Peggy had worked for Peter since the company began. She had been nineteen years old then, a year younger than Peter, and one of the first employees in the company. Like Peter, she had attained massive wealth when the company had had its public stock offering. She wore a colorful Wallaby T-shirt and jeans, and one would never guess that this young woman, worth slightly more than one million dollars, was executive assistant to the man who had started the fastest growing new market in the computer industry. However, looking at Peter's longish hair, customary faded blue jeans and Oxford shirt, would anyone guess that he was worth eight hundred million dollars?
Before heading to his car, Peter decided it wouldn't hurt to bolster his confidence in his plan by checking the status of a few key Joey Plus projects.
"How's it coming?" Peter asked, leaning over an engineer's shoulder.
"Good," Paul Trueblood answered. He blew at the trails of smoke that rose before him as he lifted a soldering iron.
"I think I've got the battery problem fixed." The engineer returned his attention to the electronic components scattered about his worktable.
"Great," Peter said, noticing the pile of tiny batteries beside the main Joey unit. Each was charred with a caramel-colored resin. In the original Joey design the battery was located too close to the power recharger unit, and occasionally the excessive heat caused the battery to leak and burn.
Peter had tremendous faith in Paul and his work, and he was one of the first engineers who had started the company with Peter. The battery problem would be fixed, and thinking about it reminded Peter of a similar problem that Paul had corrected several years ago, in the all-in-one Mate personal computer. Unlike the Joey's battery, which powered the unit away from the desktop, the Mate's battery was deep inside the computer, and its sole purpose to keep track of the date and time when the computer was turned off. During extended use, the Mate's interior would occasionally reach high temperatures, causing the tiny battery to leak. The obvious solution was to install a small cooling fan inside the computer, like every other brand of computer had. But Peter wouldn't allow it. They said it couldn't be done, that you couldn't build a computer without putting in a small noisy fan to keep it cool. "If they say it can't be done, that's because they're not smart enough to figure out a way to do it," was Peter's standard reply. That was how Peter Jones challenged his engineers to do the impossible. After two days of no sleep, and having sustained himself on soda and popcorn, Paul had revealed to Peter a design that would cool the machine by natural convection.
Peter leaned in over Paul's shoulder for a closer look. "I'd sure hate to see us go back to the drawing board on that sweet little power recharger…" he said, hanging a mild warning in the burnt-smelling air of the engineer's office.
"No problem," Paul said, and blew out a breath that hinted mild frustration. Not catching the drift, Peter stayed right where he was, perched over the engineer like a hawk. Paul set down the soldering iron and retrieved a Walkman from his drawer. Loading a tape into it, he held the headphones just above his ears and raised his eyebrows at Peter, as if to ask if he had any more comments.
"All right, all right," Peter said, grinning behind raised palms. "Just making sure we do it right." He left the engineer with his head bobbing rhythmically through little smoke clouds. It was little triumphs like this that excited Peter, doing things people said couldn't be done. The engineers were the only people in the company for whom Peter felt any admiration and respect. And, secretly, awe. They were the conveyers of his visions, the ones who possessed the power to turn his radical ideas into real products.