"Here it comes," Shipley murmured by Corrigan's side. "That was the sugarcoating."
To the debt "But he could be right."
On Corrigan's other side, Tom Hatcher and Ivy Dupale exchanged what-do-you-think looks. Just at that moment, neither of them seemed to be especially thinking anything. Beyond them Barry Neinst remained semi-oblivious in a world of his own, probably involving parallel arrays and pipeline architectures.
Pinder continued, "Over the last few weeks, Ken Endelmyer has had us going through some hard numbers, reviewing the progress and future prospects for Pinocchio. As you all know, the tentative plan has been to proceed to Pinocchio Two, or `Son of Pinocchio,' as it has come to be known informally: extension of DNC into the pons, plus the addition of speech and acoustics." Shipley nudged Corrigan softly with his elbow. The word "tentative" had never been used previously. For the past year at least, Pinocchio Two had been firm.
Pinder glanced around briefly. "The problem with it, however, is the long lead time that we're talking about: two to three years by the best estimates, which puts us into 2009-2010. And vision would come even later, assuming further extension to the thalamus." He looked at Corrigan and raised a hand, lightening the moment by making as if he expected Corrigan to protest. "Okay, Joe, I know you worked a miracle in getting Pinocchio One up a year ahead of schedule. But that's not an experience the corporation can bet on happening every time."
His voice reverted to its more serious note. "So the company has decided to add a second string to our bow that will reduce the risk of being left with nothing on the international scene three years from now. What we're going to do, instead of relying on Pinocchio Two totally, is initiate a program to run in parallel that will add vision and acoustics now, as a hybrid system. That will give us experience of operating with vision sooner rather than later. Also, we're guaranteed something to show, farther down the line." He looked around to invite comments.
"How do you mean, hybrid?" Hatcher asked. There was only one plausible way. "With DNC tactile into the medulla, and using the regular sensory apparatus for vision and voice?"
Pinder nodded. "Just that. Combine the Pinocchio One interface with the VIV system that SDC has produced. It's perfect for the job. Frank Tyron here is the project manager of the team that developed it. The Space Defense Command has a lot of interest in the outcome too, which means that the ground is all prepared for some good cooperation. They're eager to get started. So, I'm sure, are all of us. We've even got a project designation: EVIE. Extended Virtual Interactive Environment."
There was some shifting and shuffling on the CLC side of the table. The SDC people waited calmly, giving the impression that they had known more about all this to begin with.
"Where will this alternative line be located?" Corrigan asked finally. "Here? In California? A bit at each? What?"
"We've talked about that," Pinder replied. "It would fragment things too much to have it spread out. VIV development is complete, so there isn't much reason to have any of this in California. So it looks like it'll be right here, in Pittsburgh. Frank has agreed to relocate here for the duration, and will head up a liaison group from SDC to supervise VIV integration."
"It will stay under CLC's control, then?" Corrigan said.
"Oh, no question." Pinder nodded reassuringly.
Shipley, however, was less sanguine. "What about the plans for expanding neurophysiology?" he asked. "How will they be affected? Are we still going to hire Evelyn Vance from Harvard?"
"Of course," Pinder answered. "Nothing's changed. As I said, Pinocchio Two will carry on in parallel. The difference now is that it can be run without the pressure to produce results to order—the way research ought to be."
Shipley detected something devious nevertheless. "So where will she fit in?" he asked. The intention had been that Evelyn would join DINS initially, with the possibility of later moving to a yet-to-be-established autonomous neurophysiology section. That was the group that Corrigan had hinted she might end up heading.
Pinder showed his hands. "Well, naturally we've had to reexamine some things to accommodate the new opportunities." So something had changed. "EVIE will consist of wedding VIV to Pinocchio One, which will require Frank's people and Joe's. Pinocchio Two, which is what Evelyn Vance is being brought in for, will be an extension of it. Therefore, it seems to me, she ought to start out as part of that general group, rather than with DINS. You'll be busy enough dividing your time between both teams anyhow, Eric, without taking on more at this stage."
So there it was: Shipley would not be getting Evelyn as he had been led to believe. He didn't seem especially surprised. The rest of the meeting passed with a more detailed airing of goals, aims, and first guesses for completion dates.
* * *
When they talked it over in the lab afterward, Shipley was less stoic than he had appeared earlier. "I've felt this kind of atmosphere before," he told Corrigan. "It's the first step to politicizing the territory. This started out as a line of pure research. Now the science is going to take a back seat."
"Ah, come on, now, Eric, and admit that you're just sore about Evelyn being switched out of DINS," Corrigan said. "I think it was a bit mean too, if you want to know the truth, but I'm guessing that Jason had his orders."
"Hell, you know I'm not interested in those kinds of games," Shipley told him. "But I think you should watch out. Tyron has got `political animal' stamped all over him. Didn't it strike you as significant that with all these changes, there still isn't a clearly defined slot heading up DNC? It's still as vague a mess as it was before."
Corrigan shook his head. "You've got it the wrong way around, Eric. Think about it. This will allow some sound consolidation on Pinocchio Two—the chance to do it right. You've got to agree that this hybrid idea is a bit of a mishmash. I mean, in the long term where can it lead? When P-Two expands to take in vision, what's left for the hybrid? Then, I'm a-thinking, it will be Frank-me-boy who'll be finding himself with nowhere to go."
Shipley remained unmoved by Corrigan's confident optimism. "We'll see," he replied neutrally.
Chapter Twelve
Evelyn's position was confirmed, and a month later she moved from Boston to a rented apartment that Ivy Dupale helped her find in Aspinall, on the north bank of the Allegheny River. One of the better-preserved older districts of quaint streets with traditional stores and houses, it suited Evelyn's taste and was conveniently close to Blawnox.
Evelyn soon became good friends with Ivy, and she and Corrigan continued seeing each other out of working hours. They were well matched to each other's needs. He, on his way up and all set to fly, had an appreciative and willing admirer; she, the emerged fledgling, found a guide and protector. They sampled the restaurants, from the best French at Cafe Allegro on the Southside heights overlooking the Monongahela River, to the traditionally romantic, old-stone-built Hyeholde, set in a wooded estate out near the old airport. They toured the bars, took in the zoo, the theaters, and did the round of Pittsburgh's museums. Some weekends they spent at his place, some at hers.
Tyron and his group from SDC installed themselves in space provided at Blawnox, and work commenced on the initial phases of EVIE. The new, more comprehensive interface warranted going for a greater degree of realism than had been justified with MIMIC. Accordingly, Ivy Dupale's graphics group were given the go-ahead to enhance Pinocchio with an upgrade that had been in abeyance for some time: the addition of "Personal Attribute Files."
The hologram figure generated by Pinocchio was not a representation of anyone in particular, but simply a generic human form with rudimentary features and attire. The PAFs were lists of data descriptors specifying the features and physical appearance, build, and dress of an actual person: Corrigan, say, or anyone else on the research team. An individual's PAF could be superposed on the generic Pinocchio form to create a lifelike miniature of whoever was coupled into the system at a given time—or, just for the fun of it, of anyone else whose file was in the
system. Having one's PAF compiled and filed for Pinocchio became something of a fad around the company, and most of the senior executives managed to find some pretext for stopping by to see their analogs cavorting in various simulated environments.
Then, one day, Therese Loel of the Engineering Systems Group, who had been one of the party that visited SDC in California, approached Pinder with a request. ESG was the "specials" part of Pinder's domain: a facility within the R & D division for designing and building customer-specified systems to order. In this it came halfway between one of CLC's regular manufacturing divisions, who made and sold standard products, and R & D proper, which was funded either internally or under specific research agreements contracted outside. Therese had talked briefly about EVIE to some of her acquaintances at Feller & Faber, a major international client of ESG's based in New York and involved in prestige marketing. CLC had supplied a package of AI-based learning software to track and predict market trends, which had proved quite successful; now, some people at Feller & Faber wanted to learn more about this new development and where it might be pointing. Could Pinder arrange for someone who knew more about the subject than she did to accompany ESG's sales personnel on a visit to the customer and give them an overview?
Pinder was keen to spread the word about the new venture, and agreed. There were really only three people who knew enough about both the Pinocchio and VIV aspects that together composed EVIE: Corrigan, Eric Shipley, and Frank Tyron. However, Shipley's disinterest in anything connected with selling or publicity was notorious, which ruled him out. Tyron was fully committed, and in any case could hardly be used to promote CLC's private interests since he was not an employee. And that left only one. Accordingly, Pinder called Corrigan over to his office, filled him in on the situation, and told him to get in touch with the ESG sales executive assigned to the account, Henry Glinberg, who would make the arrangements.
* * *
They caught an early-morning flight up to La Guardia a week or so later. Having prepared himself for worse, Corrigan found Glinberg to be lively and alert, personable and appealing—the kind of salesman who made people feel important by listening, even when nothing they said was the slightest bit interesting. He didn't contradict, disagree, or antagonize with unasked-for opinions—preferring to win sales rather than arguments. And he dressed and groomed himself well but not flashily: enough to make a person feel respected by being worth the effort; not so much as to make them feel cheap. His company came as a stimulating change from the tech-intellectual surroundings that Corrigan had grown used to, and after an hour Corrigan could cheerfully have bought a lifetime's insurance, a new car, or anything else from him—and then done all his friends a favor by recommending their names too. It seemed to be generally considered a social virtue for somebody to be "easy to talk to"; "easy to be around"; "easy to get along with." Corrigan could recall countless occasions, from buying an airline ticket to making a hotel reservation, when he'd practically had to battle with a company's employees to be allowed to spend his money with them. Why, he wondered, was it so difficult to be "easy to buy from"?
From the airport they caught a cab to CLC's Manhattan branch office near Lincoln Center, where they met up with Mat Hamils, sales manager for the New York City area. Feller & Faber was his customer, and he would be taking them there—Glinberg was a Pittsburgh-based ESG specialist who supported customers throughout the Northeast. Before leaving to go crosstown, they reviewed the situation over coffee in a meeting room adjacent to Hamils's office.
"So in terms of spectaculars, you're saying that EVIE will bring everything together sooner—touch, vision, talk, the works," Hamils concluded. Clearly, he was thinking ahead and had customer demonstrations in mind.
"Yes," Corrigan said.
"But it's hybrid, not full direct-neural," Glinberg reminded Hamils. He looked back at Corrigan. "Pinocchio Two will be all-neural, though—right, Joe?"
"Sounds better," Hamils commented, nodding.
"But it just adds speech and hearing to the existing motor I/O," Corrigan said. "Vision won't be until later."
Glinberg frowned. "I thought you said something on the plane about a new section being organized to move the interfacing up from the medulla to the pons."
"Yes, but for vision you have to go in at the thalamus. That's another level higher yet."
"Oh." Hamils nodded that that was something they'd just have to accept. "Okay. So when will it happen?"
"It isn't scheduled at present," Corrigan replied, conscious as he said it of sounding negative. Hamils shot Glinberg a glance that said he couldn't see this as a star attraction for getting prospective customers excited.
There was a short silence. Then Glinberg clapped Corrigan lightly on the shoulder. "But doing it right takes time, eh, Joe? P-Two will be better in the end."
Corrigan acknowledged with a faint grin. "Right," he agreed.
Hamils looked at his watch. "We'd better be moving," he announced. They drank up, collected briefcases and things, and headed for the elevator.
"Do you get to see many customers, Joe?" Hamils inquired casually as they got in.
"Not really."
"The main person we're going to see today is a guy called Victor Borth. He's general manager of F and F's New York office, and a working director of the firm. A very influential person."
"I see."
"Sometimes there's politics involved in these situations," Hamils went on. "Just stick to answering questions, and keep it technical. We'll let you know when. Okay?"
"Sure," Corrigan said.
It was only when they were in the car and heading toward the East Side that it dawned on him that people who knew too much were considered a potential menace—he had been tactfully told where his place was.
* * *
The offices of Feller & Faber occupied four floors of a soaring face of copper-tinted glass in midtown. The visitors were conducted from the elevators through a reception lobby of rust-gold velour furnishings, ceramic and chrome, and art noveau prints, into corridors flanked by designer-decor office spaces and computer displays glowing in glass-partitioned rooms.
They had arrived early to let Hamils take care of some routine matters before the main meeting, and Corrigan found himself tagging along on a quick tour. Somebody from F & F was due to attend a trade exhibition in Russia, and there was talk about a joint promotional effort involving CLC marketing people from Pittsburgh. A man called Gary had a problem with a service invoice. Pat wanted advance information from CLC engineering on a new line of image analyzers not in production yet. Could Sandra in the Manhattan office get two more sets of manuals on the stock-forecasting package? The proposal to Mercantile Bankers in London was looking good, and there should be a decision next week.
After the racks and cubicles, scratched metal desks, and tiled vinyl floors of the environment that Corrigan was used to, it all seemed very glamorous and exciting—a glimpse of the real world, where the events that shaped the news were made to happen. In comparison, the world that he was from looked woefully pedestrian and academic—a behind-the-scenes support facility to serve this, the stage.
Finally, they came to a sumptuous corner office looking out over Manhattan in two directions. It had deep russet pile, integral mahogany shelves and fittings, and framed travelogue scenes looking down over a conference area set off around a circular, glass-topped table. From the immense desks with computer side-tables and recessed consoles, the office was evidently shared by two people. One of the desks was unoccupied. From the other, a man of about Corrigan's age rose to greet them, smiling genially. He had a trim, athletic build with collar-length yellow hair, and looked aristocratically debonair in a tan jacket and maroon cord shirt worn open with a silk cravat in place of necktie.
"Nigel, how are things?" Hamils pumped his hand. "Is the world still taking good care of you?"
"Never better."
"You know Henry Glinberg, up from Pittsburgh again to see us."
"Of cour
se. Hello again, Henry. Did you fly up this morning?"
"Hi, Nigel. Yes. Can't afford the time to stay over every time. You customers keep us too busy."
Nigel's smile broadened, easily, unrepentantly. "How would you pay the rent without us?"
Hamils indicated Corrigan. "And this is Joe Corrigan, from the DNC group at Blawnox. He's the guy that Jason sent up after Therese Loel talked to Victor."
Nigel shook hands with Corrigan, languidly yet firmly, without undue assertiveness. "Very pleased to meet you, Joe," he said. Just a simple business introduction, and yet he conveyed the impression that he really meant it. Style, Corrigan thought to himself. The art of gentility and charm. Something that didn't come very easily from talking to machines all day.
"Me too," he responded.
"Nigel Korven," Hamils supplied. "He's one of the senior consultants who take care of F and F's key clients." Corrigan took that to mean what the sufficiently sophisticated were called, in place of "salesman."
"So you're the expert from afar, who's going to tell us about Direct Neural Coupling and where it's leading," Korven said. "It sounds absolutely fascinating. Some people here are extremely eager to meet you."
"As long as they understand that it's just for information," Corrigan said. He was about to explain that the research was still in an early stage, but caught a faint shake of the head from Hamils.
"Do I detect an Irishman?" Korven said, changing subjects smoothly. "Over here permanently, I hope?"
"As far as I know," Corrigan said.
"Good. That's something we could use more of." Korven turned to Hamils. "Well, I think the others are just about ready for us next door. We can go straight on in." He picked up a folder from his desk and selected a few other papers. "Did you get that house in the end, Mat—the one you wanted?"
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