“Amazing, isn’t it?” said a voice in his ear. Jerry turned and saw a man standing beside him with an armload of literature. He was trapped and he knew it
“It’s the first completely integrated Cybemautics system,” the man said as he pressed a glossy brochure into Jerry’s hand. “There’s a P6 with a graphics accelerator in the backpack, transparent LCDs in the goggles and the gloves are 3-D pointing devices. There’s also a high-bandwidth cellular modem so you’re always hooked up. Right now he’s net surfing, playing Doom n and watching the Browns play the Bears, all at once. The next step is to install the ultrasonic proximity locators and the differential GPS system so he’ll never get lost.”
In spite of himself Jerry was impressed. The demonstrator continued waving his arms and jerking his head, oblivious to the conversation and the crowd.
“What do you do? Besides hand out literature.”
The man looked apologetic. “I’m his guide. Without the ultrasonic locators he keeps bumping into walls.”
Suiting his actions to his words, he took the cybernaut’s elbow and steered him away through the swirling throng.
“I think,” Jerry said to Bal-Simba, “that’s a concept that needs a little development.” Then he was all business. “Now let me see the show guide. Sigurd said Taj was interested in scientific visualization software.”
If anything the human mass was thicker and more congealed flowing through the doors of the main exhibit hall. Once inside things opened out slightly and the aisles were merely packed. Their first stop was a “booth,” actually a carpeted area cut up by movable walls, about a third of the way in and halfway back. There were oversized television screens showing a dizzying array of images, and workstations on pedestals displaying other images, but not many people. The area on the carpet was relatively uncrowded and Moira breathed a sulfurous sigh of relief. One or two of the employees started to drift toward them but Jerry kept scanning, paying special attention to the feet.
Finally he spotted an attractive blond woman in a tan business suit who had just finished talking to two other employees.
“Excuse me,” Jerry said. “I wonder if you could help me.”
“That’s what we’re here for. Has, ah…” She gave a quick glance at Jerry’s badge. “Magic Dragon got a need for visualizaton software?”
“Sort of. I’m Jerry Andrews, CEO of the company, and this is, uh, Mr. Simba. He’s our chief wizard.”
“Elaine Haverford,” the woman said extending her hand. Then to Bal-Simba she said “Jambo. I like the title. I may steal it.”
“Jambo,” Bal-Simba repeated, for all the world as if he knew what it meant. “And you are welcome to the title, My Lady, if it pleases you.”
Elaine Haverford took the wizard’s polite address for a compliment and dimpled.
“Actually, we were supposed to meet one of our consultants here,” Jerry went on smoothly. “E.T. Tajikawa. But we seem to have missed connections.”
Taj? He was here yesterday, but I haven’t seen him today. Hey, Henry!” she called over her shoulder, “have you seen the Tajmanian Devil around today?” Then she shook her head at the answer. “Not today. I think he said something about attending the Mauve reception at the Towne Centre, though.”
Jerry handed her a card, fresh out of the vending machine in the registration booth. “If you see him could you have him leave us a message on the board saying where he’s going to be? We really can’t move on the visualization software without his advice.”
“Sure will,” Elaine Haverford said. “Meanwhile, if there’s anything I can help you with,” she handed over one of her own cards, “just ask.”
“Excuse me, My Lord,” Bal-Simba said as they pushed out into the aisle again. “Why did you ask that person and not one of the others?”
Jerry, an old hand at trade shows, recognized the question as a sign of severe information overload. When you’re overwhelmed, you concentrate on the little things, even the irrelevancies.
“Her shoes.”
“But she was not wearing any.” “Exactly.” Jerry looked smug. “A woman’s shoes are a giveaway at a trade show. See, high heels are murder on these concrete floors and you walk a lot, so the only women who wear high heels are the booth bunnies— hired models—and the low-level employees. If a woman wears flats she’s with the company and probably has some status, an. engineer maybe. Running shoes and she’s probably high-level management. Now she—” he jerked his head back toward the booth. “She was barefoot with her business suit.”