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Bill Landey's knuckles whitened, as he clenched the steering wheel and raced into the driving rain. The pounding of the water on his car's tin roof and the howling of the wind as his vehicle fought the storm, echoed the rage that tore through him. He passed the only other driver foolish enough to be out on the highway at this hour and in this weather. The headlights receded behind him so rapidly, the other car might have been standing still. Bill glanced at his speedometer and quickly took his foot off the accelerator. He had been moving at almost a hundred miles an hour.

Normally, he was a man who prided himself on his speed. He accomplished everything quickly, from completing his assignments to driving his car. But this was a bit much even for him, particularly in this miserable weather and in view of the fact that he had no reason to hurry. After a shining career, Bill Landey had suddenly discovered that he had spent the best part of his life rushing toward failure. There was nothing ahead of him but the bankruptcy of his company and the all but impossible task of re-entering the job market and starting his career anew, competing against fresh young blood untainted with the disease of long-term failure.

Was it so long ago that he had been one of those bright, young faces? He remembered his college graduation. He stood there with his classmates, many of them nervous at the realization that they were expected to venture forth into the world, away from their parents' protection, and seek out their own fortunes. Some of them realized that with the meager knowledge that they had gleaned, they were ill-prepared to interview for any but the most menial of jobs. Others worried about the competition they would face for any suitable position.

Not Bill Landey. At six feet two inches of solid muscle, blonde haired and blue eyed, his good looks, social charm and athletic prowess had always made him popular. His desire to take full advantage of anything that was offered, had earned him good grades. Despite his popularity, he was willing to befriend anyone, regardless of social standing. This had brought him into contact with those students that others spurned as "nerds." But it was from these friends that Bill had learned the important skills required for financial success, for that future day when simply having been a high school football hero would not be enough. And it was one particular friend who, despite being Bill's complete opposite, became his bosom buddy.

Mark Curria was a short, skinny, bespectacled youth who was extremely shy and had no physical prowess to speak of. To see Mark shuffling down a hallway in his gawky, ungainly fashion, one would expect him to trip over his own feet. But despite the impression of awkwardness he presented, his dexterity when performing feats of illusion was astonishing and his skill on a computer keyboard was legendary. It was Mark who had introduced Bill to computers.

Under Mark's enthusiastic tutelage, Bill dove into the world of DOS, Windows and Visual C++. Bill and Mark became an inseparable team. Though Mark was by far the better coder, the skinny, bespectacled youth could only overcome his shyness when he talked about his true love, and then he tended to talk in "computerese." Bill was the charmer, the one who could explain the technical aspect of what he and Mark had accomplished in language comprehensible to the listener. For extra credit, the pair had set out to design a system which would help the local scout troop track membership and fund raising activities. The result was so successful, that the program was now being used by troops across the country. Though it did not earn Bill or Mark much money, for they had all but given it away, it had gained them recognition and the job offers started coming in before they had even completed college. So as their classmates stood at the graduation ceremony nervously contemplating their future, Bill and Mark stood at ease, successful careers assured.

Just one week after leaving school, Bill and Mark donned their power suits and began their jobs at Arthur Mitchell & Company, or AMI, one of the largest management consulting firms in the world. At thirty thousand dollars, their starting salaries were higher than those of their classmates. Bill soon learned that nothing comes easy in the business world. He and Mark were expected to put in long hours and weekends. Their manager, was the man who had interviewed them, Owen Seltzer. On the interview he had projected an air of easygoing confidence. A slender man in his late forties, he had spoken intelligently and asked probing questions during the interview, as an experienced manager should. Bill soon discovered that he was a sycophantic incompetent, known for his ability to massage his superior's ego and his inability to produce anything remotely resembling a realistic schedule. His nickname in the office was "Mr. Superficial," because he was able to talk generally about any technical subject and pretend to be an expert, but when the conversation reached a point where actual knowledge was required, Owen managed to evade the issue.

Owen was one of those managers who used buzzwords to feign a knowledge he didn't possess. He read books on management and repeated some of the statements he found in them like mantras. "A good manager has his work done by others" was one of his favorites. He even printed it out in banner form and hung it on his office wall. The problem was that he believed that this rule meant that he was not to do any work himself. So he delegated all responsibility to others, often to people unqualified to do the work.

One such person was a buddy of Owen's named Revi Fozdar. Like Owen, he was in his fifties and in his three piece suit, presented the image of the knowledgeable professional. He also preferred using acronyms and buzzwords to bedazzle his clients, but the more technical folks realized that he used these in the wrong context. From the comments he made and the questions he asked, it became obvious to the development team that his knowledge of computers was elementary at best. They wondered how he could have the twenty years of data processing experience he claimed and yet demonstrate such an abysmal ignorance. Revi was assigned the task of system analyst. He would meet with the clients who would be using the system to get their requirements and then produce the blueprints or specifications that would be used by the developers to create programs. The programmers complained that his specs were incomplete and confusing. When they asked Revi for more detail, he invariably had to call the client. Often he got back to the developer with an explanation that didn't answer the original question or introduced more complications. The programmers eventually called the client directly, which annoyed the person who had already spent a great deal of time explaining it to Revi.

Yet with Owen's protection, Revi lasted for almost two years, asking pointless and redundant questions and filling cartons with printouts of his unintelligible business processes. The situation finally came to a head when the team was ordered to sit in a room and produce a project work plan based on the client's requests. Since it was Revi's job to explain these requirements, it became obvious that he hadn't a clue. He announced that one phase of the project required about twenty screens to capture the data. The client, who had been sitting in the room at the time, jumped up and shouted that this was one of the simplest phases, requiring the entry of only five fields, which could easily be done on one screen. When Revi pulled out his own time estimates, Bill immediately noticed that Revi had estimated more time for his analysis of certain reports than for the actually coding of the reports.

"That's ridiculous!" Bill shouted. "That's like saying the architect needs three months to design a building and then it should be built in one month."

"These reports are very complicated," Revi explained, "it takes a long time to understand them and document them."

"Then it should take even longer to code and test them," Bill argued. "Your plan demonstrates that you don't understand business analysis."

"How long have you been doing business analysis?" Revi challenged.

"Six years," Bill answered, giving himself credit for the system he and Mark had designed while still in college.

"Well, I've been doing business analysis for twenty years," Revi shot back, as if he had proved a point.

"So you've wasted fourteen years," Bill responded, bringing guffaws from everyone in the room except Revi and his buddy, Owen.

After this meeting, Revi's incompetence had been demonstrated so obviously that Owen was forced to fire him. In retaliation for having shown up his buddy, Owen did not replace Revi, but assigned his duties to other members of the team in addition to their own workload.

There were numerous Owen jokes circulating around the office and Bill was proud to have contributed at least one of them. Owen once heard that a computer could cut his workload in half. So he bought two and didn't report to work for a month. And it actually worked. Productivity improved. But when it came to raise time, his superiors decided that the computers deserved the raise, so they bought them bigger hard drives and more RAM.

Still Owen did possess a skill that attributed to his longevity in the firm, the ability to conceal his mistakes. He did this by either selecting a scapegoat to blame for the problem or ordering Mark and Bill to work even harder to meet his unreasonable deadlines. Bill and Mark watched in seething silence as Owen took credit for any project that was successful due to their efforts and passed the blame for his failures on to some underling, who was summarily fired before he had the chance to meet Owen's superiors and set the record straight.

"How can you blame Frank (or Howard or Sally or whoever was Owen's current victim) for the problem?" Bill would ask, "We all followed the specifications you laid out to the letter. Then when you changed them, you promised the client that it would be ready too soon."

"Frank (or Howard or Sally) was just taking too long to complete the work," Owen would answer. "It was a simple modification. Two days was enough time to implement the change. Taking longer was just unacceptable."

Faced with the knowledge that nothing he said would make any difference and belaboring the point would only put his job in jeopardy, Bill would eventually concede and write up a memo detailing the situation exactly as Owen had described. They would continue the project another programmer short, until a new and often temporary replacement would be found.

Inevitably, Owen was promoted for his outstanding achievements. Bill was moved into the position Owen had vacated. Mark, because of his self-effacing personality, was given a bonus but no promotion.

"This really stinks," Bill said, "You did all the hard work. You should get the promotion."

"I prefer it this way," Mark told him.

"Why is that?" Bill asked.

"Because this way I report to you. You're the one who has to report to Owen."

In some ways his new position gave him newfound freedom. He no longer had to sit in the office until midnight coding Owen's latest requirements. But now he had one important added responsibility. It was his task to see to it that Owen escaped blame for his own idiotic decisions. Sometimes the shenanigans to which he had to resort, the memos and emails he had to intercept and modify to put a different slant on an issue and the clients he had to shmooze to smooth ruffled feathers, took a great deal out of him. But these only happened as deadlines approached. During the periods in between, he was free to leave at a reasonable hour. Though he felt guilty about leaving at five when Mark often stayed later, he consoled himself with the thought that now that he was manager and running interference, there was less time wasted on poorly planned projects and fewer ridiculous schedules.

With his newfound leisure time, he began to socialize again. He even attended the annual New Year's party given by the tenants in the co-op in which he lived. Each year he had contributed his share to the collection the building took up, but he had never had the time or the inclination to actually participate. This year he did and it changed his life. Through the crowd he caught sight of an exquisitely beautiful child. Her shoulder-length hair was so red, she appeared to be aflame. Her skin was pale without the freckles usually associated with those of her coloring. Her features were tiny and perfect, and the sea green of her eyes could be seen flashing across the room. At first, Bill was surprised to see her. This was an adult party and the invitations had expressly stated that children were not to attend. This girl appeared to be about fourteen years old. But as Bill watched her chatting with the others on an equal level, he decided that she must be older than she looked. At five feet and no more than a hundred pounds, she was a perfectly proportioned, petite doll. Bill couldn't take his eyes off her.

"She's something, isn't she?" a voice in his ear brought him back to reality, "Should I introduce you?"

Bill turned to find Beverly Sanderson, President of the co-op committee, at his elbow. She was always trying to play matchmaker between the single tenants. So far, Bill had avoided making her list.

"A little young for this crowd, don't you think?" Bill asked, "If I were her parents, I'd be keeping a closer eye on her."

Beverly laughed. "Debbie's not here with her parents. She owns a co-op in the building."

"She owns a co-op? What did she do, inherit it?"

"No, she bought it. With the money that she earns as an advertising account manager for WIND radio. She's older than she looks."

Beverly made the introductions and for the rest of the evening, Bill and Debbie did not leave each other's side. Even after the party was over, the two of them sat in a corner of the lobby, oblivious to the fact that everyone else had gone home. Despite her diminutive size, especially when contrasted with Bill's large frame, she radiated dynamic energy and infectious humor. Six months later, they were married. A year after that, Suzie was born, and Bill's life felt almost complete. The only fly in the ointment was having to deal with Owen. His raises and bonuses took place with annual regularity. The stream of programmers who worked under his supervision, came and went like extras in a scene. As much as he did to insulate them from Owen's inept management, sometimes there was just no way to protect them. Sometimes they just quit in disgust. Where he could, Bill provided a good reference.

Staring ahead through the rain-drenched windshield, Bill remembered his glory years at AMI and tried to recollect the exact moment when things began to turn around. Perhaps it was the day Debbie commented that her station was interviewing computer consultants in an effort to automate the station. Suddenly, Bill had a thought.

"What do you think about Mark and me putting in a bid?" he asked.

"You and Mark?" Debbie was hesitant, "You told me how many hours he already puts in."

"That's only because deep down he enjoys it. I've told him that if he wanted more time off, I could rearrange the work schedule."

"But why would he want to take on more work?"

"Because he would be working for himself, for us, not for Owen and Arthur Mitchell. This would be our project, our chance to prove that if we did it all, from the initial proposal through the implementation, we could do it faster, better and cheaper. It would be our chance to really do things our way, without being forced to follow Owen's stupid procedures."

"Have you talked to Mark about this?"

"I wanted to know what you thought first."

"You realize," she said, "That I'd be putting my job on the line. If you took this on and couldn't finish it, they'd hold me responsible."

"I fully understand that. I'll look into the project and if I feel that it's too big for us to handle, I won't take it."

"Speak to Mark and see what he says."

Mark was reluctant at first, but Bill described the project excitedly. He promised to reduce Mark's assignments at Arthur Mitchell and cover for him if he had to run out to their new client in middle of the day. Perhaps it was the lure of doing things his way or perhaps it was because Mark could never withstand Bill's enthusiasm, but he finally gave in. Debbie introduced her husband to her boss. Though they had met socially, this was the first time they were meeting for business purposes. Bill asked the right questions and handled the interview with his usual zeal. Debbie's boss was won over. Bill's proposal was accepted. A lawyer was consulted, some legal papers filed and Landmark Computer Services was born.

The project proceeded with the efficiency that Bill had predicted. True to his word, he saw to it that Mark's duties at Arthur Mitchell were reduced to a reasonable level. He and Mark would meet at WIND after work to gather information. If they missed anything during these sessions, Debbie would fill them in at their apartment in the evening. They made steady progress and Debbie's boss was pleased. He recommended them to other business associates and they began to pick up a number of small projects.

No, starting Landmark had been a good idea, Bill concluded, his downhill slide had begun sometime after that, only as an indirect result. He tried to recall the exact day.

As things improved steadily at Landmark, the situation at Arthur Mitchell began to decline. AMI had recently passed on to Owen's team a project being designed for Orange Bank, one of their largest clients. Owen managed it in his usual fashion, making promises that could not be delivered and schedules completely out of touch with reality. Mark was the best programmer on Bill's team and the reduction in his work hours was particularly noticeable. Owen began to realize that Mark was not giving AMI his full attention. Had Mark been anything less than an expert programmer, Owen would have undoubtedly fired him. But Owen couldn't afford to lose the best member of Bill's team and the only one who had been there for any measurable length of time. Instead, Owen began bypassing Bill and assigning tasks specifically to Mark, insisting that he work through lunch and stay late. This began to take its toll on Mark, since Owen did not allow him enough time to complete his AMI assignments, aside from that of his private clients.

Uncharacteristically, Mark began talking back, pointing out that the schedule problems were caused by Owen's own incompetence. Bill tried to play peacemaker, but when pushed to the wall he had to take Mark's side and point out that no amount of overtime would allow them to maintain Owen's schedule. The discussion deteriorated into a long-running argument, with Owen, Mark and Bill shouting at each other several times a day. It reached the point that Owen's superior, Jean Phillips, ordered the three of them to a meeting in her office.

Bill had only met Jean several times briefly and had never held a lengthy discussion with her. If the office gossip was to be believed, Jean was a female version of Owen, a woman who had entered AMI at a time when the firm was seeking to lose their WASPy image by hiring women and other minorities. She had reputedly moved up the corporate ladder due to her ability to seduce the right people. Judging by her appearance, Bill could hardly credit the rumors, unless there had been a more attractive woman somewhere beneath the fifty pounds of lard she now carried. She was roundly hated in the office and was never seen to smile, unless she was verbally abusing or dismissing an employee. Hearsay also had it that she and Owen were long time friends and perhaps even more than that. It might explain how an incompetent like Owen had risen to a position he could not handle and seemed protected from the consequences of his own poor decisions. Judging by Jean's appearance, Bill could not believe that even Owen could be that desperate.

Bill particularly remembered one altercation between Jean and another programmer. Andy had been assigned the job of quality assurance. It was his task to test the software before it was released to the client to ensure that there were no bugs. During one status meeting, Andy had reported that he had found a bug in one of the modules. Jean had gone ballistic.

"What do you mean you found a bug? How could you have found a bug? What kind of incompetence is this?"

The whole team was taken aback by the vitriolic attack.

"I don't understand the problem," Andy said hesitantly, "Isn't it my job to find the bugs?"

"No!" Jean shouted, "it's the programmer's job to find all the bugs and get them out."

"Then what is my job?" Andy asked.

"Your job is to make sure that the programmer did his job."

"So my job is not to find bugs?"

"Exactly!" Jean snapped.

The whole team had trouble concealing their laughter and disbelief. After Jean had left, Andy remarked that it was apparent that his job was to test the software and ignore any bugs he found because to mention them would be incompetent. So the number of bugs reported to Jean by the team dwindled while the number of bugs found by the client increased. Not that it made any difference. Shortly afterward, Andy was fired and the position of quality assurance tester was eliminated entirely.

"This situation is unacceptable," Jean began, with no preliminary introduction, "the constant shouting and loud arguments are disturbing to everyone. This behavior is unprofessional and will not be tolerated. I want it to stop immediately."

"I intend to put a stop to it right now," Owen declared, "I don't tolerate disobedience from my subordinates. If you can't follow instructions, you're welcome to leave."

"I can't follow instructions when they make no sense!" Mark shouted.

"Then maybe you're not good enough!" Owen screamed back.

"Not good enough? I'm the only programmer who remained on your team for eight years, unlike the forty other people you fired during that time and the fifty more who quit. If I'm not good enough, then the programmer who meets your standards hasn't been born yet."

"Mark," Jean said sharply, "I don't appreciate having junior staff members question the competence of my managers."

"Owen was the one who brought up the question of competence," Mark pointed out, "and in my opinion, if every position on a project turns over twice a year, then it's time to take a close look at the manager."

"That would be Bill," Owen reminded him.

"Bill's not the one who has a problem with my competence," Mark said, "or anyone else's for that matter. Every time someone quit, it was immediately after an argument with you. And you claimed that every one of them was incompetent."

"In case you've forgotten, this is Arthur Mitchell," Owen stated, "We don't want programmers who are merely competent. We want the experts, the cream of the crop. We want people who put their full efforts into a project, beyond the standard nine to five. If you can't hack it, as far as I'm concerned, you're just another incompetent."

"You're wrong!" Mark declared, "I am that expert. I'm the best programmer in your group. Have you forgotten how many times I've saved your projects in spite of your rash promises, ridiculous schedules and just plain stupidity? I happen to be a magician, but I'm no Vincent the Magnificent. I haven't figured out how to give my days more than twenty four hours or my weeks more than seven days. I can't do the impossible just because, once again, you promised it to some client."

"We're losing sight of the real issue," Jean interrupted. "Mark, do you feel that you can contribute to this project, or will you continue to be counterproductive to Owen's efforts?"

"The only counterproductive person here is Owen!" Mark shouted. "He doesn't bother to get all the specifications up front and makes up the ones he didn't get from the client, so we end up doing it wrong. Then he blames one of the programmers, fires him and tells us we have one day to change everything. When we tell him that one day isn't enough time, he tells us that's what he promised the client. So we sit up all night trying to squeeze a week's work into one night, while he goes home to watch tv. Then he comes in the next morning at nine, after a good night's rest and harangues us for being tired. And of course working under such conditions, bugs are sure to slip by us. So he yells some more. Each and every bug requires a meeting. Another valuable hour is wasted discussing what was the bug and how did it get there and why didn't we find it earlier? So we fall even further behind schedule. How does Owen respond to that? He calls even more meetings to discuss why we're behind schedule!"

"You still haven't answered my question!" Jean snapped, "Can you complete this project according to schedule or must we look for someone else?"

"I did answer your question, you seem to have missed my point. I can't produce according to Owen's schedule and no one else can either. It's just impossible"

"The other programmers believe it's possible," Owen said.

"Then they're either afraid of losing their jobs or they're following Owen's standards. Promise the impossible and figure out how to blame someone else when you can't deliver. I guess that makes them real team players. How can you call yourself a project manager when you still use methods that went out in the eighties, like Gantt charts and don't even realize that if you do use them, you also have to update them occasionally. You made up charts for every phase of the project. We're two months behind on phase one. But you never pushed ahead phase two. You still show it as having been started two months ago and to be completed in about a month. Can you stand here in all honesty and tell us that it's possible?"

"Without diatribes or editorials, answer my question," Jean ordered sharply, "Do you feel that you can complete this project on schedule, yes or no?"

"Put that way," Mark replied, "I'd have to answer no."

If he'd pulled a dead animal out of his briefcase and tossed it on Jean's desk, he would not have gotten a different reaction. Jean, never a woman of few words, was shocked into silence. Owen looked apoplectic. After a long pause that seemed to last for hours, Jean recovered.

"So that's your final word, then?" she asked, "You're going to quit just like that?"

"I don't recall saying anything about quitting," Mark responded. "You asked me if I can complete this project according to Owen's impossible schedule. I answered no. If you feel that disqualifies me from working here, if you really believe that you can find a world class programmer who can accomplish the impossible and do it for the below standard salary you pay me, then it will have to be your decision to let me go."

"But you just said that you can't work on this project.."

"I said that I can't follow Owen's crazy schedule," Mark interrupted her. "As long as I'm at Arthur Mitchell, I will continue to contribute more than you have a right to expect, considering the skimpy raises I've received for my seventy hour weeks."

"Arthur Mitchell has always prided itself on its teamwork," Jean said, "If you can't be a team player, maybe it's time you went elsewhere."

"Maybe it's time I did," Mark agreed.

"Let's not be too hasty," Owen said, sweating profusely. He had suddenly reminded himself of the possible consequences of losing his best programmer.

"What did you have in mind, Owen?" Jean asked.

"I'd just like to put this whole episode behind us and start over," Owen said. "Mark had always produced good work. I don't know what's happened lately. Maybe there's some extra pressure in his life. I'd like to see him get past it and commit to the team like before."

"Very well, then," Jean announced, "Owen has just graciously offered to overlook your recent tantrums and allow you to continue on his staff. I hope you appreciate what he is doing for you and will reciprocate by giving Owen your best effort."

"I know what he is doing for me, he is setting me up as his next scapegoat," Mark said, but he said it to himself. Aloud he said, "I have always given my best effort and will continue to do so."

"Then let us consider this matter closed," Jean pronounced, "But Mark, I'm putting you on notice. I want your insubordination to stop immediately. I want the constant arguments to stop. You will do as instructed without comments or complaints. Is that understood?"

"Yes," Mark answered quietly.

"Good. You can return to your desk."

Perhaps that was when it started, Bill considered, quickly correcting a skid before he went off the road, because it prompted what happened next.

"Let's go straight to my office," Bill told Mark quietly in the hall. Once inside, Bill closed the door and pointed to a chair. But Mark was too wound up and preferred to pace instead.

"I can't believe you talked back to her," Bill said.

"And I can't believe that you just sat there and let me take all the heat."

"Have you learned nothing in the eight years you've been here?" Bill asked. "You should know by now that nothing you say makes any difference. Did Jean seem at all concerned with the issues involved? Did she ask you how far off Owen's estimates were and what could be done to bring us closer to our goal? She isn't interested in whether the project can be saved. Jean has only one agenda in mind and that is to protect Owen. Right now you're his biggest threat and the best way to protect him is to get you to quit."

"Why not just fire me and be done with it?"

"Because you have been here for eight years and you have gotten commendations for superior work. Owen would have a hard time trying to explain why he fired his best programmer when he's behind schedule. However, if you quit, he can always claim that it was your departure that put him behind schedule."

"So if he can't fire me and I won't quit, we're just going to continue arguing?"

"Don't kid yourself, he can fire you if you push him too hard," Bill warned, "and Jean will back him."

"So I just keep on taking Owen's garbage and swallow my pride?"

"Until today, I didn't know you had any."

"Yeah, I gave it back, didn't I?" For the first time that day, Mark smiled. "Can't believe I suddenly found the nerve. Maybe all that garbage I had to take suddenly came spewing back up."

"Or maybe you finally realized that there wasn't any truth to it and you decided not to take it anymore," Bill said.

"What do you mean? I never thought that there was any truth to it."

"You ever read about abused wives who live for years with a husband who constantly beats them and wonder why they don't just leave? Some psychologists believe that after being told repeatedly how worthless they are and that no one else would want them, they actually start to believe it. Then one day, someone else, a friend, a neighbor, a co-worker, tells them that they're desirable and it's like an epiphany. Suddenly they're fighting back and then it's the husband who winds up in the hospital. What happened today is sort of like that. For years you've been taking Owen's abuse. He's questioned your competence so many times, you may have even begun to doubt your own abilities. But then you did that project for WIND and a few others since then and you see that outside of Owen, everyone else thinks you're good. Now you've got the nerve to talk back to Owen and Jean and anyone else who impugns your professionalism."

"Okay, Doctor, I accept that your diagnosis is a distinct possibility. Where do we go from here?"

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about. It's time you made a very important decision. Is this what you want to do for the rest of your life?"

"You mean programming?" Mark asked incredulously, "Of course it's what I want to do. I enjoy doing it."

"I don't mean programming in general, I mean programming for Arthur Mitchell."

"Back in college, a career at AMI was what we dreamed of."

"But is what you have now a career? You're here eight years. You've never gotten a promotion and if Owen has his way, you never will. The best you can hope for is to spend the next few years sitting at a computer, churning out first rate code according to Owen's third rate specifications. After today's meeting, it's probably just a matter of time before he screws up again and offers you up as the scapegoat."

"So you're suggesting that I start circulating my resume?"

"I'm suggesting that you don't have to. Mark, I've never seen you do better work than that which you've done for Landmark. Have you given any thought to doing it full time?"

"I must admit that I enjoy that work much more than this," Mark said, "but like my little magic act, Landmark's just a sideline."

"It doesn't have to be," Bill pointed out, "Our client list is growing. Our workload is growing. Soon we're either going to turn down assignments or subcontract them. Why subcontract and give away 80% of our billables when you can do it yourself and keep it all?"

"But what about benefits and sick days and vacation?"

"Those are all purely financial considerations. If you make twice as much money at Landmark as you make here, you can take a few weeks off and still be ahead. Landmark can contribute to your retirement plan and you can start your own. Health insurance for a single guy your age is only about five thousand a year and when you get married it will only go up to seven or eight. You should be making about forty more than you're making now."

"You really think it'll come to that much?"

"Just think about it," Bill said, with his usual exuberance, "Right now you're making fifty a year. With benefits, vacation and bonus, it comes to around seventy. Divide that by about twenty five hundred hours a year you put in and it works out to less than thirty dollars an hour. At Landmark, you're getting seventy five an hour. If you put in the same number of hours, which should be even easier since you can do most of the work from home, you'll be grossing a hundred and eighty seven. That already includes the same number of vacation and sick days as you have now. Subtract ten for insurance and medical expenses not covered. Subtract another ten for a retirement plan. Put twenty away to cover you in case of a dry spell. Another forty for any extra taxes, insurances and new expenses that come up. You're still forty ahead. And that's being real conservative. Think about the possibility of late night and evening work, since you're working from home. Think about the possibility of taking on extra work and subcontracting it and making money off of someone else's labor. Throw in the possibility of writing something once and selling it numerous times. You can make even more than just your hourly rate."

"That's assuming that Landmark becomes and stays viable."

"That won't be a problem," Bill argued, "Look how far we've come without hardly trying. We haven't taken out ads, or done any cold calls or set up a web site and we already have all the business we can handle. I'm sure that we would have had more, but some of our potential clients were afraid to hire a firm that isn't available full time."

"I agree with everything you've said. Maybe I'm old fashioned, but I like the feel of stability."

"And you think you have it here? Wake up and smell the coffee, Mark. Your career here is as stable as Owen's project schedule. The next time we fall behind schedule, and you know we will, it'll be your head served up on a platter."

"As good as you believe I am, I'm still just a programmer. I'm not good at client relations and management and all the other skills needed to keep a firm growing."

"That's where I come in. I'll shmooze the clients, close the deals and handle the paperwork and the subcontractors. You just worry about the technical aspects."

"You've made your point, Bill. Can I make a suggestion?"

"Sure, go right ahead."

"I've got some vacation and comp time coming to me. I'll put in some more overtime when I can and build up some more comp time. You start lining up the clients. When I feel that we have enough business for me to kiss AMI goodbye, I'll race you to the door."