Taterskin & The Eco Defenders: Book 2, Chapter 29
Book 2 ("Tell It to Future Generations"), Chapter 29 of 56
CHAPTER 29
“We decide for ourselves how we accomplish the goal,” Buzz said. “We call it ‘Self-Beetermination’: We — you all and us all — will agree on a common goal, but we Bees determine how we achieve it.”
The rest of us (the non-Bees) looked at each other. If I can read Body Mammalian, and I know I can (and I think Body Reptilian too), we were all in agreement: Let the Bees do it their way.
“Fair enough,” I said. “What have you got in mind, exactly, if you don’t mind telling us?”
“You may not know this,” Buzz said, “But we Bees are — not to boast, but to be forthcoming about it — probably the best choreographers and dancers in the entire Animal kingdom.”
“Which means, then,” Drako added, “That you are the best period — because humans can’t even begin to compete with us animals in the rug-cutting department.”
Drako considered herself to be a good dancer, although all she did while ‘dancing’ was bob her head up and down, with an occasional series of push-ups thrown in for variety.
“Yes,” Buzz continued. “That goes without saying. That’s one of the reasons why we feel compassion for these humans who are being taken advantage of and endangered: They can’t make honey, they can’t dance very well, they can’t fly” —
“As you were saying,” I interrupted, “You Bees are the best choreographers and dancers. How are you going to utilize those talents to help save the employees at Triangle Shirtwaist?”
“I was getting to that. I want to add that even humans (who, usually, are not too observant) realize that we have the best knees in all of creation. When something is superlative, superb, tremendous” —
“Yes, we get the picture,” Ravelle said, “What are you driving at?”
“When something is top-notch, the cream of the crop, etc., they call it ‘The Bees Knees.’ I rest my case.”
“OK,” Rovette said, who is, truth be told, a little vain of her own knees, considering them to be altogether comely.
“Please get to the point, Buzz,” Chapawee pleaded. “How, precisely, will you use your dancing skills?”
“We are going to prepare by getting our wings shined up and our matching yellow and black coats laundered, so that we look our best. Then we are going to move out en masse and form an undulating bike of Bees, heading straight from our home sweet home” —
“I get it!” our pup Dab cried out, “Your home is sweet because it’s full of honey!”
“Precisely,” Buzz replied, bowing to Dab in acknowledgment of his paying close attention and recognizing the unique charm of a Bee’s abode. “We will head straight from our home sweetest of homes to the Triangle Shirtwaist Company, located in the Asch Building on Washington Place. We will then split up into several separate bands, some invading through the cracks in the doors, others through windows, some down through the vents from the roof of the building, then make our way up the stairs or the elevator shaft and along the corridors into the offices of the owners, Max Blanck and Isaac Harris.”
“What will you do then,” Fona asked. “Sting them?”
“No, we don’t sting unless absolutely necessary. Stinging people is a pain in the butt.”
“Whose? Yours or theirs?” Fona further inquired.
“Ours,” Buzz said. “And sometimes theirs, too.”
“So what will you do?” Goldilox wondered. Our pups were all piping up now, and were ‘all ears,’ so to speak.
“We will tell them to come to the eighth floor for a meeting.”
“How will you tell them — by humming the summons to them?” Marmalade asked.
“No, we will utilize our choreography and dancing skills. You could say art will persuade them to follow directions.”
“Art? Art who?” Drako wondered. “Artie Shaw? The guy who played Bee-gin the Bee-guine?”
As it was 1911, and Artie Shaw was only one year old at the time, the Beesnees didn’t know who Drako was talking about. Drako, as you might have guessed, is a big fan of old-school jazz — which would have at that time been considered futuristic jazz, I guess.
“I never heard of this R.D. Shaw character,” Buzz replied. “I’m talking about art the ... you know, art! Like painting is an art, writing novels is an art, playing the kazoo is an art. Dancing is an art, too. The art that’s paired with crafts: That’s the type of art that will persuade and coerce Blanck and Harris.”
“Or as I prefer to call them,” I said, “nil and Hairy-” —
“Ah! Ah! Nope!” Rovette interrupted me, knowing what I was about to say. She was decidedly in disfavor of crude and profane speech.
“So,” Rovette continued, taking up the conversation to prevent me from finishing my nickname for Harris, “How will your dancing lure the owners to the eighth floor?”
“We will appear in their offices, form a sentence with our bodies, hum and wiggle and waggle, and grow continually more insistent until they follow the directions.”
“What will the directions be, exactly?” I inquired.
“We will spell out with our dancing bodies, in front of their desks, the following message:
FOLLOW US TO THE 8th FLOOR”
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