“You need money?” Kate said.
Mandy shrugged. “This place takes a lot to keep it going. Like I told you in October, my trust fund never covers all of it. Whatever prize money I got for a race always helped.” She put her hand over Chick’s. “We don’t want to live anywhere else. And besides.” Mandy spread her hands. “They keep canceling the races, Kate, or delaying them. There’s never enough snow anymore, or it all melts too soon and the trail just beats you to death. It was fifty-two degrees when we went through Cripple last year, did I tell you? Jesus. You can’t run dogs at those temperatures.”
She smiled at Mutt, sitting next to Kate, ears up, eyes inquiring. “And the competition gets stiffer every year. Publicity’s about ruined the Iditarod. Outsiders from Montana, Norwegians, for god’s sake, even a blind musher. What the hell’s that about?” She sat back in her chair. “It’s just not as much fun as it used to be.”
And you aren’t winning the way you used to, Kate thought, but she would have cut out her tongue before she said it out loud. “I told you I got shanghaied to be chair of the NNA board.”
“You did,” Mandy said, nodding.
“Lot of talk about that mine.”
Mandy’s smile had faded, too. “I know.”
“Lot of people against it.”
“Are you against it?” Mandy said.
Everyone looked at Kate again. “Not the point,” Kate said. “What I’m saying, Mandy, is a lot of Park rats won’t be happy you’re the new mouthpiece for Global Harvest.”
Mandy set her jaw. It was a good jaw, square and firm. “They’ll get used to it.”
We’ll have to, Kate thought.
JANUARY
“Auntie Joy,” Kate said, “please sit here, on my right. Old Sam, on my left, please. Harvey, Demetri, there and there.”
Auntie Joy looked startled but took the seat Kate indicated. Old Sam gave Kate one of his patented, narrow-eyed looks, waited long enough to establish that it was his own idea, and sat. Harvey looked mutinous, but short of summarily dislodging two venerable elders, there was nothing for him to do but sit where he was told to. Demetri took the last seat without comment.
“You’ll find copies of an agenda on the table in front of you.”
She gave them a few minutes to run their eyes over it, and then rapped the table once with a small gavel made of fossilized ivory, its creamy surface swirling with golds and browns. She’d commissioned Thor Moonin to carve it for her after the holidays. “The meeting will come to order.”
It came out a little more authoritarian than she had meant it to and the table sat up with a collective jerk. Auntie Joy turned a shocked eye on Kate. Old Sam relaxed again, with the beginnings of a smile indenting the corners of his mouth. “You all had copies of the last meeting’s minutes hand-delivered to your doorstep two weeks ago. I’m going on the assumption you’ve read them. Are there any additions or corrections you would like to propose to the minutes at this time?”
Harvey opened his mouth, encountered Kate’s level gaze, and shut it again.
“If there are no corrections or emendations, the minutes are approved. May we have the treasurer’s report?”
Annie Mike gave a brisk rundown of the numbers. Kate moved that they be approved and accepted, Auntie Joy seconded the motion, it passed.
“Membership report,” Kate said.
This was new, and Harvey said, “What’s this?”
“Point of order,” Kate said coolly. “The chair has not recognized Mr. Meganack.”
“Oh, come on, what’s this bullshit?”
“This bullshit is Robert’s Rules of Order,” Kate said. “You must be recognized by the chair before you are allowed to speak. And you have to stand up before I can recognize you.”
Harvey sat there with his mouth half open.
“On your feet, Harvey,” Old Sam said, smirking.
Harvey, red with anger, nevertheless stood up. “Madam Chair.”
Kate gave a curt nod. “The chair recognizes Mr. Meganack.”
“What’s this membership report? We’ve never done this before.”
“It’s a tally of shareholders,” Kate said, “which the board will update at every meeting. I think it’s important we keep track of the number of shareholders we have on a regular basis. It helps remind us to whom we are responsible when we take action at these meetings.”
There had been eleven children born over the past year who qualified under the Association’s one-thirty-secondth rule, specifically that after adding up their Native heritage on both sides, each shareholder had a minimum of one-thirty-secondth of Native blood. Assimilation and intermarriage over the last three hundred years meant a lot of shareholders just barely squeaked in under that rule, and it also meant that many of the next generation of babies wouldn’t qualify at all. In the back of her mind Kate noted that some action should be taken to ensure that the tribe increased rather than decreased in size as the years went by. They might have to go to one-sixty-fourth. “Total shareholders, Ms. Mike?” she said.
“Madam Chair, as of January first, the Niniltna Native Association had two hundred and thirty-seven shareholders,” Annie said. “Approximately one hundred of them live in Anchorage, Fairbanks, Juneau, and Outside.”
“Thank you, Ms. Mike.”
Harvey sat down slowly.
Kate tried not to let her relief show. In truth, she was a little surprised at herself. She hadn’t planned to address everyone by their surnames, it had just come out, but the formality felt right. “Any further reports, Ms. Mike?”
“Not at present, Madam Chair,” Annie said, her brisk manner rivaling Kate’s own. Imitation, in this case, was the sincerest form of approval.
“Thank you, Ms. Mike. Moving on. Old business.” She looked up. “I move that we table old business today. There is nothing left over that is pressing and we’ve got the general shareholders’ meeting to get to.”
“Second,” Old Sam said.
“It is moved and seconded that the board carry any old business forward to the next regularly scheduled board meeting. Debate?” There was none. “Those in favor, say aye.”
Auntie Joy, Old Sam, and Kate said aye. Harvey was back to looking furious. “The ayes have it, and the motion is adopted. Next item. New business.”
Kate sat back in her chair and fixed Harvey with a cold and unflinching eye. “I have three items I wish to bring to the board’s attention this morning.”
Harvey stiffened, and she knew he was thinking that she was about to bring up his job with GHRI, whatever it might be.
“All three items,” Kate said, “will by Association rules be put to the vote before the general shareholders’ meeting.”
“Along with the election of the board members,” Harvey said, rallying.
“Out of order, Mr. Meganack, but so noted. First on our agenda is the creation of an advisory committee consisting of qualified volunteers drawn from Association shareholders to advise and consent to every single step Global Harvest Resources takes in developing and producing the Suulutaq Mine. Further, I propose that we approach Global Harvest Resources to fund said committee. At this time, I so move.”
“Second,” Old Sam said promptly.
“The motion to create an advisory committee for the Suulutaq Mine and to make Global Harvest pay for it is moved and seconded,” Kate said. “Debate? The chair recognizes Mr. Meganack.”
Harvey had shot to his feet, but he’d also had the sense to wait this time until he was recognized. “You want to put our people on Global Harvest’s payroll? Won’t that make them more rather than less inclined to sign off on anything GH wants to do?”
The irony inherent in his protest seemed not to occur to Harvey. “Not if we choose the committee members carefully,” Kate said, and added softly, “and watch them.”
He reddened. “Who’d you have in mind for this committee?”
She looked at him. “You, for a start.”
It was hard to say who w
as more surprised by this blunt statement, Auntie Joy or Harvey. Old Sam, of course, gave out with his braying laugh. Demetri remained his taciturn silent self.
“I seem to recall you have a degree in civil engineering from the University of Alaska Anchorage,” Kate said. “You’ve got the education required, you’re a shareholder, and you’re even a member of the board, duly elected, which means you’re trusted by the shareholders to run things right. Who better?”
Harvey sat down as if his legs had suddenly given out from under him.
Kate figured she couldn’t beat Global Harvest in a race for Harvey’s mercenary heart, but she could damn well give them some competition. She wasn’t going to out Harvey, not yet anyway. Either Harvey would realize how inappropriate—and how impossible—it was to try to serve two masters, or he’d eventually have enough rope to hang himself with.
“Any further discussion?” she said. There wasn’t. “All in favor?” Unanimous. “The board moves that the creation of a Suulutaq Advisory Committee be brought before the general membership at today’s meeting. Second item on the agenda. I move that we ask the general membership to increase the Niniltna Native Association board from five members to nine.”
“What! Katya!”
“Out of order, Ms. Shugak,” Kate said, ignoring the stricken expression on Auntie Joy’s face, albeit not without a twinge of conscience.
“Second,” Old Sam said, although not quite as promptly as he had before. He looked at Kate with a quizzical eye, as if to say he’d go along, but only until and unless she proved her case.
“Moved and seconded,” Kate said. “Discussion.”
“Madam Chair!” Harvey said, on his feet.
“Madam Chair!” Auntie Joy said, on hers.
“The chair recognizes herself,” she said, and got to her own feet. Auntie Joy subsided, hurt. Harvey subsided, pissed off at being steamrollered.
“I went back and checked the records of previous meetings,” Kate said. “On average, we have to cancel one a year due to lack of a quorum.” Quoting from what she was beginning to refer to as the Book, at least to herself, she said, “ ‘Any substantive action taken in the absence of a quorum is invalid.’ Lacking a quorum, the Association board can’t get its business done. Four more members on the board means four more paychecks, true enough. But if we establish five members—the same number we have now—as the minimum number required to constitute a quorum, with a nine-member board we can be four members short and still get the job done.” She paused, looking around at each board member for effect. “And there’s going to be a lot to get done, shortly.”
She sat down and recognized Auntie Joy, who beat Harvey to his feet by a hair second. Auntie Joy spoke forcefully if incoherently on the value of tradition, of institutions created out of necessity and the importance of inclusion, the responsibility of the governing body to run a frugal business, and of the virtue inherent in running such a business. After a while she ran out of steam, looked confused, and sat down without offering an amendment to the motion. Kate didn’t remind her, either.
In the meantime, Harvey, looking unusually thoughtful, had thought better of speaking and waved a dismissive hand when Kate looked at him. “The chair moves that the motion to increase the Niniltna Native Association board from five members to nine should be brought before the general membership for approval. All in favor say aye.”
Kate, Old Sam, Demetri, and Harvey voted aye. Auntie Joy said nay and looked as if she might burst into tears.
Kate hardened her heart. “Last item. I move we commission a new NNA logo.”
“Second,” Demetri said, and everyone looked at him in surprise.
“Moved and seconded,” Kate said, with a nod to Demetri. “Debate?” No one said anything, so she held up the NNA mug with the ink blot logo. “This logo sucks. It’s not instantly recognizable, it doesn’t say Park or NNA or anything at all, really. Plus it’s poorly drawn and it’s ugly. Symbols are important. Take Global Harvest’s logo, for one example. Sunrise over the Quilaks. They’re practically branding the Park with it. I move that at today’s general meeting we tell the membership that the board is starting a contest, beginning today and running, what, six months? Mr. Totemoff?”
“Make it nine months,” Demetri said, standing. “Give momentum time to build, word of mouth to spread, get people excited. The more entries we get, the more choice we’ll have. Choose the winner at the October board meeting and unveil the new logo at the general meeting next January. Besides, be good not to do any of this before, during, or after fishing season.”
“No kidding,” Old Sam said, and flashed his evil grin when Kate gave him the evil eye for speaking out of turn.
“The motion is to have a contest for NNA shareholders to create a new Association logo. All in favor?”
Unanimous.
Really, Kate thought, there was nothing to running a board meeting.
Not when you’d spent the last month memorizing the first ninety-five pages of Robert’s Rules of Order (Newly Revised, In Brief), there wasn’t.
CHAPTER 28
“You can’t stop the Suulutaq Mine,” Kate said, “and I’ll tell you why.
“A thousand dollars an ounce.”
Most of the Niniltna Native Association’s 237 shareholders were in the Niniltna School gymnasium that afternoon, sitting on gray metal folding chairs. There was a continual susurration of whispering, an occasional baby’s cry, the clink of dishes as aunties Vi, Edna, and Balasha set out a potluck lunch on a row of tables at the back of the room.
Kate was front and center on the little stage, speaking into a microphone, not liking the sound of her voice as it reverberated off the high ceiling, not liking being the cynosure of all eyes, hating the position of responsibility and leadership into which she had been thrust this day. Oh Emaa, if you could see me now, wouldn’t you be pleased.
In a line of folding chairs on the stage sat the other members of the board, Auntie Joy still hurt, Old Sam sardonic, Demetri taciturn, Harvey pugnacious, but they were there, lined up at her right hand like the good soldiers they were. At a card table on her left, Annie Mike took industrious notes and recorded votes. Solidarity forever.
Right.
“We can’t demonize the people who want to build it, either,” Kate said, “because at a thousand dollars an ounce they’ll build it anyway. And then here we’ll be, the mine a going concern and the people running it with no reason to do us any favors.” She paused, and added, “Or hire any Park rats.”
A lot of them didn’t like what they were hearing. Fine, they could fire her in the vote to follow.
“I’ll tell you what we can do,” she said. “We can get in bed with Global Harvest, all the way under the covers, and make sure we’re watching over their shoulders every step of the way. That is what this proposed advisory committee is for. You don’t like the idea of earthen dams? Fine, tell Global Harvest to come up with something better. At a thousand dollars an ounce, they can afford it.
“You’re worried the arsenic they use in the extraction process will pollute the groundwater? At a thousand dollars an ounce they can come up with a process that leaves a friendlier environmental footprint.
“You’re worried about what the influx of increased population will do to the nature and character of the Park? Okay, we set some guidelines, starting with they can’t build a road from the Nabesna Mine to Suulutaq, they have to build their own airstrip. We set more guidelines about the use of the road to Ahtna, too, like maybe they can access it only on a limited, supervised, case-by-case basis. At a thousand dollars an ounce, they can afford it.”
Auntie Vi had paused, plate in hand, to listen. On either side, aunties Balasha and Edna were listening, too.
“You’re worried that Global Harvest is going to hire all Outsiders for the good jobs?” Kate said. “Then our first order of business is to ask Global Harvest, ‘What do you need in the way of employees?’ and get them to help us create—and fund—an educa
tional program for the kids of the Park. At a thousand dollars an ounce”—she was startled when almost everyone in the room said it with her—“they can afford it!”
There was a ripple of laughter, and a couple of people even exchanged high fives.
On stage, the board members gave each other covert looks. No one had stirred up a shareholders’ meeting like this since Ekaterina Shugak had been chair, and Ekaterina, a woman who personified dignity, had not encouraged public displays of either approval or dissent.
“Is there any further discussion? No. Okay. I’ll ask you now to vote on the expansion of the board of directors, the creation of the mine advisory committee and the contest for a new association logo. Voice vote first. If there is no clear majority on voice vote, Ms. Mike will distribute ballots. Then, a voice vote on the election of myself to the board of directors, followed by a shareholders’ confirmation vote on the board’s selection of chair.”
She looked at Annie. Annie nodded.
“The motion before the Niniltna Native Association is to increase the membership of its board of directors from five to nine members, with all the rights and responsibilities accruing thereto. All in favor?”
When it was over she touched Auntie Joy on the arm before she could leave the stage. “Come with me, please, Auntie.”
Out of the crowd she picked out Auntie Vi, Auntie Balasha, and Auntie Edna. Avoiding all the glad-handing and congratulations pointed her way, she led them into the kitchen, where she threw everyone else out and closed and locked the door.
“We have to serve food, Katya,” Auntie Vi said, bridling.
“They can serve themselves for a few minutes,” Kate said. She folded her arms and looked them over with a bleak eye. “I’m only going to ask you this once. If you lie to me and I find out later that you lied, I will never trust you, any of you, individually or together, ever again.”
Auntie Vi ruffled up like an irritated cockatoo, but before she could say anything Kate said baldly, “Did you hire Howie Katelnikof to kill Louis Deem?”
Whisper to the Blood Page 32
