Chapter 24

The stern rap of Sheila’s opening gavel muted but did not extinguish the murmuring voices of dozens of private conversations. The posture of the Colony’s leader appeared poised and relaxed as she held the gavel in the ready position with her elbow bent at a forty-five-degree angle for several long seconds as she waited for silence. Beneath Sheila’s placid surface, I spotted a ripple of anxiety as she unconsciously polished the gavel’s wood handle with her thumb.

I’ve called enough gatherings to order over my lifetime; the job of moderating a meeting was as thankless as it was important. Folks who don’t know better think the chair is the ruler of the conclave. Not true. In a democratic assembly, the majority rule the gathering under the guidance of leadership and the organization’s bylaws.

The meeting’s power resided in its decisions and not in its deliberations. The chairperson’s job is to help guide the gathering toward a consensus, or at least a majority vote to empower a course of action.

Over the next several seconds, all eyes turned toward Sheila as pools of conversation evaporated into silence and the assembly hall became as hushed as a sanctuary’s congregation gathered in prayer.

I had to respect Sheila’s skill as a parliamentarian. She relied far less on the weight of her gavel as she did on the authority of her personality to bring the meeting to order. At the moment of maximum silence, with a flourish, she dropped the hammer and slammed the gavel down on the sounding block. The resounding crack of wood on wood echoed throughout the hall.

“This meeting of the Society of Sisters is now in session.” Sheila glanced around the room, smiled, cleared her throat and spoke the ritual words used to open every formal gathering of the sisters. “All those wishing to be heard, rise and be recognized. Speak truthfully so that we may better know your mind. The purpose of today’s meeting is twofold.”

She paused and turned to face Alice. “First, as a Board of Inquiry, we will examine the circumstances involving the loss and recovery of Hunter One.” Sheila pushed her chair back as she rose to her feet, leaned forward with her hands braced on the edge of the table.

“The second agenda item is more, err, delicate. Against our will, we have a man living with us. What are we going to do with him?” Sheila scanned the faces of the assembled sisters. “This isn’t a rhetorical question. We’ve got a problem, and he’s sitting right there,” Sheila turned and pointed her finger at me. “What are we going to do about this man?” Sheila asked as the rising chatter of the sisters became a din of noise as the implications of her question became apparent.

Great! She had dumped the question of my future into the collective laps of the Sisterhood. Sheila looked into my face, and we made eye contact. To compensate for my hearing loss, I had become fairly proficient at lip-reading. I was certain she mouthed the words, “Don’t you worry.” Either that or she had whispered, “You’re fucked.”

“This tribunal will render its decision on Mr. Richards’ future status after we have concluded the Board of Inquiry. As always, Rita’s Rules of Order will govern the conduct of our meeting. We have a sacred covenant to respect each other and keep each other safe. We are our sister’s keepers. Are there any questions before we proceed?”

I licked my dry lips as the circular muscles of my sphincter clamped shut while my testicles crawled into my body and my bladder shrunk two sizes. An “Oh shit!” feeling came over me, and I urgently needed a bathroom break. My future had become the prize in a high stakes chess game with unknown pieces and uncertain rules.

I pushed my chair back, climbed to my feet, and faced Sheila and asked, “Excuse me. May I ask a question?”

My sudden movement took Sheila by surprise. She took a half-step backward. “Of course, what do you want to know?”

I glanced around at the roomful of fully dressed women and turned to Sheila. “Can I use the restroom before we get started?”

The rising tide of tension crested and broke as waves of laughter washed over the room.

“We’ll take a short recess to allow Mr. Richards to attend to his needs. While I escort him to the toilet, we will stand in recess,” Sheila declared as she tapped the gavel. “We’ll reconvene in five minutes.”

As Sheila led me out of the multimedia center, the woman with the rust-red hair appeared at our side.

“We’re a friendly escort,” she laughed and raced to catch up with us.

From the bulge on her hip, it was my guess our new friend was carrying a weapon. Sheila glanced at our new companion and looked at me, a fleeting grimace crossed her face. I didn’t want to read too much into a glance, but I had the feeling she didn’t want company.

“Wait here and keep an eye on things,” Sheila said to our chaperone as she led me to a restroom a few doors down the corridor.

“Be quick and listen,” Sheila hissed as she pushed me through the doorway. “No time to talk. Stay calm, stay cool. Just be yourself. Everything will be fine. Trust me.”