Adam calls up his answering machine on Rose's cell again, and says to save the message: "The microprocessor became redundant in the year 2019, when it was replaced by a system called SMT -- that's Single Molecule Transcription..." The dog hops around. Suddenly, the info stops, and the screen flashes "Floor 16." Adam yells and kicks and bitches and moans, and finally decides to head down to Floor 16.
The lift doors open on Floor 16, and Adam steps out into a room filled with consult desks. Down at the end, Adam finds an unoccupied nurse played by the winsome and devilishly clever Tamsin Grieg. I once watched her masturbate to the shipping report. Adam asks her, because she's lovely and quite friendly, what Floor 16 is all about. "Medical non-emergency," she says. He thinks he's gone wrong, because his difficulties are "technical" in nature, but she says that, from the symptoms, he's in the right place; there must be something wrong with his chip. And there is, specifically being that he hasn't got one, and he tells her that, and she's like, great, and asks what the hell. Adam sits down and tells her he's a student on a research project from "The University of Mars." She's exactly as impressed as you might think, and he giggles apologetically/pathetically. "Well, you still need chipping," she says, very nurselike, and he asks whether that's brain surgery. She calls it an "old-fashioned phrase" but, yeah, that's what it is, considering that they're talking about putting a chip, you know, into his brain. They do an endless call-and-response about how he has this reason he can't, and she takes it away, and he has this objection, which she overrules, and it's basically like the Cat and Fox in Pinocchio, only they're talking about putting shit in your brain, and not so much the life of tramping the boards, or whatever.
Adam now strapped into a surgical chair, Tamsin the surgical serpent explains that there are two options: first, either a little tiny chip in the back of the head that's 100 credits and is so small as to be invisible, or the second, "Type Two...the full info-spike." Adam confirms through funny gestures and sound effects that this is the hole-in-your-head kind, and she smiles: "Ten thousand." Again, he protests, and again she's got an answer: the ATM card-rod the Doctor gave him has "unlimited credit," and it doesn't hurt, and it takes ten minutes, and those are all the objections Adam can think of, and that's when the hard sell starts. Tamsin leans in: "Type One: you can interface with a simple computer. Type Two: you are the computer...transmit any piece of information from the archive of Satellite Five. Which is just about the entire history of the human race. Now..." Which are, of course, the magic words for Adam, like I thought. Tamsin leans into him, all sexy and beautiful and scary-authority with surgical tools: "Which one's it going to be?"