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'All right, all right. I concede. You can have the damn thing. But let me neuter the little bugger first. Pass it here.'

Toby scrabbles under the bed and yanks out the bot, which is buzzing hysterically, desperate to get back to vacuuming. They're pretty dense. You can't interrupt them mid-task. He hands it to me, and I snap out my toolkit and unscrew the faceplate underneath it. It takes less than ten seconds to over-ride the GPS tracking program and the homing instinct. It's not like a cleaning bot is exactly a priority.

'What about the vocal responses? You want 'em?' I ask Toby, who is now pulling on his jeans.

'What does it say?'

I click through the options. Even less than you'd expect. It's such a simple piece of tech and they're not expected to last long, so they're pretty limited. 'Error, please try again,' it chirps mechanically. 'Property of Communique Inc.,' and, lastly, a really cute 'All clean.'

'Mal,' Toby says, so I leave the vocals operative and hand over the bug, which is now sitting quietly on best behaviour.

'Oh, crap, speaking of my BabyStrange, know anyone who might be keen to buy it? My parents cut me off. Again.'

'Is that your way of asking for a loan? Least you have parents, big boy.'

'Is that your way of turning me down? Aw, poor little orphan girl in her subsidised

beachfront corp apartment and cushy job.'

'You are such an ass.'

'That's still a no, then?'

'I have an idea. I know it's out there. Why don't you try working for a living?'

'I would, but my allergies. No, okay, I've got something hooked up with a games merchant, but it's been a while since I played with a joystick. Well, apart from this one.' He touches his crotch. 'Point is it's gonna take a couple of days for anything to come through.'

'This is only because I pity you and your delusions of splendour,' I sigh, pointing my phone in the general vicinity of the item in question, but really at his phone. 'Check your account. I've transferred 5k for you. Which I expect back, Toby. Seriously.'

'Truly, you are a generous corporate bitchmonkey,' he says, putting his hands together and bowing. I throw a pillow at him.

'Oh, and still on the subject of the BabyStrange. Now that you've saved it and, not uncoincidentally, my streamcasting career, I've got something to show you.'

He plays back a weird mash of some almost bar fight, which ends tediously and predictably in a defusing. It's not overly interesting, until he points out the big guy with the dreads, his would-be revolutionary friend.

'Is that where you're getting all the political doggerel?'

'Yeah. Along with the winning phrase "corporate bitchmonkey." We're having a protest party. It's the new theme night at Replica. Insurrection Saturdays. Awesome DJ playing.'

'You, you mean?

'You should come. It's going to be toyota. I can comp your phone, plus one, if you want.'

'Toby. You know I can't attend those sorts of things.'

'Not even to show solidarity with your generation? Okay, okay, chill. It's just a bash. No one actually gives a shit about protesting against the system, except Tendeka maybe. But I did want to ask if you wanted to make a contribution.'

'What kind of contribution?'

'My beauty, your genius? The perfect pairing.'

'I can't do this guy's phone if that's what you're asking, especially not if he's just been defused.'

'So, what about switching off the security on an adboard? I can get you the exact GPS. It's just temporary.'

'Oh. I don't know. What's temporary?'

'Long enough.'

'For?'

'A little outlaw smear campaign.'

'What would you do if you didn't know me, Toby?'

'I'm sure the world would be hugely improved.'

'Whose board is it?'

Toby sucks intently on the joint, all the better to avoid meeting my eye. 'Fuck knows. I don't keep track.'

'Well, where is it?'

'N2, near Roodebloem Road. Smack in the middle of the highway.'

'You know that's a Communique board.'

'Your employers would