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the nature of his report. He could imagine the satisfaction she must feel.
    Enjoy it while you can, bitch, Qwan thought to himself, because I have a surprise for you, and all the rest of the world for that matter.
    But the surprise wasn’t ready yet-and the report must be given. And not just given, but given in the most objective manner possible, lest he be humiliated by the men and women around him.
    The executive cleared his throat and flashed his trademark grin. Like most of the corporation’s upper-echelon types, Qwan was something of a face jockey and relied on his looks to ease the way. “Yes, thank you, Mary. In spite of some bright spots, and what I would characterize as excellent prospects, the last quarter was more than a little disappointing.”
    The holo tank came to life along with a host of three-dimensional charts, video of company operations, and sound clips to buttress his points. The essence of the report was simplicity itself. Qwan, on behalf of NI, had diversified into lines of business that he didn’t know much about, namely ship-building and off-world mining. That’s why competitors, Chien-Chu Enterprises foremost among them, had eaten the company’s lunch.
    Steps, and the executive was careful to enumerate each one of them, had already been taken to put the situation right, and he had confidence in the future. Qwan enumerated his points, killed the holo, and waited for the bashing to begin. It came with predictable speed.
    Though unable to score really major points-Qwan had been too honest for that-his enemies had a field day nonetheless. More than an hour had passed before the vultures quit his corpse and ordered fresh meat.
    Weary, and angry at the manner in which he’d been treated, Qwan made his way up the thickly carpeted stairs. Lies oozed out of the darkness. “Hey, Les, way to go.” “Good job, bud, you nailed it.” “Nice dance, Qwan, I like your moves.”
    The executive hadn’t gone much farther when an arm reached out to grab him. “Mr. Qwan? The chairman would like to see you.”
    Qwan felt his stomach lurch. The old man had been there. Damn, damn, damn.
    Noam maintained a bevy of personal assistants, all cloned from his favorite secretary and decanted at regular five-year intervals. The old fart claimed that it was so he could tell them apart-but his staff had other theories, some of which were quite kinky.

    Whatever the case, this particular secretary was thirty-something, had red hair, knowing green eyes, and generous red lips. She smiled as she ushered Qwan into the conference room. Her teeth were perfect and appeared unusually sharp.
    Noam had extended his life through countless organ transplants and maintained his youthful good looks via ongoing plastic surgery. He rose to greet his visitor.
    “Les! Good to see you! Sorry about the beating you took-but it serves you right. Show no mercy and expect none. That’s what I say! Here, take a load off. Comfy? Good. Now tell me why I shouldn’t fire your ass and have your entire family put to death.”
    The tone was cheerful—deceptively so—and Qwan responded with that in mind. “I don’t blame you for being angry, sir, but I can put things right, and double the company’s revenues within the next twelve months.”
    It was an absurd claim, but delivered with such sincerity that Noam was intrigued. He perched on a corner of the conference table. The sarcasm was obvious. “Really? How fascinating! Tell me more.”
    So Qwan did, starting with the macro socioeconomic situation, and going on to knit the various pieces of the scheme together. Noam, who didn’t impress easily, found himself growing increasingly excited.
    The plan would not only improve the company’s bottom line, but put the screws to Chien-Chu Enterprises, something Noam had long wanted to do.
    The industrialist sent Qwan on his way, summoned his secretarial staff, and ordered them to disrobe. The clones complied, which was nice for Noam, and for those