MANSTAT

MANSTAT

By Alfonso Borello

MANSTAT is a work of fiction. Any similarity to anything or anybody is unintended.

Copyright © 2012 by Alfonso Borello

All rights reserved.

Published in the United States.

Cover design by Alfonso Borello

Also by Alfonso Borello

A MINIATURE LIFE

SIGNORINA

GIALLO

For you,

My dear reader.

C-1

“All I want is a gadget that understands people,” I explained to Cassini, the engineer.

Cassini nodded, and kept taking notes on his Moleskine; he was wearing a lab coat and never raised his head. The designer, Durman, was sitting next to him; his Alienware laptop fan whined as he loaded the auto cad.

“How was your experience with the last smart phone?” Cassini asked.

I raised my eyes to the ceiling, “WP7?”

“You just want to forget about it,” Cassini finally raised his head.

“Every time there's an update, which of course I download, something stops working,” I replied.

“It's quite irritating, isn't it?”

“Irritating? Listen, if they want me to be a tester, they must pay me; besides I really don't have the time for someone else's failure. I told them to jump in the lake and get me off the contract; I'm building my own phone.”

“It's going to take some time; we're dealing with something which has never been done before, at least at this level.”

“We don't have much time,” I replied.

“I was planning on working on an existing platform, and make improvements as we go, just to speed things up,” Cassini suggested. Durman gave him a quick glance and nodded.

“I don't really care what you're going to do, as long as you make the damn thing flying, and I really mean it,” I said.

“Time frame?” Cassini asked.

“Ninety days.”

“Unrealistic.”

“You're the best in the business, that's why we are here; get more people on board, get them from MIT, from NASA, from the sushi bar downstairs, do whatever.”

“Alfonso, do I have carte blanche?”

“This is what I'm willing to pay,” I snatched his Moleskine from his hands and jot something down.

Cassini nodded, and smiled for the first time. Durman gave a quick glance at the note; sweat was dripping down his forehead.

“Color preference?” Cassini asked.

“Anything but pink; it's just never grew on me for some reason.”

“I need a rough idea about the spec sheet, please.”

“I won't do a spacewalk with it, but make sure it's the ultimate gadget, and don't sell the design to the Chinese, please.”

“Material of preference?”