A Calculated Risk by Katherine Neville (most difficult books to read txt) 📕

I stood there for a long time in silence, before I realized he was watching me with a bemused expression—almost as if he, too, were seeing something for the first time. I hadn’t a clue what that was, but I had the uncomfortable feeling he could observe the cogs moving inside my head, an impression I was to have on many subsequent occasions. At the time—in the dim corridor light—I didn’t register the color of his eyes.

“My name is Tor—Zoltan Tor,” he said, speaking gingerly, as if unused to having to introduce himself. “Have you lost your way? Perhaps I could help you out.”

The way he said it—he pronounced each word as if cutting it with a knife to make it more precise—made me pause in replying. Though he’d only asked whether he could help me out of the building, it seemed as if he’d asked whether he could help me out with my life.

“I don’t think so,” I told him sadly. “I need a technical expert, I’m afraid.” And he certainly didn’t look like one, in his three-piece custom-cut suit. Perhaps a diplomat would wear a silk shirt and gold cuff links like those, but no teckie would dress that way.

“Why not tell me your problem?” he said with a smile. “I only dabble in technology, for my own amusement. But sometimes, what I have to say amuses others as well.”

I wasn’t sure what that meant, but I was so distraught—and relieved at his offer of help—that I rattled off everything nonstop while standing there in the hallway.

When I got to the part about the great opportunity I’d been offered only that evening, he stopped me with a hand on my arm.

“One moment, one moment,” he said quickly. “You say you work for a man named Alfie? That’s Findstone’s division—transportation systems—isn’t it?”

When I nodded yes, a slow smile spread across his face.

“So, Alfie and Louis are giving you this great opportunity, are they? I find that quite interesting—really I do.” He paused for a moment, not looking at me, and seemed to arrive at some private conclusion. Then he said, “But you don’t believe what they’ve told you.” It was more an observation than a question.

“No, I don’t,” I admitted—though I’d only just realized it as I said it.

Tor scrutinized my face closely, as if looking for truth in a crystal ball. “What you do believe is that you’ll be called upon to make some sort of presentation before the client—and that you’ll appear a fool. In fact, even before this situation arose, you’d been concerned about just such a possibility.”

“I don’t understand all I should,” I admitted, “but I think you’re wrong about Alfie and Louis; it wouldn’t make sense. Why would the very people I work for wish to set me up that way—in front of their own clients?”

“I’ve long ago ceased trying to comprehend the motives of the ignorant and ineffectual,” he told me. “It’s a poor use of time that might be better spent learning something of value. How long have you, before this momentous debut?”

“Early Monday morning,” I told him.

“Though you’re young, it’s clear you’re wise enough to know that preparation never harmed anyone. The worst result will see you a bit wiser than before. How would you like to understand—by Monday morning—exactly how computers work, and what makes companies run?”

“I’d love it! I have some more books like this one,” I told him, offering the fat one Alfie had given me; I’d stood there with it still jammed under my arm.

“You won’t need them,” he said, not glancing at the volume. “They’re probably worthless anyway. I know everything necessary about the Transpacific Railroad. The chairman is a chap named Ben Jackson, I believe?”

“That’s right,” I said, flushed with excitement.

At least I’d learned something poring through those books.

“Come to my office,” said Tor. He seemed satisfied about something, but wasn’t giving out any information. “You’ve got hard work ahead; I hope you haven’t made plans for the weekend. I’m quite free myself, and happy to be of service.”

I couldn’t believe my luck. It never occurred to me to wonder why this perfect stranger would take his own time, be so helpful, to someone with credentials as unimpressive as mine.

“I promise to take good notes,” I told him cheerfully as I trotted beside him down the hall.

“You needn’t bother; I want everything carved into that eager little brain. You have to begin to think as a computer does. Those who cannot keep pace with the revolution in technology will find, in a year or two, that they themselves are obsolete.”

So began the most important weekend of my life—a weekend when I entered the cocoon as a computer ignoramus, and emerged as a full-blown technocrat. We spent nearly the whole time in Tor’s office, though I was allowed to go home each night to catch a few winks, bathe, change clothes, and return at dawn. What began as a painful ordeal turned into purest pleasure—like climbing a mountain—worth all the agony, once you reached the top.

I soon discovered that Tor had a remarkable gift: the skill to explain complex subjects and make them crystal clear. Grasping all he told me was as easy as swallowing honey.

By the end of that first night, I knew enough about each computer, operating system, and programming language to teach a course myself on the subject. After Saturday night, I knew as much about the products of all the competitor firms, and how their products compared with ours. By Sunday, I could explain how each machine on the market was used in major businesses and industries. The details were an adventure story; Tor’s every word stuck in my mind—without notes—as he’d promised.

But one glimpse of his office had told me more about the man himself than the three days I spent at close quarters.

I’d assumed his office would be like all the others in our standardized building: glass walls, regulation metal desk, files and bookcases. Instead