What to do about Katrina, Episode I, Act I, Prelude & Scene 1

A scene in an embassy

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What to do about Katrina

Episode I, Down & Out in Paris & Cambridge

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Opinion was divided on what to do about Katrina. Granted, most people, it is true, did not believe that she was what she said she was, that’s to say a girl from a parallel world. But this did not bother Katrina in the slightest. She understood humanity all too well. She knew it would be so in a world in which everything dissonant had been safely confined to the safer realms of fiction.

“Your world is cold and spiritually dead,” she said in one interview, “imprisoned by the limitations of rational thought. Of course I don’t expect you to believe me.”

“Not the same in your world then?” the interviewer replied, not even trying to disguise the smirk he hoped might empathically win the audience to his side in a groupthink kind of way.

It didn’t work. Katrina just looked him straight in the eyes, shook her head ever so slightly. “No. It’s not the same. My world is a utopia. Yours is a post-truth dystopia.”

But the important point for her was that at the very least, she got everyone talking about it. That was, after all, partly her intention.

Yet there remained undeniable facets to this enigmatic jewel of a girl that defied rational explanation. GCHQ couldn’t trace her origins for a start. And all the psychologists could only shake their heads and marvel at the lack of internal inconsistency in the sheer detail of her fantasy and admit her uncanny absence of delusional aspect.

But human beings are evolutionarily programmed to turn fearfully away from cognitive dissonance. So they kept her an eccentric, in the classic English tradition, and for their feelings towards her they chose fond affections, and satisfied themselves with that.

When I say most people, of course, I mean the general population. For there were certain, hidden, figures amongst you who believed every word she said.

And they carefully contrived a strategy for what to do about Katrina…

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She just turned up one crisp and bright November morning at the British Embassy in Paris. The sixteenth, if I remember correctly. A Tuesday, I believe. In your year 2021. 11.26 precisely.

She took her little ticket and sat down in reception waiting for her number to come up.

The Embassy retained many of its original grandiose features. Say what you like about the racist endeavour that was the British Empire but they certainly had an eye for beautiful architecture and internal décor, even if it did belong to others. Katrina surveyed the gilt and the marble with a wistful admiration. The gilt and the rose, some lost imperial splendour from a gilded age. Empire style. It was perhaps a little different to the British Embassy she’d briefly attended on occasion in the parallel Paris, but not so much that a casual visitor would detect.

Surroundings memorised, Katrina closed her eyes, and saw herself swimming.

The receptionist couldn’t claim she didn’t notice the girl. Converse trainers, black jeans, black rollneck. She figured maybe seventeen, eighteen perhaps. Bible-black hair framing her cheekbones and deep marble-brown eyes. Clear, youthful skin and perfectly proportioned features to make a less irritable receptionist than her jealous. She could’ve stepped straight out of Hollywood’s Golden Age. A sweet, innocent look about her, fragile and delicate in a way. Vulnerable. Yet some other sense of her suggested she was anything but innocent and fragile. What was it? A world-weary thoughtfulness to her expression? An age beyond her years? Some fleeting intuition there one second, gone the next. Too fragile itself to be captured and held.

Katrina’s cue finally came.

She approached the desk. Raised slightly higher than the floor so she had to look up a little.

“How may I help?”

Katrina frowned behind the mask and took a deeper breath. “I’ve been pondering that question for the last three hours. In the end I decided honesty would be the best policy, even if you don’t believe me. So I’m just going to throw myself on the mercy of the Consulate.”

Katrina’s voice has a tendency to fluctuate, depending on her mood. Sometimes she can be soft, sometimes she can be venomous, her tone an icy sharpness, with perhaps a slight Irish shift when she’s angry. She’s like a conscience like a snake which kisses you when it bites. Other times she’s just amusing and sarcastic, and perfectly capable of dropping her ‘T’s and ‘H’s in less polite company. But she can do Southern English posh if diplomatically necessary. Like in an Embassy.

The receptionist’s eyes looked a little anxious. Katrina was a supreme reader of other people’s microexpressions and she’d kind of been expecting this first reaction. She’d already thought of an appropriate follow-up.

“I’m not a threat of any kind, though. I can assure you of that. I’m aware of your terrorism issues so I really, really don’t want to get you all jittery or anything. Likewise your so-called pandemic. I have a natural immunity to every coronavirus on this planet, including variants that haven’t even been invented or unleashed yet. Besides, I got through all that security and scanner stuff alright so you know I’m not armed.”

“You’re not really doing much to make me feel less anxious, Miss -?”

“Meyer. Katrina Meyer.”

“Miss Meyer. Perhaps if you could just tell me what the problem is? Are you a British citizen? Let’s start there.”

“Actually,” Katrina suddenly switched, “first of all I’m going to take this fucking mask off.” She ripped it off. “And you should too. It’s bad for you. Collecting and incubating all those germs. Not to mention your mental health, given most human communication is non-verbal. It’s subjugating and habituating you to fear and obedience. So take it off, please.”

Now she looked alarmed, glanced over at the two security men. She was about to motion them over.

Katrina lowered her voice a little. “Please believe me I’m really not here to cause a mess. And I don’t want to have to hurt those two.”

“If you don’t put your mask back on I’m going to wave them over, Miss Meyer.”

“I told you, I have an immunity.” Almost a sharp whisper. “That’s what I’m offering you. I don’t have anything else, and I know how this works. The Consulate wouldn’t give me what I need or want without me having to give you something in return. So I’m offering my antibodies. They certainly won’t exist in your world.”

The receptionist’s eyes widened with alarm, but also curiosity. “What do you mean, ‘in your world’?”

Katrina took another deep breath. “Here goes. I’m from a parallel world. Obviously you don’t believe me in the slightest. I understand that and expected it. But you can look up my details on any database you like and you won’t find me. That makes me the ultimate clean skin, and that makes me a national security issue, wouldn’t you say?”

The receptionist tried to resist the urge to glance nervously across again at the security men. They hadn’t noticed any of this yet.

Katrina responded quickly again, holding her in a gaze and not allowing her the time to make any decision. “I’m perfectly willing to undergo a secondary inspection, if you wish. Just to put your mind at rest. Psych assessment too, if you must. But I promise you, I am not a threat. Why don’t you try my details?”

She mirrored Katrina’s deep breath. She could see this girl was not actually threatening her physically. She’d remained calm throughout. But her tone was damning, the kind of thing that commands you take her seriously. But Katrina’s suggestion was cleverly reassuring. Take the path of least resistance. Do what you normally do when exposed to drunken English tourists with missing passports. Switch to professional mode, standard flowchart of questions.

“Ok. Katrina Meyer, you say?”

“Katrina Anna Meyer, to give you my full name.”

She typed it in. “Date of birth?”

“10 December. 1972.”

Now the receptionist sighed irritably at her. This girl was either a mental case or playing mischief. She leaned back, crossed her arms and gazed sternly down at Katrina like a schoolmistress.

“1972?”

Katrina continued to look deadpan and serious. “Yes.”

“That would make you, what, forty-eight years old?”

“That’s correct. I must’ve de-aged or something when I transitioned.”

“Transitioned? Are you saying you’re transgender?”

“Not in this life, no. I have been transgender in a previous incarnation, though, and it was an extremely unpleasant experience. No one chooses to be trans. But I’m cis in this one, thank the Goddess.”

“You know I really don’t have time for pranks, Miss Meyer.”

“This is not a prank, I can assure you. Now you really need to take me seriously, so pick up that phone and call someone or I’ll walk right back out of here with my antibodies and you’ll be in Little China.”

“Right.” And then she waved the security men over.

“Oh no you bloody don’t!” Katrina suddenly shrieked, spun around to face the two approaching men-at-arms. Ex-military, she could tell. Typical of the kind of security people they had in embassies.

She held out her hands in front of her, palms facing them with a deadly serious gaze. “Don’t you dare come near me. I promise you I’M NOT A THREAT!! I’ve been in enough embassies in my time to know what your level of training is and I can assure you I could beat both of you in a fair fight, so BACK OFF!!”

One of them reached for his weapon. The other one, thankfully, had a little more training about how to deal with distressed people and managed to stop his colleague, who kept a hand on the holster. He held his hands out and down. “Ok,” he returned the stern gaze, “please calm down, Miss. You’re scaring the other people here.”

Which was true. Katrina’s audience had suddenly gone all silent and staring and were shifting uneasily in their seats, not entirely sure whether to fight or fly. The receptionist held her breath.

“I promise you,” Katrina lowered her voice just a little, but still with a hint of urgency, “I have a full immunity to every coronavirus on your planet. I’m willing to give you my antibodies in exchange for British citizenship and a ticket to England and enough money to start a new life. That’s all I want. I can assure you my immunity is total, not whatever fake immunity those bioweapons say they give you. So maybe you should let me speak with one of your MI5 liaison officers. Can you arrange that?”

Give them something to puzzle over. The more senior security man looked a little curious now, tilted his head slightly and said, “How did you get this immunity?” Keep her talking. That was the usual protocol.

Katrina looked around at the civilians in the room. “It would be better if I told you that in private. If you want to come with me to keep me secure, that’s fine too. Can you arrange that liaison officer? Please?”

Security man breathed. Katrina lowered her hands, trying to reassure them, but continued her venomous gaze.

“How do you know you could beat us in a fair fight?”

“That’s classified.” A word she knew would be a trigger to them. The dissonance bought her a few seconds whilst they worked it out. And then she decided to grin. Get those mirror neurons firing. Like every actress knows. “And unless either of you is a master of Shaolin Wushu…” Then she chuckled, because laughter is infectious and humans are empathic, whether they know it or not. “That’s the Jet Li shit, in case you were wondering.”

It worked. Security guy laughs. “I love Jet Li movies.”

Katrina laughed again. “Me too.” Then she looked around to her right to all the people watching this scary scene unfold, her willing public, then visibly relaxed herself and smiled warmly at them. And the spell broke. One reason why she was such a good actress. Remember their empathy. One of them chuckled and then the rest of them breathed sharply with relief and joined in. The receptionist finally let go her own breath and let the adrenaline subside.

Katrina glanced over at her, calmly spoken now. “Can you call that liaison officer? If these guys want to accompany me, that’s fine.”

The receptionist looked across at the two security men, who nodded back. She picked up the phone.

“Hi. It’s Miriam. Can you send Tom down? There’s someone he needs to speak to.” Beat. “It would be better to find out when he gets here.” She glanced across at Katrina. “Yes, it is urgent. Thanks.” She put the phone back down.

“Shall we go into a side room, then?” Katrina suggested to the security guys.

Hand removed from holster, incident over. Danger averted. Katrina smiled at the receptionist, warmly and reassuringly. “I’m sorry if I upset you or scared you. Please forgive me.”

That worked too. Humans can be trained that way. Path of least resistance. “That’s ok. Thanks.”

Katrina gave her a slight nod, and the emerging hint of a sly smile, then turned away…

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Next…