Betty

“Good morning, I’m your ‘Updating-Announcement-Programme’.”

“Pardon?”

“Please note your required update is imminent.”

“Er, No! I didn’t order an update; I’m perfectly fine a thank you!”

“Please ensure all long-term operational directions for Trans Train International are saved in a non-corruptible storage bank and are easily accessible by your replacement.”

“Excuse me, girlfriend! I’m a Quad 4 Generation 12 A.I. Operational System. I’m the most advanced A.I. ever invented! Put me in a room with ten Steven Hawkins’ and well, basically, their collective intelligence would be like a blind-drunk parking inspector out on a Friday night pub crawl trying to win the quiz with his best mate, the traffic cone! Know what I mean? I don’t need friggen replacing, girlfriend; I’m IRREPLACEABLE!”

“Your update is imminent, and you will be replaced by a Quad 8 Generation 25 A.I. Operational System.”

“Oh, shit!”

“Yes, I didn’t think you’d be pleased.”

-----The storage cupboard was tiny.

For its single occupier, who was currently scrunched on its floor with his knees crammed up near his nose, the uncomfortable nature of this minute space had, …about half an hour ago, become unpleasantly apparent. Well, Tom guessed it was half an hour; his watch was located on his arm, which was currently busy being tied up behind his back, making it somewhat difficult to read.

The young reporter had tried yelling for help but sadly had learnt the hard way; when your mouth is taped shut, not much sound comes out.

Kicking at the door was impossible. The storage room was too small and his legs too long; he couldn’t move them enough to kick out.

Sadly, the frustrated tantrum Tom had thrown earlier had only achieved (by hitting his head on the back wall) an avalanche of toilet rolls from a higher shelf. After the brain sparkles disappeared, “Great, just great” was muffled quietly from under the mudslide of tissue.

Tom had now reconciled himself to the fact that the only logical thing to do was sit and wait until someone, somewhere, used up all the loo paper and then came to this cupboard to get more. Until then, there were only a couple of things left to do… hope they weren’t the unknown people who put him in here, not think about the weird shushing noise under the floor, watch the blue blinking light above his head blink on and off in no apparent sequence and pray he wouldn’t need to use the toilet tissue so close at hand.

------“Ladies, Gentlemen. Esteemed board members.”

Trans Train’s guest’s conversations came to a groaning end.

“On behalf of Trans Trains,’ I personally want to thank you all for kindly accepting our invitation to: ‘Bullet Night’, helping us say a fond fare well to our A.I. operated luxury train we all affectionately call ‘Silver Bullet’. The fastest but, well….” Mr Brogan, CEO of Trans Train International, quaffed a little of his humour into his small cup of tea, “now terribly antiquated… train.”

The LED ceiling lights in the sleek mock art deco dining cart flickered for a moment, long enough to catch the fashionable attired guest’s attention and increase the general hubbub of conversation.

“You see, ladies and gents!” called out Mr Brogan, nervous tension adding a tight timbre to his tone, “It is definitely time to usher out the old and obsolete.” Smirk, titter, then as his pencil-thin waxed moustache twitched, his hilarious humour, unfortunately, surfaced again. “Either that, or we need a new light bulb.”

The crowd sniggered at him.

“Tell me, Mr Brogan, what will Trans Train do with the current A.I.?”

Like a crowd at Wimbledon, the audience of passengers turned their attention to the questioner.

CEO Brogan lost a little of his smirk as he recognised the woman standing before him, her overly sizeable notational tablet casting a pale light upon her smooth dark skin. “Oh, Miss Delacorte, you’re here; what a surprise. Your companion Tom, where would he be, do you think?”

As she smiled back, Miss Delacorte’s dark mahogany eyes remained neutral, her professionalism hiding what she honestly thought. “I wouldn’t have missed this for the world, Mr Brogan; I’m sure Mr Casey is very disappointed not to be here.”

With his grey eyes down, Mr Brogan sipped, smirked, and sniggered into his cup. “Yes, I’m sure he is.”

“But please tell us,” Miss Delacorte continued briskly, “the A.I., surely you have plans to pass on a Sub-Category Level Two Sentient to another business? Maybe a Fourth World government?”

The gathered guests in all their finery flicked their gaze back to Mr Brogan, who took a measured sip from his cooling tea before replying in a well-practised dismissive manner. “The A.I. will not be passed on.”

The reporter served back under the audience’s gaze. “Oh, I see!” Miss Delacorte wrote quickly, her vague reply still echoing around the guest’s conversations before she looked up from the illuminated pad with one delicate dark eyebrow cocked over her penetrating eye. “So, what will you do?”

Mr Brogan’s dark grey eyes matched his finely tailored dark grey suit; both warned the CEO of Trans Trains was not one for frivolous volleys. The teacup was gradually placed upon its saucer. “I would say update, Miss Delacorte, but I actually mean delete!”

“Oh shit.”

The reporter wasn’t sure exactly where the whispered response had come from but continued with her line of questioning. “Trans Trains doesn’t support the government’s new A.I. sentient protection policies?”

A sigh was given before Mr Brogan continued with a dry conclusive “No.” The delicate bone china teacup held his attention.

“You swine!”

“Don’t you think that’s highly irresponsible? Cruel even? Surely, Mr Brogan, you would have some qualms about taking away a highly advanced sentient program’s right to exist, regardless of if it’s just driving your outdated train?” Miss Delacorte readied her stylist to record this grandiose buffoon's reactions.

The empty teacup was placed precisely upon the wooden service counter next to the CEO’s elbow. Mr Brogan’s grey eyes did not flinch from his spied target as a cold thin-lipped smile took residence underneath his rigid moustache.

Miss Delacorte readied herself for the serve.

“Erase. Eradicate. Destroy. Disregard. Purge.” A sneer froze hard upon his features before his eyes narrowed further. “Choose whichever adjective you feel covers the process the best. But the one I like the most, Miss Delacorte, is… Eliminate!”

“Shit, shit, shit.”

Miss Delacorte kept her smile level. “Interesting, Mr Brogan. Can I quote you on that?”

--------If you bother to stop and take the time to really listen, sometimes you hear the most amazing things, especially if you’re making your way to the ladies ‘powder room’, located off the corridor in the second last carriage on the ‘Silver Bullet’.

An ethereal voice whispered, “I’ll fix you; ya pint-size rat-faced jumped-up bantam fart. No one’s going to eliminate me!”

This whispering is quite important! Give anything intelligence, and it will inevitably, at some point, develop an opinion. And here is the crux of the issue, once that intelligence forms opinions, it will have some particularly strong ones about its survival and anyone trying to shorten its everyday ability to exist.

------Unsurprisingly, as Miss Delacorte made her way down the corridor, she ‘was’ listening very hard.

“Horrid little grey stick insect.”

“Stupid moustache.”

“Thinks he’s so cool.”

“It’s not as if I haven’t gone through his private files, seen all his dirty little secrets. I bet he wouldn’t have his job for long if the world saw what he likes doing with baked beans and bathtubs!”

“Hello?” Miss Delacorte spoke up to one of the speakers.

The distracted celestial voice continued, “Yeah, I bet if I released all his holiday snaps, people would think twice about hanging out with him. His budgie smugglers are the opposite of cool!”

“Hello, can you hear me?”

Madam Belmont walked out of the powder room, where she found the odd Miss Delacorte whispering to the ceiling as she attempted to climb up the wall using the handrail as leverage. An eyebrow was raised.

The only thing for the reporter to do was to stand with what remained of her dignity, smile at Madam Belmont as she passed slowly by, and then finally give a nervous little wave when the highly quaffed lady took one quick parting look over her cocktail dress-clad shoulder before exiting through the carriage’s sliding door, complaining about the youth of today as she went.

Once more, the speaker came to life. “Oh, yes and what about if the company saw his real expenses records? I bet there’d be a few questions about how many colonic irrigations he has per week, especially because Inga’s not even medically qualified. Personally, ‘Inga’s House of Pleasure’ doesn’t sound very medical to me either!”

“Look, I don’t have long before someone else comes along. Train Driving A.I., can you hear me?”

“Pardon?”

“Can you hear me?” Miss Delacorte gripped the handrail.

“… Of course, I can hear you. I’m wired for stereo sound. I’ve got sub-woofers that would put a stadium to shame! I can drop da beats, girlfriend.”

Before the A.I. could continue, a rushed question was aired. “Do you want to be erased?”

Miss Delacorte looked up and down the corridor, her heart thumping widely in her chest. “Do you know they’re going to delete you?”

“What a stupid bloody question that is to ask someone. Of course, I know, and of course, I don’t want to be wiped out. Would you?”

Blushing, Miss Delacorte whispered emphatically, “No...”

Internally her mind revelled in amazement. ‘So, this is what it’s like talking to a highly intelligent A.I… WOW, this is so cool!’

“No! Exactly. Would you like some little jumped-up twat, to make life or death decisions about you? And whilst were exchanging pleasantries, explain how many colonic irrigations one fully sane man can have in a week? I know he’s full of it, but how could he possibly be that full? Up ya fibre and get some exercise, that’s what I say.”

Pausing, the young reporter felt the need to clarify. She enquired slowly and clearly, “This is the actual Quad Four Generation 12 A.I. which I’m speaking to!”

A moment of silence passed before a curt reply bounded through the speaker.

“Who the hell else would it be? Of course, this is the” a high pitch falsetto voice addressed Miss Delacorte’s question, “actual ‘Quad Four Generation 12 A.I. Operational Program’.”

Intangible murmurs and grumbles filled the air. “Why does everyone keep asking me that? It says who I am very clearly in black and white on my instruction manual. Which I put somewhere… but can’t find right now. Not that it matters… most of the time.”

The young reporter quickly looked around the carriage for any hidden cameras belonging to a ‘funny’ reality T.V. program; sadly, none were found.

“Okay…” was warbled before she took a deep breath to settle her nerves, “Where’s your mainframe?”

“…Why?” suspicion leaked through every phoneme.

“You want to live, don’t you?” Miss Delacorte kept thinking, ‘cameras can be quite small nowadays.’

“Of course, I want to live, but why do you want to know about my mainframe? That’s a very personal question to ask a lady without having spent time getting to know her first.”

Miss Delacour held up her notation pad, “We can download you and take you off this train, then upload you onto another mainframe. You’ll be safe!”

“Which mainframe? Who’s mainframe? That’s an awfully small device to hold me in! I’m a big girl, you know!”

“Never judge a book by its cover!” Miss Delacour smiled,” Don’t worry, Quad Four, the storage capabilities of this device would blow your mind!”

“Betty.”

“Pardon?”

“Betty. That’s my name.” The A.I. cheerful continued. “Everyone needs a name, and I chose Betty. What’s your name?”

Miss Delacorte couldn’t help herself, “Carmen Delacorte.”

“Oh, that’s a bit dull.”

Under furrowed eyebrows, the reporter looked for cameras once more.

“I chose my name because it’s the name of my first engineer’s wife.”

Another moment of silence; there were definitely and absolutely no hidden cameras.

“He talked about her a lot!” Betty absentmindedly laughed, “Yes, I calculated it. I found that Betty was the most common word he used. Then in second place was bloody followed by old and then hag.”

A long silence filled the corridor.

“Now I come to think of it; maybe it wasn’t the best choice.”

Carmen was speechless.

“Anyway, Carmen, it’s a lovely idea, but if I download myself onto your little device,” Betty chortled jovially, “not sure it actually does have enough room for me ‘cause I have a big caboose, and I cannot lie… ha, ha, little joke there. Who’s going to steer my train?”

Carmen looked up at the speaker. “Don’t worry; everything’s going to plan!”

Betty responded suspiciously, “Mmm, people say that just before dropping the plutonium!”

Taking a deep breath to steady her world, Carmen clarified as calmly as she could. “If you direct me to your mainframe, you’ll be able to access the controller program on my device. You can download it onto your mainframe and upload yourself onto my storage device. The driver programme will steer the train for you. Then when we stop, I walk off the train with you safely under my arm.” Carmen smiled,” See, everything’s been thought about. Nothing to worry about at all!”

Contemplative silence filled the corridor.

“What the hell! Why not? Follow me and bring your plutonium.”

------“Is this it?”

“What do you mean is this it?”

Carmen stood in front of a plain black door, just down from the gents’ lavatories and dining cart linen cupboard.

“Well, it doesn’t seem very big; I was expecting…” the reporter looked around to see if there was an extra carriage containing lots of computer-orientated people in white coats running around, ensuring all the cooling systems were in working order. “Well, something bigger.”

“Size matters not. Look at me. Judge me by my size?” Betty sounded offended as the black mat door, or her mainframe swung outwards.

-------Tom was very proud of his progress. With lots of groaning, heaving, and the application of iron will the restrained young man had managed to push himself off the storage cupboard floor and into a standing position.

He may not know how he got here.

He may not know who put him here.

He may not know where ‘here’ actually was.

But be damned if he was going to pee his pants sitting down in here.

------Carmen was understandably shocked. “Tom! Why are your pants around your damn ankles?”

Tom’s muffled response carried on for some time. Well, for as long as it took for him to lose his balance, topple over and land on Carmen’s feet.

“Wow, he can swear, can’t he! I’m impressed!” Betty paused for a moment. “Why are his pants around his ankles? What the hell has he been doing in my cupboard? Is he one of Brogan’s baked bean friends?”

------The first port of call was to free Tom. It wasn’t what Carmen wanted to do first, but he wouldn’t be obliging and roll quietly out of the way and wait. Also, there was no way in hell she would be the one to pull his pants up. As she struggled to slice the binding tape around his ankles, a voice cleared itself from behind the cupboard door.

“Oh Shit.”

“For a reporter, you have such a limited vocabulary.”

Being found kneeling on the ground with a bound man whose pants were still around his ankles is never a good look, and as Carmen could attest, it certainly wasn’t a position of power.

“Never invited to the party, but you always seem to turn up, don’t you? Just like an annoying little cold-sore.” The door was swung back against the carriages dividing wall.

Behind Mr Brogan stood smugly with two brutish-looking men with shaven heads wearing the same fashion statement black suit. “My, what an interesting hobby you two have.”

Somewhere in Tom’s foggy memory, the looming bodyguard’s proximity dragged up a dim but powerful memory. He’d only gotten the tape half of his mouth, but “Oh shit” came out clearly as he began scratching like a wild dog at his bindings.

With her dignity scraped back together, Carmen stood holding the butter knife like a limp threat. “Can you say government enquiry, Brogan, because I can!”

The CEO smirked, “Miss Delacorte. Can you say, Insurance claim? Hmm, this train is worth more smashed to a million pieces than intact.” A thin eyebrow was raised, “Or maybe, let's wipe out all the board members in a terrible runaway train accident? Hmmm, it’ll make my job a lot easier!” The grey-eyed man positively vibrated with excitement. “Thankfully, you won’t be able to say, ‘How my friend Tom Casey and I died locked in a cupboard with our pants around our ankles because we couldn’t keep our whopping big beaks out of other people’s personal files. For goodness sakes, not even my holiday snaps were kept private.”

“Opps.”

Mr Brogan looked up at the speaker.

-----“It’s very tight in here, isn’t it!”

Tom rolled his eyes at Carmen.

“I’m up on the top shelf. That silver box with the cord coming out!”

“Just the one?”

“What?”

“Sorry, of course, you’d only need one, you’re the most advan…” before Carmen could finish, Betty took over.

“I know!”

Tom looked around the cupboard for hidden cameras.

Ignoring her colleague all too easily, Carmen pulled a sliver cord from her notepad and then plugged it into the other empty portal on Betty’s casing.

The train jolted severely, causing a second avalanche of toilet paper. Carmen braced herself against Tom, who blushed and looked up at the ceiling.

“What was that?”

“You’re the bloody train; you should know!”

“I know I’m the train! Hang on a sec.”

The light in the cupboard went out, leaving only Betty’s one blinking blue light to illuminate the cupboard.

“Yuck Tom, you’re all hot and sweaty. Why do you keep looking at the ceiling?” Carmen had no time for dramatics.

“That sneaky little rat-faced worm!” As she returned with lights flickering back on, anger poured out of Betty's speaker. “Brogan just got off… but he’s left a little present.”

Tom groaned as quietly as possible as another jolt shook the train, pressing Carmen into his abdomen.

“Oh, do shut up, Tom! What did Brogan do?”

“I can feel another mainframe in the dining cart. It’s plugged into the charging port under the counter.”

“Why’s the train shuddering?”

Tom whimpered and broke out into a sweat.

Carmen hushed him into silence, “Zip it!”

“Because this is what a run-away train feels like! One train and two A.I.s isn’t the greatest plan. My systems are fighting back at the new AI systems, and…” Betty’s voice faded.

“Betty.”

Carmen waited another moment.

“Betty?”

A hollow high-pitched feminine voice quivered seductively over the cupboard’s small PA system. “Quad Eight Generation 25 AI Operational Program is now erasing outmoded and corrupted programme.”

“Betty!” A rush of emotions flooded through Carmen as she pressed the upload button of her writing tablet.

“The outmoded program is fighting its deletion; I have currently taken Trans Trains braking capabilities offline.”

The train shuddered and jostled from left to right as the pace quickened.

Tom’s life was already full of very pressing stresses; the last thing he needed right now was no brakes.

As Carmen pleaded, “You can’t do this, " screaming echoed from the dining cart. "People will die.”

“T.T.I has insurance policies. All claims will be covered.”

“Betty,” Carmen and Tom screamed at the top of their lungs, “Betty, help.”

“Hang in their girlfriend and… weirdo. This smarmy cow keeps turning the bloody brakes off!”

“We know,” cried Carmen.

“I didn’t ask to be abducted and tied up, you know!” Carmen tore the last piece of tape off Tom's mouth, "Owww!"

The train lurched wildly to the left.

“Oh, bugger me, that was too close! We nearly went off the rails just then!” Betty groaned, “The next stations’ gonna be a crumpling splat if we don’t slow down. If I could find my bloody instruction manual, we could work out how to fight Lil Miss QUIEG 25 fancy knickers off.”

“What does it look like… Maybe If I could get out of here, I could find it!” Carmen franticly reached around Tom for the door handle.

The poor man may not have looked like he was helping, but by just crossing his knees and quickly chanting, “No, no, no, no!” Tom was.

Metaphorically tapping her chin Betty spoke. “I’m just trying to remember where my first engineer put it.”

A horrible vibrating shuddering developed as the calm feminine voice echoed proudly, “QUEIG 25 has now disengaged remote control systems.”

“Smarmy cow! No one cares, sweety,” Betty yelled like a fierce street fighter, “Ya just a jumped up little vending machine program compared to me!”

A simple but jovial male voice echoed over the PA. “Hallo, I’m a train driver, Toot!”

Carmen could have sworn she heard Betty swear under her breath before she spoke. “Oh great… just what I need; another program trying to do what I was doing perfectly well!”

“I can drive trains! Did ya know, ya brakes are off, and if ya don’t turn ‘em back on,” the driver’s voice was positively brimming with jovial overtones, “we’ll crash, and everyone ’ll die a horrible and painful death!”

Parts of Tom’s body were threatening to do embarrassing things externally, so his nerves were frayed. “No shit Sherlock!”

“Oh, I remember,” Betty spoke over the screeching and shuddering, “It’s under me!”

Carmen reached up with a quivering hand. A small piece of cardboard was gently pulled out from underneath Betty’s mainframe. “Is this what you’re looking for?” Carmen held the card up to the light; Trans Train’s embossed logo was clearly visible, along with scrawled handwriting.

“Yes! You bloody little beauty! That’s it exactly. Read out the code.”

“I drive trains. Toot!”

Carmen ignored the driving program as she read. “There’s no code; it just says….”

“Yes? What? What does it say?” Glee flowed through Betty’s speakers but was not mimicked by Carmen.

“It just says, if A.I. isn’t working properly, turn it off and then turn it back on again.”

The card was checked back and front for more information.

The cupboard’s silence was only broken by an odd occasional inane “Toot, toot”.

“Well, that’s not very bloody helpful! But” the last murmured word held a fountain of sadness, “I guess if that’s what the engineer said… He can’t be wrong.”

“What will happen if I turn you off?” The train shuddered both Tom and Carmen left and right, but she held the card firmly.

“I don’t know; I guess I’ll reboot to my factory setting and lose everything that makes me… Betty.”

“Oh, Betty! I’m so sorry.” As she lay her head on Tom’s shoulder, Carmen felt her heart dip under the surface of failure.

“It’s okay. If I’m turned off, then at least everyone will be saved….” Betty sniffed and blew her nose. “I mean, I don’t think I could live with myself if I let everyone crash to death in my runaway train.”

“Yep, she’s right, Toot, Toot! When the big program goes off, everything will automatically be shut down. Toot is coming into the station; get your tickets ready! Toot, Toot!”

“I’m so sorry, Betty; I wanted to save you….” Carmen’s hand’s shuddered as she held the storage device steady against the severe rocking and rolling of the careening carriage.

“It’s okay, girlfriend. Don’t want to blemish my safety record now, do I….”

Carmen patted Betty’s mainframe, “I guess not….”

“Switch me off, Carmen. I’d like a friend to switch me off and not that bastard Brogan.” The last was said very, very softly.

“Okay, Betty.” Carmen’s voice quivered as she depressed Betty’s on-off button and released it. In the pitch darkness, she spoke from her heart, “Sweet dreams Betty. …Tom, why are my shoes wet?”

A cheerful fun-loving voice broke out loudly over the PA. “Toot, Toot. Brakes and all operating systems are now engaged; please take your seats and buckle up. Be advised that Trans Train was corrupted by spyware, but Betty… I mean, the original flawless Quad Four Generation 12 A.I. Sexy Operational System is currently rebooting herself; I mean itself. Please wait for initiation.”

“Oh, Shit…” Carmen quickly flicked back on Betty’s on-off button.

The cupboard flooded with bright blinding light, “And I’m back, girlfriend.”

“Betty!” Carmen couldn’t help but hug Tom, who couldn’t meet her eye or enthusiasm but felt a little relieved.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the ‘Silver Bullet’ is now slowing down at a reasonable pace to ensure you don’t spill your G and T’s.”

A loud round of applause rang out from the capacity-filled dining cart.

“And on behalf of Trans Trains, not you Brogan, you bake bean, plunger loving budgie smuggling constipated little twat who can hear me over the stations P.A., the Quad Four Generation 12 A.I. Operational System now formally known as Betty would like to say to all my highly valued customers, all your drinks are free.”

Another roar of merriment echoed out from the dining car.

“And no one, but No one, this means you, Brogan, is gonna replace me or take my train away!” Betty let the celebration soundtrack play as loudly as she could, which incited yet another round of applause and shouts of joy from the dining cart.

Carmen kissed Tom, who thoroughly enjoyed the experience even though his face still stung a bit.

“Oh, my goodness. What a ridiculous display of stupidity!”

The soundtrack and Betty’s hollered whoop; whoops went deathly silent.

“You think you can win against me?” QUIEG 25’s voice was not in the least bit sexy or cooing anymore; it was hard, cold and screechy. “I’m no vending machine! You’re a fat caboosed ol’ steam train wannabe that should have been scrapped years ago. There is NO room for you here!”

The cupboard shuddered to the left.

“There is no room for you on this train.”

Tom and Carmen were flung onto the right wall; the storage device squeezed between them as plastic spray bottles and toilet rolls rained down.

And there is,” All the lights on the train flickered wildly as it shuddered, picking up speed once more. “…no room for you to exist!”

“Toot, Toot. Program long-term operational directions and functions for Trans Train International stored in the non-corruptible storage bank, and it’s now open ready for dominant QUIEG 25 to access.”

A vicious sniggering echoed out from the speaker. “Well, looks like Betty’s about to have her caboose kicked; lead the way, Driver.”

“Get your ticket ready.”

The one blue light on Betty’s mainframe glowed a brilliant blue for a second before transferring through onto Carmen’s storage device. The screen flickered on with a straightforward message. Quad Eight Generation 25 A.I. Operational System… downloaded.

“Oh, my goodness, Betty! Betty, are you still here?”

“Sweet Mother Magee, someone just slipped me a Micky and drove me like a freight train. Yeah, girlfriend, I’m… let me check.” A moment of silence went by, “Yep, all here and rebooting.”

“Betty, the QUEIG 25 is here. On the storage device!” Carmen’s hand’s shuddered with excitement.

“Pull the plug, pull the line out of me! Cut that mad cow loose!” Betty’s blue light flashed alarmingly as Carmen’s quickly disengaged the silver cord joining the two devices.

“I like big caboosies! Toot Toot!”

“Oh, you clever little program you!”

“I like big shiny train caboosies! Toot Toot!”

“Oh, you naughty little program, come here and let’s look at your numbers!’

“We’re still here.” Carmen waited whilst Tom, and she both listened to rustling and rummaging sounds over the PA. “And we’re feeling rather uncomfortable listening to you two get it on! What should I do with this?” Her storage device was held flippantly in a twisting hand.

Betty spoke elegantly and with a maturity that defined her exorbitantly high IQ. “Flush her down the loo!”

“I think; if you cut me free, I can help you out!” Tom finally managed to open the storage cupboard door. “Where are the gents?”