The Decision

A decision must be made over a program.
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"Remind me again," she said as her lips pursed over several sheets of paper. "One hundred and fifty is the number, correct?"
"Yes, ma'am," her assistant replied. He was almost fifteen years younger than herself, but he was capable and that was all Erin Danielewski needed.
"One hundred and fifty?" She asked again.
"One hundred and fifty," the assistant repeated. "All to be housed and trained on Reach until the age of fourteen and then..." He paused for a moment. "There's a lot of black ink here."
Erin laughed. "Apologies, Derek. That's because the higher ups knew you'd be reading it. I've got my own personal copy on my computer."
Derek's face reddened slightly. "Understood."
"Anyway," Erin finally said as she steered the conversation back to the topic at hand, "I don't know how she thinks Parangosky is going to accept this proposal."
Erin took the thick-rimmed glasses off her face and set them gently on the top of her desk. She lifted her lipstick stained coffee cup and brought it to her lips, taking a sip of the lukewarm coffee. If she disliked the taste, her face didn't show it. Erin pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed.
"Christ, what a task."
Derek grunted as he continued to methodically look over the notes.
"All right," Erin said finally after a few moments of silent contemplation. "Time to make a decision."
Derek turned on the lamp at his desk and took out a clean piece of paper. He scoured the desk for a moment before he found a pen.
"Run the numbers again," Erin asked. "For all one hundred and fifty."
Derek nodded and spent the next few minutes working everything out. His hands working feverishly on the page. Writing sums and calculating them.
"It's too much," he said after a while. "One hundred and fifty candidates, subjects, whatever. It's too much. The scale of the funds we'd need to divert for that number is unfathomable. It's just not possible. Not with the parliament breathing down our fucking necks."
Erin ran a hand through her unwashed hair. "What if we cut it in half? Seventy five?"
Derek looked over the numbers. "It's... It's viable."
"Just viable?" Erin replied raising an eyebrow.
"Viable," Derek said. "If it were up to me, I'd lower even more to around thirty or so."
Erin looked astonishingly at Derek. "You really don't want this job, do you?"
Derek raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"
"We can't very well say to them 'our proposal is thirty'," she said gesticulating. "Seventy five is the minimum they would accept."
There was a pregnant pause.
"So," Erin began. "Seventy five candidates - it's doable?"
"Yes."
Category:The Weekly