In the long run, that's what it all boiled down to. Matthew
wanted to transform Wallaby into an ancillary concern, its
computers acting as peripherals to ICP's machines, allowing ICP
to remain as the number-one portable and desktop computer
manufacturer.
He felt exhausted and lifeless, disembodied, his foot heavy on
the gas pedal, drawn by gravity as he raced down the highway
pushing seventy-five miles per hour. Even the car was a fucking
prop, Peter thought miserably. When Matthew had gotten one for
himself just like it, he had told Peter it was because he valued
his artistic appreciation for the machine, that he respected his
passion for beautifully designed products. How many other little
games of pretend had there been, when all along Matthew had been
treating him like a child, playing him along and pacifying him
until he could drop the ax?
His throat felt packed with cotton balls when the reality of what
had just happened started to sink in. His stomach turned and
rolled in mini-heaves. All he wanted to do was to make smart
portable computers that made everyone's life easier. Couldn't he
be allowed that simple pleasure? With this question, the weird
feeling in his heart stirred. It had been dormant all morning,
and he had all but forgotten about it. But now it was awake, and
this time it felt a little different.
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