Read The Martian Pendant for Free Online Page B
Authors: Patrick Taylor
doctorate in a warmer location came in the form of a job fair held at the University of Chicago Faculty Club, where Max had invited her to lunch. As she waited for the professor, she was attracted by a display put up by Buell. They were hiring technical writers, and their representative seemed very interested in her. When Max finally arrived, late as usual, his appraising eye still made her uncomfortable. Even after all the time she had spent working with him, she still regarded him with suspicion, concerned that he would ever settle down.
Over BLT sandwiches and tea, she enthusiastically told him of the job offer from Buell. “Great benefits and salary, and a good chance for advancement. They need people with science and statistics backgrounds, especially.”
“Diana, hold on a minute. I want to talk to you about staying on with me after you receive your Ph.D. You’ll have a living wage, and probably tenure in the future.”
“No, Max, I’ve decided to take the job offer on the West Coast. It's a great opportunity, and I’ll have time to finish my dissertation in balmy Southern California. Chicago weather is getting me down. Another winter here and I’ll go bonkers.”
* * *
She was hired as a technical writer at Buell, translating the sometimes confusing scientific jargon of the scientists into words that could be understood by all, from the engineers who would be building from the plans, to the accountants in the finance office who would have to assure management that funds were available to cover the costs of the projects.
Her work was quickly seen as far superior to what they needed. She would append comments and statistics to her work, further clarifying the material. This quickly brought her to the attention of the vice-president of her division, which was engaged in perfecting a reliable ICBM, envisioning the use of the Army’s Redstone Rocket technology.
Her name came up in one of the weekly breakfast meetings in the boardroom, where over doughnuts and coffee, managers of the various projects would kick around the problems they were facing. The satellite signals were being decoded and interpreted with the aid of the huge computer, but the data obtained needed further analysis. The huge amount of material already being processed had the computer working past its design limits, constantly tripping circuit breakers, leaving little capacity for anything else. That week they were looking over the files of employees, searching for someone with the expertise needed in that department.
“Say,” one of the young executives exclaimed, “Here’s someone who has the right expertise. She's a recent hire, Diana Howard, young enough, and nice-looking, too.”
“Here, lemme see,” another manager said, taking Diana's file. “Hey, look at this letter of recommendation from Chicago extolling her work there.”
The file made it around the table, bringing the approval of all, except for one skeptic.
“My experience,” he said, “is that beautiful blondes are rarely bright,” then adding facetiously, “and rarely are they really blondes.”
“Oh, come off it, Mark, how can that last fact be important?” It was the man who first came across the file. “Examine her credentials before you turn thumbs up or down because of her looks. Her background is English. Plenty of natural blondes in that part of the world. Now look at her resume. An honors graduate of Cambridge University, took her Master’s there, and great recommendations. A dumb blonde? Are you kidding?”
The chap across the table seconded him. “That gal’s a virtuoso, which is just what we need for our GeoSat data interpretation. Grab her before someone else does!” Even the somewhat chastened doubter had to agree, and before the day was over, Diana was moving into her own office in the computer wing.
FIVE
The
Over BLT sandwiches and tea, she enthusiastically told him of the job offer from Buell. “Great benefits and salary, and a good chance for advancement. They need people with science and statistics backgrounds, especially.”
“Diana, hold on a minute. I want to talk to you about staying on with me after you receive your Ph.D. You’ll have a living wage, and probably tenure in the future.”
“No, Max, I’ve decided to take the job offer on the West Coast. It's a great opportunity, and I’ll have time to finish my dissertation in balmy Southern California. Chicago weather is getting me down. Another winter here and I’ll go bonkers.”
* * *
She was hired as a technical writer at Buell, translating the sometimes confusing scientific jargon of the scientists into words that could be understood by all, from the engineers who would be building from the plans, to the accountants in the finance office who would have to assure management that funds were available to cover the costs of the projects.
Her work was quickly seen as far superior to what they needed. She would append comments and statistics to her work, further clarifying the material. This quickly brought her to the attention of the vice-president of her division, which was engaged in perfecting a reliable ICBM, envisioning the use of the Army’s Redstone Rocket technology.
Her name came up in one of the weekly breakfast meetings in the boardroom, where over doughnuts and coffee, managers of the various projects would kick around the problems they were facing. The satellite signals were being decoded and interpreted with the aid of the huge computer, but the data obtained needed further analysis. The huge amount of material already being processed had the computer working past its design limits, constantly tripping circuit breakers, leaving little capacity for anything else. That week they were looking over the files of employees, searching for someone with the expertise needed in that department.
“Say,” one of the young executives exclaimed, “Here’s someone who has the right expertise. She's a recent hire, Diana Howard, young enough, and nice-looking, too.”
“Here, lemme see,” another manager said, taking Diana's file. “Hey, look at this letter of recommendation from Chicago extolling her work there.”
The file made it around the table, bringing the approval of all, except for one skeptic.
“My experience,” he said, “is that beautiful blondes are rarely bright,” then adding facetiously, “and rarely are they really blondes.”
“Oh, come off it, Mark, how can that last fact be important?” It was the man who first came across the file. “Examine her credentials before you turn thumbs up or down because of her looks. Her background is English. Plenty of natural blondes in that part of the world. Now look at her resume. An honors graduate of Cambridge University, took her Master’s there, and great recommendations. A dumb blonde? Are you kidding?”
The chap across the table seconded him. “That gal’s a virtuoso, which is just what we need for our GeoSat data interpretation. Grab her before someone else does!” Even the somewhat chastened doubter had to agree, and before the day was over, Diana was moving into her own office in the computer wing.
FIVE
The