Chapter Eleven


The room was empty. It was a spotlessly clean – if plain – box of a room, with no furnishings or features other than the cold steel chair in which a pale, yellow-haired girl sat slumped, seemingly asleep. The box-room was dark, but for a beam of light reflected across the floor from where it filtered through a crack in the door ahead.
And from behind the door, Meatloaf noted, her eye opening suddenly, issued a voice that she recognised.

"You did well to notify me," the voice spoke contritely, and Meat imagined a tall, broad body draped in a fine, tailored suit, "and I expect I should not let your work go unnoticed."

"Thank you, Commander." The second, oddly tinny and mechanical voice belonged to a figure in grey-black attire who bowed his head in front of the door, causing the light from the next room to flicker.

"Yes. Now, if you will just leave me your email address, I will make it my duty to inform Madam of your…accomplishment."

"Thank you, Commander!"

"Yes. And now – ah – , you may leave."

"Yes, Commander."

The head retracted and the beam of light became unbroken once again. Meat closed her eyes as she attempted to think; her mind was still frustratingly slow and her hand continued to burn dully. If this man were to enter the room, Meat could seize her chance…to do what? To strike out at him? To dodge him and run? Run to where? Neither option seemed favourable.

Yet, as the door opened with a creak and the light beam expanded in size, the girl's hopes were crushed. Around her, she heard the slight buzz and felt her hairs prick up at the static being produced from the bars of a laser cage.

No escape, now.

Big trouble.

Big Macca's words came back to her as she reluctantly opened her eyes again, and glared up into the broad, strong-chinned face of Commander Khashoggi, the same man Meat had witnessed in the headmistress' office, before her escape from cyberschool. The man who was after Britney. The enemy.

The Commander raised a thick, grey eyebrow and spoke. "Yes. Now. I've heard that you like to be known as Meatloaf." he spat the last word and then paused, as if expecting confirmation. "That is not a name. It is a remnant of a past that no longer exists and – in fact- should never have existed. Will never exist again! I am sure that you know this…so sure, even, that you will comply by telling me your real name. Your email address."

"Why should I tell you?" The girl spoke out finally. "It's a remnant of my past, and it no longer exists!"

Khashoggi gave an amused sniff and stepped closer to the glowing bars of Meat's cell.

"Unfortunately for you, the real world still exists. And, in the real world, you are little more than a criminal. Hence why you are being held here, if you were wondering."

Meat rolled her eyes; the Commander seemed less intimidating, somehow, now she knew he could not reach her within the white-hot bars. "I'd worked that one out!"

"Good, good. Then I wonder whether you can help me work something out?"

Before continuing, however, Khashoggi brought his hands together sharply, clapping three times. In moments, another metallic-grey-clad figure – although this one was evidently female – entered the room, a metal chair clutched seemingly effortlessly in one gloved hand.

"Commander…" Her low, tinny voice announced as she placed the chair down with a flourish. She then turned, and paused – rather suggestively, Meat thought – before gliding back the way she had come. The Commander, seating himself, noticed Meat's gaze, and laughed through his nose.
"A world of use, the Yuppies. I am so much in Madam's favour that she allows me the run of them while she is elsewhere."

Meat nodded knowingly. "I can see why they'd satisfy you for as long as you're under their command.

Khashoggi's face, it seemed, reddened for an instant and his jaw set like stone. When he spoke again, there was ice in his articulated voice.

"You have committed enough crimes already, girl, without adding treason to it! Robbery, rebellion, communicating with known 'Bohemians', identifying oneself with a forbidden name from the past, trespass, refusal to comply, running from cyberschool-"

"-Excuse me?" The words slipped out before Meat could stop them. She could have hit herself, if only it wouldn't have given herself away even more.

"Ahh. Do I sense a little guilt?"

"I don't know what you're talking about. I've never been to cyberschool. I've been a rebel all my life." She sensed this wasn't the best thing to say. She silently cursed her quick mouth.

"Be careful what you admit, and what you choose to deny." The Commander's manner was different once again; dangerous, unpredictable, quietly threatening. "Though you may save yourself from what you deserve, there are others who may still suffer. You Bohemian friends, for example."

Meatloaf looked at Khashoggi in horror, and disbelief that she could have forgotten her companions for so long. "Where's Paul? And Charlotte? If you hurt them-"

"Their freedom will coma at a price. They are, after all, two of the most criminal rebels on Planet Mall. We've been searching for them for such a long time…and now that we have them…" The Commander shrugged. "Of course, you could always answer by questions and let them walk free."

It was her or them. The choice was an easy one.

"Not again!"

He did not sound angry, as such. Merely bored and exhausted. There was so much he and Charlotte could be doing.

"I told you…I told you she wasn't ready. We could have done it alone."

"Charlotte." Big Macca sighed. "I seem to remember it was you who got us caught back when we were just starting out!"

"But at least I tried-"
"Yeah. And so did she."

The tall woman snorted through her nose and sidled away to the other end of the laser cell. Big Macca was hardly in the mood to talk her round. His companion's moods always seemed worse than they really were. Instead, he looked past Charlotte, to scan the room they were held in, and the room beyond that. Theirs was large and plain, but the walls were dotted with buttons and levers, and around the entire perimeter a hundred plasma laptop screens flashed and hummed.

An interesting choice, thought Big Macca noticed. A useful room, for when-

He heard a scuffling from just beyond the room's only doorway, and craned his neck to witness the activity outside. After a few moments, a grey-clad figure came into view, marching stiffly from side to side.

Perfect, he noted. Yuppies. Piece of cake.

"You'd think they would've learned by now, don't you, Charlotte?" His companion turned and glared at him, but didn't reply. "I mean…this is, what, the third time?"

A curt nod from Charlotte. Big Macca continued.

"Third time, and they're still guarding us with Yuppies! Yuppies!! They'd need something with more than half a brain cell to keep us locked up! What is the dear Commander thinking these days?"
Despite her earlier annoyance, Charlotte Friggin' Church grinned, encouraged by her friend's upbeat chatter.

"Ready for the metal, Paul?"

"Yes I am, baby! Now let's do this!"

As they began to unbuckle their heavy steel belts, the woman glanced at Big Macca in disgust.

"I think it's best if I just pretend I didn't hear that," she said as he pointed his silver belt buckle at the open doorway and inched it closer to one of the glowing laser beams imprisoning them.

Had meat escaped from cyberschool last month? Yes, she had. Why? Because she was different. But nobody's different; that's the beauty of the system. Meat was. She had to be.
Why had she consorted with rebels? She'd stumbled across them, accidentally. She'd been afraid. They'd been kind. They were not criminals; they should be set free. Had Meat been shown the way to the rebels? No. How could she? She had escaped alone.

"I'll ask you again. And if it's the last time, it'll be you your rebel friends blame when their time is up."

Meat was unbearably hot; the laser beams radiated more warm, shimmering air than seemed possible. She was tired, she was aching, she as dropping her guard. And she knew what was coming.

"Were you alone, when you ran from cyberschool?"

She closed her eyes, obscuring the calm, cool image of Commander Khashoggi from her view. She wondered what would be worse; condemning the two people who had given her a place to hide, or the lonely confused boy who would not allow himself to get to know the people who cared about him.

"I wasn't alone."

There was a chance, after all, that none of them would be condemned.

The Commander leant back in his seat – now a plush, padded armchair, presented dutifully by another scantily clad Yuppie – and smiled triumphantly.

"Was it a ?

"I don't know his real name."

"Dark. Wide built. Two left feet, as I've heard. No co-ordination to speak of. Terrible singing voice."

"He's a better dancer than – yes."

"And did you lead the boy to the rebels?"

"No."

"Did he lead you?"

"Yes."

"And where do you suppose he knew where to turn, when to stop?"

"He said he sensed it. Heard it."

"I see." Khashoggi nodded at the girl, apparently grateful to her for her co-operation. "And did you get the feeling that he was…special?"

"He is special. He knows the-"

"What? What does he know?"

"A-about the past." Meat's heart raced as she fumbled. "About trains. Music. Schools where people learned how to count and speak different languages. And-"

"-Did he tell you how he knew these things? Did he find them written down?"

He knows about the Text, Meat realised. She wondered frantically whether to admit that she knew, or to pretend Brit had left her in the dark. The answer could mean the difference between life and death for Charlotte and Big Macca.

Big Macca smothered a cough as the smell of scorched cloth and fried machinery reached him. He counted for Yuppies sprawled on the floor outside; a further to in the room with him, smoking slightly from the control panels on their forearms.

He could hear no others approaching. They'd done it again. Big Macca turned and winked at his companion.

"Like to do the honours, Charlotte?"

She nodded, one eyebrow raised. She angled her belt buckle so that it pointed towards a large panel in a corner of the room, and brought it towards a laser beam beside her left shoulder.
As before, the polished metal reflected the beam and sent it bouncing across the room. The control panel hissed as the heat hit its steel surround. No good. Charlotte tilted her buckle very slightly, aiming higher, towards a green plastic button. The beam connected and flicked the switch.

Just in time. She dropped the scorching buckle and examined the tips of her long fingers; two were a blistering red, a third was white and slightly wrinkled.

Alright, Char?" Big Macca beckoned, one foot already past the boundaries of the laser cage. The beams had gone.

"Great, Paul. Let's go."

They saluted each other, mockingly.

"Where to first, Commander?"

"I think, your Excellence, we may need to rescue a Bohemian in distress."

"He…had a paper."

Meat was terrified. How much need she give away?

"A paper? You mean, real paper? Not a computer document?"

"Yeah. Real paper."

"Did you see what was written on it?"

"Yes. But I couldn't read the language. He read-"

She was interrupted by a shrill alarm. It reminded her only too well of something that had occurred recently, in a theatre; surely less than twenty-four hours ago. Her weariness made it seem longer. She glanced at the Commander, anxious to discover his reaction. It could only mean one thing, she imagined.

To her surprise, he appeared unconcerned. He shrugged and spoke aloud, more to himself than to the girl. "Maintenance fault. The Yuppies will sort it."

But after three minutes of the siren's ear-splitting wail it was evident that the Yuppies were not going to sort it. Meat had the ridiculous notion that there weren't any Yuppies left to sort it.
Khashoggi groaned. "Five minutes". He stood, straightening his suit, glaring at the creases in the grey fabric of his trousers. As he left the room, the girl found herself pitying anybody who would have the misfortune to cross his path. Meat hoped it would only be Yuppies.

"Shouldn't we try-"

"No."

"Charlotte-"

"It's this way."

"When have you ever been right?"

"Has to happen some time. Quick!"

"This is the longest way!"

Big Macca sighed as his complaints fell upon deaf ears. He wasn't used to following. It wasn't like Charlotte. The new pair must have had a greater impact on her than he'd thought.
Charlotte disappeared from sigh around a well-concealed corner. Big Macca followed, reluctant to admit to himself that he would certainly have missed the turning.

He entered the room – white, square, as plain as ever – to find the black-clad woman standing, hands on hips, a stark contrast to the bright walls and ceiling. The toe of one shiny boot tapped the floor. Charlotte tipped her head to the right.

Glancing past her, Big Macca's eyes rested for a second upon a wide-eyed, weary-looking girl, pale, with a mass of bright yellow hair.

"If we'd gone the other way, we would've passed Khashoggi on his way to check out that alarm." Charlotte pointed out.

He gazed at her in admiration. "Good luck to him…I can't believe you were right!"

"Just as well, really, that there's at least one person who won't let you order them around."

As the tall woman made her way to the laser control panel, Big Macca stared after her in disbelief. In the space of a few minutes he'd learned two important things about her; that Charlotte wasn't always wrong…and that, tonight, he would certainly invite her to spend the night in his underground alcove.