Klay left the auditorium. He took a service elevator to the basement and walked the old marble hallway to the staff cafeteria. When he first joined the magazine there had been two places to eat in the building: the basement cafeteria for staff and the males-only executive dining room on the eighth floor. Lunch in the jackets-only Humboldt Room included exotic main dishes inspired by explorations past served by tuxedoed black waiters. A shortage of space not prejudice led to change. When reality television emerged as the organization’s bread and butter, the Humboldt Room was converted to TV producers’ offices, and roast quail, raw oysters, and sauterne gave way to Savage Swordfish. Young Men and Fire. Cave In!

Klay had done a reality television pilot once. The Investigator the series was to be called, featuring Klay, pitched as the Anthony Bourdain of wildlife crime. He’d been surprised at the number of takes each scene had required. Fit young associate producers dressed in the latest adventure wear asked him to step out of a helicopter again and again, or to greet a tribal chief over and over, gesturing repeatedly for the chief to look at Klay and not the camera. Months after the scene was shot they called Klay and said they didn’t like the way he had entered the chief’s hut and were flying him back to the Congo to shoot it again.

“This is television,” they admonished him, nod more for the reaction shots, and would he please look more anxious? He was tracking dangerous poachers! They wore him down over time so that eventually he’d even agreed to stumble while on a contrived patrol with Bernard’s Green Guardians, Bernard reaching down to give him a hand, the way Bernard would later do for real on the last day of his life. It took nine takes for Klay to stumble acceptably, but by then his muddy clothes did not match the scene, and he’d had to change into identical clothes and do it again. The series was never made.

The basement cafeteria was The Sovereign’s only eatery now. It was empty at the moment, everyone reporting to the auditorium for Sharon’s all-hands meeting. Klay got himself a prewrapped roast beef sandwich from the refrigerator, a bag of potato chips, and a cup of hot tea. He ate his sandwich alone, peeling off a bite at a time, thinking about the changes he’d witnessed during his career.

He returned to the auditorium a half hour later to find it full. Fox was sitting in a back row. He had his brightly colored stockinged feet up on the seat in front of him and was twisting a coffee straw in his teeth. He lifted his feet, and Klay took a seat next to him.

“So, if they make you an offer, will you take it?” Fox asked, chewing his straw.

“Haven’t thought about it,” Klay said.