Downtime - Marc Platt [34]
Christopher left him to the frenzied carnivores and headed through the gathering, towards the buffet. There were a lot of Men in Suits, but he was looking for one man in particular: Desmond Pennington MP, Education Secretary and frightfully keen on what you’re doing here.
Christopher had five suits of his own, but he never professed to wearing them. His position as Marketing Facilitator at New World called for a more genial and informal approach. They were forcing back barriers here, after all. He was the mover and the shaker and so he dressed in a selection of exclusive pullovers to complement his carefully cultivated laid-back image – even if the Vice Chancellor had stupidly implied that a formal suit with wing-collared shirt might be more appropriate.
She was his only trepidation. God knows, he had tried to instil some sort of business acumen into the woman, but she was a lost cause; too cautious, too old-fashioned and too wrapped up in her mystical beliefs.
She was also too lenient with erring students. Lately, several had been caught abusing the computer tutorial systems. One in particular, Daniel Hinton, a Virtual Studies student, was a regular troublemaker. The devious little shyster whiz-kid out to get as much out of the system as he could.
When Christopher advocated sterner discipline, She had pleaded for more understanding. Daniel was a special case, and the computer agreed with her. The gifted were always difficult, so they must make allowances. Christopher had lost face over that and was still smarting.
The name Chillys was her fault too. In an initial interview, she had referred to the first students as Children of the New World. She apparently thought this was a rather romantic notion. The gutterati had fallen on the stupid remark like slavering hounds on a lame rabbit and nicknamed the students Chillys. Christopher had been battling the whole cult idea uphill ever since.
The real trouble was, of course, that She was in charge and held the purse strings. But he had been working on that.
Maybe with a little help from the government’s lottery fund...
There was still no sign of the Secretary of State. At least the Vice Chancellor was late too, which was refreshingly unusual for her. Christopher had just reached the buffet when he felt a hand on his shoulder.
‘Young man, I want a word.’
He turned and recognized the Member for Burncaster North demanding his attention. ‘How can I help?’ he oozed.
‘You’re the young man in charge here, are you?’
‘I’m the university’s Marketing Facilitator, yes,’ said Christopher, nodding to the ID badge attached to his pullover.
‘Are you going to tell me all about computers then?’
‘Well, what would you like to know?’
‘I’ve been reading this so-called prospectus of yours,’ said the MP, flourishing the glossy brochure. ‘And I’d like to know how you reckon that a machine can teach someone better than a person. That’s for starters.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ pleaded Christopher. ‘I don’t believe we’ve been introduced. You are...?’
The MP bristled with gratifying irritation. ‘Clive Kirkham, Education Spokesman for the Opposition.’
‘Oh, I see. Thank you so much for coming.’
Mr Kirkham was plainly not a man for suits either. His brown checked jacket had worn elbow pads and an air of the Oxfam shop. ‘I want to know what you think you’re playing at, Mr Rice.’
‘Christopher, please. We try to keep everything on an informal basis here at New World.’
‘Oh yes, very culty. User-friendly, politician-friendly too, I expect. And grant-friendly, no doubt.’
‘We all have to find our way in today’s climate. Remind me Clive, what’s your party’s line on financing education?’
‘We think pupils are more important than Marketing Facilitators.’
‘Good,’ said Christopher. ‘So do we. But just tell me, with technology advancing so fast, what happens in ten years’ time to children who aren’t computer literate?’
‘They’ll know how to talk to real people,