kinds. There’s no pattern. Listen, I realize this is serious, but our violence rate isn’t so bad when you compare it to the big picture.”
“The big picture? What big picture?”
“The national incidence of violence, against banks, corporation offices, universities, insurance companies, government compounds, railroads, oil fields, laser-fusion power stations, airlines, and so forth. In some categories—bombings, for instance—our growth rate is actually lower than the national average.”
I stared around the room. I don’t think any of them caught it.
“It doesn’t compute,” I said. “Burton tells us the incidence of terrorist attacks against research facilities is fifty percent larger than it was last year and growing at a rate of five percent a month. He adds that the growth rate of national terrorist activity is even higher. But Phoebe tells us the Satisfaction Rate has never been higher and is rising every month. Just what the hell is going on?”
Angela stared at me a moment. No expression.
“Yes, yes,” she said quietly, “it’s something to think about. Well ... I believe we’ve accomplished a great deal. Good meeting. I thank you all. Adjourned. Nick, could I see you for a moment?”
There was a gabble of relieved voices, pushing back of chairs, gathering of papers and files. The room emptied. Paul waited for me near the door, I went up to Angela.
“Yes?”
“I want to see you and Paul tonight. Come up to my place. At 2100.”
“Fine. We’ll be there.”
She nodded and was gone. I sank down into her chair, began rubbing my chin. Paul came over to stand close to me. I looked up at him.
“What Klein said about using the Project Supersense synchronization technique on filmed book reels and sound tracks—we should have thought of that.”
“I know.” He nodded miserably. “I’m sorry.”
“Not your fault. Mine. Put it in the Tomorrow File.”
“Too late,” he said. “I’ll explain to you later tonight.” “We’ve got to see Angela at 2100. At her place.”
“I’ll be back by then.”
“Back?”
“I have to leave the compound tonight.”
I nodded.
“Aren’t you curious as to where I’m going?”
“Should I be?”
“I may have a user on the outside.”
“So?”
“Couldn’t you be just a wee bit jealous?”
“All right, Paul.” I sighed. “Where are you going?”
“Tell you when I get back.”
Sometimes he acted like a flirtatious ef. I let it pass.
“What’s gotten into Klein?” I asked. “He seemed out for my balls.”
“I noticed that. I was hoping you’d pick up on his report. I should have known you would. An Instox copy was circulated yesterday. I scanned it and got curious. I borrowed their rough data. They wouldn’t let me take it out of their office, but I scanned it. There is a pattern to the terrorist attacks against scientific facilities.”
“Had to be,” I nodded. “What is it?”
“About seventy percent are against laboratories doing procreation and genetic research.”
“That’s interesting,” I said.
The problem with the four-day week, for executives, was that we were compelled to serve twice as hard during the first six hours we returned from a threeday.
I went down to my office from the SATSEC conference and dug into the three stacks of documents on my desk. As usual, I organized my own three stacks: Immediate, Soon, Later. Included in the Immediate pile were the daily progress reports from team leaders that had accumulated during my absence. Most were routine; I
scribbled my initials to indicate they had been scanned. They would then be microfilmed and filed. But one report was of particular interest to me.
It was from my Gerontology Team. With some diffidence, the leader was bucking along a suggestion made by one of his young servers—a bright ef. I scanned her name again to make certain I’d remember it.
She had run a computerized actuarial study of what it cost the government to maintain an
“The big picture? What big picture?”
“The national incidence of violence, against banks, corporation offices, universities, insurance companies, government compounds, railroads, oil fields, laser-fusion power stations, airlines, and so forth. In some categories—bombings, for instance—our growth rate is actually lower than the national average.”
I stared around the room. I don’t think any of them caught it.
“It doesn’t compute,” I said. “Burton tells us the incidence of terrorist attacks against research facilities is fifty percent larger than it was last year and growing at a rate of five percent a month. He adds that the growth rate of national terrorist activity is even higher. But Phoebe tells us the Satisfaction Rate has never been higher and is rising every month. Just what the hell is going on?”
Angela stared at me a moment. No expression.
“Yes, yes,” she said quietly, “it’s something to think about. Well ... I believe we’ve accomplished a great deal. Good meeting. I thank you all. Adjourned. Nick, could I see you for a moment?”
There was a gabble of relieved voices, pushing back of chairs, gathering of papers and files. The room emptied. Paul waited for me near the door, I went up to Angela.
“Yes?”
“I want to see you and Paul tonight. Come up to my place. At 2100.”
“Fine. We’ll be there.”
She nodded and was gone. I sank down into her chair, began rubbing my chin. Paul came over to stand close to me. I looked up at him.
“What Klein said about using the Project Supersense synchronization technique on filmed book reels and sound tracks—we should have thought of that.”
“I know.” He nodded miserably. “I’m sorry.”
“Not your fault. Mine. Put it in the Tomorrow File.”
“Too late,” he said. “I’ll explain to you later tonight.” “We’ve got to see Angela at 2100. At her place.”
“I’ll be back by then.”
“Back?”
“I have to leave the compound tonight.”
I nodded.
“Aren’t you curious as to where I’m going?”
“Should I be?”
“I may have a user on the outside.”
“So?”
“Couldn’t you be just a wee bit jealous?”
“All right, Paul.” I sighed. “Where are you going?”
“Tell you when I get back.”
Sometimes he acted like a flirtatious ef. I let it pass.
“What’s gotten into Klein?” I asked. “He seemed out for my balls.”
“I noticed that. I was hoping you’d pick up on his report. I should have known you would. An Instox copy was circulated yesterday. I scanned it and got curious. I borrowed their rough data. They wouldn’t let me take it out of their office, but I scanned it. There is a pattern to the terrorist attacks against scientific facilities.”
“Had to be,” I nodded. “What is it?”
“About seventy percent are against laboratories doing procreation and genetic research.”
“That’s interesting,” I said.
The problem with the four-day week, for executives, was that we were compelled to serve twice as hard during the first six hours we returned from a threeday.
I went down to my office from the SATSEC conference and dug into the three stacks of documents on my desk. As usual, I organized my own three stacks: Immediate, Soon, Later. Included in the Immediate pile were the daily progress reports from team leaders that had accumulated during my absence. Most were routine; I
scribbled my initials to indicate they had been scanned. They would then be microfilmed and filed. But one report was of particular interest to me.
It was from my Gerontology Team. With some diffidence, the leader was bucking along a suggestion made by one of his young servers—a bright ef. I scanned her name again to make certain I’d remember it.
She had run a computerized actuarial study of what it cost the government to maintain an
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