Hazzard: a game of chance, played with dice. (The Compleat Gamester, 1674)

Why couldn't it be yesterday? 

Why couldn't he have another chance?

Quinn tried to ignore the light nudging through his eyelids. Soon he would have to acknowledge the new day, but as long as he kept his eyes closed, maybe they would think he was still sleeping. Maybe they would even think he was dead and leave him alone. Dead to the world, as the expression goes.

Despite his efforts, his eyes popped wide open. Instantly, he screwed them tight shut, but after only a few seconds they forced themselves open again: even his body betrayed him.

Nothing had changed. The room was still beige. The ducks were still flying south across the wall. The security camera still blinked its red eye at him. The HOME-HELP™ was still standing in the corner, eager to wish him a a breezy good morning, if only he hadn't permanently switched conversation mode to OFF.

He groped on the side table and picked up the dice. He chucked them over the counterpane and noting the combination -- 3 and 5 -- punched his personal code followed by the sequence 3+5=8 on the CON-DEV™ pad built into the side of his bedside table. The message flashed instantly:

PROCEED DIRECTLY TO COMBELT POINT 451

No bath or breakfast, then, but it could have been worse. At least on the way to his local train station, he would be able to jump over the two CON-DEV™ points that might otherwise have instructed him to return to collect some document he was alleged to have left behind, or diverted him on some circuitous detour, making him late for work. Maybe even sent him off to take some old woman to the hospital. Quinn shuddered. Don't think about it, he told himself. But how could he stop?

CON-DEV™: an acronym for Concatenation Device™, the equipment installed throughout the State for the processing of non-random and random data, namely the input of personal codes plus dice-generated numerals, and the output of instructions based on the same.

            Prior to the introduction of the  CON-DEV™ system, long queues would build up at booths where officials would be required to check the name of each applicant and then cross-reference it with the combination of numbers thrown in order to derive the resultant instructions. It was an extremely inefficient method, often complicated by human error. Exhaustive market research among the citizenry indicates that the CON-DEV™ system is a welcome advance, greatly contributing to the streamlining of state services in general.

NB: To avoid abuse of the system, the CON-DEV™ codes are changed every night, so that the input of a certain number at a certain time on a certain day will not automatically provide the same result at the same time on another day. Nevertheless, due to inbuilt random selection, this possibility cannot either be definitively ruled out. 

The previous morning had started well for Quinn, thanks to the initial 5 + 2=7 combination he had thrown, which threw out the instructions:

EAT A FULL BREAKFAST. THEN PROCEED TO BASE b/25

To tell the truth, Quinn disliked the oily stodge which the HOME-HELP™ spat out when its "FB" button was pressed, and he was feeling replete to an almost uncomfortable degree as he staggered down the road to Base b/25. He was pleased to observe, nevertheless, that there was no long queue: even the CON-DEV™ had not ended this inconvenient phenomenon altogether and one could be unlucky, particularly in the morning rush. But this time the only person ahead of him was a tiny old woman wearing an astonishing purple hat.

HOME-HELP™ is a device developed for the convenience of the citizenry of the State to contribute towards the efficient running of society. It is programmed to perform all those incidental activities which otherwise distract from productivity. Your HOME-HELP™ will clean your apartment, wash your clothes, prepare your food and so on. Set to automatic, it will ensure that you never have to waste another precious moment bothering with the trivia of domestic management.  Set to conversation mode, it can even provide diversion through the discussion of a range of engrossing topics, for example the latest BESTSELLER™ produced by LITLAB, the State Literature Factory, or the performance of the various soccer teams in the Virtual Cup.

The old woman was having trouble punching in her numbers. At least, that was what Quinn thought was causing the delay. Against regulations, he was even considering offering to assist her. Suddenly she turned and stared hard into his eyes.

"Your turn," she said in a quavery voice. This shook him, since such personal contact, though not actually forbidden, was very definitely frowned upon unless sanctioned by a CON-DEV™.

He threw the dice and punched the resulting sequence (3 + 1 = 4) into the machine.

OLD WOMAN COLLAPSES BESIDE YOU. TAKE HER TO HOSPITAL x/5. LOSE A HALF-DAY'S PAY

And indeed, when he looked around, the old woman was lying on the ground, gazing at him in terror. Her hat had fallen off and as he picked it up, he noticed that it was decorated with scores of PERMO-BLOOMS™, sewn on to a felt base. It was not one of the set of nine standard designs available in State shops and he wondered in passing if she could possibly have made it herself. He lifted her up and restored her hat to her but instead of replacing it on her head she gripped the edge of it, still staring at him as if expecting a blow.  As he spoke reassuringly to her, she gradually calmed down. Then he showed her the instructions on his print-out, which caused her to panic all over again.

PERMO-BLOOMS™ are manufactured from a light but firm synthetic material developed in the State laboratories to replace the unsatisfactory excrescences of nature with their built-in obsolescence. Thus PERMO-BLOOMS™ in the setting of municipal parks or other open spaces provide, due to their almost indestructible composition, an everlasting prospect of colour and pleasing form, to uplift the spirits of the citizenry. An additional bonus is the time-saving involved, since these "flowers", "trees" and "shrubs" require little or no maintenance once in situ.

Quinn had never visited Hospital x/5. He had of course heard it mentioned many times, but in hushed tones. He certainly didn't relish the task of delivering the old woman there. As for her, she was trembling so violently that she was unable to walk, and he ended up carrying her on his back, her hands clawing at his chest. For such a little old woman, she was surprisingly heavy.

The hospital turned out to be a tall concrete structure set in a garden of relentless asphalt which the odd pot of PERMO-BLOOMS™ did nothing to improve. A uniformed and heavily-armed guard at the gate carefully checked both his and the old woman's print-out. Once inside, Quinn handed the trembling old woman over to the white-garbed staff whereupon, his task completed, he turned to look for the CON-DEV™ point. But having located it, he then delayed throwing his dice. He was in no hurry to get back, he reasoned: after all, he was to be docked a half-day's pay anyway. Not that he cared about that. What was money to him when the basics were covered by the State? What extra item would he be allowed to buy that he could possibly want? So he waited, not exactly knowing why. Perhaps because the old woman had let herself openly express a real emotion, even if it was only fear. Suddenly he realised that what he was feeling was guilt, as if he had been implicated in some crime. How absurd:  what else could he have done? It was every citizen for himself, these days. He just did what he was told, kept his head down. Nevertheless, he stayed on, waiting.

After a while, he noticed that the nurses were looking at him, talking among themselves, perhaps debating whether to report him. He didn't have the nerve to prolong the experiment and crossed to the COM-DEV™ to throw his dice (4 + 2 = 6).

YOU ARE UPSET. GO AND HAVE A BRANDY IN THE HUMMING-BIRD LOUNGE

So now they were mind-readers. It didn't surprise him. Quinn was far from being convinced by all the talk of randomness. He had suspected for some time that everything was programmed, that it wouldn't make any difference to the outcome if he punched in a 5 or a 2 or a 9. He had even been tempted once or twice to test the system, although tempted was, perhaps, too strong a word: any deviation from the rules could cause him, too, to be delivered to Hospital x/5 or otherwise to be disqualified. He had simply wondered what the result of inputting the incorrect digits would be, whether anyone would even notice. Quinn suspected that all the system was designed to do was to given the citizens of the State the impression that they had some control over their destiny, when in fact they had none. And if you can read my mind imagining that, he thought rebelliously, then you are welcome to do your worst.

No thunderbolt fell. OK, so he would go and have a brandy, despite the fact that he didn't like the stuff. Or at least not the KONYAK™ which had been introduced when stocks of the real thing had run out and the only grapes grown were artificially generated. They, of course, knew how much he disliked it. It was a punishment. It was always a punishment. He asked one of the nurses if he could see the old woman before he left.

"You would have to make a formal request," she said, fingering her dice uneasily.

"Never mind, just tell me where she is."

".... Booth Five."

The old woman was on a trolley, wearing only a light hospital shift. Her flowery hat was lying on her chest, like a wreath for the dead.

"What are you doing here?" she babbled. "Are you THE ONE? I thought you were THE ONE from the start."

"No, no. I just wanted to see you. To say goodbye. Good luck."

She had laughed then, a cackle.

"I'm due for closure. Is that good luck?" She grabbed his hand in her claw. "Well, perhaps it is." Then she pulled him, with surprisingly strength, down towards her. "Run," she whispered. "Run for your life."

At that moment an operand in a white uniform pulled open the curtain. A young woman, regular featured, with dark wavy hair, pinned back neatly. She had looked directly into his eyes, her own like chips of glass, expressionless. Quinn had mumbled and sidled off before questions could be asked. Now, from the relative safety of his bed, he wished he had punched the operand in her bland face, realising suddenly that she was probably the CLOSER.

He was still delaying getting up out of bed. If he wasn't careful, he would be out of time and miss his turn. That's the trouble with me, he thought. I want to revolt but never do.

The previous day after leaving the hospital and locating the Humming-Bird Lounge, he had drunk three large glasses of KONYAK™ before returning to work. None of his colleagues had noticed that he was drunk. They all had other things on their minds, as the saying goes.

It is not a subject generally mentioned, but the worst fate that can befall a citizen of the State is to draw a printout stating "GAME OVER". This means that the citizen -- or player, as they are sometimes called -- is to be disqualified or eliminated. This task falls to an elite force comprised of so-called CLOSERS who move incognito among the citizenry. Closure can take place at any time, for any breach of known or unknown rules. It can also occur on a random basis.

Quinn climbed out of bed and put on his clothes. He felt sticky and risked a wipe with a damp flannel across his face and chest and under his arms while relieving himself -- at least they hadn't yet decided to regulate bladder or bowel movements. Then he reconsidered: maybe they tried at one time but found the consequences too unpleasant.

He ran to the station. Nothing unusual on the way. Small queues of people at the CON-DEV™ points, a few turning away elated, a few despondent, most with that blank automatised look that everyone developed after a while.

He took a seat on the train, a window seat. He would be able to look out unimpeded at the LANDSCAPE™ as he travelled, turning his face from the rest of the people in the carriage. He would be able to consider, for the twenty-seven minute journey, his brief encounter the previous day in the Humming-Bird Lounge.

LANDSCAPE™ is a system of holographic images projected on, for example, train or bus windows. LANDSCAPE™ consists of pleasing views such as a river valley or farmland with fertile fields. Longer journeys may also include mountains and lakes, coastal stretches, even exotic locations such as safari parks with wild animals or snow-covered steppes. The State has developed such a system in order to delight and divert its citizenry, who might otherwise become depressed -- and therefore less productive -- at the sight of blighted citiscapes, the devastated ruins that resulted from the war, even the new housing schemes that rose above them, consisting of rank on rank of monochrome tower blocks, functional and effective for the purposes of mass housing, but not in any way picturesque.

She had been sitting at the only table with a free seat and had barely nodded at him when he asked if he could sit down. She wasn't drinking KONYAK™ but one of those fancy cocktails with PLASTIFRUIT™ and colourful paper umbrellas. What he particularly noticed about her was that although the bar was unpleasantly warm, she kept her long thick coat wrapped around her. From time to time, she sipped through a straw at a turquoise-hued cocktail, but without any evident pleasure. After his devastating experience of the morning, Quinn yearned for some human contact and was surprised to find himself asking through the syrup of the muzak, "Would you recommend the drink? Is it any good?"

She looked at him aghast. Then, glancing round first to see if anyone noticed, whispered, "No, not really."

"Nor's this." He risked a half-smile. Maybe people would imagine they were legitimately together. Allowed to express pleasure in each other's company.

And she had smiled back. He was sure he hadn't imagined it. Her hand over her mouth. But then, abruptly she had got up and left, muttering something he failed to catch. She had actually gone, leaving her drink barely tasted. Something frowned on by the State who, at a time of shortages, constantly impressed on its citizenry the criminality of waste.

Quinn stared at the LANDSCAPE™. It stretched over rolling emerald hills to a distant horizon where the sun played hide-and-seek with fluffy clouds. Lambs and calves and ponies gambolled in fields. Little white-washed houses with thatched roofs nestled by winding country lanes. Happy holographic labourers paused in their work to wave at the train. Quinn felt unutterably depressed.

Suddenly his portable CON-DEV™ emitted a high-pitched bleep. All over the compartment, similar CON-DEV™ devices were going off. People exchanged nervous glances as they threw their dice and inputted the result .

Was this it? Quinn wondered, as he threw double ones. Were they all to be eliminated in a stupid train crash?

He stared out at the still waving labourers. Would they all come running to view the disaster or would they just fade out?

In answer to his input, a message flashed on his CON-DEV™:

FLOODING AT CENTRAL STATION. TRAIN TO BE DIVERTED TO CITY EAST. THERE BUSES WILL BE PROVIDED TO TAKE PASSENGERS ONWARD TO BIZCENTRE.           

Evidently everyone had received the same message because immediately there arose a sound that whisked Quinn back his childhood, a light breeze among the leaves of real trees. It was a general sigh of relief. They would be late for work but they would be alive and well and still in the game.

City East was a part of town that Quinn knew not at all. It had a reputation as a rough area and certainly the immediate surrounds of the station were much more run-down than Bizcentre where most of the citizenry worked. Here unsavoury characters lurked in doorways and Quinn noticed with astonishment that the CON-DEV™ machine even appeared to have been vandalised. How could this be? he wondered.  Where were the militia?

By the time he reached the buses, they were all full. The robotic drive systems had switched to ON and the automatic doors closed tight before he could clamber aboard. As the buses drove away, Quinn saw how the reverse holographs on the windows displayed happy and excited passengers, in contrast to the grim faces he knew were within.

What to do? Impossible to consult the broken CON-DEV™, and his own portable model was one-way only and would not accept unsolicited input. The unsavoury characters were starting to emerge from their doorways. Quinn decided to follow the route the buses had taken and hope that he would soon come upon a CON-DEV™ in proper working order. It was unnerving, he mused, in such a regulated society to be floating free. Exciting, too. He wished he knew how to take better advantage of it. It was his old dream of breaking out, flying away, like the birds that used to swoop and soar and glide when he was a child. Not china-style ducks fixed in fake flight, which was all the word "bird" meant now.

Then he saw her. Walking ahead of him. A woman in a familiar purple floral hat, not standard issue. All her clothes were, in fact, somehow unusual. A metallic, clinging fabric outlined her voluptuous shape. Her arms were bare, except for bright, clanking bracelets. She wore shoes with high rapier heels that stabbed against the paving stones. Not for her the silent scurrying that categorised most of the citizenry. She walked upright and proud, swaying her hips as if the very act of walking the bleak city street was a sensuous experience.

Suddenly she turned down a narrow side road. Quinn hesitated. It was a dark and shadowy place. Better stick to the well-trodden. He glanced around. There was no one else to be seen. Not a breath of a militiaman. Not glimpse of the glinting red eye of a security camera. He reckoned it was worth the risk. He wanted to know, apart from anything else, how she'd managed to get hold of that hat, and could always claim, if challenged, that he was asking directions. It wasn't his fault, was it, that the CON-DEV™ was broken.

He stepped into the alley. Immediately, as if she had been waiting for him, the woman turned and clicked and jangled up to him. He noticed that her dress was indeed metal, the finest chain mail.

"I hoped you'd come," she said huskily.

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