Copyright 2001 by Morris Rosenthal
The H Vector corporation was located near the Boston Science Museum, one of the many small high-tech companies spawned by the local surplus of brain power. If the former republics of the defunct USSR could be said to be experiencing a brain drain, the plumbing analogy for Boston would be a backed-up toilet. It was basically a case of too many degrees chasing to few dollars, with new university graduates competing with Dot Com road kill. Boston Edison employees joked about a new peak demand season coinciding with the government's publication of it's quarterly Small Business Innovative Research (SBIR) bid lists. Lights stayed lit and computers stayed on late into the night in thousands of offices in the overbuilt technology centers.
H Vector, named for scientist's notation of the magnetic component of a electromagnetic wave, was one of the lucky startup companies whose work horizon extended more than a few months into the future. They had just been awarded prime contractor for the first phase of the levitated train project, and were rumored to have already sewn up the as of yet unreleased bid for phase two. The brilliant physicist who had founded H Vector had again demonstrated his intelligence by hiring a retired Air Force general as the company's president, and putting the campaign treasurer of the current governor on the board of directors. The vice presidents were the wife of a Republican congressman and a former astronaut. So far, no two of them had been in a room at the same time.
Connie arrived a few minutes late for her ten o'clock get acquainted meeting with the team leader at H Vector, even though she had left enough time for arriving a half hour early. What she hadn't left enough time for was getting lost in Kenmore Square after taking the wrong exit off Storrow Drive. "I may be a little late," she told herself as she pulled into the parking lot, "But at least I finally know where the baseballs go after clearing the nets behind the Green Monster."
A bored looking receptionist whose outfit probably cost more than Connie spent on clothes in a year, told her to take a seat, and that Mr. Hume would be out to see her. She plopped down on one of the uncomfortable chairs that looked like it had been constructed from square stainless steel tubing and indoor outdoor carpet. There was a freestanding cylindrical stainless steel ashtray standing at the right arm of each chair despite, or perhaps because of, the smoke free environment sign prominently displayed behind the receptionist's desk.
Curiosity got the better of her, and after a quick look to ascertain that she was unobserved, she stuck her forefinger in the fine white sand and stirred it around, checking for cigarette butts. Nothing. Then she noticed the recessed lever on the side of the container, and pulled it down a fraction of an inch. The surface of the sand shifted gently, and formed two smooth planes joined at a depression in the center. She pushed the lever a little further, and the trickle turned into a rush.
"Doctor Weinberger?"
Her hand slipped on the lever, and then let go. The sand disappeared in a giant 'whoosh' and the empty hemispherical sections returned together with a sharp clank.
"Yes," she answered, reddening as she lurched to her feet. She was immediately glad that she had let Carol talk her into borrowing a dress rather then wearing jeans as she had intended. The man who had addressed her was wearing an expensive three-piece suit and Italian shoes. He was a dapper looking sixty, with salon styled hair and an aristocratic bearing. Her first impression was that he looked more like a lawyer then a scientist.
"Frederick Hume," he introduced himself, subtly working his way between her and the other ashtray like the proprietor in a antique glass shop, "Perhaps we would be more comfortable in my office." He snuck a sad glance at the empty ashtray and frowned. As they walked passed the reception desk, she saw him make a hand gesture towards the waiting area, and she was sure that if his head wasn't turned away from her, she'd have seen him mouthing "S A N D".
They proceeded silently down the main hall, then turned abruptly into a large, well appointed office, one wall of which was taken up by a giant saltwater aquarium teeming with colorful tropical fish. There were two telephones on shiny black surface of his drawerless desk, a fax machine, and a large flat screen monitor topped with a miniature camera for video conferencing. Not a pen or pencil in sight, much less anything to write on. He gave her a moment to survey her surroundings and guided her to a plush leather chair. "Paperless office," he commented, "Great technology. We'll have to get your office on-line, of course."
"I don't exactly have, I mean, I haven't settled on an office location yet." His eyebrows lifted at this remark, and she felt the need to explain further, "The whole thing happened so fast, you see. I only put the proposal in two weeks ago."
"Well, yes. That's life in the big city, you know." He had an odd clipped manner of conversation, reminiscent of a bad stereotype of an English gentleman speaking with American idioms. "I can't imagine not having a well equipped office, absolutely essential for productivity." He paused, as if some auditory peristaltic action had just brought her last response into his brain for full digestion. "So you're new in the trade, are you?"
A little slow on the uptake, she reflected, but doesn't miss much once he gets over enjoying the sound of his own voice. "Yes and no. You see I'm new at being a blind subcontractor, but I've been working with high density magnetic fields for the past five years."
"Yes, good resume that. Clinched the job for you, I'm sure. Must admit I've no physics background myself. MBA actually." He shifted uncomfortably on the edge of the desk where he had perched. "Good to have a scientist on board. Every team needs one."
Connie looked at him puzzled, "Am I to understand that I'm the only scientist on this project?"
"The only, well, um, "science" scientist would be a better way of putting it." He coughed genteelly against his closed hand. "We are putting thirteen full time people on this project, rush rush, you know. There are four economists, two transportation analysts, two publicity experts, myself, the support staff. You are aware of the project scope, I'm sure."
"A feasibility study, to determine if a phase two is necessary."
"Quite. Not engineering, no. That comes later." He twined his fingers together, and moved his hands as if to crack his knuckles before catching himself and stopping. He's trying to work his way around to telling me something, she realized, but he doesn't know how I'll react. His eyes seemed to be measuring her somehow, sizing her up for the correct approach. He didn't seem to be the type who could be embarrassed, but maybe he had a mania for getting things right the first time.
"Yes, get you on-line," he repeated. "Long commute for you, tolls and all. We ought to be able to keep your trips to a minimum. Just the progress reviews I imagine."
"I'll have specific project responsibilities then?"
"Certainly, yes. Responsibilities. You decide where you think you can contribute the most, set yourself a schedule. Our milestone reviews are to be the second Thursday of the month. Already agreed on I'm afraid." He gave her an apologetic smile. "Fine, good. Are we all set then?"
"I," she stumbled, confused by what he was offering, "You want me to choose what I want to work on?"
"Certainly, certainly. Wouldn't know where to start, advising you myself. Not my sort of thing at all, you see. We may need to call on you for advice, of course. Might even have something for you to spend a little time on right off. Mr. Darcy will explain that, you'll be meeting him next. Public relations expert, number two dog around here." He slipped off the desk and met her eyes with a kindly look.
"Look," he continued, "This must seem strange to you. University background and all. Always an iceberg, government contracts. Much more hidden then visible, you see?" He nodded to himself, confirming what he was saying. "Contract's not to determine if phase two is necessary. Contract's to prove it. Lots of jobs a stake. Lots of money. Same ballpark as the Central Artery and third tunnel. Big Dig equals big money."
"But, you're saying I'll be working completely on my own," she said, hoping it hadn't come out like a whine.
"No, not at all. Somewhat. Yes. Listen," the rapid fire words continued as he led her to the door, "Job is really completed already. Had to do the job first to sell the idea to the Governor. Just paying us back some out of pocket expenses, really. How government works. Brilliant resume. I'm sure you'll work out just fine."
He knocked on the door of the office next to his, then turned the handle and opened it. "Doctor Weinberger," he announced.
"Al Darcy," said the little man coming out from behind the desk with his hand extended.
"Connie," she responded, mechanically taking his hand. She sensed the door closing behind her even as they shook and found herself alone with the number two dog. He held onto her hand and guided her to the chair next to his desk like a high class doorman handing her into a limousine. He was a few inches shorter than her, around 5'2, and he had a friendly, rumpled appearance. Bright red suspenders called the attention away from a belly that protruded a little further than his chest, and after depositing her in the chair, he hooked his thumbs under the straps and smiled broadly.
"Comes on a little strong, our Fredrick, don't you think."
"I haven't quite recovered yet," she ventured a small smile in return. "If I understood him, my job for the next six months is to stay out of the way and cash my checks," she continued, the smile fading. "He implied that the work is largely completed and that my contract is just a byproduct of a payment to your company."
Al whistled. "Freddy must be losing his tact in his old age. Or maybe he just figured you'd see through it anyway," he speculated. "Either way, there is still quite a bit of work to be done by us trench soldiers. Our general has his mind on the big picture and has delegated the day to day operations to me. And speaking of armies," he said sliding his hands down to his belly, "Mine travels on it's stomach, and the Danish girl should be here by now."
"Danish girl?" she asked, flashing on Brian and his girlfriends as she followed him out of the office.
"From the coffee service." he offered by way of explanation. Noting her lack of comprehension, he expanded on the matter. "We're to small to have a regular cafeteria, but we have a service that supplies our break room and does simple catering. For a monthly fee, they supply the coffee machine, filters, coffee, tea, and a daily selection of pastry." He stopped, and said behind his hand in a stage whisper, "Don't ask me what they do with the day old stuff, probably sell it in the airport."
They started moving again, up the stairs, and into the break room. The contrast between the bright overhead fluorescent lights and the hidden lighting in the offices and hallway she had been through was substantial. They must have employed a lighting consultant, she thought, a sort of high tech interior decorator. Whether H Vector had modified the space themselves or leased it this way, they certainly wouldn't qualify as a no frills operation. She followed Al's beeline to where a cheerful middle aged woman was tearing the plastic wrap of a shallow cardboard box.
"Hello my sweet angel," Al called to her, "What sustenance to you bring a weary warrior today."
"Something special, Mr. Darcy," she replied, "Guaranteed acquittal where the Twinky Defense dares not go."
Al looked eagerly over her shoulder, inventorying the hoard. "Apple Danish, prune Danish, apricot Danish, plain donuts, powdered donuts, creme filled donuts, what are you hiding under the napkin?" he broke off this expert discourse.
Connie was just in place to look as the woman ceremoniously whipped the napkin away exposing, "Chocolate," she moaned softly.
Al didn't notice, his eyes were greedily devouring the confections. "Chocolate dipped chocolate with chocolate cream filling. Triple chocolate!" the woman announced triumphantly, "They're our newest item."
Al's hand actually displayed a slight tremor as he reached reverently for one of the clumps of instant sugar shock. Connie practically hung on his back, waiting for her chance at its twin. The delivery woman laughed at them affectionately, "Makes my heart glad to bring such joy to the world," she said. "Most of the places I go I'm invisible." Then she took the other box on the counter with the leftovers from the previous day's delivery and disappeared.
Neither of them talked but their actions seemed coordinated as if by previous agreement. They poured themselves coffees in the split handled paper cups and sat down side by side at a round table, their chocolate treasures each displayed out on a square white napkin. Al broke first, picking his up and moving it towards his lips. Connie caught the movement in her peripheral vision, and quickly attacked her own donut, swallowing it in a series of muzzling bites, keeping her hand stationary and shoving her face forward.
"Disgusting!" exclaimed a young woman wearing tight designer jeans, seating herself at the table across from them. Connie blushed deeply and started wiping her face with the clean side of the napkin, when she noticed the girl was staring fixedly at Al. Connie turned to look at him and saw he was lapping the chocolate filling out of it's cavity with his long chocolate smeared tongue. He ignored their presence completely, and she saw that his eyes were closed.
"Mother won't let him have chocolate at home," the girl commented, "But I never knew why until he got me a summer internship here. I usually don't admit to being his daughter, but I guess if anyone would understand, it would be you," she added with a slight accusatory tone. "My name's Sandra, by the way."
"Connie."
"And I," Al said, wiping his fingers daintily on his napkin, "Am embarrassed to admit that my offspring have no appreciation at all for the finer things in life. This one," he waved his hand dismissively, "eats salad three times a day to fit into those jeans, and complains about being hungry all the time."
"She scarfed hers down before you were halfway through, Daddy." Sandra made it sound like a challenge.
Al glanced at the table to confirm that the donut was no more, then looked at Connie with a curious combination on admiration and pity. "You must indeed be a connoisseur," he said, putting on a bad French accent, "But speed is hardly the goal when it comes to enjoying culinary achievements."
Connie hung her head dramatically. "I can't help myself," she confessed in a murmur, "I'm really such a pig. I live in fear that someday I'll be walking down the street and people will start pointing at me and laughing, saying, "There's the human vacuum cleaner we saw on America's Hidden Video last night."
"You don't go to the bathroom and yuke afterwards or anything grody like that, do you?" Sandra asked in the blunt fashion of youth.
"Sandra!" her father warned.
"No," Connie answered anyway, knowing what the girl was curious about, "I just have a fast metabolism, I guess."
"Not fair," Sandra said sullenly, "If I ate one of those thing I'd wake up in the morning looking like Dad."
"Connie is the physicist who won the subcontract for our project, Sandy," Al forced a change of topic. "Sandy is a sophomore studying economics at Harvard," he stated proudly, turning to Connie. "She's helping with the team working out revenue scenarios."
"I just plug numbers in a computer," she said to Connie. "The parametric equations are all set up already and I just fiddle with the ridership numbers, fares, stuff like that. It's like playing a game, almost."
"It sounds very interesting, actually. I've used the same type of approach for engineering problems, trying to design for a range of operating conditions," Connie replied.
"Well," Al beamed at the two of them, "I'd love to participate in the discussion, but I don't have a clue what you brainiacs are talking about, so let me change the subject. Connie," he asked, "What do you know about the health effects of magnetic fields?"
"That's easy," she answered, "There aren't any."
"None?" Al coaxed, "No extra cancer per hundred thousand? No calfs born with purple skin talking Greek?"
"Really. There have been major studies done by power companies and universities all over the world. Electricity and magnetism have been in widespread industrial use for over a century, and there isn't any evidence of a health hazard."
"Would you be comfortable answering questions on the subject for reporters, or say, in public meetings."
"Well, I guess," Connie replied cautiously, "I'd take some time to study up on what the current crackpots are saying though."
"Forewarned is forearmed," contributed Sandra.
"Has the question come up?" Connie wanted to know.
"The question always comes up in any large scale project like this," Al replied, "Environmental impact studies will take half the budget and two thirds of the time required for phase two. But you've guessed right," he allowed her, "For no apparent reason, we have been bombarded by requests for health data and vague threats of obstruction. Mainly from residents in your section of the state," he added. "We didn't actually expect the public to be aware of the project until we announced the successful completion of phase one and the start of phase two. The reason for my presence on the project is to organize a campaign to sell the train to the public."
"Strange," Connie said, "There are a lot of, uh, activists in our neck of the woods, but I've never seen a public mention of the MLT project. I only found out about it from a reporter who seemed to know everything about everything."
"We believe these requests are part of a power play by some state senators. Their self-proclaimed leader is Senator Hardwick from Springfield. You've heard of him?"
"Sorry, no. I only moved to Massachusetts recently. But wait," she said, squinting at an invisible map hung somewhere over her head, "The Pike doesn't go through Springfield anywhere, does it?"
"Not within the city boundaries, although it runs pretty close to the Indian Orchard section, couple, five hundred yards." He sipped his coffee and shifted to make himself comfortable on the injection molded chair in the manner of someone launching into a lengthy explanation. Sandy popped up from her place, having eaten nothing during her break.
"I've got to get back to work. Dad, no more donuts or you can let out your own suits, and don't bore her to death with politics." To Connie she said, "When they offered him the job here, he held out until they agreed to sign up with the coffee service he used for his old office. Just so you know what you're dealing with." Having delivered these admonitions, she vanished as suddenly as she had appeared.
Al gave his head a little wag, as if it were necessary to shake off his daughters departing shots before continuing. "Jason Hardwick," he started slowly, gathering his thoughts. "One of the longest serving members in the senate, he's about as powerful as a senator from the western part of the state can get. He would have been asked to head any bipartisan action from your area as a matter of course, but something tells me that this was his brainchild from the get go.The senator is known for making sure that money gets spent in his district, a real pork barrel politician. Beyond that, Hardwick has a reputation for accepting campaign contributions in cash, from folks who aren't interested in receipts. Most importantly, unlike most of his colleagues, he never went stale. He's always looking for an opportunity to expand his horizons, get his thumb in another pie. I've run into him quite a few times over the years on every sort of public works project imaginable. He knows how to play the media to perfection, and carries more influence with his fellow legislators than they themselves realize. In our particular case, I'm betting that he's preparing to play the obstruction game. Since the proposed route doesn't go through his district, he needs some other card to play in order to buy himself a seat at the negotiating table. He might be the only politician in the state far sighted enough to be laying the groundwork now for a reward he can't possibly hope to reap for several years yet."
"I think I followed most of that," Connie said, "But what kind of reward can he be hoping for?"
"If he can force us into a position to accept him as a player, his reward is twofold. First, he'll collect the usual tithe from the winning contractors in the coming stages for keeping his activists leashed. Nothing obscene, you understand. More like a cash acknowledgment of his position. Second, he'll make sure that the construction and operating phases bring big dollars to his district. Springfield will end up with the primary staging area for construction and the main maintenance depot, something like that."
"What a waste," Connie said angrily, "Accepting payoffs is bad enough, but the serious money will be lost when they design the system to meet some arbitrary political goals instead of following the best engineering solution."
"That's no doubt true," Al agreed, "But that's just the way the system works. Who knows," he shrugged, "My instincts might be wrong. I'm told that the senator keeps regular office hours in Springfield, and works through the summer recess. How would you like to meet him as our official representative and see if you can find out what he's up to?"
"Damn," Connie berated herself, "This wasn't on my list."