Read Online The Raft by Christopher Blankley - Free Book Online

Rachael asked, scrambling
up onto the yacht to follow.
    “Yeah,” Maggie sighed. “Maggie Straight the
Magistrate,” she said.
    “Really?”
    “You said everyone on the Raft has 70's
Citizen Band handles...”
    “Ooo, can I call you that?” Rachael
smirked.
    “Absolutely not!” Maggie fired back.
     
    #
     
    Gandalf made a hole-in-one putt, a
two-banker, once off the angled support of a four-foot-tall Space
Needle, and once off the miniature Dick's Drive-In sign. His ball vanished through the Astroturf before the burger
restaurant, appearing again below it at the precipice of the
diorama of Snoqualmie Falls. It skittered down the plastic water,
dropping onto the bridge deck of the I-90 bridge. Along this, it
scuttled back and forth, bouncing off guide walls until it broke
out onto the green surrounding the hole, a reproduction of Husky
Stadium, complete with working scoreboard.
    His golf ball circled the hole twice, then
dropped into the collective cheers of everyone gathered on the Kalakala 's car deck.
    The representatives of Arrowsoft were duly
impressed.
    They were three young men, pasty-skinned
computer types, dressed in slacks. Their youth stood in stark
contrast to the other putt-putt golfers, the rest of the Gray Beard
council. Everyone cheered, everyone was having a good time. The
business meeting was going well. Better than Gandalf could have
imagined.
    “Well putt,” the Gray Beard called Orac said,
stepping up to tee off. The Space Needle hole of Gandalf's
Seattle-themed nine-hole putt-putt course was the second hardest,
but through practice, Gandalf had learned its tricks. The course,
after all, filled a sizable chunk of Kalakala 's car deck,
and he could come down from his quarters above and play whenever he
chose. The only hole he couldn't reliably ace was the ninth hole,
the J.P. Patches clown head trap. It always stumped him and
required at least three or four swings.
    Orac chipped at his ball. He made the bank
off the Space Needle, but missed the ricochet off the Dick's sign. His putt floundered, missing the opening to the Falls. He'd
have to take a deuce at least.
    The car deck let out a collective groan.
    The Arrowsoft boys were suitably entertained.
Dressed in their company shirts with the Arrowsoft Robin Hood logo
on the breast, they had originally looked uncomfortable stepping
aboard. Admittedly, a restored Art Deco car ferry was a strange
place for a business meeting, particularly for computer
professionals.
    The Arrowsoft boys were typical geeks, with
the requisite lack of social graces. But as Gandalf had shown them
around, given them a tour of the engine room, the restored
Horseshoe Café - converted to his living quarters - and finally
brought them to his nine-hole golf course, they'd warmed to their
surroundings. When Gandalf had suggested a quick game... well, the
Arrowsoft boys couldn't resist.
    “You see, it all comes down to a trade
surplus for the Raft,” Gandalf continued.
    Six holes in, and he'd been pitching the Raft
to the Arrowsoft representatives the whole game. Gandalf wasn't
entirely sure they were paying attention. It was possible that the
putt-putt golf had been too good of an idea. They were focused on
the complexities of Gandalf's Seattle course and not on the idea of
opening a software development center aboard the Raft. Gandalf
needed their full attention, but he didn't want to lecture them. He
hoped that at least some of what he was saying was sinking in,
because he'd practiced his Raft sales pitch over and over. He knew
his numbers back to front, the cost-to-risk benefit of the whole
enterprise. If only he could get the Arrowsoft boys to listen for
ten minutes, he was sure he could blow their boots off. Both
literally and figuratively.
    “If we were the US Government, we'd be
thinking that everything was wonderful. Trade surplus, did you
say?” Gandalf laughed at his own joke. Orac was squaring up to take
his second swing. “That sounds great! Give us more of