The
funeral...the rebound to Wallaby...through these events he had
lost the foresight to build a backup plan in case something like
this should happen. And, he realized, taking the final blow,
there could be no going back. While he could simply pick up the
phone and call his development heads in and put together a team
to begin accelerated development of his technical and market
advisors' proposed concepts, a real product would not surface for
at least twelve to eighteen months, probably more. He had no
immediate backup plan, no product of his own to augment ICP's new
strategic dependence and commitment to Wallaby and the Joey. He
could not cancel the strategic alliance.
His gaze lingered painfully over the Joey II stationed before
him. Its beautiful compact design, its crisp high-resolution
screen, its ergonomic keyboard, its slick trackpad. Gently,
William touched the trackpad, slid his fingertip across its
smooth black surface.
Suddenly, strangely, his thoughts turned sympathetically to Peter
Jones. Matthew Locke had just pulled on William the same surprise
he had inflicted on Peter Jones.
Then all at once he felt charged as if by a synaptic tingle, a
stirring in his fingertip that shot up to his brain. At first he
feared he was completely losing control, but then he let out a
little laugh, realizing, yes, he had crossed a fine line, and
suddenly it all made complete and wonderfully perfect sense to
him.
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