The Fifth Correction

by Robert Wingfield

  “They were excellent rocks you broke, and apart from the problems with the fountain, the water-feature looks amazing,” Tom said. “You certainly know how to work with stone. You’re a natural. Why would I let you go, with a talent like that?”

  “It’s all to do with exploiting the faults in the rock,” said Errorcode.

  “Shame about that original outage on Constrictions, when it was our whole IT platform,” said Tom. “You didn’t spot the fault there, did you?”

  “There was no fault,” retorted Errorcode, “It was all to do with the incompetence of the operators.”

  “And the fact you'd sacked all the experienced staff and replaced them with Nishant Corporation rookies.”

  “I was told to. Lord Ferdinand gave me the instructions.”

  “You didn’t point out the error of his ways to him then?”

  Errorcode fidgeted in his seat. “I sent him a mail telling him he would be a complete twat if he outsourced all our critical systems. Look, here’s a copy of it.” He handed Tom a printout.

  Tom scanned it with disinterest. “Dated five days after the outage I see, and addressed to Lord Ferdy Fairmiddlin, who I am inclined to believe does not exist.”

  “It was probably a typing error,” said Errorcode. “Can’t get a decent secretary these days, and if you do, they usually don’t speak English.”

  “I would stick to the landscaping,” said Tom tiredly.

  “No need,” said Errorcode as a wad of papers was dropped on his desk by a couple of ball-boys. “Here come de judge.”

  Lord Justice Badloser unsteadily approached his seat above them at the end of the court. “All grovel,” shouted the umpire, and the arena was filled with the silence of nobody taking any notice. Badloser sat down, looking more relaxed than before.

  “Read the charges somebody,” he shouted.

  Errorcode stood up. “I’m council for the prosecution,” he said. “I’ll get prosecuting.”

  There was a groan from the arena.

  “Silence in court.” Badloser peered around. If anything, Tom thought he looked even hairier than when he left.

  Errorcode cleared his throat. “Thomas Oliver Stalin Smith, you are accused of breaking the Laws of Time, flouting the Cyclic Imperative and not being dead.”

  “Not me, not guilty,” said Tom. “Must be some other Oliver Smith.”

  “Guilty as charged,” roared Badloser. “You have not only committed many crimes in other universes, including the near destruction of one, and the deaths of many people, but are still apparently alive and on the wrong time-line. The Cyclic Imperative says you must return to your place of origin in Time and Universe, and if you die in one, must die in all others simultaneously.”

  “I said it wasn’t me,” said Tom.

  “What wasn’t?”

  “The person that committed all the crimes. It was one of my other selves in another universe. The man standing before you,” he indicated himself for clarity, “is from this universe and always has been.”

  “But his mind is different,” put in Errorcode. “You may be in a body from this, what you might consider to be the Fourth Universe, but your mind is from one of the others. We can add ‘theft’ to the list of charges.” He scribbled on his pad.

  “The body here was poisoned,” retorted Tom, staring pointedly at Errorcode. “Unfortunately for you, the mind died, but the body survived. That's why my consciousness could shift into it from another universe.”

  “And the mind did that because you wouldn't stay dead like you should have,” said Errorcode. “You admit to crime after crime. It seems that the only way to stop this orgy of seditiousness is to terminate you, appropriately, for all time. From my research, I believe this is the last universe of all those out of harmony; you’re for the rope to balance it up, cobber. What do you say, My Lordship?”

  “Sounds like guilty to me,” said Badloser. “Take him away and have him hung.” There was cheering from the stands.

  “Hanged,” said Tom, when the noise had died down, “for the sake of the correct application of the word, but you haven’t heard my defence yet.”

  “There isn’t one,” replied the judge. “You haven’t even got a counsellor.”

  “Because you had him neutralised,” spat back Tom.

  “A lie; add contempt of court and slander to the charges.”

  “Already done Your Majesty,” said Errorcode.

  “Don’t pre-empt me,” thundered the judge. “Rub it out and rewrite it in my words.”

  “I bow to your brilliance, Your Lightship.”

  “So, condemned felon, do you have a defence to these irrefutable charges?” Badloser stared at the dock. “And get rid of those damned moored gondolas.”

  Tom looked downcast. “It’s my word against Errorcode’s. He’s a certified lying cheating weasel, but I have no evidence to prove it, other than what you see when you look at him.” He sent a murderous scowl towards the prosecution. Errorcode squeaked and slipped down in his seat, peering out at the judge from over the top of his desk.

  “Double slander,” said Badloser, scribbling more notes. “Security, come and drag this worm to the execution suite. No, not the prosecution, I mean the guy in the dock.”

  Two tall, black-leather-clad soldiers marched swiftly out of the crowd and stood beside Tom. One of them removed his handcuffs.

  “You’re enjoying this aren’t you,” he challenged as he fended the wardens off. “You are totally vindictive.”

  Badloser looked hurt. “I’m not that bad,” he said. “Once I’ve seen you on your way, I’ll be shutting down the TCA. All I really want is to have a quiet life, a nice bucket of Grappa, and retire to a palace in the country to raise kittens and help little old ladies.”

  “So you’re not planning to wipe out all humanity and take over the universe then?”

  “Of course not, why ever would I want that?”

  “Then you’re not much of an arch-nemesis,” said Tom. “Every other antagonist in every other adventure has wanted to take power, control, destroy the whole thing and subject the survivors to slavery and degradation. Not you, it seems; so why bother with me? Can’t you simply let me off if I promise to never blacken your paintwork again?”

  “Not this time; you’re a criminal and you have to be punished. Now go and wait for your sentence to be carried out, once we’ve sold enough tickets. I’m going now; you’re keeping me away from the Cuff Links.38”

  “Wait.” There was a scuffle at the back screen, and three people burst on to the AstroTurf, scattering the ushers. Tom did a double-take. There were the Magus and Caryl, wielding stout sticks, but leading them, her jaw set in a determined grimace, was Kara, resplendent in a mock pirate outfit39.

  “Integrity is not being upheld, here,” shouted the gynoid over the excited chatter and wolf whistles from the crowd.

  “Yes it is,” said Badloser. “The man is guilty.”

  “He may be, but I am calling out the Law,” said Kara. “I will stand for the defence.”

  “And what qualifications do you have for that?” Badloser eyed the loosely-dressed perfect woman with interest, and she made suggestive eyes at him.

  “My Lord,” whined Errorcode, “You have passed judgement. The sentence must be carried out.”

  “Shut it, gob-shite,” said Badloser. “Let’s hear what the horny bitch, the girl and the bald guy have to say.”

  “But…”

  “Any more and you’ll find yourself on the execution launching platform with the criminal.”

  Errorcode shut his mouth with a snap, and sulked back down into his seat.

  “Go on then, er…”

  “…Kara-Tay, your honour: erstwhile universal commuter, retired ruthless pirate, former Empress of the Universe, and special agent for the Temporal Conduct Authority,.”

  “But I run the remains of the TCA. If you are an agent, you work for me. You will do as I say.”


  “Not any more, Your Lordship. There have been certain financial irregularities exposed by my good colleague here,” she indicated Caryl, who curtseyed.

  “And who the jackwagon is she?”

  “Allow me to introduce Caryl Six, a member of the overall ruling family, the ‘Sixes’ of Universe Four, who incidentally have been financing the TCA. Caryl?”

  “Yes, Your Honour,” said Caryl, bowing again. “My family set up the TCA to prevent crime across the cosmos, they thought. It was never intended to prosecute people for Time Travel; the real criminals are those who cause untold suffering to millions, such as traffic planners, property developers and tax collectors. I have been looking into your background and how you came to be elected as the Cyclic Imperator. It seems that you have no qualifications for the job other than a GCSE in Pudwhacking (University of Bangemall) and the ability to talk the last 400 legs off a quadrillipod…”

  Badloser spluttered, “Contempt of court!”

  Caryl continued, fixing him with one of her dangerous stares. “At the moment because of your role, you are immune from prosecution.”

  “There you are then, I’m still in control and the man is guilty, charged under the Cyclic Imperative.”

  “Ah, but modern research proves that the Cyclic Imperative is invalid,” said Caryl firmly. “There are many beings across the Multiverse, living parallel lives and dying parallel deaths, but there are many more existing in one universe but not the others. The latest theory is that there is no ‘afterlife’ as it might be called, but simply a shift of consciousness between universes. You die in one, you are born in another, and sometimes,” she smiled affectionately at Tom, “you shift between them with your existing consciousness.”

  “How do you know that?” Badloser shook his head.

  “I had an in-depth discussion with my doppelganger in this universe…”

  “You mean there is another Caryl still alive here?” Tom said. “I thought it was impossible for doubles to occupy the same space.”

  “Oh no, she did die, trampled in a Mauve-Monday sale actually. I got in touch with her through Great Auntie Gertie, who’s a medium. My other self seemed to be enjoying herself in a universe given over to superstores and soft furnishings.”

  “Lovely,” said Tom.

  “I got the address; I might pop over there if we can get the portals between the universes opened up again.”

  “When you have finished with the familiarities,” said Badloser, “can we continue, before I send this blackguard down for termination.”

  “You can’t condemn him,” said Caryl, winking at Tom. “This man has not broken any laws, even those created by yourself. Lots of people are shifting between universes and timelines. Were you not aware?”

  “Rubbish,” said Badloser. “That’s been proved to be impossible. You guards, take him away and conclude his existence.”

  Tom’s gaolers grabbed him by the arms and lifted him off his feet.

  “Wait,” said Kara. The wardens set Tom down expectantly. Kara continued, “I call upon the Fifth Correction in our fine Constitution.”

  “What are you talking about? Do we have a Constitution?”

  “Yes, M’lud,” said Errorcode slowly.

  “And how come it’s been corrected five times?”

  “A problem with the ink M’lud.”

  “Shut up.”

  “Yes, M’lud.”

  “Take him… oh go on then, amuse me,” said the judge, hesitating as Kara flashed a shapely leg at him.

  “I will read out the five salient points,” she said.

  “As if I, as a judge, don’t know them…”

  Kara loosened her shirt.

  “…Oh go on then,” Badloser continued, bringing out his opera glasses.

  Kara covered her thigh again. “Number one, the accused is not allowed to incriminate himself.”

  “But he admitted to shifting universes when we had the goolie-clamps attached.”

  “Sounds like that was under duress, so the charge is invalid.”

  “Oh.” Badloser scratched his face.

  “Number two; he can only be tried once for the same crime. Your goon, Lasmic…”

  “Good man,” muttered the judge, “Salt of the earth.”

  “…read Tom his rights on SCT Island. I have the recording if you want to listen. If he’d have been guilty, Lasmic would have carried out the sentence as instructed. He did not, as is proved by the fact that my client is standing before you now.”

  “Total bastard man then,” muttered the judge. “Waste of space.”

  “Number three, he has a right to be tried by Grand Jury, not this illegal kangaroo court.”

  “I couldn’t get meerkats.”

  “I’ll ignore that banality. Number four, you have not followed due process.”

  “We have, he is a criminal; we arrested him.”

  “Extraditing him on a trumped up charge on another planet with whom you do not have an extradition agreement, despite what you told them, is not ‘due process’.”

  “It wasn’t a trumped up charge. He defaced an ancient monument.”

  “He was tricked.”

  “Prove it.”

  “I will,” said Kara. “Call Zeta Thecooking-Binscrotbinglefootleblogbucketwanker, of the TCA.”

  Zeta stood out from the crowd. “Er, that’s me,” she said. “What can I do to condemn this arrogant bastard that turned down my feminine charms and deserves to burn in Hell?”

  “Miss Thecooking, would you please tell the court where your thumb was on the day in question. Was it not obscuring the word, ‘Not’ in the guidebook?”

  Zeta faltered. “Yes, er, no, er, Damnit, I really can’t handle double negatives... or can I?” She put her hands over her face.

  “Yes or no? We need your answer now.”

  “Yes,” stuttered Zeta, “Or it might be no.”

  “There you are then, Your Disgrace,” said Kara, “A clear case of ‘entrapment’. You had no right to extradite him.”

  “He might have got away if I hadn’t.”

  “And he might have had a chance to defend himself before you blagged his lawyer, especially if he had been aware of the charges.”

  Badloser sniffed. “He could have found a good brief and got off. Overruled all corrections so far. You should tell me the fifth one so I can rubbish that as part of the prosecution.”

  “Isn’t four enough?”

  “No, he’s as guilty as turpitude. Please enlighten me with the Fifth Correction and then we can all get back to the tennis.”

  A cheer went up from the front stands.

  “If you really want to know, I’ll tell you later.” Kara looked across the court. A few of the players waved their rackets at her, urging her to hurry up. “So my client is innocent and should be released immediately.”

  There was now hesitant applause from the stalls, followed by slow handclapping as the remaining spectators joined in. They had heard nothing and were following the trial by watching the colour changes on the judge’s face.

  “Get on with it,” shouted a man from the crowd, possibly the same one as on the tax planet, but probably a different one. “Nobody cares whether the accused is innocent or guilty. Let’s resume play so that we can stare at the ladies’ legs again.”

  “Silence on court,” said Badloser. “I’m not going to let that sway my decision. My word is law here…”

  “And mine,” put in the umpire.

  The judge ignored him. “The man dies. Take him…”

  “My Lord,” said the Magus. “Can I ask you to reconsider?”

  “Why, you strangely smooth little man?”

  “I have a cure for the Dokuvirus, which I see is developing rather nicely on your good self.”

  “So you’ve now got a fully commercial product for the cure then?” Tom regarded his friend with interest. “Has it been through clinical trials and b
een signed off by the Fukedds Medical Association?”

  “We’re still awaiting the paperwork,” said the Magus cagily, “but there don’t seem to be any side-effects right now.”

  “You do look very bald,” said Tom. “Balder than I remember.”

  “Probably you hadn't noticed before,” said the Magus. “You know, like when somebody shaves off a beard they’ve had all their lives and you can’t quite work out what the difference is. Anyway,” he turned back to the judge, “I would be prepared to let you have a sample of the medication in exchange for a ‘reconsideration’ of the verdict.”

  Badloser scratched his head. “So you say that in return for being able to see my body again, you want me to release this hardened criminal to commit more crimes against society?”

  “Put that way, it would be ‘bribery and corruption’, Your Honour,” said the Magus, “which in a court of the land would be inconceivable.”

  “Yes it would,” agreed the judge, “but that hasn't affected my career so far. Give me the bottle.”

  “I simply need you to ‘re-evaluate’ the verdict. Do we have a deal?” asked the Magus.

  “Of course,” said Badloser.

  “In here.” The Magus handed over a small flask.

  “What do I do, drink it?” He downed the contents in one gulp.

  “No, Your Honour, you rub it on the skin. See the label attached, saying ‘Rub Me’. You have to use a special comb. Anyway, I suppose that drinking it might work; it’s only, that we haven’t tested it orally yet.”

  “Good,” said the Judge.

  “Right Your Honour, perhaps a re-evaluation now?”

  “Yes, of course.” Badloser shuffled his papers. “I’ve reconsidered and I still think he’s guilty.”