Into the Fourth Universe

by Robert Wingfield

  “Ah, the increase cap I noted. I forgot that whatever pay increase you get, your pension only goes up by 2%.”

  “So, it will be no benefit to me when I retire, sir; final salary pension you see, and my current salary was cut to half of the original anyway after I was ‘tuppied’.”

  “Might be tricky.” Tom thought for a moment. “I know, I’ll promote you to the rank of Chief Expensive Orderly; that way, you will be able to retire with a massive pension… even if you make a complete fuck-up of your job and can’t show your face in public ever again, except probably on chat shows or more normally as a government advisor, without people throwing bricks at your car.”

  “I will try to do better than that, sir; you are too kind.”

  The Magus shares a Cab

  T

  he Magus managed to give the twins the slip by pretending to be going to a football match. He would have actually liked to have seen it, because it was the all-women’s final between Dansk Athletic and the Iberian Pneumatics, but it was the only way he could get some breathing space. His cab driver was waiting outside.

  He did a double-take. “Didn’t you drive me around yesterday?”

  “I did,” said the girl.

  “So how did you know I need a cab today?”

  “I am the cab driver.”

  “The?”

  “Yup. Detectives in a strange city always adopt a cab driver who they use for local knowledge, to call the police when they get into trouble, to share lively banter about the state of the world, and in our case to shag each other senseless, to boot.”

  “Can we just drive this time?”

  “Of course, but let me know if you change your mind.”

  “I will. Now what do you know about Hianna Reedrate?”

  “Now there’s a thing.”

  “I thought I had my legs crossed.” The Magus fidgeted.

  “Not that. By the way, the lack of hair suits you.”

  “Thank you but what about Hianna?”

  “She’s only one of the wealthiest people on the planet.”

  “But why is she paying my bills, including my taxi fares I guess?”

  “Correct. Between you and me, I was told to submit all my invoices to her, but to fool you by saying that everything’s free this week because it’s the Ramadamadingdong festival.”

  “Is it?” The Magus glanced out of the window. “I like festivals.”

  “Not really, I made it up.”

  “But were you supposed to tell me the truth?”

  “Not at all, but you are an investigator; you wheedled it out of me.”

  “Remind me not to share any secrets with you.”

  The driver turned in her seat and looked quite hurt. “I can keep a secret you know. It’s all those people I tell who can’t.”

  “No problem. Thank you for being candid. Now to business; what else do you know?”

  “I shouldn’t tell you this, but to prevent all that usual nastiness of you tying me to a chair and removing my fingernails to make me talk… by the way, do you like the colour.” The driver waved elegant fingers smelling slightly of fish under the Magus’ nose.

  He sniffed. “Go on.”

  “She’s been here a few years now. Has a reputation for being selective in the men and women she chooses for sex, but always seems prosperous. She even has a house on the no-skirts of town.”

  “No skirts? Don’t you mean outskirts?”

  “The no-skirts are the suburbs where all the richer ladies live. It’s a gated complex and you can’t get in if you’re wearing anything below the waist. It helps the security people to tell that you are really a woman.”

  “How would a man get in to service Hianna?”

  “Special invitation only; there’s a tradesman’s entrance—it gets used all the time, according to the tabloids, but I’m not going to stoop to that obvious vulgarity by explaining further.”

  “So I wouldn’t be able to get in then?”

  “I could though. What do you want me to do?”

  “I’d like a face to face meeting with the lady.”

  “She’s very selective.”

  “You can tell her my name. Her reaction to that will be a clue in itself. I will think about breaking in, only if she won’t see me.”

  “How exciting. To the Hianna mansion then?”

  “Of course.”

  The Magus watched the driver’s slim body as she walked boldly up to the security gates. She was admitted after a brief conversation with the hefty guard. As the Magus was waiting, the gates opened again, and a man emerged. As expected, he was naked… apart from a monocle. “Arthur! Bloody Enfield!” The Magus slipped down out of sight in the back seat of the taxi. The man paused, took a quick look at the vehicle and then returned to the guard. There were a few words exchanged. Moments later, the taxi driver reappeared, shaking her head. Arthur stopped her. There was another discussion and both headed back towards the taxi. “Shit!” The Magus whipped off his hat and sat on it. The driver opened the back door and grinned at him.

  “You don’t mind if we give this guy a lift back down town?”

  “Er, no.” The Magus eased himself sideways on his hat. “Please feel free to share my taxi, Mr…?

  “We don’t use names here,” said Arthur. “Data protection and all that, don’t you know.”

  “Of course. Please forgive me.”

  “No offence taken. Sorry to butt in old chap, but one was stranded out here. I’ll pay the return fare for you.”

  “No need. It’s already covered.” The Magus bit his lip. He had forgotten the first rule of clandestine work—never tell anyone anything. Arthur did not appear to notice.

  “Good of you anyway, old boy. Driver knows my destination.”

  The journey back seemed to take a long time, during which the taxi girl chatted away, as would be expected, solving most of the problems with the galaxy. It is a recognised fact that if governments were entirely re-staffed with cab drivers, all the problems in the universe would very soon be rectified. Eventually they dropped Arthur at the space-port with cheery farewells and many appreciations. As soon as the man had disappeared, the girl stopped the car and climbed into the back seat.

  “You can put your hat back on now,” she said. “It was a good disguise. Even I was fooled for a moment; I thought someone else had taken the cab. Are you pleased with me?” She straddled herself on his lap, facing him and scanned his face anxiously.

  He smiled. “Clever, I think. You were betting on that without the hat and my problem with body hair, and the fact he thought I was dead, he wouldn’t recognise me. I think you might have been right.”

  “And we found out where he was going.”

  “The Space-Port, yes.”

  “And his final destination. I put a request in to the NSA.”

  “NSA, what’s that?”

  “Not Secret Anymore. It is an organisation that scrutinises everyone’s personal data and publishes it on insecure servers in the Mist. Anyone can access it because they have left the default password as ‘password’.”

  The Magus smiled. “You clever girl!” He kissed her.

  “Put the hat on,” she panted. “You look so horny in that hat.”

  “But what about Hianna?”

  “She hasn’t been here for a while.”

  “A forwarding address?”

  “Yes. The same as that Arthur guy’s destination.”

  “Brilliant.”

  “Now shag me for Phoist’s sake, or I’ll fail my objectives for the month.”

  He did, and the taxi rocked as the driver gave him her best. When they were both sated, she rolled off him and lay lengthwise along the seat, her body draped over his. He recovered enough to adjust the air conditioning to cool them down. She really was very attractive. He felt more stirrings, and she grinned as her back was tickled. “Before you do again,” she said, “I found a picture of Hianna in
the local paper. I thought you might like to see it.”

  “Afterwards will be soon enough.” He extracted his body from under hers and lay down on top of her, face to face along the back seat. “Come on then.” Suddenly she shoved a newspaper between them. “What?” He backed off and focused on a caption detailing the fact that a famous socialite had given a great deal of money to the local unwanted children’s charity. He had to push himself further backwards to see the picture. As it came into focus, so did the negative effect down below. There, looking out at him with the name, Hianna Reedrate, was the face of his dead girlfriend, Rannie. “So that’s where all my bloody money has been going!”

  There was a snort from outside the taxi. It rocked and a hairy face peered in through the window. The taxi girl screamed.

  “Don’t worry. I don’t seem to be able to get rid of them. Drive on please, back to the hotel.”

  She squeezed hurriedly between the front seats to oblige.

  * * *

  Back in his room, the Magus realised that the forwarding address he had for Hianna also matched that from his previous investigations at Paradice. “I should have gone there first.” He muttered to himself, and then he regarded the sleeping forms of the twins on his bed. “Oh, I don’t know though…”

  He checked out with the new receptionist. This one was wearing a gag and communicated in sign language. He resisted the temptation of asking the man to write down why, and stepped into the warm city air.

  “Taxi?” The driver was very familiar.

  “Hello again. How did you know?”

  “Proper cab drivers always know. We are especially tuned to clichés and stereotypical behaviour.”

  “The Space-Port then.”

  “I knew that. I’ve already programmed the automatic systems.” She climbed into the back seat with him. “Short way or long?”

  He fondled her breasts. “Long way I think. Is this still covered by Hianna’s account?”

  “Oh yes, excluding the tip of course.”

  “Tip? You can have the whole lot.”

  * * *

  The Magus was almost sorry to leave the glitzy lights of the city, but was now set on the next part of the mission. He had a new lead to investigate. When he tried to book the passage though, he was told that the only flights out were back to Paradice. He could travel onwards from there. Giving the ever present milling doku the slip, by upsetting a cartload of bananas, he bought the ticket and boarded the ship.

  They landed safely a month later and the Magus was stopped as he entered Customs. “Sorry, sir you can’t come in.”

  “I’m only passing through, but I’ve got to hook up with a friend first. He’s waiting for me outside.”

  “No, sir, I’m afraid you just can’t enter the planet.”

  “Why not?” The Magus challenged.

  “You have no money, sir.”

  “Rubbish.” He was feeling worried. “I am wealthy.”

  “No, sir. Please go into that room over there, where there is a suitable terminal to check your account. You may be able to transfer your money from another account?”

  The Magus sat down and went through the security checks: password, PIN, thumbprint, pass-phrase, mother’s maiden name, date of birth, date of a significant event, retina scan, lung capacity and alcohol limit. He sat back with a coffee while the systems connected over the 64k link provided for non-paying customers. Eventually the details of his bank account appeared. The total was zero. “What’s going on? Has Rannie stolen it all, or has Arthur's gang taken it? Is that why?” He checked the list of figures. Rannie had kept the books immaculately, with all income and outgoings reported in minute detail. He found and confirmed all the cases he had completed and the associated income; a tidy sum. Then the outgoings; there was understandably a significant amount listed as toilet requisites and also a few subscriptions to the Glenforbis Women’s Gilding Society, which seemed rather high. The new entry, the latest outgoing which had drained his account, was listed as ‘agricultural sundries’. He scratched his head; the hair was starting to grow back. At that moment, an official bustled in. “You will have to leave now, sir. You can’t stay on the planet.”

  “Where do I go?”

  “You need to book a flight, sir.”

  “But I have no currency.”

  “Not my problem.” The man went to depart.

  “What about Antediluvian Speedy?” He offered his credit card.

  “That will do nicely, sir. Can I do an impression of your card?”

  “It might be difficult. I knew a man who could do an impression of cheeses. Or what about doing a renowned political figure?”

  “Wouldn’t we all like to, sir.”

  “One moment.” The Magus realised that the man had dealt with him on his previous visit.

  “Sir?”

  “Aren’t you the guy who took my doku off me?”

  “Maybe.”

  He indicated the expense which had emptied his bank account. “Is this something to do with you?”

  “Sundries, sir.”

  “What sort of sundries?”

  “Fodder, cleaning staff, meat processing plants.”

  “Where are my doku?”

  “Er, not here, sir.”

  “Where?”

  “There was a problem, sir.”

  “Go on.”

  “With the confiscated items, sir.”

  “Yes?”

  “One of them blew up, sir, and killed the herd.”

  “I’m not very happy about that.”

  “Sorry, sir. Can I offer you a burger as compensation?”

  “I thought the meat tasted familiar.”

  “I wouldn’t know, sir.”

  “So you overcharged me for feeding the herd, and then blew them up when the money ran out?”

  “Of course not, sir. We are not crooks here. It was an accident.”

  “I’m sure it was. So what are you going to do about it? Compensation?”

  “Nothing I’m afraid. You can always lodge a complaint with the Space-Ports Authority.”

  A bell chimed on the terminal. “What the…?” The Magus stared in disbelief as money returned to the account. He noted names such as the ‘Backdouglas’ Fast Food Chain, the ‘Paradice Young Farmers’, the ‘Weird Guppy’ clothing company, ‘Bovostick’, and the Space-Port canteen. By the time the entries were complete, he was a wealthy man again. “What do you say to that, then?”

  “I’m glad to see the cash-flow problem has been resolved, sir. Please return to Customs where you will be allowed to enter the planet and the remains of the herd will be returned in a carrier bag.”

  Outside, he was met by his friend, Ludwig Gottstein. The big man pumped his hand. “I thought you were in some trouble,” he said, “when you did not appear from your flight.”

  “I was. They’d taken all my money.”

  “I guessed a scam in operation. It happens all the time here, what with the lack of law and all that stuff. I made some enquiries. They had been selling the produce from your animals after the explosion.”

  “Yes?”

  “I simply issued some invoices in your name for the dung, the meat, the bones and the leather. They are all rare commodities over here and I negotiated a good price for you.”

  “Less your commission of course?”

  “Of course, we are friends, but we should never let friendship get in the way of business.”

  “Yes, you have applied my own first rule of investigation—do nothing for free.”

  “Jah. I taught you everything you know.”

  “You saved my bacon or in this case, doku meat for sure. I owe you a few drinks and then I’ve got to get off to follow the next clue.”

  Tom draws some Lines

  A

  week had gone by at SCT and Tom had made inroads into sorting out the mess. HR informed him that the island had no employment laws, and that peopl
e could be summarily dismissed without fear of litigation, so he felt a lot more comfortable with his plans. His new CEO had given him a hit-list of head-office middle-management who were simply forwarding e-mails on without commenting, so he called each one of the two hundred into his office, and interviewed them in isolation. Those who used anything he considered as buzz phrases were dismissed instantly; the remainder were asked to each draft what they thought was the organisational structure, and also to give him a list of mischief-makers in the ranks. He gave them a day and then called in the results. Those who were late with their organisational plan and those who were actually able to provide details of agitators were also sacked. “If they can’t do work on time, or can’t handle their own stirrers, then they shouldn’t be in charge of anything…”

  The group structures were with him, not surprisingly ahead of schedule, and he tasked Amber with trying to make sense of it all. Eventually he was sitting with a complex plan, with many duplicated or unnecessary functions, and now a lot of blank spaces where the manager’s names would have been. He drew a triangle across it, he drew circles around groups of departments, he put in arrows to show where existing managers could take on combined functions, and in all the blank spaces he wrote in names from his list of troublemakers. “Sorted.” He sat back in his chair and put his hands behind his head.

  “I don’t understand, sir.” Amber was scrutinising the chart.

  “What?”

  “You’ve put people from the list of the agitators to run some of the departments. Won’t they cause trouble like they did before?”

  “It’s been my experience that those sorts of people are only a problem because they can see things are wrong but can’t do anything about it. Put then in charge and they’ll sort it all out… or go insane because they can’t cope. We win either way, and there are still a few in reserve that I’m going to call in for a chat and give out pay rises and new job titles.”

  “Clever, sir.”

  “Thank you. I try. Now please draft this up and pass to HR to put in place. Tell them the restructure needs to be complete within a week.” He returned to his research into the company and Amber gathered up the paperwork and retreated to her office.