Question 7; the seventh question.

'So, question seven...' Geoff said in his mind.

The question itself didn't respond.

'I think you have something you want to tell me.' Geoff gave it a pause, but no reply was forthcoming. He leant forward, breaking eye contact to stub out an imaginary cigarette. The smoke drifted in and out of bars of sunlight filtered through the blinds.

He looked at it once more.

'We're not scared of you, question seven; we have ways of making you talk.'

Was that a flicker of doubt Geoff saw?

'Are you really any different than your fellows? Because to me, you're just one little mark on a big paper. Do you think the others will think of you any differently?'

Geoff leant back in the chair. He let his impatience show.

'You're wasting my time. It's not as if you have anything more than a single mark to give us. I don't like people wasting my time, seven.' Geoff slammed his fist down on the desk. Motes of dust span in vortices.

'You're going to tell me what I want to know. You know what I want to know, and if you tell me what I want to know we can make things easier for you.' His voice grew more menacing and he stood up, looming over the desk.

The question remained silent.

'Where is the dative bond, seven?' Geoff whispered with venom.

'A: NH3 or B: NH4+, I think we can ignore C and D can't we?'

'NH3?' He gave a slight pause. 'Or NH4+?' His eyes narrowed as he searched for any reaction.

Geoff straightened, and laughed.

'You're a fool, question seven. You could have helped us, and helped youself, but you just couldn't do it could you? SQA got to you first did they? Well, they did a pretty good job, but not good enough.' Geoff turned and strode out of the small room, taking his coat from the stand and waving a dismissive hand.

'Take him away and give him what he deserves.'

Geoff blinked and filled in the little square in the B column.

The End

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