The Fourteenth Adjustment

by Robert Wingfield

  “I suppose that might work.”

  “We will get Mx. Fairway to abolish all traffic laws, in return for not being trampled to death, and with the subsequent chaos, we make a serious profit in vehicle recovery and recycling.”

  “But what about road deaths? People will get killed.”

  “If road users know that there is nothing to protect them, no laws or recompense, they are going to be a lot more careful. Also, it will encourage the car manufacturers to make cars that don’t fold flat, the moment a breath of wind hits them. ‘Safety’ will be the watchword. It will save lives, not endanger them. I hope you’re taking notes for Nishant, Mx. Singpurvitch. I know you’re hiding behind the curtains. The doku have eaten most of them and I can see your shoes.”

  “You are most illuminative, o noble leader of unions,” said Singpurvitch, poking his face around the remains of the drapes.

  “Go, before you are also eaten, and tell Mister Nishi that his vehicles are all going to have to withstand pressure testing.”

  “But that will put honourable price up.”

  “And that will also limit the number of cars on the road,” said Vermicelli. “Do we have a deal, Mx. Welby?”

  “And you will make sure that my co-directors are taken out of the organisation?” said Welby, casting a nervous glance towards the roped prisoners.

  “Certainly.” Vermicelli smiled. “In the Sapristi Statute, the Fourteenth Adjustment says: ‘No organisation shall make or enforce any law which shall abridge the privileges or immunities of citizens of Sapristi; nor shall any organisation deprive any person of life, liberty, or car-parking spaces’. We have added a second clause: ‘Greedy bastards, running a business entirely for their own profit and gratification, immediately forfeit the right to compensation, remuneration and pension rights, if they are found out.’”

  “I’ve never heard of that rule.” Poordraw protested, his voice muffled through the gag.

  “While you were busy chasing pirates, we redrafted it,” said Vermicelli. “We moved in on the void which used to be called ‘Parliament’, but is now composed mostly of property developers who never bother to turn up because they are too busy looking for new areas of natural beauty to build unaffordable housing on. We took a red pen to the Statute and have entered a new phase of enlightenment. Think of the thousands of men and women who, during the past centuries, have toiled unceasingly for the good of the race. The results are already being seen on every hand, alike in legislation and administration. And who shall estimate or put a limit to the forces and powers which yet lie concealed in human nature?”

  “Er, can we move on a bit, please?” said the Magus. “I still have two of my Skagan friends to rescue... or maybe not.” He saw the commercial break on the big screen at the end of the room, and Groat and Spigot, demonstrating birth control techniques.

  “We gave them a job, in return for information about the Skagan home-world,” said Welby. “It seemed kinder than execution. That is how we managed to set up our operations over there. The Skagans did seen a bit annoyed, though.”

  “Can I finish please?” Vermicelli sounded annoyed. “We are making history here, freedom of the masses, rise of the unions and all...”

  “Go on then,” said Welby. “Mx. Singpurvitch, are you getting all this on your ever-running cine camera?”

  “Most efficiently,” said the Musoketeban representative, nodding enthusiastically.

  “Frozen, hemmed in and flashed by a cold, callous greed,” continued Vermicelli, “the warming influence of determination is beginning to liberate our members. We see it in the growing altruism of soon to be relaxed parking laws. We will see it, perhaps most of all, in the development of enhanced machinery for the clearing of roads, the ability to repair them without speed restrictions for three years, while lazy bastard contractors sit on their arses, and of course, the total destruction of all speed cameras. Who that has ever known someone who can make a decision, that has not felt the dormant powers which, under the emotions of life, or the indignation of delayed drivers are even now momentarily revealed? And who is there who can even dimly forecast the powers that lie latent in the ability to revoke parking and speed restrictions, and motivate people to drive like nutters, bringing forth a freer and more rewarding life, or at least a quick and messy death? The rebellious minds, even more than the working class, are the great unknown quantity of this noble race of Fukeds.”

  “Wrinkle me,” said Poordraw. “And you thought of all that by yourselves?”

  “We might have taken the wording from some other speech by a great statesman,” said Vermicelli, unconsciously twisting the Corbett Cap in his hands, “but the sentiment stands.”

  “I’ll leave it all with you then, Mycroft,” said the Magus. “And the outstanding parking fines?”

  “I’ll declare an immediate amnesty,” said Welby, now surrounded by trade union members.

  “Then my work here is concluded,” said the Magus, turning on his heel. He vanished, to be followed a few seconds later by the doku herd, leaving nothing but a slight haze, a thin coating of dung on the floor and a swarm of relieved flies.

  “Who was that hatted man?” said Welby, shaking her head.

  “No idea,” said Vermicelli, “but he will henceforth be known as the ‘Lone Shop Steward’, guide and liberator of the people.”

  Up in the Bereavement Notable, the battle stopped abruptly, and the remaining drones dropped back towards the planet. There was a strange silence, and then an apologetic voice came through.

  “P17 here. Sorry about that. Is it okay if I pop back and return to my adulation of the lovely Kara-Tay?”

  “You deserted us,” said Kara, sounding peeved, “for a second time. I’m not sure I like you anymore.”

  “Aw, don’t be like that. I will do anything to make up for it. Anything, my lovely, anything at all.”

  “Are you still loaded with explosive?”

  “I am.”

  “Then prove your love for me by returning to the drone hanger and blowing yourself up, taking out the fleet with you.”

  There was an electronic gulp. “I was thinking more about something like making you breakfast in bed for a week. Are you sure about this?”

  “Absolutely sure,” said Kara. “Your sacrifice will be sung about and remembered forever in the car-parking restrictions world.”

  “Forever, my love?”

  “Forever. Do it for me and I will never forget, to the end of my considerable days. The Death Watch doesn’t go high enough to tell you how long, so I’m going to turn it into a diamond scarab brooch instead.”

  “For you then, my dearest and never-ending sweetheart.”

  “For me, and my eternal and only love for you.”

  “Farewell.”

  The scanner screen showed P17 as it plunged to earth, quickly followed by a bright orange flare and a cloud of smoke.

  “It did it for you, then,” said Tom. “Gave its life, and saved us all.”

  “Who was that then?” said Kara. “I can’t remember. Give me a couple of minutes to do the final clean on these shoes. The ‘Old Black’ seems to have gone a bit thick at the moment. I think it’s reacting with the dung.”

  “We’ll just f— off then,” said the leader of the footwear fleet, as Rannie tuned back in to his frequency, “as we seem to be outnumbered now. You should probably keep the shoes. We can always make more.”

  “Not with my Doku,” said the Magus, reappearing on the bridge of the Notable. “You will have to find a synthetic substitute for leather. Oh, who’s this now?”

  The crew stared at the view-screen again as another fleet of ships appeared, a fleet of brightly-coloured garish abominations of space transport.

  “Speak. Do we destroy you, or take you for a drink?” Tom said.

  “The drink sounds nice, if you’re not doing anything later. It’s me, Suzanne. I’ve brought the Floribundans. I’ve apologised for insulti
ng their national delicacy, and they were pleased with the ex-doku collars, and have turned them into musical instruments. They also appreciate a good cup of coffee, so have given me the job of ‘Minister for Elevating Beverages’ here. I got the award of the ‘Floaty Kaftan’ for services to the catering industry too. Mrs Tuesday taught me thoroughly. Sorry we’re a bit late, but we had to follow the correct administrative procedures and have a vote. And then, we had to have another vote because we didn’t like the result of the first, and then another, but eventually, we got a majority of ‘one’ in favour of coming.”

  “That’s a very slim margin,” said Tom. “But thanks for the effort.”

  “No, it was a hundred percent in favour,” said Suzanne. “After all the repeat ballots, everyone got fed up with voting, so eventually the turnout was only one, our very own Mrs Elsie Sponge, who voted in favour of helping, after we had explained that the polling station was not the public toilet, and showed her the correct building... So, are we too late to join the fray?”

  “Luckily yes,” said Tom.

  “You might be of some help,” said the Magus. “The administration below has changed, and they will be looking to remove their car parks. You could get the Floribundans to help them with that work, and knowing their talent with horticulture, building parks and lakes and open green spaces, the results could be most pleasant.”

  “We should,” said Suzanne. “Seeing as how we are all here. We will have to take a vote on it first. What do you think, Elsie?”

  “I certainly didn’t expect to see you again,” said Kara with a frown reflecting in her shiny shoes, as she returned some time later to the control room to join the rest of the crew. They were all lounging around, sharing a Melchizedek of Nishifiddich.

  “I don’t suppose you did,” said Tom. “Looks like your hopes and dreams are... actually, I’m not sorry. It serves you right for being a...”

  “...bitter bag of bolts?” said Kara. She regarded him more closely. “You are different,” she said. She gave Arianne Archangel a hard stare. “What did you do to him?”

  Arianne tried to control her face colour display, but failed, and a red glow of embarrassment spread across her features. “You dumped him in space,” she said. “I thought you’d finished with him.”

  “He was dead, I mean really dead. We didn’t want STOP to get hold of the corpse and turn him into an exhibit.”

  “I believe they have,” said the Magus. “Rannie and I popped down to the rebuilt and renamed Museum of Recalcitrance and Bodily Excretions. They have a large glass case there displaying the remains of Neckbeard the Pirate, with weights attached to various parts. In fact, it is only a charred collection of pizza boxes and toppings. If you screw your eyes up very tight, you can nearly imagine the outline is roughly pirate-shaped. Ironic really, because, not only is it not Two-Dan, but I was the real Neckbeard all along.”

  “Anyway,” said Kara, “he was completely dead, so that’s why we posted him off. He was supposed to burn up in the sun like all good burials. I guess we missed.”

  “I’m glad you did,” said Tom. “I feel perfectly fine now. That machine in the cylinder works wonders. I didn’t realise that it would extend its effect to organic life, but I guess the recent upgrades must have included that.”

  “But it didn’t,” said Kara, scanning him with a sonic nail-file.

  “What do you mean?” Tom looked up sharply from where he was gazing at Arianne’s legs.

  “It didn’t bring you back to life,” said Kara slowly.

  “Excuse me, er, hi,” said Tom, waving at her. “If I’m dead, then what’s this gesticulating at you?”

  “Put it away,” said Kara. “You are not dead, but with deference to real science fiction, you are not life as you know it.”

  “Oh dear.”

  “That’s right. It appears that the regeneration machine has rebuilt you with cybernetic parts. Your brain has been reconstructed with a neuromorphic processor, exactly like me, and Arianne here.”

  “Rubbish. I feel perfectly normal.”

  “Then check out that birthmark on your...”

  “Oh,” said Tom, craning his neck.

  “And that scar on your...”

  “Oh,” said Tom again, wrenching his shoulder.

  “And that lump on your...”

  “Ah,” said Tom, peering downwards. “How do you know?”

  “Partly because I can see that you have been reconstructed, your skin is flawless and you actually look physically more appealing, but mainly from this addendum at the back of the cylinder maintenance manual, which I have been studying...”

  “Show me.”

  “It says here, ‘Pleased to not attempt placing organic material between this repository. Results will be impulsive, someplace between molecular disassembly and complete cybernetic reconstruction.’

  “There’s a clue.”

  “I see,” said Tom, sitting down heavily. Arianne caught him, because the chair he was aiming for had been removed by Kara.

  “You are like me now?” she said, regarding him with interest.

  “Yes, he is,” said Kara. “And like you and I, he is virtually immortal. Ironic really, after all he’s said about me and the way I work, and all the times the universe has tried to kill him.”

  Tom shook himself free of Arianne’s grip and turned to look at Kara. “But I’m still basically me?”

  “The ‘you’ of which you speak, like everything in the universe, is effectively an energy field, as per quantum physics and consciousness theories. That energy field is now stored in the processor in your head, and around your body. There are billions of tiny processors inside you, all working together to make the awareness you recognise. I guess the regeneration unit reconstructed you based on that.”

  “Does this mean that I’m going to have to live on brake fluid and LARD42 from now on,” said Tom, shuddering.

  “I don’t think so,” said Kara slowly. “According to the footnotes in the manual, the fuel conversion is best garnered from what the body relished most before conversion. What did you relish most?”

  Tom and the Magus exchanged glances.

  “You jammy bastard,” said the Magus.

  “I’d have to test the theory before I get too excited,” said Tom.

  “I know it already,” said the Magus.

  “Me too,” said Tom. “Fancy a pint? For nutritional purposes only, of course.”

  “Set ‘em up,” said the Magus.

  “What’s going on?” said Arianne.

  “You’ve given him everything he wanted,” said Kara.

  “I never touched him.”

  “No, you have reconstructed him into part machine, part ale-based lifeform. His main fuel is most likely to be real-ale.”

  “You jammy bastard,” repeated the Magus.

  “I’ll have that pint now,” said Tom.

  Ends

  Glossary

  $mith (sic), Tom, Two-Dan Head of SCT and universe hopping hero.

  Aftershock, Olivia Nurse and Barista at the Doctor Crippin Hospital.

  Alchy Salsa Galactic cure-all. It adapts to any particular ailment, and will rectify anything, after reading the base information from the patient’s cell structure. Even the manufacturers admit, though, that reanimating frozen corpses may be a little beyond its powers, except in the case of local council officials with headaches.

  Arachne, Life of Like the ‘Life of Reilly or Riley’ it was popularised by the music-hall song of the ‘Tarantula of Red Widow Twanky’: “The famous wild tarantula of Red Widow’s no more. After ‘living the life of Arachne’ for over a year, evading the fly-swats and spinning her rear, whose kitchens she cobwebbed in all corners four.”

  Archangel, Arianne A pleasure droid, discovered in Tween Space.

  Badloser, Ferdinand Former head of SCT and total bastard, killed at least twice in previous adventures. May well be related to Ferguson Poordra
w or May Welby.

  Basilopolis Capital city of the planet, Out.

  Bereavement Notable The moon-sized battleship the Skagans have built to claim back withheld tax on Vac’s book.

  Black Empress Kara’s Good Fortune Originally the Fukeds Belle, but refitted with doku-shunt gun batteries, and renamed for use as the definitive pirate vessel.

  Blurgars Nomadic primitive tribe, originally called ‘The Gar’, but after the chance discovery of a CD player, and a few disks, they learned to speak, decided that modern life was rubbish, and being unable to see distinctly through all the rain, renamed themselves and started a chain of opticians. Sadly, they were then mistaken for housebreakers by the dyslexic Emperor of Out, who persecuted them until his mysterious disappearance.

  They are noted for their bare chests and the ability to make great pants out of stainless steel.

  Bonigalia A country popular as a source of cheap security personnel.

  Burglar Slayer, Basil the Second Dyslexic founder of the magnificent city of Basilopolis, centuries ago. 55th Emperor of Out.

  Charmony A peaceful country on the far side of Glenforbis, famous for their tolerance of all races and beliefs, and having never invaded anyone.

  Chips, Suzanne Long, beautiful redhead, lush, and wife of Tom. Married as a trophy bride by his former self and quickly turned bad. Tom still has feelings... mostly her fingers in his wallet.

  Clarkson, Saint Patron saint of Basilopolis and misplaced wheeled vehicles. Some believe he is a purely fictional figure, owing to the fact that wheels are totally impractical in the soaked environment of Out.

  Coles, Amber Faithful secretary and Director of Finance of SCT. Born in Newcastle, UK, and has no idea how she got into the Fourth Universe. You can guess if you read the other Dan books though.

  Consortium, The A collection of strip-mining, property development and specialist pollution manufacturers, defeated by the Skagans, and now reduced to collecting rocks, and apologising.

  CRAP Complete Rip-off at Parking, the organisation run by May Welby.