If you’ve only just joined us (hi! you’re very welcome!), you may wish to begin at the beginning. And you can also read my intro here. To catch up on the previous instalment, click here.
To recap, Tom has reported back to MI6’s chief resident in the Embassy, who we have chosen to call Peter. To Tom’s dismay, Peter orders him to take Katrina out to a brasserie for lunch and keep her talking. Out to lunch, perhaps being the operative phrase…
Katrina clocked the watchers as soon as she entered the brasserie. A couple with a distinctively English look about them, at a table with a perfect view. When you’ve studied this kind of thing, discerning a person’s heritage is easy. Ethnicity shows in the features, if you know what you’re looking for.
Besides, the woman lowered her eyes as soon as Katrina came into view. Trying to conceal the fact she was watching was a dead giveaway. Katrina made sure not to let on.
And that they were already here when she and Tom arrived, that told her the watchers knew where they were going. Which, in turn, suggested who Tom had been talking to. But it didn’t unnerve her in the slightest. She expected it. And when you know you’re under surveillance, you’re in control of the information, not them.
Tom and Katrina were motioned to their table and ordered the prix fixe. Cuisse de poulet à la moutarde. Frites, salade. Dessert au choix. Demi-litre carafe du vin sélection maison. Katrina didn’t, in fact, care what it was, she was starving. And the carafe of good house wine would go down a treat. She greedily started gobbling up the bread as soon as it arrived. Tom looked on with a smile. Whoever she was, he decided, she was delightful in her own way.
Katrina ripped off another piece of bread and shook her head. “I just can’t get over the fact that Boris bloody Johnson is your Prime Minister. I mean how the fuck did that happen?! Do you even have an education system?”
Tom just giggled. He had resolved himself not to be affronted by her observations. And the way she devoured the bread made him wonder for a moment whether she might just be some freeloader trying it on. Except she spoke fluent English. And with a perfect mid-Sussex accent too, he noted.
“Do you have a reputation for being a little bolshy, by any chance?”
That did the trick. She laughed back. “Yep,” she said with a mouthful of bread, “I do indeed. Well,” she swallowed, “maybe not so much now I’m older. But definitely when I was younger, sure. Certainly at this age, anyway.”
That confused him. “Ah,” Katrina explained, “you weren’t told about that bit, eh?”
“What bit?”
“That I must’ve de-aged 31 years or so when I transitioned into this world. I was born in 1972. So that makes me 48. Kind of old enough to be your mum, which is kind of weird. Obviously.”
Tom laughed again at the absurdity of it. “Now I really am just totally confused.”
Katrina’s eyes smiled.
“Why don’t you start at the beginning,” Tom tried that tactic, “I mean, aside from your name, I don’t know anything about you.”
Katrina allowed herself an inwardly knowing smile. Clearly has little experience with this kind of thing. Probably hasn’t been in the Service that long either, judging by his age. She decided, mischievously, that she’d make him work a bit for the information. Not exactly playing with him, because he seemed a nice enough guy and didn’t deserve that – at least not yet – but at the same time both she and the Goddess were mindful of the importance of not giving too much away too soon.
Everything has consequences.
She set on a different path, with a little grown-up sadness. “You’re not the only one who’s confused, of course. I mean here I am in your world and I’m the alien, aren’t I? You probably never even think about it because you’ve lived here all your life. It’s real to you and you’ve become adapted to it. You know how to survive here, how to behave. I don’t.”
Tom picked up the message. Besides, he wanted to appear sympathetic, allow her to do the talking. Peter would’ve approved.
“Your world can’t be that much different, though? I mean we’re communicating perfectly well, meaning your English language must be the same as ours, right?”
“Hmm. Now that, Thomas, is a very astute observation. Given that etymology is inseparable from history that does suggest our histories are very similar. And clearly from a brief look at that newspaper you have some of the exact same personalities as we do. Well, I’m going to hold that thought for now, if you don’t mind. I’ll have to meditate on it.”
Another piece of bread.
Tom smiled. Engage her mind in something curious and she starts talking, he noticed. Relaxes, too. Becomes almost normal. He paused to allow it by taking a sip of wine, instead of responding.
She swallowed and continued. “What I was trying to say is that I’m here all on my own. Well, I suppose that’s not technically true because the Goddess is still with me, so not completely alone.”
Tom took another sip and raised his eyebrows just a little. Ask her about that later. Don’t interrupt.
“But my beautiful family, my beautiful children and my beautiful wife and my beautiful home and my homeworld and my perfect friends are in a different place. And I can’t see them. For all I know they might not even realise I’m gone. Like maybe the person I was woke up as normal at home and doesn’t even know a part of her split off and ended up here. That’s the hardest part, you know? That they don’t even know I’m gone.”
Tom still didn’t say anything. He watched her take a large swig of wine.
“In my world, people love me. I’ve done so much good and people would look after me and my family if we were threatened. And it’s such a beautiful world now. Everyone goes around with a smile on their face because they have a reason to smile every day. Yours is totally different. Everyone I’ve seen just looks so totally miserable. I can’t see how you could fail to notice that. Dystopia. That’s what a dystopia looks like.”
She took another draught.
“Maybe it’s just that time of year?”
She put her glass back down and looked a little askew at him. “Hmm. Well, I suppose there’s a certain truth in that. November I mean. Maybe that explains why Scorpios can be such devious bastards.”
Tom burst out laughing.
“Sorry. Please tell me you’re not a Scorpio? No offence if you are.”
“No, I’m not a Scorpio,” Tom chuckled.
“I am very relieved to hear that. I had a Scorpio boyfriend once and that didn’t end well.”
“I’m not really au fait with astrology, by the way. So I don’t know what you are. 10 December you said?”
She nodded. “Sagittarius.” She drank a bit more. She was hoping the food would come soon. “I presume you’re not even allowed to tell me when you were born? National secrecy and all that.”
Tom frowned. “They are quite strict about stuff like that, actually. They drum it into you when you first arrive.”
She nodded. “Sure. Well, obviously you can’t stop me being curious about you, because I like you so far. But please know that I will not be offended in the slightest when you say you can’t answer a question. Promise?”
Tom laughed. “Promise. I will not be offended.”
Katrina narrowed her eyes as she studied him. “I’m still going to try and guess what you are though. You don’t need to confirm it, obviously.”
“You mean what starsign I am?”
“Quite. Let me see.” She leaned back and squinted a little. “You have curious and interested eyes, and a very kind smile. Obviously you’re caring by the way you’re treating me. For which I’m very grateful by the way. And you’re self-confident. You must have parents who love you and make you know they love you. I think you must’ve had a childhood free from stress and anxiety.”
Tom couldn’t suppress a little smile.
“Virgo, maybe. Then again, you’re also pretty stylish, which suggests creativity. The way you dress I mean. No offence to the Virgos of this world but I haven’t met many stylish ones. So not Virgo. Hmm. Taurus maybe. Aries possibly. There’s certainly a bit of fiery eagerness in you. My brother’s an Aries so I know about these things. Hmm.”
Tom was enjoying this. Almost to the point where he forgot to keep his wits. He took another small sip of wine and watched her.
“Ah! I know! Cancer! You’re a Cancer, aren’t you?” she grinned.
And Tom burst out laughing, because he couldn’t hide it.
She kept on grinning. “It’s the boyishness that does it. I like that. And not to go all Freudian on you at this stage in our relationship but my dad and his dad are both Cancers, so you learn to recognise the traits. But I’m right, though, eh? Admit it.”
Tom smiled. “I couldn’t possibly say. You know how it is.”
“Lol.”
She plucked herself another piece of bread and got impatient again.
Tom considered his next question. Then he got it.
“You said you were married, I mean you have a wife, yes?”
“Uh-huh.”
“But you also mentioned a boyfriend. So you’re bisexual, then?”
“Sure. Does that bother you?”
He shook his head. “Nope. In fact it makes you even more interesting.”
Katrina laughed. “Glad to hear it. Well, I say Anna’s my wife, but it’s a civil partnership. It protects all her rights as if we were married, and it’s acceptable to the Catholic Church. But we do like to think of ourselves as married. She’s always been my soulmate.”
“And astrology, is that also acceptable to your Catholic Church?” He tried not to sound patronising but the question itself did that.
It didn’t seem to bother her. “Hmm. Well, I’m a Celtic Pagan Pelagian Catholic, so it’s acceptable to me. Although given you’re a dystopia I’m guessing you have a very different Church to ours, anyway. Ours is desperately struggling to recover its roots in the Pagan mysteries. As a matter of survival more than anything else, perhaps. And I also assume your Pope isn’t doing his penance undoing everything he did in Vatican II?”
Tom, being something of an agnostic since his schooldays, honestly didn’t know the answer to that one. “I don’t know what Vatican II is. Although I hear Pope Francis is quite progressive, if that’s what you’re talking about?”
“Francis? Who he?”
“Not the same Pope you’ve got, then?”
“Ours is Benedict. Interesting.” She took another draught of wine.
Tom decided to change the subject. “And you have children?”
“Three. Nikita, Yuri, and Alice. In that order.”
“Hmm.” Tom made a mental note of the names. “So is it you, or -”
“Anna.”
“Anna, who’s the biological mother? Or both, even?”
Katrina sighed. “Me. I was married. I mean I had a husband. But he died. Just after Niki was born.”
“I’m sorry.” Tom was genuinely sympathetic. But he was a little nervous about pressing the matter.
Katrina, typically, noticed. “If it’s ok with you, Tom, I’d rather not talk about it just yet. I don’t mean any offence.”
“None taken. Maybe it’s none of my business.”
“Erm, well, maybe. It was eighteen years ago, but I still miss him every day. And I see him in the children. Especially Yuri. The older he gets the more like his father he looks.”
Tom hesitated, then couldn’t help his curiosity. “But you said that Nikita is the eldest, but then he died?”
“Ah. Yeah, sorry. Yuri was artificial insemination. Immaculate conception if you like. I’d just always had this fear or premonition or something that… I don’t know. Sasha humoured me about it, and I said if you don’t freeze your you know what then something bad will definitely happen. So he went along with it. And still something happened.”
She looked across at him with her big eyes and suddenly, at least for a fleeting moment, Tom really did believe she was 48 years’ old. She prayed internally for the food to come so she could change the subject.
“How did he die?”
“In a terrorist attack at the Russian Embassy in London. Three months after Niki was born. Don’t ask me about it again because I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Sorry.”
She sighed. “No, I’m sorry. That was rude of me. You weren’t to know. Maybe the food will come soon. What do you think?”
Tom from MI5 wanted to ask about the Russian connection in the names, but thought it best to leave it. There would be time for that later. He would make sure of it.
Katrina’s prayer was, indeed, answered. She tucked in as soon as it was in front of her without standing on ceremony. She chopped off a large piece of chicken, skewered a few fries along with it and shovelled it into her mouth.
“You really were famished!”
“Uh-huh.”
She chewed it up voraciously. Then she picked up her glass of wine and brought it to her nose, inhaled deeply and raised her eyebrows. Then she took a large swig and swished it around her mouth, then threw back her head a little and gulped it down.
“Well, that definitely cuts the mustard.”
Tom laughed. “I can order another carafe if you like?”
“Definitely. I’m assuming you come here often for lunch, given the waiter’s manner with you when we came in?”
Tom nodded through a mouthful. He ate in a far more thoughtful way. “Quite a few people from the Embassy come here for lunch.”
Katrina already knew that. The watcher woman, in particular, kept glancing over at them periodically. She also had a little earpiece, which clearly didn’t fit properly. Katrina suppressed a laugh at that.
“And the wine changes according to the food, right?”
“Sélection maison.”
“Quite. Well, my compliments to the house,” she raised her glass to the air, “I do appreciate a good Côtes de Bourg.”
“So you know your wines, then?”
“Uh-huh. Back home in Cambridge I have the finest wines available to humanity in my sensational cellar.”
Tom laughed. “So that’s where you live, then, Cambridge?”
“Yep. Do you know Cambridge?”
“Not that well, no.”
“Ah, so you must’ve gone to the other place, then? Oxford?”
Tom had to admit to himself that was a clever bit of questioning. So he reluctantly nodded.
“Obviously you’re not allowed to tell me which college, though, eh?”
“Obviously.”
Katrina smiled slyly again and then sliced off another sliver of chicken along with some salad and devoured it happily. Then washed it down with some more wine, which Tom graciously topped up. He was hoping she’d just think he was being well-mannered rather than plying her. But somehow he guessed she knew it was both.
And she was feeling a little better. “I take it you’re not religious, then, Tom?”
He shook his head. “I was kind of put off religion for life from having it shoved down our throats at school.”
Katrina laughed. “That I can well understand. It’s the same with most of the public-schoolboys I’ve encountered. Shame though. Spirituality is important. I’m guessing this world isn’t particularly spiritual, eh? It would explain a lot.”
“How so?”
“I would’ve thought that was obvious.”
“What about secular humanism?”
“No such thing. Well, there is, obviously. As a term, I mean. But ultimately it’s a self-deception. Remember for me all of this stuff, the supernatural and the paranormal and the spirit and the Goddess and everything, that’s all real. As real as this excellent food. It’s not belief, it’s faith. A lot of people don’t understand faith. They mistake it for blind belief. But that’s not the truth. Faith, true faith, that is, is born out of genuine experience and epiphany. It’s the end of the theoretical.”
“So, what you’re saying is that essentially I’m sceptical and agnostic simply because I haven’t experienced anything magical? Is that what you mean?”
She nodded. “Something like that. But I’d also imagine your experience at school and so on created a barrier to it. So from then on, it wasn’t possible for you to experience it. Remember the spirits are more nervous about humans than humans are about them. That’s why they hide themselves from people who don’t believe. Because those people would react with fear, and therefore violence. And if this world is the dystopia I think it is, then the lack of spirit would go a long way to explaining it. Ultimately it comes from worshipping an invisible god, as opposed to the visible.”
“Now you’re getting technical.”
“Very funny. I like it.” She smiled at him. “Sorry. I have a tendency to burble sometimes.”
“So I’ve noticed.”
She laughed. Her stomach wasn’t upsetting her anymore. She began to relax a bit. Tom waved the waiter over and motioned for another carafe. The service was excellent here, Katrina noted. The waiter was back within a minute.
“You keep mentioning the Goddess? Which goddess?”
“The Goddess.”
“Erm? Are you saying in your world you have a Goddess rather than God?”
Katrina put her cutlery down, instead of speaking with her mouth full. Then a little wipe with her serviette. “Not exactly, no. Although a lot of people in the Church are coming round to the idea that ‘God’ doesn’t have a gender. Or an agenda, for that matter. I mean if you think about it the source of all would have both genders in equal measure.”
“I’d always thought that myself. It was a philosophical flaw. If you see what I mean?”
“I agree completely. Plus there’s the obvious fact that it’s just anthropocentric projection. Designed to justify the patriarchy.”
Tom chuckled. “Why am I not surprised you’re a feminist.”
“Of course I’m a feminist. Feminism’s just common sense. Anyway, I suppose you could say the Goddess is Isis. Which, in the early Church at least, was appropriated into the person of the Virgin Mary. So she’s Isis, God is like Osiris, and Jesus would be Horus, the son. Or the living Horus who then becomes the dead Osiris. So it kind of preserves a version of the Trinity. You do have Ancient Egypt, I presume? Pyramids and pharaohs and Akhenaton and Nefertiti and the Exodus and all that?”
“Yes,” he laughed again, “we do have Ancient Egypt.”
“Glad to hear it. How about Atlantis?”
“Erm, Atlantis?”
“You know, Atlantis. Lost island continent in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. First great spiritual human civilisation.”
“Well, if you mean the legend of Atlantis I’m aware of that, sure.”
“Ah, but it’s just a myth in this world? Why am I not surprised?”
“Maybe it really is a myth in this world. Has that occurred to you?”
“Ooh,” she tilted her head a little, “are we getting defensive about our homeworld now, Thomas?”
He burst out laughing. “You’re teasing me now, aren’t you?”
“Yep. I have a tendency to do that with people I like. And I’m Sagittarius, remember. We tease people we like affectionately, but with people we don’t, it’s barbed. Venomous. So take it as a compliment.”
He smiled. “I will, sure.”
Katrina returned the smile, with genuine warmth, and resumed her voracious devouring of the cuisse de poulet à la moutarde.
“Mind you you’re a Cancer, so you like to be teased.” She leaned forward provocatively at him. “And we spirits love to tease.”
The best Tom could muster was a nervous laugh.
“I’m irritating you, aren’t I?”
“Erm,”
“I can tell. I can be a very irritating person so don’t feel too bad about it.”
“You’re also unnervingly disarming,” Tom noted.
She smiled warmly again, and didn’t pursue the matter. “Perhaps you’d like to change the subject?”
He did. “Then I have another question I’m curious about, if you don’t mind?”
“Uh-huh.”
“You said we must be a dystopia if Boris Johnson is Prime Minister?”
“Ah. Yes. It has implications. You can infer a lot from it, you see. It’s why I made that poke about the education system. The same goes for the press and the media. I noticed there was a lot of bias in the paper I read. Mind you that was Le Monde, and they’ve always been a bit Establishment, even in my world. But still, it basically implies that the people are subjected to propaganda. That must be why your version of Jeremy Corbyn isn’t Prime Minister. If he’s of similar character, that is. There must have been lies and smears and suchlike. But the fact that the people believed them, or enough of them did, well, that implies a dumbed down population prone to propaganda. And where there’s propaganda, and a people who swallow it, there’s your dystopia.”
Tom sighed. “Hmm. Well, I suppose I can see your reasoning. But there was more to it than that.”
“Oh? Well, tell me about it another time. I’m guessing it’ll take a while, right?”
“Yeah. I reckon it would. How do you know about that, by the way?”
“One of your security men mentioned it. They said Jeremy was leader of the Labour Party until beginning of last year, so that was when your election was, I presume?”
“December 2019, actually.”
“Ok. And what was the result?”
“The Tories got 364 seats and Labour just over 200.”
Katrina shook her head. “That’s ridiculous! I mean if it wasn’t rigged then the people of Britannia must be in a seriously bad way.”
“Well, like I say, there was a lot more to it than that.” Remember not to get irritated, he silently told himself.
Katrina sighed. “Hmm. Fair enough. Anyway, the same kind of thinking applies with your pandemic, of course.”
“In what way? But please don’t go all conspiracy theory on me again.”
“Hmm. Well, the common-sense thing to do if there’s an outbreak of some highly contagious disease somewhere is to just close all the borders to stop it spreading, right? Then you do some kind of local lockdown where the outbreak is and that way you eliminate the contagion. Once there’s confirmation of zero cases you can open up again. So the fact that didn’t happen in this world proves that you don’t have any governments that actually care about the people. And that’s scary, wouldn’t you say? It’s why most people shy away from conspiracy theories. It’s not psychologically tolerable.”
“Some governments did try zero-Covid.” Tom felt a little defensive again.
“Well, clearly they didn’t try hard enough. Besides, it requires every government to do it. When we did that it was a moment of total revelation. The whole species showing what it can do when everyone works together for the common good. In my opinion, it was the final step to our utopia. Everyone celebrated it at the Tokyo Games. One of the best Games ever, actually. Also in my opinion.”
Tom sighed. He wasn’t sure how to follow up that one.
Katrina finished her last mouthful with a happy little swipe, crossed her cutlery down and leant back contentedly. She noticed Tom’s concerned look.
“Perhaps I could put it in an MI5 way, if that helps?”
“Oh? What do you mean by ‘MI5 way’?”
“Well, imagine you got a load of intel saying there were a thousand terrorists waiting to board various planes, trains and automobiles and come to Britannia, where they intend to carry out a series of attacks and kill tens of thousands of people. What do you do? Option one, close the borders and don’t let them in. Option two, let them in, let them kill loads of innocent people then use that as a pretext to grant yourselves emergency powers which, of course, you never have any intention of relinquishing. Likewise you can habituate the people to martial law and get them to do all manner of self-subjugating nonsense behaviours like wearing ineffective masks or lining themselves up to be injected with an experimental cytotoxin deliberately mislabelled as a vaccine, not to mention carry out a massive social experiment to assess how easy it is to get the people to be obedient and segregate themselves without the need for force. And all, as usual, in the name of public health and security. And anyone who objects and disagrees and kicks up a fuss, well, they’re a conspiracy theorist and a threat to public safety and national security, aren’t they? Groupthink will get the people themselves to do the ostracism for you. So then, what option would you choose, Tom?”
Tom was seriously concerned, but he couldn’t find a counterargument to her logic. He sighed. “I see what you mean. I’d choose option one.”
“Precisely,” she pointed. “Because you’re a good guy. I can tell. So what option did Boris Johnson’s Government choose?”
“Rhetorical question, right?”
“Right. Same goes for all your other governments. France included.” Katrina took a deep breath. “I think this means I’m going to need some kind of diplomatic protection.”
“What do you mean, diplomatic protection?” Tom’s concern continued. Katrina’s tone had suddenly become very serious.
“It can’t be known that I’m the girl who had the antibodies. So I’ll need anonymity, in that regard. Or, likewise to put it in an MI5 way, it should be whatever your highest level of classification is. No, obviously you don’t need to tell me what that is. I don’t need to know. But at the same time, I will need some kind of certification or pass, like with that pass sanitaire, which will be accepted without question by people in authority. So they know I’m immune and I don’t have to keep wearing those pointless and frankly dangerous masks. They’re not good for my health. That’s what I mean by protection.”
Tom was, as it happens, a little relieved. He thought it would be something profound.
“I am absolutely sure that can be arranged. And for what it’s worth anonymity would probably be a part of that.”
“Thank you. And I don’t want your Government to know, either. Remember I don’t trust them.”
“Ok. Well, for now, at least, it will stay just with a few people in the Embassy. Is that ok?”
She nodded. “Thank you, Tom.”
He decided this was the opportune cue. “Erm,” he ventured, “and what else would you want? In exchange for your antibodies, I mean?”
Katrina barely suppressed a chuckle. “Have you been asked to negotiate, by any chance?” She couldn’t resist it.
But her smile was disarming. And Tom from MI5 was ill-used to this kind of fieldwork. And he suddenly realised she’d always known that. Right from the start.
She smirked. “It’s ok, Tom. I get that. And for what it’s worth, I’m quite an accomplished businesswoman, amongst other things. In fact, that’s part of what I want.”
“Oh?” He decided not to object anymore. Let her talk.
“I’m not going anywhere. Am I?”
Tom opened his mouth to speak, but he didn’t know what to say.
“I’m not going back to my own world. I know that. This isn’t a dream. I did the pinch test. I’m not going to sleep and then wake up back home again with my beautiful Anna with my beautiful children outside on the landing arguing about who gets to use the bathroom first. I’m here for the fucking duration. I don’t get to go home until I die. I live an entire lifetime here in your dystopia. And then I get to go home. And believe me, I will never kill myself. Whatever anyone ever says. Do you understand?”
“How do you know you’re not going back?” His voice betrayed a creeping nervousness.
“Because I know. Because I have faith. Something that is clearly lacking in this world. And the Goddess confirmed it to me. I have to live a whole lifetime here. So I know what I want. That new life.”
Tom was scared now. But not because he thought this girl was going to have some sudden violent outburst. No, that wasn’t it. He had no idea about our Katrina. And he suddenly realised that. For just one second he understood that he really wasn’t watching a seventeen year old. He knew. Old enough to be your mother.
And she knew it too.
“Calm down. Not yet.”
Katrina breathed. Deeply breathed.
“I’m sorry, Tom. I’m sorry for scaring you. I know what you’re thinking. I’m an excellent actress and to be an excellent actress you need empathy and understanding how to read people. And I know you have no experience with dealing with the likes of me. You must be, what, 24, 25?”
“24.” Subdued.
“24. So if you went to Oxford as well then you didn’t start in the Service until you were 21, so this is only your second posting, right? Most postings are two years. Let me work it out. Maybe they put you in C3 to start with. Political vetting. Help you learn the system. Then you specialise. So that was, what, a year and a half or so ago. Am I right?”
Tom opened his mouth but couldn’t find the words.
“Screw classified information, Tom. In my world our MI5 is open, transparent. Stella Rimington started it. It protects the people, not the State. Our version doesn’t hide anything. But I imagine yours does. And that makes people scared. Big Brother and all that. You see human beings see the world through narratives and stories, and any gaps or incomplete information in that story they have to fill in themselves or they get scared and insecure. And if they already live in a climate of fear then they imagine the worst. That’s how conspiracy theories are born. We understand that in our world. And that’s why our MI5 is open. So people don’t get scared. Understand?”
It took him a moment. His mind was trying to work it out. She didn’t let him finish that thought.
“I’d like British citizenship and enough money to start my new life. That means I’ll start right back at the beginning again. In my world I started with a two hundred thousand zero percent loan from my Scorpio boyfriend. And that was all I needed. But that was thirty years ago and in this world I’m going to assume you have a neoliberal system in which case you’ve had rampant inflation all that time. In which case, two hundred thousand ain’t gonna crack it, eh? Do you still have minimal pricing for records? To regulate the market and prevent inflation? Singles and albums? Vinyl, I mean? Please tell me you still have vinyl. If you don’t then you are a seriously fucking totalitarian dystopian hell.”
And Tom burst out laughing. It was her grin that did it. She knew how to do that.
“What was the last new release record you bought, Tom? Vinyl, I mean. How much was it?”
He had to think about that one. She noticed.
“You don’t really buy vinyl, do you? You know it sounds better, right?”
He laughed again.
“Ok,” he said, holding his hands out. “Are you saying you want to start a record label?”
“Yeah. Exactly. That’s how I started in my world. PAWS Records, Limited. Two hundred thousand. I don’t know what your inflation is, but let’s call it a cool million. How does that sound?”
“Erm, ok. I’ll, erm -”
“Talk to whomever you have to talk to. Fine. My other condition is that you give my cloned vaccine to every British and Irish citizen for free. And the people of Brittany. They’re Celts, from Cornwall, so they’re my people too. If you want to make a profit out of the rest of it then sell it to other countries. I won’t mind about that. But the intellectual property, that’s mine, isn’t it? My blood, that belongs to me, yes?”
He nodded. She was getting distressed and manic and he didn’t want to provoke her even more.
“So you’re not a total dystopia, then. You still have some rights?”
“We’re not as bad as you seem to think, Katrina. There’s still human rights, and property rights, and laws and -”
“Yadda yadda yadda, Sure. So it’s purgatory not hell. I get that too. Fair enough. But that means I’m not giving you a sample until I get written, legal confirmation of my property. Deal?”
“Erm -”
“You’re not actually authorised to even make a deal, are you? This is just sounding me out, isn’t it?”
Tom laughed. “Sorry.”
Katrina grinned. “Ok, Tom. Fine. You go back to whoever your boss is and tell them what I said. Then we’ll negotiate. But I know that’s what I need to start again and it’s why I’m here. I have no idea what’s going to happen to me now. The Goddess won’t tell me what my fate is. Truth is, I don’t want to know. Whatever happens happens. Why me? Sure. Interesting point. But I’ll work that out later. But I’m not going back home and I have to get used to that. But I’m not going to do that in poverty in your fucking dystopia, got it?”
“Ok. Ok. Please calm down. You’re scaring me.”
“I’m scaring you? What about me? I’m the one who’s scared here. in fact, I’m fucking terrified. Four hours ago I was at home in a safe place in a safe world with my family. Now I’m in your world which, from what I’ve seen so far, is scary and dangerous as fuck. You have psychopaths in probably total control of your world and you don’t even realise it. The people clearly don’t, or they’d rise up and do something about it. So a little empathy with my situation might not go amiss. I have nothing here. I don’t even have an identity. I don’t know anyone in your world, and no one knows me. Do you have any idea how that might feel?”
Tom didn’t know how to answer that. But he suddenly did begin to understand how she must feel, even if she was delusional. Maybe, he thought, she really has been through something horribly traumatic. Not landing in some parallel world, but something else. Something must’ve happened.
Then she breathed again, deeply, attempting to calm herself down. “Sorry. Forgive me.”
Tom tried a soothing, sympathetic voice. “How can you be sure you’re not going home soon?”
“Because I just know, Tom.”
And then she started to break.
“This isn’t like Quantum Leap, Tom. Where all I need to do is solve some trivial problem and then leap back home again. I just know.”
Then she suddenly pushed her chair back and stood up abruptly.
“I need to go to the little girls’ room. If the waiter comes I’ll have the tarte au citron. Sans crème Anglaise.”
“Erm, you don’t like custard?” he tried to make it lighter.
“I prefer my French tarts naked.”
Tom stifled a laugh and the urge to agree wholeheartedly.
Katrina walks away. She strides past the woman watcher without even casting a glance at her. The way she looks down makes it obvious.
Fucking amateurs. What the fuck do they teach these spooks nowadays.
It wasn’t like this in my day.
Fuck them.
Katrina strode past and she didn’t look back.
Katrina didn’t need to go pee pee.
She just wanted to cry.
Continued here…