– Yes, but maybe these people… they’re different. I mean, they’re not real, are they.
– No. Leo looked down at the scuffed, grubby suede of his shoes and they sat in silence for a moment. – Look, there’s something I need to ask you, he began, shifting the envelope about in his hands. It’s about what’s going on. The thing I told you at the party. Look, I printed something off. You don’t need to know what’s in here, but –
– What?
– Just – can you send it out for me? To somewhere on the outside?
Hannah flushed, and reached for a strip of bubble-wrap.
– Where?
– Just somewhere. An address. Any address on the outside.
There was a short silence while this sunk in.
– I wouldn’t be asking you if it wasn’t important.
– But it’s completely off code, she said, flushing. I could be questionnaired! She popped more bubbles frantically. – Anyway, why me?
– Because no one will suspect. Then if something happens to me, he said.
– What?
– If I disappear or something.
– Oh, please, she snapped. That’s just stupid. And, and melodramatic. You’re not in some movie, you know. How would you disappear? Down a crater, I suppose?
– People do.
– Only on the outside, said Hannah. Only Marginals.
They didn’t count.
– Listen. If you try to find me and I’m not there – I want you to get hold of this envelope again and read what’s in it.
– No. She was surprised at her own anger. – I won’t. Nothing’s going to happen. You’re paranoid. You’re turning into a Munchie.
That was it. Munchhausen’s Syndrome. He needed attention. Libertycare code was succinct. Your first loyalty is to the customer. Betray the customer, and you’re betraying yourself.
That night, Hannah lay awake for hours, thinking about the Hogg family, the criminal called Harvey Kidd, and what she should do about Leo. When she finally drifted into a foggy sleep, she dreamed that Lola Hogg came alive behind the computer screen. She was trapped inside it like a small, pixilated insect. Her pretty teenaged face looked anxious, desperate even. She was waving Leo’s envelope, mouthing silent silver words. Whatever she wanted to say seemed increasingly urgent. Her breasts wobbled as she tried to communicate with Hannah.
– What do you want? Hannah kept asking, as Lola’s breasts became more and more distorted, her gestures more alarming. Lola seemed to be pushing against the computer screen, now, trying to make herself heard. Hannah put her ear close to the glass, and with a sudden clarity, the words came through.
– Let me out! screamed Lola. Why the FUCK don’t you just let me out!
Hannah woke with a jolt, as though a filthy electric shock had passed through her.
What was most unfair about Leo’s visit, she thought, as she tried to wash off the dream under the shower, turning on the jet so hard it stung her, was that he hadn’t given her a chance to say no. He’d just got up and walked out of her office, leaving his brown envelope lying on her table.
It was so thin, she thought, you could tear it up with one swift rip.
WELCOME TO HEAD OFFICE
The white, blind-windowed skyscraper of Head Office had dominated the Harbourville skyline for as long as I could remember. It was famous. The two silent forcies who’d driven me there whisked me quickly through a maze of glass and bar-coded me into a high crystally dome of sprinkled light, with men and women milling about at floor level. A neon Bird of Liberty shone above, huge and pulsating. I was as familiar with the Bird as any other Atlantican, I guess. I’d never given it a second thought. FREEDOM: THE DREAM THAT CAME TRUE, it said underneath. There were others dotted about the walls, in different colours: SERVING THE CUSTOMER, PUTTING YOU FIRST, GIVE AND TAKE.
At the reception desk, a barrel-shaped guard scanned my paperwork and led me into an elevator, which shot upwards with the force of a rocket, and next thing, we were on the umpteenth floor, treading on milky-green carpeting, past potted ferns and eye-high aquariums of fish with bulgy tumours. It had the same thin atmosphere as the malls I’d go to with Gwynneth, the kind where you could be trapped all day, muzak in the background, hunting for the right thermos or a certain make of lilo, fuelling up at the food court and shoving change into some gonzo experience simulator. We turned a sharp left and the guard nodded me into a large room with a desk and two chairs, which I guess you’d call minimalism because it could’ve done with a carpet.
– Wait there, the guard said, and bowled off.
I stood by the window, trying to fight off the fear of what came next. Harbourville spread far below, glass bits and architecture prinking in the sunlight. The air-crystals were bigger at this height; gritty, flat snowflakes of light. Seeing the trams zigzagging far below like drugged spiders across the web of tracks, I began to connect what I could see with the street map in my head, and inch my eyes towards South District. I’d feel at home if I looked there. I’d feel –
I must have felt her presence because all at once something made me turn.
I’m Hannah Park, she said.
She was small. Maybe thirty, thirty-five. Wispy fairish hair tied up with a rubber band, and her body lost somewhere inside a huge cardigan, which she hugged around her like a sleeping bag. Odd-looking. And those thick glasses – they made her eyes bulge. They weren’t flattering.
She held out a hand.
– Welcome to Head Office, she said, looking away.
We shook hands awkwardly. Hers was small, like a bony little bird, and she pulled it away quickly, as though I might be a sadist who’d enjoy crushing it. Welcome to Head Office? I thought. What is this stuff?
– Over twenty-five thousand people work for the Liberty Corporation, she said, still not looking at me and handing me a brochure. It was as though she ran on rails, or had rehearsed what she was going to say to me. – This’ll fill you in, if you have any questions about us.
Questions, about Libertycare? Why would I want to ask questions? They were always telling us stuff about themselves. They had information diarrhoea. So I didn’t look at the brochure, just crammed it in my pocket.
– Let’s sit down, she said, and we pulled out chairs.
– So what is all this? I said, looking round the room. What’s the plan?
She cleared her throat, a small worried noise.
– If you read our brochure, you’ll see that our brief is very clearly laid out. She was still on her rails, no eye contact. – And you’ll be familiar with our mission statement? Now, tea or coffee, er – Harvey? She indicated the vending machine. – Or there’s fruit tea, cup-a-soup, hot or cold Ribena, Frooto, Diet Coke… She stopped, and made a helpless gesture. Our eyes met.
– Just tell me what the fuck’s going on, I said. Please?
The word fuck must’ve thrown her off beam because she blinked and shrank deeper into her cardigan, looked shivery. Then she lifted a few pages from the desk in front of her, waved them at me. There was a laptop and some discs, too. I watched her neck as she swallowed.
– It’s just research. I was working on Munchhausen’s before. Now it’s Multiple Personality Disorder.
That threw me.
– Disorder? I echoed. I haven’t got any fucking disorder!
She flinched.
– The Hogg family is the product of a mental process known as proxification, she said, opening up the laptop. Then she slid the papers across to me, and a pen. – Proxifiers project their own state of mind on to other people. We think that’s what you’ve done in your own – she hesitated – pathology.