'Such as?' Kelly asked.

'Have you ever heard of keamerphybriosis?'

'No,' said Kelly. 'I haven't.'

'Or haemoglottism? Or Sterling's syndrome?'

'No,' said Kelly, slowly shaking her golden head and teasing at her hair. 'I haven't heard of those, either.'

'Nor have I,' said the doctor. 'Nor has anyone else. Because I just made them up. But if you don't consent to me giving you a full body examination, they will be just three of the totally bogus incurable complaints that I shall type into your file to prevent you getting this job.'

'Why?' Kelly asked.

The doctor sighed. 'I would have thought that was patently obvious,' she said. 'I just want to see you with your kit off. It's a doctor thing. I thought it was taken for granted.'

'Oh,' said Kelly. 'Well why didn't you just say so?' And she went behind the screen and got her kit off.

'We seem to have got off to a rather poor start,' said Mr Speedy to Derek. Mr Speedy was sitting in the chair of Mr Shields. The chair that Derek should have been sitting in. Mr Speedy had his feet upon Mr Shields's desk and Mr Speedy was now sipping Scotch from the bottle Mr Shields kept in his drawer.

Derek sat upon a boxed computer part, which somehow had been overlooked when the rest went off to the Brentford constabulary.

'You see,' said Mr Speedy. 'Mr Shields has a job for life. It's in that absurd contract of his. But you don't. And you know it. Mute Corp pays your wages and Mute Corp expects each of its employees to give of his or her best. Do I make myself thoroughly understood?'

Derek grinned painfully and made a show of rubbing his hands together. 'So,' said he. 'Shall we get started on this exciting project? You were joking about the fence being put around the borough though, weren't you?'

Mr Speedy shook his head. And Mr Shadow shook his head. And slowly Derek shook his head as well. 'You weren't joking, then,' he said.

'It will benefit every Brentonian,' said Mr Speedy. 'Keep the riff-raff out and preserve the borough in its state of stasis. Mr Shields wanted to avoid any change here. Clearly you wish the same. We wish the very same. What could be more harmonious than that?'

'The locals won't take to any fences,' said Derek. 'They're all wound up at the moment as it is. People have been vanishing, the locals believe that The Rapture is in progress. They nearly killed this chap called Charker last night. Some lunatic bishop had them believing he was the Antichrist.'

'Charker?' said Mr Speedy and he looked at Mr Shadow. Mr Shadow did noddings towards Mr Speedy's briefcase laptop jobbie and Mr Speedy keyed letters in and peered at the tiny screen.

'Do you know where Charker is now?' he asked Derek.

Derek shook his head.

'But you would say that some kind of Christian fundamentalist revival is going on in the borough?'

Derek sadly nodded his head. 'It will probably blow over,' said he. 'These things usually do.'

'Oh no,' said Mr Speedy. 'We wouldn't want that. In fact I think we should positively encourage it.'

'What?' said Derek.

'Is there a shrine?' asked Mr Shadow. 'There's always a shrine. A place where some miracle occurred. Like Lourdes, or Fatima, or Guadalupe, or that underpass in Paris where the spirit of Diana cured the beggar of athlete's foot.'

'I thought it was scabies,' said Mr Speedy.

'No, definitely Paris,' said Mr Shadow. 'But there's always a shrine. Do you have one here?' he asked Derek.

Derek hung his head in dismal affirmation. 'There is,' he said gloomily. 'My mum told me about it this morning. The Plume Cafe, where the tour bus crashed. People have been piling up bunches of flowers there. They say that the first man to be Raptured, was Raptured from there after the crash.'

'Malkuth,' said Mr Speedy, and he pronounced the unpronounceable name.

'Indeed,' said Derek. 'But how did you know that?'

'Everything is on file,' said Mr Shadow. 'Everyone is on file. We at Mute Corp always make a point of disclosing this fact to those we deal with in business. It reinforces trust and discourages duplicity.'

'You mean you resort to blackmail, if they don't do what you want them to.'

Mr Speedy looked once more at Mr Shadow. 'Of course,' they said. 'It simplifies matters no end.'

'Well / have nothing to hide,' said Derek.

Mr Speedy laughed. 'You certainly have no secrets from us,' he said. 'But a bit of advice for the future. And strictly off the record. The next time you buy an old-fashioned computer game from a dodgy supplier, do it in cash. The movement of stolen goods is far harder to trace that way.'

Derek's jaw fell open.

'So let's not waste any more time,' said Mr Speedy. 'A massive marketing exercise is about to be put into motion. The Suburbia World Plc web site will be going online tomorrow and shares will be floated on the stock exchange by Monday next. We all want this to be a big success, don't we?'

Derek's jaw was still hanging open.

'Crad barges,' said Mr Shadow.

Derek's jaw moved up and then came down again. The word 'What?' came out of his mouth.

'Oh yes,' said Mr Speedy. 'The crad barges. Part of the Brentford Waterworld experience. The crad barges used to come down the Grand Union Canal to the Thames. We'd like some. At least three. To convert into floating restaurants. They'll go down the canal, into the Thames, around Griffin Island then back again. Serving local delicacies. One will be dedicated exclusively to sprout cuisine.'

'What?' went Derek. 'What?'

'Best get at least four crad barges,' said Mr Shadow. 'We can cannibalize one for spare parts.'

'I'm sorry,' said Derek. 'I don't understand what you are saying?'

Mr Speedy shook his head and a look of a certain sadness was to be seen on his face. 'You are to organize four crad barges,' he said. 'Acquire them.'

'Me?' said Derek. 'I'm a newspaperman.'

'You may now consider yourself a company man,' said Mr Speedy. 'And company men do whatever the company requires that they do. Unquestioningly.'

'Have you quite finished?' questioned Kelly. 'I fear that I have no more places left for you to probe.'

She lay naked and spreadeagled upon a cold steel table. About her lay a range of hideous intrusive medical instruments.

The doctor removed her surgical gloves and wiped away beads of sweat from her brow. 'You must want this job very much indeed,' she said.

'Oh I see,' said Kelly. 'This was some kind of initiation test, was it? To see how much humiliation I would be prepared to endure?'

‘I’ll pass you Double Al,' said the doctor. 'Please get dressed and report to Mr Bashful in Training.'

The office of Mr Bashful was hung with artworks. These were of the old school. Possibly St Trinian's. Mr Bashful wore an eight-piece light blue suit that was cut from a man-made fabric. His desk was made of wood and very dull indeed.

'Fabarooni, [15]' said Mr Bashful, as Kelly entered his office.

'Fabarooni-do, [16]' said Kelly.

'I'm very pleased to welcome you aboard,' said Mr Bashful. 'I think you're going to love it here at Mute Corp.'

'The experience thus far has been positively orgasmic,' said Kelly.

'Really?' said Mr Bashful. 'I was watching your medical examination on CCTV and you didn't seem to be smiling very much.'

Kelly chewed upon her Cupid's bow and teased at a lock of golden hair. 'Broadcast throughout the building, was it?' she asked.

'We have no secrets here.'

'Perhaps you'll let me watch the recording of your medical later, then.'