No Future
Chapter 28: The Pursuit of Happiness

Copyright© 2012 by Bradley Stoke

Science Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 28: The Pursuit of Happiness - This is a future history of England over the Twenty-First Century and into the next. It is a multi-threaded narrative that travels from place-to-place, succeeds from year-to-year, and passes from one person to another. England's green and pleasant land is visited by famine, plague, war and pestilence. Governments come and go. The ocean levels inexorably rise. International relations worsen. And the English people stumble through the chaos as best they can. Who said there was No Future?

Caution: This Science Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   Ma/Ma   Lesbian   Swinging   Orgy   Interracial   Black Female   Oral Sex   Anal Sex   Prostitution  

Alex

2026

"Can I help you?" Alex asked the smartly dressed young woman he spotted striding through the office late in the evening. The fur coat and dress she wore was undeniably expensive, so she almost certainly wasn't a member of staff. Even this late in the evening it was curious that she'd been able to get past security. The only other people still in the office were middle managers like Alex, a few systems administrators and the cleaning staff.

Alex had recently adopted the habit of working late in the office. It was the only time he could find to do the boring management work for which he was paid after a day mostly taken up by interminable meetings. Unpaid overtime was also quite obviously one of the best routes to promotion at Reuters-Fox. It had paid well for Alex in the last year where his ascent up the ranks had mostly resulted from having reputation as someone who worked long hours. In truth, it was sometimes quite difficult to find tasks to do to justify his obsessive overtime but there were plenty of websites to surf whose perusal might seem just about appropriate for a news company manager.

Paradoxically, it was also true that now he was a married man there was less incentive to get home in good time. After the first few months of blissful married life, there never seemed a better time to arrive home than after eight by which time his wife, Isobel, would have forgotten all the things that had been pissing her off during the day.

It wasn't that Alex didn't love Isobel. In many ways she was the ideal woman for him. She was steady and reliable and she loved him. Furthermore, she was a woman who'd also brought with her a substantial inheritance. It wasn't a huge fortune, but it was enough to make Alex's life comfortable. What's more, Alex was sure that Isobel rather liked the idea of being married to a busy man. His apparent workaholism balanced her own guilt that her life might otherwise have been a little too comfortable.

However, even Isobel had never been accustomed to the level of comfort enjoyed by this mysterious woman. "I'm looking for my husband," she said in a slightly unsteady voice. "I thought he might be here."

"Your husband?" wondered Alex, who hesitated about adding the word 'Ma'am' but decided that however wealthy this young woman was she probably wasn't a member of the Royal Family.

"Yes," said the woman with a slight slur that suggested that she'd been drinking. "Eden. Have you seen him?"

Eden St John-Easton had only recently bought significant shares in Reuters-Fox UK, which was something of a coup for a relatively young man, but he still wasn't a majority shareholder. Nevertheless, he'd already gained a reputation as a man who took an active interest in his media assets although his appearances at the office had been few and sporadic.

"I don't believe I have," said Alex.

"Eden always says he works late," said the young woman. "I thought he might be working late here. He often tells me about his ideas for the business."

"I'm afraid I haven't seen your husband," said Alex. "Is there anything I can do for you, Ma'am?"

Alex immediately cursed himself. He'd tried so hard to suppress an honorific title that he knew was totally inappropriate, but the young woman giggled. She obviously didn't mind his mistake.

"Just call me Zara," she said. "Look, I don't want to waste your time but could we just check the offices to be sure he isn't here somewhere?"

"Erm..." said Alex who wasn't sure that this was such a good idea even if Mr St John-Easton was in the building. In fact, it would almost certainly be a huge mistake if he was. "Well, if he was here," Alex continued uncertainly, "he'd be meeting with the senior editors on the top floor."

"Let's go there then," said Zara.

Alex glanced nervously about him.

"Come on then," Zara insisted.

"OK," said Alex as he slipped on his jacket. He probably wouldn't be returning to his desk this evening, but the screen would lock up before anyone came into the office and could discover exactly which websites he'd been browsing.

He led Zara to the escalator and accompanied her as it rose to the top floor. He'd only ever been there before to attend meetings where he'd felt very much like an insignificant cog in a giant multinational wheel. Zara strode out of the lift while Alex dawdled behind and watched as the young woman pushed open every door that could be opened and looked through the windows of those that couldn't.

"He's not here," she said at last.

"No," said Alex with relief. "Perhaps he was never here in the first place."

"He always goes on about Reuters-Fox," said Zara. "I thought he might always be here."

"Mr St John-Easton has many other business concerns," Alex remarked.

"He doesn't go on about any them so much, though. He says he's got plans for the company. Plans that will not only improve the business, but also improve the country."

"The country?"

"Eden is very concerned about the country's welfare," said Zara. "He doesn't like the direction it's going. The unions are too strong. The environmental nutters are always proposing new taxes that'll only throttle business. The European Union is forever sticking its nose in. It's not right."

"I see," said Alex, who was sure that Reuters-Fox was exactly the kind of news organisation that would chime with opinions like that.

"Well, look," said Zara. "I'm sorry to have troubled you. I'll take you to the bar to compensate."

"The bar?" wondered Alex.

"There is a bar round here, isn't there? This is like a newspaper, isn't it? There's always booze where there are journalists."

"There's a wine bar across the road," said Alex, who knew of an especially pricey and exclusive one nearby. What he didn't know was whether it had a members-only policy.

 
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