Sam Hurcom
External Audits
Literary Fiction / Sci-fi
Originally Published in Open Pen, Issue 21 (April 2018)
Alan is an auditor. He runs Market Analyses for the Central Economic Advisory Board. It’s not a board with members; membership was redacted three decades ago. The members of the board were replaced by a series of algorithms, some of the most sophisticated in the world. The Advisory Board’s title was kept to help the public feel easy.
Alan’s job role (CEAB Forecast Auditor V1.1) was audited two months ago. The audit found that Alan’s job could easily be carried out by a drone, but that drones are also far more susceptible to vandalism and acts of aggression from civilians. The predicted repair and maintenance costs for the upkeep of the drone, outweighed potential healthcare costs attributed to Alan being attacked or beaten whilst on duty. Because of this, Alan kept his job.
It was a regular morning and Alan checked the case files on his personal tablet. It was networked directly to the CEAB. He had three cases to attend to that day, average for someone in his position. He left his flat and found a vacant shuttle parked in the street outside. There were very few people around. As he slowly climbed into the shuttle, an automated voice asked for a destination.
‘The CEAB Heritage Site, Saint Mathew’s Monastery.’
The shuttle began moving away silently. A holo-map on the dash indicated the trip would be thirty minutes. Alan used the time to brush up on the Heritage sight’s background. He scanned through information on his tablet. Soon he was outside the city limits and heading into the countryside. He dwelt on how much he didn’t like the greenery and open space.
When he arrived at Saint Mathew’s Monastery, he scanned his retina in the shuttle’s credit machine. The data was sent directly to the CEAB. Alan would regularly receive information on what transport was most cost effective for him to take. A recent fall in liquid hydrogen costs had made shuttle travel reasonably inexpensive. All of Alan’s costs were recorded, so they could be analysed in any future audits.
Alan stepped outside and was met by a stiff, cool breeze. He buttoned up his jacket and shuddered a little. He hated the cold and the smell of wet grass and mud. He trudged over the shale and pebbles that lined the grounds surrounding the church. It was a fourteenth century monastery, one that had had some significance during the protestant reformation. Many Catholic priests had been hidden inside, bringing fine antiquities and treasures to be stored in the vaults and catacombs underground. The monastery had ceased to be a functioning parish almost three centuries before Alan was born, when secularisation had been engrained in national law. Since then, the monastery had been preserved as a heritage site, one run by donations and volunteers.
As Alan stepped into the shadow of the building, he began logging information into his personal tablet. A pale, fat faced man scampered up to him; his forehead was shining, the pits of his eyes jet black. He looked as though he hadn’t slept in days.
He greeted Alan nervously; ‘You must be the auditor for the CEAB.’
Alan nodded. He was jotting a brief description of the building’s exterior for his report.
‘Can I offer you a drink, perhaps coffee or-?’
Alan shook his head. ‘I’m afraid we’re on the clock Mr, Jameson, I assume?’
The pale faced man nodded. He opened his mouth to speak but Alan cut him off.
‘I have a breakdown of your current cash flow and expenditure, as well as the revenue you take in from visitor donations. Once I’ve made an initial assessment of the building, we’ll need to go through some basic information on staff levels, visitor numbers, secondary revenue streams and the costs of maintenance for which you have applied.’
Alan stepped passed the man and walked into the monastery. It felt even colder than outside.
…
After just under an hour, Alan was sat at a wooden table in a small vestibule. Mr Jameson was sat opposite him, appearing close to vomiting. They’d covered all the information Alan needed. In the summary section of his report, Alan had noted the costs the church would require in the subsequent two financial periods to carry out significant structural repairs. Alan completed his audit report; the information began processing instantly.
‘The CEAB will run through all the information and make a conclusion on the audit within several moments. I must stress, Mr Jameson, that all decisions made by the CEAB are final and cannot be appealed. Failure to co-operate with the CEAB on any audit matters will result in criminal prosecution, with a maximum sentence of de-materialisation. Do you need me to repeat any of the CEAB’s terms and conditions?’
Mr Jameson looked petrified. He was over seventy-five and had worked at the Heritage site since he was sixteen. This was the site’s first audit.
‘I… We. Should I not have requested funding for the building repairs?’
Alan shrugged. ‘This site has been code yellow for a few years now, it’s managed to maintain its costs and make a marginal profit for some time. To be honest, I think an audit should have been carried out sooner, but you know how these things go. Any funding requests automatically result in auditing for any subject deemed code yellow or worse.’
Mister Jameson still looked completely baffled. He slumped pathetically on the little stool he’d pulled up to the table. He rubbed his eyes and face; Alan could see that his hands were shaking.
The audit findings appeared on Alan’s screen. He briefly read though the first paragraph.
‘So, in light of the associated costs required to maintain the building in the coming years, weighed against any potential economic benefits that could be achieved from an educational standpoint, plus revenue streams, the CEAB has decided that immediate vacancy and demolition of the premises will be required. Significant savings and revenue creating steps could be made if the land the site stands on, and any subsequent grounds, were sold off to the nearby food processing plant that is based – one second – three miles from here.’
Alan glanced up. Mr Jameson’s face had drained of any remaining colour.
‘What is this – a joke or something. I don’t understand.’
Alan sighed; he needed to get to his next case.
‘The CEAB has determined that even if you were to cut staff back to a minimum for the long-term future, the revenue generated would be insufficient to cover the costs of any maintenance. The site simply isn’t financially viable.’
Alan stood from the table and clambered over the bench he’d been sat on. Mr Jameson was twitching, stammering frantically at him.
‘But this is a place of great historical significance. For years, we have educated people, opened their minds to the great ages of history. You can’t simply tear the place down because it’s too expensive to keep!’
Alan offered out his hand. He got this response from many people who weren’t happy with the findings of an audit.
‘The CEAB owns this site Mr Jameson; it’s no longer cost effective. A summons will be issued within the day for you and all your staff to vacate the premises.’
…
Two hours later, Alan was back in the city. He was heading to the estate of John Batchelor, a wealthy property investor whose Grandmother had spent a brief time as Prime Minister. Alan was two when the state parliament was disbanded. The CEAB was the central governing body now.
The case in question was classified as a ‘Pre-Audit Reconciliation’. The CEAB had concluded that an action or summons was required prior to an audit taking place. In this instance, a decision on a new cross city, light rail expressway had been made, with the new route in question running directly through one of the properties Mr Batchelor owned. The expected economic benefits of building the expressway had been deemed highly lucrative, irrespective of the compensatory costs associated with forcibly removing Mr Batchelor from his private property. Alan didn’t deal with many cases that still involved individual’s directly owning their own homes or businesses. Most properties were now controlled by the CEAB.
When Alan arrived at the estate, he sat silently in the shuttle and stared out the Perspex window. Two tall, plain black gates offered a very limited view of the Victorian era property that stood behind. Everything else was hidden by spotless white granite walls that stood no less than eight feet tall. Alan doubted he would get anywhere beyond the property’s gates.
‘Hold the shuttle,’ Alan said calmly. ‘I shan’t be very long.’
The shuttle’s automated voice acknowledged the request. As Alan stepped out, he left the door open behind him.
He strode over to the formidable gates and found an intercom system nestled in a thick stone pillar. He pushed the intercom and waited patiently. After thirty seconds or so, a gruff voice greeted him clearly.
‘Mr Batchelor, I have a CEAB summons to serve with regards to a new expressway line that has passed a pre-audit evaluation. I also have an impact assessment on proposed actions to be taken on this site. May I come in to discuss this with you.’
Alan barely finished before the voice began yelling through the intercom.
‘There will be no expressway coming through this property. The CEAB is already aware of that. Who the hell do they think they are sending a goon like you to come to my property and threaten me with a summons!’
Mr Batchelor continued in this vain for several minutes, though his language grew increasingly more vulgar. Alan said nothing but jotted down a few notes on his tablet. Mr Batchelor began referring to the elite connections and acquaintances he had throughout the city. Alan sighed, as Mister Batchelor continued to refer to the CEAB as though it were a group of men and women sitting around a stained oak table, making decisions like the governments of old.
A sharp gust blew against the back of Alan’s neck. He realised then that he had left his coat in the shuttle. He wondered how cold the server room that housed the CEAB’s core databank and system processors was this time of day. He wondered if the six service engineers that managed the heart of government around the clock, were feeling as cold as he was now.
Alan stood in silence until Mr Batchelor became so enraged, he began coughing hysterically down the intercom. Alan was able to speak as the coughing fit subsided.
‘I must stress Mr Batchelor, that all decisions made by the CEAB are final and cannot be appealed. Failure to co-operate with the CEAB on any audit matters will result in criminal prosecution, with a maximum sentence of de-materialisation. Do you need me to repeat any of the CEAB’s terms and conditions to you before we discuss the summons?’
Mr Batchelor began screaming down the intercom. The profanity was completely nonsensical.
Alan stepped back over to the shuttle, quickly typing on his tablet. The shuttle’s automated voice asked for a destination repeatedly - Alan ignored it. He updated the case file and highlighted a small red flag located at the top of the case e-folder. Alan informed the CEAB of non-compliance to its summons. Immediate steps would be taken, and an Enforcement Squad would be sent out to the premises within the hour. Alan had seen the Enforcement Officers carry out their work several times before.
Mr Batchelor didn’t have long to reconsider his position.
…
Alan felt flat knowing his second case remained unresolved. He sat in the back of the shuttle, enraptured by a dark mood that steadily intensified like a slab of solid metal being heated to boiling point. When the shuttle’s automated voice asked if he would like any music, Alan grunted disapprovingly and slouched lower in his seat.
His final case was across the city, close to an automated shipping port that dealt with super scale freight carriers. He was heading to a detention centre under the jurisdiction of the CEAB’s Enforcement Officers. It was not unusual for Alan to visit the detention centre; he was there every other day.
The shuttle drive took several hours, and Alan was updated with some information regarding his first case of that day. A demolition team had won the bidding to carry out all necessary work to tear down Saint Mathew’s Monastery, and papers had been signed with regards to ownership of the land.
Alan didn’t feel any cheerier knowing this; leaving a case unresolved could take days to get over.
Dusk was setting in when he arrived at the detention centre. He scanned his retina in the shuttle’s credit machine and marched towards the reception. He was met by someone he didn’t know; a young woman, who barely looked twenty-five.
Alan didn’t introduce himself.
‘Where’s Fiona Mathews, she usually deals with my case files?’
The young woman blushed a little.
‘She’s sick today; I did notify the CEAB as soon as I was made aware of it.’
Alan scowled. He hadn’t checked his tablet for the last half hour of his journey, though he had no doubts the personnel change would have been top of his notifications. He stepped passed the young woman and began navigating the labyrinth of corridors that made up the detention centre. There were very few guards on duty. As a V1.1 Auditor, Alan had access to all areas of the centre. He breezed through the security checkpoints to the blocks holding detainees.
The young woman paced quickly behind Alan. She directed him to the relevant block. They stopped briefly next to a small window that looked into a harshly lit, grey room. There were six children in the room, all boys ranging from five to thirteen. Alan stepped into the room next door and sat down at a smooth, steel table.
He began typing on his tablet.
‘I assume the detainees were found in the shipyard?’
The young woman had barely sat down or composed herself. She seemed flustered - Alan could tell this was one of her first few cases.
‘Yes. Yes, they were, yesterday afternoon at around five fifteen.’
‘Have they disclosed their nationalities?’ Alan could feel a headache lurking at the base of his skull. He always got one when a case was left unresolved.
‘Eurasian. Certainly East of our borders.’
Alan nodded. Many people from outside the CEAB’s international zone would smuggle children over the border via boat or transport carrier. They believed the CEAB could provide some form of life better than the misery that ensued outside the sphere of a globalised economy. Alan dreaded to think what the world was like in such wastelands. From the state of the detainees in the other room, and the many others he saw on a weekly basis, things were worse than he imagined.
‘Do they speak Englo-America?’
The woman shook her head. ‘None of them have said a word?’
Alan continued to input data.
‘What did the health scans show.’
The woman fidgeted with her hands awkwardly. ‘Severe malnutrition, particularly with the youngest two. We believe the oldest may have
pneumonia, though that would need to be confirmed by a physician. There are signs on all of them that they have experienced physical violence and trauma in the past six months or so.’
Alan paused typing. ‘They’ve been abused?’
The young woman shrugged. ‘It’s possible, more likely they’ve been victims of a larger conflict or war in their area.’
Alan continued to type. He didn’t speak for a few minutes as he continued to feed data to the CEAB mainframe. Audits of this nature required far greater insight than the likes of his other cases that day. Luckily, Alan had a lot of experience in this area.
‘Were any of them armed?’
The woman blinked bemusedly. ‘Armed?’
Irritated, Alan tapped on the table.
‘Armed. Carrying weapons of some kind?’
The woman shook her head, before stammering: ‘One was carrying a pen knife, but I can’t see how that could affect the–.’
Alan interrupted her.
‘Were they carrying any valuables? Jewellery, old currency?’
The young woman became irate. ‘Of course not. They’ve come from the most deprived places on Earth what could they possibly have with them!’
Alan didn’t answer. The questions continued in this fashion for over thirty minutes. Alan’s headache continued to worsen, and he felt a growing urge to close the case quickly and successfully. He thought about what he would eat for dinner that night.
When all the data was successfully input, Alan leant back and waited for it to be processed.
‘The CEAB will run through all the information and make a conclusion on the audit within several moments. I must stress that all decisions made by the CEAB are final and cannot be appealed. Failure to co-operate with the CEAB on any audit matters will result in criminal prosecution, with a maximum sentence of–.’
‘When will you send for a physician to see to the children?’
Alan glared at the young woman; he hated being interrupted at the best of times.
‘Failure to co-operate with the CEAB on any audit matters will result in criminal prosecution, with a maximum sentence of de-materialisation. Do you need me to repeat any of the CEAB’s terms and conditions?’
The woman shook her head and stood from her chair. She began to pace around the small room.
‘They need a doctor,’ she mumbled nervously. Alan didn’t answer. ‘What do you think will happen to them.’
Alan rubbed his eyes and spoke bluntly.
‘That is the purpose of the audit. A decision will be made in moments. And could you please stand still or sit down again.’
‘I understand what the audit is for!’ The young woman continued to pace the floor quickly. ‘I’m asking you as an auditor what you think is likely to be the outcome?’
Alan took a deep breath to settle his voice. He was starting to feel very agitated.
‘It is not my job to have an opinion. It is my job to audit on behalf of the CEAB. Further questions of this nature will be noted in my post audit summary should you continue.’
The young woman said something under her breath; Alan chose to ignore it. After what felt like an eternity in silence, the audit findings appeared on Alan’s screen. The young woman sat down hurriedly and lent closer to Alan in anticipation. Alan briefly read through the first paragraph of the audit findings.
‘So,’ he began calmly. ‘In light of the current physical state the detainees are in, the likelihood of their homeland of origin, their current or perceived lack of education, any potential costs associated with physical rehabilitation, any potential costs associated with psychological evaluation and rehabilitation due to the nature of their violent upbringing.’ Alan took a breath. ‘As well as their potential intelligence aptitude and employment prospects, weighed against their risk of becoming latent criminals, or falling into illegal narcotics addiction, the CEAB has deemed that immediate de-materialisation ending their current state of existence, will be required. There is little to no economic value into granting the detainees citizenship rights, nor is there any sensible reason to send them back beyond the CEAB’s borders.’
Alan acknowledged the request for a De-Matter team to be dispatched to the detention centre immediately and saw that they would arrive within the hour.
‘The good news is that the De-Matter team will be here very shortly, so this case will be closed and off your hands by the end of today.’
Alan looked up from his tablet, feeling a little better knowing the case had been closed without any difficulties.
The young woman was shaking badly. Tears had welled in the corners of her eyes. Her mouth was stretched open in a horrified, silent groan. Alan coughed uncomfortably; he hated dealing with people who were so unprofessional.
‘Look you’re clearly new at this and I understand it can be tricky to adjust to the pace and nature of how these decisions are made. But they are made with the interests of our economy at heart. The detainees have no economic value and if we don’t judge people in that sense, where are we left?’
The young woman crumpled inwards, her arms curling slowly around her thin frame. She went to stand from the table but seemed to fall limply back into her chair. She was looking at Alan as if he were a monster.
‘You can’t! You can’t simply kill them.’
Alan stood up without a word. He hated when people used such provocative language; it was beyond good taste and professionalism. As he stepped around the table, he quickly jotted down the young woman’s comments for his post audit summary.
‘Look can you tell Fiona to direct message me when she is back. It’s one thing for her to be sick but this is very improper. I’ll be having some words with her regarding your conduct.’
With that, Alan stormed out of the room. He walked passed the window and caught sight of the detainees. They were all sat or lying on the floor. Alan would have his post audit summary written up before the De-Matter team sent through their invoice.
Alan’s headache was now full blown. As he emerged from the detention centre, he rubbed his forehead and temples. Two out of three of his cases had been resolved. Anything less than a one hundred per cent completion rate would impact future audits made against him. He hated days like today.
- End -
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