Back before we actually got any full suits of armor out the door, we held a celebration for the first signed defense department contract. No full armor prototypes yet, but other things were hopping. We had reformed Hansen Manufacturing LLC into a larger partnership, Plasma Products International. Professor Hansen, Austin Beck, Alan Beard, Eleanor Beard, and I were partners with varying shares. As we brought in revenue we were gradually buying out the university's shares. The university didn't really want control, they just like having a big mass of cash in their trust fund and something to brag about. I figured we’d eventually have to donate a building or something to fully cut strings.

John Akins had declined to take a share – he had given me a brief speech about Indians and white men and business deals, and he refused a partnership share in favor of a salary. It was a fair and generous salary, and frankly, it was more than any of the rest of us took home at the time, but I couldn't help but feel guilty about him being left out. I made sure his contract had revenue sharing and credit for anything he designed, and even for later designs starting with his work.

And we were bringing in profit. We had a licensing deal with Boeing to build jet engine components out of our new materials. We had a licensing deal with Dyson to build a range of electric motors out of our new materials. We had marketed and distributed a line of our own branded products using Plasma Steel. We were gradually expanding those products, usually focusing on items that our own employees wanted. For a long time we mostly just sold tools and cookware. Pots and pans that hold heat like cast iron, don't need seasoning, and don't stick, sold well. Hammers, screwdrivers, wrenches, and other hand tools that don't bend or break also sold well.

Boing and Dyson had provided large lump sums that we used to expand and develop the company. Our product line was providing a steady income that let us run the daily business. We had nearly fifty employees now and were outgrowing Austin’s grocery store. We had a couple of marketing guys, some business-to-business salesmen, an HR guy, an accountant, a logistics team to manage inventory and supplies, even some customer service agents who managed emails and phone calls. We were a real company.

We were even able to let Hansen continue research and experimentation independent of the university. That was what we were celebrating. The others didn't know, but I had delivered the last check to the university that afternoon. They still had a token share, but there was no longer any threat of them assuming control if we failed. I had arranged for us all to meet up in the evening for drinks. Despite what you could assume from signed partnership agreements, the five of us hadn't actually all met up together yet. Which was a mistake on my part. I was the common thread between everyone, and I was turning into a bottleneck as questions and problems and decisions moved back and forth. It was even worse as Hansen had dumped all the hiring on me – our managers and staff all got interviewed by me, picked by me, and trained by me. Who needs that hassle. I’d managed to delegate a lot of it, and had to fire a few people before I found people comfortable using their own initiative, but I was still shoving all sorts of problems right back down the line. I mean, I have a logistics team, why should I worry about finding a source of fine wood dust or prioritizing engine shafts over fry pans?

I picked up Austin on my way out. He and a couple of our guys were picking up some new gadgets from Hansen's old lab. They would replace the pipe on the end that generated the kinetic force and he thought it would reduce failure rates and improve our efficiency. I helped them load the last few boxes into a van, then let them take it down to the grocery while Austin and I headed for the restaurant. I don't remember what the restaurant was – one of those chains with tons of random crap on the walls. Applebee's, or Chili's, or something like that. I know I ordered nachos, but that doesn’t narrow things down much, does it?

I asked Austin how his two new mechanics were working out so far.

“They're bitching about Hansen a lot. But both of them have had worse bosses, and they know I'm the one who actually gives out their assignments, so they put up with him,” Austin said.

“I never thought he was that bad. It's not like he was ever mad at me, even when I screwed up.” I got onto the freeway easy enough. Traffic was pretty good that night, there are usually way more cars on the road during rush hour.

“He expects a lot though. I'd guess that most academic types get grumpy tightening bolts and mopping up grease. That's why they're academics, right? My guys are just blue-collar types. They don't care much what they're doing as long as it’s something they can do, and as long as they get a paycheck.”

That one went over my head. I was still new to the management world. I asked, “Something they can do?”

“Yeah,” Austin said. “Lots of times guys get hired and get stuck with goals they can't actually do – like a boss will ask a guy to change the oil on so many cars each month, but he can't just magically bring cars to the garage. Or they'll get a job but the boss won't give them the tools they need, make 'em use crap materials and cut corners. Or they'll get thrown on a task with no training at all. Like asking that car mechanic to also trim trees.”

“That kind of thing frustrates a guy, you know? These guys though, they've got a job where all they've got to do is Hansen's grunt and drone work. I make sure they've got any gear they need, and Hansen is actually pretty good at explaining and teaching them what he wants done. I guess he really is a teacher, right? They can put up with him growling about stupid crap, or making stupid jokes, or chewing them out about wearing a pink shirt or whatever to work.”

That distracted me from the road a bit. “Really? A pink shirt? He cared about that?”

Austin smiled, “I dunno. He certainly whined about it all day. My guys handled it right though. All three of them wore pink the next day.”

I laughed, “I'll bet the professor handled that well.”

“Far as I know, he didn't say anything about it again. Of course, he was complaining about people eating during lectures instead.”

I laughed. I’d heard that complaint a few times.

Austin continued, “By the way, I'm looking forward to meeting El and Alan. I've been getting their packages for months now, and you've talked about them enough.”

Hansen hadn’t met the Beards yet either. We were partners, but I had handled all of the negotiations when the glassworks and let them buy into the new business on the basis of their labor. Those two had also worked the most with the marketers when we finally started building our own line and brand.

It had been obvious for a while, but the term “Plasma” had really stuck by this point. The press and popular culture had finally given up on dark matter/energy/whatever. Marketers and researchers weren't happy calling it "dark", given that Angat had discovered how to observe the stuff, measure the stuff, and use the stuff. Using “Angat” as an adjective had held on for a while, with “Strange” as a distant third. I suppose it was inevitable, but now everyone just called it Plasma. Well, everyone except the same guys who like to insist that plasma really refers to something about ions and electrons and states of matter, but those are the same guys who get really excited to explain that Columbus didn’t really discover America, so they mostly got ignored. But it stuck. My only real issue with it was that any company or business with 'plasma' in the name or product line was getting a boost, and I didn’t want to get lost in the developing fad.

But why not get on the bandwagon? We actually had a new product, and it actually used plasma. We could go for the ride with the rest of the startups, and our stuff was unique and special enough that we could stay ahead. Eventually, we could call our new heat-sink material 'Plasma Copper;' and in a few years when Hansen figured out a transparent material based on titanium that was as strong as steel, we broke the pattern and called it 'Plasma Glass.' Maybe we should have called it 'Plasma Titanium,' but who really cares?

My good mood vanished when Austin and I walked in and saw Hansen and the Beards already at a table. Hansen's back was to us, and the three of them had clearly come straight over from work. Alan and El were in their normal work outfits - Alan in his tailored button-down shirt and tight khakis, El all in black with a few chrome studs here and there, Hansen a stereotype in a tweed jacket with leather elbow pads. What really drew my attention was the white-faced, open-mouthed look that Alan and El were sharing. The professor's voice carried, clearly thinking the two were confused and starting to slip into teacher mode.

“Shit... I didn't warn them about him. Or him about them...” I muttered to Austin as I started trying to push to the table.

His voice cut right through the crowd, “Yeah, surely someone's pointed it out to you? Big mannish girl like you, little fancy guy like you, and you're both a beard. Either ironic or literal, it's...” Hansen trailed off as El and Alan both stood up. El was bright red by now, clenching her fists as she loomed over him. I stopped, having a good idea of what was going to happen next.

El spun and raced out of the restaurant. She could manage the Friday night crowd much easier than I could. I quickly weighed my options, and before I went after her I told Austin, “Hey, just, um, make sure Alan doesn't pick up a glass or a bottle or something.”

I caught up with El in the parking lot. She was getting into their truck, so I just hopped into the passenger seat. She didn't say anything to me, but she didn't start the truck or try and kick me out, either, so I nervously filled the silence.

“I'm sorry about that El, I should have warned you. He's... um... challenged. Especially away from a classroom. He does ok when things are formal, like when he's working, so I forget. I dunno if he's actually got something wrong with him, or if he's just lacking social skills, or if he’s just old. It’s not malicious, I swear, he tries to be funny, but doesn't actually know what makes a joke funny, you know?”

El was crying now. She wasn't a bawler, not dramatic about it at all. Just sitting there with folded arms while tears and a bit of snot ran down her face. Still silent. So I kept talking. “Not that that's any kind of excuse. One of the good things about him, though, is he doesn't need to be told twice. I've never seen him be stupid the same way twice. He gets called out, he'll remember, and won't do it again. You know Alan’s given him an earful by now. He'll probably apologize too, won’t even have to tell him to.”

“The other good thing about him, he won't hold a grudge for getting called out. Even if the calling out is... you know... aggressive? And you know that there's a reason why Alan's not out here and I am, right?”

I looked around, checking the door before continuing, “Actually, I'm a little worried about that. He's usually done by now, isn't he?”

El actually smiled through the tears. She sniffed and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “He's mellowed a bit since we got married. He'll probably yell some first,” she said.

“Well good. That'll give Austin a chance to make sure there isn't anything sharp or heavy at hand.”

More silence. So more speaking on my part, “Well, then. What do you want to do? You don't have to work with the professor if you don't want to. But if you do go back in, I'm sure he'll apologize. And we'll make him buy drinks tonight. It's the least he can do. Besides, I have news for everyone.”

She nodded and sniffed again. “Yeah. Ok. I'll come back in. Give me a minute? Please?”

“No problem,” I said. “Maybe swing by the bathroom, wash your face. You are kinda blotchy. And snotty. I mean, who knows what people would think? It might actually distract them from however Alan decides to act out.”

She snorted, which was delightful, given the leaky nostrils. She reached out and smacked me on the back of my head, which was less delightful. I got out of the car and went back inside.

Austin was speaking with the restaurant manager, while Alan was holding a wad of napkins under the professor's nose. Hansen's mouth was pretty bloody, too. I wasn’t even going to guess.

I heard Alan speaking, not bothering to keep his voice down, “Quit talking. All you're doing is spraying blood on my nice shirt. I got mine, and I'm not who you need to apologize to.” Hansen closed his mouth at that.

I fished a couple of ice cubes out of a glass of water and handed them to Alan. I decided that the restaurant's management was a more immediate problem than the professor's face. Approaching Austin and the manager, Austin turned to me and said, “We'll have to clear out.”

My in-charge-and-incapable-of-being-refused smile had been getting practice. My back was straight, my center of balance firmly over my feet, my left arm comfortable at my side, my right arm extended loosely to shake the manager's hand. “I'm so sorry about this. But they're done, I promise you, there won't be any more disturbances. I'm sure some of the people have been complaining, right?”

I handed our business card to the manager. “Give everyone here a round on us, or appetizers, if they prefer. And anyone you need to comp tonight because of us, please send us the bill. We'll take care of it.”

I had pitched my voice loudly enough that there was a clear murmur of appreciation from the room. I continued, a bit more quietly now, “Could you get us some bottles? We've got a fifth who'll be coming back in, I'd like to make sure she has a drink waiting. Oh, and if you could just make sure the 20% gratuity is on the bill so I don't have to figure it out, I'd appreciate it.”

At that, I turned and sat down without giving him a chance to answer.

My three new partners had been totally distracted by my performance. Some of the professor's blood was dripping unnoticed down onto Alan's sleeve. They hadn't realized, but when you spend several months negotiating with the Pentagon, with Boing, with Dyson, and with big-box retailers, you learn a few things. For the record, the retailers were way harder to deal with than the big guys. Seriously – I’d make a deal with some big aerospace group any day before trying to negotiate with a big box store.

It had come as a surprise to me, being in charge. If anything, I considered myself the group's secretary and gopher. After all, I was the only one of the five of us who didn't bring any real skills to the table. I am a literal college dropout, remember? I didn't think of myself as a dropout yet, but I never did return any of Steve's messages when I skipped my August meeting with her, or when I failed to sign up for Fall classes, or when I failed to sign up for Winter classes. Actually, I wonder if I should have ever formally quit from student employee services. I don't know what their procedures are.

But having no real skills also meant I was the one who was always available to meet with representatives from the various groups interested in Plasma Steel. It meant that I was the one who spent his time posting openings, going through applications, and hiring staff. It meant that I was the one who set things up with the bank, with the university, and constantly coordinated between the other four. And John Akins, who was as involved as any of us, even if he refused ownership.

But all that shuffling made me the organizer. If not the boss, then at least the first among equals. Not that I threw my status around with my friends – they were surprised when I turned my inner executive on. They hadn't seen it before. With them, I was just my normal lazy self. But when I had to deal with Mr. Boss the TGIF manager, I was in charge of all I surveyed. And I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t fun. Being able to pull stunts like I owned the place is the sort of thing you dream about.

I just took Hansen's glass of water and took a drink, while I waited for them to explain themselves. I kept my head and shoulders up though, maintaining eye contact and a still face. I enjoyed seeing Alan and Hansen both looking like little kids in trouble, the professor, especially. Professor Marshal Hansen, Ph.D., was not someone who I got to lord it over very often. I was enjoying it, a bit. Or maybe a lot.

Austin spoke first, “Rounds for everyone? Really?”

By this point, El had come back, “Don't worry, the dick will cover it.” She gave Alan a peck on his cheek and pulled up his arm, looking for the source of the blood on her husband’s sleeve.

As she sat down, Hansen started stammering out an apology to her, but she interrupted him, “It looks like you already paid. Just... don't be a dick again?”

I rapped my knuckles loudly on the table and I pulled out my phone. I showed everyone the screen, the voice-to-text recorder clearly visible. My executive voice was still on, “Sit down, everyone. I hereby call to order the first meeting of the owners of Plasma Products, International.”

“First order of business, all of tonight's expenses will be covered by Marshal Hansen. All in favor?” I raised my hand, quickly followed by El. Alan and Austin were a bit slower on the uptake but got their hands up while Hansen sputtered.

I interrupted, “Motion carries. Let the record show that a majority vote of the owners agree that Marshal Hansen covers tonight's bill. Dr. Hansen, you will have an opportunity to object after all the agenda items are completed. Next order of business. We have a report from our accountant.”

Ashley Rice had been quite pleased with herself. She was an MBA and CPA and had been hating her life at a little tax firm for the last few years. Despite being possibly the most boring woman I’d ever met, she seemed to enjoy working for a growing company. Seriously, she mostly wore grey cardigans and dark slacks or skirts. Never any heels, never anything more complicated than a French braid in her hair. I never caught her listening to music, even when getting out of her car. I don’t think she had a boyfriend and certainly didn’t appear to be looking for one. No evidence of cats. Or hobbies. Her office had literally no personal objects beyond a plain white mug. The only time I saw her smile was when I handed her checks to deposit.

But I enjoyed her reports, “Company coffers currently hold enough funds to cover all operating expenses for one year, including our growth projections and a thirty percent buffer. Per our previous agreements, additional funds have been used to buy out the university's remaining controlling interest in Plasma Products, International.”

“That done, we are finally independent. Which is why I've called this meeting.” I paused, teasing out the moment. My grin made it clear I had more to say, so everyone stayed quiet despite having an opening.

So I continued, “Which leads to our third item. We have more cash than we need to operate, and no current opportunities to invest or expand that haven't already been funded. Which means, according to our partnership agreement, that it is time to pay out some bonuses. I have cut checks for our employees already, their bonuses divvy up a quarter of what we, as owners, will receive. Which just leaves our checks.”

I pulled out four envelopes and handed them to each of the others at the table. “That concludes the business on the agenda. I hereby move to close the meeting, so that we can enjoy ourselves.”

I turned off my phone as the others opened their checks.

Alan literally squealed like an anime girl when he saw his. And El calls me pixie. But to be fair, everyone was shocked. Maybe I hadn't been coordinating all the details as well as I should have. They knew we were out of danger and growing, but maybe I should have put more effort into getting them to look at the ledgers. Austin had the smallest check, with only six percent ownership, but that still meant a six-figure bonus.

I relaxed into my chair, taking a pull on my beer. I deliberately made myself look more comfortable than the cheap wooden piece of furniture would actually allow. “I'm not going to tell anyone what to do with their newfound treasure, but I'd suggest talking to an accountant. Minimizing your tax burden is gonna get important.”

“Oh, and professor? You've got the biggest share. Don't you dare whine about paying for everyone's night. You can afford it.”