The Fifth Correction

by Robert Wingfield

  “Not at the moment,” said Tom wistfully. “I have an idea about something and I wanted to talk it over with you.”

  “Can’t the others help?”

  “No, Amber’s not talking to me, Vac will absorb everything I say and then go and do it before I have time to consider the consequences, and everyone else will agree enthusiastically, as they were trained to do by my predecessor, Badloser. I know that you’ll tell me what you think, because you always do.”

  “If I didn’t, you’d have been in a lot more trouble than you already are. I mean, those clothes you used to wear; the Style Police were queuing up to arrest you, and that haircut…”

  Tom ran his fingers through his locks and caught a glimpse of himself in the coffee-pot. Gone was the amalgamation of harassed work’s manager, UNIX programmer and dog’s dinner; the face that looked back at him was lean and tanned and so sharply groomed he had already blunted three combs. “Yes, I rely on you for that, but I wanted to try out an idea on you.”

  “Does it involve ropes and buzzing devices? I like it already.”

  “Ropes and buzzing,” Tom mused. “Indirectly I suppose.”

  “How indirectly?”

  “Indirectly, as in once I have finished talking through the ideas, I might come home with you and see about trying out the equipment.”

  “So nothing to do with it at all then?” Caryl gave a mock frown. “Tell me more.”

  “It’s about making the company solvent again.”

  “What sort of solvent? You know I’ve never sniffed glue or anything like that. I’m a good girl.” She slipped back on to his knee and gave him a squeeze.

  “Don’t be obtuse. You know what I’m talking about.”

  Caryl grinned. “Go on then.”

  “You’ll never guess what I found when I was at the Skagan village.”

  “A fleet of immensely powerful spacecraft, still undergoing construction?”

  “What, how did you..?”

  “Easy really. I read about the troubles at Nishant. There was only one person who could have engineered that, and he is currently standing politely outside the door, waiting for you to call him in.”

  “How do you know that? The room is soundproofed.”

  “He is always on-call. He sees that as his mission, to protect you from everything.”

  “Except you.”

  “Except me, fortunately,” grinned Caryl. “My charms are more than a match for his indifference. Watch what happens next time he sees me.”

  “He fancies you?” Tom felt a sneaky hint of jealousy, and fought it down.

  “Of course, why wouldn’t he?” Caryl kissed him. “Don’t worry lover-boy. You and I go back a long way. You are my first and only real man.”

  “But what about those other guys you told me about?”

  “I did what I had to do, but it was you who got to me and I am, and will always be, loyal to you.”

  “What, even if I wear that old jumper again?”

  “Except for that,” she grinned, “but we’ve no cause to worry; it accidentally caught fire the other week.”

  “But how? That was my favourite. I've had it years.”

  “I told Vac there was a hidden microphone in it and we were being monitored by Boggle, the global spy network.”

  “Shame. I’ll perhaps get another someday.”

  “Over my prostrate, bound and school-uniform clad body,” she said. “Anyway, enough of this badinage; you were going to discuss something with me?”

  “Yes.” Tom shook himself and eased to a more comfortable position. His hand found its way into the top of Caryl’s dress and absently caressed a breast. “Vac used the money refunded from Nishant to buy components for the ships.”

  “Presumably referring to construction details from Oilflig’s book?”

  “You knew about that too?”

  “I saw the delivery note. You asked me to keep an eye on ‘Goods In’. I rummaged through their paperwork while you were sleeping off our experiments with the door-strap last night.”

  “I didn’t feel you leave.”

  “Being small and delightfully cute has its advantages.”

  “And modest.”

  “Are you implying that I’m not small and delightfully cute?”

  Tom laughed. “I wouldn’t dare.”

  “So you’ve got this manufacturing facility,” said Caryl, suddenly serious, “a considerable reserve of cash, cheap local labour and a brand-new technology, for this planet anyway.”

  “Yes that’s right.”

  “And you want to know what the next step is?”

  Tom nodded. “I’ve got some ideas.”

  “Have we found out what SCT actually do as a business yet?”

  “I’m still working on it. Something to do with the propagation of Change Management I suspect.”

  “What do you think of them?” Caryl settled herself more comfortably.

  “They must be good; they’ve completely stopped all problems with the systems and processes. We never have any downtime anywhere now, according to the reports.”

  “You are wrong there,” said Caryl. “They seem to have stopped all problems by stopping all changes.”

  “Oh, so what’s the thinking behind that?”

  “They are working to the theory as Nishant would say, ‘If it ain’t wrecked, don’t renovate it.’”

  “But you have to have ‘Change’. Without change comes stagnation.” Tom shook his head.

  “With stagnation comes reliability, assurance and stability,” said Caryl, “and I quote in sarcastic vein.”

  “Quote, from where?”

  “It’s at the front of the Change Management Process Manual. I was having problems sleeping the other night. It’s quite fascinating really, seeing into the minds of those people; a different and sometimes creepy world.”

  “Full of bollocks?” said Tom.

  “Total bollocks,” agreed Caryl, “But it helps me get off… no don’t say anything about that.”

  Tom smirked and she slapped him.

  “To the matter in hand though,” she said, gazing back down at his lap, “why not make Change Management a separate profit centre and let them find their own work, providing a service rather than an obstruction. There are plenty of Marketing and Sales people you could transfer. It sounds more politically correct than laying them off, purely because they don’t actually do anything.”

  “I could, couldn’t I? And I could make Errorcode the CEO of that division. He seems to have a head for chicanery.”

  “Is he still around? I thought that the former Chief Information Officer and ineffectual patsy of the Plank of Directors was long gone.”

  “Something in his contract I’m afraid, and I feel too sorry for the pathetic weasel to suggest that Vac ‘redeploy’ him. I put him out on landscaping leave while I think what to do.”

  “Landscaping leave?”

  “Like gardening leave, only with more rocks involved. I’ve got him down at the quarry, breaking limestone for a new water-feature in front of the building. Amber’s set her heart on it since they rediscovered the Hanging Gardens of Babylon in her home town of Newcastle.”

  “And we are paying him for this?”

  “No, but he still won’t resign; Head of the Change Division is the perfect post for him in that case.”

  “Won’t Ramón mind?”

  “Alas, he and Clint from Group Risk had a shootout over a fistful of expense claims; the posts are now both available.”

  “Shame, I loved his hat. Anyway, you could make the division totally autonomous and that would reduce Company outgoings. They can return any profits they make to the company coffers, and any losses can be extracted from the leaders’ salaries. That should motivate them.”

  “You’re a devious person,” said Tom, kissing her nose.

  “That’s why you like me,” she retorted. “In the meantime, call the m
ain man in and let’s see what we can do about those warships he’s building. Oh…” She grabbed his hand before he could operate the call button. “There’s something I want to do before you do. Major reorganisations make me horny.”

  “Everything makes you horny,” grinned Tom. “I like it.” He followed his woman into the office bathroom and locked the door behind them.

  * * *

  An hour or two later, Caryl had changed into a business suit and was lurking invisibly in the shadows by the bookcase again. Tom returned to his seat and blew her a kiss. She pretended to catch it and wipe her bottom, and then wagged her finger. “To work,” she said.

  “Right,” said Tom, “to work.” He cleared his throat. “I’ll call Vac in.”

  “Yes, Sah, I’m here, Sah.”

  “How did you do that? Have you been listening?”

  “Voice sensitive detector, Sah. Something Young Pete from ‘Technology and Innovations’ came up with. Device that picks up on my name, said with the correct inflection, and flashes a light on my collar to tell me I’m needed. Not eavesdropping by any means, Sah; would never do that, Sah.”

  “Glad to hear it Vac. One can never be too careful what one says these days; there’s always some twat hanging around ready to take offence at the slightest punch in the face…”

  “Yes, Sah, I have, er, not, eliminated a few of them already. Young Pete also rigged me up another device, listening out for the phrase, ‘Who will rid me of…’ in case the talents I, er, don’t have are ever needed. I have a third light listening out for anyone mentioning the name ‘Errorcode’.”

  “Oh dear, poor Monty; what does that make you, er, not do?”

  “Nothing at all, Sah, exactly like he does all day, but it’s nice to have the information.”

  “So, these devices you have; is Young Pete any good?”

  “Oh yes, Sah. Took over after Old Pete met with that unfortunate accident where the Plank of Directors blew up, which I had nothing to do with of course: Young Pete, top man.”

  “Good, we will need his talents with a project I’m going to put to you.”

  “I’m all ears, Sah,” said Vac, another light on his lapel glowing.

  * * *

  “So what do you think?” Tom had outlined his plan and tried to tease some personal opinions out of the big Skagan.

  “So as I understand it, Sah, you want my tribe to continue working on the spacecraft, but remove all weaponry. You then propose to refocus the company output on space vehicles instead of whatever it is that we do at the moment?”

  “In a nutshell,” said Tom, “spot on. And I plan to rename the organisation to reflect our new mission. Now, you have my permission to give me your honest opinion.”

  “Really, Sah? It’s not in my training. My job is to hear, obey and, er, not, eliminate.”

  “Special dispensation, Vac; I really would value your true thoughts.”

  The Skagan shifted uncomfortably, the leather of his suit creaking efficiently. He took a breath. “Seriously, Sah?”

  “Seriously.”

  “And you won’t court-martial me?”

  “You have, this moment, been co-opted on to the new Committee we’re forming,” butted in Caryl, stepping out of the shadows, both figuratively and in actuality. “Speak as a member of that, rather than the Security force.”

  “Ah,” Vac’s face lit up. “Do I get a title, Ma’am?”

  “Of course, and turn off that decoration around your collar. It’s not Christmas yet, and even if it was, we operate the ‘Bah Humbug’ policy, and pretend we’re Jehovah’s Witnesses.

  “Sorry, Ma’am.”

  “Anyway, what would responsibility be without a title? How does Director of Ethnic Liaison sound?” She sidled up to him and took his arm. “Come and sit in this comfy Director’s Chair.”

  “I’d rather stand, Ma’am,” said Vac uncomfortably, “but what was the question you were asking, Sah?”

  “What I just said,” said Tom. “Weren’t you listening?”

  “That was when I was Head of Security,” said Vac. “Could you repeat it for me, now that I’m Director of whatever it was?”

  “Ethnic Liaison,” said Caryl, “as long as you promise never to use the word ‘Liaise’. It might be in accepted speech, but only for pretentious twats who have no grasp of style.”

  “I wouldn’t want the ‘Word Police’ paying us a visit,” said Tom, casting an admiring glance at his girl.

  “No chance, Sah; they spend all their time arresting Nishant personnel, children’s TV presenters and ‘Twitface’ bloggers.”

  “Of course,” said Tom. “Now, I was asking what you thought about the plan to build spacecraft without weapons.”

  “With my Director’s hat on, Sah?”

  “If you would.”

  “In my new situation as Director of Ethnic Exploitation…”

  “Liaison,” corrected Caryl.

  “Slip of the tongue, Ma’am,” said Vac. “As Director of Ethnic Discrimination, I would ask if you mean to use my people as slave labour without the reward of being able to blast things to pieces?”

  “I guess that’s about it,” Tom said, nervously.

  “I’m not sure the tribe would be willing... a production line is not really our style.” Vac stood even more to attention and his inscrutable features expressed hostile inscrutability.

  “Your people would get a very fair wage, and all the time they required to perfect the machines.”

  “Wages are not important,” said Vac. “Our motivation comes from the knowledge of a job efficiently done, and the need to destroy things to relieve our frustrations.”

  “I told you, I could show you how to get over those,” said Tom, feeling he was losing control of this discussion. “Babies and all that…” He tried to read the man’s expression. Vac appeared to be fanatically loyal to him, but here was a conflict of interests. He was concerned that the man’s devotion to the tribe and being able to kill things, might outweigh his loyalty to himself and the Company... with potentially disastrous implications. He took a breath trying to think of some other incentive.

  “If I might say something..?” Caryl stood up and walked around the desk. Tom watched her, desire creeping up on him again. He glanced at Vac.

  A complete change had come over his new director. The iron resolve seemed to have softened, and the man stood like a schoolboy who has been caught fiddling with his private parts by his favourite school-mistress. The Skagan removed his peaked leather cap and wrung it between his hands as he kow-towed low in front of her. “Ma’am, of course you can.”

  “Not to worry lover-boy,” said Caryl winking at Tom. She slipped up to Vac and kissed the top of his head. “Come on, to attention; you’re still on parade you know.”

  “Sorry Ma’am.” He stood up and Tom noticed his face was red and he was sweating slightly as he tried to loosen his collar with a finger.

  Caryl settled into one of the guest sofas. She patted the space beside her. “Come and sit with me,” she said to Vac.

  “Permission to recline beside the memsahib, Sah?”

  Tom smiled and nodded uncertainly.

  Vac squeezed in beside Caryl, leaning as far away from her as possible. She slid across so that their legs were touching. Vac coughed and went red.

  “Now, this is our idea,” began the girl. “The Company is being refocused towards the aerospace industry. Whatever it was we used to do was unprofitable, so we need your team to lend us your expertise in creating these new sky-ships. We will corner the market of course, because our secrets will be kept on this island.”

  “But Ma’am, there could be cheaper imitations. We only use the best components and materials you know, and it takes a long time in development and test to get them exactly right.”

  “I know,” said Caryl gently patting his hand. “So you will have all the time you need. We will get Young Pete over to develop a process of
manufacture…”

  “He’s a top man, Ma’am.”

  “I know, so we will get him to work with you; you will be both developing and learning to make the best product ever created.”

  “But what about the competition? They will soon copy us and there will be inferior models everywhere.”

  “I’ve thought of that,” said the girl. “We will register patents, so that we own all space travel machines. Your people will be assigned to the Patents Office as ‘regulators’.”

  “Oh Ma’am, it sounds really boring. I don’t want to disappoint you but I really couldn’t ask the tribe to become factotums.”

  “You won’t be pushing pens, my dear man,” she squeezed his hand and he whimpered with pleasure, “but flying your ships. We will fit a few with your weapons and it will be your job to ‘regulate’ the other space vehicles.”

  “Regulate as in ‘blow up’?” said Vac hopefully. “So we will have weapons?”

  “Only on the Regulatory ships,” said Caryl, nodding vigorously. “That is how we will deal with the competition.”

  Tom sat behind his desk watching with admiration. He decided never to give Caryl any cause to fall out with him; hell hath no fury and all that… He cleared his throat. “So if you are in agreement Vac, I’ll get Young Pete to come and talk to you, and we will re-register the business. Now as to what to call it…”

  “Permission to speak, Sah?” Vac was now on his feet again. The blush had turned to a glow of enthusiasm. “I would not want you to change the logo. It would mean redesigning the hats and everything…”

  “It would cost a lot,” agreed Caryl, “what with the stationery, the badges, the towels, the key-rings…”

  “The hand-grenades, the monogrammed explosives,” put in Vac.

  “Er, yes,” said Caryl. “Perhaps we can stick with the letters, S C T and call it…”

  “Severely Correctional Taskforce?” suggested Vac.

  “I was thinking of something more user-friendly, along the lines of Space Community Transportation,” said Caryl. “We could register as a haulage, holiday and travel supplier and agent.”

  “I was thinking about something along those lines, as an alternative, Ma’am.”

  “Good idea of yours then Vac. We’ll go with that,” said Caryl.