through my gums.

I feel week and hungry alot of the time because I can't afford to feed myself properly. Fuck I hate car companies. I wish public transport was affordable then I could fuck B bloody L. I know all those men seem to have turned their backs on me, but what do I want from them? Kids for sure (about the only thing that I'm certain about). Emma once had a T shirt (after she had the abortion) saying 'I feel bored, I think I'll have a baby' and then pointed out that I'd never understand that feeling. Well I do. I want a relationship like Laura and James's. But I want to live with all my friends (a commune?) Why are all the people I love all over the country? Comic? When? Am I going to bring up my children and have no time for art or make a balance. What the fuck is going between me, Sis and Gary? When I go and do anything cultural, why do I spend all my time shrouded in self pity because I'm doing it on my own? No hot water this morning: Claire.
 
 

AM I BEING UNREASONABLE?
 
 

Whenever I make myself a better person, I also become a sadder person. Will it get better eventually.

[Small graph with the X axis labeled K with an icon of an open book, Y axis labled H with an acid house smiley face icon. The graph is a horseshoe with a cross at the minimum point of H for K labeled Miranda.]

Oh, did I forget to mention. Claire's cousing had his car stopped over the weekend. The IRA then riddled it & him with bullets. Back door was open all day toady: Claire. I don't feel that any part of this house is mine except my room. The others watch Neighbours 3 times an evening. It's videoed and they each watch it when they get in. Because they watch it all evening, if I want to watch anything myself I have to sort of book it and the others have to go elsewhere (they can't bear anything I'd watch & vice versa to a certain extent,) unless they bring the phone in and talk all the way through it. And I have the standing order for the £19.95 pcm TV and video. There is no real life for me any more in Cambridge - look at Emma. I've been exposed to myself as central to the posse/. True or otherwise that is now an additional pressure, and also there is no other group I'd be a member of. No driving force. No solution. This is it.

Is Gary avoiding me now? Work say he's at home. Home say's he's at work. Ring back now 1/2 8, 'Can I speak to Gary?'

'Who is it?'

'Miranda.'

'No I'm sorry he's out. I passed on your message though.'

I wasn't going to tell you this until after we'd passed the inaptly named 'Lover's Limit', but you can't begin to understand how lonely I am, and it's all your fault. I don't care anymore that I'm going to get a reply to this revalation - don't you dare not address it. I just want you to know how you threw the keys of my life away without even considering me you bastard.
 
 

The rescue man arrives.

Miranda thinks: Thank you God.

Rescuer: You OK?

Miranda: Yeah, only bruises. It's great to see you.

Rescuer: Yeah, good. Get in the van, I'll bring all your stuff. Then we'll get you some soup.

Miranda: OK. Have you got a screen in that thing.

Rescuer: Yeah, go on, help yourself.

Miranda: James. Get this.

She holds the letter up. James acknowledges he's got it and lights a 'Send' button. Miranda waits a couple of frames as she is gradually coming down. As the rescuer gets closer her mind works overtime. Just as he puts his hand on the door to open it, she pushes the button.
 

H/I 9 Progen disco
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A fair number of people are having a bop to a fairly middle of the road pop record. James is dancing in a group of five: two birds and two other blokes including Natasha and Albert.

James thinks: If there's one thing I can't stand. I can't stand up! Tee Hee. See, you can have a laugh, it's only with yourself, but still. No, no I hate dancing in a group of people that you're not comfortable with. Well, I suppose if I didn't know them at all, but really wanted to, it'd be alright. God this music is just so chuffing inoffensive. Am I the only person who likes a little bit of bollocks?

Does Albert (looking at him) think he's impressing Natasha by knowing and purposefully mouthing each word of each track? What a get, mind, she's probably dead impressed with him. It'd be par for the course: there's such a repulsive 'boy meets girl' atmosphere here. All these discos are are just pick up joints really, trying to pull the odd one or two spare birds. Everyone dresses up smart to try and impress. Am I really better than them dressing so differently? I don't pretend I look particularly good, but at least I'm not following the one same fashion. I suppose it completely eliminates any possibility of pulling so I don't expect to, or aren't let down by not pulling. Oh God. I'll be cacked if I'm dancing to another track of this crap.

He walks to the bar, gets in a soft drink, (everyone else is drinking larger,) and turns and looks at everyone.

James thinks: Albert's not the only one putting a bit of a show on. I suppose everyone's at it to some extent: pretending that you're getting really into the groove and trying to dance like it's all been choriographed; throwing yourself around in a cry for attention; and the stable ones, more like me, who'll dance smoothly and cooly to most tracks. Stable?

He stops and listens to the lyrics of the song for a bit. (Make your own up or use some already prepared you idle get.)

James thinks: Oh is that what it means, that's not bad really. Not that any of these boneheads have ever thought to actually listen to the words in a song before.

James starts letting his mind wonder. He thinks back to when he was dancing and mentally isolates the five of them. While he's dancing he 'melts' into a thin, square sheet about a yard square, levitating horizontally about six inches below the other fours' feet. No floor is shown, but is implied. They don't notice him, just carry on dancing.

Keeping the near edge flat, planar and a yard in length, the far edge starts to be drawn away, getting fractionally thiner. Once clear of the 'floor' they're not dancing on, it bends upwards and starts to gain volume. The dancers are looking down (as they have been doing,) aimlessly towards, but not at the flat sheet under their feet that is fast turning into the serious comic drawer's nightmare: A Monster. The monster is roaring loudly, is about 10' tall, and its body now completely enshrouds the dancers on three sides (underneath, back and its head shrouds the top. It uses wings or arms or other on the two sides leaving only the front free. They are completely oblivious to it as it becomes pitch dark under the shadow of the monster which continues to expand eventually giving the feeling that the cameraman taking the shots we're looking at has been engulfed. Finish the page with nearly pitch black and very loud roaring.

Turn over.

Albert has come over and is standing next to James.

Albert: Don't like this one.

James (stunned as he comes back to reality): Nah, not one of my favourites. I like pop in general, but this is a tad too weak.

Frame pause.

Albert: James. Are you gay or something?

James thinks: Bloody hell.

James: I'd only deny being gay if I was straight and afraid of it, or gay and afraid of it. I'm not afraid of being gay. That's going to have to be a good enough answer for you I'm afraid.

James thinks: You smart git James. Always knew that line'd be handy sometime. He hasn't got an idea what to say now.

Albert: You can't have failed to notice that Natasha is absolutely gaging for you.

James: Nah, she's not really my type.

Albert: I don't know how you can restrain yourself. She's so bleedin' horny.

James: Well...

Albert: Oh I like this one.

James: Don't think I'll bother. Have one for me.

James thinks: Is she really after me? How would I know anyway? Lets face it, I hardly go looking for it. Maybe I just miss the signs.

He looks at her dancing. She waves at him and he waves back.

James thinks: If you'd sat down and written exactly what you want a bird to look like it wouldn't be too different from that. She's got lovely curves. Why don't you even consider her? I know she's not much to talk to, but you've not got much choice here have you. Maybe I should reveiw my criterion for going out with someone. I'm starting to have had enough, not of actually being asexual, but of people feeling sorry for me for being asexual. They must think I've always been like this since they've never known me any different. I don't s'pose it'd make much difference even if I had been like this all my life.

She starts walking towards him.

Lets face it, Natasha really exudes sexuality. Well I'm not going to try too hard, just give her a chance.

Natasha: Enjoying it?

James: Well it's not too bad.

Natasha: You're so lovely and reserved (wrong word replace it if you can). I'm bored here. Fancy leaving?

James: Given half a chance, yeah.

They look at the others and wave goodbye.

Albert (under his breath): Trickster.

While they're walking to the lift and getting in it.

James: You not like that music?

Natasha: Yeah I do, but I just fancied going back and getting a coffee. Do you want one?

James: Oh, it'll keep me up all night. And the lift's stopping now, it seems a shame not to oblige it by getting out. Ooohh, go on then.

The lift stops, opens the door. They giggle. It nicks off.

Frame of embarressed silence.

James: What work are you doing?

Natasha: Just ... I'd rather forget about work really.

They get out onto Natasha's floor, she unlocks and opens her door and then they go into the communal kitchen where she sets about making a coffee.

James thinks: She's really gagin for it. Do it James, go for it, don't persuade yourself out of it. Don't reject her now.

She has her back to him and he approaches her and puts his hands on her hips and puts his head beside hers on her shoulder.

James: They'll still be boppin away still.

James thinks: What are you talking about?

Natasha turns and kisses him and they start snogging. Before you know it, her hands have found their way to the flesh on his back.

James thinks: Blinking flip. Stay cool. Just go along with it.

Natasha is wearing a one piece clingy top with leggins and a short tight skirt. James is wearing knee length shorts and an enormous T shirt covering about half of his trousers, odd socks and trainers. He rubbs his hands up and down the material on her back and then gradually progresses to her side. Up and down, brushing undetectably lightly against the side of her perfectly formed, small, round breasts: the clingy top really bringing them out to their best.

Natasha: Shall we move into the room.

Leaving the half made coffees, she leads him by the hand to her room. Once in, she locks it behind them. They explore eachothers' gums and teeth with their tongues and James starts to stroke her firm, tight buttocks. They shuffle towards the bed, lower themselves onto it and lie back. Their bodies both slightly curled. James now strokes her smooth legs down to her knees and futher on to her calfs. Then back up along the inside of her legs with the backs of his fingers, just avoiding getting too close her inside leg at the top, but going around the outside to her buttocks now slightly streached as her legs are bent up. The arm he's lying on is tracing the outline of her lower breast as it falls towards his hand, pushing the nipple back flush with the rest of the material, and kneeding upwards.

Natasha is rubbing James's chest with his top now pulled up almost exposing his nipples that are being tweeked while their jaws are locked together as tightly as their eyelids. Natasha starts to fumble with his trousers. James reacts by stopping stroking her buttocks and leaving his hand inbetween her legs. He pays more attention to her thighs now with his free hand, still stroking, but now his hand enters the volume darkened by the skirt and spending proportionally longer there with time. The other hand now trys to worm its way down the shoulder hole in Natasha's top to the familiar flesh.

She gestures for him to lift his hips up so that she can pull his shorts down. They are drawn by her after he looses the shoes and socks, with the T shirt following immediately. Natasha having dropping her shoes of without assistance, pushes her hips off the bed and James obliges by pulling her streachy skirt down. Taking the bit between his teeth by the horn, he undoes the gussett buttons of her one piece top and pulls her leggins down.

James thinks: There it is. How many close ups of that have I seen in the last year? It looks exactly how it should, it's georgeous.

Natasha starts pullings her top off over her head. Before she's got it over her head, James is already fondling the free breasts. But not for long, she forces herself down to attend to the escapee of his skids, which are off before you know it.

See his member as her head approaches, and obscures it. Then pan up his body to his exstatic face. And if I'm not mistaken, that's a trite enough place to finish the scene.
 

H/I 10/11 James leaves Progen
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James is sat at a desk infront of a completely clear screen except for an analogue clock in a corner which he is staring into space towards whilst playing with (pushing) one of the buttons.

James thinks: So it's over. That long spell of celebacy. It's only been a year and six months. Not long really, but as that's the only time they've known me for it must seem forever. Happy about it James? Well, I thought everything would just slot into place when I had a woman. But it doesn't. To be truthful, it's just another big problem to deal with. Yes, I fancy the arse off her, but she repulses me. She's so bloody shallow, just like everyone else here. Everyone is so nice to me now making out that I'm a really great bloke and an asset to Progen. All just because I got off with Nableedintasha, and the only valid status is being half of two, you can't be a whole one otherwise. When I bought those johnies from the shop, the woman seemed to be saying 'What a sensible young man. Pillar of society.' If she was looking through my video account finding all the smut I use she'd be saying 'Disgusting little worm. I thought we'd only chose stable people for Progen.' But what's the difference really? They're both pandering to pure lust. Except if you're having a quick pull you can be completely selfish. Mind you, I suppose I was being completely selfish with Natasha. Immediately after, I thought I'd really used her. I know I didn't force her into anything like, but I felt a bit sorry for her, throwing herself at me. Now I feel used by her. She's the real one that just wanted lust. Really I wanted the whole thing. Getting off with her was just the first in a series of stages leading up to playing with our great-grandchildren. The next day I was aspiring to going out for a meal and a walk etc. etc. but she was just thinking about her next lay. What now? Now that it's clear that her intentions are to fit me in between her other blokes. You've seen everyone on Progen and no one is that special someone. There's so many different women that everything could work with. You mould your veiws and feelings around them. Same with mates I suppose. Once you're in (Urine - Ho Ho James, still like a laugh, even in adversity!) a posse/, as their taste in music and pastimes changes, so do yours. I suppose you could get into anything, even transport theory if all your mates were, and that. There's nothing intrinsicly wrong with these people on Progen. It's just, I don't want a whole range of new friends. I want my current ones back.

Blank frame. James comes out of his blank stare and becomes more aware of his surroundings.

James thinks: Come on then, lets take the opportunity to find out everything that isn't public knowledge about Navigation. Once I've completed the training I'll know more about Progen than anyone else. Smart.

James looks around to check that no one's within earshot.

James: What files are restricted to Navigation personel then Puter me old son?

Screen puts up a list of options: detailed route info; direct access to instrument's raw measurements; emergency proceedures; etc. (make some up yourself.) James smiles and pushes emergency proceedures. Another menu comes up: Instrument failure; partial steering failure; full steering failure; evacuation; etc. James seriously beams, looks around, and pushes evacuation.

Puter prints: When an evacuation of Progen is neccessary, one of the six self contained exploration vehicles (Exmods) may be used. Under extreame circumstances, up to three vehicles may return to Earth. The three remaining vehicles is the mimimum number that Progen will require for the colonisation process so at least three must remain... etc. etc. James looses interest in the rest.

James: What?

James looks around again and pushes a button that silences Puter.

James quietly: Can you find out how to get into one of the exmod's launch and fly it without setting off any alarms by finding out?

Puter prints: Yes.

James: Do it, I'll read it later.

Puter prints: I've just received a letter from Miranda.

Written: 9 months Earth time,

Current Earth time: 2.5 years,

Current Progen time: 1.5 years

He reads the letter and we read the first few lines with him, then concentrate on his face as he starts to rub the lump in his throat, his eyes go red and fill with tears. See him rubbing his eyes but at no point have tears streaming down his face.

Spend a couple of frames as he composes himself and looks around.

James: Have I got access to the restricted information from a screen in my room without attracting attention.

Puter: Yes.

James: Make this screen look like I'm looking into, er, methods of identifying stars and telling our position and direction from them. Cheers.

James gets up and tries to make the desk look like he's in the middle of doing something and just nicked off for a slash.

Next scene.

James closes and locks his bedroom door mechanically. (N.B. automatic doors are not used anywhere on Progen.) All James's actions now are coldly logical and well executed. He appears tense, but otherwise unaffected by Miranda's letter.

James: Puter. If anything I do in the next 24 hours will attract attention, tell me and don't do it until I confirm I want to do it. Right. Is there any way I can get onto an Exmod and launch it without drawing attention to myself before it's too late for them to do anything about it?

Puter prints: When the release proceedure is instigated, all Navigation staff will be informed.

James: Will it be too late for them to do anything them?

Puter prints: The sequence can be terminated by any one of them.

James: Can I can change the change the code that flags this?

Puter prints: Any alterations to the software will draw attention when the code is compiled.

James: What about if I go in and change the lowest level directly. I'd probably just need to bypass the circuit that senses that a launch is being instigated.

Puter prints: That would attract Communications.

James: But it'd be a low priority event and may take time to find, check and cure. Would Navigation be informed by Communications of the anonmaly immediately?

Puter prints: No. Only when the circuits are being corrected.

James: Current lower quartile for dealing time?

Puter prints: 2.5 hours.

James: Get in! Can you copy all your personality to er Exmod II's central computer. Has it got 4.5 years of entertainment on it - cackle, cackle?

Puter prints: Transfer complete. It's got as much as there is on Progen.

James: Right then, lets find out how to disable Exmod II's launch termination circuit. Cackle cackle, smile smile.
 
 

New page

James opens a drawer and pulls out his Nanny's snuff box and walks to the lift.

James: Floor 220.

Frame wait. The door opens and the guy from personel (first day) is in the lift.

Guy: James! How ya doing.

James: Oh, alright you know I'm in Navigation now. Just off to take a look at the Exmods.

Guy: Oh ei? I'll have to get them to show me round some time.

James: I'll tell you if it's any good.

Lift stops and James leaves.

James: See ya around then.

Guy: See ya.

Door closes and James walks around to Exmod II's entrance. There's no one else on the floor. He speaks to the screen there.

James: Puter. Unlock and open this door, then lock it behind me.

James enters and talks to the screen on the inside of Exmod II.

James: Puter. Make the mod. now.

Puter prints: This will attract Communications attention.

James: Well done. Do it.

Puter prints: Mod. complete.

James : Instigate the launch proceedure.

Puter prints: You've got one minute.

James walks to the stairs and up three flights, then enters a room and straps himself down in a seat there.

James: Puter, how long?

Puter prints: Thirty five seconds.

James: Turn your voice on and share this with me Puter.

Puter: OK.

James: I suppose they'll be running round like gits out there when it breaks off.

Puter: Yup.

James: Are you still controlled from Progen?

Puter: Yup.

James: Well I suppose you'd best transfer yourself here and delete your personality th... No. I suppose this'll be an epic legend in Nalenguan folklore. Leave as much guff about me and you as you can. They'll be making documentaries and plays about us until the cows come home.

Puter: You still want me to transfer?

James: Yup. Hey, let's have a count down!

Puter: Bloody Hell! Do I have to? Control transfered. Here goes: 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 Lift off you naff git.

See an external veiw of Exmod II slowly drifting away from Progen, and Progen accellerating away at g.

Frame of James screaming with joy with his head floating in 0g.

James: Get In!

Progen clears Exmod II. Exmod II slowly spins around 180 degrees and stops. Then accellerators are started and James starts the journey back to Earth.

James (unstrapping himself): Get bleedin in. Right James. You've got to make sure that you get cracking and get food going. And you've got to make sure that in four and an half years of solitary confinement, that you don't go mad. I suppose doing the food will help give you a purpose in life. Get up early every day, don't spend the whole day lounging around in bed. Seven hours sleep is all you need, so get up and do stuff after that. You'll be laughing!

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