Jerry raised his eyebrows. “That kid? He’s not in the same league with most of the rest of the people and I think he’s a pirate to boot.”
“I thought he said he was a programer.”
“A pirate is a kind of programmer. He steals other people’s software.”
“Nonetheless, I would have him.”
Jerry shrugged. “I think he’s going to be more trouble than he’s worth, but okay. I’ll add him to the list.” He made a note on the pad and looked up.
“Why do you want him, anyway?”
“A feeling,” Moira said. “Just a feeling.”
“A premonition?”
Moira smiled. “In this place? No, I just feel that he has something to offer. I do not know, perhaps he reminded me of Wiz.”
Jerry made a face. “Now that you mention it, there is a certain resemblance.” He scribbled another note on the list. “Okay, then. That’s our team.”
“Now what?” Moira asked.
“Now we call them back, explain the terms and give them the contract to sign.” He made another face. “This is where it is going to get real interesting.”
There was food in the black and white palace after all. Wandering what had been the kitchen, Wiz found half a flat round loaf of bread and several strips of dried meat that had fallen behind a counter
The meat was probably tough before it had been dried and it was certainly stringy. The bread was heavy, and full of what seemed to be sawdust, but after two days and a night in the pit Wiz was in no mood to complain. He wolfed down his find and then curled up in a corner.
Maybe there is justice in the world after all, he thought drowsily as he drifted off.
” . . . and you receive a signing bonus of two point three ounces of gold and a rate of pay of two point three ounces of gold per week for the duration of the contract,” Jerry told the selected group of programmers gathered under the awning.
“Gold?” asked Ali Akhan, the herald.
Jerry shrugged. “Simplifies matters for the employer.”
“This guy’s either a libertarian or a drug smuggler,” Karl Dershowitz said. Jerry did not reply.
Moira smiled. “We really are . . .”
” . . . not at liberty to say,” Nancy Sutton finished for her. “We know the drill.”
“Okay,” said Cindy Naismith, a short, slender woman with close-cropped brown hair. “What about performance penalties?”
“None. We can tell you so little about the project until you get on-site that it wouldn’t be fair. However there is a bonus if the contract is completed on time to the client’s satisfaction.”
He pushed the clipboard out into the middle of the table. “If you accept the terms, sign this agreement.”
Ali Akhan sat down and began to read through the six-page document. Jerry waited to see what happened when he got to the non-disclosure clause. The contract was something they had whipped together out of the pieces of contracts Jerry had in his computer at home. It was pretty much the standard verbiage—except for the non-disclosure agreement.
” . . . if this agreement is breached, employee will immediately be struck by lightning and hereby agrees to forfeit his immortal soul . . .” Ali Akhan read out. He looked up angrily. “What kind of shit is this? I mean it’s very funny, but who’s gonna believe that nonsense?”
Moira smiled sweetly. “Oh, I think we can contrive to convince, My Lord.”
“This is weird,” he muttered, reaching for a pen. Then he looked up and grinned. “You don’t want me to sign in blood do you?”
“Oh no, that will not be necessary,” Moira told him seriously.
Ali Akhan gave her a funny look and then signed his name. Taking the contract back, Jerry saw that his real name was Larry Fox.
Several other people looked at them strangely after they finished reading the contract, but none of them refused to sign it—much to Jerry’s surprise. Either things were slow in the Valley or these people were stranger than most computer types.
Considering the milieu . . .
“Fine then,” he told the assembled group. “We will meet at the back parking lot of Los Alamitos Mall at seven o’clock Wednesday morning. Have someone drive you or leave your cars at home. Transportation will be provided from the meeting point to our destination.