No Anti Aircraft

The reaction in the boardroom and the CEO's quick response to end a conversation leads me to believe that something called Headslam Blue needs to be investigated. I think it is the money shot or reason that Ben Mason needs me to scrape a little.

While working at Bridgewater REM/AI, I only heard the name Headslam Blue because of the illegal listening device I placed in the Lamborghini Conference Room.

During my wastebasket rounds, I have never seen a scrap of paper, a tossed-in-the-can spreadsheet, or a coffee mug with the words Headslam Blue on it. It's a quiet initiative, and I need to spend more time on the 1st floor where Research and Development is. 

The workers in R and D are some of the smartest in the company. That's clear to see. As I go from desk to desk, I sense a bit of happiness in employees for the first time at this company. This is the happy crew chained in a dungeon, safe from the monster.

Looking around, you see workers on their cell phones, impromptu Nerf basketball games, and even a flat screen tuned to a sports network. One desk in a far corner of the room is covered with paper airplanes tossed in that direction. A software engineer sits there looking at three screens.  Diet Coke is everywhere.

This is normal shit you see in most high-tech companies.

It's a multi-step process to get inside the R and D area, and that's most likely the reason the workers feel untethered and safe from the wrath of the C.E.O. 

The research department is locked down at almost a Pentagon level. 

The first layer of biosecurity, either a retinal scan or a palm print, is coupled with a programmed tab carried by the worker with a final visual recognition step by a security station guard.

Something good is going on in Research and Development. They feel a need to lock it down tight.

I think that nothing good would happen to yours truly if I start asking the workers, "Hey, What is Headslam Blue?" I'm in no position at this time for another beatdown. I still have a cast on my wrist. I laugh a bit as I think of Eve telling me she did not think a software engineer would lay a smackdown on me while on this job.

I head to the far corner to pick up paper airplanes that have landed on or near a person's desk. There are hundreds of them, and I wonder what prompted the assault.

The hefty man sitting at the desk writes AI-assisted code or is debugging something. I try to glance at his multiple screens, and I finally see a label with the words HEADSLAM BLUE in the upper left-hand corner of one of the screens.

I'm a Marine/Cop/Private Investigator, so thousands of lines of written code mean nothing to me. The only thing I recognize are the words REVISION and the words HEADSLAM BLUE.

As I pick up handfuls of paper airplanes, I toss a "How are you doing?"

There is no reaction from him. There is no acknowledgment from him that he even heard me. 

This guy is focused, in his lane, and only looking forward. He is deep into what he is doing. I doubt he saw or felt a few hundred paper airplanes hitting him or landing near his desk. He is a Diet Coke-fueled man who is communicating with the machine. He has assimilated into his job thoroughly.

I scoop up the last paper planes, empty the Diet Coke bottles into my trash cart, and move on to the front of the room. Martha, the department coffee runner assistant, sits at a neat desk with a handful of "Hello Kitty" figurines.

"Hey, how are you?" I say. She looked up from her phone and said, "You know Troy, same stuff, different day."

I smiled at her and said, "Okay, I have to ask you. How long has that guy over there been sitting there?" I pointed to the far corner. 

Martha said, "Oh, that's Carl." "He's a programmer, and it seems he's always here."

I said, "I tried to say hi to him, but he didn't realize I was there. I just cleaned around his desk."

"How many paper airplanes were there?" she asked

"My guess is maybe two hundred."

She added, "The guys assaulted him with planes yesterday." "They wanted him to go to Munroe's with them." He was so into work he never saw or felt the planes.

"If he didn't say hello to you, it's not personal. He's a great guy but under pressure from the fourth floor."

"It's okay, that's what I figured." "I freaking love Munroe's great nachos," I said.

"Beer is cheap on Wednesday nights, and appetizers are half-price!" Then she added, "We hang out there after six on Wednesdays. We wait for the fourth floor to clear out; then we hit it. It's fun."

I love beer and I love nachos so you know what that means.

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