Part 77 (1/2)

”It's a series of three, telling a little story. Beginning, middle and end. The first one is a family sitting down to breakfast, and you can see, it's the same old c.r.a.p, boring microwave omelets and breakfast puddings. Mom's bored, dad's more bored, and sis and brother here are secretly dumping theirs onto mom's and dad's plates. All this stuff is run using the same printers, so it looks very realistic.”

It did indeed. Sammy hadn't thought about it, but he supposed it was only natural that the omelets were printed -- how else could General Mills get that uniformity? He should talk to some of the people in food services about getting some of that tech to work at the parks.

”So in part two, they're setting up the kitchen around this mystery box -- one part Easy-Bake lightbulb oven, one part Tardis. You know what that is?”

Sammy grinned. ”Why yes, I believe I do.” Their eyes met in a fierce look of mutual recognition. ”It's a breakfast printer, isn't it?” The other supplicants in the room sucked in a collective breath. Some chuckled nervously.

”It's about moving the apparatus to the edge. Bridging the last mile. Why not? This one will do waffles, breakfast cereals, bagels and baked goods, small cakes. New designs every day -- something for mom and dad, something for the kids, something for the sullen teens. We're already doing this at the regional plants and distributors.h.i.+ps, on much larger scales. But getting our stuff into consumers' homes, getting them *subscribed* to our food --”

Sammy held up a hand. ”I see,” he said. ”And our people are already primed for home-printing experiences. They're right in your sweet spot.”

”Part three, Junior and little sis are going cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs, but these things are shaped *like them*, with their portraits on each sugar-lump. Mom and dad are eating tres sophistique croissants and delicate cakes. Look at Rover here, with his own cat-shaped dog-biscuit. See how happy they all are?”

Sammy nodded. ”Shouldn't this all be under nondisclosure?” he said.

”Probably, but what are you gonna do? You guys are pretty good at keeping secrets, and if you decide to shaft us by selling out to one of our compet.i.tors, we're probably dead, anyway. I'll be able to s.h.i.+p out half a million units in the first week, then we can ramp production if need be -- lots of little parts-and-a.s.sembly subcontractors will take the work if we offer.”

Sammy liked the way she talked. Like someone who didn't need to spend a lot of time s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g around, planning, like someone who could just make it happen.

”You're launching when?”

”Three days after you start running this campaign,” she said, without batting an eyelash.

”My name's Sammy,” he said. ”How's Thursday?”

”Launch on Sunday?” She shook her head. ”It's tricky, Sunday launches. Gotta pay everyone scale-and-a-half.” She gave him a wink. ”What the h.e.l.l, it's not my money.” She stuck out her hand. She was wearing a couple of nice chunky obsidian rings in abstract curvy shapes, looking a little p.o.r.ny in their suggestion of b.r.e.a.s.t.s and thighs. He shook her hand and it was warm and dry and strong.

”Well, that's this week taken care of,” Sammy said, and pointedly cleared the white-board surface running the length of the table. The others groaned and got up and filed out. The woman stayed behind.

”Dinah,” she said. She handed him a card and he noted the agency. Dallas-based, not New York, but he could tell she was a transplant.

”You got any breakfast plans?” It was hardly gone 9AM -- Sammy liked to get these meetings started early. ”I normally get something sent in, but your little prototypes there...”

She laughed. It was a pretty laugh. She was a couple years older than him, and she wore it well. ”Do I have breakfast plans? Sammy my boy, I'm nothing *but* breakfast plans! I have a launch on Sunday, remember?”

”Heh. Oh yeah.”

”I'm on the next flight to DFW,” she said. ”I've got a cab waiting to take me to the airport.”

”I wonder if you and I need to talk over some details,” Sammy said.

”Only if you want to do it in the taxi.”

”I was thinking we could do it on the plane,” he said.

”You're going to buy a ticket?”

”On my plane,” he said. They'd given him use of one of the company jets when he started really ramping production on the DiaBs.