Oh, well, Stephanie had introduced me as a new hire who was just there to listen and get up to speed. After half an hour I figured I'd done enough of the listening part. People were starting to shout at each other; I sat back and fingered the computer console. Maybe I could do the "get up to speed" part now, find out through the computer just what this company actually did.
Wrong again. I didn't have the passwords to access any company files. Salla wouldn't have let a little thing like that stop her, but I didn't know how to circumvent the password system. Besides, it might be a bad idea to hack into the company's system while sitting in my very first official business meeting. But I needed to do something to take my mind off the spiky shoes, the engineer-constructed underwear, and the suspicion that my oily skin was slowly infiltrating the perfect mask of makeup Stephanie had instructed me to apply. Ah, an Internet connection! Never mind the company passwords; I gave it the key words for my home system and quietly logged on while two guys in suits yelled at each other about "innovative paradigms," and "mission-critical services." Perhaps I could look up Xycorp on the Net and at least find out what their software was supposed to do.
As soon as the screen flashed on my personal home page I was poised to hit the "Search" button. But my hands froze over the keyboard as a scrolling banner unrolled in the "Local News" section of the screen, where I normally kept track of weather and school holidays and good movies coming up.
"Terror at Colton Middle School," the banner announced in flashing red and yellow letters that made my stomach turn over. I skimmed the few words below. There wasn't much. A report of armed men disrupting an eighth-grade Social Studies class, police being called to the scene, need to proceed slowly for fear of creating a hostage situation, the lack of any statement from the teacher, Eugene Kruzak…
Gene Kruzak.
Eighth-grade social studies.
Salla's class.
And Salla had been planning to do something "creative and original," with Sacred Carvings…
I switched into Instant Messenger and activated the trans-world chat mode, holding my breath until the purple screen with the scrolled edges came up. So my passwords worked fine on this system. So far, so good. Now if only Furo Fykrou was on line… I sent an emergency alert to
Some jerk at the head of the table was yammering about the need for a value-added encirclement strategy.
"Too complicated," somebody else said.
"Well, why don't we just ask the tech writers-I mean, the Composition and Distribution Department-about that?"
I had a feeling that everybody was staring at me. Why not Stephanie? Where was Stephanie? She must have taken a bathroom break. I tried to remember the last words. Encirclement strategy.
"Well, uh… I always thought it was desirable to locate the enemy before attempting to surround them," I said, almost at random.
The guy at the head of the table stared and then laughed loudly. After a moment, everybody else did so too.
"Ah! You've been reading Sun Tzu, haven't you? The Art of War?"
That last phrase, at least, I recognized.
"I… have studied the art of war, yes, sir," I said.
"See?" he lectured the others. "I told everybody you need to read that book. It's a classic. See, even the tech writers can quote it! By God, it's time we brought some fresh blood into this place! If anybody here could read anything but memos… "
I tuned him out as the screen cleared to a normal… well, more or less normal… chat mode.
FF2dazau1: ok salla you satisfied with yr results?
RivaK: This is Riva, not Salla, and I am NOT happy, Furo! You've been sneaking around behind my back getting Salla in trouble again, haven't you?
FF2dazau1: hey it was her idea
RivaK: Any more following Salla's ideas without checking with me and I'll get Dennis to turn you into a sand-lizard. He can do it, you know. He's a professional. They know more mathemagics on Paper-Pushers than you've ever…
FF2dazau1: ok,ok,ok, keep cool. How was I to know the Sacred Carving she picked out to test was the dragon's tooth?
RivaK: You know Salla, don't you? Now you're going to fix it. And fast!
I instructed him to invoke some 4-d equantations that would get me over to Colton Middle School a little bit faster than fast – like about half an hour ago, before the cops showed up and this whole mess got on the Internet. And on the way, I wanted a stop at home, to change into my real working outfit. I couldn't do any good in a gray hobble-skirt and bound feet.
FF2dazau1: that's heavy magic you know. Gonna cost.
RivaK: Wrong. Your payment is I don't have Dennis turn you into a sand-lizard, and maybe in five or six years I forgive you.
FF2dazau1: Works for me.
Wizards are arrogant, tough, mean-minded bastards, but they're no match for an infuriated mother. Especially one with a paid-up membership in the Bronze Bra Guild and a husband who just happens to be a mathemagical genius.
"Sorry to leave you, guys," I said as I stood up, "but there's an emergency over at my kid's school. I gotta run."
I had instructed Furo Fykrou to activate the transfer from the women's room around the corner from the conference chamber. Didn't want to make these people nervous by having them see me vanish into thin air.
Stephanie was just leaving the women's room as I got there. She smiled weakly and said something about coffee and long meetings; I nodded and pushed through the door without really listening. Oh, hell, there was some girl playing with her eye makeup in front of the mirror. And no way to tell FF to delay the…
I think she screamed as I was leaving, but I'm not sure. I hope they don't insist on her taking a drug test or anything.
I'd asked for just enough time at the house to make a quick change from suit and pantyhose into something I could really work in. With my arms and legs free and mail protecting vital parts, with my sword Sasulau hanging in her scabbard by my side, I found I could already think better. While I was changing, some other things had occurred to me that might come in handy. I grabbed my cell phone, a roll of aluminum foil, the last two clean white sheets in the laundry hamper, and a can of shoe polish. No time for more-the air was quivering around me already in preparation for the second transfer. I bundled everything into a pillowcase just before my stomach turned inside out and upside down.
I hate time-transfers.
There was no time to throw up as the dingy brown halls of Colton Middle School came into focus around me, though. I tossed the pillowcase full of gear behind me with my left hand while my right drew Sasulau. She came out singing blood and death; I came up crouching, weight balanced, ready to spin, turn, thrust wherever was necessary-
– and found my path to the enemy blocked by kids and teachers. Encirclement strategy, my left boob! I couldn't even get at the tall, mean-looking, half-naked men who were jabbering in the doorway to a classroom. There were teachers diving for cover, wannabe gangsta students trying to act tough, and some idiot drowning out all our words with panicky calls for help on the loudspeaker.
"Move it," I suggested to the kid in front of me, the one who was turning pale green under his dreads and threads while his buddies urged him on.