The man addressed, Lloyd Bodger, Senior, scratched his head. "Seems to me I did, Fred. I could have forgotten, of course."
Fredric Stanton, President and Prime Speakster of the Hive, nodded and shrugged the topic away. "Probably hated to miss a chance to be with your boy. Nice kid, that Lloyd."
"Thanks," Bodger said dryly, keeping a firm eye on his superior. Stanton was buttering him up to something, he knew. "Full of youthful spirits, too, your boy. I can easily understand why he might—well—grow overly romantic."
"Come to the point, Fred," said Bodger. "Lloyd's behavior can't hurt you unless it hits your only sensitive area: your public image. So what's he done? Drunk too much, pinched a waitress's rump, scratched a four-letter word on a Temple?"
"Don't take this too lightly, fellow Speakster," said Stanton, purposefully. "Running the Hive is like walking on eggs in hot cleats. You're either careful or things get a mite sticky."
"We always have the Goons," said Bodger.
"A Hive full of ten million back-broken corpses isn't much of a domain," snapped the President. "Have you forgotten that extra-marital peccadillos are frowned upon in Hive society? People who play around get hospitalized, quick."
"So what has all this to do with my son?" demanded Bodger.
"He was seen, last night, bringing his fiancee up to this level, shortly before Ultrablack."
Bodger sighed, then nodded slowly and leaned back in his chair. "And the girl?" he said grimly.