The zenith angle by Bruce Sterling Read Free Book Online Page A

program a computer, cook a tasty meal, fight efficiently, die gallantly. Specialization is for insects.’ ”
    “Who said all that?” said Van, impressed.
    “A great American writer. Robert A. Heinlein.” The old man looked watery-eyed at his glowing Macintosh. “Are there any Heinlein e-books these days? Something this machine can read out loud to me? I can’t handle that fine print anymore.”
    “I’ll get some for you, Grandpa,” Van promised.
    “I tried to make Kelly Johnson read himself some Heinlein, but Kelly never read a novel after those Tom Swift books of his. Tom Swift and His Airplane. ” The old man snorted. “Kelly Johnson decided to build airplanes when he was twelve years old.”
    Twelve years old, mused Van. For him, that meant 1981. He had been eleven when his father brought home the Commodore Vic-20. He’d been twelve when he rebuilt it.
    “Son,” his grandfather rasped, “if you’ll be working for the feds, you do need some advice. Yes, you surely do. And I can tell you something real useful. That is, how to run a Skunk Works. Once you do that right, you can’t ever forget.” The old man was brightening. He looked many years younger now.
    “The right way is one way that gets results. Are you listening to me, son?”
    Van nodded soberly.
    “These are simple things. They’re the principles. You gotta listen, that’s number one. It’s more important to listen to your own people than it is to tell ’em what to do. Decide, that’s number two. Make your management decisions whenever they’re needed. You can figure out later whether they were right or wrong. And believe. Don’t ever try to build a project that you can’t believe in. Because otherwise, when they cut your funding—and they will cut it—you won’t be able to tell ’em with a straight face why they should go straight to hell.”
    Van felt grateful. “Oh, yeah. This is the right stuff.”
    “Son, government programs are just like people. They get slow as they get older. They get very stuck in their ways. That just won’t do for a Skunk Works. You’ve got to be quick, you’ve got to be quiet, and you’ve got to be on time. You had your three principles, and those are your three rules.”
    “Okay.”
    “When I tell you ‘quick,’ that means small. Small teams, the best people, very restricted. Ten or twenty percent of the people that normal outfits would use. No long reports, ever. Never read a long report, and if a guy writes you one, fire him. No long meetings. You want to keep ’em all working close together, no distractions, focused on the project all the time. Everybody stays hands-on with the tools, everybody stays close to the aircraft. Stick with the machine, never back off. That’s how you get results quick.”
    “Should I record all this?”
    “Just pay attention, dang it! It took good men a lifetime to figure this stuff out!” The old man was breathing harder. “When I say ‘quiet,’ that means no talking. You don’t brag about what you’re doing. Ever. You just do it, and you never demand any credit. If nobody ever knows who you are, then nobody knows what you did. Except for the enemy, of course.” The old man cackled and coughed. “Every day, Russki spy-sats counted every car in our parking lots! Those spies in Moscow, they knew a lot more about my work than my own family ever did.”
    There was a painful silence. This was by far the longest, frankest talk Van had ever had with his grandfather about work. Of course, he’d always known that his grandfather built jets, but a fine haze of Vandeveer family silence had always hung over the details.
    Van examined the yellow wallpaper. It was cracking and peeling in spots.
    “My second wife knew quite a lot about my work,” the old man said defensively. “Because Angela was my secretary. So was my third wife. Well, Doris was not a secretary exactly. Doris was a headhunter from Northrop.” The old man sighed. “I should never have jumped