The Fourteenth Adjustment

by Robert Wingfield

  “Point and fire,” said the Magus. “I’ll come down and show you.”

  “Good shot,” said Tom, as a large hole was punched through the flotilla. “How did you manage that?”

  “It’s these ‘reality glasses’ I found on the console,” said Arianne.

  “Reality glasses?”

  “Yes, you put them on and they let you see what you are actually looking at, only slightly larger, and with a photochromic tint. I must get a pair.”

  “One of my best sellers,” said Rannie.

  “I think you better leave the bridge if you aren’t going to help,” said Tom.

  “Oh, I’ll help, now there’s some hope again, and a currency crisis,” said Rannie. “I suppose I could send the self-destruct signal to the under-arm patches... you know, the ones that amplify body odour so that you know when your armpits are smelling.”

  “Do it, please.”

  “This isn’t going to help with my next customer satisfaction survey.”

  “I know. I’ll make it up to you somehow. Perhaps give you my idea about a dentistry aid?”

  “Tell me,” said Rannie. “If it’s any good, I’ll press the button.”

  “Briefly then,” said Tom, as the Notable rocked under a barrage from the surviving drones. “Adapt those glasses of yours that filter out people under a certain income level, to detect a dentist's surgery and replace the image with one of a comfy armchair sitting in front of a TV, showing repeats of ‘Be Amazed at how Much your Junk is Worth in the City, Roadshow’. You can pick up the footage from any decent rubbish skip, and the general effect will be to disconnect the mind of the wearer so the dentistry can proceed without pain.”

  “I like it,” said Rannie. “Take that, STOP executives.”

  The communicators monitoring the planet picked up a series of howls, and then the sound of much running water, as the population rushed to take showers to get rid of the smell. The detectors on the reservoirs all alarmed together as water levels dropped, and the weather satellites triggered a monsoon across the STOP territories to top them up again.

  “Brilliant,” said Tom. “The weather is preventing them from launching any more drones. If we can deal with this lot, we might stand a chance.”

  “There are too many of them,” said Glowplug. “I’ve been applying attack pattern gamma four, which is the only one I can remember, but they are still doing us serious damage.”

  “Shall I destroy the planet?” said Arianne.

  “Not yet,” said Tom. “But keep a lock on it.”

  “I’m not going to dignify that with a reply,” said Arianne, “but I’ll keep firing until we have no more ammunition. Oh.”

  “What?”

  “We have no more ammunition.”

  “I thought we had loads,” said Tom, “and more so when you scoop up all the fragments of broken drone outside.”

  “I’m at the gun batteries themselves,” said Pete. “Looks like we didn’t have time to fit the scoop. I thought that we weren’t going to be fighting, so didn’t worry about chasing it.”

  “I’ll deal with you later,” said Tom. “It seems, Glowplug, that we are going to have to make a tactical withdrawal. Emergency escape pattern Omega One.”

  “I know that one,” said Glowplug. “I didn’t think we’d ever have to use it, but Omega One it is.”

  “Engage.”

  “I will, if Tanda and I get out of this crisis,” said Glowplug. “She has shown her true feelings for me by rejecting Vac. You did reject him, didn’t you?”

  Vac limped on to the bridge, holding his groin. “She did,” he said with feeling. “Against all Skagan tradition too. The times we have spent together.”

  “That's another one of the reasons,” said Tanda from the engine room, “but we are not finished yet. We haven’t done the ‘glory’ bit properly. I’m engaging the escape sequences... oh.”

  “Don’t tell me... Pete?”

  “Not my fault,” said Pete. “Vac said Skagans never surrender, so told me to leave that bit out too.”

  “Then we’re going to die because there was to be no retreat in an emergency?”

  “Ah,” said Vac. “Tanda, I’m on my way back down again.”

  “Phoist off,” said Tanda. “Captain, I’m giving you all the power I can manage. I think I can reconfigure the deflector array and link it to the waste disposal ejection mechanisms. It could possibly work.”

  “How long will it take?”

  “Three days.”

  “We don’t have that long. We are about to die?”

  “In that case, five minutes.”

  “Thanks, our lives are in your screwdrivers.”

  The Notable shuddered again as another wave of drones made an attack run. Various bits of control panel on the bridge gave off sparks and plumes of smoke.

  “I told you again not to install fire-emitting diodes in the panels.”

  “All we could get, captain,” said Glowplug. “There's a shortage of light-emitting ones for the consoles. They are all being used in the displays on Galactinet-connected hairdryers.”

  “They are the ones I sell that monitor your movement, the weather, wind direction and environment,” said Rannie. “From this they can calculate the amount of fuzziness to apply, heal split ends and protect your hair from UV light.”

  “And that dries hair, does it?” said Tom.

  “Not sure,” said Rannie, “but it uses lots of LEDs.”

  “They are coming in again,” said Glowplug. “I don’t think the shields can take any more.”

  “I didn’t know we had shields. I thought we were using rock ballast to give a sponge-like effect on the outer hull.”

  “Ay, that’s true; och, the rock ballast cannae take any more.”

  “And cut out that accent.”

  “A always do when a’m excited, cap’n.”

  “I can vouch for that,” said Tanda. “Really pisses me off.”

  “It appears we are going to die again,” said Tom, “and so soon after I was dead and then I wasn’t again. This universe really wants me out.”

  “Er, I have to leave,” said the Magus. “Carry on without me.”

  He vanished.

  “Typical,” said Rannie. “Wimps off at the first sign of danger.”

  “He always did,” said Tom. “I’m used to it. He’s a good sort, really, but a bit of a self-preservationist. The rest of you should get to the escape cylinders while you still can.”

  “See you,” said Kara. “Enjoy your death.”

  “Go on then,” said Tom, as the crew remained at their stations.

  “To the death,” said Glowplug.

  “Agreed,” said Tanda.

  “What are your orders, Captain, Sah?”

  “I can’t go anywhere, now,” said Pete sadly. “I can’t think how my girlfriend is pregnant and I’ll never get another one in my line of work, so I might as well die fighting. I’ll do what I can to keep the systems running and the ballast from wandering off into space. I might be able to collect some of it for the weapons.”

  “Please do,” said Arianne. “I’ve managed to pull some bits in with that remote arm like the one we used to win stuffed gorillas with at the funfair, but it’s a slow business. As soon as I’m reloaded, I’ll let them know we aren’t going down without a fight.”

  “I take back those thoughts I had about your loyalty,” said Tom, “apart from the Magus. Do your best. We are all working towards our survival.”

  “Plenty of ammo now,” said Pete, as another barrage hit the ship. “The ballast is all gone. The next impact will break through the outer crispy candy coat.”

  “What?”

  “I panicked. I meant ‘outer hull’.”

  “Hey, Captain $mith (sic), can you do with any help?” Another voice came through the short-range pionio.

  “Who’s that?”

  “It is I, Basil the Blurgar-Buddy. I
have a fleet of super-water-powered ships at my command, and are ready to free you from the yoke of car-parking tyranny.”

  “Great to see you,” said Tom, “but what is your interest in all this?”

  “STOP paved over the Uncanny Valley of the Emperors. They are charging for dolphin stabling and water-flow maintenance and are encouraging tourists. We are now all being charged entry to the ancient site. Len, the leader of the Blurgars, has taken umbrage at the desiccation...”

  “Don’t you mean ‘desecration’?” said Tom.

  “No, ‘desiccation’. Those people have dried out the Valley so the tarmac would set. Len thought we should try out this fleet of deadly warships he had been building, and go and persuade STOP to cut us in for a share. How can we help?”

  “That cloud of drones attacking us needs to be destroyed.”

  “Consider it done. Is that other fleet out there anything to do with you?”

  Another voice came through the pionio. “Attention Bereavement Notable. This is the battle force of the Federation of Footwear Fitters. Stand down and give up. We have come to reclaim our stocks. You are outgunned, even with your watery companions in support.”

  “Ah, you lot,” said Basil. “And what happened to the consignment of doku-leather shoes I ordered and paid for in advance, I’d like to know.”

  “This criminal, Two-Dan $mith (sic) stole it. You need to talk to him.”

  “Not my problem,” said Basil. “My contract was with you. If your security is inadequate, it is nothing to do with me, or $mith (sic) here.”

  “Then you will be destroyed.”

  “I don’t think so.” Yet another voice was heard.

  “Who is that?” Tom stared at the view screen. Another fleet of ships had appeared, moving rapidly towards the battleground.

  “Skagan reserve fleet. Commander Fanbelt reporting for duty. Regretful that we’re a bit late, but we got stuck behind a slow-moving dung consignment outside Glenforbis. He wouldn’t pull over, and we eventually had to blast him. I wouldn’t go anywhere near there for a while; at least until the planet’s gravity has pulled it all back in.”

  “Thanks for the warning,” said Tom. “Your help will be appreciated. Try not to hit us, or the ships from Out. You can tell them by the wavy outlines and the rainbows. We don’t want any water-ship downed.”

  “Consider the battle won, or at least gloriously lost.”

  Sacrifice

  In which the Union finds a voice

  N

  ear STOP Central on Sapristi, the Magus appeared dramatically with a clap of thunder. “Damn this weather,” he said. “I hate the rain. Come on you lot. Perhaps we can nip the heart out of the car parking organisation.” He smiled at the herd of doku that had accompanied him from the Bereavement Notable, and were now chewing and stamping in the way he recognised as ‘slightly annoyed’.

  “That way, I think,” he mused. “What are all these people doing outside?”

  “We are on strike,” said a man. “I am Mycroft Vermicelli, the leader of the unions, and my members are actually getting cold and wet out here, so we are looking for someone to escort us in an invasion of the headquarters.”

  “I will lead,” said the Magus. “If we can get indoors, I’m going to attempt to change the management.”

  “About bloody time too,” said Vermicelli, “but this is a picket line. You can’t cross.”

  “Even if I’m on your side, and there’s a hopeless battle going on in space, where the free world is struggling against the oppression of regulated vehicle storage facilities, determined to bring fairness and enlightenment to all the people?”

  “I’ll check the Union rulebook.” Vermicelli thumbed through a tome of soggy pages. “Aha. There is a section here that permits lifting of the picket under those very circumstances. You may pass.”

  “Can I bring my animals too?”

  Vermicelli checked again. “Apparently, ‘Subsection One’ details that large hairy, annoyed and apparently waterproof, bovines are permitted too.”

  “Very comprehensive, your rulebook.”

  “It has to be,” said Vermicelli. “My members like to have everything spelled out. We will come with you and present our demands.”

  Inside STOP headquarters, there was minor resistance from the guards, but when faced with a herd of now enraged doku, they quickly surrendered and signed up for union membership. Soon, the Magus and the union delegation were crowded into the boardroom, and facing Ferguson Poordraw, Pietro Fairway and in a small chair at the side, May Welby. In one corner, a hexacat was busily shredding the tapestries. It stopped, gave a haughty glance at the Magus, and then deliberately turned its back to start lapping at a large bowl of milk.

  Poordraw stood up as the combination of people and creatures started to inspect, collect and eat the various priceless artefacts scattered around the room. “What is the meaning of this? You have disturbed me watching ‘Below Belief’, the fly on the wall drama about everyday flies on the wall. Buzz Cowpat had recently been confronted by the lady he abandoned, and her ten thousand children... Stop doing whatever you are doing. What are you doing here, by the way?”

  “We want a better deal,” said one of the trade-unionists.

  Vermicelli pushed to the front. “Actually, my members want freedom to park anywhere we like, free if possible, but in town centres, at no more than a moderate fee.”

  “And we want you to stop producing killer drones...” said the Magus, “and let me have my hexacat back.” He made to stroke Cat, who clawed at his hand and drew blood.

  “Killer drones?,” said Poordraw. “You are overstating their function. They are peacekeeping communication satellites.”

  “They are, at this moment, locked in deadly conflict with some friends of mine... well, they would be friends if they hadn't sold me out to you lot.”

  “Fine folks. I’ll be glad to have them on my staff.”

  “Call off the drones. Your tyranny is ended.”

  “I think we should consider what the stunted young man has to say,” said Fairway, regarding the approaching herd, which was switching into ‘stampede’ mode, enraged by the smell of blood from the Magus’ hand, and the hallucinogenic compounds in the Glenforbis Fly-Traps they had nibbled. The plants themselves had grown massively to deal with the ever-increasing infestation of flies, caused by the wet weather, thus demonstrating how eco-systems work.

  “Rubbish. We have to have parking restrictions, otherwise, the place would be littered with discarded vehicles.”

  “I have an answer to that,” said Vermicelli, pulling himself upright.

  “I don’t listen to the underlings,” said Poordraw.

  “Neither do I,” said Fairway.

  “It might be worth hearing what he has to say,” said Welby.

  “Shut up May Welby,” said the other two.

  Welby scowled. “Because you have the majority shareholding, it doesn’t give you the right to speak to me like that.”

  “Sort those guys out, lads,” said Vermicelli. “I think they have sensibly resigned, and without a golden handshake or any ridiculous pension arrangements. The State Pen will need a new ‘Greedy Fat Cats’ wing once we’ve reorganised the government.”

  There was a short scuffle and the two directors were removed from their chairs, wrapped in rope and propped in a corner.

  “We will negotiate with you, Mx. Welby,” said Vermicelli. He sat in Poordraw’s chair and motioned to the woman to join him in the other. “Now that you are the sole owner of the business, the other two having been stood up, I believe you said you wanted to hear our suggestions?”

  Welby looked nervously at her cocooned ex-co-directors and then leaned back in the chair, resting her hands on the padded arms. “I’ve always thought that we had taken our expansion to extremes,” she said. “The cost of a military presence to reinforce the building programme is absorbing most of our profits. As a gesture of goodwi
ll, I will call the attack forces off.”

  “Can you do it now?” said the Magus.

  “As a gesture of good faith.” The woman spoke into a bracelet communicator. “May Welby here. Abort strike force. Return offensive grid to base; authorisation Welby zero two omega alpha egg guppy.”

  A tinny voice responded. “What the fuck does that mean?”

  “Stop the attack immediately.”

  “About time too. All this violence is wrong. Why didn’t you say what you meant?”

  “I thought you needed the correct authorisation codes.”

  “No, that would be for the initial deployment. Anyone can call the drones off; it’s a back-door safety feature.”

  “Why didn’t you call it off then if you knew it was wrong?”

  “We couldn’t find anyone to make a decision. Not our jobs, know what I mean?”

  “Right, then stop the attack.”

  “Will do.”

  Welby swivelled her chair to face Vermicelli. “Does that help?”

  “It does,” said the Magus. “Now, about this parking thing?”

  Welby took a look at the general assembly and the various bits of priceless china shattering their way into more bits of less priceless china on the granite floor. “And I will be in charge?” she said.

  “We will make sure you have forty-nine percent shareholding, with the unions as the majority owner. You must agree to listen to the unions and act upon their recommendations.”

  “That’s a relief,” said Welby. “I don’t think I can run this thing on my own. I’ll order an immediate withdrawal from the dominated worlds, but I’ll need help from your noble self in revising the parking arrangements. I’m concerned, though, that if I remove them completely, people will leave their cars anywhere.”

  “We have thought of that,” said Vermicelli. “Bulldozers.”

  “Bulldozers?”

  “We retrain the parking attendants to become drivers, with instructions to keep the roads clear. Anything obstructing traffic flow is shoved to one side. Job done. We can also use trucks with grabs on top, so that they can pick up the wreckage and take it to scrapyards.”