Chapter Two
“Bedrest,” Verilla said.
Her violet face looked kind of green, although perhaps the hologram color was off.
If Verilla had been in the office, she would have been the one to fix it.
With negotiations underway, Stratos’ executive assistant’s unscheduled leave of absence couldn’t have come at a worse time. Why did this have to happen to him now?
He masked his annoyance with fake compassion. “Of course, you must follow the medic’s orders,” he said. “How long will you be out?”
She hesitated ominously. “Until the baby comes.”
“Two years?” The incubation period for Oberian pregnancies lasted twenty-four months.
“Twenty-one months from today. I’m three months along. But don’t worry. I’ll be back after the baby is born.”
“What am I supposed to do in the meantime?”
“Personnel will get someone from another department to fill in. I’ve already contacted them. They’re working on it.”
He didn’t hold out much hope. Corona, the idiot VP of Personnel, was as incompetent as the previous assistants she’d hired for him.
She had the nerve to insinuate he might be the problem.
That she had succeeded in hiring Verilla, the lone capable one in a string of incompetents, must have been a fluke.
And now, Verilla had gone and gotten herself pregnant.
Well, technically, not by herself. He assumed there was a husband in the picture, although he’d never inquired about her marital status.
What mattered was that she did her job. He guesstimated she was five or six years older than him.
He’d just turned forty. Shouldn’t she be too old to get pregnant?
“Do what you need to do.” What else could he say? The company offered a maternity leave benefit. He shouldn’t blame her for taking it—although he did.
“If you get in a pinch, I might be able to help you out from home…”
He was already in a pinch. He couldn’t send proprietary documents to her home because of their confidential nature. Someone had to be in the office within shouting distance. With a sigh, he shook his head. “No. Follow the medic’s orders and take care of yourself and that baby of yours.”
Her hologram evaporated.
Flekkery!
* * * *
He scanned the crowd, figuring Kepler had given up on him, but then spotted his friend waving from the rear of the Moonshot Tavern.
He wended his way to the small table.
Kep said something, but Stratos couldn’t hear over the bar noise. “What?” he yelled.
“I started to think you weren’t going to show,” Kep shouted.
“Couldn’t break away. With Verilla gone, I’m doing her job and mine!” He eyed the two empty vekkel steins. “I see you waited for me.”
“I ordered for you, but when you didn’t come, I drank it.” He signaled the silver-haired Andrian cocktail waitress, pointed to the empty steins, and held up two fingers.
In no time flat, the Andrian set two bubbling steins on the table.
Prompt and efficient. I wonder how she’d be as an executive assistant.
She couldn’t be any worse than the other candidates.
A month had passed since Verilla had left him high and dry.
Personnel was no closer to finding him a replacement, and he was getting desperate.
As soon as the waitress left, Stratos set a sound buffer disk on the table and activated it. Instantly, a cone of silence and privacy enveloped them.
“That’s better,” Kep said.
Indeed. His tense shoulders relaxed a little.
The sound buffer had been his first design for OberTech Industries.
That profitable invention, along with many others, had resulted in promotions leading to his current position as vice president of Research and Development.
He’d been so good at what he did, he didn’t get to do it anymore.
Instead, he did what he wasn’t good at—managing people who did the work he used to do.
He was not, as they said, a people person.
His friendship with Kep defied the odds; they’d been buddies for over twenty years, since meeting at the university. Kep was everything he was not—jovial, personable, easygoing. But they were both devoted to their work. He lived for OberTech, and Kep had dedicated his life to public service.
He took a sip of the bubbling brew. The harsh, caustic liquid suited his mood.
“How’s the search for the new assistant going?” Kep asked.
“It’s not. They can’t find anybody.”
His friend nodded sympathetically and took a pull of his vekkel. “Because it’s only temporary?”
“That doesn’t help. But it’s a skill and temperament issue. Most don’t have the temperament to work with me. If they have the temperament, they don’t have the skills.” He paused. “I might have a bit of a reputation of being hard to work for.”
“You? Nah.” Kep laughed.
“Personnel sent me ten candidates. None of them were suitable. One left in tears in the middle of the interview.”
“Maybe you should lower your expectations a tad.”
“I expect people to do their jobs, do them well and with minimal supervision. I don’t think that’s too exacting.
” An assistant should have foresight—anticipate his needs and address them without him having to ask.
And she shouldn’t be chatty, emotional, or sensitive.
She could have feelings—as long as she left them at home with whatever pet women adopted these days.
His situation had become dire. He couldn’t find files, he’d missed an important meeting because it hadn’t made its way onto his calendar, and Personnel was getting fed up.
Corona had threatened that if he didn’t accept a candidate soon, she would tell her staff to halt recruitment. “In the time we spend trying to fill your vacancy, we could have filled five others,” she said.
“What you need is a gal Friday,” Kep said.
“I need someone every day.”
He chuckled. “GAL Friday is an Earth temp agency. GAL stands for Galactic Auxiliary Labor. The company provides female human assistants to companies around the galaxy.”
“There’s no way a human could understand the business or my requirements.”
“So, how are those Oberian assistants working out for you?”
Kep had made his point, but Stratos wasn’t so desperate as to hire a human. There had to be somebody suitable on Oberia.