The Fifth Correction

by Robert Wingfield

  “That could be dangerous,” replied Scaly thoughtfully. “I am told he has a formidable security force. No, far safer to do the deed from a distance. Once he’s deceased, he won’t be able to complain that we didn’t follow correct procedure, and we still get our bounty money.”

  “Love those coconut chocolate bars,” said Bott. “Right, I’ll start assembling my rifle. I should get a good shot from the viewpoint.”

  “We can then be away before they muster pursuit.”

  “Yeah, and we might be able to escape too.”

  * * *

  Oblivious to the arrival of the assassins, but pleased with the new décor of the security control room, Tom yawned his way into the conference suite at the SCT headquarters building. It was empty. Caryl was still showering after an interesting night of experimentation, and the house servants were busy repairing furniture with superglue and peeling the remains of the duct tape off the wall-bars in their main bedroom. He sat down at the centre of the table in a seat that was no different from the others and stared at an empty cup.

  “It’s no good,” he muttered. “We need a tea-lady.” He raised his voice, “Vac?”

  “Sah?” His head of security was instantly at his side.

  “Ah, glad you’re back. Did you have a good flight in the prototype?”

  “Yes, Sah.”

  “Achieved all your objectives?”

  “Pardon, Sah?”

  “Got the stuff you needed.”

  “Ah, yes, Sah. All present and correct.”

  “And you didn’t destroy anything?”

  “Not intentionally, Sah.”

  “Oh dear, what happened?”

  “Not our fault, Sah. Console designed by those people who do the layout for the buttons on mobile phones.”

  “Why, couldn’t you Skagans do that?”

  “No eye for design, Sah. Mobile phone kiddies cheap, Sah. Slight problem was that they put the ‘fire’ button right next to the switch that opens up the communication channels.”

  “Typical. I had a phone like that.”

  “Sorry, Sah. Did you blow your ear off?”

  “No, I meant it was designed so badly that when you were typing in a message, if your finger slipped, you would accidentally change the language to ‘Swahili’, being the one right next to ‘Scottish’ on that phone. It made for some interesting predictive texts.” Tom looked wistful, remembering the good old days when you could inadvertently send messages to the wrong people and completely ruin your love life.

  Vac coughed poignantly. “Sah?”

  “Oh, yes, you were saying. So you destroyed a ship by accident?”

  “One or seven, Sah. I made a donation to the Widows and Orphans Sanctuary.”

  “Out of your own salary?”

  “Yes, Sah. I didn’t think Amber would sign off the expenses.”

  “Good. So I won’t expect any complaints and claims for compensation?”

  “Not any more, Sah.”

  “Perhaps it’s best I don’t ask.”

  “Very good, Sah. What can I do for you today, Sah?”

  “Any insurgents reported?”

  “No, Sah, but we never cease to be vigilant.”

  “Right, I am short of a cup of coffee this morning.”

  “I will make one for you, Sah.”

  Tom shuddered. “Not after the last one thank you. I’m not used to Skagan coffee. It tasted like mud and manure.”

  “Very healthy for you, Sah; no caffeine, lots of taste and goodness; very good for the skin.”

  “I suppose it would be if I spread it on the outside, but it made me violently sick.”

  “Very good, Sah. Helps you lose weight. Skagan way, extreme in everything we do. May be an acquired taste, Sah.”

  “And your bodies are used to it. I suppose that’s why you are all so good-looking.”

  “And the selective breeding, Sah.”

  “Right, Vac, I meant to ask you about that. Have you started a programme of making babies yet? It would be sad to see your tribe die out.”

  “No time, Sah; too busy with the space programme and finding a suitable drive for our ships. Perhaps later. You did say you would show us, Sah. We are still waiting.” Vac sounded reproachful.

  “Show them what?” Caryl slipped into the room, a long stretch-fabric dress (95% Polyester, 5% Elastane) clinging to her curves and making Tom’s heart race again. He was beginning to feel that he was addicted. The very sight of her caused stirrings, despite the exhaustive acrobatics overnight.

  “Vac wants me to show the Skagans how to make babies.” He reddened.

  “Good idea,” she said brightly. “We can both work on that one, and perhaps film it for posting on a secure website that will be instantly hacked. Saves going to the trouble of broadcasting it and paying for the privilege. Perhaps we could set up an incubation unit and hospital for them. It’s about time we started doing something about our social responsibility.”

  “What?” Tom stared at her.

  Caryl sat beside him and deliberately let the split in the dress reveal the leg nearly up to her chest.

  “Social responsibility,” she repeated, rubbing herself against his thigh. “It’s what all big companies do.”

  “So how does that work?”

  Vac coughed. “Sah, you didn’t say what you wanted to see me for?”

  “Sorry Vac.” Tom dragged his eyes away from the exposed flesh. “What I need you to do is track down that tea-lady we used to have. Offer her double the salary she was on and tell her that she will be working for me, not Mr Errorcode. Oh, and say we are very sorry for the misunderstanding, and that we miss her cakes.”

  “Very good, Sah.” Vac remained standing to attention in the doorway.

  “You may go, thank you.”

  “Very good, Sah.” He left, slamming the door behind him. The building shook.

  “I must remember to ask him to leave quietly,” said Tom.

  “You do, but he likes to make sure the door is closed properly, for security reasons,” grinned Caryl. “Now where were we?” She eased herself on to his knee. Her body through the soft material of her dress was warm and firm. She kissed him long and passionately, and it was with difficulty and regret he broke away.

  “The others will be turning up soon,” he said. “I don’t want them to think you are getting any preferential treatment in the working environment.”

  “What, you want to shag the rest of them?”

  Tom floundered until he saw the mischievous grin. “You’re winding me up.”

  “It’s so easy.” She smirked, and climbed back on to her seat. He removed his hand reluctantly from her leg. “And fun,” she added. “A girl’s got to have some fun.”

  “So last night was not enough?”

  “I can never get enough,” she said.

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Don’t worry. Leave it to me. I’ll think of something. You’ve got a lot on your mind.”

  “Including social responsibility?” said Tom. “What’s all that about?”

  “As far as I can see,” said Caryl, becoming suddenly serious, “Once a company makes a bit of profit, it is important for it to show that it pretends to care about the community. It does this by persuading its staff to spend time and effort doing things like charity runs, jumble sales, clearing ponds, mending roads, sponsored orgies, breaking rocks, picking litter, building play parks and anything else that the Council can’t be bothered to do, or haven’t any money for, because they’ve spent it all on foreign trips and speed cameras.”

  “Does this cost the company anything?” said Tom thoughtfully.

  “Of course not; what would be the point of that?”

  “I see, so the company’s investment is to con its staff into doing all these things?”

  “It takes skill and dedication, my lovely man. Apparently there is already a section for it in the Process
Manual.”

  “And how does that differ from ‘Community Service’, where rather than putting petty offenders in jail, they are let out into the public to do mindless tasks for old people, and case out where they can start their next burglary sprees?”

  “Our staff get to wear t-shirts with the company logo on them. We get free advertising, the Community thinks we care, and people buy our products over someone else’s.”

  “If we had any products.”

  “I guess that’s why SCT hasn’t done it so far. We are still groping for a commodity.”

  “Never mind, let’s give our people paid time off to do the work. Can you organise that?”

  “Are you sure?” She slipped her hand inside his shirt and tweaked where his stomach was folded. He leaned back in his chair and deliberately tightened the muscles. “Not bad,” she said, sliding her hand downwards. “I’m keeping you fit at least.”

  “Better than the gym,” he grinned. “Best exercise ever.” There was a knock on the door. “Avante!” he called. “Come in Young Pete.”

  “Sorry sir, er Tom. It’s actually Pete Young.” The Head of Technology came nervously into the room.

  “I thought you always had the given name last in your culture,” said Tom, feeling slightly uncomfortable. Caryl relaxed her grip and put both hands on the table.

  “Yes, we did, but we have updated our thinking, in your honour actually, because your names are the other way round.”

  “Right you are then. Now please sit down. We’re still awaiting the others. You’re early.”

  “It said in the Process Manual that one should always turn up to a meeting early, out of respect.”

  “Noted,” said Tom. “Ah, here are the others.” Tanda and Amber walked in and nodded to the people already around the table. “Please be seated,” said Tom. “Only Monty to go now.” There was a thunderous knock at the already open door. “Come in Vac.”

  “Thank you, Sah. I’ve found the tea-lady.”

  “That was quick. You may put her down now.” He regarded the little round woman held under Vac’s arm. “And remove the gag.”

  “She wasn’t that keen on coming with me, Sah, so I had to use my initiative.”

  “And a couple of coils of rope. Untie her properly please.”

  Vac set the tea-lady on her feet and unwound the bindings. As soon as the gag was removed, there was a tirade of abuse that would have made a Victorian fish-seller blanch21, and then when her feet were released, she gave Vac a vicious kick on the ankle. He did not flinch, remaining standing to attention.

  “You may go, thank you Vac.”

  “Yessah. Thank you, Sah.” He winked at Tanda and marched stiffly out of the room.

  “Please sit down.” Tom smiled at the steaming tea-lady.

  “I’d rather stand if it’s acceptable with your lordship,” she said, pulling herself up to the maximum height her roundness would allow. “I have never had such treatment in my life. There I was, minding my own business, trying to work out how I was going to afford to survive, when this ape comes in through my door. It was locked, mind, but he didn’t wait for me to open it, just smashes his way in and says that I’m needed at HQ. So I says that I don’t want nothing to do with your scummy company anymore, and would he kindly go and tell Errorcode to boil his head. He says that it’s you nobs who want to talk to me, not the weasel, and I says that you lot can go and boil your heads too. So he manhandles me and ropes me up and brings me here anyway. And here I am. So what do you want to talk to me about? If it’s to take back my miserable redundancy payment, you can’t have it, I spent it on cushions.” She paused for breath.

  “It’s not that,” said Tom. “I want to give you your job back, and to work for me instead. We haven’t had a decent cup of coffee since someone stole all the machines.”

  “We didn’t have a decent cup of coffee when we actually had the machines either,” said Amber. “Whoever took them did us a favour.”

  “Be that as it may,” said Tom, “Mrs Tuesday, I would like you to take on our Catering function.”

  “You can go and boil your head too,” said the lady stubbornly. “I wouldn’t work for this company again if you offered me a gold tea-urn with a xylophone on it.”

  “Is there nothing that would persuade you?”

  “My mind is made up. I would not be swayed, even if you offered me the Ladyship of Twatt and a stipend of ten thousand Drachma a week.”

  “Oh.” Tom fell silent.

  “Your Belgian Buns are legendary,” put in Caryl. “What if we had cakes and sandwiches off you as part of the deal?”

  “Really?” The tea-lady seemed to soften.

  “And your Eccles Cakes were rated five stars in the ‘Durham Empire Guide to Lard Efficiency’.”

  “Five stars? I didn’t know they were appreciated at all. But as tea-lady, I don’t get treated as though I matter.”

  “You matter,” said Caryl soothingly. “Look at this gent here.” She indicated Tom, who put on his best impression of a man dying for a good cup of coffee. “You wouldn’t want to let him down now would you?”

  “I suppose not.”

  “And you can have a title.” She scanned the readout on her J-pad. “How does ‘Director of the Incorporated Catering Kitchen’ suit you, Ms Tuesday?”

  “That’s Mrs Tuesday,” said the lady. “Mr Tuesday passed on a Friday some 20 years ago. Poor fellow lost his dreams and lost his mind. I had to have him removed, for health reasons.”

  “You never remarried then?” said Caryl. “I would have thought a cook as good as you are would have had men queuing at the door.”

  “Oh there were,” said the lady. “But they were all fat greedy bastards, and I didn’t give them house room. There was one who even wanted to tie me to the kitchen sink. I really can’t keep my love in chains, with nothing to look forward to.22”

  “Very good,” said Caryl. “Now, what do you say? Will you do it for us?”

  “Double salary?”

  “Yes.”

  “A title?”

  “Yes.”

  “Make it triple salary and a seat on the Committeee, and you’ve got a deal.”

  “Deal,” said Caryl. “You can look after our health, and we’ll pay you for the cakes out of the Change Management budget.”

  “I like it,” said the lady, smiling around at the Committee. “Now, seeing as how I am re-employed, would anyone like a coffee and an Eccles Cake? I happen to have a batch fresh out of the oven.”

  “Wonderful,” said Tom, “And send us the bill for the broken door. Vac will be paying for that out of his own wage.”

  Tanda grinned. “I must try to get him to curb his enthusiasm. He spends all his money compensating people for the things he’s broken.”

  “All of it? I didn’t really think there was that much.”

  “You don’t know the half of it,” said Tanda. “He really is a liability... but I love him anyway,” she added.

  * * *

  “I’ll have to start the meeting,” said Tom. “We’ve waited ten minutes for Monty to show up and still no sign.”

  “I’ll get Vac to go and see what has happened to him,” said Tanda.

  “Someone call?” said Vac, marching stiffly into the room. There was a clattering of cups as Mrs Tuesday followed him in. She aimed a punishing kick at his ankles as she passed. Again, he did not wince.

  “Yes, please could you go and find out what’s keeping Mr Errorcode?”

  Mrs Tuesday spat on the floor at hearing the name. “Sorry about the carpet, sir.” She produced a disinfectant spray and proceeded to clean up the spittle with a J-Pad cloth.

  “Don’t worry,” said Tom, “I’ve waited for this coffee long enough not to worry about a biological stain on my rugs. White without milk, please.”

  * * *

  Mrs Tuesday was retreating to investigate her new domain when Errorcode was carried in by Vac. He was
dumped unceremoniously beside the table. His first observation was the tea-lady departing through the door. “What’s that woman doing here?” he said.

  “I am not ‘that woman’,” said Mrs Tuesday haughtily, “I am the ‘Director of the Incorporated Catering Kitchen’ and the new Duchess of Twatt, and I would thank you to address me as ma’am in future.”

  “What?”

  “It’s true, Monty. Mrs Tuesday is now on the Committee, dealing with health and nutrition issues, and the Dukedom was found to be free after the Skagans went to investigate. She is your equal.”

  “This is an outrage,” blustered Errorcode. “The woman is the…”

  “You’ll mind your language,” said Mrs Tuesday, “That is, if you want coffee without phlegm in it.”

  “I wouldn’t have a coffee from you if…” He stopped as Mrs Tuesday spat again and a blob of saliva landed on his shoe.

  “Sorry sir,” she said to Tom, “I’ll clean that up when Mr Errorcode has taken his seat.”

  “Thank you Mrs Tuesday. You can leave him a cloth instead. By the way, I feel it’s a bit formal calling you Mrs Tuesday. Do you have a first name?”

  “Yes, sir,” she said, and wheeled her trolley out of the room.

  * * *

  “Right, to business,” said Tom. “Thank you for coming, Monty. I appreciate you being able to find time in your busy schedule to join us. I won’t keep you any longer than necessary, so perhaps you could give us your report on how you are proceeding with Change Management.”

  “Right,” said Errorcode, rubbing his shoe along the side of the chair. “I can report that we have put in 654 successful Changes this week.”

  “That’s good. And how many of them have improved our processes and reliability and future-proofed us for the long-term?”

  “Ah, I’d have to refer to the logs to give you that information.”

  “And how many failed?”

  “None of course.” Errorcode looked annoyed. “We don’t do changes to fail.”

  “That’s good. And how many were backed out then because they didn’t work?”

  “Um...”

  “Approximately please.”