Free The System by Gemma Malley Page A

Frankie, I thought you understood that you’re in a powerful position. You can’t go repeating crazy theories because you’ll give them credence. You’ll get people worried. And you’ll put my career in jeopardy. Take it down. Now.’
    Frankie cleared her throat. ‘Take it down? Milo, it’s just a question on my blog. I doubt anyone’s even seen it. No one’s interested in my blog, remember?’
    ‘I’ve seen it,’ Milo said. ‘And I want you to take it down. It makes you look foolish. It makes me look foolish.’
    Frankie felt her jaw harden. ‘Then why don’t you answer the question?’ she said, her temper beginning to flare as it always did when people tried to hem her in.
    ‘You really want me to?’ Milo sighed. ‘You know, I don’t really know. But I suspect the protective barriers that were erected around the UK after its civil war, after the devastation of the nuclear attack, have probably got something to do with it. And I’d love to double check it, love to go over there just for you so I can clear up any uncertainty, but I’m not so wild on nuclear contamination, if it’s alright with you. Not so keen on sending anyone else over yet either. But just as soon as the United Nations has given the all-clear for their envoys to visit the islands and test their radioactivity levels, I’ll be sure to ask them to look into zigzagging communication lines. For your blog. Because you got a message from some weirdo. Okay, Frankie?’
    His tone was more sarcastic than she’d ever heard it; Frankie knew that she’d riled him, knew that everything he was saying made sense.
    She sighed. ‘I guess I just wanted to write about something important,’ she said quietly.
    ‘So do that,’ Milo said impatiently, ‘but make it properly important. Write about how much happier people are now. Write about how safe they feel, how protected, how unified the whole world is. Please delete that stupid question. Please do it right now.’
    ‘Yeah,’ Frankie said. ‘Yeah, okay.’
    ‘And leave some time to get ready for tonight. I’m planning to ask you something important. I’m kind of hoping the focus could be on us. Not some technological hitch that may or may not exist. Think about us, not some freak.’
    Frankie reddened in pleasure. ‘I will think only about us,’ she promised. ‘I’m sorry, Milo. Okay, see you later. Can’t wait …’
    She closed down the conversation, then sat back against her chair. An important question. Was he seriously going to propose? That was a bit out there. Really lovely, but still quite bonkers. She was only nineteen after all. She wasn’t sure she was ready to get married. Was she? She shook herself. Of course she was. She loved Milo; was definitely ready to commit to him. He was everything she’d ever wanted. But being a Mrs? Freaky. Seriously. Maybe he was going to suggest they live together? She could be moving into his a.m.a.z.i.n.g flat in St Germain. Hell, that was definitely worth a blog.
    But as she started to delete the question on her blog, another message popped up. ‘He called pretty quickly. And seems very keen that you don’t write anything. I wonder why? And I wonder if you’re going to do what he tells you to? I hope not. You’re better than that.’
    Frankie stared at the screen indignantly. Who the hell was this person? How did he hear her private conversation with Milo? And how dare he suggest he’d called to shut her up. Milo was her boyfriend. If he gave her advice it was because he wanted her to do well, because he understood the social market, because he was in love with her. He often made suggestions about what she wore and which parties she should go to; why shouldn’t he give her advice on what she wrote, too? He was a smart guy. That’s why he was head of Infotec Paris; he knew how to make things good, how to make things successful.
    And, frankly, she could blog about whatever she bloody well liked.
    She closed the message. Then she opened