Fluidic Radar

Fluidic Radar.

For the non technical the italicised pages may or may not be of interest. Radios are about communication – between people and machines. We can video call Australia with a phone free today but not if someone has thrown a switch to prevent it. Amateur radio techniques can go around the world in milliseconds and have often been used when the grid is down in inclement weather or emergency situations. The first target in a revolution is the TV and Radio station.

Chapter 1

A sad day for Arthur Wright when the Compliance van came. He’d been obliged to assemble all of his amateur radio gear, dismantle his aerials; to Arthur, antennas, and the mast he’d spent two years getting planning permission for all those years ago. All to be surrendered to the new government.

The driver knocked and stood on the step consulting a tablet. Opening the door, Arthur stepped aside waving a hand to reveal boxes of components, transceivers, cables – all the paraphernalia of his hobby, lovingly assembled over the decades, now piled up in the hall. The driver peered into the boxes, photographed them with his phone, Arthur and the front door number.

Does nobody use a camera any more?

“Jesus! Few quids worth there, mate.”

“£200 worth according to Compliance Telecom,” said Arthur bitterly.

“Still, we can’t have people thinking they can talk to the enemy willy nilly.”

“Which enemy?”

“Oh, people who like private secret comms gear maybe? Anyway, I gotta list of your purchased radios, they’d better all be here. Not keeping any spooky stuff behind are we?”

Thrusting the tablet forward for Arthur to see – he swiped past pages, one by one, invoices from Martin Lynch, Radioworld, Banggood, Moonraker, Waters & Stanton and others; ebay and Amazon, a comprehensive detailed list – all going back years, a jarring bitter reminder of his loss. A sinister reminder of bureaucratic thoroughness.

“Gizza hand mate,” and when Arthur recoiled the driver pointed to the letter with the bold italics:

’Citizens will not mind assisting a comrade loading up his vehicle; a gesture of willing compliance with the democratic people’s government directives.’

The driver, softening, jerked his head back to his van’s passenger, a stern-faced man now turned to observe the transaction.

At the back of the van out of mirror view the driver shrugged.

“ I know mate, heartbreaking, look at this lot.”

Thousands of pounds of radio equipment were piled up inside. ICOM, Yaesu, Kenwood and others, some of it quite new. Boxes of cables, connectors, odd technical devices with screens, knobs and dials. One crate full of more than fifty Baofeng and other cheap Chinese handheld walkie talkies.

“Sign here for your 200 quid mate. A truck will be round for the aerial stuff.”

With another eye roll nod in his passenger’s direction he was off.

Arthur watched the van recede and turn the corner. His phone beeped its morse code ring tone.

“Have they been? Pub? The lads are all going…”

***

Down at the Delayed Telegram the rude young barman had seen Arthur’s approach through the window and had his pint half pulled as Arthur walked in.

“Another one for the wake, talk about the horses going into a bar, Arth.”

“Horses?”

“Why the long faces… radio hams’ lost toys, horses have them – long faces – never mind…”

“Right. You’re a wag.”

“I’m trying.”

“Very” said Arthur and joined the group. Jim, Soft Mick, Kunz, Sinex, James and Young Jim and a couple of random tag ons they'd brought with them who Arthur wouldn't associate with whom - until they left and it was too late.

The conversation rowed back and forth mainly about the new overzealous government who’d waltzed in under a false banner with a large majority and already dropped their mandate for far more dictatorial measures. Arthur hushed them, whispering ‘Germany, 1930s’ and nodded towards the barman . Andy – he knew Andy’d voted for them.

“Who’s gonna stop us stringing up a wire, a washing line? There’s always a radio somewhere, car boot, junkyard, antique shop; Cripes, you could build one Art,” said soft Mick, who they’d all had to get together to help him with the basic Foundation amateur radio exam.

“What about the feedline Mick, the coax cable? How you gonna hide that? Then there’s the line isolators, the chokes. Who yer gonna call?”

As one they all shouted “Ghostbusters”.

Arthur had to give them that one. A cheery note, the pints flowed and Andy’s recently arrived younger friends had distracted him. Arthur pulled Jim, his closest ham radio pal close.

“There is a way but Mum’s the word. Nothing in front of Mick, right?”

***

Back home in his garden shed, Arthur surveyed the sad gaps where, only 24 hours ago, his equipment was on display all plugged in, in touch with New Zealand, Japan, USA, Europe.

By the time this government falls I’ll be too old to pick it up again. There is a way but I never got round to it after she left. Now I can’t test it in any practical quick way. At least not without attracting the attention of types like the commissar in the van.

***

The ’commissar in the van’, Collins, sat in his office at the Town Hall. His assistant, barely cooperative, a sulky activist from the Party, forced, mainly because of his degree in electronics, into what he considered a lesser role assisting a thuggish ex-military policeman. On the wall a map detailing the range of scope of repeater stations around Peterborough. A map Collins peered at thoughtfully.

“Have we got them all Carter?”

“Bloody stupid, taking the repeaters and the hams down. If you want to catch subversives don’t drive them underground. Let them run, give them false information, see where it goes. You can’t even gather evidence now.”

Collins rounded on him.

“Orders are shut them down; Secretary of State’s orders or are you acting independently now? Nerd?”

“I don’t see how spoiling the fun of a few old men and some Nerds advances the cause. More likely to make them angry, resentful…and rebellious.”

Collins snarled “That’s why you, clever clogs, are here. You can stop them, understand their tricks, forestall their fancy ideas. And besides, I like giving people a hard time, especially clever ones who know more than me – listened at school types. I can’t stand them.”

Collins glared at the map. In among there were the folk he despised, some ex Army engineer types who, at some time or other had sneered or disparaged him. Officers and senior NCO’s who’d called him a bully, a sadist; sat on the hearing dispelling him from the organisation where he could do most harm. Now the tables were turning back in his favour, the new leadership restoring the status quo he’d worked so hard for. And lost.

Carter subsided, changed the subject but Collins wasn’t listening. Carter burned inside. Several of the new compliance policies didn’t sit well with him. Top of the list? Collins and his ilk.

His thoughts drifted back to Collins and his vengeful ambitions.

One or two of them know their stuff. Don’t tell me some parts weren’t quietly removed and stowed away. I wouldn’t know, I’m not specialised. Collins can’t stop friends talking – yet. I know what I’d do. For now, I’ve got a salary, a job on the winning side even if it’s working with a psycho.

***