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Chapter 40

"Where do you get these?" Jack asked Jan, indicating the magazine he had been leafing through. It was an issue of Time.

"What do you mean?"

He held up the cover so she could read it: Nixon Resigns, the headline trumpeted.

Jan considered. "I think they spontaneously generate," she said finally. "Every place I've worked, the magazines in the waiting room seem to average a print date about twenty to thirty years before the building was built." She paused a second and thought. "The worst I ever saw was when I worked in a downtown bank that was founded in 1893. I'd put out the current week's issues in the waiting room, and we'd end up with Picket's Charge and Gettysburg."

Jack flipped some more. "This movie, The Sting, sounds like a winner. Maybe I should try and catch it."

"Well," Jan said, "it's no Butch Cassidy and—whoops, here they come."

The door to the inner office swung open, and Rhea and a very disheveled lawyer exited. The lawyer looked like he had been through the wringer. His tie was off and his collar was unbuttoned. He was carrying his jacket and Jack could see sweat stains under his arms. He looked back at Rhea like he expected her to bite him. What the hell had been going on in there?

"I'll be in touch," the lawyer said, and beat a quick exit, zipping past Jack and Jan without noticing them at all.

"Give my regards to Janet," Rhea called after his swiftly retreating back.

"Well, you sure put the fear of God into him," Jan commented as the lawyer's footsteps double-timed into silence.

"Hardly." Rhea laughed, though if that had been a joke, Jack didn't get it. He gave up further speculation as she turned The Smile on him. "Hi, sport," she said, and his knees weakened. His brain calmly considered how incredibly well his life was going at that particular instant. His body was looking for a flat spot big enough to fit two people who didn't intend to lie still. He heard Jan's giggle and was aware that she had nonchalantly stepped back several paces. He felt the heat rise in his face. "Um . . . hi, Rhea," he said. That sounded lame.

"Yes?" she asked, obviously enjoying his discomfiture. Suddenly he was able to enjoy it too; was able to see himself standing there like some tongue-tied teenager. He savored the feeling for a moment. After all, how many men got to be fourteen twice? Then he pulled together the trained engineer and said, "The drive is ready for testing. Would you care to attend?"

"Most definitely," Rhea said. "Give me ten minutes." He stood there while Rhea did Rhea things in her office and Jan tapped away at her keyboard. After what seemed like an eternity, Rhea came out and waved him on.

Everyone was in his office. So that's what Jan had been doing, typing a summons into the on-line bulletin board and e-mail system. And Rhea must have known. He looked around. If it didn't work, and this many people saw the drive fail—instead of just hearing that it hadn't worked—that was it for Celestial. He would kill morale deader than disco.

He glanced at Rhea, and she nodded at him and gave him an encouraging smile. This was what she wanted. She thought having everyone in to see the drive work would boost morale.

She believed in him.

Jack cleared his throat. "Okay, folks—" He made his way to the test table. "I think you all know what this is," he touched the trolley lightly, and it rolled soundlessly on its new rubber wheels. "And I think you know what this test means. Either this trolley moves on this table, or we've gone to a lot of trouble to build the world's largest model rocket." He paused and indicated the power switch. "Ms. Samuels, would you care to do the honors?"

Rhea shook her head. "It's your baby now," she said, "and you've got ten centimeters dilation. I think the time has come to push."

Jack nodded, his throat dry. He positioned the trolley on the starting mark of the scale etched into the table, and checked the cables carefully to make sure their drag would be at a minimum. The board was fully seated in its slot, all the new connections he had made still looked nominal, and the power supply ready light was glowing a friendly green. He could feel the tension in the room building like the static charge before a lightning strike. Jack gripped the toggle switch firmly, and caught Rhea's eye. Caesar, we who are about to die . . . he thought, and flipped the switch.

There was a brief whoosh, followed by a deafening crash that nearly knocked him off of his feet. Someone in the back of the room shrieked, but Jack hardly heard. The trolley was not on the table, in fact the trolley was not in the room. There was a trolley-sized hole in the cement wall of his office, under the window. There was no other sign of the trolley except the settling masonry dust. "Well, call me Dick Seaton," Jack breathed, somewhat awed by what he had just done.

"Drive from hell," one of the other engineers opined in the stillness of the aftermath. Jack saw Rhea wince as the office erupted in pandemonium.

 

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Framed