Comapny Profile
Name: Fredrick Greenheck Lambeck	Date of Birth: 671005	Age 34
Origin: Frankfurt, Germany	Eyes: Brown	Weight: 140#
Sex: Male	Hair: Blond	Height: 5'-9"
Profile: Withdrawn Intellectual	Class: 93	Grade: A-2

• Docks, San Diago, California. 971130 2300.
  Rumbling down the narrow streets of China Town in the oversize UPS delivery truck, bouncing off the rain filled pot holes did nothing for his mood. The agent driving swerved to miss one hole, only to hit another as Lambeck sat in the back, itching his temple with his nickle plated .44 Mag. "You know you're gonna blow your brains out doin dat," his eager but illiterate shadow said.

  Looking up into the steely eyes of possibly the biggest combat op he had ever worked with all he could say was, "Then I hope you'll have the decency not to deliver my eulogy." A large grin spreading across his face to make it clear he meant no ill will. The tank known as Xerox returned his easy smile. Both were dressed in semi-normal street clothes. Xerox wore black jeans and a navy turtleneck with his heavy dark brown leather drover coat. Lambeck wore a equipment vest and an orange long sleeve t-shirt with cordaroy baggy pants in a nearly grunge fashion. Togther they were a odd couple.

  "Anything for you little guy." And little he was. Lambeck was the picture of anorexia and anemic, and scrawny, all wrapped up in one. His long blond hair styled as Einstein did, and sallow face with seemingly oversize eyes did nothing to improve his appearance. But underneath this runtish appearance hid a true genius. He had joined the Academy on his 27th birthday, only three years after coming to America. Growing up in Germany as the son of a boilermaker, and apprenticed to a computer repairman he had learned alot despite little education. When he came to Massachusetts on a German Government Scholarship to study at MIT, he was delighted. Earning his PhD, after three masters, and five bachelors in just six years made him a real academic star. Unfortunately he had died in a car crash just twelve months after begining work at the Naval Weapons Research Labratory, or at least that is what the papers said. Now he was riding in the back of a UPS van, multi-tasking on two napkin-computers, a Cystron, and a ultra-laptop, trying to decide if he should multi-plex the oscillations on the damping amp for his next controls experiment or run a finite element analysis before or after the supersonic windtunnel tests on the electromagnetic accelerator cannon upgrades he was working on. Either way you looked at it, his temple itched, the safety was off, and Xerox still didn't think he could carry enough ammo. Ammo enough or not, they were best friends and partners.

  "We're here!" cried the team XO. At that Xerox and Lambeck jumped out the back of the moving UPS van as it slowed at the corner and disappeared into the midnight crowd beside the bar. Xerox tucked his gatling carbine under his trench coat, while the battery and ammo drum looked like an overloaded students backpack. This single weapon would seem like enough, not to stop a platoon of Infantry Fighting Vehicles, but a swarm of Rock Worms (and Lambeck had seen that). Xerox didn't seem to think so, he carried a dozen melee weapons (from mono-filament rapiers to vibro-tantos and brass knuckles), six sidearms, and a pair of back-up auto shotguns. Lambeck carried his nickle plated .44 and a stilleto, his frame could conceal little more. But under his ordinary looking ski vest he stocked more electronics and hardware than a Radio Shack and a Fleet Farm combined. The only tools he needed were duct tape, a soldering iron, and a leatherman.

  "So, here we are again little guy." Xerox spoke with a deep voice that most men couldn't muster with a pail full of testosterone to back them up.

  "Yup, looks that way," Lambeck replied. "But we'd better get moving if we're make it to the mark on time." Before he cold finish Xerox was moving off ahead, keeping his eyes on everything because he knew Lambeck wouldn't. Lambeck tapped absently at his Cystron as he walked, doing permutations of a Multi-derivative differential equation to pass the time. Xerox slowed to a halt and then made eye contact instantly as Lambeck looked up as if by precognition. They were good like that togther.

  "What have you got?" Lambeck questioned.

  "Contact with mark. Kitty corner on street corner by red bus bench." Said Xerox subvocalizing through his implant mic while pointing by facing the opposite direction of the mark.

  "Good work. Hopefully this'll pay off. Stay close. But not too close. We don't want to let them know we're following them. But not to far either or we'll loose them." Lambech kept rambling to himself as Xerox moved off and they both boarded the bus their mark got on. The young lady they were following wore tight blue jeans and a black leather jacket with the symbol "Stealers Wheels" emblazoned on the back. She could have been anywhere from eighteen to twenty-five if she kept well. Company scouts had told them she was different and should be watched close and considered dangerous. But Lambeck didn't think she could be as she applied makeup from a compact gracefully as the bus bounced down the street.

  After a short drive and three stops, the bus came to a halt outside a low warehouse or factory looking building. Not more than a story tall and with all glass sides, it could have been a office building too, but Lambeck knew better. They got off the bus and crossed the street as their mark entered the building they were watching. Lambeck pulled out his pocket binoculars and scoped the grounds. "Things look pretty quiet, I think I see a side door that is inside some garbage dumpsters."

  "Dat fine wit me," replied Xerox as he gracefully hulked off towards their target. Once they were both at the door, Lambeck reached inside his vest and pulled out three wands and assembled them with a batterypack and a meter. Waving these around in the air for a minute he nodded that Xerox could open the door. Which he did with a quick pop from his titanium crowbar.

  Inside the building was a supply room. Stacked floor to ceiling in clerical and janitorial goods used in any office building. They stayed back to back as they swept through the room, looking for anything amis. Lambeck subvoc'ed to the helo that they were in and needed support. Then Xerox froze.

  The door ahead on their left blew off its hinges from the force of a terriffic strike and slammed into the wall opposite them. They had but a second to stare into the warehouse filled with coffin size, white, pussfilled sacs. Larvae. Then the warriors swarmed into the room. Ten were in the door before Xerox could unsling his gatling carbine and mow them down. Inside the confined quarters the one hundred and twenty rounds per second would have deafened them instantly. Thankfully they had ear damps, Lambeck heard Xerox yell, "Run!! Get to the office. Make it to the choppa!! I'll hold dem!" As he snapped up his second drum, having already fired off six hundred rounds in five seconds. The shelves around him were on fire from the muzzle blast of his weapon. He was steadily falling back away from the open blast crater he had made in the wall.

  As the firing continued Lambeck ran into the office. Getting to the master console and firing off three shots to blast away the two hinges and lock got him in. Sitting down he hooked up the data sheet and computer to the hard drive and paralleled his DVD drive and started downloading. As he sat there he could hear the gunfire coming from the warehouse. He poured though his jacket and took out another computer and a mic. He clipped it in, and ran an analysis program on the ultrasonics he was getting from the bugs. Ten seconds later he had hooked up a breadboard up and burned three chips to make a CD. He then moved around the terminals outside the master booth and installed a audio program onto their drives. It was designed, he hoped, to emit soundwaves that would disrupt the attacking cockroaches. The firing had died down but not disappeared. He was just about to radio Xerox.

  Already on his fifth coputer and moving towards the intercom, to broadcast to the whole building, one of the monitors in front of him exploded in a blast of sparks and smoke. Gunfire. Behind him. He dove to the floor and drew his .44 Mag. Damn he wished he'd reloaded. He knew pi to 1000 places and could do mulit-variable calculus, vector geometry, and matrix computations in his head, but he could never remember to reload. He poked his head up for a second and saw twelve slow moving humans moving towards him all armed with shotguns. Even with three rows of desks and ten to fifteen yards between him and them, this was not good odds. Now he'd call Xerox. Oh, how he wished he were back in his multi-purpose lab; with its 50' five axis, milling machine, with CMM support, air cushion, granite slab precision; his automated six function welders with robotic positioners; his beautiful, CNC-CAM automatic fillament winding and composite builder; and his acre of specialized tooling, tools, measuring equipment, and supplies. Ever since he met him, that Combat Op had been his guardian and closest friend. "Xerox? You there? I'm pinned down in the computer room."

  "Be right there," was all he said before the wall was kicked down and Xerox strode through in a cloud of insulation and gypsum board. Here before Lambeck stood the bloody avatar of death. Slashed from shoulder to hip, and impaled through one thigh with a mandible he stalked in. Grazed in a dozen places and cut in nearly two score more, he was covered in his own blood and the viscious mucus body fliuds of his vanquished foes. Lambeck took one look at him and knew he was high on every drug the Company provided its ops; PainAway, Juice, Ascepaline, and QuickHeal. Muscles bulged from under his armored trench coat, and his monocrys vest. His monowire whip flashed out in a blinding fury as his gore splattered bald head focused on one thing: the death of his enemies. His first swing lashed two in half. The inhuman attackers spilled to the ground, disgorging a nest of insects about the floor. Three opponents turned their fire from Lambeck to Xerox. Two blasts from the twelve gage caught him before he dove to cover through a computer desk. "That thingy wurkd! The bugs just quit. Den I killed em easy!!"

  "Great!! But haven't we got more pressing matters now?"

  "No!! Get that disc. I said I'd cover you." He then stood and drew his auto shotgun. With whip in one hand and a shotgun in the other he blasted two more and slice another three beofre their inards had run to the floor from the walls they were splattered on. Lambeck stood and tagged one in the head with his .44 Mag as he ran back into the Master Console room.

  Slumping into the desk he unplugged all his gadgets and stored them in their respective pockets, known by memory. As he was leaving the room, not three seconds later, he say only one bugger standing. Xerox, too was standing, atop a desk with a bowie knife drawn. He lept at the bugger and slammed into him after its shotgun had discharged into his stomach. The blade fell, cutting the creature from neck to nads, spilling a swarm of beatles and other critters to the floor. Xerox landed in them like a limp sack. Lambeck ran to him and dragged him out of the swarm. "Are you ok? Can you hear me?" he screamed.

  "Get to da choppa!"

  "Not without you!" Lambeck yelled at the doped up grunt in his arms. He grabbed behind his neck and took hold of the drag strap on his harness. Reaching into his pocket in withdrew a hypo-injector and shot Xerox with a load of Suspend. Then radioing the helo for a burn run and an extract he pulled his buddy out, grunting with every ouce of strength to pull out the three hundred pound lug that saved him again. Even pulling along the precious gat carbine by it's ammo belt.

1. Build in enought design margin to counteract the effects of minor manufacturing deviations and customer misuse.
2. When there is a problem, any action is better than none. (That is, don't just stand there--Do Something!)
3. There is a definite hierarchy of priorities in solving development problems.
   • Priority 1-- What will produce the maximum gain for minimum cost in the shortest time?
   • Priority 2-- What is the most positive absolute solution with no question of adequacy?
4. If you find that a change is unavoidable, make sure the change you do make is completely adequate--don't skimp.
5. Be intellectually honest. If you have a theory, have the courage to put it to an unbiased test.
   • (Note: This runs contrary to one of Murphy's Laws which says: "Never replicate a successful experiment.)
6. In any endeavor, take a positive, aggressive approach. Force action.
   • As Confucius (no doubt) once put: "If you can't raise a bridge, lower a river."
7. Never mislead a customer (or management.)
8. If a job is worth starting it is worth finishing. --or-- Never start a job unless you intend to finish it.
   • A restatement of Law #8 might read: "Good enough is perfect."
9. Stop writing memos. If you want to communicate, talk to people.
10. Do not blindly follow orders from above (including mine). If you have convictions, hang in there.
    • Do your own thinking.