Chapter 1

“The first meeting of the Maple Street Chowder and Intergalactic Exploration Society will now come to order,” I intoned from my lofty position as High Chief Muckitey-Muck, Lord of All He Surveys.

“Yeah, yeah. Get on with it” murmured my worshipful sycophants.

“Now that we have re-organized as the Maple Street Chowder and Intergalactic Exploration Society, we will begin with a new set of minutes of the meetings. We will also no longer try to maintain conformance with any particular set of rules of order, since you assholes are either too dumb or too smart to determine the difference between old business and new business.”

I paused for a slug of Venusian beer. The taste wasn’t all that great, but it made Old Yeller growl.

“First, let’s get a report from our treasurer. How are we doing on the financial side, Hank?”

Hank Roberts took the floor, with a pile of spreadsheets nearly as high as his head.

“Damn, Hank,” I told him, “You don’t need to account for every individual nut, bolt and screw in your report.”

“Worshipful Master High Muckitey-Muck. These are not the detailed reports. These are single sheet summaries of each individual active project.”

“No shit? I had no idea we were so active. How in the hell do you keep up with that many projects?”

“It is a chore, but at least most of them are long range projects. Some only report every few months. When you send people out to colonize other worlds, they seem to have more on their minds than reporting to the home world.”

“How do you find the time to even enter sporadic data into so many projects?”

Hank blushed slightly. “I, um, solicit help where possible.”

“Such as?”

“The guys waiting in line to aid in the Moon maiden project have been helpful. They have a good bit of time on their hands, especially when Big Joe is at bat. We also give away one of Gloria’s DVDs for each hour of volunteer work.”

“Hmmmh. Good idea. Sign me up for three hours. Ok, can you give us an overall summary?”

“Overall, we are ahead by $563,783,452,777.63, but it’s all tied up in Unobtainium futures.”

“Unobtainium futures?”

“Yes. The broker gave me his personal word that we will be able to buy thirty or forty countries outright when this thing hits.”

Oh, shit. It just dawned on me. “What is your educational background, Hank?” “I am happy to say that I have a PhD in Bean Counting from Hahvahd.”

“You’ve never taken a science course in your life, have you?”

“No. Why should I? The American Mismanagement Association says that a good manager can manage anything. There is no need to be knowledgeable about the business or product. The only thing that matters is the bottom line.”

“I see. Then what is our net worth without the Unobtainium component?”

“Give me just a moment. Ah!, here it is. Without the Unobtainium component, we have a net worth of $112,483.67, negative.”

“And how did it come about that we are so far in the hole?”

“The primary factor was the prepayment of the five million dollar commission to the commodities broker.”

“I see. I think all the brothers see. Hank, your only hope of leaving this room alive is to provide full and complete details of all your contacts and transactions with this feather merchant. Furthermore, if your bank records show the slightest increase that can be traced back to this wonderful investment you made, you should abandon all hope for a speedy recovery. Take him away, boys”

Bang, bang, bang went the gavel.

“I declare a 30-minute break while Hank volunteers his information. Did anyone see where Kelley and Nelly went?”

Bang, bang, bang went the gavel.

“The meeting will come back to order. Does anyone have news?”

A very old gentleman from the back of the room with a huge grin on his face was wildly jumping up and down and asking to be recognized.

“Sir”, I intoned in my most resonant voice, “Are you a member of this society? I don’t recognize you and this is a closed meeting.”

The old man sprang to his feet. “Of course I am a member, you lunkhead. I’m Robert Goddard, named after the father of rocketry.”

“Sir, you cannot be the Robert Goddard who is a member of this society. That Robert Goddard is 27 years old and for the past three weeks has been on his way to the center of the universe as the pilot of a scientific discovery ship. Please leave now or you may join Hank as he leaves--and in the same condition.”

“No, your worshipful High Mukety-Muckedness, it’s me, Bobby. Who else knows about that time we visited the Snelling sis--”

I cut him off as quickly as possible, to spare embarrassment to the beautiful Snelling sisters--and perhaps myself, as well.

“Very well. The chair recognizes Robert Goddard--even if I don’t. What happened, Bobby? Why do you appear to be 147 years old and why are you grinning like a jackass eating sawbriars?”

“You ain’t gonna believe this, Jake, but I found it.”

“Found what?”

“I found the fucking Fountain of Youth.”

“From the looks of you, it works pretty damned good, I would say.”

“That’s just the point, It doesn’t work on men. It only works on women.”

“You mean... ?”

“That’s exactly what I mean. Any woman I take there immediately is changed into a teenage sexpot with all the right stuff in all the right places.”

“How much do they pay you?”

“Pay? Why would I ask for payment from such enormously grateful girls?”

“I see. Then that explains the stupid grin on your face, doesn’t it?”

“Unhuh.”

“It also explains the fact that you look like death warmed over after a long, long time in storage.”