I had to join a committee before I heard of George, though. That’s the way those things work.
It was a special committee for organizing a testimonial banquet for Witherspoon on his 40th year in the party. I
wound up in the subcommittee to determine a testimonial gift for the old buffer. I knew damned well that we’d be expected to start the subscription for the gift rolling, so I suggested a handsome—and—inexpensive—illuminated scroll with a sentiment lettered on it. The others were scandalized. One fat old woman called me “cheap” and a fat male pay-roller came close to accusing me of irregularity, at which I was supposed to tremble and withdraw my suggestion. I stood on my rights, and wrote a minority report standing up for the scroll while the majority of the subcommittee agreed on an inscribed sterling tea service.
At the next full committee meeting we delivered our reports and I thought it would come to a vote right away. But it seemed they weren’t used to there being two opinions about anything. They were flustered, and the secretary slipped out with both reports during a five-minute adjournment. He came back and told me, beaming, “Chenery says George liked your idea.” The committee was reconvened and because George likedHmy idea my report was adopted and I was appointed a subcommittee of one to procure the scroll.
I didn’t learn any more about George after the meeting except that some people who liked me were glad I’d been favorably noticed and others were envious about the triumph of the Johnny-come-lately.
I asked Chenery in the bar. He laughed at my ignorance and said, “George Parsons.”
“Publisher of the Phoenix? I thought he was an absentee owner.”
“He doesn’t spend a lot of time on Frostbite. At least I dont think he does. As a matter of fact, I don’t know a lot about his comings and goings. Maybe Weems does.”
“He swings a lot of weight in the Organization.”
Chenery looked puzzled. “I guess he does at that Every once in a while he does speak up and you generally do what he says. It’s the paper, I suppose. He could wreck any of the boys.” Chenery wasn’t being irregular: newsmen are always in a special position.
I went back to the office and, late as it was, sent a note to the desk to get the one man subcommittee job cleaned up:
ATTN MCGILLICUDDY RE CLIENT RELATIONS NEED SOONEST ILLUMINATED SCROLL PRESENT HOMER WITHERSPOON PRESIDENT FROSTBITE
HONORING HIM 40 YEARS MEMBERSHIP FROSTBITE PLANETARY PARTY USUAL SENTIMENTS NOTE MUST BE TERRESTRIAL STYLE ART IF NOT ACTUAL WORK EARTHER ACCOUNT ANTIBEM PREJUDICE HERE FRBBUO END.
That happened on one of those Sundays which, according to Kennedy’s sardonic sked, was to be devoted to writing and filing enterprisers.
The scroll came through with a memo from McGil-licuddy: “Fyi ckng w/ clnt etif this gag wll hv ur hide. Reminder guppy’s firstest job offheading orchidbitches one which bypassed u yesterweek. How? McG”
There was a sadly sweet letter from Ellie aboard the same rust-bucket. She wanted me to come back to her, but not a broken man. She wanted me to do something really big on Frostbite to show what I had in me. She was sure that if I really looked there’d be something more to file than the copy I’d been sending in. Yeah.
Well, the big news that week would be the arrival of a loaded immigrant ship from Thetis of Procyon, a planet whose ecology had been wrecked beyond repair in a few short generations by DDT, hydraulic mining, unrestricted logging, introduction of rabbits and house cats and the use of poison bait to kill varmints. In a few thousand years maybe the planet would have topsoil, cover crops, forests, and a balanced animal population again, but Thetis as of now was a ruin whose population was streaming away to whatever havens it could find.
Frostbite had agreed to take 500 couples provided they were of terrestrial descent and could pass a means test—that is, provided they had money to be fleeced of. They were arriving on a bottom called Esmeralda. According to my year-old “LLOYDS’ SHIPPING INDEX”—”exclusive accurate and up-to-date, being the result of daily advices from every part of the galaxy”—Esmeralda was owned by the Frimstedt Atomic Astrogation Company, Gammadion, gross tonnage 830,000, net tonnage 800,000, class GX—”freighter/steerage passengers”—insurance rating: hull A, atomics A. The tonnage difference meant real room for only about 850. If she took the full 1,000 she’d be jammed. She was due to arrive at Frostbite in the very early morning. Normally I