Part 14 (1/2)

Getting into the Joey, on the other hand, was easy, intuitive, like using a pop-top can; all you had to do was to look at it to understand how to use it, no special tools or knowledge were required. The built-in address book and calendar and phone dialer and e-mail program all looked like, and behaved like, their real world, paper-based counterparts. Plus, it was much smaller than the Mate and truly portable, able to run on its rechargeable battery for days at a time. The trackpad interface was so intuitive that in studies Wallaby conducted with brand new users, every attendee was naturally drawn to the small black square without so much as a clue from the study group guides, their fingers sliding across its surface without any thought at all about what they were doing. Just like the soda pull-tab.

So as for Locke's reported reputation of taking credit for what others had invented, Peter felt neither surprised or concerned.

It was a non-issue. He was the primary inventor in the company and everyone, including the public, knew it. Locke was being considered because of his abilities to run the business side of things, and only the business side.

Which was just fine with Peter. But what about Matthew Locke?

Would he be content with a second-place role to Peter?

That question had just been answered in today's board meeting.

The tables had turned, and now Matthew was the star. He had used Peter as a p.a.w.n in his own deceitful, unscrupulous game. How long had he been planning this coup?

Peter mentally lashed himself for not having taken some sort of action when, about a year ago, Matthew had suggested that Wallaby's products should be engineered to be more compatible with those of ICP. An alarm had gone off in Peter's head, but he had quieted it, tolerating the fact that Matthew did not fathom his desire to uphold Wallaby's proprietary-technology direction.

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 pus.h.i.+ng seventy-five miles per hour. Even the car was a f.u.c.king 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 pa.s.sion 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 b.a.l.l.s 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. A little larger, a little livelier. A little more painful.

All of Peter's work on the new and improved Joey Plus was over.

Matthew had taken away the thing that was more important to him than anything else in the world. Peter could just picture it, how it would proceed from this day forward - Matthew marching into the engineering group, armed with a complicated schedule and an army of bozo project managers, all meant to scare the development team into finis.h.i.+ng the Joey Plus. Then of course he would re-introduce it and take all the credit for Peter's hard work and vision.

How? Peter wondered. How could Matthew, the person he had sanctioned to join him in creating something so exciting and important, do this?

”Simple,” Peter said aloud, at last letting himself acknowledge the underlying truth of the whole mess. ”He used me.”

Yes, he'd been used. But for the last time. Enough was enough. As soon as he got home, he would begin weeding from his life everyone who was using him.

His car phone jingled, and he punched it, knocking it to the floor. No more talking. It was too late for that. He gripped the wheel more tightly and pressed down hard on the gas pedal, eager to get home and begin undoing his mistakes, ditching the bad parts, nurturing the good parts. It would be just that easy.

He would start with Ivy.

”I think he answered, but then he hung up,” Eileen said, holding the telephone to her ear.

”Forget it,” Matthew told his secretary. He closed his office door and seated himself before his computer. He closed his eyes let out an exhausted sigh. Leave it alone, he told himself. Leave him alone, you can't get through to him, can't make him understand. It has to be this way. There is no other way.

His plan had worked. The executive staff and board of directors had faith in him to run the company after all. Peter could no longer stand in the way of his taking control of Wallaby. Now he was free to build momentum and power as he moved into the next phase of his plan. He felt a dizzying rush of elation as he fully comprehended what he'd just done. Though he had sincerely cared for Peter when they'd first met, after awhile he had grown less enchanted as he was reminded that falling for the young inventor would prevent him from ever achieving his real goal at Wallaby.

He wholeheartedly wished things could have turned out differently. But they had not. And it was over. He only wished Peter had tried harder to understand the real reason everyone in the boardroom had voted against him, even though they themselves had not yet admitted it. He had known all along that Peter would not simply bow out gracefully and accept a non-management role in the company. If only he had been more receptive to the idea of connecting to ICP's computers, this would have never happened.

There was no room for being sentimental now, he told himself. Why revisit the past? But as Matthew rested his eyes, he allowed his mind to wander back anyway, letting the memory of those intoxicating early days deepen the resonance of his most recent triumph.

The airplane banked left, changing its coastal orientation, and rose through the hazy grayness surrounding JFK Airport.

Destination: San Jose, California.

When the seat belt sign blinked off, Matthew eased his seat back into a more comfortable position. Sunlight broke through the grayness and the cabin was filled with sunlight as the plane climbed.

”Good morning,” a stewardess said. ”Can I bring you a gla.s.s of orange juice? Champagne?”

”I'd like Orange Fresh, please,” Matthew said. He was certain the airline carried the soft drink-it had, after all, been his idea to test-market the all-natural citrus beverage with this very carrier before it was introduced by International Foods several years ago.