Thus, on this brilliantly sunny afternoon, Pashley was sharing a cubbyhole office with the rather bewildered astrophysicist who had been assigned to “coordinate” with him. After three months in the same office Ray knew all about what Pashley had done, but he still wasn’t sure what he had done to be punished like this.
For preference Ray Whipple didn’t deal with anything closer than about five light years. People were especially difficult for him and riding herd on Pashley was straining his skills at interpersonal relations.
Putting the magazine in his lap Ray decided to try one more time. “Look,” he protested, “it doesn’t work that way.”
“You mean you don’t know how to make it work that way,” Pashley said.
“These kids are geniuses.”
“But,” Ray repeated feebly. “But . . . but . . . but . . .”
“Don’t worry. You hold up your end and we’ll nail these hackers yet.” He hit a few keys and looked at the results on the screen. “Uh, could you get this untangled for me? Computer’s screwed up again.”
Ten: Progress Report I
Never Let Them See You Sweat.
Consultants’ Slogan
Normally a consultant presented a proposal in writing. These people preferred a face-to-face approach. Like making a presentation to the prospective client, Wiz thought, only I’ve already got the job.
Something over a dozen councilors had assembled in the Mayor’s office for the meeting. In addition to Mayor Hastlebone and Dieter there was a distinguished-looking man in a tasteful blue tunic whom Wiz remembered vaguely, one or two other sharp-looking characters and a few old codgers who looked like they had come because they didn’t have any place better to be.
Dieter was off to one side with a couple of other council members hanging at his elbows, talking to a slightly taller, younger man who managed to be handsome in a beefy blond sort of way and still look like Dieter. The councilor was punctuating his words with short, sharp hand motions and the other was focusing on him intently and occasionally nodding to show he more or less understood.
As soon as Wiz entered the room Dieter jerked his head around to stare at him and, followed by his entourage, pushed his way through the group over to him.
“Ah, Wizard,” the little councilor said just a shade too loudly, “I’d like you to meet my nephew Pieter Halder. My sister’s son. Fine boy and my heir.” He clapped the young man firmly on the shoulder. Pieter smiled vacantly and nodded.
Dieter fixed Wiz with an eagle’s glare. “Have you considered what I told you?”
“Ah, I have the matter under advisement.”
“And?” the little man asked sharply.
Out of the corner of his eye Wiz saw that the mayor was watching them. He didn’t look any too pleased.
“Well, as you know, this is a serious matter. . . .”
“Serious for you if you go against me, you mean.”
“While I’m sure we share many basic objectives . . .” The mayor cut him off by rapping his gavel to call the meeting to order and Dieter and the others retreated to the councilors’ benches. Wiz suddenly found himself standing alone in the middle of the room.
“I asked the wizard here to tell us what he’s going to do,” the mayor announced. “You all know what happened at the Baggot place.” There was general muttering and nodding. “Now he’s going to explain to us how he’s going to fight these dragons.”
“Well, actually I wasn’t planning on fighting them,” Wiz corrected. The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees and the councilors started to mutter among themselves again, this time a low ominous mutter.
Wiz recognized his cue for fancy footwork. He steepled his hands, dropped his voice half an octave and nodded to the council.
“Obviously, to solve a problem of this magnitude it is necessary to grasp the entire solution space by completely reinventing the initial propositions. As you can see this is a major undertaking and to be effective the work flow must be carefully managed.”
The councilors were listening intently now, all of them nodding to show their neighbors that they understood perfectly, even if no one else did.