He then showed a slide bearing an ICP BP computer graphic with a circle around it and a slash through it, like the "No Smoking"

signs found in public areas. A few chuckles emerged from the darkness.

"Consequently - by design, if you will - few of us at Wallaby are apt to perceive an opportunity that could take advantage of ICP's Goliath size. Locked into our rivalry with ICP, we're too busy reacting, competing with our portable computer technology as if we had a chance to displace its impersonal, worldwide installed-base of systems."

He let them absorb this truth for a few moments, then removed the slide, allowing a pause before asking his next question.

"But what if the Joey Plus were equipped to make a huge leap into the big game?"

Chairs creaked, and elbows settled on the table as those seated around the table moved forward to more attentive positions. The next slide showed the Wallaby Joey Plus computer screen again.

But in this one, the ICP globe logo was...o...b..ting within it, with the baby kangaroo hopping from the U.S., across the Atlantic, to Europe.

Matthew heard whispers and low voices. In an instant he understood his position with profound clarity. Here he stood, in the place that for the last decade had been occupied by Peter Jones, with his hand on the lever that, once thrown, would forever alter the focus of Wallaby. He threw it.

"I believe that Wallaby has the potential to penetrate the worldwide installed-base of ICP computer users by becoming more compatible with ICP systems."

Not surprisingly, Hank was the first to protest. Incredulous, he rose from his seat. "Matthew, are you proposing we build an ICP clone computer?" His alarm was amplified by the others, and the room suddenly erupted into a rumble of questioning voices.

"Wait. Listen," Matthew pleaded. "Please."

Hank dropped back in his chair, turning his attention to Matthew.

The others followed his lead and quieted.

"No. Hank. We would not, not ever, develop systems that operated ICP's system software. First of all, we would continue with our design to evolve the Joey hardware, adding a simple, inexpensive port that would provide an easy connection to ICP mainframes and workgroup networks. Second, we would implement system software communication hooks in our operating system, which would read and understand file formats and information from ICP systems. These hooks are what would enable the user to easily manage the ma.s.sive ICP mainframe databases from within Joey software applications, as well as share data between personal programs like word processing doc.u.ments, spreadsheets, and graphics, to name a few."

Hank was slowly nodding. "We're following you, go on."

The room fell silent, and Matthew placed his next graphic on the overhead.

"We've got a window of opportunity, and if we can act quickly and bring compatibility products to market in the next quarter, Wallaby would enjoy the rewards of major penetration within a year."

The attendees were leaning to one side or the other, whispering back and forth. What Matthew was able to discern sounded positive, and, sensing no opposition, he placed the next slide, a proposed schedule. Midway through the his timeline breakdown, Graham Stevens, vice president of personnel, spoke up.

"Pardon me for the interruption, Matthew." Stevens removed his gla.s.ses and folded his hands on the table. His face bore the troubled look of a professor deliberating a complex formula.

"There's one thing that concerns me. Something that does not appear on the schedule."

Matthew took a step away from the projector. "Please, go on."

"This company, as you pointed out when you started, was trained to think of ICP as the enemy. Do you really believe we can get the employees to support a strategy that slants us toward our biggest compet.i.tor?" His question was supported by contemplative murmuring throughout the room.

"That's a very important question," Matthew said. He tucked his hands into his pockets. "Perhaps the most important of all."

In fact, it was. He had asked himself the same question a thousand times. And he knew he had to be very careful with his response. Both the reason and the solution had come to him when he had asked himself why, all along, ICP had never simply threatened Wallaby with a hostile takeover. The reason was simple - ICP could not acquire Wallaby and hope for the company to succeed without support from Wallaby's highest-level executives and employees. This was precisely where Matthew fit into the whole plan. He was the horticulturist who would graft the sapling Wallaby onto the deeply rooted, sky-high tree that was ICP. He would nurture the company into accepting that this was the right thing to do, this second phase of providing compatibility with ICP's systems. He would convince them that while maintaining its personality, Wallaby would also grow vigorously in size and sales. Later, in the final phase - the plan's ultimate goal - after Matthew's compatibility strategy had proven successful and thereby gained the employees' trust, the process for merging the two companies would begin.

He seated himself casually on the edge of the table. "When Peter and Hank started Wallaby," he said, dropping a nod to the cofounder, "they had a vision of placing into people's hands their own computing power. Naturally this was perceived as compet.i.tion to ICP because it is also a computer company, which quickly brought to market its own all-in-one computer. But what I've come to understand is that we have a valuable product that can make greater headway by coexisting with ICP's computers rather than try to overtake it directly. And if we carefully educate our employees that it's our vision to keep building great portable computers for individuals, which can also connect to other systems, then yes, we can pull it off." His voice was piping with conviction and enthusiasm. "Joey, with its innovative mobile and expandable design, becomes the dynamic key that opens doors to other systems and other markets around the world."

"It would be tough, Matthew," Graham said, curling his index finger against his chin, "but if we were to get you out there, talking to our people about this strategy, I think you're right.

We could pull it off."

Did this first agreement, from the man who raised the most difficult question of all, presage the entire team's vote? Had he just persuaded them to place in him their faith to change the lifeblood vision of the entire company?

He switched off the projector and brightened the room's lights.

"Before I go on, it may be good to get an idea of how many of us agree on this strategy."

"Right," Hank said, helping him along. "I think it's smart, mature. Clearly a direction in which we should consider moving.

However," he cautioned, sweeping the group with his serious eyes, "only if we can handle the perception aspect of it with the employees. Only as long as we make them understand that we're not selling out and building a clone, that we are actually making our Joey the best choice of portable computer on its own, and in tandem with ICP's computers. If we can accomplish that, then I think we could eventually come out ahead of the game."

Matthew experienced an epiphany. Hank had just explained Matthew's strategy exactly as he wanted them to see it.

Furthermore, Hank's approval signified a point that was especially penetrating to the people seated there - higher stock prices. For each of them, this translated to even greater personal wealth.

Matthew quickly took advantage of Hank's definition, while the carrot still hung in the air. "Does anyone disagree with the concept?"

Heads turned, searching for dissent.

None.

He felt a powerful thrill wash though him like the one he had experienced at the last quarterly board meeting, when his organizational design had flexed Peter Jones out of his way. In the last meeting he had been given the opportunity to prove himself. Now, with the new strategy revealed, they had become his followers. They believed in him. That was what it all came down to. They trusted him with their future.

"Very well," Matthew said. He switched off the overhead lights again and returned to the projector. With his finger on the switch, he bade farewell to the old Wallaby, farewell to Peter Jones. He flicked the machine on, and alighted the screen with his next slide: "The Whole World In Your Hand: Wallaby's Future."

"Thanks, Hank," Matthew said, gripping Hank's arm with one hand, the other locked in a firm handshake.

The board room door silently swung shut, and Matthew dropped himself heavily into one of the chairs and let out a long satisfied sigh.

He'd done it. From here on, it would be smooth sailing. With the executive's support in the bag, he was now free to turn his secret plan into reality. And what did it translate to for him personally? The power and the rewards would be astronomical.

"How'd it go?"

He had not heard anyone enter the room and, startled, he turned to find Laurence Maupin. For the briefest moment he just sat there and admired her in her finely tailored light linen suit.

Her soft and flowing honey-colored hair framed her fresh intelligent face, and in her delicate hands she clutched a small bundle of budding branches, held together by a blue ribbon.

"It went great," Matthew said, blinking with exultation at the sound of his own pleased voice. Then, unable to contain his satisfaction, his smile broke into a broad grin. "Really great,"

he spilled, feeling remarkably comfortable in revealing his joy in front of her.

"That's wonderful, Matthew. Wonderful!" she said, closing the s.p.a.ce between them. "These are for you," she said, holding out the bundle.

"p.u.s.s.y willow," he remarked. He felt a tingling sensation in his finger, where it had brushed hers. "Where did you get them?"

"Believe it or not, I found a bush of them in Woodside. I stole some for you," she said with a mischievous chuckle.

"Thank you," he said, able to meet her eyes only for a second.

Her unantic.i.p.ated arrival and the gift she had brought made him suddenly feel awkward and boyish. It was as if the room, his heart, had all at once changed seasons, going from the promise of spring to the all-out heat of summer. He watched her flip through his collection of slides, and he felt the light tingle return, this time in another place, as she keenly examined his ill.u.s.trations.

She beamed at him and tapped the topmost slide. "Matthew, it's brilliant. Just three months, and you're already making important changes."