Get RevOps Working for Your SaaS (3VC Model) with Jason @ GoNimbly.com – Escape Velocity Show #15

Where to start with revenue optimization (RevOps)? In this episode, I interview Jason Reichl, CEO and Co-Founder of Go Nimbly, a revenue operations company that helps SaaS companies achieve their business goals.

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“Ho…

“They’re definitely panicked,” said Vince Flashman, checking the exterior camera.  “Something’s come up.  Their hijacked spaceship isn’t a priority anymore.”

“Great,” says Carmen.  “We might not have to blast our way out of here after all!”

“Observers: unseen: probability.”

“Good point,” said Vince.  “But from what little I can see, anyway… there’s confusion.  Some shouting… must’ve been some sort of accident elsewhere on the ship.”

“If there’s a moment when you can’t see anyone looking in our direction, let us know,” said Carmen.  She kept her hand on the emergency ramp control, a button located by a terminal with deactivated camera features, likely a parting gift from The Soul Survivor.  She wasn’t sure if the all-but robot was still locked in the bridge or had already made some sort of escape that didn’t rely on conventional exits, but she didn’t care.  Xorn’Tal waited by the emergency ramp itself, ready to literally leap over and through the exit as it opened.  While he was probably the most fragile of the three racers, he looked larger and intimidating, and bullets or lasers searing off his vines was likely to be more temporary than it was for the two humans, things he’d pointed out while volunteering for the most dangerous part of the plan.

“Are we still clear on how this goes down?” asked Carmen.

“Cessation requested: asking.”

“Sorry, Xorn’Tal.  Jumpy, I guess.”

“Same here,” said Vince, keeping his eyes on his functional terminal.  “Even if no one’s looking, the odds of us getting on unseen a-… no one’s looking, now, now!”

Carmen punched the control button and the ramp began to open, with its magnetic seals breaking and pneumatic machinery rapidly lowering a ramp and making a quick hole in the side of the small ship.  Xorn’Tal leapt over the dropping plates of hull while they were still articulating into a form acceptable for humans to disembark.  The plant-like creature marveled at the complete lack of eyes on the ship, with only a few guards and hangar technicians in a nearby shed-like control room, all frantically looking over a monitor that he couldn’t make out.  There were interior weapons trained on the ship, but none were activating, likely based on manual controls instead of computerized ones.  Xorn’Tal raised a signaling vine, and saw the hallway stretching away from the hangar, just alongside the control room.

Carmen and Vince jumped over the still-lowering ramp, and the three ran, Xorn’Tal only outpacing the two humans by virtue of a head start.  As they passed the control room, the sight of an ambulatory tangle of vines and leaves rolling by followed by two brightly dressed humans in professional racer garb caught the eye of two soldiers who gaped at the sight.  One lifted an arm to point just as they fell out of Carmen’s view.

“They saw us!” she said.  “Hurry, find a place to hide!”

“Juncture!” said Xorn’Tal.  “Path chosen: left: obfuscate!”

“Left, got it,” confirmed Vince.

The trio neared the branching path where the hallway was joined by another, but collided into two soldiers who were darting around the corner.  The five collided into each other, tripped, and sprawled across the ground, with only the multi-limbed Xorn’Tal maintaining some semblance of balance.

“Captain!” shouted one.

“Don’t worry about me, Trell, run!”

The two soldiers leapt to their feet quickly, with one of them racing down in the direction the racers had just come from.  Carmen noted the oddity of not being immediately apprehended or killed, as Vince shakily rose.

“Hey, lady, we don’t-”

The soldier identified as Captain pulled a rifle from the receptacle at her back and clubbed Vince in the skull, sending the racer back.

“I don’t know what moral transgression you committed in your past life to deserve getting in my way now, but know that I’ve neither the time nor inclination to let the one unsecured ship out of my clutches when a hull breach has-”

Xorn’Tal exploded toward the soldier.  Carmen expected the series of vines to rapidly overwhelm the humanoid, but the soldier easily bent her arm into a hook, swiped it forward to clear a massive section of vines, and head-butted the revealed root-like structure that comprised Xorn’Tal’s body.  Xorn’Tal tumbled back, rolling onto the floor instead of instantly righting itself due to the soldier’s tentacle-sweep.

“Wait,” said Carmen.  “Wait!  I think we’re on the same-”

The soldier turned, running back down the hall but stopped at the sight of the second soldier returning.

“They were already moving,” she said.  “Something tipped them off to-”

The captain held up a hand to silence the first, turned back to Carmen, and pointed.

“The same what?”

“Team,” said Carmen.  “We’re… I think we’re on the same team.”

“Doubtful,” said the captain.  “I’m Calen.  Captain Calen, of Morcala.”

“Morcala,” growled Vince, standing and massaging his skull.  “What are you-”

“That way!” shouted Trell, pointing down the hallway.  “Hurry!”

Zack stepped from the preparation cave and into the arena.  A circular, rock-festooned pit made of the world’s ruddy soil, coupled with Mandrake’s oppressive sun, created a humid, radiating heat and a cloying odor that made it difficult for him to breathe.  The opposite side of the arena wavered in the heat, but Zack assumed it wouldn’t be an issue for most of the combat.  Sthenites slithered around the top of the pit, eagerly looking down to witness the first true trial by combat since their leader became the latest Suzerain.

Nectra clambered in from a preparation cave on the opposite side of the pit.  She twirled her staff while looking around, saw Zack, and waved cheerfully.  He lifted a hand in acknowledgement, and drew his pistols.  Nectra took a step deeper into the arena and almost convulsed when she left the shadow covering her edge of the pit.  She waited, allowed her eyes to adjust to the brighter light, and finished moving fully into her starting position.

Zack noted the reaction to the light after the shadow.  It was stronger, he thought, than his own reaction to the smell, and while he could get used to the ever-constant mephitis of what amounted to damp, baking mud, the shangmere might have more difficulty with transitions between the shade and light thanks to her larger eyes.  He’d need to cross all the way to her side of the pit to take advantage of that fact, though.

The susurrus of hissed conversations above subsided and Zack looked up.  The cobra-like Suzerain had crawled into position, flanked by two smaller guards wielding spears.  She began speaking, repeating phrases in the Sthenite tongue that Zack couldn’t begin to understand, though a few words were becoming recognizable.  She continued speaking and waving her arms meaningfully, but without context Zack’s attention quickly drifted to Nectra, who was alternating between the Suzerain and Zack.  She pointed at the Suzerain inquisitively, but Zack shrugged, just as lost as she was.

Whatever she was saying, she was reaching a crescendo, and the rest of the Sthenites were muttering and hissing to themselves, quietly at first but quickly getting louder as their leader did.  Within moments, her speech was practically being shouted, and her audience was cheering and chanting with it, some even brandishing weapons at the sky, or the Suzerain, or even, Zack noticed, at the competitors in the arena.

Suddenly, the Suzerain cried out and struck an imposing pose, with her fist raised skyward.  The crowd grew tense and the hundreds of serpentine eyes focused on the pit, their collective gaze almost having a weight of its own.  Zack and Nectra looked at each other, uncertainly.

On the rim of the pit, resting just opposite the Suzerain, a yellow-scaled Sthenite twirled a bone from a recent meal, and struck the gong that had been quietly erected while Zack and Nectra’s eyes had been focused on the Suzerain.  The two competitors jumped at the unexpected sound, a quick motion that prompted the crowd to begin cheering.  Taking the cue, Nectra jumped into the air and stretched out her wings while Zack carefully took aim with his Purcellian Striker.

***

Captain Ortega let out a long, low whistle.  He had envisioned a smaller room, and possibly a platform surrounded with the traditional electro-tethers, or possibly even archaic ropes depending on Harold Zamona’s wrestling preferences.  Instead, the room reminded him of a pack-park, with patches of green grass interspersed with ramps, staircases, and spires on the ground, along with floating rings, hovering catwalks, and even a waterfall suspended high above that fed a gentle pond.  Rocket-pack and jet-pack enthusiasts would compete on similar fields of play that weren’t half as detailed.

“Pretty picture, I say,” said Zamona.  The captain of the Astroguard tore his eyes away from the room and watched the towering herald of the emperor swagger up next to him.

“I’d say so,” said Ortega.  “Not quite what I was expecting.”

“Took some time to get it made.  The hovering hydromill gave us problems of all sorts.  Believe it or not, it was already partially finished when you went and made a fool of yourself in front of Veskid.”

“Lots of jet-pack joy-riders in your conscripts?”

“Keeps the morale high,” said Zamona.  “I think you’ll find there’s nowhere in here that you’ll be able to jet to that I can’t get you, so I still don’t know how you expect to survive.”

“I’ll get by.  Really going through with this?”

Zamona snapped a gauntleted finger, an action that produced a surprisingly musical chime, and soldiers bearing the logo of the Dyson Empire approached, one carrying the rocket and the other carrying Ortega’s Astroguard-issued blaster.  Ortega nodded and began strapping the rocket to the back of his flight suit, hearing the familiar click of the internal motors that held the hardware in place.

“Thanks,” he said, picking up his rifle and checking it for signs of tampering.

“No problem,” said Zamona.  “We’ve already started filming.”

Ortega looked up and around the environment.  He couldn’t see any cameras, though he knew that hidden or microscopically small cameras didn’t need to be visible, though he didn’t imagine Zamona wanted to skimp on the spectacle.

“We have?”

“Oh, yes.  Since you and I walked in.  We have any viewers yet?”

Zamona glanced back at the entrance to the park where a small booth held a soldier who checked a readout and gave a thumbs-up.

“Well… glad we have an audience, then,” said Ortega.  He looked to the far wall of the park and saw a massive window that revealed the stars beyond.  Veskid was just rolling into view as the ship continued its rotation.  He smiled, relieved to finally know exactly where in space he was.

“Same here.  I didn’t much care for you trickin’ the poor folks of Veskid into thinkin’ that we had a deal.  But since I never back down from a fight or back out of a deal, I wanted to make sure it was the best these people could ask for.”

“So, when do we start?”

Harold Zamona’s massive, boulder-sized fist slammed into the side of Ortega’s head, almost too quickly for his flight-suit’s collision-detection to snap the protective helmet into place.  The powerful impact sent Ortega flying, rolling through the air and dropping to the ground at the base of the spire.

Harold Zamona stormed through the cell corridor until he reached the cell watched by the armed guard, who saluted the approaching figure and stepped back to get out of the way.  The Emperor’s Herald stopped and looked through the force field that acted as the cell’s door and fourth wall.

“It’s quite a mess you’ve put me in, Ortega.”

“Good to see you to,” said the captain, leaning on the small cot provided within the cell.  “This guard you left me with won’t talk.  I can normally get a few words out of a guard even if I can’t trick them into doing anything for me, but this guy’s trained too well.  Good job on that, incidentally.”

“Seems that your ad libbing paid off.  Everyone’s confused about my demands, sayin’ that it’s time to see you and me fight.”

“What can I say?  People like me.”

“People trust you, I’ll give ya that.  So I’ve got good news for you: you’re getting the fight.”

Ortega sat up in his cot.

“Oh?  Great.  I’m a little surprised, but great.”

“Not great,” said Zamona.  “You’re gonna be dead.  Everyone’s gonna see it.  And instead of a nice, clean takeover, everything’s gonna slow down.”

“You’re telling me that your invasion was going to be a bloodless one, Zamona?”

“I’m telling you that you’d better start comin’ to terms with your life, because it’s just about done.  You’ll get your flight suit, and your blaster, and be ushered to the arena that we’ll set up for just you and me.”

“Great!  I’ll see you in the ring.”

Ortega leaned back into his cot and Zamona narrowed his eyes.  Soon, Captain Ortega looked back at the cell entrance.

“Is there something else?” said Ortega.

“What’s your game here, boy?  You’re gonna die here.  I’ve tried lookin’ at this from every angle, and at the end of the day it’s just gonna end with Veskid still conquered and you dead.”

“Honestly, I’m not sure,” said Ortega.  “I’m hoping things’ll work out.”

“Things don’t work out like this.  Not for you.”

Zack and Nectra continued moving the body of The Phantom Matador.  Zack had wearied of transporting The Phantom Matador by lifting his limbs quickly, and Nectra had recommended the switch to carrying the criminal by keeping his arms over their shoulders.  Appearing to walk side by side, the three trudge through the jungle.  Zack was definitely moving slower, and looking paler.  He coughed violently and slowed to a stop.

“Hey, mind if we take another break?” he asked.  “This heat’s gettin’ to me… maybe Igneous’ ice tub wasn’t such a crazy idea after all.”

“Ice tub?  And no, I don’t mind.”

“Yeah, she was… overheating or something?  And so she made or bought a kind of hot tub that was cold.  Who knows why.”

“Well, I don’t think we can do that,” she said, awkwardly lowering the Phantom Matador’s body to the muddy floor of the alien jungle.  “But we can rest a bit.  I can even scout ahead if you’d like!”

“Yeah, sure,” said Zack.  “Don’t be too long, though.  I dunno what Fletch drugged Matty with but it’s not deadly, so he’ll come to eventually.  We should both be on the lookout for that.”

“Right,” said Nectra.  “I’ll… get our bearings.  Make sure we’re on the right path.  Ooh, or maybe ask one of those snake people for directions!”

“I dunno how well that’d go over,” said Zack.  “I said you might’ve been involved in those murders.  Plus you don’t speak the language, do you?”

“Right, the murders… rest here, I’ll be back.”

Nectra’s wings opened, and she pulled her staff off of her back.  Using the leverage that it granted, she easily jumped to a low branch, kicked herself even higher, and began gliding away.

Zack watched the flying shangmere until she was out of sight before turning back to The Phantom Matador, half expecting the criminal to already be up and pointing an energy blade at him.  Zack reached into his coat, and pulled out a Purcellian Striker.

“Not a bad idea, imaginary Mat,” he said, charging the Striker and aiming it at his prisoner.  In time he found a suitably dry log didn’t look poisonous and he sat upon it.  Minutes later he drifted off to sleep.

Much earlier, on another world…

Zack checked his passport again before looking out the window.  The pilot for his charter plane was running late, and the other two passengers at the private terminal weren’t talkative.  One was a haukreen carrying a glowing glass tube over its shoulder, and the other a human wearing a business suit and checking a watch while reading a small pamphlet on the ecological impact of human civilizations on non-human planets.

An orange skinned vantarian neared, the first that Zack had ever seen with his own eyes.  The four-legged creature approached, looking comfortable in a captain’s uniform that looked like it had been designed for humans but altered to accommodate humanoid employees.  The vantarian tipped its hat.

“Apologies, everyone,” he said.  “We can begin boarding now, there was just a last minute charter service that I needed to attend to.  Which one of you is Zack Gamma?”

Zack shifted uncomfortably and looked at the other two passengers, who were similarly looking at each other and him.  Zack looked back.

“Who wants to know?”

“Oh, it involves the delay,” said the captain, smiling.  “Are you Mister Gamma, then? Someone came here to meet you.  Is that fine?”

Zack looked at the captain in confusion before glancing at the entrance to the comfortable sitting area that acted as the private terminal’s waiting area.  A grizzled, though well-groomed and decidedly sheepish, Azar stood at the door.  He raised a hand in a friendly half-wave.  Zack returned the gesture and turned back.

“Yeah, yeah that’s fine.  I just go through the double doors when we’re done talking?”

“Oh, yes,” said the captain, turning toward the doors himself.  “Take all the time you need, he tipped generously to earn a little extra time for your plane before we take off.”

The vantarian walked toward the double doors and the two other passengers followed, eying Zack and the stranger curiously.  Zack watched them go as Azar neared, looking almost apologetic.

“Hello, Zack,” he said.  “I found your folder and realized you were slipping off without saying goodbye.”

“I said goodbye last night,” said Zack.  “And again before you came out to Ravelar with a former pro-wrestler for your secret vacation, if you’ll recall.  I don’t belong here.”

“We’re your friends here, Zack.  Seems to me you belong where friends are.  Plus, if memory serves, you weren’t thrilled with the plan to head to Ravelar.”

“I was wrong about that,” said Zack.  “Zamona wasn’t waiting to get you alone to turn in the bounty.  Or if he is, he’s playing a longer game, one I wouldn’t expect him to have the patience for.”

“You don’t give him enough credit, Zack.  He’s actually very bright.”

“Maybe not.  You could see the silver lining of a smog cloud, though, so forgive me for being paranoid.  It’s in the job.”

“One you do very well.  Stay safe out there, Zack.”

“And you stay safe here.  Take care, okay?”

“I will.  Goodbye, Zack.  And one more thing?”

“Yeah?”

Azar reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, glowing disk, a coin made of energy.  Zack recoiled, but Azar was faster, quickly slipping it into Zack’s hand.  The detective almost dropped it in surprise.

“Hey!” he shouted, while his brain processed.  “Wow, that’s… that’s heavier than I thought.  And… almost hot.”

“Hold onto that for me, would you?” said Azar.  “I don’t like keeping all my eggs in one basket.  One’s in the bank, and the interest alone is paying for everything here… the other I keep with me.  And I think that you should take the third.”

“Azar, that’s crazy.  This thing should be-”

“In a bank?  In a safe? Zack, it does no good in either of those.  If I lose one, I have two others.  Just keep it until we meet again.”

“Azar, I appreciate that we’ve been through a lot here, but this is a lot of money.  You still don’t know that I won’t just run off with it, abandon you, and drop this in a bank somewhere for myself.”

“Are you saying you will?”

“Well, no… but that’s not really the point, is it?  You shouldn’t trust someone with this much money.”

“I shouldn’t,” said Azar.  “I will though.  Bring it back in one piece for a nice bonus.  Or use it for expenses.”

Zack looked at the coin and gulped.

“Azar, this technically makes me one of the wealthiest people ever by proxy.”

“It makes you one of the wealthiest people ever literally, at least while you have it.  The oddity with wealth is that you need a place to spend it.”

“I can spend it all I like after I finish this job for the monasteries.”

“You can’t spend it in one place, though,” said Azar.  “I’ve looked.  Look, this is just for emergencies.  And after what I read in that red folder you slid under my door-”

“You’re a fast reader if you read all that already.”

“I was in the habit of double-checking the fine print when I signed on for my hazard pay jobs,” said Azar.  “Teleporting rigs don’t build themselves, after all.  You need to know what you’re getting into.”

“Fair point.  Look, Azar, this is still crazy even if you DO trust me.”

“I’ve earned the right to be eccentric, Gamma, and I’d ask you to respect that.  We all have lives we want to live, and I’d like to do things that I like to do.  Just like you enjoy helping people, and like Zamona enjoys wrestling.  Did you hear about his first match the other night?”

“Yeah, it’s crazy,” said Zack.  “He was good, they say… though I think it’s bad for our cover.”

“Of course you do,” said Azar.  “Look, it’ll be a while before you can access a bank and take payment from me.  Just hold onto this in case you need it, all right?”

Zack narrowed his eyes but Azar stared back with large, friendly eyes that lacked any real concern about the world or the reasonable dangers it contained.  Zack eventually closed his eyes.

“Fine,” said Zack.  “But you’re takin’ this back as soon as we meet again.”

“Do you think that’s likely?  Your notes in the red folder were… thorough.”

“Look, just follow those exactly.  I’ll keep in touch eventually, I’ll just have to keep tabs on how it unfolds.”

“Are you sure you can do that?  It’s a complicated scheme.”

“Hey, did you forget who you’re talkin’ to?” said Zack, taking a step away and tapping his hat with the coin.  “Mind like a steel trap.  Look, I don’t wanna delay the fine folks on my plane any more, so…”

Xorn’Tal’s vision was not as advanced as a human’s, but he still appreciated staring out the window.  The shifting stars as The Soul Survivor continued moving the pirated vessel through space were a pleasant distraction from the situation.  The humans had a great capacity for complaint, finding new ways to both qualify and quantify how poorly things were going.

“I just want to know WHY it’s locked,” said Carmen.  “We left the door to the kitchen propped open.  I mean, how long has it been closed? Did Tan get loose?”

“Probably,” said Vince.  “We had to move fast, and Xorn’Tal was improvising.  No offense, Xorn’Tal.”

Xorn’Tal lifted one of his articulated vines in an imitation of the human gesture of raising a hand to acknowledge a comment when no offense was taken.  He continued staring out the window, watching the drifting of the stars.

“Was it closed when he asked me to go to the end of the hallway?” asked Carmen.  “I didn’t notice anything… would it be more normal to notice a door you left open being closed, or a door that’s usually closed being open?”

“I… don’t know.  Why would I know that?”

“I don’t know, people know things.  Maybe you watched a documentary or heard something in a class back in school one day.”

“You seriously think I’ve ever watched a documentary before?”

“You might’ve.”

“Have you?”

“Do special features on movies count?  Like, the ones that explain how they made the movie?”

“I don’t think so.  I’ve watched those.”

“So you HAVE watched a documentary!” said Carmen.

“I didn’t mean that kind of documentary.  I meant, like… nature specials, or things that go into how other things are made.”

“Ship: Nearing,” said Xorn’Tal.

“Yeah, like how ships are m-… wait, what?” said Vince.

“Ship: Nearing,” repeated Xorn’Tal.  “Course: non-intercept.”

“You mean we’re going to crash?” said Carmen, walking from the door to the kitchen area and toward the window.

“Likelihood: Negligible,” said Xorn’Tal.  “Certainty: Greater: Intentional Piloting.”

“I think you’re right,” said Carmen, looking through the window.

“You mean that it’s not coming to intercept us, but the Soul Survivor’s moving to intercept it?”

“Or at least get close to it,” said Carmen.  “Not sure what’s goin’ on between the sides of that polished crystal where his ears should be.”

She stepped from the window and walked to the door, where she began hammering on it insistently.

“Hey, Soul Patch! Let’s talk about the flight plan!”

“I am The Soul Survivor, and I have no information that you need,” said the now-familiar voice from the ship’s communication system.

“What’s the big deal?  First you hijack a ship, and then you take it back?”

“Your refusal to allow Tan to return to the bridge has necessitated a change in plans.  I will need to take a more direct approach to easily leave this system.”

“So you’re movin’ on to Plan B?  That’s what you get for messin’ with the best.”

“That you choose not to aid in my plans and thus become a part of the legacy of The Soul Survivor is your folly, as partaking in my brilliance is a delight.  I do not begrudge you your ignorance, but yes, I must move on to plans that require substantially less cooperation from you.  Because you three amuse me, I have allowed the oxygen, lights, and gravity to continue running in your hallway.  Pound upon that door all you wish; your antics will neither hasten nor delay your eventual fate.”

“You’re not worried that they’ll be able to find you when you get this close to them?” said Vince.  “I don’t know much about your technology, but won’t that be a big power… thing?  A drain or burst or moving empty space on their sensors or something?”

“You’ve seen too many poorly conceived films, but you are, astoundingly, correct when you say that there is a risk of discovery.”

“You: Anti-Worry?”

“How long until everything’s in position?” asked Zamona, pushing his way into the war room.  The generals and strategists looked up from the terminals built into the chamber’s central table, and quickly shuffled their work into a presentable mess.

“Well?” said Zamona, drawing closer.  “We don’t have a lot of time, and we’re losing people in the dog fights out there.”

“Losses are acceptable,” said Commander Sanchez.  “We’re seventy percent in position.  We might’ve run out of time on the smooth PR front, though.”

“How?” asked Zamona.

“We’ve received replies to the letters sent to the rulers of Veskid.  They came with varying responses depending on who you’d sent it to and what you’d asked of them, but with the exception of one they all indicate that they’re expecting their responses to hinge on the result of your duel with Captain Andrew Ortega of the Astroguard.”

“And did you tell them that there’s not going to be a duel with Captain Ortega?”

“No, sir.  You instructed us not to address that issue or comment on it because of the potential PR damage.”

“Good.  Keep it that way.  Who’s playing along?”

“Sir?”

“You said one of the leaders of Veskid didn’t say that they were waiting to hear about the duel with Ortega.”

“Oh.  No, sir, I meant that one of the leaders didn’t respond, so they’re apparently not waiting on a duel.”

“You mean we’re being ignored?”

“Yes, sir.  By BristleCorp.”

Zamona swung his fist to the side and punctured the wall, revealing structural fixtures, wires, and other components.  Half of the lights in the room sparked and went dark.  Harold looked at the ceiling and sheepishly pulled his hand out of the wall.

“Sorry,” he said.  “I’ll get someone along to fix that… BristleCorp’s the big one, they’re the ones we need.”

“Sir, they’re not even involved in the administrative or legislative control of-”

“They control it all,” said Zamona.  “Believe me, they’ve got their hands in everything.  Someone wants to have a say in how often garbage gets picked up in an alley, they’ve gotta deal with BristleCorp.  This planet’s one of their biggest bases.  It’s the Cor Leonis, the brightest star and the heart of the beast.  Or one of the hearts, anyway.”

“Sir, we can easily take the planet without them.”

“The planet’s just a bonus, Commander.  Send them another message… let them know that I’ll personally take an interest in their activities if they don’t respond.”

“This’ll take time, sir,” said Sanchez.  “We’ve got the public’s interest right now, if we wait for another reply from a company that most of the public isn’t even aware of-”