Switchboard operators do not walk into the offices of the president of a billion-credit corporation. But General Services was not organized like any other business on the planet. It was a sui generis business in which special training was a commodity to be listed, bought, and sold, but general resourcefulness and a ready wit were all important. In its hierarchy Jay Clare, the president, came first, his handyman, Saunders Francis, stood second, and the couple of dozen operators, of which Grace was one, who took calls on the unlimited switchboard came immediately after. They, and the field operators who handled the most difficult unclassified commissions – one group in fact, for the unlimited switchboard operators and the unlimited field operators swapped places indiscriminately.
After them came the tens of thousands of other employees spread over the planet, from the chief accountant, the head of the legal department, the chief clerk of the master files on down through the local managers. the catalogue operators to the last classified part time employee – stenographers prepared to take dictation when and where ordered, gigolos ready to fill an empty place at a dinner, the man who rented both armadillos and trained fleas.
Grace Cormet walked into Mr Clare’s office. It was the only room in the building not cluttered up with electromechanical recording and communicating equipment. It contained nothing but his desk (bare), a couple of chairs, and a stereo screen, which, when not in use, seemed to be Krantz’ famous painting `The Weeping Buddha’. The original was in fact in the sub-basement, a thousand feet below.
`Hello, Grace,’ he greeted her, and shoved a piece of paper at her. `Tell me what you think of that. Sance says it’s lousy.’ Saunders Francis turned his mild pop eyes from his chief to Grace Cormet, but neither confirmed nor denied the statement.
Miss Cormet read:
CAN YOU AFFORD IT?
Can You Afford GENERAL SERVICES?
Can You Afford NOT to have General Services ? ? ? ??
In this jet-speed age can you afford to go on wasting time doing your own shopping, paying bills yourself, taking care of your living compartment?
We’ll spank the baby and feed the cat.
We’ll rent you a house and buy your shoes.
We’ll write to your mother-in-law and add up your check stubs.
No job too large; No job too small – and all amazingly Cheap!
GENERAL SERVICES
Dial H-U-R-R-Y – U-P
P.S. WE ALSO WALK DOGS
`Well?’ said Clare.
`Sance is right. It smells.’
`Why?’
`Too logical. Too verbose. No drive.’
`What’s your idea of an ad to catch the marginal market?’
She thought a moment, then borrowed his stylus and wrote:
DO YOU WANT SOMEBODY MURDERED?
(Then don’t call GENERAL SERVICES)
But for any other job dial HURRY-UP – It pays!
P.S. We also walk dogs.
`Mmmm . . . well, maybe,’ Mr Clare said cautiously. `We’ll try it. Sance, give this a type B coverage, two weeks, North America, and let me know how it takes.’ Francis put it away in his kit, still with no change in his mild expression. `Now as I was saying -,
`Chief,’ broke in Grace Cormet. `I made an appointment for you in – ` She glanced at her watchfinger. ` – exactly two minutes and forty seconds. Government man.’
`Make him happy and send him away. I’m busy.’
`Green Badge.’
He looked up sharply. Even Francis looked interested. `So?’ Clare remarked. `Got the interview transcript with you?’
`I wiped it.’
`You did? Well, perhaps you know best. I like your hunches. Bring him in.’
She nodded thoughtfully and left.
She found her man just entering the public reception room and escorted him past half a dozen gates whose guardians would otherwise have demanded his identity and the nature of his business. When he was seated in Clare’s office, he looked around. `May I speak with you in private, Mr Clare?’
`Mr Francis is my right leg. You’ve already spoken to Miss Cormet.’
`Very well.’ He produced the green sigil again and held it out. `No names are necessary just yet. I am sure of your discretion.’
The President of General Services sat up impatiently. `Let’s get down to business. You are Pierre Beaumont, Chief of Protocol. Does the administration want a job done?’