"Ooh," said Zoe, when we made it to the base thirty minutes later. "Tartan skirt today." She was lounging in the middle of the dining room table, arms behind her head, one of her boots resting on the back of Rao's chair. He didn't look up from studying the screen he held in his hands. Zoe continued broadcasting her daily fashion report, tilting her head back to look at me, upside down. "And a sweater with a puppy embroidered on it. That is going to strike some serious fear into the Hierarchs."

I glanced down at my sweater. "It's a pug," I informed her.

"Fuck, you know what? I have an idea," said Zoe, pulling her ever-present rifle up, and sighting along it at the ceiling. "They'll be so busy attempting to cuddle you, Rao and me will be able to pick them off, one-by-one. We shall call this - 'project puppy killer' - wait. No. That's too obvious. 'Fuzzy bitch?' No ... 'Jumpergeddon?'"

"Urgh," I said. "I was a uni. I need my cardigans at uni."

"Get off the table," said Jake. "We eat there."

"Well, I occasionally nap here," said Zoe. "It's good for the spine. Osteoporosis runs in my family, I'll have you know. This one time -"

"No," said Mila, walking into the room.

I pulled my laptop and books out of my bag and thumped them on the table. Whenever Mila appears in the dining room, a catastrophic technical failure has generally occurred, meaning no training.

Sure enough, Mila cleared her throat. "Nobody in the workroom," she announced.

There was a silence.

"Particularly not the coffin," she added.

"Why?" hazarded Jake.

She glared at him. "Because anyone who goes in there will die."

I looked around. "Where's Paige?"

"Why the flying fuck is there smoke coming out from under the workroom door?"

Paige's voice preceded her around the corner. She was looking back over her shoulder, her eye glowing blue.

"I appreciate the alliteration, Paige - but - language." I warned, relaxing now I knew she wasn't electrocuting herself in Mila's workshop of death.

"Damn it," muttered Mila, striding back to the room of doom to forestall the nuclear meltdown, or whatever as happening in there.

I waited till she was safely out of earshot before turning to Paige. "That," I told her, "Is an appropriate level of swearword. On occasion."

"Shit!" screeched Zoe, as Jake grabbed the end of the dining room table and levered it upwards, with her on it. The sharp diagonal made her slide off the end. I made a dive to save my books and laptop. I clutched them to my chest protectively as Jake let go of the table, letting it thud down with a bang.

Next to me, Rao calmly shifted his chair forward a centimetre without looking up from his screen, leaving room for Zoe to catapult past him and towards Jake. "Prepare for death, wanker!"

With an effort, I dragged my eyes away from their fight. I think it's a sign of affection: they never kill each other, at least.

Paige leaned on the back of my chair. "I like your jumper," she told me. "Would be better with cats."

Mila re-entered the room, sliding the door closed behind her. "Everyone has to stay in this room overnight," she announced. "Fumes."

Rao put down his screen and looked up at her, slowly. Mila caught the expression on his face. "The library's fine," she conceded. "Just, not for human lungs. It will dissipate. This is just a precaution."

I bit the inside of my cheek, irritated. This sort of thing happened with alarming regularity. At least I had time to study.

"Sleepover!" declared Zoe - currently in a painful looking headlock. As I watched, she slammed the back of her head back into Jake's nose. He let her go with a grunt. I winced.

"What the shit's a sleepover?" said Paige.

A few hours later, Jake peered over my shoulder.

"What's that you've written?" he squinted. "'Hazelnut rigidity is criticised ... What?"

"It's a note ... a plan ... a thought plan," I replied, still focussed on the screen. "It's what I'm writing later in my essay." He opened his mouth to reply, and I flapped a hand at him. "Be quiet. I'm trying to sustain an important train of thought. This is complex."

Made even more complex by the fact that my much-annotated edition of Persuasion had gone mysteriously missing last time I was at base. I blamed Zoe. Or Mila. Probably Zoe.

In the corner of the room, only her legs visible beneath a large piece of twisted machinery, Mila made a contemptuous noise. There was a popping noise as she aligned some wires, or changed a circuit, or fixed a pipe or whatever it was she was doing under there.

Zoe stared at my screen. "What in the name of fuck have hazelnuts got to do with systems of power in Persuasion?"

I looked up, excitement eclipsing all irritation. My time had come. I knew somebody would ask me someday. English Literature: meet real-life applications! "Well, it's complicated, but Captain Wentworth makes an analogy -"

"Uh," Zoe interrupted. "I'm already bored."

I glared at her, miffed. Well, really.

Rao put up a hand. "I'm not."

I shot Zoe one last scowl, then continued. "Well, as I was saying, in order to piss his ex-girlfriend, Anne, off (because she rejected him years ago, because she was persuaded he wasn't rich enough) - Wentworth says, within her hearing, to another girl, Louisa, (that he's flirting with) that he admires constancy. And he sets up this parable, where he says a shiny, glossy hazelnut - which never changes, and withstands the storms of autumn, is like the ideal, determined, unchangeable person."

"How is this relevant to Hierarchs?" Mila interrupted.

"Mila. I'm the only one who's allowed to tell Anna her English is bullshit," Zoe said, glaring at her.

I decided to ignore that. "So, the novel actually seeks to prove Wentworth wrong, because Louisa ends up trying to impress him by being super-stubborn, and insists on jumping off really high stairs, and then hits her head and nearly dies. So stubbornness is dangerous and stupid. But this is also proved wrong in more subtle ways, because Austen also sets up parallels between the aristocracy - who are rigid, unchanging and brittle - and the glossy, impenetrable hazelnut. The aristocracy are shown to be shallow, vain and corrupt, only reflecting each other; while other, equally well educated (and wealthy) people in the admiralty are adaptable and flexible - and are shown to be the moral, upper class. People who are adaptable and changeable, like Anne - survive better, and are happier. Wentworth finally realises that by being persuaded all those years ago, Anne wasn't being a cow, she was being flexible and sensible - and he lets go of his cold, rigid resentment and anger, and they reconcile."

There was a moment of silence.

Jake looked up from the piece of paper he'd started scribbling on, and frowned at me. "Congratulations. I think you just managed to kill the last bit of romance left in Austen."

"Oooooh," sang Zoe, nearly losing her gum. "Do you find Austen romantic, Jakey?"

Jake flushed red, and I sniffed. "It's a popular misconception that Austen wrote romantic comedies. Many of her novels are cutting social satires."

"Well, there goes the final twist of the knife," said Jake. "Austen's dead."

^^^

Author's Note:

Keep going, ladies and gents. There's another chapter coming up. It's short, but I think you'll like it.

I think it's perhaps possible that Anna can be both overdressed and over educated. Maybe - what do you think?