“Why does Kitty get rejuvenation, and I don’t?”
His question surprised them, and Kale said, “Bogdan, you know we can’t discuss another ’meet’s account with you.”
“It’s not fair!” Bogdan said. “She brings in ten thousandths and yet she gets her way, while you deny me the treatments I need to keep my job. It’s stupid.”
Gerald dropped his papers on the table and went to sit down. Kale shook his head. They both gave April a look. April sighed and said, “Charter Kodiak is in the middle of very sensitive negotiations, Boggy. It’s not something we’re ready to bring to the full charter yet. Kitty is acting as the charter’s agent in this matter, but even her juve has been postponed—a little.”
“What negotiations? I have a right to know.”
“We’ll bring it up for general discussion in another—I don’t know—next week?”
Bogdan had never been very good at putting two and two together, but from the tension in the room, he knew he had stumbled across something major, and he wasn’t about to let it go. He assumed his most obstinate little boy pose and said, “Why? Because you don’t want Samson to know about it? Is that it? And those paper records are not because of the houseputer but to keep Hubert out of the loop, right?”
“Damn it,” Gerald said. He got up and pulled a chair to the wall, climbed on it, and poked at two exposed wires below a wall-mounted cam. “Not that it matters,” he grumbled and climbed down. “The houseputer lost contact with this room ages ago.”
Kale steepled his hands on the tabletop and spoke in portentous tones. “Bogdan, what we tell you goes no farther than this room, understood?” Bogdan nodded, and Kale continued. “You ever hear of a place called Rosewood Acres?”
Bogdan shook his head.
“It’s a superfund site in Wyoming since the last century. Highly polluted. Highly toxic. There are more rare elements and radioactive isotopes buried there than the next five dumps combined. Which means it’s one of the richest micromines in the UD with the potential for a steady income for decades. And the mining rights have recently been acquired by Charter Beadlemyren.”
“Never heard of them.”
Gerald said, “The Beadlemyren, like us and thousands of other charters, are suffering a decline in their membership. When Sam dies—well, we’ll be hurting. But the Beadlemyren are in worse shape. The state has already started decertification procedures against them. Unless something’s done, they’ll lose their charter, and with it their assets, including the mining rights. We’ve been talking to them about the possibility of our two charters merging. The benefits for both of us would be substantial. But the Beadlemyren have offers from other charters also eager to merge or absorb them, including, we suspect, the Tobblers. That means we have to bring more to the table than our competitors can.”
“Such as?”
April said, “Well, an appearance of youthful enthusiasm, for one. That’s why it’s Kitty who’s representing us. And capital. Lots of capital. It’ll mean selling off the rest of this building—which is why there’s no point in investing in a new houseputer just now—and selling, uh, well, everything.”
Bogdan was stunned. “We’re going to move out of Chicago?”
“It looks that way,” said Kale, “which is why your position at E-Pluribus is of secondary importance.”
With this news, Bogdan turned and drifted to the door.
“Bogdan!” April said sharply. “This is all under wraps. Understand?”
“Yeah,” he said. “A big feckin’ secret.” Then he remembered something, and he asked Kale, “You said this toxic dump is called Rosewood Acres. How many acres?”
“Two thousand.”
2.22
After their meal, Fred and Mary’s crowd in the Zinc Room had a round of evening visola, and coffee. Dessert was custard fyllo pie, followed by more rounds of drink.
Occasional outbursts came from the Stardeck, and the lulus Abbie and Mariola went out to investigate. When they returned, Abbie carried a little black homcom slug by its tail between her thumb and index finger.
“They’re smashing them,” she said. “I can’t hardly believe it.” She dropped the biomech strip on the table and, before it could crawl away, trapped it under an overturned daiquiri glass.
“Don’t do that,” said Reilly.
“Don’t tell my sister what to do,” said Mariola.
“I mean, you could get into trouble, get us all into trouble.”
Mary said, “I blocked up our apartment slugway all day, and nothing happened.”
“That’s nothing,” said Gwyn, the jenny. “On the WAD, I saw free-range people ‘harvesting’ them by the hundreds for recycling credits.”
They watched the slug explore its prison, and when its pinhead noetics concluded it was trapped, it simply idled in place. No threats, no sirens, no explosion of pseudopods.
Wes, the jerry, scanned it. “It’s not transmitting to base.”
“What’s it doing?” said Reilly.
“Nothing that I can tell.”
“That just doesn’t make sense.”
“Sure, it does,” said Abbie. “Somebody, gimme a hammer.”
Mariola said, “How many material credits do you suppose one of these would bring?”
“Let’s see,” said the second jerry, Bill. “At least a milliliter of paste, supporting circuitry, several grams of titanium, selenium, platinum, ah, maybe iridium—”
“Not to mention the self-healing tissue and foil extruders,” said Wes.
“And the minicams and emitters and various RF gear,” said Ross, the third jerry.
“Ten or twelve yoodies maybe?” said Bill, and the other two jerrys nodded in agreement.
“Ten or twelve each?” said Abbie, astonished.
“Give or take.”
The group of friends mulled this over.
“Where’s that hammer?” said Abbie.
“Feck the hammer,” Mariola said and took off her shoe.
“Wait, Abbie,” said Fred. “Trapping it is one thing, but whacking it is a felony. You could pull hard time for that.”
Abbie raised the shoe but hesitated. “That’s not what the people on the Stardeck say. They say the slugs are finished. They’ve been decommissioned. Everyone’s pulling them off the side of the building and smashing them. And do you see the HomCom up here arresting anyone?”
Fred said, “Can someone please check the Evernet for an official announcement.”
Wes said, “There’s all sorts of contradictory statements, but nothing I’d call official.”
“That’s good enough for me,” said Abbie. But still she hesitated with the shoe.
Alice, the joan, said, “Imagine—no more slugs sneaking up on you when you least expect it.”
“No more slugs swimming in your bath,” said Sofi, the helena.
“Or biting you in your sleep,” said Gwyn.
“Or having the power to decide if you’re friend or foe,” said Wes.
“People,” Alice said, tears rolling down her cheeks, “we are privileged to witness the end of a dark era.”
Fred waited for her to append some typically joan bit of sarcasm, but she didn’t.
“On the other hand,” said Peter, making good jerome sense, “if they are worth ten or twelve UDC each, and if they are being destroyed and recycled by free-range trash without criminal consequences, then it constitutes a new form of dole and an unfair tax burden on the rest of us.”
“Unless the rest of us get in on it,” said Mariola.
“Okay, okay. Here goes,” Abbie said and again raised the shoe.
“Please don’t,” Fred said. “You risk so much.”