The two new appointees to the Section started on Monday morning with a minimum of fuss.
There'd been a couple of jobs running well behind time at the end of last week, and two of the group had had to put some time in over the weekend. It was easiest to pick up time that way when they were a bit pressed. The site was deathly quiet, interruptions were down to an absolute minimum, and mostly the computer was not in use. That meant the Systems Programmers could tackle the jobs that needed the whole of the computer, and indeed it was a pleasant change to do those in daylight hours.
This weekend had been one of them, a sterling effort to get through a sizeable piece of the checklist on a new version. For the pair involved, as long as their lifestyle was flexible, there were some valuable socio-political benefits at stake. Politically, you had to show progress, but the social attractions of a couple of weekdays off in exchange for a weekend were very strong. It was understood to work that way. There was quite a bit of "shift" work, and the senior people had to regard themselves as almost always on call. Staff weren't paid overtime, so there had to be some compensation.
The compensations included Monday morning this week, the same day that another two staffers began a Software update course at IBM in the city. The last two people picked Monday to arrive late - their work wasn't under pressure - and found the newcomers already whisked off by a Personnel Officer for an Induction presentation and briefing on employment procedures.
So the newcomers started with a minimum of fuss. Fred Hart was mortified, but controlled his annoyance to a dull, cherry-red heat, as he took them around the empty Systems Programming area as a first task. Not one miserable staff introduction could he make. Sometimes this crowd of individualists went too far with the arrogance act. Inductions were important, and introductions helped immeasurably to lower the barriers of natural reserve in a professional work area.
In somewhat of a quandary, Fred settled them both down in his office, and set out to get a feel for personalities. McAllister, the younger, had taken an interest in IBM Assembly Language from quite early in his education, and done a lot of creditable work at Uni in the Operating System field; theory and practice, mostly with large machines. As they talked, Fred realised that he had a fairly dominant personality, too. That built-in ego was the essential characteristic of a tough street fighter. He would do well in the user-contact role later, where the only people you spoke to were disgruntled customers. They could wear you down fairly quickly if your main aim was to please. Some of those client bastards would never be happy.
Yes, Rodney McAllister would be able to handle the rough edges of Less Bayliss as a mentor, better than most would. The two might even hit it off rather well, after the first few black eyes. It was likely to be a rather fiery relationship at the start, though.
The worst interaction problem apparently solved, Fred turned his attention to creating a profile from the odd remark that Henry Chu was making. Quiet, retiring, a real challenge to any interviewer, Chu was anything but outgoing. His academic record made much of his remarkable problem-solving ability. He had a special interest in system interfaces, and had produced some striking work on monitoring systems for efficient operation. Face to face, though, he didn't seem at all outgoing, and Fred couldn't come to any conclusion about how he would react to rejection and criticism.
That was digestible, he felt. Phil Bailey wasn't a slave driver, but he did plan his own work well. He had the patience - or was it broadmindedness? - to look at an idea long enough to recognise a good one, and his non-interventionist style would probably suit Chu, as long as the latter knew his stuff.
Once they'd gone off with the Personnel man to finish the paperwork, Fred settled back to fume over his humiliation of the morning, while he awaited the late arrival of his staff.
First to hit the deck that morning, Bayliss took the brunt of Fred's irritation.
"Well, why didn't you remind us all on Friday? I suppose it does look a bit poor,” he conceded, "but it was a week ago the last time I heard ‘em mentioned. It just wasn't an "immediate action" item then."
"But it should have been. I thought you'd get down to sorting out some kind of training schedule. You did do something about it, surely?"
Shit!
No, he had not, but he couldn't let Fred know that. It would make mincemeat of his case for supervisory experience. Taking a deep breath, he launched into the details of his current task list. Three of those jobs were finished, but he suddenly decided that maybe they'd better not be after all.
A few casual, not very definite comments, and Fred had thrown off the worst of his bad humour. Lester took the first available break in the conversation to terminate it. He had some belated induction planning to do!
He and McAllister had lunch in the Cafeteria with Chu and Bailey. He couldn't begin to work out why Fred Hart had allocated the pair in the way he had, but one could always wish for an alternative. After just two hours, he had managed a full, in-depth analysis of Rod's character and personality, and was sure the kid was going to be a pain in the arse.
He was very clever, highly articulate, had covered a lot of ground in Uni, always had something to contribute, and seemed to relish diverting Lester's attempts to deflate his rather fulsome ego. Lester could handle all that, but the fellow KNEW he was good at everything. It would have been so much more peaceful, he saw it so clearly, if he could take charge if the quiet, absorbent Chu. There was going to be friction between himself and Rod; Fred didn't know a damned thing about matching personalities.
Mid-afternoon, they were arguing already about how to tackle the graphics query. It was a request to look again at the way a distant Engineering group's special display screens handled vector-plotting tasks. The terminals were smart enough to do most of the plotting work on their own, and the Computer system did it anyway, but in a different way. That was wasteful, because the two ends were fighting each other, doing a lot of unnecessary re-calculation. A better way was needed to share the processing load between the system components. Lester had already finished the job. This was one of the tasks he'd had to resurrect quickly to give Rodney something - anything - to do. With any brand-new queries, he'd have had to put in a couple of hours preparing the groundwork.
He had to pretend he hadn't done that now, and after a short discussion he opened the task for competition.
"Tell you what we'll do, Rod. We'll tackle it separately. You might have a point, and I think my approach is better. Let's put the clock on ourselves, and each build a solution. When you've done, I want you to set up a test routine. Then we'll time your way, my way, and the old way for a typical plotting job."
"What if one of us cheats?" Rod liked the competitive element in that plan, but he also wanted to be clear about the rules of the game.
"When we start doing this for money, perhaps we'll have to worry about that possibility. There's nothing in it for me if I cheat, and I rather hope you don't need to make a false reputation either."
That seemed fair enough. "Oh, one other thing," Lester remembered." "You get the Death Penalty for a serious bug." Rod looked confused. "You lose if you build one in."
Happy that Rod had a good couple of day's work ahead of him, Lester retreated to his own work area. Rod and the other new man would not be needed at the weekly meeting tomorrow morning, but Lester needed to generate a progress report on last week's activities. He had to hand that in by this evening.
Rod went home at five-thirty, assuring Lester that he was making headway. No problems he couldn't attack, no surprises, no change of direction seemed desirable yet. Lester packed up then, and followed a few minutes later. On the way out he dumped his report in Fred Hart's In-tray, ready for the 10:30 section review meeting in the morning.
On the way to the house, he thought he may as well check the mail box at the Oakleigh Post Office. He had used the Mulgrave address a few times now, and it mightn't do to let anything unexpected wait too long. A stitch in time, he thought, might occasionally prevent somebody attempting to visit the Mulgrave townhouse.
There was only one item, but it was dammed important, a note from the Oakleigh Post Master.
Dear Mr. Conley,
You are reminded this office needs to sight some authority from your company regarding your representation of it. The box arrangements are being held in anticipation of such.
Please arrange to show us a Certificate of Incorporation or some such within the next week or so, in order for us to proceed with rental arrangements.
Faithfully,
(scrawl)
Postmaster.
Had they told him that when he was there? He couldn't remember, but a lot of the ground had been strange, and now this note was dated almost a week ago. He was about to lose the box through carelessness.
Driving on to the Caulfield house, he thought up a plausible delaying tactic.
Dear Sir, he wrote, on a piece of old motel stationery he'd souvenired years ago.
Please accept my apologies for our oversight. The company has not begun incorporation arrangements in Australia yet, and I would expect this will take several weeks.
My timetable in Melbourne is very heavy this visit, but I will phone you in the next 24 hours. We can discuss an acceptable temporary arrangement then.
Yours, etc.
He'd mail that in the morning, and maybe phone tomorrow before the Postmaster received it. Better see about a Company pretty quick, he thought. The bank manager had suggested a couple of lawyers. Where had he put that bit of paper?
Annette had Mondayitis. It was all she could do to struggle through dinner - and she'd favored a very light one too - then clean up, and collapse in the comfort of the Lounge. TV would be fine, no mental effort required. No, she didn't care what channel, as long as it wasn't controversial or educational stuff. Not tonight!
He couldn't allow it to be an evening of total peace, however. He had made a resolution that night when she had gotten curious about his Annual Report studies. Anytime he had something important on the go, he had decided, he would have to involve her somehow in the subject. That way, he reasoned, she should be less inquisitive about notes left around accidentally, more prepared to tolerate his preoccupied spells, and maybe even some help sometimes.
"I've been thinking of getting a company of my own," he started.
You mentioned that a couple of months ago, didn't you," she answered lazily. "Those people at work ribbing you about tax advantages again?"
"No," he said, "I just never got around to making a decision about it. Do you know how to set one up, how long it takes, anything like that?"
"I don't think anyone sets them up from scratch these days. The way I understand it, the solicitors who specialise in that sort of thing churn out shelf companies, or whatever they call the standard, vanilla version, turn them out like doughnuts. Think I ought to get one too?"
"I've no idea yet," he confessed truthfully. "I don't even know whether I want one, but I think I'm going to find out. Maybe tomorrow. Like doughnuts, you think?"
* * * *
Like doughnuts, it was.
The Caulfield solicitor took no more than ten minutes over his problem.
He had a bequest coming, and he wanted a company structure in place for whatever investment he eventually decided to undertake, he said. For several million dollars, the solicitor assured him, there really wasn't any choice. It needed to be a Limited Liability company. "Cost you about $900, want us to set it up?"
“Identification, Mr. Conley, let's see it. Now, when are you expecting the inheritance to be finalised. When do you need things in place?"
"Soon as possible; within the law, of course."
"How about collecting the Incorporation certificate on Friday? You'll need to pay us before that. Bank cheque would be ideal."
Slowly, disbelievingly, Lester asked: "You mean Friday this week, three days away?"
“S'right. It's a straightforward task," the solicitor finished confidently.
* * * *
"Oh I'm glad you rang," the Postmaster greeted him on the phone. "I see you got my note. We were starting to get a bit concerned. You travelling men are a bit unsettling for us mere mortals to deal with sometimes, you know."
Lester wasn't about to get into a discussion on the merits of frequent world travel. He wouldn't last long at that deception, he was sure. In any case, he was phoning from a street booth. He felt the traffic noise would reinforce the image of the frenetic traveler. However, he discovered, it really was bloody noisy in there, and that was a strong encouragement to keep the conversation brief.
“There's a note in the mail to you," he cut in, "but the timetable has changed since I wrote it. I've spoken to our Auckland Accountant overnight, and he wanted me to regularise the whole thing right away. He seemed a bit miffed, actually, that I hadn't already done it." Bit of humble pie there might help. He hadn't fancied that postmaster’s mention of being unsettled.
"So I've got a Solicitor instructed, and I expect to present the document to you next week. Will that meet your needs?" he asked.
"Oh, quite satisfactory."
"There won't be any difficulty with any mail? Anything returned to our prospects would be quite damaging to our setup plans, you know," Lester explored.
"Not at all," the Postmaster hurried to assure him. "We're bound by our rules, but we do have to live in the real world too. The mail and the box arrangements are quite safe; they have been all along. No cause for concern about your customers."
Quite satisfied now, Lester hung up, returned to the car, and continued on to work. He had to be more careful, he mused as he drove on. Given another few days, who knows what that small-minded bureaucrat might have done to try to trace him? It might have been difficult.
He would have to develop a regular procedure for checking the contents of the Post Office Box, too, he wrote himself a mental note. He waved a cheerful hello to Artie on the way in to the site.
Rod wasn't too keen to lay out his work on the graphics problem so far. He was much more interested in getting back to work on the contest. So well and good, Lester felt; it all contributed to his own privacy, and there was a lot more work to be done. Christmas was only eight weeks away.