In which Errorcode delivers more Constrictions
T
here was a knock at the main boardroom door at SCT. Tom Two-Dan $mith (sic), mid-thirties, trim, slightly tanned, slightly exasperated, looked up from the holographic four-dimensional spreadsheet he was trying to fathom.
“Come in, Vac.”
The head of the Skagan Head of Security peered around the door.
“It’s okay, Vac, I’ve had the frame strengthened and increased the thickness of the rubber buffers. You should be able to come in safely.”
“Thank you, Sah.” The door flew wide and bounced off the stops. Vac deflected the rebound with his head. There was a sound of splintering wood.
“What can I do for you?”
“Sah, I found this person skulking around outside. I think he may be a subversive, Sah.”
“That’s Montague Errorcode, my Head of Change Management and Risk, Vac. You know that very well.”
“Is it, Sah? He was behaving suspiciously, Sah.”
“That’s how he normally behaves, Vac. He can’t help it. You can put him down now.”
Vac released the man’s collar and he crumpled in a heap.
“And, Vac...”
“Yes, Sah?”
“Would you call Mrs Tuesday and see about getting that heap removed. I don’t know how those doku cows got in here, but they left a right mess after we shooed them off.”
“It would be a pleasure, Sah,” said Vac, as he lifted Errorcode back to his feet. “Where would you like Mrs Tuesday to dump him?”
“No, I meant the heap of dung and advertising leaflets you dropped him in. Since I sent my P.A. on holiday to her home in Newcastle, I seem to have more junk mail than I can handle.”
“Good for the heating bills, Sah. Since they had to make the mail environmentally friendly, mixed with dung, it burns a whole lot better with less carcinogenic fumes. How long has Miss Coles been gone, Sah, if you don’t mind me asking, Sah?”
“Amber left for Honey Singh Airport this morning. She didn’t want to take a holiday, but she has been working without a break for the last year. She was supposed to be looking after Finance, but insisted on also remaining as my P.A.. Anyway, how is the breeding programme going on? Are there any signs of little feet in your village?”
“We have been trying the rhythm method, Sah.”
“I thought I heard drums.”
“That would be the headboards, Sah.”
“You should move them away from the walls. It’s upsetting the programmers, making them use their imagination for a change. However, any results in the procreation front?”
“There may be one or two of the ladies a little larger than before.”
“They were all quite tall, as I recall.”
“It’s difficult to tell, Sah.”
“Keep up the good work.”
“Are you sure you can’t show us what to do again, Sah?”
“I haven’t recovered from last time. What did you actually want?”
“Meant to say, Sah. I believe the gentleman here had something to tell you, Sah.”
“Thank you, Vac. Please return to your duties. What are you working on at the moment?”
“External auditors, Sah. I believe they are not far from cracking. We expect a good result, even if it kills them.”
“Right, I’m sure you know best. That will be all.”
“Thank you, Sah.” The door slammed as he departed, shaking the side of the building. A small glass figurine dropped off a shelf into a strategically-placed basket of cotton wool. Errorcode went to retrieve it.
“I think I might leave it there, Monty,” said Tom, regarding the weasely little man. “Please take a seat.”
“Nice, but it wouldn’t fit in my office,” said Errorcode, as he settled into one of the comfortable sofas.
“Yes, where is your office at the moment?”
Errorcode shot his leader a poisonous glance. “After you evicted Change Management from the coal bunker, the gardeners offered me space in a corner of the potting shed.”
“Unfortunately, when we moved from coal to junk mail as our main fuel, we needed the location for the crèche.”
“But there have been no babies born to the Skagans yet.”
“Sadly, no,” said Tom wistfully, “that’s why it’s so small. Despite all the demonstrations they insist on having, there are still no offspring. Anyway, that aside, are you settling in comfortably?”
“It’s cramped and a bit spidery, but we have a good supply of chewing shallots.”
“I thought I noticed something on your breath,” said Tom, turning up the air-conditioning. “And how are the changes, you are managing?”
“Going swimmingly. Can’t complain.” Errorcode coloured.
“How many have you done in the last quarter?”
“We have maintained a 100 percent success rate.”
“Excellent, but in numbers, how many?” Tom probed.
“Some.” Errorcode slipped lower on the seat.
“Some? Can you be more specific... details perhaps?”
“I guess the main one would be of interest.”
“And what would that be?” Tom leaned back in his chair.
“We have replaced the Change Control System.”
“Wonderful. And what benefits does that bring?”
“Benefits?” Errorcode sat upright.
“Yes, have you improved efficiency, decreased the amount of process, streamlined the workings so that people can do their jobs, instead of having to fill in interminable forms and argue their cases at tribunals before proceeding?”
“Oh, yes, all that of course.”
“And how have you achieved that aim?”
“Of course, the old system was so efficient that all we needed to do was put a modern front end on it.”
“Of course... A new front end?”
“We linked it into ‘Constrictions’. All now done online.”
“That would be ‘Constrictions’, the social media platform nobody could use, that cost eighteen million drachmae, and the one that Pete Young shut down last year?”
“It cost too much to throw away.”
“But the ongoing licence fees were the actual problem.”
“I’ve dealt with that. We aren’t paying them anymore.”
“And that would be mainly because Amber refused to authorise your request for the money?” Tom pointed to one of the elements in the spreadsheet. “She’s also put a note of explanation, but I don’t want to hurt your feelings by reading it.”
“Can you authorise it for me, then?”
“Amber does the finance, and she’s on holiday.”
Errorcode glowered at Tom, which he failed to notice. “It is going to be difficult without paying—no licence fees, no support. What do I do if it goes wrong?”
“As you did last time, I guess,” said Tom. “Get your subordinates to take the blame and you deny everything. How is Mr Gamble, your Risk man, by the way?”
“He resigned after the last time ‘Constrictions’ went wrong.”
“As I recall, it was already wrong. That’s another reason we had to drop it. Anyway, I’ve not got the time to debate. What did you want to see me about, assuming you’ve given up on extra finance?”
“In Miss Coles’ absence, the phones redirect. I picked a call up. It was from the hospital... your wife.”
“Oh dear. What’s happened?”
“They’ve taken her into the rehab wing of Dr Crippin Hospital. She’s asking for you.”
“I thought she was off the drugs and the drink.” Tom sighed.
“Not drugs or drink.” Errorcode wore a satisfied smile.
“Then what?”
“Cake, apparently. She's overdosed on chocolate brownies.”