It Might as Well be String Theory (book 3 of the hexology in seven parts)
Chapter 22: Invisible Car Kills Another

Todd Spectre reread the headline, “Invisible car kills another. Geoff I think we may have to do a recall.” He shoved his round-rimmed glasses further on to his face, as if this were some mark of authority. It usually meant he was serious though. “You can’t be serious Todd, that’s our best seller this month.” But Geoff’s incredulous look across the C.E.O’s desk meant little to the founder of Boy’s Toys Incorporated. And Todd Spectre’s word was final. “See to it.”

Down in Product Development Geoff broke the news. “Boys” he announced loudly, as he swung the glass doors open; that always turned heads. Like ravenous hounds trained to savour a treat, every word Geoff uttered got the pack’s attention. He stood with his thumbs in his red braces, stretching the elastic as he surveyed his team through jet black rimmed glasses. “Mr Spectre has decided to pull the invisible car range, and do a recall.” The hushed room waited on baited breath for their leader’s next move. Was there going to be an arse kicking for the failed product?

Then the tiny twitch on Geoff’s lips turned in to a wide smile, which anyone in the advertising department would pay good money to have on a poster boy. “So that means we’ve got a great opportunity to fill that profit gap; and flood the market with even more fantastic products. I want to see preliminary pitches on my desk by early A.M. tomorrow.” With his one intake of air exhausted Geoff let the glass doors swing shut behind him, as he strode off to organize the damage limitation exercise he would have to head up, with those dam cars Perkins came up with. Geoff made a mental note to start looking for Perkin’s replacement, when the crisis had blown over.

Back in the Product Development, the open plan space had taken on the distinctly divided feel to it, as each man guarded his own little bit of the ‘idea factory’ as Geoff liked to call it. Each man studiously brain storming ideas to bring to the collective that afternoon. That was when the alpha male of ideas would fight for dominance, and the pecking order of the propositions would be decided. If Geoff only had time for the select few ideas, then it would be down to the collective to pick their best of the crop.

Honours may be showered on the one individual for actually getting the best idea, but it was the pride of the whole of Product Development to show their mettle, when Geoff came a calling. Besides which, if it turned out to be a stinker in the long run, it was also down to the poor sap that owned the idea to take the fall as well. Perkins was bricking it, as he tried to think up the mother of all ideas. That was the only way he’d get out of going down the pan.

So each fiefdom mulled over concepts half dreamt, or merely beaten in to existence with mild self-flagellation, and jotting those gems down on whatever their preferred permanent record was. Perkins for instance favoured post it notes of varying colour so as his space became a collage of brightly coloured ideas, he sort solace in the colour therapy; perhaps one was the answer to his prayers. Meanwhile Headings favoured a note pad, flicking each new pearl of wisdom over for perusal later, and scrunching the more ridiculous ones in to a ball, which he launched over his shoulder trebuchet like, with no more aim than a blind pitcher.

Weisberg on the other hand was busy tippy tapping away on a laptop, safe behind his firewall from prying hackers, as he spun wilder and wilder pitches to himself, in the knowledge that he couldn’t run out of physical space to pin his ideas up in, not working under the normal restraint of dimensions. Thus it was that he could surreptitiously add the occasional discarded ejecta off Headings, and add it to his growing pile of winning inventions. Further back in the spacious office other innovation executives worked in their own ways; some in congruent ways to the trio in focus, others in their own unique way. But all were spinning out idea after idea, in the hope of hitting the mother lode of a company saving invention.

And so as we fade to black on this industrious scene of engrossed coexistence, which the department thrives on. Then we fade back in on the exploits of Geoff, as he cursed his way down in a glass elevator that gives breath-taking views of the Californian coast line. Not that Geoff had eyes for the panorama; he was busy compiling the raft of measures that would have to be implemented in double quick time before any stock holders got spooked, and started a stamped. Companies had fallen for lesser disasters, and all because men like Geoff couldn’t keep a tight hold on the reigns.

He reached his desired floor, and with a whoosh of success the doors opened as Geoff’s smile was back in the room; then he strode magisterially in to the legal team’s office. Geoff stood for the briefest moment, as Quentin Bailey put down his newspaper to give Geoff his full attention. Then Geoff broke the news. Quentin gave a shrewd nod and then like a captain of the high seas, he began to bark out orders to his well-trained crew.

With a smile of satisfaction Geoff just turned and left; he knew the recall was in safe hands, for the surgeon like brain of Quentin would handle the crisis with consummate skills, honed over many a year as a successful corporate lawyer. No hint of the company’s name would be besmirched by a clear case of product misuse, no claim would penetrate the armour of his legal team, and in the end Boy’s Toys incorporated would be hailed as the saviour of the day. Quentin’s advertising subdivision would see to that.

With the ball rolling Geoff could breath easy again; so he headed back to his office for a round of virtual golf with a select peer group of dead celebrities, hologramatically reproduced for the V.I.P. golfer to relax with. It was a top seller, and had earned the designer a beach house in Florida. The tech monkeys would be proud of their achievements, if only the genetically engineered geniuses that actually created the products Boy’s Toys incorporated released to the world, knew that there was a world out there in the first place.

Far down in the exorbitantly furnished and ultra secure basement levels, was their world. And as long as they were kept busy and well stocked in pizza, they were happy. Very few people had clearance to venture there; and none outside that select group knew the true nature of the real powerhouse the company relied on. The designers dreamt up the product, the ad-men sold the dream, and Quentin’s team kept it from becoming a nightmare. And all the time no one guessed the true nature of the Developmental Products department.

The consummate skills of the team of ‘special’ secretaries saw to that. Their entire ethos was to redirect, misdirect and tie up any enquiry in to that department in to knots, until the enquirer either gave up in frustration, or found the solution to their problem in the first place. This elite team didn’t deal with the mundane task of slowing communications throughout the company main; their task was solely to protect the department they knew the name of, and nothing else. Specially picked and trained, each member of the special secretaries proudly bore a small pin with the letters SS on it. You really had to be a logical linguist of the highest order to join this elite section. Not even the president of America would stand a chance of getting past them.

By noon Geoff had tired of the dead celebrities, having trounced Bing Crosby to the eighteenth hole. And he was up on the roof getting in a quiet forty lengths in the executive pool, before taking a late lunch with the holo-representation of Paul Atreides, to discuss a rather spicy deal in the Middle East Geoff had lined up. As Geoff raised a glass of sparkling cool water in a parting gesture to his guest, although back in Mr Atreides’ place Geoff was technically his guest, Geoff rose to replace out how his dream team in Product Development were getting on.

Bob Henderson took the holo-call, as he was effectively the group’s representative; not that he held sway over any member. “We’re all equal here” was his motto. He grinned that toothy smile that had Geoff considering his imminent demise, but Geoff knew Bob did a good job, so he put up with the smarmy way Bob spoke. “You’ve caught us at an exiting stage Geoff”, Geoff hated the way Bob in toned his name, but he smiled back none the less.

“We’re just cross brain storming, and I can tell you there’s some pretty cool ideas being flung about, let me get back to you in the A.M. tomorrow like you asked, and see if you replace the platter of products we serve up don’t just tantalise your taste buds.” The boys could stretch it out a bit longer Geoff thought; forgetting he had already given them until tomorrow, as he relaxed in his personal spa. After all it hadn’t been twenty-four hours since the invisible car bomb had dropped. And he ate another slice of Margo’s Malta White truffle and gold pizza.

By three Geoff felt he had done enough for the company for the day; besides which the wrinkles on his fingertips gave him an uneasy moment. Smooth skin equated to success in his book, and anything less than the perfection he expected from his body was a no no in Geoff’s book. So he dried, dressed and descended to the executive car park where his BT5000 sat sparkling in the security lights. He almost shed a tear at the curvaceous lines that encapsulated the gleaming red body of his pride and joy.

Geoff spoke soft words of comfort to the still beast, and in response to his electronically stored voice pattern, the faintest click told Geoff the many security features had been disarmed, as the door opened for him. Then he sat behind the faux leather wheel; nothing died for a boy’s toys product, at least in the manufacturing. That was a hot selling point. Should he drive home? Geoff did enjoy the control of moving up through the gears. And then he remembered the recalled invisible cars; probably not a good idea for an executive to even try the automatic function, given the bottle of Krug private Cuvée Champagne he’d washed down his pizza with. So he pressed the auto pilot button, and even as it’s surface read his living fingerprint the neutral tone of the processor asked, “Your destination Mr Hayes?” “Home James, and don’t spare the horses” chuckled Geoff in jubilant expectation of tomorrow’s meeting with his dream team, in Product Development. The car suddenly sped out of the secure car park, as Geoff considered what to feed the kids tonight.

George loved chicken; he was a Bull Terrier, and was always getting up to antics with Zippy the French bulldog. It was enough to drive Bungle the Caucasian Ovcharka to distraction, but he always seemed to keep his brothers in check. Geoff had no human family, they were wont to cause too much mess, and he adroitly avoided his parents, by tracking their movements and generally staying a time zone or two ahead of them. Geoff finally decided on rabbit, after all Bungle deserved his favourite with what he had to put up with.

As dawn illuminated the curtains in Geoff’s bedroom, he was up and refreshing himself to meet Bob and the boys. By contrast the boys had pulled an all-nighter; so dishevelment washed down with ordered in coffee was en vogue, as the queue for the company washroom to shave and spruce up assembled in drips and drabs. Despite the almost slovenly appearance of the team, spirits were high. Partly from the coffee, but mostly from the great raft of ideas they had forged in the fires of last nights meeting. Bob Had called a halt to the individual brain storming session with his usual witticism. “As my old pop Chuck would say, it’s time to switch the power on and see if we don’t pop a fuse.”

Then the group had emerged from their fiefdoms, and assembled their chairs in the makeshift amphitheatre which Bob stood ringmaster in. “Who wants to start the ball rolling; Perkins?” As Perkins raised his hand in response, a yellow post it note fell off his sleeve, and several pairs of eyes followed its progress to the floor. So they almost missed Perkins’ words as he proudly announced, “Bob I think the next big release for Boy’s Toys incorporated should be Virtual Environment.” Several eyes suddenly flicked up from the yellow square on the floor. Bob gave his reassuring smile, “Sounds great, how about expanding on that thought, and then we’ll do a Q and A on it.”

He nodded for Perkins to carry on. At which Perkins held up his board covered in multi-coloured post it notes, with arrows directing his thought process as he began to explain. “Imagine you’re walking down the street, it’s a shabby part of town, the clouds are gathering, there’s litter blowing by, and even the people you pass seem miserable. Why should you have to live in such a depressing town? Don’t you deserve to be in the centre of a vibrant up beat city? Where the sun always shines, the streets are clean, and the people you meet share your view that the world is a better place to live in? Wouldn’t that just make your day?” He looked around at the group to gauge the mood, as Bob sensing the pitch to be at an end; moved on to the all-important catch out round of the proceedings.

As everyone knew, a designer could dream up a perfect selling point. But that’s not to say they hadn’t seen the glaring mistake in their product. Many an idea got shot down in flames at this point, and it was better to see the short comings now, than when management got to choose the final few offerings. Tanning raised his hand and immediatly asked, “Do people really care what’s going on around them?” And he immediatly regretted his rash opening. “Sure Tanning, you’re so wrapped up in your own little world you’d not need one”, “Yes Tanning, I think the idea does have merit” Bob added to calm the waters, “does anyone have a constructive criticism?”

From the back Jacobs asked “What’s the distraction level of this thing? Would you be able to tell if say a mugger was going to rob you?” Perkins glanced at a red post it note, and looked up beaming. “Good question Jacobs”, as he glared at Tanning. “There are a number of suspicious movement algorithms available on todays market. One could easily be utilised to spot a potential mugger, and in fact display the said villain as an over the top monster. I think I’d react to that, wouldn’t you?” Wallaby raised a hand, “And would there be a social media aspect to this device?”

Again Perkins referred to a coloured square. “The option to augment the view to include texts, calls and even video chat from whatever provider you choose, could easily be an option available to the user. That’s if they want any intrusions impinging on their day. I imagine an almost cartoon like simplicity to the augmentation, but the possibilities are endless, perhaps you’d like to stroll down fifth avenue which had been overtaken by the jungle, and where the cars were all hippos.” And so the questions kept coming until Bob looked at his watch, and realised someone else should get a turn.

“Weisberg, perhaps you’d like to step up to the plate” Bob interceded, turning all the room’s attention to the next designer. He opened up his laptop to display a hologram of his latest creation. “The Hunter” Weisberg said with bravado, as the image of a savage looking rifle floated in full view of the room. “The device visually identifies the target, and tots up your score as you virtually go hunting for whatever game you choose, be it beast or man.” He ended with a dramatic tone, which left the room in awed silence. Then it broke with an exclamation from Nyles “That’s brilliant”, but then he frowned. “But how do you stop the cops from shooting you as a crazed sniper?” Weisberg had the expected question’s answer on the tip of his tongue. “Simple, a G.P.S. signal tells any law enforcements that you’re a good guy.” After that the rest of the crowd warmed to Weisberg’s idea, and he soon got to pass the mantel on to Headings.

“Line feed, never be lost for words again’, he flipped over on to his next page. “Imagine if you will, a device that listens to the conversations going on around you, and searches from a vast database for the best line to follow it. You’ll be the shining wit at any party.” The questions came thick and fast, now the group had warmed up, and Headings parried each cut and thrust of the discussion with ease. Next came O’Doul with a device to help you with your luck at dice. “Probably need to run that by legal’ Bob suggested, “You know with casinos and the like.” After him Nolan introduced his buddy bot, and so the stream of ideas flowed through to the early hours. Until even Bob Henderson decided to call it a night, seeing as it was morning, and he had to pick the final three for presentation to Geoff.

As Bob adjusted his tie, and picked up the now formally written up final proposals from his secretary, Geoff texted him with a reminder that he would be in his office in twenty minutes, and Geoff better have some hot pitches for him to look through. “Bob”, Geoff greeted the Product Development team’s representative, as Bob stepped through the door; his file clutched to his chest. “Sit down and tell me what the boys have dreamt up.” Bob talked his way through the finalists, introducing The Hunter first eliciting a shrewd nod from Geoff; he didn’t mention the progenitor of the product, as it had to stand on it’s own merits.

Next came The Wit-Meister, that name had been an idea of Bob’s, and he rather liked the sound of it. “And option three’ Geoff leaned back musing over the presentation so far, “is Virtual Environment.” Bob explained and expanded on the idea, as Geoff imagined the possibilities; until finally with his fingers pressed together, Geoff stopped him. “Good but I think it should be called My World, it has a more tactile sound to it.” He dismissed Bob with the usual “Good job, and I’ll get back to you with the final decision”; then Geoff sent one copy of the proposals down to Developmental Products for the unseen team to make the prototypes. And finally he put a message through to Mr Spectre’s sectary, to say the proposals were ready.

As it turned out, Todd Spectre was taking a quick skiing holiday, and wouldn’t be back for a week. So after pacing up and down in his office to rid himself of the feeling of frustration, that his swift efforts had been a little too presumptive, that Todd wanted the thing sorted quickly. Geoff reflected that it might give the boffins in Developmental Products time to actually mock up the prototypes for his presentation. And then he took the rest of the day off to walk his dogs. The local park by him had a rainbow fountain his pooched just loved to play in.

In the absence of Todd’s guiding hand the week flew by, and much to Geoff’s relief Quentin’s team had made the term Invisible Car a long forgotten phrase. So with the aid of a team helpers, Geoff organised the assembly of the display stands for the now finished prototypes in Todd’s office, before dismissing them so he could give his pitch to the boss. Then he waited for Mr Spectre to emerge from his inner sanctum, where none but those who serviced it entered.

“Ah Geoff, I’ve been waiting for you”, Todd’s voice preceded the C.E.O. as he swung the double doors open from his private chambers. “What have you got for me today?” Todd beamed the refreshed smile of a man on permanent vacation, even when he was busy making lots of money. With consummate skill Geoff began his pitch with The Wit-Meister, which Todd considered with one hand on his clean-shaven chin, the other one on his elbow. “Nice work Geoff, I can see that getting any party buzzing. Especially when all the guys and a few of the gals have them, but what’s this.” He strode over to the mini shooting range Geoff’s personal advertising team had mocked up for The Hunter. “Not going in for the military contracts are we Geoff? Those sort of toes I wouldn’t want to step on.”

So Geoff ran with that pitch next. And after a quick demo, there was an almost school boy twinkle in Todd’s eyes as he placed The Hunter down, and turned back to Geoff. “You’ve really excelled yourself this time Geoff, but what’s this last treat you’ve got for me?” Beaming, Geoff led Todd in to the augmented world of his dreams. The device itself turned out to be a rather stylish pair of glasses, that any executive would be happy to don; and when Todd finally took them off, he beamed back at Geoff. “I thing we’ve got a winner here, get production rolling, and send me the genius who dreamt this up.”

With a feeling of satisfaction of a job well done Geoff gave Bob a call, “Send the fellow who came up with My World to Todd’s office. He wants to thank him personally.” Then as an afterthought he added, “and send me Perkins”; before he snapped his phone shut, and strode off to his office. There was still the unpleasant task of getting rid of the dolt who caused this mess in the first place.

But after an hour Geoff was still waiting, as he mulled over an executive puzzle made of nice shiny chrome. There came a knock at the door, and Perkins finally entered a little worst for wear Geoff noted, probably knew it was his head on the block and he’d hit the bottle for Dutch courage. But for some reason Perkins was grinning like a Cheshire cat. “Nice to see you at last Perkins, been a bit busy?” Perkins staggered a little and came to rest on a chair over from where Geoff sat. “Mr Spectre wanted to see me Mr Hayes. I’m afraid he did insist on a little drink.” And he grinned sheepishly.

“And do you know what, he’s such a nice man. He gave me a penthouse apartment overlooking Central Park.” Perkins held up four fingers. “That’s the fourth property I been given since I came here. Gee I do like the bonus system”, and he slouched back in his chair. Geoff was not the sort of executive to fail to spot a sea change, and in a heartbeat he beamed his usual business smile. “And I just want to say a personal thank you for saving the company once more Perkins” Geoff chuckled, as he led the unsteady employee to his door; after all business was business.

If you have enjoyed this collection of short science fiction stories, look out for my next edition in this hexology entitled Merry Go Round Broke Down, available soon.