Henry was born into a privileged, but not rich, background. He went to a private prep school, then one of the smaller public schools, then to Oxford, where he got a degree in History. At the time, there were only two courses of action opened to Oxford historians; he didn't fancy academia, so he went to the City and took up a junior position at Lloyds, in the shipping department. Aside from the slight interruption of the Second World War, his ascent through the company was smooth and rapid.

Then, without warning, he surprised everyone; he left Lloyds, and sank all of his savings into a small import business. He surprised everyone again when, after little more than a year, he had doubled his money. He hired a manager, and then started a second business, then a third, then a fourth. By his late thirties, he was a millionaire. He took to managing his various assets over the phone, from home. He branched out, until he had interests in almost every conceivable field, and in every corner of the globe.

Occasionally, he wished that he'd found the time to get married; at times like this he confined himself to two or three rooms of his capacious house and buried himself in work. His biggest regret was never having children, so naturally he doted on his nieces and nephews - entire rooms of his house were full of toys, even though only he lived there.

He never lost interest or zeal for his work; on the contrary, as he approached then past the age where most men retire, his enthusiasm only grew. When his body eventually failed him, it did so quietly. They found him sat, upright, at his big antique desk, just as he had sat there almost every day for the last half century.

Ted arrived in the office early (well, quarter to nine, which was early for Jupiter), as he always did, and sat down at his computer. After going through the ritual of wiggling the mouse, logging in, going and making a coffee, he began to go through the previous nights logs from Bombay and Toronto. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, but when he checked his mail there was a message from his counterpart in Toronto.

"From: srobin@jupiter.net To: emasters@jupiter.net Subject: Royal Visit

Just thought you might like to know that we had a surprise guest dropping in today; our CEO, no less. Not sure what he wanted - just seemed to be the standard walkround, but we usually hear about those in advance, Anyway, thought I'd pass it on in case he's doing the rounds.

(PS - System doing fine)

Steve"

Well, at least WorldPulse was working. A visit from the CEO would be a pain - more politeness and slow explanations - but it could be worse. At least they had a bit of warning, unlike the poor sods in Canada. He always seemed to show up there first; Ted didn't know where head office was, but he guessed it was nearer to Toronto than here.

He passed the advance warning on to a couple of people, and soon the news had spread around the office. Ted, who hadn't been at all nervous about the visit, was starting to worry that it might not happen, and he'd look like an idiot for expecting it. Still, there was nothing that he could do about it.

At lunch, what seemed like a constant stream of people came up to Ted and asked him if the rumour was true. He told them all the same thing; that the Toronto office had been visited unannounced, and he usually comes here after going there. Despite this, people kept asking him, and by four o'clock it was starting to grate on his nerves, so when Isabelle approached his desk, he snapped without looking up.

"Yes, it's true. Piss off."

"What?"

"Oh, sorry," said Ted, looking up and recognising her, "didn't realise it was you. You can stay, as long as you don't ask me about the fucking CEO."

"Oh." Isabelle turned to leave.

"He visited Toronto," said Ted to her back, "so he's probably on his way here."

"Thanks," she replied as she walked back across the office.

The last three pins went down with a clatter. In case anyone missed the significance of this, an animated bomb on the video screen destroyed three animated pins, and the cloud of smoke formed the word "SPARE".

"That's your fourth in a row. You never told us you were any good at this," chided Isabelle. Ted just grinned sheepishly and sat back down next to her.

Beth was next; she got up, picked up the lightest ball, and took a few steps towards the lane and released. It looked promising right up until the last minute, when it veered off towards the gutter and only knocked down one pin. "I shouldn't be drinking; it's affecting my game."

"You're drinking Coke," replied Sol.

"Oh. Well, maybe I should be on something stronger, then."

The outcome of the game had been obvious from the second or third ball, but everyone was still having a good time. After the first game had finished, Isabelle went to get a round of drinks in before the next one, and Ted went with her. Beth leaned over to Sol and asked in a low voice, "So, did you ever go out again?"

"How do you mean?"

"With Isabelle. Did you ever go out with Isabelle again?"

"No. Well, not just the two of us."

"Why not?"

"Don't know. Nothing ever really happened. I mean, it's not that I don't like her, I just couldn't see us together, um, in that way."

Beth smiled. "This isn't something you've had much practice at, is it?"

"What, talking about Isabelle?"

"No."

Beth straightened up as Ted and Isabelle got back.

"Been conspiring?" he asked.

"Yeah," replied Beth, "We've been trying to work out how we can even the odds a bit. Sol was all for breaking your fingers, but my money's on slipping a vodka chaser into your pint."

"Wouldn't help; it's all just blind luck, I'm afraid."

"No such thing." said Sol.

Throughout the rest of the evening, Sol kept catching Beth smiling at him; once, she even winked. He was driving home; he picked a route that dropped Ted off first, then Isabelle. When they were alone in the car, he asked, "What was all that about?"

"What was what about?" asked Beth, in a studiously innocent voice.

"You know perfectly well; the winking and the smiling and whatnot."

"There wasn't any whatnot; if there were, I'd have remembered."

Silence.

"Oh, don't be like that; I'm only teasing. I just think it's sweet, that's all."

"What's sweet?"

"You being all embarrassed. I bet you've never had a girlfriend."

"Don't be daft. Of course I have."

"What? Since school?"

Sol laughed, "School? I didn't have a girlfriend in school. Most girls in school wouldn't come within a hundred yards of me. But yes, I've had girlfriends. Proper, adult girlfriends who aren't imaginary or inflatable."

"You don't have one now, do you? Is that why you're giving Isabelle the brush off?"

"No. Not for quite a while. No, it's like I said, I just can't see the two of us together."

"Oh. O.K., I'll drop it."

After a few minute's they got to Beth's.

"I'd invite you in for coffee, but the place is a bit of a mess..."

"No problem; I should be getting home anyway."

"'Kay - thanks for the lift. 'Night."

Heather was rushing again. She had enough work without new arrivals. Despite this, someone was due to start today, and indeed there was someone sat, quietly waiting, in the tiny lobby. He was older than most new recruits, but they'd been hiring in some odd places recently. Showing him around was unavoidable, so she strode to the door and hit the switch.

"Hi; Mike, right? Good. If you'd like to come with me I'll show you the office. You're reporting to Jerry in marketing, who you've talked to. Through here - we'll get you a card latter."

The bemused stranger got up and started after Heather, who was already moving at speed through the office. She had begun her usual running commentary:

"Admin" (desk almost invisible under a mound of papers) "Accounts; Ted and Bill - not too bad when you get to know them." ("Hey!") "Sol; don't ask" (usually they had started to look confused by now; this one was doing well) "Financial over there, meeting rooms, kitchen, and here's Jerry's office" (knock knock) "Jerry, I've got someone to see you."

Jerry looked up, did a double take, and got to his feet. "Mr Faraday!"

Heather looked at him as if he were going mad. "No, this is Mike McDonald, the new starter. Mr Faraday is, like, the head of the company or something."

From behind her, someone called out, "Heather, there's someone waiting in reception for you."

She paused, then, quietly and carefully, said "Oh."

"I can't begin to apologize," began Jerry.

"Don't bother. Heather, if I recall your name correctly, has given me a refreshingly unusual tour. Certainly a lot less staid and formal than I'm used to. Well, as I'm here, I may as well start with your department. How're are things in marketing?"

How could she have known? thought Heather as she made coffee for Mike McDonald (not strictly part of her job, but Jerry had asked her to do it while he talked to the boss, and she wasn't in a position to split hairs). Whenever Naur arrived, he brought along a retinue that would shame the president of a small country. You couldn't tell by the accent either; Faraday didn't sound like an American (although, come to think of it, she wasn't certain that the CEO was American). And he wasn't dressed like a CEO; he looked just like everyone else. Musing on these thoughts, she handed Mike his coffee.

"So, anything I should know before I get dropped head-first into the office?"

"Not really; you'll work out where everything is quickly enough, and you'll meet people as you go. Jerry's first on the list, when he's finished in there." She gestured towards his office. Jerry and Mr. Faraday were visible through the venetian blinds.

"Who's that he's talking to?"

"The CEO."

"Ah, state visit, is it? Does that happen often?"

"No," said Heather, very deliberately, "In fact, I've never seen him before today."

One of the advantages of being the first department on the tour was that you got it over with. After a little polite small talk, Faraday had moved on, and Isabelle had been left to get on with her work.

What she was in fact doing was surreptitiously watching the rest of his rounds. Some people got the most perfunctory of introductions ore greetings, and that was it. Others got far more attention; Faraday would talk to them at length, or lean over their shoulders and gesture at their monitors. At the moment, he seemed to be spending a lot of time with Sol. Both of them were talking animatedly, and it looked like Sol was showing him how to use the cryptic WorldPulse interface; why the CEO would need to know that was anyone's guess.

She was watching this when Ted wander over.

"Looks like someone's in line for promotion."

"Either that, or they're just trying to work out what he does so they can decide whether or not to fire him."

"Nah, look at him. He's lapping that stuff up."

"Don't know what you're complaining about; he talked to you for quite a bit, too."

"Nowhere near as long as this."

"More than I got. All I ended up with was 'Hi. You're new here? Good, good, keep up the good work,' and that was it. Hang on, that means I got off lightly."

"Good point. Almost makes you feel sorry for Sol, doesn't it?"

"Nah. He seems to be enjoying it."

At that moment, Isabelle's phone rang. She answered it, listened for a second, and then wordlessly shooed Ted away, mouthing "Sorry" as he left.