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The World Wide Corporation’s board room was noisy as he walked in. Bubb-ya Schrub fought down the rising nausea he always felt when he knew he was “on.” The unusual December heat in Technopolis was getting to everyone and they would look to him for answers. He wanted to shout at them to turn up their air conditioners, but Roger warned him against saying anything like that. Ignoring the wanton use of energy and global warming was political suicide.
The room slowly quieted, waiting for him to speak. He wanted to blurt out that it was all a sham, that he was scared, that his vision for the planet Earth was …ah, maybe flawed. He looked around and saw the predictable sea of faces, waiting for some Earth-shaking pronouncement from him that would take them into new arenas of peace, prosperity, long life, green energy, and whatever else was good in the Universe. He looked for one face that he could relate to, rely on, seek strength from. All he saw was his father’s face, over and over. Glaring. Daring him to be anything but that weak kid who hid from trying out for Yale’s baseball team. Well, he’d show him what he was really made of.
Bubb-ya licked his upper lip and fought off an impulse to wipe the sweat that was forming just above his right eye. He couldn’t appear weak to the billions of Visi-screens this broadcast was being transmitted to. Or was that this afternoon’s appearance? Who could keep it all straight.
Bubb-ya began. “Ah’m acceptin’ the reservation of…” Roger Shoreline, his chief aide and handler, glared at him as Bubb-ya squinted at the Visi-monitor, then up at Roger. “Er sorry, Rog, …eh, resignation of mah Chief-of-Staff Andrew Carver.” Roger glared again.
Bubb-ya looked down over the board members who were clearly puzzled. Carver paled to a lighter shade and looked stunned. He blurted out, “What?”
Bubb-ya glared back at Roger, who was glaring at him. “Yew told him,
didn’t yew?” Bubb-ya hissed.
Roger shook his head and waved Bubb-ya off.
“Well, no harm done,” Bubb-ya grinned good-naturedly at Carver who didn’t grin back. “You were going to resign. You just didn’t know it yet!” Bubb-ya chuckled at his witticism.
“Y’all know it is the right thing to do, the prudent thing to do, for the good a’ the country…eh, eh, er...Ah mean, the World Wide Corporation…. Ah get confused between headin’ up this here bidness and the good old UE, which stands for…uh, uh…” He looked toward Roger who mouthed United Earth. Bubb-ya nodded. “Oh, yeah, thank ’ya Roger, which stands for Yoo-nahted Europe. Ah want to thank y’all for appointin’ me to a seat on the Yoo-nahted Europe’s…”
Roger gave him the old TV floor manager sign to keep moving.
Bubb-ya nodded. “Any other bidness before lunch?”
He looked at the table, but most of the board members didn’t return his glance, too embarrassed and worried over the latest “resignation.”
“Ah, ah…” His eyes flicked around the left side of the table. He looked down at the notes in his Visi-prompter. “We’re …ah… gonna have lunch catered… ah… in.” He grinned with what his mother had told him was his wry, boyish grin at the people on the right side of the table.
“Chah-neeese, ladies and gents. We’re bein catered by Yum-Yums!” There was a rustle in a room that up to now, had been unnaturally quiet. He looked up at the static Visi-camera broadcasting this to the billions, though in reality, maybe two or three people were actually watching. “Yum-Yums is one of Technopolis’s moderately priced… maybe conservatively priced would be better phrased…hahaha…so you know the company’s money is not bein’ wasted…” He looked a little annoyed at Roger who was frowning his disapproval.
“So, ouwah first ordah a bidness is to get y’all’s orders. Menus are just behind the printed agenda.” There was rustling as everyone fished out the Yum-Yum one-page lunch menu. Then the room got quieter.
Bubb-ya brightened. He was on firmer ground now. This was what he did best: Homespun. His handlers, especially his speech writer, told him it was his connection to the People. Just an Ordinary Guy connecting with the kind of people who went to Yum-Yums. Just the ticket.
Still standing, Bubb-ya pointed to an older man in a suit and a turban. “Ah… Ferd..Feo…” Bubb-ya consulted his Visi-prompter again. “Ah…Ah’ll jest call ya Fred. So Fred, what’ll it be? You look like a Cashew Chicken man ta me. Ah’ll put you down for one.” He looked up, paused for dramatic effect. “Y’all get fried rice with that.”
A woman, see-through thin, at the other end of the table called out, “I’ll have the Cashew Chicken, but I don’t want my fried rice.”
The two other women at the table looked hungry but, before they could get over feeling greedy, the man next to them, Charles Bartlet, called out, “I’ll take Carie’s rice,” and shrugged at the glares from the two women.
Car-ith bristled. While she certainly didn’t want the freaking rice, she also didn’t want a board member with opposing views to her agenda, hidden or otherwise, to have it either. And she certainly would not tolerate being called Carie. Not by that little nit. Not even her mother dared call her Carie.
“I have changed my mind,” she said regally. “I will have my rice, Mr. Schrub.” She struggled with her composure, found an icy-cold face, and focused it at Bartlet. “And not even you Mr. Bartlet,” she said, freezing his heart, “may call me Carie.”
Bartlet caught the intended menace.
Bubb-ya looked over at Roger, his advisor, who was struggling to stay upright in his chair. Car-ith frightened everyone, except maybe Bubb-ya.
“Let us commence … ah, ah, continue with the meeting. Ah call the board of World Wide Corporation to order to discuss the advisability of sponsoring a Military presence on the Moon.”
Car-ith paled and Roger covered his eyes for a minute before regaining his composure. He shook his head at Bubb-ya trying to get him to back down. Although bringing up this prickly issue just before lunch was good strategy, Roger wanted to maybe shoot Bubb-ya, or himself. Bubb-ya had gotten the wrong agenda. As WWC’s appointee to the United Earth, he was supposed to spring it on that governing body at their meeting just before the Wintermas break. Most members would already have left for home, and the ones who stuck around for this traditionally only ceremonial meeting would not be prepared to debate the most sensitive subject of Military involvement on the Moon.
Bubb-ya’s slip had just informed the whole world. Trips would be interrupted, research would be done. And every appointee to UE would show up at this meeting, making the outcome of the Military no longer the slam dunk it was designed to be.
Bubb-ya looked over at Roger to see if he could sit down yet, but the man was frowning and tapping his temple in a well-rehearsed signal that Bubb-ya was forgetting something. Bubb-ya frowned back. He had no idea what he just did.
Car-ith spoke and everyone listened. “What my esteemed colleague means, if I may,” she flashed her imitation smile at Bubb-ya who automatically smiled back, “is that we need to launch an initiative to build a resort on the Moon to attract tourists. Now what I propose is that it be a health spa to tie in to the anti-aging product campaign. A special one-of-a-kind spa where you undergo a special anti-aging process, not available anywhere on Earth.”
Bubb-ya said, “And, ah, ah…and to explore which of our subsidiaries should build the spy…uh, Ah mean spa.”
The rotund president of the Visi entertainment division of WWC added in an overly-confident tone, “And a reality show to track key people’s Moon progress on the resort.” Car-ith nodded toward him in satisfaction. This was going where she wanted it to go.
“And the publicity from that show,” she finished for the Visi president, will spark sales in CABEL’s over-the-counter anti-aging products. And assure that the future of the Longevi-lite line is, well, bright.”
Roger, though he would never ask it out loud, wondered what in the world this anti-aging Longevi-lite treatment was all about and why didn’t Bubb-ya know about it? Being Bubb-ya’s handler, he knew at least in a cursory way, what was being developed at each of the WWC divisions. Only CABEL, the division Car-ith ran, stood out as pretty much an unknown quantity. Roger wasn’t even sure what CABEL stood for, only that it showed a profit on the books, but whatever it did or made was so scientific as to not be understandable. Still, it must be the source of this new product. He could understand the need for secrecy, but why hide it from the WWC board?
“Ha, hem, ha,” Bubb-ya snorted with his stilted laughter, “Ah therefore propose we install Military on the Moon to protect this resort, anti-aging spa from poachers.” Like anything, even a military presence, would stop industrial espionage. Bubb-ya wasn’t thinking about that. He just liked guns and the idea of space wars.
Roger risked a glance at Car-ith. He knew that look. She was furious that Bubb-ya didn’t get it that the Military on the Moon idea was a closely guarded corporate secret. Roger knew he would once again take the brunt of Bubb-ya’s idiocies. Like he could control Bubb-ya. Like anyone could. Bubb-ya took the impasse as a signal that it was all right to sit down. He sat.
Car-ith jumped to her feet in a nervous huff, her thin fingers fluttering. “Before we discuss how to launch CABEL’s new Longevi-lite, there is some old business to discuss. The universal ban on smoking and the accompanying legislation making it a felony is being eroded on some parts of the planet. I propose we set up a committee to investigate our options for exploiting how we can use that erosion to promote the new longevity product.”
Bubb-ya jumped up also. This he could handle.
“Ah propose Car-ith Medusa to head up that committee. Maybe y’all can see it in your heart to build that resort on the plot of the Moon I own,” he added coyly, “and tie it in with the old ‘smoking makes you old before your time’ thing.
“I accept,” said Car-ith quickly and sat down, picking at a cuticle with satisfaction. It was going better now. The Board seemed to have forgotten the whole Military thing and was busy discussing the merits of strengthening the tobacco ban and how to influence the UE to better enforce it.
Roger grabbed Bubb-ya on his way to the men’s room. “Sir,” he said, “you know you have a press conference this afternoon.”
Bubb-ya looked stricken. “Wadn’t this the press conference? Ah swear, Rog, Ah never know which hat Ah’m wearing. WWC board chairman or member of UE?”
“Don’t you worry, Sir. I’ll let you know when the time comes. You just show up.” Roger thought about taking up drinking.
Car-ith left the board table to make a private Visi-call. She needed to meet with the CABEL senior management before the press got hold of Bubb-ya’s Military plans. She spoke briefly, broke the connection thoughtfully, smiled her thin smile, and returned to the board table. From all indications, Bubb-ya’s Military mistake would be contained.
Car-ith Medusa wanted a cigarette very badly.
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