3.6
On the way home after work, Bogdan witnessed two more blooms. One was in a tube station where a bead car inflated like a balloon (with a hapless passenger trapped inside), and the other was way up the side of a gigatower where a whole section of outer wall was blinking on and off like a lightning bug. None of this would happen on Planet Lisa, he was sure.
Arriving home at the Kodiak building, Bogdan didn’t even give the wayward front door a chance to deny him entry; he ducked in through the NanoJiffy instead.
On the way past the third-floor administrative offices, he was stopped by Kale who asked him to step in for a minute. Kale, April, and Kitty were in the outer office with an elderly couple, who stood up to greet him. The visitors wore black overalls with little pink-orange-green lapel pins, chartist colors that Bogdan didn’t recognize. They held out thin arms and crooked fingers to shake his hand. They were so old that Bogdan couldn’t be sure if they were male or female. Whatever charter this was, they had way serious body issues.
“Bogdan,” Kale said, “say hello to the Myren Beadlemyren.”
Bogdan’s jaw dropped. Was this the charter that owned the superfund micromines in Wyoming? The Kodiaks’ potential saviors?
“The Beadlemyren are in town for tomorrow’s Rendezvous,” Kale went on, “and were kind enough to drop by for dinner.” Kale, and April too, were wearing their best clothes, trimmed in Kodiak’s brown-yellow-white. Kale seemed even more ill at ease than usual, and April was atypically silent. Only Kitty, wearing a Japanese schoolgirl uniform, complete with knee-high white stockings, seemed in her element.
“Hello, young man,” one of the Beadlemyren said. “Your ’meets have been bragging about your important upreffing engineering.”
“Yes, indeed,” Kitty put in. She stepped next to Bogdan and encircled him in her arms. “Boggy is a demographics specialist. Practically in management.”
The two old codgers leaned in to inspect him with rheumy eyes. Their breath had a hint of Samson’s odor. Their arms were streaked in red where they had been scratching themselves.
“That’s right,” Bogdan said, “and tomorrow they’re going to bestow some award on me.”
“We’re pretty proud of him,” Kale said. “Go on up now and change, Boggy, dear. We’ll do a quick Soup Pot Ceremony, and then the Beadlemyren will join us for dinner.”
THE SOUP POT Ceremony was indeed quick that evening. Only house members who actually had hard currency to donate were invited up. This included Bogdan who contributed his day’s payfer without, for once, drawing the whole procedure out.
When the abbreviated ceremony was finished, Houseer Kale said, “We have two very important guests waiting to join us. They’re hungry after their journey, so let’s not make them wait too long.”
The housemeets had been forewarned to dress up, and they all wore freshly extruded togs. Most of them were preparing for Rondy and so had their hair newly trimmed and their hoary old skin planed smooth.
“I don’t think I need to remind you,” Kale continued, “how important it is that we broaden our membership base. When Sam—well, when Sam leaves us, we’ll be down to sixteen members. Any fewer and we’ll slip below the statutory minimum for charter status. That could jeopardize our special community privileges, including our discounted insurance rates, our fee waivers, tax credits, and a host of other subsidies. April could lose the NanoJiffy, and I don’t need to spell out what that could mean.
“In order to prevent such a disaster,” Kale went on, “the Steering Committee has been in confidential discussion with our guests’ charter for some months.”
There were murmurs of surprise and concern from the housemeets, and Kale raised his hands and continued. “Now, now, let me finish. We were going to wait until things firmed up a little before bringing this before the house, but tonight’s unexpected visit has forced us to at least give you the basics of the plan.”
The houseer, with the help of April and Gerald, proceeded to quickly sketch out the opportunity afforded by the Beadlemyren and their Rosewood Acres micromine. A babble of questions followed: Does that mean we’ll have to leave Chicago? Does that mean we’ll no longer be Kodiaks?
“We’ll have plenty of time later for discussion. We’re in no way committed to this plan, which is only in its exploratory stages, and frankly, the Beadlemyren have many more suitors than us, including, I am sorry to say, our Tobbler neighbors. I just wanted to give you a heads-up and ask you to be on your best behavior. And a critical word of warning—do not mention anything about the possibility of material pirates eating our building or especially about Hubert’s arrest last night. If this is going to work, we’ll need all of our assets. Let’s not shoot ourselves in the foot, people. Understood? Good. Megan, call them in.”
“Wait up,” April said. “Kale, aren’t we forgetting someone?”
The housemeets groaned, and Kale said, “Can’t that keep till later? We’re making our important guests wait.”
“No, it can’t, and I’ll be brief. I know how much it means to everyone to go to Rondy tomorrow, but the fact of the matter is that someone will have to stay home to be with Samson.”
A dead silence filled Green Hall. The housemeets glanced furtively among themselves to discover who might least miss attending Rendezvous. Barry and Francis, who were on the roof keeping vigil with Samson, let it be known through the houseputer that they weren’t volunteering to stay behind, in case anyone had that impression. They went on to boldly suggest that Kitty should be the one to stay with him.
All eyes went to Kitty. It made perfect sense. She was Samson’s favorite, after all. Kitty, however, had other ideas. She crossed her arms and screwed up her face in a perfect imitation of juvenile willfulness. No one, least of all April, imagined they could leave her behind.
In the end, April volunteered herself, as everyone knew she would. She would forgo the Rendezvous so that Samson’s last breath might be shared with a loved one.
“But that’s just not fair,” Rusty complained. “April has done more work than anybody here to prepare us for Rondy. She’s the one who ordered our special clothes, designed our booth, rented the omnibus, and arranged get-togethers with the other houses. If anyone deserves to go, it’s April.” When no one volunteered to take her place, Rusty said, “Okay, I’ll stay. April, you go to Rondy. I’m staying with Sam.”
This clearly would not do. Rusty had been preparing to attend Rondy for months. He’d grown new hair. He’d forced himself to overeat at every meal in order to put on a little weight. He was looking a good ten years younger. And besides, he was the one ’meet most likely to succeed in attracting a spouse at the Rendezvous and thus increase the house’s membership by one. He already had three different ladies from three different charters lined up to meet him.
“Thank you, Rusty,” April said. “I appreciate your offer. I really do. But I won’t hear of it. End of discussion.”
And so it was decided. Megan escorted the two visiting Beadlemyren to their places of honor at the head table, with Kitty seated between them. And though the meal consisted of dishes rarely seen at the Kodiak board—troutcorn chowder and veggie starters, an entree of beeflike Stroganoff, and for dessert, chocolate pie with ice cream and coffeesh, the mood in Green Hall was glum. Kale finally explained things to their guests, lest the Beadlemyren write them off as a sullen lot.
“One of our dear housemeets is gravely ill,” he said, “and we’re all attending to him in our thoughts.”