'Mandrake?' said Derek. 'It grows in Brentford?'

'A character called Old Vic grows it. We have a file on him. He used to be a prisoner of war.'

'I know,' said Derek, burying his face in his hands.

'So we'll add in this Mad John,' said Mr Speedy, punching keys. 'He shouts, you say? Is he violent?'

'Perhaps you should check that out for yourself.' Derek peeped up through his fingers.

'We will,' said Mr Shadow. 'We check everything out.'

'It's not a safe area, you know,' said Derek, straightening up. 'There was a big riot in the Arts Centre last night. I was in it. There was blood, I have bruises, would you like to see them?'

'I have bruises of my own,' said Mr Speedy. 'Mine are far more impressive than yours.'

'I'm sure they're not,' said Derek.

'Our company has a division that specializes in urban pacification,' said Mr Shadow. 'Any trouble from the locals will be swiftly dealt with.'

'Oh yes?' said Derek, the tone of sarcasm ringing in his voice. 'So what will you do, put a big fence around the borough as well?'

'Naturally,' said Mr Shadow. 'We can't have anyone sneaking into Suburbia World without paying.'

'Regarding pay,' said Kelly. 'You mentioned a certain figure yesterday that seemed very generous, particularly as the nature of my job here was somewhat unspecific. You mentioned a contract, has that been drawn up?'

'The figure stands, the contract has been drawn up. You will find the job itself challenging. It should appeal to you. You impress me as a young woman with highly competitive instincts. We at Mute Corp are always •working on new games. And we're always looking for qualified participants, players, to test the systems.'

'All right,' said Kelly. 'Well I'm up for it. I've played a lot of computer games in my time…'

'We're well aware of that,' said Mr Pokey.

'You are?'

'Of course. We have files on everyone.'

'Everyone?' said Kelly. 'You can't have files on everyone.'

'Mute Corp manages the Government's mainframe, which is linked to the armed services and the emergency services mainframes. Mute Corp manages the communications network. Mute Corp manages all of the World Wide Web.'

'You have to be kidding,' said Kelly.

'Oh no,' said Mr Pokey. 'And it's all there for the public to see. The Freedom of Information Act, you know. Check the Mute Corp web site. We have no secrets.'

'So tell me about this Mute-chip of yours.'

'The corporation's business dealings and interests are not a secret. Obviously the technology we develop is.'

'And so your files on me said that I had potential as what? A games tester?'

'Absolutely. Your university career. Your access to the games library, at the university. You have a natural aptitude towards the playing of computer games. If your natural aptitude lay with mathematics we'd employ you in the accounts department. We only employ operatives according to their specialized skills. And everybody's skills are all on file. Everything's on file. Your whole life's on file. I can tell you the address where you are currently lodging. You wrote out an old-fashioned paper cheque for your landlady, Mrs…' Mr Pokey tapped keys, 'Mrs Gormenghast, and she's on file too, bought two pots of puce paint, serial number 10A/BC444 from Homebase in Chiswick last week. Everything is computer-linked. Everything. Surely you are aware of this?'

'Of course,' said Kelly. 'But it is a little frightening when you hear it being read out like that.'

'You haven't committed any crimes,' said Mr Pokey. 'You're a model citizen. No violations of penal codes. No misdemeanours.'

'No,' said Kelly. 'None.'

'You are an ambitious young woman and we are offering you a challenging position.'

'All right,' said Kelly. ‘I’ll take it.'

'Well of course you will, you wouldn't be here if you •weren't going to. Would you? So we'll get you all checked out…'

'Checked out?' said Kelly.

'Just the standard medical.'

'I see.'

'And then you will be highly paid for doing something you enjoy. What could possibly be better than that?'

Kelly thought about it. What could possibly be better than being highly paid for doing something you enjoy? Nothing really. And while she was doing this something, she \vould find out everything she needed to know about Mute Corp. Every little secret.

Or every big secret.

And yes, she was ambitious, and yes, she was highly competitive. And yes, not only would she beat their games, she would expose to the world whatever it was that Mute Corp had done to Big Bob Charker and those hapless souls who had apparently vanished from the face of the earth.

She would.

Oh yes she would.

'Right,' said Kelly. 'I'm up for it. I'll take the medical and get straight into your game.'

'Splendid,' said Mr Pokey. 'I knew you were perfect for the job. We never make a mistake at Mute Corp.' And his eyes were back on her breasts once more and the smile was back on his face.

Kelly smiled. 'Just one thing,' she said. 'What is the name of this new game of yours?'

'go mango,' said Mr Pokey.

'Yabba-dabba-dooby-dooby-do, [12]' said the doctor.

'Yabba-dabba-dooby-dooby-do-do, [13]' Kelly replied.

The doctor wore a stunning white concoction, wrought from bogusynthecatedextroselectroline, which had been sprayed over her body and a pair of Doveston holistic thigh boots with on-board chaos-generators, double reticulating splines and personal matrix engines, with rather spiffing Minnie Mouse bows on the toecaps.

'You have a working knowledge of Runese,' said the doctor. It was a statement rather than a question. 'It's only really the plebs who use it all the time. We professionals need more than forty words to get the job done. Don't we?'

'I'm sure you have accessed my file,' said Kelly. 'I have a degree in the Universal tongue. Did it on a night-school course six months ago on the Web. Along with Origami and Macrame. Not to mention Mantovani.'

The doctor didn't mention Mantovani.

'Please be seated,' said the doctor.

Kelly seated herself.

The doctor's office differed from that of Mr Pokey's, in that it wasn't the same. The walls of this office were adorned with garish blown-up photographs of industrial injuries. The doctor's desk was a transparent slab of plexiglas, and encased within it was a human skeleton. A two-headed human skeleton.

On the wall behind the desk were shelves. On these shelves were numerous preserving jars containing dissected human organs, heads, limbs and assorted bits and bobs.

Kelly was impressed by the collection. 'An impressive array of exhibits,' she observed. 'All the work of Hartley Grimes [14]?'

'Not my personal choice,' said the doctor. 'Mute Corp employed an interior designer to give the offices a makeover. An old chap called Lawrence someone-or-other. He was very fashionable back in the 1990s. And style never dates, does it?'

'Apparently not,' said Kelly.

'So let us get down to business, would you care to go behind the screen and remove all your clothing.'

'I had a medi-check only a month ago,' said Kelly. 'I was declared Double Al. It will be on my medical file.'

'Oh, it is,' said the doctor. 'But company rules are company rules and rules must be enforced.'

'But I am officially Double Al.'

The doctor fluttered her eyelashes. They were fibre-optic, tiny green and blue globes glittering at their tips. 'Everyone has to have six-monthly health checks,' she said. 'You and I both know this. Most illnesses have been eradicated. Disease is virtually unknown, the universal panacea chip that everyone is implanted with at birth sees to this. But there are certain specific minor ailments that I have to check for.'