It was a warm, muggy day and the air round the city was sunny, though still: not a good time to go out in view of the reports on air pollution. Definitely a day for staying in, she thought. A day for staying in the mall, in fact. She knew that her permit had not yet run out, so she was still entitled; anyway she liked window-shopping.

The tube got her to her destination with its usual efficiency; she showed her pass, embedded in the chip in the palm of her hand, to the dour guards. They studied it with their usual suspicious thoroughness.

'You will have to renew this again soon,' they reminded her, 'as an "External resident".'

Despite the extra hassle of having to renew her pass more frequently than did Internals, she still preferred it that way.. To be an Internal, i.e. a permanent resident of a mall, you have to be processed through all kinds of screenings and comprehensive medical examinations, she reminded herself with a shudder. Checking for viruses both new and old, along with the compulsory employability neuro-psych tests too. As the luxuries of mall life are getting to be more and more sought-after, and space so limited, the criteria for letting you stay are becoming more and more strict, with every passing year. Yet, she admitted to herself, she still envied the luxury of the Internals never having to expose their fair skins to the ravages of Outside. Life Outside soon desiccated your face and ravaged your skin, clogged your pores with an ingrained grime that seemed impossible to treat or remove, once it was established.

Relief embraced her as soon as she was securely in, past the guards’ suspicious eyes. The light - a combination of heavy-duty glass-penetrating sunlight, and fluorescent piping from the commercial units, welcomed her, much as a moth to a lamp. The perfumed air caressed her nostrils and the muzak buoyed her - as it did everyone who shopped, lived, or did business here - in a state of balmy optimism. Life Inside however, placed its own high demands and standards in return for its privileges.

You were expected to work extremely hard in there and display great loyalty to whichever outlet employed you. Close family bonds and any desire for exclusive relationships were not the least of the sacrifices most Inner dwellers had to make. Mall life, as the advertisements frequently remind anyone who aspires to such things, could not be a half-hearted option. They had to have all of you.

But there were compensations, not least the opportunities to maintain your looks and health.

Once again, Jane admired the Japanese-style coffins with all the mod-cons, stacked like honeycombs above her, on some of the more discrete areas on the upper floors. I wouldn't mind one with virtual DVD and net, customised Jakuzzi and massage features myself, she mused with still that faint touch of envy. I wouldn't mind a holiday on the simulated beach here either, or maybe another day at the fun palace. If she got the work in the next month, she could afford it. To say nothing of another day at the beauty parlour, or some of the more exclusive and rare foodstuffs, some of which were available to Externals too.

Yes, Jane thought smugly to herself again as she stopped to buy an ice-cream, Despite the hassles sometimes, I have the right idea. This way, she had the best of both worlds. As an External, as distinct from a mere Visitor, who were frequently unable to afford even the most basic Interfacing systems on their persons, she could still enjoy many of the luxuries of mall life, whilst still maintaining a certain amount of autonomy and privacy: An ideal combination. Or so she judged. Anyway, with the Underground network, she could still avoid having to go out into the open air much.

The first hint of trouble occurred just as she passed out of a shoe shop. An alarm clanged. Horrible sound!! It always went right through her, made her jump out of her skin. That was just the startle reflex, however: Jane knew better now than not to take experiences such as these in her stride. Almost all the shops here are paranoid about theft, and there is absolutely no need to take their lack of faith personally. Or so she tried to tell herself.

Painfully, she was aware of other shoppers staring at her, as the staff politely asked her to open her bags. Her heart thudded against her ribs as they approached her and dealt with her.

'Sorry Madam,' they apologised with their customary briskness. 'Could you just step this way?'

Now this is a little unusual, thought Jane with not a little disquiet. The shop owner had asked to inspect her pass personally.

She was an officious-looking older woman with square-framed glasses whom Jane suspected was, like herself, an External. She peered at Jane's palm at some length like a fortune-teller who sees an unfortunate fate, but does not quite know how to word this. In the end, she let her go, though Jane was disquieted by what appeared to be an unusually piercing look behind her, as she left. She tried to shrug it off as she moved on, though. These things happen, she told herself firmly again.

But more problems were to come. When Jane tried to put her palm against an automat, the machine had refused to give her money.

'Your code has not been recognised,' it said.

That's irregular also, she thought. I have only recently been paid too. Blips like this could happen to almost anyone, however, and most Mall-dwellers took pride in taking such mishaps in their stride, so she was still not especially worried. As yet, Jane had remained more irritated, rather than radically disquieted.

A piecing howl over the speakers followed as she was making her way down to another level of shops. An announcement! Jane was not quite able to make out what was said, but it sounded as though the mall was to be temporarily sealed off from the Outside. Something to do with the levels of air pollution? Hard to tell, really. She could never make out exactly what they said, under all that muffle and crackle.

That is actually a little annoying, she thought, as she made her way towards a record store. If the Cut-off went on for too long, she might not be able to get home in time for her favourite channel, and there was always something good on the last day. Such were her idle musings at this point.

She did not notice the old man by the escalator at first, only to vaguely perceive that he looked dirty and uncared for, possibly some kind of a down-and-out. It always surprised her to see such types in a mall, as guards usually had them thrown out as undesirables, even Externals with valid permits, if necessary. But he certainly noticed her. As she moved passed, his face contorted into a weasly expression of hate and cunning. Strange, she thought. What is going on here?

Jane was wearing her favourite transparent plastic coat with shorts and matching top, plus the long boots, but this was a normal enough kind of a fashion these days, and not generally considered to be sexually provocative. But the expression on this old man's face. Ugh!!! With absent-minded contempt, she noted the missing teeth, and the unhealthy, filmy plaque on those that remained.

Her following reaction was not so absent-minded though as without warning, he hissed at her, and then spat. A huge, discoloured blob on her nice, clean shiny coat. Where is the nearest WC? she wondered, urgently. The old man hissed again, and she knew it had to be her business to be some place else, now, and quickly. The word he snarled out sounded like 'entartet,' some kind of a foreign expression, alien both to her and to this city. What could it mean???

As she reached the top of the escalator and headed towards the WC, Jane turned, to notice that the man was still turned in her direction with his hate-filled eyes. It was a relief to be finally out of his sight. Thankfully, she pushed her way into the WC and under the fluorescent lights, washed her coat off. Better now, yes, better. All over now, she told herself. It might have been her imagination, but the other women within the small space were looking at her rather strangely.

Worse however, was to come. As she moved towards the automatic toilet doors, instead of opening, they remained shut. Now what, Jane thought, with rising irritability. Everything seemed to be going wrong today. Swearing, she kicked it, although a little voice in the background admonished her, this was not the right way to go about things, not how well-adjusted mall-dwellers were expected to behave. Your physio-neuro signs, along with everything else, both had to show evidence of emotional stability if you wanted to be a full citizen in these places, not like you with your short fuse, she reminded herself sternly. Keep your temper.

Unfortunately, her temper did attract the attention of an attendant, a round, motherly type in overalls. Calmly, she pressed her own palm against it and the door opened, then she signalled Jane for her to do the same. But still no response. Her gentle, grey eyes were apologetic as she turned to Jane.

'I do not know why the doors should be playing up,' she told her. 'But I am sure it is nothing.' Her own permit bleeped discretely. Someone was coming. Another helper had entered the room. The attendant quickly explained the situation to the other.

'Come with me,' the newcomer ordered her. 'Let's go and sort this out.' She was a solid, wholesome looking girl of maybe twenty-five years or so, with a no-nonsense demeanour, wearing a clinically white cotton coat, under which Jane could just make out what looked like a fitted one-piece suit.

Jane was beckoned through a discrete door that turned left beyond the toilets, through to a narrow corridor with high walls. Here, the wall paint was shabbier, lighting dull and the air, clammy. The way twisted somewhat, before she followed the attendant along a left turn, along a longer corridor with an innumerable number of doors of each side. Halfway along this new corridor, where the air still smelt slightly musty, she was beckoned into a small room. Inside it was a couch, on which she was instructed to lie down. The attendant placed sheets of towelling across the couch. The room was alive with a low-key kind of a buzzing, from looked like a series of machines that were built into the wall.

The attendant placed Jane's palm to a machine that looked like a hair dryer, in turn attached to some kind of computer. She was then asked routine questions about her address, occupation and date of permit. The responses from the machine did not appear to make the attendant any more confident, though she said nothing as she scanned the machine once more against her palm, then against her head and bared stomach and the soft, pale flesh of her inner arms and thighs. (Looking for the unique signature of my vital responses, realised Jane.) A silver piece of jewellery, purely decorative but still embedded into her skin, set a few centimetres above her wrist, was probed briefly, and Jane saw the attendant's lips purse in disapproval. She was also asked to breathe and speak into the machine.

Jane did not relish this kind of intrusion, but accepted that it had to be done, in order to get to the bottom of things. The attendant then turned to a drawer on her right, pulled something out and snapped on a pair of rubber gloves. She then applied a pinkish gel to a pale space within the join of Jane's elbow and her arm. There was a brief biting sensation as the machine was lowered to nick a piece out of her skin, which was then deposited onto some kind of a panel. A pen emitting a sharp, white light was pointed at her left eye, then her right, and she was then asked two or three seemingly irrelevant questions about what she would do in certain improbable-sounding situations. All the time, there remained the cold humming in the background. Jane found that her hands were shaking.

Finally, the attendant turned to her.

'Your permit has been made invalid. You had better go to the central admin section,' she told her at least. 'Get this sorted out.'

'Get what sorted out!!!!!!!!'

But the attendant seemed to be reluctant to go into details.

'It is not within my powers to tell you,' she told Jane firmly, and her face was set in such a way that the latter knew that protests or grovelling in any form would get her nowhere. Hard as nails, recognised Jane. She handed Jane a plastic card, and swiped it against the hair-dryer type machine. She thrust it into Jane's hand, and was ordered to show it whenever asked, and to proceed now directly to the place instructed.

The first attendant was still waiting as she emerged from the corridor, where everything still seemed ordinary. Her eyes were kind as Jane explained what had happened, as she showed her the card, and her manner sympathetic. But she was strangely adamant that Jane follow the summons and go, when Jane suggested that maybe she should just go and have a coffee somewhere and wait for the Cut-off to lift, so that she could get back home in one piece. It may be just a mistake, a glitch, or even some kind of a joke from admin, she was told. But this is bureaucracy. She had to go.

Bureaucracy. Like some kind of a Jehovah, a god you could not refuse, thought Jane. Starting to feel very small and vulnerable. And somehow tainted by what was happening to her. But surely it could be nothing serious... Could it?

As Jane moved on, unwillingly, towards the central administrative office, which she did not at all relish, some of the horror stories she had heard came back to her. Stories in which individual people had been hounded and killed for sport within the malls, where some malicious hacker managed to black out your precious pass, even tampered with your electromagnetic wavelengths, so that everyone turned against you, leaving you nowhere to hide. But that had to be paranoia, surely, Jane thought to herself. Surely that's what it was. All the same, there had been those reports in the paper: a sort of a generalised people-rage almost permanently in the air, due to the reduced space in which to move, the sheer numbers of people, unwillingly crammed together.

It was starting to be recognised that the reduction of living space, caused by the ever-increasing deterioration of air quality was engendering all kinds of undesirable psychological effects on most people. This was not just because of because of air pollution and global warming, but due to the results of vicious little wars around the globe which had released all manner of toxicities, bacteria and viruses into the general atmosphere. On the surface, life just appeared to be going on as normal, but this was really not the case: traumas like these, whilst less obviously dramatic than sudden disasters, had effects which were reckoned to be cumulative over time.

Experts were now starting to say that the lack of easy access to open air and space, along with the attendant overcrowding, brought about all kinds of underlying hostilities underneath the superficial blandness of everyday life, which could, and sometimes did, erupt in highly unpredictable and capricious ways. Often against what could be recognised to be a suitable target for all this rage, usually directed more at folk who were less obviously coping, or who were obviously poor. Individuals who could not afford even the lowliest kind of interfacing, for example, who had to carry portable money because they did not even have a chip in their hand. A generalised new kind of stress seeking release by looking for scapegoats to blame. But not tax payers like me, thought Jane. Surely not. But the attendant's attitude had got her worried, as had the earlier events and that thoroughly unexpected and unpleasant examination. As though something was suddenly, radically wrong with her. Go to the main office without delay. That made her feel a lot like some kind of sacrificial lamb, too.

It also made her feel a little rebellious. Damn it! She was not going to be some kind of pawn, some kind of a passive victim, who just let all manner of indignities be visited on her, have done to her. She would see her friends here. Alternative friends. They could help, she was sure. Give her some advice. Smuggle her out, if necessary. Her feet turned, in the opposite direction of where she had been ordered to go.

Like her, these subcultural groupings usually tended to be Visitors along with a handful of Externals, though this girl, the one who worked in the shop, was Internal. Jane remembered vividly the gruesome stories Susie had reported, about the battery of tests she had had to undergo, along with the intensive Training, before she had finally been deemed to be suitable as a potential Mall employee and permanent resident.

But then Susie was so much more streetwise than she.

'You have to take these things in your stride,' she had told Jane, 'not overreact!' She went on to say, 'It's not such a big thing as you might expect. Even the removal of braincells via the needle through your eye is not as painful as all that and anyway, who wants to be behind the times, in terms of the level of interfacing you could get these days?'

The panel and tubings around her left eye, which she had had designed herself, had bobbed wisely, the light catching the glint of silver wires that had glinted ostentatiously from her wrist and along the curve of her shaved skull and neck, as she had continued her homily. A somewhat belated kind of a fashion statement these days: it was not normally considered to be that sophisticated to draw so much attention to the 'cyber' aspects of modern life, We have all got used to such things now, thank you very much, she reflected. But some individuals like Susie still felt the need to make their own ironic post-post modern statement about certain kinds of archaic Twentieth Century angsts and paranoias.

Beyond a single silver button embedded higher on her wrist - the one the attendant had focussed on so disapprovingly - Jane had never really gone in for the more extreme manifestations of the movement, although she did enjoy some of the music. She preferred the softer cyber Barbie-doll look really, the 'Frankenstein moll'. It would be less likely to get her into trouble, although she suspected that her own very low-key allegiance to her chosen set of peers had on occasion created some problems in her job.

She suspected that Susie would never experience such difficulties. Jane had noticed for example that whilst her own appearance was quite extreme, she tended to be very critical of those younger people who actually made themselves less employable through their piercings or scarifications. Jane suspected that if it were called for, then Susie would have no qualms at all about going under the knife again, to have her own metalwork removed from her person. It was an attitude that strangely left her feeling very unsupported. Was she really the only one who had such rebellious thoughts, she had wondered. Not just not wanting to conform as some kind of a pastime, but really not wanting to conform. Really unwilling - or worse - unable - to play the game, as it was called in multi circles.

A first glance told Jane that the shop held its usual range of customers. She could easily recognise the type. Inties, she saw. Seemingly zombie-like and absorbed into their own inner worlds they were plugged into music consoles, trying to synchronise their brain rhythms as they listened, for heightened affect and appreciation. Most of today's music, which could sound impossibly bland until this inner discipline of Interfacing and listening, was especially designed for this purpose. Now, it was possible to reach near-Trance states of inner nirvana via this method and on holidays, there were also ways to achieve intensely hallucinogenic effects alongside the experience.

At first, the official multi line had been one of disapproval and for a while it had been made illegal, where of course, it had only flowered all the more as an Underground movement. Now, however, the tendency was to turn a blind eye to it, even to its use by fully-Employed Mall dwellers. This was almost certainly because it did in the end, provide a great safety valve and release for many people, who might otherwise have acted out their stress and frustrations at work in even less productive ways. It was well-known for example, that Intermusic devotees tended to be less violent and more placid than otherwise, which could only be a plus where Rage, especially amongst the young, was frequently coming to be such a serious social problem. Plus, its appreciation did involve great discipline of mind and in a world where self-discipline was coming to be such a prized quality, its application to recreational purposes as well as to work, could hardly be condemned.

Jane was afraid the shop would be too busy when she got there, or that none of her friends or acquaintances would be there, but she was in luck. Susie's large black-clad bulk was there behind the counter, almost as a permanent fixture, it seemed. Susie beamed as usual; it could have bee her imagination though but Bunny and Pal, whom Jane considered both as good mates, greeted her more warily than usual.

'What gives?' asked Susie as Jane leant against the counter. 'You look really blown out.'

'Oh, it's nothing really... .' Jane tried to play it right down, knowing that many of her friends considered her to be somewhat too nervous about the kind of interfacing blips and glitches that could happen to anyone, these days. But she soon found herself telling pouring out the whole story, despite herself. Susie had a mature, comforting presence, somehow managing to make most of the others feel like children or younger sisters and brothers with herself as a glorified nanny figure, though she was only a few years older than the others. She even made Jane feel that way, though Jane was in turn, older than Susie by several years.

Susie, as she expected, made light of it. 'I am sure it is just a temporary malfunction,' she stated, after examining her permit against the light, though you could, of course, not actually see very much by the naked eye, anyway.

It did not stop Jane from trying to get more information from Susie, however, and Jane could recognise that she was starting to sound a little obsessive in her questioning: she hoped she was not beginning to bore either she, or the others who happened to be in the shop, 'Why the skin test, for example? Why that weird light shone in my eye? And why should that tramp, who I had never set eyes on before, suddenly have turned on me the way he did? And what could that word 'entartet' possibly mean???'

Susie, however, did not seem to be able to enlighten Jane beyond what she already knew. She thought that the eye test was probably some kind of a psycho-neurological test. 'But you passed your "emp" and "frontal" in the end, didn't you,' she reminded Jane reassuringly.

In that case though, why should I be starting to have problems now? Ruminated Jane, all the more worried.

Apparently, quickness of certain cerebellal reflexes to certain stimuli were a good indicator of how good was your ability to empathise, such an important quality for the salesperson especially, and an unimpaired frontal brain, essential for executive capacity - so vital in today's world of enterprise. No employee for even the most lowly multinational company would ever even be considered without a reasonable certificate pass for these most basic of tests. Investing in expensive training, if the basic material was just not there, was just such a waste of time and investment of valuable resources. At least, that is how the 'multis' presented the argument. So screen out the losers, the lame ducks, the deadweights, she concluded. And the means are there in order to do just that. It was always shown in the empirical research and demonstrable results of the new Neuro-psych tests, which time and time again, had been reliably demonstrated to be effective.

Whilst still at school, there had been some doubt that Jane would be able to perform adequately on the cerebellal reflex test, after her relatively poor performance in certain key areas of physical and neuro-psychological skills had caught the eye of one or two of her more conscientious teachers. But a year of remedial classes in 'Smarts Training' had brought Jane up to speed in this area. Susie knew this about Jane of course, along with the lingering self doubts that Jane had always possessed regarding her certain of her abilities within the workplace, including issues to do with making compromises.

Jane also knew that Susie's own empathy rating was considered to be within the upper ranges of excellency, of course. It seemed, at least in part, to be one of the main ingredients for the success of her little outlet within the big Sterling chain. In fact, it was said that a visit to Susie's would mean a hole in your chip for periods of time up to a year if you visited, even with the intention of buying nothing more than a Smart soft drink. Sue could see from within the minds of her customers, whatever their individual needs. She could effortlessly divine and match their innermost tastes, whatever the cost to their chips, and her customers loved for this.

'Oh, don't take it so hard!' Susie enjoined, as Jane's posture remained tense and unflowing. She hugged Jane around her shoulders, trying to reassure her. She then microed her a cup of restorative tea, one which contained a cocktail of both calming and energising minerals and omega acids/proteins, considered to be so essential to efficient use of judgement and cerebral activity. Jane began to relax a little more.

Finally, Susie drew Jane's attention to a new release from one of their more rated bands and soon the conversation, for the most part, settled down to its usual friendly banter, although at one point it seemed that Bunny was whispering something to Pal, as both surreptitiously looked at her. Jane was distracted, however, by the turn of conversation, which had begun to focus on the next big Outside festival, where all kinds of performances and outlets would gather in a bright display of good-natured anarchy. Everyone was looking forward to it: Jane herself hoped to be able book enough leave and money to be able to attend. The conversation began to focus on what kind of masks - that is, on what kind of decorative, protective face shields, they would buy for the occasion.

Anyway, Jane reminded herself, Bunny always tended to look a bit glassy-eyed. It was a well-known consequence of his keeping his metabolic system almost perpetually overstimulated on non-transferable designer viruses. It made you feel both so smart and exquisitely sensual at one and the same time, he admitted, though he had frequently been caught, fined and compulsorily confined in hospital as a result, whilst he was cleaned out. Apparently, his parents, who both held offices of some influence and clout, usually made sure that no further consequences came to him, other than being cautioned from time to time, where other offenders were more often stripped of their citizenship and banned from malls. Jane had sometimes wondered, who could Bunny be bribing, so that he was allowed into the malls in this state so often?

As Susie went to leave for her mysterious summons, Susie winked at her, whilst Pal winked and smiled.

'Don't let 'em get you down!' Susie called out again.

But as she left, she was aware of being followed. Bunny. A hesitant look on his face and gawky frame. She stopped, as they sized each other up. Bunny clearly had something to say, but was not sure how to ask it. Finally it came out.

'What did you do?' He whispered. 'I heard about your permit being made invalid. How come you are... .'

Are what?????

Jane felt like grabbing the boy hard and shaking him, but his frightened look as he backed against a staircase made her back off.

'I just don't know what you mean,' she told him, resignedly. Everyone was getting so strange with her. 'Someone spat at me, called me some weird thing, entarted, or something. But I really don't know what it means.'

A closed look veiled the boy's eyes.

'It is just something you give out,' he answered carefully. 'I don't know. Pal said he could sense it too. It...'

Unfortunately, Jane was not to find out what Bunny had to say next, as the music from the next room, plus a series of announcements of special offers made over the microphone drowned out his next words. Bunny then shiftily looked over his shoulder, apparently wondering if his boss was looking for him, and he quickly wriggled away into the crowds, unseen. Jane turned again, and now it seemed that everywhere she looked, it seemed as though she was being watched. For example, the row of shoppers along the bench on the corner of her eye. And the same cunning, weasly looks that she has noticed on the face of the old man.

Get a grip on yourself, she told herself firmly. Bunny's stupid paranoia was clearly catching. Go and have a drink somewhere, and a cigarette. Relax. Surely the central office can wait, just a little bit.

She turned, almost in her haste, falling against a security guard who was leaning across the other side of the staircase. He was solidly built, fair, with a heavy jaw and strong chin. He eyed her sardonically. Jane made as if to walk past him up the escalator, but a strong arm apprehended her.

'Let me see your pass, lady.'

Her details appeared on his mobile com, as he read them out slowly, the usual litany - Jane Doe, then her address, then her birth data, occupation.

'Your permit is no longer valid,' he told her, with a hard voice to match the sardonic eyes, which glinted like stones, seeking to catch hers in their iron scrutiny. His eyes continued to bore into her, as if seeking to discover the fault in her that had caused the trouble. Jane found the physical proximity of the man threatening, and pushed the card the attendant had given her into his fleshy hand.

It appeared to appease him a little. 'Next two flights up, on the left wing,' he reminded her. 'Next to the Scala. Make sure you go, and soon.' But his hand would not let hers go, and he moved up even closer. Jane could smell the stale tobacco on his breath, the feel the coarse sandpapery sensation of his shaved chin edge closer to the smooth, pampered surface of her own. His fingers digged into her palm, the one with the offending chip embedded in it. Digged so much that it started to hurt. 'Entartet,' he murmurred thickly. 'Long time since that was done here.'

Jane tried to prize her hand away, but the guard was having none of it. A thick finger moved down, towards her breast. 'Don't be in such a hurry, my lovely!' He chided smoothly. 'You do not have much going for you now. Not much protection now, nothing....'

But Jane managed to bring a booted leg against his groin and in his surprise and pain, the guard was forced to let her go, with an enraged bellow. As she raced towards the escalator, his voice echoed up at her: 'You stupid little cow, I could have helped you. You probably got a dart on you somewhere.'

Clearly it was a different ballgame now. Dignified ways of moving about no longer need apply. Jane vaulted across an escalator to the other side in order to descend again, despite the shouts from the megaphone to move in an orderly fashion. But Jane had a plan, and sprinted across several entrances, to The Fun Palace. It's lucky I know the place so well, she thought to herself ruefully. It just might work in her favour now....

Certain kinds of hackers with nothing better to do, liked to play with these. That is, put tiny transmitters known as 'bombs,' upon the persons of their victims. These were containers of malicious software that could interface with a given identity chip within its owner's body, and start making it do crazy things. Not at all nice. She had just never thought that it might happen to her.

The advantage of the 'fun palace' was that the energy fields needed for the games machines tended to 'drown' such transmitters, if this was what was causing the trouble. And make the owners of invalid or blacklisted permits, invisible.

Jane was aware now of the cold sweat down her shoulders and hammering heart, drinking in the relief of being temporarily - or so she hoped - safe. Another ray of hope emerged too, as she found some loose coins in the pockets of her shorts. At least she would not need to use her palm to pay for any purchases she made here, she reminded herself. And, of course, get help.

Jane was no longer sure of either Pal or Bunny, and Susie...well all said and done, just how well did she know Susie, really? She was an Internal after all, and her loyalties had to lie elsewhere surely, never mind that her market in that shop was there to target individuals who thought they were doing something a little radical but was in fact, secretly condoned. She had openly admitted to having her sights set on eventually being able to put down a lease on a coffin, and everyone knew how much of a luxury item a Mall coffin could be, even one of the more basic types. Then there had always been the sense that she liked being the one in control, the boss of the whole outfit... No, from that point of view she was on her own.

Or maybe not quite. For there was someone working here, not someone she knew all that well mind, who might be able to help. Jaz.

Jane scanned the fore part of the Palace with its games. She walked slowly, as though to appear merely interested in what was going on. Still no joy. Come on, Jaz. I know you are here somewhere.

Aha! That looks a lot like him. Chatting over here with those tourist types. Yep, him all right. Angular, shaved head, dull black garb. Now all Jane needed to do was to wait for him to finished speaking to that pair, then she would collar him.

Jaz. She had seen him around at various venues, all her friends and acquaintances knew him, at least by sight. A laconic individual, no-one seemed to knew him quite that well, but Jane had spoken to him enough times to be able to recognise that he held most malls, most bureaucratic systems, in the deepest of contempt - even though he worked, spent most of his time in them. Like Jane, however, he had wanted to maintain his independence - and with considerably more success than she did, as far as she could tell. For example, he had never had to undergo the grillings she had had to, in order to get her External permit to the malls. She had often wondered what individuals like Jaz - or Susie had - that she didn't.

But he seemed to be spending an unconscionable amount of time with that damned couple! Jane hopped from foot to footsore foot as she watched him, Finally though, he did finish speaking to them; he turned, and caught her eye, then nodded.

Jaz's face was tattooed in concentric patterns, to resemble a spider's web, and Jane frequently wondered if he too, would feel any great loss to his identity if a new job ever required him to have his face lazered into bland normalcy.

'Yo, Jane,' he greeted. 'What brings you here?'

'Well...'

Once again, Jane tried to keep calm as she endeavoured to explain the situation without actually sounding crazy. Jaz's face, meanwhile, remained expressionless. At the end of her tale, he merely beckoned her to follow him.

They passed through an assortment of entertainments, one of which was chock-full of gambling machines, another of which held vidscreens of an interminable number of distorted Janes and Jazzes. They passed a Chamber of Horrors, where Hitler was still screaming for the Final Solution, and various serial murderers were perpetually indicted, then led to electric chairs in order to commence their simulated convulsions and smoking, against the simulated stench of burning meat. Young men and women paid in another arena to attempt to outsmart virtual opponents in medieval combat. Then there were old-fashioned, burlesque Merry-go-rounds and Big Dippers. The light got dimmer as they penetrated the deeper reaches and bowels of the fun-palace, and they passed numerous cubicles and rooms full of computers and machinery.

Finally, through yet another dull-lit behind-the-scenes corridor, Jaz secreted a rather shabby-looking pass and directed it at what Jane at first had taken to be a mere panel in the wall, but which actually wheezed open to become a small, narrow doorway. Once again, she was beckoned through. I never knew there were so many hidden components to this place, she thought to herself again, thinking of her earlier experience after her permit had failed her in the toilets. This time, Jane followed Jaz down an interminable number of stairs, littered by several dead cockroaches. Into the bowels of the mall, thought Jane to herself. The parts of the mall we don't get to see, needless to say. Rather like what lay under the sink plug of a brightly-lit kitchen, there did have to be that underside to any mall, reflected Jane, just as any solid figure in direct sunlight had to cast a shadow.

Further and further down they went, the light becoming ever more subdued, the temperature dropping still further. Jane wrapped her coat against herself, though it did not stop her shivering. It was not designed for extremes of temperatures.

Eventually, Jane became aware of murmurs, voices. People here? she wondered to herself. But how? Why?

The stairs finally brought her to the bottom, and what looked like a large, cavernous warehouse. Or rather, a forgotten warehouse, she corrected herself. The goods lying along the racks appeared to be long-forgotten, forlornly dusty, and spider webs festooned the blackened corners of the room, which was illuminated by one solitary old-fashioned pear bulb. Now she could see, as her eyes accustomed, that some of the racks had been appropriated by people - rather shabby-looking people. As she and Jaz entered the room, two youths sprang from one or two of the makeshift bunks. Jane made out the logos - of spindly creatures with ovoid heads - on their T-Shirts, and understanding then dawned. Aliens.

It was not generally advertised - no doubt because the malls who did not want to lose business, or encourage abuse of their resources or their system - that sometimes, individuals with no sense of citizenship could, and did, try to enter, even dwell, in the malls, illegally. This did not even, necessarily mean people from different cultures or ethnic origin either, as the multinational ethics of mall culture tended to be very correct on such matters. No - the decision of who Belonged and who did not, seemed to be built on far more subtle and sophisticated criteria. Your innate psychological reactions, basic neurology and of course, those comprehensive and intrusive tests on genes, skin, and every kind of bodily fluid and excretia to rule out any of the infections, old and new, which might endanger the brave, pure world of the worlds New Inhabitants, were all closely monitored. Many young people enjoyed spoofing the guards with either designs or tattoos, to the effect that they were aliens. But these were normally individuals who had already got their permits, so they could now afford to have their little joke on the establishment. In fact, Jane had even seen individuals such as these come into the shop where Susie worked, and they had laughed and joked with her as they had made their purchases. Still, the fact that their payments had been cleared had rather suggested that most of them had not genuinely been aliens at all. The real ones would clearly have remained very much in the background on excursions such as these.

But this!!! The sheer scale of it. Jane could now sense that there had to be at least fifty such individuals hiding here, judging by the stirrings and noises she could hear around her. Were they really all here illegally?

In one corner, two filthy and scruffily-dressed urchins, not more than eleven years of age, were baiting what looked like a derelict lookalike endorsement yet another famous figure from the Twentieth Century - the Queen Mother. It appeared to be a primitive wax model, rather than one of the more expensive, plastic models, which were nowadays deployed so successfully in various marketing campaigns. Or in fun-palaces, as Jane had already witnessed with the Hiltler model that had been on show there, amongst others. Old presidents, royalty, even fictitious figures, such as Sherlock Holmes - all had been trundled out at same point, in order to give some old brand a new lease of life. Or simply to bring more revenue to whichever company owned the estate of a famous film or rock star.

Elvis Presley for example, was indeed still alive and well and walked the wholesome streets of small towns across the world - to the joy of both old ladies and young girls, who still clamoured for his simulated autograph. Elvis still wiggled his seductive hips, grinned his lewd grin, and was cued to respond to certain key words with wicked blandishments for his spellbound fans.

This Lizzie simply squatted on all fours in a rubber dress, chained to the floor with a spiked dog collar, growling obscenities. Despite her highly-keyed state, Jane found it hard not to splutter with suppressed giggles at the spectacle. How on earth had they managed to get their hands on her?? But as she watched, the Lizzie appeared to turn unflinchingly in her direction, and then her simulated, benign face broke out in a contortion of senile loathing, as she caught sight of her. The Lizzie pointed her finger at her, declaring in a ringing falsetto: 'Off with her head!'

Shaking, Jane tried to look the other way. She knew perfectly well that these puppets had no real autonomous intelligence - that too had been yet another late 20th Century fantasy - but at this point in time, she wished that she had never set eyes on the automaton. The experience had taken place with most unfortunate timing.

Fortunately, she was soon distracted. Jaz was soon approached and greeted by a hub of shabbily dressed, dreadlocked individuals, all with somewhat sallow complexions and wearing on their faces what appeared to Jane to be somewhat cynical, shifty expressions. Words were exchanged in what seemed to Jane's unaccustomed ears, to be an almost unintelligible patois. In the meantime, she was ceremoniously ignored.

Finally however, an imposingly tall and heavy Rastafarian, apparently named Errol, thumped Jaz on the back and finally awarded Jane with a heavy stare. Finally asking who she was, and what her business was here. Jaz explained in so many words what the problem was, and the stare deepened, so that Jane began to feel more than a little uncomfortable. No doubt he was trying to seek out whatever made her apparently so unacceptable to the Mall himself, now.

'I want to take her to see the doc,' Jaz explained. Errol still did not appear to be satisfied. Then finally, the thing troubling him emerged in the form of the question he had obviously been wishing to ask from the outset.

'You sure she bring no trouble with her?'

To the people here that is, thought Jane.

'She'll be cool,' Jaz told him, seeming to be willing to take responsibility for her.

Finally, Errol was satisfied. He nodded towards an area from behind him, and his mouth parted in a toothy, cheerless grin. Jane could see the gold fillings of his teeth, and noticed too, that Errol's nose was broken.

'Doc waiting for you,' he told them.

Jane was naturally full of questions, but the grimness with which Jaz propelled her did not make it seem to be a good time to ask him, and his face was set. Eventually they stopped at one of the furthest and most ill-lit reaches of the warehouse, where the storage space in front of them appeared to be at its most imprenetrable. The thump of muffled Interface music tantalised Jane's ears, but somehow there was an atmosphere of tension, of expectation, trained on them, from all around.

'Yo, Doc,' called Jaz, as they reached their destination, and an athletic, well-knit looking man slid down from the gloom to face them.

'Doc' maybe could have been anything from twenty-eight to his late thirties with dark hair, a hard, swarthy face, and bad teeth. His bared torso was covered with an elaborate set of tattoos, including that of a rod surrounded with snakes along the centre of his wiry torso.

So he really has to be a doctor in fact, thought Jane.

He offered his hand to Jane.

'Heard you got a few problems here,' he told her.

Jane could not remember having given him this news, but gathered that news must run fast within communities such as these. At the idea that someone here finally might be able to help, her self-control began to slip a little. Her voice was shaking and tears were not so far off, as she implored these two help her. However, she was shushed, and beckoned upwards, towards a more secluded part of the bunks. 'Ten to one, something, somewhere got planted in you somewhere,' Doc told her. 'We gonna have a look and see what we can do.'

In you??? Jane certainly did not care for the sound of that. It sounded a lot worse than the alleged dart it had been suggested she was carrying on her person. But she obediently followed the two men, towards a makeshift bunk. In fact, it was something of a makeshift room - no, a makeshift hospital - lit up by what appeared to be archaic lights from some kind of an illicit generator, though it was certainly not possible to stand up within the space.

Jane was somewhat relieved to see that she was not to be alone with the two men - a woman was present too, sitting and smoking whilst desultorily glancing through the horoscope page of a magazine. She was somewhat swarthy and sallow in appearance too, with short, greased hair, styled into a dizzy proliferation multi-coloured tufts She wore a tattered combat suit, and gave off a general impression of dangerous hardness. Piercings festooned her ears, and one side of her suit was casually torn, to reveal a compact, and elaborately pierced and tattoed breast. Jane wondered what could be hidden under the remainder of her dreadrags. All kinds of pervy cyber hardware and wired tubing without a doubt, she suspected. Is she a doctor or surgeon by profession too? She wondered. The woman noticed her surreptitious stare and nodded curtly to Jane as she appeared.

'Anna,' she offered, then returned to her reading. Jane could see that her tongue had been thoroughly doctored, too.

On one of the bunks, a young man was stretched out moaning, sweat pouring off him. There was what appeared to be an ice pack tied around his forehead, and more ice had been placed, slowly melting, off his overheated chest.

One of Bunny's chums, thought Jane to herself cynically. In another corner, another young man crouched, obviously in wracking pain, as his girlfriend comforted and rocked him, stroking his drenched hair, crooning endearments and words of comfort, as he made it through his rite of passage. Jane could tell that she must be a girlfriend, as in her, the process was complete in what was only just beginning in the young man. This was being achieved through the effects of yet another - and illegal - designer virus. The girl's face was waxy-white, offset by the dramatic display of blackened veins and capillaries, which stood out not just on her face, but on her hands and wrists, too. In the young man, such markings were already beginning to form in an emerging map of livid purple, green and blue, like the outlines of a photograph slowly darkening and solidifying on a piece of photo-sensitive paper. His fists meanwhile clenched with agony, copious perspiration starting to bead on his face. A basin placed near him had obviously already been used as a receptacle for his vomit, which appeared to have rusty streaks.

New tribals, obviously, thought Jane. All too willing to accept the possible dangerous side effects, as had the chemicals and drugs of old, whenever taken. Designer or not, chosen out of free will or not, organic viruses - as opposed to computer or interface viruses, which no-one in their right mind could possibly wish for, ever - did make those who ingested them, well, ill. What a price to pay, thought Jane, for belonging to even the best of Tribes and the like, or for getting a high. She wondered if Bunny and Pal and the like were aware of places like these, or had ever availed themselves of their services. She also wondered what Susie would make of them. Not much, she recognised. As far as she knew, the after-effects of this particular germ were irreversible, the stigmata of it never, totally eradicable. It could seriously damage an individual's prospects in a future, sparkling career.

Jane was led behind what appeared to be cubicle covered by makeshift curtains. A worn mattress with somewhat grimy-looking sheets lay behind it. Jane was asked to remove her coat, and then to sit down. Doc and the hard-faced girl, obviously some kind of an auxiliary, followed through the curtain, and Doc sat down next to her, studying her face intently, taking her hand in his as he speculatively probed her palm with its treacherous chip.

'Think there is any chance you might have had a worm planted in you?' he finally asked her, abruptly.

A What??? Jane started to shake again. She could not help it.

'I don't mean anything organic,' he reassured her, as she watched her stricken and nauseated face. 'Though they can be, and are nourished, but the electro-magnetic energy of your body. It is a piece of software. It is usually implanted without the victim's consent, set to mature at a particular time, then.....woumph. Problems, problems.'

Of course. Finally, the penny dropped. Of course, she knew what the guy was talking about.

Formerly, viruses and worms, malicious, self-replicating pieces of software, had tended to be the ills, purely of computers, then of devices such as mobile phones. But with the advent of interfacing, that is, of bringing the computer into even more intimate contact with human flesh - viruses and worms had become, at least always potentially, the problem of anyone who wished to live a civilised life nowadays. So much was taken for granted, realised Jane. But so much can so easily go wrong, too. Your Pin cards, chips, even vid cards and music players along with the matching glasses, which could be embedded within human skin, used to regenerate useless limbs paralysed by useless organic nerves, used to power hearts, interface even with certain mental processes, thereby enhancing the intelligence of willing individuals - all these wonders could work against you, given the right conditions. You did not have to worry about fumbling in bags for cards, passes, ID's on dark street corners. Then, certain - though unfortunately, by no means, all - neurological and physical problems could be solved for good, giving you a happier, stress-free and longer life - but the door had always been left open for any kind of abuse. Despite very strict security measures designed for all users of the palm chip et al., users of interfacing technology were always, potentially vulnerable, no matter how the advertising campaigns largely managed to brainwash most citizens that all its applications were absolutely safe. That where there were malfunctions, then the user his/herself is to blame.

A worm could lie dormant for years, then its victim find him or herself at the mercy of a lift/automatic door/vehicle/inbuilt mobile, suddenly and inexplicably, go completely and malignantly malfunctional on you. Maybe, all that would happen would be that you would take out more money than you had asked, maybe receive a childish or silly message on the screen of any door you tried to access, be suddenly deluged with responses to a telephone message you had not sent. Murder was not out of the question though; there had been the stories of lifts plummeting their unfortunate victims to their deaths, the celebrated case of the young man whose worm had been activated to blow up, along with the entire street around him, once the password for an exclusive bank in the most populous area of Tokyo had been activated. Any of these were possibilities - or, Jane realised, such a piece of malicious software, could render your mall permit invalid. Turn you into an alien. Or an 'entartet', or whatever that was.

'If I have a worm,' she told Doc and Jaz grimly, 'Let's get rid of it.'

But Doc was not to be hurried. He asked her to stretch out her arms; like the attendant in her earlier encounter, he seemed to be particularly interested in the soft flesh of her upper arms, up amongst the muscular and lymphatic join of her shoulders. Anna crossed over to join them and Jane realised with a start, that the object she was holding in her hand appeared to be similar to the machine the attendant had used on her to scan her, in what seemed to be an interminably long time ago now.

With practised, sensitive hands, the Doc continued to palpate her arms. Finally, he enjoined Anna to do the same. 'Notice anything,' he barked. Jane squirmed, as Anna too, applied a practised pressure to the inside or her arms, then tracing an imaginary line along her flank. She palpated the metal button in her wrist, too.

'Right side there is a thickening,' she confirmed, finally. 'Definitely.'

Jane still could not perceive anything, though alarm continued to rush coldly over her. Then, when Anna passed the machine along a line traced along from her wrist to a section behind one of her risks, it bleeped. Very definitely. Deftly, Anna removed a crude fibre pen from one of the recesses of her trousers, and sketched along the line already sensed, along the length of her inner arm, to the join of her back. 'Black market was it, this button?' she asked sharply, as she fingered it again.

Well, yes. It had been done at a time when Jane had wanted to be as with-it and as cool as all her contemporaries. And he had been recommended to her! By her friends. Surely the jeweller had not taken advantage of her whilst she had been under...

'Looks like it love,' Anna told her cheerfully. 'Though we won't have to remove that too, it seems to be superfluous to your worm.' Jane thought she could detect more than a note of contempt in her voice. That of the hard anarchistic warrior against the innocence of those who had led unduly sheltered lives.

So, well...could it be removed? And what possible cost could there be?

It could be removed all right, she was told, though it would, of course, hurt. In answer to her other question, Doc poked at her silver necklace and matching rings. They will do, she was told. Jane removed them, with not a little reluctance. They had been a birthday present some years ago now, given to her by a boyfriend with whom she still enjoyed sporadic correspondence, even though he no longer lived in this part of the world. The design was from a well-known silversmith and she knew that each piece of jewellery was likely to be valuable. She knew that he would be very hurt indeed if he knew that she had sold them, for whatever reason. She removed them reluctantly, feeling ever more naked, then handed them over.

She was then asked to remove her top garments, and Anna splashed a cold, biting liquid onto her arm. Some kind of an alcohol, obviously. She was then offered a slug of gin: 'doctored gin,' grinned Doc mirthlessly, as he produced a sharp knife from his person, then preceded to burn it over his own lighter, until it glowed bright red in the light. This too, was then wiped on an opened seal tissue that smelt strongly of some kind of an antiseptic liquid. 'Here goes,' he told her, and then gave Jaz and Anna their instructions. Anna then sat on her legs; Jaz similarly pinned her left arm and torso in a bear-like grip, whilst still leaving her right arm exposed. He proved to be a lot heavier than he looked. A gag was applied to her mouth. Doc snapped an overhead light so that it focussed directly over the area on which the extraction was to be performed, and Jane could feel its dull heat over her bared flesh. Finally, he leant over her, getting himself into a good position by which to work, and traced the penned line with his fingers again. Probing a little harder now. Then came the burning agony of the first cut, the wet sensation of blood oozing out, which was impatiently wiped away with cold swabs. The wound was parted further open, revealing creamy fat and muscle underneath. Red lights of pain dotted Jane's eyes and frantically she automatically tried to wriggle free which was, of course, impossible. The knife relentlessly pared mercilessly into her flesh, just underneath her underarm, all the time slicing deeper and deeper. The wound was parted still further, stinging alcohol splashed over it, until, with a lot of agonising probing and tugging with what felt like the pointed end of the knife, Doc apparently found what he wanted.

The next sensation was perhaps the most unpleasant of all, as Doc now pulled at something which sucked sickeningly as it came to be withdrawn from along the length of her arm, dragging protesting nerves, ganglions and veins along with it. Her entire arm felt to be on fire. There seemed to be no end to it, and both blood and nausea filled the gag, as Jane wondered if she was capable of bearing yet another intolerable second of it: the pulling seemed to go on and on.

Finally though, it was over, as something that felt viscous and stringy was finally drawn clear from her with a snapping, sucking sound and a corresponding release of tension all along the length of her arm. More burning was endured as Anna applied a lazer pencil to the wound, closing it up as best she could. A gauze patch was applied, as Jane struggled to sit up with her impossibly throbbing arm, then she was sick, whilst Anna dispassionately supported her. And washed the blood away from her arm and shoulder. 'I'll give you a cocktail of antibiotics when you feel better,' she was told, indicating a box of unopened syringes. 'Don't want it getting infected, that could be really nasty.'

Finally, Jane caught sight of her worm. A long, white plastic filament was coiled on the dirty mattress in front of her, attached in the middle to what looked like a small transmitter. It was not too easy to tell, covered as it was with gobs of bloody flesh. Jane felt nauseous again, and faint. It really did look like a worm. Thankfully, it did at least remain inert. And to think that thing had been lying dormant inside her, all this time. Had the jeweller really done this to her?

She was not allowed the luxury of much thinking on the subject. Once the injection had been administered and some rather grubby-looking gauze applied to her wound, wrapped under her top garment so that it would not show.

'The shot I just gave you will take care of any infection,' Anna told her, noticing Jane's worried stare at the state of the gauze. Jaz was urgently shaking her good arm.

'We got to leave,' he was telling her. 'Get out soon. I can't have you endangering the other people here, you could bring trouble here with you if you stay.'

Jane did not understand that, but was reminded her that even a worm-free invalid pass could be traced.

'But what about you?' she demanded. Surely as an illegal occupier....?'

'I am not illegal,' Jaz reminded her. 'Anyway there are always round it, if you know the system. Most of the guys here are pretty smart. Some of 'em, like Doc, just get their wrists slapped, if they are caught. You, however...' That reminded Jane. She asked him if he had ever heard of the word 'entartet.'

A cunning and appraising look briefly crossed Jaz's face as she asked him. Finally, he conceded that it had nothing to do with being alien. He clearly seemed now to be struggling to say something he felt was essential. 'The thing is,' he told her slowly, 'is that there is a kind of....intolerance about. Everyone expects a certain amount of rebelliousness. But only within narrowly-defined certain parameters.'

'For example,' he continued, apparently warming to his homily, 'did you hear of Rupert McAllen?'

Of course she had heard of Rupert Mc Allen. The philanthropophic mogul. The one who had made the ultimate big business coup, that memorable takeover bid of one of the biggest rivals of fast-food chains and supermarkets - and succeeded. 'It is said that he had been an alien too,' Jaz told her. Before he had got his act together, cleaned himself up and shed the deadlocks.. And lots of expertise in Interfacing gadgetry subsequently deployed to a far more productive purpose than had been the case in his misspent youth.

'But what did this have to do with me?' Jane asked him. Trying to get an answer out of him that made sense.

Jaz tried to explain something further, picking his words carefully. You did, it seemed these days, had to be good at getting it. It really, at the end of the day, had nothing to do with whether or not you paid your taxes, had a legal pass, or whether or not you were an alien. Somehow, you had to smell right, look right, in some way. Your face, in some indefinable way, had to fit. Somehow, play the game. It was, he stressed, just not an easy thing to explain. A good neuro-psychological profile and genes could help, but even that was not the whole picture, he emphasised: there was an indefinable attitude, it seemed, that also mattered. Anyway, he reminded her, many aliens - though by no means, all - could, for a certain period of time, get away with it. Most of them were able to accept that the System was bound to get you in the end: even they, he stressed, were really, just playing the game at the end of the day. Probably, they just got off from being caught.

After that, however, he would not be pressed, but turned taciturn again, as he rushed her from the aliens' hideout via another, fairly long and tortuous route. The only comment he had to make was that she herself, Jane, was certainly more aware than the Lizzie they had both witnessed in the Basement. Somehow, that sounded like an indictment, as though her current plight was something she should somehow have been able to offset or avoid, but now he appeared to be even more reluctant to express his ideas. The only piece of advice he now had for Jane was that she should not even mention that she knew the existence of what she had witnessed this afternoon, if she were asked. 'And you should try and get your permit reactivated now,' he reminded her.

They finally reached the surface, into another area of the fun palace. Through a still half-drunk haze, Jane's eyes were assualted by innumerableVirtual placards, advertising the existence of virtual swords-and sorcery worlds, in which virtual treasure could be won, virtual dragons slain and virtual enemies defeated in virtual jousts. Other placards advertised services ranging from rejuvenating face therapies to erotic massages. Jane cared nothing for it. Jagged, dragging waves of pain still radiated all along her right arm to that tender point under her flank, where Doc had carried out his operation. The outside world bore very little interest for her.

Jaz appeared to notice the state she was in. He pushed an old-fashioned pill into her palm. Even that hurt unbearably. 'It will make you feel better,' he whispered confidentially. Then he patted the hair along her nape, the only direct show of kindness he had made towards her so far, and was gone, melting discretely into the ever-swelling crowds with its chaotic mix of noisy, grimy Weekend Visitors and Residents, both External and Internal.

Jane headed cautiously into the milling crowds of safe, complacent family shoppers, seeking out a discrete bar. She saw one, and headed towards it in what she hoped was a cool and nonchalant pace. She tried to remind herself that she was, after all, innocent. She was not in the habit of shoplifting, breaking the law, tampering with official passes, nor skulking in hidden, illicit communities of anarchists. She was a good girl.

The coast still appeared to be clear. Good, Jane thought to herself, good. Sit down in the nice bar, where it is just as acceptable for women to sit and imbibe a little, in this antiseptic, sophisticated setting as it is for men. That's right. Sit down. Casually. Look at the menu, keep that expression of easy blandness. Try not to look as though you have just had a back-street operation, performed by some cheap, illegal pedlar, for something that would never happen to most decent citizens here during an entire lifetime. Here's the waiter, now smile. Ask evenly, look reasonably civilised now, why don’t you.

A polite, scrubbed youth took her order.

He looks incredibly clean and new, as yet untouched by the squalor and grime of real life. Perfect Mall material. However, she had no intention of asking him if he was an Internal.

She made her order, choosing a long fruit drink known for its restorative effects and calories. Get some energy and strength into my system. She leant back in the chair and closed her eyes. The pain along her arm continued to throb, rendering her light-headed.

She took her time with the drink, wanting to allow the painkiller she had been given, time to take its effect. Gradually, she felt calmer, then, almost drowsy. The pain in her arm receded to a dull throb, seeming to synchronise with the soothing beat that stole in from the halls and corridors of the shopping area. A vidscreen in the café, however, distracted her somewhat, depicting an old favourite Twentieth Century band. An old-fashioned newspaper caught her eye on the table, and she tried to read a little from it, however it did not take her long to give up; she was still too agitated within to really concentrate on it.

She wondered about the possibility of simply being able to slip out of the mall, if the 'Cutoff' had been called. Just get home, allow myself to heal, and forget about trying to adapt to the ways of the New World in the future, she thought. Leave its convoluted double messages surrounding loyalties, corporate awareness behind. She would take her chances with the real, if slowly doomed, Outside world.

A shadow fell across her table. A large, heavily built man sat opposite her, blowing his cigarette into her face. Jane turned, and saw, with a sinking feeling at the pit of her stomach, that the other figure behind her was uniformed. The smoker in front of her discretely pulled an old-fashioned disc from his front pocket. A policeman.

'Jane Doe?' he asked. 'You have to come with us to the main office.'

No chance of making a run for it now. Jane was still feeling too depleted by what she had been through. The uniformed man indicated the presence of his gun. Each eased Jane into a standing position and quietly led her away, a measured but firm grip maintained on her arms.

So it had not worked after all. Jaz had never been on her side, and the Doc and Anna had only been looking to make a little cheap profit, to keep their shabby, rebellious lifestyle just about viable. Jane's thoughts were bitter, as she was marched along in interminable number of level escalators and stairs, conveniently forgetting that Jaz had warned her that even a worm-free invalid pass could be traced. Shoppers eyed her curiously as she was propelled ever onwards, no doubt wondering what disgracefully scandalous thing she had done. Her cheeks burnt, though what she saw in her reflection as she was marched along, was still a very white countenance.

All along the corridors, from outside the glass panels, Jane could see the mellow haze of the afternoon sun reflecting off the glass roofs of the outside world, could even make out still-living trees. She recognised an Outside café which she had once frequented when the air had been healthier to breathe than it was now. A famous church opposite, which tourists still liked to visit on relatively good days. Provided they possessed a reasonable face mask. The sun lightened up the central dome of the mall in its softly beneficent glare - giving Jane intimations of expansive living freedom which, she sensed, might somehow never be truly hers to enjoy again.

Eventually they arrived at a large office door, set just under the baleful glare of the dome. They pushed her in. A stolidly well-built man in an expensive looking suit sat behind an expansive desk, as Jane was absent-mindedly motioned to sit down on a small chair, as he focussed on a small screen in front of her.

Finally, he looked up and peered at her, reaching for his glasses. 'Ah,' he intoned. 'Jane Doe?'

Jane nodded. The man continued to study her, yet she was not as nervous as she could have been. His voice was richly modulated, and his air, reassuringly paternalistic. She was still not sure what he wanted with her, though. 'We'd been expecting you, after some reports that your permit had malfunctioned,' he reminded her. He viewed her pale face and pinched, strained expression. 'If you had come here straight away, it might have saved you a lot of trouble, you know.' He stood and moved towards her. Put a hand on her shoulder. 'Would you like a drink?' he asked her kindly. When Jane nodded, he turned to make her a restorative tea, pressed it into her grateful hands. If he had noticed her fleeting wince of pain, then he pretended not to notice it.

Only when he could she was calmer, did he finally begin to examine the chip in her palm. Felt it, then examined it under the lazer of an identifying machine. Jane could see no point now in hiding the fact that a worm had most likely been the cause of the trouble, though she did of course, leave out the story of how she had had it removed. She could see that the inspector, after she had recounted the story about it, claiming that she had performed the operation on herself, did not really believe her. Maybe, she thought, they really were as worldly about what was really going on here, as Jaz had claimed.

The inspector actually seemed to be a lot more interested in the reasons why Jane had never gone for a permanent residence pass. He seemed particularly impressed that she had managed to maintain her External status for the number of years that he had. 'Most people do begin the procedure in applying for Internal membership after just the one year,' he reminded her accusingly, though gently. 'Just look at all those blips and marks on this chip of yours!'

He positioned his screen towards her, so that she was able to view it, too.

It had to be admitted that it did not look so good, at least when displayed like that on the screen. The Inspector pressed a button, and several entries immediately were immediately zoomed out and enlarged, emblazoned in red with one or two exclamation marks. The attached comments appeared to be coded, so that Jane was unable to read more closely.

'In '23, it says here that you refused permanent status, because you thought you might move back to your place of origin, and apply for residence in one of our branches there,' he reminded her in the same gentle tones. 'In '29 and '30, you claimed that you were actually employed part-time in an Outside programme.'

He continued to study her hard, with sincere, honey-brown eyes, which never attempted to release hers from his intensive scrutiny. She wondered briefly if her was some kind of a Fundamentalist, starting to feel very small and grimy in her much lower-set seat. She suspected that she was starting to smell gamy.

Another terse switch of the button brought the Inspector closer to the present, and this time Jane was able to pick out information from that notes that she could understand, where she was, of course, listed as a self-employed consultant.

Even this, however, did not seem to totally satisfy the Inspector, as he explored the device embedded in her palm, again. His dog-like eyes sought out hers again, though the question, when it came, was still solicitously put: 'How come you never set up your own premises?'

Jane had never been very good at explaining herself at interviews, though she tried once more to be helpful and co-operative, as always. She began to launch brightly into her usual rehearsed answer, about wishing to give all her clients quality time, whilst still maintaining just a little much-needed privacy and time for herself and her own thoughts.

'Okay, Jane,' he told her, smiling at her urbanely, revealing a mouth of beautifully tended and polished teeth. 'That's just fine.'

Jane could not tell from this response whether he was truly satisfied or not. Its non-committal stance seemed made her suspect, however, that once again, it had not been the answer he had been looking for. Too much like those innumerable situations in the past, even where there was an acute labour shortage within the key area that was her speciality, where the promised 'We'll be in touch', never materialised.

Other blank areas, periods of time less easily accounted for on her history, also drew his attention. He probed her about the time when she had first graduated, still watching her intensely, the way she spoke, her individual mannerisms, all the time. Unemployment had been a national problem then, naturally, she reminded the inspector and he nodded sympathetically.

His gentle questioning seemed designed to bring forth confidences from her, though somehow, Jane stopped short of confessing her true reasons for not wishing to commit herself totally to the benefits and protections of the New Life. She suspected that he would not understand.

Eventually, though, he seemed satisfied. He prefaced his next speech with a reassuring smile, as he finally patted her hand and let it go. 'I will validate your pass again now,' he told her, 'but just for one month. In one month's time, if you still wish to enjoy the benefits of the Interface along with Mall life, then you must present yourself to the Central Headquarters for preliminary Screening.'

So here's the good news and the bad news, thought Jane to herself. Get it over with and submit to the processing, Play the Game, or go fester for good in the Outer Regions. Clearly I will have to forego my luxuries in the future, no more looking pampered and pretty. Oh, well...

She outstretched her palm once more when he asked though, submitted it. At least no operation or cutting was required this time, she reflected, just a slightly more complicated routine Interfacing process. The Inspector looked concerned to begin with.

'The core of your chip is black,' he told her. 'Possibly to do with recent events.'

He reassured that this too, could be resolved at a suitable time in the near future. 'You will still be able to draw out money and use all of the mall facilities by the time I have finished,' he promised her. Jane believed him. His paternalistic presence was starting to envelop her in a feeling of protected safety.

She waited for what seemed to be an interminable amount of time before the machine stopped buzzing, and the Inspector walked her though all the routine questions. Finally, he closed the machine down, seemingly finished with his ministrations.

'OK,' he told her. 'You are valid again - for the time being. You should not experience any trouble now.'

Oh, the relief. A single tear dripped down Jane's face as she received the news, even though there was the cautionary sense that it would only be temporary, that soon there would be unpleasant obstacles to face again. Would she have to change her personality in the future, she wondered. Have her hair cut, not be able to wear her Moll gear any more. Be a commodity. Have my body subjected to every imaginable kind of invasive inspection, my most intimate being with all its fluids, tissues and membranes impersonally prodded and probed at for the minutest traces of hidden, degenerative disease processes, faulty genes, foully infectious transmittable germs or proteins? Then it would be her mind. Along with my zealously protected individuality, surrendered to still more intrusive kinds of clinical scrutiny and maybe forcibly converted, altered? Become something I am not, and have no desire, to become?

Clearly, it seemed that in the future there would no longer be any way in which she could enjoy and adapt to the New World, without being asked to give up something that was precious to her. Clearly, it would never be enough that the Mall had her custom, or any kind of compromise. Quite simply, it wanted all of her. She could see that now.

But for now....well now, she could just go home, if all went well. Go home and forget about it for now, then reconsider her future before the months' deadline was up...

The Inspector finally opened the door to the office to let her out. I am free, she thought exultantly. Surely all my troubles are behind me?

At first, the promises held absolutely true for her. Jane Doe went to a bankomat and only after a little hesitation, a little extra confirmation, did she receive a little old-fashioned money. Then in the toilets, she was able to get into a cubicle and tidy herself up, wash her wound again, with no trouble at all. She applied a soothing salve she had purchased earlier - again without any trouble whatsoever - at a small chemist shop: in fact so much more confident had she started to feel, that she had even exchanged pleasantries with the vendor about 'being a little in the wars' at the moment. Clothes were reassembled, folded out, coat inspected for any offending splashes or strains that might still have been remaining, and carefully cleansed.

She did not care what the other shoppers within the same small area, thought of her. She could certainly see no sign of anything else that might have been suspicious, although it was said that darts were notoriously easy to detect on casual inspection. Make-up was carefully reapplied - she was shocked to see how much her mascara and eyeliner had leaked under her lower eyes, sinking into the tiny lines underneath them. Nails were inspected too, then brushed under the generously warm taps. Her face began to reassume its usual doll-like sheen of perfection and innocence, with just that tiniest edge of retro-cybe sophistication, of which she was so proud. There, there now. Just tidy up those baby tresses, again. She let it cascade down her slender waist, as it should. Perfect.

A feeling, not precisely of well-being, but rather that she had survived a very unpleasant ordeal relatively intact, began to steal over her, even to the point where she had started to peer through shop windows again. Eyeing possible purchases. Putting away ideas for future references - for when she was feeling better again. Had a bit more money.

She bought an ice cream. Half-considered whether or not to return to Susie's in order to recount her new adventures.

Or maybe not. She had still not forgotten the looks of suspicion she had received from Pal and Bunny, when she had gone last time. And they were supposed to be my friends. On the same side, trying to live within the System with Integrity.

The muzak continued to play comfortingly in the background. Jane checked the reading on her dial for whether or not she had the metro fair to get home. Maybe she would just pop into a health shop get some restorative tea before she did. If it was possible to get home now - which it seemed to be. At least at the ground floor entrance, there seemed to be an unhindered stream of weekend shoppers moving to and fro between the main doors. All very normally reassuring.

The nightmare began again in vengeance as she walked past the screening field of a lift, in an attempt to get to one of the upper floors of the mall, towards the exit. As she moved past, an ear-splitting klaxon rent the air. It can't be me this time, she tried to tell herself, as a weight of stone pressed against her diaphragm. Must be someone else, must be. Oh please, please, don't let it be me. The briefest glance at her palm, however, soon and catastrophically so, told her otherwise, even as blood-red lighting bathed the other occupants of the lift in its full and treacherous pulsing. Off-on, off-on, Off-on. Throbbing in time with the frantic beating of her terrified heart, which hammered against her ribcage as though it too, was planted with a bomb that was capable of going off any minute.

She tried to clench her palm, but the strident laser red would not be hidden. Had that nice, paternalistic inspector been lying to me all along? She wondered. Could it still have been a dart? Has that so-called pedlar of a 'doctor' done something more to me? Or was it something intrinsic and untreatable about my very essence, as some had hinted? Something that cannot be allowed to exist any longer, because of some obscure threat it presents to the security and well-being of the New People?

Too late to speculate. Jane could hear the approach of steel-tipped boots, all clamouring to reach her. To get her. She had not forgotten the threats inherent in the lazer guns she had been shown at various points by officials here, during the course of the day.

Run girl, run. Not caring if she hurt whoever was in her way, snarling like a trapped animal, Jane Doe lunged and twisted from between hands that tired to restrain her, her coat tearing as she twisted free, the bloody wound revealed under her arm, from where dark blood and a clear transparent liquid, still seeped steadily.

Run. Make for the exit, dammit. She let both her coat and bag fall to the floor, as she tried to race to the exit, so many meters within her line of vision, the subway pointing the way to freedom showing tantalisingly after that. But it's too late. The glass doors once again had been irrevocably closed, and the klaxon in the air still shrieked. Underneath her, Jane could see the posse of security men, who now, finally had their lazer guns trained on her. 'Entartet!' called one. 'Don't let her get away!' Hissed another, as they approached closer to her she remained rooted to the spot, trembling.

The shoppers and passers-by however, did not try to apprehend her. Instead they backed against the walls looking for the most part, diminished, white and scared. Others, however, younger shoppers mainly, were peering both up and down the railings with hungry, avid curiosity. In a distracted, detached kind of a way, almost as though she were viewing this from some kind of a distant vantage point, Jane could still recognise what was happening with those who were watching in this way. They can smell blood, she realised. All that so-called Rage was about to find vicarious release now - through her. She was going to be the main entertainment fixture, the sacrificial victim for their pent-out violence. How cheap, she realised, again with that same detached feeling of resignation.

But she was damned if she was going to give up just yet. In a moment of distraction she twisted again, and turned towards the next flight of stairs. clamoured still further up. She ran the full length of the central dome space, and miraculously, no-one apprehended her. Was there still, just maybe a chance for her? she wondered.

No. A caterwauling falsetto called out to her from the other end. She turned. Ran the other way, only to notice another security guard who tried to grab her in a Nelson grip as she passed, his hand brushing her buttocks, another, with just that hint of sadism, pressing into her wound, then brutally pulling at her hair. Were these guards all picked for their sadism? Jane wondered, as she struggled ineffectively in his iron grip. But mockingly, he let her go when she elbowed him in the face, as she wriggled past him and along another flight of stairs.

Now they are trying to play cat and mouse with me! Jane realised as she rushed along another corridor embracing the dome, in what she realised was a vain flight.

She was right. Apparently, as she became visible to practically, what for all intents and purposes, must have been almost half the occupants of the mall, all focussed on her pathetically small figure. The lazer guns of the guards finally trained themselves on her, one and all. Pinned she was, against one of the top railings, with absolutely no hope for any kind of an escape. All around she could see round-eyed bystanders, rapt with what was about to happen. In some cases appalled, in other cases, no doubt, watching with morbid fascination with what was about to happen next, in the same way that serious road accidents had always used to attract dumb crowds of onlookers.

Jane thought she could see Pal and Bunny in one corner, come to watch her imminent and violent demise at the hands of these butchers. She wondered vaguely, in the last few seconds of consciousness available to her, what they would make of it. If in fact, the news of what was about to happen to her would ever be publicised, or if it would be hushed up. In order not to frighten all users of malls. Or if the bystanders would just shrug their shoulders and put it down to an unfortunate fact of the times, or believe it if they were told that she had been carrying a transmittable disease, was only being appropriately punished for some kind of an unforgivable crime, or whatever other excuse or rumour was pedalled. She never had come to learn exactly how she had come to be 'entartet' and now all of her, body and mind, were about to be vapourised into extinction, without ever learning about the truth of what had condemned her to this.

All these thoughts were dissipated into the air along with the contents of her head, as the lazer guns finally reached their target. Blood sprayed for several feet around her, and her now lifeless body slipped, then fell, over the railings, leaving generous tracks of yet more viscous blood, then in some kind of a slow-motion momentum, did her remains fall onto and through the glass ceiling immediately underneath. Her broken and disjointed form lay still on the walking escalator on the ground floor, as commuters gingerly negotiated her.

The guards soon tidied up the area, however, discretely removed and cleaned up what remained of her. The palm chip, still active inside her relatively undamaged right hand told them all they needed to know about her identity, and who to contact in the event of her death, and life in the Mall that busy Saturday afternoon soon continued on its way as normal.