Free This Machine Kills by Steve Liszka Page B

City’s consumer zone. There may not have been any vehicles allowed in this part of the City but the noise from the bustling construction site ahead of him more than made up for it. Judging by the size of its footprint, it looked like another shopping mall was being rushed up. He glanced at the mall situated just behind it, wondering if this new monolith was really necessary.
       If the Old Town had changed so dramatically since Triage was put into place, it was nothing compared to what had happened to the City. Ever since the perimeter fence had been erected, the place had changed beyond all recognition. It had been quickly decided that as it then stood, the layout of the former city was a relic of the old system and no longer fit for purpose. Every building that once stood there had to be ripped down and replaced with newer, bigger and better models.
       When the conservationists complained, they were told that this destruction and rebuilding of the City were an essential part of Milton’s plan. In order to kick-start the economy, massive amounts of money would have to be invested in reconstruction and engineering. Without this injection of capital, things could quickly slip back to as they had been in the darkest hours of the depression. That all this money would be going to the company that Milton worked for was certainly not a cause of alarm, it was for the greater good after all. And so they stayed quiet when the old stone buildings were knocked down and replaced by steel framed constructions that quickly sprung up from the ashes.   
       It was also decided that these cities deserved new names so as not to be confused with the historical eyesores that has once stood in their places. At first they were going to be christened after some of ClearSkies’ many offshoot companies, but deciding this was too crass, they opted instead for more subtle choices. Some of the cities were named after the physical landscape they inhabited such as, River, Mountain and Lake, which Taylor didn’t mind. Others were given names that represented human aspirations such as Liberty, Justice and Truth, which he did.
       On the edge of the building site he watched as a small, chubby man in an ill-fitting shirt yelled at a much larger labourer, clad in an orange jump-suit. He furiously jabbed his finger at the man’s chest, warning that if he didn’t work harder he’d be sent back to the workhouse. The bigger man apologised profusely before being sent on his way. As he turned, the little man kicked him viciously in the ass.
       The foreman’s threat of the workhouse had been a reference to the production centres. The term he’d used had been outlawed in polite conversation many years before. ClearSkies’ pubic-relations team had through intense research, proved that the word carried too many negative connotations. It wasn’t that the Victorian workhouses were oppressive places where the half-starved creatures who inhabited them were abused by their masters in the name of profit, but more importantly, the name was seen as old fashion. This was a far more serious faux pas, viewed the same way as calling disabled people spastics.
       The labourers on the building sites were seen as having the best jobs of all the production centres inhabitants, or ‘producers’ as they were nicknamed. It meant they got to work outside, which even on a dark, freezing day or when it was a hundred degrees in the shade, still beat being in the centres. The fact that since the government had abolished all health and safety laws, deaths on these sites had soared, did little to stop the producers applying for outdoor work. The skilled workers on the building sites; the electricians, plumbers, plasterers and bricklayers were all inhabitants of the City, even if they were at the bottom of its social spectrum. Taylor thought this put them just above SecForce employees like himself.
       He had to watch his step as he weaved through the shopping-bag