The Fifth Correction

by Robert Wingfield

  The blank expression altered to one of blank horror. “Would have to submit a Change Record, set up a risk analysis, organise a full meeting of the Change Committee and order tea and cakes; could take anything up to an hour.”

  “Do you know something about Change Management that I don’t? I thought their normal turnaround was six weeks for a minor Change and anything up to two years for a major one, and that’s before we can actually alter anything.”

  The blank expression showed blank amusement. “Normally yes, Sah, but I discovered that inserting hand grenades with the pin pulled out into various orifices of the Change Control people tends to greatly improve the Service Level Agreement.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Seriously, Sah.”

  “So you have been blowing up my Change Management personnel?”

  “Only their orifices, Sah; you know, the cubbyholes where they store their mail. They hate having the paperwork disrupted.”

  “I imagine so, but despite your expedition skills, I can’t be expected to wait for an hour. Drive on, my good man.”

  “Yes, Sah!”

  Tom was puzzled by Vac’s enthusiasm to get started, until the journey began to drag a little. The Skagan insisted on having a squad of his troops jogging along in front and behind and at the side of the vehicle. They were not exerting themselves.

  “Can’t we speed up a bit?” said Tom eventually. “We don’t really need all this security detail covering the car. You did make it bulletproof, and I’ve said before that there is no danger.”

  “Can’t be too careful, Sah.”

  “And I can’t see out of the windows to look at the countryside. Your people are blocking the view in all directions.”

  “Never know where an attack might come from, Sah.”

  “Give me strength…”

  “You don’t need it, Sah. We are your eyes and your body. Please sit back and relax. We will soon be there. Perhaps take a nap?”

  “Can’t you do that for me, too?” said Tom sarcastically.

  “We would if we could, Sah,” said Vac seriously.

  The car bumped its way slowly over the rutted tracks to the far end of the island, and through the barbed-wire entanglements leading to the Skagan Tribal Lands. The fifty square-miles of the Reserve were a paradise of babbling brooks, chuckling streams and guffawing waterfalls, running off a set of rolling hills and rolling off a set of hills running along the end of the peninsula. It rained here every day at precisely four o’clock, so the land was verdant and rich, more so because the Skagans were disinclined to do any cultivation, preferring to leave that to somebody else. One or two of the SCT staff had been given allotments, and they grew all kinds of vegetables, none of which they ever ate because the tribe always stole them first.

  Tom saw none of this with his ‘close protection’ and he was surprised when the car eventually stopped. Vac got out and opened the door for him. A smell of sweet fresh air mixed with the slight tang of fish assailed his nostrils.

  “Welcome to the village, Sah.”

  Tom stared around at the collection of low huts constructed of logs and straw and dung, and wondered if he should tell them the correct way to make ‘wattle and daub’. He shrugged; it was probably all to be discovered in Oilflig Phoist’s book, if they had managed to get past the bit detailing the warmongering.

  “The ladies would like to greet you traditionally,8” said Vac.

  Tom noticed that one or two of his guard were already peeling off their uniforms to reveal tanned and deliciously toned flesh. “Are you trying to delay me seeing the workshop?” he asked suspiciously.

  Vac’s blank expression seemed to acquire an air of blank innocence. “It is tradition,” he said. “It is very important to follow tradition.”

  “Before you discovered the book, you had no idea about this. How can it be ‘tradition’?”

  “Ignorance of tradition is no defence,” said Vac. “Please move along to the Greeting Hut where the ladies are now waiting in line.”

  Tom eyed the statuesque bodies of the perfect Skagan women beckoning him from the doorway. He felt temptation, and various other parts of his body agreed with him. He took a deep breath. No, he must resist. There was something going on here and he meant to find out what. Apart from that, he already had a woman who was particularly good at anticipating his needs and reinventing herself so often that he never knew who he would come home to; it was like having a different partner every time and still remaining faithful to one.

  “Rowr!” He remembered the acrobatics with Caryl the previous night, and shook himself. “No more delay; I want to see the workshop now. I want to see this spacecraft you have cobbled together out of components from one-arm bandits and table-football machines.”

  “Yes, Sah.” Vac’s expression did not alter, but his shoulders slumped slightly. “If you are sure you want to break thousands of years of tradition and insult the entire tribe, then please follow me, Sah.”

  Tom added guilt to all his other emotions, and followed Vac across the open space at the village centre. They passed the two largest structures, the cookhouse and the hot baths, and continued towards an insignificant hut at the far side.

  “In here, Sah.”

  “It’s very small for a workshop,” said Tom. “Have you discovered how to make Relative Dimensions in Time and Space as a bonus? Is it bigger on the inside than on the out?”

  “No, Sah,” said Vac. “That’s only the way in. The facility is underground.”

  “I suppose it would be. Proceed.”

  They went into the hut. Tom saw the top of a spiral of metal stairs, which Vac led the way down, and a bit more down and then quite a lot more down. They did reach the bottom eventually, and Vac opened a solid metal door into a factory, a very busy factory. Every Skagan not in the ‘Security’ or ‘Welcome’ detail appeared to be on the floor, and around them, taking shape, were a fleet of sleek silver spacecraft.

  “My Phoist!” Tom gasped. “I thought you said you had only built the one, and that out of spare parts?”

  “The prototype, Sah; these are the real thing.”

  “But where did you get the cash to buy all these components and materials?” Tom gazed around, open mouthed.

  “Would you believe I saved up my salary, Sah?”

  “No I won’t. These components do not come cheap. Where did you get the money?”

  Vac’s stiff back drooped again. “Borrowed it from the Company, Sah,” he said guiltily.

  “You did, how? We don’t have any money.”

  “Got a refund from Mr Nishi.”

  “You mean the head of the overseas Nishant Corporation to whom we outsourced internal mail, window cleaning, nuclear deterrent and the bun supply?”

  “The very same, Sah.”

  “But how did you get a repayment, and for what?”

  “I cancelled the contract, Sah.”

  “But our former leader, Ferdinand Badloser, Phoist rest his soul, signed us up for a punishing twenty-year deal.”

  “Deal is off, Sah.”

  Tom scratched his head. “How? You blew up Badloser and the Plank of Directors, so we can’t get them to re-negotiate.”

  “Me, Sah?” said Vac innocently. “Blew up the Plank? You must be mistaken. It is a mystery to me as to how a high explosive CX19 device with a 91T mushroom pushbutton and the Grade 2 motion sensing detonator found its way under the secretary’s desk in the outer office of the top floor. Are you suggesting I had anything to do with propelling the top off that building?”

  Tom grinned. “Of course not.”

  “No, Sah; it was simply one of those ‘once-in-a-lifetime’ coincidences you read about every day in the ‘Daily Sensation’.”

  “Anyway,” said Tom, “we are stuck with that contract; the terms were agreed and signed up to. It is one of the many things crippling the company that we can’t get out of.”

  Vac drew himself e
ven more upright. “Mr Nishi agreed to forego those terms, Sah. I renegotiated the contract and he gave us a full refund for the outstanding nineteen years.”

  “But we only signed up to it a couple of months back.”

  “I didn’t want to be greedy, Sah. This might explain.” He passed Tom a recent copy of the famed international reference document, the ‘Bollocks of the Planet’. “Read there, Sah.”

  Tom read:

  “The Nishant Corporation has recently severed ties with SCT, a major player in the corporate market for doing something. After a number of their call centres mysteriously blew up, the head of the corporation, Mr Joshi Nishi, admitted paying a large ransom for the return of his concubines. Fortunately, after a few weeks, said ladies were returned safe and fit, apart from fixed silly grins and a rather bandy-legged gait. To date they have declined to comment upon their ordeal, and are reported as ‘giggling insanely’ when approached.”

  Tom shot a glance at Vac, who started whistling a military march. “Vac!” he chastised.

  “Nothing to do with me,” said the Skagan unconvincingly.

  “Then stop.”

  “Yes, Sah.”

  Tom continued to read:

  “Mr Nishi said, in a Press statement, that his decision was nothing to do with the events described, considering them to be merely coincidence, but that he had taken the opportunity to review his outlook on life and was planning to retire to a sheep farm immediately.

  “The fate of the Nishant Corporation remains uncertain, but a spokesman did report, using their own interpreter program: ‘We are maybe going to peddle up the Establishment and use any continues for widows, foundlings and individuals, signifying the frontrunners of mounting fatherlands and who are needful of a seaward bank explanation to slumber their cash in.’”

  “I see they haven’t improved their English any,” said Tom. “When will they learn to employ native speakers to validate their software?”

  “No idea, Sah. So you see, Sah,” said Vac, “because Nishant are selling up, they could not maintain our contract and they were duty bound to give us a refund, which I have reinvested into our Space Division.”

  “And Finance are aware of this?”

  “I thought it best not to trouble them, Sah.”

  “So you spent it all on parts for this lot?” Tom waved expansively around the facility.

  “And sticking plasters,9, Sah. Sorry, Sah. Did we do wrong?”

  “Show me around,” said Tom thoughtfully.

  They stopped at one or two of the assembly stations. Each ship was being assembled to copied blueprints by a team of two Skagans.

  “These really are good,” Tom was impressed at the quality of the work. He ran his hand along the mirror surface of a fuselage. “Your people have a talent for excellence.”

  “It takes time, Sah, but we prefer precision to volume.”

  “One question though,” said Tom. “There are a number of disturbing long pointy things being fitted to the wings.” Tom tapped one with his finger. “Those wouldn’t be weapons would they?”

  “Weapons, Sah? No, of course not; why would we need weapons?”

  “So you are telling me that the Skagans are making something that couldn’t be used for killing people? I find that hard to believe…”

  “Would you believe..?”

  “Stop that, we’ve done it already.”

  “Sorry, Sah.”

  “But as a matter of fact, no,” continued Tom. “I wouldn’t believe anything you say now. What I do believe is that you are in the process of creating a fleet of warships aren’t you? Have you not learned the lessons of History? Has Phoist not pointed that out in his book?”

  “Perhaps, but not read that far, Sah. Don’t do History; can’t learn anything from History. History shows that everything is futile. Take note of History and would never do anything.”

  “Let me enlighten you then,” said Tom gently. “History reports that your own race was virtually wiped out because you insisted on attacking the whole galaxy. The people here…” he indicated the workers. They waved back cheerily, “…are the only survivors, as far as I know. If you go out warmongering again, you will lose them too. Your race is on the verge of extinction.”

  “But we are the ‘primary race’, Sah. It says so in the Book. We can’t die out.”

  “Then instead get down to making more of your ‘primary race’. Get breeding, get making babies, become parents; best job in the world.”

  “Not killing, Sah? Always thought that was the best job in the world… not that I would know of course,” he added quickly.

  “No, not killing, but I have an idea…”

  “About that baby thing?” said Vac thoughtfully. “Would you be able to show us?”

  “Stop it; I’m already taken!”

  “So was I, Sah,” said Vac, “until I came back to the village after our space flight. I couldn’t stand up for a week. To think that we wouldn’t have known about Skagan traditions if it hadn't been for that book.”

  Experiments

  Answers to Everything

  Challenging Underwear

  T

  he Magus stared at the hexacat. “What did you say?”

  The animal ignored him and continued washing its hind leg.

  “Nothing much,” said a voice.

  The cat perked at something behind the array of equipment, and then leapt into the air and spat angrily. A shapely hand appeared and clipped it around the back of the head, sending it spinning to land neatly on all six legs at the other side of the room. It scooted for the cover of the sofa and burrowed into the cushions.

  “Who’s there,” demanded the Magus angrily. “No-one touches my pussy and lives!”

  “Good to see you too, Magus.”

  “Stone me; swelp me vitals,” said the Magus, “Kara-Tay, as I live and breathe.”

  “Hi,” she said brightly, wandering around the aspidistra with one of the sample jars in her hands. “What’s happening dude?”

  “What are you doing here, you old bag of bolts? I thought you’d gone off to rule the Universe or something.”

  “Job wasn’t all it’s cracked up to be,” she replied, absently replacing the jar upside-down.”

  “So what are you doing here?”

  “Heard you needed a lab assistant, what with all the things you’ve discovered so far.”

  “You heard about the sponsorship money more likely.”

  “That too; based on that, the wages look reasonable.”

  “They are, but I’m looking for the right kind of person… Oh.”

  Kara perched on one of the lab stools and her skirt parted at the waist, showing the best part of her slender legs, which in this case was all of them. The Magus fought the feelings he had been suppressing since his long-term girlfriend, Rannie, had turned out to be a universe-traversing woman of fortune. She had left him for a life of crime and knitting circles, saying that he was too boring, but that she’d probably be back a week on Tuesday. That was three years ago now. He was beginning to think that she wouldn’t return and he should really concentrate on the buxom receptionist instead. He struggled between loyalty to his long lost woman, lust for the receptionist and pure desire for Kara, for several milliseconds. Loyalty won… third place.

  “The job’s yours,” he said. “What qualifications do you have?”

  “I look totally in a lab coat.”

  “Anything else?”

  “I still have my transport.”

  “I thought they took the Time Cylinder off you at a Wallaby Court10 hearing.”

  “They did, but I negotiated it back, after a nice candle-light dinner with the judge.”

  “With afters?”

  “Just desserts.”

  “I’ll leave that in its state of ambiguity then,” said the Magus. “Let’s go.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You have the Time Cylinder. L
et’s go; you can whisk me around Time and Space in an orgy of lust.”

  “Nah,” said Kara. “Sorry, it’s in for a service. They are waiting on parts.”

  “They would be. You’ve lost it haven’t you? You were lying to me to get the job.”

  “I’m working on tracking it down,” said Kara. “It must be somewhere.”

  “So you need me until you can get it back. I suppose you’ll be asking for my help next.”

  “What have you done so far?” Kara ignored the accusation. She slipped off her stool and leaned over the little hairy man. “Apart from not taking a bath, that is.”

  “I can’t help it. Do you know how much shampoo costs on this planet?”

  “I expect I could find out if I was the slightest bit interested. What’s that got to do with the experiments?”

  “Have you heard of rhetoric? I didn’t really need an answer.”

  “Rhetoric, is that one of the towns on the Planet ‘Out’?”

  “Yes, between ‘Oratory’ and ‘Hyperbole’.” The Magus was tiring of the conversation. It seemed that Kara’s system repairs had not been completely successful after that ‘delusion’ virus had infected her bionic cerebellum. She had spent some time thinking that she was the Empress of the Universe, before she was taken in for maintenance by the Nishant Corporation.

  “Near ‘Balderdash’?” Kara was not going to let go of this thread.

  “Completely. Now shut up, find a lab coat and start being useful.”

  * * *

  Later that day, the Magus whistled through his teeth. “Come and let me know what you think of this output.”

  Kara peered over the spectacles perched on the end of her nose. “What have you got… apart from unpleasant body-odour that is?”

  “The last experiment; we have a result. And by the way, do you really need glasses? I thought all your systems were 100% perfect.”

  “They came with the lab coat; I think they make me look more intellectual if I wear them; more in keeping with the attractive assistant who isn’t going to be eaten by zombies. Have you solved the hair thing at last?”