In which a plot develops
T
om pressed the call button for a second time. “Where is my Chief of Security?”
“You gave Vac permission to have a holiday, sir.” Amber looked up from her notepad.
“By the way, did you have a good break? You are back early.”
“All that dancing and singing and having a good time, sir. Too much for me. I miss the numbers, and the political intrigue of big business.”
“I’m trying to stop all that.”
“I think it would spoil the company, sir.”
“Heard any rumours recently then?”
“Nothing that I didn’t start myself, sir. The I.C. girls lap it up. Saves having to waste effort on memos. I tell them what I want to share, and it’s around the company in minutes. The rumour mill is the most efficient form of communication.”
“I.C.?” said Tom. “Remind me.”
“It’s what used to be called ‘Human Resources’ when management cared bugger all for their staff.”
“I.C., I see,” said Tom. “Rumours though; that’s what I’m worried about. How does anyone know what the management is really thinking? Without that shared knowledge, how can we make progress, pull everyone together, move towards a common goal?”
“Previously, it hasn’t mattered,” said Amber. “They know what the oxymoronic phrase, ‘management thinking’, is all about: screw the employees, screw the customers and maximise our bonuses.”
“Haven’t I changed all that?” Tom said ruefully.
“I suppose so, but old habits are exterminated with exertion. I tried sending memos, but the original staff just laughed and didn’t believe a word anyway, and the new staff used them to make paper planes and daisy chains.”
“Yes, got to keep the loonies on the path,” said Tom, humming one of his favourite tunes. “Perhaps I should stand up in front of them and say something?”
“Like what? The company is profitable, keep up the good work, we’re going into space, big time, and the canteen is now doing pancakes on Tuesdays?”
“Shouldn’t I?”
“They know that already. The staff is so motivated that they do their jobs, love coming here, and consider it a privilege to be off the main continent, which, as you know, is becoming somewhat overburdened with regulations and under-burdened with greenery.”
“Someone told me the adjustments to the Statute now exceed two thousand.”
Amber nodded. “They tried to get a committee together to see about repealing or merging some of the regulations, but there wasn’t a guideline for that and it got voted out when it was put up to the higher authority, ‘The Care-home for Out-of-touch Purposeless Old Faltering Fathers’, for ratification.”
“At least we won’t have any trouble from those worthies in COPOFF,” said Tom. “Nothing useful ever comes out of there, especially anything that could affect us with the business. As long as they get their expenses for being asleep all day, they seem to be happy. I wonder how they are funded. Certainly not through the Government, who seem to be taking all tax income for expenses and holiday homes.”
“Traffic penalties,” said Amber. “The laws have become more severe. They now pick on anyone who won’t fight back, with parking, speeding tickets, and fines for doing just about anything: walking in a clockwise direction, breathing with the mouth open, chewing on a public highway and looking sideways while driving...”
“Remind me not to go to the mainland again,” said Tom. “It sounds worse even than when I collected Suzanne.”
“A lot has happened in the last week. Swingeing new powers, changes of government, Fuksit, washing only permitted on Mondays; that sort of thing.”
“But we are safe here. Nothing to worry about if we don’t leave the island.” Tom did not sound convinced.
“We were until Vac and the security team left…”
“I only gave him permission for a short break. So where is his number two? Someone is usually here as soon as I press the call button. I don’t know how they do it. I’ve checked the corridor, and it’s always empty, but when I get back to the desk and call, he always comes straight in. Did he not leave a deputy?”
“I think they’ve all gone. The Skagans are on group vacation.”
“But I only told Vac.”
“He speaks for all his people, sir, who have done such a fine job in protecting the island.”
“You mean we have no security at all, right now?”
“It might not be a problem. After all, they only spent their days marching around importantly and trying to find things to do.”
“Mostly building walls and fences to protect me from imaginary ‘insurgents’ I think,” said Tom with a smile. “We have a better defence complex here than the main financial reserve on the mainland.”
“You could have stopped them wasting their time, sir. I feel you might be a bit lax in your management style.”
“I didn’t have the heart,” said Tom, “and also it deflected their energies away from that resolute desire of theirs to fight.” He paused. “You don’t suppose they’ve gone on another one of their invasions?”
There was a knock at the door.
“Oh good. There must still be someone left. Avanti.”
“Nice cup of tea, Mr $mith (sic)?” The Catering Officer appeared: small round woman, large round tea-urn on a trolley, short grey cigarette wedged in her ear.
“Oh, Mrs Tuesday. Yes, how did you know?”
“I always make a nice cup of tea.”
“No, I meant, how did you know I was thirsty?”
“Moisture sensors,” she said. “When you get agitated, the humidity around you increases, and then you need refreshment. I’ve brought Bourbons.”
“Are you monitoring my office?”
“Of course.” Mrs Tuesday looked surprised at the question. “How else would I know?”
“When did that happen... and how?”
“One day I came in and you said, ‘I’m gasping for a cup of tea’. I felt I had let you down, and could do more to anticipate your needs, so I got Young Pete to install a humidity scanner.” She pointed at an art-deco stature of a naked lady holding up a bottle of ale. “It’s connected to the Galactinet of Prying Things.”
“That was a present from Mr Nishi of the Nishant Corporation for buying all those Hynishota cars from him so we could fit the Doku-drives to them to make them fly.”
“It was, sir, but Young Pete found it also contained a listening device, which was transmitting conversations from your office over to Nishi’s HQ in Musoketeba. I got Pete to fit a humidity detector instead.”
“Nishi spying on me? How dare he? This is an outrage.”
“Here, have a nice cup of tea. I knew you would need one.” Mrs Tuesday poured two cups of steaming liquid.
Tom felt his annoyance slipping away. “That is exactly what I need right now,” he said, “after this new shock.” He looked at Amber. “Should I send a letter of complaint to Nishi for breaching our trust?”
“Already dealt with,” said Amber, taking one cup and placing Tom’s in front of him. “I took the precaution of setting up a small department to cover it.”
“Is that the new ‘Intermedia and Miscommunications’?”
Amber nodded.
“It must be a Phoistian Slip, saying what it actually does.”
“Are you referring to the great Oilflig Phoist, the founder of Civilisation and Opportunism?” said Amber. “What do you mean?”
“If you’ve not heard it before,” said Tom, “a Phoistian Slip is a deliberate lie told to mislead an entire population. As Oilflig himself said, ‘If you can’t fool all of the people all of the time, then you should not work in politics.’”
“In that case, yes. I&M are there specifically to feed a pack of lies to Musoketeba, intended to give them a sense of unease, and therefore better prices for us. We have some fine voice actors on the payroll, and the script writers are exceptional.”
“You knew about this spy device?”
“Of course.”
“And Mrs Tuesday?”
“Quite right, Dearie.” The tea-lady knocked her cigarette out on the side of the trolley. “And Security and I.C. and...”
“That would be everyone apart from me?”
“What about everyone apart from me?” Suzanne strolled in through the door, yawning. “Sorry I’m late, Mrs Tuesday. Did I miss anything on my first day at work? Is it lunchtime yet, and are we still having problems with the door hinges making those sleepy sounds?”
“Don’t you worry your little head about it,” said the woman, kindly. “I’ve only just started the tea round. We were telling Mr $mith (sic) about the humidity detector.”
“Oh, you mean the one in that rude statue which used to have the spying device?”
“Yes, that one.”
“Thank you all,” said Tom with a sigh. “Suzanne, if you go off with Mrs Tuesday, perhaps she can teach you to get up earlier, and also make a decent cuppa. Is that okay, Mrs Tuesday?”
“You leave her with me, Dearie. I’ll turn her into a new woman.”
“I’m not sure...” Suzanne looked worried.
“You said you wanted to start anywhere in the company,” said Tom.
“I didn’t mean right at the bottom.”
“This is not the bottom,” said Tom quickly, as the tea-lady’s face clouded. “Mrs Tuesday is an essential member of the executive team. Her work in morale and communications is without compare. Stick with her and learn how a company really does operate.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Mrs Tuesday, letting her breath out sharply. “I was going to explain to your... wife, that tea and coffee are only part of the job. Come along Mrs $mith (sic), there is much I can teach you.”
“A good cup of tea,” said Tom, smacking his lips, as the door closed behind the catering ladies.
“It always is, sir,” said Amber. “Nobody makes it like Mrs T.”
“Back to Security, though. Are you telling me that all the Skagans, and therefore my protection forces, have gone?”
“I can check. I’ll call up the input from the cameras over the Skagan village at the end of the island.”
“I thought we had those disconnected after we found that the engineers had rigged up a feed into the Skagan shower room, and were watching the late-night activities, instead of working.”
“They learnt a lot of new techniques, sir. A happy engineer is a productive engineer, and with equal opportunity, they were all taking the opportunity.”
“That would also explain why one of our largest invoices came from the Birth Control Clinic.”
“Yes, sir.”
Amber switched on the security monitor and checked several of the images. She looked at Tom apologetically. “It appears that the village is empty of Skagans, and everything else apart from the company tumbleweed.”
Tom stood up, spilling his tea, where it started to soak into the highly polished surface of his desk. “Oh my Phoist, I’ve just thought. If the security teams have gone, what is happening to the people incarcerated at Guacamole Cove?”
“Our secure detainment centre and holiday camp?”
“Didn’t we imprison a load of folk who wanted to do us mischief?”
“Originally yes, but they soon found out that being waited on hand and foot, having continuous entertainment and lots of sex, all expenses paid, was preferable to a lifetime of insurgency. The guards were replaced by catering staff long ago. If anyone thinks about escaping, they apply to the relocation committee and we fly them back to the mainland. They usually want to return immediately after they see what’s going on over there, of course. The grass is always greener... actually that really is true; they don’t have grass over there anymore. We have quite a long waiting list of re-applicants now.”
“Nothing to worry about, then?”
“Not from the Cove, sir, but I’ve just been informed there is a deputation from TBP Traffic Collection awaiting access. They need to see you, regarding paying a fine or two.”
“How did they get past all our defences?”
“I think Vac might have switched off the automatic systems before he left. He always did have a tidy nature.”
“Tell them I’m not in.”
“Tell who?” The door burst open and two men dressed as parking attendants entered the room. “We are looking for a gent called ‘the Magus’ and some dude that goes by ‘Thomas Orville Sapristi Smith’.”
“Never heard of them,” said Tom, slipping his nameplate under the desk. “Are you sure you’ve got the right place?”
“Says here,” said one of the men, inspecting a note attached to his clipboard.
“And how did you get on the island? There were defences.”
“Yeah, we lost a few vehicles to missiles, before we took to the water.”
“And after those ships leaked all the toxic chemicals, boats have been dissolving in the pollution slick before they get here.”
“Yeah, we lost a few more ships when their hulls melted. We’ve come over on plastic lie-lows—great if you can hold your breath and keep your hands out of the water.”
“Full marks for ingenuity,” said Tom amiably. “I expect you’d like a cup of tea...”
“Tea?” said Suzanne, pushing the trolley into the room. “Mrs Tuesdays pro-active listening devices triggered five minutes ago, so she sent me in. I made it myself.”
“Perfect,” said Tom. “Please serve our guests first.”
Suzanne nodded, and handed round the cups. The liquid came out thick and dark. “It may be a bit strong,” she said apologetically.
“We like it that way,” said one of the men, taking a sip. A strange expression came over his face. His colleague joined him and tasted his own drink.
“It’s one of Mrs Tuesday’s special teas,” said Suzanne. “I believe it’s grown on the Steppes of Watford. A hardy plant that thrives in those adverse conditions, I am told.”
“It would have to be,” said Tom, gazing at the bodies of the two attendants in their final death throes. “I think you probably have a bit to learn in the tea making profession. Does Mrs Tuesday know?”
“I am aware, dearie,” said the rotund refreshment engineer, as she entered with a sack barrow. “I’ll dispose of these for you. You don’t want them going smelly and sullying the congenial atmosphere.”
“Mrs Tuesday,” said Tom sternly. “Did you poison these good fellows, who were only pursuing the course of gainful employment?”
“What, murder the parking supervisors you mean?”
“That too. Why?”
“They were for fining the company more than it actually earns, on trumped-up charges for vehicle storage. The scam has been going on for a while now. TBP Carparks is taking over all the major amenities.”
“How long have you known?”
“Me, I’m only a tea-lady. What would I know about political intrigue? My main concern is if they annex the company, who will really appreciate a good cuppa.”
“Are they likely to do that?”
“This is the invoice.” She prised the clipboard out of the already petrifying hands of one of the corpses and handed it over to Tom. He showed it to Amber.
“More than we make in a year, I’m afraid,” she said. “It says the alternative is for us to sign the company over to TBP.”
“Rubbish,” said Tom. “They can’t do that... can they?”
Amber rummaged through a large book she had retrieved from under the table leg. “The country is supported by these new edicts, and so was your desk. The 2008th Adjustment to the new Statute of Sapristi Law says they can. It’s the ruling now. It also says that former owners can be taken into custody and tried for mismanagement. The ultimate penalty is apparently a huge payoff and the right to plunder any pension fund you see fit, as long as you don’t mind people throwing stones at your windows.”
“That’s not ethical,” said Tom.
“It is, according to the 2009th Adjustment, issued last week.”
“Bugger that. We will resist and fight off any takeover.”
“Sorry, dearie,” said Mrs Tuesday, bringing a hand-held screen out from under her apron. “We don’t have anything available to resist with at the moment, and the car-parking foundation appears to have mobilised the whole Sapristi armed forces.”
“I thought those guys were on strike over places to store their tanks without having to pay.”
“Not any more. Since the collapse of the taxation system, everything is pay-as-you-go. TBP has funded the mobilisation of the army and navy. The air force is still on strike because they don’t like the look of the Hynishota Stealth PU35s replacing the current strike aircraft. Apparently, they get airsick even before they get in the planes.” Amber checked her j-phone information readout. “As we speak, it seems that the slick-sweepers are clearing a way through the toxic flotsam on the ocean, and are on their way with a full invasion force.”
Tom looked around helplessly. “What can we do?”
“We leave,” said Mrs Tuesday. “Take the management team and get out of here. I’ve already got a stock of the special coffee beans loaded, and the Magus is waiting with the ship.”
“Ship?”
“The Fukeds Belle has returned.”
“I thought it was out in the cosmos enjoying life on the seven galaxies, crewed by the Swedwayland Ladies’ Topless Football Team?”
“It was, but I sent a distress call and brought her back. The pilot didn’t argue. Apparently, the ladies had returned home after their country apologised for not paying them as much as the men, despite the fact there were a lot nicer to look at, and didn’t spend all their time rolling on the ground pretending to be injured. Anyway, I believe there are just the Skagan outcasts, Groat and Spigot on board at the moment. They need us; we need them. I think we should leave, sir. I’ve gathered the team.”
“Including Montague Errorcode?”
“Oh no.” Mrs Tuesday took a step backward in horror, and banged her foot on a parking attendant, who by now had nicely calcified. “I’ve told Monty he’s in charge, and can look out for new ownership. He seemed very pleased. I expect that will change when, as the new owner of the company, he has to deal with the outstanding fines, disgrace and incarceration.”
“Good, but what about these guys here? If TBP find we’ve murdered their reps, we will be in big trouble.”
“I’ll leave them on the fountain outside. Nobody will realise they aren’t more of the statues.”
“Oh my Phoist,” said Tom. “Then what about those sculptures of the telecoms engineer, auditor and estate agent out there on the rockery? They aren’t really...?”
“We should leave,” said Mrs Tuesday as various explosions resounded across the campus. “That will be the TBP shock troops invading. Without Mr Vac, I’m afraid we have no defence.”
The room shook. Ceiling plaster and dead rodents fell around them.
“At least this office is protected,” said Tom. “Vac assured me that it would withstand a nuclear blast.”
“I think he just meant the window,” said Amber, as the walls began to collapse. “It’s time to use the secret passage to escape.”
“I don’t think we’ve got a secret passage,” said Tom. “I asked for one, but Vac said it was too dangerous. It could become a way for insurgents to sneak in and murder me, he said.”
“We use the secret passage,” said Mrs Tuesday.
“There really is a secret passage? He was lying to me?”
“For your own good, I expect,” said Mrs Tuesday.
“You always did think the world of him.”
“He’s wonderful,” said the tea-lady, taking on a dreamy expression. “But how else do you think he was able to get to you so quickly each time you mentioned his name.”
“But why didn’t he tell me about the secret passage?”
“Then it wouldn’t be secret, would it?”
“True. Do you know how to open it?”
“That was a secret too. He didn’t tell me...”
At that moment, the wall behind the comfy executive sofa collapsed under another salvo from a TBP warship dissolving slowly in the bay. A gaping hole was revealed, with a passage leading downwards.
“That will be it then,” said Mrs Tuesday. “Will somebody give me a hand with this tea trolley?”
“I think it will be okay to leave the urn behind,” said Amber, handing Tom his ‘England World Cup Runners Up 2105’ commemorative pen to take with him. “We will never get it down all those steps, through the rotating knives and over that shark pit.”
“Mr Vac likes his security,” said Mrs Tuesday. “If the trolley stays, I stay. I’m too old to dodge rolling boulders and trenches full of barbed wire. You young people get on your way. I’ll hold off the invaders with a nice cup of tea and some of Suzanne’s rock-scones...”
“I should have used less curry powder I think,” said Suzanne reflectively. “Are you sure you’ll be okay, Mrs Tuesday?”
“Don’t you worry about me, dearie. I’ve seen off worse than a few parking attendants playing about in boats.”
“Then we should leave,” said Tom.
“I’m staying too,” said Amber. “If Monty is in charge, he will need a good accountant to make sure that his tax returns are in order, and get him arrested for embezzlement and generally weasely bookkeeping.”
“But...” Tom stopped as he saw the grin on Amber’s face.
“I’ll let you know when it’s safe to return,” she said.
“Then we should go.” Tom put his arm around Suzanne’s waist. “Unless you want to stay?”
“I follow the money,” she said. “And at the moment you still have some. Should that change of course...”