He was now in something of a predicament: the keyboard smirked, tight-lipped, the pointer hovered uselessly in a bed of electronic begonias, and the rat glared at him malevolently from the corner of the desk, teeth bared. Looking from one to the other, he prayed for inspiration.
'Finished?' The marketing executive materialised behind him, smiling with smarmy malice.
'Er—hello, Mr Sutton.'
'Well? Where are they? The figures?'
'Actually, Mr Sutton, I've been having one or two problems with the computer.'
'Problems? What sort of problems?'
'Well, the keyboard for a start—'
Sutton leaned forward, looking over the computer. The mouth grinned up at him, now open lipped, the tombstone teeth glinting in the screen-light. Even the rat was back on its pad, innocently cleaning its whiskers.
'Looks OK to me,' said Sutton. On the desk behind him, the fax machine was rolling out a vast streamer of glossy paper, which was draping itself elegantly into a loosely folded pile.
'Yes. Right. Maybe I can—.'
'Listen. In this Company we like to be flexible. We care for people. We don't expect the impossible. If you've got problems let me know, I'll see what I can do. Sort things out, right?' Sutton grinned with reptilian compassion. 'I'm that kind of manager. Fluffy. Touchy-feely. Warm and cuddly. Door's always open and all that stuff. No place for the Hitler act in the modern company, right? Right.'
'No, definitely not,' agreed Loofah.
'But understand this: I'm looking for results, not excuses. And if I don't get results, head roll. PDQ. No questions asked. Savvy?'
'Yes, I do understand.'
'Now, about these figures?'
Loofah's brain raced under the marketing executive's icy grin: he was cornered. He opened his mouth, not knowing what he was going to say. Then something caught his attention on the growing fax paper mountain behind Sutton's back, two little words that fired into his skull like rifle bullets: '—The Seeker—'. Suddenly his voice started working.
'But Mr Sutton,' he said, 'the figures will be ready—exactly when you asked for them.'
Sutton's smile lost its edge. 'Right. Good. And when was that?'
'Two hours ago, if I'm not mistaken.'
Sutton looked at his watch and his brow furrowed briefly with puzzlement. He hesitated and then grinned.
'Plenty of time, right? Brilliant. Press on. Keep up the good work. Clear? Clear.'
Loofah was at the fax machine as soon as Sutton was out of sight. It was quiet now, the pile of paper complete. He glanced around quickly; young executives and secretaries dashed about excitedly, but no-one was paying him any attention. He tore the streamer free and, gathering the folded pile together, quickly hid it on his lap under the desk.
The rat, still on its pad, had stopped its grooming and was eyeing him suspiciously.
'Who's a pretty boy, then?' cooed Loofah, smiling it a sickly smile. Embarrassed, the rat turned quickly away.
Fumbling under the desk, he tried unsuccessfully to find the start of the streamer; however, it seemed to have formed itself into a loop and he couldn't find a cut edge. Eventually he gave up and pulled up the nearest fold, holding it close against the desk and shielding it with his body.
'IMPORTANT NOTICE,' he read, 'THE SEEKER HAS LANDED!'
Suddenly very nervous, he again looked around to make sure he wasn't being watched before reading on.
'Earlier today, Government sources let it be known that The Seeker has finally arrived. Although expected for some time, officials are said to be delighted by—'the next three lines were blurred and unreadable'—will be passing through various areas over the next few days and can be recognised by his unusual but stylish apparel: body-cut leather jacket in midnight black, designer sleeved singlet in lime green bearing his title in sun-kiss orange, 501s in traditional blue, and hand-stitched Italian casuals in desert fawn, with side zips by YKK.'
Beep! Beep! Beep! Loofah looked up quickly, pushing the fax under the desk. The Skylight screen had cleared and the operating system was back, blinking its cursor with a degree of urgency.
'What have you got there?' it flashed.
'Oh, nothing,' replied Loofah, trying to sound casual.
'It doesn't look like nothing.'
'Oh, you mean these?' he said, pointing to his lap, 'Just some papers. Notes about Mr Sutton's figures.'
The rat scampered forward and peered over the edge of the desk. Pulling his chair in to hide the fax, Loofah gave the animal an affectionate though tentative pat on the head.
'Company employees are not permitted to receive private communications during working hours,' flashed the screen, 'Or at any other time, for that matter. Show me the paper.'
'Now that you're back,' said Loofah, ignoring its demand, 'perhaps we can work on those figures?'
'Company employees must not rely on business machines to carry out tasks that are their own responsibility—'
'And then I can put these papers in the bin.'
The machine hesitated, then the hard disc whirred as it considered its options.
'Very well,' it flashed. The disc whirred again and the screen was filled with columns of numbers, mostly six or seven figure, though some longer.
'To proceed,' it displayed along the bottom edge of the screen, 'add columns one and four together, subtract the square root of the result from column three, and then multiply the exponential of the cube of the result by—.'
'Yes, yes, yes,' interrupted Loofah, 'I'll get started right away.'
The rat was still hovering over the edge of the desk and so, using his jacket as a shield, he spun the chair to face away from the desk and snatched up a piece of the fax.
'An official spokesperson confirmed that, as expected, the main purpose of The Seeker's visit is to enable him to undertake his search for The Woman Who—' Although the rest of the sentence was smudged, he knew to whom it referred. The skin of his forearms prickled coldly against the lining of his jacket.
Beep! Beep! Beep! The machine cut brutally into his reverie.
'What are you doing?' flashed the screen.
'Thinking,' said Loofah, 'About the figures.'
'Put all paperwork in the waste receptacle and turn to face the desk.'
Staring blankly at the command, he tried to think what to do next; he knew he couldn't stall the obnoxious machine and its rodent henchman for much longer. He glanced quickly at the fax.
'Leave the office immediately,' he read, a simple imperative.
Leave the office? Leave the office? It was actually telling him to disobey instructions, to defy the Under Manager. He couldn't do that—could he?
Beep! Beep!
The vast metal monster of the Company limousine sounded its horn and loomed up in front of him, purring with malign omnipotence. In place of headlights were two hard piggy little eyes that bored into him like baleful lasers. The radiator grille snarled at him, muttering under its motorised breath: 'pervert', 'criminal', 'ludicrous shoes'.
Beep! Beep!
This time, however, the car's horn had an edge of panic. With a sound of metal grinding on metal, the great vehicle shuddered to a halt and the bonnet flew open in a cloud of steam and hissing water. Then two cheery faces popped up from the ruined engine compartment, emerging out of the billowing mist; it was the two little spaniels, one with a seagull head peg clamped over her nose, the other with a loose-moralled doll riding between her ears, holding onto her hair-band for balance. 'Delighted to see you,' said the first dog. 'And in such a stylish outfit,' added the second.
Beep! Beep! Beep!
As the image faded Loofah glanced absently at the screaming computer.
'Turn round at once,' flashed the screen, 'That is an order. Failure to comply will result in—'
Missing the rest, he looked back to the fax.
'Tell it that you must confer with your line manager,' he read.
Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep!
'I'm going to see Mr Sutton,' said Loofah, ignoring the machine's increasingly desperate efforts to gain his attention, 'I won't be long.'
'Do not leave. There is no need to disturb Mr Sutton until the figures are finished. You should continue with the calculations—' it was displaying as he stood up, crumpling the fax under his jacket.
In no time Loofah was at sea in an ocean of desks, potted plants and room dividers, fighting to control a rising tide of anxiety. He couldn't quite remember why, but he knew he was doing something he wasn't supposed to be doing. The sound of telephones, computer cooling fans and business chatter washed over him, while Identikit executives cast suspicious glances as he passed. Why was he here, he thought, why wasn't he back at his desk working on—.
'Those figures ready yet?' Sutton darted from behind a room divider like an attacking barracuda. Loofah looked at him blankly, opening and closing his mouth like a drowning fish. This was it, he was done for.
'Er—' he said.
'Right. Brilliant. That them?' The marketing executive pointed at the crumpled paper half-hidden under Loofah's jacket.
'This?' said Loofah weakly. But as he held up the fax, he caught the words on the uppermost section: 'Important message. Report to the Under Manager. Very urgent. Top priority.'
'Actually, no,' he said quickly, pulling the paper close to his chest, 'definitely not.'
Sutton's eyes widened with surprise—then narrowed with suspicion.
'The fact is,' Loofah went on, 'it's a message from Miss Leggett. The Under Manager.'
'A fax?' asked Sutton, dubiously.
'An internal fax. She needs to see me straight away. Very urgent. Top priority.'
'Best if I take a look. Right?' said Sutton, holding out his hand for the fax.
'Sorry, Mist—um—Dave.' Loofah looked the marketing executive straight in the eye. 'No can do. It's confidential, you see. Commercially sensitive. My eyes only, that sort of thing.'
For a few moments Sutton's his hand hung awkwardly in the space between them. Then, with a slight shrug, he retrieved it.
'Right. That's it then,' he said, 'Favoured personnel. Blue-eyed boy. Off you go.' The marketing executive paused to examine his fingernails, eyes moistening behind glittering lenses. 'Best not to forget old friends, though, eh?' he went on, looking up with an ingratiating smile, 'Everyone needs friends. Even at the top. Especially at the top. Right? Right.'
With this, he shook Loofah's hand warmly and then disappeared into the controlled maelstrom of the office.
'Straight on to the ornamental fig,' read the now very crumpled fax, 'then hang a right. On past the coffee machine and left at the grey filing cabinets. Then ask again.'
Loofah pulled open the white wood door at the end of the corridor and found himself in the foyer. The main entrance beckoned, a mere thousand miles away across the Great Marble Plain; he was nearly free. There was, of course, one last obstacle—perched like Scylla on her cliff, the flint-faced receptionist hovered over his route, ready to strike—but the time to hesitate was passed. And so, with a quick glance at the fax, he set a straight course for the exit, striding out briskly with shoulders back and eyes forward.
Once out of the security of the corridor, however, he was exposed and vulnerable. He felt again the pressure of the space and the silence, the acres of marble stretching out on all sides and the ceiling and the staircase soaring away into the stratosphere over his head. His courage evaporated under the throbbing sun of corporate power and his bold stride had soon decayed into a feeble mince. And then Scylla struck.
'Would sir care to sign out?' called the receptionist, in a chilling tone.
'Er—' He quickly read a single word on the crumpled paper: 'No.' Delivered in a quavering bleat, his defiance lost some of its effect.
'No? It is normal procedure for all persons leaving the Office—.'
'Special instructions from the Under Manager,' he read, 'Overrides all previous orders.'
'This is all highly irregular,' said the receptionist, 'I'm sure Miss Leggett would have informed me. Perhaps I'd better just check with her secretary.'
Terror flared up as she reached for her telephone; Loofah grappled with the crackling paper, searching for instructions. She snatched up the receiver. In a blind panic he fumbled and festoons of paper tumbled onto the marble in a glossy white waterfall. A scarlet-tipped talon stabbed into the keypad. He went to pick up the fallen fax—but knew there was no time.
'It's OK,' he said in a high voice, the improvised words falling unbidden from his mouth, 'Here it is—in black and white.'
The receptionist paused mid-dial. Picking up the formless, crackling mass between both hands, Loofah carried it over to the desk. She considered for a moment—and then replaced the receiver.
'These are Miss Leggett's special instructions?' she asked in a tone of frank disbelief.
'Er—yes.'
His heart was fluttering like a trapped sparrow while, with a grimace akin to revulsion, she pulled a creased loop from the pile and examined it. Loofah considered his options: run for the door; confess, surrender and take his punishment like a man; or sit down, pull his jacket over his head and metamorphose into a screen-save newt.
'Well, this all seems to be in order, sir,' said the receptionist, looking up from the fax with a pleasant smile.
'It is?'
'Yes, sir, no problem at all. Have a nice day and do visit us again soon.'
Loofah stopped at the end of the office driveway and scrutinised the surface of the fax—now a huge sphere of crumpled paper, a light-weight medicine ball—for further instructions. At first he found nothing, just screwed up creases and smudged figures. Then, in tiny typescript on a postage-stamp section of uncrushed paper, he read: 'Fax message terminates. Further information available by telephone. Any problems with this transmission should be reported to the sender.'