using brain impulses to modify computer screen images particularly attracted him, and if suitable software already existed it would be foolish to re-invent it. Did Norstein think Serenethica would be willing to license it, or even sell it if the organisation were not proceeding along that road?
“It would be a matter for the board, and a pretty revolutionary departure from anything they’ve been thinking about so far. That doesn’t necessarily rule it out, though they aren’t exactly revolutionary types. But the software’s nothing like adequately documented, and I can’t see them authorising the effort to do that.”
“I suppose not. But the people who understand it are liable to be made redundant within the year, aren’t they?”
“I see you’ve been doing your homework. There is that threat, it’s true. So far it’s no more.”
“But a very definite possibility. Now my friend works for a pretty big conglomerate. They’re willing to put a real effort into this idea. They’d need staff, they’d need kit, they’d need know-how, they’d need premises. You have them. How do you think your board might react to an offer to take over the whole laboratory, lock, stock, barrel and personnel, including yourself retained as director?”
“Phew! You don’t think small, do you? I couldn’t say for certain, of course, but if the money’s right I’ve a strong suspicion they’d jump at the chance.”
“Right. Now obviously I’m not going to be involved in that sort of negotiation. All I need is a name and address for contact.”
“Fine. But just as a matter of interest, what do you get out of this?”
“From you, an exclusive interview about it before it’s common knowledge.”
“I’m not sure that would be within my gift. But I can promise you to do the best I can – supposing all this comes to anything, of course.”
“That’s good enough for me.”
“You’re very trusting. Why?”
“Apart from the hoax – and we were fair game for that – you’ve been pretty decent to us. Not many people would have taken our spying on you so well. I think you’re a good risk.”
“I’m flattered.” They shook hands on the deal.
Time, like an ever rolling stream, notoriously bears all its sons away, and a great deal else besides. In two or three years Sandra Hardcastle’s experiences at Serenethica had almost gone in the way of Isaac Watts’s verse, though not quite forgotten. She was shopping with John for a very particular present: her cousin’s son William had won a scholarship that the family was extremely anxious he should gain, and asked what he would like as a personal reward, had opted for a game that was all the rage among his friends. It cost more than his parents had intended, but the Hardcastles had offered to chip in, and as John was the nearest to knowing anything about such things they were deputed to get it.
It was not available anywhere in their own town, and after an unfortunate experience John was reluctant to venture again into Internet shopping. However, a friend located a source not too far away, and printed a street plan with a pointer to the shop. They had some difficulty in relating this to the layout on the ground and went wrong a few times on the way from the car park, but eventually Sandra spotted it about fifty yards away. Crossing the road was difficult, and she was there first.
Catching up, John asked what she was gawping at. She just pointed at the design on the box in the window. “Yes,” he agreed. “It’s Juliana.”
THE END
About the author.
Peter Wilson is a retired industrial chemist living in Seascale, on the Cumbrian coast near the north-west corner of England.
A short biography and more of his writing (short stories, a novel, plays and film scripts) may be found with contact details at his web site
https://www.peterwilson-seascale.me.uk
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