“Any news?” demanded Zelta as she entered the Comm-partment Room. “Nothing definite”, answered Bella, “but we’re still waiting for the hourly report from the airborne units.” Bella had been reassigned to ‘Telecommunicational Data Acquisition’, and had not yet come to terms with what she considered a blatant loss of prestige. Emma, the former Principal Insulation Inspector, had been put on the same assignment, and had not yet come to terms with having fulfilled her life ambition. She was busy taking a call when Zelta entered, and now promptly wrapped up the conversation. “The police have swept the area”, she blurted as she put the receiver down, “and arrested every Muslim woman they could find. The prisons are overflowing with them…” Zelta butted in, “but, no Britney?” Bella was confused: “why are they locking them up if it’s obvious none of them are her?” “I don’t know”, confessed Emma, “I didn’t ask. They’ve arrested loads of Muslim men as well. I guess they’re just being thorough.”

Britney was missing. No one knew how it had happened though many suspected she had simply walked out the front door when everyone was watching. This is indeed what had happened. The crowd had been so stunned by Britney’s choice of outfit they were unable to move for at least 20 minutes. When they had finally overcome the shock they realised she had disappeared. This sent them into shock for another hour or two, after which they ran about and panicked, and fell down the lift shaft again. Eventually Zelta sent out a search party, but not before she had rushed through legislation enabling her to reshuffle the staff-infrastructure. Every member of Team Beauty had been given a crash course in microlight-piloting and was currently scouring the city from the skies. But so far, to no avail.

“I’ve got a lead”, said Trisha who had been working in ‘Telecommunicational Data Acquisition’ for 17 years and was somewhat indignant about the recent influx of untrained staff. “The manager of a local Athena store claims he was attacked by a crazed Muslim woman when he tried to stop her tearing up posters”, Trisha paused for dramatic effect, “the posters were all of Britney.” At Zelta’s request Trisha patched her through to Gerta who patched her through to the microlight squadron: “New scouring target! I repeat, new scouring target! Go and fly around near the local Athena shop. Over.”

Madonna, once she had heard the news of Britney’s disappearance, had flown back from London. With great reluctance she was now helping out on the phones. She was not very good at this as she found it impossible to hold a conversation without name-dropping her own name. Zelta had instructed her to contact and question every greengrocer in the area, but now, an hour later, she was still on the first call. Madonna had begun by telling the greengrocer that she was Madonna, and when the greengrocer replied that he was a big fan of Madonna, she offered to give him a mini concert over the phone. She was currently on her fourth encore.

It was Freda who had first recognised Britney’s outfit for what is was. Having once started an Open University course in ‘Comparative Religious Studies’, she was well acquainted with the customary dress of Muslim women. What Britney was wearing was a typical example of Hijab, a garment designed to preserve a woman’s modesty. Freda knew this Islamic tradition had become associated in the West with female oppression. She also knew, having once started an Open University course in ‘Comparative Ideological Studies’, that it had this stigma only because the West had lost faith in everything except sex. The right to flaunt one’s body was therefore sacrosanct. The only course Freda had ever actually completed was in ‘Hydroponic Textiles’, but she couldn’t remember anything about it.

Britney was very much enjoying her new-found freedom. She had left by the front door but had slipped past the crowds of baying fans unnoticed and unharassed. The fact she could walk about on her own, without being stopped for autographs or mobbed by herds of 12 year-olds brainwashed by carefully-engineered hype campaigns, made her very happy. She had spent half the day in a sweet shop eating jelly babies. The kind old woman who ran the shop had made her leave, however, after she had besoddened the carpet with multicoloured jelly-puke. Britney spent the other half of the day in an animal sanctuary, playing with kittens. Besides the brief incident in Athena (and a similar occurrence outside an adult video-store), Britney had been blissfully unaware of who she was all day. She hadn’t felt like this she was a kid, and she smiled. As night approached she came to a park where she whiled away the dusk blowing seeds from dandelion stalks. Eventually she curled up under a willow tree and fell asleep.

The following day she woke up in her own bed, with a slight patch of dryness between her legs. Was it all a dream? “No”, said Elsa, “after a tip-off from a homeless paraffin-addict we located you, attached you to a grappling hook and airlifted you home.” “Oh”, said Britney yawning. She tried to rub her eyes but found her hands had been tethered, as had the rest of her body. She looked down and saw a mass of heavy, rusty chains. “We’re going to be keeping you here for a while“, explained Elsa, “but Madonna will keep you company.” Britney tried to groan, but the weight of the chains almost ruptured her diaphragm.

Elsa departed and Madonna entered, clutching a large leather-bound book. “Hello Britty!” she said, “how are you?” Madonna had been told that Britney probably wouldn’t be able to speak (due to the chains), and was relishing the opportunity to witter on without interruption. She took a deep breath and began. “Now, I know you’ve been a bit naughty, Britty, but I have to say I am actually very proud of you. Elsa asked me to tell you off, so don’t mention this to her. What you did yesterday was a brave thing. I wish I’d thought of it myself. Wearing that Muslamic costume was a stroke of genius, Britty, pure genius. I’ve been a bit stuck for new ideas lately, I mean, once you’ve done semi-naked, three-quarters-naked and totally-naked, where do you go from there? I’d never considered covering myself up! That was truly inspired. I like the way you think, Britty. Expose nothing, and everything is left to the imagination! By wearing that ugly robe thing you invited fantasies of what lay beneath, using the power of suggestion - making them yearn to see your naked body by concealing it completely! Britty, I’m quite impressed”. Britney tried to say something but her lungs gave way. Madonna continued regardless: “And also, the whole Muslamist thing has got total attitude! It’s like the all-American icon… sleeping with the enemy!” Madonna swiftly pulled out a notepad and jotted this down. “Where’d you get the idea from? I guess you wanted to get back at the president for not letting you play at his convention the other month. I reckon he’s gonna be well pissed! Maybe we could both wear it for next year’s MTV awards. What do you say, Britty? You haven’t copyrighted it yet have you?”

Britney said nothing. Madonna took this as a ‘yes’ and ‘no’ respectively, then phoned her Marketing Project Implementation Officer back in London and asked her sort it out with MTV. She spent the rest of the day reading from the book she had brought with her. Madonna had been interested in esoteric religious texts ever since she had read a self-help book called: ‘How to rescue your vacuous public image by dabbling in esoteric religious texts that you don’t understand’. That book had changed Madonna’s life. She kept a copy beneath her bed and recommended it to everyone she met, including dustmen. Nevertheless she had never actually got round to dabbling in esoteric religious texts, mainly because she thought she might not understand them. Instead she had the self-help book bound in a large leather cover to make it look like an esoteric religious text, and opted for a random Jewish title. For extra authenticity she doused the book daily with Middle-Eastern dust, procured on E-Bay. She had given a similarly bound copy of the self-help book to Britney as a present. However, in the light of Britney’s groundbreaking costume idea, Madonna had deemed it appropriate to make new covers for both their books. She replaced the Hebrew words that she didn’t understand with Muslamic words that she didn’t understand. Madonna was a perfectionist when it came to coordinating image-makeovers.

That evening Britney’s latest single was briefly interrupted by the sound of a doorbell signifying the fact that someone was ringing the doorbell. Freda, the Grand Overlord of Night-Watchwomen, hurried to greet the visitor. It was the specialist. Freda introduced them to a committee of department heads, where it was immediately discovered that he was man. “What is the meaning of this?!” cried Zelta, “Guards! Arrest this intruder!” “We have no guards”, explained Freda, “and besides, this is the specialist I told you about.” “But a MAN in the Britney household? This cannot be!” cried Elsa, “away with him! Take him to the dungeons!” “We don’t have a dungeon”, explained Freda, “and besides, he is here to help us.” Neither Elsa nor Zelta were happy with the situation, but Freda managed to talk them round. As it happened they could do little in protest as they had already issued the night-warrant and accepted the formal request for extenuating circumstances.

“Hello my name is Trevor”, said Trevor, “it is my belief that Britney is currently suffering from an intense case of what is known by experts in the field as ‘weird shit’. By this I mean to imply that the roots of this problem may well lie in the realm of the paranormal.” “Huh?” heckled Jenna, “are you some kind of Ghostbuster?” “Where’s your fuckin’ proton pack!” jeered Bella (who was suddenly embarrassed that she could actually remember what they were called). “Um, it’s in the car”, replied Trevor, “I don’t think I will be needing it tonight. I only intend to observe the symptoms.” None of the staff knew what to say so they shut up and allowed him continue with his beginner’s guide to paranormal dream phenomena.

“Sometimes, when dreaming, we act as conductors for the thoughts and feelings others have for us, and vice versa. When they are of a sufficient intensity they can take the form of premonitions, or more vaguely as a kind of psychic ‘reaching out’. For instance, on the night of Carl Jung’s death many of his friends dreamt about him, and it is said that a bolt of lightning hit his favourite tree. We know from our studies of poltergeist activity that an intense emotional surge may result in a physical telekinetic occurrence. When the psychic emotions of many individuals are combined, the force and size of the corporeal manifestation can be tremendous. Ladies, and, er, ladies, these are not just dreams…”

Everyone clapped although they didn’t know why. Freda led Trevor to Britney’s bedroom, and asked Madonna to leave. Trevor unpacked some equipment from his case and started erecting tripod things like what road-builders use. Except these weren’t yellow and housed small, omni-directional plasma conduits. Madonna hung about to see what was going on, but soon grew bored and so started flirting with Trevor. “Is that a nucleaic energy pistol in your pocket?” she asked suggestively, “or just a screwdriver?” When she realised she’d totally fucked up the quote she ran off down the corridor and went back to London.

Trevor was wholly unaffected by Madonna’s advances, as he was a man of science. As a man of science he knew loads about electricity and time and stuff, but had no interest in women. Freda asked him if he knew anything about Hydroponic Textiles, but he dismissed the question as inconsequential female prattle. He was a man of science and he had a job to do. At this precise moment that job consisted of erecting loads of the tripod things. This was fairly boring to watch so Freda went to get some tea.

Britney didn’t know what was happening but she was scared of the tripods as they reminded her of those things like what road-builders use. Subsequently she began to wail. Trevor winced - he loathed such displays of feminine patheticness. He drew a nucleaic energy pistol from his pocket and shot Britney in the forehead with a minute glob of soporific quantum juice. Britney instantly ceased wailing and fell asleep. Trevor knew that unlike the sedatives Elsa usually gave her, soporific quantum juice wouldn’t subdue Britney’s dreams. In fact the juice was designed specifically to magnify their intensity. Trevor intended to monitor her somnolent brain activity and wanted to ensure a strong signal. With Britney silenced he continued his work.