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shade of gray.
    On any other day, Amy might have paused there before the windows merely to take in the view and enjoy a few moments’ quiet contemplation. Today, she sees only her own image, reflected faintly in the panes. Today, she wears her sleekest dark gray suit of faux gabardine and matching shoes, her Cartier watch, and a single onyx ring. Her makeup is designed to subtly emphasize her eyes and cheeks while minimizing her mouth. She’d intended to look like pure executive juice, wired with so much voltage she’s near to overloading, but she doesn’t, and she has only herself to blame.
    She should have drawn her hair back this morning, made it every bit as severe as she could. What the hell had she been thinking? With her bushy mop of curling brown dangling all around her face and scattering across her shoulders, she looks nothing if not warm and fuzzy, overtly and overly feminine.
    She’ll probably be mistaken for someone’s personal aide.
    She closes her eyes and shakes her head, then taps her brow with the palm of her hand. A woman in her position ought not to be making mistakes like this. It’s just incredible.
    But in fact, it’s this morning’s meeting. She slept little last night, thinking about it. What the devil is someone like Enoshi Ken doing here anyway? It can only mean trouble. The man is rumored to have a direct line to the board room in Tokyo, and Tokyo always means trouble. People like Enoshi Ken talk endlessly of wanting only the greater good for all, but what they say and what they mean ... What they really mean ... If you can tell ... If you ever really find out ... If by then it isn’t too late ...
    Her telecom bleeps.
    It’s Laurena, her executive aide, saying, “They’re ready to begin upstairs.”
    “Right,” Amy replies."Grab your pad.”
    Time for one last look at her hair, but no time to do anything about it. She steps through the door to her outer office. Laurena hops up out of her chair, palmtop in hand, and they head into the hallway. They’re both so blatantly Anglo it’s almost scary. If that weren’t enough, Laurena’s a natural blonde, and a brilliant gold-hued shade of blonde at that. How much more non-Asian could a person get?
    It won’t help.
    The elevator chimes. They get on. The doors slide closed and the car rises. Laurena smooths back her hair and says, “What’s this meeting supposed to be about, anyway?”
    “I suspect it began somewhere in Tokyo.”
    “Oh, god.”
    It’s just two syllables, but the anxiety comes through clearly. Amy turns her head just enough to meet Laurena’s eyes, and says, “Remember your mask.”
    “I’m sorry, boss.” Laurena makes a visible effort to compose herself. She’s new to the higher echelons and not used to dealing with upper-rank Japanese. She’ll be all right, though, as long as she remembers her mask.
    The mask is an essential part of corporate life, at least when Tokyo comes calling. Think or feel anything you want, but keep it safely hidden. The Japanese model for the efficient corporate executive places an emphasis on business, getting the job done and done right and to hell with everything else. That poses a problem for Laurena because, simply, she has heart. She cares about people and has no natural reserve. That’s one of the main reasons why Amy picked her for an aide. She’s very un-Japanese: open, expressive, empathic. She’s very human, very warm, and she cares, and not just about the organization. She cares about people. To Amy’s mind, the corporate world in general and Hurley-Cooper Laboratories in particular need as much of those sorts of qualities as it can possibly acquire.
    Impersonal robot employees may be all right for automated factories, but when people enter the equation, something more than simple nuyen, mere efficiency, and the fabled bottom line must be taken into account.
    This morning, of course, such views should be carefully shrouded. Tokyo won’t want to hear it.
    The elevator