Ambition: File #162,299

"My, we've been busy!" said Sophia, checking her computer.

"It's quite fun when you get used to it," said Arthur. "You just have to look for unusual ambitions to fulfil. Things that most people would ignore."

"We've certainly got plenty of work to keep everyone going," Sophia said. "Anyway, you've got ... ten thousand and thirteen points. Which, by a narrow margin, earns you access to the Ambition Lounge."

She retrieved a violet plastic card from her drawer, and placed it into a slot on the computer. She typed something in, and pulled out the card.

"Use this to get into the lift to the left," she told Arthur, handing him the card. "It'll take you directly to the Lounge."

"Right," said Arthur. "Thanks." He paused a moment. "So, erm ... what is this Lounge exactly?"

"Mostly for relaxation," said Sophia. "A gathering place, exclusive to members who earn over ten thousand points. It also has unrestricted access to the Ambition database, which should enable you to help more people more efficiently." She smiled. "Makes sense to make work easier for those who've helped the most, doesn't it?"

Arthur smiled, and thanked her, before heading for the lift.

-10001-

"... and then, on Saturday night, I was having dinner with Dennis Freeman, and ..."

"Don't do that."

"What?"

"Name-dropping. It gets right on my nerves."

"What do you mean, 'name-dropping'?"

"Well, if he was really such a good friend, you'd call him 'Dennis', wouldn't you? But no, you have to use his full name."

"Why would I just call him Dennis? You know who he is, so it'd be a bit stupid to pretend he was just some guy."

"It sounds like he's just a name to you!"

"He's my friend. I just know him, that's all."

Arthur watched the argument from the lift. There was around a dozen people sitting on the long, pastel-coloured sofa, but only two were talking – a man and a woman. The whole company looked much younger than he'd expected; mostly in their mid-twenties to early-thirties. He stepped forwards cautiously.

The group turned and saw him, they all bounced to their feet and dashed over.

"Hia, how are you?"

"New, aren't you?"

"What was your ambition?"

"What's your name?"

"Who do you know here?"

"Hi, I'm Alexander Exton."

Arthur blustered his answers, and after a time, most of them lost interest, and started talking among themselves again. One girl, however – a rotund twenty-something who'd kept mostly quiet thus far – stayed behind.

"It was Arthur Pritchard, wasn't it?" she said.

"Call me Arthur," he said, his head still spinning.

"Then you can call me Rachel." She grabbed his hand. "Come on – let's check out the computers."

And she bounded away, around the corner, away from the sofas, past a self-serving bar, through a set of double-doors, and into a more subdued room, with blue lights built into the walls. The room contained five or six large computer consoles, reminding Arthur of the touchscreen ones in Job Centres.

She released his hand, and sat on a stool by the nearest consoles. Arthur took the stool next to her.

"So, how do these computers work?" he asked.

"Oh, that doesn't matter," said Rachel. "We need to talk about the Lounge. I'm file one-six-double-two-double-nine."

Arthur's eyebrows shot up. "Am I expected to know my file number by heart?"

"In the Lounge? Certainly," replied Rachel. "But it might not be your scene. See, It's full of zed-list members, hoping to be the next Dennis Freeman or Jemima Cross."

"Who?"

"Good lord, you'll need to take a look at the in-house magazine. You won't survive a second in here if you don't know your high-profilers." She pressed something on the screen. "Look, checking the profile rankings is a good way to find out who they are, but for more details, you'll need to read interviews and things."

Arthur checked the monitor.

"This one doesn't have a name," he said, indicating the top of the list.

"He's a bit of a mystery," said Rachel. "He chose to hide his identity, in the days before details were mandatory, and was allowed to continue operating in secret."

"But we know he's a 'he'?"

"Ah, well, no," said Rachel, blushing. "I think everyone's got an image of what he's like, though, and mine's male." She shuffled on her stool. "Anyway, I think most people like to imagine that THEY'RE the number one member, so they come to the Lounge and do their best to appear important, hoping that naïve members will think 'oh, wow, I wonder if it's them'."

"You don't much get on with these people, then?" asked Arthur.

"They're alright," said Rachel, shrugging. "They're self-obsessed, but sometimes that's a good thing. If you've earned your entry to the Lounge, you're okay by them. Never mind what you're like or ... what you look like ..."

She trailed away, and Arthur looked at her sadly. Surely she didn't spend time with these awful people out of loneliness?

"So, what was your ambition?" he asked gently.

"Doesn't matter," she mumbled. She was busying herself with the monitor, checking the details of high-profilers.

Arthur swallowed.

"Rachel," he said. He smiled softly. "I don't know your surname."

"Parsons," she murmurmed.

"I don't think I like this place," said Arthur. "I think I'm going to go elsewhere."

"Okay."

"I'm going to go to dinner." He licked his lips, and straightened on the stool. "Would you like to accompany me?"

She turned to look at him.

"You don't need to do that," she said gently.

"Right, no, of course," blustered Arthur. "Sorry." He paused. "I got the impression you didn't like it here, and ... Umm, I'm awfully sorry. Forget I mentioned it."

She paused.

"I don't like it here," she squeaked. "But don't feel like you've got to ... I don't know ... You can just leave, if you want, I won't mind."

He frowned.

"I meant the invitation, you know," he said. "I really want to spend more time with you."

Rachel's face brightened.

"Oh," she said. "Yes. Sorry. Umm."

"Would you, erm," started Arthur. "Would you like to start again?"

"I think it'd be best, don't you?"

"I think I'm going to go for dinner," he repeated. "Are you hungry by any chance?"

"I'd love to come," she breathed.

Ambition: File #195,636

“Good day,” greeted Sophia. “And welcome to Ambition.”

Arthur adjusted his thick, round glasses. “I’m, um, not really sure how this works,” he said, in a quiet voice.

“Ah, a newbie,” said Sophia quietly. “Don’t worry, sir, we’ll sort you out.”

Sophia turned on the PC atop the posh glass counter, and after a moment, called up a database.

“Alright,” she said. “You're file number one-nine-five-six-three-six. What’s your name?”

“Arthur Pritchard,” said Arthur.

“And what’s your ambition?”

“Well, I don’t know if I should say, I want to try this, or …” he said.

“Let your inhibitions go,” said Sophia, smiling at the little man. “Imagine when you were a child – how easy it was to name your ambition?” She looked into the middle distance. “Fireman! Astronaut! Ballet dancer! Those clichés never truly leave us, do they? They evolve.”

“I’d like to be a writer,” said Arthur quietly.

“Oh, lovely!” said Sophia, making a note. “We’ve launched many successful writers. What medium? Novels, television …?”

“Novels, yes,” said Arthur.

“And have you got anything written?”

“I’ve written a few short stories.” Arthur scratched his thick ginger moustache nervously. “I’ve brought a few with me if you’d like to take a look …”

“I’d like to make copies if you wouldn’t mind,” said Sophia. “But you’d better hang on to the originals.”

Arthur handed over his small bundle of papers, and Sophia scanned them into her computer.

“Now, do you understand how this works?” Sophia asked.

“Not really. My friend said something about points and …”

“It’s quite simple,” said Sophia, after Arthur had trailed off completely. “All our members earn points for helping out other members. The more points they have, the higher they climb our priority list.”

“I think I see …”

“The most useful members, therefore, are the most likely to be helped.”

“Ah.”

“But you’re in a great position,” she continued, smiling encouragingly. “Established members jump at the chance to help out new members, because they bring such a range of new opportunities. It’d be easier to help you get an interview with a publisher’s, for instance, than to increase the profile of a writer who’s been here for years.”

Arthur smiled, not entirely following the system.

“In summary, for your first few weeks – if not months – you’ll get plenty of help. After that, you’ll need to help others to boost your profile. Now, if I can take a few details …”

-10001-

Week One

“Good morning, Mr Pritchard. It’s Henry Smith speaking, from Random House Publishing. I’d like to offer you a tentative contract for this coming autumn’s release schedule.”

-10001-

Week Two

Felicity Goodman pointed once again to the flipchart.

“Sixty-eight per cent of the work is editing and re-draughting,” she said. “But a strong first draught is essential. So let’s start with a brainstorming session.”

-10001-

Week Three

A parcel arrived at Arthur’s house. A free trial of a professional text editing program. “Care of Dennis Freeman.”

-10001-

Week Four

“Hello, there. This is Kathy Smitham. An … anonymous party has booked one of our rooms for you for a week’s time. Although the time can be rearranged for convenience. Lovely countryside hotel, with excellent views. Very inspiring.”

-10001-

Autumn

“Arthur Pritchard’s debut novel, ‘The Secret Library’, stands out as a bold, experimental piece that has much to offer to readers of any age. One can but hope that this is merely the first of many installments demonstrating Pritchard’s surreal grasp of modern lifestyles and sensitive approach to the subject matter.”
-- Review by Megan Norris.

-10001-

Arthur walked into the tall, glass building, his head held high.

“Good morning, Sophia,” he greeted.

“Good morning, Mr Pritchard,” said Sophia.

“Thought I’d call in to thank you for the help,” he said, holding a copy of his newly-published book.

“I just filled in the form, Mr Pritchard,” said Sophia with a grin. “I don’t help people personally.”

“It’s a great feeling, this,” said Arthur, once again indicating his book. “To think that, less eight months ago, all I had was a handful of short stories.” He paused. “So … how many new members are there?”

“Plenty,” said Sophia. “One girl came in today wanting to climb Everest.”

“Ambitious!” said Arthur.

“That’s the name of the game.”

“You know,” said Arthur thoughfully. “I’ve got a friend in Nepal. I could find out if he could offer the girl a place to stay. Base of operations, as it were.”

“Good thinking,” said Sophia. She tapped away at the computer. “I’ve forwarded her details to you. She’d be thrilled to hear from you, I’m sure.”