Beckon

George had to admit he’d made plenty of connections with congressmen and senators. He’d even had his picture taken with a president or two. He’d become an excellent negotiator in his day, making countless deals over eighteen holes and drinks, but he failed to see how his talents would be of much use to Vale—or why he would even have need of them. Besides, all that effort took a lot of time and energy, and really… how many good years did George even have left in him?

He came to a window at the end of the hall and saw a flash of light outside, like sunlight reflecting off something metallic. The window overlooked the main garage entrance, and George looked down to see a white passenger van backing up to one of the four bays. The windows were tinted, but George could see two men up front. The man on the passenger side got out. He was dressed in a green jacket and blue jeans with a black cap pulled low over his eyes. The driver got out as well—a giant of a man, closing in on seven feet, barrel-chested and thick-limbed. He was bald with a thick black goatee on his chin. The guy reminded George of one of those professional wrestlers.

George watched as the bay door opened and Henderson appeared. He spoke with the two men briefly and then opened the side door. From his vantage point, George could tell someone was sitting in the backseat. He only saw a glimpse of a leg, but he could swear there was more than one passenger. He just couldn’t tell how many.

Henderson closed the side door quickly and motioned for the big man to back the van into the bay.

The man in the black cap followed the van inside, and then the bay door closed.

George bit the inside of his cheek. Other than Vale himself, the only people George had seen here over the last couple days were Amanda, Henderson, and Browne. And now a whole vanload of people showed up. He wondered who the two new guys were and who the passengers in the van might be. People from town? Or visitors perhaps?

He decided to head downstairs, hoping that while everyone else was occupied with the newcomers, he could get a look in Vale’s office. Maybe he could learn more about the perilium.

The whole place was eerily quiet. Not a soul in sight. George continued through the lobby and down the corridor toward Vale’s office.

Suddenly Vale emerged from the door at the end of the hall. George guessed it led to the garages.

George stopped in his tracks, unsure how to react. He’d been given some liberty to move about the lodge during their stay, but he hoped now that he hadn’t raised any suspicions. The last thing he needed was for Vale to think he’d been snooping around.

Even though he had.

But Vale just smiled. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’m planning to have the others up for dinner tonight. A little celebration in honor of Miriam’s recovery. And it’ll give you a chance to get to know everyone better.”

George put on his best look of pleasant surprise. “Well… that sounds wonderful. I think Miriam will enjoy that.”

“Excellent. We’ll meet in the dining hall around six o’clock.”

“Six o’clock. I’m looking forward to it.” George beat a hasty retreat to his room, where he found Miriam up and apparently enjoying the view out the windows. She looked radiant, George thought. Better even than she had that morning.

“So Vale’s throwing a party tonight,” he said. “Apparently it’s a celebration in honor of your recovery.”

“Lovely,” Miriam said. “Will there be any food? I’m starving.”

“All-you-can-eat Dagwood sandwiches.” George tried to sound jovial.

“In that case, I better take a shower.”

They both showered and dressed and two hours later went downstairs, where they found the dining hall decked out with cocktails and appetizers while several people milled about the room. Classical music was playing in the background, and Amanda was bustling in and out of the kitchen.

Dwight Henderson was there along with Malcolm Browne and a tall brunette whom Malcolm introduced as his wife, Loraine. Loraine immediately engaged Miriam in small talk and pulled her toward the food table.

Vale waved George over and introduced him to another couple. The man was even shorter than Henderson but with a thick mop of black hair slicked back across his head. He was with a tall, dreary-looking redhead who seemed to look past George instead of at him.

“This is Sam Huxley,” Vale said. “And his wife, Eleanor. Sam’s the lawyer here in Beckon. In fact, we were just discussing the terms of our agreement, and he’s getting all the paperwork together. I trust we can find a time in the next day or so to finalize the arrangement?”

“Yes… of course.” George shook hands with Huxley as the enormity of this decision struck him. The arrangement. The multimillion-dollar arrangement that would alter the rest of his life. Not to mention Miriam’s.

“Good.” Vale slapped George’s shoulder. “I’d also like to discuss your role in our community in more detail at some point.”

George pressed a smile onto his face. “Yes… yes, of course.”

With that, Vale steered him toward the others in the room. The first man was medium height but with a solid, muscular build, a square jaw, and a tight crew cut. George recognized him as one of the men from the van. To George he looked like a military man. Or ex-military.

“Frank Carson,” Vale said. “Our local law enforcement.”

George nodded.

Carson shook his hand with a tight grip and a terse “Goodameetcha.”

Beside Carson stood the hulking driver with the shaved head and black goatee.

“Henry Mulch.” Vale gestured to him. “He’s sort of our all-around handyman.”

Mulch didn’t even bother with a handshake but seemed content with a nod and a grunt. And with a name like Mulch, George hadn’t really expected much more.

There was another couple hovering over the appetizer table. Vale introduced them as Max and Fiona Dunham. They gave George weak, European handshakes, and from their lofty British accents he wasn’t surprised.

“Delighted to meet you,” they both said in highbrow, nasal tones.

“Max manages our finances,” Vale explained. “He and Fiona came over from England a while back and just fell in love with Wyoming. So they decided to stay.”

George noticed how Vale seemed occupied with the careers of each of his guests, as if to point out how each member fit into the community, perhaps indicating how he hoped George and Miriam would fit in someday as well.

George, however, felt increasingly uncomfortable. At first he wasn’t sure why, but now it dawned on him. There was no one else his age here. Apparently no other seniors from town had been invited to Vale’s little party. Not that George minded the company of younger people; he just found that age and experience often produced a certain level of camaraderie with others who’d been through the same struggles in life.

And he suddenly felt alone and out of place.

As if sensing George’s discomfort, Vale gestured across the room. “Everyone here has been in the same situation you are in now, George. Each one has faced some incurable disease and found a miracle cure in perilium.”

“So they all had to move here too?”

“None of them were forced to move here against their will,” Vale said. “They were prematurely facing death and recognized this as a reasonable cost for what they were being offered.”

“Better to live in Beckon than die in Texas, eh?” George grunted.

Vale spread his hands. “Is our little community such a dreary place? Is it such an unacceptable trade?”

George glanced around the room. Everyone seemed pleasant enough—perhaps with the exception of Carson and Mulch. “And everyone here seems to have their own special job to do—their own role to fill?”

“As in any community.”

“I assume they were all considered suitable candidates, just like us? Meaning they were wealthy enough to afford your treatment.”

Vale shrugged. “Unfortunately at present there’s just not enough perilium for everyone in the world. So the resulting cost makes access prohibitive for some—as is the case with any scarce resource. But you must