The Fifth Correction

by Robert Wingfield

  Errorcode shifted uneasily in his seat.

  “Pray tell... don’t you know?” pressed Tom. “I can’t believe that the Head of Change Management wouldn’t know. He wouldn’t be a very good Head now, would he, if that was the case?”

  “Of course I know.”

  “Go on?

  “652 in total.”

  “So two were actually successful then,” encouraged Tom. “Very good. What were they?”

  Errorcode cleared his throat. “We have increased the height of the spray on the fountain by 20% and proved that the water still returns to be collected by the fishpond below, thus meeting our recycling targets.”

  “Good, that’s an achievement. Have you made any cost savings?”

  “Of course,” said Errorcode, brightening up. “That was our other successful change. We have made it so that the fountain only fires once an hour on a timer. We save water and power to the pumps. There was a suggestion that we turn it off altogether, but Mr Gamble, the new Head of Group Risk, pointed out that there was a risk the pump would seize up and we couldn’t use it when we wanted to impress visiting dignitaries. After a detailed cost and safety analysis, it was determined that hourly intervals would be the ‘sweet’ point for best value.”

  “That’s good then,” said Tom, “very efficient. Now I’d like you to look at moving Change Management from being an overhead to being a profit centre. Please submit your accounts and predictions to Amber for the next meeting. You may go.”

  Errorcode stood up. His face registered shock and disbelief. “But that is disgraceful. Change Management is, and has always been, a cost centre. What could be gained..?”

  “Think upon it as your own little business,” said Tom. “You can set yourself a bonus rate, of say 20%, based on profits, rather than the current method of simply handing out wads of cash to incompetent people who have been kicked out of other organisations for being incompetent, but are mates of the new management. Thank you.” Tom dismissed him and scanned his readout. “Now, Amber…”

  “I hadn't finished,” raged Errorcode. “You will hear me out or…”

  “Vac.” Tom raised his voice. “Mr Errorcode is leaving. Would you be so kind as to escort him back to the Change Management wing?”

  “Yes, Sah. Come with me Mr Errorcode.” He picked up the blustering little man by the shoulders and walked him out of the room.

  “He’s not very happy,” observed Amber.

  “If he pulls his finger out,” said Tom, seriously, “he could be on to a nice little earner.”

  “Yeah, right,” smirked the girl, “I’ve seen the accounts.”

  “So have I.” Tom grinned.

  * * *

  “I didn’t think we'd get this far without having to dodge patrols, minefields and guard dogs” said Scaly.

  “I hope it’s not a trap,” said Bott, glancing nervously round the jungle. “Are we there yet?”

  “Yes, according to my calculations…” there was a scraping of claws on slate as he rechecked the numbers. A Stool Pigeon dropped out of the sky as it simultaneously tried to fly and block its ears. “…we are approaching the grassy knoll that overlooks the conference room. I’ve hacked the SCT computers, and according to the details in some package called ‘Constrictions’, there is a conference meeting due in a few aeroflots.”

  “Good, these meetings usually go on all day, so we will have plenty of time to take our shot. Right, down on our bellies to avoid detection… oh, you are down.”

  “The only way to travel,” said Scaly. “Right, silent slithering now.”

  The agents eased out of the treeline and lay on the soft grass covering the top of the mound that Tom had imported to remind him of home. Tom had called it his ‘thinking spot’ and had installed a wooden bench there. Roses grew over the back of it and he was inclined to visit when tackling a particularly thorny problem. The view over the rockery and the building to the security fence, jungle and sea beyond helped him concentrate, he said. In reality, it got him away from the office for a quick catch-up on the sleep he missed during the night when Caryl demanded his attention.

  Bott took up position under the seat and started to assemble his rifle.

  “Why don’t you carry it already made up?” Scaly asked impatiently. “We could have been away by now.”

  “No, it’s traditional to always carry it in bits, preferably in a suitcase with the ‘Jones and Welson’23 logo to disguise it.”

  “But it takes so long to put together, and how do you know the sights are correctly aligned once you have completed the assembly?”

  “I don’t,” said Bott, “but it helps to increase the tension in films, and completely ignores the calibration issue, and whether there are any small screws left over.”

  “So, you could miss?”

  “More tension,” replied Bott, “Will or won’t the target survive? Always a good one.”

  “But it’s only me who is worried; we’re not actually in a film.”

  “Yet,” added Bott. “Anyway if you think you can do better, you take the shot.”

  “With my physique,” said Scaly, regarding his segmented body and stumpy legs. “Are you joking?”

  “Eh bien,” said Bott, “quit moaning and let me do my job. I may not be as bright as you, but I have my talents, and assembling sniper rifles is one of them.”

  “Of course,” said Scaly. “Proceed, and I’ll keep a lookout.”

  Ten minutes later, the rifle was assembled, and Bott peered through the scope. “He’s there,” he said.

  “Good, shoot him.”

  “A moment; he’s got some tart on his knee.”

  “What flavour?”

  “I can’t tell from here, but she looks well tasty.”

  “Then, shoot them both, Bott.”

  “Could do, but can’t be sure of hitting $mith (sic) in the right place. Anyway, we’re only contracted for one assassination; we would not be paid for the extra one.”

  “I thought you were okay with collateral damage.”

  “Not when it involves totty... Right, she’s getting off.”

  “I wondered what she was doing on his knee.”

  “Now there's a bloke, and… another bird come in. I still don’t have a clear shot. Bugger this, it’s like Piccadilly Park Corner Circus. Shit, the big guy is there too. I can’t shoot through him. I’ll have to wait until they settle down.”

  * * *

  Half an hour later, the conference table was stable as the meeting progressed. “Right, I’m going to make the kill,” said Bott squinting through the rifle sights.

  “Good. Ensure it is a permanent execution.”

  “Permanent execution? Isn’t that one of those oxymoron things, you know, like when they say ‘fairly unique’. The point being that ‘unique’ means that there’s only one.”

  “It’s not an oxymoron; it could be a solecism, a tautology or a recursion, but we aren’t here to discuss the finer points of grammar.”

  “Sorry I forgot. Shall I take the shot?”

  “Are you sure of a slaying?”

  “Of course. How can I miss when my body has this much implanted technology?”

  “Calibration perhaps; when were you last calibrated?”

  “What’s calibration?”

  “Yes, how could you miss?” Scaly sighed. “Fire when ready.”

  “I love my job.” Bott sighted on the middle of Tom’s forehead and squeezed the trigger.

  Assassination

  The Fountain Blows

  The Argon Dissolves

  T

  om was sitting at the conference table, listening to Pete’s plans for engine modifications to the Skagan ships so that they could get them into space. “What we really need though,” he was saying, “is a source of power which is light, yet controllable. The idea of burning chemicals to give enough thrust to get a ship into the upper atmosphere is not really ‘rocket science’ is i
t?”

  There were sage nods around the table as people considered the paradox. Nods then turned to gasps of horror as ‘almost’ simultaneously, Errorcode’s fountain exploded, the window shattered and Tom toppled backwards in his chair.

  * * *

  At the very instant Bott squeezed the trigger, the fountain triggered, sending a jet of water high into the air. For a moment, the view of the building was obscured by spray. The bullet went through it and shattered the conference room window.

  “Bugger, what happened?” Bott shook his head, and a loose washer rattled ominously.

  “No idea,” replied Scaly. “It must be a defence system that we were not informed about. Curse them. Do you think you got the kill?”

  “I’d rather not wait to find out; we are rumbled.” Bott indicated a troop of black-clad soldiers issuing from the main door of the building. There was a-shouting of orders and a-pointing of fingers, most of them directed up towards the knoll. As the agents hastily retreated, a mortar bomb exploded on top of the bench, excavating a small crater and scattering mud and pieces of wood. They saw no more as they plunged back into the jungle. There were whoops of delight and cries of ‘real insurgents at last’ from their pursuers, as what seemed like a whole army streamed up the knoll and began shooting indiscriminately in their general direction. Bullets tore through the undergrowth.

  “Leave yourself, save me,” muttered Scaly, selfishly. “I’ll see you at the boat. We have to split up.”

  “I’m already splitting,” said Bott. “The bits of aluminium they patched me up with are coming loose.”

  “Then, you go; don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine.” Scaly went on all thousands and slithered into the undergrowth. Bott put his head down, engaged his turbo drive and ploughed through the foliage towards the beach.

  Sounds of pursuit had faded into the distance when Bott made it safely back to the boat. It bobbed gently at anchor, glowing a little more that he had expected. The hull had taken on a sickly green hue, which reflected off the clear blue water like a corporate mission statement right before the CEO throws all the money away on toxic investments. He paddled out to the cruiser and heaved himself aboard, noticing with concern the fizzing coming from his metal legs as the corrosive elements the boat had absorbed from the quarantined ships did their work.

  He was about to start the engines when he remembered the TCA motto, ‘Never leave an arthropod behind—you never know when you might need to know the time.’ “Hell,” he muttered. “I’ll get the engines ticking over ready for when my partner turns up.”

  He did not have to wait long. “Ahoy,” came the challenge as the multi-legged agent forged his way towards him like a sand-worm out of the film, ‘Dune’. “Get the boat moving. They’re right behind me.”

  Scaly hit the water at the same time as Bott threw him a rope. He gripped it with a few hundred feet and his comrade engaged the engine and pushed the accelerator as far down as it would go. A squad of soldiers burst out of the trees, rocket-launchers and lethal carbines at the ready.

  “Go,” shouted Scaly as he hauled himself out of the water.

  “They’ll blow us to pieces,” said Bott hopelessly.

  “Better to die escaping than have to do all that paperwork to explain what we are doing here.”

  “Right. Perhaps they won’t shoot for fear of hurting the guard jellyfish.” Bott heaved at the accelerator again. The engine roared but the boat didn’t move.

  “The anchor. Have you pulled up the anchor?”

  “Shit, no,” said Bott. “Take the wheel and I’ll go and do the needful.” He pelted across the deck and heaved on the chain disappearing into the water towards the anchor. It came up easily, sizzling and frothing, and glowing nicely. “Why aren’t we moving? The engines are running at full power.” He peered over the stern of the boat. There was a stream of bubbles coming up from where the propeller should have been, but these bubbles smelt acidic. He coughed as the gas got into his ‘Darth Vader’ branded breathing apparatus. All he could see of the prop was the stub of the axle. “Oh dear,” he said, and put his hands up for the benefit of the approaching troops. “I hope they think it was all a joke.”

  Landing

  Bott Surrenders

  Ale is consumed

  I

  n the ruins of the conference room, Caryl was at Tom’s side. “Tom, what’s happened?”

  The CEO lay unmoving in his chair on the floor. A slow trickle of blood oozed out of the side of his head. The others crowded around, and Tanda burst in, gun at the ready.

  “Sorry I’m late for the meeting.” She scanned the chaos. “Insurgents!” she said, “really this time. I think the troops have gone after them. They won’t get away. Oh…” She noticed the prone form on the floor and the anxious people gathered around; all that is except for Montague Errorcode, who was standing with a half-smile on his face and his arms folded. Caryl was sobbing.

  “Someone’s shot him; my lovely man; someone’s killed him.”

  “Shit happens,” said Errorcode. “That’s business for you.”

  “Did you have anything to do with this?” Tanda accused the man.

  “I wish I had,” said Errorcode wistfully, “but no, I did nothing at all.”

  “I might have known,” spat Amber, “You’re very good at doing that aren’t you?”

  “Babe, you’re soaking my shirt,” said Tom dazedly. “What happened, I’m all wet? Was that the fountain? Monty, you may need to revisit your calculations.”

  Caryl stopped sobbing and gave Tom a worried look. “Are you all right, pet rabbit? Let me check you for damage.”

  “No, that bit seems unharmed,” said Tom removing her hand from inside his trousers, “but what’s this?” He regarded a flat piece of metal embedded in the back of his chair, a fraction to the right of where his head had been.

  “It’s a bullet, Sah,” said Vac, coming into the room, his carbine at the ready. “Stay down, Sah.” He put his foot on Tom’s chest and sighted through the pillar of water now spraying the front of the building and the room. “The grassy knoll,” he said. “It would be.” He galloped towards the door, yelling, “Insurgents!”

  “I said that,” said Tanda, sounding slightly peeved.

  Vac’s voice was answered by many others as the rest of the Skagan security people leapt into action and poured out of the building in hot pursuit. “We’ll have the bastards,” shouted somebody. “They won’t get away alive.”

  “We’d better not kill them then,” shouted somebody else, “We don’t want them getting away ‘dead’.”

  “The guard didn’t muster for me,” said Tanda, “but then I am only a girl.” She glowered, daring anyone to comment, so that she could vent her anger upon them.

  “I think it was really because Vac was on site,” said Caryl kindly. “You know how the Skagans are sticklers for the chain of command. If he’d been away they would have obeyed you instantly.”

  “Says you.”

  “I think we’d better adjourn the meeting,” said Tom, struggling shakily to his feet. “This room seems a bit too tropical now, with the heat and the water pouring in from the fountain. Oh, damn them.”

  “What?” said Caryl, steadying him and pulling out the splinter of wood, stuck in the side of his head.

  “They blew up my seat on the grassy knoll. How am I going to think, now?”

  “Don’t worry,” said the girl, “I can do your thinking for you.”

  “You’re an angel,” said Tom, staggering out of the room with his arm around her shoulder. “What would I do without you?”

  He did not notice the glances exchanged between Amber and Tanda as they followed the couple out into the corridor.

  * * *

  On the beach, a squad of smart leather-clad soldiers idly regarded the large machine-man holding his hands up in surrender. He gave them a few minutes and then shouted, “Don’t shoot, I’m unarmed.”

 
; “No, don’t shoot,” muttered one of the soldiers. “We don’t want him getting away.”

  “Throw us a rope then,” shouted another of the troopers. “We’re not coming in there after you. And you can chuck that cannon overboard, and the throwing-knife, and the pistol under your arm and the larger pistol in your belt and the small gun in your sock that isn’t there.”

  “It’s not there,” shouted Bott. “It dissolved when I climbed aboard. Here’s the hawser.”

  The rope was caught eagerly, and the cruiser heaved safely up on to the beach. Bott jumped ashore and was forced to his knees with hands behind his head. “Now who are you?” he was challenged.

  “Agent Bott from the Temporal Conduct Authority. I believe I have immunity from prosecution in cases such as this. Please take me to your leader... if he isn’t dead that is,” he added hopefully.

  “Fortunately for you, he isn’t,” said a soldier in an even smarter uniform than the others. “At the moment, your only crime is the destruction of company property and the water bill. We are on a meter you know.”

  “I had nothing to do with that.”

  “We shall see, at the tribunal,” said a large blond man in a uniform that exceeded ‘smartness’ as a description. “I am Colonel Vac. I’m in charge here.” He regarded Bott thoughtfully. “So you came alone?”

  “Of course,” sneered Bott. “This is not an invasion.”

  “You are correct,” said Vac. “For an invasion…” he consulted his J-Pad, “…you need at least four people. What we apparently have here is ‘Trespass with intent to yodel’. Are you sure you are alone? My men thought they saw something else with you on the grassy knoll.”

  “Quite alone,” said Bott.

  “Quite,” said Vac thoughtfully, “You said ‘quite’; that suggests there is someone with you. Search the ship, lads.”

  “I say.” A naked man with his arm around a naked girl appeared on deck. “What’s all the rumpus? Oh by Jove what a spiffing old beach.”

  The girl giggled. “Spiffing, Fluxy… I could do with some more of that.”