Wool Factors

 The new brochures had been stacked neatly at one end of Jeronica’s desk where she could sweep them into the bin just by stretching out her hand.  That she hadn’t so far indicated that she hadn’t been in her office since they had been placed there by her Executive Assistant.  They were glossy, shiny, and featured an alligator holding a rifle on the front and an endorsement from one of the less intelligent politicians in the state where Guncare had launched.  The chosen slogan, which Jeronica found pithy but trite, was recuperate with a rifle!

The door of the office whooshed open with a breath of chill air from the corridor surging inside and shivering the leaves of an aspodistra in the corner.  Plants were generally deplored within the building as Jeremy Diseased-Rat claimed he was allergic to many of them but here and there a couple lurked and lingered subversively.  As a nod to the requirements of promotion this plant was carefully set behind an empty picture frame and a small plaque underneath read ‘Ceci n’est pas une plante’.  Jeronica strode in, her hair brushing the ceiling as she was wearing 25cm stiletto heels, which required special scaffolding hidden inside the shoe to support her feet.

She glanced at the pile of brochures and gestured to them as Margoyle stepped in behind, carefully checking for approved corporate booby traps.  Diseased-Rat’s opinion on them was they were a good way of backing up quarterly reviews and determining candidates for promotion, so exaggerated caution was required in all executive offices.

“Recuperate with a rifle?” said Margoyle picking one up delicately and making sure she had as little skin contact with it as possible.  Poisonous inks were déclassé this year but she had been at Data Analytics Marketetic Normalisation for five years and had learned a trick or two herself.  “Guncare?  This has launched then?  I believe on the quarterly product plan this would be… early.”

There was a moment of tense silence.  While underpromising and overdelivering was praise-worthy there was the obverse of that coin as well: doing things without permission or adequate oversight could be very detrimental to one’s career.

“The pilot project has launched,” clarified Jeronica.  She stalked around the desk and sat down in her chair, slipping her shoes unobtrusively off and allowing her abused feet moments to ache in freedom.  “One hospital in one state; access to the ER is by NRA membership only and the proposals for a more-specific membership card will be presented at the next executive meeting.  Staffing levels are adequate for the care intended, and there are indications that this will have soft-power repercussions in the next elections.”

“Adequate for the care intended,” mused Margoyle.  Her skin was faintly grey and looked dusty but that was a side-effect of the cosmetics she used.  She had a pearl choker at her neck and was wearing a blue cashmere sweater and a very severe skirt.  “May I speak off the record?”

Jeronica tapped her desk and a panel in it revolved to reveal a keyboard and inset flat screen.  She identified herself to it by fingerprint scan and then tapped away for a few seconds.

“Yes,” she said.  “Privacy screen is enabled.  We have thirty-three seconds from… now.”

“This reads very much like the standard of care is being fed to an alligator,” said Margoyle flicking swiftly through the brochure.  “Although, at a guess, if you shoot the alligator successfully you might get seen by a nurse.  I can’t find any indication that there are any actual doctors in this — facility?”

“Pretty much,” said Jeronica.  “It is two steps up from the standard of care around the state though, and there are plans to have actual doctors there once enough poor people have signed up to pay the bills.”

Margoyle shook her head as though refusing to believe Jeronica.  “Remarkable,” she said softly.  “I thought Stephanotte’s Soft Power innovations would win the award for most profitable intervention this year, but I can see she has real competition.”

The keyboard in front of Jeronica beeped and both women fell silent for a moment.

“I would estimate that this has a ninety percent likelihood of continuing,” said Margoyle, sounding as though she’d been thinking things over.  “I think the expected lifetime of our input here should be in the two to five year range, so there should be opportunities here to push forward our agenda on Diplomatic Consanguinuity as well.”

Jeronica affected a grave tone.  “That is Manguy’s remit,” she said.  “I believe he’s currently involved in waterway issues.  He could hardly be expected to take on Guncare when he’s neck-deep in Reservoirity and Reservations.”

“Demetrion should have space,” said Margoyle, nodding sagely, “but it seems to be that the resalination project has hit some unfortunate difficulties that really should have been foreseen.”

“That would mean I would need to take on Diplomatic Consanguinuity,” said Jeronica as casually as someone inquiring about the weather.  “If that were to happen I might have to ask you to look after the Wool Factors for me.”

“Would you now?” said Margoyle with the faintest hint of a smile on her lips.