Into the Fourth Universe

by Robert Wingfield

  “Of course, Sah, that unsub is still out there somewhere. Until we bring him to justice, we are on condition red.”

  “I’m not that sure. Where are we by the way?” He put his head out of the turret and looked around. The jungle stretched out on all sides. “This is rather a large escort. Is it really necessary?”

  “Oh yes, Sah. There could be attempts on your life at any time.” There was a whine as something small fanned passed his ear, and Vac yanked him down into safety. “See what I mean, Sah… unsubs out there.”

  “I do see. Carry on. I’m glad you have a full team on the job. It gives me confidence.”

  “Thank you, Sah.”

  As they reached the house, Tom noticed that there had been a few modifications. A high wall now surrounded it and the gardens, and at intervals wooden watchtowers had been erected. There were black uniforms everywhere. Two men came out of the sentry boxes at the gates. A password was exchanged and they rolled back the barbed wire and retracted the tank traps from the gateway.

  “Isn’t this a bit over the top?” Tom peeped out of the tank.

  “Can’t be too careful, Sah.” Another bullet flattened itself on the thick metal of the turret. “Head down, Sah, until we are in the safety of the compound.”

  “Somebody really wants me dead, but I must go to see my wife.”

  “Not tonight, Sah. Emergency lockdown for us to eliminate that sniper. While we wait, I’ll introduce you to each member of the defence force so that you know you are with friends.”

  * * *

  Tom and Amber sat in the darkness on the veranda after the extensive process of reviewing the troops. Eventually Tom had been allowed to relax and get a drink. He gazed beyond the gardens, continuously patrolled by soldiers with loaded machineguns, to the solid wall blocking out all sight of the jungle. Searchlights from the watchtowers stabbed the darkness beyond the compound.

  “Visitor, Sah.”

  “Show him in, Vac.”

  Errorcode blustered through the door. “Really, sir, I have been subject to the most exhaustive security checks, including a full body search…”

  Vac pressed Errorcode down into a seat. “Can’t be too careful, Sah.”

  “Thank you, Vac. You may go.”

  “I’ll leave a security detail with you, Sah, for protection.” He clicked his fingers and two Skagan troopers with cocked carbines marched in, and stood to attention behind Errorcode, watching his every move.

  “Is this really necessary?” Errorcode was nervously fidgeting. There was a burst of machinegun fire from beyond the wall.

  “Apparently so, Monty.”

  “But so many security people…”

  “Vac thinks they’re necessary, and I do seem to be under attack. You wouldn’t know anything about that would you?”

  “Absolutely not, sir.”

  “Who is left that might bear me a grudge?”

  “I cannot think, sir.”

  “What about the Plank?”

  “The ruling council, sir? I can’t think that they would be interested. After all, they only sit there, getting paid enormous salaries to steer the company into all sorts of desperate situations, that we as the executives have to get them out of.”

  “I see, so what real benefit are they?”

  “They keep us on our toes, sir.”

  “Right then; a visit to them tomorrow I think.”

  “Are you sure, sir? They don’t just see anybody.”

  “I’d like to think I’m not just anybody.”

  * * *

  A chartered aircraft touched down at an airport deep inside Musoketeban territory. The escort flight of four fighter jets landed beside it. Tom was closely flanked by security men as he and Amber crossed the tarmac to the stretch limousine waiting on the runway. “Surely we don’t need all this security here?”

  “Can’t be too careful, Sah.” A bullet ploughed into the asphalt beside them. Tom dived for the cover of the vehicle. Security men fired wildly into a stand of trees beyond the fence.

  “Right, let’s go and see the Plank,” said Tom as Amber joined him. The car drove away, supported by the usual squadron of motorcycle riders, and in this case a helicopter gunship. He smiled at her. “Tell me again why they are working out of this location.”

  “A tax haven, sir.”

  “But our Island is a tax haven?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Come to think of it, so are a few other countries I’d noticed.”

  “Yes, sir. Most countries are tax havens.”

  “Are there any that aren’t?”

  “One only, sir.”

  “Which one?”

  “Called the Uninhibited Duchy or UD, sir.”

  “I see, so what happened there?”

  “I’ll see what ‘Wisecrapedia’ has to say about it.” Amber tapped at her j-Slab for a while, and then summarised. “I see, a long time ago, all the countries in the world apart from the Musoketeban territories joined up for mutual trade, in an agreement known as the Federation of Economic Communities, or F.E.C. for short. There was tax in those days, but only the Uninhibited Duchy was making any profit. The rest of them were too busy drinking wine, scamming each other, running subsidised criminal organisations and generally being lazy bastards to actually produce anything to sell. The U.D. was asked to give them huge subsidies. The U.D. would help anybody because of their main policy of being totally nice, even though they knew they were being ripped off.

  “Despite all the considerations, the other countries still hated them, and invariably voted them zero points in every joint games and singing competition ever organised. The turning point came when U.D. teams thrashed the lot of them quite fairly at the Thracian Games, and in retaliation, the F.E.C. passed a settlement saying that all tax would be abolished in their own countries because it contravened the human right to be able to afford a loaf of bread, a new TV and the latest j-Slab. Because the U.D. was profitable, it was decided that they should be solely responsible for paying all the taxes to compensate for the lack of effort in the other countries. To prevent any backlash, the F.E.C. took away power from the U.D. government in order to control the arrangement from the city of Choccies.”

  “Choccies?”

  “Headquarters of the F.E.C. and Capital of Atomium, sir.”

  “Good, then we don’t want to set up business there, do we?”

  “Apparently we do have an office, sir, but now that everything is outsourced we could close it down and nobody would notice, except for the fact that it is our registered company address.”

  “Shame. Ah, have we stopped?” He wound the window down, and ducked as another bullet lodged itself in the upholstery behind his head. “Are we there Vac?”

  “Yes, Sah. My men have cleared the area. It is safe to get out.”

  Tom gazed up at the skyscraper. There were too many floors to count. “Big isn’t it, Amber? Is it all ours?”

  “Yes, sir, but we only use the top floor. It gives a good view over the bay.”

  “And the rest of the country I think.”

  * * *

  They had to change lifts three times before arriving at the offices. Tom held on to one of the handrails provided as the building flexed in the wind; it was not unlike being on the desk of a ship, and did take some getting used to. Vac’s security team checked out the area for explosives before anyone was allowed into the main concourse. Tom noticed that one or two of the soldiers carried mysterious packages, but then they were all armed to the teeth. He was told to wait by an officious receptionist who peered suspiciously through horn rimmed glasses.

  He lowered himself into one of the jewel encrusted reception thrones. “So this guy we are going to see…”

  “Ferdinand Badloser, sir, or to give him his full title, Datuk Ferdinand,” replied Amber.

  “Badloser—interesting surname.”

  “I’ll check on the j-Slab.” Amber ran her f
inger over the screen. “Ah, he comes from a country where they work out surnames according to what people do; like your surname is Smith because your relatives once must have crafted stuff, and mine is Dropnikkers.”

  “I never knew that. So he comes from a family who were very competitive?”

  “Not particularly, sir. It says here that they weren’t very good at anything, but used to compensate for it by disposing of all their rivals in unpleasant and underhand ways. The great bard, Rattlestick, even wrote a play about it, ‘Badloser the Third’ I believe it was called; you know that famous quote, ‘A bonus, a bonus, my organisation for a bonus’.”

  “I must watch it some time. So this Badloser guy, does he work for me?”

  “No, sir. You are ultimately responsible to him, and the Plank.”

  “Shame. I suppose I’ll have to toady.”

  “Not if we come in with you, Sah.” Vac indicated his squad.

  “Very well.”

  “Datuk Ferdy will see you now.” The receptionist eyed them suspiciously. “You will have to leave the muscle at the door though. Only you and the lady are permitted to enter the sanctum.”

  “Sorry Vac. But if you hear any shouting, please come straight in.”

  “Even if you don’t call my name, Sah?”

  “Yes, you have special permission to gate-crash.”

  “Very good, Sah; does that apply to doors too?”

  The conference room was huge. Tom stood uncertainly on the threshold, confronted by a table he could have used to play football on. In the goal at the far end, a man stood up. A voice came out of hidden speakers. “Mr Smith, how wonderful you could come. Please take the transport and come and join me at the Drinks Cabinet End.”

  A small carriage arrived and invited them to enter. As they travelled, Tom realised that there were other people clustered around the table, but were not very animated. They arrived and were settled into sumptuous recliners by a flock of Musoketeban girls, who also provided drinks and nibbles. Tom sniffed suspiciously at his, but Amber downed hers in one gulp and asked for another. He regarded the smartly dressed man sitting on the massive canopied throne at the end of the table.

  “So?” Tom tried to open the conversation.

  “So, what can I do for you?” Badloser was all smiles.

  “I thought I should come and meet the Plank; it has been some time.”

  “Of course, you are always welcome here.”

  “Well?” Tom prompted.

  “Well?” Badloser countered.

  Tom was at a bit of a loss. “Er, aren’t you going to introduce me to the Plank members?” He nodded to some of the people sitting around the table. One or two nodded back, the rest appeared to be asleep.

  “Oh, there’s not really much point, and I’ve forgotten most of the names anyway. I could get them to introduce themselves if you like.”

  “Yes, okay then. Amber, please can you make notes? I’ll start with this gentleman.” He indicated the man on his left, who actually appeared to be listening to the conversation. “What is your name and what do you do?”

  The man shot a glance at the chairman. “I’m not really important,” he said, “I’m only here to collect an enormous salary and agree with everything the CPD says. Perhaps you should meet my colleague here.” He jogged the arm of the man next to him.

  “Oh, you don’t really need to know anything about me,” replied the man, “You could try Old Pete over there.”

  A whiskery grey man on the opposite side of the table jumped. “Me, oh, I do something to do with the development of technology, don’t I?” He shot an appealing glance at Badloser who nodded sagely.

  “Of course you do. Anyway, that’s the introductions over. Now tell me why you’re here.”

  Tom looked around the rest of the Plank. Some were now awake and blinking bewilderedly at him, others were working on crosswords and the pointless ‘Soditall’ numbers game, and the remainder looked like they were asleep. As he watched, one of them fell off a chair and shattered into a cloud of dust and bones on the floor. The maids were quickly mobilised by a click from Badloser’s fingers, and had cleared the mess almost before Tom registered the incident.

  “I’m making a load of changes to save money, Mr Badloser.”

  “Call me Datuk Ferdy please, and yes I had heard; sterling stuff by all the look of it. Good man, carry on.”

  “I need your approval for the next phase.”

  “You’ve got it. I’m sure everything is under control.”

  “That’s good, but I need to review the Plank structure. Our one remaining major cost is the remunerations for Plank members. It’s crippling the company.”

  Badloser sat back in his seat. “Every company needs a Plank. Without it how would a mission statement ever get made?”

  “Do we have a mission statement?”

  “Of course.” Badloser stared at him. “What would a company be without a mission statement?”

  “And what is ours?”

  “If you don’t know, I’ll be having serious doubts about your suitability in your current role.”

  Tom thought quickly and improvised. “Of course I know. To boldly go where…”

  “Is he right, Old Pete?”

  Pete shook his head. “No idea, your honour.”

  “Very good. Bravo, Mr Smith. So that’s why we need a Plank.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Of course, we provide guidance and make strategic decisions.”

  Tom realised that the man was ad-libbing and went in for the kill. “And how many decisions have been made recently? I checked ‘Constrictions’ by the way; I couldn’t find any.”

  “‘Constrictions’, what’s that?”

  “Our corporate collaboration platform; everyone uses it.”

  “Why?”

  “We aren’t that sure. It was one of Errorcode’s innovations to get us into the next century of interactive and collaborative working. We can use j-Pads, and tablets and PCs…”

  “Can I stop you there?”

  “Yes?”

  “j-Slabs, tablets, PCs; what are you talking about?”

  “Technology; communications devices, that sort of thing, you know, like the intercom to the end of the table.” Tom was grasping for something he thought that the CPD would recognise.”

  “Intercom?”

  “Yes, how you spoke to me when I first entered.”

  “I thought you had exceptional hearing.”

  “But how do you communicate your decisions to the rest of the company without understanding technology?”

  Badloser shouted across the table. “Old Pete?”

  The man came to attention. “What do you want?”

  “Do we have ‘technology’ in this company?”

  “Oh yes Datuk.”

  “How much?”

  “Lots of it.”

  “Is it expensive?”

  “Very much.”

  “Right, Mr Smith.” Badloser smiled benevolently at Tom. “There is the way of making the savings you are looking for; get rid of technology, it’s too expensive, and never mind reorganising the Plank. You can go now.”

  “I can’t yet I’m afraid. I’m also here to get clarification about something I saw in the newspapers.”

  “What would that be?” Badloser was starting to let his attention wander.

  “You are looking to take over the B.O.T.C.H. Corporation.”

  “Of course, at the price, it’s a bargain.”

  “I checked; the acronym stands for Bankrupt Organisation for Temporary Community Housing.”

  “So, what’s in a name?”

  “Isn’t that a clue that it might not be a good investment?”

  “No, it’s a double-bluff. Their turnover is massive, and they are ripe for acquisition.”

  “But you are buying at twice the asking price; the company can’t afford it.”

  “I put i
t to the Plank. They all agreed, didn’t you boys?”

  There were nods around the table and grunts of assent. Tom noticed one of the members working the man beside him to make him look as though he was nodding too. The head came off and rolled under the chair.

  “There you are then.” Badloser dismissed him, but Tom held on.

  “And the fact that your old boss, Mr Roman Platinum of the Woofterracotta Group, was bidding for it against you, had nothing to do with it. I believe he’s pulled out now though.”

  “Was he, has he? I hadn’t noticed.”

  “Then we at least can reduce our bid. It will ruin us if we carry on at the present level.”

  “No it won’t. There are big profits to be made, economies of scale, layers of complexity, de-duplication... You can trust me; I am a qualified manure analyst you know.”

  “Have you done a risk analysis?”

  “There is no risk. I’ve checked with the Plank.”

  “And if it goes wrong, do you have an exit strategy, a Plan B?”

  “It won’t go wrong; have you not seen our company policy, ‘There is no Plan B’. That way we get full commitment in everything we do.”

  Tom sighed. “So you won’t reduce the size of the leadership, and you won’t withdraw the bid?”

  “No. I have the full support of the Plank to go ahead. I would remind you that I also have the full support of the Plank to hire and fire someone in your position, with no compensation except for a massive payoff to keep you quiet, and a huge pension to make sure you stay quiet. If you want to keep your job I suggest you return to your office and start running the company at a profit. Your next bonus will depend on you doing bugger all to earn it, of course.”

  “Ah.” Tom was beaten. He could see the train thundering towards him, but he could not get a decent sandwich.

  “Then good day to you, Mr Smith. I am sure that the integration of the two companies will be safe in your capable hands.”

  Tom strode dejectedly down the Plank-room table with Amber hurrying to keep up. They re-joined the troops in the ante-chamber. Amber gave Tom’s hand a squeeze. “You did everything you could. The man isn’t going to change his mind.”