Blind Faith Read Online Free Page B

hint darkly that only those
who believed that the apes were man's brother had any
reason to be ashamed of any aspect of humanity. It was
dangerous enough that he was himself excessively modest
in his dress. Declining to expose his own body an inch
more than the heat and stern social convention dictated,
he always wore a T-shirt rather than a vest and his
shorts stretched almost halfway to his knees. Indeed so
overdressed was he in comparison to the norm that it was
not uncommon for people to accuse him of being a
Muslim and tell him to get back to the ghetto or better
still, to where he came from, if it was still above water.
    Trafford attempted to put these thoughts from his mind
and, fighting down the nausea that was mounting in his
stomach, began for the second time that morning to
shuffle his way towards the gates of the tube station. A
news and infotainment loop was playing on the screens
which hung above the gates. It was the same loop that had
been playing on the lamp posts that lined the streets along
which Trafford had walked to get to the station. It was also
flickering, unbidden, on his travel card and had without
doubt been playing in the lift that he had avoided that
morning. All the same loop. So many platforms on which
to view, so little to be viewed.
    In Entertainment News various stars were engaged in
ferocious struggles with their personal demons, struggles
which with the help of God they were determined to win.
In News News more huge bombs had gone off in crowded
places. The army was doing a tough job under very
difficult circumstances in the various peacekeeping zones
around the world, and also in policing the walls of
Christendom as a billion cholera-ravaged infidels massed
at the gates pleading for a glass of clean water. In more
mundane domestic news there had been a number of
instances of vigilantism and People's Justice (with which
the authorities sympathized but which they could not
officially condone) and the government appeared to be
standing idly by while a highly organized fifth column of
paedophiles infiltrated the community.
    In Weather News there were the usual broken sea defences,
collapsed pumping stations and floods everywhere.
    Trafford wondered why they did not simply play the
same tape each day. It was always the same news and by
9 a.m. everybody had learned by heart the small variations
in personalities and locations anyway.
    Two more loops, he reckoned, and he'd be through
the gates.
    Hundreds believed dead . . .
    He couldn't hear the soundtrack any more, not deep
within the crowd. The commentary had merged with the
cacophony created by the personal communitainment
devices that hung from every neck.
    The bomber, who was seventeen . . .
    Uh! Uh! Duf duf! Duf duf!
    Died when his . . .
    Girl, you truly could be a star . . .
    Trafford stuffed his own muted earphones deeper into
his ears to try to shut out the noise. He was always trying
to shut out the noise, along with the sight of people's
bodies, and the smell. Sweat, perfumed toilet products
and food. Above all, food.
    The majority of people were eating as they shuffled
forward, listening to their communitainers, staring at the
video loop and pushing food into their mouths. It seemed
that not a single sensory organ was in repose. It would be
worse on the train, of course. Trafford was dreading it: a
packed, baking hot tin can full of people eating pizzas and
burgers and chicken and healthy chocolate-and-cereal
brunch bars. He took out an extra strong peppermint, the
only thing that got him through his journey without
being sick. Unfortunately it was becoming increasingly
difficult to track down peppermints that were not coated
in chocolate. Shop assistants found it inexplicable that he
asked for them. What was not to like about chocolate?

5
    In some ways Trafford enjoyed Fizzy Coffs. He loathed
crowds but he was not averse to company, not least
because he sensed that one or two of his colleagues at
NatDat kept, as he did, a part of