An hour later, she was back with a single massive sheet of cartridge paper. Tom scanned it. “Excellent. You’ve done brilliantly. Now, let’s call HR and get it in place.”
“I’ve tried to contact them, but nobody is answering any phones.”
“Are they in this building?”
“I believe so, in the West Wing.”
“I’ll go and see them and deliver it in person,” he said, rolling up the plan. “Want to come along for the ride?”
* * *
HR was a large and very comfortable workplace with meeting rooms and private offices scattered around the periphery. Everyone appeared to be very busy, especially the people in the offices who were jabbering into their phones. Tom called the general HR number from the wall phone outside. It rang on an empty desk in the centre. Two girls got up to answer, but were prevented by one of the other staff. He raised a finger and they retreated back to their desks. “This should be fun.” Tom smiled at Amber. “Come on then, let’s see what happens if we walk in.”
“I’m not holding my breath,” she said.
As they entered the room, one of the office doors opened. A battleship of a woman approached. “You shouldn’t be in here,” she blustered. “Data protection, job security, smart working…”
“Excuse me, do you know who I am?” Tom was getting annoyed.
“I don’t care. Nobody gets in here…” The woman peered at him disdainfully. “Unless you are God, are you?”
“No, but in this organisation, you’ll find I wield a great deal more power. I’ll go and talk to someone more helpful.” He left her blustering, and wandered over to the desk where the two girls who had tried to answer the telephone were sitting. “What do you two do?” he asked as they stood up politely.
“Just about everything,” muttered one under her breath, “Mr Smith.”
“I’m glad you at least have recognised me.” Tom smiled. “Here’s an organisation chart with a structure and number of names on it. Do you think you could get this in place within a week?”
“We could if it wasn’t for the paperwork,” she paused and looked over her shoulder at the battleship who was retreating back to her plush office, “And the rest of the department trying to stop us.”
Her friend nodded vigorously.
“That’s good,” said Tom. “Give yourselves a reasonable pay-rise to make it worth coming in, and draft termination papers for everyone else in this department and on this list. I’ll sign it all off when you’ve finished.”
“They’ll kill us, sir.”
“Not if I have a word first.” He turned to the office. “Listen up everyone. For those of you who don’t know me, I run this company…” There was a scraping of chairs and a mad rush towards him. The people in the offices continued their phone conversations without noticing. “Back, you mob.” Tom produced his screwdriver and waved it at them to get himself some space. “I’m so pleased with your overall performance that you are all having a 5 on your PDP this year!”
“Oh my God,” said a man, “but what about the Bell Curve? We can’t all have a 5.”
“I thought you were denying that there is a false distribution applied to people’s gradings,” replied Tom suspiciously.
“Officially, there isn’t, but everyone knows we have to fit the grouping into a standard curve, so that it looks correct on the reports. If everyone gets a 5, it makes a mockery of the whole process.”
“Yes, process,” mused Tom. “Tell you what, instead of the grading, I’m sacking you all. You may vacate the premises right now.”
“You can’t do that,” protested a voice from the back. “We have rights.”
“Yes, we aren’t moving,” said another.
“Fair enough,” said Tom mildly. “Please come with me.” He called the two girls out. “We have things to discuss.”
Once back in his office, Tom sat the girls and Amber down in the comfortable sofas. “We appear to have a problem,” he said. “Any ideas?”
Before they could reply, the office door burst open and Errorcode, face like thunder, was standing in front of the desk. “I got a call from HR. What the feck are you doing to the company?”
“Sorting it out, Monty.”
“It didn’t need sorting; it was working fine as it was.”
“I could see we were wasting money at every turn. How many executive jets have we got?”
“What has that got to do with it?”
“How many?”
“Only six.”
“Get rid of them.”
“What? But how would we get around?”
“All travel will be approved by me alone in future.”
“All?”
“Yes, I’ve noticed that most of it is unnecessary anyway.”
“But, sir…”
“Including some of your own.”
“But?”
“Tell me then, why are you making regular trips to Gerbilblock? As far as I know, we have no customers there.”
Errorcode blanched and his whole manner changed. “It is an area office, sir. They’ve been having some administrative troubles.”
“Which require the attention of a senior executive?”
“I thought I’d better deal with it myself.”
“And the fact that they have legalised prostitution over there has nothing to do with it?”
“I hadn’t noticed, sir.”
“And that problem with ‘Constrictions’?”
“I have sacked my subordinate who was in charge of the transition, sir, and his subordinate...”
“So, as executive in charge of the whole fiasco when it happened, you don’t consider that you should resign as a show of humility?”
“Me, sir, why should I, sir?”
“Doing the right thing, falling on your sword, making way for someone more competent..?”
Errorcode’s face was black now as he struggled with the concept. “Other people have resigned for ‘personal reasons’, sir.”
“Yes, that’s apparently the acceptable way of saying someone has been sacked for incompetence.”
“I have no personal reasons, sir.”
“I think you’re missing the point. You don’t actually need a personal reason. We simply make one up for you. Now, what would you like: we have ‘to spend more time with your family’…”
“I don’t have a family, sir. SCT is my life.”
“Or we could do ‘health reasons’.”
“I’m fine, sir, fit as nine Drachmas.”
“I think the health thing is actually a thinly disguised death threat if you don’t resign, Monty.”
“Oh.”
“And then,” he consulted his copy of ‘The Dummy’s Guide to Restructuring a Shit Organisation’, “you could have ‘To take up an alternative career’.”
“That sounds promising. What sort of careers do they suggest?”
Tom flicked through the book. “Ah, it says that you can have any career. Apparently, if you are recorded as sacked, you become unemployable for anything other than public appearances on chat shows, or by government audit quangos of any industries you’ve been sacked from.”
“Sounds like a good option, sir. Can I think about it?”
“Of course. In the meantime, have a look at my new structure. These ladies are from HR and will draft the process for you. I’d like you to make sure it happens.”
“Me, sir?”
“You, sir. You are my right-hand man. I will expect results by the end of next week.”
“Impossible, sir.”
“How so?”
“There has to be cost analysis, options analysis, employing external consultants and human rights lawyers…”
“No. You’ll have none of those. Just do it.”
“Then how can we see how much money we are saving?”
“A hundred and eighty times the average middle manager salary.”
; “Oh I see. So, how much is it going to cost us?”
“One week, multiplied by your salary plus the two girls here; a net gain if I ever saw one, after I’ve ‘readjusted’ your salary of course.”
“But what about the shareholders? Will they agree?”
“My decision; they will get an increased dividend because we make more profit.”
“Ah, but the Unions will complain. We have to consult them.”
“I’ve already spoken to their committee. They only represent the actual employees; none of the managers were signed up because they thought they might get victimised if they did. The workforce stays the same as it was, and everybody’ll get a 10% increase in salary, funded by the immediate removal of the executive jets.”
“But...”
“If you don’t think you can handle it, you can always resign immediately. I have a few possible reasons here, but why not consider it a ‘challenge’?”
“Possibly, sir. Is that rule you put in regarding the ‘termination’ of executives should anything suspicious happen to you still in place?”
“What rule?” said Tom, with a slight smile on his face.
“Ah.”
“I have made alternative plans for my safety. Can I introduce you to my new head of security?” He pressed a button on his desk. The door opened and a tall blond man in a black leather uniform and peaked cap marched in. He stood smartly to attention, clicking his heels.
“Sah?”
“At ease, Vac.”
“Thank you, Sah.”
“By the way, where did you get that uniform?”
“Left over from when my people were the master-race, Sah.”
“So what happened to the standard company uniforms?”
“Haven’t turned up yet, Sah.” There was an expression of innocence on the man’s face.
“I believe a supply ship was sunk by unidentified missile fire as it approached the Island, sir,” put in Errorcode.
“I wouldn’t know about that, Sah,” replied Vac, staring over the aide’s head.
“You look very smart, if a bit terrifying.” Tom observed.
“Thank you, Sah. We do our best.”
“By the way, how many of your Skagan tribe has volunteered to assist?”
“All of us, Sah. We don’t get out much.”
Tom scratched his head. “But I was expecting no more than a dozen of you in three shifts. We really don’t need, and can’t afford that many officers.”
“The fixed price we agreed for security detail stands, Sah.” He clicked his heels again. “Most acceptable to the tribe, as long as we can use the company restaurant for free.”
“Of course, it’s free for everyone because of the special tax rules here.”
“Tax, Sah?”
“Don’t worry, there isn’t any; that’s another reason we moved our head office.”
“Very good, Sah. You will have a full security force from tomorrow.”
“I still really don’t need any more than the dozen we agreed, though,” Tom protested weakly.
Vac looked disappointed. “But supposing there is a security incident, Sah?”
“What incident could there be? We are on an island after all.”
“Those missiles, attempts on your life and general security, Sah; we need to protect you.”
“There won’t be any attempts,” Tom stared at his aide suspiciously. “Will there Monty?”
“Oh no, sir. I think we have that sorted out now.” Errorcode was back to his normal servility.
“You see, Vac,” continued Tom. “Anyway, I’ll get some more uniforms ordered.”
“Not necessary, Sah, the tribe are making their own as we speak.”
“Like yours, Vac?”
“Of course, Sah.”
“They’re a bit, intimidating aren’t they?”
“Yes, Sah. Designed that way. People give respect to the uniform, Sah.”
“Maybe so, but I’ll see if I can get something less military.” He pressed the intercom button. “Amber, please will you get on to the Orinoco website and order one hundred of the standard unflattering brown security uniforms.”
“At once, sir.” Amber’s reply was followed by the sound of rapid typing on her keyboard.
“Express delivery please. When can we expect them?” added Tom.
There were more typing sounds and then the reply. “Fifteen minutes, sir.”
“Very good. That’s what I call service. Take note, Monty.”
“Yes, sir, service.”
“Okay, that’s done,” Tom sighed. “So you’ve signed up the entire tribe then Vac?”
“At your call 24 by 7, Sah.”
“What about your children if you are all working? Who’ll look after them while you’re on duty?” Tom always had the welfare of his staff at heart.
“We don’t have children, Sah. We have strict no-contact rules between tribe members.” Vac’s face was still inscrutable. “Except for settling disagreements, Sah.”
“That would explain why your population is so small then.”
“Would it, Sah? We hadn’t worked that out yet. We have our best minds analysing the problem.”
“I think you and I should talk; perhaps later?”
“Later, Sah.”
Tom sat back and stared accusingly at Errorcode. “I found the Skagans, herded into a reservation at the far end of the island. Apparently they’d been dispossessed when the mining operation started… oh yes, I also dug in to details of that joint venture between SCT and Nishant. I’ll be visiting the site once the rest of the security team has been mustered. In case you’re wondering, I have promised to return the ownership of this island back to Vac’s tribe, and he’s agreed to provide me with a suitable force of security personnel to protect their assets, that’s me of course, in the meantime. Once our operation’s complete, I’ll perform the official handover.”
Errorcode’s mouth was working up and down, but other than a few dry squeaks, nothing came out.
“Now off you go and make sure the reorganisation is complete by the end of the week.” He paused as he caught the expression change on his aide’s face; bewilderment changed to something bordering on cunning. “And don’t think the corporate culture of saying that the work is complete, rather than actually doing it will cut any ice. I’ll be checking. And if any unfortunate accident should happen to me before I get your report… Vac?”
The security man clicked his heels. “I understand, Sah. The team are fully briefed.”
Errorcode had gone white now. Tom felt a sense of achievement in the colour changes on his aide’s face; just green to go now and he would have completed the set.
There was a knock on the door. Amber went to investigate. “Your wife is here, sir.”
“Thank you Amber.” Tom regarded the two men in his office; one with an expression of murder, the other with an expression of ‘don’t even think about it’. “Dismissed both of you,” he said. “Thank you for coming. Oh, Vac…”
“Sah?”
“There is a bit of a problem with the HR department. Something of a sit-in is in progress. Can you take a few of your team and politely remove them from the premises.”
“Yes, Sah; no problem.”
“Remove their badges and security credentials, and escort them from the building. Amber will contact my HOE and get their accounts disabled. At the double then, Vac.”
“Yes, Sah.” Vac clicked his heels and marched to the door.
As Errorcode left, Tom was sure he saw a quick exchange of glances between him and the lady just arriving. He was puzzled, but forgot the incident as he slowly took in the tall, slim and heart-stopping form of his good lady wife, Suzanne.
Their eyes met. She was tall; taller than he remembered. She wore a long medieval style dress and stood in the doorway with her hands on her hips, regarding him with a half-smile. Her hair was shimmering gold, and her eyes wer
e the pools of desire he had dreamt of all this time of separation. His heart leaped and he stood up suddenly, banging his knee as he did so.
“Suzy!”
“Don’t call me that. You know I hate it.”
He was around the desk, and had her in his arms before she had finished speaking. “After all this time…”
“Gerroff.” She pushed him away. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“But…” He recoiled like a kicked puppy.
“You don’t touch me. That was the agreement.”
“What agreement?” His head spun.
“Have you forgotten?” She snorted. “Of course you have after that blackout. They said you seemed to be a different person. I don’t like you any more than I did when you were that other one.”
“Oh. What was the deal you are talking about?” He leaned back on the desk.
Suzanne folded her arms. “I will remind you then. I agreed that I would only marry you because you needed a trophy wife to look good on your arm at public occasions, nothing else. If you are thinking of having sprogs now, you can forget all that. If you really want one, we can adopt something from Musoketeba. I hear they are quite good at making them, but we’d have to make do with a girl I guess.” She fished out a packet of cigarettes from her very expensive bag. “In return, you would give me a generous allowance and not pester me for anything.”
“Don’t smoke.”
“What?”
“I meant this is a no smoking office.”
“You mean you’ve had me all the way over from Ratblast, and won’t let me smoke? Sod that, I’m leaving. Get your jet ready for me.”
“Sorry, there is no jet. I’ve given orders for the fleet to be decommissioned immediately.”
“What?”
“If you hadn’t kept the pilot waiting for more than a week, they’d have been still around. As it is, you’ll have to get a scheduled flight.”
“How can you do this to me?”
“I thought you might like to stay a few days, so we can get to know each other.” Tom’s voice was a little less pathetic now that he was starting to get the measure of this new situation.
Into the Fourth Universe Page 17