Margaritifer Basin (Margaritifer Trilogy Book 1) by Gregory Gates Page B
Authors: Gregory Gates
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me?”
“Yes, right here.” She gave him an
apologetic smile as she handed over a large ring with about thirty keys on it.
“Oh lord.”
“Sorry about that. The front door
and kitchen side door are keyed alike, that’s this one, but everything else,
including all the original interior skeleton locks are different. I’m sorry, I
have no idea which one is which. Good luck. But at present, everything inside
should be unlocked.”
“Good. And it’s probably going to
stay that way.”
“And here’s the alarm code. You
can, of course, change it whenever you’d like. However, if you’ll need me to
let people in when you’re out of town, I’ll need to know what it is.”
“No problem. Are there instructions
somewhere?”
“Yes, there’s a drawer in the
kitchen island with instructions and paperwork covering all the new systems and
appliances. The alarm instructions are in there along with everything else.”
“Great.”
Jeff showed them off and found
himself standing alone on the front porch, the master of Wrentham House. “Toto,
I’ve a feeling we’re not in Long Beach anymore.”
That afternoon Jeff met with the
rep from CORE Business Systems and gave him his marching orders: Passive
optical Internet connection, GPON or better; gigabit Ethernet, hardwired on the
lower level, wireless everywhere else; extensible server rack in the climate
controlled wine cellar with online mirror redundancy; firewalls; a block of
static IP addresses; a domain, greyaerospace.com; top-of-the-line desktops and
laptops; VOIP; computer driven audio-video throughout the house, and on and on.
“Don’t spare the gigabits.”
Late in the afternoon Jeff suddenly
realized he had missed lunch and was getting hungry. As he also needed a few
things for the house, he drove into town for a little shopping. Bedding,
kitchenware, a few hand tools, a small table and a couple patio chairs from
Wal-Mart; scotch, wine, and a bag of ice at Vickers’ Liquors; and a large sack
of takeout Szechwan from Kio’s Asian Stir. “That should get me through the
night.” Back at home he spread out on the patio to enjoy the ocean breeze, the
view of Goose Neck Cove… and some Chinese.
Reflecting on the three and a half
weeks since the lottery payoff, Jeff was satisfied with his accomplishments so
far, particularly since he was still working. One week of school to go, and
then he’d be able to devote 100% of his time to the project. He felt like he
was at the beginning of a marathon, somewhere back in the pack and yet to even
cross the start line.
Jeff retrieved his ‘To do’ list
from his briefcase, a yellow legal pad with page after page of notes that was
rapidly reaching the stage of chaotic incomprehensibility and cried out for a
better solution. He added another line to the last page, “Get a secretary.”
Unfortunately, that would have to wait a few weeks until he actually made the
move to Newport.
He flipped back to his notes on
getting help; that was certainly the next critical step. He knew what he
wanted: a small nucleus team – four or five – that possessed enthusiasm for the
project equal to his, and willing to devote the next six and a half years of
their lives to the single-minded goal of accomplishing the mission. And he
wanted them here at Wrentham House. No semi-autonomous collection of
nine-to-five department heads that only saw one another once a week in the
conference room, but a family that lived, breathed, ate and thought together as
a single entity. One goal, one purpose, one existence, no distractions; nothing
else mattered until they were done. There was no other way; there just wasn’t
enough time.
Jeff had also concluded that this
should be, in a broad sense, an owner-operator mission. Not just from his
perspective, but the crew as well. After all, if those that were planning the
mission knew they would be going on it, they’d likely have a bit more
motivation to get it right.
The required skill set
“Yes, right here.” She gave him an
apologetic smile as she handed over a large ring with about thirty keys on it.
“Oh lord.”
“Sorry about that. The front door
and kitchen side door are keyed alike, that’s this one, but everything else,
including all the original interior skeleton locks are different. I’m sorry, I
have no idea which one is which. Good luck. But at present, everything inside
should be unlocked.”
“Good. And it’s probably going to
stay that way.”
“And here’s the alarm code. You
can, of course, change it whenever you’d like. However, if you’ll need me to
let people in when you’re out of town, I’ll need to know what it is.”
“No problem. Are there instructions
somewhere?”
“Yes, there’s a drawer in the
kitchen island with instructions and paperwork covering all the new systems and
appliances. The alarm instructions are in there along with everything else.”
“Great.”
Jeff showed them off and found
himself standing alone on the front porch, the master of Wrentham House. “Toto,
I’ve a feeling we’re not in Long Beach anymore.”
That afternoon Jeff met with the
rep from CORE Business Systems and gave him his marching orders: Passive
optical Internet connection, GPON or better; gigabit Ethernet, hardwired on the
lower level, wireless everywhere else; extensible server rack in the climate
controlled wine cellar with online mirror redundancy; firewalls; a block of
static IP addresses; a domain, greyaerospace.com; top-of-the-line desktops and
laptops; VOIP; computer driven audio-video throughout the house, and on and on.
“Don’t spare the gigabits.”
Late in the afternoon Jeff suddenly
realized he had missed lunch and was getting hungry. As he also needed a few
things for the house, he drove into town for a little shopping. Bedding,
kitchenware, a few hand tools, a small table and a couple patio chairs from
Wal-Mart; scotch, wine, and a bag of ice at Vickers’ Liquors; and a large sack
of takeout Szechwan from Kio’s Asian Stir. “That should get me through the
night.” Back at home he spread out on the patio to enjoy the ocean breeze, the
view of Goose Neck Cove… and some Chinese.
Reflecting on the three and a half
weeks since the lottery payoff, Jeff was satisfied with his accomplishments so
far, particularly since he was still working. One week of school to go, and
then he’d be able to devote 100% of his time to the project. He felt like he
was at the beginning of a marathon, somewhere back in the pack and yet to even
cross the start line.
Jeff retrieved his ‘To do’ list
from his briefcase, a yellow legal pad with page after page of notes that was
rapidly reaching the stage of chaotic incomprehensibility and cried out for a
better solution. He added another line to the last page, “Get a secretary.”
Unfortunately, that would have to wait a few weeks until he actually made the
move to Newport.
He flipped back to his notes on
getting help; that was certainly the next critical step. He knew what he
wanted: a small nucleus team – four or five – that possessed enthusiasm for the
project equal to his, and willing to devote the next six and a half years of
their lives to the single-minded goal of accomplishing the mission. And he
wanted them here at Wrentham House. No semi-autonomous collection of
nine-to-five department heads that only saw one another once a week in the
conference room, but a family that lived, breathed, ate and thought together as
a single entity. One goal, one purpose, one existence, no distractions; nothing
else mattered until they were done. There was no other way; there just wasn’t
enough time.
Jeff had also concluded that this
should be, in a broad sense, an owner-operator mission. Not just from his
perspective, but the crew as well. After all, if those that were planning the
mission knew they would be going on it, they’d likely have a bit more
motivation to get it right.
The required skill set
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