The Decision
Robert Emmett Lipton was not often nervous. His position in life was to make other people nervous, not to get the jitters himself. But he was not often summoned to the office of the CEO of Moribundic Industries. Lipton found himself perspiring as the secretary escorted him through the cool, quiet, elegantly-carpeted corridors toward the CEO’s private suite.
It wasn’t as if he had been asked to report to the bejewelled jackass who headed WPA Entertainment, out in Los Angeles. Lipton could deal with him. But the CEO was different; he had the real power to make or break a man.
The secretary was a tall, lissome, devastatingly beautiful woman: the kind who could marry a millionaire and then ruin him. In the deeper recesses of his mind, Lipton thought it would be great fun to be ruined by such a creature.
She opened the door marked Alexander Hamilton Stark, Chief Executive Officer and smiled at Lipton. He thought there was a trace of sadness in her smile, as if she never expected to see him again—alive.
“Thank you,” Lipton managed, as he stepped into the CEO’s private office.
He had seen smaller airport terminals. The room was vast, richly carpeted; furnished with treasures from the Orient in teak and ebony, copper, silver, and gold. Far, far across the room, the CEO sat behind his broad, massive desk of rosewood and chrome. Its gleaming surface was uncluttered.
Feeling small and helpless, like a pudgy little gnome suddenly summoned to the throne of power, Lipton made his way across the vast office, plowing through the thick carpeting with leaden steps.
The CEO was an ancient, hairless, wrinkled, death’s head of a figure, sitting hunched and aged in a high-backed leather chair that dwarfed him. For a ridiculous instant, Lipton was reminded of a turtle sitting there, staring at him out of dull reptilian eyes. With something of a shock, he suddenly realized that there was a third man in the room: a younger man, swarthy, dark of hair and jaw, dressed in a European-cut silk suit, sitting to one side of the massive desk.
Lipton came to a halt before the desk. There was no chair there, so he remained standing.
“Mr. Stark,” he said. “I’m so happy that you’ve given me this opportunity to report directly to you about the electronic book project.”
“You’ll have to speak louder,” the younger man said. “His batteries are running down.”
Lipton turned slightly toward him. “And you are?”
“I’m Mr. Stark’s personal secretary and bodyguard,” the young man said.
“Oh.”
“We hear that Hubris Books is in hock up to its elbows on this electronic book thing,” the bodyguard said.
“I wouldn’t. . .” Lipton stopped himself, turned toward the CEO and said, louder, “I wouldn’t put it that way. We’re pushing ahead on a very difficult project.”
“Don’t give up the ship,” the CEO muttered.
“We don’t intend to, sir,” said Lipton. “It’s quite true that we’ve encountered some difficulties in the electronic book project, but we are moving right ahead.”
“I have not yet begun to fight!” said the CEO.
Lipton felt himself frown slightly, puzzled.
The bodyguard said, “Our sources of information say that morale at Hubris is very low. And so are sales.”
“We’re going through a period of adjustment, that’s true. . .”
“Millions for defense,” the CEO’s quavering voice piped, “but not one cent for tribute.”
“Sir?” Lipton felt confused. What was the CEO driving at?
“Your costs are shooting through the roof,” the bodyguard accused.
Lipton felt perspiration beading his upper lip. “We’re involved in a very difficult project. We’re working with one of the nation’s top electronics firms to produce a revolutionary new concept, a product that will totally change the book business. It’s true that we’ve had problems— technical as well as human problems. But. . .”
“We have met the enemy,” croaked the CEO, “and they are ours.”
“I don’t want to be overly critical,” said the bodyguard-cum-secretary, with a smirk on his face that belied his words, “but you seem to have gotten Hubris to a point where sales are down, costs are up, and profits will be a long time coming.”
“But, listen,” Lipton replied, trying to keep his voice from sounding as if he were begging, “this concept of electronic books is going to sweep the publishing industry! We’ll be able to publish books for a fraction of what they cost now, and sell them directly to the readers! Our sales volume is projected to triple, the first year we’re on the market, and our profit margin. . .”
“Fifty-four forty or fight!” cackled the CEO.
“What?” Lipton blurted.
The bodyguard’s smile seemed knowing, cynical. “We’ve seen your projections. But they’re all based on the assumption that you’ll have the electronic books on the market next year. We don’t believe you can do that, not at the rate you’re going now.”
“As I said, we’ve had some problems here and there.” Lipton was starting to feel desperate. “We contracted with Moribundic’s electronics division, at first, to make the damned things, but they flubbed the job completely. They produced a monstrosity that weighed seventeen pounds and didn’t work half the time.”
The CEO shook his wizened head. “My only regret is that I have but one life to give for my country.”
Suppressing an urge to run screaming out of the room, Lipton slogged forward. “The company we’re working with now is based in Silicon Valley, in California. At least they’ve got the electronics right. But they’ve got problems with their supply of parts. Seems there’s a trucker’s strike in Texas, where the chips are being manufactured. This has caused a delay.”
“And in the meantime, Hubris’ sales are sinking out of sight.”
“The whole book industry is in a bad way. . .”
The bodyguard raised his dark eyebrows half an inch, as if acknowledging the point. “But we’re hearing complaints about poor morale in the office. Not just down in the pits, but among your own executive board.”
