Tropical Convergence

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THE CONFERENCE ROOM was almost full, every seat at the long table taken except for the one at the head. Late afternoon sunlight poured into the room, resisting the valiant efforts of the several ton air conditioning plant to alleviate its effects, and after a moment of shading his eyes, Mark Polenti got up and walked over to the glass panel. "Son of a bitch." He lowered the shades. "You could cook a damn egg on this thing."

"No kidding," Peter Prescott, one of the IT group leaders, agreed. "I start sweating just thinking about going out to my car."

With a shake of his head, Mark returned to his seat. The MIS-- Management Information Systems--manager picked up and flipped his pen, settling back in one of the leather chairs that ringed the table. "Long damned summer."

"Mm."

"Yeah."

Agreement chimed in from around the table full of assorted technical managers. "I wouldn't go outside for ten minutes longer than I had to," Peter added. "Man, I see those freaking tourists on the beach and you can just see them frying like turkeys at Thanksgiving."

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