Hot Chips and Sand
Copyright © 2012 Mary Hughes
All rights reserved
“Exile? Surely you’re going back eventually?
Can’t you raise an army, or convince Congress or the U.N. to help, or…?” She wasn’t
quite sure what aid a deposed ruler had at his disposal, but there had to be
someone who would help.
“Normally I could. But the world at large has
more on its mind than a tiny country in the Middle East .
By the time I could get any viable forces gathered, the protection grid will be
in place and Fahrrad will be immune to attack.”
Vickie stared at him, at first not
comprehending. “Cliff is going through with the deal?”
Kulinahr shrugged. “He is a businessman. Since
he cannot do business with me, he will do business with Fahrrad. And probably
turn a better profit. The man does not know how to bargain.”
Vickie leaped to her feet. “There are more
important things than the bottom line!”
“I doubt if Cliff thinks so. Please don’t be
upset on my account, Vickie. I owe Cliff my life. And I will avenge my people
eventually.”
Vickie felt strangely sick, her head and
heart disagreeing violently. Though she understood the business sense she
couldn’t shake how wrong it felt. Assisting a cruel dictator in locking up an
entire country? Unthinkable.
Power could be used,
abused, or wasted. Villains abused, idiots wasted.
Heroes used their power for the greater good.
She’d thought Cliff was her hero.
Where was her hero’s basic human compassion?
And
admit it, Vickie. You thought you found the perfect man. Well, they only exist
in fairy tales.
“Vickie? Are you all right?”
She looked up. Kulinahr’s eyes rested on her
with warm concern. She coughed, covered her momentary lapse in
concentration [MH1] by picking up and sipping her coffee. “Oh,
sure. Just a little worried about you. What will you do now?”
“Writing letters.” He gestured at the desk. “I
am not without influence. Perhaps there is still something I can do before the
project is complete.”
“Which is how long?”
“Cliff estimated the project could be done in
under six months, with some new machine at his disposal. Not long, but still
some time.” He shook his head and sighed.
“You’re getting tired. I’d better go.” Immediately
she cursed herself. She had never been one for social niceties. She stood
awkwardly. “I mean, um, thanks for the coffee.”
He lifted his face to her and smiled. “Thank
you, Vickie Johnston. Just talking has helped me. I will see you again.”
Back at her hotel, Vickie was left feeling
unusually helpless. She’d offered Kulinahr any assistance he might need, but
how much could she reasonably give? She was a project manager and software
developer, not a government or even a hero. That was Cliff’s job.
She flung herself onto her bed. When she’d
needed rescuing he leaped into the breach, strong, dynamic, heroic. More than
that, his intelligence in coping with the situation, his gentle attitude when
she had nearly broken down had impressed her to her core.
She shook herself angrily. She’d allowed
herself to get carried away with daydreams, and now she was paying for it. Reality
sucked.
She got up off the bed, unaware of the wet
pillow she had left behind. She phoned the airline and paid an exorbitant fee
to shift her departure time, returning immediately. A stiff smile on her face,
she headed home.
The phone rang loudly in the empty room,
clanging five times before the young blond man ran, cursing, through the
doorway. He caught it on the sixth ring.
“I didn’t expect you to call.” He was still
panting a little.
The voice at the other end was wry. “I didn’t
expect to call. Something’s come up.”
“Not more bad news, I hope.”
There was a silence. The blond man waited
patiently until the other voice said, “Good news, rather. I’ve solved that
problem we had in staffing.”
The blond threw himself into the chair,
grunting as he hit. “That was quick.”
Another pause. “I know. But it’s right.”
“If you say so. One less thing to worry about,
at least. Do you want me to make arrangements?”
The line chuckled to itself for a few seconds
before the answer came. “No. I’ll take care of it myself.”
After he had hung up, the blond grinned to
himself. From the interest in his boss’s voice, it actually looked like two
less things to worry about.
Chapter 4
Vickie had been back at work for two weeks
when the meeting notice came. She read it once, quickly, then to keep her anger
from making her do something stupid, she printed it out and read it again.
Nope. Still pissed. She stormed into Phil’s
office. “What in the name of all the gods of logic do you think you’re doing?”
Phil Westerby, slightly balding but otherwise
showing little of his rapidly‑approaching middle age, turned from the credenza
where he was brewing tea. “Shut the door if you’re going to yell at me.”
She slammed the door shut behind her. “I don’t
have time for a new account. I just got a handle on the Geocom database, and
you know the Delmar conversion is behind because of that little escapade I had—”
“And you are my top analyst and I need you on
this assignment.” Phil took his tea and seated himself calmly behind his desk.
It was a signal, so, agitated though she was, Vickie sat too.
Her brain started working again. While it was
true that the president of Fitzwater Software and Consulting, Jerry Fitzwater,
would try to make them work twenty-six/ten if he thought he could suspend the
laws of time and space—bless his money‑grubbing soul, he’d be more than happy
if she took on another client—Phil usually did a better job of running
interference.
Something was up.
Phil set down his tea, removed his high refraction
glasses, and started polishing them, slowly and deliberately. “Have you heard
of the Hawkesclyffe Computer Company?”
“Before seeing them on my already overfull
client list?” She waved the printout of the meeting notice. “I know a little.
Hawkesclyffe is a genius and the HCC is his hardware firm.”
“A high‑powered hardware firm. They’re
growing at Moore’s law’s rate—Fortune 500 now, and if their latest chip is even
close to what the engineers say it is”—Phil leaned forward and tapped his
glasses pointedly on his desk blotter—“they will take over the industry.”
“Okay, so they’re important. Give them to someone
who has time for them.”
He made a small noise and perched his glasses
on his nose. “You don’t understand how important this is. If we become HCC’s software
firm, the new HCC300 series will be bundled with our software. It will make our company one of the biggest players in
the market.”
“Good, it’s important. Give it to Mel. He’s
always belly aching that he can do everything better than me.”
“Can’t.” Phil smiled gently. “He asked
specifically for you.”
“Mel?”
“No,
Vickie. Sir Humphrey Hawkesclyffe. He’s got a reputation. Brilliant,
egocentric, hard to please. And we want to please him, don’t we?”
Vickie groaned. She supposed geniuses only had
to be nice to their loan officers, not their vendors. “Why me? I’m too young to
deal with an old fart named Sir Humphrey.”
“First, he may be old but he’s known for his
radical ideas. Second, even though he’s a British knight, his company is based
in the United States .”
She still pictured him like Alec Guiness, slender,
white haired, and carrying a walking stick. “Why did he ask for me? Why not you,
or Alice, or any of a dozen higher level management?”
Phil shrugged. “Dunno. But he wants you. So
you’ll be at that meeting. And your temper won’t. Got it?”
“Got it.”
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