Biting Point

copyright © 2009 by Robert L. Blau

"Just look at all the awards we got. Can't argue with that, right?"

"Uh, guess not." I fidgeted uneasily. "Mammoth skull, isn't it?"

"Yep. That's the piece dee resist-ants of the collection." Mr. Fang grinned proudly, his massive incisors fairly sparking in the lamp light. "That's the Mammoth Prize for Innovative Technology."

"Piece of something," I muttered, as indistinctly as possible. "Still fully tusked, I see."

"Beautiful, aren't they?" he crooned appreciatively.

"You're not afraid someone's going to trip and accidentally disembowel themselves? I mean, sitting right here in the lobby, as it is. Kind of blocks the way in." It had to be said.

"Oh, no," he scoffed, waving the notion off with his paw. "If you can't out-maneuver a dead mammoth, you don't deserve to be called a saber tooth."

"Maybe," I muttered. Some of my colleagues were getting a bit soggy of middle and slow of foot. That's civilization for you. "But to return to my concerns about this ... facility we have here ..."

"Biting point technology, this building is," replied Mr. Fang, cutting me off. "The La Brea Saber Tooth Center! Brought us straight to the forefront of the furry four-footed, it did. That's why we got all these awards."

"But the thing is," I pressed on, "the thing is, the foundation, you see, is sinking."

"Settling," said Mr. Fang with a flash of annoyance. "A little settling is to be expected."

"I'm afraid it's worse than that," I persisted. "A bit! It's the tar pit."

Mr. Fang raised a restraining paw. "Construction on tar pits is no longer allowed," he said. "You know that!"

I gave him a skeptical look.

"With very few exceptions!" he added quickly. "Which we have only discovered recently and will stop immediately! Or pretty soon. Probably."

"But here's the real problem," I continued. "We built too close to that huge adjoining tar pit, and now we're slowly sliding into it."

"The price of land, you know ...," explained Mr. Fang feebly.

"But we can fix this," I said reassuringly. "We can shore up and stabilize the foundation. I have a plan for doing that."

Mr. Fang hesitated. "I need you to run it by Tawny and Claw," he said.

"Fair enough," I replied.

 

Tawny reviewed construction plans. Claw was our chief structural engineer.

I can't say that Tawny's response was underwhelming, but it was whelming at best.

"It looks as good as it can, as far as I know," said Tawny.

"So, that's an ok?" I asked optimistically.

"It may or may not be an ok," replied Tawny.

"Beg pardon?" I squeaked.

"I can't find anything wrong with your plans," said Tawny, "but that doesn't mean there's nothing wrong with them."

"If you can't find anything wrong with them, then you approve them, right?" I prompted.

"Not necessarily," said Tawny.

"Then you disapprove them?" I asked.

"Not necessarily," said Tawny.

"It has to be one or the other," I insisted.

"Not necessarily," said Tawny. "Look, it's my job to give you a clear maybe-maybe not. I've done that. Take it to Claw."

 

"I'm not comfortable with this," said Claw.

"Um, what do you mean, 'not comfortable?'" I asked.

"Ill at ease, not copasetic, not fuzzily warm nor warmly fuzzy."

"No, I mean, why aren't you comfortable with this?"

"It's too complicated," said Claw. "Something could go wrong."

"Something worse than sliding into a huge tar pit, you mean?" I inquired.

"Building on tar pits is forbidden," said Claw helpfully.

"That's as may be," I sighed, "but this building, the one we're in, is about to take a great, big tar bath."

"You mess with the foundations, you don't know what could happen," replied Claw. "It could affect the walls, the windows, the roof."

"As opposed to the entire structure winding up in the sticky soup," I observed.

"It's too risky," said Claw.

 

I went back to Mr. Fang.

"If Claw isn't comfortable, I'm not comfortable," said Mr. Fang. "And Tawny didn't clear you."

"Tawny is afraid she'll get blamed for something," I protested. "Some unknown thing. Claw is afraid he'll get blamed for some unknown thing. I'm the only one who can name a specific thing that will happen, if we don't take action pretty darn quick. You are the boss. You can make the decision."

"I don't like your attitude," growled Mr. Fang, menacingly flashing two of the Cenozoic's finest. "And I am not about to be bullied by my own employees." Ah, at least, I was beginning to understand why Tawny and Claw were so afraid of doing anything.

"Anyway," continued Mr. Fang, "I don't have the time or resources for this. We have higher priorities."

I was afraid to ask, but I couldn't help myself. "What higher priorities?"

"Management wants us to put another floor on this building." Mr. Fang smiled with satisfaction.

I had a sticky premonition of the future.