"Rub two sticks together. Or try a magnifying glass."
Reemer Bolt forgot that last comment as soon as the meeting was adjourned. It was only an aphorism. Now known as R. M. Bolt because he thought the initials commanded more respect than being called Mr. Bolt, he was into managing by aphorism. He had good, imaginative people working under him. All they needed was the right kind of push.
He remembered telling them to build a fire but forgot about the magnifying glass until R d him with the scale model.
"Who left this disco ball in here?" Bolt snarled, pointing at the blackish gray ball sitting under the high-intensity lamps.
"It's our future."
"Disco is dead," Bolt said.
"If you'd indulge us, R.M.," R ineer Bartholomew Meech said.
Bolt went with the flow. Some days you pushed. Others you pulled. He was in a pulling mood that day. So he nodded.
The presentation involved overhead slides, an animated videotape that had Walt Disney Corporation fingerprints all over the production values, while six different white-smocked technicians pointed out features with their red laser pointers. All spiced with impressive-sounding technical terms like aluminized mylar and photovoltaic panels.
In the end, R. M. Bolt understood none of it. He found himself glowering at the disco ball to keep the dull lack of comprehension off his face.
"Take it again from the top," he instructed. "So my grandmother would understand it."
And they did.
"It's solar-powered."
"Orbiting continuously above the earth."
"Where it will do the job America needs done."
Reemer frowned. He wasn't getting it yet. Then someone said the word that touched his marketer's heart.
"And it will promote the heck out of qNM," said Bartholomew Meech.
"I like it," Bolt said.
Smiles all around. Grins. Beaming ones.
"One question," Bolt asked after the second impenetrable presentation.
"R.M.?"
"Will this have any effect on the ozone layer?"
"Not unless we want it to." "I definitely do not want it to," Bolt declared with precise enunciation so that everyone understood.
"Then it won't."
"See that it goes right into production," said R. M. Bolt, leaving the room without understanding anything except that Quantum Neutrino Mechanics was still in business because now he had something to tell the stockholders.
The memos coming back from R ouraging.
Production was on schedule.
Project was ahead of schedule.
Ahead of schedule and under budget.
Magic words, all of them. Each memo added an extra quarter to the period of Reemer Bolt's tenure at qNM.
Finally Meech came and said proudly, "We're ready to launch it."
"Go ahead," said Bolt, thinking of a marketing launch, not the other kind.
Meech and his engineers looked momentarily confused. "We don't have a launch vehicle."
"Find one," said Bolt, his marketer's instincts thinking that with television channels exploding exponentially, how hard could it be to secure advertising time?
They came back with a six-page report-a marvel of business writing because they could have added a ream to the page count and increased their employment contracts by a solid year-outlining launch plans. That told Bolt one of two things: either they were fools or they were extremely enthusiastic about the project.
That also told R. M. Bolt he should start exercising his stock options-qNM was here to stay. At least through the turn of the millennium-or whatever they were going to call it.
The gist of the report was given to Bolt orally, relieving him of the tiresome responsibility of reading it.
"The Chinese have the best price," Meech said enthusiastically. "The Japanese are too expensive. The French are impossible to deal with. And the Americans, of course, are out."
"Of course," Bolt said, having no clue as to what the conversation was about. But he had given the staff affirmation, and the affirmation was coming back in the form of approving nods.
"That leaves the Russians," finished Meech.
"Doesn't it always?" said Reemer Bolt.
Another nod. A short one. Bolt decided not to push his luck any more and just listen.
"Their reusable launch vehicle is for rent. In fact, we could buy if it we wanted to sink a billion into it."
"Why buy when you can rent?" said Bolt, quoting a local TV ad for a company that rented furniture to people with bad credit.
"Exactly," Meech said as if having his view of reality reaffirmed.
"The Russians are so hard up for cash we think we can negotiate them down," another engineer chimed in.
"Do we have a budget for this?" Bolt asked calmly.
"It's not in the current budget."
"I'll authorize it."