by Hugh Macnab
Permission and found that she was touching her cheek with one hand and holding out her frock in the other. She looked up at him and smiled, tears in her eyes. ‘I’ve never been able to do this,’ she said. ‘At last I have an appearance.’
Shylock flushed again, this time with embarrassment instead of shame. ‘Do you like it?’
‘Oh yes!’ Permission replied, stepping forward and wrapping her arms around him. ‘Thank you. Thank you.’
Shylock stood rigid, arms straight by his sides, enjoying the feel of her body against his. Not knowing what to do, and settling for absolutely nothing until she set him free and stepped away once more.
‘How can I ever repay you for this?’ she asked, wiping the tears from her cheeks. ‘I feel….just wonderful.’
Flummoxed, and annoyed with himself that all he could think of to say was whether she could help him get planning permission for his door, he allowed her to take his hand and lead him beyond the glass-topped reception counter and into a small single office just barely large enough for her desk, and two chairs. She sat, crossing her legs. He followed suit.
‘So, tell me about your planning permission?’ she asked.
Inequitable Revenue Services
Having explained to Permission his need for a door, he was disappointed when she told him that she wouldn’t be able to help – that there was no longer a budget for any approvals under any circumstances. However, when she noticed how desperate he was, she offered to take him to another department where maybe someone would be able help him. He at least brightened a little.
They thought-travelled together, which left Shylock weak-kneed and shaking when they arrived at their destination. Now that he was getting the hang of this mode of getting around, he realised that while their minds were locked together he could visit his travelling companions thoughts – or even more astonishing, feel her emotions. She liked him. She liked him a lot, and yet again he felt embarrassed to know things about this woman that no one should ever be privy to.
Permission was looking at him strangely. ‘Are you al-right?’ she asked. ‘You seem a little….shaken?’
Shylock reassured her, realising as he did so, that as they travelled she clearly had not been able to visit his own thoughts or feelings….for, if she had he’d already be in deep trouble. Shrugging, he said that he was fine, and diverted the conversation by asking where they were.
Permission pointed to the sign overhead - Inequitable Revenue Services, and before he could comment, disappeared through a rotating glass door. Shylock followed, reaching out to push the door. It didn’t budge - causing him to bump straight into the glass, flattening his nose and crying ‘Ouch!' in surprise.
Rubbing his nose gently, he stepped back and examined the door surrounds for a buzzer or some other form of entrance security, but could see nothing. He tried pushing the door a second time, but still it wouldn’t open. Frustrated, he kicked the bottom of the door and yelped as he hurt his foot.
He was hopping on one foot, holding the other, when he heard the door swing smoothly into motion and he looked up to find Permission suddenly beside him. ‘Are you al-right?’ she asked, concerned.
Nodding, Shylock cursed the door, then explained what had happened.
‘Oh, I’m sorry, I forgot you need Permission to enter,’ she said, shrugging. ‘Just another one of my chores around here. Fortunately, this isn’t a very popular place so I don’t get asked to do this very often,’ she said. Then, taking Shylock by the arm and pushing the door one more time, together they entered the Department of Inequitable Revenue Services.
At first, seeing desks apparently on the ceiling as well as the floor, Shylock thought the ceiling was mirrored. However, as a bald-headed, pin-stripe-suit-wearing, bespectacled employee stood from his desk and walked towards them, a similar image did not appear on the ceiling. Shylock’s mouth stared agape as the mostly-empty desks clung to the ceiling, defying gravity with consummate ease. This was similar but much grander than the garden shed at Infinite Resources Inc. Departmental signs hung upside down on each and Shylock twisted his head sideways to read a couple - ‘High Finance, Overdrafts,’ he read out loud.
‘I suppose you’ve come to complain,’ the approaching employee said, in a whinging tone. ‘That’s all we ever get anymore. Complaints, complaints, complaints.’
‘Well, not exactly,’ replied Shylock, determined not to upset the official any more than he already was. ‘I’m simply looking for some information.’
‘He needs a budget,’ explained Permission, in a tone indicating that she already knew which answer would be given.
Pin-stripe laughed. ‘You must be either joking, or from some far-out dimension my friend!’
‘Funny you should say that,’ replied Shylock. ‘That’s exactly correct! In fact I’m from a three dimensional world called Earth.’
‘Never heard of it,’ laughed Pin-stripe. ‘Have you seen our balance of payments recently – oh, I suppose not. Look, ‘ he said, lifting a small sand-clock from the nearest desk. It was about four inches tall and rested easily on his hand. The two glass spheres sat one above the other, red sand filling the lower of the two which had the single word DEFICIT printed in red letters on it. ‘Desperate, just desperate,’ he added. Then, suddenly brightening he asked… ‘This planet of yours, how much tax does it pay?’
‘How much tax?’ asked Shylock, not sure which tax the pin-striped employee was referring to.
‘You know…tax,’ repeated Pin-stripe. ‘ In total, the sum of alcohol, amusement, capital gains, capitation, death, estate, excise…’
‘Yes, yes! I see what you mean,’ said Shylock. ‘You mean every tax. But I didn’t realise it was being paid to you…and anyway, I honestly haven’t the faintest idea.’
‘Hmm, let’s just see,’ pin-stripe said, returning to his desk, sitting down, then apparently speaking to somewhere in mid-air just above their heads. ‘Information retrieval. Are you available?’
Silence.
Pin-stripe repeated his request and this time was answered by a sultry voice appearing to completely surround them. ‘Yes,’ replied, the voice. ‘But I was enjoying some down-sleep. Can’t it wait?’
‘No, it most certainly can’t,’ replied Pinstripe, face reddening. ‘Just remember who’s in charge around here!’
‘Who?’ replied the voice, with a chuckle. ‘What’ll you do? Unplug me from a non-existing power source? Reprogram my memory so I’ll be less useful when you really need me urgently? No, I don’t think so. In fact, I don’t think you’ll do anything, I think you’re full of bravado! And that’s being polite only as I see we have guests.’
Pin-stripe spluttered, and pulled at the collar (leather with shiny brass studs) around his neck as if it were the source of his discomfort. Then, sat back and forced a steely smile to his face. ‘Perhaps I was a little hasty,’ he said, through tightly clenched jaws. ‘Maybe you could be so kind as to help me, seeing as how I am only trying to help our visitor from the planet Earth.’
‘Earth?’ restated the voice, as if chewing it over. ‘Never heard of it.’
Shylock let out a small groan, and looked to see what Permission was making of this conversation.
Seeing his exasperation, she tried herself – addressing the voice by name for the first time. ‘Tell me, Jonah. Why were you given your name?’
‘Why Permission, I didn’t recognise your new appearance, but I certainly recognise that voice – being a bit of an expert on voices as I am,’ the information retrieval program replied. ‘By the way, your new persona is most…how would you say…attractive. I’m afraid I’ve never been very good at image creation, and the last image I had of you really didn’t do you many favours – tracks, components, synaptic-connectors…you know the type of thing. Who ever did your new make-over has really done a fine job. Now, what was it you asked… oh yes, my name! Well, as you know, I was called Jonah because I’ve swallowed a whale-load of information in my time, that’s why.’
‘And you are undoubtedly the richest source of knowledge in existence, are you not?’ she asked, smoothly.
‘Ye..eees,’ answered Jonah, seeing the trap opening, but not able to avoid it.
‘So, surely as the ultimate clever-clogs you can answer a simple question like how much tax the Planet Earth pays, can’t you?’ she smiled, teasing the voice.
‘You know, Permission. I think I preferred your former appearance – now that I think of it,’ Jonah replied, sulkily. ‘However, I suppose I could take a look. Don’t go away!’
With that the room fell silent, leaving Shylock and Permission with a rather embarrassed host, who was still tugging at his collar. It was Shylock who broke the silence. ‘So, why do you call this the department of Inequitable Revenue Services?’
‘Well, I don’t know about on your particular planet, but everyone here I deal with on a regular basis complains that the tax system is unfair, and, although we always try to be fair, the only people who ever talk to us are the ones with complaints. The more people who complain, the less time we have to prepare the introduction of new taxes, therefore we understand the implications of each less thoroughly.’
‘So more mistakes are introduced, and the degree of inequitably increases?’ asked Shylock.
‘Precisely!’ the employee agreed. ‘So, we changed the department’s name to reflect the reality as we saw it.’
‘But