back massive, ferocious pit bulls that strained on their leads. They looked through their visors at the crowd around them with an intimidating air of disinterest. They were heavily armed ready to intervene to disperse the frequent disputes and scuffles around the litterbins.
Ennis could not help remembering the Paris he had visited when he was a student. He had shared a small apartment in the 20th district of Paris not far from Porte de Montreuil. He recalled shopping in the hypermarket Carrefour that was just over the bridge that crossed the Périphérique. In the streets next to the hypermarket was a popular flea market that attracted large crowds of settler shoppers. In the thronging crowd of shoppers the Gallos were a small minority, there were Arabs, Blacks, Asians, and just about every other foreigner imaginable.
He recalled a poster on a news kiosk showing the cover page for a French weekly magazine; the three men with a caption 'the men who control France'. Three Gallos, whose knowledge of the 'French' in the street market was as great as that of the inhabitants of Niu Guini. That was of little importance, what was important is that they held power and the privilege of power with their party apparatus, their ministries and their hangers-on.
At that time the National Popular Party had about twenty to twenty five percent of the votes in Paris, which the leftist and politically correct press described as protest votes. In reality it represented a very large part of the Gallos in the total population of Paris.
At that time seemed obvious to Ennis that the future was clearly laid, France was a multi-ethnic society as the politicians liked to describe it, but he had not counted on the grass roots French, who were inwardly aghast when they visited Paris and saw the creeping loss of Gallo power. Their last chance to keep the power from the Neos and Settlers came with the Marseille revolt, they seized the opportunity and never looked back.
Others had done the same thing before them in Cairo, in Tangiers, in Beirut, in Istanbul, in Trieste and many other cities of Europe that had experimented with a cosmopolitan society and had opted out of the experience.
He headed towards the taxi station where he found a long line waiting. He joined the line and waited patiently as his neighbours complained of the lack of taxis in Paris, nobody wanted to drive a taxis, there was a lack of labour of all kinds.
After twenty minutes Ennis gave up and turned in the direction of the Metro. There he found the same crowd of unwashed on street level. He bought a ticket from the machine and took the line N°6 to Nation. At three in the afternoon the train was not crowded, the passengers were mostly Clodos and elderly people, there were few young people.
At the station Nation he left the Metro and walked past the police patrol towards Place du Trône. National flags hung vertically on the ornate lampposts that surrounded the huge circus and lined the Cours de Vincennes. The flags were royalist blue with a red Celtic cross on a white lozenge. The leaves of the Horse Chestnut trees planted on both side of the broad avenue were already turning brown.
He remembered in his student days the Place du Trône had been called Place des Antilles, at that time it was common to see a good number of Arabs and blacks, but now as he looked around there was not a single non-European in sight.
Large high definition murals on tall pillars transmitted news and information from the state television service and from the City Hall.
The heat of the day weighed on him as he passed before the full terraces of the cafés with smart looking people seated before their cold drinks. It was a totally world different from that of the Metro and the railway stations, an underworld where the disinherited classes of the Nation dwelt.
The Place de la Nation had been transformed into a vast monument dedicated to the Heroes of France. The surface was paved with polished granite, permanently cleaned by machines and reserved for pedestrians, as was the avenue leading to place du Trône that continued the length of the Cours de Vincennes to the port de Vincennes. It had become a symbol of the Nation where rallies were held to celebrate the national day of St Jean d’Arc, the most important day in the Republic promoted to the same level as the 14th July.
Just beyond the Place du Trône a white copter was parked in a white circle with two RASE armoured Hydros ready to intervene if necessary at the entry to the zone which lay hidden from view a short distance to the north of the avenue in the 19th district of Paris.
Paris had been transformed into an almost city free of motor personal vehicles. The main surface transport was the Magnotrams that silently glided unimpeded along the main arteries at an even regular speed of thirty kilometres an hour between the stops every four or five hundred metres. The massive flow of commuters that the Capital had known in the past had been greatly reduced; most offices served merely as face-to-face meeting points. Only the shopping and entertainment areas needed their daily flow of workers who used the Metro to travel in from the suburbs. The Parisians preferred the cleaner, safer, Magnotram.
The population of the Capital and its suburbs had been greatly reduced with expulsion of the Non-Gallos; many of the low class residential areas and eyesores had been raised to the ground to make way for gardens and parks.
However, certain districts and suburbs had been abandoned, left in ruin to the hordes of Drogo-alcolos or infiltrators who crept out of the miserable hovels at nightfall. The Zone were separated from the rest of the capital by plantations of trees that hid a one hundred metre wide no-mans-land, where the buildings had been demolished leaving an open area up to the wall that surrounded the Zone, it was patrolled day and night by units of the RASE.
The Zonards, or Ombres as they were often called, were permitted into the Capital as day workers; they had no residential rights in the Capital. They wore luminescent green armbands that indicated their status as day workers. An identity bracelet emitted a permanent signal that enabled the RASE to locate their exact position at all times. The Ethnic Affairs database responded to the signal providing all personal details of the Zonards’ status and work permit. If their work and travel time allowance outside of the Zone was exceed an automatic alarm signal was emitted and they were picked up by the RASE. Without an acceptable explanation the least infraction could be sanctioned by their immediate transport to the frontier and expulsion.
Settlement was non-existent, though the Capital remained a tourist magnet for the world, all of whom received signal emitting visas at their arrival points. Asians, Arabs and African visitors were visible in the tourist centres; they were required to produce valid credit cards that guaranteed their departure on the expiry of their visas. The registration systems in hotels was connected to the Ministry of Ethnic Affairs so that all visitors were discreetly but strictly controlled. The same went for foreign delegations from countries that were considered to be sensitive.
Visitors and workers from the countries of the Union freely circulated in the Capital without limitations, though they were obliged to justify an adequate income if they elected permanent residence in the Nation.
Guiglione
Ennis found himself before a small apartment building on the boulevard de Picpus. He entered the code and opened the door entering into a small lobby closed before a second door. There was a set of letterboxes with a list of names and buttons, he went down the list and found the name Guiglione and pressed the button.
After a moment a voice answered.
“Bonjour, I’m the friend of Elliot Stone,” Ennis replied to a video camera.
“Take the lift to the sixth floor.”
There was a click and Ennis pushed the door called the lift and went to the sixth floor where he found himself in a private lobby before the door of the penthouse apartment. He waited a moment and the door opened.
“Hello, I was given this address by our friend.”
“Welcome to Paris, I’m Jean-Marie Guiglione,” he said holding out his hand at the same time inspecting Ennis. “Come in.”
Guiglione was a friend of Stone, he was a cardiologist and had been introduced to Stone a few years earlier at an
aero club near Paris, they were both amateur pilots and also shared an interest in firearms.
“Did you have any problems?”
“No, nothing special.”
“No problem in the station or Metro, you know with the Drogos.”
“No, nobody troubled me, I had a little difficulty finding your address, there’s also a street called rue de Picpus.”
“Well you’re here now, what can I offer you to drink, a beer?”
“That would be nice with the heat outside.”
“Take a seat,” he said showing Ennis into his living room. He then disappeared and returned some moments later carrying two beers that he put on the low table before Ennis.
“Life has become complicated in Paris today, the Drogo-alcolos seem to be everywhere, the authorities don’t know what to do with them. You just have to be careful. Taking away their rights only complicate matters and they can’t expulse them,” he said laughing, “they’re good Gallos.”
Ennis filled his glass and took a drink of the cold beer.
“That’s better, the train was hot and crowded.”
“I’m sorry about that, but the train was safer for you than the airports, they’re much more strictly controlled.”
“I imagine so.”
“Well you’re safe for the moment. What I suggest is that you take a shower