In the EICSA tower on SP-340, Camila O'Flynn's boss was God. She profited to some degree by the reflections of his aura: she was the administrative assistant of one of the world's---the universe's---most powerful CEOs, Brooks Wooten.
When God spoke, not only on SP-340, in Sao Paulo State, Brazil, and up and down South America, but as far away as Alpha Centauri, people listened. But God had a wife and kids, a mistress, and a company he loved more than any human: Espaco Intermedio Corporacao S.A.
God didn't see Camila as more than a finely-tuned and valuable piece of equipment, although he did consider her that: "Invaluable," he was saying now.
In his corner office, overlooking the Colar do Silicio and the carefully preserved green belts bordering it, the tall once-athletic executive paced before his desk, hands in his hip pockets, his jacket off, his stylish tie discarded, his sleeves rolled up. His wide, high brow was wrinkled; his glasses had slipped down his nose.
Camilia knew all of these mannerisms to be signs of worry, and she crossed her legs primly where she sat in a chair before his desk. She'd thought she was here to give him background on the impending inspection trip off-planet; she'd readied notes for him on what was hot and what was not throughout the solar system---and beyond, in case God decided to extend his itinerary. Working for Wooten for six years had taught her everything about this man's nature except an acceptable way to express his feelings.
"Invaluable," God continued in his rumbling voice," to the extent that anyone can be. But Camilia, I can't take you with me. Not on this trip."
"I never assumed...." But her voice was so choked he paused in his circuit of the room to peer at her from under his old-fashioned glasses.
"Hey, I know that." He smiled his most professionally encouraging smile. "I'm going to be gone for at least three months, however, and I want you to take some time off---a paid vacation until I get back."
"I can't do that!" She shot to her feet. "With both of us out of the...." And she stopped because she saw something under that paternal smile that was hard as nails and distinctly out of place with her: this was a direct order; she mustn't disobey it. "Very well, Sr. Wooten. I'll bring in a temp, train her for a week, and then go."
"Tomorrow," said Wooten. "I'm leaving tomorrow. You'll leave, too. What do you think we've got senior vice-presidents for?"
She shrugged, realizing she was standing, started to sit down, hesitated, and at last said miserably: "Do you still want me to go over these notes with you? For your trip?"
"Please do. And relax, my dear. This is a bonus, not a punishment." His North American drawl peeked through the Brazilian-educated gloss for a moment; a bit of Texas, U.S.A. showed around his eyes.
"Yes, Sr. Wooten, I now."
"Come on, Camila." With an unpremeditated step forward, he caught her hand and squeezed it warmly. "You're the best person I've got here at H.Q. I don't want to lose you."
"Lose me? You couldn't. I mean...." He loosened his grip on her hand and she retrieved it, clutching her computer pad.
"Oh, I could. Someone from Brasilia might grab you, or from one of our competitors. If that happens, no matter the perks or the raise, you come to me. I'll outbid anyone, hear?"
Camila nodded. She didn't understand why God was behaving this way. There was something else, some hidden agenda, she knew him too well not to know that.
And then it came, as he suggested she sit back down and she settled in her seat. "I've been working you too hard," he said. " Otherwise you wouldn't feel the need to do all this digging into the Z-42B thing. I'm not going out that far, and the matter's closed. At least it's close to you unless I can get you a security clearance. Do you understand, Camila? There's nothing out of the ordinary in the Z-42B file; we're going for certification as a territory at the normal rate. You don't need to keep this office appraised of every glitch out there....in fact, I'd rather you didn't."
Ah, so that was it! She'd seen a memo from security that they were assembling another paramilitary cadre for Z-42B and so she'd pulled the whole file and queried some of what she'd found. Then she'd abstracted recommendations and put them on God's desk.
One of those recommendations was that he, under no circumstances, visit Z-42B personally, since the unrest there was so unremitting. When she'd written it up, she'd enclosed a dissenting opinion from an analyst who suggested police forces would just aggravate the situation: that the Asian workforce was so at odds with the technocratic Anglo elite on-planet that a full-scale uprising was imminent. Some kind of cult had grown up around the workers, a cult who believed that the planet had indigenous inhabitants and EICSA was violating holy---and alien---sanctuaries. It was, in short, a very expensive and sensitive mess.
But she'd been entrusted with data as crucial, with matters as sensitive, in the past. Her mind raced. It must've done her recommendation about the policing that had done it....made Wooten wonder if she wasn't exceeding her authority.
Political errors in the corporate world can be deadly. She stuttered: "I---I---I didn't mean to push, senhor. I was just sure if you were completely informed. When we're working so closely with government interests...I needed to know that you knew what.. "She was just making it worse. She found her knuckles near her lips and bit them.
Wooten didn't move to rescue her. He just watched, letting her realize how close to irremediable had been her mistake and how far out on a limb he was, defending her---all without saying a word.
"Let's forget it, shall we? If you want to transfer to analysis, we'll have to run some clearance procedures." He smiled now, a life-preserving smile.
And she knew just what to say: "No sir, I don't. I'm perfectly happy where I am. Working on whatever's vital to EICSA---and you." She hated herself, but she could kiss ass with the best of them. At least the ass she was kissing was the best around. And the thought of losing Wooten---her job, her access to him, her EICSA perks----was truly terrifying. She didn't have a life beyond the company. She identified totally with its mission: making new states for Brazil amongst the stars.
"Good. You always know what I want to hear, Camilia. Now, let's get on to regular business. Start teaching me what I need to know about Goldemberg and Barbuy bases and about Titan. Think we can get that much done before lunch?" He shot a look at his nuclear watch.
It was a tall order; she riffled the computer pad's keys. "I think so, Sr. Wooten, if we could hold all your calls," she replied, feeling her courage return as EICSA's CEO put himself, at least for the time being, under her absolute control.
When she left his office, his secretary shifted the gum in her mouth out of her cheek and said, "That was a long one, Camila. Can I send his calls through?"
"Sure, yes," she said, and headed for her own office. In it, she put down the computer pad and stretched out in her chair, tilted back, arms dangling, feeling the wetness no deodorant pill could dispel. That was a close one!
Raising her arms, Camila laced her fingers behind her head and peered blankly at her memo screen. The cursor was blinking. Slowly, her eyes focused.
She giggled, then laughed out loud. Dream Date had left her a message. After 2 weeks, they'd found someone for her! She reached out to the data play, then paused.
She hadn't been serious about the computer dating service; she'd been depressed, bored and angry. She'd done it, in fact, on a dare.
She tapped a colored square set into her desktop. "Hey, espertinho (smarty-pants), come on in here."
The person who'd dared her to call Dream Date answered. "A moment, if you please."
Camila eyed the screen, then got out her compact and looked at herself: sensible, short hair, natural black: no cosmetics but silver above her slightly slanted eyes, lip gloss and walnut-tan skin, obvious traits of her mixed Indian-Portuguese-African-Irish ancestral makeup. The face didn't give her away, although her above-average height and muscle tone might have, as anything more than a personable young female executive on the move. Once she'd complained to EICSA's 2nd vice-president that she couldn't find any interesting men to date, she'd made up outrageous qualifications when the VP had pressed her as to what was "interesting." Then, she hadn't been facing a 3-month vacation. Then, she'd just been protecting her hidden, torrid, and fervent devotion to God, whom she could never have been. And squelching office-borne rumors of something more going on behind the kola-wood doors than dictation.
Now, Camila was tempted. Wooten had let her know that she was expendable; he'd violated her loyalty by questioning it, by telling her there were places not just in his personal life, but his business life, where she couldn't go: where her input, attention and abilities weren't needed or wanted.
"Gisele," she said when EICSA's 2nd vice-president waddled in, fat and motherly at 40. "Look at this. I guess you've found me my dream lover after all."
Gisele Brondum was VP in charge of development, liaison----which meant she interfaced with the military and other branches of government. "Terrific, dear...."
Gisele came around and peered at the screen. "But where's the readout?"
"Oh," said Camila airily, on impulse and because, if Gisele knew, Wootan was bound to hear. "I already looked at it---I'm going out with him tonight, if he can." Sitting upright, she typed in her acceptance, a proposed time for her date to pick her up, and sat back, eyeing Gisele boldly.
"What's his name?" Gisele asked curiously.
"It's my secret, for now. But he's perfect. Just perfect, if he's all that his printout says he is."
"'Handsome, dangerous, sensitive, intelligent, well-traveled, experienced, with great prospects and an active imagination; ready and willing to encounter the unusual'---right?" Gisele quoted Camila's date requirements from memory.
They'd giggled together, making out the sheet. "That's right," Camila teased in return. "I crossed out 'dangerous,' though---too likely to get me a pen pal in prison."
"You can never tell. Well, I've got a lunch." Giselse patted her on the shoulder. "Have a wonderful time, dear---and on your vacation, too, if I don't see you before you leave. Adeus, namorada."
Speechless, her enthusiasm dashed, Camilia watched the doors hiss shut behind Gisele's wide, tweedy buttocks. News traveled so fast around here, it could make you nervous.
Then she remembered that she hadn't looked at the profile of her date for this evening, and dialed Dream Date. By the time she got through, the other party had already confirmed and accepted her suggestion that he pick her up at eight at her place, "ready, willing, and able."
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