“Just that, boss; kidnap the man and terminate him?”
“Just that. Keep a low profile.” He regarded the quadrillipod as it rippled across the floor on thousands of feet. “Of course, you do already.” He addressed Scaly’s partner. “And you too Bott. You won’t be allowed any death-stars on this job, partially because of the security arrangements, but mainly because you are a trigger-happy psychopath, and I can’t afford any more compensation claims.”
“Sorry, boss.” Bott looked contrite. “My finger gets jammed as soon as I pick up anything with a trigger. So how do we..?”
“Once you have him, you should use whatever equipment you can lay your hands on to bludgeon him to death. Make it look like suicide, of course.”
“Can’t I take the portable Hadron Collider?” said Bott hopefully. “We could blast our way in and take him by surprise. They’d never be able to find all the pieces.”
“No Bott, your robotic components should be enough to get you in and finish the job. Once you have tacked that burger, send the signal and we will come and extract you. That should keep the king-suit happy for a few days; you know how grumpy he gets when someone is upsetting the balance of the Universes.”
The detectives nodded, and Scaly reared up on his hind appendages, cheerfully munching a piece of cheese he had found under the fridge.
“Now,” said Foilside, “Anybody fancy a cup of coffee?”
There was a scraping of chairs as the office emptied.
Good Company
Tom Investigates a Process
Vac gets a uniform
T
om Two-Dan $mith (sic), the self-appointed Chief Operating Officer of SCT, which he suspected stood for ‘Syndicated Consultant Trusts’, although nobody could confirm or deny it, leaned back in his sumptuous leather chair and regarded his business-like personal assistant, perching perkily on the edge of the desk. Amber had wispy blonde hair, wide blue eyes and a long slim body that she had spent a lot of time toning up, but that is not important right now; what is important is that she had brought some rather disturbing news.
“Say again, Amber. I’m not sure I understood what you are telling me.”
“I didn’t believe it either, sir,” she replied, “but I can find nobody in the entire organisation who has a clue what we actually do, and believe me I have searched everywhere. The nearest I got to any sense was the tea-lady, who was able to inform me about some of the things that were happening. It’s not a happy picture.”
“But everyone seems to be busy, rushing about, doing things,” said Tom. “What is going on?”
“They seem as if they are automatically following set routines.”
“Routines, from where?”
“There is a large book known as the Process Manual, which tells them everything they should be doing.”
Tom scratched his neck. “Have you looked at the manual? Do those routines lead anywhere?”
“I did, and I tried to trace them, but I get to a point where all information disappears. Everything ends up in a single location.”
“And that would be?”
“Change Management, sir.”
“Ah.” Tom put his hands behind his head, and stretched. “Change Management eh; and who would be in charge of that?”
“Nobody’s really sure, but the name Ramón is mentioned by a few of the more disillusioned members.”
“Ramón eh?”
“Yes sir.”
“Disillusioned?”
“It seems that everyone else in the organisation has something bad to say about Change Management, but even inside that considerably sized division, there are people who have a conscience and want to get out.”
“You said ‘considerably sized’? How considerable?”
“Er... since you downsized Human Resources…”
“Intellectual Capital. I renamed the department.”
“Sorry sir, since you downsized IC, we have saved a great deal of money, but net outgoings are still in excess of income, and a lot of them are leaking out through Change Management.”
“I was looking at the balance sheet. Apparently we have no income at all, apart from interest on loans and sale of key-rings.”
“I was coming to that, sir.”
“Which reinforces my theory that we don’t actually produce anything?”
“I haven’t been able to find a company product so far.”
Tom sighed. “Anyway, back to Change Management. You were saying that there are members there who are not happy in what they do.”
“Given the right incentive, they admitted the same.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“So did I sir. They were most reluctant to share any information to start with. Apparently if they say what they think, they lose their jobs. After a few drinks in that nice restaurant down the road however, they were only too happy to tell me what they knew.”
“Um, sorry Amber, but you have been drinking with them?”
“It’s okay sir; they put the lot on expenses. It didn’t cost them their hard-earned wages.”
“Expenses, they have expenses when the Company is in this state?”
“They said that their leader signs them off without question. That was one of the perks for working with Change Management... that and their monthly bonuses. That’s why nobody leaves.”
“And you found out all this over a few drinks?”
“And other things.” Tom noticed a slight flush around her ears.
“I only asked you to check a few details, not sleep with the targets.”
Amber blushed. “I thought it was the only reliable way to find out more, sir. I did it for the Company. You know how dedicated I am to the Company.”
“I do now.” Tom, regarded his PA with mixed feelings. She had come a long way since he met her as a timid hostess at an airport, where she helped to save him from losing his life (again). With her steadfast support he had been able to settle quickly into this organisation. He had rewarded her with the job she now held, and was in admiration of her dedication to her career. She was able to keep him at arm’s length, whilst still being efficient and reliable. He was grateful for that. Life was complicated enough already without getting squelchy with his PA.
“Sir?” Amber’s voice brought him back to the present.
“Sorry, I was thinking about how we met.”
“Serendipity,” she said.
“I thought it was at the airport, but are you happy at your work?”
“Very much, sir; you and the Company are my life.”
“And your investigations?”
“I like to give one-hundred percent.”
“I think fifty-percent would have been sufficient, thank you.” Despite their platonic relationship, Tom was strangely disturbed at the thought of Change Management hands roaming his assistant’s figure; it seemed to him that they were already screwing the Company enough.
“I had to gain their confidence sir.”
“Very good, Amber, but in future though, fifty-percent will be sufficient for your job specification.”
“Yes sir.” Amber blushed again and Tom fidgeted. An awkward silence pervaded the room.
The intercom buzzed. Tom took a breath. “Yes?” he snapped.
“Vac, Sah. Permission to enter?”
Tom nodded to Amber. “We’ll talk a bit more, later. In the meantime, could you see if you can find out more about this Ramón character?”
Amber nodded and slid off the desk. Tom watched her curves moving as she strode towards the door. She turned. He pretended to be looking at something on the empty desk. “Shall I send Vac in, sir? He’s been waiting outside since yesterday.”
“Yes, please.”
The girl swung open the double doors to leave, and there was a waltz as she and Vac each tried to let the other through. Tom felt slightly disappointed that his efficient secretary had revealed herself to be hum
an after all.
No chance of the man now standing stiffly to attention in front of him at his desk falling prey to that weakness, he reflected. “Vac.”
“Sah!”
“Welcome.”
“Thank you, Sah.”
“Yes?”
“Yes, Sah!”
Tom grinned at his Chief of Security. Vac was a member of a small tribe of primitives who called themselves Skagans, living on the island that SCT had adopted as the secluded location for their head office. The tribe had proved surprisingly enthusiastic when he offered them employment. Until then, they had apparently been spending their time exercising to the peak of physical perfection or wandering about aimlessly. He had been puzzled at the lack of children in their village. One would have thought that if they had nothing else to do, they would have considered it an acceptable pastime; these people were the most beautiful race he had ever seen; Vac himself would have made even Superman weep, and go back to basic training.
“You wanted to see me, Vac?” he prompted.
“Yes, Sah.”
“Go on?”
“Sah?”
“What did you want to see me about?”
“I wanted to report that we have removed the perimeter walls and fences. Permission to leave the barbed wire in place, Sah?”
“I told you that we did not need walls and fences around my house, Vac. Why do I still need barbed wire?”
“Insurgents, Sah.”
“But I found out that the only insurgents in the area were your tribe pretending to be insurgents so that you had an excuse to fortify my place.”
“Can never be too careful, Sah.”
“Really, but who would want to kill me, apart from the dismissed members of HR I suppose, and the ‘Cyclic Imperative’ because I’ve travelled the Multiverse, oh, and my wife of course? How is Suzanne by the way? Have you managed to stop her drinking?”
“The detention centre troops are working on it, Sah.”
“Good, I hope you are making progress. I need her sober enough to sign divorce papers someday. However, apart from all those people who want me dead, I think I’m safe here, so there’s no need for going over the top with security measures.
“They won’t be a problem, Sah.”
“Why?” Tom regarded the man in the black leather. “Nice uniform by the way.”
“Thank you, Sah. Top quality doku leather: imported.”
“It would have to be.” Tom looked suspiciously at the Skagan. “As far as I’m aware, doku are indigenous to Glenforbis, a planet somewhat distant of here. As we don’t yet have space travel on this world, I’m a little intrigued as to how you came by them.”
“Ah.”
“Ah?”
“Would you believe that we found them stored in one of the warehouses, Sah?”
“No I wouldn’t.”
“Then, would you believe that we discovered a small herd of doku living on the Island?”
“That neither. Come on, Vac, you can tell me the truth.”
“You won’t be cross?”
“Do I look cross?”
“Not yet, Sah.”
“Go on, out with it, man.” I've been dying to use that cliché for three whole universes, he thought; feels good. “Come on, you can tell me.”
Vac took a breath. “Sah... you know how I always thought that my tribe originated somewhere else in the cosmos… and not Cloud-Cuckoo-Land as Amber likes to suggest.”
“Go on.” Tom was fully aware that the Skagans were the original members of a super-race that had populated the Universe in the distant past. In fact, all so-called ‘humans’ had descended from Skagan origin, or rather the rejects from the Skagans as they tried to keep their genes pure; this, he believed, explained the current state of the population of Earth and other inhabited worlds and their fixation with lard and other foodstuffs intended to turn beautiful bodies into gargoyles.
The Skagans of course had stagnated, not allowing any mixing of races to keep the genes strong. After an abortive attempt to reconquer the Galaxy, their world had been strip-mined by greedy industrialists. The tribe had been decimated and dispersed. Tom knew that the Vac now standing before him was the man who he had first met on their home planet, Skagos, several adventures and universes ago, but he was unsure whether this Vac was actually that physical man or one of his equivalents from a parallel universe. Vac was not letting on.
Tom himself was different again. He had died, and his consciousness now inhabited a body from this, what he liked to think of as the Fourth Universe, whereas the original body that met Vac was from the First or Second Universe; he was not sure. He shook his head, and Vac snapped to attention.
“Yes, Sah?”
“You were telling me how you got the doku-leather; the truth now, mind.”
“The truth, Sah?”
“Without any dokushit.”
“You sure you won’t be cross?”
“Try me.”
Vac hesitated. Tom raised his eyebrows and nodded in encouragement.
Vac took a deep breath. “Tanda and me were talking one evening.”
“Good start. I did say you needed to think about making babies.”
“About where we came from,” continued Vac.
“Ah.”
“Yes, ‘ah’, Sah. Exactly what I said to Tanda. And she looked at me and said ‘ah’ back.”
“And I said to her, ‘Do you know what I’m thinking?’”
“And she said, ‘About those babies that, Sah was telling us how to make?’”
“And I said, ‘No, you silly bonobo, I was thinking about where we came from.’”
“And she said to me, ‘Oh, you mean our home planet, Skagos?’”
“Oh dear,” said Tom, thinking back to how warlike the Skagans could be, given the right equipment.
“And I said, ‘How the spinning jackass do you know that?’”
“And she said, ‘I found this book hidden under the washing.’”
“A book?” said Tom, starting to feel more uneasy.
“Yes, Sah, a book detailing the history of the Skagan race, the universe and everything else. Of course, we then had to learn how to read, and after that it started to make sense.”
“Don’t tell me,” said Tom, his heart sinking. “It was written by some dude called Oilflig Phoist.”
“I won’t tell you, Sah, but are you familiar with his works?”
“I remember a book which contained all the wisdom of the Universe and caused no end of trouble in one of my previous lives. It’s not that one is it?”
“No, Sah,” said Vac, looking puzzled. “This one is called ‘The History and Development of the Skagan Race. An Intimate Study by Oilflig Phoist, Form 2B.’”
“Snappy title,” said Tom. “He always was good with titles.”
“Yes, Sah. Apparently he spent a good amount of time on Skagos, learning about the culture of my people.”
“I expect he did. I remember how your traditional greeting was not to shake hands or engage in air kissing, but to shag like Pan Paniscus.”
“He does spend some time expanding on the techniques, Sah. I must say it has been a leg-opener.”
“Don’t you mean ‘eye-opener’?”
“Where would be the fun in that, Sah?”
“Of course, so what else have you discovered apart from how to make babies?”
“Make babies, Sah?”
“Forget it. Go on.”
“It seems we are part of a super-race, Sah…”
“Oh dear, oh dear.” Tom now had a churning feeling in his gut. The last time the Skagans discovered their place in the Universe, there had been a rather nasty war, the downfall of the Consortium, a major peacekeeping force in that part of Space, and the virtual extinction of the Skagans. That confirmed his suspicion; the man currently standing to attention in front of him really was one of the few survivors.
“Sor
ry, Sah?”
“Please go on.”
“We have been experimenting in one of our huts, Sah.”
“With what?”
“A few spare parts left over from the games machine you had me remove from the Development Lab.”
“Good, and what did you come up with?”
“Space travel, Sah.”
“Just like that?”
“The instructions were specific.”
“And this ship worked?”
“We made it to Glenforbis, Sah, in the prototype battleship, Sah; bought the leather to make the uniforms.”
“With what?”
“Salary, Sah; you were most generous when you employed the tribe. We pooled our cash.”
“To buy uniforms?”
“Yes, Sah.”
“Not luxuries, like a house, heating, car, TV or something?”
“No, Sah. The tribe live in mud and straw huts. We have always lived in mud and straw huts, Sah.” Vac squared his shoulders and stood even more to attention.
“So we now have space travel capability?”
“No, Sah.”
“You had a ship. You went to Glenforbis.”
“We did, Sah.”
“And you came back.”
“Evidently, Sah.”
“So where’s the ship; my ship if you think about it?”
“Ah.”
“Ah?”
“It broke, Sah.”
“Broke, how?”
“We thought we would take a little detour, Sah. We’ve been getting tax demands.”
“Have you now?”
“So we went to the tax office in person because you can never get through on the phone, they don’t have an email address and there’s a shredder fitted below the letter box.”
“And they weren’t pleased to see you?”
“Don’t know, Sah. Met us with a big fleet of warships and we had to wipe them all out. Ship got damaged in the fight and we used up all our spare drive components to make a run for it. Barely made it home before we crashed on the reformatory for disgraced politicians.”
The Fifth Correction Page 2