TLIAD: Be Careful What You Wish For

[Thande]

Make your choice, adventurous Stranger
Strike the bell and bide the danger
Or wonder, till it drives you mad
What would have followed, if you had…​

- C.S. Lewis, The Magician's Nephew​

October 30th, 2007

Big Ben was not the name of the tower, or of the clock. It was the name of the bell. This did not matter; some facts will never make the leap from the know-it-all’s party piece to received wisdom. The thoughts of the bell and the clock themselves on the matter of their mutual identity crisis remained unknown, even to the workmen currently halfway through their maintenance. Perhaps that wasn’t a big enough word for what they were doing; after a series of stoppages, for the first time since the clock’s construction over a century ago, they were replacing the striker in the great bell. At the same time, some of the bearings in the gong train were replaced. Some of the more philosophical among the workmen might have wondered if Big Ben would truly be Big Ben anymore once every one of the original parts had been replaced: but then nobody seemed to know exactly what the name referred to anyway, so that was all right.

The tower, like the rest of the Palace of Westminster, had never been exactly airtight in its construction, much to the frustration of the Security Services. However, the maintenance work nonetheless made it more open than usual towards foreign items. Though the workmen were scrupulous about their work, one of them nonetheless unconsciously brought with him an unexpected guest. His lunchbox, left to one side on a park bench for a moment yesterday, had picked up a caterpillar. Having gorged itself on the remains of a lettuce leaf left over from his sandwich, the caterpillar was very hungry no more, and ready to pursue a new career. The workmen were too busy to notice the little creature, despite its bright green colour, as it painstakingly crawled up to a suitable overhang and began transforming itself into a pupa. By the time they had finished for the day, it had become an unobtrusive brown, hiding the complex biological changes happening beneath the surface. Nobody observed the tiny brown object hanging from the beam, either that day or the next…

November 5th, 2007

The workmen had shut up shop, their job completed. Big Ben, whatever it was exactly, was ready for many more years of service. So no eye remained to watch as the pupa, without even the benefit of a David Attenborough narration, slowly burst open to reveal what the caterpillar had transformed itself into.

The butterfly hung there for almost an hour, dorsal tube tirelessly pumping haemolymph, slowly inflating its crumpled wings to their full glory. It gave them an experimental flap or two. They were pure white, save for a few dark spots. This was no exotic visitor, but a common cabbage white butterfly. Still, it had been a long time since a historian had claimed that history turned only on the actions of great men. Or insects.

The butterfly knew not that it had been born again on the four hundred and second anniversary of the Gunpowder Plot. Nor did it know that it would be more successful in its efforts than the names that that day had seen written in blood. If one was fond of poetic justice, one might consider the fact that the denizens of the Palace of Westminster had once passed a law calling for the public to kill cabbage whites on sight, when the pests had endangered food supplies during the war. But the butterfly did not know this. It only knew that it wanted to get out.

Whether it did manage to escape the tower is, in the end, of no interest to us. Even if it had, it would likely not survive, having pupated in a misleadingly warm place; its compatriots out in the world had wisely chosen to remain in their pupas until the spring. All that matters is that while flapping about in the top of the tower, it managed to dislodge a mote of dust that had doubtless been up there since the Falklands War, if not the Franco-Prussian.

The mote tumbled down onto a beam, bounced off it, and fell into the nice, new, freshly cleaned gong train.

Nothing happened.

These things took time. Time for a mote of dust to accumulate more particulates to itself, for oil and lubricant to become soaked up out of sight of casual observers. Time for a global economy to crash, for America to elect a black president, for Steven Moffat to write a Doctor Who episode about nefarious motes of dust that hid in the shadows and plotted to strip the flesh from your bones. Sometimes inspiration leaks out.

Most of all, time for a new Prime Minister to discover that sometimes, wanting something is better than having it…

 

[Thande]

.

Thande, what the heck are you playing at?

Look, were you not paying attention to the last three of these? You know what a TLIAD is, it’s not compulsory to have this whole half-bolded imaginary conversation every time.

Ah, but now you’ve set a trend, you’re a longstanding grandee AH.commer according to the younger generation who don’t remember Mosaic Earth, now you’ve gone and done it, everyone else will do it this way as well.

All right then, fine. This is a TL in a Day, by which I mean it’s a short series of vignettes looking at a ‘what if’ without necessarily going into large amounts of detail in between.

Does that mean it will all be written in a day?
Of course not, that would make too much sense. Besides, who am I to argue with precedent?

One more question, is it compulsory for TLIADs to involve contemporary British politics?

No. And by ‘no’, I of course mean ‘yes’.

 

[Lord Roem]

Oh YES!



Well, this is going to fun, isn't it? Looking forward to it. I'll be perfectly honest, it is far harder than I thought it was going to be, but I think that you will have more chance than I have of reaching the deadline. I rather think that Cain and Unable is going to end up as a TLIAW.

 

[Thande]

Oh YES!



Well, this is going to fun, isn't it? Looking forward to it. I'll be perfectly honest, it is far harder than I thought it was going to be, but I think that you will have more chance than I have of reaching the deadline. I rather think that Cain and Unable is going to end up as a TLIAW.

I'm not really going to try, I don't have the time for that...TLIAW sounds good though.

While I write the next bit, I'd be interested in seeing what people think this is heading towards, because the start could be anything, couldn't it?

 

[Lord Roem]

I'm not really going to try, I don't have the time for that...TLIAW sounds good though.

While I write the next bit, I'd be interested in seeing what people think this is heading towards, because the start could be anything, couldn't it?

Golly, I shudder to think. It is Bonfire Night, but I am sure that you chose that just to be deliberately ominous, but I can't think of anything major that was in the news during that time, aside from Brown putting the kaboosh on having an early election. So, unless Brown goes to the Palace as the House of Commons goes up in flames, I am fairly sure that you are going to surprise us.

 

[wargamer6]

The butterfly...I knew it.

Nobody ever suspects the butterfly...

 

[Makemakean]

Well, I'm not too knowledgeable to make any commentary on the plausibility of the first chapter, seeing I've never really studied the biology of butterflies. I've studied chaos theory and read alternate history, but never studied the biology of butterflies. Nice choice of a beginning, though.

Also enjoyed the part of the narration making comments about the lack of proper narration:

So no eye remained to watch as the pupa, without even the benefit of a David Attenborough narration, slowly burst open to reveal what the caterpillar had transformed itself into.

and the Douglas Adamsian (almost) repetition of an obscure and odd phrase within the same paragraph in a kind of meta-way:

These things took time. Time for a mote of dust to accumulate more particulates to itself, for oil and lubricant to become soaked up out of sight of casual observers. Time for a global economy to crash, for America to elect a black president, for Steven Moffat to write a Doctor Who episode about nefarious motes of dust that hid in the shadows and plotted to strip the flesh from your bones.

But obviously, that those things are enjoyable goes without saying.

 

[Thande]

November 25th, 2009

The Prime Minister marshalled his thoughts as he made his way down the corridor, heedless of the countless MPs and staff now filling the Palace once more since Parliament had been opened a few days before. There were too many crises, always too many crises. He felt like a man being asked to shoot fifty clay pigeons all at once and then being condemned for failing. Why had Tony always seemed to carry a machine gun? But in the end, a bit of clay too big to shatter, a tablet with cuneiform from the Fertile Crescent, if you will, had knocked him down. Five minutes before everything went to hell, or so it seemed, leaving his successor to deal with the mess. Convenient.

He brushed the metaphor aside and force himself to focus on his problems. There were always the big ones, the state of the economy and the state of the polls, but there was nothing to be gained from brooding on those. There were the floods in Cumbria and elsewhere. He had visited mere days before and promised more help. He had said all the right things, and meant them. Yet the media seemed to have collectively looked at him and said ‘that’s nice, but when is a real Prime Minister going to arrive?’ He clenched his hands into fists.

There was the entry of Rwanda into the Commonwealth. Something of a triumph, but not one that would set the public imagination alight. He was glad he had at least managed to give that apology for the Home Children, though predictably that bastard in Canada had refused to take part. Every time he met with Harper, he had a horrible vision of what could happen here…

That’s the real goal here, Brown thought. Stop the Tories and save the nation. Everything else is secondary to that. But no matter what Mandelson said, he was beginning to believe the doubters. Could the polls truly recover in time for the election? Surely not enough to yield a Labour majority, or at best a tiny, tenuous one that would be whittled down through by-elections. Brown well remembered how the disappointment over 1992 had turned out to be a blessing in disguise, had made the public hate the Tories so much that they had been thrown out of power for a generation. Now he had to rekindle that hate, make the people remember, or everything was lost.

And all that meant that desperate measures were called for.

The Prime Minister—and whatever else they could do to him, they could never take that away—pressed the lift button and considered his next move. There had to be a way of doing this, a subtler way. It had alienated too many people when he had just straight-out offered Ming Campbell a seat in his cabinet. That had been two years ago; it seemed more like two decades. Perhaps Mandelson had one of his notions—

“Going up as well?”

Only a lifetime of political experience meant that Brown did not jump out of startlement. He might not be able to smile convincingly, but he could hide surprise. “As it happens, yes,” he muttered to the owner of the breezy, casual voice. Speak of the devil…or think of him.

Nick Clegg nodded. The two of them waited for a long, awkward moment as the somewhat temperamental lift arrived, both staring straight ahead. This is no good, Brown thought. “Nick, I was going to ask, would you be interested in discussing a few issues when our schedules allow…”

The lift arrived at the most inopportune time, as usual, distracting Brown from his train of thought. The two of them stepped in, Clegg punching the button. He looked askance at the Prime Minister. “Issues, you say?”

Brown coughed, marshalling his thoughts once more. “We have all suffered in the wake of the expenses scandal.” Some more than others, even though the Tories had been the worst offenders. They still had Thatcher-esque majorities in the polls. There was no justice. “Clearly we need to take some action if we’re going to restore public trust in Parliament.” He paused for a moment. “There’s some upcoming legislation where I think we need to make sure there’s a progressive majority in place from the start. I think it would be useful if you were to…represent your views to me at this point.”

Subtlety. Well, that was as subtle as Dr James Gordon Brown got. He was no Mandelson. Clegg raised an eyebrow, then nodded slowly. The code was transparent. Brown was dangling the carrot of voting reform in front of him. In exchange for something. Collaboration. Maybe not openly, but if the two progressive parties informally focused their efforts on the Tories and made an unspoken agreement to form a coalition in the event of a hung parliament…

Clegg opened his mouth to reply, and it was at this point that the world went to hell. Again.

 

[Makemakean]

Ah. The lift got stuck as a consequence of something to do with the building.

With Nick Clegg and Gordon Brown.

Just the two of them.

All alone, in an increasingly warm, small, confined space.

Excellent.

 

[wargamer6]

So, in Brown's quest to lock out the Tories, is he going to do something stupid?

 

[Joyeux]

We're just inundated with modern British political TLIADs lately, aren't we?
Might as well read this one too; its not like I have anything better to do.

Anyway, I like where I think that this looks to be going.

 

[Meadow]

Hoo boy. Is the lift going to fall, I wonder? Or get stuck? If it gets stuck, that's a delectable opportunity for Gordon and Clegg to be forced to while away the hours in conversation, and perhaps find they really can work together better than they thought.

Cue a Lib-Lab coalition come 2010, however, and I suspect things will not be quite so rosy.

Love this so far, Thande, very well written as ever, and your blessing is most welcome.

 

[Blackadder mk 2]

Maybe he gets Clegg to agree to a coalition with Labour, it gets announced right after Parliament dissolves or the first debate and the media backlash emerges?

It's all very exciting, can't wait to see more.

 

[Makemakean]

Maybe he gets Clegg to agree to a coalition with Labour, it gets announced right after Parliament dissolves or the first debate and the media backlash emerges?

I doubt he'd be that tactless if he genuinely wanted a coalition with the LibDems.

Prof. Vernor Bogdanor, Cameron's old tutor unless I'm mistaken, called for Gordon Brown to approach the LibDems prior to the election had even started back in the spring of 2010, rather than waiting until any potential post-election negotiations, so that when time came around, he could present a clear, well-defined alternative to the Tories. Presumably, Labour and the LibDems would then run on a shared platform and work out some deal with Labour and LibDem candidates standing down in certain constituencies to aid each other. If AV went through, this might very well have signaled the beginning of Australian-style politics, only the other way around, in which Labour and the LibDems were in perpetual coalition.

But then again, there's a sizable element of the Labour Party who even before the Coalition of our timeline held the LibDems to be little more than the Tories Lite, and consequently wanted nothing to do with them.

Then there are those Labourites slightly to the right of the aforementioned part who seem to regard the LibDems as thieves who have unfairly stolen votes that rightfully belong to the Labour Party.

To be honest, I am very skeptical of the argument of those "progressive majority"-idealists who insist that a Lib-Lab Coalition would be a match made in Heaven.

The point I wish to make is that I do not believe that such a pre-arranged Lib-Lab Coalition alternative would win in the first place. If anything, it may very well just result in the Tories winning a majority in reaction, as I think voters would be hostile to such an idea.

 

[wargamer6]

Is Brown a reverse vampire, and he just lured Clegg into a trap?

 

[Thande]

Not so far away from the fateful lift, in an ambiguously-named tower, two years’ worth of accumulated dirt and dust suddenly hit a critical threshold. With a shrieking CLANG, one gear of the gong train disengaged from its mechanism and shot out like a burning wheel from the wreckage of a car crash. The gear glanced off the great bell with a subdued BONG that was all the more disconcerting for those passers-by who frequented Westminster. One soon learned what the bell was supposed to sound like, and this was an alien variation, something glimpsed in a dark mirror. But soon enough that became irrelevant anyway: the gear, deflected by the impact, bounced back at high speed into the other gear train, dislodging a second gear. Metal teeth ground, sparks flew, and as the mechanism ground to a halt, a terrific vibration shook the building, almost like an earthquake.

It was not, as the tabloids would initially report it, a disaster. Nor had the face of Big Ben cracked. Nor had it been caused by ‘migrant workers’. The interior of the clock was damaged, new repairs would be required, legal action might be taken against those responsible for the last lot, in the meantime the tourists would be disappointed. Some inhabitants of the Westminster village would have to get used to periodically fishing their iPhones out of their pockets to check the time. But in the long run it was not so much of a much.

Except, that is, for the fact that the vibration running through the palace happened to upset a particularly temperamental lift mechanism.

 

[Blackadder mk 2]

Uh oh. Me thinks that Brown and Clegg are about to have a falling out.

 

[Thande]

Brown managed to keep his footing as the lift jounced beneath his feet, an unnatural motion that almost made his gorge rise. But he remained steady, as the lights momentarily dimmed before brightening again.

Clegg, who had been half-leaning against the wall, wasn’t so lucky; one leg collapsed out from under him and he went sprawling forward in a way that would have been comical if the situation wasn’t so serious. “Are you OK?” Brown muttered as he glanced upward, as though he could see through the roof.

The Liberal Democrat leader scrambled to his feet and nodded, though sweat had broken out on his forehead. “What was that?”

“Something wrong with the lift,” Brown said unhelpfully. “Probably stuck between two floors. I remember this happening when I went to the building in Sheffield once.”

“Moorfoot?” Clegg asked.

“That’s the one; David went on and on about how he’d made all the lifts disabled-friendly, and then I saw them have to fish someone out of one with a ladder when it got stuck.” He shook his head at the memory, while Clegg turned slightly green.

“We’d better call for help,” Clegg said, going to the control panel and pressing the alarm button. “Hello? The lift’s stuck!” There was an edge of panic to his voice, though he hid it relatively well, Brown thought. Perhaps he was claustrophobic.

After a pregnant pause, the speaker crackled: “Hello, we will be dealing with your problem shortly...” The voice sounded as though its young female owner was both reciting a standard statement and also harried with some other difficulty. “There may be a delay as there seems to be a general situation developing...”

Clegg didn’t look too happy about that, to say the least. Brown shouldered him aside and put his own face to the microphone. “This is the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom,” he said icily. “If there is a ‘general situation’, your first priority is to get me out of here so I can deal with it!”

The voice, shocked, babbled a panicky response, something about being as soon as possible, before cutting out. Brown shook his head. Poor girl. He hated himself for doing that, it was exactly the same kind of abuse of privilege he despised the Tories for. Still, if this had been caused by a terrorist attack or something, it was imperative he get out of here and deal with it.

“Don’t worry,” he reassured Clegg, “they’ll be here soon.” The Liberal Democrat looked like he was having trouble staying on his feet, though he hadn’t succumbed to a panic attack yet. Whatever it was he had, Brown was sympathetic...as a man. As a politician, on the other hand...one did not let an opportunity pass by. You gained more insights into a man when he was at a disadvantage like this.

He cleared his throat. “While we’re here,” he began, “to take your mind off it, and to pass the time, have you considered...”

 

[Meadow]

This is fucking inspired.

 

[LancyIain]

Uh oh. Me thinks that Brown and Clegg are about to have a falling out.

You almost made me destroy my computer with that pun! I'd had the same thought, but not articulated it anywhere near so well.

I really am enjoying this sudden glut of British politics TLIADs. Brown and Clegg stuck in a lift together. I wonder what they'll come up with. I do suspect that this may be the beginning of a closer relationship, but given the title I doubt either of them will end up totally happy with the outcome.