by Hugh Macnab
surely there are still many more people who think the system is fine, are there not?’ asked Shylock.
‘Maybe, but they don’t come here, so they never see the sign and we only put the initials on their tax returns,’ the clerk replied, now more confident. ‘But for the ones who do turn up, the new name takes some wind from their sails.’
Before Shylock could get further into the conversation, an ethereal cough interrupted the conversation. ‘Sorry to break in,’ said the information retrieval System. ‘But, I’ve never found an easy way to re-enter after a data-search. Anyway, I’m somewhat surprised to inform you that I cannot find any trace of your alleged home planet – Earth.’
‘Hold on now, what do you mean - alleged? I know where I’m from, and Earth does exist,’ rebuked Shylock.
‘Hmm, well I’ve searched everywhere I know how,’ the information retriever replied. ‘So, I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but Earth simply does not exist.’
‘NONESENSE! Shouted Shylock, not sure if he was simply angry, or frightened of the possibility that Earth somehow no longer existed, stranding him in Wilderment forever - however long that may be, given that Time had retired.
‘Let me try,’ said Permission, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. ‘Jonah, is it true that you were created when Time started his employment?’
‘Yes,’ he agreed, already wary of Permission’s traps.
‘So when Time was zero, Motion’s initial velocity was zero and Mass was infinitely dense and embryonic, you were already recording all information? Is that correct?’ she asked.
‘Yes,’ Jonah replied, even slower this time.
‘Therefore, throughout the full period of Time’s employment, you were responsible for keeping track of all Matter as it was formed – stock control and data management….and for recording each and every event as it happened…and yet, you cannot find a record of Earth?’ Permission concluded, allowing the insinuation to hang in the air.
Jonah coughed uncomfortably, even almost spluttering. ‘Perhaps a faulty back-up? Or a dropped data stream…that’s all it would take really,’ he flustered. 'A missing bit here of there.'
‘How about checking with Mass?’ asked Permission. ‘He should be able to account for everything. If Earth exists, he should certainly know where it is.’
‘Actually, I would have checked with him, but I haven’t seen him since Time retired and he doesn’t answer my thought-calls,’ replied Jonah.
‘Hang on, I think I know where he is,’ interjected Shylock. ‘He’s probably still with the Elements, Infinity, and Absolute Zero at Infinity Resources Inc.’ Then feeling he needed to explain, added, ‘I met him there on my way here. They suggested I look for Permission.’
‘Of course, playing cards. Thank you. I shall make enquiries,’ replied Jonah, going silent for a third time.
While waiting, Shylock discretely studied Permission admiring his handiwork. She was smiling and soooo beautiful that his knees actually felt weak.
Unaware of his thoughts, Permission leant closer to him and whispered in his ear. ‘Remind me to thank my friends at Infinite Resources Inc. for sending you my way.’
Fortunately, before he completely embarrassed himself by blushing in front of her, Jonah returned, again announcing his arrival with a brief cough.
‘Thank you Permission. That was an excellent idea. Mass was in fact able to trace the planet Earth to the third dimension, where I believe a fairly primitive culture exist – if you can call what they do, existing!’
‘Hey!’ cut in Shylock. ‘That’s my home planet you’re talking about.’
‘No offence,’ replied Jonah. ‘But, let’s be honest…we’re talking Primitive with a capital P. They still transport themselves around the planet to work!! Good grief, when will they learn to bring the work to them? Or even better, stop work all together and have someone else do it! Apparently they depend on this Internet thing they have. Well, I can do that amount of work with one tiny holistic-synapse. Everything's so antiquated, and just simply so ridiculously superannuated.’
‘So if we’re so backwards, why couldn’t I talk with you while you were accessing Mass?’ asked Shylock, fed up with Jonah’s arrogance.
‘That’s different,’ Jonah said, defensively. ‘That was purely a limitation in my design that restricts my ability to parallel process when performing certain remote functions.’
‘So you went to Mass, and we had to wait here for you?’
‘Touché,’ replied Jonah, with some new admiration in his tone.
‘Sounds the same to me,’ smiled Shylock, enjoying Jonah’s discomfort. ‘Anyway, now that you have found Earth, which of course I knew existed even although you didn’t as it was apparently absent in your database…for some reason. How much tax does it pay?’
Again Jonah spluttered. ‘Hmm, it would seem that there is something of a backlog, em…a degree of arrears…a most unfortunate situation in fact,’ he muttered softly.
‘And over how many years are these arrears due?’ Shylock asked, no longer able to suppress a full-bloodied grin.
Another cough and splutter. ‘Well, it would seem that we’ve errr……never actually been paid any taxes at all,’ Jonah answered quietly.
‘Bit of an oversight, then?’ Shylock said, laughing aloud, no longer able to contain himself.
‘Oh, very well. Laugh at other's misfortunes,’ Jonah winced. ‘Just you wait till I calculate the tax due…with compound interest at premium rates…phenomenal, I can assure you. It should just about grind your planet to a halt I suspect!’ he finished smugly.
‘Now hold on,’ exclaimed Shylock. ‘It’s not Earth’s fault you had a faulty back-up or whatever it was that happened to you. ‘Why should they have to suffer for your mistake?’
Before Jonah could answer, the employee, who had been chatting quietly in the background with Permission throughout this whole interchange, tapped the sign on his desk and pointed to the first word – Inequitable. ‘Now maybe you can understand?’ he said, smiling.
‘But that’s not fair,’ Shylock restated, angrily.
‘Inequitable, unfair, unjust, unmerited, unwarranted…whatever you want to call it,’ said the employee, Bb like. ‘Never the less, to help you understand how important an issue this is, I’ve simulated what would happen to our balance of payments if Earth were to pay it’s full arrears. Would you care to see?’ he asked holding up his balance of payments in the palm of his hand.
The sand had filled the topmost vial and changed to black. The word PROFIT had appeared on the outside in large black letters.
Shylock stepped closer, lifted the sand-clock and pointed to a black metal disc that had been added to the top. ‘What’s this?’ he asked.
‘That’s my magnetic simulation,’ replied pin-stripe, stepping backwards as he sensed Shylock’s rising frustration. 'How else do you think I can get the sand into the top half?'
At this point it did cross Shylock's mind to ask about the desks on the ceiling, wondering if there was a giant magnet on the roof - but he thought better of it, and decided to remain quiet.
‘My preliminary calculations,’ said Jonah, interrupting. ‘Indicate that the outstanding sum, inflated to current values, is in fact exactly equal to the current budget shortfall….and you don’t want to know how much that is, trust me!’
‘The budget shortfall!’ the employee almost shouted. ‘I was just joking with my simulation. You mean we’ve found where the entire budget negative variance has come from? That’s wonderful. Now we just need to collect the back-due payments and we’ll be back in business.’
‘Wait a minute,’ interrupted Shylock. ‘If it’s such a large sum of money, how on Earth will Earth ever be able to pay it?’
‘Oh, that’s not our problem,’ the man from the IRS replied, turning back towards his desk and muttering to himself. ‘Now, where are these final demand forms…the red ones.’
‘So I suppose a small budget for my door is out of the ques
tion then?’ Shylock, shouted after him, to no avail.
‘Come on,’ said Permission, once more taking Shylock by the arm ‘There’s nothing more we can do here.’
‘But where are we going?’ asked Shylock, arm-locking and pushing easily through the rotating door.
‘The only place left,’ said Permission. ‘We’re going higher up the organisation. We’re going to see the Creator.’
Office of the Creator
At first appearance, Shylock was surprised with the Creator’s place of residence. There were no marble columns with the almost mandatory beautifully inscribed architrave across the top. Nor even any form of triumphal arch. Instead, Permission and he stood outside a simple unostentatious oak-panelled door with a plain brass-knocker in the centre. Checking first with Permission, Shylock raised the knocker and knocked twice. Almost immediately the door swung noiselessly open, and together they stepped over the threshold into the Creator's domain.
‘Welcome,’ said the sole occupant of the room. ‘Excuse me if I don’t get up - not as fit as I used to be, you see,’ he explained. ‘And to whom have I the pleasure of addressing myself.’
Shylock was really taken aback at the appearance of the Creator, if indeed this was he. Rosy cheeked and balding, with remnants of white curly hair around the ears and a full stock of shaggy white beard curled up on a larger than life pot-belly. Dressed in a white perforated vest, red baggy trousers and two mismatched socks (from which both large toes had