Pla Cliff Derkinit
"From: Jik Dain Bedlip, Partner responsible for the Rendezvous of Futures"
"To: Pla Cliff Derkinit, Director of Consortium Training"
Cliff skimmed through queues of courtesy copies, noting the intricate lace of combine tacticians
named instead of their Regional Partners.
"Topic: Organization of Training for Guests at the Rendezvous of Futures in Ganj Dareh Direvnya,
Hubei Region, Popovich Continent"
"Message: We anticipate the arrival in Ganj Dareh, beginning some time tomorrow, or even earlier,
of numerous zhee-tely who are potential components of combines organized as a result of this
unprecedented meeting announced by Har Norma. Since no criteria have been specified for
participation in the Rendezvous, we expect a vast range of skillsets and combine experience.
"Under special authority delegated to me by Har Norma, I hereby assign you to develop a training
plan with the following objectives: (1) introduce uniform minimum knowledge of Byukan-Hamil
procedure, organizational concepts, and project planning to the assembled zhee-tely; and (2)
organize processes within the assemblage that will elicit, identify, format, and qualify concepts
for products and services.
"You will commence implementing this plan in Ganj Dareh not later than the day after tomorrow. You
will assume responsibility for these and any other activities required to make productive use of
resources arriving in said direvnya for this conference, including housing and other logistics, and
for the cost of supporting such activities. Be sure to follow the Identifiable-Neighborhoods
Pattern and house people from one direvnya, particularly singletons, together.
"Please find attached budgets and permissions that should be adequate for this process."
Cliff cursed so the others in the office would hear him, "By the myriad moons of Yeibichai!" He
pushed hard against his desk, then rode his wheeled chair out of his alcove toward the center of
the room. He threw an elbow back to impart some spin so he could watch the others react.
Sprawled over her slanted drawscreen, Zim glanced up, then rolled her eyes away from his gaze. The
smile nudging her lips showed she was listening.
Lotte, on the other hand, slapped palms against her desk and wheeled out into the common part of
the office to join Cliff. She assumed an open, almost awed expression, and waited.
"Surprise Number One: we have something to do. Surprise Number Two: the continent has
only two days' headstart on us."
"Tell us more, O Ancient One," Lotte rejoined. Her eyes, however, sought out Zim as though she
hoped to enroll more of her attention.
"Do you remember the broadcast notice 'Norma presents'?" Cliff said.
"Sure," said Lotte.
Even Zim nodded. Of course they did. Every staffer in Byukan-Hamil Direvnya had chewed that one
over, wondering which Partner would take the glory, and speculating about who would actually have
to do the work. The bets about who had authored those dumb words, sent out to every resident of
the Continent Collective, had covered practically everyone in the direvnya, even Cliff.
Cliff threw a thumb over his shoulder, indicating his foilscreen. "Message direct from Jik Dain
himself. Would you like me to read it to you?"
Zim had slipped down from the drawscreen, yielding her design to a dread that appeared to spread
from her body to her face. Even Lotte, the imperturably young, turned a gloom-drawn face toward
Cliff.
Older than them by two generations, Cliff couldn't let the pall descend over him too. Besides, he
thought, life's a bitch and then you die ... sometime or other, if there were any fairness in
nature. He added to himself, And who said there was? With a grin instead of a sigh, he clambered
to his feet, showed them his more-than-adequate backside, and guided his chair to his workstation.
He sat, cleared his throat, announced the creation date-time of the message (a hundred or so
seconds earlier today), and began reading. When he was done, Cliff spun his chair so that it
drifted to a halt just as he faced the other two. Then he just sat, watching them.
"I notice," Zim said, her limber body pushing the words out. Bumps instead of mounds in all the
right places; hardly any curves at all. Definitely not a man's woman, in more ways than one, but
Cliff sure enjoyed her doll face and supple femininity — from a distance. "That Jik
Dain seems to have other things to do. No requests for plans, progress reports."
"Aren't those standard according to policy?" Lotte asked Zim, then turned immediately to Cliff.
She held herself erect and proper, but her short brunette hair seemed to vibrate with distress.
Stout, muscular, with a dual emphasis on strength and definition, Lotte seemed embarassed by her
lush breasts and broad hips, though she did little to tame them, much to Cliff's daily platonic
appreciation. "Do we have a project designation? Does the manual apply here?" Her voice finally
broke. "What are we going to do?"
"Of course there's a project designation!" Cliff said. "Don't forget where you are. And yes,
policy specifies the gamut of documents we will have to submit—" he opened a hand to hold onto
his control of the conversation "— before any funds are released to us—" he shrugged "—
probably. So, let's take a vote: do we bury this thing — and our asses — in our beloved
bureaucracy and let the thousands descending on Ganj Dareh — nice place, by the way, my sister
lives there — simmer slowly until they are nothing but mush and broth—"
Lotte pointed her sloe-tinted eyes at Zim and interjected, "In other words, 'stew.'"
"Or," Cliff continued without apparent notice. "Do we try to make hay while the sun shines?"
"What's 'hay'?" asked Lotte glibly.
Cliff narrowed his eyes in mock consternation. "You should really pay more attention to the
classics," he chided.
Then they were all silent, eyes drifting away with thoughts. For more than a low Eighter, there
hadn't been any corporate training for staff or any of the combines; the field took only those
courses provided by vendors. "Profit stimulation" had been the terse reason in the message by
which Har Norma had stoppered the generation of schedules and the development of courses. Their
jobs, of course, hadn't gone away, though a "structural adjustment" had moved them from a middle
floor of Staff Headquarters to a nest of separate offices in the basement of the singletons'
dormitory. That made the commute for Lotte and Zim all indoors, which had its conveniences, but
the message was loud and clear: training and its planners and providers were no longer useful in
the grand scheme of things.
Cliff had shown up that first day in their underground offices with hammers, saws, and other
implements of destruction. They had converted their separate cloisters into a larger chamber with
work alcoves opening onto the common space. Nobody objected, though Cliff doubted anyone even
noticed. Then they went to work on ways to train the combines of Popovich when and if they ever
got the chance.
They had even planned a lateral-thinking conference that — if you waved a hand to obscure
specifics — could look a lot like Norma's Rendezvous of Futures.
Grins spread on the two young faces. Cliff unveiled his to match.
"Let's brush off those documents," he whispered. "And dump them straight into Jik Dain's message
box. Then we'd better get our hides — and the brains inside them — out to Ganj Dareh muy pronto,
amigas."
And I'll have to decide how break the news to Trina. I haven't traveled on business for such a
long time.
