by
Steve Jordan
Marnot Enrique glanced again at the surrounding countryside along the road to Westcott E, wondering silently if he'd ever really noticed the small farm on the hill, or the lake beyond it, before. Although he had been down this road many times, he was almost always chauffeured, and usually staring down at his workpad. Today he was doing neither... he was behind the wheel himself. And it was late afternoon, not morning. A number of the cars heading past him were his own workers leaving Westcott E for the day. Marnot considered how seldom anyone saw him drive into work himself, and guessed that he was probably unrecognized by everyone he was driving past.
Marnot saw the Westcott E complex come into view as he swung around the low hill that blocked the view of the complex from the interstate. Westcott E's complex was made up of two buildings, with a park between them, and surrounded by exotic greenery. A bulge in the ground north of the buildings housed a partially-submerged parking garage, visible only by the drive-in entrance and the single above-ground tunnel that led out of the ground and into the smaller lead building. There was a smaller parking lot in front of the lead building, only large enough for a dozen cars.
Marnot headed for the small lot, and parked in the open space directly in front of the building entrance. He did not lock his car as he climbed out.
He walked through the automatic doors and into the bright, spacious lobby of Westcott E. The long, low desk that dominated the entrance was staffed by a young woman in security uniform, who smiled and said, "Good afternoon, Mister Enrique," as he approached. Marnot nodded and smiled at her, then looked past her at the man who had turned at the sound of his name.
"Hi, Marnot." Donald McAllister was one of the many researchers on staff at Westcott E. He was not an executive, not by a long shot, but Marnot (and his partner, Phil Westcott) had always insisted on an informal working atmosphere, and first names were encouraged. Donald was dressed in a fairly ordinary dark suit and tie, marking him as fresh out of school and trying to look like he belonged. He didn't seem nervous, though, which impressed Marnot.
"Hi, Donald," Marnot greeted him, smiling. "Have you got your presentation ready for me?"
"Yes, sir," Donald said, indicating the hallway beyond the lobby. "We're set up in 124." They started down the hallway. Strategically placed skylights bathed the hall in natural light, and brought out the bright green of the tropical potted plants along the walls. "I think what we've found more than satisfies your desire for new technology directions."
"Good, good," Marnot replied. "Who else was working with you on this research?"
"Penny Holland," Donald said. "She's waiting for us in 124 now."
"Has Brian arrived yet?"
"Not yet, but he's called. He's on his way down."
"Good," Marnot said. "We can wait awhile for him, if we have to."
Penny Holland sat in front of her laptop PC on the far side of the long oak table. She looked up when Marnot and Donald walked in, and smiled. "Hi, Marnot. I'm almost ready." Then she put her attention back on the PC, tapping over the keyboard silently. Penny was another one of Westcott E's young researchers, but Marnot didn't recognize her. She was a bit plain looking, and clearly did not dress like the girls who tried to impress the men (or the other women) in the office. Still, it so happened that there weren't that many redheads in the office, and Marnot thought he would have noticed her.
Marnot glanced at the blank white screen at one end of the table, then walked around the long table to a smaller one along the far wall. He selected a small bottle of orange juice in an ice bucket, dropped a few cubes of ice into a cup, and poured the juice into it. Before he walked back around the table, he stole a glance at Penny's laptop screen. There was a photograph, probably from NASA's archives, picturing a space shuttle in orbit, and she was adding some text below it on her screen. He didn't bother to try to read the text. He'd see it soon enough. So he walked back around the table and sat down. Donald sat on the side of the table with Penny, facing Marnot. He'd grabbed a coke, and set the can down on the table to his left.
Marnot turned when he heard footsteps behind him. Brian Reynolds stepped briskly into the room and laid his briefcase on the table next to Marnot. "Hi. Haven't been waiting long, have you?"
"No, I just got here," Marnot said. He turned to Penny and Donald. "Is this everybody?"
"Oh, yes," Donald said.
"Then let's get started. You ready, Penny?"
"Yes, sir," Penny said, tapping at her laptop. The laptop was wired to a plug recess that ran along the middle of the table. The table was fully wired for PCs, and connected to the screens around the room. Marnot put his workpad on the table and selected a plug from the table recess, jacked it in, and started his presentation software to mirror whatever would be shown on the main screen. Brian did the same with a laptop he removed from his briefcase. Then, Penny hit one key with finality, and the big screen came to life.
The first thing that came up on the screen was a title frame with the Westcott E logo in the upper left corner, and the dominating title: "Analysis and Interpretive Innovation of Developing Technologies." In the lower right corner, the date: 8/7/2008.
"Okay," Penny started, once the screen was up. "Brian, in case you're not up on this, Donald and I are one of the teams assigned by Marnot to constantly monitor developments and innovations in technology, with the goal of identifying promising future technologies for investment and promotion purposes."
"Yes," Brian said, "I know of the project."
"Good," Penny nodded. "Donald and I have been monitoring various experiments that have flown on NASA's Shuttles, and have been performed on the ISS, in the past few years." She changed the image on the screen to a NASA promotion shot of a shuttle on the pad, and turned to Marnot. "Since about 1996, the Space Shuttle has regularly flown with a cargo bay module known as Spacehab. Spacehab is a platform designed to hold individual experimental modules, each independently powered and run essentially automatically. It's a wonderfully cost-efficient way to send basic experiments into space on the Shuttles, and everyone from major researchers to elementary schools have sent modules up." She changed the screen image again, to show a cutaway of a large module in the shuttle's cargo bay. The module was dominated on one side by racks of equipment modules, and an astronaut was depicted floating in front of the modules. "Spacehab was retired a few years ago so the Shuttle could concentrate on supplying Mir and the ISS, but we've counted at least sixteen hundred individual Spacehab experiments over its lifetime."
"Sixteen hundred," Marnot repeated.
"Yes, an impressive number," Penny agreed. She changed the screen image again, to a representation to the International Space Station. "We've also been monitoring the ISS since its occupation. Their experiment count hasn't been as high, due to the ISS's own inherent problems, but it's also pretty respectable. Most of their work has been directly related to long-term space habitation."
Marnot nodded. "So, you've found something interesting?"
"Yes, we have," Penny said, nodding to Donald. Donald stood and walked over to stand by the screen, while Penny changed to the next image.
"All Spacehab and ISS results are made public, usually by NASA and the owners of the experiments," Donald explained. "That's what we've been using as base material. The latest ISS data was, frankly, buried under their recent reports about their oxygen generators' problems, so we only just received a lot of it. But last week, we came across a series of experiments and results that, when or if — and we believe when — they are combined, will result in some kick-ass technological breakthroughs. We've done the cost analyses on them, and they all result in profits within three years, max. And let me emphasize: This is technology that will irrevocably change the world as we know it."
Marnot examined Donald, who stood grinning silently after his audacious statement. Donald didn't give an inch... he believed what he was saying, Marnot was sure. He nodded for Donald to go on.
"But the reason we rushed this presentation together," Donald continued, "is because we're pretty sure no one else has put these pieces together yet. We've been monitoring non-classified corporate traffic, and the newsgroups, since we made the connection. We've seen no sign that anyone else has thought of this."
"You're talking about a technological advance," Marnot said. "We're a promotional firm. We don't manufacture goods."
"I know that," Donald nodded, losing his grin. "But we really think you should understand the significance of this particular technology, sir."
Marnot looked from Donald, to Penny, to Brian, and back to Donald. "Okay. Try me."
*****
When Penny and Donald headed for the conference room door after their presentation was over, Marnot said after them, "Close the door behind you, please." Once they were gone, and Marnot heard the door click, he turned to Brian. Brian sat there and looked back at Marnot, his lips slightly parted as they had remained throughout most of the presentation. "Well, Brian? What do you think?"
After a few moments, Brian started to speak, realized he had to clear his throat first, and tried again. "Marnot, I think you've found it."
"Brian," Marnot said, "we've found it. This is the brass ring that I knew was floating out there in space, somewhere... and we found it, first."
Brian rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "We're going to have to get the patent team in on this, to make sure we cover all of our bases. There could be some precedents in this program that we need to create properly. We don't want any of this to come back and bite us."
"Exactly," Marnot said. "Put absolute secrecy on every aspect of this, Brian. I don't want our people telling their dogs, without our knowing about it."
"Of course," Brian said, pushing his chair back and standing. "What are you going to do?"
"I've got some phone calls to make," Marnot said. "Time to get our conglomerate officially rolling. Then, I'm going to go out and take my wife to Kodiak's for dinner, pay for all five courses, and smile about it." He grinned wickedly at Brian. "That'll scare the bejeezus out of her."
It was just beginning to rain as Ted Canter stepped off the Marta bus at his stop. But it was a light summer rain, the kind of sparse drops you sometimes got when the sun was still out. Better than the three o'clock downpours he'd expect in about another month or so. Ted didn't bother to rush the two-block walk to his townhouse. He knew there was no danger to his one bag of groceries, or the newspaper folded on top.
Ted walked up to the door of the townhouse, just as a faint rumble of thunder sounded somewhere behind him. The mailbox was empty. He let himself inside, turned right into the kitchen, and put the grocery bag on the table. He pulled the newspaper out of the bag and dropped it next to the bag on the table. Then he grabbed the phone from the stand and placed it on the table.
He checked his watch, but he knew it was after noon. So he reached into one of the low cupboards and pulled out a bottle of vodka, then stepped to the refrigerator and removed a bottle of tonic, and ice cubes for his glass. After pouring equal amounts of vodka and tonic into the glass, Ted and his drink joined the rest of the gear at the table.
And so went another day of job hunting: Two waste-of-time morning interviews, nothing accomplished, nothing offered. Ted had only been at it for three weeks, but he was already tired of the routine. Not that the three weeks had been so hard, but so far it was already reminding him of the last three times he had been out looking for work. Almost minute for minute, in fact. And it was starting to depress him.
He was one of those people that everyone seems to know, somewhere: A nice guy and hard worker who, for one reason or another, could never seem to keep a good job. He had been laid off of his first job out of college, and since then had bounced from position to position, from salary bracket to salary bracket, like a ping-pong ball in a box. He had found himself unemployed more times than he cared to remember, and had gone through more jobs than he could count in just five years, everything from menial labor jobs to office positions, but always he left the job, or lost the job, and had to start looking for another. Not like Bette, who landed a job with a consulting firm right out of college, and was still there today. She was getting ahead. He was just treading water.
Ted took a gulp of vodka and started with the phone. He had put out a number of resumes through the web, and many companies made web and non-web replies through e-mail. He dialed his e-mail onto the phone's touchscreen, and a few seconds later, the screen filled with a list of today's messages. Ted recognized a few of them as junk mail, and with a few quick taps, banished them to the trash file. A few of them had return addresses he recognized as companies he had submitted resumes to. He picked the company he most wanted to hear from, and opened the message.
To:
Edward Canter (etcanter@bs.com)
From:
Curtis Mellon, H.R. Manager
Wicker Harris
(Cmellon1@wh_atl.com)
Re: position #44087A-6
Thank you for submitting your resume to Wicker Harris.
I regret to inform you that, although your resume was considered, we have offered the position to someone else whose qualifications more closely matched our needs.
We will keep your resume on file in case another position presents itself, and will call you in that eventuality. Thank you for considering Wicker Harris.
C Mellon
Human Resources Manager
The other four messages from companies he was expecting were all variations on the same tune. Ted read each of them, then moved them to a "resume" file (to keep track of all the companies that had turned him down so far). Then he drained his glass.
Ted had only been laid off for two weeks from his last job, a remote office support position. It had been fairly easy, maintaining cubicles for corporate "road" personnel to plug into. Unfortunately, the arrival of the Numing franchise right off the highway brought about a series of layoffs, and after three years (well, almost three years), that was that. Bette had been quietly supportive... but Bette had been quiet about most everything over the last six months. What the hell... she made enough money by herself to pay for the townhouse and all of their bills easily, so it wasn't as if he was threatening her lifestyle.
Besides, her lifestyle hardly included him these days.
Ted considered all of this as he poured himself another vodka and tonic, adding a mental note not to touch the bottle again until evening. Then he sat back down to go through the rest of the e-mail listed on the screen. He had submitted his resume to a few services, so he was not surprised to see so many companies that he hadn't heard of, or actually considered, sending him mail. He merely went down the list one by one, as he had with the previous messages. The first two were more turn-downs, and Ted moved them to the file. The third asked him for an interview on the other side of town, for an airport custodial position. That went into the trash file. Then three more turn-downs.
Finally he came to a message from a company called Westcott E. Ted knew he hadn't heard of the company, but he expected the same "no-thank-you" that the others had given him. Instead, he had to stop and read the message again.
To:
Edward Canter
etcanter@bs.com
From:
Personnel Department
Westcott E International, Incorporated
Re: Offer of Employment
Mr. Canter:
We recently received your resume through Webres, and we understand you are presently seeking employment. Westcott E is presently making plans to build a new office facility, and we feel that you would be an ideal candidate for one of the many positions we will open there.
We are setting up interviews in your area during the week of July 2nd, at the Hyatt Regency downtown. We urge you to call us and set up a time for us to meet you during that week. This will be a grand opportunity for you, one that you will not want to miss.
Attached is a short brochure about Westcott E, to familiarize you with our company. Please call us at (888)937-8263 and set up your interview now.
The bitmapped signature of one Michelle Christi ended the letter, and the attachment file followed that. Ted stared at the letter for a few seconds. They didn't specify what job they were offering him, which always made him nervous. And he didn't know anything about Westcott E. Still, it was an interview, and just downtown. Unless he found out that Westcott E was a group of cannibals or Jesus freaks, he couldn't think of any reason not to consider a decent offer from them. After a quick check of his remaining messages (all "no"s), he saved the message and transferred the brochure to his living room computer to view later.
As Ted started to put away the groceries, the phone rang. The visual light was flashing, so he tapped the answer key. The face of his wife appeared in an office he recognized well. "Hello, Bette."
"Hello, Ted." Bette Canter regarded him coolly from her desk. Ted offered a mild smile to her, but it wasn't returned. "Just get in?" she asked.
"Yes, I did."
"Any job offers?" She asked lightly, pleasantly, but the missing smile belied her actual interest.
"I just got an interview," Ted replied. "I haven't looked over the company yet." He didn't want to continue the conversation... he already knew where it was going. So he waited for her. Bette waited a beat, then her eyes flickered in acceptance.
"I wanted to let you know, I'll be working late tonight."
"Mm." Ted nodded, shrugged. "Should I expect you before midnight?"
"No, I don't think so." Bette's expression suggested that it was just one of those things, nothing to be too bothered about. "Anyway, I just wanted to let you know. Good luck on the interview."
"Thanks."
"I have to go. See you tomorrow. ‘Bye, Ted."
"‘Bye, hon." He reached out to close the connection, and paused when he realized that her end had closed much more swiftly than his. He finally jabbed at the key and closed his end. "Tomorrow," he said to himself. "Huh."
He finished putting the groceries away, while his mind wandered back about six years. He remembered a conversation he and Bette had, during their engagement. The two of them had been young, and attractive, and had both been known (perhaps renowned) for their multiple sexual conquests. They had both also considered themselves highly advanced people in college, and even though they became engaged, both of them had continued to sleep with other people on occasion. So one day they, in their barely adult wisdom, sat down to discuss their sexual habits. After a great deal of intellectual interrogation and analysis, the two of them had jointly concluded that there was no reason that the institute of marriage should deny either of them the chance to explore other sexual relationships, since their marriage would be based on a love that transcended the physicalities of sex. In short, they agreed that it would be okay if they occasionally slept around while married.
Unfortunately, all things turned out not to be equal. As time went by, Bette continued to sleep with other men. And after the first year of marriage, Ted somehow found himself with fewer and fewer extra-marital sexual partners. At first, this did not bother Ted, since he still slept with Bette regularly. He even felt a stronger bond with Bette as time went by, which even led to feelings of jealousy when she occasionally went out with another man. But then she started going out more often. And sleeping with him less. Ted found himself more and more often without his wife, even as he wanted her more than ever, and any effort to discuss the situation with her inevitably ended with her reminding him of their original agreement.
And now she was not coming home most nights, or staying late "at work" almost every night. When she did come home, she didn't seem to give him any attention at all, not even so much as a smile. She always seemed to be daydreaming when she was home, as if her mind was far away elsewhere.
But she also stubbornly denied seeing anyone regularly, something he knew was a lie, and this was what really upset Ted. Along with the fact that he wasn't getting any.
Not for the first time, he considered divorce. Despite the promises of youth, he was coming to the realization that he couldn't live like this, must have been crazy to suggest it. Unfortunately, he'd known a guy who had divorced his wife at one of his last jobs, and the horror stories that had been related to him lurked like vipers in the back of his mind, and dutifully reared their heads whenever he considered that course of action. Not for the first time, he resolved to find himself a girlfriend and bring their marriage back to status quo. And he tried not to think about what kind of girls went out with unemployed men.
Eventually he moved to the living room and plopped down on the sofa. He picked up the remote for the infotainment center and used it to call up the brochure from Westcott E. According to the brochure data, it was basically a video presentation... probably a fairly dry promotional piece, Ted assumed. He paused before he started the brochure, then finally decided that he had nothing better to do. He hit the start button, and the stereo offered a fanfare while the video monitor came to life and showed a view of a very modern set of buildings in the middle of a picturesque rural landscape. As the camera moved towards the buildings, a voice-over started on one audio channel.
"Welcome to Westcott E International. This is the corporate center of an international concern, dedicated to the promotion and support of trends and technology for our customers worldwide. We are dedicated to helping the world into the twenty-first century. We would like to give you a quick look at our facility, to meet some of our people, to learn some of our history... so you will know what kind of a company you are considering a relationship with."
As Ted watched, the long pan became a fade into the building itself. The spacious lobby looked artificially green with the wealth of plants strewn about... no, not strewn; many of them were planted into square openings made in the floor itself, not in planters. A few men and women in office suits stood about, or walked to and fro, as the camera maneuvered deftly past them and the foliage.
"Westcott E was founded in 1994 by Phillip Harold Westcott," the voice-over explained, and a cameo of (presumably) Westcott appeared on screen. "Westcott, long a supporter of social and technological advances, felt the need to offer his resources to any parties desiring to develop new ideas or products that might offer substantial worldwide benefit. Westcott International has helped to guide many such projects to fruition in the last seven years, and looks forward to many more..."
And so it went. The presentation switched back and forth from voice-over, to the occasional Westcott E employee saying something typically wonderful about their company, to voice-over, to scenic shots of contented workers in luxurious offices, to descriptions about company benefits and perks, to voice-over again. It was as dry a promotional piece as he'd expected. Ted sat through it all, though his mind wandered more than once. But his attention kept coming back to Westcott E. Its dedication to promoting social and technological advances sounded very interesting to him. The video he'd seen suggested a very open-minded, advanced attitude towards the environment, and towards individuals. Or, at least, the ability to suggest those qualities in their presentation. Either way, they had piqued his curiosity.
When the presentation was over, Ted reached for the phone and dialed the number given on the e-mail message. He expected to get a menu screen to work through.
Instead, he was greeted with an honest-to-God woman's face. "Westcott E Human Resources, Michelle Christi speaking."
Michelle Christi was a young and very pretty girl, Ted noticed. He was already feeling better about the call. "Hi, I'm Edward Canter."
"Yes, Mister Canter," Michelle answered immediately, smiling. "I see you received your e-mail from us. Would you be interested in a position with Westcott E?"
"Well," Ted replied, "I'm interested in finding out more about your offer. Your e-mail wasn't too specific about the position you were offering."
"That's because we are offering a number of positions in a new facility, and you may qualify for any number of those positions." Michelle smiled and shrugged. "We'd like to talk to you directly, to get an idea of which positions you would be best suited for, before we offer you a specific one."
"I see."
"Well, Mr. Canter, can we schedule you for next week?"
"Sure," Ted replied. "Sure. What's good for you?"
"How about Monday? I can schedule you for ten o'clock that morning."
"Okay," Ted nodded, "ten o'clock. Sounds good."
"Are you familiar with the Hyatt downtown?"
"Sure."
"We'll be set up in suites on the sixth floor. Ask at the front desk, and they'll direct you."
"Okay, sounds great."
"All right, then, we'll see you Monday at ten o'clock. Thanks for calling, Mr. Canter."
"Thank you. I'll see you Monday morning. ‘Bye."
"Bye-bye."
Ted closed the connection, then sat for a moment staring pointlessly around the living room. Monday was four days away, and he had no other interviews or appointments until then. He wouldn't have minded going somewhere, maybe even to buy a new jacket for his interview, but of course Bette had taken his car to work (another one of those intellectual arguments: Why have two cars in the middle of a city with such a wonderful public transportation system?), and he didn't feel motivated enough to jump back on the bus.
He thought of something else to do. Using the infotainment remote, he accessed the web newslines. Requesting a search, he tapped in "Westcott E" and requested any news items from the last six months, including public financial reports, legal reports, promotional articles and general business. The first thing he got was a second quarter financial report, their own figures, followed by their evaluation, then a non-aligned third-party evaluation of the company over its seven year history. And by all accounts, Westcott E was doing great financially. At least, Ted wouldn't have to worry about a company that would go belly-up a month after he started there.
In legal news, there was only one article, detailing Westcott E's failed negotiations with an organization called the World Space Commercial Conglomerate, apparently an organization dedicated to promoting publicly used space stations, and seeking to have Westcott E join their group as a promotional entity. The gist of the article was that WSCC and Westcott E had hit some unresolved points, and the negotiations had been postponed until further notice. Did that mean Westcott E was for, or against, space stations? Or that they charged too much for their PR services? Or what was WSCC's problem? The article didn't elaborate. And nothing else, not even the occasional employee/potential employee lawsuit. So most Westcott E employees seemed to be happy in their jobs overall, and few people had a problem with Westcott E's business dealings... or so the lack of evidence implied.
The promotional articles turned out to be numerous, but had little or nothing to do with Westcott E. Most of them were public articles announcing some new product or application of a product, with some mention that Westcott E had a hand in the organizational aspects of the project. Although they did not say anything directly about Westcott E, the products and applications they described were an indirect clue to Westcott E's direction: Improved heat pumps and refrigeration units, targeted toward third world sales; accelerated growth forestry research; private funds going to the NASA space shuttle program; medical research in South America; helping to fund the Chinese Information Age project; support of the Radicar company, East Indian makers of solar electric and hybrid vehicles; funding of the "Virtual Research Organism" computer project; funding for the Amazon Recovery project; and support of the Antarctic research station at Little America. Westcott E read as a company behind some of the most noble and important projects around the world. Ted was already feeling better about working for such a company, no matter what he'd be doing.
General business articles, the last thing on his list, were virtually non-existent. Westcott E seemed to stay out of the business news in general, other than its own promotional pieces. On the bright side, there were no mentions or layoffs, downsizing, redistribution of priorities or any of the warning flags Ted knew to look for in a potential employer.
This was looking better and better all the time, Ted thought. Please, please, don't let them offer me a janitor's job...
*****
Bette Canter was looking over the legal papers in front of her for the third time, when the door to her office sounded with three knocks. She turned from her picture window, overlooking Atlanta from the north (and about twenty stories up) and faced the door. Before she spoke, she ran a hand through her hair and shook it out a bit, hoping the sunlight from behind her would frame it well. Then she called, "Come in."
The door opened, and Cory Stephansen stepped in. He was a tall man, with very Nordic features and coiffed blond hair, and he moved with the fluidity that described physical prowess. He turned his classic profile toward Bette's desk, and upon seeing she was not there, scanned the room from the door. When he saw her, he smiled, then stepped fully inside and closed the door behind him.
"Hi, Cory," Bette greeted, smiling as she watched him walk across the office. "How are the plans going?"
"Everything's set," Cory said, returning her smile. When he reached her at the window, he bent his head down and kissed her. "The reservations are arranged. We'll leave for Dallas on Sunday, and have all day Monday before the meetings on Tuesday morning. Edwin and Joel will meet us for dinner Monday at the hotel, and we'll bone up on everything then."
"Sounds good," Bette agreed, and walked back over to her desk. Cory followed her over, as she laid the briefs on the desk corner, then turned and leaned on the edge of the desk herself. "What time is the flight?"
"11:45." Cory stood before her, his tall frame blocking out the sun. "I can pick you up at your place at ten."
"No, I'd better have Ted drop me at the airport Sunday, and meet you there."
"You don't want him to see me, do you?"
Bette looked up at him, then shook her head, lowering her eyes and trying to make it look non-chalant. "No, not really."
"I thought you said he was okay with this," Cory said. "You said you two didn't—"
"We don't," Bette cut him off. "And it is okay. It's just that..." She paused, trying to find the right way to put it. "I don't want him to know I'm seeing someone regularly. He thinks I just play around a bit. Nothing serious. You know?" Cory studied her quietly. "I just don't want him to know about you yet. That's all. Okay?"
After a moment, Cory smiled. "Sure, babe." He leaned down and kissed her, and she wrapped an arm around his head and held him there a moment longer. When he finally straightened up, he looked a bit uncomfortable. Bette noticed the strain in the fabric at his crotch. "Are we still good for dinner tonight?"
"Oh, yes," Bette replied, looking back up to his face. "Your place, right?"
"Uh-huh," he nodded.
"Am I dressed for it?"
"We'll deal with any adjustments when we get there."
*****
Monday morning traffic into town was lousy, as usual, but Ted had gotten an appropriate head start, and arrived in downtown Atlanta well ahead of time. He parked the car in the Hyatt lot, got out, and spent a moment locating the entrance to the lobby... he always got himself turned around in underground parking lots. Fortunately, this one was well laid-out, and he located the elevators in no time. He checked himself quickly to make sure he was ready: Ipad, resume detail on card and loaded on Ipad, his own list of questions for the Westcott E people, tie on straight, shoes shined. Satisfied, he locked the car and headed for the elevators.
He expected to see a lot of people in the Hyatt lobby, and he was not disappointed. The Hyatt downtown still had one of the most beautiful open lobbies in all Atlanta, and Ted loved looking up into its airy expanses on the rare occasions that he found himself there. He honestly couldn't remember if the huge metal sculpture over the open-air bar was the same one he remembered from his last visit, but it still looked like it could do the same marvelous job of discouraging jumpers as the last one was reputed to do. The lobby was very quiet, considering how many people occupied it, and Ted could hear the fountain on the far side of the lobby clearly. But he didn't have time to sightsee. He checked his watch, it was already 9:50, and there was a sizable crowd in front of the front desk.
Ted waded in, choosing what he hoped would be the quickest line to get him to the desk. He had good luck, and within two minutes, he was able to lean forward and get a desk clerk's attention. "Hi, I'm interviewing with Westcott E, and they told me to stop here."
"Oh, yes." The girl who nodded at him stepped away from him, walked over to the far side of the desk, and took a paper from a girl at another station. When she came back, she said, "Your name?"
"Edward Canter."
She looked down the list, then looked up. "They're in suite 654. Towards the bar, off the elevators." She pointed the direction as well, and smiled after him. Ted nodded his thanks, and walked over to the elevator bay. He would have willingly walked up the six flights, but he didn't know where the stairway was, or if it was locked above the lobby floors. He hated security stairwells. Best to take the elevator.
Once on the sixth floor, he started counter-clockwise around the open balcony. He alternated between checking the suite numbers, and looking over the lobby from the elevated height. Though he was only about a third of the way to the top of the hotel, he was still pretty high up. He looked at the sculpture, now just a floor below him, over the bar. It looked very different from this angle, more menacing than it looked from below. No wonder jumpers avoided the Hyatt now. Finally he came to 654, and knocked.
The door opened almost immediately. Ted hadn't really expected to see Michelle Christi there, so he was not surprised to see another girl behind the door. This girl was African, very petite, wearing a simple business suit that could have come from the same rack as Ted's own. "Hi," she said. "Are you Edward Canter?"
"Yes."
"I'm Noelle Case from Westcott E. Pleased to meet you." She extended her hand in a girlish straight-arm, and pulled the door open with the other. "Won't you come in?"
"Thanks," Ted replied, allowing her to slightly pull him in by his hand, before she let go. He took a look around the suite... and it was a suite, a living room and bedroom around the corner. He had never been in a room like that before. "Nice," he commented simply.
"Yes, isn't it?" Noelle replied. "Almost as big as my apartment," she added in a whisper, and gave him a wink. She veered over to the kitchenette, where a platter of pastries was laid out. "Let me get you something to drink... coffee, tea, juice... milk..." She took a cup and saucer from a cupboard and offered it to him.
"Uh..." Ted shrugged. "What are you having?"
"I've got some tea, over there." She nodded toward a table, where a cup of tea sat nearby a few folders and cards. "Please, help yourself to the pastries. This is more of an informal interview, to get to know you better."
"Okay, thanks." Ted picked up a plate and selected two pastries from the platter. "And tea sounds good."
"Sure." Noelle poured him a cup and carried it for him over to the table, setting it before one chair, and sitting in the chair opposite. Ted followed her over, and sat in the chair she had set the cup in front of. "Now, Edward... do you prefer Edward, or is it...?"
"Ted is fine," he replied to her unfinished question.
"Ted. Okay, I believe you were contacted by e-mail after we received a copy of your resume from Webres. Have you been using them long?"
"Uh, no," Ted replied. "This is the first time I've used them. I sent my resume to them about two weeks ago."
"Well, that seemed to work out very well, for you," Noelle said. "Have you tried any of the other services? Like the Workboard, or Job Bank?"
"I've tried Job Bank before," Ted replied. "They only seem to turn up grunt work, though, for me. I didn't even call them this time out."
"I've heard the same thing," Noelle nodded. "We don't usually get much from Job Bank. We mostly use Webres, E-Personnel, and the Taylor List." Ted started to reach into his pocket. "Did you bring something else with you, there?"
"Yes," Ted replied, holding out a card. "This is my resume detail. I don't know how much might have been included in your Webres copy, so this is for you to look over."
"Thank you," Noelle said, taking it from him and slipping the card into her laptop. As she called up the card to view, he reached back into his pocket and took out his Ipad. Noelle noticed, and stopped looking over his card data. "Oh, is that one of the Sun pads?"
"Yes," Ted replied, "it is. Ipad."
"Model three-hundred or four?"
"Three-hundred," Ted told her, placing it flat on the table for her to see. "I don't really need the four-hundred."
"Well, the four is mostly just a bit faster," Noelle said. "It's supposed to download about twenty percent faster than the threes, but I've never come across anything that downloads that slow, anyway. They are nice machines, though."
"Oh, yes. I'd buy one for the extra speed, but at the price, this one serves me pretty well as it is."
"Do you have many applications for it?"
"Well, the basic web and organizer stuff... the Wordsmith processor... bank software... and the Super-reference. That's about it."
"They are very expensive, aren't they?" Noelle looked down at her laptop. "Definitely not the same as the old days before the FOSC, huh?"
"I take it Westcott E hasn't worked out FOSC standards yet?" Ted asked, picking up a pastry and taking a bite.
"No, not yet," Noelle replied. "As much as we'd like to, the cost of conversion is just too much for us to manage right now. There are just too many applications that we use, that haven't been written to UNIX yet, pre- or post-FOSC. Do you get enough use out of those few applications?"
"Yes, I think so," Ted replied. "You're right about the lack of applications, I know. But I've got to admit, UNIX works a lot better than any other OS I've used. My Ipad never crashes, I mean, never. And I've never had any glitches, or freezes, or any problems at all out of the software I use."
"So I guess you like the FOSC regs," Noelle nodded.
"I like the idea of computer hardware and software forced to meet specific performance benchmarks, or not get certified for official use," Ted admitted. "I know the guidelines are tough, but if it means computers that don't crash, and software that doesn't eat itself, I'm all for it."
Noelle nodded, and Ted realized she was taking something down on her laptop. It occurred to him only then that she might have already started the interview, and he needed to be a little more careful about the things he said. If her intent had been to put him so at-ease that he answered all her questions completely openly, she had certainly managed that.
"Westcott E supports the FOSC guidelines, too," Noelle finally said, putting Ted a bit more at-ease for apparently telling her what she'd wanted to hear. "That's why we support a number of hardware and software design groups that are trying to write the first FOSC-compliant programs and systems." She nodded toward the Ipad. "I take it you are well-acquainted with computers and modern technology."
"Uh-huh."
"Do you have a larger system at home?"
"Yes, an infotainment rack. Onkyo."
"Cine series?"
"Yeah."
"Great system." Noelle smiled. "My brother has one. Do you use screen phones?"
"Yes."
"Oh... it's right here in Michelle's notes! Sorry. And, you have an online provider, Bell South. Do you use the rack and the phone for your online time?"
"Yes."
"Any remote setups at home?"
"Yes... lights, answering machine... uh, climate, power management, and air sampling."
"They came with the house?"
"No," Ted replied, "we rent the place. I put it in myself."
"Who in the house generally controls all that?"
"Usually me."
Noelle's eyebrows went up. "Excellent. We want someone who isn't afraid of technology." She nodded and looked over her laptop notes. "I see you held a position a few years back with Clarke Waste Management. Field technician?"
"Right." Ted's smile faded slightly. Why was she asking about the Clarke job?
"Did you spend much time in encapsulated suits? Breathers or masks?" He nodded. "Any idea how much time you spent in protective gear?"
Ted considered. "Maybe ten to twenty percent of the job was in full suits. One hundred percent was in standard protective gear... you know, gloves and boots, dosimeters." He tried to keep an impassive face, but his mind was suddenly racing. Are we talking about a hazmat job?
Noelle nodded again, and took more notes. "Okay... now, your last job was with BP Remote Office's north Atlanta location. That was a standard remote office setup?"
"Yes."
"And what-all were you doing there?"
"I set up the cubicles according to daily assignments we received from our clients," Ted explained. "I'd change and replace phones, check out connections for laptops and handhelds, put in docks, and make terminal changes at the switchboard."
"What kind of switchboard?"
"Uh, DS 440."
"You were laid off there?"
"Yes. Numing opened up a similar office a few miles away, and we lost a lot of business. Mostly our small clients. BP didn't need as many technicians."
"Pity." Noelle made a few more notes. "But BP's loss may be our gain... and yours, too."
"About that," Ted began, leaning forward. "I still don't know anything about the job you're offering me. Can you tell me about it?"
"Actually, I can't tell you about any specific job at this time," Noelle replied. "You see, we're offering an entire range of positions at a new facility we'll be building soon. Westcott E is going to need people who are very comfortable working with and around technology, used to physical labor and in unusual working environments."
"I see," Ted said, although he didn't completely. "Exactly what kind of facility will this be?"
"A research and development facility, with some manufacturing."
"And where is this facility going to be located?"
"Well, there's still some question about the final location," Noelle told him.
"Is it in Atlanta?"
"No, it won't be in Atlanta."
"So, I'm going to have to relocate."
"Well, you will have a choice," Noelle explained. "You see, there will be mainly temporary jobs related to building and outfitting the facility... those will be the first positions available. Then, as parts of the facility are finished, other jobs will open up. If you qualify, you can start on the construction phase and move on to the operating phase."
"But I'm not a construction worker," Ted pointed out.
"That's all right," Noelle assured him. "We don't want your average construction worker. You would qualify for those jobs, as well."
"Mm." Ted rubbed his jaw. "I'm not sure I'm looking for construction work. And relocating..."
"Ted." Noelle stopped taking notes and folded her hands in front of her. She looked directly at him, earnestly and intensively. "This is not simply a construction job. We are looking for very special people for this job. People who aren't afraid of laboring, but with demonstrated skills with computers and technology, people who can think for themselves. People with some managerial experience. People who know how to take orders, especially in sensitive situations. People who excel in the construction phase can move on to very lucrative managerial positions in the operations phase. Yes, you will have to relocate, at least temporarily, but it will be at Westcott E's expense. But we are going to start you at the salary of one hundred thousand dollars a year, plus a generous benefits package."
Ted didn't have to pause... it seemed the world paused for him. When it started moving again, Ted whispered, "One hundred thousand a year... for construction work?"
"As I explained," Noelle said, "it's not just a construction job. So... are you still interested?"
Ted stared at her for a moment, then let his eyes wander to the back of her laptop, the folders strewn on the table, his own Ipad, the pastry he hadn't touched yet, and back to Noelle. He had spent his life working in jobs that got him no more than thirty grand a year. How had he suddenly fallen upon a job paying over three times that? Or was this some kind of scam? He knew he had a confused, probably dubious look on his face, because Noelle suddenly flashed him a look that could only be interpreted as "I'm not kidding." A hundred grand a year...
"All right." Ted offered his hands in acceptance. "All right. I'm interested."
"Good," Noelle said simply, and her hands went back to her laptop. "Now, I need to get some more information about your background and interests, so we can better identify which positions you'll qualify for. Tell me..." She typed for a moment, then looked up at Ted. "How comfortable are you with the idea of the cashless society?"
*****
"You're shittin' me... right?"
Tom Dion was one of the regulars at the bar end of Slickers, a fairly typical restaurant/bar for singles, young couples and anyone else who could stand the noise. Ted had been a regular there since he and Bette moved into the neighborhood about two miles away from the shopping center that Slickers sat smack in the middle of. Tom and Ted had little in common, other than a love of hanging out with the guys and drinking close to too much on a regular basis. But, like so many other men, this was more than enough to create a friendship, or at least, a close acquaintanceship.
Tom drained the beer in his mug and grabbed for the pitcher between them on the bar. "You've gotta be shittin' me. Someone's offering you a job at a hundred grand a year? And they won't tell you what the job is?"
"Beats the hell outta me," Ted agreed, shaking his head. "They keep saying it's some kind of construction job, but it needs specially-trained people, not construction people. I have no idea what they're talking about."
"You're right," Tom said. "Sounds like something funny's going on. But this is a legitimate company, this Westcott?"
"Yeah... Westcott E, I looked them up. Sort of high-tech, pro-environment, and PR. They're for real. Kind of... in a ‘too good to be true' kind of way."
"Yeah... I don't know about any company that's pro-environment, pro-technology, and I never heard of them. What kind of PR is that?"
"They say they try to stay out of the papers," Ted told him. "But I've seen the few things that are printed. Believe me, they're there."
"Well, then, what's the big problem?" Tom slapped a hand off Ted's shoulder, something Ted had been expecting... Tom did it all the time... and had already shifted his beer to his other hand to protect it from being splashed. "Hell, Ted! If you know they're legit, and they're not asking you to kill anybody, then go for the damned job!"
"Tom's right." Dyan, the girl who was usually behind the bar on Mondays, walked up in front of them while she dried beer mugs. "If you really are as perfectly qualified as they say you are, then it just so happens that you have stumbled upon the proverbial tailor-made, perfect job." Ted stared at her dubiously. "Hey," she continued, "it really does happen. It's not impossible. Ted, you lucked out."
"Yeah, man! Big time lucked out!" Tom slapped his shoulder again, and held the empty pitcher up for Dyan to see. "Take the job, man. Do the relocation. We—" He stopped, checked to make sure no one else was in earshot, and lowered his voice before continuing. "We both know you could stand the time away from Bette, right? Just go. Maybe you'll decide to stay, and at a hundred grand a year, you can stay pretty much anywhere you want to."
Ted took a gulp from his beer and stared straight ahead. He had come into the bar, hoping his buddies would help him to figure out what was wrong with this ‘perfect job' deal. Now that he was there, they were telling him that there was nothing wrong, but he was still having a hard time believing it.
Dyan brought a fresh pitcher over to them and said, "Didn't you say they scheduled a second interview with you for Thursday?"
"Yeah, they did."
"Well, I wouldn't worry about anything, then. Companies that schedule multiple interviews with people don't hire them for illegal purposes. They're checking you out, they liked what they saw the first time, and on Thursday they'll definitely tell you what the job is. Lots of companies work that way... especially the big corporations."
"Yeah, all that red tape slows them down too much," Tom said. "Instead of one interview, it's two or three interviews to get you in, then more interviews and meetings to get you ready to work. Dyan's right: You lucked into a job that's tailor-made for your talents and experience, and they know it, and they're willing to pay you good for it. Seriously, man. Go for it."
"You're right," Ted agreed. "I'd be crazy not to jump at it... even if I don't understand it. I mean... if this is all a big mistake, I can always back out later. If they don't just fire me..."
"No, man, wrong attitude," Tom interrupted, but Ted kept going.
"...but you're right, it is the perfect job. It must be. They've got my resume, they would know what they need, and I'm it." He took a swig of beer, drained his mug, and Tom grabbed the pitcher and filled the mug for him. But that fast, Ted's face changed from confidence to concern. "But... I'll be away from..."
"Don't." Tom finished pouring the beer and put the pitcher down. "You and Bette haven't been getting along, and you know she's sleeping around on you. You've got no reason to stay there with her at all."
"I told you—"
"Oh, Hell, Ted, if she's sleeping with another guy regularly, then she doesn't want you anymore! Face it! Stop beating yourself in the head over her, and just fuckin' leave!"
Ted did not respond. He had told Tom enough about their situation, even about the "agreement" (which Tom had thought was the most stupid thing he'd ever heard, and had often said so after enough beer had gone down), to know that if anyone knew what was going on between him and Bette, it was Tom. Of course, he was obviously biased. But he was also his friend, and Ted was sure he wouldn't say it if he didn't believe it.
Tom knew he was thinking all this over, too, and something else occurred to him. "Hey, you said Bette's coming home on Wednesday, right?"
"Yup."
"Okay. Tell her about the offer. See what she says. You'll know." Ted looked over to Tom as if seeing him for the first time that night. It was the most sober and sensible thing that had come out of his mouth all evening. "You'll know, man."
You'll know.
*****
Ted was upstairs when he heard the rattling at the front door. He crossed the hall to a bedroom window, and saw Bette at the door, two suitcases on either side of her, working her key into the lock. He looked up at the street for a vehicle, but there was no... wait. There, at the end of the block, just turning out into the main street. It wasn't a cab. Someone dropped her off.
He heard the door finally unlock and open, and he headed for the stairs. "Hel-lo-o," he heard, as he started down. Bette had just closed the door, after moving her bags inside and putting them back down in the foyer. She turned back around, saw Ted coming to the bottom of the stairs, and smiled. It was a tired smile, he noticed. Was it from the traveling?
"Hi, Ted," she said, and offered him a peck on the lips.
"Hi, Hon," Ted returned, taking the peck. "How was the trip?"
"Hot," Bette replied. "Dallas is so hot this time of year."
"I'll bet." Ted reached for her suitcases, turned, and started up the stairs with them. "How was business?"
"It went okay," she replied, following him up the stairs. "But why we couldn't have just teleconferenced the whole thing, I have no idea." She watched as he walked into the bedroom with the bags, and laid them both on her side of the bed. "But we talked them into the program we were pushing in the first place, so I guess it was worth it."
"Sounds good," Ted nodded, as he walked back over to the ironing board where he had been working when she came in. He checked the iron, then started back to work on a shirt he had laid out.
"How's job hunting going? Did you get any interviews?" She opened up one suitcase, the one with her business suits, and began to pull one of them out. She walked them over to the closet, where she hung it in its place on her side.
"Just one," Ted replied, working over a sleeve. "But it turned out to be an interesting interview."
"Really?" Bette reached for the next suit. "Where?"
"Westcott E," Ted replied. "Heard of them?"
"Yes, I have," Bette replied, from the closet. "I didn't even know they had offices locally. What was the job?"
"Actually, they haven't specified yet. They're building a new facility, and they're looking for people to staff it."
"Oh, I see," she said as she grabbed the last suit. "But they didn't tell you what job?"
"No, they didn't."
"Well, what did they say?"
"That I'll be making a hundred grand a year to start."
Bette had just walked into the closet with her suit. She walked back out again, with the suit still in her hand. In a low voice, she repeated, "A hundred thousand a year? Really?"
"Really," Ted replied, and tried to make it sound like he was enthusiastic.
"You don't seem too happy about it," Bette said. "What's wrong with the job?"
"It's out of town. I'm going to have to relocate."
"I thought you said they were building a new facility..."
"I did. But they said it's not going to be here in Atlanta." Bette was silent, so he continued. "They offered me a position during the construction phase, and said if I wanted to stay past that, I was welcome to do so. They said I qualified for a number of positions they have in mind. If I go, I'll be gone for at least six months. If I take one of their jobs after that..."
He shrugged. Bette stared at him in silence a moment longer, until she realized she was still holding her suit, and turned back into the closet to hang it up. Once she was out of sight, Ted heard her say from the closet, "Are you going to take the job?"
"I have another interview tomorrow morning," he replied loud enough for her to hear. He knew she could hear him. "I hadn't decided yet. I thought I'd bounce it off you, first." There was no sound from the closet. Ted turned over the shirt on the ironing board, and said, "What do you think?"
Bette appeared at the closet door. She had a strange expression on her face, and when Ted saw it, he upended the iron and put it down. Bette's face had lost the tiredness she had entered the house with, but it had been replaced by a kind of blank, as if the muscles in her face had gone completely limp. No, there was something else, in her eyes, they were searching his out as if they were fighting to focus past a fog. And something else there, and in her mouth, a kind of... shock, or sadness. But suddenly the mouth formed up in a straight line, and the expression changed. The shock was gone, the sadness gone. The blank hardened, as if she was trying to maintain herself, to not reveal her true feelings to him. The eyes came into focus with his, blinked twice, trying to be casual, then looked away just as casually.
"I guess you should see what they want," she replied evenly.
He knew.
He picked up the iron and straightened the shirt. "I'll let you know how tomorrow's interview goes."
"They're expecting you in room 2017."
Ted did a double-take, turned back to the desk clerk, and said, "Sorry... twenty-seventeen?"
"Yes, sir. 2017."
Ted walked over to the elevator bays in the Hyatt and waited for the next one, and while he waited, he stole a glance up through the lobby. The twentieth floor must have been about the top floor, he realized. From the sixth, to the twentieth floor. Who was he meeting up there, the President? The elevator came, and he rode it up silently, leaning against the railing and watching the lobby passing below him through the glass bubble of the elevator. He reached twenty after two stops, stepped out, oriented himself, and headed around the balcony. As he had before, he occasionally looked out over the open lobby, taking the time to notice the sculpture again. Yes... from here, it looked downright threatening. And small.
He turned the corner on the balcony, and he noticed a man sitting in one of the small alcoves that allowed an overlook down on the lobby. A column at the corner of the balcony had obscured his presence until Ted was almost upon him. The man seemed to be simply looking out over the lobby, and hadn't noticed Ted's approach. Ted turned back to his search for 2017, and stopped when he realized he had just passed it while noticing the man in the alcove. He backtracked one door, the one facing the occupied alcove, and knocked.
"Are you Ted Canter?"
Ted turned around. The man in the alcove had twisted around to face him from his seat.
"Yes, I am. Are you..."
"I'm Peter Mason, from Westcott E," the man said, standing. "You're coming to see me." He walked casually out of the alcove, and Ted met him halfway, shaking his hand. "I was just sitting out here admiring the view," he said, hooking a thumb at the alcove. "It's nice, isn't it?"
"It's a great view," Ted said, smiling. "Have you ever been to the Hyatt downtown before?"
"No," Mason said, "but I've spent enough time in Hyatts. Take a look at this." Mason walked back over to the edge of the balcony, and Ted joined him. Mason leaned over the edge a bit, and pointed almost straight down. "Look there... see the layout of that lounge area, right below us?"
Ted leaned out a bit and looked down. He had never been particularly afraid of heights, but it was a strange feeling, nonetheless. They were very high up. "I see it."
"Now look over there," Mason said. "Past the bar. You notice anything about the lounge over there?"
Ted looked out for the second lounge, and after a moment said, "Hey... yeah, I sure do. It's a mirror image of the one below us. I've been here before, and I've never noticed that."
"You can't notice that kind of thing from the ground, with that bar in the way," Mason said. "Personally, I think that's a design flaw on their part, but obviously they were more interested in having a bar down there."
"I think you're right," Ted agreed, leaning back from the edge. He realized Mason had been looking at him, just then, not the view below. Mason smiled and indicated the suite door.
"Why don't we get started?"
"Sure," Ted replied, and followed Mason into the room. The room was another suite, Ted realized when he walked in, but he didn't see the same evidence of food and drinks as the last interview he had come to. There were some of the same Westcott E folders and brochures on the coffee table in the living room, some of which he had gone through with Noelle the last time.
"Can I get you anything to drink, Ted?" Mason waved a hand at the chairs around the table, and headed for the kitchen. "I'm just getting myself a scotch, if you'd like one."
Scotch, huh? "No thanks, Mr. Mason..."
"Call me Pete."
"...Pete. I've still got to drive home."
"Sure. I've got sodas here."
"Got a coke?"
"This is Atlanta, isn't it?" Pete smiled and pulled the familiar bottle out of the refrigerator, fixed his own drink, and brought it to the table with Ted's bottle and a glass. "There you go."
"Thanks," Ted said, pouring the bottle into the glass. Then he reached into his pocket and took out his Ipad. "So, tell me... so I know where we are in the process... are we actually going to go over the job, today, or are we doing more character checks?"
"Oh, no," Pete said, smiling widely. "We are past the character checks, and I am here to tell you about the jobs. I am one of the senior engineers on this project, and I want you to know all about it, ask me any questions you like, we'll go over the whole thing. Sound good?"
"Sounds great."
"Okay. Now, first, I have to explain why we've had to run this interview process the way we have. See, Westcott E doesn't usually put people through this kind of over-and-over interview thing. Most people don't like it, and you lose good people that way sometimes. But we're in a sensitive situation regarding this particular project. Westcott E has been trying to keep this thing top secret, because of concerns about corporate espionage and such."
"Espionage?" Ted repeated.
"It's nothing like what you're thinking," Pete said. "Mostly it's in the form of stealing corporate information... patents... violating agreements to gain advantage over a client or competitor... that kind of thing. It can cost a corporation millions, even billions.
"Now, this is a big project... one of the most important Westcott E has ever taken on. And it was imperative that nothing leak out before it was time. So we did our checks on people before telling them about the project, to insure we would be talking to the right people. People like you."
Pete pulled his laptop over and turned it so they could both see it. "Now, if you're ready, I'm going to show you what we're doing." He tapped a few keys, and a highly rendered graphic appeared on the screen. The object in the center was an odd collection of one large cylinder surrounded by numerous small cylinders, joined together by thick metal tubes and surrounded by flat rectangular screens and small round balls. The background was black, with nothing around the object to give a frame of reference. Ted stared at it, even cocked his head at it, trying to get a mental image of what this drawing was supposed to represent. Just before he asked outright, his eye focused on a pattern of rectangles, repeated along the inside of one of the cylinders in regular intervals, and suddenly, he realized that they were supposed to represent doors.
That gave him a sense of scale—and it was pretty big—but the layout of the thing still confounded him. If this diagram was right, some doors were literally upside down in relation to others. Corridors seemed to curve like carousels. He saw no windows in the diagram. And the central space was apparently as large and open as a cathedral.
"Um… what am I looking at, exactly?" Ted finally asked.
"Here," Pete replied, reaching over and tapping on the screen. "See if this helps."
A shape suddenly appeared, smooth and white, along one edge of the screen. The new object was moving, apparently shrinking in size, and approaching the main object at the center of the screen. After a few seconds, Ted realized the new object was a plane—wait, it was the Space Shuttle—and it was still shrinking and approaching the main object. The Shuttle graphic stopped shrinking, and now it poised next to the main object. Two objects alone, with nothing around them but black.
Ted's mouth dropped open. If the Shuttle was supposed to be a reference point for what he was looking at... but it couldn't be. His mouth gaped wider, and he turned to Pete.
Pete smiled at his expression. "That's right," he said in a low voice. "We're going to build an orbital work facility… a space station."
Ted looked at Pete, and his mouth was working, but it took a few seconds before he managed to croak, "Wait a minute. You want me to go into space and build a space station? You can't be serious! I'm no astronaut!"
"You don't have to be," Pete told him. "Let me explain. For years, non-astronauts have been spending a great deal of time in Earth orbit... scientists, doctors, engineers, technicians... they've gone up on the Space Shuttle, and on Mir, and on the ISS, as payload specialists. You know all about that." He didn't phrase it as a question, and Ted had to nod in agreement.
Pete took a sip from his drink, before he continued. "Now. Westcott E recently committed itself to the construction and operation of an independent space station, which will be designed to be a research and manufacturing facility of exotic and state-of-the-art materials and equipment. It's not as unusual as it sounds... if you think about it, although NASA personnel have flown the Shuttles, payload specialists have done a great deal of the research and work up there. There's already hundreds of man-hours that have been spent in space by civilians. We have decided to make our station a one-hundred-percent corporate facility, so it will not be government monitored or controlled. That means we will be handling our own supplies launches, except where we will be buying launches or surplus materials from NASA that are already committed to go up. And we will be doing the construction work ourselves, working from everything we've learned about working in space for the last fifty years."
"What does Westcott E know about building things in space?" Ted asked. "They fund and support other companies... they don't do anything like this!"
"No, Westcott E hasn't," Pete agreed. "When they decided to undertake this project, they went into negotiations to form a partnership with six other companies, into a conglomerate which is called Seven Heavens. I am under contract from King Engineering. I'm sure you've heard of King... we have been involved with air and space designs, space habitat design, and general NASA troubleshooting for over twenty years. We are also working with Eon Dynamics, another NASA contributor and a major aerospace firm."
Pete took another drink. "We have two manufacturing companies working with us. One is Mendez Johnson, a major chemical company and maker of home and industrial chemical items. The other is Sunia, Incorporated, the electronics and electromechanics manufacturer. There is a software developer, Saturnyne, working with us on the computer systems for the station. And representing computer hardware, Power Processing Incorporated, who used to sell Macintosh clones, and is presently diversifying and designing their own computer system.
"Westcott E is the company that ties all of these organizations together to form Seven Heavens. All seven of these companies have worked to a small or large extent with NASA and various NASA contractors. So between us, we have a wealth of hands-on information and real data to take with us into this project. Believe me, we are ready to do this."
Pete reached for the laptop, and changed the image to that of a technical diagram. "This is what we're planning to do. See the outer ring of cylinders? They're made up of discarded fuel tanks from the Space Transport System... the Shuttle. We've paid NASA to take their last sixteen tanks into orbit, instead of jettisoning them to burn up in re-entry. They've been collected and tethered together, in orbit right now. They will make up the living areas of the station, permanently manned. The first thing we will have to do is to connect these cylinders together, wall to wall, to make permanent living space. Then we'll set the interior framework, lay in life support, and attach solar panels to provide power."
"We're supposed to live in there?"
"Oh, yeah. Those cylinders will be plenty spacious enough for two living corridors and two storage levels each. The living quarters will be set up something like a dormitory... you know, individual rooms, common baths, offices and cafeterias. The whole thing will be interconnected to each other along the walls, and through these access tunnels that will run to a central hub. They'll even be rotated, to create an artificial gravity in the living areas."
He indicated the center cylinder, much thicker than and about twice the length of the outer cylinders. "Now, this large one in the center will be the research and manufacturing area. In phase two, the manufacturing facility and the research facility will be constructed outward from the center hub created in phase one. The hub cylinders will then be counter-rotated, to create a zero-gravity environment for the research and manufacturing areas. Once the central cylinder is done, we'll move in the heavy manufacturing equipment and fix it all in place. This will be the third phase of construction."
Then he pointed to the end of the center cylinder. "Finally, we'll build a docking hub on the manufacturing end which will serve as a materials and product outshipping point for our manufactured goods."
Ted watched the diagrams on the laptop change to illustrate each section Pete described. "So… you've got the entire station planned out."
"Yes, we do. Like an erector set. We'll go over all the details with you, so you can put it together by the numbers when you get there." Pete scooped up a brochure Ted hadn't seen before, and opened it in front of him. "If you accept the job, we're going to send you to our own space camp. We'll train you in the use of space suits and tools. I understand you've had experience working in encapsulated suits."
"Uh, yeah," Ted replied automatically.
"You'd be surprised how similar the two can be. But you'll also find out that space suits are a hell of a lot more comfortable than hazard suits. You'll get the hang of it in no time. We'll go over the entire construction project, especially the living modules, since you have to build those first thing. We'll test you for vertigo susceptibility, spatial orientation, zero-gee construction techniques, the whole nine yards."
"That's a lot more involved than your typical hazardous environment."
"Hey, I'm not going to lie to you," Ed said. "Yes, space is about as hazardous an environment as you can get into... if there's anything worse, it's maybe jumping naked into a roaring volcano. It's not a place for the timid. But again, we've got fifty years' experience working in this environment. You already have experience with wearing hazard suits, working in hazardous environments, and following strict and life-saving rules and procedures. Heck, compared to most people, including most astronauts starting out, you're halfway there! Our training will fill in the rest. And you'll be on salary from the moment you arrive at camp."
"Uh... how many people are you planning to hire for this construction job?"
"We're sending up thirty workers, with supervisors who have had experience in space. They'll assemble the living cylinders. When they're done, there will be room for an additional forty people, some of whom will be our research and manufacturing specialists. Most of those people will assist in the center hub construction in phase two. Once that's done, most of the construction teams will be replaced with more research and manufacturing specialists, and the remainder will be on staff as maintenance team personnel."
"How long is all of this going to take?" Ted asked.
"Camp will be a month long. Our estimates place phase one at forty-five days, phase two at thirty days, phase three at nine days, and a shakedown period of at least thirty days. So you could expect to be on the station for at least four months."
"Four months in space," Ted reflected. "Then I'd come back home?"
"If you want," Pete replied, "but you don't have to quit there. This station is going to be permanently manned, and we're looking for long-term personnel to man it. Depending on how you do, and how you like the job, you may be eligible to stay on beyond phases one, two and three. You may even qualify for a supervisory position, with the obligatory pay raise."
Pay raise. As in, more than one hundred thousand a year. Ted blinked hard, and took a gulp of his soda.
"Okay," Pete continued. "Now, a lot of people still believe that it takes special skills and training to go into orbit. But the fact of the matter is, the first astronauts needed the special skills to deal with an environment, and complicated equipment, that was unlike anything anyone had dealt with before. But those days were over about fifteen years ago. Today, Shuttles fly by wire with triple-redundant computers, space suits are much more resilient, and zero-gee operations techniques are practiced and documented. Since the ISS went up, we have learned a great deal of new techniques for space construction.
"All of that data, all publicly available, greatly contributed to Scaled Composites' research into vehicles that could take passengers to orbit, which resulted in their winning the X-prize in 2004. The Reynolds-Compton Group followed them into orbit in 2007, and other companies are still trying to achieve that milestone. And they are all relying on what was learned on the STS and ISS missions before them.
"This is a lot like the period of exploration of the American continent, when the first government-sponsored pioneers blazed the trails and learned how to live in the wilderness. After them, the settlers... the common man... came in and built their homes and businesses, and started the growth of the American West. We've just reached the period in our own history when the trail into space has been blazed by the astronauts, the pioneers, and now it's ready for settling. Space is ready for the common man. It's ready for guys like us."
"Like us," Ted echoed. "Look, it's not as if I don't..." Ted paused, not liking how he sounded. "What I mean is, why are you doing this? Why is Westcott E, a PR firm, doing this?"
"Good question," Pete nodded. He set his drink down on the table a moment. "Ted, at your age, you've never really known a world that didn't have NASA in it. So you're very familiar, I'm sure, with the history of the organization, all the way back into the sixties."
"Pretty much," Ted admitted.
"Okay. If you know NASA, then you know the biggest single headache that NASA has had, from the get-go. In one word: Value. Or I should say, perceived value. Everybody saying, ‘How does this feed starving kids in China?' ‘How does this make my job easier?' ‘What the Hell is Tang, anyway?'" Ted chuckled lightly, but held his attention. Pete acknowledged his barely-effective levity, and went on. "NASA's biggest problem was always funding, and that was because they had very little concrete products to show for all of their efforts. All Mister and Missus American saw were space pens and Teflon. In the meantime, the real innovations that NASA created... things like hydrogen fuel cells, and reams of human physiological data, for instance... never made it to the public eye. People even today have no clue how much of their modern lifestyle they owe to NASA.
Ted had no comment, so Pete went on. "Then in oh-four, Scaled Composites got to orbit and won the X-prize. And everybody thought people like Richard Branson would start giving everyone orbital trips, and building hotels in space. But so far, no one has been able to pull off the touristy stuff, because it's just not worth the expense.
"Yes, we plan to put an orbital in space," Pete continued. "However, we have no intention of using it to gain incredible insights into the age of the Milky Way, or the mating habits of flatworms in zero-gee, or to take pictures of supernovae. We're also not going to give people hotel rooms with little candies tethered to their pillows." Ted smiled at that. "We are going to manufacture products. Concrete products. Products that Mister and Missus America will hold in their hand and say, ‘Damn! This is great! Thank you, Seven Heavens!' The public will appreciate us for what we do directly for them, thanks to the research Westcott E put into figuring out the products they want, and how they'll respond once they get them.
"This is Westcott E's way of promoting space to America. The Seven Heavens conglomerate is well aware of America's dwindling industrial might, and loss of industrial market share worldwide. But America still knows more about working in space... even more than the Russians. They learned a hell of a lot on Mir, mostly related to long-term living in space, that we'd barely scratched the surface of. But they learned comparatively little about working effectively in space, or the effects of space on materials and assemblies, which we've concentrated on through our shuttle program. We believe that leveraging America's still-dominant knowledge of working in space, and producing products no one on the ground can match, will reverse the industrial trend and bring the world back to American products."
Pete picked up his glass and took a sip, pausing to give Ted a moment to digest everything. "Look, Ted. "We are going to build this station. We're going to make history, here. And even more than that, the things this factory is going to make will help to revolutionalize life as we know it, all over the world. We're offering you a chance to get in on history, right now. Westcott E is giving stock options to anyone who signs up for long-term duty, because they know it will be an isolated job... like working the Antarctica station... but it'll be more than worth it. You'll make a lot of money doing this, you'll be cutting edge. And if you do decide to quit, you'll be able to write your ticket in any high-tech office in the world. Ted," Pete said, leaning forward for emphasis, "this is the chance of a lifetime. To make your mark in a special moment in history. You won't regret this, I promise."
Pete reached under a set of brochures and pulled out standard employment contracts, already filled out. "So here's the deal. Starting in two weeks, you start at camp. If at any point, you don't like what you're doing, or what we're doing, you can leave, no questions asked.
"We send you to the station a month after that, and only once we're sure you're ready. Then you start a four-month tour building the station to our specs, all preplanned and ready. Plug and play. You'll be paid at a yearly rate of one hundred thousand dollars to start, which translates to a minimum of thirty-three thousand for a four month tour, plus any work-related bonuses you earn. You can be promoted during this period, to a supervisory or specialist position.
"After the four month tour, pending performance, you can extend your tour to the manufacturing or research phases as a specialist or technician. We will also be maintaining support facilities on the ground after the station is completed. So, if you'd prefer to stay on the ground, you may qualify for one of those positions.
"Now, here's something else to think about. Although you'll be making your salary, you won't be spending much of it on the station. We will provide you with your work clothing, your food, and entertainment. Your salary will therefore be placed in an account, and you'll be issued a cashcard for use on the station. Do you use cashcards now?"
"Sure, I've got one."
"Okay. Ours is a standard card, and you'll be able to use it for purchases on the station, or items on the ground. Seven Heavens will borrow against your salary, so it will earn equity from Seven Heavens, based on market worth, plus the prime lending rate. By the end of your tour, you will have earned interest on top of your salary. So you'll be making more than the actual salary, as soon as you start. And you'll be free to withdraw the money from your account at any time after leaving Seven Heavens."
Pete pushed the papers at Ted. "You interested?"
Ted took the time to examine the contracts, to give him time to think about the offer. The contracts themselves were standard, right down to the last line, and including an excellent health and accident policy 100% paid by Seven Heavens. The salary and benefits Pete described were all there, and the work schedule, promotion schedules and bonus rates were all included. It all looked great on paper. And Pete made it sound feasible enough, or at least, not much different or more dangerous than his hazardous waste job. He could go ahead and try the camp, and after a month, if he didn't think they were knowledgeable enough, he could quit before launch. He couldn't see the harm in at least that. Then he would simply come home...
Home. Bette. He suddenly remembered why he had considered the job in the first place. Ted had to wonder if he was simply overreacting to his desire to get away from his failing marriage. If so, this was awfully far to run. But he really didn't believe he was simply running away... there was more to it than that.
Then he looked up at Pete, who was watching him intently, and he caught a gleam in Pete's eyes. All at once, Ted knew that was it: The excitement of the project. Pete practically radiated the excitement, and Ted could feel it, too. If he pushed back his own concerns for the risks, he could tell that everything else was the thrill of getting in on history, of being at the cutting edge, and helping to hone that edge himself.
He looked down at the papers again. And he really couldn't see any reason not to go for it. When he looked back up, Pete caught the look in his eye, and a smile slowly spread on his face. Ted felt it too, and slowly the smile spread to his own face.
"Yeah." Ted nodded clearly and confidently. "Yeah, I want in. Got a pen?"
"Do I have a pen?" Pete repeated brightly. "Do I have a pen!"
After Ted had gone through the papers, Pete said, "Okay, now, this is important. I told you this is a sensitive project. We would appreciate it if you didn't tell anyone about the specifics of this project, before you report to camp."
"You mean..." Ted gaped at him. "How could you have kept this a secret? I mean, you have NASA saving fuel tanks for you! What do they think you're doing?"
"Well, NASA has been told that King is planning to use them for research. They weren't too worried about it, though... we paid them in advance. But basically, no one outside of a few dozen personnel knows about this project. No one outside of Seven Heavens knows about this project. In fact, we expect that the rest of the world will hear about this by tonight's evening news."
"Tonight? What happens tonight?"
"Today is the first day we've explained the job to our potential applicants. Even though we're asking everyone not to say anything about the project to anyone, we're sure a few people will blab to the press. And certainly anyone who turns us down will try to expose our project, probably to denounce it as crazy. If I hadn't asked you to not tell anyone, you would, right?"
Ted had to nod. "You've got me there."
"There you go," Pete shrugged. "Now, we can't legally prevent you from speaking out. But if Seven Heavens finds out you did talk to the press, or told someone who talked to the press, it will adversely affect your position with the project. So, it's in your best interests to keep quiet about it. After word gets out, it's okay to admit you're on the project, but don't give any details to anyone. There is still a concern about corporate espionage, and we don't want to jeopardize this project. Okay?"
"Sure," Ted nodded. "I understand."
"Great," Pete said, extending his hand across the table. "Welcome aboard, Mr. Canter."
"Thanks!" Ted shook his hand enthusiastically. "Thanks a lot!"
"Let's see..." Pete consulted his watch. "So, you've got a job in two weeks. You have anyplace you need to be, right now?"
"Well... no," Ted admitted, shrugging.
"Good. Because we've got the rooftop restaurant reserved for our group. We're treating you to a free lunch, and you can meet some others on the Seven Heavens project, and some of the others that have hopefully also said ‘yes,' like you. You game?"
"Sure," Ted smiled.
Ed smiled wickedly back. "Bet you're ready for a drink now, aren't you?"
*****
The restaurant on the top floor of the Hyatt overlooked Atlanta from all four sides, with the kitchen and elevator bays taking up the center of the floorspace. Ted and Pete entered the restaurant from the bay, and saw few others there. A buffet table was set up along the south window, and a half dozen people stood nearby. Pete and Ted stopped at the bar first, then headed over to the table. One of a group of four noticed them approaching, and waved.
"Hey, Saul," Pete called, leading Ted up to the foursome. "Are one of these your interviewees?"
"You bet," the man Pete had addressed stepped forward. "You would be Canter? I'm Saul Bell. I contract with Seven Heavens through Eon Dynamics."
"How do you do," Ted shook his hand.
"Let me introduce you to the other new employees of Seven Heavens. This is my recruit... Sally Highbranch. And this is Jim Beeks, and Franz Thomas." Everyone shook hands, as the waiter brought over Ted's drink. The other three recruits stood awkwardly by after the introductions, looking at each other. Jim Beeks could have been your average college grad looking for an office job, judging by his barely-worn suit and tie... a lot like Ted probably looked, he thought wryly. And Franz Thomas, in his grey shirt, sportcoat and red tie, looked like a manual laborer looking for his first desk job. And Sally Highbranch looked just about as Indian as her name sounded, Ted thought: Long, black hair, high cheekbones, tall and strong. Her good looks and figure said, "office job" to Ted, but somehow didn't think that was it... what kind of a girl goes from a clerical job to building space stations?
"Ted, try something from the buffet," Saul invited him, then stepped aside to speak to Pete.
Ted tasted his drink, glanced at the buffet table, then at the other three recruits. "Have you all been up here long?"
All three of them shook their heads, but Sally spoke first. "We all practically just got here. Saul and I were the first to come up."
"Can you believe what we're here for?" Jim Beeks said. "It's incredible, isn't it? We're going to go into space!"
"It is pretty amazing," Ted smiled. "I mean, I gave up the idea of being able to go into space when I was twenty-four. Who goes into space with a business degree?"
"I don't even have a degree," Sally agreed. "And, yeah, it's pretty wild, all right. Did it take much persuasion for you?"
Ted shrugged. "It took me awhile to get used to it. I guess I thought about it longer than any of you!"
"Not by much!" Jim said, and they all laughed.
As the afternoon progressed, more interviewers and interviewees appeared in the restaurant. By noon, Ted counted about a dozen men and women, and their interviewers, which seemed to be all that would be coming. When he saw Pete next, he commented, "If you get a turnout like this all over the country, you'll have a few hundred workers! How many interview locations like this did you set up?"
"Not as many as you think," Pete told him. "We concentrated in just a few areas with high concentrations of people with appropriate work histories. As it so happens, the kind of backgrounds we were looking for tend to be concentrated in the major metropolitan areas like the Atlanta area, the Washington-Boston corridor, L.A.-San Francisco, Chicago, Seattle, Dallas-Ft. Worth, Denver, Miami. Anyone else who's qualified, we'll go to meet. We'll get about fifty to sixty people for the camp, and we expect some to wash out, some others to opt for ground assignments. That'll leave thirty people to go up. As it happens, we did get more people from this one location than we expected... about four more, I think. More than enough."
"What kind of ground assignments are there going to be, anyway?" Ted asked. "Things like radio monitoring, or...?"
"Actually," Pete told him, "that comes under the category of items we don't want to discuss before the camp. You'll find out all about those things once you get there."
At that moment, Pete heard his name called from across the restaurant, and headed off in that direction. Ted, momentarily alone, stepped back over to the buffet table to grab his second plate of finger food. He noticed Sally Highbranch walking over to the same table, and she got there just a few seconds ahead of him.
As he picked up a fresh plate, he turned to Sally. "Were you doing some kind of technically-related work to qualify for this job?"
Sally looked over at Ted, and shook her head. "I'm a construction worker."
Ted blinked, and he saw Sally's mouth turn up in a smirk. "Sorry," Ted said quickly. "But you don't see too many female construction workers. What do you do?"
"Oh, welding, crane operating, beam placement, interiors. Mostly the frame stuff."
"Yeah, I guess all of that will be useful on a job like this."
"So, I guess you were doing some kind of high-tech work?"
"Me? No, not really," Ted replied. "I was setting up remote office cubicles on my last job. Mostly wiring, maintenance and computer management. But I've done some heavy labor work in the past, including using encapsulated suits, which Pete said would be useful."
"Encapsulated? What's that?"
"Airtight suits with an air supply," Ted explained. "I used to work a hazardous waste job, and we wore those a lot."
"Oh, yeah," Sally nodded. "Something like space suits. You'll be right at home in one, I guess."
"Well, I don't know about that," he replied, and they both chuckled. Ted looked back over his shoulder at the men and women who had interviewed them all, then turned back to Sally. "Do you really think these guys know what they're talking about? Do you think this'll be safe, really?"
Sally glanced back at the interviewers, as well, before answering. "I think they're right about one thing: This is just like the first settlers going in after the pioneers blazed the trails."
"So, they used that line on you, too, huh?"
"Probably on all of us. But what they probably didn't mention was that a lot of the first settlers still faced serious hardships on the new frontier. Many of those hardy settlers, the best of the best, died on that frontier." She glanced back again, to make sure no one else heard her. "I think they can do this. But I also think we're all going to have to be very, very careful."
*****
"Hell yes, another!" Ted waved the empty pitcher high, and in moments, a hand snatched it from him. "This one's on me!" he cried, and a chorus of cheers rang out. Tom Dion was there beside him, as well as a number of others that Ted counted as friends at Slickers. Ted had decided to share his newfound employment with his friends, and instead of going home, had gone directly to the bar to celebrate. It was already past seven, and he knew Bette would be wondering where he was... assuming, of course, that she was home, herself... but at that moment, Ted could not have cared less.
The knot of friends had first crowded into a corner of the bar, to hold their private party in honor of Ted's new job. But at around six thirty, Ted had suddenly moved them over to the end of the bar, within close range of a television set mounted high on the wall. The party continued, but Ted split his attention between his friends and the television overhead.
Dyan brought the now-filled pitcher back, with a second one in her other hand. "Here you go, Ted!" she called over the din, and other hands took the pitchers from her. "Ted! How long are you going to wait before you go home and tell your wife?"
Ted dismissed the notion with an imperious wave, and the others laughed loudly. Ted turned toward Dyan and said, "She doesn't care about my new job, any more than I care to tell her about it!" He paused, turned to Tom. "Did that come out right?"
"Sounded good to me!" Tom laughed, pounding Ted on the back. Someone else cried, "You're drunk, Ted!"
Ted turned to him. "Yeah, but I've got two weeks to sober up!" He punctuated his remark by downing the beer in his mug, and the others cheered and raised their own mugs to him.
Dyan tapped Ted on the shoulder to get his attention, and he turned fully to her. "Seriously, Ted. I thought you said you and Bette were still getting along okay... I mean, not fighting or anything. Why can't you tell her?"
"Seriously, Dyan," Ted returned. "She doesn't care. You weren't there when I told her about the job the first time. You didn't see the look she gave me. Besides, she'll know soon enough."
"Still, you really should tell her," Dyan said, taking an empty pitcher offered to her and returning it to the beer tap to refill. From the tap, she called back to Ted, "How would you feel if she did that to you?" Ted didn't seem to hear her from the end of the bar, so when she was finished filling the pitcher, she walked back over to him. "I said, how would you feel if she —"
"Dyan," Ted interrupted, "turn up the volume."
Dyan stared at him, realizing he was gazing up at the television. On the screen, a news reporter sat at a desk, with a logo projected over her shoulder that Dyan had never seen before.
"Turn up the volume!" Ted repeated, and Dyan reached for the remote and raised the volume. The others, hearing Ted's command, looked up at the screen and quieted enough to listen.
"... reports revealed today. The new conglomerate has been formed by Westcott E and a number of other as-yet-undisclosed companies, with the apparent intention of building the world's first fully commercial space station. Our sources report that this conglomerate has been interviewing people for the job of space builders, to be launched into orbit and spend some four months laboring on the space station."
The bar had gone quiet. Everyone stared at the televisions mounted around the bar.
"This story has been corroborated by similar reports in Dallas, Philadelphia, and now Seattle. In all but one case, this information was volunteered by job applicants who had turned down the jobs once they had been described fully to them. The exception is one Carlo Settle, from Baltimore, Maryland, who was in Philadelphia being interviewed and claims to have accepted the job. Mr. Settle says he is looking forward to the training camp he will be attending.
"Reporters have been calling and showing up at the corporate headquarters of Westcott E, the only company we know for sure is involved with this project. So far, officials at Westcott E have been unavailable for comment. There are rumors that Sony, King Engineering, Rockwell International, GMBC, General Dynamics and Apple are also involved in this project, but none of these rumors have been confirmed..."
"Hey, Ted," Tom interrupted, putting a hand on Ted's shoulder. "Isn't Westcott E the company you just took a job with?"
Ted turned to Tom, and gave him a knowing grin.
Tom's whoop could be heard outside the bar and all the way down the block.
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