Sally Slice And The Talking Monkey
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Sally Slice was ready to start her day. She’d set aside enough coffee beans to last a few days, but she still couldn’t resist stopping every twenty minutes. It took longer to stop the van than it did to pick up any cans from the recycling bins.
Most mornings Sally picked up several tons worth of beer bottles, old TV sets, broken dishwashers, and other odds and ends to recycle and earn cash. Other days, however, a bit of magic sometimes worked its way into the recycling bin collection, bringing her mucho dinero.
It happened twice yesterday; on the rare occasion that someone puts something weird in their plastic bag and leaves it on top of their wheelie bin rather than underneath where the lids are supposed to fall open – which is when Sally comes knocking.
This morning, the usual rubbish collectors hadn’t turned up yet. The bins were strewn across the street, most of them empty, so it wasn’t hard to spot a potential opportunity.
She opened up her boot with a hand not clutching a phone. As her gaze reached the top of the bin lid, she tried to give the appearance of being normal. But then again, most of her days started that way anyway. Maybe I should become a professional actor. Yes, I could definitely handle doing my best to look worried or concerned. That’d be just fine.
A small package sat in the middle of her boot, wrapped tightly with string. Sally gently untied the strings, and then carefully unwrapped the parcel. A laptop inside gleamed brightly from within its thick layers of bubble wrap. Its screen lit up and the user interface appeared onscreen without a sound. The device itself seemed to glow.
As far as computers went, this one was fairly unremarkable: clunky and heavy, the kind of computer that weighs so much you’re always left wondering whether it might be a bomb or some sort of weapon in disguise.
Fidgeting nervously around the computer was a small purple monkey. His arms dangled in front of him like he was underwater. He blinked his big round eyes often, his mouth gaping wide each time. His nose twitched side-to-side, almost constantly.
“Thank God,” said Sally, “you can speak.”
The monkey spoke in a strange and distinct voice, “Gladly.” He struggled to raise his head up higher off the floor of the boot. “I have been waiting here since dawn for my turn to shine. My time has arrived!” His arm extended upwards, waving frantically in front of his face.
Sally lifted the laptop out of the box, causing the little creature to squeak as he fell backward into a heap of bubble wrap. Sally’s fingers hovered inches above the keyboard before she pressed the power button. Nothing happened. Sally frowned and pushed harder until finally, a tiny icon appeared onscreen indicating that the machine was indeed connected to power.
“Oops,” replied the monkey. “Sorry. Wasn’t me. I only got here because I had no choice. How many times does it take to tell people not to put a computer in a boot?!”
Sally glanced down at the mess beneath her feet as she typed fast, getting angrier and angrier.
“Could you possibly shut up?”
She tapped away at keys rapidly, one after another, as she waited for the operating system to boot. All the while the monkey scurried around her boot trying to avoid the occasional vicious kick from her boots. And the longer they both stayed there, the more frustrated she became until finally, an email appeared onscreen telling Sally the program was loading. It read: ‘Please enter your password.’
“Don’t forget, I know what you’ve got written on those sticky notes! And if anyone else finds out about my true identity either,” – she raised her foot, striking the computer – “I’ll find you. Or… Well… I guess we’d better see who else knows about us first.”
She hit return, signing herself into work. Her fingers flew across the keyboard, punching in commands, passwords, and numbers. Once finished, Sally stopped and looked around, making sure nobody was watching. Then she called up her personal files. There they lay, safe and secure. They were hers to own and control. Nobody else had access to them anymore.
And finally, it came time to get on the internet. It didn’t matter if she needed to use a proxy server or fake her IP address: even with the current restrictions placed on her account, she would soon be able to connect again to the online world.
She punched in several quick commands, connecting to various websites and downloading data, everything she could possibly need during this next stage of her plan.
As all this was happening, Sally heard someone walking down the stairs behind her. She turned around quickly to see a tall man dressed in a black suit step through the doorway. He was holding a clipboard.
“Can I help you?” asked Sally.
“Just taking care of a few things before starting my day.” He set his clipboard down against the wall beside him. “You’re Sally aren’t you? Good to meet you finally.”
He walked slowly over toward her and bowed politely.
“The pleasure is mine.” She smiled as he came close enough to shake her hand.
“Right, well,” said Mr. Kroll. “If you wouldn’t mind doing me a favor…”
“Of course,” Sally nodded.
Mr. Kroll pulled his sleeve back and examined the cufflink attached to his wrist.
“Actually, this may take a moment longer than I thought.”
Sally looked around him suspiciously. When did I last feel bored? No wonder all these office workers seem so stressed by their jobs today. “What do you mean?” she asked.
Kroll removed his jacket and laid it aside. The small blue screen flashed angrily at Sally. Mr. Kroll glanced at her before gently touching the top of his monitor. A loud click resounded throughout the room as electricity began flowing through the wires inside the casing.
This wasn’t something you could achieve simply with a magnet. Mr. Kroll worked in IT security, for God’s sake; his job involved protecting sensitive documents from hackers who wanted to steal them or take information hostage. So now he felt confident that nothing was going to happen without his knowledge.
Slowly he reached out his left palm and rested it over the screen which immediately flickered once again before disappearing altogether. Only then did Mr. Kroll place his hands together underneath his chin, allowing himself to slip back into character, speaking like he usually did whenever in front of a camera. He chose his words carefully.
“In other news tonight, Prime Minister Colin Keogh announced that he will push ahead with plans to reform the existing laws governing civil liberties.”
There was a pause as Mr. Kroll looked around nervously to make sure he wasn’t being recorded while talking about confidential matters. He couldn’t trust everything just yet. And that was fine by him; in fact, he enjoyed doing this part most of all.
In his view, sometimes an act that made you look weak actually required far more strength to pull off properly. “And also tonight, news broke late this evening about a raid carried out by undercover police units into London’s West End and surrounding areas where they took part in a large-scale operation targeting unlicensed prostitutes…”
It seemed ages since he’d been on television but Mr. Kroll was already used to such interruptions. These days he was mostly doing interviews on radio stations and Internet chat shows rather than on live TV.
And although he was only occasionally contacted by people interested in knowing more about the inner workings of modern politics, every once in a while someone would write to him about an entirely different kind of situation. Anonymously. Sometimes even threatened to kill him if he went public with their story.
But the government knew exactly how to silence the person writing. If they wished him dead enough, there’d never been any evidence found to support that claim either way. And that was why Mr. Kroll let them go. His professional life meant a great deal to him.
Speaking quietly as always, and hoping not to attract the attention of the technician working on the camera, he continued with the interview. “Finally, we have more bad news for those worried about illegal immigration…”
Nobody really listened when politicians discussed law enforcement methods on national issues. There was much greater interest in other, more controversial topics. He remembered that even right up until the start of the war, most people still saw foreign nationals moving here as merely being an extension of economic migration.
At least now we can say with confidence that this was definitely incorrect. The political system had changed. A long time ago now.
Since then, immigrants weren’t welcome in this country anymore. Unless they were fully committed to assisting our efforts in rebuilding society after what happened to us. Even worse, they might find themselves having to relocate elsewhere. Probably one of the Asian countries where foreigners are less likely to have an impact.
Despite these thoughts swirling through his mind, Mr. Kroll kept quiet and continued with the show. As expected, news regarding asylum seekers turned out to be extremely popular. The demand was high.
Thousands of desperate people fleeing poverty and persecution across the seas arrived every day at the borders of Europe. Yet governments weren’t giving enough assistance to process their applications. More importantly, many officials were committing fraud and lying to win their cases. We need to stop being so lenient.
With the media continuing to highlight the real problems facing humanity these days, there should come a point when everybody begins to take notice. For better or for worse…
“Oh, and one final thing!” added Mr. Kroll casually.
The show host gave him another uncomfortable glance and waited impatiently for Mr. Kroll to continue with his next statement.
“…if you know anything useful, please get in touch with us today; anonymously if you wish. Any help you offer is highly appreciated.”
An audible gasp escaped from the journalist’s throat and he froze in his chair. A man with short grey hair and an old-fashioned suit, Mr. Kroll put on a grim smile and delivered an amusingly serious comment, making everyone watching believe he meant each word he said.
“Anything at all! Your name, location, and even your e-mail address wouldn’t matter. We don’t want to turn anyone away!”
His eyes narrowed slightly before relaxing once more as he spoke louder: “As always, I hope you will enjoy spending a few hours with me discussing current affairs. It will give you something to think about during the week ahead.”
Everyone waiting patiently behind him seemed to agree that the exchange was fun and thought-provoking. Meanwhile, the man who stared back at Mr. Kroll, stunned by this unexpected remark, quickly retreated out of sight before hurrying down the hall and heading towards the studio exit.