Operation Red

by Carol Thomas

  ‘Get to the good part, Gloria,’ said Ms President, not unkindly.

  ‘One particular answer said clean the solar panels,’ Gloria continued. ‘Misho said a robot did that daily. We asked if the robot was checked for efficiency, and Misho said yes. We were just about to move on, and he said “not closely”. We said, aha!’

  ‘Indeed,’ said Ms President. ‘And then?’

  ‘We said, let’s check it now. Down and dirty, on the roof!’ said Gloria.

  ‘Rah rah!’ enthused Ms President. ‘That’s what I’m on about. People re-taking charge of critical decision making. Initiative and action! I’m anticipating the cleaning robot was not up to the job, Gloria.’

  ‘It had been correctly programmed, Ms President, but a malfunction hadn’t been picked up. The robot went over the panels all right. Back and forth, la la la, clean clean clean—’

  ‘The outcome, Gloria, please.’

  ‘The cleaning pads were jammed! Suspended! Seven millimeters off the surface of the panels! And the tubes carrying water to the pads? Clogged! No water and no contact between cleaning pad and solar panel. The grime was so thick it was almost up to the pads.’

  ‘Good lord! And how long had that been happening?’ asked Ms President.

  ‘Months,’ replied Gloria gleefully. ‘Probably since the first week of operation, that’s when the power output began to decline.’

  Ms President rolled her eyes.

  ‘Marvellous,’ she said sarcastically. ‘Tom. I’d like a word with the solar station manager. Call him and tell him his presence is required in my office 9am tomorrow please.’

  She shook her head, then celebrated with a jig.

  ‘The students came through,’ she said happily, slapping Gloria on the back. ‘All these months; and computer modelling and recalibrations and forecasts and projections; and a Third School student makes a guess. I couldn’t have hoped for a better result today. This is wonderful news for CyberCity. Let’s make the most of it. Gloria, get down to the school this afternoon with a comp-vision team. You should just make it before the end of the school day. Get photos of the students who sent that answer for tonight’s news. What school is it?’

  ‘Ananova College,’ said Gloria. ‘The one that specialises in media.’

  ‘Yes, I know it well,’ said Ms President. ‘That’s my son’s school.’

  ‘I’ll get down there right away,’ said Gloria. ‘The team can finish without me. There may be more good news coming in from other schools.’

  ‘Here’s hoping,’ said Ms President. ‘Some positive results from today will really bolster the cause and help people see what can be done when the human brain responds to a problem. It’s really very good news, Gloria. Well done everyone!’

  Tran was the last one to succumb in the afternoon nap. He wanted to talk about his paintings, but by the time Timbo brought them over, Tran was gone. Timbo carefully laid the vivid papers beside the sleeping boy and drew the soft cotton blanket across his shoulders. He looked around the room. Bodies lay everywhere, snuggled on mattresses and rolled in blankets. Kara yawned.

  ‘No way,’ said Timbo. ‘Aren’t you wide awake? This is exciting stuff.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Kara whispered. ‘I’m tired from over stimulus, not boredom. It’s a good thing.’

  ‘Come out here,’ Timbo whispered too, gesturing towards the kitchen. ‘I’ll make you a sandwich and a coffee. Then we could do some more art!’

  They skirted lumpy shapes and moved quietly into the other room.

  ‘I confess,’ said Timbo as he sprayed buttermix onto the bread, ‘I am surprised. I’ve seen sparks where I saw no spark. A gleam in the eye, a conversation, and, bless me, interest and initiative. Art is a winner! Tell you what though, their gross motor skills and their fine motor skills need some work, don’t they?’

  He shook his head, still processing the creative events of the morning.

  ‘What’s the difference?’

  ‘Gross motor skills are ball throwing, jumping, hopping, that kind of thing. Fine motor skills are drawing, scissor cutting, block stacking; the finer movements. I’ve done some reading in the last week. I’ve been remiss.’

  ‘Bat swinging and ball catching,’ said Kara. ‘That was bad.’

  ‘Drawing—I’ve been remiss—drawing, Kara, is as important as reading for little kids.’

  ‘Don’t beat yourself up, Timbo,’ said Kara.

  ‘Drawing, so the experts say, is one of the most important things a kid can do. Kara, I feel bad that we’ve done such a piddling amount of art. I’ve been remiss, so, guess what?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Art is here to stay at The Counting Clown First School. And I’m going to rename it to reflect our new arty focus; The Rainbow First School is my current favourite. To hell with writing stories by numbers and arithmetickle and all that hoohah.’

  ‘Now you’re talking!’ said Kara. ‘That’s what I switched schools to see.’

  ‘We need some colour here. We need drawing and we need to talk about drawing, and we need to talk about lots and lots of things. Everything. I’ve been remiss. You know, once we got them going with the paints they were okay about not using the Story Wall and the First Chairs. And that’s in one day. Maybe I could shift them out while everyone’s asleep.’

  ‘We should paint everyday,’ said Kara.

  ‘We’re going to,’ said Timbo. ‘I can’t believe the response. They’re like different kids. We had zombies before and we didn’t know it.’

  Kara looked sideways at him.

  ‘Okay, I didn’t know it. Let’s have a new schedule, starting tomorrow. A walk in the park, standing on one leg, painting, reading stories—I loved doing that—ball games, hopping, lunch, then sleep. All done with lots of talking. First School meets Q&A scenario.’

  ‘After sleep and lunch?’ asked Kara.

  ‘Painting!’

  ‘The 5pm report, Ms President.’

  Tom stood in the doorway with the Operation Red update folder in his hand.

  Gloria poked her head around his narrow frame and beamed at Ms President.

  ‘Ah, you’re back,’ Ms President said, taking the report. ‘And were the students pleased with themselves, Gloria?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ replied Gloria, sidling around Tom. ‘And we have more good news, Ms President. Today’s Second School answers have been particularly thoughtful, and I thought you’d like to know about one answer in particular, so I rushed full speed up here. It’s so exciting!’

  ‘I’m all ears,’ said Ms President.

  ‘The case of “The best doughnut” has been in court for five years now, Ms President,’ said Gloria.

  ‘Yes, it would be funny if it wasn’t so idiotic,’ replied Ms President. ‘Holesome versus Kevin’s Kiosk, and their inane argument over which company makes CyberCity’s best doughnuts. Hole hum. Now, don’t tell me some students have a solution to the city’s longest running legal case?’

  ‘They certainly do,’ replied Gloria. ‘The students’ proposal is that the owner of each company bakes ten trays of doughnuts. A panel of 20 blindfolded students, aged 13–17, selected from secret ballot, will taste and judge them to find out which is best. The loser will then withdraw their claim from the courts.’

  ‘And the companies have agreed to abide by the results of this competition?’ asked Ms President in wonder.

  ‘They have,’ replied Gloria.

  ‘It’s a miracle,’ said Ms President.

  ‘The bake-off is on Saturday,’ added Gloria.

  ‘And it gets better!’ exclaimed Ms President happily. ‘Saturday! That is a fast and efficient solution, Gloria. Well done indeed. From Saturday then, that case is closed?’

  ‘Yes, Ms President. Unfortunately, we marked that answer too late to make the early evening news,’ said Gloria apologetically.

  ‘No matter, it’ll be news tomorrow, and on Saturday,’ said Ms President. ‘It will spread the good news over a couple of days. I’
ll drop a hint in my comp-vision report tonight that a very positive thing happened today, thanks once again to the city’s thoughtful students. I suppose you’re eager to dash off and write that media release, eh Gloria?’

  ‘Oh, yes, Ms President,’ said Gloria. ‘Straightaway.’

  She bustled off through the main office, and Ms President turned to Tom, waiting patiently in the doorway.

  ‘Now, Tom. How is the evening peak shaping up?’

  ‘Half the city’s workers have already gone home, Ms President,’ answered Tom. ‘I don’t think there will be an evening traffic problem tonight.’

  ‘Those babies!’ scoffed Ms President. ‘What sooks! The big bad Pressie takes their technological crutches away and she makes their work day toooo hard. I hope they’re ashamed of themselves when they watch the news tonight and see that Third School students have solved one of the city’s most expensive conundrums. Just by some common sense and a little applied critical thought.’

  ‘The other half of the workforce has put their thinking caps on,’ continued Tom. ‘They’ve divided the city into four sectors, centred on Mobile Jingle Tower, and they are coordinating leaving work in sectors. They’re staggering times with the first sector leaving at 4pm, then half hourly after that.’

  Tom checked his comp-watch.

  ‘So, the third sector is well on their way, and we’ve heard nothing bad from the CBD.’

  ‘How did they coordinate that, Tom? With the limitations on computer and visi-phone use today?’

  ‘Sector runners. Word of mouth I believe.’

  ‘That sounds a bit like initiative, Tom,’ said Ms President hopefully.

  ‘It does indeed, Ms President.’

  ‘Maybe it’s not as bad as I’m making out,’ mused Ms President. ‘Maybe there are some sparks of creative thought out there, just waiting for something like Operation Red to come along and strike a light. Did you manage to get hold of the educationalists?’

  ‘Each of the names on your list will be here at 10am Monday, ready for a brainstorming session on critical thinking skills in schools,’ said Tom.

  ‘And so we move forward,’ said Ms President. ‘I’m optimistic, Tom, that we can climb out of the techno morass we’ve abseiled into, and stride into a bright, human controlled future. We just need the thinking spikes to stand on, and it looks like our students will lead the way.’

  ‘Hooray for us!’

  Ariel, closely followed by John and Kara, was striding through the office.

  ‘Now, here’s a welcome deputation,’ said Ms President. ‘Welcome! Ananova College has had a big day. Do any of you know the students who solved the solar station’s problem?’

  ‘You’re looking at him,’ said Ariel pointing to his friend.

  ‘Really? John, you are a wonder,’ said Ms President, shaking his hand. ‘I can’t tell you what a boost that has been to the day’s success. You switched the wires.’

  ‘Sorry? Wha—?’

  ‘How—?!’

  ‘From money zooming out to power beaming in,’ said Ms President. ‘At Volt Town, John. You have reversed the flow.’

  ‘Oh, yes. A pleasure, Ms President,’ said John, blushing. ‘I thought it was too obvious to say, but Ariel wrote it down. Next thing I know, I’m being interviewed by Channel Blank.’

  ‘A scoop for them,’ said Ms President. ‘Now. Come in chickens, come in. Let’s have a celebratory drink and you can tell me about your respective experiences today, I’d love to hear that.’

  Ms President shepherded them into her office and lifted three spirulina fizzes out of the fridge. Then she dived into a cupboard to extract a 2026 Macquarie Island shiraz.

  ‘I’ve been waiting for a good reason to crack this,’ she said. ‘The second harvest from the island’s vine plantings. One of the few good things to come out of climate change; the best shiraz in the world now comes from the Antarctic Zone.’

  She poured a generous glass, and held it high against the light.

  ‘Look at that glorious colour. My, my. John, you’ll appreciate this. Let’s have a toast. To Operation Red; John; and CyberCity’s thoughtful future.’

  ‘Cheers,’ agreed Ariel, slurping his juice.

  ‘Now, Kara, your turn. What happened at the First School today?’

  ‘Success, Ms President,’ Kara reported. ‘We spent all day playing, with paints and toys and bats and balls. And the kids loved it. After the first hour or so anyway. They really did. Timbo explained Operation Red very well I thought. He told them the city was playing a game for the day, and their parents were playing it too, at home and at work. They asked lots of questions in the morning about why they couldn’t use the Story Wall and the First Chairs, but we got past that. One of our real sweeties, Tran, gave me this to give to you.’

  Kara handed over one of Tran’s vibrant artworks.

  ‘It’s you in your office,’ she explained as Ms President unrolled the slightly sticky sheet.

  ‘It’s wonderful,’ said Ms President admiringly. ‘I’m touched.’

  ‘And Timbo asked me to invite you to drop in sometime,’ said Kara.

  ‘How about next Tuesday, about 10am?’

  Ms President looked over at Tom as he checked the Presidential schedule on his comp-watch. Tom nodded.

  ‘Excellent,’ said Ms President. ‘I’d like to thank Tran in person.’

  ‘Well, yes, sure,’ said Kara. ‘Of course, Ms President. I, uh, I wasn’t expecting such a quick response.’

  ‘Do, or do not,’ said Ms President. ‘My new motto. Now, John. Amplify your solution for the solar station. What made you suggest cleaning the panels?’

  John swallowed his juice and looked thoughtful.

  ‘When I applied for a job there, at the solar station, the manager mentioned that most of the cleaning was done by robots. Robots work terrifically, if nothing goes wrong with their system operations. But, when we got the question at school, I thought I’d investigate the robotic systems, just in case. I looked at the data on the solar station’s website and the other data the Think Witted Team sent us, and I saw that the original plan included a daily manual check of the cleaning robots. But, just before the station began operations, that part of the plan was cancelled.’

  ‘Cost cutting,’ confirmed Ms President sadly. ‘I signed off on that. We were looking for cost effective efficiency. We saved one person’s wages with that decision, but it’s cost CyberCity, oh, probably a touch over three million dollars. A stupid stupid decision, and it was mine.’

  Ms President swirled her wine and sighed loudly.

  ‘Over-mechanisation,’ she said. ‘Over-reliance on machines to do the job right. One person making a manual cleaning check would have nipped that multimillion dollar problem in the bud. Yes, I’ve been guilty of relying on technology. But, not any more. Changes are afoot my dears!’

  Ms President turned to Ariel.

  ‘And what about your day, sonny?’ she asked. ‘Apart from scribing John’s inspired idea.’

  ‘Pretty much as usual,’ Ariel replied brightly. ‘Only with more critical thought.’

  ‘Excellent,’ said Ms President. ‘What’s for dinner?’

  ‘I haven’t thought about that yet,’ Ariel laughed.

  ‘Okay then, scoot,’ Ms President said. ‘It’s been lovely to see the three of you, but I have to do a few things before tonight’s comp-vision address. I’ll be home after that, Ariel. Ride home safely. All of you. Ride on curled clouds.’

  Walking towards their tri-bikes, Kara got the giggles.

  ‘She doesn’t muck around, your Mum,’ she said to Ariel. ‘One minute we’re sipping drinks in the presidential suite and discussing events of the day; next minute we’re out on the street.’

  ‘She’s action woman since we helped out with that little push,’ agreed Ariel. ‘It’s great! Things are finally happening.’

  ‘Do, or do not,’ recited John. ‘I like it.’

  ‘She nicked it from Yoda,’ sa
id Ariel, connecting his titanium cranium. ‘Why don’t you two come back to my place? I’ll whip up some dinner and we can watch the comp-vision report.’

  ‘I’ve got to be at work at seven,’ said John.

  ‘Oh, yeah,’ said Ariel. ‘I’ll make us a snack then, and you can go straight to work from our place.’

  Kara playfully manoeuvered her tri-bike around John while he procrastinated.

  ‘C’mon, John,’ she said, bumping his bike as he started it up. ‘We’ll travel in convoy. With six eyes we’ll spot the green light runners before they collect us.’

  ‘Yeah, alright,’ John said. He started his tri-bike. ‘You talked me into it. There was mention of a snack. Ariel?’

  Ariel was standing very still and staring at the ground. John prodded him.

  ‘Hello? Yoohoo?’

  ‘I have just had a horrible thought,’ said Ariel slowly. ‘Argh no, no, no. You have to be at work at seven.’

  ‘Yeah. So? I’ve seen you make a fast snack before.’

  ‘No.’

  Kara and John waited for the horrible thought to be articulated.

  ‘The night we did the deed,’ Ariel said. ‘And John called from work and I said to Mum I’d go over and help him with an assignment and she said okay and she knows that John has a job weeknights and he wouldn’t have been at home.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Kara.

  ‘Rats,’ said John.

  ‘She didn’t say anything. She does not miss a beat guys, and she didn’t say anything. Then or later.’

  ‘She’s forgotten that I work nights,’ said John. ‘She’s forgotten you told her that.’

  ‘She never forgets, mate. Anything.’

  ‘She’s been so busy, worrying about things like the solar station, that she didn’t put two and two together,’ offered Kara.

  ‘Oh boy, that’s stretching it,’ said Ariel. ‘There’s a mini mini mini chance she didn’t click…but, oh, I dunno.’

  ‘Why wouldn’t she say something then?’ asked John. ‘You two don’t have secrets.’