The Fifth Correction

by Robert Wingfield

“That?” Scaly indicated a large cruiser that appeared to be bobbing about a bit more than the other moored boats. “The Argon,” he said, reading the nameplate. “Perhaps the motors are already running, to make it shake like that.”

  “One way to find out.” Bott jumped on to the vessel. “Hello?” He listened for a few moments and then beckoned. “Seems deserted. You can come aboard.”

  “Right.” Scaly followed, flowing from dock to deck like one of those slinky springs that children used to tie in knots for their parents’ amusement at Christmas.

  “How does it work?” asked Bott, shaking his head.

  “Turn key to start engine,” read Scaly off his slate. “Pull lever, get direction sorted out with the big round thing.”

  “No wonder the super-rich like these boats,” said Bott as he steered the cruiser into the main harbour. “Nothing complicated to try their ingenuity.”

  “I always thought you would be good in a role like that,” said Scaly. “I can see you living a life of idleness and debauchery.”

  “Debauchery? You mean me doing stuff with a girl, when I look like this?” Bott gazed sadly down at his hotchpotch of cybernetic repairs.

  “Easy; if you were super-rich, they’d all be clamouring for your attention. You have a kind heart, even though most of it is borrowed cogwheels and pumps. Girls like that... and money.”

  Bott brightened up. “I might even try. When we’ve done this job I’ll use the reward money to buy a membership into the super-rich. What about you?”

  “Me,” said Scaly thoughtfully. “Perhaps a log-pile in the country somewhere wet, and then ask Mandy to marry me.”

  “Who? You mean the quad back there?”

  “I got her phone number.”

  “Shame you haven’t still got the phone. I knew those guides weren’t being totally honest with us.”

  “A small price to pay.” Scaly’s ommatidia misted. “I miss her already.”

  “We will come back and find her,” said Bott kindly, “once we’ve completed the mission.” The boat cleared the harbour bar. “Which way now?”

  Scaly reared up and inspected the driving controls. He pressed one and a screen lit up, showing the surrounding ocean. “There.” He pointed at an island, marked with skulls, toxic material warning signs and little pictures of atom-bombs detonating. “That will be it.”

  “I say.”

  Both agents were taken off-guard by the voice behind them.

  “Can you keep the noise down please?”

  They turned slowly to see a gawky naked man with his arm around a very shapely girl, also naked.

  “Sorry about that,” said Scaly.

  “Are you the relief crew?”

  “Yes, um, taking her out for a trial run before we go on the Grand Tour,” the quadrillipod improvised.

  “The Grand Tour, how super. I always wanted to do one of those. What do you think Windy?”

  “So who are you two?” asked Bott, keeping his eyes on the navigation screen.

  “Don’t you know, old boy?” The man looked suspicious.

  Bott shook his head.

  “They didn’t tell us who we were crewing for,” said Scaly quickly.

  “I say, a talking piano,” said the man. “If you want to know, I’m Argon Flux, the owner of the ship...”

  “What, the Argon flux?”

  “The same.”

  “Never heard of you.”

  Argon put his arm around the girl’s waist to save her toppling into the water. “And this delightful filly here, is Windy Vendiola...”

  “Come back to bed,” she giggled. “We’re not finished yet.”

  “And you people are..?” asked Flux, not to be diverted.

  “Master Bott, steersman, and I’m Seaman Scaly, the navigator,” said the quadrillipod, “and not a piano.”

  “Rightho. Oh.” The man screwed his eyes up at the display. “Er, I don’t know anything about driving this thing, but I do know you have to keep clear of SCT Island. You seem to be going straight for it, dear boy. Do you think you should change course?”

  “Is that a problem?” asked Scaly. “We thought you would, er, like to spend some time on the beach there.”

  “Bit of a problem, what, yes?” The man was having difficulty focusing. “They have these defence systems. Anyone goes too near, boom.”

  “Boom?”

  “Big boom. They have authorisation for nuclear deterrent. Better keep clear.”

  “We will,” said Scaly reassuringly. “Now you get back to whatever you were doing downstairs and leave everything to us.”

  “You’re a brick,” said the man.

  “Some of me must be ceramic I suppose,” said Bott thoughtfully.

  The girl giggled again. “You are rude, Fluxy,” she said.

  “Thank you,” said Scaly, rearing up and steering the owner back towards the cabin. “Leave everything to us; please go below and relax.”

  “Will do, old chap.”

  “Old chap,” simpered the girl. “So rude.”

  “Come on poppet,” said the man.

  “Poppet,” she repeated. “Straight in, please do.”

  “Do you know,” Flux said as he helped her back down the gangway into the cabin, and a cloud of acrid smoke billowed out, “I really must give up this stuff. One of the crew looked like a giant millipede.”

  “Can’t be,” she sniffed. “It’s biologically impossible for millipedes to get that big. It was a man dressed as a piano. Did you say something about ‘stuff’? I’m ready.”

  Bott let out a sigh as the cabin door closed. “I didn’t think there’d be anyone on board.”

  “That would explain the strange bobbing movements of the boat. Lucky for us they are both out of it. Don’t breathe the air down there; we have a job to do.”

  “I know. What’s this about the island’s defences though?” Bott scrutinised the display.

  “Probably only stories to keep people away,” Scaly said thoughtfully. “Folks don’t behave like that on a civilised island on a civilised world, do they?”

  * * *

  On the civilised island on the civilised world, some exquisitely beautiful civilised people wearing not very much were gazing at the defence display on the wall.

  “Can’t be,” said a heart-stoppingly beautiful girl.

  “They wouldn’t dare,” replied the astonishingly handsome man beside her. “Surely they aren’t approaching the island without permission?”

  “They are,” said the girl, “And stop calling me ‘Surely’; my name is Shirley.”

  “My accent, my apologies,” said the man. “What do we do?”

  The girl flicked through a large book, stuffed with paper amendments and updates. “Process Manual says ‘one challenge, and then fire if they don’t back off’.”

  “Are they backing off?”

  “Doesn’t look like it; they’re within the exclusion zone.”

  “Right, fire then.” He hit a red button, and the island shook as two missiles launched. He operated another control. The directional loud-hailer took his voice over the water towards the cruiser. “Attention approaching vessel, you have entered protected waters, please make an about turn and retreat, or you will be destroyed.”

  “Not sure,” said the girl, “But I think you might have got the instructions in the wrong order.”

  Committee

  Tom asks Questions

  Errorcode shifts shiftily

  T

  om smiled around the conference table. He had managed to collect the people he thought he needed: Caryl of course, he couldn’t leave her out of it now, Amber the secretary, Young Pete, the Technician, Tanda from Security and Montague Errorcode, now in charge of ‘Change’ and ‘Risk’. “So we are starting to get a team together then.

  “As from now, you are all on the executive team,” he continued. “This meeting is to get some ideas as to what we should explore n
ext. Monty, you go first. How are things in Change and Risk? Have you anything to report?”

  “Things are fine I suppose,” said Errorcode, sniffing from beneath the table. “Aren’t we going to start with the agenda, points from the last meeting, apologies and all that?”

  “No,” said Tom. “That’s all a load of bollocks. I want my meetings to be constructive: action plans, results, ideas…”

  “Coffee sir?”

  “And coffee,” said Tom smiling gratefully at Amber. “Do we have coffee?”

  “I sent for coffee and biscuits from the tea-lady,” said Amber. “She should be here very soon.”

  “Great, I’m parched. I really look forward to my morning coffee. Right, Monty, with that sorted out, I’m desperate to hear what you have achieved.”

  “It’s difficult to be specific at this stage.”

  “Go on, have a stab at it.”

  Errorcode’s expression suggested he would have liked to try a different kind of stab, but then his face lit up. “I have added details about the construction of a superb rockery to my CV. It’s fairly unique17 in the Change Management business.”

  “A marvellous effort, nobody could deny,” said Tom, gazing out of the window at the magnificent arrangement of fountains and foliage now shading the front of the building. “But I was rather hoping that you might have some compelling news for me. You’ve been in charge of that department for a couple of weeks now.”

  “A task I, personally, am rising to with enthusiasm,” said Errorcode unconvincingly.

  “Yes, I gave you full control to deal with Change Management as you see fit. Have you got anything tangible as to how we can reduce costs and improve efficiency?”

  “I’ve really nothing to report yet.”

  “What no cost reductions at all?”

  “Um, I have reduced a bit by sacking the tea-lady. She was an unnecessary overhead.”

  “Ah, and that will save money?”

  “One has to start somewhere.”

  “Right, perhaps you can give me a fuller report at the next meeting? The department is totally in your hands. All I need is a cost versus income verses output report. Do you think you could get that ready for me?”

  “A brief overview?”

  “That would be fine thank you, Monty. If you want to discuss any other cost saving initiatives, I’d be glad to comment.”

  “I’ll get on it.” Errorcode pretended to scribble notes on his pad while Tom glanced at the girl sitting rather too close beside him. “Caryl, how are you getting on with ‘Intellectual Capital’?”

  The girl smiled sweetly and put her hand on his leg. “I had a look at the remains of the ‘Human Resources’ department. The two girls you didn’t fire are good people, but really they need a bit of leadership.”

  “Would you like to have a look at that? See what our staffing levels are and what people might be doing across the organisation.”

  “And what they feel they should be doing,” said Caryl.

  “Good idea.”

  There was a snort from the little man at the end of the table.

  “Sorry Monty, did you want to say something?” Tom smiled politely.

  Montague Errorcode squared his shoulders and brought himself up to his full height. He could just about peer over the edge of the table. “With all due respect, I disagree totally.”

  “Please go on. Why do you disagree?”

  “I don’t see that I should be questioned on my reasons. In meetings, it is my job to disagree on principle. The speaker then has to justify themselves more comprehensively.”

  “And does that work?”

  “It has thus far in my career...” Errorcode reddened.

  “I would like to hear why you would disagree,” prompted Tom. “We are all open to constructive suggestions.”

  Errorcode stuttered. “At this moment in time, I don’t think that giving people a voice will improve productivity,” he said. “We need to focus on output. If that means changing the way people do things, then so be it.”

  “Caryl?” Tom tried to shift on his seat so that he could turn his head to look at her without being enveloped in hair.

  “I agree with Monty that we will need to change the way people do things,” said the girl, “but I believe that those nearest the processes will have the best ideas as to how to improve them. That’s why I plan to talk to everyone and get the word from the shop floor, as it were.”

  “It’ll be a disaster.” Errorcode sniffed. “What do the workers know about running an efficient business? What interest is it of ours if they are ‘happy’? We pay them, and they should do the job as they are told.”

  “I hear what you’re saying,” replied Tom quickly, noticing that Caryl was starting to smoulder, “but in this case I agree with the Head of IC in saying that our people are our best asset and we should make sure they are contented at work…”

  “I totally disagree…”

  “Can we reverse this into a parking space, ignore the collision warning and leave it there for a moment?” said Tom.

  “Favouritism,” muttered Errorcode.

  The hidden microphone under the table picked up the man’s aside and after recording it in a secret database marked ‘Insurgents’, relayed it to the group.

  “Sorry?” Tom smiled at the little man.

  Errorcode looked shocked. “People are, er, saying that you only gave that woman a place on the Committee because you are sleeping with her.”

  “And a lot else,” grinned Caryl, deliberately snuggling up to Tom again. “But at work we are professionals.”

  Errorcode shook his head.

  Caryl stood up slowly. She fixed the man with an expression that made ‘hard stare’ seem like a playful flirtation. “Do you have a problem with that ‘Mister’ Errorcode?” His mouth dropped open as Caryl walked deliberately around the table and dropped into the seat next to him. He cringed. She continued, her voice like daggers of ice. “If there is anything I do that you think is affected by our relationship,” she breathed, “then I will ask you to point it out. Are you up to the job?”

  Errorcode shifted uncomfortably in his seat, apparently not used to being challenged, or even being so close to a woman of certain charms and perfume. He coughed. “Yes, I suppose so.”

  “Good, then we have a deal,” said Caryl, brightening her voice. “I will run Intellectual Capital as I think fit, and you have total control over Change Management and Risk—that includes staff relations. We can then see which approach works best.”

  “Thank you, people.” Tom smiled at the two of them. He had seen Caryl when she had strong feelings about something, and even he was scared of her. “I’m sure you’ll get along fine, and I have the utmost confidence in you both.” He took a breath and regarded his former secretary. “Now, Amber, what have you got for me regarding Finance?”

  The girl tapped on her L-Pad. “Exact figures, sir?”

  “A point, before we go on; I would like you all to call me ‘Tom’ now that you are executives.” There were nods around the table. “Sorry, Amber, approximations will be fine—it will give us an idea where we are. So what condition are we actually in?”

  “Not good, sir, er Tom,” said Amber. “I managed to get the information out of the Financial Controller after a, er, a rather nice meal.”

  Errorcode growled. “This is no way to run a company.”

  Tom ignored him and grinned. “On expenses?”

  Amber nodded. “He paid, and got a receipt.”

  “Make sure you don’t sign it off for him. It’ll be a nice surprise when he gets my memo that you are now the Head of Finance. Now, roughly, what are our costs?”

  “Total outgoings, seven billion Drachma a year.”

  “So what are we actually spending on?”

  “I did a bit of research.” Amber passed the tablet over.

  “I’m impressed,” said Tom, scanning the figures. “Oh,
I see; suppliers, materials, building and property costs, replacement coffee machines (have we really had that many stolen?), redundancy payments, limestone, vehicles, wages, pensions for ex-executives, the company jet…” He scowled. “I thought I’d given instructions to sell off all the aircraft?”

  “You had, sir-er-Tom. They did, but I found that one of our divisions is using the last one for ferrying illegal immigrants back into the Eastern Wedge. Apparently, they have realised the places they sneaked into are so awful, with such hopeless government and laws, that there is now a healthy business in repatriation. They can’t wait to get back home, but being without any paperwork, can’t catch regular flights; the Chess and Recycling division have refocused their activities.”

  “Sounds profitable,” said Tom, “and it fits in with our new company identity and ethics. If people want to leave, then we should help them. By the way, has anyone taken up your new edict of giving employees a handout if they do want to leave?”

  “We’ve had a few,” said Caryl, “and they were mostly moaners and grumblers who didn’t want to work. This way, we retain the people who want to stay with us. The general feeling in the ‘Remainers’ is one of anticipation, so hopefully we can do something not to disappoint.”

  “Good, please keep an eye on Chess and Recycling to make sure they aren’t taking backhanders, but let the operation continue. I wouldn’t want to keep anyone from the bosoms of their families and loved ones.”

  Amber nodded. “It is mostly the families and loved ones who are returning sir, er Tom. They have decided that living so close to the original immigrants is a real pain, and are only too glad to get away from them, and concentrate on spending the money they sent back on non-essentials like food, clothing, fuel and carved chess-pieces.”

  “Chess-pieces?”

  “The only thing available on the gift trolley.”

  “That’s very insightful; are you sure about the reasons for people wanting to go home?”

  “They do exit surveys on the plane, using truth drugs in the free drinks.”

  “We may need to revisit that,” said Tom thoughtfully, “but can you do me a departmental breakdown for the next meeting?”