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development of all software, he had no authority over anyone and no one was to ask him for advice about anything to do with programming. Step was here solely to write manuals.
    Why don’t you just cut off my balls and hold them up for everyone to admire? thought Step.
    Then he went straight in to a meeting with Bob, the “vice-president in charge of finance”—he had been the bookkeeper until job inflation struck Eight Bits, apparently within the past six weeks. He was a lean, weathered-looking man in cowboy boots who had more of a Texas twang than a southern drawl, and the first thing he did was slide a two-page contract across the desk for Step to sign.
    â€œWhat is this?” Step asked, for he had already signed the employment contract.
    â€œA confidentiality agreement,” said the cowboy accountant. “Industry standard.”
    Step read it anyway, though Cowboy Bob kept shuffling papers to show his impatience with Step’s taking so much of his time. And sure enough, it turned out to be a lot more than a confidentiality agreement. “This contract buys all rights to anything I do in programming for the rest of my natural life,” said Step.
    â€œWell, not exactly,” said Cowboy Bob.
    â€œI just came from a meeting where I was specifically and totally excluded from all programming here at Eight Bits.”
    â€œEight Bits Inc. ”
    â€œSo why should I sign a contract giving Eight Bits Inc. all rights to any programming I come up with during my time here? I won’t do any programming, right?”
    â€œOh, that was just Dicky,” said Cowboy Bob. “He got jealous because even though you were coming in to write the manuals, everybody knew you were the most successful programmer ever to set foot on the premises, so he’s just making sure everybody knows that he’s your boss. In fact Ray and I expect that you’ll sort of do quality control over all the software, because Dicky isn’t that good a programmer and he kind of makes changes in all the programs and then they end up getting released with bugs. Sometimes. Just between you and me, of course.”
    â€œDicky just forbade anyone to ask my advice about programming,” said Step.
    â€œYeah, well, just don’t rub his nose in it, that’s all me and Ray expect from you.”
    â€œSo you’re telling me that in fact, besides manual writing, I’m to be the quality control officer, only I can’t tell my direct supervisor that that’s what I’m doing and I have to carry on all such activities behind his back?”
    â€œThat’s why we’re paying you thirty thou a year, my friend.”
    â€œAnd in the meantime, I’m supposed to sign over every idea I ever have to Eight Bits . . . Inc.? Why not just everything I come up with related to software being developed in-house?”
    â€œThis agreement is a condition of employment, Step,” said Cowboy Bob. He still seemed friendly and genial, but if this had been a saloon in a western, the tone of his voice would have sent half the customers out into the street to avoid getting hit over the head with a breakaway chair.
    â€œThis agreement makes me promise that if I leave here I’ll never enter into competition with Eight Bits Inc.”
    â€œOur lawyer said that was a real good idea.”
    â€œWell, try this. I came here to write manuals, not to develop software. I’ll help out with quality control if Ray wants me to, but I want it to be out in the open so I don’t have to skulk around like a spy. And I won’t sign this agreement until it’s rewritten to limit the noncompetition clause to one year, to protect my rights in all software I wrote prior to coming here, and to protect my rights in all software I might write after leaving here.”
    â€œNo way,” said Cowboy Bob.
    Step stood up. His knees were trembling and he felt a little faint, but he also knew that