“However,” I went on, “I do want us to try to recognize the good in things. Like my mom. And Ella. And chocolate-chip cookies. It just seems like we shouldn’t let our enemies make us all bitter and full of hate and stuff.”
I waited for everyone to give me a hard time about being all Hallmarky.
“Oh, yeah, ix-nay on the ate-hay,” said Fang.
“Who are you, and what have you done with the real Max?” Iggy asked.
“Ha ha. So I think we should take turns naming three good things that have happened to us. Who wants to start?” I said brightly.
Silence.
“Nudge?”
“Um,” she said.
“Well, dinner was delicious,” said Total. I gave him a Look. “Okay, okay,” he said. “Um, well, no one tried to kill us today.”
“That’s one,” I agreed.
“We’re all together,” he said.
“Okay, two. You’re doing good. Go on.”
“I don’t have fleas.”
I was taken aback. “Uh, yep, I guess that’s true. That’s a good thing.” Couldn’t deny it.
Total looked pleased.
“I don’t have fleas,” said Iggy.
“Bet you do,” Gazzy said.
I sighed as the discussion dissolved into accusations and defenses. I would try again tomorrow. Sometimes this leader stuff was a huge pain in the butt.
20
Subterranean
The salt dome located a quarter of a mile below the earth’s surface could easily have held several football stadiums. Though salt domes occured naturally in many different places on the globe, this one happened to be beneath a certain country in middle Europe. During World Wars I and II, many national treasures had been stored here to avoid destruction by Allied bombs. Nowadays there was talk of turning this enormous network of caves and tunnels, most as wide as four-lane highways, into an impermeable storage center for radioactive waste.
“Since those fools keep producing nuclear power without having the slightest idea of what to do with its toxic by-products,” the Uber-Director muttered to himself. His small motorized chair wheeled silently over the smooth crystalline floors. Eventually, perhaps, this cavern would be sold, and the Uber-Director would have to relocate his base of operations. But for right now, this was a most acceptable, and unusually safe, headquarters.
Heavy lines of cable, some almost a foot in diameter, snaked down from the surface, bringing electricity, water, fresh air. In addition, mobile, self-contained air scrubbers hummed quietly as they scooted from room to room, trapping carbon dioxide and releasing oxygen. When they touched a barrier, they simply reversed and scooted off in another direction. The Uber-Director himself didn’t use that much oxygen — only 23 percent of his being required oxygen to function. But stale air was unpleasant.
The Uber-Director’s conference room was off the main tunnel. It adjoined his actual “office” and held an antique table whose top had been hewn from a single slab of rosewood. A bank of plasma screens, five wide and four high, covered most of one wall.
“Sir?”
A human assistant stood nearby, head lowered in respect.
“Have the arrangements been made?” asked the Uber-Director.
“Yes, sir. Everything is prepared. The auction preview can begin at your signal.”
“Excellent. Have all the parties accepted the invitation to attend?”
The assistant straightened proudly. “Yes, sir. All of them.”