Powersat

Quarterly Board Meeting

They’re all in their places with long morose faces, Dan I thought as he gaveled the board meeting to order.

Astro Manufacturing Corporation’s board of directors consisted of eight people, five men and three women, plus Dan, who served as chairman as well as the company’s CEO. Board politics were delicate: Dan owned the majority of the company’s stock, by far, but if all eight of the other board members voted together, they could outvote him. When the company had started, slightly more than five years earlier, Dan had easily gained his way. But as the costs of building the power satellite escalated and profits seemed more elusive with each meeting, running the board became more and more difficult.

This was the first meeting since the spaceplane crash. Dan knew it wasn’t going to be easy.

They met in the larger of the Astro Motel’s two conference rooms. Despite their grumbling about having to travel all the way out to Matagorda Island, every member of the board was in their seat along the conference table. A bad sign, Dan thought.

Sitting off by the wall, Asim al-Bashir was watching them with a bemused little smile on his bearded face. On the other side of the room, April sat slightly behind Dan with a palmsized gray digital recorder on her lap.

Standing at the head of the table, all eyes on him, Dan said, “Before we begin the meeting, I’d like to introduce my guest, Mr. Asim al-Bashir. I asked him here to meet you this morning because he represents Tricontinental Oil Corporation, and he has a proposal to make to us.”

A few of the board members nodded knowingly. The others glanced puzzledly at al-Bashir. Several members whispered to one another.

Dan tapped the tabletop with his pen and the buzzing stopped. “It’s show time,” he joked mildly.

They dispensed, as always, with the reading of the last meeting’s minutes. Then they moved to delay the usual renports until after a discussion of the company’s current situation. Dan was grateful that they weren’t in a rush to hear the comptroller’s report.

Looking down the table at their faces, Dan thought they were steeling themselves for the bad news. Gray-haired, every one of them, except for the bald men. Two representatives of venture capital companies, four directors of university trust funds, a retired executive from the electronics industry and a friend of Dan’s late father, who still treated Dan like a teenager on a toot Not the sharpest bunch of pencils in the box, Dan thought. But their money does their thinking for them.

“All right,” he said. “Here’s the company’s situation in a nutshell:

“The power satellite is ninety-nine percent completed. We could be generating electrical power from it in a month or less, if we could just finish the last final touches. But the crash of the spaceplane has stopped our operations cold. The government will not allow us to fly the backup until the cause of the crash is determined.”

“Meanwhile,” said one of the venture capital men, “you’re bleeding to death.”

“Very vividly put,” said Dan, trying to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.

One of the women, a university trust fund executive, asked, “How long will operations be suspended?”

Dan spread his hands. “There’s no way of telling. Several months, at least.”

“It’s already been a couple of months since the crash,” said one of the older men.

“These investigations take time,” the woman beside him said.

“And while they’re taking their time, we’re bleeding to death, as Robert said.”

“There are some bright spots in the picture,” Dan pointed out. “We do have a nearly complete power satellite in orbit, and it’s been successfully boosted to its permanent position in geosynchronous orbit.”

“But you’re not able to send any workmen to it to complete the job.”

“For the moment, that’s true. But that powersat gives us a very attractive incentive for new potential investors.”

“Such as your old friend Yamagata?”

Ignoring the dig, Dan said, “Senator Thornton of Oklahoma has introduced a bill that could help us to raise funding from the private money market.”

“But first you have to get the damned bill through the damned Congress,” fumed one of the members.

“That’s true,” Dan admitted. “There are other possibilities, though. That’s why I invited Mr. al-Bashir to our meeting.”

They all turned to al-Bashir. Dan said, “He has a proposal for us to consider.”

Al-Bashir got up from his seat and stepped to the head of the table. Standing beside Dan, he said, “The proposal is very simple. Tricontinental Oil is prepared to buy fifteen percent of the Astro shares now held by Mr. Randolph for a price of one point five billion American dollars.”

That stunned them. Dan saw the surprise on their faces and realized that no one was saying a word.

At last one of the university people spoke up: “Will Tricontinental be willing to buy anyone else’s shares at the same rate?”

Glancing down at Dan, al-Bashir said, “Not at the present time. But there is always a possibility in the future.”

That’s it, Dan thought. That’s how Garrison will take control of my company. The others will rush to dump their shares. If I sell to him I’ll be slitting my own double-damned throat.