‘Remember, no matter what, you must answer all their questions as “no.” All of them. No matter what they do.’
He tries to speak but his father grabs him by the arms and kisses his cheek.
‘Go my son. Go with the blessing of God and live well.’
Hours of solitude besides thousands of others, all wanting the same thing. Eventually he is taken below the deep shadow of the wall that extends into the sky and across the horizon. They deposit him in a bare room painted with red, white and blue that has since faded. There is a chair bolted to the middle of the room and a television embedded into the wall opposite. He takes his seat.
For a minute nothing happens. Then a compressed and shrieking version of their anthem plays as introduction.
‘Welcome applicant,’ says an artificial voice made from a hundred real ones. ‘Please answer the following questions to the best of your ability. Do not leave the room at any time, or your application will be terminated. Commencing.’
An image of the union flag appears on the television. ‘Do you fear us?’ the voice asks.
‘No,’ he says without hesitation.
A montage of images depicting high buildings and busy streets begins to play. ‘Do you fear modernity?’
‘No.’
Images of children in classrooms, crowded around beakers and bunsen burners. ‘Do you fear science?’
‘No.’
A judge hitting his gavel. Police officers patrolling the streets. ‘Do you fear the rule of law?’
‘No.’
A cathedral and a giant crucifix. Thousands of people praying to it. ‘Do you fear religious unity?’
‘No.’
Men in boardrooms and cafeterias. ‘Do you fear hard work?’
‘No.’
An image of the giant line of people outside the wall, taken from the top of the structure. ‘Do you fear the fate of illegal people?’
He swallows, but says ‘No.’
The television goes black. For a moment he thinks it is over, then a white dot appears in the centre of the screen and expands and an image struggles to load. It is of a camp, from above, all in black and white. The image slowly pans, and he realises he is watching footage from a drone.
‘Do you fear war?’
He shakes his head. ‘No.’
The image blinks and is zoomed onto a tent in the centre of the vast camp.
‘Do you fear tradition?’
‘No.’
The image zooms again and he sees a man reading a book outside the camp. Through the static of the thermal imaging, he recognises his father. A small crosshair lays across his chest as the old man reads, oblivious.
‘Do you fear for your family, more than your country?’
His hand is shaking. His words fix tight in his throat. The pound of his heart rushed blood through his ears.
Tears welling, the man says ‘No.’
The image remains on his father, the pan of the camera barely noticeable, as if time has ceased to have action upon the world.
‘Do you fear us?’
The man grinds his jaw and looks into the television.
'No.'
The television switches off and he is left in silence.
Then the voice says, 'Congratulations, applicant. You have successfully entered the Work For Rights programme. Welcome to Britannia Ultima.'
Paddy Dobson
27th August 2020