 
Operation Red

Carol Thomas

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2012 Carol Thomas

ISBN 9780473223403

SCIS 1581608

Smashwords Edition License Statement

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Table of Contents

Prologue

24 July 2029

Being thoughtful

19 June 2029

A great idea

30 June 2029

Recruitment

5 July 2029

Sabotage

24 July 2029

CyberCity responds

25 July 2029

Operation Red

28 July 2029

# Prologue

# 24 July 2029

Ariel rode past the target and into Simcard Park. He parked the tri-bike and walked casually back. The building was an early 21st century concrete and glass rectangle. Unremarkable then; less so now.

He turned off the street, onto a path made from recycled tyres. His destination was now obvious to anyone watching. He knelt before the building's front door, pretending to adjust his skywalkers and trying to catch any movement on the other side of the tinted glass. The interior was lit, but he could see very little, until a shadowy figure materialised. It yanked the door open and a hand shot out, grabbing Ariel's jacket and dragging him in.

'Urgh!'

'Quick, get in! Out of the light!'

The two figures lurched away from the closing door and sped through the lobby.

'This way!'

They bolted past the reception desk, down a gloomy corridor towards a bright exit sign. The leader ducked sideways into another corridor, then another. Finally, in a large, dimly lit room, filled with silent workstations, the leader stopped and exhaled loudly. A third figure joined them.

'Excellent,' Ariel muttered. 'Excellent.'

He gripped the arms of his conspirators.

'Lead on. It's up to us. We are going to fix CyberCity good and proper.'

# Being thoughtful

# 19 June 2029

Ariel stared out the window of the classroom, silently counting all the shades of green he could see in tree and grass and bush and hillside.

7, 8.

Subtle differences. Sun and shadow on the same hill creating blue greens and yellow greens and brown greens. Natural greens, not reverse processed.

The Digital Delights course had ceased to delight Ariel very early in the school year. The teacher droned on.

'... pixels, and a breakthrough in photography. Digital imaging caused the steady disappearance of film cameras beginning in the late 1990s. Since then, pixels ... '

Even the novelty of having a real teacher in the classroom didn't appeal to Ariel today. Teachers appeared once a fortnight, burbled for a lesson, then passed students back to their usual cyberlessons. Despite the promise of creating photographic delights and experimentation with digital technology, the lessons were always a dull and predictable homage to the wonders of digital photography.

Ariel turned his attention back to admiring green and the more interesting task of light and colour research.

9, 10, 11. Jade

Tiny differences. The grey green, celadon.

'Light was no longer important in photography,' said the teacher.

12. Wrong.

'Pixels and dpi became important. Light could be created. Artificial light could be made to look like daylight. Images could be taken in any light, then manipulated to show daylight, neon, solarisation, tungsten lighting—whatever was wanted. Any image could be manipulated. Anyone could be a photographer.'

Anyone could take photographs. 13. Dark green on the shaded parts of the hill, almost black.

'Digital technology made everyone an artist, and photographers could do wonderful things such as... making waterfalls that dropped hundreds of feet from a spaceship into a desert, or making the sky pink instead of blue.'

Ariel snorted. He mouthed 'bosh' to his best friend sitting next to him. John was frowning, staring at the teacher, and Ariel was surprised when he spoke.

'Excuse me, Mr Silver'.

The teacher paused his prepared spiel and looked blankly at John.

'The sky actually was pink. When the Earth was created, you know the Big Bang and all that, the sky was pink,' John said. 'For millions of years. It turned blue later.'

'When the world became green,' added Ariel in support of his friend. 'Photosynthesis.'

'Yesss. Thank you, John. And Ariel. Do you have a question?'

'Um, I'm not sure, sir. It was just an observation.'

'Oh,' said the teacher, perking up. 'Just an observation. A pixellated moment. Well, stay on track then, there's a good lad.'

He dismissed John with a shoulder turn.

'Now, pink skies, hmm, where was I? Oh yes. I have some images here to demonstrate the artistry of digital imagery.'

The teacher caressed the control panel of the classroom's Photomegastore machine. The students fixed their stares on their desk computers.

Ariel returned to the natural world beyond the classroom. The pale grey clouds had disappeared, and bright sunlight was changing the palette on the hill.

14. 15

Bright lime. Nice.

'But...' John was still hanging in there.

Ariel turned to his friend, grinning. He winked encouragement.

'Mr Silver, what's the point of creating an imaginary pink sky? Why would you want to do that?'

The teacher's eyes narrowed ever so slightly. He took a breath.

'It's just an example, John,' he answered. 'To show what can be done with digital imaging. To show how wonderful technology is.'

Wrong.

'But, why? Isn't that just playing with techno? Well, so what? What's it for? It doesn't create anything worthwhile.'

'It's artistically worthwhile, John.'

'Maybe,' John muttered, unconvinced. 'I don't think it's artistic. I just feel that's it's a waste of time. It's just fiddling. How is that art? I couldn't give a bosh about a lot of 'art' created by 'photographers'. The exhibition we looked at last lesson was crap.'

John looked around the class for support.

'Crap p p p ,' someone giggled like a gun.

'Fiddlin'.

'John—', began the teacher.

'Hey, Mr Silver,' said Ariel. 'If you took your pink sky, and put it into a science book, to illustrate Earth's early days, then it would be useful rather than whimsical, eh? Not artistic, but scientific.'

'Ariel—'

'Fiddlin'!'

'Yeah,' John said wearily. 'Haha. Fiddling with technology, playing with it to keep doofuses like you amused.'

He swung in his chair and faced the heckler.

'Yeah, pink skies are great. Brilliant. Especially when you've got half a brain. Isn't technology wonderful?'

'So wonderful indeed,' said the teacher, happily misunderstanding, 'that film ceased to exist! It was completely overtaken by new and exciting digital technology.'

'Wrong,' said Ariel.

Damn.

'Ariel?' asked the slightly confused teacher. 'You said?'

'Just a thought that slipped out, sir,' said Ariel. 'You can still buy film. I think the police still use film. The exposure and development can't be altered like digital film can. A crime scene needs to be photographed exactly as it is, no techno tampering allowed.'

'Hmm.'

'For use in court.'

'Yes,' said the teacher. 'I see. Thank you, Ariel.' He jabbed a button on the Photomegastore machine and an image of a chainsaw on the moon appeared on the students' computers.

'Focus please, class. By the early 21st century, technological advances—'

'Mr Silver? Sorry. I...' John faltered.

The teacher gulped and looked forlornly at John. He paused the Photomegastore control.

Spit it out, mate.

'I know it's a wonderful thing, being able to manipulate images and do lots of amazing photographic things. This class wouldn't exist without digital photography, heh heh.' John looked around, but his classmates were fixated on the paused image in front of them.

'But, is it art?' said Ariel.

John nodded.

'Look at that, as I see you all are,' said John.

He pointed to the paused image.

'What I'm trying to say is—so what? Who cares about a chainsaw on the moon? Not me. It's the biggest load of—'.

'Or me,' added Ariel.

The teacher's eyes grew wide.

John smiled at his friend.

'The real world is amazing,' said John. 'Real colours, real shapes. We never look at them in this class.'

He looked around for support but found only Ariel nodding agreement. John batted on.

'Look. We take photos, then we change them. Digital trickery. All we ever do is fiddle around with images and muck up shapes and colours, but we don't create anything really good. Maybe that's what I mean—oh man, I don't know what I mean,' he finished lamely.

'I'd like to run up that hill and take photos of trees,' said Ariel. 'Then display them without any help from Photomegastore.'

Several students gasped.

'They'd be rubbish,' someone offered.

'Maybe.'

'Now, now,' said the teacher. 'My word, you're thoughtful today, John. Most unusual in a student.'

He restarted the show.

John slunk in his chair and frowned straight ahead.

'Now, where were we? Technological advances in the Photomegastore forerunner, Photoshop, led to...'

'I hope not,' muttered Ariel.

John caught the soft words and shrugged.

They walked to lunch in silence. A stray weesoccer ball rolled across their path and John picked it up and flicked it back onto the school's artificial turf without a glance at the players. They left the field's edge and strolled up to their elevated lunch spot. Both boys were already into their lunch packets.

'Don't know what's the matter with me,' John said suddenly. He pulled a handful of leaves from a tree, shredded them and dropped the shreds on Ariel's head as they walked.

'Hey—'

'Going on about—what? I don't even know. And did you see how everyone just shut up and let me hang myself?'

'I tried to help,' said Ariel.

'Mmm.'

'I did. I don't think they got what you're on about. Silver didn't get it.'

'What am I on about, Ariel?'

'Questioning the system,' Ariel answered promptly.

The hill got steeper.

'What you're on about, John, is us thinking technology is so fabulously brilliantly wonderful that, that...that's all there is to being alive.'

'I am?'

'Yeah,' said Ariel. 'Technology sucks our human spirit, we're slaves to it. It makes our art. It gives us food. And, as we can see in our fellow students, it is taking away our words. Our humanity is getting crushed under pink skies.'

'Sounds like that old film,' John said idly.

'1984? Kara and I watched that last week.'

'No, the time travelling one with the bad androids, where computers take control of the world and crush people under their metal feet. Is Kara coming up for lunch?'

'Terminator,' stated Ariel. 'Yeh, she had to go to the office first, something about paperwork.'

'Terminator, yeah,' said John. 'The end of people.'

'People think that film is a comedy now, 'cause our androids are totally tame. Hahaha. How could that ever happen? A conscious machine that wants to terminate us? That's impossible. Aargh! People are so dopey, I can't stand it.'

'That film is scary. The technoggins say we were almost there just before the Great Crash. Almost at the point where computers could think.'

'You and I, John, we see that computers could take over. They've already made us soft in the head, cause they run CyberCity. They're really in charge. Not having to do much, not having to think, that's making people stoooooooooopid.'

'Well...'

'If machines start to think, we're history. They'll squash us like bugs.'

'We're top of the food chain, Ariel.'

'Like bugs. Crushed. Gone.'

'It's not that bad.'

'Bosh,' said Ariel darkly. 'It could easily be that bad. And you know it.'

'I don't,' said John firmly. 'You're so dramatic. All I meant was that I wanted to do a bit of real photography, and I don't want to look at any more crappy images of chainsaws on the moon etcetera. Swap you that ham sandwich for a cheese one. I was raving in class, I don't know why.'

'That wasn't raving. You wanted to know something. But, my friend, questioning is not encouraged, it's so unusual that you looked like you were raving.'

'Sounded like raving.'

'Smelt like raving.'

'It was raving!' laughed John as he poked Ariel in the chest. 'And you know it.'

'Yeah, all right,' said Ariel.

'Now, what about that ham sandwich?'

'It's not real ham,' said Ariel, handing it over. 'It's hamster.'

'As if it would be real ham. I don't know anyone rich enough to have real ham in their lunch,' said John. He started on Ariel's sandwich. 'Cheese hasn't changed much in thousands of years. Mum says I really liked it when I was little, but yuk, I don't now. Blahck! She hasn't caught up with me yet.'

'Cheese is one of the few real foods left,' said Ariel.

Kara appeared at the top of the hill and sprawled beside them.

'That's true, Ariel, thank you genetic engineering. Hi, John.'

'Cheese is still made from cows,' she said. 'It hasn't been created in a lab. And what is real anyway?' she said.

John rolled his eyes.

'Not ham,' Ariel said gravely. 'Not any more.'

'And not photography, 'said Kara. 'I heard you were thoughtful in Digital Delights, John. Good on you. There should be more of that.'

'He's a ruminator,' said Ariel.

'Speaking of thoughtful, I've made a decision and I have an announcement. I'm off! Out! Away!'

'What?!'

Ariel coughed on his sandwich.

'I've got the school leaving papers in my bag, signed and sealed. Friday's my last day with you guys. I start work at the First School on Monday. You ok, Ariel?'

'We thought you were joking,' Ariel breathed, still coughing up bread. 'You're really leaving school?'

'Yep,' said Kara. 'All arranged.'

'And you're going to work for Timbo? That man is—'

'A clown, yes, I realise that John.'

'Wow,' said Ariel. 'You're really doing it.'

Kara nodded happily.

'I'm so bored here, Ariel. You know that. John speaks out with a thought and it's all over school by lunchtime. What kind of pathetic environment is that?'

'Pathetic,' agreed John.

'I mean, all our friends are nice enough, but, y'know, they're just...nice. You two are the only ones here who have a personality and an engaged brain,' Kara said.

'Thanks,' said John. 'Hey. You did say "engaged", didn't you Kara?'

'I'll miss seeing you guys every day. And lunch at our special lookout spot,' Kara laughed. 'We've been on the edge of school for a while.'

'Oooh, a pun,' said John.

'We'll see each other though, won't we?' said Kara. 'Lots.'

She looked at Ariel.

'You're still really pinged off about the school canning music classes, aren't you?' Ariel said.

'Yeah! Aren't you?' said Kara. 'How can a school that specialises in media studies not do music? When they talk about multimedia and mixed media now, it means microchips with everything. Lessons here are becoming all technology and business. Training for a soporific workplace. I don't want that. I want music and art—what culture exists without them?'

'Yeah, but to leave? When you're so close to graduating?'

Kara put her arm around Ariel.

'Impetuous,' she agreed. 'But I feel really good about it, Ariel. Really good.'

'Inuit,' stated John. 'Do Inuits have music and art? All they've got is ice and holes in ice to fish through and seals and igloos.'

'He's still thoughtful,' said Ariel glumly.

Kara was thoughtful too.

'They probably sing. And have stories handed down. Stories are culture. Culture equals human. Be positive, John. You know I'm right. People without music and art aren't living. This school is churning out button pushers. Techno servants, changing blue skies to pink for the hell of it.'

'Touché, Kara,' John said, laughing.

'You know I'm right too, don't you Ariel?'

'Yeah, I guess I do.'

'That's why John's a ruminator,' said Kara. 'This school is bosh.'

'I know that too, but I don't have the guts to do anything about it,' said Ariel sadly.

'You've got guts,' Kara said supportively. 'You're working up to a statement.'

'But you've got there already,' said Ariel. 'You're actually doing something.'

Kara nodded.

'Leaving.'

She leaned back on the grass and her smile got bigger. She sat up and put her arms around the boys.

'Last week, when Timbo came up to school and talked to us in careers about working with little kids, I thought—great! A light went on, Ariel. Little kids have energy, they've got creativity, and they still have crazy ideas and crazy thoughts. Hell, they're thoughtful every day. So I went and saw Timbo at his First School, and asked him for a job.'

'And you start next week,' said Ariel.

'Impetuous,' said Kara.

'Timbo didn't mention music and art though, did he?' said John.

He frowned as he tried to remember the clown's careers talk.

'The First School has got to do that stuff doesn't it?' answered Kara enthusiastically. 'I'm going to help them draw and paint and bang on drums. I'm going to be a nurturer of young minds, a—.'

'You're going to be an apprentice clown,' said John dryly.

'That too,' added Kara. 'It'll be great!'

Ariel laughed and said: 'I'm warming to it. But, I'll miss you. It's the end of school.'

He squeezed Kara's knee, then blushed and dropped his arm quickly. Kara grinned. She gave him a sudden peck on the cheek.

'Thanks, Ariel. You guys will always be my friends, but I really need to get out of here.'

'Why is Timbo a clown anyway?' asked John, searching in Ariel's bag for the apple he knew was there.

'Dunno. He's a genius with computer games,' said Ariel. 'I loaded his latest—Red Herring on Mars—yesterday. It's a very devious and tricky game. One of his best creations yet. Why does a tech genius wear that crazy outfit?'

'He bought The Counting Clown First School on a whim,' said Kara. 'Then he thought it would be fun to dress up as one. And he never got changed.'

'Ugh.'

'Not literally, John. He's an oddball, which I kind of like. He's got personality. It's going to be great working there.'

'That's because you're an only child,' said John knowledgeably. 'Little kids are grots, Kara.'

'I expect mud pies and sand pits and paint stains and will be disappointed if I don't get 'em,' said Kara.

'Noisy grots,' added John.

'Yeah,' enthused Kara. 'Noise equals energy. Aah, the challenge. The nurturing of a future President. Come and visit us and you can be Thoughtful Mr John.'

'Love to,' said John insincerely. 'But, gosh, I can't. I too have a job.'

'Wha! When?' demanded Ariel. 'When did you get a job?'

'Yesterday. It's only after school, don't panic. You won't have to eat your lunch by yourself. I wanted to tell you when we up here together.'

'That's great,' said Kara, slapping him on the back. 'Where's it at?'

'An office downtown,' answered John. 'Cleaning. Nothing to get excited about, but it'll get me a bit of pocket cash. Every weeknight from seven to nine. It was my ref from your mother that got me the job, Ariel. They had lots of applicants. They might need more cleaners, want me to ask?'

'No, thanks,' said Ariel. 'Ms President keeps me gainfully employed at home. I'm the number one filer of CyberCity's excess presidential papers and paraphernalia.'

'I went for a cleaning job there, too,' said John, pointing over the school grounds to the new solar power station in Volt Town. 'That was before Ms President gave me a reference, so I didn't get it. But the pay was off anyway. About two thirds of what I'll get in the office. They're cost cutting.'

The teenagers gazed idly at the huge solar complex in the near distance. Acres of dull panels faced the noon sun.

'What a lemon. It's still not working properly,' stated Kara. 'It was on comp-vision last week. That station should power 80% of CyberCity, but it's doing nothing like that. The solar scientists do lots of calculations, but they can't figure out why it's not performing.'

'No,' mused Ariel. 'Mum's getting very tetchy about it. It's costing CyberCity megabucks every week. It's actually going backwards from full operating capacity.'

'Was it ever there?' asked John.

'Days one, two and three,' answered Ariel. 'I remember mum coming home on Friday, after it had been open a week. She thought it was a glitch. Then the weeks went by and the power went backwards, and the glitch grew into a monster megaglitch.'

'They need someone thoughtful, John,' said Kara. 'To figure it out.'

# A great idea

# 30 June 2029

Ariel put two huge mugs of hot chocolate on the table and offered Kara a plate of biscuits.

'Biotech banana choc chip,' he said ceremoniously. 'Freshly made in honour of your visit.'

'You're a honey. Do you ever wonder what a real banana tasted like?' asked Kara thoughtfully as she munched a biscuit.

'Yeah,' said Ariel. 'But what's gone is gone.'

'Hmmm. Nice bikkies though. Isn't chemistry wonderful?'

Ariel shrugged, noncommittal.

'It has its uses,' he said as he flopped beside her on the couch. 'Now, tell me about life at the First School.'

'It's different,' Kara sighed. 'It's harder than I thought it would be.'

'Because they're grots, like John said?'

'No, I wish they were,' said Kara slowly. 'They're clean and quiet. It's hard because they're so duhhhhhlll. We don't get dirty and we do everything neat and tidy and right. It's like being trapped in a sloth colony.'

'They're only little.'

'Ariel, we don't have conversations, questions, activities. I can't get them interested in anything hands-on creative. They don't talk. But, put them in front of the Story Wall and they're off, tapatapataptap on the keyboard.'

'What's the Story Wall?'

'Oh, happiness!' said Kara sourly. 'The Story Wall is what we do all day, every day.'

She gave another long sigh before continuing.

'All the First Schools have them. An entire wall of linked screens and keyboards, and the kids write and do their arithmetickle and a little bit of art there. The art is just colouring in.'

'Nasty.'

'Yeah, it is. When they log in—first thing every day—the Story Wall tells them what to do. They're there all day. I call it the drip feed.'

'But they write stories on them? They can't be that brain dead then.'

'Yeah...no, they really are,' said Kara firmly. 'The name is a joke. It was called a Story Wall when it was invented, about ten years ago I think, but the only stories they write are ones where the story is already written and the kids just move the bits around and maybe type in a few words. They're awful, so boring to read.'

'On Sunday we went to the beach,' Ariel intoned. 'It was wet. And sandy. I had a swim. It was cold but we had sandwiches. Mum wrapped me in a towel. That was nice. We went home. The end.'

'Noooo,' Kara groaned. 'Actually, that's too good. There's an emotional response and a long word in there.'

The teenagers got the giggles at the expense of the First Schoolers, until Ariel went into a hacking cough. Kara ran for a glass of water.

'Thanks,' breathed Ariel after a drink. 'Sucked in biscuit crumbs.'

'You're picking up John's bad habits,' said Kara. 'At least you didn't snort them out your nose.'

'He's a funny guy. Sometimes on purpose, too.'

He took a lingering sip of thick hot chocolate.

'But, back to the First School. What do you do all day, if they're shuffling words around on the Story Wall?'

'Watch. Wander. Add water to the salad powder and make lunch. Think devious thoughts about taking them all outside to watch a butterfly emerge from a chrysalis.'

'That's not what you had in mind when you quit school,' said Ariel.

'Mmm,' said Kara. She took another biscuit, dunked it and popped the whole thing in her mouth. 'No. It's not what I thought we'd be doing. They don't like suggestions and they don't like change. They're little automatons. They're plugged in to the Story Wall and tuned out to the world, Ariel.'

'Connected and not connected,' suggested Ariel. 'It's a bit sad isn't it?'

'Yes, it is,' agreed Kara solemnly.

They sat in silence for a while, thinking about that, not hearing the front door open and close quietly.

'What's Timbo like to work for?' Ariel asked.

Kara pointed at her mouth as a few crumbs escaped.

'Oh, he's alright,' she said finally. 'He just goes along with what the kids want to do. Between him and them, it's not a stimulating place. Timbo spends most of the day working on his computer game business. That's his real job. He's a technoggin and—oh hi Ms President!'

Ms President put her briefcase down and grinned at the two teenagers on the couch.

'What on earth is a technoggin?' she asked.

Ariel jumped up and kissed his mother's cheek.

'Someone who knows a bucket load of techno stuff,' he said.

'And that's all they ever think about,' said Kara. 'No other part of the brain or the body gets a workout.'

'Yeah,' added Ariel. 'A technological genius in a creative and social void.'

'Oh,' replied Ms President. 'A nerd.'

Ariel helped her take off her jacket.

'My word but it's good to be home. And it's lovely to see you, Kara. I'd like to hear all about the new job. Are you staying? Have you two had any dinner?'

'Not yet,' said Ariel. 'It's simmering. We waited for you.'

Ms President squeezed her son's shoulder affectionately.

'You'll never be a technoggin, darling,' she murmured. Then she kissed the top of his head. 'Cause there's a lot happening in there. You're a whiz kid with computers and an artiste in the kitchen. I wish to blazes I had a ministry of multiskilled Ariels and Karas.'

Ms President threw her arms dramatically in the air and swept out of the room.

'Oh, the things I could do then!' she shouted from the kitchen.

'She's a good Pres,' said Kara, smiling.

'A tad theatrical,' chuckled Ariel. 'But she does work with some real dills. I don't understand how she does it. And why she doesn't just change the things that she sees needs changing.'

'Like passing a law to make people think.'

'Banning Story Walls.'

'Making people talk to each other.'

'Bring back the banana!'

The teenagers laughed and carried on talking.

In the kitchen, Ms President smiled as she quietly stirred Ariel's biotech chicken curry.

Ariel woke early the next day, determined to knock off his kilohms assignment. He was twisting the final wire into place when Ms President appeared in the kitchen.

'Aha, so we're finally getting that house robot you've been promising to build me.'

Ms President peered closely at the odd thing on the kitchen table.

'Does it do something interesting?'

'No, it's fairly useless actually,' said Ariel. 'It creates silences. It's a Digital Dilemmas assignment. And it is done.'

'Most impressive,' said Ms President. 'I'd love to take it downtown and create a few silences. I've got an afternoon cabinet meeting—I feel weak thinking about it. I'm sure Kara gets more sense out of her four year olds than I do out of my ministers sometimes. The drivel!

'I could make you some coffee,' Ariel offered.

'Good for you. A weak one, now that coffee is more expensive than gold, I feel one should self-ration. Then, could you whip up a gadget that creates constructive dialogue? I'd love to go into work with one of those.'

'Hmm, that is, of course, a much more difficult thing than creating silences. My fee would be astronomical.'

Ariel switched the coffee tower on.

'Breakfast?' he asked.

'No, darling, just coffee. I'll get something later.'

'Make sure you do.'

Ms President blew him a raspberry.

'Are you up for a bit of paid work this morning? There's about an hour's worth of e-filing on my desk. Would you be a sweetie and despatch it for me?'

'What else would I do on a Saturday morning, Mum?'

'I pay very well,' said Ms President. 'And I'm having a little trouble with the program you wrote to do the job. Tom told me that the e-filing was extraordinarily exasperating yesterday. I need the expert to have a look. Besides, you haven't mentioned doing anything else this morning.'

'I don't tell you everything I do, as you know,' replied Ariel in fine good humour now his project was done. 'It just so happens I have nothing on until this afternoon. And you do pay well, so, okay.'

'So much for paying in love and kisses,' mused Ms President. She glanced out the kitchen window. 'Aha. Here's my ride. He's a little early, but that could be a good thing. I have a lot to do. Can I have my coffee to go? I wouldn't want to waste it.'

'You've got one of the new limos,' Ariel said, looking out the window and waving at the chauffer. 'That is an awesome colour.'

'I had to twist arms to get it, too. People love black and brown and grey and white, but I said no to that. Give me hot pink or I'll place my order elsewhere.'

'You didn't want the driverless version?'

Ms President stuffed presidential paraphernalia into a satchel behind him.

'Heavens, no. Our silly Media Minister went to CloudCity last week by accident. Boris couldn't get the car to stop. Mind you, he insists on singing directions to the car, not speaking them; one of my less astute ministers, and that is saying something. No, I like to be driven; then I can sink back in the seat and just let the mind wander, freestyle.'

'Nice.'

'Very.'

'Is it hydrogen or solar?' Ariel asked. 'Your new limo?'

'Solar,' said Ms President. 'Now, if we could just get the solar plant producing all that it promised, CyberCity would be leading the cities in solar sciences. It wouldn't matter so much that the world's oil reserves officially ran out last November. But don't get me started on those sunny scientist nincompoops. I might have to get them cycling on old fashioned bicycle generators if they don't come up with a solution soon.'

She picked up her coffee and headed for the door.

'Must away; lots of red tape to shuffle around. Bye darling, I'll be back mid afternoon, so see you tonight. And thanks for the help with the e-filing.'

Ariel sorted his program's problem with a deft application of logic, and he was several documents into the e-filing task when he opened a folder of memos and saw: Urgent and Confidential. A few of these papers had accidentally slipped into the e-filing before today, and Ariel had thought them fairly ordinary; not intriguing at all. He usually had a quick look, more out of habit than curiosity, and he had read a few lines before he was even aware that he was reading _... this may cause system failure across the entire CyberCity_ _network_.

Ariel picked the paper off the desk and read that line again. He began reading from the top of the memo.

CyberCity's network (BeigeNet) has several weak links. This memo deals with the one that is not yet fully documented and understood: the Microsoft 2ZB computer (see appendix 1). The 2ZBs are small and old—they pre-date the Great Crash—yet their limited infocapacityness contains a curious feature that is not widely known (see appendix 2). A computer hacker who recognises and accesses this feature could use a 2ZB to infiltrate Biz-Drive. Once into Biz-Drive, a hacker could use the 2ZB to compromise BeigeNet and cause havoc in CyberCity. Havoc!

Biz-Drive linked businesses through their intranets and ran commerce in the city. It was a sprawling system, huge and powerful, that had replicated like a virus as CyberCity rebuilt itself after the Great Crash. Ariel flicked through the pages of the memo, cross checking the appendixes. As he read the very detailed information about the 2ZB and its potential threat to CyberCity, he began to see beyond the words.

If Biz-Drive is compromised, BeigeNet operations will become unpredictable. It will be a disaster if the network fails. Workers will have to take urgent and unusual measures, such as manual operations. Workers are trained to work within Biz-Drive; they are not trained to do any work by themselves. They are certainly not trained to respond to network failure, and, if this happens, CyberCity will be full of clueless, workless workers. Initiative, critical thinking and creative responses are rare in the modern workplace. Who knows what will happen in CyberCity if BeigeNet fails? People would have to think and business would suffer.

Very interesting. Ariel sat back in his chair and had a thought. It was closely followed by another. Then another. He smiled. Then he printed the memo and its associated documents. It was time to take a giant leap. He completed the e-filing in 40 minutes.

A great idea will not wait for methodical filing.

# Recruitment

# 5 July 2029

'You nicked a confidential government memo?' asked Kara incredulously.

'No, I just printed a copy. Hey, you're the one who said it was time for action.'

'From your mother too,' added John piously.

'From the presidential papers,' Ariel said. 'That's not the same thing. Look, here's our chance to make a difference. Not in a First School, or by asking questions in Third School—great as those things are—but to actually help CyberCity. We can make people see how sedated they are, how gormless, 'cause we let technology run our lives. We can force people to face up to what is happening—before computers take over the world!

'A slight overreaction,' said John.

'Bosh, Ariel,' murmured Kara. 'All right, calm down and explain your idea.'

'According to the memo,' Ariel continued enthusiastically, 'if we can get into one of these old 2ZB computers and tinker with its system, we can change what it does and there will be nothing to show that it has been tampered with.'

'Well, that's not a new thing,' said John. 'How does that change—?'

'Wait wait wait,' said Ariel impatiently. 'The key is that you won't be able to tell it's been screwdrivered. The memo tells us how to make the change look like the computer has done it itself. See? Guys? Like it has had... has had... has had... '

'A thought,' said Kara slowly.

'Exactly!' said Ariel triumphantly. 'A thought. All by itself.'

'So?' said John. 'It hasn't had a thought, has it? People won't fall for that. You trying to make them believe machines can think? That they're alive or something? Come on.'

'A thought,' repeated Kara. 'Hmmm.'

'There's more,' said Ariel. 'This is the really clever bit. We all know about the Champagne virus, the one that wiped out Microsoft in the Great Crash of 2023. But, hardly anyone knows this: the 2ZBs were the only computers in the world to hold that virus off. In the whole world. While Champagne's little bubbles caused chaos in business and government all over the world, the 2ZBs carried on, for a few days anyway. Now, why was this you ask?'

John shrugged.

Kara stared at Ariel over her glasses.

'Ok, I'll ask,' she said. 'Ariel, tell us why it was that the 2ZB didn't spritz like every other computer in the world?'

'They have a teensy bgates microchip. It controls and protects the computer. It was a groundbreaking invention in technology in 2023, but it had some production problems. Less than a hundred 2ZBs were made, in a prototype run, just weeks before the Great Crash. They went out as a trial and were operational when it happened, and they were not contaminated. The 2ZBs are uncontaminatable.'

John shook his head. Kara looked puzzled.

'Or, to put it another way,' said Ariel, 'they are believed to be so.'

'You know how to contaminate them?' Kara said wonderingly.

'I do.'

'Doesn't make sense,' John said. 'I've never heard of a bgates chip.'

'No, neither had I,' said Ariel. 'This is all in the memo.'

'Alright,' said John. He looked carefully at Ariel. 'After the Great Crash, why didn't system makers use the bgates microchip on everything? If it was so great, so powerfully resistant, why didn't they use them to rebuild virus proof computers?'

'Aha! Now we get to it. Remember, the 2ZB was new and top secret. Not many of them existed in 2023. Very few people knew they existed, and even less knew that they kept going when Champagne hit. When the world's systems seized, even though the 2ZBs worked okay, they had nothing to do, no business to transact.'

'The dark days of the Great Crash,' mused Kara.

'There was a lot going on,' John said. 'Data was lost all over the world. Huge companies shut down, some never reopened. Systems destroyed. BeigeNet crashed. Zurich went bankrupt. China and India lost trillions. Nothing worked. People couldn't get their money out of the bank. Or make phone calls. Or go shopping.'

'Because everything was connected,' said Kara.

'Yes,' said John. 'Too much depended on too little. One massive virus took out entire systems by bouncing around the connections. Like the solar storms of 2016, only worse. We didn't learn from that; remember how CyberCity shut down? And then Champagne came along and we were back in the stone age, again.'

'And the genetic engineering mess created by Monsanto in 2020,' added Kara. 'Because too much biology had been tampered with and farmers had a really small number of food varieties to plant. One disease affected everything.'

'Goodbye corn.'

'Variety is a very good thing,' agreed Ariel. 'But, yeah, CyberCity didn't learn that lesson. BeigeNet was rebuilt after the Great Crash, and with an increased capacity to gather and merge information. Biz-Drive was set up as an independent system within BeigeNet. Only, as the years went by, systems started to get reconnected. BeigeNet is once more, one unit.'

'You haven't answered the question,' put in John. 'After technoggins killed the Champagne virus, why didn't they—?'

'Okay,' said Ariel. 'Here it is. The blueprint for the bgates microchip was lost in the Great Crash. No one knew how to rebuild it. Technoggins took the 2ZB apart, and studied it and reconstructed it, but they couldn't replicate the bgates microchip. Remember, technoggins didn't have many friends after the crash, and they sure didn't have a lot of places to work. Most, including the 2ZB creators, whoever they were, went to ground. When the dust settled, new technoggins came slowly through the Fourth Schools, and they had to learn a lot from nothing.'

'Knowledge was lost,' said John.

'Lots of knowledge,' added Ariel.

'Mmmm.'

The three teenagers pondered that for a while, each with their own memories from family stories of living through the Great Crash, and its quiet aftermath.

'Are there still 2ZBs working in CyberCity?' asked Kara.

'Not many,' replied Ariel. 'But yeah, in some tiddly, low budget companies, there are a few pottering along. The memo estimates maybe five in the city, but no-one has counted them, and no-one knows exactly where they are. They're old technology, see? Only the memo writer seems worried, and not worried enough to go and get them and destroy them, just worried enough to record worry.'

'Who wrote that memo?' asked Kara.

'Dunno,' replied Ariel. 'It's really clear on what the 2ZBs did though, and even though they're outdated and slow as Ananova in a Prius, they've got anarchic potential in the wrong hands. Our hands. It's unsigned and undated.'

Ariel twiddled his ten fingers in the faces of his friends.

'Woooooah. Heh heh.'

'Isn't that odd?' Kara asked. 'Let's see it.'

Ariel handed the papers over.

Kara scanned them while Ariel turned to John.

'We need to find one, just one is all we need.'

'Because...?'

'Because they are thought to be impossible to contaminate with a virus, John,' said Ariel patiently. 'And that memo contains the info needed to break into a 2ZB. We break in, change its program creatively and reconnect it to BeigeNet. Then we have it send a message: Dear CyberCity, I have had a thought, yours sincerely, 2ZB.'

'If you can do that, and cover your tracks, you reckon it will look like the computer has changed its own mind?' asked John.

'Our tracks will be covered,' said Ariel. 'The government's TechYES department will spring into action—well, they'll do something. They'll investigate. They'll find out the history of the 2ZB and that it can't be tampered with, so it must have done this on its own. Oh no! A thinking computer! What shall we do?!'

'It could stir up a load of trouble in CyberCity,' said Kara.

'Good trouble, I'm sure of it,' said Ariel. 'The government must respond.'

'What do you think they'll do, Einstein?' said John.

'Unknown,' answered Ariel. 'But, any action has to be positive, doesn't it? Imagine if androids began to think and turned on us. Every home has at least one. Mad machines running around CyberCity—and we've lost the thought processes to trip them up and regain control.'

'As if,' said John. 'Androids are so tame.'

'I still think it's odd that information like this is floating around,' said Kara.

She handed the memo back to Ariel.

'Lots of odd things float around in the presidential e-filing, Kara,' said Ariel. 'So, what do you think?'

'About your idea?' asked Kara.

'Bosh,' said John. 'They won't fall for it.'

'It could be brilliant, Ariel,' Kara said. 'This could be the kick the government needs to act. It seems like Ms President needs something to react to. Like she can't create an anti-technology reaction all by herself.'

'My thoughts exactly,' said Ariel. 'But if the ministers of CyberCity are led to believe they have a thinking computer on the loose—I don't know what will happen, but it's got to be good, because it's different. That's my feeling. Are you in?'

Kara nodded.

'S'pose,' muttered John. 'You've had worse ideas. Maybe. There are some really old computers in the office where I clean. What does a 2ZB look like?'

'Ordinary and ugly,' replied Ariel. 'Light brown; small screen. Think early 1990s design. The prototypes were designed to not stand out in the trial, in case competitors got a whiff of the innovation, I suppose. They've got 2ZBP stamped on the back. It would be used for very simple jobs now, so if there's one there it'll be working in an inconspicuous situation.'

'Okay, I'll look,' said John unenthusiastically. 'What if I find one?'

'Great!' enthused Ariel. 'Our biggest problem is finding one. They're rare, and we can't let people know we're looking for one. Don't ask anyone, okay? There should be no leads to us. Are you working tonight?'

# Sabotage

# 24 July 2029

The phone rang as Ariel was pouring his mother a pre dinner glass of wine.

'Ariel,' breathed the conspirator. 'The boss isn't here tonight. It's just me and the polisher.'

'Tonight,' Ariel repeated. He glanced over to the kitchen. 'What about the polisher?

'He won't say anything.'

'Aah, John, I dunno— '

'It's a machine, Ariel.'

'Haha.'

'Come; right now,' said John.

'Sssh. Wait, let me think,' Ariel whispered.

'It's perfect.'

Ms President put her head around the kitchen doorway and pointed questioningly to herself. Ariel shook his head and she disappeared.

'Okay. I'll be there in about fifteen minutes. Can you call Kara?'

'Yeah. Hurry.'

I have to lie. Sorry Mum, but you'd understand if you knew. I think.

Ariel walked into the kitchen and handed his mother the wine.

'John's having a crisis,' he said.

'Poor John.'

'Yeah, he needs help with his Digital Dogma assignment. Major mark, due tomorrow. He's very stressed, Mum. I think I should skip dinner and go straight over.'

Ms President savoured the chilled fluid.

'Mmm. Fine with me,' she said. 'I'll save you some dinner. You're a good friend, Ariel.'

'Yeah,' said Ariel, hoping his guilt didn't show. He picked up a Germaine Greer apple and put it in his satchel. 'Sorry about rushing off before dinner.'

'You don't do it often,' said Ms President. 'And I have work to do tonight. Off you go and do your spriting gently.'

'I go, I go.'

Ariel closed the door softly and ran for his tri-bike.

The office held a mismatched collection of old computers, each partnered with tables and bins. John led Ariel and Kara to a corner of the room.

'It's this one,' he said, patting a nondescript plastic box. 'What do we do now?'

Ariel looked at the back of the computer.

'2ZBP,' he read. 'You beauty.'

He grinned at John.

'Let's shift it out so we can get to the back and the underneath.'

Kara began to unpack tools out of the sabotage bag, as the boys unplugged the computer and moved it onto a bigger table.

'What an antique,' said John. 'And it's greasy. Ugh.'

'Looks aren't everything, eh?' said Ariel.

'Don't muck around. Hurry up.'

Ariel was already unscrewing the back panel.

'Nervous?' he asked playfully.

'Yes.'

John picked up a screwdriver to speed the operation up.

'So am I,' Kara answered. 'This is sneaky. We're doing a really good thing for CyberCity, but I feel like a cr—'

John and Ariel froze.

'Oh, shit,' whispered Kara. 'Did you hear that?'

'Mmm.'

'A voice. I thought I heard a voice.'

They listened intently, a tableau of conspirators in a dim and silent building.

'Yes,' whispered Ariel urgently. 'I hear it. Thumpathumpathumpathumpa—oh Kara, that's your heart!'

John giggled.

Then they heard the voice.

John sprang at the polisher and flicked it on. The noise was sudden and startling. He frantically motioned Ariel and Kara behind a corner desk and set about polishing the floor, moving away from them. A man appeared at the door.

'There you are buddy, didn't you hear me?'

'Oh, hi boss. No, busy busy. This room hasn't been floor polished for a few days so I thought I'd do it tonight.'

'Good, good. Initiative. Never had a cleaner with initiative. I could get used to that and stay home.'

He laughed loudly.

'Carry on. I just popped in to check all's well,' he added.

'I thought you were going out for dinner.'

'On the way there now. It's getting blowy out there, looks like a storm coming.'

He looked around the room.

'So, no problems here?'

'No.'

'You might get wet going home. Why'd you move that computer?'

'What computer?'

John kept polishing.

'Oh, that. Someone's dropped a drink on the floor there. It looks like that new drink, Copepla, very sticky. I got carried away, a sticky floor is yag, so I shifted it to clean the whole area. Swept it, mopped it, had to go looking for a mop, but found one down the hall, now I'm polishing. Thought I'd wipe the computer down too. It had some Copepla splashed on it.'

'Hmm, it's all the rage. Copepla. Always was a Coca Cola fan myself, but the real thing never recovered from the Great Crash.'

John's boss looked at him curiously.

'Initiative. Make sure you put it back.'

'Sure.'

'I'll be off then. Give me a call on the visi-phone if you need anything, okay?'

'Sure.'

'If you finish work and there's a tempest outside, you can call a taxi and we'll take it out of petty cash. Can't have a worker with initiative getting ammonia walking home in the rain.'

'Thanks boss, I've got the tri-bike. I'll be ok. Have a nice dinner.'

John followed his boss out the door and kept polishing down the corridor. After a couple of minutes, he sidled down the corridor to reception. He stood there in the shadows and watched as his boss drove off.

'Pheeew.'

He walked back.

'Okay, he's gone,' he said to the room.

With a loud groan, Kara rolled out from behind the desk and lay spreadeagled on the floor. Ariel stood up slowly.

'Oh, man! Thank blazes I didn't park the tri-bike right outside the door.'

'He almost caught us red handed all right,' said John. 'Too close. How's your heart now, Kara?'

Kara gave him a look.

'You were cool as a cucumber, mate,' said Ariel admiringly. 'Lucky the polisher was there, eh?'

'Not luck,' replied John. 'I put it there in case we had to have a diversion. Now let's get on with it so I can get you two out of here.'

Ariel unclenched his hand from the screwdriver and jiggled his fingers.

'Cool as a cucumber,' he repeated, as he went back to work.

'I didn't sound nervous?'

'Nah.'

'Well, maybe a little,' said Kara as she walked over to help. 'I was thinking: shut up John and let him go.'

'And he was thinking: the boy's got initiative,' said Ariel. 'That's amazing.'

He took some papers from his back pocket and handed them to Kara.

'Hurry up,' said John.

'Yes sir. Have a look at the circuitry layout. I reckon this is going to be easy.'

He pulled the computer's grimy casing away from its innards.

'It looks like a fairly simple layout,' agreed Kara.

'Hard to believe this little computer withstood Champagne,' said John peering inside. 'I could build this.'

'John,' said Ariel. 'You're good, but you're not that good. Looks aint everything, remember. Watch this.'

He dismantled a section and gently separated a mess of wiring.

'See that?'

Ariel pointed to two purple wires leading into a black box. He began to isolate the wires.

'This is where we change its mind. The box holds the bgates chip. We don't need to go in there though, what we are going to do is switch these wires. That bypasses bgates and then we can get into the 2ZB. Thankyou, memo. Can one of you pass me the cooker? It's in Kara's bag.'

'Wow, you've got a cooker!' John exclaimed. 'Where'd you get a cooker?

'CyberCity contraband,' chuckled Ariel. 'Weird technoggin stuff from the presidential office.'

Kara held up a flat orange piece of plastic.

'Cooker?' she asked.

'Yep,' said Ariel. 'The world's most advanced tool for accessing a computer's important bits. It should get us in, then we'll get really clever.'

Ariel connected the card to one of the purple wires.

The wire pulsed with light.

'What's happening?' asked John.

'No idea,' replied Ariel thoughtfully. He sat back and looked at the wire. 'I don't remember reading anything about a flashing wire at this point. Check the layout papers, Kara. I'll carry on cooking.'

'Is it alarmed?' asked Kara.

'I'll be alarmed if you don't hurry up,' said John. 'Ariel, what can I do?'

'Grab the keyboard from Kara's bag, and hold this wire while I hook the other one up to the keyboard,' replied Ariel. 'We'll find out what this thing is programmed to do tomorrow, then change the progam, teehee.'

'There's no alarm mentioned, but there's nothing about a lit wire either,' said Kara. 'Not on these plans. They're pretty basic.'

'Hmmm.'

'Oh, wait,' said Kara. 'Uh oh.'

'What?' Ariel and John said.

'It is an alarm. A devious and sneaky alarm. There's a tiny note here. It uses a simple code, that's why I missed it. If I've got it right, the flashing wire means the bgates alarm has alerted the william and shut down ... something. Maybe. It's hard to tell. What's a william?'

'Dunno,' said Ariel. He looked at the computer. 'Any idea, John?'

'None. Just do it Ariel. You may still be able to work on it.'

'Yeah,' Ariel said. 'Right. Ok, we're in, and here's the program. Start typing, John. Be as creative as you like, make it wild, unusual, noticeable. Once you've done that, adjust the letter to CyberCity that we drafted at home. It needs to refer to the change in the program. Then I'll get those two things cooking in its brain. We'll be out of here faster than Ananova on an asteroid.'

# CyberCity responds

# 25 July 2029

The small computer was diligently laying out a garden newsletter. It was a simple job the 2ZB had done many times before: collate the input, lay it out, check data, print. On this day at 11am, as the computer was about to print the newsletter, it hiccupped. New data arrived and overruled the print command. The computer paused the print run and changed every flower in the 20 page newsletter to fire engine red, with an artistic touch of yellow. Then it changed the leaves and the stems, too. It converted more new data into a letter in which it explained its long held, secret love of red; it adored red and wanted the world to know! The emotional letter apologised for the unauthorised change to the newsletter, but really, truly, the computer simply couldn't keep its adoration a secret any more. The computer emailed an e-newsletter and the accompanying letter to every CyberCity garden newsletter subscriber. Then it printed the usual copies and notified the courier company that the newsletters were ready for distribution. It posted a copy of the newsletter and the letter on BeigeNet, for all the city to see, and immediately began work on a fashion advertisement.

'I saw it coming years ago,' the vice President said, as he accepted a cup of tea from Bob, Cabinet's android waiter. He took his place at the oval table used for Cabinet meetings and gazed into his milky tea. 'Machines, computers—they do too much for us, it's not healthy. They practically run the place you know. Humans will be obsolete one day, and then—'

'Yes, yes, we all know your views on the evils of technology, VP,' butted in Ms President. 'Perhaps if we'd had less talk and more action this century, CyberCity wouldn't be in this pickle.'

Ms President shot a meaningful look around the table of assembled ministers.

'If this emergency meeting of the Cabinet will come to order, we'll begin to get this problem sorted.'

Ms President sighed.

'We have an unacceptable situation in the city, as we've just seen in the TechYES presentation. This little computer has done something that the government cannot ignore. We can't have computers thinking and making decisions. Computers do practically run the place VP, you're right about that. We have had our heads in a bucket, and we have allowed this problem to develop. It's not too late, but we need to act, and we need to act right now.'

'Excuse me, Ms President,' murmured the Money Minister. 'TechYES and the Terrific Technology departments will have some thoughts about the matter. Couldn't we just leave it to them to sort things out?'

'Really, George,' stated Ms President. 'Do you honestly think we would be facing this tech mess if that lot could tell the difference between a network and a nitwit? Especially Terrific Technology—that Department has only ever had one thought: that technology is terrific. It has had its day and is no more, from this moment. Goodbye and good riddance. Under the Fix Act—2017 ministers, if you wish to look it up—I am empowered to take charge of this situation, and I now so do. Civilisation, ministers, is racing towards a dark future. At best, we'll live ordinary and boring lives; at worst...well... it is up to me, us rather, to see that the worst does not happen.'

Ms President looked around the table at her silent and befuddled ministers and was reminded of something that had worried her for some time.

'Over the years,' she continued, 'it has become obvious to me that people have got lazier and softer in the thinking department. Many of our citizens cannot follow an argument, they are malleable and apathetic, and, as we see every night on the comp-vision news, they show a disturbing lack of common sense.'

The ministers harrumphed and shuffled their feet.

'Now, I don't deny that technology has its uses. No-one has suffered from cancer since 2021, due to discoveries in medical science. Wheelchairs have been obsolete since 2022. Androids do our scummiest work—sorry Bob. But, we must retain control of the technological systems we create. Are we agreed on that?'

'Hear hear,' muttered the ministers.

'This is our wake up call. I've slept in but I am now hearing it loud and clear,' said Ms President.

The Media Minister waved a large manicured hand in the air.

'Yes, Boris?'

'I agree with you completely, Ms President. I've already thought of a campaign song to encourage people to think.'

Boris suddenly stood up. The ministers looked startled at this display of initiative, as Boris, in a sing-song voice, recited:

'People need to think,

or our brains will shrink,

and we'll be back in the trees

before you can sneeze.'

Boris grinned like a playful child seeking approval. The ministers laughed and clapped, and Boris sat down bashfully.

Ms President stared long and hard at a knot in the wooden table in front of her.

'Well, it's a start,' she said finally. 'Thank you, Boris. Use it or lose it as they used to say. Now, on with the action plan. I'm ahead of you here. I have been thinking about this for some time. This is what I propose we do.'

In the Channel Blank studio, the Monochrome news team was in a flutter. A change in routine was bad news, they all knew that. Not one of them wanted to go live on comp-vision and announce the special broadcast from Ms President's office. No-one ever went live on comp-vision. When the message came from the Presidential office, they drew lots to see who would play the announcer in this extraordinary break in the evening's programming.

At 6pm, Behnn Robertson-Tang Smith'n'Jones hesitantly took his seat in front of the cameras. Gripping the printed announcement, the young newsman worriedly checked his hair and his speech yet again. The news director indicated five seconds to air.

'Good evening ladies and g-gentlemen,' Behnn said, precisely as he'd been instructed. He looked down at the slightly trembling paper. 'Tonight there has been a ch-change in the advertised program. The latest episode in the _How to_... series: _How to hang out your washing when the dryer breaks down_ , will be slightly delayed due to an important message from Ms President. Normal programming will resume after Ms President's message. We will now cross live to the Presidential office.'

'Good evening, citizens of CyberCity.'

In Ms President's living room, the conspirators cheered.

'Today, in the city we have had a momentous event,' Ms President said slowly, carefully pronouncing each word. 'Today, the event which humankind has long anticipated, and long dreaded, occurred. A computer, my friends, had a thought. This event, although it was harmless today, cannot be allowed to pass uncorrected.'

'Why is she speaking like she's talking to a bunch of idiots?' John asked.

Kara and Ariel looked at him sternly.

'It's worse than I thought, isn't it?' John muttered.

Ms President summarised the details of the event. She talked briefly about the Cabinet meeting, and how CyberCity's government felt it necessary to respond with strong and immediate action. Then she paused dramatically and stared into the camera.

'We must not delay. We must not falter. Tonight, I will tell you what we are going to do about this problem.'

Ms President made a show of shuffling her papers and taking a slow drink of water from the glass on her desk. Across CyberCity, nervous viewers leaned in to their comp-vision sets. Some muttered 'uh oh' to their families. Ms President had the city's full attention.

'Now we're getting to it,' murmured Ariel.

'Fellow Cyberians,' Ms President began. 'The government decrees that for one day, every month, CyberCity will have a day of critical thought. Humans will control CyberCity on this day, by exercising our powers of thought. We have called this: Operation Red. On this day, the city will use an absolute minimum of technology. There will be no computers used in the workplace, and no electronic entertainment. Arcade Town will close for the entire day. Your comp-vision sets are to remain off until the 6pm Monochrome bulletin. After 6pm, you may watch comp-vision, where the programs, I can assure you, will be stimulating and educational. I fully expect there will be no engagement with home entertainment of a technological nature during Operation Red, and this I leave to your goodwill. I trust I will not need to police this decree.'

Again, Ms President took a sip of water for dramatic pause.

'Wow, no technology for a day. She's going for the jugular,' said John.

Ms President eyeballed the Blank audience, and continued.

'Operation Red will promote good, solid, old fashioned thinking,' she said. 'It will also promote the skill of quick thinking. To ensure this, CyberCity's traffic lights will operate in reverse for twenty-four hours. Red means go in Operation Red!'

'Whew!' exclaimed Ariel. 'That's a good one.'

'Schools will suspend regular lessons for the duration of Operation Red. In the morning, students will be sent a set of questions and one main critical thinking problem. In the afternoon, students' answers will be sent to the newly created Think Witted Team, for immediate marking and response that day.'

'That could be fun,' said Kara optimistically.

'Mum's enjoying this, anyway,' said Ariel. 'Look at the smile she's trying to drown in a glass of water.'

Kara chuckled, while viewers across the city braced themselves for the next Operation Red challenge. It didn't come.

'That will get us started,' said Ms President. 'Discussion amongst families and in workplaces is encouraged, but the government will stand firm on these moves. It's for your own good. We begin Operation Red at one minute past midnight on July 28. That is in three days. Together, we will move into a brighter, better, human controlled future. Thank you, and goodnight.'

The screen flicked immediately to the _How to-_ series, and Ariel switched it off.

'We did it!' exclaimed Kara.

'We really did it,' said John. 'Ariel, I have to admit I was skeptical—'

'No kidding?!'

'—but your plan seems to have worked _extremely_ well.'

'I was worried about that alarm though,' said Kara. 'Up to today, I thought we might have sabotaged ourselves, and that we hadn't actually done anything to the computer. Most creative too, John, by the way.'

'Thanks,' said John. 'I like red.'

'I've been thinking about that alarm' said Ariel. 'And why it didn't kick us out of the 2ZB. The bgates chip was the thing Microsoft really wanted to protect. We switched the wires to bypass bgates, so, hmm, we didn't hack into bgates itself. Perhaps it was only alarmed a bit, not enough to shut itself down. Or maybe nothing happened because it was old, or it malfunctioned.'

'I have another idea,' said John. 'The technoggins who put the alarm in the 2ZB are gone. There's no one at Microsoft to answer the call.'

'There is no Microsoft.'

'Yeah, but, so?' said Kara. 'Computer alarms shut the works down. It doesn't matter what's happening anywhere else.'

'It might, 'said John. "Ariel told us it was a top secret prototype. Perhaps they set the 2ZB alarm to ring bells at technoggin HQ. That could also explain why the computer didn't shut down. It kept working because its makers wanted to know if someone was tampering with it, and where they were, and what happened when it was hacked into. To find out just how good it was. They could have planned to remotely monitor any hacker.'

'Yeah,' said Ariel. 'If you think like a technoggin, you might ask: what would they do to protect their baby?'

'Not shutting it down when a hacker was into it would have given them more information. That's my theory.'

'So, what's a william, then?' wondered Kara.

Ariel and John frowned.

'King of England?'

'A william could be the key that makes the bgates uncontaminable,' said John. 'Something so clever that no-one has ever figured it out. I'd like to take another look at that 2ZB. I'd like to take one apart.'

'Quarantined,' said Ariel. 'All of them. President's orders before the ink on the newsletters had dried. They were collected and packed off to a secret warehouse in the city. It's unlikely they'll get out of there out alive.'

The conspirators laughed.

In the Blank studio, Ms President shook hands with Behnn, and headed home in an excellent mood.

# Operation Red

# 28 July 2029

Ms President strode cheerfully into her office at 6.30am on the first day of Operation Red.

'Morning all!' she shouted at her bleary eyed staff, most of who were assembled around the coffee tower.

'Hehheheh. Are we off to a flying start then?!'

An aide handed her the initial report on the day's progress, from its midnight start until 6am. Ms President had demanded hourly updates to monitor the day's undoubted success.

'Despite a number of minor traffic accidents, and night shift workers complaining of nothing to watch on comp-vision, things appear to be going well, Ms President,' the aide reported.

'Good work,' Ms President enthused. 'Make a note Tom, for the next day of compulsory critical thought.'

Tom blanched.

'The next one?' he spluttered. 'Already?'

'Yes, indeed. One a month, remember? This will be such a success the people will clamour for more of the same. Next month, any night shift workers complaining of boredom will get the problems that Third Schools receive on the day. They might as well be doing something useful.'

'Yes, Ms President.'

'Now, Tom. I expect homes to run smoothly today, and workplaces to work it out, so I'd like you to pay special attention to what's happening in schools. Mid morning, would you call a random sample of First, Second and Third schools, and ask them how things are going on the front line?'

'Yes, Ms President.'

'I'll be in my office,' said Ms President. 'And Tom?'

She spun around at her office door and gave her number one aide a generous grin. Tom had his pen poised for another note.

'Cheer up. It's a great day for the race.'

'Race, what race Ms President?' said Tom, aghast that there was an Operation Red event he didn't know about.

'The human race, Tom,' Ms President said as she headed into her office.

Ariel cut the power cell on his tri-bike with a sigh of relief. He'd made it to school unscathed after a twenty minute intersection adventure. He'd ridden his usual way to school, cruising through red lights and madly looking left and right hoping that cross traffic was stopped on the green. Green light runners shot through some intersections, but most intersections were a slow mess of confused drivers muddling along. Ariel zoomed down straight roads and joined some other tri-bikers taking a short cut across a park.

At the school's transport station, Ariel disconnected his titanium cranium and was folding the helmet into his bag when John rode in.

Ariel grinned as John melodramatically slumped across the bike's handlebars, his arms dangling and his head on the airsurroundbag.

'I'm knackered,' he wheezed. 'That was awful!'

'Hell of a ride,' agreed Ariel, laughing.

'I almost made it without getting hit,' John grumbled. 'Some idiot on a hover bike bumped into my head when I stopped at green light. After that I rode on the footpath. Phew!'

'Bumped into your head! Doofus. Hover bikers should be making the most of being able to ride over the traffic.'

'A learner I think.'

John sat up slowly, but made no attempt to get off the tri-bike.

'C'mon, we've got time for a juice before class,' Ariel said, jollying his friend along.

'Oh, yay,' replied John. 'Our thinking problems. I feel like I've done enough critical thinking to last a week, just to get here. Now I have to solve a bunch of artificial problems as well. Great.'

'Not artificial,' said Ariel. 'The questions sent to schools this morning are going to be real. Mum wants us to have a go at thinking about some actual dilemmas facing the city.'

'Such as?'

'She wouldn't say. I only know that's what she instructed the Think Witted Team. They've set the questions, so we'll both know what they are in about an hour. Shake a leg and let's get to the juice bar.'

'Okay, okay. Your Mum still has no idea how—'

'Sssh,' hissed Ariel as two girls from his Digital Dissembling class walked by. 'Hi Joanne, Nita. Looking forward to this morning?'

'What's happening this morning?' Nita asked, looking at Joanne.

Joanne shrugged.

'Operation Red,' answered Ariel. 'You know, the change in lessons for the day? The problems we'll be working on this morning?'

'Oh. That,' said Joanne. 'Nah.'

'Nah,' echoed Nita.

The girls wandered off.

'My thoughts exactly,' said John wearily.

He swung a leg over the tri-bike's sparkling solar panel.

'Cheer up mate,' said Ariel, hiding his despondency at this apathy. 'Mum's counting on us to bounce some enthusiasm and fresh ideas around. If the Second and Third School students don't make today work we'll all end up as vivacious as them.'

He jerked his thumb at the two girls strolling into the school.

'Good point,' said John. 'Let's get that juice.'

Ariel fielded some wry looks and a few friendly catcalls as they headed off to their first class.

'Nothing to do with me folks,' he called out to the hallway in general.

'Not much,' John whispered.

'You know,' said Ariel thoughtfully, 'part of the problem here is that no-one is angry with me.'

'Huh? What do you call "Ms President's puffball" then?'

'Yes, that's very insulting.'

'It's the worst thing they could think of to tell you off. Or, hang on, is "doofus" worse than "puffball"?

'Whatever. They're both weak.'

'Well, that's what Cyberians do. We don't do anger. I guess "Ms President's puffball" is more like discontent, isn't it? said John.

'Not one kid has yelled abuse at me, and they should, because I'm Ms President's son and she's mucked up their day.'

'They wouldn't do that.'

'No,' agreed Ariel. 'They wouldn't do it because nothing gets this lot agitated does it? No-one is angry. There's no oomph! Not even a major change in routine upsets people. They just go along with it, and maybe get a teensy bit annoyed.'

'Hmm,' said John noncommittally. 'So?'

'So?!' exclaimed Ariel. 'Without emotion, a spark, some verve, we're just bugs. Here we are, top of the food chain, a nice big brain, and we're turning into...I dunno, gormless blobs.'

'Hey!'

'John, we may have saved this gormless city from a terrible fate.'

The student crowd thickened around them in the hallway, and Ariel went quiet. John gallantly waved Joanne and Nita into the classroom, and the boys followed them in.

'Good morning class.'

Their English teacher didn't look too happy. Ariel tried not to smirk. Today was not a scheduled teacher day.

'We have a change in routine today, as per this instruction,' said their English teacher. She waved a sheet of paper as if it were a dirty tissue.

'In summary, usual lessons are suspended because of Operation Red. The three morning lessons will be compressed into one. You will stay in this room and be provided with a set of questions and a problem, as sent to the school this morning for our part in...this event. Your task will be to come up with some answers to these tasks, using the— _tsk_ —the rather discredited technique of brainstorming _._ This is where students work in groups and talk about whatever pops into their heads, in relation to the question at hand, and someone in the group writes it all down. How such a _loose_ procedure helps _critical_ thinking, I do not know. However, that is our instruction, and that is what we shall do. Despite the fact that I had a superb comp-vision lesson on the hidden beauty of internet poetry planned for today; well, no matter, you shall do that tomorrow.'

'Good. I loathe internet poetry,' muttered John.

'Its hidden beauty is extremely well hidden,' agreed Ariel.

'I have four copies of the task, so I want four groups,' continued the teacher. 'Nita, Penny, Voula, John, come up please.'

She waved the papers at the students coming towards her.

'You will each lead a group and nominate a student to write the group's ideas. Choose your group—Nita! What's the matter with you?'

Nita chittered nervously as she stooped to pick up the dropped papers.

'Sorry,' she muttered. 'Not used to papers. They're flat. And thin.'

'Good heavens girl, get a grip, as we used to say. Now, you have the rest of the morning to complete these questions. At the lunch bell, I will take your answer sheets. Very good. Proceed.'

The teacher slunk back to her desk, flicked open her computer and immediately went online to browse her favourite internet poetry site, _Itmustrhyme_.

Ariel frowned at her and was about to say something when John nudged his arm.

'Don't worry about it, mate,' John said quietly.

'But, she's on the internet. You're not supposed to be on the internet today, remember?'

'Oh, that. Yeah. Maybe she's forgotten.'

'Hmm,' Ariel looked unconvinced.

The four leaders began to gather their friends into groups.

Ariel studied the teacher while John got organised.

'Mrs Keats?'

The teacher looked up warily.

'How do you think schools will go today?' he asked innocently. 'Not being able to use the computers and all?'

'There have been some dispensations, Ariel,' replied the teacher dryly. 'As you will see when you read your questions.'

Ariel nodded. He joined his group. Out the corner of his eye he saw the teacher huffily close the computer. He didn't suppress a smile.

The teacher didn't suppress a scowl.

John slowly leafed through several pages.

'Let's see the questions, John,' Ariel said impatiently. 'What do we have to do?'

'Hmm. Doesn't look too bad. Some calculations, a bit of science, some reading, a group writing task about thinking, and The Problem.'

'Which is?' said Ariel.

'Let's do the calc first, eh?' said Pino.

'What's the main problem, John?' said Ariel.

'I'll tell you what it is,' said John importantly, 'so we can all think about it. But we'll do the other tasks first, starting with the mathematics.'

'Excellent,' said Pino.

'Right,' continued John. 'The Problem. The new solar power station in Volt Town has been operating for ten months, but it has not yet reached its power output targets. In fact, outputs have been steadily falling since the plant opened. Research the plant's operating data on the internet, using the references supplied, and then brainstorm this problem. Edit your brainstorm and write suggestions to solve this problem. Submit to your supervising teacher at the close of the session. Students please note that internet research is allowed today for this specific purpose.'

'Aha. I knew it would be a real problem,' said Ariel to the group. 'That's a good one.'

'Shall we begin?' asked Pino, eyeing the papers held firmly in John's hand.

'I could start looking at the solar data now,' suggested Ariel, opening his computer.

'Stay on task, there's a good lad,' said John. 'We'll work on each question together.'

He winked at Ariel, and the group settled down to calculations.

At The Counting Clown First School, Kara was busily making creative breakfast snacks before the students arrived. She could hear Timbo moving furniture and sneezing in the storage room. Eventually, he shuffled into the small kitchen.

'First time I've had a good look through the back room,' he wheezed. 'Most interesting.'

He picked a large cobweb off his red suit and sneezed delicately.

'Dusty, eh?' Kara asked.

'Oh yeah. And packed with boxes of stuff they used to use when this was a kindergarten. I've pulled out some blocks and balls and story books. Look at this book, you'd have to sit down to read the thing.'

He showed her a huge book with happy cows on the cover.

'Could be fun,' he said, reading the back cover. 'Daisy loves to dance among the daisies, until, one day, Gertie the goat eats all the daisies. Where will Daisy dance now? Hmm, excellent question, which shall be answered later today. Do you fancy reading some of these to our clientele today? We could take turns.'

'Love to,' said Kara. 'What else have you got planned, with the Story Wall out for the day?'

'Activities,' said Timbo thoughtfully. 'Physical stuff. Tire them out with painting and playdough and maybe they'll sleep longer this afternoon.'

'What's playdough?'

'You'll see.'

'So, when they're tired out and sleeping off the activities, you can carry on in peace and quiet designing your next computer game?' Kara asked playfully.

'Nooo,' Timbo said seriously. 'I'd like to, but, no, that's not in the spirit of the day. Even though Ms President would never know what's going on all over the city. I think. No, I'll go along with the intention of Operation Red, to wean us off our supposed technological dependencies.'

'Good for you,' said Kara. 'Have some fairy bread.'

'Yum! I haven't had this for—a long time! Fairy bread got the thumbs down from nutritionists years ago because the preservatives in the—whaddya call these things—the coloured dots, yeah, they were making kids too hyperactive. A little bit can't hurt. We've swung radically in the other direction. First School kids do stuff all activity and eat nothing that's bad for them.'

'Fairy bread has absolutely no nutritional value, but it's a bit of fun,' said Kara.

'For everyone,' chortled Timbo. 'May I have another, Miss Kara?'

'You certainly may, Mr Timbo. So, you found some paints and this stuff called playdough?'

Timbo rolled his eyes.

'Wasn't easy, but, yes, I bought up big when I finally found this really terrific shop with a whole stack of arty stuff for kids. I didn't even know such places existed. I've got the boxes in the car, and a couple of bean bags.'

'Bean bags. I've heard of them but I've never seen one.'

'They'll be good for the kids to snuggle into while we read them a story or two.'

'Oh, yes! I'd forgotten. The First Chairs can't be used either, can they?'

'Nope,' replied Timbo. 'No technology today. We sit on the bean bags and the floor.'

The First Chairs had recently been donated by an enthusiastic parent. In these small, firm chairs, students could plug into virtual worlds of entertainment and learning. The chairs talked to the students, offering facts and fiction as ordered by the sitter, through earphones and an interactive screen. When the sitter grew tired of learning, the chair automatically responded by softening the seat, switching to lullaby mode, and gently swaying like a hammock, until the young students slipped into sleep.

'There could be tears,' said Kara.

'Haha! I'm sure there will be. And here come the first floor sitters now. Good morning, Sonia! Good morning, Shruti! Have a piece of fairy bread. It's not good for you.'

'Okay, we're making good time here,' said John. 'We've got fifty five minutes left, and that's everything but The Problem done. Fine work team.'

'We could do some extension calculations on that second question,' said Pino. 'It's not quite right.'

The group groaned with one voice.

'It's okay, Pino,' said John. 'That's our answer. Feel free to copy it and take it away to work on though.'

'Ooh, yeah,' said Pino grabbing some paper and jumping at the offer. 'I can make it perfect with a bit of tweaking.'

'Off you go then', said John condescendingly. 'But I expect you to be listening while we talk about the solar problem.'

'Sure, I'm listening,' Pino said, scribbling. 'I can do two things at once.'

'Finally, we get to the good part,' said Ariel.

'Everyone open your computers and let's have a look at the data they've referred us to,' said John. 'Let's say twenty minutes for that, then we'll put our heads together and brainstorm solutions.'

Ariel looked admiringly at his friend.

'I think you like playing teacher, mate,' he said. 'You're good at it too.'

'Thanks,' said John. 'I think.'

Kara placed the paintbrush in Sonia's little hand, and mimed a painting movement.

'That's it,' she said approvingly, as Sonia swiped a yellow blob across the paper and over the edge into her lap.

'Lucky you remembered the aprons,' she said to Timbo, who was painting his own picture beside Sonia.

'I didn't, the shop did,' Timbo answered. 'I had no idea, so I let myself be led. Aprons, rags, paper, water jars, brushes, etcetera etcetera. Creativity is a complicated and messy business.'

He put a final flick of royal blue onto his paper, and looked at it admiringly.

'Observe,' he said to Kara. 'The art cover for my next game. Great, eh? More fun than creating it in Photomegastore.'

'Fabulous,' answered Kara. 'Any chance you could give Dave and Tran a hand with washing their—'

'Ooops. Too late,' said Timbo, scuttling over to clean up the spill. 'Never mind lads, painting is all about fun. And mess. From the mess emerges the genius. We're having a good time, aren't we?'

Dave looked longingly towards the dark Story Wall.

'Don't need that,' said Timbo, cutting off the unspoken thought. 'We have...paint! Oh, _lovely_ paint. The colours, the textures, the wonderful feel of hues squishing through your fingers. You can move paint around, and slide it about, make trees and houses and cars. Make a lump or a dot. Or a line, sublime. Good fun. Right, we're all clean in the hands. Let's get you some fresh paper, and set you up again. Brushes or finger painting?'

Timbo watched the boys gain confidence with the paints. Dave wasn't comfortable with the messiness of finger painting, so Timbo gave him a brush. But Tran was beginning to enjoy it. Timbo looked around the room. Most kids seemed to be enjoying this unusual experience. Some were even talking and showing each other their works. Kara caught his eye and he gave her the thumbs up.

'It's more work than the you know what,' he said quietly, indicating the silent line up of First Chairs in front of the Story Wall.

'More fun too,' she added.

'Miss Kara,' Timbo said solemnly, 'I do believe you're right about that. We may have to do this again.'

He selected a large sheet of paper, dipped his index finger into a plastic tub of vermillion, and quickly drew an abstract squiggle.

Dave and Tran inspected Timbo's paper.

'What do you see?' asked Timbo. 'Anything?'

Tran leaned in clumsily and his paint covered finger smudged a line that joined parts of Timbo's squiggle.

'Sorry,' he said.

'That's ok, Tran. I see a horse where there was no horse. Do you see it too?'

Tran nodded.

'I made it.'

'Yes, you did,' said Timbo. 'Looks like a big old draft horse. Now, this is bringing back a few memories.'

He looked at the boys and they looked curiously at him.

'Once upon a time,' Timbo said slowly. 'Before comp-vision, there was television, and on television there was a man called Mr Squiggle. Actually, Mr Squiggle was a puppet, and his nose was a pencil...'

'Tom!' bellowed Ms President from her office door. She looked out over a sea of people and paper. The big office was a control centre in mild meltdown. Tom emerged from a huddled discussion about the role of androids in Operation Red and walked over to the Presidential office.

'Everyone's looking a little harassed, Tom,' said Ms President. She seemed pleasantly unconcerned by her own observation. 'What's your assessment of the situation in the city?'

'Ms President, it's hard to tell. It's a shemozzle out there. CyberCity CBD is gridlocked with traffic. Office workers feel like they are being forced to work slowly without technological help. Only the essential services are running normally, thanks to their exemption from Operation Red. The schools are positive though. The Second and Third Schools that I called expect students to get their answers in to the Think Witted Team around 1pm.'

'All exactly as expected. Well done, Tom. Keep it up. We're almost half way there.'

Back in her chair, she picked up the visi-phone to call Ariel.

'Hey, you can't answer that,' said John.

The teacher looked over, scowling again.

'It's a presidential call,' said Ariel loudly. 'Government business. Mum said she'd try and call to see how we're going.'

'Suppose that's okay,' said John.

'Hi, Mum,' said Ariel. 'Yeah, okay here. We're not blitzing the brainstorm, but I think we've done the rest okay. Yes. Yes. No. Ok, bye.'

'How's things at her end?' asked John absently, looking at the scribbled brainstorm on the floor.

'She doesn't look worried,' said Ariel.

'She never does,' said John. 'Well, let's finish this off. I reckon we take the best bits from the brainstorm, list them and hand that in. What do we all think?'

The group agreed.

John began to select ideas from the scrawled collection, and Ariel wrote them down.

'Have solar panels facing the sun. Duh. More panels. More sun. No, that's a stupid one, take that out. Put panels in outer space. Check wiring. Put up mirrors to reflect sun and double effect. Hmmm.'

He scanned the paper and then sat back, satisfied.

'That's it. Hand it in.'

'What about cleaning the panels?' said Ariel, tapping the brainstorm. 'Your own idea. Go on, that's a good suggestion.'

'As if they wouldn't do that, Ariel. Yeah, okay. All our ideas are whacked.'

He stood up and stretched. Ariel handed him the set of answer papers.

'We're done, Mrs Keats.'

The lunch bell rang.

'The ability to think, Tom, is what separates us from the lower life forms.'

Ms President stood before her ultra wide window, gazing over CyberCity. She held the 3pm report in her hand.

'Any of those people out there can be taught to do just about anything technological. Operating a computer. Writing a program. Running a system. It can all be taught, and learnt. By rote, by following simple steps. But, add a complication, a variation, and there's trouble. Why? Because that's when they have to think. All those people—' she waved her hand over the city's skyscrapers—'have information without knowledge. Knowledge requires thought, gutsy critical lateral thought, Tom. That's our problem.'

'That seems to be true, Ms President,' Tom said.

'I should have done something about this when I took office. I saw the problem, and I let it go. Now I have to be the ogre.'

Ms President looked over Tom's shoulder into the big office. A commotion was coming their way.

'Ms President!'

A beaming young woman barrelled into the presidential office and pulled up at the last second. Ms President took a step back to regain her personal space.

'Gloria. Good afternoon. You have some good news it would seem.'

Ms President held out her hand and the excited head of the Think Witted Team thrust a crumpled paper into it.

'Volt Town solar station clean panels robot malfunction checked seven millimetres,' Ms President read aloud. 'Lovely, Gloria. What does it mean?'

'Oh, Ms President! It means Operation Red is a huge success!'

Ms President smiled affectionately.

'Spill it,' she said.

'Those notes,' Gloria began, 'a jumble, I know. Everything happened so fast, let me explain. We were working our way through the Third Schools' answers. Marking them, and, as you suggested, testing the answers as we went with the relevant authority. One of the solar station's engineers, Misho, was with us, and, as you suggested, we discussed each one. Well, except for the really crazy ones.'

'Get to the good part, Gloria,' said Ms President, not unkindly.

'One particular answer said clean the solar panels,' Gloria continued. 'Misho said a robot did that daily. We asked if the robot was checked for efficiency, and Misho said yes. We were just about to move on, and he said "not closely". We said, aha!'

'Indeed,' said Ms President. 'And then?'

'We said, let's check it now. Down and dirty, on the roof!' said Gloria.

'Rah rah!' enthused Ms President. 'That's what I'm on about. People re-taking charge of critical decision making. Initiative and action! I'm anticipating the cleaning robot was not up to the job, Gloria.'

'It had been correctly programmed, Ms President, but a malfunction hadn't been picked up. The robot went over the panels all right. Back and forth, la la la, clean clean clean—'

'The outcome, Gloria, please.'

'The cleaning pads were jammed! Suspended! Seven millimeters off the surface of the panels! And the tubes carrying water to the pads? Clogged! No water and no contact between cleaning pad and solar panel. The grime was so thick it was almost up to the pads.'

'Good lord! And how long had that been happening?' asked Ms President.

'Months,' replied Gloria gleefully. 'Probably since the first week of operation, that's when the power output began to decline.'

Ms President rolled her eyes.

'Marvellous,' she said sarcastically. 'Tom. I'd like a word with the solar station manager. Call him and tell him his presence is required in my office 9am tomorrow please.'

She shook her head, then celebrated with a jig.

'The students came through,' she said happily, slapping Gloria on the back. 'All these months; and computer modelling and recalibrations and forecasts and projections; and a Third School student makes a guess. I couldn't have hoped for a better result today. This is wonderful news for CyberCity. Let's make the most of it. Gloria, get down to the school this afternoon with a comp-vision team. You should just make it before the end of the school day. Get photos of the students who sent that answer for tonight's news. What school is it?'

'Ananova College,' said Gloria. 'The one that specialises in media.'

'Yes, I know it well,' said Ms President. 'That's my son's school.'

'I'll get down there right away,' said Gloria. 'The team can finish without me. There may be more good news coming in from other schools.'

'Here's hoping,' said Ms President. 'Some positive results from today will really bolster the cause and help people see what can be done when the human brain responds to a problem. It's really very good news, Gloria. Well done everyone!'

Tran was the last one to succumb in the afternoon nap. He wanted to talk about his paintings, but by the time Timbo brought them over, Tran was gone. Timbo carefully laid the vivid papers beside the sleeping boy and drew the soft cotton blanket across his shoulders. He looked around the room. Bodies lay everywhere, snuggled on mattresses and rolled in blankets. Kara yawned.

'No way,' said Timbo. 'Aren't you wide awake? This is exciting stuff.'

'Yeah,' Kara whispered. 'I'm tired from over stimulus, not boredom. It's a good thing.'

'Come out here,' Timbo whispered too, gesturing towards the kitchen. 'I'll make you a sandwich and a coffee. Then we could do some more art!'

They skirted lumpy shapes and moved quietly into the other room.

'I confess,' said Timbo as he sprayed buttermix onto the bread, 'I am surprised. I've seen sparks where I saw no spark. A gleam in the eye, a conversation, and, bless me, interest and initiative. Art is a winner! Tell you what though, their gross motor skills and their fine motor skills need some work, don't they?'

He shook his head, still processing the creative events of the morning.

'What's the difference?'

'Gross motor skills are ball throwing, jumping, hopping, that kind of thing. Fine motor skills are drawing, scissor cutting, block stacking; the finer movements. I've done some reading in the last week. I've been remiss.'

'Bat swinging and ball catching,' said Kara. 'That was bad.'

'Drawing—I've been remiss—drawing, Kara, is as important as reading for little kids.'

'Don't beat yourself up, Timbo,' said Kara.

'Drawing, so the experts say, is one of the most important things a kid can do. Kara, I feel bad that we've done such a piddling amount of art. I've been remiss, so, guess what?'

'What?'

'Art is here to stay at The Counting Clown First School. And I'm going to rename it to reflect our new arty focus; The Rainbow First School is my current favourite. To hell with writing stories by numbers and arithmetickle and all that hoohah.'

'Now you're talking!' said Kara. 'That's what I switched schools to see.'

'We need some colour here. We need drawing and we need to talk about drawing, and we need to talk about lots and lots of things. Everything. I've been remiss. You know, once we got them going with the paints they were okay about not using the Story Wall and the First Chairs. And that's in one day. Maybe I could shift them out while everyone's asleep.'

'We should paint everyday,' said Kara.

'We're going to,' said Timbo. 'I can't believe the response. They're like different kids. We had zombies before and we didn't know it.'

Kara looked sideways at him.

'Okay, _I_ didn't know it. Let's have a new schedule, starting tomorrow. A walk in the park, standing on one leg, painting, reading stories—I loved doing that—ball games, hopping, lunch, then sleep. All done with lots of talking. First School meets Q&A scenario.'

'After sleep and lunch?' asked Kara.

'Painting!'

'The 5pm report, Ms President.'

Tom stood in the doorway with the Operation Red update folder in his hand.

Gloria poked her head around his narrow frame and beamed at Ms President.

'Ah, you're back,' Ms President said, taking the report. 'And were the students pleased with themselves, Gloria?'

'Oh, yes,' replied Gloria, sidling around Tom. 'And we have more good news, Ms President. Today's Second School answers have been particularly thoughtful, and I thought you'd like to know about one answer in particular, so I rushed full speed up here. It's so exciting!'

'I'm all ears,' said Ms President.

'The case of "The best doughnut" has been in court for five years now, Ms President,' said Gloria.

'Yes, it would be funny if it wasn't so idiotic,' replied Ms President. 'Holesome versus Kevin's Kiosk, and their inane argument over which company makes CyberCity's best doughnuts. Hole hum. Now, don't tell me some students have a solution to the city's longest running legal case?'

'They certainly do,' replied Gloria. 'The students' proposal is that the owner of each company bakes ten trays of doughnuts. A panel of 20 blindfolded students, aged 13–17, selected from secret ballot, will taste and judge them to find out which is _best_. The loser will then withdraw their claim from the courts.'

'And the companies have agreed to abide by the results of this competition?' asked Ms President in wonder.

'They have,' replied Gloria.

'It's a miracle,' said Ms President.

'The bake-off is on Saturday,' added Gloria.

'And it gets better!' exclaimed Ms President happily. 'Saturday! That is a fast and efficient solution, Gloria. Well done indeed. From Saturday then, that case is closed?'

'Yes, Ms President. Unfortunately, we marked that answer too late to make the early evening news,' said Gloria apologetically.

'No matter, it'll be news tomorrow, and on Saturday,' said Ms President. 'It will spread the good news over a couple of days. I'll drop a hint in my comp-vision report tonight that a very positive thing happened today, thanks once again to the city's thoughtful students. I suppose you're eager to dash off and write that media release, eh Gloria?'

'Oh, yes, Ms President,' said Gloria. 'Straightaway.'

She bustled off through the main office, and Ms President turned to Tom, waiting patiently in the doorway.

'Now, Tom. How is the evening peak shaping up?'

'Half the city's workers have already gone home, Ms President,' answered Tom. 'I don't think there will be an evening traffic problem tonight.'

'Those babies!' scoffed Ms President. 'What sooks! The big bad Pressie takes their technological crutches away and she makes their work day _toooo hard_. I hope they're ashamed of themselves when they watch the news tonight and see that Third School students have solved one of the city's most expensive conundrums. Just by some common sense and a little applied critical thought.'

'The other half of the workforce has put their thinking caps on,' continued Tom. 'They've divided the city into four sectors, centred on Mobile Jingle Tower, and they are coordinating leaving work in sectors. They're staggering times with the first sector leaving at 4pm, then half hourly after that.'

Tom checked his comp-watch.

'So, the third sector is well on their way, and we've heard nothing bad from the CBD.'

'How did they coordinate that, Tom? With the limitations on computer and visi-phone use today?'

'Sector runners. Word of mouth I believe.'

'That sounds a bit like initiative, Tom,' said Ms President hopefully.

'It does indeed, Ms President.'

'Maybe it's not as bad as I'm making out,' mused Ms President. 'Maybe there are some sparks of creative thought out there, just waiting for something like Operation Red to come along and strike a light. Did you manage to get hold of the educationalists?'

'Each of the names on your list will be here at 10am Monday, ready for a brainstorming session on critical thinking skills in schools,' said Tom.

'And so we move forward,' said Ms President. 'I'm optimistic, Tom, that we can climb out of the techno morass we've abseiled into, and stride into a bright, human controlled future. We just need the thinking spikes to stand on, and it looks like our students will lead the way.'

'Hooray for us!'

Ariel, closely followed by John and Kara, was striding through the office.

'Now, here's a welcome deputation,' said Ms President. 'Welcome! Ananova College has had a big day. Do any of you know the students who solved the solar station's problem?'

'You're looking at him,' said Ariel pointing to his friend.

'Really? John, you are a wonder,' said Ms President, shaking his hand. 'I can't tell you what a boost that has been to the day's success. You switched the wires.'

'Sorry? Wha—?'

'How—?!'

'From money zooming out to power beaming in,' said Ms President. 'At Volt Town, John. You have reversed the flow.'

'Oh, yes. A pleasure, Ms President,' said John, blushing. 'I thought it was too obvious to say, but Ariel wrote it down. Next thing I know, I'm being interviewed by Channel Blank.'

'A scoop for them,' said Ms President. 'Now. Come in chickens, come in. Let's have a celebratory drink and you can tell me about your respective experiences today, I'd love to hear that.'

Ms President shepherded them into her office and lifted three spirulina fizzes out of the fridge. Then she dived into a cupboard to extract a 2026 Macquarie Island shiraz.

'I've been waiting for a good reason to crack this,' she said. 'The second harvest from the island's vine plantings. One of the few good things to come out of climate change; the best shiraz in the world now comes from the Antarctic Zone.'

She poured a generous glass, and held it high against the light.

'Look at that glorious colour. My, my. John, you'll appreciate this. Let's have a toast. To Operation Red; John; and CyberCity's thoughtful future.'

'Cheers,' agreed Ariel, slurping his juice.

'Now, Kara, your turn. What happened at the First School today?'

'Success, Ms President,' Kara reported. 'We spent all day playing, with paints and toys and bats and balls. And the kids loved it. After the first hour or so anyway. They really did. Timbo explained Operation Red very well I thought. He told them the city was playing a game for the day, and their parents were playing it too, at home and at work. They asked lots of questions in the morning about why they couldn't use the Story Wall and the First Chairs, but we got past that. One of our real sweeties, Tran, gave me this to give to you.'

Kara handed over one of Tran's vibrant artworks.

'It's you in your office,' she explained as Ms President unrolled the slightly sticky sheet.

'It's wonderful,' said Ms President admiringly. 'I'm touched.'

'And Timbo asked me to invite you to drop in sometime,' said Kara.

'How about next Tuesday, about 10am?'

Ms President looked over at Tom as he checked the Presidential schedule on his comp-watch. Tom nodded.

'Excellent,' said Ms President. 'I'd like to thank Tran in person.'

'Well, yes, sure,' said Kara. 'Of course, Ms President. I, uh, I wasn't expecting such a quick response.'

'Do, or do not,' said Ms President. 'My new motto. Now, John. Amplify your solution for the solar station. What made you suggest cleaning the panels?'

John swallowed his juice and looked thoughtful.

'When I applied for a job there, at the solar station, the manager mentioned that most of the cleaning was done by robots. Robots work terrifically, if nothing goes wrong with their system operations. But, when we got the question at school, I thought I'd investigate the robotic systems, just in case. I looked at the data on the solar station's website and the other data the Think Witted Team sent us, and I saw that the original plan included a daily manual check of the cleaning robots. But, just before the station began operations, that part of the plan was cancelled.'

'Cost cutting,' confirmed Ms President sadly. 'I signed off on that. We were looking for cost effective efficiency. We saved one person's wages with that decision, but it's cost CyberCity, oh, probably a touch over three million dollars. A stupid stupid decision, and it was mine.'

Ms President swirled her wine and sighed loudly.

'Over-mechanisation,' she said. 'Over-reliance on machines to do the job right. One person making a manual cleaning check would have nipped that multimillion dollar problem in the bud. Yes, I've been guilty of relying on technology. But, not any more. Changes are afoot my dears!'

Ms President turned to Ariel.

'And what about your day, sonny?' she asked. 'Apart from scribing John's inspired idea.'

'Pretty much as usual,' Ariel replied brightly. 'Only with more critical thought.'

'Excellent,' said Ms President. 'What's for dinner?'

'I haven't thought about that yet,' Ariel laughed.

'Okay then, scoot,' Ms President said. 'It's been lovely to see the three of you, but I have to do a few things before tonight's comp-vision address. I'll be home after that, Ariel. Ride home safely. All of you. Ride on curled clouds.'

Walking towards their tri-bikes, Kara got the giggles.

'She doesn't muck around, your Mum,' she said to Ariel. 'One minute we're sipping drinks in the presidential suite and discussing events of the day; next minute we're out on the street.'

'She's action woman since we helped out with that little push,' agreed Ariel. 'It's great! Things are finally happening.'

'Do, or do not,' recited John. 'I like it.'

'She nicked it from Yoda,' said Ariel, connecting his titanium cranium. 'Why don't you two come back to my place? I'll whip up some dinner and we can watch the comp-vision report.'

'I've got to be at work at seven,' said John.

'Oh, yeah,' said Ariel. 'I'll make us a snack then, and you can go straight to work from our place.'

Kara playfully manoeuvered her tri-bike around John while he procrastinated.

'C'mon, John,' she said, bumping his bike as he started it up. 'We'll travel in convoy. With six eyes we'll spot the green light runners before they collect us.'

'Yeah, alright,' John said. He started his tri-bike. 'You talked me into it. There was mention of a snack. Ariel?'

Ariel was standing very still and staring at the ground. John prodded him.

'Hello? Yoohoo?'

'I have just had a horrible thought,' said Ariel slowly. 'Argh no, no, no. You have to be at work at seven.'

'Yeah. So? I've seen you make a fast snack before.'

'No.'

Kara and John waited for the horrible thought to be articulated.

'The night we did the deed,' Ariel said. 'And John called from work and I said to Mum I'd go over and help him with an assignment and she said okay and she knows that John has a job weeknights and he wouldn't have been at home.'

'Oh,' said Kara.

'Rats,' said John.

'She didn't say anything. She does not miss a beat guys, and she didn't say anything. Then or later.'

'She's forgotten that I work nights,' said John. 'She's forgotten you told her that.'

'She never forgets, mate. Anything.'

'She's been so busy, worrying about things like the solar station, that she didn't put two and two together,' offered Kara.

'Oh boy, that's stretching it,' said Ariel. 'There's a mini mini _mini_ chance she didn't click...but, oh, I dunno.'

'Why wouldn't she say something then?' asked John. 'You two don't have secrets.'

'You have a great relationship,' agreed Kara. 'You discuss a lot more than most families I reckon. She just forgot, Ariel.'

Ariel shook his head, puzzled.

'No. She knows I lied to her, and she hasn't carpeted me for it. Why?'

'She's hurt,' offered Kara. 'She's hoping you'll come clean on your own. She's biding her time.'

Ariel looked keenly at Kara.

'That could be true,' he said. 'Damn. That could be true.'

He started the tri-bike.

'Let's get out of here,' he said sadly.

'Follow me,' John said as they moved off. 'We'll go the short cut, through Simcard Park.'

One hundred metres above, Ms President raised her near empty glass in a silent toast as she watched the three tri-bikes zoom off.

Behnn Robertson-Tang Smith'n'Jones confidently took his place in the Monochrome news chair. He had volunteered to announce the cross to Ms President's office and to write the introduction to her report. He took a swig of water and waited for the director's signal.

'Good evening ladies and gentlemen,' Behnn began smoothly. 'Tonight there has been a change in the advertised program, due to Operation Red. Tonight's episode in the _How to_ \- series, _How to find your way across the city without a GPS_ , will be slightly delayed due to an important message from Ms President. Normal programming will resume after Ms President's message. We now cross live to the Presidential office. Thank you.'

John's boss stuck his head into the office corridor and gave a loud whistle.

'It's on,' he called, as John appeared at the end of the corridor. 'Come and watch.'

By the time John got to the office, his boss had settled into an executive chair with a bottle of beer. He generously waved John to another chair.

'Thanks,' John said. 'I really wanted to hear this.'

'Well, it's important stuff,' said his boss. 'An historical moment. A momentous event that we're in the middle of.'

On the comp-vision, Behnn finished his introduction.

'We've got a couple of those 2ZBs,' continued his boss. 'You know, the one that started the whole thing. With a _thought_.'

'Have we?' asked John, feigning indifference.

'Well, we did. TechYES took them away.'

John nodded, then said: 'Sssh, she's on.'

'Good evening, Cyberians.'

Ms President's voice carried strongly through the office. John and his boss sat up straighter.

'May I begin with congratulations to you all,' Ms President continued warmly. 'The sky did not fall on our heads today. Indeed, the very heavens opened up for some blessed city dwellers, and radiant beams of enlightenment fell onto parts of CyberCity; parts where critical thinking shone like a beacon in the darkest alleys of techno dependence.'

'Crikey,' said John's boss.

'It has been a wonderful day in the city,' continued Ms President. 'I hope you have all had as productive a day as I have had, filled with creative energy and critical thought and positive outcomes.'

_I did_ , thought Behnn Robertson-Tang Smith'n'Jones.

'I did,' said John.

'Yeah?'

John grinned.

'I'd like to share some of the day's highlights with you all,' said Ms President, unrolling a sheet of paper and showing it to the camera. 'Firstly, the First Schools. Our youngest students had no technological props today. They played. They worked on artworks such as this one by a young man named Tran, and they have had an exciting and stimulating day experimenting with colours and communication. The Second Schools also had a good day, and all reports I'm delighted to say are positive. I must make special mention of an outstanding result from Googling-on Second School with the questions sent to schools this morning.'

Ms President paused as she placed the artwork gently to one side.

'She's good at that,' murmured John.

'At what?' asked his boss.

Before John could reply, Ms President resumed.

'Googling-on students have applied critical thought to the main problem sent to them this morning, and they have solved one of this city's most protracted and wearying legal disputes. I won't steal their thunder, they deserve to break the news to the city themselves. Googling-on students will file their own news report on their breakthrough, tomorrow at 9am, direct from the school. Be watching.'

John and his boss nodded obediently.

'Then we have the Third Schools,' continued Ms President. 'Another set of wonderful answers to the questions posed by the Think Witted Team. I can't tell you how pleased I am with our students' responses today. In particular—and you will have heard this in the news tonight—students at Ananova College have resolved the output problem that has plagued Volt Town's solar power station since operations began.'

'Don't you go there?' asked John's boss.

'Yeah,' replied John happily.

'Tomorrow the solar station will be working at full capacity. The meteorologists tell me the sun will be shining brightly to help it along. My personal thanks to the students at both these schools who have today saved CyberCity millions of dollars.'

'That's pretty good,' said John's boss.

'Isn't it?' agreed John.

'On the work front,' said Ms President, 'the day went off smoothly with few hitches reported. It seems that most workers managed to get through the day, but whether their thought processes were _critically_ extended remains to be seen. The jury is still out on that one. What I have been able to deduce from the first day of Operation Red is this: the schools performed outstandingly. Beyond what was expected. Students can only go forwards from this point and CyberCity's future looks much improved from today. The workforce performed reasonably well, but I think the city's workers would benefit from a little help.'

Ms President paused again and took a sip of water.

'Uh oh,' murmured John's boss. 'I don't like the sound of this.'

'To build on the excellent work begun in schools today, and to develop and support the workforce's critical thinking skills, the government has decided to extend Operation Red next month to take place over one week.'

'Aaargh!' cried John's boss.

'We will strike while the laser pointer is red hot. Again, I congratulate you all on getting through today. Given today's results from schools, we can only imagine what a week of critical thinking will mean to CyberCity. Good evening to you all.'

'Chaos. Unhappiness,' groaned John's boss. 'She's gone too far.'

John stood up.

'It could be good,' he said.

But he could still hear his boss muttering as he walked down the corridor, back to work.

'It will be good,' chortled Ariel. 'That's a great idea, don't you think?'

'I do,' agreed Kara.

Ariel headed off into the kitchen to make another snack. Kara followed him.

'Although, it won't make much difference to us,' she added. 'Because Timbo's decided that every day is going to be like today. He's going to get the Story Wall removed and the First Chairs adjusted so that they are just comfortable chairs, nothing else.'

'Good for him,' said Ariel.

'Yeah. It was fun today. He and I had great fun, and I know the kids enjoyed themselves cause they went home dirty and tired and smiling.'

'You get on well with Timbo, don't you?'

'He's terrific,' said Kara enthusiastically. 'We get on really well. He's even giving me free lessons on comp-vision game writing. From the master himself, Ariel.'

'During school?'

'No, when the kids go home,' said Kara, oblivious to Ariel's tone. 'The man's a genius, Ariel. Timbo's games are CyberCity's number one seller.'

'Says who?'

Kara stopped stirring her coffee and stared at Ariel.

'Well, he does,' she replied. 'But they're very good, as you know. I believe him.'

'Yeah, sorry,' said Ariel. 'His games are superb, you're right.'

'So what are you upset about?'

'Upset? I'm not upset,' answered Ariel overly cheerful.

He picked up his coffee and walked back into the living room.

'Well you're doing a good imitation of upset,' responded Kara, tagging along. 'C'mon. It's not like you to be moody.'

'Moody!'

'Okay okay,' said Kara. She sat on the couch and patted the seat beside her. 'Come and tell Aunty Kara all about it.'

Ariel looked wryly at Kara, then at the couch, and then they both laughed.

'I'm just being a dork,' said Ariel, sitting down. 'Sorry. We used to spend a whole lot of time together, and now we don't.'

'Oh,' said Kara.

'You're at work and I'm at school and when I do see you it's Timbo this and Timbo that, and yes, I like him too, but...'

'Too much Timbo.'

'Yeah.'

'You are still my bestest friend,' said Kara.

Ariel chuckled and was about to say something profound when his visi-phone rang.

'Hi Mum. Nice speech.'

'Thank you dear; hello Kara,' Ms President replied. 'Did you sort dinner or should I pick up something?'

'We've only had snacks,' said Ariel hopefully. 'And John's coming back after work.'

'I'll get dinner for four then. How about Tasmanian?'

'Yum, I love Tasmanian,' said Kara.

'Thanks, Mum.'

'See you soon.'

Ms President clicked the visi-phone off and settled back into the car's plush seat. The chauffeur drove cautiously through a red light. She smiled and looked out at the almost deserted city streets.

'Franko?'

'Yes, Ms President?'

'We're stopping at the Devil's Diner.'

'Are you going to tell her?' Kara asked.

'I'm thinking about it,' Ariel answered.

'Ms President,' said Kara as she tucked into woodchip fired farmed salmon pizza, 'I think Operation Red is an inspired idea.'

'Yeah,' added John and Ariel.

'I confess,' said Ms President heartily, 'Even though it was my idea, I do agree!'

'My cleaning boss didn't like it,' chuckled John.

'Tough.'

'How did you convince Cabinet to go for a week?' asked Ariel.

'Who asked them?' said Ms President, pouring more wine. 'Not me. I made it up on the way to Channel Blank.'

The teenagers stopped eating and stared at Ms President. Kara and John turned to Ariel.

'Are you allowed to do that?' he said.

'Allowed; heavens! Probably not,' said Ms President, munching through a truffle toastie. 'Don't look so worried, chickens. I can talk Cabinet into just about anything. Now that we have impetus, I'm not deviating for democracy. Cabinet will come around.'

'Yes, but, shouldn't you have got approval or something first?' said Ariel. 'I mean, well, it's a pretty big thing you're talking about. A whole week where the entire city—'

'Is united for humanity and progress. Won't that be grand?'

'Yes; but...Mum...' Ariel stumbled on.

Ms President patted his knee.

'Now, Ariel,' she said. 'A few weeks ago you were in despair at my inaction. You thought Cyberians were becoming soporific; far too dependant on technology. And you were right. You wanted me to fix that, and I'm trying to do it. Have another toastie, John. I know you like them.'

'Thank you, Ms President,' said John, taking two.

'I needed a push,' explained Ms President. 'And that thinking computer was perfect. I couldn't act without an event to respond to; Cabinet and the city would have been lukewarm without an event to respond to. But once I had that threatening situation, that unusual event, I was off. Varroom! I'm using powers that were set up for just this kind of situation. It's all legal, don't worry. Your Pres isn't about to turn into a megalomaniac dictator wielding the critical thought axe all over town. It's all about leadership and taking charge. For the greater good. Have you tried a possum stick, John? They're particularly tasty.'

'Still...' said Ariel.

'Phooey,' said Ms President firmly. 'You can't fix a problem of this magnitude and seriousness without stepping on a few brain dead citizens in charge of computers, Ariel. And it's not as if I'm bringing back the stocks, is it? Or imprisoning people, or withholding work or education opportunities. No, just the opposite. We're talking about enlightenment, not a new dark age.'

'Bringing back the stock market?' said Kara.

'The stocks,' said Ms President. 'An old fashioned punishment involving rotten fruit. Isn't this apple and hamster pizza delicious?'

'I suppose you're right,' said Ariel, picking up another slice.

'I'm convinced,' said John. 'CyberCity needed a kick up the bum. We were talking about it ourselves only days before the big event, and wondering what you—the government—could do about getting people energised.'

'Were you? Some thoughtful people in the city were thinking along those lines too, John,' said Ms President. 'And that, I now see, was more people than I had calculated. But they muttered and mumbled and talked, and, well, nothing happened and the years went by. CyberCity desperately needed an event to focus on, to respond to. And we got it. Not a moment too soon.'

Kara caught Ariel's eye and he shrugged.

'The city trusts you,' she said.

'They do,' agreed Ms President. 'There were a few tizzies thrown today, but, mostly, people do trust me to do the right thing, for the good of everyone. And they shall not be disappointed. I might have to bend the rules just a tiny bit, but the results will justify that.'

She looked around at her audience. They were sitting on the floor with the end of their Tasmanian picnic spread on a tablecloth.

'This is something I strongly believe in,' Ms President said. 'I know you three believe in it too, and we're not alone. I had calls today from some of the city's most powerful business brokers. Each one said thank you. The CEO of Biz-Drive rang and told me that their main problem with graduate employees is that Biz-Drive has to teach them to think. And they've got degrees! Years of education at Fourth Schools and, in his words: 'they're not inventive, they don't take risks and they lack initiative'. They come with whiz bang technological _information_ , but put them into a new situation that requires the application of knowledge and thinking skills, and they don't cope.'

'Duds,' offered John helpfully.

'Indeed,' said Ms President. 'I am determined that schools are going to lift their game in teaching thinking per se.'

'Is that why you changed the traffic lights for the day?' asked Kara. 'To make people respond to a new situation?'

'It was a wild shot,' laughed Ms President. 'But I think it really emphasised quick thinking for a purpose. Self-preservation. How was it on the roads?'

'We invented a new way home through the park,' said Ariel.

'You had to look everywhere at once,' added Kara.

'It was like a game,' said John. 'I hated it in the morning, but it was fun going to work tonight. It was an exercise in logic. Like learning to ride all over again. I enjoyed it actually.'

'Bingo,' said Ms President. 'John, you've had a terrific day for critical thought.'

'And I'm knackered,' said John, standing up. 'I'm off home. Thanks very much for dinner, Ms President.'

'A pleasure, John. 'Tis small reward for your contribution today,' said Ms President. She stood too. 'Now, I'm making coffee. Kara, are you staying?'

'No, thanks Ms President. Those little kids have worn me out. I'll be off too.'

'Just you and me, Ariel? Well, goodnight chickens. Ride home safely.'

Ariel walked his friends to the door. He gave Kara a swift kiss on the check then turned to say good bye to John.

'No, it's okay mate, I don't want one of those,' said John.

'You weren't getting one, handsome,' replied Ariel. 'See you in school tomorrow.'

He watched their lights flare down the quiet street, stood for a moment, thoughtful, then walked back inside. Ms President was in the kitchen and Ariel began to clear up the meal.

'That was a nice dinner, Mum,' he called. 'Thanks.'

Ms President appeared with two mugs.

'I enjoy having you and your friends in the house,' she said, setting the mugs down and giving him a hand to carry dishes into the kitchen. 'They're good people, your mates.'

'Yeah, they are.'

Ariel scrounged some fake chocolate from the fridge and joined his mother in the living room.

'And was it really an okay day at school today?' Ms President asked seriously.

'It was fine, Mum. No problems.'

'I did wonder if you might cop some flack.'

'So did I,' said Ariel. 'But, nothing major, just some low key heckling.'

He broke off some chocolate and handed Ms President a piece. Then he drew a newsletter from his back pocket and put it on the table.

'That'll be a collector's item one day,' said Ms President.

'There is something I'd like to tell you though,' Ariel said tentatively. 'I've bent the rules a tiny bit too.'

'Mmm,' Ms President sat back on the couch and gave her son her full attention. 'And what have you been up to, my tricksy sprite?'

###

