Tesladyne preferred emails for all internal correspondence, but some important messages were hand-delivered, often by large, polite security guards. It wasn't always bad news, but the chance that it was bad increased the lower on the org chart a person was. Bernie Crankowitz was pretty damned low, in that corner reserved for middle managers that missed the brass ring, but were still competent enough to keep around to manage the low-priority projects that were the bulk of Tesladyne's business, if not its profits. His office building was referred to as 'The Trash Heap.' People came here who Tesladyne thought were worth keeping for some reason, but getting out was nearly impossible. Bernie was on his second cup of coffee and staring at a convoluted system of conveyor belts used to move parts inside a manufacturing plant. It was a mess, like a bowl of tangled spaghetti. The large building had been repurposed at least seventeen times in the last thirty years. Six different conveyor and pneumatic systems moved parts around, and didn't talk to each other. A significant amount of time was spent manually sorting parts and double-checking inventory.

  This wasn't his first time redesigning a massive system like this. He'd redesigned several dozen, but it was the biggest. Only seven of his designs had been used; the others were judged too expensive because of the need to rework the whole building. It was frustrating to do the work and know it wasn't going to be used, but better than not getting a paycheck. Another two years and he'd have thirty with the company and a small pension. Enough to live comfortably if he did a few jobs on the side and his small portfolio of stocks didn't tank. But until then, he'd do his best on every project and finish them in record time. He didn't expect a promotion; he just wanted to keep alive that chance at a pension.

  Putting aside happy thoughts of retirement, Bernie got to work, reimagining how the series of buildings would operate in an ideal system. Parts should move along fast conveyors to smaller ones, and finished pieces come back to storage by parallel routes. Like blood coming from the heart. Down the center of the building was the main conveyor, moving the largest component, in this case body of a surveillance drone. Power supply, computers, cameras, armor plating, and everything else would be added to the machine as it moved along, not dissimilar to the original production of Model T cars. And like the Ford Model T, these drones only came in black, their radar reflective paint making them invisible in the night sky.

  Bernie was done by four in the afternoon, working through his lunch hour to finish the project and send it off on time so it could be filed and ignored. After saving and sending the file, he pushed his missed lunch hour into the four-to-five time slot on his time card and clocked out. Leaving now would save him thirty minutes of rush hour on the tram system that took him home. That was thirty minutes of his life that wouldn't fume at the inefficient mass transit system that required him to take a tram and two buses to make it home. Gathering his coat and uneaten lunch, he turned to leave, only to find two large men waiting for him. They smiled, and he felt his heart drop.

  "Done for the day, Mr. Crankowitz? That's perfect. We are here to provide you with an escort from the building."

  Bernie sighed; he'd been so close to retirement. "May I box up my personal possessions first?"

  "Don't worry about those, Mr. Crankowitz; they'll be carefully packed up and sent to you. For now, we should be going."

  "I suppose so. Lead on, gentlemen." Heads turned as people saw Bernie leaving the building for the last time. Some were sad, but most shrugged and got back to work. It was just part of the great cycle of life here at Tesladyne, especially when sent to the trash heap. The two guards hurried Bernie along, but he was confused when they took an elevator up, arriving at the rooftop. They steered him to a waiting helicopter.

  "Careful, Mr. Crankowitz, duck down until you are safely inside. These new models are low slung, and those blades skim right over your head. Fast as hell though, we'll be at HQ in three minutes for your meeting."

  Totally confused at this point, Bernie took his seat and concentrated on not being sick as the small helicopter shot off like a rocket for the other end of the city and a landing pad on the top of the newest Tesladyne building. A minute after landing and a ride in an ultra-fast elevator, he was ushered into a room with nine other people, all of them dressed much better than he was. He recognized Richard Dawson, head of Tesladyne's vehicle division, at one end of the table. He was steered to the chair at the other end, and as he sat and accepted a cup of very good coffee, the other eight people sat down, all nodding to him or offering polite greetings.

  Mr. Dawson stayed standing. "Thanks for making it here so quickly, Bernie. I know you have a lot on your plate, but this came up quickly. With your experience, you'll catch up quickly. This is the team that will be working with you in Chicago. They're young, but I know they'll work their asses off for you and you'll teach them valuable lessons of perseverance, organization, and efficiency. And those are the three cornerstones of this project, the fourth being you. Any questions?"

  Bernie took a sip of his coffee, looked at each person in turn, then said. "Thank you for your faith in me, Mr. Dawson. My one question is: What job do you need me to do? I'm in the dark here."

  Dawson scowled, "Did no one send you the project briefing?" The entire staff looked nervous, and the person nearest to him slid Bernie a slim folder that he quickly scanned through, as a large map of Chicago was projected on the wall. Red, yellow, blue, and green lines were snarled everywhere, some shifting even as they watched.

  Stolen story; please report.

  "This is the current bus system managed by APEX, a division of Raxxon. There will be a press conference in one hour where the city council will present evidence of fraud and embezzlement by Raxxon employees, and massive overcharging. Two city council members will be resigning and possibly being indicted. Their contract will go up for bid, but I can assure you it's coming to us. Even as we speak, we have four thousand Tesladyne RoadMaster buses enroute to their new home in Chicago. We're stationing them at the Braidwood Fusion Plant. Lots of room there, and we'll have the modular repair facilities up within a week. We've been blocked in too many cities by Raxxon, and this is where we break in and show what a fleet of shiny, new electric buses can do. Technically new, at least. Never used, even though they were manufactured ten years ago. They've been waiting for a chance, and here it is. We need to do the best job we can so we can push hard on Raxxon elsewhere. Our bid was damn close to cost, so we have to be both lean and mean, while providing the best service we can, and keep those ratings sky high.

  I'm sure you understand where you fit in, Bernie."

  Bernie flipped the folder shut. Old instincts he'd thought buried were coming back. "You need an efficient dynamic routing system to move people. One that performs far better than anything APEX ever provided, while working within the constraints of power storage and carrying capacity. What sort of computing resources will I have to work with?"

  Dawson saw the gleam in Bernie's eyes. This was a man who knew he had one last chance to grab the brass ring. He was still hungry and, based on his work, skilled at what he did. Hopefully, he could keep a rein on his management team, who were already working to undermine him. "I mentioned the Braidwood facility. The Fusion Generator is producing power, and they tell me the quantum cores are available. We can devote one of them to this project."

  Bernie blinked once, then smiled wolfishly, "Oh yes, that will do nicely. We'll begin work tonight, after we arrive. I assume that the little transport that brought me is available to get me over to Braidwood?"

  "It is, and your two bodyguards are ready to travel and assist you. You'll be landing two hours after takeoff. We have office space at Braidwood, but apartments won't be ready for a few days; suitable hotels are available nearby."

  Bernie picked up the folder and tucked it under his arm. He pointed to the first person at the table and then went around the room. "You're in charge of transport to the hotels, catering food at Braidwood, nothing fancy. I want sandwiches, coffee, and donuts. Lots of donuts. Endless coffee." His finger moved to the next person at the table. "If the hotel is more than 30 minutes from Braidwood, find something closer; it doesn't matter what it is, you won't be there much. You're in charge of transporting the team to Braidwood and back to the hotel, the few nights we get to sleep. As for the rest of you, there by 8 am tomorrow, or you're fired. Anyone who can't make it, you're fired. Your personal possessions can be sent to you." He picked another person, "That's your job, arrange it and have stuff packed and shipped by tomorrow."

  Bernie looked at all of them, now that he had their attention, "Let's get something straight: I'm not failing on this one. Pull crap and you'll be in the Trash Heap for the rest of your career, dreaming of getting a chance to show you can perform to Tesladyne's level. We're going to work inhumanely long hours and get this system rolling. If you can't keep up, I'll walk over the top of you and do your job as well as mine. Hell, I'll do it all myself if I have to. Prove you can keep up with me. Now get the hell out of here, and be ready to work starting at 8 tomorrow. And you, donut guy, I like glazed donuts, Krispy Kreme if you can get them, hot out of the oven. Tell them to open a shop inside the building, they'll make a killing off of us."

  His very energized team took off at a run. Mr. Dawson stepped toward Bernie. "Impressive job, Bernie. We met when I was an intern, running you coffee and glazed donuts just before that unfortunate fiasco that led to your downsizing." The unfortunate fiasco had been Raxxon stealing the contracts for bus service from Tesladyne and the mothballing of fifty thousand electric buses, and a one-way trip to the Trash Heap for most of the people on the project.

  Bernie tried to remember him, but interns were faceless. Like people in the Trash Heap. "I should get going. Lots to do."

  His boss shook his hand and smiled, "No polite thank you, or assurances you won't let me down?"

  Bernie shrugged, "You picked me because Tesladyne needs something done right, efficiently, and quickly. Assurances are crap. I either do the job, or I'm out of here. Lots of motivation on my part, and while I'm sure those youngsters missed it, this is just the start. There will be more cities to get running."

  Dawson just nodded, "There certainly will be. Oil has had its day. Fusion Power is back, and Tesladyne is the one driving the bus."

  As he arrived at the roof, Donut Boy was there to meet him, a white paper bag and a large mug of coffee in his hand. "For the trip, sir."

  "Thank you, what's your name?"

  "Brent, sir."

  "See you at 8 am, Brent. Lots of glazed."