《The Brave New World》 -1 Introduction, List of Characters, & Table of Contents The Brave New World is a satirical systems novel with many protagonists. The information in this section is intended to help you get back on track with who is who and what is what, if you''ve been taking a break and reading other novels in the meantime. A word of warning: this is primarily a satirical novel, so it makes merciless fun of everything and everyone. If your sensibilities are easily offended, you might want to read something else. Also, there is no defined single main character. The hero here is all of humanity, all of humankind, with all of its vices and virtues. Please do not confuse a systems novel with a novel featuring a system: they are different beasts. A systems novel is about the systems that make a society work - sex, economics, politics, ideologies, science, and so on. If this sounds dry to you, rest assured that The Brave New World contains plenty of adventure, and it''s a very easy read. The Table of Contents will be helpful if you prefer to follow a single subplot: it lets you identify which chapters are about the characters you are interested in. But be warned: the first fifty chapters or so all contain important information about the whole New World setup. It is quite complex, and it might be better to read the initial chapters in their original sequence before focusing on reading about a specific set of characters. I chose this approach over using a ten-chapter information dump; it would have made for a very heavy start. Once past that, the story focuses on a single subplot for a number of chapters at a time, somewhat like a series of novellas. I hope you enjoy reading this more than I enjoy writing it. You know - it''s hard, at times. Author LIST OF CHARACTERS BY LOCATION/SUBPLOT (UPDATED PERIODICALLY) UNITED NATIONS Carlton Brock ¨C US president, later UN governor of the US and US territory in the New World Dick Brody ¨C NYPD police captain and chief of security in the UN building Jean Caron ¨C French, former EU head, now head of Colonial Council Dieter Fabrizi ¨C president of Switzerland John Gregson ¨C captain of the Great Western Ruslan Grot ¨C Russian president Jerry Hard - Brock''s bodyguard John Knox ¨C medical doctor at the UN Margaret Kombo ¨C president of Congo Juliette Lepine ¨C prime minister of Canada Roy McAdam ¨C US army general in charge of New York colony in the New World Gus Merton - US Army general in charge of New Denver colony in the New World Nelson Odongo ¨C UN secretary general, later Chairman of new government Lea Panatella - Carlton Brock''s assistant Sonia Patel ¨C Indian, environmental expert Mark Penny ¨C US vice-president, later president Olaf Troll ¨C Norwegian, economics genius Wang Wei ¨C Chinese leader Kasper Weinberger ¨C head of IMF, later Finance Minister in new government Guido Worst ¨C Swiss, political scientist NEW YORK, US Li Yang -teenage orphan Li Chen - Li Yang''s little sister, deceased Jake Donato - Li Yang''s boyhood friend Charlene \u0026 Harper Lee ¨C Li Yang''s roommates in the apartment Bobby and Olga - Harper Lee''s friends in New York Rose Fogerty ¨C owner/landlady of the apartment, deceased NEW YORK, THE NEW WORLD Ed Nanni - US army private Janice Wilkinson - US army corporal, assistant to general McAdam NAPA VALLEY, CALIFORNIA, US Kirk Lander ¨C senator, head of Lander clan Adam, Bernard Lander ¨C sons from first marriage Debbie Lander ¨C Kirk Lander''s third wife Karen Lander - Kirk Lander''s daughter, married to Randy Trueman Randy Trueman ¨C captain in the US Marines John Vorner ¨C Landers'' neighbor, a farmer Libby Placek - California senator, later governor in the New World Kitty Zeist ¨C Sacramento socialite, friend of Kirk''s SEATTLE \u0026 WASHINGTON STATE, US Amanda Queen, Fiona Fizz, Linda Love, Betty Blue, Sharon Starr - the Amazons Sheila and Mary - sisters, friends and fellow colonists of the Amazons Kevin Stringer ¨C former Olympic medalist, archery instructor Jeffrey Bent - Sharon''s cousin in Skykomish Brian Madison ¨C sheriff in Skykomish Jim Haley ¨C sheriff''s deputy in Skykomish Luke Kovacs ¨C mayor in Skykomish Evan Vanderhorn ¨C Washington state senator, governor in the New World Ron Pierce ¨C president of Bandidos MC Seattle chapter MUMBAI AREA, INDIA Samir \u0026 Rani Sharma ¨C young Indian couple Madan \u0026 Kali ¨C Indian couple, Samir \u0026 Rani''s allies in the New World Amrita, Neil ¨C teenagers that have joined Samir \u0026 Rani Paul Leduc - owner of a supermarket near Samir''s home in Mumbai Arjun Varma ¨C Indian army sergeant, military leader in the New World PORT DOUGLAS, AUSTRALIA Harold \u0026 Gladys Pendelton ¨C retired couple David \u0026 Susan Ramsey ¨C retired couple Sean Ramsey - son, a doctor in Melbourne, Australia JOKKMOKK, SWEDEN Sven Holm ¨C president of the Viking MC Olaf Berg ¨C Holm''s deputy Vidar Karlsson ¨C Viking MC member Henrik, Lennart, Martin, Jens, Lasse, Uwe, Karl, Erik - Viking MC members Lena, Ingrid, Kirsten, Ulla, Eva ¨C female Viking MC members Max Dahl ¨C Jokkmokk police chief Stefan Sonberg - Jokkmokk''s mayor Oskar Blom - Jokkmokk''s jeweler Lars Larsson ¨C the most intelligent policeman in Jokkmokk Elias Persson - owner of farm neighboring Holm''s farm near Jokkmokk PACIFIC OCEAN \u0026 PHILIPPINES \u0026 INDONESIA Gabriel Cruz ¨C billionaire from the Philippines Rafi Susanto ¨C multimillionaire from Indonesia James - Susanto''s valet Felipe, Francis, Juan, Paco - Susanto''s crewmen from his yacht, the Golden Dawn Peter and Paul Christian - mayor and governor of Pitcairn Island TABLE OF CONTENTS (CHAPTER NUMBER, NAME, SUBPLOT/PROTAGONISTS/ACTION LOCATION) 1 - The End of the World - Li Yang, United Nations, New York 2 - A Letter From the Future - United Nations, New York 3 -Death in a Parking Lot - Li Yang, New York 4 - The First Colonist - United Nations, New York 5 - The Magic Bed - Samir \u0026 Rani, Mumbai \u0026 New World 6 - A King''s Feast - Li Yang, New York 7 - The New World Order - United Nations, New York 8 - The Millionaire''s Clever Third Wife - Lander clan, California 9 - Making Love in the New World - Samir \u0026 Rani, Mumbai/New World 10 - The Naked Threesome - the Pendeltons \u0026 the Ramseys, Port Douglas, Australia 11 - The Dawn of the Vikings - Viking MC members, Jokkmokk police, Sweden 12 - A Steam Renaissance - United Nations, New York 13 - Horses and Guns - Li Yang, New York 14 - The Senator''s Toga - Lander clan, California 15 - The Invasion Begins - United Nations, New York 16 - A New War in the Old World - Samir \u0026 Rani, Mumbai 17 - The Battle for New York - United Nations, Li Yang, New York 18 - The Tragic Fate of Gladys Pendelton - the Pendeltons \u0026 the Ramseys, Port Douglas/New World 19 - Dinosaur Island - Rafi Susanto, Gabriel Cruz, Pacific Ocean/New World 20 - The Many Lives of Gabriel Cruz - Rafi Susanto, Gabriel Cruz, Pacific Ocean/New World 21 - The Great Western - United Nations, New York 22 - The Vikings Are Coming! - Viking MC members, Sweden/New World 23 - King Kirk and the Llama - Lander clan, California/New World 24 - A Very Cruel Revenge - the Pendeltons \u0026 the Ramseys, Port Douglas/New World 25 - Power Returns - United Nations, New York 26 - The Sexy, Deadly Amazons - the Amazons, Seattle, US 27 - Henderson''s Island - Rafi Susanto, Gabriel Cruz, Pacific Ocean 28 - The Army Arrives - Samir \u0026 Rani, Mumbai 29 - A Gun in the Pocket - Li Yang, Charlene Lee, New York 30 - The Worst Plan for the New World - United Nations, New York 31 - The Red Studebaker - United Nations, New York 32 - The Two Toasts - United Nations, Li Yang \u0026 Charlene \u0026 Harper Lee, New York 33 - Money For Everyone! - Li Yang \u0026 Charlene \u0026 Harper Lee, United Nations, New York 34 - Governor or King? - United Nations, New York/Lander clan, California 35 - First Blood - Viking MC members, New World 36 - Soldiers and Thieves - Pendeltons \u0026 Ramseys, Port Douglas, Australia 37 - The Wolf Tree War - the Amazons, New World 38 - Goat Curry and Mangoes - Samir \u0026 Rani, Mumbai/New World 39 - A New Alliance - Samir \u0026 Rani, Madan \u0026 Kali, New World 40 - Attack of the Pterodactyls - Rafi Susanto, Gabriel Cruz, New World/Pacific Ocean 41 - The Solar Storm - United Nations, New York 42 - The Gulls of Galway - Jerry Hard, captain John Gregson, Galway, Ireland 43 - The Value of Money - United Nations, New York 44 - Fried Drive With Video Card Sauce - United Nations, New York 45 - Sunday TV - Li Yang, Harper \u0026 Charlene Lee, New York 46 - The Viking Imperative - Viking MC members, New World 47 - A California Coronation - the Lander clan, John Vorner, California 48 - Size Matters - United Nations, New York 49 - The Sweet Taste of Glass - the Amazons, Seattle, US 50 - Death Is Not A Dress Rehearsal - Pendeltons \u0026 Ramseys, Port Douglas, Australia 51 - The New New York - Brock and general McAdam, New World 52 - Marooned! - Susanto and Cruz, Pacific Ocean 53 - A Girl For Sale ¨C Samir \u0026 Rani, Mumbai 54 - Food For Thought - Li Yang, Harper \u0026 Charlene Lee, New York 55 - Money Woes \u0026 Wishes - United Nations, New York 56 - The Ancient Wisdom of Sun Tzu - United Nations, New York 57 - Harper''s Gold - Li Yang, the Lees, Bobby, New York 58 - A Friend In Need - Li Yang, New York 59 - Deep-Fry Tricks \u0026 Techniques - Li Yang; Carlton Brock, New York 60 - Supreme Lord of California - the Lander clan, California 61 - The Ambush - Vikings, New World 62 - The Trip of a Lifetime - Vikings, Jokkmokk, Sweden 63 - The Joy of Killing - Vikings, New World 64 - Burial Party - Vikings, New World 65 - Bingo! - Vikings, New World 66 - The Best Cook - Vikings, New World/Jokkmokk, Sweden 67 - Legs and Eggs - Vikings, Jokkmokk, Sweden 68 - I Heard It On The Radio - Vikings, Jokkmokk, Sweden 69 - Today''s Special - the Amazons, Seattle, US 70 - Lost in the Mountains - the Amazons, Washington State, US 71 - Bear''s Paws - the Amazons \u0026 Jeffrey Bent, Washington State, US 72 - The Blue Sky in Skykomish - the Amazons \u0026 Jeffrey Bent, Washington State, US 73 - Salt and Gold - the Amazons \u0026 Jeffrey Bent, Skykomish, Washington State, US 74 - Meet the Mayor, Meet the President - the Amazons in Skykomish \u0026 Seattle, US 75 - The Bandido Ultimatum - the Amazons, Seattle, US 76 - The Big Move - the Amazons, Seattle, US 77 - A Perilous Journey - Rafi Susanto \u0026 Gabriel Cruz, Pacific Ocean 78 - Living On An Island - Susanto \u0026 Cruz, Pacific Ocean 79 - The Crucifixion of Cruz - Cruz, Pacific Ocean 80 - Sailing To Salvation - Cruz, Pacific Ocean 81 - The Pain of Losing It All - Cruz, Pitcairn Island, Pacific Ocean 82 - How To Become A Billionaire ¨C Cruz, Pitcairn Island, Pacific Ocean 83 ¨C A Delightful Picnic ¨C Susanto, Henderson Island, Pacific Ocean 84 ¨C The Things People Do For Love ¨C Susanto, Henderson Island, Pacific Ocean 85 ¨C Angel Love ¨C Susanto, Henderson Island, Pacific Ocean 86 ¨C The Love Fruit ¨C Susanto, New World 87 ¨C Freeing Felipe ¨C Cruz, Pitcairn Island, Pacific Ocean 88 ¨C The Coming of Cruz - Susanto \u0026 Cruz, Henderson Island, Pacific Ocean 89 ¨C The Coup That Never Was ¨C Susanto \u0026 Cruz, Henderson \u0026 Pitcairn, Pacific Ocean 90 - The Burning Man - Samir \u0026 Rani \u0026 Amrita, Mumbai, India 91 ¨C A Fire Without Smoke - Samir \u0026 Rani \u0026 Amrita, Mumbai, India 92 ¨C Samir Buys A House ¨C Samir \u0026 Rani, Mumbai, India 93 ¨C A Question of Faith ¨C Samir, Rani, Amrita, Neil; Mumbai, India 94 ¨C The Bicycle Thief ¨C Samir, Paul Leduc, Mumbai, India 95 ¨C The Eye of the Tiger ¨C Samir, Madan, New World 96 ¨C The Dead Girl - Samir, Madan, New World 97 ¨C Samir Starts An Army ¨C Samir, Arjun, Mumbai 98 ¨C While Everyone Sleeps ¨C Samir, Arjun, Madan, Rani, Mumbai, India 99 ¨C A Governor''s Journey ¨C Kirk Lander, US DISCLAIMER \u0026 COPYRIGHT NOTICE This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author''s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Copyright ? 2020 Webnovel All rights reserved 1 The End of the World The second day of January, 2035, began like any other day. A grey, dirty blanket of smog covered most of the Earth. The toxic mist had spread from cities and towns far into the countryside, and hung over most of the seas and the oceans. In New York, a sparse, sooty snow began to fall around ten in the morning. Li Yang was far from feeling sunny that day, even though it was his birthday. He had now spent a full sixteen years on this Earth, and every year things got worse. He tried to improve his mood by sticking out his tongue to catch a snowflake, then spent a full minute spitting to get rid of the awful taste. He was thirsty and hungry, but the ten dollars in his pocket weren''t enough to buy even a small cup of coffee. He needed to make some money fast. He looked around: he was standing in the corner of a big parking lot near the United Nations building. It had been a park when he''d been a little boy. He used to play there with his older sister, Li Chen. But Li Chen had died several years earlier, hit by a car. The plants in the park died at about the same time, poisoned by the city air. After a failed attempt to revive the park with new trees and grass, the space was converted to a parking lot. There was never enough parking space in New York. Li Yang''s eyes stopped on a courier van that was just pulling into the lot. It stopped at the barrier and its driver started a shouting match with the parking attendant in the glass booth. He probably wanted to park his vehicle free of charge for a couple of minutes while he delivered a package to a nearby building. Li Yang saw his chance. Crouching, he ran into the lot and in between the parked cars, tugging on doors on both sides. He was in luck! The fifth door, the driver''s door of an elegant Mercedes, was unlocked. He dived in and over the driver''s seat, reaching for the compartment on the passenger''s side. It was locked. He was pulling himself out of the car when he noticed white plastic peeking out from under the passenger''s seat. He reached out and pulled. It was a small shopping bag, and it contained a pair of muddy but almost-new sneakers. Li Yang knew exactly where to sell those sneakers, of course after he''d cleaned them. He would get at least fifty dollars, maybe even seventy if they were a popular size. A new pair cost over a thousand dollars. He slid out of the car and closed the door softly and froze. Suddenly, the air was filled with the sound of wailing, whooping sirens. A couple of hundred meters from Li Yang, a river of long black limousines swept along FDR Drive, preceded by a phalanx of police motorcycles, patrol cars, and secret service SUV vehicles. Their sirens gradually fell silent as pulled into the underground parking of the United Nations Building. The black limousines followed, like long black snake sliding in under a rock. Inside the underground parking, the limousine doors opened to disgorge the delegations to the most important general congress of the United Nations in history. All the heads of state of countries around the world were present: presidents, prime ministers, marshals and generals, even an admiral or two. In contrast to Li Yang and billions of others like him, the delegates were all well-fed and well-watered. Some were so well-watered they had difficulty walking in a straight line when they made their way to the Grand Assembly chamber. They all felt unease as they walked, trotted, and staggered to take their seats. They felt unease because they knew they had to reach an agreement on how to save the dying planet: Earth. It is not easy to reach an agreement for people used to imposing their will on others. But they knew they had no alternative. The changing climate and the economic crisis that gripped the world for the fifth year running left them with no choice but to agree to a plan that would save the Earth. Of course, they were wrong. Earth did not need saving. Earth had gone through many calamities in its history, and had recovered. What the assembled leaders wanted to save was themselves, with the people they ruled coming a distant second. Humanity as such was an even more distant third. The assembled delegates were to hear speeches made by three people recognized as geniuses in their chosen fields. The first speaker was Olaf Troll of Norway. Considered a madman by almost everyone who had encountered him, he had stunned the world by winning the Nobel Prize for Economic Sciences for three years in a row: 2032, 2033, 2034. Olaf Troll was to outline a plan for saving the world economy. The second speaker was Sonia Patel, the famous environmentalist from India. Like Troll, she had won many prizes for her work in preserving the environment. Unlike Troll, she was very good-looking, with rich black hair, smoky grey eyes, and a body that made many professional models green with envy. Many of the assembled delegates, especially the men, were really looking forward to seeing her take the stage. The third speaker was to be the current secretary general of the United Nations: Nelson Odongo, from Uganda. Nelson Odongo was credited with bringing peace to the African continent after many years of strenuous effort. He was widely respected for his ability to make hard decisions when needed: over 15,000 people were executed during his quest for peace. That was less than the monthly death toll in the ongoing conflicts, and was a very acceptable price to pay for an end to all African wars. The speeches were to start at ten thirty, and last twenty five minutes each. The five-minute pause between speeches was meant to let the delegates get their overworked, aching heads around the information they had just heard. A three-hour working lunch was scheduled at the conclusion of the third speech. Rumor had it that there would be fresh lobsters among the other, very attractive choices on the menu. It was essential that the delegates be in excellent moods when they reconvened at three to agree on solutions to the crisis. Well-fed, well-watered people are happy people, and happy people find it easier to reach an agreement. Exactly twenty nine minutes past ten, the lights in the General Assembly chamber dimmed slightly. A spotlight softly illuminated the lectern on the stage. Into this pool of light marched Olaf Troll, looking as crazy as ever. He was bald save for a fringe of hair long enough to brush his shoulders, and compensated for this with a pair of red whiskers that reached past his chin. His nose resembled a turnip that had survived a very bad accident. His small grey eyes glittered the way crazy eyes glitter. He was wearing a rumpled brown suit, a yellow shirt, and a green tie. Many delegates nodded their appreciation when they saw that: Olaf Troll had chosen to wear the colors of Earth. Olaf Troll stood silent for a moment, glaring at the assembly. Then he said, spit flying from his mouth: "I am wasting my time. You are all insane. You came here to find a magic solution to your economic problems. I already said what the only solution is fifteen years back. Twelve years later, it won me my first Nobel prize. No one listened, everyone was busy drinking champagne. All of you know already what the problems are, and what has to be done." He paused to glare again at his audience. The great chamber was full of guilty silence. "Problem number one," said Olaf Troll. "We are facing a complete collapse of the global financial system. Money is not worth the plastic it''s printed on. "The world has over eight thousand currencies at the present time. The vast majority of these are cryptocurrencies: imaginary money. Money that doesn''t really exist except in our collective imagination. "There is only one way out of this. The whole world must adopt a single currency that is real. A currency in which money has value in itself. A global currency that uses coins, and in which each and every coin is worth exactly what is shown on the coin. Right now, coins are officially worth next to nothing. But the metal they are made from is worth many times more than the value shown on the coins! This is nonsense. "It will be up to you to decide what coins you mint, and what you call them. You can make and use gold coins, silver coins, coins made out of metal alloys. It doesn''t matter. But the value shown on the coin must always be the value of the metal in the coin. "The second problem is the collapse of the the world''s economic system. Imaginary money is just a part of this problem. As I said almost twenty years ago, capitalism is like a bicycle. It has to be kept moving, or it falls. Capitalism relies on growth, but growth is exactly what''s killing us. "You will say that a lot of people have no work. You will say we must continue to create new jobs. You will say that if it weren''t for billions of unnecessary, artificial jobs - jobs that can be done better by machines - even more people would be out of work. That is true. Robots and other machines have made us so efficient there just isn''t enough work for everyone. "The only solution is to provide every single living human being with a guaranteed minimum income. It must be equal everywhere, all over the world. It cannot be large for obvious reasons. But it must be enough to stay alive. We will raise the money needed by introducing a global tax - equally high everywhere - on all consumption. We must limit consumption instead of trying to make it grow endlessly in order to promote growth. "The third problem - " Olaf Troll did not get to say what the third problem was. Because at that precise moment, there was an ear-splitting explosion. All over the world, the sky suddenly turned a brilliant white as millions of lightnings merged into one. The first global electromagnetic storm ever witnessed by humans had begun. All over the world, everything and anything that used electricity - power stations, water pumps, vehicles, computers, phones - exploded, burned, stopped working. The General Assembly chamber was plunged into total darkness. All communications were cut. No one knew what was going on. What was going on was the greatest catastrophe the human world had ever known. It lasted for only a single hour. During that hour, millions of people died. The people who had electric cardiac stimulators were the luckiest: they died very quickly, and relatively painlessly. The people who got trapped - in rooms, inside elevators, behind any electrically operated door - these people weren''t so lucky. They took a long time to die in agony. Cars crashed into each other and into buildings, exploding in fireballs. Airplanes fell out of the sky. Electric power transformer boxes burst into flames. Fires started everywhere, and spread quickly aided by the howling winds. For a while, it seemed the whole world was aflame. And then the rain started falling. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 2 A Letter From the Future It wasn''t an ordinary rain. All over the world, water literally poured from the sky. Oceans, seas, lakes and rivers seemed to boil. The innumerable fires that had flared were almost instantly extinguished. Clouds of steam enveloped cities and towns, covering everything and everyone with a hot mist that was thick enough to cut with a knife. And in this mist, this fog that made it impossible to see an outstretched hand, mysterious translucent cubes began to appear. They were as tall as a grown man, they glowed with a soft, mysterious light, and they appeared everywhere. They appeared in every town and city on the planet. They appeared in the fields and in the surviving forests, on sea shores and in the mountains. They appeared on the sands of the vastly expanded deserts, and on the ice that still covered most of the Antarctic. They even appeared inside buildings. One of the softly shining cubes appeared on the stage of the General Assembly chamber in the United Nations building, right in the center of New York. The delegates inside the pitch-dark room were swarming towards the exits. Only Olaf Troll, Sonia Patel, and Nelson Odongo stood still on the stage near the lectern. The glowing cube appeared next to the lectern. It was only an arm''s reach from Olaf Troll. He looked at it, then looked at Sonia Patel and made a gesture that said: ladies first. Sonia smiled at him, and shook her head. Olaf Troll looked again at the glowing cube. He put a finger to his lips and frowned. Then very slowly, he began to reach out to the cube, finger pointing. Before he could touch it, Nelson Odongo quickly walked past him and put his hand on the cube. It instantly changed color, from snow-white to ivory. Big dark brown letters appeared on its every side. They all said the same thing, in different languages and alphabets: GREETINGS, REVERED ANCESTORS. PLEASE TOUCH AGAIN FOR AN IMPORTANT MESSAGE Nelson Odongo turned to look at Olaf Troll and Sonia Patel, raising his eyebrows. The huge, dark chamber was perfectly quiet. All the delegates that had been trying to get out of the assembly chamber were frozen still, and watching the cube. It was the only source of light in the entire room. Olaf Troll nodded, and the secretary general of the United Nations put his hand on the cube. The letters dissolved and reappeared again. This time, they said: PLEASE SELECT LANGUAGE A list of all the languages represented by the delegates appeared, each in its own alphabet. They were ordered by dominance: Chinese characters stood next to the Latin script used by English. Nelson Odongo didn''t hesitate. He couldn''t read Chinese, so he chose English. New text appeared on the sides of the cube. The delegates in the chamber began moving closer; some were even brave enough to climb on the stage. Interestingly, the brave ones were almost all civilians: the marshals, generals and admirals kept back, maybe because they knew better what explosives can do to the human body. But nothing exploded. Instead, there was a widespread intake of breath among the delegates close enough to read the text on the cube. It said: ''According to the outdated time-counting method you are using, we are writing you this on the first of January, 32035. Tomorrow, you will experience a global catastrophe that will throw Humanity back into the Stone Age for the next ten thousand years. You will experience nothing but death, pain, and misery for hundreds of centuries. ''We know that, because this is what happened to our ancestors: to you. ''We are your children, removed from you by hundreds of generations. We have confirmed what your scientists are suspecting: there is an infinite number of dimensions. There is an infinite number of universes. It is possible to exist simultaneously in different dimensions, and to travel between them. It is possible to travel in time. IT IS POSSIBLE TO CREATE A NEW UNIVERSE. ''We are offering you a chance to follow an alternate timeline. ''We are sending you the tools you need to settle a new world. ''It is a planet that is a better, richer Earth. It is located in a universe, a galaxy, a star system just like the one you live in now: the Solar System. ''It is geographically, geologically, and biologically identical, except for three major new archipelagos: North Pacific, South Pacific, and the Atlantis. These archipelagos have islands as big as Greenland. But be warned: because they are new, they have retained the life forms of the Mesozoic era. ''The tools we send you will let you REPLICATE in the New World all forms of life on Earth: microbes, plants, insects, animals, yourselves. They will also let you TRANSPORT anything that is not alive from the New World to Earth, where you will continue to live. You will stay in telepathic contact with your second selves in the New World at all times. ''The resources and goods you send back to Earth will let you avoid the terrible hardships you shall suffer otherwise. ''Remember: we know. We are your children. We love and revere you as our ancestors. We want to help you. ''We have only one thing to ask of you. ''Do not call us Gods.'' TO RECEIVE MORE INSTRUCTIONS, TOUCH AGAIN This time, it was Sonia Patel who took a step forward and touched the cube. New text appeared on its sides. It said: TO RECEIVE TIMON IMPLANT KIT, INSERT HAND PALM UP TO RECEIVE HIBER BED, INSERT HAND PALM DOWN TO RECEIVE DOCUMENTATION, INSERT HAND PALM SIDEWAYS TO REVERT TO THE LIST OF LANGUAGES, TOUCH AGAIN "Please," said Olaf Troll. This was the first time anyone had ever heard Olaf Troll utter the word ''please''. It was so unusual that both Sonia Patel and Nelson Odongo turned to stare at him, eyes wide with amazement. "Can I be the one who does it?" asked Olaf Troll. In spite of the tension hanging in the air, Sonia grinned. The secretary general cleared his throat, and said: "Of course. Please do go ahead, my dear fellow." Nelson Odongo had studied political science at a college that was part of the famous University of Oxford in England. He habitually assumed the style of speech he''d learned while studying there to hide confusion and uncertainty: it worked very well, most times. Touching the cube was one thing; inserting a hand into it was another. He was perfectly happy to let Olaf Troll try it first. Olaf Troll stepped up to the cube. He noticed that everyone was looking at him as if he was a hero. This was new to him, and he basked in the adoration. He noticed that most delegates took a couple of steps back from the stage; a few faces had turned pale with fear. He pushed his hand into the cube, holding his palm sideways. It felt as if he had put it into a bowl of warm water. Then he distinctly felt something being pressed into his hand. He grasped it, and pulled his hand out. He was holding a scroll, a rolled-up sheet of thin material resembling paper or plastic. But it was neither; for one thing, it was practically weightless. It felt as if he was holding air, if holding air was at all possible. He saw everyone was watching him with eyes full of fear and admiration, and stopped himself from smiling at the last moment. He forbade himself to smile, ever. It did not fit the image he wished to project. He unrolled the scroll with a pointedly careless flip of his wrist and peered at it. The material glowed softly, just like the cube. The glow made it easy to read the text, and see the numerous diagrams on the scroll in spite of the darkness in the room. He said: "English. Why isn''t this in Norwegian? I am Norwegian." "I''m awfully sorry," said Nelson Odongo. "I selected English." "Hmph," said Olaf Troll. He peered at the text and diagrams on the scroll and added: "This appears to be a set of instructions for travel, excuse me, for replicating one''s own self on the Earth-like planet called the New World. Hmmm... It seems to be very simple. All that''s needed is something called a Timon Implant. I -" "Stop," said Nelson Odongo. Everyone looked at him. He said: "As secretary general of the United Nations, I request that we first agree on a procedure. To begin with, every delegate present should acquaint themselves with this document. Then we can vote on the next step that should be taken." There was a murmur of agreement from everyone in the chamber. "Shouldn''t we have lunch first?" said an overweight general, who ruled a small island nation in the Caribbean. A few titters were heard. Nelson Odongo frowned. "This isn''t the right time to be flippant," he said gravely. "Order, please! Will everyone kindly line up to my right, and I will distribute copies to everyone in turn. Please state your preferred language as you step up to receive your copy." All over the world, people were dying by the million. But in spite of the darkness, in spite of everything it was business as usual inside the United Nations building. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 3 Death in a Parking Lo It wasn''t business as usual for the parking lot attendant. Li Yang could see his charred corpse in the half-melted remains of the glass kiosk next to the entrance into the parking lot. The lightning had struck right next to the kiosk, and the vehicles that had been parked nearby were now all smoking, burnt-out wrecks. The attendant didn''t have a chance: he had been killed instantly. Li Yang came close to dying, too. After he''d realized the sirens he''d heard belonged to the motorcade headed for the United Nations building, he continued to slink between the parked cars, pulling on their doors. And just a couple of minutes after he''d found the sneakers, he came across a real treasure trove. He didn''t have any high hopes when he tried the rear passenger door of an old, dirty Chevrolet parked right in the middle of the lot. It didn''t look like a car that could contain anything valuable. But it did. He nearly missed the paper bag rolled into a tight ball, and pushed between the steering column and the dashboard. It was visible only when he''d put his head under the steering wheel and looked up. The paper bag contained a small plastic sachet, which in turn contained a big pinch of yellowish powder. Li Yang knew what that powder was. It was a mix of synthetic narcotics called ivory dust, and it sold for around five hundred dollars a gram on the street. Li Yang didn''t use drugs. This wasn''t because he thought they were evil; he simply could not afford them. This was also why he always refused the rare offers of a free hit. He was afraid of being consumed by a need to have another hit when the effect of the first one had worn off. He had been living on the streets ever since his mother died, over a year earlier. Her meager pension checks had just about covered the rent on a room in a run-down apartment she and her son shared with three other people. During the time he''d spent living on the streets, Li Yang had seen with his own eyes what happened to people who were fond of drugs. Most of them became tired, dirty husks of their former selves. They were willing to humiliate themselves beyond belief just so they could get another hit. When Li Yang''s mother had been still been alive, she used to scold him for his pride. "You are too proud," she told him repeatedly. "Remember: pride comes before the fall." But she had been wrong about that. It was his pride that kept Li Yang from falling, from surrendering to the hopeless despair he felt almost every day. He was too proud to turn into a junkie enslaved by addiction. There was only one way to make sure he never became one, and that was to never take any drugs. Selling them to someone who wanted them was another matter, particularly if he''d come into their possession by accident. Everyone made their own choices. Li Yang had no moral qualms about selling the little plastic bag of ivory dust to whoever was willing to pay him. Their drug problem was their problem, not his. He had enough of his own problems to deal with, thank you very much. He was very happy when he''d found the ivory dust. There was at least a gram of the powder in the sachet. It was enough to keep him in food and drink for several days, maybe even a full week if he got a good price. First he''d found the sneakers, and now this! His birthday was turning out to be one hell of a lucky day. He was congratulating himself on his good fortune when the sky turned white, and the boom of a thousand thunderbolts nearly broke his eardrums. He acted instinctively: he ran a few steps, then threw himself on the ground and crawled under a parked car. He didn''t see the parking lot attendant die in his booth. He lay under the car with his arms wrapped around his head. He was screaming at the top of his voice from the pain in his ears, but he couldn''t hear his own screams. The terrible noise went on and on until he was certain he was about to die. Then it stopped as suddenly as it had begun. For a couple of heartbeats, everything was silent and still. And then the rain came crashing down, and Li Yang really came close to death. He managed to slide out from under the car at the last possible moment: he came very close to drowning. He couldn''t see a thing. Everything was obscured by a moving, shifting, hissing curtain of water. He huddled down in a ball between the cars, squatting on his haunches. He held his prize - the plastic bag with the sneakers and the sachet of ivory dust - pressed against his chest. With his other arm, he tried to protect his head from the rain. It hurt as if someone was pelting him with small stones. When the rain ended, he was wet through. He wasn''t afraid of dying any more. He didn''t care. Nothing mattered. He told himself: what will happen, will happen. But please, please, please, don''t make it hurt too much. I''m ready to go. I''m ready to die. Just don''t make it hurt too much. Please. He waited, and death did not come. After a few moments, he noticed that he was squatting in water deep enough to completely cover his feet. He stood up, and was surprised to see he was almost next to what was left of the parking lot attendant''s kiosk. He looked at the charred corpse without feeling anything. He glanced around, but everything else was hidden behind a heavy fog that smelled sweetly of burnt flesh. He stood still, straining to hear a sound, any sound. But he could hear nothing at all. His ears hurt. He put the tip of his finger inside his ear, hissing with pain, then took it out and held it right in front of his eyes. The tip of his finger was smeared in blood. For a terrifying moment, Li Yang thought that his eardrums had burst, and that he had become deaf. But then a sob of terror and self-pity escaped his lips, and he heard it. He heard himself sob like a little kid, and immediately felt ashamed. Like many times before, his pride saved him. He looked around, still clutching the bag with his precious finds. Nothing! Nothing but a thick, dirty white fog, all around him. He could barely make out the car he was standing next to. Then he became aware of a glow in the fog. The source of the light seemed to be right in the middle of the parking lot, on the central driveway between the parking spaces. He took a few steps towards it, and the glow became stronger. It took him almost a minute to reach the glowing cube, although it was just twenty steps away. Every step took a big effort of will. I will not be afraid, he said to himself, over and over again. I will not be afraid, I am not afraid. I don''t care if it kills me. Fuck this shit. He put his face close to the shining cube. There was something incredibly beautiful about it. He reached out and touched it delicately, afraid of getting his finger burnt. He saw the words: GREETINGS, REVERED ANCESTORS. PLEASE TOUCH AGAIN FOR AN IMPORTANT MESSAGE. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 4 The First Colonis The glowing cubes appeared all over the world. It was later estimated there were over a million of them. Most appeared in or near populated areas, often causing panic. But some people were more curious than afraid. On the outskirts of Mumbai, a young married couple read the message on the cube, looked at each other, then plunged their hands inside. In London, England, a bunch of half-drunk, half-hungover teenagers began pulling out timon implant kits and hiber beds without bothering to read any of the documentation. In a field near Aburi in Ghana, West Africa, a farmer put aside his hoe and reached out hesitatingly to the glowing cube. In Lima, Peru, vendors and shoppers picked and splashed their way through the water-soaked debris of the collapsed stalls of an outdoor market, and formed a circle around the glowing cube. A fat, middle-aged woman was the first to touch the cube, shaming the two policemen who had been too scared to even come close. In Sydney, Australia, an old man stared at the ruined, half-cooked meat surrounding the barbecue grill lying on the ground. Then he looked at the glowing cube that had materialized in the back yard of his house, looked at the gaggle of his dear old friends huddled around him, wiped the rainwater off his face. He put his hand into the cube, saying loudly and clearly: "Four steaks, a dozen jumbo shrimps, and four lamb chops please. And make it snappy." Inside the United Nations building in New York, delegates in the general assembly chamber were all busy reading the documentation from the cube. The great room wasn''t completely dark any more; it was illuminated by the cube and the hundreds of glowing scrolls in the hands of the delegates. Some read slower, and some read faster. Olaf Troll read very fast, and he had also started reading before anyone else. He got to the end of the text on the scroll first even though he was Norwegian, and English was his second language. He walked up to the cube and plunged his hand in and withdrew a narrow silver cone. It was the size of an average cigar. In the center of the cone''s round base, a tiny bead glowed with an icy blue light. Before anyone could stop him, Olaf Troll raised his arm and put the sharp end of the cone just behind his right ear. It looked as if he was stabbing himself in the head with the cone. Then he pressed the glowing blue bead with his thumb. His mouth fell open and his eyes glazed over. He dropped the cone, and no one noticed that it didn''t make any noise at all when it hit the ground. This was because there were many voices shouting: "Don''t do that!" "Someone stop him!" "Security! Guards! Hold him!" "He''s dying!" Two security guards - a man and a woman - stumbled onto the stage. But Nelson Odongo stopped them with a look and an upraised palm. He was right next to Olaf Troll, and he could see that Troll was very much alive. "Olaf! My dear fellow!" Nelson Odongo said, putting on his Cambridge mask. "Shut up," said Olaf Troll. He started to shake very slightly and grabbed himself, crossing his arms over his chest. "My God!" he said, although he did not believe in God. He was staring at something far, far away with unseeing eyes. He started speaking, very fast: "I am communicating with my second self in the New World. It''s so cold! I am, he is completely naked. He is telling me there patches of snow under the trees. He is in a forest. He can hear water. He is running towards the water. Everything is happening very fast." "Olaf! Where are you?" "Shut up! I''m here of course. He is here, too. The same exact spot, but in the New World. Read the documentation! You are replicated in the New World wherever you are in on Earth. That water he can hear must be the East River." "But you said he''s in a forest!" cried Sonia Patel. "It is a forest. There''s no New York. It hasn''t been built yet. Yes! He can see the river. He is running to the river. He has stopped!" Olaf Troll fell silent and immediately many voices started asking questions. Within a couple of seconds almost everyone was shouting. Olaf Troll uttered a terrible, piercing scream. Everyone fell silent. Everyone watched Troll as he trembled, and sank down until he was kneeling on the floor. Suddenly he threw his head back and inhaled sharply, like someone who has been suffocating. "Fucking unbelievable," whispered Olaf Troll. He stood up and dusted his knees with his hands. Then he screamed: "Fucking unbelievable!" There was a stunned silence. Then a voice spoke from the back of the crowd of delegates around the stage. It was a deep, strong voice, a voice that commanded respect. The voice said: "Enough of this bullshit." The voice belonged to Carlton Brock, president of the United States. Carlton Brock was a former action movie star who had gotten elected precisely because he always spoke as if he meant whatever he was saying. He said to Olaf Troll: "Pull yourselves together, man. What happened? And no foul language. Please." Olaf Troll giggled and looked towards Carlton Brock and said: "I died. I mean, he died. I commanded him to go on when he stopped and he fell into the river. And he drowned." An excited buzz rose among the delegates. The no-bullshit voice of Carlton Brock cut through the chatter: "But you didn''t drown." "Obviously." "You''re very much alive." "I hope so, yes." "And you''ve suffered no injuries." "It doesn''t seem so." "Then you must replicate yourself again. My assistant tells me, uh, wait a moment... Yes. She''s read through that thing and she says you can replicate yourself in the New World again if your second self dies." "I''ve read all of it too," said Olaf Troll. "I know that. I also know I''m not going back, er, I mean replicating myself again over there until it gets warmer. He was naked. You understand? Naked. And it was very cold. At best a few degrees above freezing. Why don''t you go, I mean replicate yourself? It will quickly shrink those over-sized balls of yours." "I resent that remark," said Carlton Brock. Nelson Odongo quickly moved in. He had a special talent for moving in quickly when it was needed. That was why he had been chosen as the secretary general. He said: "Ladies and gentlemen. Please! Let''s get organized. We must elect a committee that will formulate a plan for settling the New World. I think ten minutes are enough for everyone to get fully acquainted with the documentation they''ve received. I will be asking candidates for seats on the committee to step forward exactly fifteen minutes from now. In the meantime, I shall organize and send out parties to find out what''s going on outside. On our own planet Earth." "Ask them to turn on the power," said Carlton Brock, as determined as ever to have the last word. Nelson Odongo looked in Carlton Brock''s direction. He could not see him; the light from the cube and the scrolls wasn''t strong enough. He decided it would be shrewd to pretend that the president of the United States had been joking to create a lighter atmosphere. He said: "Quite so. I''ll also see whether we can get some candles." NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 5 The Magic Bed Rani and Samir Sharma reached their home just before midnight. They lived in a an unfinished house by the bank of Karanja Creek. just south of Mumbai. Their families lived far, far away: Rani''s to the north, Samir''s to the east. They didn''t keep in touch with their families. This was for two reasons. The first reason was that Rani and Samir loved each other. However, both had had their future spouses chosen by their families almost before they had learned to walk. Going against the wishes of their parents meant any contact with their relatives would result in misery. The second reason was closely linked to the first reason. Rani and Samir were deeply ashamed of the situation they had found themselves in. They were very poor, too poor to rent a proper place for themselves, sometimes too poor to afford any chutney with their rice. And all this after they defied their families by insisting on making their own choices in their lives! They had met as students at the Go Far Business College in Mumbai. The Go Far business college was a private school that had been founded by the mysterious Mr Go, a millionaire businessman. It promised a full and comprehensive education and immediate employment upon graduation. What was more, students did not have to pay in advance for the courses. Instead, they signed a document that obliged them to pay for their education over a period of five years following graduation. What happened was that the graduates started work in one of Mr Go''s many companies, with half of their salary being kept back in order to pay for the college courses. The Go Far college staff consisted of Mr Go''s wife, his three daughters, and two of his three sons. His third, youngest son had also been a teacher at the college, but was currently serving a jail term for pushing a female friend off an eleventh-floor balcony. Explanations that it was just an innocent little game gone wrong did not convince the judge. And so, the Go Far business college provided Mr Go with gainful employment for almost his whole family (his youngest son enjoyed food and board courtesy of the state). It also provided him with half-price employees trained specifically to work at one of his companies. It was a beautiful setup for Mr Go, who was widely respected as a businessman and a philantropist: the college was run at a big loss, as the salaries of its staff were quite high. Of course, the losses were covered out of Mr Go''s own pocket, allowing him to claim numerous tax breaks. He mentioned these losses along with his determination to keep the college running in almost every interview he gave. When Rani and Samir had met at the Go Far business college, they were both convinced they were on the road to success and happiness. They would have a good education,they would have good careers, and they would have each other! Now they were living - illegally - in a ground-floor room whose walls, ceiling, and floor were of raw concrete. They did have each other, but that was about all they had. They both worked ten-hour days at a nearby logistics center owned by Mr Go, called Go Far Transport (what else?). They both received only half of their pay, and with the way the prices had been rising it often wasn''t enough to pay for food. When the terrible storm had started, they had been just about to make love before going to sleep. Making love was about the only nice thing that happened to them these days. But the ecstasy of lovemaking was increasingly tempered by the silence that came later, the silence before they fell asleep, when they both thought about what their lives had turned out to be like, and saw no consolation in their visions of the future. That night, instead of making love, they held each other while the heavens roared and flashed with white light. They both felt like crying when they saw that their only phone, the phone they shared because they could not afford to own two, literally exploded where it had been lying on the floor: there was a blinding flash, a loud crack, and it disintegrated into many tiny pieces. Then the rain started, and soon the mattress they were huddled on became soaked. In spite of the solid concrete ceiling and walls, the water level in their room kept rising. The shutters on their two windows had been blown open by the first fierce gusts of wind, and their door - a rectangle of corrugated tin crisscrossed by wooden beams - simply fell off its ramshackle hinges. They were convinced their end had come. They told each other about their undying love, they spoke about it as if their love would live on even after they were both dead. And they both thought they would die, very soon. What was going on could only mean the end of the world. But then the rain stopped. And after a while, they both became aware of a soft light just outside the window. The unfinished building they were in was surrounded by small fields, each smaller than a football pitch, and cared for by people who lived nearby. One of those illegal, private little plots was cultivated by Rani and Samir: like the other people forced into being farmers by poverty, they grew a variety of vegetables there. Samir was very worried that the onions he had just planted a few days earlier would rot in the water-logged ground. He said: "We must find out what''s going on." He stood up and swayed on the squelching wet mattress. When he regained his balance, he pulled Rani up to her feet. "Let''s take a look outside," he said. Rani nodded. She put one arm around his waist, and placed her other hand on his chest. They waded through the ankle-deep water to the door and stopped in the doorway. What they saw made them hold their breath. Right in front of the entrance to their home, a luminescent white cube glowed softly. And the sky above them was full of brightly shining stars that seemed so close they could be touched. Usually, the smog made the stars hazy and tiny. Usually, after a rain like that, clouds would totally obscure the sky for many hours. And usually, the houses ringing the fields around the unfinished house would show life. Lights would show in their windows: white electric lighting, the soft yellow glow of kerosene lamps, occasionally the flickering, changing light of a TV screen. Now all was dark, except for the cube and the stars. The moon, in its last quarter, was still hidden below the horizon. Their feet sank into the mud when they approached the glowing cube. They moved very slowly: partly because of the mud, partly because they were clutching each other as they walked, and partly because of the second greatest fear a human being can feel. The biggest fear is the fear of death. But fear of the unknown comes a close second. They stopped a step away from the cube and read: GREETINGS, REVERED ANCESTORS. PLEASE TOUCH AGAIN FOR AN IMPORTANT MESSAGE They were silent for a long time, looking at the cube. Then Rani said: "But I''m not even pregnant yet." She reached out, and touched the cube. They stood there reading, touching the cube, reading again for almost an hour. Their time at the Go Far business college turned out to be time well spent. They assimilated information, analyzed it, and made a final evaluation. Then they did what their feelings had been telling them to do right from the start: they both put their hands inside the cube at the same time. Palms sideways, because they both knew that the documentation had priority. They went back inside the house to read and discuss between themselves the information on the glowing scrolls. When they emerged a couple of hours later, they were in full agreement on everything but one point. Samir wanted to take a dozen of both items. Rani was of the opinion that they should take two, at most three timon implant kits and hiber beds each. If the benefits described on the scroll were half true, everyone would want timon kits and hiber beds, too. "But that''s exactly why we should take twelve, no, twenty of each," argued Samir. "We can sell them later." Samir had specialized in sales while studying at the Go Far business college, and it had left its mark on his thinking. Rani had specialized in managing inventories, and that had left its mark, too. One of the worst things that could happen, ever, was an inventory empty of whatever was in demand. She said: "Let''s compromise. Six of each." Samir sighed. "All right," he said. A few minutes later, they stood side by side, looking at the items assembled on the wet mattress in the corner of the room. Samir hissed when the hot wax from the candle he was holding dripped onto his hand. "I told you to buy a candle holder," Rani said. "And I told you to get me the tin dish." "I couldn''t find it straight away, and you wouldn''t wait." "Let''s stop this," Samir said. "What should we do now?" Rani frowned. "I want to look at this hiber bed," she said. "I''ve never seen a bed that folds up into a thin roll of paper. Or plastic. Or whatever. It''s a material lighter than paper. And stays rolled up without any string or snaps or hooks." "Go on. I''ll hold the candle." "Just don''t drip wax over it." Rani picked up one of the thin, long rolls from the mattress and examined it. It was very hard to find where the roll ended, and it was only after a while that she noticed the thumb-sized tab in the middle of the roll. She pulled on it and the material instantly unrolled into a sheet. It was silvery grey in color, and when they measured it later they found that it was exactly 250 centimeters long and 125 centimeters wide. Its bottom end fell into the water, and Rani instinctively raised the sheet higher to keep it dry. She needn''t have bothered. The low end of the sheet curved to cover the surface of the water in the room. Samir and Rani exchanged glances. Then she let go of the upper end of the sheet. It floated down and flattened itself out to form a silvery grey rectangle seemingly floating on the water. "I''m going to lie down," Rani said. "Be careful," said Samir. Rani lifted a foot and gingerly set it down on the material. It didn''t bend under her weight: it didn''t change shape at all. She said: "It''s so soft! Hold my hand." Samir extended his free hand and grasped her fingers. She stepped onto the material with her other food. She giggled and said: "Now I''m going to lie down." She said that in the voice that meant she''d be waiting for Samir to come and make love to her. He smiled at her and said: "What should I do with the candle?" NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 6 A Kings Feas Night was beginning to fall over New York as Li Yang unrolled the last of the sellotape left on the roll he''d stolen, and stuck it over the slit between the window and the window frame. He peered at it closely. It seemed it was holding. But he could still feel cold air coming in. It was going to be a cold night. He wished that he''d stolen more than just one roll of tape. It had been a very busy day for Li Yang. After he had carried the first load of timon implant kits and hiber beds to his room, he''d returned to get even more from the glowing cube in the parking lot. The shiny, sharp metal cones looked good. The hiber beds were disappointing - sheets made of some unknown material, rolled up very tightly. But they weighed next to nothing, so he put several under his arm before carrying everything back home. He put everything in his room, and instantly went back to the parking lot to get more. The timon kits would fetch a good price, he was sure. They had a glowing blue light embedded in the middle of the circular base. They looked expensive. As he splashed his way to the parking lot - the water was ankle-high in some spots - it became obvious that there was a serious power outage in the city. None of the traffic lights worked. The colorful neon signs that usually blinked and winked day and night were all dead, too. The total absence of any moving vehicles told Li Yang that it was very unlikely power would be restored soon. He decided he''d get a whole bunch of the documentation scrolls. If he scattered a few glowing scrolls around his room, they''d provide him with enough light to move around once night had fallen. But when he returned to the parking lot, he saw cops. Two cops wearing rainproof capes stood by the ruins of the kiosk, looking at the charred cadaver inside. Two others were examining the glowing cube. One of these was walking around the cube, occasionally stopping to glance around the parking lot. It was hopeless to try and get more items from the cube. As Li Yang backed out of view, he felt a stab of hunger in his belly. He''d drank a lot of water in the meantime, cheating his stomach. But that cheat never worked for long. He had some food back in his room. It consisted of apples he had stolen the previous day. He stole a full bagful by upsetting a stand outside a grocer''s store. He held the open bag under the edge that tilted down when he hit the stand with his hip. The bag was full in an instant, and he was off and running before anyone had the time to shout. Li Yang had been eating nothing but apples for the last twenty four hours. They were nice apples, tasty apples, but he was getting sick of them. Anyway, there weren''t that many left. He needed to get some food. He ducked into a side alley to urinate. He still had the sachet of ivory dust in his pocket: that was why he''d been so wary of the cops in the parking lot. He began thinking who could buy the drug off him. It had to be someone from his immediate neighborhood; he needed to sell it fast, and it was obvious the subway wasn''t running. He was zipping himself up, still undecided, when he heard glass smash. There was a triumphant shout, and more glass breaking. He started walking in the direction of the sound. He briefly wondered whether the cops in the parking lot had heard it, too. And if they did - would they leave the parking lot? He was sure one pair of cops would stay behind. And anyway, the cube didn''t provide food. He was sure that the sound of smashing glass meant that a store was being looted. A disaster was always followed by rioting and looting: he''d learned that much over the sixteen years that he''d lived in the city. He bent his head and started running, water splashing so high some drops landed on his face. He wanted to get his share of the loot before the rioting started. He didn''t have far to run. There was a small supermarket at the corner of the second block, and it was in the process of being robbed. Young men and older kids alike were running inside. As Ling Yan approached the store, some came running out, loaded with loot. A kid not more than ten years old came running out holding a TV set in both hands. Its top reached almost up to the kid''s eyes and he couldn''t see where he was going. He tripped and fell and the TV set shot out of his grasp, and crashed down on the pavement scattering shards of plastic and glass. The kid got up, kicked the broken TV set, and ran back inside the store. Ling Yan followed him in. He got a good haul. He managed to get two full loads of stuff back to his room before cops showed up on the scene. He spent quite a while stacking everything neatly in the corner of the room. There was food for more than a week, and it included half a dozen of frozen steaks; Li Yang couldn''t even remember when he''d last had steak. There was a wide selection of the most expensive frozen dinners he could find. There were dozens of cans of fruit and vegetables from all over the world. There was a handful of smartwatches and several smartphones. There also was a portable stereo. He wanted to switch on its radio. Maybe he could catch a broadcast that would explain what had happened, and tell him what was happening. But Li Yang was afraid of switching it on. When he was leaving the store for the second time, he saw a guy switch on a newly stolen phone. It exploded in his face. It was probably the guy''s screaming that attracted the cops. He''d sounded like someone getting murdered. For the cops, facing the looters would have meant facing a hostile crowd: but stopping a murder fell into a different category. The cops wouldn''t be jeered and fought, they would be applauded. So they came running to investigate instead of keeping away. Li Yang had no intention of trying out any of the phones he''d stolen. He''d wait until he was sure it was safe. He was also wary of the smartwatches: they used batteries similar to the ones in the phones. But the stereo used different batteries: there was a chance it would work. He had almost made up his mind to turn it on when he heard someone enter the apartment. It had been empty throughout the day, which was normal. There were three people living in the apartment with Li Yang, with everyone having their own room and sharing the kitchen and the bathroom with the others. The biggest room was occupied by Rose Fogerty, owner of the apartment. Rose Fogerty was around forty years old. She had short red hair and a freckled pale face. She was tall and fat. She worked days as a cook at a greasy-spoon restaurant, and as a barmaid most evenings. She ate six meals a day, and drank a gallon of beer on top of that. No one with a brain would ever try to fuck with Rose Fogerty, in both senses of the word. She was ugly and strong and she had never been married. But she had a kind heart, and when Li Yang''s mother died and he was left alone, it was her that helped him out. Li Yang had begun to avoid her when he started stealing: he knew that she wouldn''t approve. The other two tenants were a black siblings - a brother and sister - who had recently arrived from Atlanta. They were both older than Li Yang. The brother was about thirty, middle height and weight, with a shaved head and sharp eyes, but a little paunchy. He wore a shirt and a tie and well-used, baggy suits, and shoes that did a lot of walking. He was an insurance salesman by profession. He sold insurance in all its forms and manifestations: professional, public, and private indemnity, insurance from fire and theft, health insurance, vehicle insurance, property insurance... His name was Harper Lee, and if someone had asked him, he would have probably put together a package containing insurance against global electromagnetic storms followed by a world-wide power outage and torrential rain and flooding. When it became obvious Li Yang''s mother was about to die, he''d tried to sell her life insurance. It was great goodwill on his part: it meant a big payout after paying just a few premiums. It was against company policy. It was a steal. But Li Yang''s mother couldn''t even afford the two or three hundred-dollar monthly payments that would pay out one hundred thousand dollars to her only son and heir. Harper Lee''s sister was called Charlene. She was just three or four years older than Li Yang, but appeared to be at least ten years wiser. She was an aerobics instructor, personal trainer, massage therapist, and psychic consultant. Pursuing all four of those careers throughout most of her waking time provided her with just enough income to scrape by. Li Yang had heard her and her brother fighting over money more than once. Usually it was her trying to get a loan from him, but sometimes it was the other way around. But the person who had just entered the apartment wasn''t any of Li Yang''s three cohabitants. Li Yang was sure he had locked the front door; the mysterious guest must have had a key. He was wondering who it could be and beginning to feel afraid when a gruff male voice called out: "Hey! Police. N-Y-P-D. Anybody in? Hey!" He had a choice: stay silent and pretend to be out, or walk out to confront the cops in the hallway. They only needed to look into his room to arrest him for looting the store. The door to his room was locked, he had made sure of that too. But what if they also had the key to his own lock? His mother had to give a copy to Rose Fogerty upon moving in. He heard the cops step inside the hallway and instantly made the decision. He walked up to his door, opened it, and stopped right in front of the doorway, blocking the view. They were cops, all right. But they didn''t look fierce at all. They looked sad and shaken. The cop in front, a Hispanic-looking guy, said: "You live here?" "Yes," said Li Yang. "What happened? Who gave you the keys?" The two cops looked at each other. Then the cop in the back, an older black guy, said: "We found them on the body of the deceased. Rose Fogerty. This was the address on her ID. You know her? She lived here?" "Yes," said Li Yang. He had had plenty of training on the street, and he knew how to handle cops. Answer all questions, and always answer them with a straight yes or no or I don''t know. Don''t volunteer information, don''t tell them anything they don''t ask about. They''ll assume you''re lying, because everyone lies to them all the time. "I''m sorry, kid," said the black cop. "But I guess she wasn''t your mother." "No." "You know anything about her, people she hung out with? Someone stabbed her." Li Yang shrugged, then shook his head. It helped to conceal the shock he felt when he heard the news. He said: "No. I don''t know her well." He used the present tense on purpose. The cops would know he wasn''t fully buying their story. The cops looked at each other again. Then the one in front said: "Okay, kid. Someone will be along in the next couple of days. Hang in there and stay safe." He nodded, and they both left. Li Yang stood in the hallway, listening to them go down the stairs. They did not lock the front door. He went up to it and locked it and returned to his room. It was dark in there, but not as dark as he expected. There seemed to be a faint light coming in through the window opposite the door. He went up to it and looked and opened his mouth in amazement. The sky was full of twinkling, glowing stars. It was the first time ever that he had seen them. At most, there would be two or three strongest stars barely visible through the haze over the city, the haze lit up by millions of lights. This was completely different. He could see hundreds, thousands, some so close it seemed they could be touched. The city crouched under the starlight: dark lifeless, silent shapes. Li Yang shuddered and realized he would have to eat a cold dinner: the stove and the microwave in the kitchen would both be out of order. Then he smiled, because he remembered that he had also stolen a whole smoked ham, a loaf of good wholegrain bread, and a jar of his favorite pickled peppers. He was going to feast like a king. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 7 The New World Order In the United Nations building, a team of doctors had just finished examining Olaf Troll. The doctors were a team that were kept on standby to help delegates that felt unwell. Usually, their time was spent treating people who had overindulged in food, drink, and various other forms of entertainment. They welcomed the chance to do something more interesting, even though their work was hampered by the lack of electrical power. There had been an attempt to start up the building''s emergency electric generators. It resulted in a small fire and a greater panic. Fortunately, the fire was quickly put out with extinguishers. John Knox, the doctor who headed the medical team, removed the earpieces of his stethoscope from his ears, straightened up, and gave Olaf Troll a friendly pat on the shoulder. "You can button up your shirt now," he said. "Everything appears to be fine." "It should," said Olaf Troll. "I feel fine. Never felt better. I could eat something, though. I hope those locusts left something." "There is plenty of food left in the buffet room," Knox reassured him. "However, let me ask you once more: are you absolutely sure you put the implant behind your right ear?" "Yes." "Amazing. I couldn''t see a trace of anything there. No broken skin, bruise, nothing at all." "No glowing blue spot? Someone who was standing close by me told me they saw a glowing spot behind my ear." "No, no spot. If it was there, it''s gone now." "Hmmm. Interesting." The door to the examination room of the clinic opened and an aide to Nelson Odongo - a young African woman - looked in. "Excuse me," she said. "The secretary general would like to know if Mr Troll is all right." "He''s fine," Knox told her. "In that case, Mr Troll, could you come with me to the general assembly chamber? An important vote will be taking place soon." "What, another one? They''ll vote themselves to death in there." The aide smiled sweetly. "There is a lot of decisions to be made," she said. "No doubt, no doubt. Where is my tie?" "Here," said a junior doctor, holding out Troll''s green tie. The genius of economics did not thank him, He took the tie and began tying it round his neck as he followed the young woman out of the clinic. He insisted on passing through the candlelit buffet room, where he grabbed a couple of chicken drumsticks, some bread, and a bottle of wine. The young woman started to protest when she saw Olaf Troll reaching for the wine, but he silenced her with a single look. Such was the personal charisma of this remarkable man. They entered the general assembly chamber just as Nelson Odongo was taking the stage for a final address before the vote. Olaf Troll was happy to see that many delegates were eating and drinking; in fact, when he entered the delegate closest to the entrance was in the process of lifting a sandwich to his mouth. His other, sandwich-free hand was holding the documentation scroll from the cube, and he was peering at it intently. "May I have your attention please!" Nelson Odongo boomed. The buzz that filled the general assembly chamber died down. "First of all, let me bring everyone up to date with the latest news and developments," said Nelson Odongo. He allowed himself a dramatic pause, frowning at his audience. "A team of engineers is working hard to restore power," he began. "Unfortunately, so far they haven''t been successful. The news we have had from the city indicate a widespread, perhaps even global power outage. All communications have been cut, so we cannot be sure what is happening in the world. This is a dangerous time, a very dangerous time. We must act." The heads of state from all around the world nodded in agreement. It was indeed a very dangerous time. They all had rivals back home, rivals who would be sure to exploit the absence of the current leaders, and grab the chance to seize power with both hands. In many cases, that could mean prison or even death for the current heads of state. Action, decisive action was needed! Otherwise, heads would begin to roll. Nelson Odongo continued: "We have established contact with the chief of the New York Police Department. Police patrols on horseback are already on the way to establish contact with local governments. We will have an overview of the situation in the city by tomorrow morning. Also, our courier company had pledged to send out at least a hundred bicycle couriers to nearby towns by midday tomorrow. "Of course, there is a chance power will be at least partially restored by then. But we must prepare for the worst. I have sent out messengers on foot to every bicycle courier company in New York. And president Carlton Brock has graciously offered to put every steam and sailing ship in the United States of America at our immediate disposal. We must make every effort to re-establish communications by any available means, no matter how odd it may look." The delegates, the heads of state from around the world couldn''t agree more. There was a hubbub of excited voices, and some hand-clapping that quickly turned into widespread applause. A couple of presidents who were major recipients of American aid started chanting: ''Carlton Brock! Carlton Brock!'' But it didn''t catch on, and they fell silent. Nelson Odongo beamed at his newly enthusiastic audience. He already knew what the result of the vote was going to be. He hadn''t yet told his audience what they would be voting on, but he knew what the result would be anyway. That was why he was such an accomplished politician. He said: "May I have your attention please." He had it instantly; everyone fell quiet. He was sure there wouldn''t be even a single dissenting vote. He said: "We are dealing with an enormous catastrophe. But there is a silver lining. Yes, there is something good in our present situation." He had them completely now; they were eating out of his hand. Even the habitually grim and taciturn president of the Russian Federation, Ruslan Grot, leaned forward expectantly. "All the heads of state in the world are right here in this chamber. In effect, what we have present here is the government of the world. Therefore, I would like to put forward the motion that we establish a new world order. A single government for the entire world: a parliament constituted of the current heads of state. Once we''ve agreed on this, we can proceed to elect the executive from among the members of the new world parliament." There was a short, stunned silence: many heads of state needed a couple of seconds to understand that this was the best possible solution. They were being granted seats in a body that was superior to the old national governments. If any rivals seized power back home in the meantime, they would find themselves under the rule of a new world government anyway. And it was only logical that this new government''s commissioner for the affected country would be someone who came from that country, someone who knew it well. In other words - the current head of government. "All in favor of the motion - please raise your hands," said Nelson Odongo. There was no reason for conducting a count, other than for the record. A forest of hands had shot up instantly. Only one man hesitated briefly: Carlton Brock. He was the only head of state present in his home country. But then he remembered what his deputy, the vice-president was like. They had been bitter rivals during the fight for the party nomination. Eventually, they were forced to form a team so that their party would win the national election. But this didn''t turn them into friends. Both remembered only too well what the other had said during the nomination fight. And both had said plenty, at the time. Even if what they had said about each other was only half true, the U.S. was presently run by a brain-dead hunk of meat and a neurotic masturbator with a small dick. They always smiled for the cameras when they were together, with Carlton Brock often placing his arm around the shoulders of his deputy. He knew that the vice-president really hated that. Their private conversations still sounded just like the debates they''d had during the nomination fight. And Carlton Brock recalled very clearly what the vice-president had said right before the last, annual Christmas party at the White House - just over a week earlier. The vice-president had said: "It''s coming, Carlton. The day is close when I''ll fuck you so bad you''ll be crying for mommy. So have a merry Christmas, moron. Enjoy your last party at the White House." Carlton Brock glanced around him and saw that everyone was already holding their hand up. He raised his hand. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 8 The Millionaires Clever Third Wife Senator Kirk Lander joined his family on the terrace of his palatial home in Napa Valley, California, just as the last clouds cleared to reveal an angry red sun. Lander was angry, too. His vineyard had been totally destroyed by the torrential rain that came on top of the unbelievable thunderstorm early that morning. The storm had knocked out the power in the house, and the senator had had a hard time waking up Felipe. Felipe, originally from Mexico, was his live-in servant and handyman. He had a good time on New Year''s Eve, and some more good time the following evening. When Lander had finally shook him awake and sent him off to the garage to start the emergency power generator, Felipe''s hard-working but happy life came to an explosive end. The generator blew up, depositing fragments of Felipe all over the interior of the garage and the exterior of the senator''s expensive car. Somehow, this made the senator wary of using his smartphone. He tried to call the police from the phone in the hall. But there was no signal: the land line phones weren''t working. The senator decided to have a cup of coffee, and a good think. However, he had barely taken his first sip when he was interrupted. The thunderstorm had woken up the entire household. The explosion in the garage, though tame in comparison, generated fresh excitement. And so they all came trooping into the huge, stone-floored kitchen, one by one. It took a while, because the entire Lander family clan had assembled at the senator''s house for the holidays, and most of them still hadn''t left. The first person to enter was the senator''s new son in law, Randy Trueman. Randy Trueman, who was a captain in the Marines, had married the senator''s eldest daughter just six months earlier. The senator wasn''t entirely happy about this marriage. He had a low opinion of military men. He thought they lacked imagination. People who joined the military had to have weak imaginations by definition. It wasn''t the right kind of job for anyone with a strong imagination. But the senator recognized there were times when people like that could be useful, and this was one of them. He politely went through the ritual exchange of good mornings that sounded extremely stupid in view of what had just happened. Then he sipped from his cup and waited while the Marine captain groped around in the semi-dark, unfamiliar kitchen and made himself a coffee. Eventually he said: "Randolph. You got a military radio set of any kind? I mean, have you got one here?" "No, sir," said Randy Trueman. It was very gratifying for the senator to hear a Marine captain call him sir. He said, a little pompously: "There''s a major emergency. We might need troops. Where are your troops?" "Everyone''s down in San Diego, sir. I''ll give them a call right away." "The phones aren''t working." "Have you tried the land line?" "Of course I''ve tried the land line. And Felipe is dead. The generator exploded when he tried to start it up." "What!" This was said by the senator''s daughter. She had just entered the kitchen to find out what her husband was up to. "Oh no," she said. "Poor Felipe. Have you made coffee?" "Yes," said the senator grimly, and wondered where the hell was Maria. Maria was the senator''s live-in maid: her duties included making coffee. Then the senator remembered he had generously and uncharacteristically given Maria a couple of extra days off to visit her family in Mexico. I''m just too soft, thought the senator. I''m just too nice to people. And where the hell is Debbie? I ought to spank her ass. Debbie was the senator''s third wife. She was twenty years younger than him, and not too bright. This was good. The senator''s first wife had been a college lecturer, and she had committed suicide by driving off a cliff. It was covered up as a standard accident. She had alcohol and tranquilizers in her blood. The senator made ''Don''t drink and do drugs and drive'' the motto of his next electoral campaign. The senator''s second wife had been his personal secretary for two years before he had married her. She had handled that very well, but the combined strain of marital and secretarial duties eventually put her in a mental hospital. It wasn''t easy being the wife of a hotshot, handsome, rich senator. There were serious risks attached. Staying ignorant of what really went on was beneficial. A low intelligence really helped. Deborah Lander had graduated from university only after her wealthy parents had made a sizeable donation to the university''s research fund. But as it turned out, she was the first to discover something important that day. However, she was fond of staying in bed as long as possible every morning. And so long before she showed up, everyone else had assembled in the kitchen, and the coffee was being spiked with brandy. The senator''s daughter had been followed by his younger son. The senator had wisely refrained from producing any more offspring after having three children with his first wife. He''d never really wanted any, but felt obliged to have a couple because of his political career. The third child, his younger son, had come about by accident. His first wife was already on tranquilizers, and she began forgetting to take her other pills. Bernard Lander, the senator''s third child and second son, was fifteen and it was clear that he was growing into a carbon copy of his father. He was tall for his age and sleek and strong. His blue eyes had the same impatient glitter, and his mouth was set in a straight line. It did not smile often. But it smiled as he entered the kitchen that morning. It amused him to see Randolph Trueman, captain in the Marine Corps, wearing green pyjamas decorated with jolly red-nosed goblins. It did not occur to Bernard that his sister had bought those pyjamas as a Christmas present mainly to improve her own mood when she looked at her husband in the morning. It did not occur to Bernard that his brother-in-law had been forced to wear those pyjamas much against his will. In spite of his intelligence, he was too young to know about the devious, hidden paths of marriage that lead men to do strange things. The person that entered the kitchen next was the senator''s eldest child and son, Adam Lander. Adam Lander had inherited his looks from his mother. He had jet-black hair and moody dark eyes. But he still got a lot of genes from his father, and he was a ruthless son of a bitch when he felt it was necessary. He seemed to feel that way quite often. He was still single, which was becoming a slight concern for the senator. He had two children out of wedlock, which caused the senator even more concern, along with pride. He was president of a hedge fund that made immense profits on the assumption things would be steadily getting worse. He said: "What the fuck was that? Did the propane tank explode?" "No, that was the generator. It blew up when Felipe tried to get it going. It killed him. We''ll have to get the cleaning company send someone up once the phones are working." "The land line isn''t working?" "No." "Fuck. You shouldn''t have let Felipe fool around with the generator. Too complicated for a guy like him." "It blew up." "It would. I would, if someone like Felipe put his hands on me. Hey, can I have some coffee? Stop hogging the machine, Karen." His sister gave him an icy glare and moved away from the counter. Then she looked at her father, the senator, and said: "Well, what do we do now?" There was a short silence as the senator weighed various options and dismissed them instantly. How dependent everything was on electrical power! Without electricity, almost nothing was possible. The senator''s experience in politics told him the silence was stretching for too long. So he said, to buy time: "What do we do now? That''s a very good question. I -" "Have you seen the cube?" Everyone turned to look at Debbie Lander. She was standing in the kitchen entrance, dressed in her night clothes - a long robe of creamy silk over a lacy black chemise. Her short blond hair stood up every which way from her head, and her big green eyes gleamed with excitement. "Cube?" "What cube are you talking about?" "Did you say ''cute'' or ''cube''?" Debbie Lander giggled. "It''s a cute cube, all right. It glows! It''s right next to the fountain at the back. Kirk! The fountain isn''t working. You must get it fixed today. The Hartfields are coming tomorrow. But right now, come and look at the cube. The sun''s come up, too. It''s so much nicer out at the back than in here. Can I have a coffee?" She was provided with a coffee, and everyone except for the senator trooped out onto the back terrace to look at the mysterious glowing cube. The senator waited until he was sure no one was turning back. Then he filled his cup with neat brandy and swallowed it and put more brandy in his next cup of coffee. That Felipe business was a real bummer. He had known the man for years. Ah well. Armed with his spiked coffee, he went to join his family on the terrace in the back. When he saw the desolation caused by the storm and the rain, he felt blood rush to his head. What the fuck! First Felipe, and now this! The vineyards that stretched on the gentle slopes surrounding the house grounds, the vineyards he''d sunk millions of dollars into - they were utterly destroyed. He was an American citizen, and could never become a baron or a count or a duke. But he had planned to introduce a Chateau Lander wine in a couple of years'' time. He had even secretly spent some time designing the coat of arms that would appear on the label. Now all that was fucked, fucked, fucked. What had he done to deserve this? Debbie had left the group on the terrace and walked up to the cube, oblivious of the water and the mud. She stopped and looked at it for a while and reached out and touched it. She turned round and shouted: "Hey! Come on here! There''s writing on this cube." NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 9 Making Love in the New World "Are you sure we should do this?" asked Rani. Samir looked into her eyes. They were both squatting on the same hiber bed. They had put it next to their wet mattress, which was piled high with the items they had taken from the cube: timon implant kits, rolled-up hiber beds, and documentation scrolls. It was the darkest hour of the night, the hour before the dawn. The candle had almost gone out, and the only light in the room was provided by the glowing scrolls. It wasn''t much, and Samir couldn''t see Rani''s face clearly, even though it was very close to his. But he could feel her fear. "Yes, we should do this," he said. "If we do not - we will always regret we didn''t try." He was already holding the timon implant kit in his hand. He raised it, and put the sharp tip of the cone against the side of his head. He put his thumb over the glowing blue dot in the base. "Samir! Don''t do it! Wait!" "For what? We know everything there is to know. We''ve both read the scroll end to end, and discussed every detail. It''s time to act." "Let''s wait until it gets light." Samir hesitated. Then he said: "We''re both very tired, Rani. We need some sleep. And the documentation says that when we are asleep, we will be able to fully enter the consciousness of our second selves. We will be able to see, hear, move, we will be able to do whatever we want in the New World. Not just communicate with our second selves. We''ll actually BE there." "But what if something bad happens?" "Nothing much. You know what I know. If your second self dies, you''ll simply wake up. You may feel some discomfort, nothing more. Then you can have another implant, and start all over again." "I''m scared." "So am I." The moment he said that, he pressed his thumb against the blue dot glowing in the center of the cone''s base. He felt a tingling sensation in his skin, followed by a gentle warmth that spread from the point where the cone''s tip touched his head. He became aware of a new presence inside himself, almost as if another soul had entered his body to coexist with his. It was a friendly soul. It agreed with everything he''d ever felt or thought. Its thoughts were his thoughts. It was him. He was leading a double existence. "Samir!" "I''m fine," he said. "This is amazing, Rani. It''s beautiful. Do it. Hold my hand, and do it." Rani moved closer to Samir, tightening her grip on his hand. She raised the hand holding the implant kit, and put the tip of the cone to the side of her head. "I love you," she said to Samir, and pressed the glowing dot. For a moment they squatted side by side in silence, their shoulders touching. Then Samir whispered: "You''re sitting next to me." "I know! I can feel you!" "No, I mean over there. We are sitting side by side, just like here." "We? You mean us or them?" "What ''them''?" "Our second selves." "There is no ''them''. They are us." "I can see something. It''s dark, but I think I can see shapes. And I can hear sounds." "Here or there?" Rani giggled. "Both," she said, and put down the used implant kit and pinched the skin on Samir''s arm. "Ouch!" "Did you feel it here or there?" They both laughed. Samir put his arm around Rani, and hugged her. "I felt it both here and there," he said. They were silent for a while. Then he said: "I have this impression that everything is happening very fast." "Me too." "Can you feel the air move? Can you feel the breeze?" "Yes. But I have to clear my head of all thoughts. I lose that feeling whenever you or I say something. Stop talking." "I have an idea." "Stop talking!" "That''s what I want to talk about. Let''s try to sleep. Let''s find out what it''s really like to be there." "I''m too excited to sleep." "That bed, that mat will make us fall asleep. Remember what happened when we finished making love? We were asleep almost before we had lain down." "All right. Let''s try that." They lay down, and put their arms around each other. They were still lying down with their arms around each other. Samir could feel Rani''s breath on his neck. But he could feel something else, too. He was completely naked, and she was as well. The soft breeze felt chilly on his skin. He could hear leaves rustling, the whispering of invisible insects, a small, faraway splash, such as made by a fish jumping out of water. He raised his head and looked around. Dawn was close; the darkness wasn''t as deep any more. He was in a small clearing, surrounded by trees and shrubs: he could make out their shapes. He tried to sit up and Rani grabbed him tighter and said: "No." He looked down at her and saw she still had her eyes closed. "It''s all right," he said. "Rani, open your eyes." She did, and they looked at each other. "We''re here," he said. "We''re there," she corrected him. He was sometimes irritated by the way she corrected him whenever he''d made the tiniest mistake, but now he liked it very much. It was Rani, the Rani he loved, down to the tiniest detail. They really were there, together in the New World. They sat up, arms around each other, Rani hissing when a small stone pricked her skin. She reached under her leg and picked it up and threw it away. There was a tiny thump as it hit the ground. This made her think of something. "Samir," she said. "Why is the grass so short? It''s much longer back home." "Not where the goats are." "That''s it!" "What?" "Animals have been grazing here. That''s why the grass is so short." "Can you smell what I can smell?" "Animal shit?" "Coral tree!" "Yes." There was a short, chirping hiss behind them, then another. "It''s a kingfisher," said Samir, with wonder in his voice. As if on cue, other birds near and far started to sing. It was getting lighter rapidly now, and they could see the flowering coral tree, maybe twenty paces away. The first rays of sunshine began tickling the leaves, the branches, the flowers. Everything was breathtakingly beautiful and peaceful. They sat side by side in silence, watching the day begin. Gradually, Samir became more and more aware of Rani - her closeness, her warmth, her smell. He nuzzled her hair; she pulled her head away and looked into his eyes and smiled. Then she put her hand on the back of his neck and pulled and they kissed. It felt like paradise. They were in paradise. They were in the New World. And everything was happening at the same pace it did back home. It didn''t feel faster any more. Samir put his lips next to Rani''s ear and whispered: "Rani." "Yes?" "Do you think - do you think we can do everything here, just like we can back home?" Rani laughed softly, then grinned at him and said: "Let''s find out." He let his hand slip down from her shoulder and onto her breast. She gently blew air in his ear, and whispered: "Let''s find out now." NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 10 The Naked Threesome The sun was beating down fiercely on the bungalow and the atmosphere inside was close to stifling. Gladys Pendleton looked at the sliding glass doors leading to the back patio and the garden. They were shut and locked, along with all the windows in the house - just in case. She squeezed the key to the sliding doors in her hand until it bit into her skin. She knew she had to open those doors to let some air inside. She had checked the bungalow''s central air conditioning system, and it wasn''t working. Neither did anything electric, including the kitchen stove. Bother! She had tried to switch on her bedside radio the moment she woke up: she''d wanted to listen to the news, and find what was going on. She heard a sad little pop, and that was it. That was her morning news broadcast. She was scared, but didn''t really have a choice. She had to open the back doors, or they''d suffocate inside. She walked up to the doors, unlocked them, and slid them open. The cube was still there, right in the middle of the bed of her beloved begonias. The plants were completely destroyed. The flowers that weren''t under the cube had been beaten down by the rain: their leaves and stems lay limply in the mud. She glared at the cube. It was the cube that had caused the power outage, she was sure. It was the cube that brought the rain. It was the cube that had kept her husband awake until the small hours. He''d shut himself in his study with those horrible things he''d somehow extracted from inside the cube, and did not respond to her entreaties to let her inside. She gave up on him when she heard him snoring behind the locked door. She glanced at the barbecue briefly, and wondered whether she could boil water on the grill. She decided she would give it a try; it was high time for breakfast, she was hungry. She would fry a pan of eggs and bacon on the grill as well, and toast some bread. Thank heavens that it was gas! Everyone around had been switching to the new electric barbecue grills with the smoke flavor capsules. But Harold had rejected that. "There''s just no substitute for meat cooked over a flame, bunny," he''d explained. "It tastes much better." She agreed, though she wished he would stop calling her ''bunny''. She used to like it a lot, but after she''d turned fifty her rump started growing and didn''t stop until very recently. When she stood sideways to the mirror, she looked like a bunny on stilts. Enough! She was still healthy, thank God, and she was going to cook a good, hearty breakfast. She was sure the smell of frying bacon would entice Harold out of his study, too. Harold had a very keen sense of smell, and loved eggs fried with bacon for breakfast. She was right. He appeared in the doorway to the back yawning and stretching just as she was preparing to load the plates - perfect timing. He was a sight, too. He hadn''t shaved or combed, and his long white hair was sticking out in all directions. He looked like an old, mad scientist. "Look who''s here," she said. shooting him a reproachful look. "Morning, bunny. Clever of you to cook breakfast on the barbie. Power still out, eh?" "Yes," she said curtly. She really wished he would stop calling her ''bunny''. She didn''t get a proper look at him until they were sitting down to eat. Her eyes opened wide. She said: "Harold!" "What?" "You''ve got a shining blue spot on your head!" "What, that? There." He put away his fork and smoothed down his hair, covering the blue spot. "Harold!" "I''ll explain everything, bunny. But can we east first? I''m famished. And this is delicious. You''re a queen." "Don''t you get cute with me, Harold Pendleton." "I''m sorry. I just have to eat first." It didn''t take long. He vacuumed the food off his plate with such speed that she was only halfway through when he began speaking. She knew some of it, of course. He''d had to tell her about the objects he got from the cube before she would allow them inside the house. She knew there was plenty to read on the glowing scroll, and she suspected that was how he''d spent the time in his study: reading it. But she was completely unprepared for what he had to say. He told her that he''d been to the New World. He told her what it was like. He had to spend a lot of time reassuring her that he was still the same Harold Pendleton she''d married nearly fifty years earlier. Her eyes narrowed when he told her he had been totally naked throughout the time he''d spent there. She waited patiently until he''d finished, then said: "Harold Pendleton, you''re a fool. It''s a prank. An advertising gimmick. Just like those balloons last year. Where if one landed in your backyard and you brought it in, you got a discount. You probably got filmed prancing around buck naked, and they''ll use it for some sort of a publicity stunt. That''s what it is." "Bunny!" "Don''t you ''bunny'' me." "But bunny -" "If you call me ''bunny'' again, I shall whack you." "I''m sorry. I''m really sorry. Please forgive me. But don''t you understand -" "No, Harold. I don''t understand you at all." "But bun - Gladys! You have to believe me!" "It''s that implant. It''s made you crazy." "Gladys!" "I''m sorry, Harold. I don''t trust you. You have to see a doctor." A strange gleam appeared in Harold''s eye. He said: "Well, I''m seeing our doctor today at three. And so are you. The Ramseys are coming over for a visit." "But they were here only yesterday!" "Dave Ramsey has been our doctor for over twenty years, am I right? You trust him, don''t you?" "Yes. But how - they didn''t say anything last night." "I know. I fixed it up with them when I met them in the New World." "MET them? Harold!" "I was walking down to the beach. I went there because I could hear the sea and it turned out to be much farther away than it is here. I bumped into them, into the Ramseys on the way. They too were walking to the beach. We talked a lot." "The three of you were standing around talking, and all of you buck naked?" "Yes. But being naked was unimportant. It didn''t matter. Really." "It matters to me." "Please, Gladys. Don''t be silly." "You and your naked threesomes." "We didn''t have a threesome. We had a talk and went down to the beach and watched the dawn and wandered around a little, getting our bearings. We found a freshwater stream, and then we split up. They wanted to do a bit more exploring. I wanted to go back home, I mean here. But to get back here, I had to fall asleep over there. I had a hard time. I was hungry and the sun was strong all day. I only managed to fall asleep when it was dark." "Over here? Over there? You spent a full day in this new world of yours? Harold, what are you talking about?" "Yes, a full day. More, actually. You see, b - pet, while you''re there, time passes exactly like it does here. But relative to here - relative to the time on Earth, it goes much faster. Maybe as much as ten times faster. I don''t know. Hard to tell when there are no clocks and watches around." "Can I get something clear? What do you mean by ''here''?" "Where we both are right now. 12 Solar Crescent, Port Douglas, Queensland, Australia." "And what do you mean by ''there''?" "Well, it''s basically the same spot. Same place, but no Port Douglas or Solar Crescent. No houses, nothing but nature." "You were exploited for a beach resort ad, Harold. You injected some sort drug from that metal thing, and you just lost your mind. Then they filmed the three of you cavorting around naked. They''ll use that to advertise that new nudist beach they''ve got at the Sheraton. Mark my words." "Gladys. Do you trust Dave Ramsey?" "I''m not sure any more." "As a doctor? Do you trust him as a doctor?" "Not if he''s under the influence of drugs." Harold Pendleton sighed heavily. "Let''s make a deal," he said. "If you are still concerned about me tomorrow, I''m going to the hospital for a complete checkup and observation. But first, please listen to what Dave Ramsey has to say." "Did you say they are coming at three?" "Yes." "Oh God. I must see what time it is." "Wait, don''t get up yet. What happened to your watch?" "I don''t know. It just stopped working. The bedside radio stopped working, too. Something seemed to pop inside when I turned it on." Harold frowned and said: "Gladys. You know, maybe it just isn''t safe to fiddle around with anything electrical right now. Don''t touch any of the appliances, and don''t use your phone." "I wasn''t going to. There''s no way to charge it, so it''s best to leave it for emergencies." "Please turn it off." "I already did." "That''s good. Do your thing then, and I''ll clear up and do the dishes." Luckily, the water was still running although the pressure seemed to be getting weaker. She showered and filled the bathtub to the brim, just in case. Then it took her an age to get her hair right: the grey was showing everywhere, she would have to make an appointment with her hairdresser very soon. She spent a long time getting herself ready. She had just finished putting the mascara on when she heard the front door knocker. The Ramseys had arrived early. That was odd. They usually came just a little late, maybe because they lived just a couple of houses down the street and left their house at the last moment. Harold called for her to answer the door if she could, so she did. When she opened it, she came close to screaming. They both had the blue spots shining on their heads. Dave''s was just over his ear, and Susan''s right on her temple, in plain sight. She was frightened by the look in their eyes; it was alien. Their smiles implied secret, dangerous knowledge. She felt as if she was in a movie with zombies or wicked aliens from outer space, pretending to be human. It took her a real effort to smile back at them. "Come in," she said. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 11 The Dawn of the Vikings The number of cubes that had appeared simultaneously in every corner of the world was later estimated at around a hundred thousand. The vast majority were discovered very soon after they''d appeared. The vast majority appeared in areas governed by some sort of authority. The vast majority of the authorities concerned immediately cordoned off the cubes with police and soldiers, preventing people from getting too close. The police and the soldiers were mostly unhappy about that. The police force and the military suspected the cubes were very bad news: a new, deadly kind of explosive, a radiation device, a pod full of microbes designed to decimate the population. Only a few felt proud of the fact that they now had a chance to die for their country. But thousands of cubes were left unattended. They appeared in places that weren''t populated, or where people were few and far between. Some would be discovered only months later. To make things worse, some authorities adopted a regrettably lax attitude towards the cubes, and that caused many complications later on. Max Dahl, the police chief in Jokkmokk in Sweden, thought he had everything under control. On the morning of January 3rd, 2035, he arrived at work twenty minutes late, and spent at least half an hour drinking coffee and congratulating himself and his colleagues about their performance over the past couple of days. The New Year celebrations in Jokkmokk had concluded with just 19 arrests, with most of the people arrested being conditionally released within a few hours. There had been no deaths, and only two serious cases of assault that required an ambulance. True, Jokkmokk wasn''t a big town. However, this year it had special guests. Sven Holm, president of the Viking Motorcycle Club, owned a defunct farm a couple of kilometers away. Over a dozen Vikings had assembled there to greet the New Year. Max Dahl anticipated trouble when the bikers paid a visit to his town. But they didn''t. And Max Dahl had issued specific instructions to his patrolmen: they were to keep away from Holm''s farm. "Stay well away," he told them. "They are sure to be all drunk and high on drugs. I don''t want any shooting matches developing because a hopped-up paranoid biker saw a police car. If there''s an emergency call, then of course we''ll all do what''s necessary. Once again: Happy New Year!" And they all grinned and raised their coffee mugs in a toast. In more than half the mugs, the coffee was spiked with brandy, rum, aquavit - whatever had been handy. Surviving a winter so far north required special measures. At Holm''s farm, a vote was being held on special measures. There were nearly twenty Vikings present and participating. They all agreed special measures were needed. The incredible opportunity they had been presented with had to be fully exploited. The opportunity came in the shape of a glowing cube that had appeared in the snow next to the tumbledown barn on Holm''s farm. The big room in Holm''s house was almost full of the items taken from the cube. It seemed to have an inexhaustible supply. Timon implant kits were the favored choice: they looked expensive. And there was something fascinating, something very promising about that glowing blue dot in the base. Sven Holm tried to get everything done in the proper order. But before he could finish reading the text on the scroll, two of the chicks present - Lena and Ingrid - stabbed each other with the implant kits. Whoever had written the text on the scroll should have put implant instructions at the very end. People were impatient by nature, and all the more so when drunk and high on drugs. Lena and Ingrid immediately went into a kind of trance. This confirmed what most of the Vikings had suspected from the start: timon was some sort of a new kickass drug that was implanted for slow, gradual release. Everyone started stabbing themselves with the cones. A few very drunk Vikings stabbed themselves in arms and legs, but the implants didn''t take: the blue light failed to appear on their skin. Sven Holm didn''t treat himself to an implant. He watched coldly as the implanted Vikings went through varied manifestations of what did indeed seem, to Sven, like a drug-induced euphoria. He had thought timon might be some sort of drug too, but he had dismissed that notion very quickly. This was something far, far more important than drugs. Drugs ranked very high on Sven Holm''s order of importance. Anything that ranked even higher consumed all his attention. He kept on reading, ignoring the babbling Vikings who were now all complaining about the cold. It was nonsense, it was very warm inside the house. When he''d finished reading, he picked up the implant kit that had been lying in his lap. He got up and approached Olaf Berg, his deputy, who was rolling around the floor holding his balls and moaning that it was so freezing they were about to drop off. Sven pressed the cone to Olaf''s head and pressed the blue dot in the center of the base. The shining blue spot disappeared from Olaf''s head, and he stopped rolling around on the floor. He stared at the ceiling, then at Sven. "What the fuck?" said Olaf Berg. "Yeah," said Sven. He examined the base of the implant kit: the dot was still glowing. It all worked exactly as described in the documentation. He walked around the room, putting Vikings in both the new and the old world out of their cold misery. Over the next three hours, the Vikings assembled in Holm''s farm drank more coffee than they had over the last three days. There was a lot of excited talking at first, but then silence fell as they all returned to reading the scrolls. Sven Holm had a lot of time to think things through while they were busy reading. By the time they''d finished, he''d made a decision. Of course it would have to be put to a vote, but he knew he''d win the vote ahead of time. Like Nelson Odongo thousands of kilometers away, Sven Holm was an accomplished politician. He only called for a vote when he was sure he would win. That was why he was the president of the Viking Motorcycle Club, a business enterprise that had already turned several of its more prominent members into millionaires. Drugs were a very high-profit commodity. It was hard to beat the profit margin on drugs. Usually, even weapons came second. But this time, they came first. For Sven Holm had something very special in mind. He laid out his vision to the assembled Vikings in a short speech. He said: "We all agree what has just happened is incredible. We all agree that was has just happened is very real. We all agree that it represents a fantastic opportunity." He broke off and glanced at each of the assembled Vikings in turn. No one disagreed. "We must give shape to this opportunity," said Sven Holm. "And there is only one choice that is right." He stared over their heads, letting his eyes go out of focus. He knew they loved it. They called it ''Sven''s vision''. He''d overheard them use that term more than once. He had the trait common among great politicians: the ability to listen without appearing to, and the ability to pretend he was listening when he wasn''t. "This choice," said Sven Holm, "Is the creation of a Viking empire in the New World." He wanted to say more, but he couldn''t. He wouldn''t have been heard in the roar of approval that rose together with the clenched fists. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 12 A Steam Renaissance The events that occurred at Holm''s farm near Jokkmokk were replicated thousands of times all around the world. Fanatics of all kinds had orgasmic visions of the worlds they would create. Conquest was a common theme. Benevolent tyrannies came a close second. Some male fanatics dreamed of being the only or almost-only males in settlements populated mostly by attractive women. Some female fanatics dreamed of worlds where men were present only in the capacity of slaves. Many fanatics of both sexes dreamed of founding new religions and cults devoted to the worship of their own personal obsessions. Fortunately, the fanatics were balanced by people who had very reasonable dreams. Most of those reasonable dreamers hoped to become rich by trading New World resources. It was clear that there were fortunes to be made. There were also quite a few people who were guided by a very practical, wise principle. Those were the ones that had already been to the New World. They were aware that every hour on Earth stretched into ten hours in the New World, and they rejoiced at the possibility of experiencing an almost eternal life. Ten years on Earth translated into a century in the New World. Fifty - into half a thousand years. All without exception - fanatics, merchants, mystics - shared a single belief. They believed that the flow of the New World''s resources to Earth would bring about a new golden age. For themselves, for others, for humanity. This belief was shared by the delegates assembled in the United Nations building in New York. They had gathered blearily that morning around the coffee that was always kept fresh in the buffet room. It wasn''t fresh any more, but there was still plenty left, maybe because it had gone cold a long time earlier. Nelson Odongo felt compelled to make a short speech. The kitchen staff were doing their best, and their best would soon get better thanks to the installation of the gas cookers taken from a nearby department store. Gas tanks had also been secured. Fresh, hot coffee would be available soon. He ended his speech on an uplifting note: little temporary discomforts did not matter. Thanks to resources from the New World, humanity would soon enter a new golden age. "Correction," said Dieter Fabrizi, president of the Swiss Confederation. "It COULD bring around a new golden age. Not ''would''. This has to be handled correctly." Everyone nodded. Everyone agreed that this whole New World business was something that had to be handled correctly. It was only logical that it is should be handled by the highest-ranking government in the world: themselves. The self-elected leaders of the New World Order. "It would be best if we elected a special body to concern itself exclusively with the colonization of the New World," said Nelson Odongo. He noted with pleasure that many whites flinched when they heard the word ''colonization''. Especially because it was spoken by him, a black. What was more important, he had gotten everyone''s attention. He beamed at them all and said: "I use the word ''colonization'' on purpose. This describes exactly what we are about to do. But this time around, there will be no colonizers and the colonized. The New World is not populated. There will be no oppression of the native peoples that gave colonization such a bad name. Instead, there will be an equal chance for everybody, for every single race, nation, family - for every single individual! - to build a new life for themselves in the New World." "Very well said," Carlton Brock commented immediately. "There''s nothing wrong about colonization when it''s done the right way. I mean, look at us. Look at the U. S.. We''ve come a long way, baby." "Are you addressing me?" asked Margaret Kombo, President of the Republic of Congo. She was well over seventy, and had inherited the presidency when her husband became the late and much-mourned president of Congo following a heart attack. Margaret Kombo loved to pretend she was flirting with Carlton Brock. She really enjoyed the horror on his face when she did that. She was in a good mood for another important reason. She wasn''t afraid of being deposed by a rival during her prolonged absence. Her only possible rivals were her own children, and they were all scared shitless of her. Her verbal talent wasn''t limited to making wisecracks. It was at its best when she was forcing someone into submission. And it was deadly for her children, because she knew exactly where to strike. Carlton Brock said: "It''s a saying we have. It doesn''t mean anything. I mean it doesn''t mean what you might think it means." "That is exactly it," said Dieter Fabrizi, the Swiss president. "That''s why it has to be handled correctly." There was a murmur of agreement. Then Nelson Odongo cleared his throat and said: "I think we must prioritize re-establishing communications." "That might be difficult without electrical power," Olaf Troll interrupted. He had drunk three cups of the cold, evaporated, condensed coffee, and glowed with a caffeine high. "We must immediately begin attempts to communicate by other means," he said. "We must -" "It''s being done," said Carlton Brock. Everyone looked at him. He smiled and adjusted the knot of his tie and took a sip of cold coffee - why not let them wait a little? Then he said: "It''s already being done. I have a team working on a summary that I hope to present a couple of hours from now at the latest. It took us a while to locate a few manual typewriters. Luckily we also found a package of working carbon papers. Everyone will have a typed summary in their hands by the middle of the day." He paused again. Some of them were on the verge of begging so that he would tell them what actually was being done. Good, good! He said: "Even as we speak, over two thousand teams of messengers are on their way. They include bicycle couriers, police on bicycles and on horseback, and military personnel. "I have personally dispatched six carrier pigeons carrying messages to the Congress. They should reach Washington within two days." "Carrier pigeons?" said Juliette Lepine, the lesbian Prime Minister of Canada. "Yes. I am happy to say that my administration has prepared for every eventuality. I always carry six carrier pigeons when traveling. As you can see, they can come in handy. "But that''s not all. As some of you may remember, last year I presided over the opening of the Museum of Steam here in New York. This museum''s centerpiece consists of an exact replica of the Great Western. The first steamship built specifically to cross the Atlantic. Used for tourist cruises, it is in perfect running order. It''s worth noting the Great Western is equipped with four masts and a full set of sails. "We also have two other steam boats available. One is a tug that also belongs to the museum. The Queen of Roses is a paddle-wheel steamboat owned by a tour operator. Its operations have been limited to the Hudson, but we are confident it can handle the ocean as long as she keeps to coastal waters. "The two smaller ships will be leaving port later today. One shall proceed north, the other south, both keeping close to the coast and docking briefly at all the ports they come across. "The Great Western is assigned a larger task. When it has finished bunkering coal - there are a few difficulties there, we may also have to take firewood - once it has fuel on board, it shall sail for Saint John''s in Newfoundland. With your kind permission of course, Madam Prime Minister." He nodded at the Canadian Prime Minister and smiled, showing his teeth. He knew she hated to agree with him. He thought: take THAT, you ugly dyke. Let''s see you say no to this one. She said: "I suppose you will want more fuel once you get there. I shall write to the Saint John''s authorities. Am I right in assuming the Great Western will attempt to sail to Europe?" "Correct." "But surely it also has an electrical system aboard?" "It''s not necessary to run the ship." "How soon is it going to sail?" "Within two days." "This is fantastic news," said Nelson Odongo, eager to reassert himself. "We must vote on it without delay." Carlton Brock gave the secretary general a hard stare. He said: "Vote on it?" "Of course. After all, we are a parliament. But it''s going to be a mere formality. What you have come up with is brilliant, mister president. I think we may even call you our savior. I''m sure your plan will be met with approval and applause." "Okay," said Carlton Brock, somewhat mollified. He reminded himself of his evil, scheming deputy. It would be good to ensure that the world parliament had his back. "Fine," he said. "So let''s go and get this vote done!" Nelson Odongo beamed at Carlton Brock and said: "The sandwiches should be here any moment, along with at least a few pots of hot tea. Maybe right after that -" "That''s a great idea," Carlton Brock said with enthusiasm: he was quite hungry. A few minutes later, he was interrupted by one of his numerous female aides halfway through a delicious ham and lettuce sandwich. "What is it?" he snapped, a small piece of lettuce flying off his lip and sticking to the aide''s chin. She was afraid to brush it off. It trembled slightly when she said: ''I have a confidential message for you, Mr President." Carlton Brock sighed. "Okay," he said. He quickly grabbed another sandwich from the tray - they sure were disappearing fast - and followed his aide to a secluded spot. "Fire away," he said, and filled his mouth with bread and ham. He very nearly spat it out when she said: "There have been disturbances in the city, sir. Firearms have been used. There are casualties. And..." "Go on! What is it?" "There are calls for your immediate arrest and imprisonment." Carlton Brock stared at her, chewing furiously. When he''d swallowed he glanced down at her elegant black pumps and said: "You better go change into running shoes, sweetheart. I''m going to show those motherfuckers. Go tell Chief Brody downstairs in the lobby. He''s set up his command post there. Tell him I''ll be along in a moment. Go on. What are you waiting for? Go!" She went off, breaking into a trot. "Jesus fucking Christ," muttered Brock. He briefly wondered whether his evil deputy didn''t keep a secret stash of carrier pigeons. He could have dispatched a couple to New York and - no, that didn''t make sense. He took another bite from his sandwich. Behind him, Nelson Odongo had begun calling members of the new world parliament to assemble for the vote. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 13 Horses and Guns Li Yang ran into one of the messenger teams sent out by Carlton Brock. It happened as he was returning to his room with a new haul of loot taken from a nearby, vandalized pawnshop. The team he encountered consisted of cops on horseback. There were two of them, riding side by side. He''d heard the clip-clop of the horses'' hooves before he''d seen them. At first, he couldn''t identify that sound; he was sure he''d heard it before, though. So he got a little too curious for his own good, and when he got to the street corner he had a peek. The horses were trotting side by side, one cop keeping a lookout on each side. The cop closer to Li Yang spotted him instantly, and his cop brain immediately identified a suspect. "Hey! You!" he shouted. His right hand dropped from the horse''s reins and onto his hip holster. Li Yang could have found himself in a lot of trouble very fast. He was carrying so much stuff he had difficulty walking. What was worse, the loot included a small revolver he''d found in the remains of a smashed desk in the pawnshop. He knew full well that cops really disliked people carrying guns without a gun permit. Carrying unregistered guns was even worse. A lot of the stuff he''d taken from the pawn shop still had tags attached. He was truly in deep shit. He was about to drop everything and start running when Fate intervened. That old bitch called Fate had been kicking his ass regularly for the past few years, but starting with the morning of his birthday it had been nothing but pats on the back and even a couple of light kisses. The cop''s shout had been misinterpreted by his horse. It broke into a canter, looking at Li Yang with a big, wet, crazy eye as it went past. The cop lost his balance in the saddle - he hadn''t had much practice riding horses - he tried to grab the reins and missed and hit the horse''s neck. It broke into a gallop. "What the fuck?" shouted the second cop. He didn''t even look at Li Yang. He galloped off after his partner, swearing loudly. A big brown leather satchel was bouncing on his back. Li Yang took extra care the rest of the way home. It wasn''t easy. He had to walk an extra two blocks to stay clear of a bunch of people busy ransacking a liquor store. A young, rough-looking couple nearby appeared to be fucking, the woman atop a newspaper vending box. Its metal base clanked rhythmically on the pavement. He breathed a big sigh of relief when he''d finally locked the door to his room behind him. He was still alone in the apartment, as far as he could tell. But you could never tell with that old bitch called Fate. She changed her mind at a whim. He didn''t want Harper or Charlene Lee or maybe even cops walking into his room just as he was examining his new gun. His new gun was an old gun, a small snub-nosed revolver. Its bluish finish was badly scratched, but amazingly it was loaded. However, there were only three cartridges in the five-shot drum. Li Yang took careful note of the letters and numbers stamped on the back of the cartridge cases, and resolved to steal a box of the right cartridges at the earliest opportunity. His second most important piece of loot that day was an ancient Primus stove. He pressed the pump with his thumb a couple of times when he''d found it, and a faint smell of paraffin rose from the burner. He just hoped it would work on lighter fluid; it was the only fuel he had. There still wasn''t any power in the city, and when he went to wash his face and hands in the kitchen he found the water flow was limited to a limp trickle. He spent a worried half an hour filling every suitable container he could find with water. By the time he was done it hardly ran at all, even with the tap twisted fully open. He had been very busy over the part twenty four hours, too busy to even contemplate reading the text on the glowing scroll. He did have a quick look, found it complicated, and postponed it till later. He''d also tried to turn on his newly acquired stereo. There was a crack, a pop, a fizz, and that was it. It was dead. He didn''t throw it out; he''d plug it in, and try again once power was back on. What he wanted to do next was eat. He returned to his room carrying a half-full bottle of cooking oil and a beat-up frying pan from the communal kitchen. The frozen steaks had melted, but they still looked good. In fact, they looked great to Li Yang. He was going to eat a couple. The stove ran well enough on lighter fluid, and soon the meat was cooking. The room seemed a little warmer too. Lin Yang helped himself to a Coke from a stolen six-pack, than squatted down in front of the stove, prodding the meat with a fork. He took a swig of beer, then another. He started smiling. Suddenly, shots crackled in the street outside Li Yang''s apartment. He was up in a flash. He glanced at the gun lying on the bed, and decided against it. It wasn''t wise to show himself carrying a gun when there was shooting being done. Come to think of it, it wasn''t wise to show himself at all. But his curiosity got the better of him, and he sidled up to the window. Nothing was moving on the street. The immobile cars lined the sidewalks. A small bird - a sparrow? - swooped down onto the road, picked up something, flew away. The sun was shining with a force he''d never seen before. He could actually feel it: a warm hand on his face. The sun, the only thing that really mattered. There was no life without a sun. Without a sun, all life died. There was a sharp crack of a shot and the window pane inches away from Li Yang''s face exploded into pieces. A couple of shards hit his face, one just below his left eye. Before he pulled his head back from the window he saw the shooter: a dark figure on the roof of the brownstone block across the street. He was crouching and his outstretched hands were clasped around something that could only be a gun. He raised it up and pointed it at the sky and fired three more shots. CRACK-CRACK-CRACK. Then he threw his head back as if he was laughing. He was having a good time. He was standing on a rooftop with a gun and taking potshots at people and there was fuck all anyone could do about it. Life was good. Li Yang moved away from the window and crouched and pulled the burning stove into the corner of the room. He squatted down there, out of sight of the window, and pulled the glass shards out of his face. There were a couple of more shots outside when he was turning the steak over in the pan. They weren''t aimed in his direction, he could tell by the sound. He looked at the gun he''d stolen from the pawnshop and decided he''d have to get himself something better than that. With plenty of cartridges, so that he could get in some shooting practice. Maybe it also wasn''t a bad idea to have another look at that scroll. Maybe the metal cones with the shining blue dot were warheads of some kind. That glowing cube, the cones, the glowing scroll - all that represented a lot of time and effort on someone''s part. It all must have cost a lot of money, too. No one would do something like that just to fuck around. It had to be something important. I''ll eat first, thought Li Yang. Then it''s time to do some serious reading. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 14 The Senators Toga Adam Lander nudged his father''s shoulder gently with his hand. The senator gave him a slightly startled glance before taking the tall glass from his hand. The glass contained a Harvey Wallbanger: orange juice, vodka, and Galliano. It was the senator''s favorite cocktail, but he grimaced after the first sip. "Adam," he said "I''ve told you so many times: it''s a Galliano FLOAT. You know what ''float'' means? You splash some Galliano on top, not mix it in. Then the aroma -" "Sorry, Dad," Adam Lander lied. He preferred scotch and soda. If the old man fancied a poncy drink, he could mix it himself. They stood side by side on the back terrace of the senator''s house, and looked at the setup on the back lawn. The gaily-striped tent used for garden parties had been erected there. Its sides were rolled up to reveal a circular arrangement of the silvery mats called hiber beds. A gas-powered portable refrigerator purred soothingly next to a long table set with plates, glasses, dishes, assorted silverware and three large candle-powered food warmers. The pots kept warm contained lamb sirloin strips with green peas cooked in a thick wild mushroom sauce, a herby chicken casserole, and basmati rice with a touch of saffron. A second table supported an array of bottles and cocktail gear: half-dishes of olives and pearl onions and maraschino cherries, a bowl of cashews, crackers, and the silly little sausages on sticks that were Debbie Lander''s favorite. She could have all the sausages she wanted, thought the senator fondly as he gazed at the feast laid out in the garden. It was all Debbie''s doing, with plenty of willing assistance from Karen and some unwilling, grim-faced help from Bernard, the senator''s younger son. They had all thoroughly acquainted themselves with the contents of the documentation scrolls. They had discussed those contents in the early morning hours. They had all agreed to the senator''s proposal: that the Lander family establish a presence in the New World. Randy Trueman had made some noises about having to rejoin his unit in San Diego, but Karen had dealt with that. She pulled her husband aside for a short, whispered exchange after which a hangdog-looking captain Trueman apologized for holding things up, and put himself at the disposal of the assembled company. There were some minor disagreements about details, such as the appropriate name for the newfound empire. The senator preferred something feudal-sounding, something that would allow him to call himself an emperor or at the very least, a king. Something that would give him a chance to use the coat of arms he had secretly designed for the Chateau Lander wine. But the others balked at this, which he found very disappointing. In the end, everyone agreed to settle the name problem at a later date, and focus on practicalities first. It was agreed that the first team of New World explorers would be composed of the senator, Randy Trueman, and the senator''s sons. Debbie and Karen would stand vigil over the hiber-bedded males, and shake them awake after exactly one hour had passed. Then, once it was known that the New World was safe, the ladies would have a turn while the male pioneers refreshed themselves at the table. When the ladies were woken up after another hour, there would be a quick council of war under the tent''s striped canopy. Priorities would be established and tasks handed out. Establishing a launching pad for transport of New World resources was among the top priorities, for sure. As Adam Lander said, inter-dimensional travel that didn''t bring a profit was a waste of time. The documentation made it plain building a launching pad was simple. All that was needed was a structure built of something called tiger rock. The documentation included a picture: stones striped like a tiger''s fur or, as Debbie Lander had observed, a tabby cat''s. The documentation stated that they could be found all over the New World, and just needed to be placed together to form an enclosed space. No ceiling or roof was needed, but the floor had to be big enough to accommodate whatever was being sent. Also, the walls enclosing the floor had to reach higher than the transported articles. "Sounds suspiciously simple," the senator had commented. His children exchanged meaningful looks. "There are no politics involved in this, Dad," Karen had said. "If we find enough of those rocks or stones quickly, we''ll build a small launch pad and try to send something. I don''t know, another stone or whatever, as long as it''s inanimate." "We''ll have to choose the spot carefully, " Randy Trueman added. "Whatever we send will appear in exactly the same spot here on Earth. We don''t want anyone to be brained by a rock arriving from outer space." "From another universe," the senator corrected him crossly. What the fuck was that? It was up to him, senator Kirk Lander, to decide what and how was chosen or sent or wanted. "Isn''t an, an, another universe automatically located in outer space?" Karen asked. Her husband twitched as if she had pressed a hidden button. "The term ''outer space'' refers to the universe outside our own solar system," he recited. Karen looked at him suspiciously. "How would you know?" she asked. Randy flushed. "Becoming an officer involves graduating a class in space warfare," he said curtly. "Oh really? I didn''t know." "There are many things you don''t know," Randy Trueman had snapped. He had been still wearing his new Christmas pyjamas when the conversation took place. He had become noticeably short-tempered. Karen didn''t seem to mind. He had finally changed his clothes later, along with everyone else. Debbie Lander went through an agony of indecision when selecting the outfit to wear for her interstellar, inter-dimensional journey. Then she remembered that she would be actually sleeping while the whole trip was taking place. She put on her favorite T-shirt that dated back to her college days. It was white with a big juicy orange displayed exactly between her breasts, underlined by the caption: ''You sweet!''. She also put on a pair of panties and black socks and then her black silk pyjamas with gold trim. Her husband didn''t suffer any indecision. He put on the one-piece zipped camo suit that he''d had for ages, and his laced jungle boots. He could wear clothes like that for weeks at a time without suffering any discomfort. Senator Lander''s sons both opted for tracksuits. Adam''s was black and silver, Bernard''s - blue. His daughter was dressed in her hiking clothes, but her feet were sheathed in slippers. As for the senator, there was only one possible clothing choice. He put on the toga he had worn to costume party several years back. Like all of the senator''s costumes, it was of very high quality. Its folds fell away gracefully from the diamond-studded clasp on his shoulder. For a moment the senator considered donning the gold laurel-leaf wreath he had also worn to the party. Regretably, it would be uncomfortable to sleep in. He left it on the shelf. He put on the sandals that went with the toga and examined himself in the mirror. His ankles seemed scrawny. They hadn''t seemed that way before. He frowned for a while, then exchanged the sandals for a pair of soft felt boots. They were meant for chilly winter mornings up in the hunting lodge in the mountains, but they constituted a big improvement on the sandals. They were all ready and waiting for him when he came out. Randy popped the cork on the champagne, and they raised a toast to their great enterprise. Then the men all lay down on the hiber beds. On the senator''s command, they all gave themselves the timon implants, and fell asleep. Debbie Lander whacked the kitchen timer with her hand. It was an ancient wind-up model she''d had great difficulty locating. It pinged, and started ticking loudly. The two women silently looked at the defenseless men sleeping on the silvery mats. Then Karen, the senator''s daughter, picked up the knife lying next to a big bowl of fruit. After a moment''s hesitation, she also picked up an orange. Debbie looked at the orange in Karen''s hand and laughed. "You sweet," she said. "What?" "Oh, nothing. I think I''ll have a Vienna sausage." NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 15 The Invasion Begins The scene in Kirk Lander''s California home was replicated more or less faithfully in one of the staff rooms at the United Nations building in New York. Inside this room, all furniture had been pushed against the walls. All the doors leading to the room had been locked. Thirty soldiers and policemen formed two lines on both sides of a row of fifteen hiber beds. One line held timon implant kits. The other line consisted of fifteen young men dressed in disposable cellulose gowns. The gowns were very light and loose, but the men looked uncomfortable. A doctor and a paramedic stood at one end of this double row. The doctor - a strawberry-nosed man in his forties with dark-ringed, watery eyes - opened his mouth as if to say something. Then he closed it without uttering a sound. At the other end of the double row stood Carlton Brock. He''d slid one hand under his jacket the way Napoleon had done. He was frowning at the line of men wearing disposable gowns. He didn''t like to see American policemen and soldiers, HIS policemen and soldiers, dressed as if they were a bunch of fucking fairies. He said: "Men! Our future is in your hands. Our hands," he corrected himself quickly, glancing at his own manicured nails. He gave everyone a stern look in case someone found something funny in what he''d said. No one did. Reassured, he continued: "You''re about to enter a new world. We''ve been given access to this world courtesy of our children, who have traveled back in time to present us with this amazing gift, with this... with this, uh, amazing opportunity. Yes. It''s an amazing opportunity. We must seize it with both hands." He broke and looked at his hands again, noting that there was a comma of dirt under his left thumbnail. Where the fuck were his speechwriters when he needed them? He was paying those assholes a small fortune! He said: "I, the president of the United States of America, congratulate you on being chosen to be the ones who will help secure... who will secure... uh, a bright and wonderful future for us all. Okay. Let''s do it." He nodded and took a step back, bumping into Lea Panatella, his chief of staff. Lea Panatella had a nickname among White House staff that she didn''t know about. Her nickname was Zeppelins, as in ''here come the Zeppelins''. It was inspired by her enormous, silicone-enhanced boobs that pressed into Brock''s back when he stepped back. "Oh hey, Lea. Sorry," said Carlton Brock. "Not a problem," said Lea. "Remember: not a word that we''re doing this to anyone, least of all to that asshole Odongo," Brock hissed. "Mum''s the word," said Lea. Her tits were still touching his back. Anyone standing less than half a meter in front of Lea would automatically be within range of her tits. Lea didn''t mind. People became much easier to handle when she touched them with her tits. This applied to both men and women. Carlton Brock smiled at her. Lea was one hell of a chick. He was glad she had his back. The scene in one of the staff rooms inside the United Nations building in New York was replicated in many buildings, many places all over the world. In Japan, a group of young men wearing face masks vowed to restore the Black Dragon society to its full glory in the New World. A dozen stepped forward, the blue spots on their foreheads glowing brightly in the darkened room, and lay down on the silvery mats. In Rostock, Germany, a group of important businessmen gathered at a luxury hotel voted to recreate the famous Hanseatic League in a New World setting. But this time around, the League would stretch far beyond the Baltic and the North Sea: it would penetrate into every corner of the New World. They all shook hands in agreement; then they dispersed to their rooms to lie down on the hiber beds taken from the glowing cube gleaming in the hotel''s parking lot. In Glasgow, Scotland the regulars assembled at The Merry Bruce, a pub that had survived and prospered for over two centuries, raised mugs filled with frothy beer and swore to erase every bloody Sassenach they encountered in the New World. In Manchester, England, supporters of the City football club were gathered in the club''s home stadium. They stood on the pitch around the glowing cube, and made the pledge to destroy every United wanker that made it to the New World. In every country of the world, nationalists and chauvinists implanted themselves with timon and vowed to rebuild old empires in a new setting. In every country of the world, local governments tried to locate and isolate the glowing cubes from the public. But there were simply too many, and quite a few hadn''t been discovered by the authorities. Meanwhile, a new, global Old and New World policy was taking shape at the United Nations building in New York. The very first vote during the afternoon session was on introducing the new, global currency proposed by Olaf Troll. Every unit of the new currency had to be worth exactly what it said it was worth. Up to ten metals could be used in the alloys used to mint coins: their names and values would be listed on the reverse of the coin. A list of the ten metals allowed in the new currency, from aluminum to zinc, was quickly drawn up and voted through. Some Pacific island nations wanted certain seashells to be accepted as a legal tender along with coins; that motion failed to win the vote. On the other hand, a motion to include banknotes made of sheet metal passed without any trouble. The front of the metal banknote or the coin would display the numerical value of the coin and its name. The name didn''t matter. The number did. A value of one could be called a dollar, ruble, pound, peso, bolivar... It was all the same. However, Olaf Troll recommended taking a more humble route and using names of the smaller denominations: cents, pennies, centimes, centavos, pfennigs. He pointed out that the scarcity of the new currency and its inherent value would cause enormous deflation. A single new cent would buy more than an old dollar could. The value of 1 was defined as the value of ten grams of aluminum, a choice proposed by Russia and China. The Earth''s most common, easily smeltable metal was accessible to everyone - even small island nations with no metal ore deposits, but with a big refuse problem created partly by mountains of discarded aluminum cans. Ten grams of aluminum were worth one gram of copper. Ten grams of copper were worth a gram of silver. Ten grams of silver were worth a gram of gold. It would be a return to the time when a single, small silver coin was enough to feed a whole family for a day. By the time all the currency issues had been resolved and voted on, evening had fallen. The delegates made their way back to their temporary bedrooms inside the United Nations building. All delegates had already equipped themselves with hiber beds. The mats were just fantastic: they made the hardest floor as comfortable as a bed of eiderdown. Carlton Brock was seen to hold a short conference with a strawberry-nosed individual accompanied by a uniformed police officer and a soldier. He seemed to be highly displeased with what they told him. "I don''t fucking care if they''re cold," he hissed. "Bunch of fucking pussies. Send them in again. Get others in too, on a rotating basis. One team warms up while the other investigates. Oh, and get hold of a fucking weaver or tailor or whoever that can make clothes from whatever''s available." Having issued those precise, detailed instructions he retired for the night. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 16 A New War in the Old World A new flurry of shots nearly made Rani drop her spoon. She was hunched over a small portable cooking stove, the kind used for camping. It ran on gas, and was very economical. A ten-kilo canister of gas lasted for over three weeks. Of course, she always took care to cover the pot or pan, and keep the two small burners spotlessly clean. Samir and Rani''s stay in the New World had been cut short by their abrupt awakening back on Earth. They were woken up by gunshots and explosions. They jerked upright on the hiber bed they''d shared, eyes wide, mouths slightly open, ears disbelieving what they''d just heard. But they heard it again: a quick rattle of gunshots, followed by a muffled thump. They both started crying. The pitted gray walls of their room and the gunfire outside made them feel as if they had been yanked out of a paradise, and thrown into hell. After a few minutes, the gunfire stopped and there were no more explosions. They cautiously looked out of their windows. The cube was still in the field outside the unfinished house they were living in. But now there was a body lying next to it. It was the body of a young man, dressed in ragged trousers and a short-sleeved shirt. There was a bush machete lying on the ground, next to his outflung hand. His face was turned away from them but they could see there were several dark, wet holes in his back. The biggest one was the size of a fist and it was still oozing thick dark blood. A couple of the buildings beyond the fields were burning. They could see no fire, just billowing black smoke, now denser, now thinner. They couldn''t see any people, but they could see a goat standing not far from one of the burning houses. They were both very hungry, so Rani got busy with preparing food. Fortunately, they had a jerrycan full of water, so that she didn''t need to venture outside. Samir kept watch on what was going outside while she boiled rice on the small Coleman stove. Every few minutes, a few shots rang out, followed by another period of silence. Samir was increasingly curious. He wanted to find out what was going on. He also wanted the machete lying on the ground next to the dead man''s hand. It looked almost brand new. "Samir!" He looked round. Rani was squatting on the floor near the stove and gesturing at him to come and eat. She was right, it wasn''t a good idea to eat sitting at the table. It was close to the window: if they sat there, they could be seen from the outside and maybe shot at. It wasn''t worth the risk. She had opened a can of pilchards to go with the rice, and added some greens. They ate silently and hurriedly. Rani was clearing the last of the food from her plate when she said: "Well, this helped. But I could easily eat twice as much." Samir nodded. "They''re very hungry," he said. "They? You mean us, the Rani and Samir in the New World?" "Yes. It''s best to mute them for a while. Did you tell her what to do?" By ''her'', he meant Rani''s alter ego in the New World. Rani said: "Yes, she''s looking for food. There''s plenty of fish in the creek, unlike here. But how to catch any? And then what - are they to eat them raw?" "My man has already found a stone that looks as it could be a flint," Samir said. "I also told him to look for a strong, straight stick that can be used as a spear. We just have to leave them to it. If they can''t manage..." He shrugged. Rani was silent for a while. Then she said: "They''ll die if they don''t find food." "If they do we can give ourselves fresh implants, and start over." "Samir! Don''t you understand? You''ll go through agony here when the Samir in the New World starts dying of starvation." "No I won''t. I''ll just mute him completely. You know how to do it, correct? You reduce the intensity of the signal by putting your cupped hand over the implant, and holding it there for a while. You can turn it up again by rubbing the skin over the implant." "I know all that. But I can''t abandon my Rani." Samir sighed. "If they don''t find food soon, you may be forced to," he said. "But why aren''t they feeling better now that we''ve eaten? They''re copies of ourselves!" "Yes, they are. But they are leading an independent existence. We can communicate with them, we can enter their bodies when we are asleep, but they are still independent, autonomous beings in all other respects." "I can''t stand the thought of my Rani starving to death. So much suffering." "You can always kill her." "Remove the implant?" "Yes." Rani shuddered. "I don''t know if I can do that," she said. "What I would like to know right now," said Samir, "Is what''s happening here." "It''s like the riots three years ago." "It''s much worse. I didn''t see a single person outside. It''s as if everyone was gone, or dead." "Don''t say that!" "Sooner or later, I''ll have to go and find out what''s going on." "You can''t!" "I must. We don''t have a lot of food left. I''ll also need to bring in some water soon. And matches - the spare box is ruined. They''re all wet." "I''ve still got that lighter I found last week." "That little green thing? Has it got any fuel left?" "Yes, it works well. Someone must have lost it. It should be good for at least a couple of days." Samir didn''t say anything to that, and Rani glanced at him. He was sitting bolt upright and his eyes were shining. She knew him well enough to recognize he''d just had a new idea. "What is it? Tell me," she said. "There'' s a goat outside," Samir said. "I''m going to get it. There hasn''t been any shooting for a while." "Samir! You can''t steal someone''s goat!" "I''m not going to steal it." "You just said you were going to get it." "Yes. I''ll bring it here. Just for a few moments." "What for?" Samir grinned at Rani. "We''ll reproduce that goat in the New World," he said. "And Rani and Samir will have something to eat. And a goat hide to make clothes." Rani looked at him with admiration. "You''re a genius," she said. "But first, we should tell them what we are up to. Time for a little talk." They rubbed their implants a few times, and Samir laughed. "He''s found a mango tree!" he cried. "Not so loud! A mango tree? Does it have any fruit?" "Plenty. He''s on his third mango right now. They''re delicious. There is a lot of them, as well. There are many lying on the ground, under the tree." "Where''s Rani?" "She''s not with him." "Tell him to go and find her. And take a few mangoes along." "Yes... Just a moment... Rani, he has found tiger rocks. There''s a whole lot of them near where he is." "The stone needed to build a transport launch pad?" "Yes. There should be more than enough. For a small one, of course. And he''s got a stick he says he can use to spear fish. And a couple of rocks that strike sparks when hit against one another. What about your girl? What is she up to?" Rani waved a hand at him to keep quiet. After a moment, she said: "She is lying down by the creek and crying." Samir put his hand on Rani''s shoulder and squeezed it. "Tell her food is coming," he said. "Tell her Samir is already on his way with some mangoes. And ask her what she would prefer for dinner: roast fish or roast goat?" He squeezed her shoulder again and got up and walked up to the door. When he reached it, he stopped and turned and said: "Rani, tell her to look for reeds and other plants that can be used to weave things." Rani looked at him and nodded and looked away. She put her hands over her eyes. Samir had noticed she did that when she wanted to communicate with her second self in the New World. She''d told him it helped her concentrate. He''d been counting on her doing just that when he asked her to talk to her alter ego, the other Rani. He didn''t want her to see him pick up the machete that had belonged to the dead man. He opened the door just a little bit. It was all quiet outside, and night was approaching fast. The goat was still standing where he had seen it last. It was eating leaves off a bush growing under the wall of the smoldering house. He took one last look around him, and stepped out. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 17 The Battle for New York It was the fourth day of the year, the third day of what everyone was beginning to call the New Era, and the second day in a row that a sun rose into a cloudless sky. Inside the United Nations building in New York, most of the delegates were preparing for the afternoon assembly and voting session. Some important decisions would be made. Heads of state held conferences with their aides, discussing which way to vote when the time came. Many also speculated about what was going on in their home countries. Nelson Odongo wasn''t concerned about what went on in his home country. He was busy chairing a meeting of the new and temporary Colonial Council. This administrative body was to be made permanent, along with the United Nations'' Security Council. Some of the voting that afternoon would be done on issues affecting the Colonial Council. One of the votes would be on the Council''s name. The secretary general didn''t want the name to change. He came up with it himself, and he wanted to keep it. He got a real kick from uttering phrases such as ''we must colonize'' or ''our colonies in the New World''. But some people, possibly also some of the ones currently in his presence, wanted a different name. ''New World Council'' was their preferred pick. It was nonsense. A name like that suggested that council members resided in the New World. But Nelson Odongo wisely did not bring up this point. He wanted to do so right before the vote on the name, when it would be too late to come up with another popular alternative to the name he wanted: Colonial Council. He also had extra arguments. He would say that the term ''Colonial Council'' affirmed the Old World''s primacy in the New World Order. Surely all the delegates, all the assembled heads of state wished to put themselves first? ''New World Council'' sounded almost... independent. This was dangerous. This might put undesirable ideas in people''s heads. But he didn''t say any of this to people in front of him - yet. Three of the people in front of him ruled the three most powerful states in the world: in alphabetical order - China, Russia, and the United States. One represented a superstate crippled by internal dissent: the European Union. And there also were three people who weren''t politicians: Olaf Troll, Sonia Patel, and the renowned political scientist Guido Worst. Guido Worst was a very frightened man. To start with, he was sixty - an age when humans become increasingly afraid of death. He was acclaimed for his political theories, but he was about to be asked how to put them into practice. He was to provide good political solutions for the New World Order, and he would be made responsible for the results. This scared him. He was an academician. Academicians could say whatever they liked, with little or no consequences. But now, if what he said led to failure, he would be punished. And it would hurt. The genius of political sciences would be revealed as another conman, hiding behind a mask of brilliant theoretical arguments. Nelson Odongo was concluding his opening remarks. Soon, he would ask him, Guido Worst, to outline a political and administrative system for the New World. He wished he was back at his home in Switzerland: a lakeside house on the outskirts of Geneva. It was coming. The worst was coming. Nelson Odongo was saying: "And now, I propose that we listen to what the most eminent political thinker of our time has to say. Unless of course someone feels differently." He looked at everyone in turn. It was just like securing votes for a proposal. Jean Caron, the French EU president was the first person Odongo looked at: he was the easiest target. He was full of bonhomie, and wanted everyone else to feel that way. As a rule, he agreed with everything, even when it meant contradicting himself. "Of course," Jean Caron said. "Absolument." Nelson Odongo nodded and smiled at Caron, then looked at Ruslan Grot, president of Russia. Grot narrowed his eyes, and nodded twice. Brock was next. Brock looked tense. There were dark rings under his eyes that makeup couldn''t quite hide. Brock didn''t allow himself to wear heavy makeup. He thought it was poncy, at a time when many politicians had plastic surgery just to make themselves more palatable to the voters. Odongo had thought Brock could be a problem. But Brock actually grinned, and said: ''Let''s get it on." The last person Odongo looked at was Wang Wei, the leader of China. He held five important titles, the most important of which was First Secretary of the United Party. China''s United Party was basically the old Communist party which had evolved into absorbing opponents instead of fighting them. Leaving Wang Wei till last was a compliment, not an insult. Doing this gave him the ultimate advantage: he knew how the others had voted before voting himself. Wang Wei was a corpulent man in his fifties who always wore black glasses. The dark lenses were square and big enough to hide his eyes completely from other people. Deep down, Wang Wei was a very emotional man. He knew his eyes gave him away. So he officially developed conjunctivitis, and took to wearing dark glasses at all times. His political career had skyrocketed from that moment onward. Wang Wei said: "Wise men listen to other wise men first. Let''s hear the professor." Guido Worst came close to fainting. But an angel arrived to save him just in time. The angel took the shape of the police chief in the United Nations building. Captain Dick Brody opened the door to the room without knocking and ignoring everyone else, said to Carlton Brock: "Mr President, I urgently request a minute of your time." "Of course," Nelson Odongo said instantly, thus making clear it was him that decided who could and could not leave the room. Carlton Brock nodded politely to everyone in the room, and left. He closed the door and said to Brody: "Jesus, Chief. You look real worried. What''s up?" Brody swallowed, and said: "Good news or bad?" "Good," said Brock, and forced himself to smile to improve morale. Brody said: "The first of the teams we sent out are back. They''ve been as far as Trenton, Allentown, and Bridgeport. There have been six cubes located so far. As per your instructions, sir, they''ve been put under guard to prevent access by members of the public." "Sounds good," said Brock. "Okay, let''s have the bad news." "The public doesn''t like it. Things have already got out of control in a number of locations. Unfortunately, that includes New York City. I have six men dead, sir. We''re fighting running gun battles in Queens and Bronx and we''ve got firearm incidents all over town. We''ve asked Fort Hamilton to lend us full support. Unfortunately no vehicles are in working orders, and reinforcements are proceeding on foot." "Can''t they ride a fucking train? There''s half a dozen working railroad engines at the Museum of Steam, and railroad tracks all over the goddamn place." "The tracks are all blocked, sir." "Fuck!" "Yes, sir. Sir, it is my sad duty to ask you for written authorization of deadly force by whatever means are deemed appropriate by the commanders in the field. Sir." "What? They want to use fucking artillery or something? Can''t they just shoot the bad guys?" "The military commanders want the option, sir." Carlton Brock sighed. "Okay," he said. "Okay. You got it prepared? Where do I sign?" A few miles from Carlton Brock, Li Yang thought: okay. Okay. I''m not going anywhere today. You can stop shooting, guys. He stepped back from the front door to his apartment block. When he''d opened it a few seconds earlier, at least two different guns fired at him. Luckily, the gunmen were poor shots: the bullets hit the wall to the side of the entrance. Li Yang began climbing the stairs to get back to his room. On the way, he tried to imagine reasons why anyone would want to kill him. All right, maybe when he was returning home laden with loot - that made some kind of sense. But going out? Leaving the building empty-handed? What was the matter with people? Had they all gone crazy? Twenty kilometers west of Li Yang, someone in the crowd surrounding a glowing cube shot one of the policemen on guard. The remaining policemen started shooting into the crowd. But it was a very well-armed crowd, as crowds often are in gun-loving America. Within a few seconds, a regular battle was going on. Ten kilometers north of Li Yang, two gangs settled old accounts with all the firepower at their disposal. The firepower included military-grade assault rifles. There also was a rocket launcher complete with several rockets, a few grenades, and many Molotov cocktails. Within a minute, a quiet street was turned into a stage set for a war movie. But both the shots and the screams were for real. One kilometer east of Li Yang, a homeless man kneeling on the ground looked at the grinning teenager pointing a handgun at his head. "Stop peeing yourself with excitement," he said to the gunman. "Just do it. Go on, you stupid cunt. Just do it now." So the kid did it. And so did a lot of other people. By nightfall, the fighting had spread all over the city. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 18 The Tragic Fate of Gladys Pendleton Following the meeting at the Pendletons'' house, both the Pendletons and the Ramseys spent a total of over ten hours each in the New World. Ten hours of Earth-time translated into four full days in the New World. Dave Ramsey had been instrumental into making those four days very successful. He provided the two rabbits that the Ramseys kept as pets. After receiving timon implants, the rabbits were replicated in the New World, where they were killed, skinned, roasted, and eaten. Roasted, because Harold Pendleton had made himself useful too. He''d found several flints, and managed to light a fire. Doing this took a long time, and he''d cut his hand on the sharp edge of the flint when striking sparks. There was no cut on his hand when he woke up at home, but he claimed he could feel in itch in his hand, exactly where he had cut it in the New World. Gladys Pendleton and Susan Ramsey were very busy, too. Initially they focused on finding something to wear. There were plenty of large leaves in the woods that separated their camp in the New World from the sea shore. Susan had found a fibrous plant and cut open its stalk with her fingernails and peeled several long strands from its flesh. She rolled and twisted them into a length of thick thread. A day later (or two and a half hours later, according to clocks back home) both ladies were wearing leaf miniskirts and brassieres. The men refused to wear skirts made of leaves. Over the protests of the ladies, they appropriated the rabbit skins and made themselves a pair of large codpieces. Unfortunately, the implanted rabbits refused to replicate again in the New World. But then Harold had a brainwave. He removed the implants from the rabbits'' heads, then gave them fresh implants. Bingo! They had a steady supply of rabbits in the New World. They ate their meat and made clothing out of the skins. Harold had even started working on making fishhooks from the bones. They''d also found Kakadu plums growing in the woods, and Dave Ramsey did their best to persuade them to try witchetty grubs and green caterpillars. Harold actually ate some grubs, and told Gladys they had a pleasant, nutty taste. But she wasn''t convinced. A couple of New World days later, she found a colony of mussels along the sea shore, and also something else - something very precious. The hollows of seaside rocks were covered with a whitish sediment. Curiosity led her to smear a fingertip, and put it to her tongue. It was salt! It had been left there by the seawater that had evaporated from the rocks. Their next meal of roasted rabbit was extremely tasty. It rained on their fourth day out in the New World. This motivated them to build shacks out of leafy branches. They''d only completed one of these before night fell, and they lay down to sleep and resume their life back on Earth. They all slept at the Pendletons'' house, the Ramseys in the guest bedroom. The cube was there: it made a natural base. And because of the cube, an unpleasant surprise awaited them when they woke up. When Harold walked out into the backyard with the intention of firing up the barbecue grill and making himself a coffee, he saw that he had visitors. Three young men and a woman were standing around the glowing cube. He knew them. They were renters who lived in a house near the end of the street. They''d been around to his house on the first day after the power outage and the arrival of the cube in his backyard. He''d told them the same thing he told all of his curious neighbors: he didn''t know what the cube was. It could very well be something dangerous. It was best to leave it be until the proper authorities had had a closer look. No, he hadn''t contacted anyone about it. How could he? The phone wasn''t working. His car had refused to start. Someone - a policeman, a fireman, a local government official - was bound to show up shortly. They had agreed with Dave Ramsey that it was best to keep the secret of the cube to themselves. They didn''t want other people intruding on their little settlement in the New World. It was almost like having a private summer house. Well, maybe later when they''d really settled in, they''d invite someone to join them. But only after vetting the people involved very carefully indeed. When Harold stepped out into his backyard, two of the men were busy taking implant kits out of the cube. They handed them over to their companions, who put them in large carrier bags. They all stopped when Harold stepped out of the house, and looked at him. One of the men smiled, and it wasn''t a pleasant smile. He said: "Evening, guv. Sorry to drop in unannounced. But we thought you wouldn''t mind us helping ourselves to some of this. It never runs out, right? You won''t miss any." Harold didn''t answer. He went back into the house and got his gas pistol from the drawer in the bedroom. When he returned with the gun in his hand, the intruders were busy on the documentation scrolls. He heard the woman exclaim she''d have a cool bedroom light. "You," said Harold Pendleton. "Get out of my backyard. This is my house, and you don''t enter unless invited. Got it?" They all stared at him. He could see they were angry. "Get out," he repeated, raising the gun. He hoped they would think it was a gun that fired bullets, not just clouds of gas. The cartridges did make a loud bang, though. At the very least, it would make the neighbors take an interest. One of the men smirked at him. "I''ll see you around, geezer," he said, and there was a threat in his voice. Then all four of them grabbed the bulging bags and slung them over the fence and followed suit. As they were starting to walk away, the woman turned round and said: "Fuck you, you useless old fart." Harold watched them walk away with a mixture of relief and foreboding. He returned inside the house just as Susan Ramsey walked into the living room. Dave was still in the shower, she told him. The water was barely running. They should start filling all the containers they could find. Harold didn''t tell her about the uninvited guests. He did tell Dave Ramsay, later. Dave frowned when he heard what had happened, and said: "You hundred percent sure the cube can''t be moved?" "Yes. There''s nothing to hold onto, nothing to grasp. Your hands just go through inside, and you end up with another implant kit or scroll or hiber bed." "Maybe we could cover it with something." "No, that doesn''t work either. I tried with the tarp from the garage, and it just dropped to the ground." Ramsey shook his head. "I have a feeling that there are going to be more visitors in the future," he said. "That fence of yours is too low to act as a barrier. I''ll bring my shotgun here. Or do you want to move base to our house?" "No. I think it''s better to stay close to the cube. But wait a moment. You''ve really got a shotgun? I don''t want any corpses here, Dave." "Pump action. Had it for ages. Bought it when we were living up near Port Darwin, and kept bumping into crocodiles. No one''s going to get dead, Harry. A shot in the air can work wonders. I''ll be back right away." He returned after an hour with the shotgun and a bagful of supplies that included a box of cartridges for the gun. He explained he had been busy storing up water. By that time, both Gladys and Susan had eaten a hurried breakfast and returned to the mats lying on top of their beds in the bedrooms. Both women had become great fans of the New World. When Gladys entered her second self, she found that she was busy walking along the shore to get some more mussels, and maybe - with luck - more salt. It was a fair distance away from what they were all starting to call their settlement. Their settlement in the New World! It was all so exciting! She felt years younger. How wrong she had been to be so hostile at the start! She had turned seventy a few months back. She couldn''t expect to live much longer. But thanks to the New World, she''d get to experience another thirty, forty, fifty years of life! Ten years for every year of life lived back on Earth! It was a beautiful day in the New World, but there was a line of clouds approaching from the sea. She quickened her step, taking care not to step on any of the stones that were mixed in with the sand. Some were quite sharp, and she wasn''t used to walking barefoot. She was keeping her eyes down and didn''t see the three young men and the woman until they were steps away. They were buck naked, all of them. By that time, Gladys was wearing a rough bikini of rabbit skins. She felt overdressed in their company. She felt that way because they all stared at the bits of fur covering her breasts and crotch as they approached. One of the men stopped an arm''s length away from her and said: "Oooo. Fancy a fur bra and panties, Marion?" The woman that was with the three men laughed. "Sure," she said. "Why not." One of the other men said: "Hey. Where did you find that rabbit? It''s rabbit, innit? Where?" "None of your business," Gladys said sharply and they all laughed. The woman said: "Well I''ll just help myself to these, dear." She reached out and tore off the bra. Gladys was seventy years old, and she had seventy year old breasts. They weren''t pretty. "Oooo," said the man standing in front of Gladys. "Sexy." "Get away from me!" shouted Gladys. She was close to tears. A rough hand ripped off her fur panties, and she instinctively hit the man who''d done that. She had the good or rather bad luck to hit his eye. "Stupid old cunt," he snarled, and raised his fist. They beat her until she couldn''t get up. Then they kicked and stamped on her for a long time. They did that until she stopped moving. The woman didn''t hit her. She was fussing around with her new clothes, putting them on and making all sorts of tiny adjustments. When Gladys had stopped moving and breathing and the men finally looked at her, she said: "How do I look, guys? Isn''t this grand?" NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 19 Dinosaur Island Rafi Susanto stood on the bridge of his luxurious yacht, MS Golden Dawn, and watched the Filipino crewmen finish cleaning up the vomit. There was vomit everywhere: on the floor, on the mahogany steering wheel, on the dark dials and displays that had been lifeless for the past three days. Early on New Year''s Day, they had left Honolulu to celebrate the New Year at sea, and sail to San Francisco. A day later, a terrible storm knocked out the ship''s radar, radio, engines, everything that required electricity. They spent the next two days drifting with the current and the wind. No propulsion meant that they were tossed around as the hull tilted crazily every which way, hit by the waves. The only mast available was the mast carrying the electronic gear: a radar dish and several antennas. They had rigged a toy sail using their biggest tablecloth, but it didn''t help much. Rafi Susanto couldn''t ever remember being so helpless. He kept shouting at everyone. He shouted at his eight Filipino crewmen. He shouted at the three luxury whores aboard the yacht. He even shouted at his guest, and his guest was not someone to shout at in anger. Gabriel Cruz was a billionaire. He was worth much more than Susanto, who had only recently cracked the half a billion barrier. Cruz was easily worth four times more. His business empire stretched all around the world. He definitely wasn''t someone to be shouted at by anyone, even a multimillionaire. What was more, Susanto had an important reason to be especially nice to Cruz. He had invited Cruz for a cruise aboard his yacht in order to make a deal. It was a deal that would be profitable for Cruz, but it would be even more profitable for Susanto. So he lured the older man into taking a cruise on the Golden Dawn from Honolulu to San Francisco. He had heard that Cruz was getting very tired of his third wife, and was seriously considering exchanging her for a fourth. He''d also heard that Cruz was getting seriously tired of his seven children, two of which were adults already. But they continued to shamelessly sponge on the billionaire, demanding atonement for the abandonment they had suffered when they were younger. He had been an absent father! It was only fair that he gave them some of the millions he had made while he was busy neglecting them. Gabriel Cruz, the man who crushed other men as if they were mosquitoes, was incapable of saying no to his children. Despite his wealth, he felt that they were the only things in the whole universe that were truly his. Money came and went; blood endured. He had been more than happy to accept Susanto''s invitation. Of course he knew that business would be involved. But he was greatly looking forward to the pleasure aspect of the cruise. He had secretly booked the best whore he could find for the entire month. Thus, he had ended up with two: the one he chose, and the one Susanto had chosen for him. As for Susanto, he couldn''t be happier. Cruz could have brought a whole platoon of high-class whores, and he would have gladly accommodated them all aboard his yacht. The whores didn''t count. What counted was that he had Cruz to himself for a full fortnight. Given all that time, Susanto was sure he''d convince Cruz to agree to his deal. It was as good as done. He was about to start talking to Cruz about that deal when the storm struck. There hadn''t been a good opportunity to talk business ever since. And anyway, Susanto wasn''t sure this was the right time for business talks. He had other things on his mind. Over the past fifty hours, he''d thought he was about to die at least a hundred times. The way Cruz looked, he''d had similar thoughts. Great minds thought alike. "Rafi." Susanto turned. Gabriel Cruz stood atop the short staircase that led to the bridge. His thinning hair had been carefully arranged to hide the bald spots as much as possible. He had shaved, and changed his clothes. He was wearing a light tan hand-knit V-neck sweater with a cable motif. Under the sweater, he wore a white shirt with a narrow collar that probably cost a hundred dollars per square inch. Below both of the above, he wore tan chinos that definitely cost far more than the average suit. The brown leather moccasin loafers on his feet were decorated with string, to indicate they were really hotshot yachting shoes. In short, Cruz was looking like a guy you could do business with. He wasn''t thinking about death any more, he was thinking about life. Susanto made a mental note to control himself, and refrain from shouting at Cruz even when close to losing his mind. He said: "Hello, Gabriel. Had any breakfast?" "Yes. A steak tartare with a couple of shots of vodka. I can recommend it to you. There''s plenty of steak tartare. The chef says the meat will go bad soon." "That sounds good. Your breakfast I mean." "Yes, it went down well and it seems to be staying down. Can''t complain." "Well I''ve got good news for you. Please come up here and join me. Cruz stepped out onto the bridge and walked up to Susanto, who was standing next to the huge front windows. Susanto raised his hand and pointed. "There," he said. There was land in front of the ship. It was still several kilometers away, but it was land for sure. It seemed to be an island, though it could also be the tip of a peninsula. "We''re moving really fast thanks to the current," Susanto told Cruz. "We''ll be there in half an hour at most. Here." He took the strap of the binoculars off his neck and handed them to Cruz. Cruz laughed. "So our troubles are over?" he said. "I think so. Now, if you''ll excuse me, I''ll have my breakfast and tell the others we''re about to make land." Before he left the bridge, Susanto spoke quickly and quietly to one of the crewmen who had just finished making the bridge clean. The man nodded and took a big can of air freshener out of his pocket and started spraying it around. Susanto went to the mess and had lots of steak tartare with three raw eggs and a quarter-liter carafe of vodka. The vodka wasn''t cold but it worked, worked very well indeed with the food. Then he had two cups of coffee and smoked a hand-rolled cigarette. The tobacco in the cigarette had been sprinkled very, very lightly with angel dust. Angel dust was basically pollen from marijuana flowers. It tasted like honey and blew the mind. Rafi Susanto became all smiles, and very energetic. For the next twenty minutes or so, he ran around the ship telling everyone what to do without raising his voice once. Then he went to rejoin Cruz on the bridge. The island was less than a kilometer away. Susanto had brought an extra pair of binoculars, and when he put them to his eyes he saw a dangerous-looking, gigantic grey cliff rising from the sea on his left, and a strip of sand indicating a beach directly in front of the ship. The current was carrying them straight towards the beach. It appeared it was carrying lots of other stuff, too. The sea around the yacht was dotted with floating rubbish. He examined it through his binoculars. It was all plastic: containers of all sorts and sizes, bags, styrofoam trays and cups and plates. He counted two semi-deflated basketballs. As the ship neared the shore, it became apparent the beach was littered with trash. It wasn''t all sand, either: flat stones suggested a rocky landing. Susanto got very busy putting everyone in the emergency mode. He had to scream at the whores to make them put on life jackets. They had just finished doing that when the ship''s hull struck the bottom for the first time. Susanto was jolted off his feet and had to clutch at the wall for support. The whores all fell over screaming expletives. There was a horrible grinding noise and they could feel the ship coming to a halt. But then it moved freely again. Susanto shouted at the whores to come out on the deck and ran to the bridge. The pointed prow of the ship was no more than fifty meters from the shore. The crew had already taken the covers off the two lifeboats, and cracked open the containers with inflatable rafts. He felt proud of them, and decided he would give them all a bonus. After all this was over, of course. Susanto felt Cruz put his hand on his shoulder. "Look to ten o''clock," Cruz said. Susanto swung his binoculars left. At first he thought Cruz had meant a group of coconut palms that rose from the bushy ridge behind the beach. Then he saw the whitish, glowing cube. It was standing right where the sand turned into grass. At first he thought it was some sort plastic decoration that had been deposited on the shore along with other garbage. But it glowed, there was no mistaking it. Radioactive plastic? A few minutes later, the ship grounded for good amidst thumps and groans and screeches from the hull. Susanto and Cruz were the first to go ashore in a lifeboat manned by five crewmen carrying assault rifles. Susanto always carried a small personal arsenal aboard his ship in case a competitor turned violent. There was nothing and no one to shoot at on the beach. There was nothing but plastic garbage, and the glowing cube. Susanto issued appropriate orders to his men. Three of them went back to the ship in the boat, while two stayed on the beach, guns at the ready. While the boat went back and forth ferrying people and supplies, Susanto and Cruz examined the cube. They were both very bright men, thinking men. They assimilated new information fast, even when it bordered on the incredible. They were quick to spot a potential profit, too. They sent out a couple of teams of sailors armed with assault rifles to scout out their surroundings. Then they both engrossed themselves in the scrolls while the whores bitched among themselves about their new dreary situation. The whores kept their voices low, but not because they didn''t want to disturb the reading men. They discussed the size of the extra bonus each of them should get because of all the hardship and danger. They hadn''t signed up for anything like that! They had graciously agreed to be paid lots of money to fuck and get high and sunbathe and eat wonderful food and drink wonderful booze. There was no mention of being shipwrecked on what appeared to be, at first glance, an uninhabited island. The scout teams returned just before nightfall, and right on time for dinner. It had actually been prepared in the galley of the grounded ship and transported ashore. It was a very good meal as beach meals go, and the atmosphere improved. Even the whores began to smile. The starlit sky, the food, the booze made them feel that perhaps all this was romantic. Uncomfortable and definitely deserving a special bonus, but also romantic. But the two tycoons did not have any romance on their minds. They had already agreed on a plan of action. Within minutes, two crewmen clutching their guns were implanted with timon. When they confirmed there was no immediate danger in the New World, they were made to lie down on the silvery mats. The two tycoons had already agreed that just one of them would implant and replicate himself in the New World. After a lot of delicate verbal maneuvering, it became clear both of them preferred to stay behind, unimplanted and firmly grounded in reality. They decided to draw for it, twice. The first draw would decide who would hold the hidden pebble while the other man chose a hand. The all-important second draw would decide who would go, and who would stay. Choosing the empty hand meant staying put. Cruz got to hold the pebble: a minor but nevertheless important psychological advantage. Susanto had to lick his lips twice before pointing to one of the hands. It was empty. Cruz put a brave face on while giving himself an implant: he placed it in his temple. He became quite confident after a minute or so. His second self was standing on a sandy shore strewn with rocks. The two crewmen were nearby. Cruz lay down on the hiber bed and was asleep before Susanto had a chance to ask him a couple more questions. The first sensation Gabriel Cruz felt upon arriving in the New World was a sensation of great peace. The stars lit up the sea with a thousand winking lights. The air was warm and balmy. Everything somehow seemed bigger. The vegetation lining the beach definitely appeared more lush. It was difficult to tell exactly in the dark. Then Cruz became aware that he was completely naked. He immediately felt shame. He was nearly fifty years old and had spent a quite a few of them eating, and even more sitting on his ass in a soft chair. It showed. He discreetly obscured his genitals with his hand and turned away from the two crewmen, who were naked as well. They didn''t mind, they were both very well built and were cheerfully chattering about how beautiful everything was. This proved they weren''t looking at him, and Cruz felt relieved. Suddenly he heard loud splashing and a sad, trumpeting noise, almost like an elephant in distress. He turned to look at the sea and saw an enormous snake stand up in the water. Its head was at least two meters above the surface of the sea.The water around it gurgled loudly as it moved towards the beach. It seemed to be aiming for a spot some distance away, but Cruz didn''t take any chances. The two crewmen did not take any chances, either. They ran into the vegetation lining the beach even before he did. It made Cruz cross, they should have waited and watched his back while he was running to safety. The three of them crouched down in the bushes and looked at the beach. The snake''s head was higher and higher as it got closer to the shore. Suddenly a huge hump appeared behind it, splashing water. It rose as well until it became apparent it belonged to the snake. But the body that emerged from the water not a hundred meters from their hiding spot wasn''t the body of a snake. It had a small, oblong head on a very long, very pliable neck. The neck ran into a powerful squat torso that ended with a thick tail. It moved clumsily on big thick flippers, with the tail helping and the head swaying on the long neck with each move. Suddenly it became completely still, pointing along the shore. The huge body froze with the end of the tail still submerged in the water. It must have felt what Cruz and his companions felt: a tremor running through the ground under their feet. It had a beat to it, a walking beat. Something very heavy, something very big was coming at them. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 20 The Many Lives of Gabriel Cruz They were terrified. When Cruz looked at his two crewmen, he saw fear. He felt fear, too. His instinct was to run, to get away as far as possible as fast as possible. But he couldn''t. The plan didn''t allow it. The plan was that Susanto would implant two more crew members, but without putting them to sleep. They were to act as messengers. They would transmit whatever Cruz said back to the implanted crewmen on Earth, who would relay the information to Susanto. Susanto was to send the two messengers right after Cruz. Cruz didn''t understand what was keeping him. They should have appeared on the beach a while ago. Then he remembered the impression he''d had in the brief period between giving himself the implant and falling asleep. Everything in the New World seemed to be happening very fast. But once he''d actually entered the New World, everything seemed to be happening at a normal pace, the pace he was used to back on Earth. He thought: they''ll be here any moment now. And instantly, almost as if by magic, the two crewmen materialized on the beach. They entered the New World just a handful of steps from the beast that had emerged from the water. They entered the New World naked, and were instantly confronted with a monster. They both froze with fear. Cruz wanted to shout, to show them where he was hidden and order them to join him. But his voice died in his throat. The ground under his feet wasn''t vibrating any more. It was shaking, and it was shaking to a faster, urgent beat. The beast that had crawled out of the sea squealed and hissed. Then it turned around, flailing its tail. Its tip struck one of the two crewmen. He didn''t make a sound, just flew through the air like a tossed ball. He hit the beach with a thump that Cruz heard in spite of all the noise made by the beast as it splashed back into the sea. He shouted: "Here! Over here! Run! Run!" Thankfully, the surviving crewman heard him. He ran towards Cruz and the others, though not as fast as Cruz would have liked. He could hear as well as feel the steps of the beast running towards them - - thump thump Thump Thump THUMP THUMP - The crewman tripped and fell not more than a dozen steps away from Cruz. He stood up and one of his legs buckled under him. He screamed with pain. He was answered by a hiss and a lot of splashing as the beast from the beach lunged into the sea. Its tail whipped the surface, raising a curtain of water that sparkled in the starlight. Then it was gone. And a terrible hissing roar split the air. It wasn''t very loud. But it paralyzed all of them: Cruz, the two crewmen next to him, and the man with the broken ankle lying on the beach. THUMP THUMP THUMP - He could see it now, God, the thing was as big as a house. Its legs were bigger he was. It was coming - Cruz felt his head explode. It didn''t hurt. It simply disintegrated. He collapsed - - he sat up screaming on the silvery mat on the beach. He wasn''t the only one screaming. A crewman seated nearby was screaming too. And in the darkness, the whores were starting to wail as well. "Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!" screamed Susanto. Cruz shut up and looked. Susanto was in the process of removing the implant of a crewman sleeping on the hiber bed. The moment he did, the crewman sat up and started screaming. "Fuck! Fuck!" screamed Susanto, and removed the implant of the second sleeping crewman. Then he went up to the seated screamer, and removed his implant. The screaming stopped. There was a final terrified wail from one of the whores, then they fell silent too. Susanto said: "What happened? Gabriel, can you tell me what happened over there?" Gabriel Cruz was silent for a while. Then he said: "Get me a drink." Two drinks and less than a minute later, he started talking. He told Susanto everything, down to the smallest detail. He even mentioned the distaste he had felt for his own body. While he told his story, the crewmen calmed down. Susanto had wisely instructed them to have a beer. They had brought a couple of cases of beer to the beach, and it looked as if they might have to get more soon. The crewmen were on their second or third bottle by the time Cruz stopped speaking. "Incredible, " Susanto said. "Just... incredible. We must wait till daytime before any more implants, any more trips. I mean, new attempts at reproduction in the New World." "You want to go there yourself, this time?" Susanto shrugged. The darkness made it impossible to see the expression on his face when he said: "Sure, why not. I''ll take a guy with me, and you''ll implant two more for instant messaging. All right?" Cruz laughed, then fell silent for a while. The whores came out of the darkness and approached the cooler that wasn''t cool any more, and took the last three beers. One of the crewmen cursed and all of them laughed, including the whores. That was good; the situation was returning to normal. Cruz said: "I think we should establish a base here first. We have to check for other people on the island. There may be a town. We have to do this quickly, because your ship won''t last long." "It''s built to last," Susanto said, sounding offended. "It cost -" "It doesn''t matter. The tide will come in and out a couple of times and move it around. It will tear a hole in the hull or pull it free of the bottom or both at the same time. This ship will sink soon. We should get as much food and drink and gear as we can before it does. "Shit," Susanto said. "Please excuse me. But I suspect you''re right. This is very bad news. Shit. Please let me think." Cruz nodded. "Certainly," he said. "Think all you want. We shouldn''t attempt anything before dawn. And we shouldn''t attempt anything in the New World for a couple of days." "Disappointing," said Susanto. He sighed, and added: "What can I say? You''re right." "I know I''m right." Susanto stared at him gloomily. "Our priority is to ensure our survival here," Cruz continued. "We need food, we need water, we need shelter, we need to explore the island. Those are the four things that come before anything else. Once that is done, we can discuss another venture in the New World." "Maybe you''re being a little too cautious," Susanto said. "Be my guest," Cruz told him. "Get an implant and go over for a look. You''ll meet a monster or two. It will be interesting." Susanto was quick to shake his head. He said: "No, what you said makes perfect sense. But you should know something I learned while you were over there. My mate told me we''re probably on Henderson''s Island. It''s north of Pitcairn, and it''s uninhabited. But the guys from Pitcairn visit sometimes to gather some kind of wood." "Pitcairn? Isn''t that a long way to the south? We were sailing to San Francisco." "We steered south initially, to get clear of all the Hawaii traffic. And then we had the storm, and lost the engines. We''ve been drifting south with the current, and it runs fast. My mate thinks the storm made it run even faster than usual." "Your mate? You mean your captain?" Susanto drew himself up stiffly. "I am the captain of my ship," he said. "My mate deals with the technical side of things." "Of course. I see." "I think it''s best we got some rest. Those mats are very comfortable." "They are." "Can I bring you anything?" "Thank you, I''m fine." "Goodnight," said Susanto, and went off to issue instructions to his crew and order the whores off to sleep. Cruz sat for a short while on the hiber bed, looking at the pale shape of the ship offshore. Would it last until they got everything they needed from it? At least they had guns. They could hunt. He remembered the size of the beasts he saw in the New World, and shuddered. He doubted if an assault rifle could stop them. A few wounds would probably just make them angry. And anyway, there was no way to reproduce guns in the New World. Guns weren''t alive. Guns were dead. In spite of his super-comfortable hiber bed, it took him a while to fall asleep. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 21 The Great Western The fifth day of January and the fourth day of the New Era began cloudy. For a while, it looked as if there might be rain, or snow. But by noon the sky had cleared: pale light painted the broad ribbon of FDR Drive. A column of rickshaws was moving along the expressway, escorted by policemen on bicycles. The vehicles had been appropriated from the tour operators near Central Park. Their passengers consisted of European heads of state, each accompanied by the messenger being sent to Europe. They were to sail on the Great Western, which had docked in New York''s seaport the previous afternoon. The rickshaw drivers were all policemen, and they all carried guns. The cops on the bicycles carried rifles. New York was a dangerous place. The people in the column traveling to the seaport could hear shots popping in the distance. Everyone looked grim, most of all the passengers in the rickshaws. What was happening in New York was sure to be happening in cities across the Atlantic. The messengers about to travel there looked particularly gloomy. But their hearts lifted when they saw the gleaming ship moored at Pier 16. Its tall black funnel rose right in front of the mast between the two enormous paddlewheels mounted on both sides of the ship. All four masts carried sails, which were furled under their spars. A strand of smoke rose from the funnel, straight up and into the sky: it was a windless day. It seemed to be a good omen to people watching it. Like Stone Age shamans, they thought it meant the gods above were nodding with approval. The ship''s hull gleamed; the brass fittings glittered; the glass portholes sparkled. Everything would be yet thickly coated with dirt and soot: but at that moment, the ship seemed to glow just as strongly as the mysterious cubes that had arrived from the future. It embodied hope and progress just like the original Great Western did, nearly two centuries earlier. The column halted at the beginning of the pier. Many rickshaw passengers remained seated: they lowered their heads for final conferences with their messengers. Thick envelopes changed hands, and were stuffed into briefcases. Carlton Brock did not need to dispatch a messenger. Officially, he had come - accompanied by the most intelligent of his three bodyguards - to give the departing ship a proper sendoff. Unofficially, he wanted a last word with the ship''s captain. He got up from his rickshaw seat and briskly walked down the pier to the ship''s gangway, his bodyguard following. The ship was still in the process of being loaded with supplies: busy porters ran up and down the gangway. Brock waited, frowning, for a gap: none of those people recognized him! None stopped to invite him aboard! It was disgraceful. "Mister President. Sir." Carlton Brock turned and faced the ship''s captain. John Gregson was a retired U.S. Navy officer commanding the Great Western on its tourist cruises. He enjoyed his work, even though he frequently had to deal with seasick tourists. However, he didn''t enjoy the prospect of a transatlantic voyage. The responsibility was a heavy weight on his shoulders. It took him a real effort to stand straight, and look Carlton Brock in the eye. Brock said: "Captain! I expected you''d be on board." "I was supervising the loading, sir. We don''t need any more of the items still being brought in. Much better and more efficient to prevent them from being loaded than having to unload them. Sir." "You got everything you need?" "Almost everything, sir." "You got the maps? I heard there was a problem with the maps." "We have the maps and the, er, navigational instruments, sir." "Why the hesitation? Is there a problem?" "They''re a bit, er, antiquated. But there''s no problem, sir." "Good to hear. Now, captain, this is Jerry Hard. One of my secret service men." "Pleased to meet you, mister Hard." "Sure," said Jerry Hard. He transferred his chewing gum to his other cheek and gave Gregson a threatening look. Gregson smiled at him. "Jerry will accompany you on this trip," said Brock. "You have any trouble with anyone - just let Jerry know. He''ll sort it out in no time at all." "Mister President, sir. With all due respect, I consider myself capable of handling any trouble aboard this ship." "I know you''re capable. I know you''re more than capable. But I want you to let Jerry handle it for you. You''re far too important to get mixed up with anything that doesn''t involve handling this ship." "May I say something, sir?" "Of course you can. Out with it, man." "In my considered opinion it would be much better if we sailed directly for Ireland." "What, without stopping at Halifax?" "That''s right, sir." "Can''t be done. I promised the Canadian prime minister we would deliver her emissary to Halifax. It''s also much closer to Ireland. It''s safer to start from Halifax. Give you a chance to see how the ship handles the ocean." "That''s what I''m concerned with, sir. The sea''s bound to be rougher up north. The distance to Ireland might be shorter, but all things considered it''s more dangerous than a direct route from here. If need be, we could stop at the Azores. It''s the paddlewheels I''m concerned with, sir. A rough sea could damage the paddles. And, well, up north we could encounter ice floes." "Ice floes! What are you talking about? Last I heard, the polar cap had melted." "Precisely, sir. There could a lot of ice floes floating around." "Hmm," said Carlton Brock. Then he brightened. "You can always stop the wheels, I mean put them out of gear. You''ve got sails, right?" "Yes," Gregson said hollowly. Carlton Brock reached out and put his hand on Gregson''s arm. "Captain," he said sternly. "You''ll manage just fine. You''ll see. I have the utmost confidence in your ability to bring this journey to a successful conclusion. And Jerry will be there to help you whenever you need assistance." "Yes, sir," Gregson said, and glanced at Jerry. He made a mental note to send Jerry down to the engine room to shovel coal into the furnace at the earliest opportunity. That would be the right way to use those bulging muscles. "Wonderful," said Brock. "Godspeed, Captain. I''ll just have a quick word with Jerry. He pulled his bodyguard aside and said softly: "Now listen, Jerry. You''re to make sure this frightened fucker keeps going. Keep an eye on him so that he doesn''t, I don''t know, loosen a nut somewhere or something so that he has an excuse for turning back." "Do you think he would sabotage his own ship, sir?" "You never know," Carlton Brock said darkly. "You can take it from me, Jerry: you just never know." "Of course, sir. As you say, sir." "And I also want you to watch and listen to everything going on aboard that ship. I want to know who said what to who, and when. I want a complete, detailed report on what all those fuckers are up to when you get back. That''s what you secret service guys are for, right?" "Of course, sir," said Jerry Hard. He briefly thought of trying to explain the difference between a bodyguard and a secret agent to Carlton Brock. He decided it was useless. He said: "You can count on me, sir." They exchanged goodbyes and Brock strode off to speak to Juliette Lepine, the Canadian prime minister. He wanted to make sure she knew he making her a big favor by sending the Great Western to Halifax. He''d had to overrule the ship''s captain to accommodate her! That''s what he''d tell her. He''d completely forgotten that the Halifax stop had been his own idea. He''d looked at the map, saw Halifax was closer to Europe than New York, and made up his mind there and then. Jerry Hard watched his president approach the Canadian prime minister. Then he turned to look at Gregson. He said, affecting nonchalance: "You think that tub of yours can make it across the pond?" Gregson shrugged and said: "We''ll find out. Won''t we?" NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 22 The Vikings Are Coming! Elias Persson sat on the raised threshold in the doorway to his house, and pressed a handful of fresh snow over his swollen left eye. He''d have a big shiner, that was for sure. He''d have a shiner and when he went to the town for a drink people would comment, and make jokes behind his back. He''d thought about lodging a formal accusation of assault against Sven Holm at the police station, but he decided against it. The police were a joke. All they were good for was writing parking tickets. When Jokkmokk cops sometimes miraculously caught a criminal, they spent such a long time reading him his rights that the case often ended there and then: the suspect escaped, or confessed to everything while begging the cops to stop, or died laughing. At least that was the way Elias Persson saw it. And that was why he decided he wouldn''t report to the police the beating he''d received from members of the Viking Motorcycle Club. The cops would go to see Sven Holm, and they would wag a finger in his face and tell him to watch his step. Then they would go back to writing parking tickets, while Holm would pay Persson another visit and beat him up again. It probably would be worse than the first beating, too. No, this just wasn''t worth it. And anyway, Sven Holm had given him quite a lot of money for the twenty sheep he had taken from Persson''s farm. Persson would have sold him the sheep, he had a large flock, but he had been stalling to squeeze even more money out of Holm. He could tell Holm wanted to close a deal very badly, and tried to exploit it. What he didn''t know was that Holm was experiencing a hangover of monumental proportions after staying straight for a full day after a week of constant drinking and drug-taking. It made Holm very bad-tempered. The two thugs he''d brought with him were hungover and bad-tempered too, and trying to squeeze more money out of the deal wasn''t a wise move. Persson got up and dusted his trouser seat with his hand and walked across the yard around his house. He stopped at the crude wooden fence and climbed onto the bottom beam, holding onto the fence post to keep his balance. He could see Holm''s farm over the crest of the gentle hill on which his house was located. Holm''s farm was just over a kilometer away. At this time of the year, the sun appeared only for a couple of hours a day, hovering just over the horizon. But Persson had excellent eyesight; even though it was now operating at 50% efficiency, he could see that the road between the two farms was empty. Amazing! Holm and his two thugs had already managed to drive the small flock they''d taken all the way to the farm! Persson wondered what the bikers would do with the sheep. It had to be something to do with transporting drugs, he was sure. What else could it be? He got off the fence and got a fresh handful of snow. Pressing it against his swollen eye, he walked back to his house. Down at Holm''s farm, a Viking named Vidar Karlsson was also pressing a handful of snow to his swollen eye. He had been appointed as the shepherd of the newly arrived flock, and didn''t like it. He complained. No one listened. He complained again. No one listened. He complained yet again, much louder this time, and Sven walked over to him and punched him so hard that he knocked Vidar down on his ass. Then Sven told him, somewhat belatedly, to shut the fuck up and take the sheep to the barn and take good care of them, too. Take care of them? Vidar had checked, and there wasn''t even any hay in the barn. But he had learned his lesson. And so, holding the snow to his eye, he meekly walked up to the sheep milling around the back entrance to Holm''s house, and herded them into the barn. Inside the house, two sheep struggled in the firm embrace of two pissed-off Vikings while Holm removed the implants from their heads. Olaf Berg, Holm''s deputy, had been watching the proceedings closely. He shook his head. "They''ll go crazy if you keep doing that to them," he said. Sven Holm threw his head back and laughed. It was his first relaxed, sincere laugh in almost three days, and it made him feel good. He said: "You worried those two sheep will go mad?" "Well, yes," Olaf said. "It''s not nice, being mad. Even when you''re a sheep." This made Holm laugh so hard he actually had tears coming out of his eyes. When he stopped he turned to the Vikings holding the sheep between their legs and by the ears, and said: "He could be right. Take those two to the barn and bring a fresh couple. And tell Vidar I''m sorry I hit him. I''m under a lot of pressure." He waited until the two Vikings departed with their bleating charges. Then he turned to Olaf and said: "Olaf, I want you to join Lena and Ingrid over there. We can''t leave all the hard work to the chicks." Olaf looked at Lena and Ingrid. They were lying side by side on the silvery mats in the far corner of the room. They didn''t look as if they were working hard. They looked asleep. Olaf said: "But they are the ones who know how to skin animals. I don''t know anything about skinning animals and making clothes." "You worked as an assistant in a butcher''s shop." "I had to. I was on probation. I had to have a job, any job. But it was only for a year and I didn''t learn anything about skinning animals." "Well, it''s high time you did. I told the chicks you''re coming last time I looked in on them. And by the way, you weren''t worried about my mental health when I was implanting myself over and over again every five fucking minutes. But you were worried about the sheep." "Sven!" "Admit it." "I admit it. I wasn''t worried about you losing your mind. You just aren''t someone who would lose their mind. Ever." "Nice one," said Sven. "But that changes nothing. You''re going. I promise I''ll bring you back after half an hour. From what I''ve seen, that''s several hours over there. That should be enough." "Enough for what? To freeze my balls off? Sven!" "I''ve addressed that problem. The chicks said they''ll have a codpiece ready for you." "Sven!" "Stop saying ''Sven''. Thou shalt not use my name in vain. You''re going, Olaf. You''re my deputy. I need you over there. You have to go." "Why now? Can''t we wait until it gets warmer?" "Everyone around here will be waiting until it gets warmer. We''re not the only ones with hiber beds and timon implant kits, Olaf. There are other cubes, I''m sure. And I''m sure many people are making plans to conquer this new world, just like we do... We need to get a headstart on those people. Understand?" "Yes," Olaf said sadly. Sven took Olaf by the arm and led him over to the silvery mat lying on the floor next to the sleeping Lena. He held a loaded implant kit in his other hand. "Okay," he said. "Lie down and relax. This won''t hurt, you know that already. And you know you can really freeze your balls over there, but it won''t happen to the real you over here. And I''ll promise you this: if I see you''re having a really bad time, I''ll wake you. But it won''t look good on you, Olaf. Vikings are supposed to be tough." "I''ll do my best," Olaf said in a tragic voice. He lay down and closed his eyes. He felt the sharp end of the implant kit touch his head - - and it really wasn''t so bad, at first. In a way, it was exhilarating. Once again, he found himself in the slight hollow between two gentle, heavily wooded hills. But this time around, the snow around him was red with blood. Lena and Ingrid were squatting over a dead sheep and looking at him. They were wearing crude sheepskin shifts that didn''t cover their knees. Their faces and their bare arms and legs were red with blood. "Look who is here," Lena said. They both giggled madly. Then Ingrid threw a bloody rag at him. It landed in the snow at his feet. "Put it on and help us out," Ingrid said. "We need you to deal with all that meat." She pointed and Olaf turned and saw three bloody carcasses lying in an area that had been swept clear of snow. Ingrid said: "You''ll have to find yourself a stone with a sharp edge first. There''s plenty of shale over there and it shouldn''t be difficult. Then cut all the fat off, and don''t eat too much." She giggled. Olaf bent down and picked up the bloody rag and saw it was a piece of sheepskin, freshly torn off the animal. There were holes in the edges and long narrow strips of sheepskin in the holes. He guessed they were meant to tie the skin over his genitals. Wow! This was clever. He wouldn''t have expected those chicks to be capable of doing something like that. He looked at them with new appreciation and saw that Lena was busy piercing a hole in the skin. She was using a long, sharp bone splinter. "Hey," Ingrid said sharply. He refocused on her. She said: "Once you''re done with the fat, cut out the tendons. Rub each tendon with the fat and bring it to us. We need them for the clothes. They hold the sides together. See?" She raised her arm, and Olaf saw the tendon running through a row of small hairy humps down the side of her shift. She looked mad, completely mad, dressed in the bloody sheepskin rags and with blood all over her face and arms. He stared at her as he put the codpiece over his personal gear, and began to tie the strips. She said: "When we get cold, we''ll fuck. That will warm us up fast, all right. But now get going on those corpses over there. The quicker you work, the sooner you''ll get something to wear. Move!" He began wading through the snow to the dark red carcasses on the stony ground. As he drew near, he saw the entrails dumped in the snow further on. Two more steps, and he smelled them. He gagged, then swallowed back the bile and walked on. He was a Viking. He was tough. He could handle it. And there was a fuck waiting for him down the line, better than that, two fucks. He already knew Lena was hot, and wondered what Ingrid was like, and whether he could come twice in a row while fucking in the snow. He would be the first Viking to have an orgasm in the New World. That was something. He grinned to himself and stopped at the edge of the clearing and started looking for a suitable stone. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 23 King Kirk and the Llama Kirk Lander looked at the llama, and the llama looked back at him in a supercilious way. I''m superior to you, the llama''s big dark eye said. I''m superior to you, so don''t you try to fuck around with me. "We''ll see," muttered Kirk. He turned to his son Adam and said: "Fuck, I really wish Debbie had chosen a lamb for a pet. Haven''t seen that brute in a while. Forgot how big it was. How the hell are they going to kill it over there? With pebbles and twigs?" "Randy''s made himself a proper club," Adam said. "He even managed to knock a couple of sharp stones into its head. It looks fucking lethal. I''m sure he can deal with the llama." "Randy''s got a club? I didn''t see him holding any clubs. Wait, I''ll just tell my guy to - " "You really should go over there, Dad. I mean again. It''s better than trying to do things by remote control, and at a crazy speed." "We need secure communications, Adam. Secure communications are of paramount importance." "Well, I could stay and - " "No. I need you to get back on your bicycle and go talk to Vorner." "But that''s ten kilometers away!" "What''s half an hour on a bike for someone like you? You told me you like this bike. I bought it for you last year for your birthday after you''d said you''d like to lose some weight. You were overjoyed." "I was, Dad. Truly. But - " "Vorner keeps horses. Randy keeps boasting about how he won a bunch of rodeos when he was a kid. Or something like that. Anyway, this will be his chance to show his prowess in the saddle." "He won''t have a saddle over there, Dad." "It''s a figure of speech, Adam. Have you heard about figures of speech?" "I''m sorry, Dad." "Ask Vorner to sell you the most docile, well-behaved horse he has. And see if he hasn''t got other livestock to sell. I think he keeps a couple of geese." "Peacocks, Dad. He has a pair of peacocks. And I don''t think he''ll sell them. He likes them a lot." "Hmm. You know, he''ll have to bring that horse over anyway. If he starts bitching about that tell him to ride a horse while leading the one we bought by its reins. This way, the whole trip here and back won''t take more than a couple of hours. I''ll talk to him myself when he shows up." "What if he doesn''t want to come?" "Adam, if you''ve got half your brain in working condition, you''ll persuade him to come. Remember, money is no object." "Okay. That might work." "Of course. Off you go." "Can I have a drink and a bite to eat first?" "Of course, of course. I''m sorry. But please don''t waste any time." "Yes, Dad." Kirk Lander watched his son cross the courtyard and disappear into the house. He looked at the llama, standing perfectly still in its stall. "I''ll fix you, you little fathead," he said. Then he walked out of the little stable that had been custom-built for his wife''s pet llama, and went to the house himself. It was a pity about those peacocks. Maybe he could just lend them for a day? He''d have to talk to Vorner about that. A cloak of peacock feathers - that''s what he wanted. He''d seen an illustration of some Aztec hotshot wearing a cloak like that. The women could make a cloak just like that for him. He was sure it wouldn''t be too difficult. What could be difficult about sticking a bunch of feathers together? He entered the house and pressed a switch on the wall beside the door. Still no power. Fuck! What happened to all that money he paid every year in fucking taxes? Wasn''t he entitled to something in exchange? In my kingdom, thought Kirk Lander, there will be no fuckups like that. They won''t be allowed to exist. What, that guy''s fucked up again? Off with his head! As for that llama, well... Debbie knew how to handle it. Yes, he would wake Debbie up and tell her to make the implant. But first, she would have to move it from its stall and to the area designated as launch pad. If she gave the animal an implant in the stable, the llama might end up in the little lake that existed in the same spot in the New World. Kirk Lander remembered dimly there''d been a muddy pond he had ordered filled when he was building his palatial house. Maybe it used to be a lake. Whatever. He had to get this whole llama operation under way. It would be wise to communicate with his guy over there, and see what was going on. He went to his study and shut the door and sat down in the ten-thousand-dollar armchair behind his thirty-thousand-dollar desk. He braced himself slightly, and rubbed the implant in his head. Unlike the others, he had opted to put it right in the center of his forehead. He examined it in the mirror later, and was very pleased with the effect. The glowing blue spot in the center of his forehead gave him a godlike appearance. When people ran into a guy like that, they instantly knew who was the boss. God, how he hated it when everything seemed to happen at supersonic speed! His guy appeared to be talking to Randy about food. Kirk interrupted him with a question: did Randy Trueman indeed have a club? Yes, came the answer. Randy had made a very workable club. He had also managed to catch some more fish in the lake, but eating raw fish was rapidly getting old. Everyone wanted proper, bloody meat. Everyone was feeling hungry all the time. Kirk told his guy meat would be arriving soon, and asked him to warn Debbie she was about to wake up in the old world. He also instructed him to inform Randy he''d have to brain the incoming llama with his club before it ran away or something. The llama would show up in the designated spot, ten paces west from its center. Randy had better be standing nearby, club at the ready. Having issued instructions, Kirk muted his guy by placing a cupped hand over the implant and holding it there for a while. It was really ingenious, this whole setup. Fancy people coming up with something like that just ten thousand years from now. But then they''d been forced to revert to Stone Age for a while in the meantime. Nothing like a good kick in the pants to get things really rolling. Once they had slaughtered a few llamas and acquired a horse over there, his own little kingdom would get rolling, too. Randy would scout the surrounding country for flint stones, and he was sure to find some: this was limestone country. Kirk Lander had spent just a few hours over there, but it was enough to convince him it was paradise. A crystal-clear creek ran into the little lake, providing drinking water. There were all sorts of wild fruit trees and shrubs, unfortunately fruitless at this time of the year - but the fruit would come, yes it would come! The lake was teeming with fish, and they were stupid enough to be caught with bare hands when one was careful. And best of all, the weather was sunny and the air was balmy and warm. There was one brief shower while he was there. The rain wasn''t unpleasant, it was refreshing. Yes! All the ingredients necessary to build a powerful kingdom were there. Under his wise guidance, it would grow into an empire, he was quite sure. He would have to think of an appropriate flag. He had blue eyes, so definitely blue would be strongly featured. How about a golden crown on a dark blue background? He frowned; he seemed to remember someone was already using that. He got up and walked up to the huge, wall-to-wall bookcase. After a few minutes with a book (he had a complete, leather-bound set of Encyclopaedia Britannica), his suspicions were confirmed. Those fucking Swedes used gold crowns on a blue background in their national coat of arms. He cursed them silently while he put the book back. Then he had a thought that made him smile. So what? There was no Sweden over there! Besides, he would use a single crown, not three. Three might give someone the idea he wanted to share his power. A single golden crown then, and maybe he would choose a different model. The Swedish crowns looked flimsy and cheap. He''d definitely want something more solid than that. He ran his finger over the Encyclopaedia Britanica volumes until it came to rest on the volume that covered everything starting with a ''C''. He pulled it out, and went and sat down in his expensive chair with the heavy book in his hand. He was about to look at the illustrations of the various crowns when he remembered he was supposed to wake Debbie up. Those guys over there wanted some solid food! He was a wise king, a good king. The flag would have to wait. "Ladies and llamas first," he said out loud. Pleased with his own wit, he got up and went to the striped tent in the back of his house. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 24 A Very Cruel Revenge Both the Ramseys and the Pendeltons stayed away from the New World after Gladys had been murdered over there. She was still in shock, back at home. Dave Ramsey had examined her and said she was fine in the physical sense. She definitely wasn''t fine in the psychological sense. She stayed in her bedroom, lying on the bed and staring into space with unseeing, vacant eyes. She had ordered Harry to remove the hiber beds from the room. They had difficulty getting her to join them for meals, which were all cooked on the barbecue grill: its gas tank was nearly empty. This prompted Dave Ramsey and Harold Pendleton into making a trip downtown. They had no bicycles, but felt they could easily manage a long walk. The New World had forced their second selves into a lot of physical activity. Somehow, this seemed to have a beneficial effect on them, although all they did back on Earth was eat and sleep. And so on the fourth day of the New Era, Dave and Harold took sponge baths (the water had stopped running), shaved, dressed in fresh clothes (shirts, cotton slacks, moccasin shoes), and set out for the center of Port Douglas. They intended to visit a police station first, to file charges against the renters from the house at the end of of their street. They also intended to find out as much as they could - from the police, from town officials, from anyone they encountered. "Basically, we have no idea of what''s going on," Dave Ramsey had said. "It''s been remarkably quiet here. I would have thought that at the very least a policeman or someone would have come around. To see whether we were safe and sound, if nothing else. But no one did. It''s outrageous, really." "We''ve been spending most of our time in the New World," Harry Pendelton pointed out. "We basically slept eighteen hours a day. Maybe someone did come around." ''Well, we''ll find out, won''t we." It was a long walk to the police station, and on the way they passed by the Sheraton resort located between the road and the beach. They saw two policemen posted at the turnoff to the hotel. The cops wore helmets and flak jackets and held rifles. It was a shock. Port Douglas police work consisted largely of dealing with drunk holidaymakers who had pushed their fun too far. It didn''t require helmets, flak jackets, rifles. Dave and Harold agreed they should ask a few questions. As they approached, the cops tensed visibly. This wasn''t good. When cops became stressed out by a pair of old men in summer clothes, things were bound to be bad. They were. The rifles were pointed at them, and they had to show their IDs before even coming close. Luckily, one of the cops knew Dave Ramsey personally. They had met at a function of some sort. He told them things were tense at the Sheraton. Over a thousand people were without electricity, without water, and shortly would also be out of food. They had originally come there to party, to have a holiday. Moods were ugly. A cop had to bicycle down all the way to Cairns to ask for reinforcements. Yes, as far as they knew, power was out everywhere. Most likely a nation-wide outage. Attempts to restore power had been unsuccessful. They were waiting for orders. For now, they just were to keep the lid on trouble, and they were short of men. The police chief in Cairns had only sent a couple of constables after a lot of bitching: he had troubles of his own. Supposedly, an army engineer unit was on the way. Harold thought about telling the cops about the cube in his back yard, but he did not. They seemed to have a lot on their plates as it were. The cop advised Harold and Dave to go back where they came from. There had been muggings and a few street fights downtown. "As long as you have water to drink and food to eat, stay put," the cop advised them. "This can''t go on forever. Something will have to change. Stay at home and stay safe." They took his advice, but only its first part. Before they had even reached the house, Harry said: "You know, Dave, I feel like borrowing that shotgun of yours and paying those people a visit... You know who I mean." "Yes. That renter scum. Well, I''ve been thinking about that." "Oh yes?" "Yes. You see, I don''t think they can be prosecuted. Gladys is very much alive, if shaken. She''d only been killed in that other, new world. And anyway I don''t think we can apply our laws here to whatever happens over there. It''s a different reality." "Different is right." "So, I''ve been thinking how we can avenge Gladys in this new world. I think I have an idea." "Oh really? What - " "Shush. We''re nearly home. We want to keep the girls out of this, at least for now. I''ll talk to Susan, and tell her what we have learned. You might want to look in on Gladys. Then we''ll get together for a chat, and I''ll tell you what I have in mind." What Dave Ramsey had in mind was so cruel that it left Harold open-mouthed. Killing the renters - they''d both taken to calling them that - wasn''t enough, said Dave. They''d simply give themselves new implants and come looking for revenge. "We have to give them a good scare as well," Dave said. "A scare they''ll never forget. A king-sized package of heebie-jeebies they''ll carry around for a long, long time." He explained to Harold that he''d found a couple of very useful plants in the New World. Both were highly toxic. When combined, they caused a long and very unpleasant delirium prior to a very painful death. Both plants existed in the old world, on Earth. However, even the most die-hard drug addicts steered clear of them. The consequences of getting high were too unpleasant. "Now there''s a question of how to tackle them," Dave said. "We don''t stand a chance in hand-to-hand. There are three of them and the girl and there are two of us. And we''re well past our ''best before'' date." He glanced at Harold. Harold nodded, sadly. He admired Dave''s diplomacy: Dave was basically saying they were a pair of old, weak farts. "But we are better than them," Dave said, "Because we are better up here." He tapped the side of his head. Then he laid out his plan in detail. He wanted to lay in an ambush. There was one spot the renters visited regularly. That was the bed of clams and the nearby rocks that sometimes yielded a pinch or two of salt. The rocks ran in a line from the cliffs lining that stretch of beach, and reached far into the water. And there was just one route to take when getting across that line of rocks. It involved a sequence of specific rocks that had to be climbed and jumped off, and climbed again. The only alternative was to swim far out into the sea, and around them. Dave didn''t think the renters would do that. He proposed using his own wife Susan as bait. He''d send her to gather clams from the clam colonies that had formed around the rocks were in the water. Sooner or later, the renters would come along. They needed to eat and needed salt just like everyone else. When Susan started running, they were sure to give chase. They would get across the line of rocks as fast as they could. They would climb specific rocks and jump off them onto specific spots. Dave Ramsey wanted to make those landing spots lethal. He proposed to turn them into minefields by littering them with concealed thorns, bone shards, even sharp stones - all coated with a paste he''d make out of the two toxic plants. "It''ll start working within seconds, paralyzing the wounded foot and leg," he said. "Then things will get steadily worse. They will be shitting themselves with fear, and screaming with pain. They won''t be able to move. Eventually, they''ll die." "What if a couple manage to make it through unscathed?" Dave shook his head. "Through a couple of hundred thorns scattered in all the right places? I don''t think so. But if one or two do get across, we''ll have spears. With the sharp end painted with the paste. That will fix them." Harold nodded slowly. "Sounds good," he said. The initial preparations took them a full day in the new world. Keeping their heads down and well away from the beach, they got busy. Dave harvested the poisonous plants and prepared the paste, while Harold collected ten rabbit skins full of thorns, sharp stones, and wood and bone splinters. They coated them all with the paste on their second morning in the new world. This was relatively easy: Dave coated the inside of the rabbit skins thickly with the paste. Then they threw in handfuls of thorns, stones, and splinters and carefully tied the paws of the skin, turning it into a pouch. They had a dozen pouches all in all: they ate a rabbit apiece every day, over there. They carried them very, very carefully down to the shore and then walked towards the rocks, keeping concealed in the trees that lined the beach. The renters were there: they saw them a long way off. Th girl was collecting salt, climbing over rocks: she stood out against the sky. When they got closer, they saw the guys were collecting clams. Dave and Harold crouched down among bushes at the edge of the treeline. They watched, and waited. They waited for a long time. The renters spent several hours collecting and eating the clams. Most likely, that was their only source of food. Dave and Harold felt fresh anger: at this rate, the clam beds would be soon exhausted. The clams had to be harvested sparingly, so that they could keep on reproducing. It was nearing sunset by the time the renters finally left. Soon after that, as night fell, Dave and Harold crept out of their hiding place and approached the rocks. It was full moon that night in the New World, and that helped a lot. They sowed their deadly seed in twelve different spots - a pouch per spot. They started at the other end and worked their way back, making it impossible to cross the rocks without stepping on a poisoned, pointed tip. Then they quickly made their way back to their base, feeling totally exhausted. They didn''t get there. Susan Ramsey had been getting anxious. She thought they''d been spending too much time in the new world. So she woke them up. Dave had a hard time convincing her to join their plan. But he did, and in the meantime Harold looked in on Gladys. She seemed much better. The physical discomforts resulting from a shortage of water had made her feel very much alive. She itched all over. They had a good, old-fashioned fight the way they''d had it many times before, each verbal sword thrust preceded by an ''I suppose'', "Do you expect'', and ''I imagine you think''. It made them feel close again, and soon they were both laughing. Then Harold told her of what lay in wait for the renters. Gladys the good, Gladys the gentle approved. She said he had her blessing. It was dawning by the time the three of them - Dave, Susan, Harold - arrived back in the New World. They hurriedly made their way to the rocks. There, Dave and Harold his in the treeline while Susan waded out into the water well clear of the rocks before approaching them. She pretended to be looking for clams. They waited. Clouds began to gather in the sky and that made them worried the rain would wash away the sand concealing the traps. But before the rain could start, Susan screamed and started splashing through the water to reach the shore. She took care to approach it diagonally, without making landfall too close to the rocks. She started running away from the rocks the moment she got out of water. They heard a shout and saw a head pop up between the rocks. It was no more than a hundred paces away. A voice behind the rocks yelled: "Get that bitch! Kill the old cunt!" There were approving whoops and yells. Harold and Dave exchanged glances and gripped their spears tighter. Then they heard a curse. Then another. Two silhouettes appeared on the last, flat rock separating them from the beach: one of the men and the girl. They ran forward and jumped off and the girl shrieked and started hopping around on one leg and almost immediately shrieked again and froze. The man had jumped a long distance from the rock. Dave and Harold even thought he might have landed beyond the poisoned field. But then the man turned round to approach the girl. He shouted angrily after a couple of steps, and stopped to examine the sole of his foot. "Careful!" the girl shouted, a little too late. "There''s a lot of sharp shit in the sand." A horrible scream pierced the air. It came from among the rocks. And it was followed by another scream. And another. As if on cue, the girl screamed too. "Jimmy! Help me! Help me!" But the man she was appealing to fell down. He clutched his foot and they started to scream together. Dave and Harold looked at each other. Then they pulled back to walk to their base. They smelled the rabbit roasting some distance off, and instantly thought of the same thing. If they could smell it from a distance, someone else could, too. "Well, it doesn''t matter now," said Harold after a while. "It looks that stuff of yours has really put them out of action." "Someone else will come along sooner or later, Harold. You can be sure of that." Harold nodded. "We''d better set up a proper base," he said. "And think about defenses." "What we need to do," said Dave Ramsey, "Is to bring more people in. Our kind of people. When there''s twenty of us - a whole tribe! - a handful of murderous assholes won''t bother us. But you know something, I am a little worried. Let''s go back, and check on those thugs." It struck them they heard no screams as they approached. But they could make out voices. One voice, the girl''s voice, moaned. The second, male voice kept repeating: "Oh please please please oh please... They left the treeline and approached the man on the ground, making sure to stop a safe distance away. He was motionless, except for the occasional tremor. When he''d heard them, he turned his head to look at them. The rain was starting to fall. The man stared at Harold and Dave. He said tearfully: "Please help me. I did no wrong. This is just a game, right? It''s some fucking virtual reality game. Please turn it off. I did no wrong. Please help me." "Fuck you," said Harold Pendelton. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 25 Power Returns On January 6th, 2035, the fifth day of the New Era, the cubes began to disappear. The cube next to the lectern in the general assembly chamber of the United Nations dissolved into thin air just as the delegates were trooping in for yet another vote. They were a sorry sight. Most hadn''t washed for several days, ever since water had begun to be rationed. The toilets in their rooms were overflowing. All had spent many sleepless hours, wondering what had really happened and what was going to come next. What happened was that finally, they had a taste of what life looked like for many people in the world. Just a little taste. It was enough to make them all deeply unhappy. People who are unhappy tend to be pessimistic. The sudden disappearance of the cube in the general assembly chamber caused a small panic. Some delegates were instantly convinced that the disappearance of the cube meant fresh disasters. They ran to the underground bunkers meant to protect them from attack. Some delegates were worried that all the implant kits, scrolls, and hiber beds they''d taken had disappeared, too. They ran back to their rooms to reassure themselves that all the stuff they had taken from the cube was still there. Some delegates couldn''t believe the cube was gone, just like that. They scrambled onto the stage and examined the floor next to the lectern, looking for clues. There were none. All that remained were the implant kits, scrolls, and hiber beds stored in the rooms. The blue lights in the bases of the implant kits glowed reassuringly. And then, the unthinkable happened yet again. The lights in the building flickered, came on, flickered, and went out again. Accusations flew fast and furious in the power control room of the United Nations building. The engineers and repairmen assembled there all began shouting at the same time. "What did you do?!" "You touched that!" "I saw you flick a switch!" "Liar!" "Asshole!" "Moron!" "Cunt!" The truth was, none of the people in the power control room had touched anything. They were afraid of touching anything. A number of their friends had been electrocuted while trying to fix things. For the past few days, they''d all been mostly concerned about concocting convincing stories of how they were working hard to fix the power outage. Now they all stood in the room dimly lit by Coleman lamps, shouting at each other. It wasn''t constructive. For the next half an hour, total pandemonium reigned in the United Nations building. Delegates rushed to and fro, many furiously punching the keys on their smartphones. They seemed to be working: they switched on without exploding, or dying with a final fizz of fried electronics. The installed applications worked. The messages could be played back. Text messages could be typed in, and saved. But they weren''t working in the sense no calls could be made. The network was dead. In the meantime, the chief electrical engineer - the next person after God at that difficult time - regained control in the power room. He immediately issued a series of orders, then ran to talk to Chief Brody, in charge of the overall security in the building and its environs. Security guards and policemen were immediately dispatched to check all the light switches in the building, make sure they were in the ''off'' position, and prevent anyone from touching them. Down in the power control room, the chief electrical engineer was busy setting up an experiment. He connected a powerful reflector to a small, portable generator. He rigged a long broom pole to the handle on the generator''s starter cord. Then, hidden behind an overturned metal desk, he carefully put the pole on the desk''s edge and pushed down sharply. The generator farted, then fired and began chugging happily. The control room was flooded by intense white light from the reflector. No one whooped or danced with joy. They all kept their heads down and their hands on the backs of their necks, waiting for the generator to explode. It didn''t explode. It chugged steadily. The light kept shining. Occasionally it dimmed a little, but then returned to normal. Joyous shouts rang out. "Fucking A!" "We did it!" "Yay!" It took a while for the chief electrical engineer to restore order. When he did he immediately sent out teams to bring in more small, portable generators. Then he ran to confer with the building''s director of administration. He wasn''t about to make a single move more without covering his ass first. The general assembly chamber of the United Nations building was still lit by rows of Coleman lamps. The space beside the lectern where the cube had stood was conspicuously empty. The lectern wasn''t. It was filled by Nelson Odongo wearing his last fresh shirt and underpants. His suit was creased, and so was his forehead as he watched the delegates enter the chamber. The presidents, prime ministers, generals, admirals, the small handful of kings that ruled their nations directly - all those important, dignified people were behaving like schoolchildren that had just heard the bell for the break. Nelson Odongo was patient. He waited. He was a wise man, and knew that life mostly consisted of waiting. Life itself was a form of waiting - for death. When everyone had finally settled down, Odongo began to speak and immediately shocked the assembly into silence. His voice boomed from the speakers in the chamber! Outside the chamber, two electrical engineers exchanged thumbs-up signs. They were squatting by a row of connected portable generators, which were all thudding busily. "My dear fellow parliamentarians," said Nelson Odongo, and paused: he noted with pleasure some of the people in the chamber seemed scared of him. "As you can see, we have partially restored power," said Odongo, including himself in the team that had worked feverishly to rig up the sound system he was using. Nelson Odongo hadn''t touched a screwdriver or a wrench in the past thirty years. In fact, he hadn''t done much of anything for most of his life. Whenever he needed something done, he asked someone to do it. Even his sex life consisted of lying back comfortably while an experienced, expert mouth was working on his dick. "Everything will be gradually returning to normal," Odongo continued, fully aware that he was lying. The old norms were dead. New norms would take their place. They would be set so that everything would go on as before. As someone clever had put it: if things were to remain the same, things would have to change. It was up to him, Nelson Odongo, to expedite the needed change. He waited for the excitement caused by his promising words to die down. Then he said: "In the meantime, we have a lot of work to do very fast. We have to set up administrative structures for two worlds: the old, and the new. We have to decide what needs to be done next. Every single step we take has to be the right step." He paused to let this sink in. Then he continued: "We must immediately affirm this assembly as the top authority in both worlds. We must also elect a Colonial government for the New World. We must decide on immediate steps to be taken in both worlds. "We shall have to set up a number of committees to work on selected areas of concern. We have a lot - a lot! - of work to do. "Therefore, we shall now break for brunch. I am told there will be several hot meals to choose from." A few voices cheered, and Nelson Odongo frowned. Such children! But this was all to the good. He could handle children. He was good with children. Children ate out of his hand. He stopped frowning, and smiled at his audience. "All right," he said. "Let''s go eat something." NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 26 The Sexy, Deadly Amazons The five members of the well-known female rock band called The Amazons sat in a circle around five glowing scrolls in the biggest room of the house that belonged to the band''s leader: the formidable Amanda Queen. Amanda Queen had formed The Amazons two years earlier, and had personally guided the band to stunning success. When the Amazons performed live, women screamed and fainted; men went pale, and sometimes clutched their balls. Amanda Queen was very smart. She knew that style trumped substance in an increasingly superficial world. On stage and in front of cameras, the Amazons performed while wearing latex costumes suggestive of sadomaso sex. Off stage and in public, the Amazons wore color-coded leather outfits: black for Amanda Queen, red, blue, green and purple for the remaining members of the band. Their hair was carefully color-coded too, ranging from platinum blond to jet black. Off stage and in private, the Amazons wore T-shirts and fluffy sweaters and jeans and soft, fleecy exercise pants. But that day, the sixth day of the New Year and the fifth day of the New Era, they were all wearing military-style clothing: olive-green T-shirts, and camo jackets and pants. A shining blue dot glowed in the center of each of the five foreheads, all creased in deep thought. The room and house they were in belonged to Amanda Queen. It was a palatial house. Amanda''s father, the late Reginald Queen, had made a fortune in pharmaceuticals. His own invention and flagship product, called the Happy Pill, combined a mix of vitamins and stimulants that induced a state of mild euphoria. At the last count, over a hundred million people worldwide took their daily Happy Pill. Unfortunately, Reggie Queen wasn''t around any longer to enjoy the fruit of his labors. He had been killed along with his wife - Amanda''s mother - when their private jet crashed into the ocean, en route to Hawaii. Neither the bodies nor the wreckage had ever been found. Amanda Queen was an only child. She had been born with an outstanding brain, and received an excellent education. The demise of her parents had made her fabulously wealthy. The only thing missing from her life was widespread, global adoration of the kind enjoyed by the greatest movie stars. Being musically talented as well as smart, she formed The Amazons. She invested a couple of million dollars in plastic surgery for all of the Amazons including herself, and it paid off: the band was a smashing success within a year. But after another year, the novelty wore off. Amanda Queen was more than ready for another adventure, another challenge. The glowing cube in Seattle''s Wolf Tree Nature Area couldn''t have appeared at a better time, or in a better location: just a short walk from Amanda''s house. Fortunately, all five of the Amazons had assembled at Amanda''s home to welcome the New Year together, and make plans for the next twelve months. They spent a frenzied couple of hours taking as much stuff as they could carry from the cube, and depositing it in the house. Then police showed up on the scene, and cordoned off the cube. It didn''t matter. They had packed one room full of items from the cube, and another a least half-full. They had enough timon implants to start a town. They had enough hiber beds to open a hostel for the homeless. They also had more than enough scrolls, fifty or sixty. Whatever: they worked well as lights. All five of the Amazons had already acquainted themselves with the content of the glowing scrolls. All five of the Amazons had already been to the New World. All five Amazons were determined to make this new world their own. They knew they were going to have competition over there. They had already chased off a couple of pallid, flaccid, naked specimens of the male sex with a few well-thrown stones. They had spent the last three hours discussing what needed to be done to claim supremacy in their corner of the New World. Amanda said: "All right. Here''s who does what." She broke off and looked Fiona Fizz. Fiona played bass, had flaming red hair, and wore green leather on the street. She had spent a year at an agricultural college before she dropped out to join the band. Amanda said: "Fiona. You''ll go to the pet shop and grab every bunny you can find. Guinea pigs are good, too. I ate them on my visit to Ecuador, and they are very tasty. You''ll also get a couple of dogs: more precisely, a dog and a bitch. Dobermans would be good, but we''ll settle for Alsatians." "Can I have someone to give me a hand with that? I''ll have to bring in plenty of pet food, too." "Sure. Linda, can you help her?" Linda Love - black hair, red leather, lead guitar - nodded, and passed the joint she''d been smoking to Sharon Starr (purple leather, purple hair, drums). "Betty." Betty Blue - blue outfit, brown hair, keyboards - stopped watching the joint''s progress and looked attentively at Amanda. "You''ll cycle down to the town hall and find out what''s going on. In particular, ask about any other cubes that might have popped up elsewhere. Get all the information you can, and drop in on Sheila before you get back. She and her sister might want to join our enterprise." "But there''s been shooting downtown," said Betty. "We all heard the gunfire." "There hasn''t been any gunfire for at least a day. But if you''re scared, I''ll give you my Glock. You know how to use it, don''t you?" "Yes," said Betty meekly, "But I''m not a very good shot." "Don''t be a douchebag, girl. Just do your best. You''ll be fine." "Okay," said Betty, somewhat doubtfully. "But what about you?" Amanda smiled and brushed away a strand of blond hair that had fallen over one of her big, green eyes. She said: "I''m taking Sharon, and we''ll go and visit Kevin Stringer. He lives just a few blocks away." There was no need to explain anything: her girls were all very bright. And they knew about Kevin Stringer. Over a quarter century earlier, Kevin Stringer had won the gold medal in archery at the Olympic Games. He now ran a business that offered training courses to aspiring archers. He also manufactured custom-made bows for environment-conscious, animal-friendly hunters who liked to think that their prey preferred being killed by an arrow to a bullet from a gun. "Wow," said Linda Love. "I want a piece of that action." "You''ll all get a piece of that action," said Amanda. "Never fear. We''ll all become experts with the bow. We''ll have to learn how to make them too, though - with next to no tools. It''s not going to be easy. But -" She paused to look at them. As always, they were hanging on her every word. She raised a clenched fist and shouted: "We''ll do it! Attagirl!" ''Attagirl'' was the title of the Amazon''s first great hit. It quickly became their battle cry. They gathered round in a circle before each performance and raised their fists and chanted: "Attagirl! Attagirl! Attagirl!" Then they would walk out onto the stage to a roar of applause, and make both girls and guys wet with hard, driving rock. Music that made people yell and strip their clothes off and generally behave like fugitives from a madhouse. They were the greatest. They were the Amazons. They kicked ass, and took no names. And now they jumped to their feet and raised their glowing scrolls and shouted: "Attagirl! Attagirl! Attagirl!" They all grinned as they shouted. This New World thing - it was going to be one hell of a ride. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 27 Henderson Island Rafi Susanto sat on the beach strewn with plastic rubbish, and gazed sadly at his beautiful motor yacht. The Golden Dawn was tilted at a precarious angle. As Cruz had predicted, the tide had moved the grounded hull. At least it hadn''t dragged the ship out into ocean. Not yet, anyway. One of the yacht''s lifeboats was rocking gently on the water next to the ship. It was half-full of supplies already. Susanto felt a great sadness when he thought about all the things that couldn''t be salvaged from his yacht. There was the life-size sculpture of himself, for example. Rafi Susanto cast in white gold, raising a metal arm in a gesture that clearly said: everything I see is mine. The world is my oyster, and I''ll eat it live, just like I eat an ordinary oyster. With a few drops of sambal and lemon juice. The sculpture had provided him with many hours of private delight. It stood in his study on the yacht. It was very valuable, much more valuable than the white gold it had been made from. It was a part of himself. Sadly, it was simply too heavy for a lifeboat. He stood up, brushed sand from his pants, and turned around. Cruz was busy supervising the crewmen who were taking items from the cube and depositing them under a big tarpaulin spread between a couple of palm trees nearby. The stockpile had already grown to immense proportions. The cube seemed to contain an endless quantity of items. How was that possible? Magic! Pure magic! But no. This wasn''t magic. It was the wondrous technology developed by humans in the faraway future. It represented great value, enormous value that could yet turn out to be greater than everything he had acquired so far. Susanto looked away from the stockpile and at the canopy that had been erected on a stretch of beach that had been swept clean of the plastic trash. It had served to shield the yacht''s swimming pool from sunlight when it got uncomfortably fierce. Now it protected their campsite. The whores were all fast asleep on the hiber beds. They hadn''t been implanted - yet. He had tried to put them to work on getting items from the cube, but the amount of bitching he''d had to endure made him change his mind. Not far from the whores, half a dozen of Golden Dawn''s crewmen also slept on the silvery mats. Two of them were implanted. They were exploring the New World by daylight. Susanto had a hard time convincing them to do that. He had to solemnly promise he''d wake them if they began to show signs of distress. He''d also had to promise them a large bonus. They had been asleep for almost an hour. According to Cruz, an hour of Earth time translated into a lot of hours in the New World. Susanto was really curious of what what they''d tell him once they were awake. This New World was the biggest business opportunity of his life, he was sure of that. And he knew Gabriel Cruz thought exactly the same. He had to do one of two things, fast. Kill Gabriel Cruz, or make a pact with him. Killing Cruz was difficult and impractical. Even if he''d managed that all by himself, without witnesses, a lot of questions would be asked. Cruz was an important man, a powerful man. His disappearance could mean a disappearance for Susanto, a few weeks or months down the line. Plenty of people would blame him for Cruz''s demise. He had invited Cruz for the cruise - enough! Killing Cruz was definitely out. They had to reach an agreement, form a mutually profitable alliance that would be fair to both of them. This meant that Susanto''s cut should be bigger than his partner''s. After all, it was he who arranged the cruise. It was his ship, his crew. It was his show. He''d even hired two whores to Cruz''s one. Susanto tilted his head back and looked at the sky. A few feathery white clouds had appeared, very high up. Did that mean an approaching change of weather? He hoped not. The weather was perfect, as perfect as it could get for a group of castaways on an island. It was warm, but not too hot; there was a breeze, but not too strong; the sea was calm. If it stayed calm, there was a chance help would reach them in time to save both them and the Golden Dawn. Susanto didn''t care much about the ship; he''d collect a hefty payout from his insurance company, and build himself a new, bigger, better yacht. But the sculpture! The sculpture! It wasn''t going to be easy to get a replacement. The sculptor who had created it died soon after its completion. To be exact, he''d died two days after Susanto had paid him for his work. It was a generous payment. Susanto had even added a small bonus on top of the agreed fee. He was very pleased with the sculpture. It was unfortunate its creator had died. But twenty-hour orgies featuring plenty of alcohol and drugs could be dangerous to overweight, middle-aged men with heart problems. Susanto heard sand squish under the feet of someone approaching him. He drew his eyes away from the sky. It was Cruz. He looked faintly troubled, maybe because he was looking at the plastic trash strewn on the beach. Susanto put on a smile and said: "Hey, Gabriel! Que pasa?" Cruz stopped an arm''s length away from Susanto. Still looking at the trash, he said: "I''m wondering how long it will take us to return to civilization. What''s left of it, that is." "What''s left of it? What are you talking about? Gabriel!" "I think that storm we had might have knocked out the global power grid. If I''m right and it did... I don''t even want to imagine the consequences." "Gabriel." Susanto took the other man''s arm and started leading him to the camp. More specifically, he was leading him to the mini-bar set up by his crew. It was obvious Cruz needed a drink, perhaps also a bite to eat, and a blowjob. No problem! Susanto could easily arrange all of that for him. "We should look at the bright side," he said. "You''ll agree that we are standing in front of a unique business opportunity. An enormous opportunity." "As enormous as those dinosaurs in the New World?" "Bigger, Gabriel. Much, much bigger. We must talk about that. My scouts will tell me what they''d found. Then we should have a serious discussion about how - " "I think what I''d like right now is a serious discussion of how to get off this island," Cruz said. "We''ll get off it! Don''t worry. Sooner or later, someone from Pitcairn will show up. I told you they come here to gather wood." "I don''t think they''ll be gathering any wood in the near future." "Gabriel! You''re so pessimistic. Here, let''s have a drink. How about a gimlet? I think there''s some ice left. I''ll get my barman - oh sorry. I forgot he''s, that he''s over there finding out things. I''ll mix you a drink myself." "That''s very kind of you." "No problem! No problem. And how about a bite?" He pointed at the big tray with a transparent cover. Under the cover, a selection of canapes prepared by his chef lay in slight disarray. Susanto frowned as he mixed the drinks. Someone had taken a few of the canapes. They were meant for him and Cruz! No one was allowed to take any, not even the whores. They had their own food rations. He would have to conduct a swift investigation. He stuck a slice of lime on the brim of the gimlet glass, and handed it to Cruz. "Let''s raise a toast," he said. "To the future of our glorious enterprise!" Cruz raised his glass, looking doubtful. "To our future," he said. "Hopefully, we still have one." NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 28 The Army Arrives For Samir and Rani, replicating the goat in the New World marked the beginning of a very busy period. They spent almost an entire day taking turns to build their new home in the New World. They ended up replicating the goat five times. They would have done it many times more, but the animal gradually grew panicked, and escaped just as Samir was preparing to implant it for the sixth time. They had just enough goat hides to make clothes for themselves. This turned out to be difficult. It was a while before they managed to find a couple of stones with edges sharp enough to cut the hides. It took them a long time to dress the carcasses of the butchered goats, get rid of the entrails, and scrape the hides clean of meat and fat. They spent almost a whole day taking turns: while one of them slept on the hiber bed, the other kept watch on what was going on around their home. Pretty soon, it became hard for them to tell which life, which world was more real. The events that were taking place on Earth certainly seemed surreal. They could hear the rattle of distant shots, and Rani saw a soldier ride a bicycle past the small fields surrounding their house. He was in a great hurry - bent over the handlebars of his bike, he threw a quick glance at the glowing cube and at the body lying next to it. It didn''t make him slow down or stop, if anything it made him pedal faster. Their neighborhood seemed completely deserted. Samir thought people had been scared away by the appearance of the cube. "The storm, then the cube - they probably thought the aliens were about to invade," he told Rani. "I thought so too, for a moment." "I did as well, to be honest. But just for a short moment. However, remember that we are educated people. I don''t think any of our neighbors went to college, like we did. I think many of them did not even finish primary school. Remember what they were like? Some that had recently moved here from the country couldn''t even read or write. They were all really simple people. They got scared, and ran away." "Some didn''t," Rani said pointedly, glancing in the direction of the body lying in the field next to the cube. "Yes. I wonder what had happened, and why he was killed." They found out the next morning. They''d spent most of the night working hard in the New World. They finally had clothes: goatskin shifts that reached halfway down their thighs. They''d also made crude shoes for themselves. Both the shifts and the shoes were held together by narrow strips of goatskin that had been threaded through holes in the hide, and tied. When the soldiers came, they were both at home and wide awake. Their second selves in the New World were busy building a crude hut: it would take a while. From time to time, they checked on the progress being made. They had just sat down to eat a meal of rice and greens when they heard voices outside. Samir looked out of the window and saw three soldiers walking across the field outside. Two of them stopped by the cube, looking curiously at the dead man on the ground. The third soldier walked up to the unfinished house. He walked inside, and they could hear him stop in front of their door. It was the only door in the concrete shell of the unfinished house. He opened it without knocking. He had a flamboyant mustache and the green beret on his head was tilted at a rakish angle. The chevrons on his uniform indicated a sergeant, and his hand was on the holstered pistol on his hip. "Who are you?" he demanded. Before they had time to answer, he asked sharply: "Did you kill that man outside?" "No!" cried Rani. Samir shook his head. "Then who did?" They explained that they had been hiding, too terrified to even look out of the window because of that cube, the glowing cube that had appeared just a few steps from their home. There had been shots and shouts and they could smell the smoke of burning houses. They had hunkered down, praying no one would hurt them. And they were terrified of the cube. The sergeant seemed to be at least partly satisfied with what he''d heard. But then he said: "You weren''t afraid to take items from the cube." He raised his hand, and pointed at the stack of implant kits and scrolls next to the two hiber beds. "I took them today," Samir said. "The cube had been there for days, and nothing bad happened." "So you went and read the instructions on the cube and helped yourselves?" "It said to put your hand inside to receive those things. We wanted to see if it really worked." "The cube and everything inside are the property of the state," said the sergeant. "You are thieves. You were lucky not to get shot, like that man outside your house. We are under orders to fire at any looters we encounter." "But there was nothing on the cube to indicate it was property of the state!" "And that''s why I won''t arrest you. You are forbidden to take anything else from the cube. And you will turn over everything you''ve taken. There will be a vehicle coming before long to collect it. In the meantime, you are to remain here and stay available for further questioning." "Of course," said Samir. "We''ll do everything you say. But could you please tell us what''s going on? We were too scared to go out, and find out for ourselves." He looked at the sergeant as he spoke, and made sure it was a look full of admiration. Rani had caught on quickly. She said: "We are most grateful you came here. We were so frightened. You must be very brave." The sergeant looked at her sharply, but saw nothing except admiration for his courage. He said: "There''s a national crisis. We have experienced a complete power outage. Together with the appearance of all those cubes - " "All those cubes? There are more?" "Many more. There has been an outbreak of general panic. Criminal individuals are trying to profit from that panic. But everything is now under control. Electric power will return soon, and all wrongdoers will be prosecuted." "We didn''t do anything wrong," said Rani. "You did. You took items from the cube. They are property of the state. But as there was no clear warning on the cube, you shall not be prosecuted provided you turn over everything that you''d taken." "We will, we will," said Samir, thanking the gods that he and Rani had hidden the implants under their hair. Had the sergeant noticed the glowing blue dots, he would have not let them off so easily. "Sir," said Rani, putting her hands together as if in prayer, "Could one of your soldiers escort me to the communal tap? We''re almost out of water." "You have nothing to fear. This area is safe." "Are the shops open?" "Not yet. But they will be, soon. Like I said, the situation is under control." "We have very little food left." "The army will provide emergency supplies to everyone threatened with starvation. Are you threatened with starvation? You look well fed, to me." "We''ve eaten almost all the food we had." "You are now under the protection of the army," the sergeant said pompously. "No one will starve. If there''s an emergency and you require help, I authorize you to speak to the sentries guarding the cube. But you must not make any frivolous requests." "We won''t. Thank you very much, sir." "Thank you. You''ve probably saved our lives," said Samir. The sergeant raised his hand as if to give his mustache a twirl, but thought the better of it and dropped it back on the butt of his holstered gun. He said: "Very well. I shall instruct my men to provide you with assistance if needed. But remember: no frivolous requests!" "No." "Certainly not." "Very well," said the sergeant again, and left. They heard him talking to the soldiers outside. Soon after that, he left on his bicycle. The two soldiers he''d left to guard the cube dragged the body to the side of the road and left it there, presumably to await pickup. Then they returned to the cube. They seemed to be wary of it; they took care not to stand too close. Samir wondered about the sergeant''s words. He''d said a vehicle would be along to pick up the items he and Rani had taken from the cube. But they hadn''t seen a single vehicle over the past few days, ever since the storm. "Rani," he said. "Yes?" "We must hide the implant kits. Not all, we''ll have to leave some for the soldiers when they come to collect what we''ve taken from the cube. But we must keep as many as we can. And at least two hiber beds, and a couple of scrolls. But where can we put them?" "We''ll talk about it in a moment. I must check on the Rani over there. I think she''s trying to tell me something." They both sat down away from the window and the soldiers'' prying eyes, and rubbed their implants. And although they did not say it out loud, they both wished they could go to the New World and stay there forever. In spite of all the hardships, it was a much nicer place. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 29 A Gun in the Pocke On the seventh day of the New Era - exactly one week after his birthday - Li Yang witnessed a miracle upon waking up. He had slept very well, and slept in late. Having a full belly and a hiber bed to sleep on proved to be a very sleep-inducing combination. That morning, he opened his eyes when it was already nearing noon, although his room was still in semi-darkness. Li Yang kept the curtains on all the windows tightly drawn at all times. He didn''t want rooftop gunmen taking potshots at him because they''d spotted him through the window. As he lay there, staring at the dim ceiling, the ceiling light suddenly came into life. It shone for just a couple of seconds. Then there was a loud pop, and the light went out. Li Yang got up and examined the light switch by the door. He had left it on! He switched it off and on a few times, but nothing happened. The light bulb was dead. He got dressed and spent the next few minutes going into all the rooms in the apartment, using the keys he''d got from the cops that had come to tell him Rose Fogerty was dead. He''d decided that he''d keep the landlady''s keys. He was the only tenant left in the apartment. No one could accuse him of anything. Li Yang switched on the ceiling light in every room in the apartment. The result was always the same: a couple of seconds of light followed by a pop as another light bulb went dead. He took a fresh pail of water from the bathtub in the communal bathroom, and returned to his room to make himself some food. But the stink in the bathroom had killed his appetite. He had defecated into the toilet there the previous day forgetting that there''s no water in the toilet tank. After a short hesitation, he''d poured some water into the tank and flushed the toilet. But one small turd persisted in remaining afloat on the surface, and after he''d wasted another tankful of water he just put down the lid on it. The lid didn''t fit the seat too well, so the smell from the toilet bowl spread. He wondered why his shit stank so badly. Had he been poisoned by his contact with the cube? The documentation he''d read didn''t mention that possibility, and it was pretty thorough. So thorough that he knew he''d missed a lot of things even though he''d read everything on the scroll. But before he could reach for the scroll to scan it for mentions of poison and illness, he realized why his shit stank. He was eating a lot of protein. He hadn''t eaten that much meat and eggs ever before. He had been pigging out full time on all the stolen food, since it was bound to go bad anyway without refrigeration. He had stopped thinking about it and was just relaxing on the bed next to the silvery mat when he heard something move above his head. He stared at the ceiling: he was sure the sound had come from the floor above. Then he heard it again, a soft clatter as if someone had dropped something on the floor. The thing was, the floor above was unoccupied. Li Yang''s building was a relict of another era. It should have been torn down a long time ago. A leaking roof and cracked water pipes had made the upper two floors unsuitable for habitation. Things were so bad up there that the city building inspector had sadly refused the bribe offered by the building''s owner, and declared the top two floors off limits for human habitation. But there was someone up there, Li Yang could hear it. Someone in the apartment, the room immediately above his own. He got up and got the revolver from under the bed mattress. It still had only three cartridges in the drum. Li Yang spun it until the first of the three cartridges was lined up with the barrel. Holding the gun in his hand, he opened the front door and peeked out into the staircase. He stood motionless in the open doorway for a couple of minutes, listening hard. Nothing and no one was moving on the staircase. He quickly went back to his room and put on a an extra pair of socks, sprinkling their soles with water so that they wouldn''t slide. Then he crept out of the apartment and up the staircase to the floor above. There was an official tape strung across the top of the stairs. Black letters on a bright yellow background repeated the message: Do Not Cross. Do Not Cross. Do Not Cross. Li Yang bent his back and slipped under the tape. He stepped onto the landing and stood still, listening, the gun''s butt getting warm in his hand. Nothing stirred, nothing moved. He stepped softly across the landing and into the hallway that led to two apartments. The one on the left was directly above his own. He put his ear to the door and immediately thought he''d heard something. But it was followed by total silence, dead silence that dragged out every second into ten. He put his hand on the door handle. The round metal knob was very cold. But it warmed quickly under his fingers, and it awakened an instinct: he tried to turn it. It turned. The door opened a crack. It had been left unlocked. He stood still, listening. More silence. He pushed the door open wider with the muzzle of his gun and looked inside. The hallway was an exact copy of the hallway in his apartment, with doors leading to rooms on both sides. The second door on the left led to the room above his own. It was the only door that was open, throwing a shaft of pale light over the hallway runner. Li Yang crept into the dark hallway. His shoeless feet were silent on the threadbare hallway runner. He held his half-raised gun in both hands. his left hand cupping the butt. His thumb was on the hammer of the revolver. A sound made him freeze just a couple of steps from the open doorway. It was the sound of a sob. He crept forward until his body was next to the open doorway. Then he slid an eye and the barrel of his gun around the door jamb. Charlene Lee was sitting on a bed that was directly above Li Yang''s bed. She sat sideways to him, and she was holding her face in her hands. A couple of rings on her fingers caught the light, and she was dressed in what looked like a very expensive fur coat. She didn''t look as if she could have anything to cry about. But she was crying, there was no doubt about it. As Li Yang looked on, her shoulders shook and another sob escaped through her hands. He dropped the gun to his side. After a short hesitation, he flipped the safety to on, and put the gun into his left pant pocket. The butt stuck out, but maybe that wasn''t bad. He stepped into the room and said: "Charlene." She screamed before she looked at him. She recognized him right away, even though he''d grimaced horribly at the scream. "Li Yang!" "Yes. It''s me. I heard you moving around from downstairs. What are you doing here, Charlene? And why are you crying?" It was the wrong thing to say: she started sobbing again. Li Yang waited for a dozen heartbeats. Then he said: "Charlene. Let''s go downstairs. We shouldn''t be up here." She stopped sobbing and said: "I can''t go downstairs. I owe Rose last month''s rent. I promised I''d pay for both December and January right at the beginning of the year. I don''t have the money. I don''t have almost any money! And Harper is in jail." "What?" "It''s... It''s a long story. And complicated." "I''ll be glad to listen." She glanced at him suspiciously. Then she said: "When the storm broke, we were visiting Harper''s friend. So we stayed there. And then trouble started and when it went on and on and there was no electricity we, we... It looked safe enough outside in spite of the shooting, there was a lot of people were on the street, many going home loaded with stuff. So we went along to pick up something, we were getting short of food. And Harper and his friend got caught. The cops arrived soon after we''d gone into this store. We didn''t hear them coming, they were on bicycles. They arrested Harper and they arrested Bobby, his friend. I was so lucky. They ran in right past me. Maybe they didn''t grab me because I wasn''t carrying anything. I just had this coat on and some jewelry and that was it." "It''s a very nice coat." "You like it?" "Yes. It looks very expensive." "It''s not. It''s fake fur. But it ain''t inexpensive either." "I''ve got good news for you, Charlene." "What? Fuck! Tell me. I really can use some good news." "I''m sorry. I should have said I have both good news and bad news." "I knew it. I knew it! Give me the bad news first, asshole." "Miz Fogerty is dead. The landlady. She''s dead. So she won''t be after you for the rent. That''s the good news." "Is this really true? You''re not fucking me around?" "It''s gospel truth," said Li Yang, purposefully using the phrase he''d sometimes heard Harper Lee use. He added: "Let''s go downstairs. You don''t need to stay here. Don''t worry, I''ll do my best to protect you." Charlene Lee looked at him sharply. She seemed to make her mind up about something. "Okay," she said, getting up. "Can you help me out? I''ve got some stuff under the bed." She looked at him and noticed the small revolver''s butt sticking out of his pants pocket. She said: "Is that a gun in your pocket, or are you just glad to see me?" NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 30 The Worst Plan for the New World "Is this a gun in your pocket, or are you just glad to see me?" asked Lea Panatella, grinning coquettishly. She took a step forward, which brought the tips of her Zeppelins into contact with Carlton Brock''s chest. Carlton grinned too, but took a small step back. Lea was a hell of a chick. That was why he''d made her Chief of Staff. But the President of the United States did not fuck around. No sir! Carlton Brock was married to the daughter of the chairman of his party. She was pretty and wealthy and had been very determined to become the First Lady. She had badgered her pa until he threw his support behind her husband in the primaries. These concluded with Carlton Brock being elected his party''s candidate for President. Marrying the party chairman''s daughter had been a very smart move. There was no way Brock would allow anything to upset the relationship he had with his wife and thus with her father, the party chairman. He looked at Lea and said: "It''s a gun. I''m going to spend the afternoon out. Gotta show the people the boss is here, and in charge. No TV, Lea. We''ve been heavily fucked by no TV. And they still can''t sort out the power thing. Small generators and battery-operated stuff work fine, but that''s about it. So I gotta hit the streets and walk around a little and smile a lot. You know how it goes." "Walk around? Mister President! If battery-powered appliances and generators work, so should car engines. Can''t you ride around in a vehicle?" "The cars, all the vehicles are still fucked, Lea. Don''t ask me why. I don''t know." "It''s because they are loaded with electronics. But remember that Studebaker that''s on display at the car dealer''s a few blocks from here? You commented on it last time we passed it. I think a car like that might work." "It might, Lea! You''re right! You''re a genius, that''s who you are. I should make you Minister of Industry or something. Get going on that Studebaker thing. I, uh - what am I supposed to do next?" "I''m not sure," said Lea. "You told me the plan has changed. That the economics meeting ended early, and that the schedule for the rest of the day might be reshuffled. Has it been reshuffled, mister President?" "Nah, it hasn''t. Everything goes on as planned. It''s just that the meeting on world economy wrapped up real fast." "Is that good or bad?" "Good, I guess. Everyone agreed we''re introducing a new, universal, world currency based on gold and silver and stuff. And that there is going to be a global minimum guaranteed income program. And no income tax, but a big, big increase in taxes worldwide. Everything''s going to be taxed at least 100%, Lea. Energy in all shapes and forms - 500%. That includes all appliances, all machines that use fuel or electric power. The base charge for electric power is going to be raised, too. Ten times, Lea! One... thousand... percent. You know what this means? No more holidays on Bali for this boy here, or for you, or for anyone else. Except for the guys that live there, of course." "A thousand percent! I''d better remember about switching off the lights when I leave a room." "Yeah. Well, gotta get money somewhere to fund this guaranteed income business. Things are going to get pretty interesting moneywise, Lea. My tip: any money you have, you better invest it all in gold jewelry, and do it quick." Thank you, mister President. You look after me so well. You look after all of us so well. We all really appreciate it." Clayton Brock smirked and adjusted the blond lock that kept falling over his right eye. He said: "Right. So what am I supposed to do next?" "A conference on the administrative and economic system in the New World. Guido Worst." "What?" "He''s another of those geniuses with solutions." "Hey, don''t knock geniuses, Lea. This Troll guy came up with some pretty good stuff. Know who has the biggest gold reserves in the world? We do. And gold will rule the new currency. Nice, eh? That Patel woman also made a big contribution. It was her idea to tax energy so heavily." "You liked it?" "Sure I liked it. I like to take a walk in the woods sometimes. You know what''s been happening to jungles, forests, stuff like that. We gotta cut consumption of energy." "Of course." "Okay. Now run along and get going on that Studebaker. I''m off to see the Worst. Ha, ha." "Ha, ha." As Carlton Brock made his way to the conference room, he felt vaguely guilty, as if he''d lied to Lea. But he hadn''t lied to Lea! All this green stuff was important. It was a complete coincidence that his evil, scheming deputy came from an established oil family. The vice-president personally stood to lose a couple of hundred million dollars as the whole fossil fuel industry shrank to a fraction of what it had been before. The new energy tax would see to that. Carlton Brock entered the conference room just as Guido Worst rose from a seat at the back, and began to shakily make his way to the lectern. Guido Worst was completely terrified. He had just finished talking to Kasper Weinberger, head of the International Monetary Fund. Weinberger was in a state of total panic. His proposals had all been rejected at the economic meeting that had just ended. He had no idea of what to do next. The whole financial system had just been turned upside down. There would be one hell of an economic crisis, and he would be one of the people held responsible. Weinberger had said he was seriously contemplating suicide. His gout had been giving him hell anyway. He was old and he was tired. Enough was enough. Guido Worst wasn''t old - he was in his middle forties - and he didn''t feel tired, even though he''d hardly slept the night before. He''d spent most of it preparing his plan, the grand plan for the New World. In the process, he consumed nearly half a gram of pure pseudoephedrine, the legal, cheap speed sold as decongestant. As he made his way to the lectern, his mouth and throat were parched. Grinding his teeth, he ascended the small stage and walked up to the lectern. He emptied the glass of water that had been prepared, and refilled it from the jug. The people assembled before him had all been to the economic conference. They knew the score. They had approved a worldwide economic revolution. Guido Worst had no idea of what to say. The plan he''d come up with during his night-time vigil was in tatters. It made no sense with the new economic setup. There was only one thing he could do: become a revolutionary himself. Emulate Troll and Patel. At the very least, he would shock his audience. He was going to enjoy that. He would make up his new plan as he went along, guided by common sense. He said: "The colonization of the New World will require substantial funding. As we all know by now, funding anything is going to be a problem for a while." An appreciative titter ran through his audience. Even Ruslan Grot allowed himself a small smile. Encouraged by that, Worst continued: "We must make the colonization effort self-financing from the very outset. We know it has the potential to become very profitable. So, point one: setting up and maintaining administration in the New World must require very little or no funding to start with. It would be best if it was profitable. Every administrative center must also be a producer and supplier of New World goods and resources." He broke off to gauge the reaction of his audience. They were all listening closely! Listening to him, Guido Worst! Maybe I really am a genius after all, Worst thought. Maybe all I need to do is just go with the flow. He smiled, and said: "Point two. We must introduce a licensing system for colonizers. Every individual wishing to replicate in the New World must first obtain a license to colonize. This will include an implant kit, a hiber bed, and a documentation scroll. Licenses will be obtained at existing local government offices which will now all have a Colonial section. I propose that they cost the equivalent of a year''s worth of the guaranteed minimum income that is about to be introduced. In addition, a licensed colonizer would lose the right to receive guaranteed minimum income payouts. "Let''s face it: a settlement in the New World will be like a money machine for its owners. They will be easily able to support themselves, and eventually become rich by trading New World goods and resources back on Earth. According to the documentation, transporting these to Earth is very easy. Which leads me to ask mister Carlton Brock: Mister President, have your people managed to transport anything from the New World?" Carlton Brock flushed. He had been very reticent about the teams of soldiers and policemen and craftsmen that had been exploring the New World for almost a full week - over two months'' worth of New World time. He knew he was envied by the heads of state that were cut off from their own countries. They were also angry because the staff they''d sent to the New World had been chased off by Carlton Brock''s men. He''d had to relent and allow each country to send a single representative. They were a fucking pain, over there. They had to be fed and clothed and housed and they poked their noses into everything Brock''s men did. Luckily, they hadn''t discovered yet the launching pads built some distance from the settlement Brock''s men had established. The pads had been built a couple of kilometers away from the settlement to ensure transported goods would arrive in a chosen spot back on Earth. A temporary receiving port had been hastily established in Central Park. The Park, which had a glowing cube of its own, had been cordoned off by soldiers and policemen. No one unauthorized was permitted to enter. Carlton Brock said: "Unfortunately, my guys haven''t yet managed to find a good source of tiger rock. You know, the stuff necessary to build launch platforms. And they''ve been very busy building a settlement. It''s not easy to do in the middle of the winter with nothing but stone and wooden tools. And on top of everything else, they have to take care of nearly two hundred other guys and girls who wander around and generally are a big pain." He turned and glared at the people around him. Fucking freeloaders! Same old story yet again: people equated Uncle Sam with Santa Claus. So as much as he disliked lying, he didn''t feel at all guilty when he said: "We haven''t received anything yet. The first launch pad, a tiny thing, that we managed to assemble was in the wrong spot. Everything went into the ocean or the river or whatever. We are relocating it and continuing to look for a good source of tiger rock. Unfortunately, that''s all I can tell you at present." Carlton Brock was lying. The big army tent erected in Central Park was half-full of stuff that had been sent from the New World, mostly minerals. The minerals included several big gold nuggets. That was yet another reason why he had supported Troll''s proposal for a new world currency. But he sure as hell wasn''t going to tell them about that. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 31 The Red Studebaker By the end of that day, the basic framework for the colonization of the New World had been laid out, voted on, and approved. Everything - including the remuneration of everyone employed in the enterprise - was to be financed by profits made on the sale of goods and resources from the New World. The New World was to be administered with the help of Colonial Government administrative centers. Each center would be the domain of a governor appointed by the Colonial Council from a list of candidates. A governor''s realm, called a district, would cover an area that could range from 1,000 to 100,000 square kilometers, depending on the density of the population and availability of food and other resources. A district of 100,000 kilometers could cover a couple of islands and plenty of water; a district of 1,000 square kilometers - a densely populated patch of land rich in resources. Districts would be grouped into regions, and regions - into dominions. Dominions would correspond, in shape and size, to the countries on Earth. For although the new global government established just a few days earlier did away with the concept of sovereign nations, it made sense to preserve them as administrative entities. After all, they had the appropriate administrative network in place - all the local government offices, each of which would now have a special section: a Colonial Office. There was a problem, though, or rather three problems: the new archipelagos of Atlantis and Northern and Southern Pacific. Resources from these could only be transported to a handful of tiny islands in the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans. What was more, the scroll documentation stated that the three archipelagos were inhabited by life forms from Earth''s Mesozoic era. This implied that the newly arrived colonists - naked and unarmed - could be confronted by dinosaurs. It was Nelson Odongo who came up with a brilliant solution. The archipelagos would be colonized by volunteers from Earth''s jail population. Convicts who volunteered would be transported to the islands in the appropriate areas on Earth before replicating in the New World. Having secured approval for this plan, Odongo scheduled elections to the Colonial Council for the very next day. As the assembly broke up, it was obvious to everyone the big priority was to secure as many implant kits as possible, with hiber beds coming a close second. All the delegates had already been very busy taking as much as they could carry from the cube in the UN building prior to its disappearance. Their rooms were full of implant kits, hiber beds, and scrolls. Odongo estimated as many as a hundred thousand items were taken from the cube before it disappeared. He had hazarded the notion that this was the actual limit of items that could be taken from the cube. The delegates had tentatively agreed, and immediately began sending out staff to take more implant kits and hiber beds from the cubes located within an easy walking distance. There were two that they knew of: one in a parking lot a couple of kilometers away, the other - in Central Park. However, the people they had sent out came back empty handed. They had been refused access by the policemen and soldiers guarding the cubes. They also reported that other policemen and soldiers were busy taking items from the cube and loading them onto carts, which when full were sent away to unknown destinations. Everyone started looking for Carlton Brock. They wanted access to the guarded cubes, and they wanted a stop to what was increasingly described as plunder by American servicemen. But Carlton Brock was nowhere to be found. Carlton Brock was, at that moment, looking at the mechanics working on the red Studebaker parked in the display of the automobile dealership near the United Nations building. The goddamn car needed a battery to start. All the car batteries in the dealership were kaput, and charging one turned out to be a problem. The portable generator thrumming busily in the car dealer''s office needed at least another couple of hours before the battery it was charging could be used. It would be too late to conduct a tour of the city by then. He wasn''t going to ride around in the dark. And walking was out of the question. He''d heard scattered shots in the distance as soon as he''d left the United Nations building. There was a chance he would run into trouble while conducting his tour. And there was no way he, Carlton Brock, president of the United States, would be seen running from gunfire. Driven away in an elegant car - that would work. But running? No, no, a thousand times no. But that was fine. No, really, that was just fine. He needed time to think, away from all those people in the UN building. They kept pestering him with questions and demands. And he needed some private time to digest what he''d heard from general Roy McAdam. General Roy McAdam was in charge of the team setting up the first American colony in the New World. He had accompanied Brock on the walk to the car dealership, briefing him on developments while the blue dot on his temple glowed softly. The gold nuggets from the New World had turned out to be pyrite. Known as fool''s gold, the mineral did indeed contain tiny quantities of gold. What was more important, the general had said, was that they contained iron and sulfur. "We have iron, we have sulfur. That means we can make iron tools and weapons including firearms," the general had said. "I have already issued orders for the construction of a series of bloomeries. Luckily, we''ve found a clay pit not far away from the settlement." "Bloomeries? Are your men fucking around with growing flowers in the middle of the winter?" "No, no. A bloomery is a primitive furnace for smelting iron. We shall have our first iron tools within a week. And it''s not the middle of the winter over there. It''s been getting noticeably warmer. Spring is around the corner." "Never mind the weather forecast. What about guns? Will we be able to make guns?" "That''s a little more complicated. They''ll have to come a little later. But we already have sulfur. That means we''ll be able to make gunpowder. After all, what use is a gun without gunpowder? Mister President, I guarantee you that we shall have the first professional army in the New World within a couple of months." "But that''s over a year and a half in the New World," said Carlton Brock. "Can''t you move a little faster than that?" "We''ll do our best, sir." The general spoke with such deep conviction that Brock gave him a sharp glance. After a while, he said: "Roy. Let me ask you something. How good is your best? Is it good enough to make America number one in the New World? Because that''s what it''s gotta be." "It will be. I''ll see to that," said the general, with slightly less conviction. They had reached the car dealership by then, and the general excused himself while Brock turned his attention to the Studebaker. Now the sun was beginning to set, and the car still wasn''t working. Brock sighed. There wouldn''t anything more happening for him here tonight. It was time to return to his increasingly smelly suite at the UN hotel. The windows there couldn''t be opened, and of course the air conditioning wasn''t working. Fuck! He was getting real tired of all this shit. He wished he could just go home, fuck the bejesus out of his wife - Lea was making him increasingly horny with those enormous boobs of hers. Yeah, he just wanted to go home and relax. For fuck''s sake! He''d been working around the clock for the past week. Carlton Brock tore his eyes from the beautiful red car, and signaled his watchful chief of security with a nod. As the chief of security marshaled an escort into order, Brock wondered briefly about the steamship that had been sent to cross the Atlantic: the Great Western. Had it reached Halifax? It should be there by now - if it hadn''t sunk or suffered damage on the way. Would they be able to establish a radio or phone link with Europe before the Great Western arrived in Ireland? If they did, that would change the game plan a lot. That would alter things. Surrounded by his escort, Brock walked back to his suite deep in thought. He didn''t even raise his head when a shot fired several blocks away clapped faintly among the buildings. It was in the best interest of the United States of America that the heads of state assembled in New York remained incommunicado as long as possible. Each extra day of delay in re-establishing international communications meant a day gained by the U.S. of A. A day gained in the race to colonize the New World. He''d have to make sure the repair teams dialed their efforts back a little. And that success would be reported to him exclusively. He would decide when to make it general knowledge. Probably not until after he''d talked to everyone from San Francisco to Miami to Detroit, got a good take on the situation in the country, made decisions, and issued instructions. The delegates would be allowed to communicate with their home countries not earlier than a day or two after he, Carlton Brock, did all the communicating he needed to put America ahead. Fucking freeloaders, he thought, walking with a faster step. They really don''t deserve any better. America first! There was a cop on a bicycle coming their way down the street. He was pedaling furiously, hunched over the handlebars. A couple of the more nervous guards in Brock''s entourage reached under their coats, eyes flicking from side to side. The bicycle cop skidded to a stop just a few paces away from Brock. He called out: "Mister President! Sir! Urgent message from chief Brody. The cubes in Central Park and the parking lot on First Avenue have disappeared!" NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 32 The Two Toasts But the very next day, news arrived that made Carlton Brock''s life even more difficult than it already was. A telex had arrived from Washington! It ran: QUEEN OF ROSES ARRIVED SAFELY STOP INSTRUCTIONS RECEIVED UNDERSTOOD AND IMPLEMENTED STOP SITREP WASHINGTON NUMEROUS FIREARMS INCIDENTS BUT SITUATION NOW UNDER CONTROL STOP POWER PARTIALLY RESTORED STOP SEVEN CUBES WITHIN A RADIUS OF SIXTY KILOMETERS STOP ALL DISAPPEARED AFTER COLLECTING BETWEEN SEVENTY SIX AND NINETY THREE THOUSAND ITEMS PER CUBE STOP DETAILED VERBAL REPORT AS SOON AS TELEPHONES ON YOUR END START WORKING STOP MESSAGE ENDS Brock shouted at his staff to stuff a red-hot poker up the collective ass of people working on the landline phone system. Of course the delegates got wind of what was happening. When he went to the general assembly for yet another round of voting, they rushed him like a bunch of groupies mobbing a rock star. Carlton Brock liked this sort of thing, but it was damned inconvenient at this moment. He brushed off anxious enquiries as well as he could. Yes, it appeared that telephone landlines were working. Landlines, which meant communication by phone throughout the United States and maybe, maybe Canada and Mexico, but not overseas. Fifty voices had immediately started reminding him that there were numerous undersea cables between all the continents in the world. Luckily, Nelson Odongo took the stage and got the day''s agenda under way. It was a very busy agenda that included voting on a dozen separate pieces of important legislation. Brock slipped out of the chamber as soon as his ''aye'' was counted during the final vote, and beat a strategic retreat to his room. But he found no peace, because a stream of aides began bringing him the first comprehensive reports on the situation in New York. Over the past week, there had been over fifty thousand reported firearms incidents and most likely as many unreported ones. Eighty seven policemen and twenty soldiers had lost their lives. This tally would have been much lower had the medical services operated normally. They didn''t. The power cut and the water shortage that followed had greatly affected hospitals and clinics in the city. The number of people they could treat, and the types of injuries they could treat were both severely limited. Even light wounds were lethal. But the casualties among the policemen and servicemen were tiny compared to casualties among the civilian population. Most of the deaths weren''t due to violence. Something as trivial as catching a light cold could be fatal. Lack of heating turned the cold into flu, and flu into pneumonia. Nearly all the stores in the city had been thoroughly looted. The loot had included everything that could be eaten or drunk. Both in spite of this and because of that, many people ran out of food. Even more had run out of water and drank from the river and died. Drinking water from the river was a very bad move. It produced vomiting, often followed by diarrhea and a painful death for a lot of people. There was no precise death toll available, but estimates put fatalities in tens of thousands. A big part of Central Park had been turned into a makeshift cemetery. Fortunately, that provided a good excuse to keep the area cordoned off in spite of the cube''s disappearance. The goods transported had included a slab of dirty pig iron! Soon, the New York in the New World would be producing iron tools. This last piece of news cheered Carlton Brock up considerably. He assembled his staff in his suite and ceremoniously opened the gas-powered, mobile-home fridge that had been stolen for him by his bodyguards. He took out all six bottles of champagne, opened them to whoops from his staff, and poured them out. Raising his glass, he said: "I propose a toast. To the brave men and women building a new America in the New World!" A few kilometers away, Li Yang, Charlene Lee, and a visibly chastened Harper Lee raised their cups in a toast of their own. The cups contained coffee, and bad instant coffee at that. Li Yang did not drink alcohol, and it never crossed his mind to loot a few bottles. "To freedom!" said Li Yang, meaning freedom from hunger - he had been eating very well indeed for almost a week. "To freedom!" Charlene Lee, meaning freedom from paying rent. "To freedom!" said Harper Lee, meaning it very literally. He had been released from jail just a few hours earlier. His clothes were torn and stained in several spots - he hadn''t yet had the time to change. His face was stained too, with dirt and bruises. Harper Lee had been on the receiving end of three beatings during his short time in jail. The first was from the cops, for stealing. The second was from some white boys that had also been jailed, for being a nigger. After he was moved to a different cell, he received his third beating - from black boys, for being a nigger. He put away his cup, looked at Li Yang, and said: "Hey, Bruce. I see you''ve laid in a hell of a water supply. So I would like to ask you, if I could... I am filthy. I just cannot stand myself like that. And I saw that the bathtub is full of water. Do you think I... Do you think I could..." Harper always called Li Yang ''Bruce''. He maintained that Li Yang reminded him of Bruce Lee, the famous martial artist and actor. It was part of his training as an insurance salesman to compliment people, preferably in a special way meant for them only. That way, the compliment appeared genuine. That way, Harper Lee got to sell more insurance policies. Li Yang said: "Okay. Why not? But we must first fill all the empty containers. Bottles, cans, pots, whatever. I''ve been putting the empties in the landlady''s room. We can get them filled after we''ve had tea and then you can have your wash." "I want to wash first," said Charlene. "I''m not that dirty and Harper can use my bathwater. Harper, remember aunt Loelia and how she bathed the two of us in that old bathtub she had? You always splashed water in my face. Wasn''t it fun?" Harper sighed. He was good at out-maneuvering people verbally: it was part of his job. But he wasn''t even half as good as his sister. "Okay," he said. "But wipe the lather off with a towel before you rinse yourself. Better still, just give yourself a wipe with a wet towel. You said you''re not that dirty." He looked at Li Yang and saw that Li Yang wasn''t looking pleased. He was a good insurance salesman, and he instantly knew why. "Bruce," he said. "Why don''t you go first? You''re always so goddamn clean anyway it almost hurts to look at you. You go first, Charlene second, I go third. Just please, guys, leave the water reasonably clean for me. Water''s not enough for me anyway, after that place. I need a fucking paint-stripper." Everybody laughed. Then Li Yang said: "Ladies first. Charlene, you go first." "You''re such a gentleman," said Charlene, and blew him a kiss. She finished her tea right away and said: "Excuse me, gentlemen." She left the kitchen softly humming a tune. Li Yang heard her go into the landlady''s room and the clatter of an overturned pot. He looked at Harper and said: "You know about the cubes?" Harper nodded. "I know about the cubes," he said. "You know what they contain?" "That I''m not so sure about," said Harper. "Some sort of mat to be used as bed, I heard. And big metal syringes of some drug. Oh yeah, and reading lights." "Reading lights?" "That''s what I heard." "You haven''t seen any of those reading lights? Or mats, or the metal syringes?" "No. We didn''t even see any of those glowing cubes. We stayed home at Bobby''s place for a couple of days after that whole shit came down. My first time out - the cops grabbed me." Li Yang grinned at Harper. For the first time ever, he felt superior to him. He said: "Well, do I ever have a surprise for you." NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 33 Money For Everyone! Over the next few days, Li Yang held several conferences with Harper and Charlene Lee, who were reading and re-reading the documentation scrolls. Li Yang, did some re-reading, too, and finally understood what Harper had grasped halfway through his first reading: that having a second self residing in the New World had serious profit potential. They agreed it would be good to take a peek at the New World, and gave themselves timon implants in a solemn ceremony. Harper had, at one time, done a lot of drugs, and he was the first to work out that time flowed faster in the New World relative to Earth. In the New World, spring was just around the corner. However, it was still cold in the New World. All three of them were shocked to discover that their second selves were naked, and had to eat independently of their originals back on Earth. They immediately ordered their alter egos to go south, guided by the sun. Thus, they did not discover the rapidly growing settlement just a few kilometers to the northeast. They discussed which of them should be the first to fully enter the New World. Li Yang was wary of going first. He had a big stash of stuff in his room that the others hadn''t seen, yet. He''d given each of the Lees a hiber bed, a documentation scroll, and a couple of implant kits. He''d also transferred half of his food to the communal kitchen. Harper and Charlene were very grateful. Charlene even called Li Yang her hero. But Li Yang knew that heroes can get robbed just like everyone else. So he felt relieved when Harper said that being the oldest of the three of them, he would go first. "I''ll be keeping in touch through your guys there," he said, and giggled. He said: "Fuck! I''ve always believed in telepathy, had a few telepathic moments myself. But this, this is something else. It''s fantastic. I love it." Harper continued to be very enthusiastic as Li Yang and Charlene accompanied him to his room. He cracked a couple of jokes as he stretched out on the silvery mat he''d put on his bed. He was asleep almost instantly. He was significantly less enthusiastic when they woke him up just half an hour later. He was shivering so badly he couldn''t speak. He was wearing two T-shirts and a flannel shirt and a sweatshirt and a thick sweater because it was cold in the unheated apartment. It had been enough earlier, but now he had to wrap himself in the quilt from his bed to warm up. When his teeth stopped chattering, Harper said: "This is going to be more difficult than we thought." He told Charlene and Li Yang about the hunger, the cold, the near-total exhaustion of their selves in the New World. He proposed putting them out of their misery. "We still have a kit each," said. "Bruce, you got a spare as well, right?" Li Yang cleared his throat a couple of times. Then he said: "I have a few more than that. I can give you an extra kit each." "That''s great," Harper said, a little suspiciously. "You know something? Before we go off again exploring the New World, let''s see what''s happening in the ''hood. It''s been peaceful lately. Maybe a store will be open. We need to get some light bulbs. There isn''t a single spare left in the whole place." They all removed their implants, and left the apartment in a somewhat somber mood. They didn''t get very far. There was a printed notice pasted onto the front door of their apartment block. It was signed by no other than Carlton Brock, president of the United States. The notice informed them that a new world government had been formed. It would introduce a new minimum guaranteed income. This money would come without any strings attached. It would be paid out to every living adult, regardless of income and employment status. It would replace all the existing social funding: government pensions, welfare, benefits for the unemployed and the sick and so on. The notice also informed them about the origin of the glowing cubes, and stated that any items recovered from the cubes were state property. All individuals in possession of the said items were required to deposit them at the nearest police station or government office. Failure to comply would be punished by the permanent loss of the perpetrator''s guaranteed minimum income. The notice ended with a series of promises. A major currency reform would stop inflation forever. Income tax would be abolished, simultaneously with all debts - national, business, personal. Power would be restored soon, and water even sooner. A bright future awaited everyone in the New World. A bright future awaited everyone in the Old World! Everything was great, and would be getting even better. Signed, Carlton Brock. Harper Lee finished reading first. He looked at the others and said: "Oh boy. This is going to be big." His sentiments were shared by Carlton Brock. Landline communications with all of United States had been restored the previous evening. Brock had spent most of the night on the phone. As of this morning, landline communications had also been restored with almost all continents, Australia being the lone holdout. Everyone in the UN building rushed to the phone or the computer. Within thirty minutes, there was a power failure. The engineer in charge of repairs had to address all the delegates in person in order to prevent a riot. He said: "We have recently had a total failure of the whole power grid that lasted a week. Our power system is like a car that has been involved in an accident. It may still be driven, but slowly and delicately. No flooring of the gas pedal, you understand. I expect power to be back on at any moment but from this time onward, there is a limit of one connection per delegation. Just one, and make sure you switch off all unnecessary lights. Otherwise we''ll experience another power outage." Power came back on very soon after the chief engineer''s speech, and everyone rushed back to their rooms to do some very urgent talking of their own. The global picture that was emerging wasn''t encouraging. A number of coups had taken place, and there were several dozen civil wars going on. Carlton Brock had to handle a similar situation when he spoke to his deputy. The vice-president of the United States gleefully informed him that given Brock''s absence from Washington, he had assumed presidential duties, in accordance with the constitution. Brock said: "That''s fine. I was about to turn things over to you. I''ll be stepping down as president." When his deputy finished wetting himself with joy, Brock added: "I''m now the UN commissioner for the United States. That means I remain your boss and there''s fuck all you can do about it. If you try to fuck around with me, I''ll get you replaced. It''s within my power. I don''t even have to consult anybody. I''m the emperor and you''re the fucking serf, temporarily elevated into a position. Got it? So you better play nice, or you''ll be out on your ass and looking for a job." He had slammed the receiver down and looked at Lea Panatella and said: "Fucking asshole. Well, that''s fixed him for good." Brock''s approach was unwittingly copied by very many heads of state. It proved extraordinarily effective. Coup leaders got their new leader status confirmed, then were informed that this changed precisely nothing. A few civil wars ended right away, and the ones that still went on lost momentum. There was nothing to fight about any more. The old leader was gone. The old leader had been kicked out. The old leader had been kicked up, kicked far, far upstairs where he couldn''t be touched, while effectively retaining his hold on power. And everyone in the UN building agreed that the announcement of a New World Order, the notice that was read by Li Yang, Harper and Charlene Lee, the notice shortly to be read by everyone around the globe - that this notice was a masterpiece. Everyone would be getting a payout simply for existing! What was more, it would be paid in real money that didn''t constantly lose value, almost from day to day! It would be paid out with no questions asked! And all debts would be erased! The announcement wisely didn''t mention increased taxes. It didn''t warn that before long, all existing money would simply cease being legal tender. It didn''t say it couldn''t be converted to the new global currency. It didn''t say that the new guaranteed minimum income would be just enough to keep breathing. But it promised a better future in such strong terms that it simply had to be true. And it was. Civilization had just hit rock bottom. It had nowhere to go but up. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 34 Governor or King? The fifteenth day of January, 2035 was Martin Luther King Day in the United States. Carlton Brock took this opportunity to visit several boroughs with a large black population, riding around in a vintage but brand-new red Studebaker that was automatically applauded wherever it appeared. It was a beautiful car. It was a car that worked! Its appearance meant things really were returning to normal. His speechwriters had been busy throughout the night: he delivered no less than three different speeches, recycling a couple at later stops. All three of his speeches contained the announcement that he was stepping down, or rather up, as the President of the United States. He was to become the UN commissioner for the US: a godlike figure in the new government that ruled both worlds - old and new. Brock''s speeches made it clear that he remained in charge. Should Penny step out of line, he would be gone. He urged the approving black population to freely speak out about all the hardships they endured under Penny''s coming reign. He knew that there would be many, but did not share that knowledge with his audience. He oozed confidence from every pore, and so did general McAdam, who accompanied Brock on his last presidential tour. New York in the New World was busy churning out iron tools. With New World spring in full swing, the intensity of bitching and complaining in the settlement lessened considerably. Thanks to the know-how shared by the president of Mongolia, the pioneers had started to produce a mildly alcoholic drink from the milk of mares replicated in the New World. Called kumis, it had become an instant hit in the settlement. The only worry Carlton Brock had at that moment was establishing a network of reliable governors in New World America. One of his choices was senator Kirk Lander from California. Brock had offered him a district that corresponded in shape and size to Napa county. But Lander wasn''t happy with that. He wanted all of Sonoma, and a big chunk of Marin county as well. He wanted good access to the ocean. He''d told Brock he was determined to plant the US flag on the islands of the mysterious South Pacific Archipelago. Brock couldn''t help but agree with this sentiment. But Lander was also unhappy about the money. The thing was, he wouldn''t be getting any money. He would have to earn it. A colonial governor''s position paid a percentage of the profits from his district. A colonial governor was employed by the Colonial Council as an independent contractor that could be replaced if his district''s profits were below par. No salary and no job security, thought Kirk Lander as he sat in his study, sipping a Wallbanger. On the other hand, he would have total, absolute power over all the settlements in his district. The Colonial Council wasn''t interested in how he ran things, as long as the money kept coming in an ever-increasing stream. He would receive 25% cut of that money. And that cut wouldn''t be limited to what he would produce in his own settlement. He would be getting his cut on all goods he''d obtained from the settlements in his district: by trade, by force, by whatever means he thought appropriate. And there would be a lot of these. His own settlement - administrative center, as Brock put it - would automatically be the capital of the whole district. As its governor, Lander would also control all of the implant kits, hiber beds, and scrolls in the corresponding area back on Earth. His priority would be to grow his settlement as quickly as possible to produce a surplus of food, clothing, tools and other goods needed by the colonists in his district. Trading this surplus with the settlements in his realm had the potential to bring in immense profits. But even the biggest financial bonanza wouldn''t erase the basic disadvantage of becoming a governor. He couldn''t call himself a king. And deep down he yearned to be a king, not some goddamn governor. What was a governor? A bureaucrat. A fucking bureaucrat. He wouldn''t be ruling his district, he would be an overseer over a collection of independent colonies. He wouldn''t be able to have his own coat of arms! He wouldn''t be able to design his own flag! What was more, the Lander colony in the New World was developing very nicely. They were already smelting iron - Bernard, his dear younger boy had been instrumental in achieving that. The private school he attended was definitely worth the huge fees. There was plenty of food, too. Adam had been busy on his bicycle, and the colony now had chicken, geese, and dairy cows. It was also growing potatoes, beans, and peas. This was Debbie''s brilliant idea. She''d implanted a few spuds that had begun to grow shoots, and they were successfully replicated in the colony. Bean and pea sprouts followed, and there was more to come. Kirk Lander''s daughter, Karen, was in charge of obtaining seedlings for a whole variety of useful plants. She was in the process of replicating tomatoes, cucumbers, strawberries, and marijuana from Bernard''s little plantation of cannabis plants, strictly for private use. "It''s hemp, Dad," she''d told the frowning Lander. "It''s a very useful fiber. And we can use some recreation over there as well. Maybe you could be induced to smoke some weed, too. It will be a while before we have booze over there." Kirk had shook his head. He''d tried pot, and didn''t like it. It made him paranoid. He was a man with plenty to get paranoid about, and getting stoned had been very unpleasant. "Get going on tobacco too," he''d said. "I like to smoke a cigar after a meal." He would have said more, but then the telephone rang with Brock''s call and the whole household went crazy with excitement. Communication had been restored! Kirk was on the phone with Brock for a long, long time. During that time, the remaining members of the household ran around trying to get anything electric to work. Nothing did. When Kirk had concluded his talk with Brock, he immediately shut himself in his study, ignoring questions and demands. He needed private time to think, he''d told them. They would all get together in an hour and he would tell them about everything. There were important decisions to be made. In the meantime, could everyone fuck off and get busy looking for another salt lick in the New World? The one they''d found was poor, and close to being exhausted. He got up from his chair and started circling his study, hands clasped behind his back, head bent with heavy thought. He was interrupted by Adam, who knocked on the door and shouted: "Dad! What are you doing in there? Everyone''s assembled and ready and waiting for you." "I''m coming!" Kirk shouted. He fished out his great-great-grandfather''s windup pocket watch - an important family heirloom - and frowned at it. Indeed, a full hour had passed, and he was still undecided. Governor or king? What a difficult choice! He''d already floated the king idea to the Lander clan, and was very disappointed by their reaction. There was a sneer in Karen''s voice when she''d asked if he would wear a crown and ermine coat. And then he had a brainwave. He would tell them what Brock had said. Then he would ask about their opinion. That was always a good move, it led to instant infighting among the opinion-givers. Regardless of what their conflicting opinions were, he would give them a straight choice. He could rule them as a governor - and fuck all this gobbledygook about independent colonies - or he could rule them as a king. A king who loved his subjects was better than an impartial bureaucrat intent on squeezing as much profit as possible, was he not? But if he were to be king, they had to promise that they would be loyal, respectful subjects. No sneers about crowns and ermine coats. They would do what he told them to do, and do it all smiles. He would be a good king, a generous king. He would give them all titles. Prince Adam, duke Randy, that kind of thing. They could have their own coats of arms, too. And in time, they would have their own baronies, counties, duchies. Formed from new settlements started and conquered by the Lander kingdom. Yes, there would be a governor appointed to administer the Napa county in the New World. But the Napa county would consist of the Lander kingdom and no other colonies. The governor''s profits would be determined by how well he got along with king Kirk. If he got difficult, a couple of quick raids would settle his hash. Because king Kirk already had a colony under way. He had enough food to start recruiting new colonists. He wouldn''t have a problem with that. There were plenty of unemployed people even before the catastrophe. There would be many, many more now. He only had to put together a good recruitment scheme. The only difficulty would be in concealing all the items taken from the cube. Brock had made it plain that everything belonged to the new global superstate. But Kirk had been smart enough to stay silent about his own, private, glowing cube. And he knew Brock wanted to hear just one word from anybody he talked to, well maybe three: ''yes, Mister President''. Saying this at regular intervals had kept Brock from asking any questions during the phone conversation: he was already happy with what he was hearing. He''d have to get those lazy bastards that were his family to take everything there was to take from the cube. That was the priority, right after the meeting. The meeting that would decide whether he would be a governor or a king. As he left his study, Kirk Lander thought: fuck this senator business. I''m not going to stand for reelection. I''ll save tons of money otherwise spent on the campaign. I''ll use this money instead to get plenty of good people into my colony. Whichever way he looked at it, both governor and king sounded better than senator. And they both offered better profit potential. Far better, because it was unlimited. Kirk strode into the big lounge where the meeting was to be held with a confident step. They were all there, and waiting, and looking at him. He had the strong feeling things would go the king route. Because ''governor'' was just an official label. He would be king, either way. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 35 First Blood Halfway across the world, Sven Holm also had a decision to make. Should he kill all the inhabitants of the incipient settlement he was looking at, or should he enslave them? There was no question of just leaving them alone. They had decided to settle right next to the iron ore deposit found a fortnight earlier by Viking scouts. Enslaving them would make economic sense to Svenborg, the settlement his Vikings had founded just a kilometer or so from their original arrival spot. Located in a valley between two gently sloping hills, it was thriving. Grass had already started to grow, and three dairy cows were nibbling at the green ground around the cluster of huts built out of wattle and dried mud. A dozen chickens, dozen sheep, and four horses completed the current livestock inventory. Holm had been sending scouts to look for salt and iron practically from day one. A rich copper deposit was quickly found a few kilometers to the northeast. There was some silver and gold as well, which caused great excitement among the Vikings. Holm had to remind them of the priorities he had set. "Gold and silver are nice, but what we need now are proper tools," he''d said. "Forget about the silver and the gold. We need clay, we need good old mud more than we need gold. We have to build a furnace for smelting metal, and a kiln to make pots and jugs and maybe bricks. Don''t you worry, we''ll all be wealthy - in due time." They found clay just three days later - a handful of hours of Earth time. Working furiously, they managed to have a bloomery and a kiln up and running within another three days. There were shouts of joy when the the first bloom - a mess of molten copper and silver and gold mixed with carbon and ash - emerged from their primitive furnace. The copper tools had helped a lot, but they weren''t durable. The scouts kept going out, and returning empty-handed. Then, about a month earlier, they''d found both salt and iron ore in close proximity to each other. Sven estimated that the salt spring and the ore deposit were located about thirty kilometers northwest. It would be the ideal spot to found a second settlement. Like Svenborg, it had a lake and a couple of creeks nearby, all teeming with fish. He had wanted to get a move on this right away, but complications ensued. It transpired that Lena and Ingrid, the two pioneering chicks joined by Olaf Berg in the first organized Viking venture into the New World - that both Lena and Ingrid were pregnant. Olaf Berg had fucked them both on that occasion. And he''d managed to score two goals with two shots. Of course, Old World Lena and Ingrid weren''t pregnant. However, they acted as if they were. They bitched incessantly, finding fault with everyone and everything. Ingrid had even cracked a beer bottle on Olaf Berg''s head one evening back at the farm. Both her and Lena seemed to have taken a strong dislike to Berg. Sven Holm didn''t punish her for this assault on a fellow Viking. He secretly applauded. Berg had become completely insufferable. He walked around all puffed up with pride as if he''d achieved something magnificent. Sven had told him, somewhat caustically, that mass reproduction was a trait common among the less-evolved animal species. But this went right over Berg''s head. He continued to strut around as if he was the hottest guy in town. The bottle Ingrid had broken on his head had forced him to readjust his worldview. Sven was grateful to Ingrid for that. What he wasn''t grateful for was that the two pregnancies forced him to postpone establishing a second settlement. The Vikings invaded the Jokkmokk library once again, causing Max Dahl, the Jokkmokk police chief, some serious concern. "I cannot make out what they''re up to," Max Dahl confessed to his police officers during the meeting he''d called to discuss the Vikings'' new interest in reading. "Nine of them took out library cards last week. They were interested in books about medieval industry and chemistry and metallurgy. This week, we have an invasion of female Vikings who want to know everything about pregnancy and midwifery." "Sounds like they are preparing to live in some sort of an isolated, primitive settlement," commented Lars Larsson, the most inteligent police officer on the Jokkmokk force. "But this doesn''t make any sense! And there''s something else, something that worries me greatly." Max Dahl suspended his voice dramatically, and glanced round the faces assembled for the meeting. None were worried. Some were smug with self-satisfaction. Life had been pretty peaceful and lazy for them lately. The Viking visits had made the town''s rougher elements keep a low profile, and its many rowdy drinkers to become peaceful, quiet, introspective drinkers. The only crime or misdemeanor committed over the past ten days had been the theft of a nearly-new roll of toilet paper from the police station''s washroom. Max Dahl said: "They haven''t been drinking or doing drugs. They''re all glowing with health. And things are very peaceful and quiet at Holm''s farm. It''s very worrying. They must be up to something big, something really big." "I had a good look at the farm the other day," said one of the policemen. "They have some sort of a disco light in the courtyard. And Holm''s acquired a flock of sheep." "Sheep!" Max Dahl exploded. He made an effort to calm down. It always upset him greatly when he couldn''t even understand WHY he wasn''t able to understand something. "You see?" he''d said to the assembled policemen. "They must be up to something mega-big, mega-evil. Vikings and sheep!" Everyone agreed there was something very suspicious going on. Peaceful, sober Vikings herding sheep! What was the world coming to? Had they all known what the Vikings were presently up to, they''d have been much relieved. Sven Holm had just made the decision to slaughter all seven inhabitants of the settlement that had sprung up right where he''d wanted to place his own. He had to keep things clean and simple. Keeping prisoners and slaves was bound to produce numerous complications. There were just six Vikings in his party, counting himself and the two chicks he''d brought along with the men. Kirsten and Ulla, the two chicks, were capable fighters. But Sven was worried about their morale. They could feel killing a boy and a girl in their early teens was unnecessarily cruel. He decided he''d leave the two chicks out of it. He''d tell them they had to guard the stores they''d brought along. He''d lead the three men he had against five adults - two of them women - and two teenage kids. The opposition counted only three men, and two of those had the soft, flabby bodies that spoke of a comfortable life back on Earth. Sven slid back from his observation point behind a tree, and silently motioned for his Vikings to follow him. They all retreated well out of earshot of the settlers. Sven said: "Kirsten and Ulla, you''ll stay behind to watch over our gear. Defend it with your lives if you need to. Clear?" The two girls nodded. They seemed to like the idea of staying behind to guard the Viking store of tools, fuel, and food. They would probably stuff their mouths with food while the men where fighting. The whole party had left Svenborg in the middle of the night, and had marched steadily for five hours - enough to make one hungry. Sven had wanted to arrive at the destination just as the sun was coming up for its brief sojourn in the sky. It made sense to make maximum use of daylight when building a new settlement. Sven knew his men were hungry too, as hungry as he was. But that was good. A hungry man was an angry man. Angry men fought well. Angry men killed women and teenage children without batting an eyelid. He led his men some distance away from the girls before issuing orders. They were short and precise. "We split into two teams, and attack like fighter pilots: a leader with a wingman covering his ass. Lennart, you come with me. Vidar, take Henrik and take position there, behind that clump of trees. We''ll attack from two directions. Vidar, show yourself to me briefly when you''re in position. You attack when you see me attack. Clear?" Vidar nodded. He was no longer resentful for having been punched by Sven, and made into a shepherd. Sven had made him his second-in-command of the expedition to found a new settlement. Vidar was determined to show Sven he was better than Olaf Berg. Like almost everyone else, he''d been irritated by Berg''s constant boasting about fertility and sexual prowess. "Okay," said Sven. "Now here comes the difficult part. We kill everyone as quickly and efficiently as possible. Got it? Everyone. Don''t damage those huts they''ve built, we can use them ourselves. Don''t kill any of the chicken and sheep they''ve got there, either. Just kill all the people. Use whatever weapon your prefer. Understood?" He was looking at them closely while he was speaking. Vidar and Henrik were good. Lennart, his chosen backup man, looked shifty. "What is it, Lennart? Speak up," said Sven. "They might return with some friends later," said Lennart. "So? We will kill them all over again. And anyway, they will be very careful not to return anywhere nearby. They won''t be eager to experience again what they''re going to experience now. Anything else?" "Can we **** the women before we kill them? I mean, that''s what traditionally done. Tradition is important." That was Henrik. Sven had heard before that Henrik liked rough sex. He smiled at him. "No time for that, Henrik," he said. "And anyway, they''re both ugly hags. Have you looked at them at all?" "The young girl is kinda nice." "We don''t **** underage children," Sven said firmly. "We''re Vikings, but we are also civilized." "So we just kill them all out of hand?" "Correct. Is that all? Okay, let''s get moving." A short while later, Sven saw Vidar appear briefly beside the trunk of a tree a hundred paces away. He waved, and hid behind the tree. Sven gripped the handle of the copper axe in his right hand. His left hand held a short sword, resembling those used by Roman legionnaires. Two of the men - the flabby ones - were busy lighting a fire in front of a hut. One of the women was sitting nearby, picking at her tousled hair. The other woman had disappeared into a hut a little while earlier. The two kids were walking among the dozen or so chickens, occasionally bending down to pick up a freshly laid egg. The third guy, the younger man Sven had earlier identified as the most formidable opponent among the settlers, was nowhere to be seen. But Sven couldn''t wait until he showed himself. It was daylight already, and anyway he was really hungry. He would eat himself stupid when all this was over. He broke cover and ran crouching towards the two men, hearing Lennart run right behind him. The two men were dressed in sheepskin shifts just like his own, but they were badly made. They moved clumsily and seemed to be in bad shape. This was going to be easy. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Vidar and Henrik running to attack from the opposite direction. The men lighting the campfire saw Vidar and Henrik first. They straightened up and just stood there stupidly instead of trying to save their lives. One of them shouted: "Hey! Who are you guys? Relax! We''re all friends here." No you aren''t, thought Sven. He was just a few paces away from one of the men. The woman sitting on the ground and plucking her hair looked up and saw him and screamed. The man Sven had targeted turned round just as Sven raised his axe. He had a pudgy face and a thin beard. He began raising his hand and opened his mouth to shout. He didn''t. Sven''s axe went into his head just above the left eye, slicing the eyebrow in two and producing a spray of blood. Then Sven''s short sword went in deep into the man''s stomach. He said ''ah!" and toppled to his knees. The woman was screaming and scrambling to her feet. Lennart had already skewered the second man with his spear, and was about to split his skull with an axe. Sven went for the screaming woman, missed with his first swing, and lost his balance. The third man, the dangerous one, came rushing out of one of the huts. He held a large, jagged stone in his hand. He was about to smash it in Sven''s face when Vidar''s short sword pretty nearly cut his head off from behind, splashing blood all around. Sven whirled round, caught up with the running woman with two giant strides, and brought his axe down. He didn''t miss this time, and he almost cut off her arm at the shoulder. She fell down, screaming, and he stabbed her in the neck with his sword. She fell silent. He straightened up, and looked around. Lennart had already killed one of the kids and was now chasing the other one -the girl - with his spear raised high. As Sven watched, he threw the spear and hit the running girl in the middle of the back. She went down with a wail. Sven turned away, hearing another wail suddenly cut short by Lennart''s axe. Henrik was standing in the entrance of one of the huts, holding the surviving woman by her hair. She was too terrified to make a sound. Her eyes silently pleaded to spare her life. Sven looked at Henrik and nodded. Henrik chopped the woman''s head with the axe, spraying his face with blood. The woman died without making a sound. Henrik released her hair and the corpse fell to the ground in an untidy heap. It was all over. They had won without any casualties. It was a triumph! Sven raised his bloodstained sword and axe high up and roared and the others roared too, raising their bloodied weapons to the sky. This was the life! This was what they''d been born to do. They all felt it clearly. And they all knew that it would happen again, and soon. As soon as they came across some new settlers. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 36 Soldiers and Thieves The knock on the Pendeltons'' front door came just as they''d all assembled for their midday meal. It was a frugal meal. It was increasingly hard to put one together: the gas for the barbecue grill had finished a while ago, and food was running out. Of course, they''d thought about transporting food from the New World: they had built half a dozen fish traps, and were emptying them at least twice a day. It was late summer in the New World, and they were finding more wild berries, edible roots, and mushrooms than they could eat. Unfortunately, they still hadn''t found a trace of that mysterious mineral called tiger rock that was required to transport goods back home. True, they hadn''t done much exploring. They''d been concentrating on building a good, functional base in the New World. They made sure their little settlement was well hidden, and varied their routes on forays for food so that no well-trodden paths became visible. After their deadly revenge on the renters, none of them were keen to run into other settlers in the New World. They made do with the primitive wood and stone tools they''d made. Sometimes, they had a bit of luck: Gladys had found a couple of turtles, and their shells made good shovels. And sometimes, one of them would remember a skill they''d acquired when young, and subsequently forgotten. It was Harold that remembered how he''d used to amuse himself when he was a kid by building fish traps out of small branches and twigs and twine. And the girls - Gladys and Susan - dusted off long-forgotten skills and twisted coconut fibers into very serviceable, strong thread. There were plenty of coconut palms around, and there was no shortage of coconuts. But they hadn''t found any tiger rock, and so were unable to transport food back home. "Looks like our people in the New World will be soon eating better than us," Dave Ramsey commented when he sat down and got a good look at his plate. It contained two slices of white bread, a few spoonfuls of baked beans, and a cold, raw wiener sausage. "Stop moaning and tuck in," Harold Pendelton said sharply. Most of the food had come from the Pendelton larder; the Ramseys'' contribution was limited to the tasteless white bread. Dave Ramsey gave Harold a cross look and was about to deliver a stinging reply when they heard the knock on the front door. "Well, what do you know," Susan Ramsey said. She looked at Harold. "Don''t wait for me," he said, getting up to answer the door. They all literally threw themselves at the food on their plates. We can''t last like this much longer, Harold thought as he walked to the door. Another few days, and we''ll start to starve. We must mount an expedition, and find tiger rock. He was about to mindlessly open the door when he had the thought it might be the renters. He bent down to the peephole, and gasped at what he saw. There was an army officer standing in front of the door. Two soldiers with assault rifles at the ready stood at his back. Harold hurriedly opened the door, saying: "At last, at last! I''m so happy to see you. I -" He broke off. The look on the officer''s face clearly indicated he wasn''t happy to see Harold. He said: "Harold Pendelton?" "Yes, that''s me." "You live here with your wife, Gladys?" "That''s correct." "Are you aware you have an inter-dimensional delivery vehicle in your back yard?" "A what? Do you mean that glowing cube?" "Yes, indeed." "Of course I''m aware of it. We - " "Why haven''t you reported it to the proper authorities? Failure to report the location of an inter-dimensional delivery vehicle carries a fine of ten thousand dollars, or a month in jail." "What?!" The officer was silent for a moment, searching Harold''s face for signs of dishonesty. "I take it that you haven''t been in town for a while," he said finally. "No, we haven''t. We did go, oh, about a week ago, but we ran into policemen guarding the entrance to the Sheraton and they told us to return home, and stay put." "I see. I''ll make sure to give you a copy of the official announcement concerning the present situation. In the meantime, I must request that you give my men unlimited access to your back yard. We have orders to remove all the items possible from the cube. They have been declared government property. Have you taken any yourself?" "Well, yes," said Harold. "We''ve taken a few. But wait a moment. You said ''they'' about the cube. There''s more?" "Plenty more. But never mind that. I see you''ve also treated yourself to an implant." Damn! He''d brushed his hair before sitting down to eat, and the glowing blue dot on the edge of his hairline was showing! Harold said: "Yes. You see, being cooped up like this for many days is - we felt no harm would be done if we -" "Never mind," interrupted the officer. "You are to remove your implant immediately. Your wife''s too, if she has one. I also request you to turn over any items you''ve recovered from the cube. Failure to do so will be penalized." "Of course. I''ll attend to it the moment I''ve finished eating. We''ve just sat down at the table when you knocked." "Go ahead. My men shall begin removing the items from the cube immediately. Please leave the door open." "May I ask them to access the back yard through the back gate? I''ll open it for them right away. We''ve having some friends over for lunch." The officer frowned. Then he said: "Fine. I''ll issue appropriate instructions so that you can eat undisturbed. If your friends have also given themselves implants, they too must remove them immediately. And I want you to turn over any items you''ve taken from the cube to my men. I''ll return later today to give you copies of the announcement, and to perform an inspection of the premises. I''m sorry to invade your privacy, but I must follow my orders." "Of course," said Harold. "I''ll unlock the back gate right away. There''s a walkway along the left side of the house." "Thank you." The officer turned to speak to the two soldiers, and Harold took this opportunity to gently but firmly close the front door, and lock it. He walked across the house to the back door, ignoring questioning looks from everyone at the table. He unlocked the gate to the back yard, and joined them. "It''s the army," he said, sitting down. "They''ve come to take everything from the cube. I''ll tell you more, but let me eat first. I''m famished." Gladys, Susan, and Dave all waited patiently, watching the food disappear into Harold''s mouth with slight envy. He wiped his plate clean with his last piece of bread, popped it into his mouth and said: "Well, guess what. The cube and all that is or was in it is property of the government. We are to give up everything we''ve taken from the cube, and remove the implants we''ve given ourselves." "It figures," said Susan Ramsey. "Thieving bastards." "Remove the implants?" said Gladys Pendelton. "I''m not going to kill my girl!" "You don''t have a choice," Harold told her. "If you don''t do it, you might even end up in jail." "Outrageous!" "Let''s calm down and think," said Dave Ramsey. They did. They saw the soldiers enter the back yard, and begin taking out items from the cube. They were taking them out in sets: one implant kit, one hiber bed, one documentation scroll. They carried them out of the back yard and when Harold got up to draw the blinds on the back windows, he checked the front and saw there were two large hand carts parked in front of his house. "I have a feeling they''ll be here all day," he commented when he rejoined the others. "Will be interesting to see how many items one can get from the cube," said Dave. "Anyway, we''ve got to make a decision. Are we going to turn over everything we''ve taken?" "No," Gladys said immediately. She turned to look at Susan, who shook her head. "I agree with the girls," said Harold. "Obviously, we''ll have to give up some, or they won''t leave us in peace. How many have we got? Dave? You counted everything we took, I seem to remember." "Yes," said Dave. "If I remember correctly, we''ve got just over a hundred and fifty implant kits, twenty hiber beds, and a dozen documentation scrolls." "I think we should keep at least half," said Gladys. Harold smiled at her. This was the same Gladys who insisted all bills be paid the day they arrived, and often picked up litter from the pavement to deposit it in a nearby trash receptacle! Dave looked at his wife. Susan shook her head. He turned and looked at Harold, who said: "I have great respect for the law. But this particular rule seems very arbitrary to me." "It''s unfair, that''s all there is to it," Gladys said firmly. "All right," Dave said. "So we are agreed we aren''t going to turn everything over. What about the implants?" Harold shrugged. "We have no choice," he said. "We have to remove them. Tell our people to assemble at the camp first, so that we can retrieve the clothes." "We should also give them a decent burial," remarked Dave. "I mean, we''ve never had to deal with the first Gladys - the renters must have dumped her body into the sea, just like we dumped theirs once the poison I''d made lost its potency. But it seems wrong to do it that way again." Harold glanced at his wife and saw she had tears in her eyes. He said quickly: "We will set up a nice burial ground by the beach. But first things first. Are we all agreed we''re keeping half of the implant kits and hiber beds we''ve got?" Everyone was in favor. Harold said: "You all understand that makes us criminals? Also, that officer said he''ll be coming back to inspect the premises. We''ll have to hide well everything we keep." "Not criminals," Gladys said firmly. "You cannot call someone a criminal just because they are keeping what they already own." Harold smiled at her. What a transformation! The Gladys he''d known would have insisted on turning everything over to the authorities. Her New World experiences had changed her. He said: "Well, that''s who we shall become in the eyes of the law: criminals. That officer told me failure to report the cube carried a ten thousand dollar fine, or a month in jail." "What did he say about failure to give up items from the cube?" "Nothing concrete. Just that it will be penalized." "We must find out what the penalty is," said Susan Ramsey. "I don''t fancy being locked up in prison." "We''re not going to ask anyone about the penalty," Dave said. "Because if we do, it will be a dead giveaway. Everyone will assume we''ve kept some. We''ve got to make the decision now, before that officer comes back." "It seems we''ve already made it," Harold said. Dave raised his eyebrows and looked at everyone in turn. They all smiled at him. So he smiled too, and said: "So we''re going the outlaw route?" "All the way," his wife said. Gladys nodded. Harold nodded too, and added: "Let''s get going on this right away. Dave, I''ll need your help in removing a couple of panels from the ceiling. There is space between the ceiling and the roof, more than enough of it to hide everything we want to keep." "I''ll keep an eye on those soldiers," said Gladys. "And I''ll keep an eye out for that officer," said Susan. Harold laughed out loud and said: "My God. Turning into a criminal, at my age. Disgraceful, completely disgraceful." "That''s what contact with time-travelers from the future can do to you," said Dave, and they all started laughing. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 37 The Wolf Tree War Amanda Queen lay on the ground behind a small bush and watched the new settlers through its branches. There were four of them this time, three guys and a girl. All young and fit. What was more, they clearly knew their way around. Their settlement was just a few days old, but they''d already built three huts out of branches and vines. They had also made clothes - shifts made out of cow skin. There was a lively fire burning in front of the huts, with meat cooking on the flat stones arranged in a circle around the dancing flames. They definitely had a lot of meat to cook: the two cow carcasses some distance away still had plenty of flesh left on the bones. A couple of cows grazed right next to them, seemingly unconcerned. Worst of all, the new arrivals already had stone tools, and weapons. Amanda saw one of the guys use a crude knife to sharpen the point of a wooden spear. The knife was basically a flat, sharp-edged stone mounted in the cleft of a short, thick stick. But it worked, and the spear looked like it would work, too. This was too much, simply too much. The Amazons had already fought a dozen battles and skirmishes with new settlers arriving on the land claimed by the Amazon Empire. A lot of people had taken items from the cube in the Wolf Tree Nature Area, located in Seattle''s Discovery Park. And it looked as if most of them had decided to give the New World a try. The first couple of skirmishes consisted of throwing a few stones at single, naked, shivering guys that ran from the attacking Amazons. No one really got hurt, and it was a lot of fun. Then, three days into their adventure - a month by the New World calendar - the Amazons met resistance. The two guys that they attacked obviously spent a lot of the time at the gym back on Earth. They were bulging with muscles and full of confidence. They dodged the flying stones and actually attacked the five Amazons. It was lucky that Sharon had scored a good hit on one of the charging guys - her stone hit him right in his eye. He''d shouted out and stopped and instantly two more stones hit him, one on the head. He began to retreat, screaming oaths. The other guy had managed to reach Betty. Betty Blue - the Amazons'' keyboard player - was the weakest link in the chain. She hesitated instead of smashing the stone she held into the guy''s unprotected testicles. "I couldn''t even SEE them," she tearfully stated later on, when Amanda gave her a hard time about it. "I guess they shrank so much from the cold that basically they just disappeared." Betty was punished for her indecision. The guy swung a practiced fist and knocked her out cold. He was about to turn on Linda when Fiona hit his head with a stone. He shouted and raised his arms to cover his head and that was when Linda did what Betty had failed to do. He screamed horribly and began to run away, too. At this point Ace, the Alsatian they had taken from the pet store, finally decided to join the fray. He ran out from behind the bushes where he had been hiding, barking and growling like he meant business. The two guys ran away, screaming imprecations and promising to return for revenge. The guy that had knocked Betty out must have established a world speed record in running with one hand clasped to his balls. The Amazons gave chase, but gave up fairly quickly. They were tired: they had already spent many hours in the New World without food or rest when they ran into the two men. The two guys did not show up again in the Amazon area of operations. But others did, with increasing frequency. The Amazons attacked again and again, and drove them away. But they were getting tired of it all. Founding the settlement had been very hard work. Initially, all they did was constantly look for food and anything that could be used as a tool. They''d slept huddled together under a blanket of dead leaves, and woke up tired and stiff with cold. They were almost constantly hungry. It took them a month to build a large, narrow hut they called the Hall. Getting the roof up was the hardest part of all. They had a lucky break with stones: they''d found several that struck weak sparks when hit against each other. They also found plenty of flat stones near the sea shore, and Sharon proved to be expert at making stone blades. She would stand a stone on its end on a flat rock and hit it with another stone and the flat stone would split into sharp-edged halves. They also found a way to catch fish, which were plentiful and very stupid. The Amazons built a three-sided fence in shallow water with sticks pressed into the seabed. Then they painstakingly wove a gate out of thin, elastic branches. They found that sprinkling some chaff on the water in their makeshift cage was enough to attract fish. Then they would slam the gate down and catch the trapped fish. Their hands were soon covered with scratches and wounds from the fins. But it was worth it. They were all sick of eating rabbits and guinea pigs. They''d replicated a few chicken, but Ace and Ara - the two Alsatians they got from the pet store, a dog and a bitch - killed the chickens, and ate most of them too. All in all, the dogs were a disappointment. They were hungry all the time and failed miserably as attack dogs. On a couple of occasions they''d even approached some newly-arrived settlers with their tails wagging! Back at Amanda''s house in Seattle, the implanted canines were also providing reasons for worry. They''d been replicated well over thirty times each; the Amazons in the New World were all wearing dog fur. The dogs in Amanda''s home were exhibiting symptoms of canine schizophrenia. They barked and bit and howled for no reason at all. It looked as if they''d have to be put down. In summary, Amanda really had plenty of things to worry about even before she discovered the new settlers. As she retreated from her observation point and walked back to the Amazon settlement, she glumly decided to call a general meeting at her house to discuss this new development. She was home in less than half an hour: there was no way she would tolerate another settlement so close by. But she knew her girls had lost much of their enthusiasm for fighting, and so had she. It was because of that last skirmish they''d fought, against a young couple - a guy and a girl. They''d had to kill both of them. The guy had the misfortune to split his head open on a rock when he fell down, and the girl just went crazy. They had to kill her, or she would have killed them all, one by one. The hut, the Hall was empty. All the girls were gone to attend to various tasks, and they had taken the dogs with them. But they had left a message scrawled with a stick in the soft bare ground near the hut entrance: SHEILA AND MARY WANT OUT Sheila and Mary were the two sisters that Betty had recruited right at the start. Amanda saw now that had been much too soon. Feeding an extra couple of mouths had been a great burden. So was providing them with clothes and rudimentary tools. Worst of all, the two sisters were softies. They balked at slaughtering the pretty little bunnies and the cute guinea pigs. And they almost had a nervous breakdown after that last battle which ended with two deaths. So now they wanted out. They wanted their implants removed, they wanted to live a single life. Amanda frowned: she had the feeling this was somehow connected to the return to normalcy in the city. Water had come on again a couple of days earlier. And the previous day, a cop came by and gave them all handbills that contained plenty of shocking new announcements. As a result, they spent a frenzied six hours hiding the items taken from the cube as well as they could. It was very, very lucky Amanda had answered the door for the cop with her beanie covering the implant in the center of her forehead. The handbills enumerated many penalties for unauthorized New World colonization. Amanda didn''t give a flying fuck about losing her guaranteed minimum income and she said right away she''d personally cover her girls'' losses, too. But she could see that the handbills'' message had damaged the morale of her crew. The message that had sapped their morale more effectively than any penalty was a message of promise. It promised a government-run, legal colonization scheme under which colonists would be given supplies upon arrival in the New World. These supplies would include clothing, food, and tools - metal tools. Of course, there was a price to pay. The new colonist automatically lost the right to minimum income payouts, or any other benefit schemes. A trading license was required to cash in on resources and goods imported from the New World. The license had to be renewed and paid for annually. That wasn''t all. Colonists were to charge a tax of 100% percent on all New World goods that they traded, and submit monthly tax and trade reports along with any owed money to their local branch of the Colonial Office. If they did not comply, they stood to lose their trading license. If they still failed to comply, they would lose their license to colonize in the New World. Unauthorized, illegal colonies in the New World would be subject to seizure by the governor of the relevant colonial district. Amanda looked at the message scrawled on the ground for a long time. Yes, it was high time they all got together at home in Seattle for an honest conversation. Whatever transpired, she wasn''t to give up. She''d tell them that right at the start. She had no objection to legalizing her status as a colonist. They could all do that, and she''d help out with the money if anyone was short. But there was no way she would abandon building the Amazon Empire in the New World. Once the food and clothes situation was completely sorted out, she would be recruiting many, many new people. She bit her lip and put her foot in its crude furry shoe on top of the message. As she rubbed it out, she heard a dog bark not very far away. She wondered how long it would take the new settlers to find the Amazon settlement. They''d hear one of those fucking dogs or smell smoke sooner or later. Would her girls fight and kill them? Sharon would Fiona would. Linda would. The rest - maybe. Maybe not. And then she had the thought: why not move the settlement? It was pretty obvious that people who lived close enough to take items from the cube in Discovery Park would replicate nearby, in the New World. Moving the settlement a dozen kilometers up or down the coast might make a big difference. And they could also move the settlement inland: there was copper and silver and gold in the hills and mountains of the Okanagan Range to the east. It would also be there in the New World. There were plenty of choices available, many possible moves they could make. The Amazons wouldn''t be giving up on the New World. She''d make sure of that. Ace appeared from between the trees surrounding their settlement. He saw her and came running, pink tongue flying around. He stopped right next to her and looked up at her face with happy, crazy eyes. She bent down to pat his head. "You stupid dog," she said. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 38 Goat Curry and Mangoes In the couple of days following the sergeant''s visit, Samir and Rani hid most of the implant kits and hiber beds they''d taken from the cube, along with a couple of documentation scrolls. The room on the floor above theirs was unfinished: it had no interior walls. There were no stairs to the second floor, but when Samir stood on their table he could just about climb into the room. They had to be circumspect about this activity, because the soldiers posted to guard the cube kept trying to get friendly and paying them unwanted, unannounced visits. They were bored out of their skulls guarding the cube in the deserted neighborhood. They told Samir that there were three other cubes around Mumbai: they had all caused panic among nearby residents, prompting them to flee. They also said that the army had received orders to take all the items the cube contained, and deposit them in an army warehouse under permanent guard. It was true: three days after his first visit, the sergeant returned leading half a dozen soldiers escorting an unhappy band of rickshaw drivers. Each rickshaw could only take a couple of hundred items at a time. It looked as if unloading the contents of the cube would be a long process. In the meantime, the sergeant supervised Samir and Rani as they removed their implants, and turned over to him the implant kits, hiber beds, and scrolls that they had kept in their room. They had made sure their second selves in the New World would die right next to the arrival spot. They wanted to retrieve their clothes from the bodies once they''d replicated themselves again in the New World. Their food ran out. The sergeant graciously gave them a box full of army rations. After taking a close look at the old, stained mattress they were sleeping on, he also gave them back a couple of the silvery mats called hiber beds. He swore them to silence about this. He also told them that the cube would disappear once all the its items were taken; that was what had happened to the two other cubes in Mumbai area. "And once the cube is gone, everyone will come back. The shops will reopen and everything will be normal once more," he''d said, and patted his hip holster as if the gun there was a guarantee of normalcy. It was another two days - nearly three weeks in the New World! - before the cube disappeared. Rani and Samir were just about to sit down to their evening meal when they heard excited shouts from the soldiers that were loading the rickshaws with items taken from the cube. They got up and rushed outside. The cube was gone, and there was no sign that it had ever existed - except for the implant kits and hiber beds piled high on the rickshaws. The sergeant and his soldiers left soon afterwards. Samir went to the logistics center where he and Rani had worked before the catastrophe. Both the yard and the office were empty. The watchman was the only person he had encountered, and knew nothing of what had become of the other employees or, for that matter, Mr. Go himself. Rani and Samir had no money left, and enough army rations to see them through a couple more days, not more. That very night, they implanted themselves again, making sure the shining blue dots were well hidden under their hair. Rani wept as they undressed the bodies of their alter egos in the New World. Then they hauled them out into the creek, and let them sink. They didn''t have the time or tools for a proper burial. Fortunately, the small herd of goats they had acquired in the New World hadn''t run away. The smoked meat that they kept as emergency rations was still there, as were all of their primitive tools, and a pile of tiger rock stones that they''d been collecting in their settlement. They instantly set about building a launch platform for transporting goods to Earth. It had to be big enough to contain whatever they wanted to send. The floor was easy, but the walls, which had to be higher than anything they wanted to send, were a problem. They had to resort to gluing the stones together with the viscous mud from the shore of the creek. Their first transport consisted of a single mango. It appeared on Earth right on top of the mattress they slept on! They did not want to disassemble the launch platform and move it elsewhere; they moved the mattress instead. That first night, they sent nearly thirty mangoes back to their home on Earth. Come morning, Rani packed them in a bag and took them to the nearest open-air market. There were just a couple of other traders present, and both didn''t have any food for sale. There weren''t many buyers either, and they all mobbed Rani when they saw she had come to sell fruit. They actually bid against each other to buy the mangoes as if they were at an auction! Rani quickly sold all the fruit she had. She''d made enough money to buy cooking oil and flour and rice. It turned out to be impossible. All the shops she saw were still closed. However, she found a small restaurant that was open for business. It was charging exorbitant prices, but there was a lineup at its door anyway. After a long wait, she managed to buy two small cartons of curried rice decorated with a few slivers of onion and goat meat. She had to call on all the willpower at her disposal not to eat any of the food when she carried it home. Samir was waiting for her, and they instantly sat down to eat. "We must import more food from the New World," Samir said, with his mouth full. "A thousand rupees for two tiny portions of goat curry! It''s outrageous." "I sold the mangoes at fifty rupees each," Rani said. "That was outrageous, too." They stopped talking and focused on eating: it was the best meal they both had in a long, long, time. When Rani went out to throw out the dirty dishwater, she saw a light in one of the houses on the other side of the fields. "The Kumars are back," she told Samir when she returned to their room. It didn''t make him happy. "We''ll have to be really careful," he said darkly. "They threatened to report us when we moved in here - remember?" " I do," said Rani. "I also remember that happened after you ran into Mr Kumar while on your bicycle, and knocked him down." "He was drunk! He kept weaving from side to side and stepped into the road right in front of me." "Well, he was still upset that you ran into him." "He had no right to be upset." "Does it matter?" asked Rani. "Of course it matters. It wasn''t my fault!" "Does it matter?" repeated Rani, with a special sweetness in her voice. That sweetness meant she was starting to get angry. Samir heard the warning note in Rani''s voice and glowered for a while in silence. Finally, Rani said: "I think you are right that we must import more food from the New World. We could try sending some fresh fish. They''re so easy to get now that you''ve made those spears." It was true. A couple of New World weeks earlier, Samir had come across a bamboo grove. He broke off a couple after a lot of hammering with a heavy stone, and then split the trunks lengthwise. They quickly made themselves a dozen short, lightweight spears with very sharp points. The bamboo spears turned out to be the ideal tool for catching fish. They would stand in the water, and sprinkle chaff on its surface. Almost immediately a fish would appear, looking for something to eat. After a bit of practice, they managed to hit them almost half the time. Once, it took Samir just a few minutes to get five. The fish were so plentiful that they could sometimes feel them bump against their legs when they stepped into the creek. There was no danger of a fish shortage. Samir stopped glowering when he heard that Rani agreed with him about the food. Also, he was quite proud of the bamboo spears he''d made. He said: "All right. Tell your Rani to get started with the fish. I''ll send Samir further down the coast, past the spot where you found air potatoes. We need to explore a little more. We could find something more valuable than mangoes and fish." "Such as what?" Samir shrugged. "I''ll tell you when I find it," he said. "Maybe you won''t find anything," said Rani. Samir threw her an offended look. "I''ll find something," he said in a hard voice, "And it will be something bigger and better than anything we''ve discovered so far." As they found out very shortly, he was right. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 39 A New Alliance When Samir entered his second self in the New World, it was early afternoon. He was walking along the sea shore. The blue-green waves frothed happily on the sandy beach before withdrawing with a hiss. He immediately swerved into the tree line, and kept going south under the cover of the vegetation. He hadn''t met any dangerous wild animals during the five months he''d already spent in the New World. He hadn''t encountered any other settlers, either. It looked like the people living in his area back in Mumbai were too scared of the cube to have taken any items. His goatskin shift was wet. While he''d been eating dinner with Rani, his second self had evidently swam across a river or a creek. On his previous excursions south, Samir had always stopped at what he thought was the New World''s Patalganga river. He had ordered his alter ego to press as far south as possible. And he had, but in the process he must have eaten and drank all the supplies that he''d taken with him. Samir was getting increasingly hungry and thirsty, so he was very happy to discover a lot of coconut palms growing further south - there were none near his settlement. There were many coconuts lying on the ground under the trees. He cracked several open, and drank the milk and ate the kernels. He wished his goatskin shift had a pocket. As it was, he had to carry the biggest, choicest coconut he could find. His other hand held the staff he had made soon after arriving in the New World. After he''d drank and eaten, he hesitated for a while. He wasn''t sure what to do next. He had never ventured that far from the settlement. On all the previous occasions when he''d gone out to explore, he turned back around midday in order to return home before nightfall. But now, it was already the middle of the afternoon. He had no hope of getting anywhere near home before darkness. He would have to find a place to sleep, and begin his return journey the next day. Therefore, it made sense to continue onward for another couple of hours or so. Maybe he''d get lucky again, and come across something as valuable as the coconut palms? He got to his feet and got going. But he''d hardly walked more than a hundred steps when the thong on his right sandal broke. He was wearing the crude but helpful footwear he and Rani had made out of goatskin: foot-sized, foot-shaped pieces of hide made fast with a couple of leather strips. He had to tie the strip that held the front of his makeshift shoe to his foot. It was already pretty short, and the knot bit into the skin on the top of his foot when he resumed walking. So he sat down again, and examined his footwear. It was quickly obvious there was not much he could do. Then he had a brainwave. The coconut! He could pull strands of fiber from the shell, and twist them into a string! He was looking around for a sharp-edged stone to cut the green outer skin of the nut when he heard a noise. Something, or someone, was moving in the undergrowth not far from where he sat. Samir froze. His hand instinctively reached out and took hold of his staff. It was a stout stick that reached up almost to his armpit when he stood. It was a fine weapon against snakes and scorpions. It wouldn''t be much help against a tiger. Tigers usually kept some distance away from the shore. But who knew what tigers were like in the New World. He gripped his staff tighter and sat still, listening and watching. There was a single rustle, and then total silence except for the cries of the seagulls. "Who are you?" Samir jumped to his feet and turned around. There was a man standing not more than a dozen paces away. He was partly hidden by a bush, but Samir could see he was quite short: the top of his head was roughly level with Samir''s shoulder. It was bald: a fringe of black hair straggled messily over his ears. The man''s skin was dark, almost black, and he was holding a crude spear. It was shorter than Samir''s staff, so Samir didn''t feel scared. The other man didn''t look particularly strong, either. The arm that held the spear did not show much muscle. Samir said: "My name is Samir. What''s yours?" "Madan," said the man reluctantly. Samir could see he was suspicious, and decided to take a risk. "Happy to meet you," he said, and grinned and threw his staff down on the ground. Then he took a step forward, hand outstretched. Madan hesitated before walking up to Samir. He still clutched his spear. But when he got within striking distance he stopped and smiled and shook Samir''s hand. "I''m happy to meet you, too," he said. "I love my wife, but..." He wrinkled his nose and added: "It''s nice to a see a new face. A friendly face." Samir laughed with relief. He said: "Please, sit down." He sat down first, putting himself completely at Madan''s mercy. Madan sat down too, and Samir was relieved to see him put his spear on the ground. "My settlement is to the north," said Samir. "Where is yours?" "South," Mandan said cautiously. His eyes were fixed on Samir''s face. "Well, ''settlement'' is a big word really, for the place where I live. It''s just me and my wife." Madan broke into a delighted grin. "Really? That''s just like us. Me and Kali." "Kali is your wife?" "Yes." "My home back home - I mean, back on Earth - is in Mumbai. South Mumbai. Where are you from?" "Khalapur." "You had one of those cubes in Khalapur?" "Yes." "And you didn''t run away? My cube appeared next to my house. All my neighbors simply disappeared." "You were lucky." "Why?" "Mine didn''t. Not all of them. That was why we, Kali and I, had to move." "Bad relations?" "A gang took over our settlement. There were three of them. They turned me and Kali into their slaves. They kept threatening to **** Kali. So when we got the chance, we ran away." "They didn''t chase you?" "I don''t think so. They''d just brought in a couple more of their friends, and several women. They were too busy with the women to see us leave." "You walked a fair distance." "Yes, it took us a few days. It was very hard. But we wanted to get away as far as possible. We didn''t want them to find us." "Very understandable." "We found a good spot near the shore, next to a small river. There''s a coconut grove and mango trees and plenty of air potatoes. And good fish in the river." "How do you catch them?" "With a net." "You have a net!?" "Yes. Kali is good at making ropes and baskets. And I am good at making pots. We eat very well. Better than back home." They both laughed. That was the turning point: that was when they became friends. They spent some time comparing their experiences in the New World. Then Madan said: "It will be dark soon. I must be going home. You probably want to get home, too." "It''s too far away to get there before nightfall. I''ll just spend the night here, and go back tomorrow." "Why don''t you come with me? You would probably like to eat a hot dinner. And you can sleep at our place." Samir was overcome by emotion. "Madan, my friend..." he said, and his voice broke. They stood up and embraced. Samir felt tears prickling his eyes. He said quickly: "Lead the way. I promise to obey you. You are the leader." Madan grinned happily and they set out, walking side by side. They reached Madan''s settlement just as it was getting dark. Kali turned out to be a short, plump woman whose face was constantly split in a happy grin. A big clay pot of thick fish soup was bubbling on the fire. Madan, hadn''t lied: he and Kali really ate very well. And he was truly an accomplished potter. For the first time ever in the New World, Samir drank water from a cup, and poured himself more from a jug. Madan and Kali''s hut was quite big and they actually invited Samir to sleep inside. But he decorously insisted on leaving their privacy undisturbed, and sleeping outside, under the starry sky. This improved relations even further. By the time they had finished their meal, they were already talking about joining forces. By the time they broke up to go to sleep, they''d already agreed that''s what they would do. The only unresolved problem was the location of their new, expanded settlement. Naturally, Madan preferred his site, and Samir - his own. They agreed that the next day, both Madan and Kali would accompany Samir and visit the site of his settlement. Then Samir would take Rani along to examine Madan''s place, and they would decide where to settle. And who knows: maybe they would find a site better than the other two on their journey? As Samir lay on his back and watched the twinkling, beckoning stars, he felt more happy and optimistic than he''d ever been since his arrival in the New World. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 40 Attack of the Pterodactyls The sun beat down mercilessly from a cloudless sky, but Rafi Susanto was shivering. He was on his first visit to the New World, and he didn''t like it. He was squatting on the ground, half-hidden by the enormous fern that also concealed two sailors from the Golden Dawn. He was naked, and his skin was covered my scratches and bites of many insects. The gigantic mosquitoes, bigger than the palm of his hand, were especially fierce. When he''d killed one, it burst to release a glassful of blood. Fortunately there were no mosquitoes on the hill beyond the beach. They had a hell of a time getting there. The scouts sent earlier had found a path, but it still involved a lot of slaloming between thorny plants and getting through a swarm of the giant mosquitoes. They couldn''t run fast, there was sharp stuff scattered all over the place, and they were barefoot. All of them collected a couple of thorns per foot anyway. "It''s important you get onto that hill," Cruz had told Susanto. "You won''t get the picture from the beach. There is also something else. You know I have numerous mining interests. I own two mining companies and over a dozen mines all over the world. Well, that hill has some interesting mineral deposits. You''ll see yourself, when you get there." Susanto did. On his way up the hill, he''d passed a couple of rocks with gold veins clearly visible in the stone. He''d stopped at the first one to scratch and check and yeah, it was gold. He showed the vein to the crewmen accompanying him, and they got excited, more excited than he had been. Fucking fools, he''d thought. There is more to life than gold. Susanto could afford to think like that because he was already sitting on a pile of gold, back on Earth. It was smaller than Cruz''s pile, but still quite substantial. Definitely enough to retire on comfortably. I could be cruising around the world in a yacht twice the size of the Golden Dawn, thought Susanto. I could be having a great time instead of skulking naked in the bushes, scared shitless. There was much to be scared of in what he''d seen so far. The size of the land he''d found himself on scared him. It was much, much bigger than Henderson''s Island. Of course he knew about the Pacific archipelagos in the New World; he''d read the documentation as carefully as he read his annual financial statement. But reading about something and experiencing it were two very different things. That was his biggest mistake: he had let Cruz talk him into replicating in the New World while they were drinking cocktails and nibbling at canapes. It had made him let his guard down. He saw what had happened to the crewmen back on Earth when their New World alter egos suffered, or died. It had been highly unpleasant to watch, and all that screaming had really gotten on his nerves. He knew the New World wasn''t a place for a man of his delicate sensibilities. It was those fucking gimlets. He''d made them extra strong to perk Cruz up. They were very tasty, and he was on his third when Cruz talked him into going to the New World. He looked at the view before him and shuddered. The hill fell away to reveal a plain relatively sparse in trees. And on this plain gamboled some of the scariest, most repulsive creatures Susanto had ever seen. They were too far away to make out details, but they seemed to be gigantic birds. They hopped around, occasionally rising into the air on huge wings, then swooping down again with the long beak opened wide. They seemed to be feeding on something on the ground, something Susanto couldn''t see. It didn''t matter. He''d seen enough. He turned to the crewmen and noted with satisfaction that the high spirits produced by the gold find were gone. They both looked as apprehensive as he felt himself. "Okay," said Susanto. "We''ve seen enough. Let''s get the hell out of here. Manuel, you lead the way back to the beach." To his irritation, Manuel didn''t budge. He looked sullen instead, and said: "Senior Cruz promised to call us back after an hour." "Jesus Christ," exploded Susanto. "Who is your boss - Cruz or me? And haven''t you worked out yet time flows faster here, moron? I mean relative to Earth. It could be hours here before he wakes us. Get your ass up and get going." "But the big mosquitoes - " "Fuck!" shouted Susanto. "Get moving or I swear I''ll fire your ass the moment we get home." The two sailors got up and instantly froze, staring wide-eyed at something behind Susanto. He turned around and saw that shouting like that had been a bad move. A few of the giant birds were aloft, and headed his way. He immediately broke into a run, shouting at the sailors to follow him a little bit later - it was good to have them running at the back. He hissed and cried out with pain as his bare feet hit sharp stones strewing the slope. He had almost reached the entrance to the path through the jungle that led to the beach when the giant birds caught up with them. One cut through the air in front of him and he saw that they resembled bats more than birds. But the batbird that flew in front of Susanto had a very long beak, and when it opened to let out a rasping screech he saw that it contained dozens of sharp teeth. "Run!" he screamed at his crewmen, and followed his own advice. He heard their feet thudding on the ground right behind him. Then he heard a horrible, human scream. It acted on him as if it had switched on an afterburner. Susanto had already been running quite hard, but now he shot forward like an Olympic sprinter. He reached the beginning of the path in a series of leaps and bounds that would have aroused envy among cheetahs. Then he immediately swerved into the jungle, screaming when a plant tore into his skin but continuing to press into the thick vegetation. He knew its density would protect him from the gigantic, batlike birds. He heard the buzzy whine of an approaching giant mosquito and rapidly changed direction as it came near, then turned again as it closed in for a second strike. That was the best defense against those things - keep moving fast, and swerve just as the mosquito was preparing to sting. There were more of them coming, he could hear them, he could see some too. He had to get back onto the path! It was impossible to run fast enough to evade the mosquitoes inside the jungle. Susanto turned twice in quick succession, and was lucky to hit an opening among the plants that allowed him to speed up. Then he remembered about the flying monsters and almost stopped dead in his tracks. He felt the feathery touch of the mosquito landing on his back and then the hellishly painful sting as it inserted its probe to suck his blood. He screamed and turned round and threw himself down on his back, squashing the insect. He immediately scrabbled to his feet and ran to the path, not caring any more about the flying monsters, or indeed any other monsters he could encounter. If he didn''t get away from the mosquitoes, they would suck him dry of blood. As it turned out, it was the mosquitoes that saved him. He ran out onto the path and immediately turned in the direction of the beach and managed to run only a few steps before something hit the back of his head and tore his scalp. There was a wave of horrible stench and a blow on his shoulder from one of the huge wings and the batlike bird suddenly appeared in front of him and he saw that it also had a feathery tail shaped like a lizard''s. Flying dinosaurs! He remembered now that he''d read about them in school, looked at the colorful, awe-inspiring pictures. He recalled that they were called pterodactyls, or something like that. They''d tear him to pieces once he was out in the open, on the beach! He was running to his doom! He almost stopped but changed his mind when he heard one of the crewmen scream behind him. He kept on running even after he''d fallen over once. Then he fell for the second time, just a short distance away from the shore - he could already hear the sea. As he was picking himself up, he looked back and saw a pterodactyl swoop down on a giant mosquito and snap at it with its beak. It missed, and circled back to have another go. It wasn''t interested in Susanto. He turned away and walked the rest of the way to the beach. He was too tired to run any more anyway, and his feet left bloody imprints on the ground. When he got to the beach, he looked around and saw a deep crevice between two rocks not far away. He went over and squeezed almost all of his body in. His feet and calves were out in the open, but he''d picked up a stone and planned to smash it against any head that tried to take a bite out of his legs. He stayed there for what seemed like a long, long time. His crewmen did not appear. The beach was idyllic in the sun. He suddenly felt very, very tired. He fell asleep... ... And woke up on the silvery mat laid out in close proximity to the mini bar. It had been a clever strategic move on his part to place it there. Cruz was sitting in a deckchair nearby. He looked startled. "Rafi?" he said. "I was to wake you and the others in fifteen minutes." Susanto looked around and saw that the two crewmen were sleeping peacefully on their hiber beds. "You didn''t wake them up?" he asked, pointing. "No. They threshed around a little at one point, but then they calmed down." "What about me? Did I throw myself around?" "No. Well, maybe a little. And you moved your legs as if you were dreaming about running. But it only lasted a couple of minutes, and you became peaceful again. So I saw no reason to wake you up." "I see," said Susanto. He felt sure Cruz was lying. He''d probably sat there and watched Susanto suffer and enjoyed it. And the crewmen in the New World were probably dead,: that was why their originals were sleeping so peacefully back on Earth. He got up and walked over to the bar. "Care for a drink?" he asked. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 41 The Solar Storm By the end of January, 2035 global communication had been reestablished. However, radio and mobile phones still refused to work. And much to Carlton Brock''s chagrin, there was still no TV. "I don''t know what the fuck is wrong with those people," he confessed to Lea Panatella. "I get it that anything broadcast over the air won''t work. I get it that most vehicles won''t work because of that stupid requirement for unremovable vehicle data transmitters that was introduced a few years back. What I don''t get is why TV won''t work. We got cable TV, right? Same fucking cables as those used for phone lines. The landline phones work. So, why no TV? And how the fuck did anything as stupid as this vehicle data transmitter law ever get through the Congress?" "You supported, it sir," Lea reminded him. "I was a senator, dammit. Once those assholes in the Congress voted it through, I had to toe the line. I had to vote for a lot of crazy stuff when I was a senator. Otherwise I''d have had the whole goddamn party reaming my ass. But why -" "Everyone thought it was a great crime prevention measure," Lea said. "Everyone thought! They thought! Fuck. I wish some people, most people in fact, didn''t try to think. They''re too stupid to think. When they start to think, there''s always trouble." "It worked," Lea said. "There was a big drop in the crime rate." Carlton Brock snorted. Then he said: "But why no cable TV? If Penny doesn''t get on top of that right away, I swear I''m gonna fire his ass." "TV stations use a lot of electric power," Lea said patiently. "So do TV sets. We still have a problem with electric power supply." "Why? What I want to know is, why? And why can''t anyone tell me why?" "Well, I''ve got something that might help. Here." "What''s this? More paperwork? Can''t you handle it, Lea?" "I did. But you should read it, anyway. It''s a report that explains why we had that big storm in the first place, and why a lot of stuff still doesn''t work." "You read it?" "I read it." "Give the gist to me." "There was a huge solar storm. It screwed up the Earth''s electromagnetic field, which was already being adversely affected by the profusion of fields generated by by the power stations, power lines, even small electric appliances like toasters or mobile phones. It says in here that Earth''s electromagnetic field is very finely balanced, and we had trillions of small electromagnetic fields being generated within Earth''s field by all that electricity we were producing and using. The net result was, Earth''s electromagnetic field was already teetering on the edge. The solar storm basically gave it a push that sent everything crashing down." "So it wasn''t the cubes? I heard many people say it was the fault of those cubes." "No, sir. The cubes came from another dimension, and arrived after the storm." "But they had to get here first, right?" Brock said craftily. "Their passage through the atmosphere, or something like that, could cause an electromagnetic storm, could it not?" "According to the experts, interdimensional travel doesn''t work like that. It''s instantaneous." "Whatever." Brock sighed heavily, and took the folder offered by Lea. He said: "Anything else?" "Unfortunately, yes. The delegates want to know when they''ll be able to return home, now that the planes are flying." "The planes are NOT flying. Fuck! A guy getting his little Piper off the ground and flying a couple of circles over the goddamn airstrip doesn''t mean the planes are working. Not the big passenger ones. Who told them about that Piper guy? I hope it wasn''t you, Lea." "Of course not. I think there was a leak from the communications center." "Well, tell them to spring another leak. A leak that says we tried and failed to get anything bigger than a tiny single-engine job off the ground. Tell them to imply it''s all the extra electronics in the bigger planes, or something." "Would you address the delegates, sir? The secretary general thinks it would be a wise move." "Why me? I''m just the governor, I mean the commissioner for the United States. Tell them to talk to Penny. Give them his phone number. Penny''s the guy to talk to about getting this whole plane situation fixed." "As you say, sir." "Right." Carlton Brock walked back to his suite, discreetly preceded and followed by weary bodyguards in rumpled suits. He was fucking sick of being stuck in this building, and constantly being badgered by all kinds of people! He wanted to be alone. He wanted to fuck his wife. He wanted to be anywhere but where he was right now. His bad mood wasn''t improved when he was intercepted along the way by Kasper Weinberger, former head of the International Monetary Fund. Weinberger had been appointed acting Minister of Finance in the new world government, and he wasn''t wearing it well. He was a minister of finance without access to any money. The whole international financial system had died. The thousands of thousands of electronic connections that were its blood vessels, its umbilical cords, had been brutally severed by the storm. All over the world taxes and tariffs and duties and other monetary dues weren''t paid or collected. No one knew what money was worth any more. And the new money, the metal coin currency, so far existed only as a few handfuls of low denomination coinage, minted experimentally here and there by medieval methods. The Russians and the Chinese said they were starting large-scale production, but could the Russians and the Chinese be trusted? "Who are you?" snapped Carlton Brock, when the sad, elderly man with a gray face barred the way to Brock''s suite. "Kasper Weinberger. I''m the Minister of Finances." "Finances? I think I''ve heard you name before. I thought you were some kind of a military guy." "You had a secretary of defense with a similar name half a century ago." "Did we? Are you a relation?" "No, I''m afraid not. It''s just a coincidence. Mister President - " "I''m not a president any more. You want to talk to Penny, Mark Penny. He''s the guy. You got his phone number?" "I''m sorry, that was a slip of my tongue. I most definitely want to talk to you. Sir, I need money. I mean we need money." "You can say that again! Finally someone who talks sense. Come along, I''ll treat you to a drink." Once they were safely ensconced in Brock''s suite and the bodyguards were out of sight, Brock got out a half-full bottle of bourbon and fixed a couple of stiff drinks with ice from the portable gas-powered refrigerator. "Fire away," he said, seating himself comfortably in an armchair. "If you''re saying we need money, I guess you found a way to get some. Correct?" "No," said Weinberger mournfully. "I haven''t. That''s why I needed to talk to you. You''re the Commissioner for the United States, and we''re presently in the United States. Could you instruct your president to start minting the new currency? As soon as possible, please." "Sure, why not. He''ll enjoy hearing that. But tell me, aren''t we supposed to switch to the new currency some time down the line? On the last day of the current year?" "We should make the switch sooner if at all possible. And anyway, we need to build up a big reserve of coinage first." "Hang on. Let me get something straight. You want the U.S. to mint your money or American money?" "There is no American or even ''your'' money any more, sir. It''s all OUR money." "Penny won''t like that," Brock said and smiled a little smile and sipped his drink. Goddamn, that was good! You just couldn''t beat Four Roses. "Okay," he said finally. "But what about the others? Are they getting on the act, too? It''s high time all those guys got their shit together. Maybe you should talk to each of them in turn." "Yes, I''ve been doing that already, sir. The Russians and the Chinese have promised total cooperation. But we need to have money here, right here." "I get it," said Brock. "But can''t we arrange some kind of transfer over the phone?" "We cannot. We have to physically have the money here. In our hands." "Okay," said Brock. "Tell you what - I''ll see what I can do. And -" He was interrupted by the rather loud and insistent knocking on the door. "Come in!" he shouted. One of his bodyguards entered, accompanied by one of Brock''s numerous female assistants. "I have an important meeting here," Brock said testily. "What is it?" "It''s highly confidential, sir." "Ah." Brock got up slowly and looked down at the seated, dazed Weinberger. Weinberger''s daze stemmed from the fact that he was exhausted, and had just had his first strong alcoholic drink in quite a while. His head was swimming, and he found it hard to focus. He heard Brock''s voice as if it was coming from behind a thick curtain. Brock was saying: "I''ll let you know about the money tomorrow. Hey, you look as if you could use some rest. We''ll talk later, okay?" Weinberger didn''t budge. His head lolled and he dropped his glass, spilling bourbon and melted ice on the carpet. "Shit," said Carlton Brock. He looked at the bodyguard that had come in with the assistant and said: "Get that guy out of here. Take him to his room." Then he strode quickly to the door leading to his bedroom, opened it, and motioned for the assistant to enter. He waited until she shut the door, then asked: "What is it? You look concerned." "We have Jerry Hard for you on the phone, sir," said the assistant. "If you could pick up the receiver next to your bed - " "No way! Jerry? So they made it over there! Okay, thank you." When the assistant had left, Brock picked up the receiver and said: "Carlton Brock." He listened in total silence for almost a full minute, without interrupting once. This was highly unusual for Carlton Brock. Eventually he said: "I need to know about this Galway place Where the fuck is that?" He did some more listening, with a brooding pout. Then he suddenly brightened, and said: "Hold it, Jerry. Hold it right there. You''re saying the ship''s in poor shape. Fine. Dump all those guys on the shore. That''s right. They''re in Europe, right? Promise kept. I don''t fucking care how they make their way to London or France or wherever. It''s their business. Tell them to talk to the mayor of that dump. Worst case scenario, they can go to the local post office and book a long distance call. I want that ship back as soon as possible, got it? And I want you to be on it." He did some more listening. After a while, he said: "Okay. Call me tomorrow around the same time. You''ll tell me how everything went down. ''Bye." He put down the receiver feeling very pleased with himself. Carlton Brock believed that the best foreign policy was to keep everyone off balance and uncertain. He had just managed to put a stick into the spokes of the European diplomatic machine. The messengers sent from New York would be stuck in some Irish backwater for a while. True, the heads of state that had sent them could now talk on the telephone to their people back home. But Brock was quite sure a lot of confidential instructions had been sent aboard the Great Western, instructions that would have been overheard by other people if spoken on the phone. Same thing applied to all email messages. They would all be copied, deciphered if necessary, and carefully scrutinized. Chief Brody had promised him that. And now another pleasure awaited him: he was about to kick Penny''s ass, and force him to start minting the new currency right away. Life was good, and he was going to make it better still by pouring himself another drink before he talked to Penny. Weinberger was gone from the day room. He''d left behind a small pool of vomit on the rug beside the armchair he had sat in. A very tired-looking maid was busy cleaning it up as Brock walked up to his little fridge. He put some ice in his glass and filled it to the brim and wished, once again, that he could fuck his wife. "I''ll fuck Penny instead," he said to himself, too softly to be heard by the maid. Then he took a big swig from his glass and went back into his bedroom, shutting the door. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 42 The Gulls of Galway Jerry Hard put the receiver back and stepped out of the phone booth, leaving the door open. The booth sure could do with some fresh air. It smelled of dust and dirt and wet clothes that hadn''t been washed in a while. He was in Galway''s post office, surprisingly empty considering how many people aboard the Great Western had asked him for its location. Maybe they''d found a better place to make long distance calls, closer to the ship. The weather certainly didn''t encourage taking long walks around the town. Snow mixed with rain pattered on the windows of the post office, and the street outside looked dirty and drab. He was going to have a hell of a difficult time doing what Brock had asked him to do. The messengers sent by the various heads of state back in New York were sure to resist being thrown off the ship. There really was just one way to handle this: he had to convince Gregson, the ship''s captain, to announce the Great Western could sail no further because of serious damage of some sort. Something that would sound as if it would keep the ship in port indefinitely. Gregson would be easy to convince. The ship really needed some repairs done after its crossing of the Atlantic. Gregson thought they could be done inside a week. Well, he''d tell his passengers they could take up to six months. Yes, that definitely was the way to go. When the passengers heard that, they would leave the ship all of their own accord. Things had already been getting better while they were still at sea. A couple of days earlier, everyone discovered that their smart phones were working. The initial excitement died down when it transpired no calls could be made. But after they''d docked in Galway, everyone got excited again because most of the town had electric power. It was supplied by a wind farm nearby, and everything seemed to be working fine there. When they learned that the land line telephones in the town were working as well, everyone rushed off the ship to make calls. Jerry anticipated having a hard time calling New York. But the post office was almost empty, if one didn''t count the giggling, ugly, female staff. Only two of the six booths used for long distance calls were occupied, and only one of these was occupied by a courier from New York. It was a mystery. Where did all the couriers go? Jerry took one last, long look at the weather outside, grimaced, and raised the collar of his trench coat. He walked to the ship as fast as he could without breaking into a run. As he approached the pier, he saw a couple of seagulls huddled under an antique tractor parked by the road leading to the port. The birds'' orange eyes seemed to be angry. They seemed to be evaluating him as a potential meal. He was sure that if he dropped dead right were he was, they wouldn''t waste a minute pecking him to pieces. He swerved unnecessarily toward the birds, but they weren''t scared. They kept watching him with those pitiless, blinking eyes as he went past. He went straight to his cabin and treated himself to three quick slugs of Wild Turkey. He was on his last bottle; he''d have to get some more in Galway. Fortunately, it seemed all the shops were open. Everything seemed perfectly normal, aside from the lack of traffic on the roads. Galway had its own glowing cube all right, but it had disappeared even before the government could claim its contents. The town''s inhabitants hadn''t been scared of the cube. They''d taken all the items that could be taken within just three days. Their greed was rewarded: power came back on over the next forty eight hours. What was more, several of the town''s many antiquated vehicles were made to work. They provided a steady if weak flow of food supplies from the surrounding country. The citizens of Galway were very upbeat, and full of optimism about the future. That feeling communicated itself to everyone that had arrived on the Great Western, and just as well: there had been an atmosphere of doom and gloom on the ship through most of the voyage. And Jerry Hard had felt his own mood improve, too. The three slugs of Wild Turkey improved it even further. It took him a while to find the ship''s captain. Gregson was buried in the belly of the ship, supervising the repairs being done to the boiler. When he saw Jerry approach, he immediately assumed a defensive stance and started speaking before Jerry had a chance to open his mouth. "We''re working as fast as we can, honest. Might get everything fixed day after tomorrow if we''re lucky. And the purser has already secured a supply of coal. I''ll rotate teams so that we can work around the clock. We''ll definitely be ready to sail within a few days." "Tell your guys to get some rest," Jerry Hard said. ''There''s no hurry. Not any more." "Why? Did something change? What happened?" "Tell your guys to take a break. I need to talk to you in private." "We can talk in my cabin." "Fine. That''s great. But tell them to take a break anyway. They look exhausted. They should get some shore leave, and relax." "Are you sure?" "I''m sure." "Fantastic! Go right ahead to my cabin. I''ll join you in a second. Help yourself to a drink while you''re waiting." "Fantastic," agreed Jerry. He went to Gregson''s cabin and treated himself to half a glass of scotch. It tasted like medicine, after the bourbon. He was about to pour himself some more to see whether his taste buds had adjusted when the cabin door opened, and Gregson came in. "Pour me one as well if you could be so kind," he said joyfully. He actually hummed a tune as he stripped off the dirty overalls and pulled down the sleeves of his thick sweater. "So, what''s the big news?" he asked, taking his glass from Jerry''s hand. He took a sip and looked at Jerry expectantly. "I can''t tell you everything. Top secret," Jerry said sternly. He swished the scotch around in his glass and added: "What matters is that we no longer have to hurry. As a matter of fact, I''d like you to make an announcement to the passengers once everyone is back for the night. Where have they all gone, anyway? I saw just one of those guys at the post office. I''d expected it to be packed." "Oh, they''re all at the pub," said Gregson and grinned. He took a swig of scotch, noticed that Jerry looked puzzled, and explained: "There are six pubs within easy walking distance. I understand they''re well stocked, and that each has at least three working phone lines. The landlords are making a killing, they''re charging five quid per minute for the calls. But our guys don''t seem to mind. I looked into The Maiden''s Bum a while ago, and saw at least twenty. The ones that weren''t on the phone were drinking as if there was no tomorrow." Jerry nodded slowly, evaluating this new piece of information. Eventually he said: "That''s good. That''s excellent, in fact. Because I want you to tell them Galway''s where they get off the ship. I want you to say that the damage to the ship has turned out to be pretty serious, and that it won''t be fixed anytime soon, if ever. And that if you do manage to fix it, you''ll be returning straight to New York. Which in fact, you''ll do." "We''re going back? We''re not sailing onward to continental Europe?" "That''s correct." "That''s good news. Just let me get this right: you were saying we can take all the time we want with the repairs?" "That''s correct also." "Wonderful," said captain John Gregson, and drank the remaining contents of his glass. He held it out for more and added: "I can''t wait to see the expressions on the faces of that bunch. They''ve really been getting on my nerves. Why this, why that, why can''t I..." "Same here," said Jerry Hard. "But what if some decide to stay and wait for the ship to be repaired?" "Don''t worry," Jerry said. "I''ll deal with that." He looked into Gregson''s eyes, and raised his glass. He said: "To our new understanding." NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 43 The Value of Money On the first day of February, 2035, a full month into the New Era, a grey-faced Kasper Weinberger was wheeled in a wheelchair into a confidential meeting with Nelson Odongo. Weinberger had set out for the meeting on his own legs, but had collapsed halfway there. He was given oxygen and a couple of injections that instantly jerked him back on his feet. However, he was put in a wheelchair as a precautionary measure. As he was pushed in the wheelchair for his meeting with Odongo, he reflected bitterly that his own personal state reflected the state of the global financial system for which he''d been made responsible. His misadventure resulted in his being late nearly twenty minutes for the meeting, and Odongo had been fuming while waiting for him to show up. Nelson Odongo had appointed himself to the post of Chairman of the new world parliament. His new title officially meant he was simply an organizer and administrator; privately, he felt he was now the leader of the entire world. He was very displeased that Weinberger was late. He thought it showed a lack of respect. But when he saw Weinberger in a wheelchair, his attitude instantly changed. He waved away Weinberger''s apology and expressed deep concern for his health. He did not offer Weinberger the option of resigning his post on grounds of poor health. Nor did he propose that someone else temporarily take over Weinberger''s duties. Odongo had always disliked Weinberger, and that was the reason why he had led the drive to appoint him Finance Minister in the new world government. He knew the task of replacing all existing currencies with a single, global currency based on coinage could mean a shortcut to the grave for Weinberger. That outcome would simply be a just outcome, considering what Weinberger''s International Money Fund had done for Africa. He was still a kind-hearted man, though, and he let Weinberger drink a cup of tea before hitting him with the news. The moment the cup held by Weinberger''s shaky hand clattered down on the saucer for the final time, Odongo said: "We have decided to introduce the new currency earlier than we initially planned. We want to make it the only legal tender as of March first." Weinberger gasped and clutched his heart. He appeared to be in great need of a fresh cup of tea, at the very least. Odongo solicitously poured him one from the teapot. Then he continued: "I know this step is very radical. But I''m sure you''ll agree the old financial system doesn''t work any more. Basically, it has ceased to exist. Attempting to revive it just for the transition to our new currency doesn''t make sense. We might as well jump in at the deep end." "One moment," said Weinberger weakly. "Who is ''we''?" "I beg your pardon?" "You said, ''we''. We decided and so on. Who is ''we''? "Oh, a little informal group of concerned and influential new world parliamentarians. Carlton Brock, Ruslan Grot, and Wang Wei, to name just a few. Of course we''ll put this initiative to the vote, but there is no reason to believe it won''t pass." Weinberger was silent. The three names Odongo had just dropped had plenty of weight. All the members of the new world parliament were supposed to be equal, but of course some were far more equal than others. The three nations they represented - ''nations'' meaning administrative entities, not independent states - were nations that had already started minting the new currency. And Weinberger needed as much of the new currency as possible, preferably yesterday. He said: "But it''s impossible to to have enough of the new money by the first of March! We need trillions to replace the old currencies. We haven''t even fixed the exchange rate." "What exchange rate?" "For the old currencies. I mean people will have to replace the money they have with the new currency. They need to go to a bank, put their old money on the counter, and get new money in exchange. I can''t put it any plainer than that." "We won''t be exchanging any of the existing money for the new currency." "What!?" "As you have observed yourself, it''s impossible. It just can''t be done." "But how are people going to pay for what they need to live?" "We will be simultaneously introducing the minimum guaranteed income we''ve all agreed on." "This is lunacy," gasped Weinberger. "We won''t have enough coinage to pay it out! And anyway, we haven''t determined yet how much it''s supposed to be." "We have. I mean of course we will be voting on it this very afternoon, but you can take it as done." "How much?" "A thousand a month." "A thousand what?" "A thousand whatever. Cents, pennies, kopeks, fens. You name it. They all have exactly the same value: ten grams of aluminum." "But that won''t be enough to buy enough food to survive! And what about other necessary expenses?" "You''re wrong. You''re familiar with the law of demand and supply, aren''t you?" Weinberger was silent for a while. Then he said: "I see. You''re assuming that prices for everything will plunge through the floor." "Of course they will. A meal will cost a couple of cents." "But you still need an enormous amount of coinage. It''s impossible to mint enough in time." "It is." Weinberger didn''t say anything. He stared at Odongo, breathing through his mouth. Odongo said: "First of all, there''s no need to pay each and every adult a thousand coins. It could be a single gold coin. Secondly, everyone will be allowed to mint money. Of course if they do, they won''t be receiving any guaranteed income payments." "What? Who do you mean by everyone?" "I mean every single adult in the world. Of course the coins minted will have to conform to established standards. The value of metal used must correspond to the value stated on the coin. And there must be a list of metals and quantities used on the reverse, along with the name of the mint. The mint itself must be registered at a local government office." "You will be allowing private individuals to make money? It''s insane! The government has to have control of the - " "Kasper, Kasper," Odongo interrupted soothingly, shocking Weinberger into silence with the use of his Christian name. "You''re forgetting something. Something very important. Remember the new tax system? Ultimately, ninety percent of that money is going to find its way into government coffers. To us, in other words." "And how are you going to collect that tax?" "Through tax collectors. We''ll need a lot, I know, but that''s good. We''re going to hit sky-high unemployment, you know that. This will help with that problem." "I can''t imagine myself managing millions of tax collectors." "You won''t be. All that will be handled by local governments. You''ll just have to deal with global issues. And of course you can have as much support staff as you like. After all, you''ll be setting your own budget. You''ll be in total control, Kasper, and it will be much easier than you think." Weinberger sat, breathing heavily and staring into space, for a good minute. Then he said: "You''re going to have global revolution on your hands." "Correction," said Odongo. "We already have a global revolution on our hands. And we have to deal with it, fast. That''s why we''ve formed a new world government, and that''s why we''re introducing a new global currency." "You don''t understand. People will rise up in arms. A hundred new wars will erupt." Odongo sighed. "Kasper, Kasper, Kasper, " he said. "What do you fight wars with?" "Please stop," said Weinberger. "I''m in the wrong frame of mind to engage in talkshow quizzes. Wars are fought with armies, with weapons." "No," Odongo said. "Wars are fought with money. You of all people should know that." "But you just said everyone can mint their own money!" "Exactly," Odongo said. "Oh God," Weinberger said after a pause. "I see it now. This is... This is..." "It''s brilliant," Odongo said. "No one will fight when they could be minting money instead." He smiled at Weinberger. He said: "Would you like some more tea? I''ll have a fresh pot brought in." NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 44 Fried Drive With Video Card Sauce Two floors above Odongo and Weinberger, Carlton Brock was in conference with captain Dick Brody of the NYPD, in charge of security at the UN building. "So you''re absolutely sure none of the emails that went out were any good? Not a single one in nearly two weeks?" "Pretty sure, yes, "said Brody. "All the emails we''ve received were completely garbled. I''ve grilled the electronics guy. He said they busted their asses trying to make those e-mails make sense. He said all the computers around the world located near ground level or above are fucked up." "But they worked! People''s phones worked, too!" "Not quite, sir. Most could be switched on, and had basic functions. But very few people could start applications, and no one could make a call. The whole network is kaput, all over the world. My electronics expert assured me all the satellites orbiting Earth are so much junk. So are all radio transmission masts and cellphone towers. The only electronic equipment that has survived is equipment buried deep underground, and insulated by both lead and concrete." "Well, now no one can say all that money spent on anti-nuclear defenses was wasted," Brock said smugly. "You know, chief, many people have called me many bad names for consistently supporting increases in military funding. And now they''ve been proved a bunch of stupid assholes. But listen, other guys have anti-nuclear underground bunkers and communication networks too. You''re sure the guys we have here can''t communicate with their guys over there?" "That''s what I was told, sir. Security networks immune to nuclear attack are closed networks, for obvious reasons. Local area only. They are not connected to the web." "So those guys can communicate internally like we do, but not internationally?" "Correct." "Jesus, chief," said Carlton Brock. "You don''t know what a relief it is to talk to you. Every time I ask one of my staff a question, they push a fucking file at me. You''re the guy to go to for direct answers. I''ll remember that." "Thank you, sir." "But what about the computers here? They worked! I saw that with my own eyes." "They just appeared to work, sir. And not all of them, either. But every single computer in the world that''s not deep underground and protected by a strong electromagnetic shield has been damaged." Carlton Brock was so happy it seemed to him he had begun to float on air - no mean achievement, given his weight. Dumping all the messengers, the couriers aboard the Great Western, deep in rural Ireland was turning out to be a brilliant move. What was the name of that place? Galway? Fuck that. The important thing was, it was located on the western shore of Ireland. In Europe, but as far from the rest of Europe as you could get. Carlton Brock thought: those fucking freeloaders are fucked now. I''ve won America a three-month head start in the New World. That made it what, thirty months in the New World? Two and a half years! That''s how much the good old US of A was in front. Okay, so maybe there were no more independent nations. But clout was what counted. He would make USA the premier colonizer of the New World. And he would put that asshole Penny through the hoops in the process. What was business without a bit of pleasure? Brock looked at Brody, and beamed. "Chief," he said, "You''ve made my day. What''s the situation in the city, by the way? Do you know?" "I had a report at nine this morning, sir. The situation''s pretty much normalized. I mean we''re getting slightly more than the usual number of felonies, but that''s about all." "Good, good," said Brock. "But everyone needs to brace themselves. There''s a vote this afternoon that could start some serious shit flying." "I see, sir." "Do you? Listen, I really shouldn''t do this, but I''m a guy who returns favors. How many dollars have you got in your wallet?" "I, I don''t know exactly sir. If you let me count - " "No need, no need. This was a rhetorical question. You know what a rhetorical question is, right, chief?" "Yes, sir. I always get a bunch of these at press conferences." "Okay. My advice is, spend every last dollar you have by the end of the month." "I already pretty much have, mister President. I''ve been running on the cash I had for the past month. I have maybe ten bucks left. My wife has maybe twenty." "Tell her to spend it all," said Carlton Brock. Three floors below Odongo and Weinberger and five floors below Brock and Brody, Jean Caron was vainly trying to negotiate concessions from Olaf Troll. Jean Caron had been nominated head of the new Colonial Council in the new world government. He was very happy to to have been offered this job. His previous job, as head of the European Union, had evaporated when then new world government was formed. Everyone agreed that Jean Caron was the right person for the new Colonial Council job for the same reason for which he''d previously been chosen to lead the EU. Jean Caron always agreed with everyone he talked to, even when it meant contradicting himself. He had found it the ideal method to achieve a workable compromise while retaining everyone''s sympathy. But now he was finding it really difficult to agree with Troll. Troll was saying: "This whole colonization venture has no budget, no starting funds. None. You won''t get a salary. None of the governors will get a salary. None of the colonists or colonizers will get a salary. Everyone has to make their own living right from the start. And everyone with a presence in the New World automatically loses their right to guaranteed income. That means colonists and colonizers and governors. That also means you." "I''m all right with that," said Jean Caron. " I can live with that loss. And I''m very happy to hear all my official expenses will be covered. But I also have a family. They -" "You''ll become a very wealthy man, monsieur Caron. You get zero point one percent of gross colonial income." "Yes, I agree that there are distinct possibilities," said the new chief of the Colonial Council. "It''s just that... Governors at all levels - district, region, area - get twenty five percent. One-tenth of a percentage point seems, seems to be -" "That''s one tenth of a percentage point of gross income from all the colonies and administrative centers in the New World. In other words, income from a million sources. A colonizer has one colony. A governor oversees ten, or twenty. You supervise a million, at the very least. There is going to be around a hundred thousand governors alone." "A hundred thousand? A million? Of course! Yes, I see," said Jean Caron with new enthusiasm. "Yes, that is workable, very workable. But... but..." "But?" "What exactly do you mean by income from the colonies? The governors aren''t allowed to tax them." "I''m sorry. I meant from trade with the colonies. It will be immense. To begin with, a colonizer - a person who acquires a license to colonize in the New World, not someone who just has an implant - every colonizer buys basic New World supplies together with the license. Some food, clothes, basic tools, some construction materials. But any extras after that, he has to pay for them. And he''ll need lots of extras. To start with, tools, housewares, luxury articles, maybe also food and alcoholic drinks. Then some seeds and saplings and livestock to get food production going. And so on, and so on, up to expensive items such as optical equipment and machinery and arms." "Arms?" "You can be sure that given all this freedom of action, colonizers will buy a lot of guns. That''s the way it works here, that''s the way it will work over there. The people involved are the same." "Yes, you could be right there. Unfortunately of course, but you could be right." "I am. I am the architect of this system. And I''ve spent many, many years thinking about the perfect, foolproof economic system." "Of course, I understand. You must have put in a lot of work... It sounds very interesting. And you''ve found the perfect economic system? A system that is foolproof?" "Yes. It was very sad. That''s why it took me so long. I just couldn''t agree with the conclusions, not emotionally. It was a process that went on for many years after I''d first thought of the perfect system." "Why?" "Because the perfect, foolproof economic system is based on the premise people are greedy fools." Jean Caron nodded and pursed his lips and creased his forehead and generally looked very thoughtful. Then he said: "I am very appreciative of your honesty, monsieur Troll. Yes, I can see how this would work. People love money, and being in love is so close to being a fool." "So I take it you''re happy with everything?" "Naturally. I''m convinced you''ve provided the best solution possible at the present moment. Of course, it would have been better if we all had more time, could form a special committee to study the problem, and so on. But circumstances, circumstances, ah! - the brutal circumstances." Jean Caron broke to sniff and give Olaf Troll a somewhat heavy look. Then he asked: "Do you have hot water in your room, monsieur Troll?" NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 45 Sunday TV On the afternoon of Friday, February 2nd, Li Yang and the Lees returned from an unsuccessful shopping expedition to find mail in their mailbox. They all got excited. Li Yang was quickest with the mailbox key, and opened it while Harper Lee frowned, and said: "Looks like everyone''s got mail. Even the ghosts from the upper two floors." "I bet it''s a flyer," said Charlene Lee. "Maybe a store has re-opened close by?" "It''s from the mayor''s office," said Li Yang. "It says that TV service will resume on the fourth - that''s this Sunday!" "Give it to me," Harper said, putting out his hand. Li Yang gave it to him without protesting. Harper Lee was expert at interpreting the written word. He unfailingly picked up the faintest nuances. He fully understood what he''d read the moment he read it. He had been explaining a lot of things to both Charlene and Li Yang recently. Thanks to Harper, they now knew what this whole New World thing was about. "You''re right," Harper Lee said to Li Yang. He knew from professional experience that saying ''you''re right'' made an audience think he, Harper, was right. He looked at Charlene. "He''s right," he told her. "But you busted your TV set in the meantime when you tried to turn it on. I told you not to. I told you I heard about people getting their faces blown off. I told you about the fires. You were real lucky, girl." "Lay off," Charlene said dangerously. "Anyway, that''s not really an issue because you didn''t have cable anyway. And it says here it''s cable TV only, channel one on all networks. Sunday, at noon. Special broadcast... blah blah blah... Regular daily program, ten to two... Hey, we''re going to have four hours of TV a day. I mean we could have four hours. But we can''t. No cable." "We can," said Li Yang. They both turned to look at him. "We can," he repeated. "Rose Fogerty had cable. And she sure hasn''t been fooling around with her TV set." "Wow," said Harper. "Wow," said Charlene. "Okay," Harper said briskly. "But let''s agree on something right now. They say they''ll begin transmitting a signal three hours earlier, from nine onward. None of us - none! - touches or even comes close to the TV in Rose''s room before nine on Sunday." "There might be no electricity," Charlene said. "It''s on and off all the time." "Well, then we don''t get to watch TV." They trooped back into the apartment, tired and hungry. They all were almost permanently hungry by now. The communal food supply stored in the kitchen had dwindled to half a dozen cans of beans in tomato sauce and two of meat, some rice and pasta, and a package of dried dates. Li Yang''s private food stash wasn''t much bigger. He had stopped taking food from the kitchen - it just felt wrong, in the circumstances. And it had already become obvious that he was much better at coping with hunger than the Lees. He was lucky to have known hunger from an early age. And his luck was shared by billions of people like him all over the world. Poor African farmers scratching out a living with spade and hoe suddenly became better off than millionaire businessmen, slowly starving in their luxury homes, their pockets full of money that couldn''t buy anything and would soon be declared worthless. Li Yang and the Lees held a serious conference that afternoon. It was obvious that they could survive no longer than a few days more on the food they had. They had all become much thinner than they used to be; the unheated apartment sucked calories out of their bodies like an invisible vacuum. Harper Lee had become the leader of their trio. It had been a natural, automatic process; he always knew what to do before anyone else did, or at least appeared to know. He kicked off the proceedings that afternoon by saying: "I''ve done a lot of talking and listening to various folks. From what I heard, there''s a government outpost already in the New World. They''ve got a full-sized settlement going, with various industries and stuff. And from what I heard, there''s no shortage of food." "You want us to join that settlement?" asked Charlene. "No, no. Remember, all that stuff we''ve stored in the apartment upstairs is illegal. We ought to have turned it over." There was a short, slightly guilty silence as they all thought about their little crime. The police had been round a couple of times to ask if they hadn''t taken any items from the cubes. The three of them had spent an anxious hour carrying all the implant kits, hiber beds and documentation scrolls to the empty apartment above theirs. It was safe there, under lock and key, for it transpired that the key to their own apartment fitted the front door of the apartment upstairs. That was how Charlene had been able to get inside when she was hiding from Rose Fogerty. "So what are you proposing?" Li Yang asked Harper. "I mean, you say we can''t join this government-run settlement. And we can''t survive on our own in the New World. It''s just too cold." "It isn''t," Harper said. "Last week I talked to a guy who told me it''s full-blown summer over there. We are sure to find food, there''s all sorts of wildlife. All we need is build a launch platform from that tiger rock described in the documentation. Then we can send food back here." "Here? It will arrive on the kitchen table, right here? Just like that?" "That might be difficult," Harper agreed. "It might arrive on the roof of the building. Or in the basement for that matter. Which leads me to the next point." He drew a deep breath and said dramatically: "We''ve got to move house. Let''s face it, we''re living here and not paying any rent. Sooner or later someone will show up to straighten this out." "Who? Rose is dead." "Don''t you worry, kid," Harper said to Li Yang. "A piece of real estate property in New York won''t stay without an owner for long. Someone could show up any time. And there''s a second reason for moving. Once we''ve found a good location, we can set up camp in the New World. Preferably far away from this or any other government settlement. Get a settlement of our own going." "That''s illegal," said Li Yang. Harper shrugged. "It''s better than starving to death," he said. "Either way, food will be easier to find in the country. I propose that we hang around until that Sunday broadcast. We''re bound to learn something new then. Maybe they''ll announce a food distribution program or something like that. But if they don''t, we leave on the crack of dawn on Monday. I''m going to get a handcart organized. Just one, so we can''t take much stuff. You''d better start making your minds up what you want to take along." "Where do you want us to go, Harper?" asked Charlene in that dangerous voice of hers that signaled an outburst could be coming. "South. As far south as we can. So that we don''t have to worry about winter, in the New World or here." "We''ll only have food for a few days," said Li Yang. "We''ll have to try and buy some on the way. Fortunately, my clever sister has acquired lots of nice jewelry in the meantime. So we''ll be able to pay for the food." "That''s a really stupid, desperate plan," said Charlene. "You''ve got a better one? Sorry, maybe that''s how I should have started this conversation. So: do you guys have a better plan?" No one spoke for quite a while. "But how are we going to travel, Harper?" Charlene asked finally. "Nothing''s running. There are no buses or trains or airplanes." "We walk," Harper said firmly. "I reckon we can do up to forty kilometers a day. We should get to Chesapeake Bay inside ten days. I got a friend who lives in a tiny place called Fairhaven. Right on the shore of the bay, maybe fifty kilometers from Washington. I''ve been to see him before, and it''s really wild out there. He''s got a little farm going, too. I''m sure he''ll take us in in exchange for a chance to have a crack at the New World himself." "Maybe we should take Bobby and Janice with us," Charlene said, making Harper smile, because what she said meant she agreed to the move. "Could be a good idea," he said. "We''ll have to talk about it some more. Hey Bruce, you got anyone you''d like to take with you?" Li Yang shook his head, and said: "Perhaps we should try to get bicycles. Fix the handcart so that it can be towed." "Nice," said Harper. "But bicycles are kind of hard to come by these days. I''ve put in plenty of time looking for one. You know how much people are asking for a bicycle? Couple of thousand dollars for a clunker with a loose chain and flat tires. How much money have you got?" "Couple of hundred dollars," Li Yang lied. He had a couple of thousand. He had managed to score some cash in the early days following the catastrophe, before the police got its act together and stopped the frenzy of looting that had been taking place. "That''s more than twice than what I''ve got," said Harper Lee. "And Charlene''s got zip. But she has all that jewelry. A nice fur coat, too. That might fetch a good dollar, even though it''s fake." "Fuck off," said Charlene. She got up and left the kitchen with a stony face. Li Yang and Harper Lee looked at each other. Harper could see what was on Li Yang''s mind. He said: "Don''t worry, I''ll have her under control. She won''t be any trouble, and all that stuff she''s got will be a lot of help." "Sure," Li Yang said doubtfully. "Don''t worry," Harper repeated. He got up and added: "And think about whether you''d like Bobby and Janice to come along with us. I''m not taking them if you don''t want me to." "All right," said Li Yang. "See you later." "See you." Li Yang stayed by himself in the kitchen for a while. He blew on his fingers and rubbed his hands to warm them up, thinking about Harper''s plan. He was excited. He had never been out of New York in his entire life. He''d spent all seventeen years of his life in the concrete canyons of the city. Harper had said his friend lived right on the shore of Chesapeake Bay. Maybe there was a beach nearby? He looked around the dark, gloomy, dirty kitchen and sighed. He was going to be glad to be out of this cold, depressing place. It held many sad memories for him. Leaving it would be the start of a new, better life. Two new lives: he would be living a second life in the New World as well. "Yes," he whispered to himself. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 46 The Viking Imperative Sven Holm sat on a big stone in front of the large hut that constituted his home in Svenborg, in the New World, and frowned at the patch of bare earth at his feet. Something was seriously wrong with the crude map he''d drawn in the soil with the point of a stick. Yet he could swear he''d reproduced it fairly faithfully from the map he had examined at the Jokkmokk library, back on Earth. It was very important that he got the map right. A reasonably accurate map was essential to his plan. It was a big plan, an ambitious plan, a plan that was central to Viking presence in the New World. The plan envisaged quick expansion of his empire to the Baltic coast. What were Vikings without the sea, without the ships? A bunch of shepherds, that''s what. Reaching the seacoast was an imperative. Back on Earth, the distance between Jokkmokk and Lulea - an important town on the Baltic coast - was around 170 kilometers. The vast majority of those kilometers could be traveled down the Lula river. He had calculated the whole journey would take a week, maybe two. The Lula river had rapids and waterfalls along then way, and he wasn''t sure how long it would take to carry the raft or the boat they would be using past these. Back on Earth, the Lula river ran not far from Jokkmokk. He had dispatched scouts in the napporiate direction to find it along with a good location for a new settlement. It would be the Vikings'' third settlement in the New World: a river port that would constitute the first step in the conquest of Scandinavia. Sven Holm had quickly worked out the time differential between the two worlds. He was still a young man. He''d just turned twenty eight, and he could expect to live at least another forty years, as long as his life wasn''t terminated by violent means. That translated to four hundred years in the New World. When he thought about that, his head swam. Fuck! That was enough time to conquer far more than just Scandinavia. It was enough to conquer all of Europe, part of Asia, northern Africa, and indeed everything in and around the Mediterranean Sea. Of course, he''d also conquer traditional Viking territories: Iceland, Greenland, eastern Canada. Four hundred years! No, he would conquer ALL of Canada, and the United States. He would own Europe, and he would own North America. That would make his empire the biggest, strongest empire in the whole New World. Founding a settlement on the Lula river was the first step in this ambitious enterprise. But the scouts he had sent out failed to find the river. They were out for a month, traveling a fortnight each way. They should have come across the river. But maybe things were different in the New World. Maybe the river ran a little farther away from Jokkmokk than it did back on Earth. So Sven sent out two more scouting parties simultaneously, assigning them different routes. He gave them plenty of supplies, and all but forbade them to return without finding the Lula river. However, one of the parties had just returned the previous day. They had been away for over three months, long enough to reach the sea and get back if they really moved their asses. They hadn''t found the Lula river. They had found a number of creeks though, some big enough to be navigable by a small boat or raft. The next batch of scouts he sent out would have instructions to explore those creeks, and find out where they led. Most of them would end in the lakes scattered in the area, but there could be one that ran into the Lula river. Where the hell was that river? Was it possible that it didn''t exist at all, in the New World? Impossible! The country around his farm, around Jokkmokk, was faithfully reproduced. True, everything seemed to be more distant, but he''d put it down to the wild countryside. Tearing one''s way through a thick forest or clambering over rocks slowed one down. It meant much slower progress than when walking down a paved road, or across a field. But - Sven frowned. Fucking trees everywhere! It was impossible to obtain a clear view of anything at a larger distance. He looked around him, still frowning. Eva, milking a cow thirty paces away, smiled at him and tried to catch his eye. He looked away from her. He knew she wanted to get laid. Sending out all those scouts meant there was a serious shortage of males in Svenborg. Also, Saltborg - the mining settlement near the salt spring - had required a few extra men: a couple of miners, a smelter, a blacksmith. Apart from Sven, there was only Vidar in Svenborg, and Vidar was infatuated with Kirsten. What a waste! After her infant daughter died, Kirsten had absolutely no interest in sex. In the meantime, there were six other chicks rubbing their legs - well, maybe five, since Lena also wasn''t too keen. She was still nursing her baby boy, Olaf Berg''s son, conceived right at the start of their adventure in the New World. Sven stared gloomily at the lake beside which his settlement had been founded. Autumn had already arrived; pretty soon, it would be getting bitterly cold again. He was really sick of this climate. Back on Earth, he had cheerfully accepted the long winters as an excellent opportunity to stay totally wasted for several months. But that wasn''t possible in the New World. The winters were too cold, and there was no entertainment apart from sex. And the alcohol they''d managed to brew was far too weak to get drunk. They had been restricted to using the wild berries from the forest; the chicks had threatened a revolution if any of the wild honey they''d found was used to make mead. Hot milk with honey could be a lifesaver when the weather turned cold. Sven got up and walked to the lake''s shore, flailing his arms to warm up. Yes, it would be cold soon, very cold. At one point, he''d seriously considered uprooting everyone and traveling to a new location before replicating again in the New World. But the copper, the iron, the gold and silver they''d found made their present location too precious to abandon. That was why he had formulated the plan to expand along the Lula river. Once they''d reached the Baltic and built ships, they would expand and found new settlements further south. As far south as Sicily! It had historically belonged to the Vikings - okay, maybe their Norman successors, but that was pretty much the same thing. A couple of minutes later, Sven reached the shore of the lake and stared at it for a while. Then he turned, and began walking back to his hut. Suddenly he stopped, frowning. He had chosen the site for Svenborg back in the Old World. The lake was three kilometers from his farm, and he had selected a spot around fifty meters from the shore. He had selected that spot because it was also close to a creek that fed the lake; the creek provided excellent drinking water. He had measured the distances himself. There were eighty paces from the chosen spot to the lake''s shore, and just thirty to the creek. But they were much bigger than that in the New World. Several hundred paces in each case. And that was after he had moved the settlement''s site closer to the water. He had put it down to natural differences between the two worlds, but now he had a new thought. A terrifying thought. There already was one big difference in scale between the two worlds: time flowed ten times as fast in the New World, relative to Earth. Could there be a similar difference in sizes? But the documentation clearly stated the New World was an exact copy of Earth! There were the new archipelagos, of course, but the rest was exactly the same! There would be differences - for example, the Lula river wouldn''t feature any of the hydroelectric dams, and maybe its course would be slightly different. But it definitely wouldn''t have been erased from the map, or moved further away! "Fuck," said Sven to himself. He stopped and went back to the shore of the lake and started walking back to his hut, counting the steps. Three hundred and twenty five. And he''d moved the site of the settlement at least that many paces closer to the shore; he knew he did. The location he''d chosen back on Earth was atop a low, wide cliff that stretched in a crescent nearly a quarter of a kilometer long. That cliff was present in the New World, too. It was slightly higher and steeper, but its shape was unmistakable. And it was located around five hundred paces from the settlement. A total of over eight hundred paces between the cliff and the lake''s shore, instead of eighty five! Almost exactly a tenfold difference! "Ten times more," whispered Sven. "Ten times, just like with the time flow." But no! The distance was ten times bigger, while time flowed ten times faster. Suddenly, he understood the riddle and felt sweat break out on his forehead, even though he wasn''t feeling warm at all. There was a rule in Nature: the smaller something was, the shorter its lifespan. And there were other telling differences too. The heart of a mouse beat nearly ten times faster than a human heart. He seemed to remember than a tiny shrew held the record at around 1500 heartbeats per minute. The Vikings of the Old World, all nearly two meters tall, could be as much as ten times smaller in the New World. New World fauna and flora would be scaled down, too. And from what he''d seen, this applied to ground elevation. The hill next to his farm in Jokkmokk was almost exactly like the corresponding hill in the New World - the New World hill WAS noticeably higher, and covered an area that was larger, but not by much. Sven had put it down to natural aging and weathering processes, sped up by centuries of destructive human activity. But the lake was much bigger than the lake back home. He could barely make out the shore across the water; back at home, it was no more than two hundred meters away. Once again, he''d attributed that to the general drying out of lakes and inland seas that climatologists on Earth had been complaining about for at least half a century. Wasn''t the Aral Sea in Asia almost completely gone? All that remained was a muddy puddle. There were fishing ships abandoned all around it, as many as forty kilometers from its current shores; he remembered seeing the photographs, that kind of picture stayed in one''s memory. His head started to ache. He was feeling as if he was about to lose his mind. Tiny Sven, toy Sven among toy trees and toy hills and toy animals. And he had planned to conquer Europe and North America! He had intended to found a settlement on the Baltic shore within a couple of years at the outside! Back on Earth, the distance between Jokkmokk and Lulea was 170 kilometers. It could be exactly the same in the New World, but that would translate into 1,700 kilometers for tiny Sven and his little band of tiny Vikings. And that was why his scouts had failed to find the Lula river. It was there, all right. But ten times as far as he''d thought. What now? What would he tell the others? He had to tell, them, sooner or later. No, first of all he had to sleep on all this. Calm down. Formulate a new plan that would take into account the new circumstances. And most importantly, he would leave all that till the spring. If he told everyone now, they might start deserting him during the coming winter. He was about to enter his hut and lie down when Eva approached him, and touched his arm. "Hello, Sven," she said flirtatiously. He turned and looked at her. He could see that she had washed herself in the meantime. She had washed especially for him. He sighed. "Let''s go inside," he said, and turned to enter the hut. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 47 A California Coronation "Adam!" "What!?" "DON''T mix Dad''s Wallbanger in the shaker. He hates it that way. Just mix it in the glass. And don''t forget a half-slice of orange on the rim. "Karen..." "No! Put the vodka first, then the juice. The vodka is lighter, so it will rise to the top. Stir it lightly. Now sprinkle it with Galliano and DON''T stir it again." "Shut up," hissed Adam. "Jesus! Tell you what: you make your own Martini. I''m not going to make drinks for you people ever again." "Don''t be a crybaby." "Fuck off." Adam Lander stormed out of the kitchen and made his way to the dining room. He walked up to his father seated at the head of the big table, and deposited the full glass on the wine-red leather coaster embossed with gold. "Here you are, Dad," he said. "Thank you," said Kirk Lander. "Is Karen coming?" "She''s fixing herself a drink." Kirk Lander nodded with understanding. He appreciated his daughter''s need for some alcohol in preparation for the conference that was about to begin. Alcohol had helped Kirk a great many times during the course of his political career. He firmly believed that without alcohol, society would simply suffer a seizure. Alcohol was to society what oil was to a running engine: a lubricant that made sure things went on more or less smoothly. He tasted his Wallbanger and smiled: Adam had gotten it right, for once. He raised his glass, looking at everyone seated at the table. In addition to the Lander clan, the assembled personnel included John Vorner - their farmer neighbor. "To us," Kirk said, and sipped. They all grinned and drank. ''To us'' is the perfect toast, thought Kirk. ''To you'' was too ingratiating. ''To myself'' - although sincere, it just couldn''t be done. ''To everyone gathered here'' - too general, he would sound like he didn''t know his audience. ''To us'' was perfect. It established a bond. Karen entered the room bearing a family-sized Martini, mixed in what appeared to be a small salad bowl on a stand. Mixing a drink of that size could require substantial labor. Kirk decided he wouldn''t mention that she''d kept all of them waiting. "Please excuse me," Karen said, and swiftly walked to her chair and sat down. Bernard, Kirk''s younger son, eyed Karen''s drink enviously. At fifteen he was still officially underage, even though he was more adult than most people in almost every respect. He was allowed to drink beer or wine, but not liquor. Not even when it was diluted in a cocktail that had less alcoholic content than wine. Bernard longed to escape the dreary bullshit of yet another family conference. They all ignored him, just because he was the youngest! He wanted to be back in his room, smoking a joint. Kirk said: "As you all know, in a couple of hours I must make an important decision, a final decision on whether to accept the post of governor of Napa County in the New World." He broke off and looked around the table to see whether everyone was appropriately impressed. They were. With the exception of Randy Trueman, who had been toughened up by the Marines, they were all slightly shell-shocked by news from the outside world that had finally begun to filter through. The picture that emerged was that of a world upside down. The United States of America was no longer an independent nation, and neither was any other nation! There would be a new global currency based on coins! It was stupefying. "Of course," continued Kirk, "If I accept this post, graciously offered to me by Carlton Brock - I will not be able to participate in our own New World colonization effort." That was the wrong thing to say. He could see a couple of people, especially Bernard, were pleased to hear that. Well, Bernard had a surprise coming. Kirk smiled at him, and said: "So I''d like all of us to vote on what I should do. Your wishes are of paramount importance to me. If you vote remain, I shall turn down Carlton Brock''s offer. If you vote leave - I will accept it." It was already done and dusted, of course. Kirk Lander didn''t call a vote he was likely to lose. They''d all vote for him to stay; a couple might abstain. And he wanted to stay. He didn''t want to become a cog in the new colonial machine, even though he''d be an important cog. Adam, Randy, his wife Debbie, and John Vorner would all vote for him to remain. Karen and Bernard would abstain. That was how it would pan out. It had been a masterstroke to bring Vorner in on his scheme. There was always a possibility Karen would try to make Randy vote her way. But Vorner''s vote meant that there was no hope of winning against Kirk. He could always count on four votes, including his own. That gave him a majority. And both Karen and Bernard had the smarts to avoid fights they would lose. They''d abstain, motivating their choice by the desire to give Kirk complete freedom of decision. John Vorner had been more than happy to join the Lander New World enterprise. He was a farmer. He was up to his neck in debt. He had been completely ruined by the catastrophe. His farm had collapsed: he couldn''t run it without machinery, and no machinery was working. Kirk'' s offer, accompanied by a indefinite-term half-million dollar loan, had been a lifesaver. He''d eagerly joined Kirk, and proved to be of great help in the recruiting of extra colonists for the New World. They''d recruited nearly forty people over the past two weeks. Most of them were former workers at Vorn''s farm; they''d suddenly found themselves unemployed. They too all received indefinite-term loans from Kirk Lander, although the amounts were naturally much smaller. They''d practically wept with gratitude. They didn''t know what Kirk already knew: that the money would soon become useless, and all debt - public and private - would be cancelled. There was one fly in the ointment that bothered Kirk, if only slightly. He knew that when he turned down the governor''s post, Brock would offer it to the other California senator: Libby Placek. Libby Placek was a left-leaning, middle-aged lesbian who ceaselessly campaigned on the premise that people were fundamentally good and caring and well-meaning even when they behaved badly. Given this horseshit, Kirk had no doubt that his own, private kingdom in the New World would enjoy all the independence it wanted. He tried to imagine Libby Placek operating in New World reality. She was a vegetarian. Presumably, she would refuse to wear animal skin. She was seriously overweight, and the image of her clad in a grass skirt made Kirk grin with delight. "I shall now leave this room," he said, rising from his seat. "I do not want my presence to unduly influence anyone''s vote. I will return after five minutes to cast my own vote." "Dad, wait," Adam said. "Shouldn''t you vote before leaving?" "Like I said, I don''t want to influence anyone''s vote." "But it''s only fair that we know what your wishes are. Whether you want to stay with us, or accept the governor''s post." "My wish is to want what my voters want," Kirk said a little pompously, and left the room. He made his way to his study, and helped himself to a cigar. He frowned, and counted the cigars left in the humidor. Six. And maybe another twenty in the untouched box in his desk drawer. That Vorner was smoking him out of house and home! Kirk had taken to offering John Vorner a cigar each time he wanted his agreement on something. It had a Pavlovian effect, and now Vorner expected a cigar every single time Kirk wanted to talk to him about something. As Kirk puffed on his cigar, he wondered about what was going on in the dining room. There would be some last-minute, fervent canvassing by Karen and Bernard to vote leave. They wouldn''t succeed. Debbie, Adam, and Vorner were staunchly on his side, and Randy could count as well as the next man. He would know the leave vote would lose even if he''d joined it. Another two minutes to go! Kirk allowed himself one long, luxurious draw on his cigar; then he placed it in the ashtray on his desk, and slowly walked back to the dining room. He stopped at the door, listening: but all he heard was silence. After a while, Bernard coughed. Then Karen said something, but her voice was too low for Kirk to make out what she''d said. Exactly five minutes after he''d left, he pressed the handle and entered the dining room. He nodded to everyone - he knew they were all looking at him. He took his seat at the head of the table and looked back at them and smiled his most sincere smile. "So," he said, "Has the jury reached a verdict?" It provoked uneasy grins around the table. Adam said: "What''s your vote, Dad?" "All right," said Kirk, in a tone that suggested he didn''t wish to talk about his own desires, and that doing so constituted a great sacrifice. "I love and cherish you all, you know that. And John here has been a family friend for years. How could you even think I''d want to leave? I vote to remain. Given your wisdom and help, I''ll do my best to guide our colony to prosperity." He glanced around the table, and asked: "So, what''s the tally?" "Five for remain, and two abstentions," said Adam. And they all started clapping, even Bernard and Karen. Kirk rose from his seat, beaming and bowing: they all rose too, continuing to clap. He actually had to raise a hand for them to stop. "I shall now call the President, pardon me, the UN commissioner for the United States, Carlton Brock, and apprise him of my decision," he said. "What will be your title?" asked Karen, a little viciously. "King, of course. Kings were historically elected in progressive nations like, like Holland." "Poland," Karen said. "Of course. I misspoke. And you shall all receive titles and coats of arms consistent with the power you shall wield in your domains." His family had known about his plans for the various titles, but John Vorner seemed a little taken aback. It made sense to start with him. "You, John," said Kirk, "Will take charge of the country stretching from your farm to lake Berryessa. You will be known as Duke of Beryessa. You Randy - you shall found a settlement on the Napa river. We must gain control of the river and secure untrammelled access to San Pablo Bay. Does Duke of San Pablo sound okay to you? You may all change your titles to whatever you like, by the way. These are just proposals. But I think they fit the image of the glorious colony we shall build together." "What about me?" said Adam. "My son! You shall, of course, be known as the Grand Duke of Napa. You shall have your own estate, of course, I have two locations in mind that I would like to discuss with you later. And you, Bernard, will secure our northern border by colonizing the area around Lake Hennessey." "I see I don''t get a title," Karen said. "My dear! Of course you do. You''re the Duchess of San Pablo or whatever Randy and you prefer to be called. Of course Debbie shall stay at my side as the Queen." "The queen of what? California?" Debbie asked. Kirk Lander felt stunned by his wife''s wisdom. He had intended to call himself the King of Napa, but now he saw the King of California was a much better title. Debbie was so smart! Most people didn''t think so, but he did. He didn''t marry her just for her young beauty. "Of course," he said. "The Queen of California." "So that makes you the King of California?" said Karen. "Naturally. And have no fear: within a few years, all of California will be under our control. Or at least a substantial part, including a large stretch of the coast." There was a disbelieving silence, so he added: "We have enough implant kits and hiber beds to build the most powerful colony in the area. And I''m also sure we have in this room an incredible combination of intelligence and talent. A combination that will be very, very difficult to beat." He paused dramatically and then continued, slamming his fist softly down on the table to underline each point: "We have iron. We have horses. We have all sorts of livestock and agricultural plants. And most importantly, we have the will!" "Yes," John Vorner said, and thumped the table too, and all of a sudden they all began clapping. Even Bernard and Karen. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 48 Size Matters "What!?" Carlton Brock stared at general Roy McAdam as if he was defying the general to repeat what he''d just said. But McAdam was not easily intimidated. Unlike many other generals, he had actually seen combat, and taken part in it. He was not intimidated by hostile stares. He said: "It appears everything in the New World is ten times smaller than here on Earth." "They lied to us," Carlton Brock said dramatically. "They lied to us! All that revered ancestors bullshit, all that crap about giving us a new, better, richer, Earth so that we aren''t thrown back into the Stone Age... All lies! Our children, I mean those guys ten thousand years in the future... A bunch of liars! They promised us the Earth, and gave us a fucking peanut." Roy McAdam swallowed a couple of times. It wasn''t easy to explain things to Carlton Brock, but he had to try. He said: "The planet is the same size as our Earth, sir. What I meant is that everything on its surface is actually ten times smaller." "Bullshit," Brock said decisively. "You know something, general? I''ve actually been over there myself. Several times, over the last few days. Everything is the same size as it is here." "It just appears to be that way, sir. Because everything is to scale. Trees, animals, mountains, geographical features - everything is ten times smaller." "But that''s impossible! Impossible! You just said that this new Earth is the same size as ours. How do you know, anyway? How have your guys worked this one out? It''s not like we have all sorts of scientific instruments over there." "It''s a relatively simple exercise in trigonometry, sir. If you want, I can explain - " "No. No. I don''t want to hear it. But... Fuck! That means all of America is the size of Nevada, right? Or something like that." "Well no, sir. Of course we have to look into it some more, but it appears the all the land masses - continents, islands, and so on - are the same size as on Earth. We have plenty of land over there. Even more than we have here - there are those new archipelagos." "But that''s impossible! You''ve just said that all geographical features are scaled down, as well." "Not the size of the land mass, sir. Just mountains, valleys - you get the drift." "I don''t. Listen, general, what you''re saying doesn''t make any sense. That would mean - I mean, look at the Rockies. Massive mountain chain, right? You''re telling me that the Rockies are just a thin row of anthills over there? It''s not true. I''ve been receiving reports from the settlements we''ve been setting up all over the place. And it happens that I''ve just been reading the report from New Denver this morning. The mountains there are as big as the ones we have here. Bigger, if anything." "That''s because of the scale." "Scale! Scale! Fucking nonsense. The Rockies stretch over a vast area, general. What you''re saying implies that this area is ten times smaller over there. General Merton, who''s in charge of New Denver, reports his teams have been exploring around the settlement. It took them forever to travel beyond the peaks around the town." "The consensus is that there are many extra valleys between the peaks, sir. We''ve seen some of that around our New York colony as well. There are extra features in the range of hills west of our New York settlement. What''s more, I''ve heard that the Saudis report their desert isn''t quite the desert they have here. It actually has quite a few rivers flowing through it. There is plenty of sand and rock, but also plenty of oases." "They''re fucking us around. Our own children are fucking us around!" "It seems they''ve done their best to improve on Earth, sir. There are rocks high in valuable mineral content scattered virtually everywhere. There is plenty of extra arable land. There is a vastly improved drinking water supply. Now that we''ve been there for a while, it''s also clear there is a lot of food around, in the wild. Berries and roots and herbs and stuff. I wouldn''t say they''re fucking us around, sir. If anything, what they''ve done is the opposite. They''ve tried to make things as easy as possible for us, sir. For example, there is plenty of wild game, but few predators. My men have to see a wolf or a bear, yet." "Okay. So they''ve engineered this fucking planet of theirs, I mean of ours, to be as easy to colonize as possible. But why the difference in scale? Why? Why would they turn people and trees and everything into midgets?" "I don''t think we have the answer to that, sir. Not now." The answer was provided by the end of the day by no other than the brilliant Olaf Troll. He took part in the meeting of the Colonial Council that took place that afternoon, and listened to the others fight over the significance and consequences of the discovery that everything in the New World - excluding the land mass - was ten times smaller than on Earth. Once the hubbub died down, Troll signaled to Jean Caron, who was chairing the proceedings, that he would like to speak. "I have been listening carefully to everyone here," Troll began, "And I''ve been constantly hearing a single word. That word is ''why''. And in my opinion, the answer is simple, so simple that you, I mean everyone, has overlooked it. It''s easy to overlook something that''s right under our nose. "This scaling down of every thing and everyone in the New World serves the same purpose as the rule that governs inter-dimensional travel and transport between Earth and the New World. You all know we cannot transport goods to the New World. You all know that we cannot transport or replicate anything alive from the New World here on Earth. "Try to imagine what would happen if that restriction didn''t exist. Can you? Because I can. And I''ll tell you: what would happen is that the colonists in the New World would end up invading Earth, and taking it over. Though probably there wouldn''t be much to take over, if a war like that broke out." Olaf Troll paused, and noted with pleasure that some mouths had fallen open, and that everyone was following him very, very closely. He resumed: "The New World has enormous potential, much bigger than our own Earth. It''s obvious by now that it is much richer in resources. Given modern tools, the civilization we''re growing there would easily overtake the one we have on Earth. That''s why we''re being forced to start everything from scratch over there. Replicating or transporting the colonists back to Earth would end in an invasion, and in a war that would destroy our civilization here. "Our children don''t want an Earth destroyed by war. Our children want an Earth that has been rescued from the brink we''ve brought it to. Our children are wise enough to know that given modern weapons in the New World, we would probably end up destroying it in a fight over its resources. There will be plenty of fighting over there as it is, I''m sure. But it will be done with swords and bows and arrows, and maybe muskets and cannon. Not with nuclear warheads. And I suspect that once we''ve developed sufficiently to fully explore the New World, we''ll find that it contains no radioactive materials. No uranium, no plutonium, no resources that would enable the colonists to construct weapons of mass destruction. "Wars are always fought to acquire or exploit new territories. By scaling down everything except the actual size of the land mass, our children have given us ten times as much territory as we have on Earth. There is more than enough land to build thousands, millions of colonies. The New World has been designed for peaceful coexistence. "I''m not so naive as to think our colonists are all going to live in peace. It''s simply against human nature, at least in its present state. I ask you: what do people do for entertainment? They watch movies packed with violence - the more, the better. They play, or at least used to play video games whose common denominator is killing, killing, killing anything and anyone that stands in the way. Thank God for movies and video games! If we hadn''t had them, we would have all killed each other by now. "There is a strong possibility that the colonists in the New World will be able to develop means of traveling to Earth. In my opinion, the resource called timon will be key to developing this ability. Please note that so far, no one has found even a trace of timon in the New World. And we definitely don''t have any here. "I suspect that eventually, we will find timon in the New World. I suspect timon resources may well be hidden in the new archipelagos that contain mesozoic life forms: terrible creatures that act as guardians of this extraordinary resource. But even if New World colonists find and exploit timon resources, and eventually manage to send an army back here, it will be an army of midgets. Easy to defeat even by a bunch of people armed with nothing but rocks and clubs. "Thank you for your attention. I shall now leave you to your deliberations. I''m already late for a meeting with our new minister of finances." And Olaf Troll walked out of the room, leaving a stunned silence behind him. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 49 The Sweet Taste of Glass Amanda Queen stood at the window on the top floor of her house in Seattle, smoking a cigarette and looking down at the kidney-shaped swimming pool that was one of the many luxurious features of her home. And just like the other luxurious features, it was useless, and covered with scum to boot. Life had been getting increasingly difficult, even though there was now limited electric power: just for a few hours a day, and with no more than 200 watts'' worth of lighting or appliances switched on at any time. She was almost out of food. The enormous freezer in the basement below the kitchen had been empty for quite a while; they''d eaten its contents first, fearing that they would spoil because of the power cut. They had subsequently eaten everything else in the house, including the pets they''d taken for replication in the New World. That included the dogs, although souvenirs of their stay at the house remained. She grimaced: from where she stood, she could see several dried dog turds decorating the area around the swimming pool. She would have to hire new help for the house. Jamie Scott, the amiable alcoholic gardener that had taken such excellent care of the grounds, was dead. Amanda had to ride her bike halfway across the city to find that out: the Scotts did not have a stationary phone. His wife, or rather widow, tearfully informed Amanda that Jamie had suffered a heart attack. There had been no ambulance to call for help, no possibility of calling anyone. Amanda had talked to her for a while in an attempt to comfort her. She stopped when the widow confessed Jamie hadn''t actually died of a heart attack. Deprived of his favorite drug, he''d taken to drinking anything with alcoholic content. He had poisoned himself with methylated spirit. The maid that had always kept the interior of the house spotlessly clean had disappeared, too. So did the cook, and the butler who had doubled as the driver of the giant limousine parked in the garage alongside Amanda''s red Ferrari. Now both vehicles were so much junk. Just the other day, Amanda had learned that all vehicles with vehicle data transmitters would remain unusable until further notice. That basically meant nearly all vehicles everywhere, and she had a premonition no further notice would be forthcoming. Vehicle data transmitters had been introduced worldwide a few years earlier in an attempt to control rising crime, and limit energy consumption: countries all over the world had been introducing vehicle-free days to reduce the smog choking city dwellers. There were two transmitters per vehicle, one embedded in the car frame, and one in the chassis: they had been meant to be impossible to remove by any means, and so they were. The transmitters communicated the location of the vehicle via satellite, and had practically eliminated overnight all crimes involving road vehicles. It was possible to instantly immobilize any vehicle by sending a signal to its transmitter, which would then cut all the vehicle''s electric circuits. Destroying the transmitter''s link with the satellite by installing special shields was impossible: the transmitter automatically cut all the circuits when it couldn''t link up. It was very fortunate that all of the Amazons owned bicycles. Without them, thought Amanda, we''d have been well and truly fucked. It was all getting to be too much. It had made her start smoking again. The stores that had been open did not have any food, but they had plenty of cigarettes. She''d bought a couple of cartons, which was met with much derision by her health-conscious bandmates. But all of them were smoking by now, trying to cheat their bodies by the act of putting something in their mouths. They had to find food. There had been promises that the Army would deliver a week''s worth of rations to every household in the city, but that had still not materialized. Amanda fancied that the promised delivery would come pretty late if at all, given all the difficulties with transport. They also had to move their settlement in the New World. There was absolutely no metal ore of any kind in the nascent Empire of Amazonia. And there was a constant stream of new settlers that had to be fought at least once every New World week. That was what today''s meeting was about: moving the settlement. Amanda stubbed out her cigarette, and went downstairs. Sheila and Mary were in the kitchen, trying to make some sort of salad from plants they claimed were edible: the two sisters were committed vegetarians. She had enormous trouble convincing them to at least eat fish in the New World; they resisted valiantly, but their hunger got the better of them after a couple of days on the brink of starvation. They didn''t turn to look at her when she entered the kitchen. They were working with grim determination on the harvest they''d brought in: a mess of last year''s plants and leaves that looked and smelled fit for the compost heap. Amanda turned and left the kitchen without saying anything to them. There just wasn''t anything to say. Her bandmates were all gathered in the dining room. They had broken some of the empty bottles from the liquor cabinet, and were busy licking the sediment off the shards of the bottle that had contained Grand Marnier. Amanda felt a rush of anger. She wouldn''t have minded a taste of something sweet, even if it was just a taste and nothing more. But she controlled herself: it was important that she appeared to be above it all, that she remained the impervious empress with an iron will. "We need to make up our minds about the settlement," she said, walking to the circle of girls seated on the floor around the broken glass. "We have," said Linda, and Amanda noticed there was blood on her lip: she had cut herself licking the shards. "You have. I have. Sharon and Fiona have. But Betty and the Wailing Sisters haven''t. Am I right, Betty?" Amanda had taken to calling Sheila and Mary the Wailing Sisters because of the hysterics they engaged in whenever the Amazons killed a settler during a fight. "I think we should stay on the coast," Betty said stubbornly. "I thought you didn''t like having to fight all the time." "I don''t. But I don''t mind it as much as I used to. And maybe we could change our policy a little. Admit some of those people into our settlement." "There will be no change of policy," Amanda said firmly. "We will expand our settlement by recruiting fresh people once the situation in the city has improved. They will all have been carefully selected by us beforehand. We will not jeopardize our colony by admitting random people into it just because they happened to be there." "But they''ll keep coming," Betty said. "More and more of them, too. You know that." "No they won''t. There will be less and less of them actually, with the cops constantly patrolling the park." "I thought they stopped once the cube was gone." "They didn''t." "Well, other settlers will keep coming," Betty said stubbornly. "You know this as well as I do. It''s a prime spot. Good drinking water, plenty of fish, and lots of wild food in the forest. That''s why we decided to settle there, isn''t it? And that''s why I think we shouldn''t move. We should work out a new policy for dealing with the settlers." "I have," Amanda said. Everyone looked at her expectantly, but she ignored the questioning glances. She said: "Is anyone on guard there, by the way? You guys seem to be totally focused on licking bits of glass." "Chill," said Sharon, a little too impertinently for Amanda''s taste. "My girl and Linda''s are on the ball. But what''s with that new policy of yours? Tell us." "It''s very simple," Amanda said. "Next time we do battle, we don''t bury the bodies. We leave them there. Or, even better, we cut off the heads and mount them on poles around our perimeter. They will make excellent ''no trespassing'' signs." She could see that even Linda was shocked. And Linda was a tough cookie. A New World month earlier, one of the trespassing settlers had wounded her in a fight. He had subsequently went down under the blows of the Amazons that had rushed to help Linda, but he wasn''t killed outright, just seriously wounded. Linda had tortured him to death with her stone knife. Even Amanda was impressed. "I''m not sure I''m up for that," said Fiona. "I''m sure I''m not," said Betty, looking sick. "Well then, maybe you could reconsider your views on moving the settlement," Amanda said sweetly. "But there''s no guarantee it won''t happen again, at whatever new place we choose to settle in." "There are no guarantees, period," said Amanda. "I have an idea," said Sharon. They all looked at her. "I have a cousin that lives, I don''t know, half an hour''s drive out of town. In Skykomish. It''s practically in the mountains. There''s even an old abandoned mine nearby. We could get him on the act, and he would scout out the New World country over there. He''s got a girlfriend and a sister as well. They could sort of set up things for us, and we would have two settlements." "He?" said Amanda, with heavy scorn. ""Okay, he''s a guy, but he''s cool. A sweet guy, really. You could come with me and meet him. Then you can decide." "There is no such thing as a sweet guy," Amanda said. "You of all people should know that." Sharon winced. A few years back, long before the Amazons had formed, she had been in love with a man that had turned out to be a total asshole. It had taken her over a year to get over him. Amanda had been the recipient of many tearful secrets, many weepy confidences: she and Sharon had been friends since primary school. Sharon said: "That''s why you should trust me when I say he''s all right. I''ve got an inbuilt asshole detector." Amanda thought about it for a moment. Maybe this wasn''t such a bad idea. She knew that sooner or later, they''d have to admit some men into the Amazon empire. Men tended to be stronger physically than women. They made good laborers. And she had plans to increase the population of their colony through natural means, too. There was no artificial insemination in the New World. "Okay," she said eventually. "Done. We''ll go to visit your cousin soon. But first, we have to deal with something that''s getting to be a bad, bad problem." She waited for Betty to stop fucking around with a piece of glass that had already been licked clean anyway. When Betty looked at her along with the others, she said what she used to say all the time in the New World: "We have to find some food." NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 50 Death Is Not A Dress Rehearsal The cube from the Pendeltons'' backyard disappeared after a week, and it wasn''t a day too soon. Harold and Gladys were heartily sick of the almost constant presence of the soldiers taking items from the cube. Although they didn''t enter the house, they could be heard and seen coming and going from the backyard almost around the clock. The Ramseys had moved back to their house across the road. Harold and Gladys spent a lot of time at their place. There was a lot of new things to discuss: the new world government, the new currency, the new guaranteed minimum income. Especially the guaranteed minimum income, which would replace the pensions they were receiving. They knew they''d be getting much less money. They also suspected their savings would become next to worthless after the new currency was introduced. They all agreed on one thing: they would be continuing their venture in the New World. They would legalize it though, as soon as a Colonial Office was opened in the Port Douglas town hall. They also made plans to recruit more people into their New World settlement. The Ramseys had a stationary phone, and it started working near the end of January. The Pendeltons did not have any children, but the Ramseys did. One son was in Melbourne, one in Brisbane, and there was also a daughter in Port Darwin. All were married, and all were eager to join their parents in the New World. That was the good news. But the good news had been brought about by bad news: the Ramseys'' children painted a bleak picture of the situation at their end. The big cities had been much more severely affected by the catastrophe than Port Douglas. There was plenty of violence, there were plenty of people going hungry, there was plenty of misery. Port Douglas seemed bucolic by comparison. But things were getting increasingly grim in Port Douglas, too. By the end of January, both the Pendeltons and the Ramseys had eaten all the food they had. They mounted two exhausting expeditions to the town center which brought meager results: a five-kilo sack of rice, a bag of apples, and a few cans of processed meat that, at another time, they would have considered unfit for consumption. They were lucky to get that. The store shelves were bare. But the owner had known them for a very long time; they had spent literally tens of thousands of dollars in his store. So he shared his own secret hoard of food with them, charging triple prices. They were somewhat reassured by the strong army presence in Port Douglas. A full company of soldiers was now permanently stationed there, with armed troops patrolling the streets. There was no trouble, no violence. But there also was no electric power, and no water except for the two wells that had been hastily dug by the soldiers. The army distributed a bucket of water per household every day. It was barely enough water to drink, let alone wash. At the beginning of February, a convoy of army vehicles appeared in town. It consisted of trucks loaded with military rations and medical field kits. The Ramseys and the Pendeltons both received a week''s worth of food rations and a field kit each. There had been great joy when the army trucks arrived, and not only because of the supplies they''d brought. The column of moving vehicles was like a symbol of normalcy. People greeted the soldiers driving them as if they were liberating the town from a cruel occupation. However, the enthusiasm was short-lived. It quickly became apparent that before things got better, they must first get a good deal worse. The trucks departed loaded with all the items that had been taken from the cube in the Pendeltons'' backyard. The week that followed was especially harsh. The sun beat down from a cloudless sky, and it was unbearably hot. Everyone ate and did as little as they could. Everyone did all they could just to survive till the next day. And the next day. And the next. "We can''t go on like this," Harold said to Dave Ramsey one morning. They had just finished taking stock of their remaining food. They calculated they had five days'' worth: with extra discipline, they might make them stretch for a week. "No," Dave Ramsey agreed. "We can''t. Things cannot go on like this, in general. Know what Sean told me?" Sean was Dave''s son who lived in Melbourne. He was a doctor like his father. Harold shrugged. "Nothing good, I suppose," he said. "Well, there was some good news, actually. They have water running again, and electricity''s on for a couple of hours every day. But there are over a hundred suicides daily, and the number is growing. And more and more people are dying from other causes, too. I''ve told you he works at the Royal Melbourne Hospital. They''re chock-full, they just can''t admit any more people. So people are camping on the hospital grounds, and every morning a couple of medical teams run a quick inspection and take away at least half a dozen bodies." "When is he coming over?" "As soon as he has the means to. His wife is a nurse, and she wants to leave as soon as possible, as well. They have two children, boy and girl, four and six years old. They''re all constantly hungry." "But how are they going to get here? The only vehicles that are running belong to the military and the police." "The trains are supposed to be running soon." "The trains? They won''t get further than Townsville. And that''s a long way from here." "We''ll think of something. I''ve been talking to the secretary of the Cairns Riding Club. I''d treated him for an embarrassing little ailment a long while ago, but he''s grateful for to this day. For the treatment - and for my discretion." "Ah. He''d been naughty, had he?" "I would say so. Can''t say more. Have to keep that kind stuff confidential." "Of course. Well, what did this grateful secretary of yours have to say?" "They''re putting all those horses they have in their stables to good use. They''ve even started a coach service, can you believe it? It''s like we''re back in the eighteenth century. He was pretty pleased about that, actually. Said they were making stacks of money. I wonder what he''ll do with all that money when they introduce the new currency." "Is that someone knocking on your front door?" "I''ll let Susan handle it. So what are we eating today? Green peas or corn? Peas would be better, but we''ve only got three cans left. And there are five of corn." "Let''s go with corn. It''s more filling." "Maybe that''s exactly why we should leave it for later." Harold sighed. "I suppose you''re right," he said. When they left the pantry to carry the day''s food into the kitchen, an excited Susan Ramsey pounced on them waving a handbill. "You won''t believe what''s happening," she said. "First things first," said Dave. "Who was that?" "The soldiers delivering the water. They said it''s the last delivery we get," his wife said, looking mischievous. "And that makes you happy?" "Yes. Because we''re going to have water running again within the next twelve hours. So they said. And power will be back on any day." "That is very good news," said Harold with deep feeling. "Where''s Gladys? I have to tell her." "She already knows. She''s gone back to your house to fetch a couple of implant kits and hiber beds." "What? She''s going to get us arrested!" "We''ve decided - me and Gladys have decided to reincarnate ourselves in the New World. We''ll hide the implants in our hair. Sorry you can''t do the same," said Susan Ramsey, looking at her husband''s bald pate. "No, no, no," said Harold. "We''re going to do exactly what we''ve agreed to do. Wait till they open a Colonial Office, buy licenses to colonize, and return to the New World only then." "He''s right," Dave Ramsey said to his wife. "Off you go, Harold. Sorry I won''t accompany you, but we''ll get going on the food in the meantime. As you know, it''s a long and complicated process." Harold nodded. Preparing a meal involved lighting a fire in the Ramseys'' backyard. The rice took forever to cook even when they''d soaked it in water beforehand. "All right," he said. "I''ll be back soon. As so will Gladys." He left the Ramseys'' house and as he was crossing the road, he saw there was activity down the street. He stopped to have a good look when he saw it was centered around the renters'' house. Soldiers were carrying stretchers out of the house. And the bodies on the stretchers were encased in body bags. He felt his heart miss a beat. They were dead! They were dead for real! Dave and himself hadn''t just killed the renters in the New World. They had killed the originals on Earth, too! He was aghast at this. Gladys hadn''t been killed by the renters; it was only her second self that had died in the New World. He had to find what had happened to the renters. He walked up to the soldiers, who were rather unceremoniously dumping the body bags onto the two handcarts parked in front of the renters'' house. There was a solitary soldier standing nearby, monitoring the loading of the carts. He had a a couple of chevrons on his sleeve and looked tired and angry and slightly sick, as if he was about to throw up. "Excuse me, corporal," said Harold. "I live just a few houses down the street. Can you tell me what happened here?" The soldier looked at him angrily. "The people who lived in that house are dead," he said. "Have been dead for some time." "Oh God," Harold said. "Oh my God. If we had only known - " "What are you talking about?" the corporal asked sharply. Harold recovered quickly. "We''re neighbors," he said. "We could have helped them, but we didn''t know. We had no idea they were sick. Really. We - " "Relax, grandpa," said the corporal. "Don''t worry about all that. They overdosed on drugs. Bunch of fucking junkies." "I see," Harold said. He turned away and began walking home, head hung low. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 51 The New New York "Looks good," Carlton Brock said. "Yes," said general Roy McAdam with visible pride. "What''s more, it will soon look even better. By spring, we''ll be making thousands of bricks per day. Didn''t manage to get the brickworks completed this year, because the lumber mill was a priority." "Mmm," said Carlton Brock. "Spring... It''s not winter yet." "Spring is only a couple of weeks of Earth time away, sir. By the time spring arrives back in the World, we''ll have a real town here. With solid brick housing, paved streets, and a proper sewage system." "It doesn''t look bad right now," said Brock. The two men were standing on the platform of one of the four watchtowers that had been erected around the settlement. They were dressed in brown leather suits and leather hats. Brock had refused to replicate in the New World until a full suit of clothes had been prepared for him. Officially, the watchtowers were meant to protect the nascent town from unexpected dangers. In reality, they were used to keep tabs on the multinational crowd of delegates from various countries Brock had been forced to allow into the settlement. When a watchtower sentry spotted a foreign colonist or colonists stray too far from town, a team of soldiers on horseback was instantly dispatched for an interception. The foreign colonists were politely but firmly induced into turning back, and returning home. They were told this was for their own good. There were lots of unknown dangers lurking beyond the immediate neighborhood of the settlement. And general McAdam, the governor of the town, was personally responsible for the safety of its inhabitants. All this heart-warming concern for the well-being of the foreign colonists was motivated by other reasons. Some distance from the settlement, the American inhabitants of New York had already erected several installations that they wished to hide from foreign eyes. The big launch platform completed in the early days of the settlement was one of those. It was a visit to the platform the previous day that had finally convinced Brock of the differences in scale between the two worlds. It took two hours on horseback to get there. Back in old New York, it took twenty minutes of brisk walking to reach the receiving port in Central Park. Initially, everyone had thought this was due to geographical differences between the two worlds. At first, Brock regretted that New World''s New York had been established by soldiers that had replicated in the underground staff room in the United Nations building. He would have preferred a location free from meddling by foreign heads of state. However, that room had since become an official launching pad for new colonists. This meant that the two New Yorks were unquestionably the capitals of their respective worlds, which pleased Brock. He was also very pleased by the fact that he already had a settlement going in every US state capital and major city - around a hundred, all in all. And that he had just been appointed governor of the United States territory in the New World. And that it had all been his own idea. An Earth day earlier, he had proposed that UN commissioners for former nation states act as governors of corresponding territories in the New World. He also proposed to do away with all this ''commissioner'' bullshit. It reeked of a soulless, inefficient bureaucracy, he''d said. The United Nations were the new government, weren''t they? So the people appointed to supervise former nation states should be called governors. His proposals were enthusiastically voted through by the new parliament, composed of the former heads of state that now became governors in both worlds. The New World governorships promised to be very lucrative. A tenth of a single percentage point of profit from an entire territory containing thousands of colonies promised immense wealth. Correction, thought Brock, gazing with unseeing eyes at the panorama from the watchtower. There would be literally millions of colonies. Because there was ten times more space due to the difference in scale. Refocusing his eyes on the landscape, he looked around and frowned. "Roy," he said. "I can see smoke to the left." "To the south?" "To the left." "Right, right," said general McAdam. "Left!" "I meant right, I got it, it''s to the left. Yes, I can see it too. That''s the shipyard. We got sixty people there, a whole village." "The shipyard was supposed to be ket secret." "It is." "But I can see it. I mean, I can see its smoke." "That''s because we are twenty feet above ground level, sir." "You mean those foreign assholes can''t see it? What if they climb a watchtower?" "No one is allowed on the watchtowers except the military and the government." "You''d better keep an close eye on all those foreign guys," Brock said darkly. "I don''t trust them. I think they''re a bunch of spies. They want to find out how we do things over here so that they can copy everything over there. It''s the same old story. America, the mother of innovation, invention, and progress getting gang-banged by a bunch of thieving bandits." "Yes, sir." "I mean, just look at this. There, right where I''m pointing now. Look at the that launch platform we''ve built for those assholes. There''s a lineup around the fucking block." "We''re allowing all colonists to make one personal transfer a day, sir. That platform is meant for all the inhabitants of the settlement. Most of them are sending food." "I saw a guy send a pot," Brock said. "One of those beautiful copper pots your guys have been making." "It was probably full of food." "Well, the pot went, too. They can examine it, and tell the guys in their own colonies to copy it." "That''s true." "Is there any beer left? I mean real beer, not that horrible kumis stuff." "Yes, sir. I''ve reserved a dozen barrels as government stock. But we''ll have to drink it in my office at the town hall." "Any chance of getting some food, too?" "Of course. I''ll have some sent up from the canteen." "Excellent." "After you, sir." Brock climbed down the ladder to the platform, and stepped aside. The soldier at the foot of the ladder automatically stood at attention. Brock looked at him, pursing his lips. Like the general and himself, the soldier was dressed in a suit of leather, though of noticeably worse quality. There was a small ax stuck behind his belt, and a rather large, wooden whistle hanging from a leather thongs around his neck. "At ease," said McAdam, stepping off the last rung of the ladder. He and Brock walked off in the direction of the settlement, talking quietly. The soldier watched them go for a while, then climbed the ladder: he was on duty until four in the afternoon. His name was Ed Nanni, and he was an army private in both worlds. At this moment, his original back on Earth was sleeping soundly in the barracks of an army base in New Jersey. Ed Nanni hoped his wife in New York had collected what he''d sent her earlier that day: two eggs, a smoked chicken drumstick, a couple of carrots, and a cob of corn. Things were increasingly grim at home. There was absolutely no food to be bought anywhere. They were surviving on his army rations, and what food he could send during his three-day stints in the New World. Thank God they didn''t have children! His wife''s brother in New York had two. He used to have four, until fairly recently. Flu had killed one, and diarrhea another. And there was another problem. Ed''s wife was beginning to look like a movie extra in one of those films about zombies. It didn''t do much for their sexual relationship. He was kinda happy to be confined to the barracks at the New Jersey base. He was also happy to have a fling going with Corporal Janice Wilkinson in the general''s office, in the New World. Thanks to her, he was enjoying several benefits. Corporal Wilkinson was the general''s administrative assistant. In addition to providing him with sex, she frequently took some food from the general''s quarters, and gave some to Nanni. She was a great, warm-hearted girl, and best of all his wife would never know. It just wasn''t possible. There was only one bad note in all this: Ed Nanni didn''t like the way Janice bossed him around in the bedroom. He thought it was the Army''s fault, though maybe she was also subconsciously influenced by wearing all this leather. They had made her a corporal, and he was a private. The rank thing kind of seeped into relationships. Well, he was going to change the balance of power soon. He''d been promised promotion by the captain commanding his company. Once I''m sergeant I''ll show her who is the boss, Ed Nanni thought. Once I''m sergeant I''ll fuck her so hard she''ll be pleading for mercy. Smiling to his thoughts, he resumed watching out for curious foreign colonists embarking on unauthorized exploration journeys. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 52 Marooned! Rafi Susanto and Gabriel Cruz sat side by side on beach and looked at the ocean, well out of earshot of the others. They were talking in soft voices, just to be on the safe side. They''d spent a full month on the island, and they looked it. They were dirty - washing in the thin stream of brackish water they''d found was highly problematical. They had both lost weight - Cruz was happy with that because he''d been seriously overweight, but Susanto wasn''t. Their clothes were stained and torn, here and there. They had haggard faces and bloodshot eyes, constantly irritated by the salty ocean air. Although they''d kept watch around the clock, they hadn''t spotted a single passing ship, a single aircraft. A three-man team of sailors from the Golden Dawn had been dispatched to the island''s southern coast a week earlier with a supply of food, binoculars, a flare gun, and a dozen flares. They were to keep their eyes peeled for a boat from Adamstown on Pitcairn Island, just over a hundred kilometers to the southwest. Gabriel Cruz had argued for moving the camp to the southern shore of their island, Henderson Island, many times. But Susanto successfully opposed that move, pointing out that his grounded ship, the Golden Dawn, contained plenty of stores and equipment that might yet prove useful. As of the previous day, that argument became null and void. The tide had finally dragged the Golden Dawn out into the ocean. Not very far: parts of it superstructure were still visible above water at low tide. But it had definitely ended its life as a supply depot. Its loss hadn''t been the tragedy it might have been for its stranded passengers and crew: all food, water, and alcohol supplies that had been already taken off the doomed ship. What was far worse was that those supplies had dwindled alarmingly. Cruz and Susanto estimated that they would be gone within a week. After all, there were eighteen mouths to feed. "We have to move camp to the southern shore, Rafi," said Cruz. Susanto shot him a quick glance. Cruz was staring at the ocean, his mouth set in a bitter, disappointed line. He added: "Or maybe it''s time we sent out our boat to Pitcairn. There''s a northwestern wind. The boat already has a mast. I know it''s small and intended for the emergency beacon, but we could still rig a sail. Half a dozen men would be enough to man the oars around the clock. For a couple of days, anyway. And we won''t need more than a couple of days to reach Adamstown." "Not with eighteen people aboard." "I''m not saying we should all go. What I have in mind is sending an expedition that will bring help. Six of the strongest oarsmen in your crew, and one of us. The rest stays here." "I don''t know," said Susanto. "If something happens to the boat... There is no guarantee of success, right? You saw the map. You know Pitcairn is less than half the size of our island. It''s easy to miss it. And then the next landfall is on the fucking Antarctic." "We have navigational instruments." "Yeah. Instruments that no one knows how to use properly." "I''m not talking about the sextant. We''ve got a compass, haven''t we? In fact we''ve got two. All we need is to set a course, and stick to it. Even if we miss Pitcairn by a short distance, we should still at least see it." "Unless we pass it at night, and there''s a storm," Susanto said darkly. "There is no other option, Rafi. I know it and you know it." "What about all that stuff?" asked Susanto, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. They both turned their heads to look at the huge mound of items taken from the cube. There were exactly sixty one thousand of them: fifty thousand timon implant kits, ten thousand hiber beds, and a thousand documentation scrolls. They''d stopped taking items from the cube a week earlier. They''d both become convinced the cube could dispense an unlimited amount. It still stood there, just a few steps from their camp. It continued to glow softly even in bright sunlight. "We''ll leave everything as is," said Cruz. "There''s no sense carrying it all across the island. The cube can''t be moved, anyway. We''ll just return here when we''ve straightened out our own situation." "What if the cube is gone by then? And someone comes along and takes all this stuff that we''ve unloaded? It took days, Gabriel." "It seems unlikely someone will, as you put it, come along and take anything at all. We haven''t seen anyone come along for a whole month, haven''t we?" "Gabriel, we can''t risk anyone else discovering the cube. Because if they do, they''ll replicate in the New World just like we did. They will find gold just as we did. And they will find timon just like you did. And it seems to me that in the very near future timon will be much more precious than gold." "They''ll also find that the place is full of dinosaurs and other interesting, man-eating fauna. Just like we did. And give it a rest, just like we did." "You don''t want to go there again?" "Of course I want to go there again. But much, much better prepared. It would also be a good idea to try a different spot for replication." "But you found timon and gold on that hill right next to the beach on which we''d replicated." "It will be present elsewhere, I''m sure. It seems that this island is huge in the New World. And finding timon and gold isn''t enough. We have to find that stone called tiger rock, too. I hadn''t seen any." "Neither have I. But maybe we didn''t look hard enough. It was difficult, with all these, with all these distractions." Cruz laughed. "Distractions is right," he said. They fell silent for a while; they were both thinking about their last visit to the New World. It was the first time they''d gone together, with eight crewmen from the Golden Dawn. Susanto wanted to see with his own eyes the timon deposit Cruz claimed to have found. The expedition turned into disaster almost instantly. They replicated on the now-familiar beach to see several man-sized dinosaurs feasting on the carcass of a sea serpent of some kind. The dinosaurs immediately took interest in the new arrivals. A couple interrupted their feast and came after them. After the first two crewmen were killed, Susanto''s mate - who had been left behind to supervise the sleeping members of the expedition - woke all of them up, and removed the implants. They decided to stay away from the New World until they assembled a big team of specialists capable of dealing with its dangers. Susanto didn''t even get to see any timon. He had to take Cruz''s word for it. Cruz claimed to have walked around the whole hill, and to have found a cave whose walls were literally made of timon. Susanto sighed and said: "I think the others are getting restless." Cruz turned around and looked at the crewmen and the whores gathered in the camp they''d set up. He saw many faces expectantly turned in his direction. He said: "You''re right, Rafi. We''ve been talking here for a while. It''s time we told them what we''ve decided." "And what have we decided?" "To send the boat to Adamstown." Susanto was silent. Cruz got up and brushed the sand off his legs. "Come on, Rafi," he said. "You know we have to move our camp to the southern shore, and send the boat. We don''t have any other options." "Okay," said Susanto. "Okay." He got up and looked at Cruz and said: "But who is going to go? And who is going to stay?" "I thought you would go. After all, those sailors are your crew, not mine." Susanto swallowed. He didn''t want to embark on a dangerous journey in a lifeboat to a tiny speck of an island over a hundred kilometers away. There was drinking water on Henderson Island, even if tainted with salt. There were coconuts. There were plenty of fish. Sooner or later, someone would come along. "I think we should have a draw, just like we did before the first trip to the New World," he said. Cruz shrugged. "Fine," he said. "Shall we talk to the others first? They really are getting impatient." It was true. Some of the crewmen had got up from their seats, looking at Cruz and Susanto. Even one of the whores had gotten up, and that was something. The whores seemed to feel best when sitting or lying down. Susanto waved a hand to indicate he and Cruz would be along soon. Then he turned to Cruz and said: "Let''s do it." They took a while selecting the right pebble from the beach. Susanto insisted it must look good. Somewhere deep in his mind, a Stone Age instinct had come awake. It insisted that he should use a nice stone for the magic ritual. Finally Cruz found a nice, small stone. It was reddish on one side, and greenish on the other. Susanto would have preferred something uniformly white or grey or black, but couldn''t see anything suitable. Cruz held the pebble in the first draw - the draw that determined who would hold it for the second, decisive draw. Susanto pointed to the hand that was empty, which meant Cruz would hold the pebble for the second draw. The previous time, Cruz had also won the first draw and got to hold the pebble. But on the second draw, Susanto pointed to the empty hand, and it was Cruz that had led their first expedition to the New World. Susanto felt dread. The odds of that particular sequence taking place again were too small for his liking. It was very likely that he would pick the stone in the second draw. He didn''t. Just like before, he pointed to the empty hand. Cruz smiled. "Looks like you''re staying behind again, Rafi," he said. "Come on, let''s tell the others." NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 53 A Girl For Sale During the four New World months that followed Samir''s encounter with Madan, a lot of changes took place. After Madan and his wife Kali visited Samir''s settlement and met Rani, it was quickly decided that they would move there. The reason for this was the abundance of fish in the creek. Madan and Kali had enough food, including fish, to eat well where they''d settled. But they needed to catch much more than they ate, because things were becoming more and more grim in the Old World. The small improvements that had taken place, such as partial restoration of water and electricity supply, were more than offset by scarcity of food. And although government offices and some schools resumed functioning, most of the private businesses didn''t. This included the logistics center where Samir and Rani used to work. Even the watchman wasn''t there any more. When Samir had failed to find the watchman on his consecutive visit, it became obvious that both he and Rani had lost their jobs. They increased the amount of food sent from the New World; each day, Rani set out on the long journey to the open-air market to sell some. And each day, she sold everything she''d brought within minutes. A trader that arrived at the market with food to sell was immediately besieged by customers. Whatever he brought was sold in an instant. Prices were bordering on the ridiculous. Rani got a hundred rupees for a single mango, and a thousand for a kilo of fish. This was even though Mumbai''s waterfront was thick with people trying their hand at fishing, and some of them sold the fish they''d caught in Mumbai''s markets. Rani spent the money she earned wisely. She bought a couple of extra tanks of gas for the stove. She bought kerosene, candles, and matches, and she''d even managed to get a two-liter can of cooking oil. She''d also bought packets of seeds for a variety of vegetables: being in great demand, these were particularly expensive. By that time, everyone in Mumbai was growing food. Whole families shared a single room in their houses and apartments, while the remaining rooms were taken up by soil-filled containers in which they grew vegetables and other edible plants. The four of them - Samir, Rani, Madan, and Kali - now survived solely on food sent from the New World. They had enough not to go hungry, although their diet was monotonous. Fish, air potatoes, wild greens, mangoes, coconuts, goat milk and cheese: that was all they had initially. Madan had managed to obtain some rice seedlings, and they replicated a few in the New World. Only a few, because it had become obvious they would quickly run out of the single-use timon implant kits if they didn''t use them sparingly. The four of them had around sixty kits left, and at least a hundred ideas of how to put them to good use. They also kept an eye out for potential recruits into their colony in the New World. They''d all agreed they would legalize their status the moment Colonial Offices began to function, and then set about growing the population of their little colony. According to the government, that would happen on the first of March. However, there was no information about the cost of a colonial license. The only thing they''d managed to confirm was that colonial license owners would automatically lose the right receive the new guaranteed minimum income payments. But no one knew when the guaranteed income scheme would take effect, or what would be the amount paid out. Samir, Rani, Madan, and Kali were now all spending the majority of their time in the New World. Their little colony was increasingly prosperous. It also had new tools, thanks to Madan. He''d made knives of hard-baked clay that were much sharper than the crude stone blades they''d been using until then. He also made a few handfuls of small, sharp arrowheads, and within a couple of weeks all of them had serviceable bows. They also had a couple of nets that made catching fish amazingly easy. They had big, strong baskets and string bags for carrying harvested food, and all the basic agricultural tools: spades, hoes, rakes. They lived in spacious huts with floors of thick ceramic tiles and walls of mud-brick. Separate huts were built for storage, and for the communal kitchen that had an oven in addition to a brick fireplace. Their little goat herd was about to increase: a couple of the does were pregnant. And by the time their third month in the New World drew to a close, it became apparent both Rani and Kali were pregnant, too. Kali knew enough about midwifery to ensure a happy ending for the pregnancies. But the presence of babies would mean she and Rani wouldn''t be able to work for a while. It put extra stress on the importance of finding reliable recruits for their colony. But Samir was adamant that they shouldn''t even think about it until they''d obtained a colonial license. "It won''t take long," he argued. "I''m sure they''ll have the system up and running within a couple of months. The government is already setting up settlements in the New World. They are calling them administrative centers." "I heard them called state capitals," Madan said. "You heard them called wrong. They might function as capitals in the sense that they will be bigger and better developed than any privately-held settlements. I understand that they are to function as regional centers of trade. But all the settlements founded by individuals like you and me are to be considered independent colonies. It will be up to us how we run ours. We won''t have a governor over our heads telling us what to do." Madan shook his head when he heard that. "We might end up with someone telling us what to do anyway," he said. "I told you about the experiences we had back in Khalapur. We really must look into recruiting more people right away. There''s safety in numbers." "We have to get the licenses first. It really won''t take longer than a couple of months." "A couple of months here is over a year and a half in the New World." "I know. But we can''t afford the risks involved. Our own little colony is illegal, you know that. Bringing in extra people increases the chance we''ll be found out. We must keep it all our own little secret until everything is legal and aboveboard." But just a couple of Old World days later, Samir''s hand was forced. When Rani arrived at the market with a basket full of fish, she noticed that there were more people around than usual, and that some of them had brought children with them. This was against an unwritten rule of the market. Children often stole food, out of hunger or because they''d been instructed to do so. They weren''t allowed inside the market apart from exceptional cases such as an older child helping a frail parent or grandparent. But on this day, some of the children present were much too small to help anyone. Rani saw a boy that was barely bigger than a toddler. He was standing by his mother''s hand, holding her hand while she looked around with eyes that were wild with grief, and occasionally stopped passing people to talk to them. Rani''s fish were gone inside five minutes. She had collected nearly three thousand rupees for a couple of dozen of small fish. She spent some time cleaning the fish scales from the basket and was about to go home when a woman with a girl in her early teens stopped by her and said: "You look like a good person, a good woman. Please don''t go. Please listen to me." Rani looked at the woman and the girl. They were both thin and looked tired. It was that special tired look that wasn''t caused by labor but by hunger. She wished she hadn''t sold all her fish. "I''ve got no fish left," she told the woman. "If you promise to be here tomorrow, I''ll keep a couple just for you." "It''s not about the fish. It is..." She broke off and for a moment it seemed she would start crying. But she recovered control and said, glancing at the girl by her side: "This is Amrita. She is a good girl. She is obedient and hard-working. Will you please take care of her for me? At least for a month or two. I have two other children. They are younger than her. And we don''t have enough food. You have enough food to sell some in the market. Please. Can you help me? Can you take care of Amrita for me? She will help you with anything you want." Rani was shocked. She didn''t know what to say. To buy herself some time, she asked: "You really don''t have anyone else to help you out? A relative, or a neighbor? I and my husband live a long way from here. It will take you half a day every time you want to see her." "I''m not going to sell my daughter," the woman said and started to cry. "Sell her? What are you talking about?" "Many people are selling their children to people who promise to feed them. But I can''t sell my child. All I am asking is that you take her in for a while. You have enough food, and you are a good person. I can see that." And so, when Samir woke up that evening, he found that his Old World household had increased by one. He was upset initially. But after he''d listened to Rani''s story, he calmed down. He was silent for a moment after Rani had finished speaking, and looked at Amrita and smiled at her for the first time. She shyly smiled back, and looked down at the ground. Samir turned to Rani and said: "How long did you agree to take her for? Three months?" "I promised three months. We can keep her for a longer time if we like. I''m sorry, Samir. I shouldn''t have done it without talking to you first. But I had to decide there and then. And the poor girl was so hungry!" "You gave her something to eat?" "Yes, I cooked a good meal and we both ate. I''ve left you plenty. You want to eat right now?" "Just a moment," Samir said. "Three or four months. Yes, we can manage that. We can work it out. But I need to bring an extra mat from the room upstairs." He looked at the girl again. She really seemed nice. Rani had said that she was well-behaved and conscientious. If this was true, she could be very useful. The vegetables he''d planted in the field outside their house needed care. And when Kali and Rani became busy with their babies in the New World, he could really use someone to help run the colony. Amrita was sure to make a good goatherd. And she wouldn''t run around telling everyone in Mumbai about it. The only problem that Samir could see was convincing Rani to his plan. He''d wait a couple of days; it would be easier after Amrita had been with them for a little while. He felt the girl''s gaze on him and looked at her and saw that she was smiling. She was pleased to hear that she''d be able to stay with him and Rani. He said: "Welcome, Amrita. Make yourself at home. I am happy to have you here. Let me get you your sleeping mat. Is it all right if you sleep in that corner over there?" NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 54 Food for Though Li Yang and Harper and Charlene Lee stood in the block-long lineup to collect food distributed out of the army truck parked at the end of their street. It was an unseasonably warm day: it was warmer out, with the sun shining, than it was inside their apartment. But one of the things they''d learned while standing in the lineup was that heating would soon be switched back on for a few hours every day. Almost everyone in the lineup was talking about the news they''d heard on TV on Sunday - the day before. And almost everyone was speculating on the amount that would be paid out under the new guaranteed income program. The general view was rather pessimistic. "Those assholes will take any chance to rip us off," said a tall black man in a red beanie and black windcheater. He stood just a couple of people down the line from Li Yang and the Lees, and they heard every word he said. There was a murmur of agreement from people around him. Emboldened, he continued: "We''ll be lucky if they match what they used to pay in welfare. And y''all heard about everyone switching to the new currency. They''ll use that switch to rip us off even more, you''d better believe it." "But they said everyone will be allowed to coin their own money as long as they register," a voice piped up further down the line of people. "That''s just another trick to rip us off," the man in the red beanie said. "Yeah, you can start your own private little mint. But the coins have to meet all those requirements and anyway you''re to turn over half - half, d''you hear? - of all the coin you make to the revenue people." "I''m applying to be one of those new tax collectors the moment they begin hiring," said another voice. "That''s gonna be much better than owning ten fucking mints, for sure. I heard that they gonna get a fat cut from the take." "Let me tell you something, brother," the man in the red beanie said gravely. "You become one of those new tax collectors, you''ll shortly become a corpse. Or a fucking cripple. Those guys, they''re gonna run into some serious aggravation." "Bullshit! Everyone will be kissing their asses. You can lose the guaranteed money on their say-so." "We''ll see," the man in the red beanie said darkly. "We''ll see." The long lineup rippled as people at the front left it bearing cartons filled with army rations, and everyone took a couple of steps forward. The people who had collected their food hurried home, clutching the cartons tightly and ignoring questions thrown at them from people waiting in the lineup. They were in a hurry to get home and eat, and the cartons were heavy: each contained fifty MREs - in army parlance Meals, Ready to Eat. And each of the foil packs containing the meals weighed between five and seven hundred grams, depending on its contents. Once they''d carried the heavy carton home, most people would rush back to rejoin the lineup, hoping to get another handout. Li Yang had noticed the line of people waiting wasn''t getting any shorter: new people joined it as fast as people got served. At this rate, the truck would soon be empty. He''d agreed with Harper that they would return for seconds after they''d taken their food home. But now it seemed they might have to give up on that plan. Unlike the man in the red beanie, Harper had been very optimistic about the potential offered by minting their own money. Li Yang had pointed out that smelting the needed alloys and making coin casts was bound to be a difficult process, far too specialized to be successfully executed by a couple of amateurs. But Harper said: "And that''s why we won''t be doin'' any coin casting. We''re gonna hammer them out. We just need a couple of dies, one for the front and one for the back of the coin. Aluminum is soft. And it''s all over the place. A bag of empties and you got a kilo of aluminum, enough for a hundred coins. Ten grams per coin, like the man said." "He said that coin will be worth one cent." "He also said that this will buy much more than it used to. He said that money will have real value once again. You heard the man as well as I did." It was true. The problem was, Li Yang did not trust that man as much as Harper did. When he watched Olaf Troll explain the new currency on TV, he felt he was looking at someone at least slightly crazy. The grey-faced Jewish guy that came on afterwards to do some more explaining didn''t inspire confidence, either. He''d looked as if he might die at any moment. "The cans aren''t pure aluminum," said Li Yang. "So what? We just make the coins heavier and thicker. As long as they contain ten grams of pure aluminum, everything''s fine." "We''ll need a shitload of cans to make a dollar for ourselves, considering we get to keep just half of what we make. And you forget that the moment you register as a minter, you lose the guaranteed payout." "We''ll make more money than those payouts. You''ll see. We can make copper coins, too. Ten times as valuable." "Copper is harder than aluminum." "It''s soft enough to work with a hammer." Charlene did not take part in that discussion. She''d just watched and listened silently. And when Harper turned to her for support, she said: "You better get your ass in gear, Harper Lee, and start collecting those cans right away. Plenty of other people will get the same idea, I bet." That had shut up Harper for the rest of the evening. Very early the next morning, he set out on an expedition to collect as much precious scrap as possible. He didn''t find any. Charlene had been right: lots of people had the idea to start their own coin minting operations. But Harper''s sally that morning had the benefit of him coming across the army guys distributing food just as they were getting started. He ran back home to get Li Yang and Charlene and by the time they got to the truck, the lineup stretched all the way down the block. The soldiers worked fast, though, and just twenty minutes later they each got a carton of army rations. Charlene staggered and nearly dropped hers because of the weight. It was a lot of food. When they got back to the apartment and read the labels, they found out each meal had 1200 calories, or slightly more than half of what an adult would require per day. The fifty meals would last them a month. And Charlene had gotten lucky: through some administrative mixup, her box contained HDRs, or Humanitarian Daily Rations. These delivered 2,200 calories each. The rations also contained matches, tissue, toilet paper, salt, pepper, sugar, and instant coffee. Their food supply secured for at least a month ahead, they returned to the lineup for another handout, but it was quickly obvious there won''t be any. The army truck drove off amidst angry shouts from the crowd, the soldiers at the tailgate stiff with anger at the insults hurled their way. Just a moment earlier, people had been tearfully thanking them as they collected their cartons. When they were about to reenter their apartment building, Li Yang nudged Harper''s arm and pointed down the street. Three men were crossing the road. One carried a baseball bat, and the others had half-full plastic garbage bags slung over their backs. Their shape suggested they contained plenty of cans. "Yeah, well," Harper said sadly. "It was a nice idea while it lasted. But we''ll think of something else, won''t we?" "You bet we will," said Charlene, sounding very upbeat. "And right now we''ll all sit down to a nice hot dinner. There is some kind of magic powder in there that you mix with water to make it boil." They climbed the stairs to their apartment and were about to go inside when they heard noises from the floor above. The floor that had been closed off by the building inspector. The floor on which they''d hid their implant kits and hiber beds and documentation scrolls. "You get going with the food," Harper said softly to Charlene. Then he and Li Yang ascended the stairs as quietly as they only could. They''d made sure the striped tape forbidding entrance was stretched across the staircase almost exactly the way the inspector had left it. And it looked untouched. They stood on the stairs below it, undecided. And then they heard a cat meow. It appeared on the landing a moment later. It was almost skeletal with starvation: skin, bones, and huge imploring eyes. It looked at them and meowed so sadly, so pitifully that Li Yang grimaced with discomfort. "Come here, kitty," Harper said softly. The cat hesitated; then it meowed again, and cautiously approached them. "Come along," Harper said to the cat, then pulled Li Yang''s sleeve and started descending the stairs. Li Yang followed him, and so did the cat, keeping at a distance from the two of them. "What are you doing?" Li Yang hissed at Harper. "That cat''s just another mouth to feed." "It''s a small mouth," Harper said. "And this cat might yet be very useful." He opened the door to their apartment and looked at the cat, cautiously hanging back on the landing. "Come on in, kitty," he said. "Welcome to your new home." NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 55 Money Woes & Wishes Kasper Weinberger sat in his wheelchair, staring at the coins scattered on the table in front of him. So did Nelson Odongo and Carlton Brock, seated across from him. But Odongo and Brock were smiling, while Weinberger''s face suggested he was about to have a heart attack. It was a big table, and it was almost completely covered by coins of different colors, shapes, and sizes. There were red coins, yellow coins, silver and golden coins, and coins in many shades of brown and grey. Most were round, but quite a few were hexagonal, octagonal, square, or elliptical. Some had edges that were ridged, and others edges that were smooth. Some were thick, and others thin; some were barely bigger than a pea, while others resembled drink coasters. "This is crazy," Weinberger said. "We live in crazy times," said Odongo. Carlton Brock yawned, and turned to the window. It was a beautiful day outside; although it was the middle of February, it felt as if spring was right around the corner. He wanted to go for a walk, without being accompanied by a gaggle of bodyguards. He wanted to get away from all those people who talked and talked and complained all the time. He''d really had enough. He should be lying on a beach, or maybe putting in a round of golf if it wasn''t too hot. That was what he usually did, at this time of the year. He sighed and said silently to himself: hang in there, Carlton. A couple more weeks. Then you get to move into your new governor''s residence. Six bedrooms, four bathrooms, a dozen other rooms, a three-car garage, tennis court, a nine-hole golf course, two swimming pools - one strictly private, for those moments when he didn''t want to share his water with any visiting plebs. Set in nine hundred acres of woodland and meadows, atop a gentle rise that gave a view of the ocean over the swaying treetops. All paid for out of his own pocket. And amounting to a handful of change, considering how much he''d be making as governor of United States territory in both worlds, Old and New. Just two more weeks. He sighed again, clenched his jaw and turned back to the table covered with coins. Odongo was saying: "... no problem at all. Everyone''s making money already, don''t you understand? Can''t you see what''s right under your nose, on this table? And we''ve already got a stream of coinage coming in from the New World." He broke off and glanced at Brock and said: "How much did you get yesterday, Carlton? I''m sorry. I know you''ve already told me twice, but I''ve forgotten the numbers. I''ve got so much on my mind." "Two thousand five hundred and thirty eight coins," Brock said indifferently. "Amounting to nine thousand, one hundred and nine dollars, fifty cents. Could have gotten twice that, but we decided to go easy on the gold ten-dollar pieces. They won''t be of much practical use for a while. Too valuable." "There," Odongo said to Weinberger. "You see? And that''s just a single transfer from a single administrative center in the New World." "You don''t understand," said Weinberger. "How do I manage all this? It''s impossible. There are at least ten billion people eligible for the GIM payout on the first of March. I need at least ten million tax collectors. I need more time." "You don''t need ten million tax collectors," Carlton Brock said lazily, suppressing the urge to yawn again. "It''s the governors that need the tax collectors. It''s their baby. And they''ve begun hiring them already." "Exactly," said Odongo. "It''s not your concern. You don''t have to manage any money. The money will manage itself, because it''s got real value for a change. All you have to do is oversee the whole system, and make sure it works the way it''s supposed to. "But I won''t know if it works," wailed Weinberger. "How can I know if it works? Who will tell me? The whole information network is down. And what about the bookkeeping?" "You''ll be getting a report from me on the tenth of March," said Carlton Brock. "Now, if you gentlemen will excuse me - " "Just a minute more, Carlton. No more." Odongo turned back to Weinberger and said: "You''ll be getting a report from all the territory governors on the tenth day of every month. Don''t tell me you can''t handle two hundred simple, straightforward reports a month, Kasper. Knowing your abilities, you would get through them all by yourself in a couple of days. And you''ve already asked for, and received over twenty staff. All hand-picked by yourself." "Let''s cut to the chase," Brock said. "Kasper, do you want to quit?" Weinberger licked his dry lips. Yes, he wanted to quit. This whole thing was madness. But then he didn''t want to quit, too. As the new Finance Minster, he was going to be paid a tiny percentage: a tenth of a promile of the total global tax income to pay himself, his staff, and cover all the expenses associated with his office. He''d already calculated it would be enough to make him a billionaire within a couple of years. And Kasper Weinberger loved money. His entire professional life had been devoted to money. Correction: his life as such was about money. Money was the only thing that really counted, in his life. And there was something special about those coins on the table. Something tables and numbers on a monitor screen did not have, something even the biggest four-digit banknote did not have. He focused on the reddish gold ten-dollar piece Brock had mentioned. It was a beautiful coin. It was beautiful money. Many, many coins like this would be his if he kept his job. He imagined himself seated in his private vault, surrounded by chests full of gold coins. Yes! This was what he''d always wanted, ever since he''d been a little boy. "So you''re saying all I have to do is relax and wait until the tenth and do some reading and report what I think?" he said weakly. "Finally," said Carlton Brock, rolling his eyes dramatically. "The man''s got it. Jesus, Kasper, you ought to drink some more coffee in the morning. Or something. Anyway, I''m outta here. I''ve got stuff to do. Good day, gentlemen." And he strode out of the office, shutting the door behind him with unnecessary force. Odongo watched Brock depart; he shook his head when the door slammed, then turned to give Weinberger a cold, hard look. "Well?" he said. "All right," said Weinberger. "All right. I''ll do it." "Good. And now go and get some rest, and relax. It''s all going to work out well. Goodbye." Odongo left Weinberger staring at the coins and quickly went down a couple of floors, using the stairs. He''d always been in fine physical shape, and six weeks of running up and down the stairs had improved it even further. Of course he''d have preferred the elevator, but they hadn''t been working until just recently, and now they did they were always overcrowded. But that situation had a nice side, an aspect that often made Nelson Odongo''s day. He would never forget the day he saw a grossly overweight, feared and cruel dictator climbing the stairs on all fours in his dress uniform, his star-decorated cap askew on his head, sweating and gasping for breath. Olaf Troll was waiting for Odongo in his office, as arranged. He was amusing himself by bending a long, thin metal ruler and releasing it with a twang. He produced a particularly impressive twang when Odongo entered, then pointed the ruler at him and said: "He is staying on." "Of course he''s staying on," said Odongo, smoothly maneuvering himself into the wheeled armchair behind the desk. "We both knew he would stay. He loves money more than anything else, more than his own self. He will die happy as long as he''s looking at lots of money when he does." Troll nodded. "Good," he said, and made the ruler twang a couple of times. "I still think you should have been there," said Odongo. Troll shook his head. "Bad idea," he said. "We hate each others'' guts. If I had been there, he might have quit. No, Brock was the right man to take along. Weinberger respects Brock. He''s also afraid of him. It''s a combination that works wonders." "You might be right," Odongo conceded. He frowned into space, then asked: "You''re sure that system will work?" "Of course it will work," Olaf Troll said. "There''ll be one big mess and hysterics all around at the start, but it will work. Needs a bit of time to work well, that''s all." "Maybe we should have waited an extra month or two." "No," said Troll. "I wouldn''t have been able to stand an extra month of bitching and complaining from all those idiots. Neither would you. There''s going to be a mess to begin with, no matter when we switch. The sooner we do it, the quicker things will settle down. "How much of a mess? And for how long?" Olaf Troll shrugged and twanged the ruler and said: "Maybe a couple of months. At the outside. You know, people are going to have other things on their minds. How many did you say are going to die from hunger and disease by the summer?" "A couple of billion, easily," said Odongo. "Maybe more." "There you go," said Troll. "You can''t eat money." "But what about trade? And paying people''s wages?" "People have traded without using money for tens of thousands of years," said Troll. "It''s called barter. I give you this, you give me that. And everyone will be more than happy to work all day for a meal. Mark my words." "I always do." "Then I''ll tell you something more. I can''t work with this Worst asshole. You''ve got to get him out of my ministry, and shunt him somewhere else. If you don''t, I''ll just fire him. I''m the Minister of Economy, correct? I can choose my staff." "Of course you can," said Odongo. "But I''m surprised. You said yourself Guido Worst is a brilliant thinker." "Yes. He is. But he''s not a doer. When it comes to actually doing something, he freezes up and starts making bleating noises. I can''t stand him. I can do all the thinking that''s needed by myself." "If you say so." "I do." "Have you come up with an estimate of the GIM payments needed in March?" "The guaranteed income minimum money? Yes. About a billion, globally." "Just a single billion?" "Maybe less." "Really?" "We only pay the money to qualified people who register," said Troll. "A lot won''t register, because they think they''ve still got a job. And a lot that register won''t qualify, because officially they still have a job." "But you said at least half of all the jobs worldwide will be wiped out." "Oh, it will be more. Two thirds, maybe three quarters. Maybe ninety percent? Who knows. We''ll see. Let the governors handle that. Let the people affected handle that. Let them bear the responsibility for their own selves instead of bitching about their rights with their hands held out for freebies. It''s high time for a global reality check." Odongo pondered this for a while. He remembered the time he''d visited a refugee camp, deep in the heart of Africa, when he was still a young man. There was a shortage of food and most of the people in the camp resembled walking skeletons. But they kept on fucking, and making babies that died within days of being born. Of course, it was the aid agency workers who ran the camp that got the blame for all that. It was basic human nature at work: I can do whatever I like, but if it goes bad the responsibility belongs to someone else. And help me! Help me right now! I have a right to be helped whenever I''ve fucked up! Nelson Odongo knew there was nothing that could be done about that. And so he nodded, and said: "You''re right, Olaf, as always. It''s high time for a reality check." NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 56 The Ancient Wisdom of Sun Tzu A few minutes after Troll had left, Odongo made his way to yet another meeting - with Jean Caron, head of the Colonial Council. Caron was to brief him on the colonization plan of the New World - a plan that was needed very urgently, practically yesterday. Because without food imports from the New World, up to half of the Earth''s human population would die of starvation within the next year. The information coming in was grim. Most of the year''s harvest in the southern hemisphere had been destroyed. According to optimistic predictions, global food production would drop to a third of what it was the previous year. The worst-case scenario had it pegged at ten percent of what it had been. And once the existing stocks of artificial fertilizer and insecticides were exhausted, there would be no more. That blasted Patel woman had forced this measure through right away. She had made it one of the cornerstones of her plan for Earth''s environmental revival. But without fertilizer and insecticides, yields would drop through the floor. Odongo reflected that Sonia Patel probably liked the notion of cutting Earth''s population by half. She had always held Earth was overpopulated, that the number of people spurred to ever-increasing consumption was at the root of all environmental problems. She didn''t have any children. She wasn''t even married! There was something inhuman about her. Jean Caron, on the other hand, showed all the symptoms of being very human. When Nelson Odongo entered his office, he found Caron walking in circles around the room, alternately mopping his sweating face with a big handkerchief and nervously scratching his head and neck. The look he gave Odongo was the look of an animal that had been chased into a corner. The he erupted with a torrent of words: "This is crazy, Nelson. It''s madness! Do you realize I, do you realize we will have next to no control over what''s happening over there? It''s going to be one gigantic free-for-all. Millions of colonies all competing with each other. Millions and millions and millions of people grabbing as much as they can, as fast as they can. We''re going to have colonial wars left and right and center. And I''m not naive, oh no. Many of our governors will join in, if they can smell a profit." "They''re working for you as independent contractors," Odongo reminded him. "You can fire any of them any time, for misconduct or however you may want to phrase it." "Oh no I can''t. I have to get it approved by the Council. By two hundred territory governors whose only interest is in maximizing the income from their New World territories. Wars can be very profitable when they''re played out with weapons that don''t cost millions of dollars apiece, or per use." "You think the Council might disapprove of your decisions?" "No. I don''t just think so, I''m certain of it. Because the way it''s set up, they are all going to protect their little fiefdoms. Not so little, actually big and very profitable." "Calm down, Jean. Drink a glass of water and sit down and listen to me. That''s good, please pour me one as well if you''d be so kind. Thank you. Now listen closely, my friend. The art of being a politician involves getting people to do what they don''t want to do. This is what politics is all about." "But how am I supposed - " "Stop," said Odongo. "Calm down and drink your water and listen. There are several areas in which you can act freely, without having to secure an approval from the Council. To give you an example, you''ll be compiling an annual evaluation report on each territorial governor''s performance. If you find it below par, you can apply a penalty of up to half a governor''s income. Don''t you think that''s a very potent persuader?" "But they''ll eat me alive when I do that." "No. The governors you''ll punish will want to eat you alive, yes. But they won''t dare to. Because all the governors you did not punish will be kissing your hands and bursting with eagerness to obey your every wish. Just make sure not to punish too many at any one time. Chop a few, and you''ll see the others jump into line. That''s how it works." "Is that what you do? Is that your method?" "No, it''s not my method," Odongo said with dignity. "It was invented by a very wise Chinese military scholar called Sun Tzu. Have you heard of him?" "The Art of War?" "Precisely. He is the author. Do you know how he became the Chinese emperor''s most trusted military advisor?" "No." "The emperor had serious disciplinary problems with his harem of concubines. So he asked Sun Tzu for help in restoring order. He thought that if Sun Tzu could succeed where the emperor himself couldn''t, he would make a good supreme commander of the imperial army. "Sun Tzu accepted this challenge. All the concubines were assembled in a chamber, talking and laughing. Sun Tzu stood in front of them and told them to be quiet and form orderly ranks. They laughed, and shouted insults at him. He turned to the emperor and asked if he was free to employ whatever means he thought appropriate to discipline the concubines. The emperor granted him this permission. "Sun Tzu picked out every tenth concubine and had her instantly executed. The rest of them immediately became very well-behaved. I suggest your model your technique on Sun Tzu''s, my dear Jean. And you won''t have to execute anybody. Just make them a little less rich than they''d be otherwise. It will work miracles, I assure you." "It could work," Jean Caron said reluctantly. He grimaced and threw Odongo a glance and tried to smile. Yes, deep down he knew that would work. But it went completely against his nature. He liked universal agreement, he liked it when everyone loved Jean Caron, he liked to be surrounded by friends. "It WILL work, I promise you. Now, have your people made any progress on the colonization scheme?" "Yes. It''s pretty much certain we will have to go with two types of colonization licenses." "Two? Why? What do you mean?" "Well, we have to differentiate between colonizers and colonists. Colonizers being the people who want to establish a colony in the New World, and who are qualified to do so. By virtue of being intelligent, knowledgeable, good organizers, and so on." "That makes sense." "Colonists, on the other hand, would be the people who want to live a second life in the New World. And that includes almost everyone. Who wouldn''t want to experience an extra couple of hundred years of life? Especially since this also offers an opportunity to make more money? And I mean make more money literally. The reports that are coming in make it clear that the New World is exceptionally rich in natural resources, and that those resources include plenty of gold and silver." "All right, point taken," said Odongo. "So you propose to have a different kind of license for the people you call colonizers, and for the ones you call colonists?" "Yes. You see, it''s obvious by now we''ll have a limited number of the timon implant kits. The cubes disappear after dispensing around 100,000 items per cube. A very rough estimate puts the number of cubes that have appeared around the world at around 100,000 as well. So we''re looking at a maximum of maybe 10 billion implant kits, actually a billion or two less, because you also have to count the hiber beds and documentation scrolls and so on." "We''ll be able to make timon implant kits ourselves, in time." "No doubt. But we''ll need timon for that. And so far, no one has found any timon in the New World." "I''m sure it''s just a question of time." "Everything is a question of time. But we have a problem we need to solve right now." "And your solution is?" "We have a limited supply of implant kits and hiber beds, so we have to limit the demand. I talked to Troll. He proposes that anyone who replicates in the New World automatically forfeits their guaranteed income. That would include both colonizers and colonists." "That sounds good. It will likely cut the demand by half right away." "In addition, colonizers will have to pay for their licenses. Troll suggests an equivalent of one year''s worth of guaranteed income. In exchange, they''ll each get four implant kits and two hiber beds. They''ll also receive two sets of clothing, a set of basic tools, a month''s supply of food, and some construction materials upon replicating in the New World." "That sounds quite generous. How will they receive those, anyway?" "From their district governor. Every colonizer will register their colony in their local Colonial Office, and fix a founding date. Their district governor will deliver the goods on that date to the predetermined location, by water or land. There won''t be a problem with that. All my governors are already busy building ships and carts and breeding horses over there." "All right, let''s assume that will work. What about the second type of license? The colonists, as opposed to colonizers?" "They pay a month''s worth of guaranteed income for a single timon implant kit and hiber bed. No clothing, no food, no tools." "Sounds like a waste of implant kits and hiber beds to me. Most of them will be doomed to failure." "Not if they join a colony. A government colony - pardon me, an administrative center - or a private, independent enterprise. They can work out the terms with the colony owners, who I''m sure will be more than happy to acquire extra labor for their projects." "I like it," said Odongo. "It''s simple, it''s flexible, and it promises to bring in lots of revenue. Yes, I like it a lot." "Thank you. The only big problem that remains is getting the governor network in place. We''ll need around a million." "What?! A million governors?" "Yes. Initially, we thought that a hundred thousand would ensure excellent coverage. But the tenfold difference in scale means we need ten times as many." "You feel you can manage a million district governors?" "No. I feel I can manage two hundred territorial governors. Each territorial governor will manage a number of area governors. The area governors will manage regional governors. And each regional governor will manage governors of the districts in his or her region. So it will be quite manageable from the administrative point of view. What I''m not sure about is how manageable this will be from the political point of view. There will be all sorts of cliques and alliances and counter-alliances popping up all over the place. And that''s just the governor network, Nelson. Add tens of millions of private, independent colonies into the mix, and you''ve got a gigantic free-for-all, win-or-die situation. I really don''t know how all this is going to turn out." "Neither do I," said Nelson Odongo. "Neither does anyone else. We''ll all have to press forward and make adjustments as necessary." "It really would have been better to have at least a year to set all this up." "We cannot afford the time. A year here equals ten years over there. There are already hundreds of thousands of wildcat operations in the New World, you know that. And we must immediately begin sending food from the New World." "Nelson, I really can''t promise you all this will work. It might blow up in our faces." "I know. I don''t expect you to promise me that everything will be fine. You know, this situation reminds me of what I faced when I became head of the OAU - Organization of African Unity. African unity was a joke at that time. There were a hundred wars being waged on the continent. Within a few years, there were just a handful. I adopted a personal motto that proved to work very well. Perhaps you should consider adopting it for yourself." "What was it? I mean, your personal motto?" "Off with his head, Jean. Off with his head. Or hers." Nelson Odongo smiled at the horrified expression that appeared on Caron''s face, and added: "Emulate the great Sun Tzu, Jean. There really is no better teacher than him, even though he lived thousands of years ago." "I will try," said Jean Caron. "No. Don''t ''try''. Just do it," said Nelson Odongo, the man who''d brought peace to the war-ravaged African continent by cutting off carefully selected heads. Then he went off to yet another meeting, leaving Caron deep in thought. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 57 Harpers Gold On Sunday, 18th of January, 2035, Li Yang and the Lees watched the TV broadcast in Rose Fogerty''s room. It was warm in the apartment: the heating had been on all morning, and they also had hot running water. They all had a bath, they all had a hearty meal, and now they all were seated in front of the TV set, with the cat purring in Charlene''s lap. It really felt like normal life, and Li Yang found himself close to crying. Wiping away a nonexistent tear, he glanced at the cat. Its eyes were closed and it was a picture of contentment. It became Charlene''s pet the moment it joined the household. She''d called him Jimmy and fed him well and let him sleep on her bed. Li Yang thought that Jimmy had a hell of a lucky break. From the brink of death from starvation into Charlene''s bed, in twenty-four easy steps: that''s how many separated the two floors in their building. If a cat could get this lucky, why shouldn''t he, Li Yang, also get lucky, even if it was in some minor way? The broadcast was boring. It was a rerun of last Sunday''s news and speeches and interviews. Charlene started bitching about that, but Harper said: "They''re repeating everything because a lot of people didn''t catch it the first time around. And it''s all information that bears repeating. What did you think you''d get, Charlene? Sunday cartoons?" "Fuck off," said Charlene and grabbed the cat and got up and stormed out of the room. Harper and Li Yang kept on watching the program, and were rewarded with a couple of minutes of real news near its very end. The trains were running again! A couple of airlines had resumed limited service with processor-chip free planes they''d pulled out of a junkyard! Over a million private mints had already been registered worldwide, ensuring a rapid spread of the new currency! A couple of supermarket chains were to reopen, with a blowout sale of all electric appliances at as little as 20% of their original price! "Maybe we could catch a train down to Washington," said Li Yang. Harper Lee''s plan to move house down to Chesapeake Bay had been postponed, but not abandoned. They still wanted to set up a settlement in the New World from an Old World base that would offer them a better existence than a run-down apartment in New York. "You kidding? You think they''re running a passenger service?" Li Yang shrugged and said nothing. "I told you, I''ve got it all worked out," said Harper. He got up and switched off the TV set and unplugged it. "Get ready, Bruce," he said. "We''ve got a lot of walking to do today. We''ll start by taking this baby to my man." He started coiling the TV cable, avoiding Li Yang''s eyes. A few moments later, they emerged into the street carrying Rose Fogerty''s TV set. It was heavy as hell, and both of them were also carrying backpacks with twenty MREs in each. They had to stop many times to rest before they made it to a rickshaw rental near Central Park. Harper''s man turned out to be a big black dude with a shaven head and a gold earring. He examined the food they''d brought critically, complaining about the cheese tortellini. But he took it all along with the TV set, and wheeled out a rickshaw that had been converted into a cargo vehicle. The double seat in the front had been replaced by an open box made out of wood and wire fencing. "The bottom''s solid one inch of wood, bro," he told Harper. "An'' I reinforced it with a couple two-by-fours. Sides of fencing for less weight, just make sure of the wire that''s holding the top to the poles now and then. Almost-new chain, almost-new tires. An'' I''m throwing in a hand pump." They shook hands and Harper told Li Yang to get into the carrier box in front. Then he sat down behind him, and pedaled them away. They didn''t go home. Harper drove the rickshaw down a series of streets Li Yang had never been to before. The city was peaceful and calm that Sunday; just a fortnight earlier, there hadn''t been an hour without gunshots. They passed and were passed by several army vehicles: a truck, a jeep, a couple of personnel carriers with grim-looking soldiers manning the machine guns over the drivers'' cabs. Eventually they stopped in front of a rowhouse in Harlem. Harper told Li Yang to stay with the rickshaw and went in. He reemerged a little later with another black guy in tow. "This is Bobby, the friend I told you about," he told Li Yang. "Bobby, meet Bruce. He''s my benefactor." "How you keepin''," said Bobby, showing a gold front tooth. He was wearing a black tracksuit and black baseball cap and white sneakers. He looked like a wiseass, and Li Yang mistrusted him on sight. "Why don''t you guys come in for a while," he said to Harper. "I''ve got the gear ready for you." Harper shook his head, to Li Yang''s relief. "No," he said. "Can''t leave our limousine unattended, and we got loads of stuff to do back home. And so do you, Bobby. Remember, we''re gonna be leaving by President''s Day at the latest. That''s in five days. Is Olga coming with you?" "Don''t know, man," Bobby said. "One day she''s coming, the next day she''s staying. The bitch can''t make up her mind. Either way I''ll be there. When will you collect your gear?" "Can you bring it with you on Monday? It ain''t like it''s a big load." "No way I''m walking around with two pieces. Wait here." Bobby went back into the house, leaving the door open. When he showed up again a minute later, one of his hands was hidden inside his tracksuit top and the other was clutching a small box. He walked up to Harper and thrust the box into his hand. "Twenty cartridges," he said. He pulled his other hand from under the tracksuit. It was holding a gun: a small snub-nosed revolver similar to Li Yang''s. "Thirty-eight Police Detective," he said. "Never used. No papers, so keep it somewhere safe, bro." "No problem," said Harper. He put the gun and the box of ammunition in the inside pocket of his padded jacket. Then he and Bobby touched fists and Bobby gave Li Yang a curt nod and went back inside the house. "He''s coming with us?" asked Li Yang, the moment the door closed behind Bobby''s back. "Yeah," said Harper. "You didn''t tell me. You didn''t ask me, either." "Didn''t I?" Harper looked genuinely shocked, but Li Yang was sure he was acting anyway. Harper was an insurance salesman, and slick as soap at times. "No you didn''t" said Li Yang. "You don''t think I have a say?" "Now hang on," said Harper. "Don''t talk to me like that. I was sure I''d talked to you about it. I''m sorry if I didn''t. Maybe you''re the one who can''t remember. Anyway, if you don''t want Bobby along, he won''t be coming along. I''ll think of something. Deal?" "You''ll tell Bobby he isn''t coming with us? Just because I said so?" "Yes. We agreed all the decisions we make must be unanimous. If anyone objects, it''s no go." Li Yang hesitated. He didn''t want to be cast as the villain in that situation. To buy himself some time, he asked: "Who is that Olga you mentioned? She his girlfriend?" "Sort of. On and off. She could be useful. She knows her way around the countryside. What''s good to eat and what isn''t and how to make a meal out of a handful of weeds. She lived in fucking Siberia before she came over here. Or someplace like that, anyway. She''s Russian." "A Russian? She isn''t an American citizen?" "No. Illegal immigrant. No papers, and now no job either. She won''t get no guaranteed income. If she stays behind, she''s gonna starve." "But he wasn''t sure she''s gonna come." "I''M sure she''s gonna come. She''s got no other option. Bobby just said she wasn''t sure because it''s him that''s not sure. He doesn''t know if he wants her along." "But you want her along?" "Yeah. She''s a bright girl and she''s nice to people that are nice to her, if you know what I mean. A little touchy, but nice. And like I said, she knows what to do to survive in the wild. She''s about Charlene''s age, and not bad-looking either. You''ll like her." Li Yang pondered this for a while. "They''re bringing their own food?" he asked eventually. "They''ll bring enough for the trip. It won''t take us more than a week. Eight days, max." "And your friend down there, what''s that place, Fairhaven? He''s gonna take five people in, just like that?" "Sure he will. Well, not exactly. See, this place is right by the shore and the past few years, the shoreline''s moved inland quite a bit. Half the farms and houses are abandoned. We can pick and choose where we move in." "How do you know?" "I was down there last year. My bet is, things haven''t changed there in the last eight months. And if they did, it was for the worse. Meaning more empty houses." "We can''t just walk in and take over someone''s house. Even if they''d moved somewhere else." Harper Lee sighed and said: "Listen, Bruce. You''re one hell of a bright kid, but you don''t know nothing about the world outside this city. Let me handle our accommodation down there, okay? I guarantee it will be nicer than that shithole we''re living in right now. I guarantee that everything will be nice and legal, so don''t you worry your head about it." "But I don''t see how you you''re gonna make it all nice and legal." "Okay," Harper said patiently. "I''ll give you the gist for now. Those empty houses and abandoned farms all belong to the banks that foreclosed on them. Most of the farmland''s polluted by seawater enrichened with sixty or seventy or eighty years'' worth of artificial fertilizer runoff. It''s not soil any more, it''s shit. No buyers lining up for all that property, Bruce. But the property taxes and bills still have to get paid every year. A few thousand bucks could get you anything you wanted when I was down there. And now, after what has happened, they''re gonna be handing out those houses and farms for free. You''ll see." "What if they still want us to pay something? We got no money. And they''ll want us to pay in that new currency, too." Harper grinned. "Bobby''s got two spools of thick copper cable in that house," he said. "And maybe half a kilo in gold and silver jewelry. Charlene and I got about the same, but it''s almost all gold. Bruce, did you think I was getting all excited about setting up a mint of our own based on collecting fucking empties, like those assholes you see on the street every day? You must think I''m really stupid." Li Yang''s mouth dropped open. "You''ve got half a kilo of gold?" he asked hoarsely. "Pretty close to that, yes. I''ve been busy." Li Yang stared at Harper. It just wasn''t possible! He had to be lying. But what if he wasn''t lying? Harper smiled at him and said: "Let''s go home, we''ve been hanging around here long enough. Once we get home, I''ll show you." He walked past Li Yang and climbed onto the bicycle seat and pointed at the box in front. "Hop in," he said. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 58 A Friend In Need Li Yang spent the rest of that day in his room, deep in thought. He didn''t like the way the situation was developing. Harper was slowly but surely taking control. Their original agreement was based on the premise that all decisions were made together, and that everyone had an equal say. And now Harper was inviting people to join their venture without bothering to ask for Li Yang''s opinion! Li Yang was sure Harper hadn''t told him anything about Bobby and his girlfriend joining them. It was all the more unfair because it was him, Li Yang, that had the implant kits and hiber beds and documentation scrolls. He was the one who made starting a colony in the New World possible! But all the gold he had consisted of his mother''s wedding ring. It was the most precious thing he had, its value greatly exceeded the value of the gold. He''d never give it up. The items he''d taken from the cube were the only wealth he had. They determined how important he was to the others. They were the only reason why he counted. And with the addition of Bobby and Olga to the group, the count stood at four to one. They could take the items and dump him, any time. Lies and betrayal were a theme that had ran through his life. Even his mother had betrayed him, in a sense. She had promised him so many times that he would always have her by his side. And hadn''t she left him? He had believed her, he had been counting on her to stay in his life for a long, long time. And then she was gone, and his little sister was gone too. They all abandoned him. They left him alone and afraid and so sad that he cried himself to sleep every night for over a year. Yes, Rose Fogerty had also shown him some affection, and had helped him. Without that help, he probably would have died. But now Rose Fogerty was gone as well. And neither Harper nor Charlene had ever cared much about him. They changed their attitude only because he was the one that had food, initially. And he continued to be important to them only because he was the one with the means to get a colony started. He had to find an ally. He had to find someone he could trust, and who would join the group. If Harper could ask his friends to join, then so could he! But he''d had no friends in his life for quite a while, except for Rose Fogerty. Come to think of it, he had never really had any friends apart his mother, his little sister, and Rose. And Jake Donato. Jake Donato had lived in the same apartment building, two floors above Li Yang''s. When the top two floors were declared off limits by the city inspector, Jake had moved away and they''d lost contact. They hadn''t spoken or seen each other for more than three years. But they''d been friends prior to that, yes, Li Yang could call Jake a friend. They attended the same school, and spent a lot of time together after classes. Most importantly, they''d gotten in trouble together many times, and Jake had always held up his end when that happened. Where was he now? All Li Yang knew was that Jake had moved to somewhere in Greenpoint. That was across the river, and a long way from where Li Yang lived. Li Yang hadn''t had a phone when Jake had moved, and hadn''t taken Jake''s phone number. He was sure Rose would have had Jake''s new address, but it was much too late to ask her about that. And so, at seven sharp the next morning, Li Yang set out to find Jake Donato. He began by looking through the phone directory in Rose Fogerty''s old room. It was quite recent, but it only listed stationary phones. All the same, it contained a whole bunch of Donatos. Li Yang patiently checked the addresses against his old map of New York City. There was a single Donato living on Huron Street in Greenpoint. What was more, he was a J. Donato. Li Yang carefully wrote down the address and marked Huron Street on his map. He''d had it for a while, and it was literally coming apart at the folds. So he carefully folded it up with the section showing Huron Street on top, and put it in a thin, transparent plastic bag. He knew that it was a very long shot he''d found who he was looking for. The initial in front of Donato fit, but Jake wasn''t the kind of person to have a stationary phone. But Li Yang hoped that maybe he would get lucky, and find a relative of Jake''s. Didn''t certain names run in families? Jacopo wasn''t a popular first name. If he was wrong, he would have to go the hard route and go to city hall, and he was sure things were really messed up there. It would take a lot of effort to find someone who would help him. He had to give J. Donato in Greenpoint a try. It was at least an hour''s walk to Huron Street, so Li Yang prepared himself by eating a beef stew MRE and drinking a coffee with plenty of sugar. He dressed in his best clothes, all stolen back in January when the forces of law and order were absent from the city. He hesitated for a long time over the gun. In the end he decided against taking it. It was more likely to get him into trouble than keep him out of it, and it had only three cartridges anyway. Charlene and Harper had slept in late, and Li Yang was pretty happy about that. He didn''t want to talk to them that morning, didn''t want to tell them where he was going and what he intended. He tiptoed out of his room and down the hallway and shut the front door very, very softly. There was a loud snap when he locked it and he ran down the stairs all the way to the ground floor. He checked the time on his watch when he stepped out into the street: it was a few minutes past nine. He was wearing the most elegant of the three watches he had stolen from the pawnshop: it had a wind up mechanism, and ran late by as much as a couple of minutes a day. But that didn''t matter much in a world that had reverted to the ancient rhythm of night and day. He set a fast pace, and just twenty minutes later he was walking across the Williamsburg Bridge. He estimated that he''d hit Huron Street within half an hour. But halfway across the bridge he stopped and stared open-mouthed at the spectacle that presented itself. A big paddle-wheel steamer was slowly making its way up the East River. Columns of smoke rose from the twin stacks mounted amidships. It was too far away for the sound of its engine to carry to Li Yang. It glided through the water in ghostly silence, like an apparition from another world. The sight put Li Yang in a trance-like state, and he had to pinch his thigh hard to snap out of it. He kept looking at the ship over his shoulder as he resumed his journey, and almost fell flat on his face when the tip of his shoe dipped into a wide crack in the pavement. He forced himself to focus on where he was going, and it brought good results. Within half an hour, he was standing in front of a fairly dilapidated house on Huron Street. According to the number he had written down, this was where someone called J. Donato lived. The gate was half-open, and as he walked up to the front door he prayed to Fate to give him a helping hand. She had given Jimmy the cat one hell of a break. Could she please show just a little consideration for him, her humble subject? There was a doorbell push beside the door, but Li Yang chose to knock: he had gotten used to door bells not working over the past few weeks. He knocked softly the first couple of times, then louder. At long last, he heard someone cough inside and then the sound of slow, shuffling footsteps. It didn''t sound as if it was Jake coming to answer the door. "Who is it?" asked an old, trembling female voice. Li Yang felt a wave of despair. This wasn''t Jake''s mother or his sister. He would have to start his search at city hall, as he had feared. But since he had come a long way, he said: "My name is Li Yang. I am looking for Jake Donato? He''s an old friend of mine. Do you know where I can find him?" He heard the lock being opened and the chain being slipped into its latch, and the door opened a crack. A single dark eye surrounded by deep wrinkles appeared over the stretched chain links, and regarded him suspiciously. "What''s your name again?" "Li Yang. I''ve walked all the way from Mott Street. That''s where Jake used to live, a few years back. We went to the same school." "Don''t you joke with me, young man. Do you think I''m a fool?" "I''m not joking. I swear it''s true. He was my best friend." The door slammed shut, and Li Yang heard the lock being turned. "No!" he shouted, and banged on the door with his fist. "Jake!" screeched the old woman inside the house. She sounded as if she was mocking him, and Li Yang bit his lip to stop himself from shouting again. He balled his hands into fists and stuck them in his pockets and was about to walk away when he heard another voice, a man''s voice call out: "What is it?" "There''s some fool here that claims he went to school with you." Li Yang waited. There were more shuffling footsteps, and some grumbling too quiet to understand, which was probably just as well. Once again, the lock snapped open, but this time the chain was left unfastened. The door swung and Li Yang saw an old but healthy-looking man with a mop of thick white hair falling over his forehead. The old man grinned, showing teeth so white they had to be false. He said: "You''re saying we went to school together?" "No," said Li Yang. "I meant another Jake. My age. He is a good friend of mine. I came all the way from Mott Street. Can you help me find him?" "Sure I can," said the old man, and grinned again. "Don''t mind my wife," he said. "You know, age... You must be looking for my grandson. He used to live on Mott Street. But he''s out. Can you come back in a couple of hours? He''ll be coming back for lunch." To his great embarrassment, Li Yang felt tears of relief and gratitude prickling his eyes. "Thank you," he said. "Thank you so much. Yes, I''ll be here. Thank you." The old man stopped grinning and gave Li Yang an appraising look. Then he said: "You know what, just come on in. You can wait inside." NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 59 Deep-Fry Tricks & Techniques As it turned out, Li Yang did not have to wait for two hours for Jake to return home. Jake showed up just half an hour later. During that time, Li Yang learned what had happened to Jake''s family since they moved from his apartment block. Both his parents had died: his mother of cancer, his father of a heart attack. Jake''s older brother was now living in California: he''d told Jake that if he was to live in poverty, he preferred to do that in pleasant climate. He had last been in touch at Christmas the previous year. And so Jake came to be living with his grandparents, who were very happy to have him there: he helped them out with various tasks that had become a burden in old age. He''d had a job too, as a grease-monkey in a a neighborhood car repair: he''d shown such talent for fixing up cars that he''d gotten two raises within a year. However, that job had vaporized the previous month. Car repair was a bad business to be in after all cars had been immobilized following the catastrophe. Consequently, the owner of the repair shop set it on fire and then collected on the insurance, automatically dismissing all employees without having to pay them any severance money. Jake was without work until just recently. But now he was collecting scrap for one of those private mints that were springing up all over the place. They paid good money for whatever he brought in. Unfortunately, that good money would turn into bad money the moment the new currency was introduced. Since that was due in just a couple of weeks, Jake''s job definitely wasn''t a long-term career prospect. But at least he''d be getting guaranteed income payouts along with his grandparents. Did Li Yang have any idea of how much money was involved? Li Yang did not. At this point in the conversation, the front door opened and Jake walked in. His face lit up when he saw Li Yang. "Yang!" he shouted. Li Yang jumped up from his seat and they hugged each other, laughing. But almost instantly Jake stiffened and moved back a step and said: "I hope you''re not bringing bad news. Is that why you came here?" Li Yang finally got to tell his story. And unfortunately, it did contain bad news: his mother had died. Jake had moved a few months after Li Yang''s little sister was run over by a car, so he already knew about that. But his grandparents didn''t, and were really distressed to hear about it. Someone dying of sickness - that was natural. A little girl dying after being hit by a vehicle was a different story: a cruel one. They instantly asked Li Yang to stay for lunch. It was a meal composed of the now-familiar MREs. Right after that, Jake invited Li Yang up to his room, and that was when Li Yang told him about his New World plans, and the impending move south. "I''m totally blown away, man," said Jake, and looked it. "Wow! I know a couple of guys at the mint also got hold of some stuff from the cube. But they gave it up when they were registering the mint. They didn''t want to lose their license to operate it in the event they got found out. You know you''ll lose your GIM if you get caught, right?" "They can put their GIM right where the sun don''t shine," said Li Yang, using a phrase he''d often heard from Rose Fogerty. He hadn''t told Jake she was dead, too; they''d shared enough death news already. Jake looked at him and laughed. "You know, I wish I was going with you," he said. Li Yang smiled. "You can," he said. * * * "You can''t do that, sir," Lea Panatella said to Carlton Brock. Brock turned red with anger. "The fuck I can''t," he said. "I can and I will. I am the governor of U.S. territory in the New World. I''ll build a fleet of battleships. I''ll sail across the ocean. I''ll find Jerry fucking Hard wherever he hides. And when I do, I''ll cut off his fucking hands and wipe my ass with them while he''s still screaming, right in front of his eyes. And then I''ll hang him by the balls from the tallest lamp post or tree or whatever I can find at short notice. And I''ll leave him hanging there till he dies." "Oh," Lea said. "I didn''t realize you meant the New World." "Of course I meant the New World. Though I''d like a chance to do it here, too. Maybe more subdued in scale, like getting the shit beaten out of him. I think I could arrange that." "Better not, sir." Carlton Brock sighed, and said: "You''re right. Pity. Forget what I said about hanging him up by the balls, too. That''s far too lenient. I''ll have to think of something better than that." Brock''s anger was caused by the news brought by John Gregson, captain of the Great Western. The historic ship had just returned from Ireland. It drew crowds as it progressed up the river to its berth. People had actually cheered as it went by, and Brock moved quickly to get the most out of it. He drove down to the port even before the ship had docked, and informed the growing crowd that sending the ship had been his own initiative. He reminded everyone that he was watching over the nation from his highly elevated seat, and that they were to take no bullshit from the current U.S. president, Mark Penny, in any shape or form. The crowd had been highly appreciative of his remarks, and Brock was in an excellent mood when he greeted John Gregson right after the captain left the ship. He congratulated Gregson on having gotten rid of the couriers in ''that Irish shithole'', and instantly offered him the job of commanding the future U.S. fleet in the New World. "You''re the guy for the job, John," Brock had said. "All those admirals we got here can''t operate without fifty different radars and a hundred staff to do all the actual work." Gregson had been very pleased. But then he handed Brock a resignation letter from Jerry Hard. Under intense questioning, he revealed that Brock''s favorite bodyguard had betrayed him: he had signed onto a New World colony project with a shadowy British organization called The Empire. No, Gregson didn''t know anything about The Empire apart from the rumor that true to its name, it had imperial ambitions. He also didn''t know where Hard was now; the former bodyguard had left Galway even before the Great Western had sailed. "There was some kind of a lord there, sir," Gregson told Brock. "I heard he was the owner of the local football club. They left together." "I''ll rip both of them new assholes," Brock had snarled. It was a sentiment that grew in strength as the day went on. And now, looking at Lea, Brock was hit with a new inspiration: he really should get one of those medieval torture books. He recalled there was this special procedure for frying people alive in a vat of boiling oil. It had been a real crowd pleaser in the Middle Ages, and if he remembered correctly the trick was to lower the victim into the oil very slowly. Otherwise, the fun was over all too soon. Yes, that was much better than hacking at someone and getting blood all over one''s clothes. Much more sophisticated. "The only good Jerry Hard is a deep-fried Jerry Hard," Carlton Brock said musingly, causing Lea to raise her eyebrows inquiringly. But he didn''t satisfy her curiosity. Instead, he said: "Lea, there''s something I need you to do for me. Very delicate, very confidential. Are you up for something like that?" "Of course, sir," said Lea Panatella, and delicately pressed her right tit into Brock''s chest. "Good, good," said Brock, equally delicately moving back. "I need you to find out what Kirk Lander is up to. You know, that senator from California that I''d always liked. He refused my offer of a governor''s post a while later, the asshole. But I still like the guy. Much more than that other senator from California, that What''s-Her-Name." "Libby Placek." "Correct. I much prefer Kirk. So I want you to find out what he''s up to. I remember you grew up in Sacramento, right? Get your network going over there. I want to offer this guy a job again, a better job. Governor of the entire California in the New World. And I won''t have him turning me down again. If he does that, I''ll have no choice but rub whatever''s he''s got going over there into the ground. And I don''t like doing that kind of stuff to people. I''m a nice guy." "Of course." "So find out what he''s up to, and let me know. Just be discreet." "I will, sir," said Lea Panatella. She leaned forward for one last delicate tit-press before smiling and leaving. Brock watched her go with a fond eye. What a girl! Perhaps he could ask her to look into this medieval deep-fry business? No, better not. It could offend her fine sensibilities. But he would. Oh yes, he''d make sure to acquire deep knowledge of the whole procedure before he hunted down Jerry Hard. "Fuck you, Jerry," Brock muttered to himself. His stomach rumbled; it was time for dinner. He would make sure to have a side dish of French fries. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 60 Supreme Lord of California "I wonder what he''s up to," Adam Lander said, taking the burning joint from Bernard. His kid brother gave him a shrewd look, and said: "He''s plotting something. He''s constantly on the phone and won''t say who he''s been talking to, and what about. And he has that look on his face, you know the one. He always gets this smartass I-know-something-you-don''t look on his face when he''s plotting something." "Yeah," said Adam reflectively, just as he was inhaling the smoke. It was a mistake: he started coughing. When he''d stopped, he croaked: "Sometimes he''s bluffing. He also puts on that act when he''s got no idea of what to do next." "Well, he could be doing both." "What do you mean?" "He could be plotting something while being unsure about how to proceed." "You might have something there," said Adam, looking with new appreciation at Bernard. Bernard did have something there. At that very moment, Kirk Lander was in the act of putting the receiver of his stationary phone back into its loading bay. He had just finished talking to Carlton Brock for the fifth time in the past two days. Brock was just one of the many people he had been talking to over the past couple of days. He''d also talked to Kasper Weinberger, the Finance Minister in the new world government; General McAdam, who had been appointed its Minister of Defense; Jean Caron, head of the Colonial Council; and many, many others, of which Kitty Zeist - a Sacramento socialite that he''d known practically forever - was the only person totally unconnected with this whole New World thing. Kitty Zeist had called him out of the blue three days earlier. Kirk didn''t really have the time to engage in long conversations with people that weren''t involved in his colonial enterprise. But he couldn''t just hang up on Kitty. They''d been friends since high school. Kitty had introduced him to Debbie, his present wife. Kitty had said that she''d been really worried about Kirk and his vineyards following the catastrophe. She''d asked him a lot of questions about himself, his family, how they were all coping with the situation... Kirk Lander was far from stupid. He quickly realized Kitty was trying to find out whether he was doing a bit of private colonizing in the New World. She said that she''d heard that Lander and Vortner had been looking around for, and hiring people with artisanal skills; maybe she could help him with that? She knew a number of artisans in Sacramento, all very talented. A carpenter, a potter, a weaver... She would be glad to put Kirk in touch - by the way, what was this all about? Kirk answered with numerous lies about the necessity to effect numerous repairs of the damage caused by the catastrophe. He could hear Kitty wasn''t convinced by that, so he told her a partial truth: he wanted to set up a colony in the New World. He was going to get a colonial license the moment Colonial Offices opened for business on the first of March. He was also in the process of setting up his own mint. At that point, he digressed into a lengthy monologue on the fun he was having designing the coins he would make. As he had hoped, this subject bored Kitty to tears, and ended the conversation. By the time Brock called him, Kirk had remembered Kitty was close friends with Lea Panatella, who was Brock''s chief of staff. And so Carlton Brock''s offer of the post of Governor of California in the New World was only a partial surprise. But it was a surprise to learn that meant Kirk would also become governor of California in the Old World, on the behalf of the new world government. This was followed by a number of other attractive incentives. Brock would rule over Libby Placek! He would own mints in both worlds! And most importantly, his nearest and dearest were free to establish however many colonies they liked in New World''s California. There was absolutely no question of conflict of interest. New World''s California would be governed by Kirk, and he alone would decide what went on there. Well, maybe with some minimal input from Carlton Brock whenever Kirk''s decisions had impact on the entire U.S. territory. But in all other respects it was Kirk Lander''s show and no one else''s. He would be free to make his own decisions. During the conversation that had just ended, Carlton Brock had said: "All we care is that you maximize both profits and exports to Earth. Especially food, to start with. How you do it is your own business. What do you say, Kirk?" Kirk said he liked what he''d heard very much, and would call back by the end of the day with his decision. There were people he had to talk to, in order to warn them of the coming blow. He might be compelled to turn the job down if news of his leaving for the governor''s post caused hysterics, heart attacks, and threats of suicide. Everyone down here was counting on Kirk to lead the Lander family colony to a glorious future. Carlton Brock laughed when he heard that, and said: "Well, explain to them they''ll thrive under a governor such as yourself." "But they''ll be under the direct rule of their district governor, won''t they?" "You get to pick the district governor. You can pick one of your sons, for all I care. It''s your baby." ''I see," Kirk had said happily. "I''ll call you back within an hour. Is that all right?" "That''s fine." Kirk didn''t need the extra hour to make up his mind. He had already decided to accept Brock''s offer. It was much more attractive than the previous one. And one extra factor made it impossible to turn down. This factor was the fact that California in the New World was ten times bigger than on Earth. Differences of scale, Brock had said. Kirk understood quickly. The whole Lander clan had been making a concerted effort to include all of Napa County in their domain, and had noticed the difference in distances between familiar landmarks. They''d put it down to New World geography, but what Brock had revealed explained it all very neatly. A California ten times the size of California! It would be the richest place in the whole New World. He, Kirk Lander, would make it so. Especially since he would also be quick to move on those new archipelagos in the Pacific. His sixth sense told him they held riches beyond wildest dreams, much more than the mythical city of gold, the El Dorado Spanish conquistadores had looked for, and never found. The mysterious new archipelagos had ten, fifty, a hundred gold cities! Kirk could feel it, and the argument that they were uninhabited, and thus couldn''t contain even a single village of tin and pig iron, did very little to change that conviction. The other reason Kirk was so quick to abdicate the throne was that he was disappointed with his kingdom. No one seemed to take it seriously! He''d heard the others use the titles he had bestowed upon them in voices dripping with sarcasm. And no one had addressed him as His Royal Highness, not even once! The best he got was a ''my king'' or ''my lord'', accompanied by an ironical smile. The royal reality in the New World was even worse. His palace was a stone hovel, cold and dark. He wore rough leather clothes and didn''t even have a crown! Supposedly there were other, more pressing priorities for the metal smiths. His royal duties had devolved to acting as a foreman for a gang of workers who seemed to delight in proving him wrong at every step. He had taken to spending as little time as possible in the New World. It just wasn''t civilized enough for him. Well, they all had a surprise coming. A big surprise! And so did Libby Placek. He had to give her an area governor''s post; she was a senator, after all. But the area she would get would be located in the Mojave Desert. And if she didn''t make it profitable, he would fire her lesbian ass. Kirk Lander had been pacing around his study while he thought all those thoughts, but now he stopped in front of the full-length mirror beside the door and examined himself critically. He stroked a strand of hair into place and lifted his chin and examined his reflection. So he would be Governor instead of King. But he had been a King in name only. He hadn''t been shown the respect that was his due. Well, once he became governor over that bunch of ingrates they would all crawl to kiss his feet and beg for favors. General McAdam had made it plain he would have a hundred soldiers at his disposal from Day One. If anyone stepped out of line... He checked his watch and saw that the midday hiber bed switch was coming up. He was supposed to spend the next seven hours - nearly three New World days - in the colony. And the three New World days would feel like six, given all the discomfort he would suffer. But he wouldn''t. He was going to announce his abdication, simultaneously stripping them of the titles they had failed to respect properly. Then he would tell them about his new post, and watch their jaws hit the floor. Kirk Lander smiled at himself in the mirror. "They had it coming," he said. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 61 The Ambush "You''re sure about this?" asked Olaf Berg. Sven Holm threw Olaf an irritated glance. He was getting really tired of people asking him if he was sure everything in the New World - except for the size of the planet and its lands - was ten times smaller than back on Earth. "Olaf," he said. "I have to tell you something. If people don''t stop asking me if I''m sure, I''ll start doing lobotomies with an ax." "Sorry. I''m sorry, Sven. I couldn''t help it. I mean, this is just incredible. I can''t get my head around it." "You will, soon. I''m appointing you the leader of the next expedition to find the Lula river." "Thank you. It''s a great honor. But didn''t you say you wanted to lead it yourself?" "I wanted to. I still want to. But I can''t. There''s a lot of things that need to get done here, and done fast. And it''s going to take a while to reach the river. It''s over two hundred kilometers away instead of twenty." "If we are ten times smaller," Olaf Berg said judiciously, "Then it''s still twenty kilometers. It just feels like two hundred." Sven let out his breath with a hiss through his clenched teeth. "Okay, okay. I''m sorry, Sven. And thank you again for appointing me the expedition leader. I promise you we''ll find the river." "Good," Sven said, and walked away. He intended to take a stroll to the lake shore. He wanted to have some time to himself, to relax and enjoy the spring weather. Fifty two days had passed from that fateful day on which the glowing cube had appeared in his farmyard. Five hundred and twenty New World days! It was his second spring in the New World. He reached the lake and saw that the last of ice was gone. A family of ducks was swimming a stone''s throw from where he stood, the little ducklings following the mother in a near-perfect V formation. Other birds wheeled overhead, filling the air with excited cries. Spring was back! Life was beginning anew! He stood and looked at the greening land, listening to the birds. He cleared his mind of all thoughts and was about to smile when someone said: "Sven?" He whirled round, his incipient smile changing into a snarl. It was Vidar, one of the team he''d sent out a fortnight earlier to look for gold and silver ore. Vidar''s face was covered in bruises and cuts, and one of his arms was in a sling. "Vidar! What happened?" "We were attacked," said Vidar. "They had slingshots. We couldn''t get at them. They were hidden behind rocks halfway up the slope and - " "Vidar! Get a grip! When? Who? Where?" "Day before yesterday. We were on our way back from the copper mine. I don''t know who they were, but there were at least a dozen of them. We were more than halfway home. That spot between two hills where Jens found pyrite last year. They were hidden behind rocks and trees on the slopes. They had slingshots. We tried to charge them, but there were just four of us and we couldn''t - we didn''t - we had to drop everything and run." "Drop everything? What do you mean?" "We had three sacks full of gold and silver ore. They were too heavy. We had to drop them to get away. We left the shovels, too. But we kept the picks. Well, Lennart lost his when he fell over, but we brought the remaining two back. I remembered you said picks were precious. I even thought about going back for Lennart''s, but they''d have stoned us to death, Sven. They were pretty good with those slingshots. And we hadn''t taken any weapons, on account of all the stuff we had to carry. We just had a couple of axes and knives. That route, that whole area had always been safe. We''d never encountered anyone there." "What about the others? Are they okay?" "Henrik has a broken hand. It looks pretty awful and it hurts a lot, he says. And Martin nearly lost an eye. He''ll be okay, though. I don''t know about Henrik." "Where is he now?" "Ulla''s looking at him." "Okay, let''s go," said Sven, and they started walking back to the settlement. Sven had intended to give Lennart a proper dressing down: three sacks of precious ore and a pick lost! And the infamy of being beaten by a bunch of stone-throwing jerks too cowardly to fight hand-to-hand! But when he saw that Vidar was limping badly, he relented. "What happened to your leg?" he asked. "A stone hit my knee. Nothing serious. It will pass." "You were lucky to escape those guys with a bad knee," Sven said, somewhat suspiciously. "Oh, they didn''t chase us. They''d probably spied on us all along, and just wanted the sacks." "You really have no idea where they could have come from?" Vidar shook his head. "None," he said. When they reached the settlement, Sven told Vidar to go and get some rest, and directed his steps to Ulla''s hut. She wasn''t there. Frowning, he turned around and went to the hall. The Svenborg hall was the only stone building in the village. It measured forty paces by twenty, and contained the settlement''s only table: a big, flat slab of rock set on stones of equal height. It had been a hell of a job, getting that slab there. It took six men, and they dropped it many times on the way. Martin''s foot had been crushed on one of those occasions, and Sven had been forced to kill him. He removed Martin''s implant back in the Old World, and gave him a new one. Sven entered the hall. It was half-dark inside, but Henrik, spread out on the stone table, was well illuminated by the two torches held by girls that stood nearby. Ulla was crouched by the side of the table, sharpening the blade of an ax. The whetting stone rasped rhythmically. Sven approached the table, and looked down on Henrik. Henrik''s eyes were squeezed shut, and he held a piece of wood between his teeth. His right hand, lying by his side, was swollen into a purple ball covered with crusted blood. "Ulla," said Sven. "Stop. We need to have a talk. Come." She followed him to the corner of the hall, carrying the ax and the whetstone. She looked vaguely guilty, as if she knew she''d done something wrong but couldn''t remember what it had been. "What the fuck do you think you''re doing?" asked Sven. Looking at her feet, she said: "It''s hopeless. He''s got at least a couple of bones broken in that hand. And it''s infected." "So you''re going to cut it off? Are you out of your mind?" "He won''t survive, otherwise." "Of course he won''t survive. I''m going right back home to remove his implant. Then he''ll be back again, as good as new. What the fuck is wrong with you?" But he knew what was wrong with her, knew it even before he asked. A few of the Viking settlers - quite a few, in fact - had developed a strong taste for gore. There had even been a couple of fights over the privilege of slaughtering a chicken or a sheep. Both men and women were affected, and Sven knew Ulla was one of the women. Ulla was silent, still looking at the ground. Sven said: "Look at me." She did, and he had to fight hard to control his face, because there was madness in her eyes. "You''ve been eating those mushrooms again," he said. "That''s it. You''re turning your stash over to me. All of it. You''ll get a couple of caps per week, just like everyone else. Is that clear?" She bared her teeth at him and screeched like a madwoman. For a moment he thought she was going to strike him with her ax. But she didn''t. She rushed past him and out of the building and he heard her screech again, outside. It was time for a cleansing of the tribe. He''d already had to do it twice. At this rate, all the implant kits would be gone before he''d managed to establish a chain of settlements reaching all the way to the Baltic coast. Seventeen hundred kilometers! He needed at least fifty settlements, ending with a big seaport. Fifty? He needed hundreds, thousands if he was to conquer the world! He had to make some big decisions, fast. There was a general assembly planned for that very evening: a going-away party for Olaf Berg and his team of explorers. It was the ideal occasion on which to announce his decisions. But he had to make them first, and he had to put Henrik out of his misery even before that. He looked at the women holding the torches. Lena was one of them, and he knew Lena back home wasn''t asleep on the hiber bed. He walked up to her and said: "Lena, I need to return home right now. Send the message to wake me up." She nodded and closed her eyes, concentrating. Sven leaned over Henrik and put his hand on Hernik''s forehead. It was hot with fever. The touch of his hand made Henrik open his eyes. They were crazy with fear. Sven said: "It''s going to be okay, Henrik. It''s rebirth time." Henrik''s eyes immediately became sane. He took out the piece of wood from between his teeth with his healthy hand, and said: "Really? You said we were to save the implant kits. I thought - Ulla said - " "Forget it. She''s gone crazy. It''s time for a new Ulla, too. And - " Sven broke off, struck by a new thought. He had to send out an armed party to look for the bandits that had attacked Vidar''s team. There would be more casualties. It made sense to send all the blood-lusting crazies on that operation. It wouldn''t matter if they got grievously wounded or killed. They were all due for a rebirth anyway. He patted Henrik''s hot forehead. "Don''t worry about it," he said. "I''ve got it all figured out." NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 62 The Trip of a Lifetime "You''re not going to lead the expedition to find the river, Olaf," said Sven. Olaf Berg opened his mouth in dismay. "But why?" he asked. "You don''t think I''m capable enough?" "You''re more than capable. But I need you to take care of things at Svenborg while I''m gone. You know Vidar''s party was attacked, and that they lost all the gold and silver ore. I''ll be leading the team that will hunt down and kill those assholes. Don''t think this is a demotion. It''s actually a promotion for you, Olaf. You''ll be in command in our capital. And you''ll be in charge of the food exports. Nearly a quarter of all our food is already coming in from the New World, and we need to increase the supply as quickly as we can. If anyone can do it, you can. You''re an organizational genius." "Thank you. May I ask who will lead the expedition instead?" "Jens. He has an eye for minerals, and good settlement sites. We''ll need to establish a couple along the route to the river." "Okay. Cigarette?" "No, I''m fine. We need to go back inside. Everyone''s waiting. Come on." Sven took one last look at the farmyard before going inside his house. It looked so peaceful in the moonlight. Amazingly, the snow had already started to melt. Well, it had been getting warmer from year to year for a long while - at least twenty years. As he entered the house, Sven had the thought that the catastrophe that had taken place right after New Year''s Day was actually the best thing that could have happened to stop climate change. Now, every time he went into town the air smelled as clean and fresh as it did up in the mountains. The room was packed: there were nearly forty people inside, sitting on the floor. They were illuminated by a single light bulb in the ceiling lamp. Power supply had been restored, albeit for just a couple of hours each evening. The light would go out in about an hour, which was good. Sven Holm did not believe in drawn-out meetings. Deciding to keep his snow and mud-encrusted boots on, he climbed onto his desk. It didn''t do to make an address wearing socks. He looked at the expectant faces packed into the room. Henrik was there, as was Ulla. He''d noticed that she had changed. She hadn''t gone anywhere as crazy as her second self in the New World, but the first signs were there. He''d have to do something about that in the not-so-distant future. "We have three items on the agenda today," he said. "They are all of equal importance, so don''t be misled by the order in which they''ll be discussed today. "The first thing I want to talk about is the attack on Vidar''s team. We have to hunt down the people responsible. We also have to double our efforts to bring in enough gold and silver ore to begin minting our own coinage. There is just a single week left before the switch to the new global currency. As you know, I''ve already registered our mint with the authorities. "Now for the second item on our agenda. On the first of March, I''ll acquire a colonizer''s license, making everything nice and legal. All of you here will be given colonist licenses. I''ll pay for these from the club funds. According to what I heard when I was registering our mint, the old money will be good for purchasing colonial licenses until the end of the year. We won''t be able to spend it on anything else. So I intend to spend as much as I can on acquiring licenses. I doubt I''ll be able to spend it all, because the club coffers contain nearly thirty million crowns." He smiled and waited until the cheers subsided. Then he continued: "I''ll be leading the heavily escorted team that returns to the area around the copper mine to look for silver and gold. Once the team has reached its destination, I will take the escort on a hunt for the bandits that attacked Vidar. We will make sure that they won''t bother us again." More cheers; it was beginning to get irritating. He really wished that they had less enthusiasm, but more discipline. Too much enthusiasm tended to burn itself out; discipline ensured things got done even when there was no enthusiasm. "Third item," he said, making them fall silent. "It''s pretty obvious there will be wild rush to colonize the New World. People won''t be able to spend their old money on anything else, so everyone and their dog will have a pop. There''s going to be some pretty intense competition. I''ve already been on the phone to all of our eighteen chapters, from Malmoe to Haparanda. They''ll all acquire licenses, and move into the New World promptly on the first of March. We''ll also be recruiting plenty of new people - not into the club, just into our colonization venture. We need a big population to conquer the New World." Cheers again! Sven frowned, but they all were so carried away they didn''t stop until he raised his hand. "I need all of you to think hard if they know of suitable recruits," he said. "I also need all of you to tighten up your act. There already have been a couple of security breaches. I don''t need cops sniffing around this place, looking for illegal implant kits. So keep your mouths firmly shut for at least another week. Next month, everyone will be babbling about their colonies in the New World, so any indiscretions you make won''t be as dangerous as they are now. But either way, anyone gossiping about what we''re up to is going to suffer consequences." He stopped speaking and gave them a long, hard stare. He noticed with satisfaction that some of them - the ones that had babbled something - were badly scared. They all knew what the consequences he''d mentioned could entail. They all knew he''d already ended a couple of precious, Old World lives because their owners got a little too talkative about the club''s drug operations. "Okay," he said. "Now get the hell out of here and roast a couple of sheep for dinner. There''s also cheese and fish newly arrived from the New World. Henrik, Olaf, Ulla - you stay. I need a word with you." The four of them waited until everyone had left the house. They didn''t have to wait long: everyone was pretty hungry, and eager to get on with preparing the food. The big communal kitchen had been established in the former stable, where food sent from the New World arrived. It was fortunate that the farm had a number of buildings: one of its barns had been turned into a dormitory. Sven had nearly forty people living on his farm, and they were all immensely grateful for letting them stay. This was because the Holm farmstead had food. And food was precisely what Sven wanted to talk about with Olaf. He said: "Olaf. I need you to go see Persson, and get him to sell us more sheep. As many as you can squeeze out of him." "It will be difficult. Half the town''s been begging him to sell them some. There''s no food in any of the stores." "I know. Take a couple of guys with you, and use whatever means necessary. You can take as much money as you like. You can even take a couple of gold nuggets. And if that isn''t enough, you know what to do." "Yes," said Olaf, a little doubtfully. "Good. Now, Henrik." "Yes?" "You''ve been through a lot recently," Sven said, and they both laughed. Ulla cracked a slightly twisted smile. "You''ll be staying here for a while. Your guy in New World will have to manage on his own. I need you to manage things here, and you''ll also be my personal relay. Your guy will be on my team over there. I''m going to keep him by my side to stay in touch. Got it?" "Sure," Henrik said, a bit unhappily. He took a deep breath, and added: "You know, Sven, I was kind of looking forward to meeting those bandits again." "I''m sure you were. But I need you here. Okay?" "Okay." "Fine. Ulla." She is definitely going crazy, Sven thought, looking into her eyes. Oh well. He''d give her some more time. And if she didn''t straighten out, if her condition got worse, she''d simply have to disappear. From both worlds. "Your girl in the New World will be going with me as well," Sven told her. "But you''ll stay here, and you''ll mute your signal. You need a rest from the New World. You''re an awesome cook, and I''m putting you in charge of the kitchen for the next week or two. You can select whoever you like to help you." As he''d expected, she didn''t like that. Which was why he had prepared some sugar to go along with the bitter pill. He said: "I need you in top form because in a couple of weeks, when it''s a little warmer, I''m going on a quick tour of all of our chapters. I want you as my companion on that tour." It worked beautifully: she grinned from ear to ear, and it was a normal, happy grin. She said: "But how are we going to travel? You think the bikes will be working by then?" "I know one will, for sure. The Zundapp." The motorbike he was referring to was a World War Two-vintage Wehrmacht machine equipped with a sidecar. Sven had bought it several years earlier from a guy that had restored it beautifully - it was almost like brand new. It did not have the vehicle data transmitter required by all vehicles, the transmitter whose failure had immobilized vehicles all over the world. Sven hoped that the trip would heal Ulla''s mental state. And if he saw it wasn''t working, then, well... He''d return from that trip alone. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 63 The Joy of Killing Sven led his party out of the settlement two New World days later. He needed to attend to some of his Old World needs first, and that had taken a few Old World hours. It was a cloudy morning, and a spring thunderstorm broke soon after they''d started out on their journey to the copper mine. There was a decent amount of silver ore there as well, and even a few thin veins of gold. It wasn''t something to be abandoned. They plodded on determinedly through the pouring rain, divided into three groups. The three miners walked in the center, carrying big leather sacks filled with supplies: hopefully, on the way back they would be filled with gold and silver ore. The armed escort flanked the miners, with three soldiers on each side. All six had been hand-picked by Sven, and kitted out with the best equipment available. They all wore armor: copper and iron scales fixed over thick leather tunics. They all had iron helmets. They all had sheepskin protectors tied over their knees and shins, with the fur on the inside. They all carried round wooden shields, swords or axes, and long, sharp knives. Two of them had throwing spears; two others carried bows. Sven walked at the head of the group escorting the miners'' left flank. Henrik and Ulla followed behind him; to his left was Lasse, a new recruit. Sven had chosen him specifically because back in the Old World, Lasse was a crack archer. But the bow he had in the New World was much, much worse than the Mathews Creed bow he had back home. The arrows were shit, too; badly balanced, they were almost guaranteed to miss at any distance beyond a hundred paces. An arrow from Lasse''s Mathews Creed bow in the Old World traveled a hundred meters per second. The arrow from his New World bow - just under fifty. On top of that, in this rain, the primitive plaited leather bowstrings would be useless. Sven wished he''d thought to get a couple of waterproof bow sheaths made. Yeah, a bowstring could be kept dry rolled up in a bag. But the time needed to string a bow when they came under attack ruled that out. It would be faster and easier just to charge whoever was attacking them. He had no doubt they''d win in any hand-to-hand combat as long as they weren''t outnumbered by more than three to one. All the Viking men and women had been well trained in melee combat. And unlike the bows, the swords and axes they had were excellent weapons. Tough, sharp, and beautifully balanced: Sven could throw his ax accurately enough to slice through a sheep''s skull at twenty paces. He carried a sword, too: he was really good with the sword. It stopped raining in the mid-afternoon, just as they reached the edge of the forest that stretched right up to the mine. The soil under their feet changed from mud to mud with stones. The track they followed began to weave between rises and swells, and towards the evening they had to cross a stream that was just a little too broad to jump across, and ran with a force sufficient to knock a man off his feet. They set up camp for the night on its other side. Sven forbade lighting a fire; there were some mutters and grumbles. They ate smoked fish and a cold, lumpy gruel of crushed oats and dried diced carrots and bran. All of them sprinkled a pinch of herbs over the food, and some a little more than that. Sven took the first watch along with Lasse, and he heard the muted giggles and whispers start a couple of mind-phases later. Sven measured time in mind-phases when he was in the New World. Back in the Old World, his success was due to the fact that unlike most people, he''d taken the trouble to get to know his own mind. He knew it naturally switched subjects every ten to fifteen minutes, and he let it run freely while dealing with any task that was at hand. He was a multi-tasker: that was what made him a successful man. Of course, this time-measurement method was wildly inaccurate by Old World standards that set time in seconds, minutes, and hours. But it was the only right way to measure time in the New World. In the New World, time was measured by heartbeats, breaths, sunrise and sunset; it was measured by the size of the moon, and the birth and death of life in all of its shapes and forms. In the New World, time wasn''t measured in arbitrary units; each moment felt like a piece of life gone by. When the moon was nearing the tops of the trees, Sven was relieved by Henrik and got a few hours sleep before dawn. He had no dreams; he dropped straight into a bottomless black pit. And then Ulla was shaking his arm and saying: "Sven. Sven. It''s time to get up." "Okay," said Sven, promptly and clearly and distinctly. He had programmed himself to do that, even when completely smashed. It was part of the myth that he''d created - that he was always alert, instantly awake. People didn''t dare to fuck around with someone who was always alert, and highly skilled in the use of a wide range of weapons. He washed his face bending over the stream, looking at the water skimming over the stones, foaming at obstacles: this was the flow of life itself. He noticed movement under the translucent, twisting film: he focused and saw the spotted back of a small fish disappear between the stones. The trees flanking the stream sighed and whispered. Every cell inside his body tingled with life. This was it. He''d never felt like that in the Old World. When everyone had eaten breakfast, they all set off for the mine. It was a sunny morning this time; the trees threw long shadows that turned the surrounding forest into a dark maze. The vegetation was too thick to to spread out. So Sven told his people to switch to a column, and led his team twenty paces in front of the miners. The rest of the escort brought up the back. He knew something was afoot long before he saw it. His heartbeat quickened slightly; his eyesight sharpened along with his hearing. That was his personal radar, the talent that made him a natural leader in both worlds. He raised a hand, waved it, and brought it down in slow motion. Everyone crouched and spread out, hands on weapons, eyes searching. Sven turned and said, very softly: "Lasse. Come here." When Lasse did, he told him: "You go ahead. Keep an arrow ready. Kirsten and Ingrid will go along with you, carrying their sacks. We''ll follow far enough behind to make sure they don''t see us when they notice your group. When you make contact, run right back. Keep going down the track. We''ll disperse to the sides, and intercept anyone coming after you. Got it?" "This fucking bow," said Lasse. "It''s a gamble to hit a cow at fifty paces." "I know. I don''t expect you to hit anyone, just make them scared enough to freeze for a few seconds. Have you ever had any military training, Lasse?" "No." "Well, let me tell you what the military calls an effective shot. An effective shot is a shot that makes the target incapable of action for a few seconds. That''s all it takes to kill it for good. You don''t need to kill anyone with your shot. You don''t need to wound anyone. All you have to do is make them freeze for a moment. That''s good enough. Someone else will finish the job for you, if you can''t." "Okay," said Lasse. "I guess I can make them freeze for a moment. I might even get lucky, and hit someone with this piece of shit." "That''s the spirit. Let''s go." Lasee held a short, whispered conversation with Kirsten and Ingrid. Then they moved off, walking with Lasse at point, helmet on, arrow stringed. Sven followed next with his team. He''d put his helmet on, and signaled all others to do the same. They''d barely walked a hundred paces before they heard the swish of a slingshot being swirled, and the first stone clanged off the side of Lasse''s helmet. As agreed, Lasse loosed off an arrow at something Sven couldn''t see. A yell rose from the trees in front and thin, scraggly shapes tumbled forth, arms waving crazily and sending stones hissing through the air. The sun was behind Sven''s back and he took maximum advantage, sending off people to chosen positions with flips and waves of his hand. He slid behind a convenient shrub, setting his shield onto the ground and whisking his ax from his belt. The miners ran past first, their sacks bouncing on their backs. Lasse followed close behind, stringing a fresh arrow to his bow as he ran. He definitely wasn''t a multi-tasker: he slipped and fell a few steps ahead of Sven''s position, shouting out with anger and fear when he hit the ground. Slingshot stones smacked into the soil around him. He got up to his feet and turned around, raising his bow. Sven heard a triumphant whoop and the thump of running feet, and his radar told him this was a bunch of lightweights approaching, just like the teenagers he''d had to punch and kick in his early days as a drug lord. He was right. They came into view almost as soon as the girls went past, with Lasse right on their heels. They were a bunch of thin-limbed kids in rough animal skin shifts, barefoot and yelling as they swung their slingshots around in preparation for another shot. They looked thin and desperate and very easy to kill. They were. Sven shouted and sprang forward from his hiding place and others followed suit, yelling crazily. The slingshot kids froze for a moment, and that moment was all that was needed, exactly as prophesied by warfare experts. Sven swung his arm, and his ax cartwheeled crazily through the air before splitting the skull of the nearest kid in a pink-red spray. "Take them alive!" Sven screamed, and that was enough for the kids: they lost the will to fight. They didn''t even try to run. They dropped their weapons and allowed themselves to be punched and kicked into submission, stripped of all their possessions, bound and gagged. There were just seven of them, and Sven instantly sent out a search party to look for others. Then he smacked and kicked the captives until they told him everything he wanted to know. The first guy he talked to tried to be a hero, and Sven had to chop off couple of his fingers to get the conversation going. It all became very easy from this point onward. Chop, chop, and it''s done! The kids had a camp right near the copper mine. They were originally from Gallivare. There''d been a cube there, too, but the local cops had been swift and no one else had swiped any items. It had all been fun, nothing else! They''d never wished any harm on anyone. Anyway, wasn''t all this like a video game, this New World thing? No one could really die, could they? Whatever! They were all really very sorry for any aggravation they might have done. Sven made sure they were all very sorry by cutting off the head of the teenage girl that seemed to be the brains of the gang. He did it close enough to their faces to get them all sprayed with the blood. Then he said: "Listen, twits. You''re going to take us to your camp now. Once we get there, you''ll all get a choice. You can join us, and we''ll make real people out of you. If you don''t, we''ll make real corpses out of you. As I said, it''s your choice. All of you that want to become people, please raise your hands." They were smart kids. If you can''t beat them, join them! Sven looked at the shaky raised hands, and smiled. He turned to Ulla and said: "Give them something to eat. They''re starving." Then he stepped away from everyone, and looked up at sky, and saw that the clouds were dispersing to reveal an optimistic, candy-blue view of the universe. I''ve done good, he said silently to the sky. You did, answered the sky. All was well. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 64 Burial Party The teenagers began to die a couple of hours later. The boy that had tried to be a hero was the first to go. Sven had amputated the little fingers on each of his hands with clinical precision, cutting them off midway between their joints. Losing the top part of a little finger wasn''t the end of the world. The kid would regain normal use of his hands once the wounds healed. There would be no infection: Ulla had sterilized the wounds with hot tar, which had the added benefit of stopping the bleeding. Sven watched her closely as she did that, and detected a hint of pleasure in her face when the kid screamed while she dripped smoking tar onto the wound. And she knew she was being watched! If he''d had his back turned, she''d have probably grinned from ear to ear. He had to do something about her, and soon. The unhappy kid that died first had been walking at the head of the column of four captives. He had been moaning and blubbering all along so no one paid attention when he let out a longer moan. But then he just dropped to the ground like a puppet whose strings had just been cut. Sven ordered the others to keep going: he wanted to reach the mine well before nightfall, so that they could check its surroundings for hostile presence. Maybe they''d even be able to locate the kids'' camp - they''d said it was just a few kilometers away from the mine. He stayed behind with his team: Henrik, Ulla, and Lasse. They stood and watched Ulla examine the kid for signs of life. After a while, she looked up at them and shook her head. "Dead as a doornail," she said, and Sven noted that she didn''t smile. Maybe she felt the kid''s death reflected badly on her first-aid skills. "Sorry, guys," Sven said. Henrik grimaced. "I''ve already dug a grave today," he said. Sven nodded. "Right," he said. "Ulla, go with Lasse. Find a spot that will make it quick and easy - soft soil, no stones or tree roots. Go on, move. I want to find the camp of those hotshots before the end of the day." He and Henrik waited by the fresh corpse, watching Ulla and Lasse as they moved around, with Lasse prodding the ground with the end of his bow from time to time. It was clear he didn''t have great respect for the bow as a weapon, and Sven sighed. He would have to have a stern talk with the guys who were working on a prototype crossbow. It was taking far too long. "Do you think he died of shock?" asked Henrik, looking at the dead kid. Sven shook his head. "No," he said. "Someone pulled the plug on him, back in the Old World." "You mean the guy removed his implant?" "Yes." "Why didn''t he do it sooner? As soon as you cut off the first finger?" "Those kids are smart," Sven said. "They want to find out more about us. That''s why they''re keeping the other three alive. This particular kid probably didn''t like the pain." "The guy who controlled him could feel it?" "Of course. Not as badly, maybe it was more of an itch than real pain. I wouldn''t know. I haven''t had any fingers amputated. Hey, Ulla''s found a final resting place for the poor bastard. She''s waving to us. Grab his legs." They carried the body to where Ulla and Lasse were already hacking at the ground with their axes. Henrik was carrying a short shovel whose edges were as a sharp as a sword''s, and a shallow grave was ready in next to no time. They put the boy''s body inside, covered it, and then moved to catch up with the rest of the party, walking as fast as they could without breaking into a run. As they walked, Sven took a good look at the sun and tried to work out his chances of finding the kids'' camp before night fell. They weren''t good. They had at most three hours of daylight left, and it would take nearly two to reach the mine. Locating the kids'' camp wasn''t really that urgent. He was sure they were all gone already. That was why he''d cut off that girl''s head right in front of their faces. He wanted to get a strong message through to the kids'' controllers in the Old World. Fuck around with the Vikings, and you get your head cut off. Yes, the camp would be empty when he found it. But that was okay. He was interested in how it was set up. Also, it could be a good site for founding a fresh settlement. He had to get as many settlements going as quickly as possible! All hell would break loose on the first of March. Maybe he shouldn''t wait for the weather to get warmer before setting off on his planned motorcycle tour of the Viking club chapters. Yes, he would go earlier than he planned, on second or third of March. It meant Ulla''s mental recovery time would be cut shorter, but he couldn''t help it. He stopped suddenly, struck by a new idea, and Henrik bumped into him. "Sorry, Sven," he said instantly. The other two glanced at them, and went on without stopping. Henrik walked after them without another look at Sven. They all knew that when Sven froze like that, he''d just had one of his many brilliant ideas, and wanted to be alone for a while. Sven waited until they were twenty paces ahead before following in their footsteps. He didn''t really want to kill Ulla. She was useful. She knew a lot about herbs, and had quickly become Svenborg''s resident healer and midwife. And she was an awesome cook in both worlds. The thing was, he''d already reimplanted her once, and it didn''t work. The Ulla that was reborn in the New World began to slide into madness within a month of arrival. And her controller back in the Old World, the Ulla on Holm''s farm near Jokkmokk, had continued getting crazier without a hiccup. What if he did things differently this time? What if he killed Ulla''s second self in the New World by traditional means - sword, ax, a stone to the head? He already knew that when a New World life was ended, the controller''s implant simply disappeared. He''d seen it happen time and time again right at the start of their colonial venture, when they were chain-replicating sheep destined for instant slaughter. The blue light went out, and that was it. He and Olaf had split many implanted and non-implanted sheep skulls in both worlds, looking for traces. Olaf was familiar with sheep brains from his stint as a butcher''s assistant, and he said he could see absolutely no differences. But maybe there were subtle differences. It was logical to assume that a stream of information from another reality had a lasting effect. Maybe not strong enough to bring about biological changes, but psychological changes - yes! He would kill the New World Ulla the traditional way, and wait for a while before reimplanting her controller in the Old World. The shock of the killing coupled with a break from the New World could heal her. He''d have to be careful, though. She couldn''t know it was coming, couldn''t know it was him. If she did, Old World Ulla would bitch for months, he was sure. And she''d acquire a new source of stress to feed her madness. They all caught up with the main group just before they reached the mine. By that time, the sun was already setting. By that time, all of the kids were dead; their masters in the Old World had decided to call it a day. Sven insisted on giving each one a burial. He did it for practical reasons; he knew there were wolves around. Very few, and very shy. Sven didn''t want the wolves to get into the habit of patrolling the route to the mine in the hope of finding fresh cadavers. They were multiplying and getting more aggressive as it was. His herders had killed a couple that winter; earlier on, it would have been unthinkable for wolves to get that close. All the burying they did en route meant they arrived at the mine too late to begin looking for the kids'' camp that day. It wasn''t urgent any more: Sven was sure its inhabitants were already well on the way somewhere else. It could also be that all of them were dead, that their masters back in the Old World decided to start again in a different location from the first one. Whatever; Sven knew they would do their very best not to upset the Vikings again. They lit a huge bonfire that evening, without caring who saw it. Lasse had killed a couple of rabbits with his bow, so they had fresh roast in additions to their rations. The general mood was much better than it had been the previous night. Sven chose that moment to reveal their plans for the next day. The miners would get busy looking for precious ore, and the escort would scour the area to the north in an attempt to find the kids'' camp. "I don''t think we''ll be in any danger," he told them. "So this time, we''ll go in pairs. Uwe, you''ll stay here, just in case. Lasse, you go with Henrik." He looked at Ulla and smiled and said: "And you - you''ll come with me." NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 65 Bingo! They ate so well that evening that everyone except the sentries slept like logs. Sven took the first watch together with Ulla. He thought, lazily, about killing her during the night, but dismissed that notion quickly. It would mean disrupting everyone''s rest - he''d have to raise the alarm, and send out teams to search for Ulla''s purported killers in the middle of the night. And it would have reflected really badly on himself; he was keeping watch with her - it was his duty to watch her back. By the time his watch was over and he was shaking Henrik awake, he had found the perfect way to remove Ulla from the New World. He''d remembered the old maxim that people were killed by what they loved. Dawn came and the night''s frost became a sparkling blanket, turning from pink into yellow into white before it melted away into the ground. Invisible birds started to sing and call out from the trees, and the shapes arranged in a circle around the fire began to stir. One by one they rose from their rest, and stretched and yawned and hurried to the fire on legs stiff with sleep and cold. It promised to be a beautiful, sunny day. But Sven wasn''t in a sunny mood. They''d slept for too long, tired from two days'' forced march and with bellies full of food. He calculated that they''d set out to look for the kids'' camp a good couple of hours later than he''d planned, and he hated running late. What he''d planned to do later that day made his mood even worse. He chivvied everyone along mercilessly, forcing them to gulp down their food. He shouted at the Vikings emptying their bowels in the bushes, telling them to stop wanking and get their shit together. This last instruction caused some confusion among the Vikings that had already started to defecate, and merriment among others. He divided them into three teams. Karl and Erik headed northwest, while Lasse and Henrik went northeast. Ulla and himself struck out north, as closely as they could make it. They were guided by the sun, and the moss growing on the trees: it always faced north. The kids had said the camp was only a few kilometers away from the mine, but Sven ordered all teams to move in a zigzag pattern, so they walked three kilometers for every kilometer they moved forward. After the first hour or so, they lost visual contact for good. Sven walked on with redoubled attention, scanning the terrain ahead. He saw what he was looking for before very long: the grey face of a distant cliff flickering between the trees. He stopped, raising his hand and bending his neck to get a better view. When Ulla drew up level he said, pointing: "See that cliff? Let''s go there, and find out whether we can climb on top. With any luck, we''ll see a good couple of klicks out. Save us a lot of legwork." He set off without waiting for her answer. He heard her follow, felt her gaze on the back of his neck all the way to the cliff. All the way to the cliff, he waited for the right moment to put his plan into action. That moment never came. It arrived a good deal later. They''d found a way to climb the cliff, and were standing on the relatively level top of a rock right next to the summit. It was quite roomy, a dozen people would have easily fit in there. They''d have to be careful, though: the stone platform fell away to a precipice which guaranteed ten meters of freefall before ending on a slope bristling with pointed rocks. It was like Sven had anticipated. They had a magnificent view, and they saw the kids'' camp almost right away. It was in a clearing near the base of a heavily wooded hill, maybe a half an hour''s walk away. "Bingo," said Sven. When he was a little kid, he was very fond of an ancient comic series that featured a character called Bingo. Bingo was twelve, and outsmarted every adult in the most horrid ways imaginable. His crowning achievement was a booby trap that made the contents of a toilet bowl shoot up instead of down upon flushing. It wreaked terrible casualties among health-conscious defecators who always examined their stools for warning signs before flushing them down. And each time Bingo scored a hit, each time Bingo succeeded he said ''bingo''. Sven loved Bingo. Unfortunately, he''d only gotten to read the twenty or so Bingo issues which he got on on his fifth birthday from his grandfather - a well-meaning, naive man. He''d made up for it by reading each comic at least thirty times. The most recent Bingo issue he''d read had been dated July, 1971. The problem was, Bingo had an older sister that was a model daughter and a model student and aspired to be a model, maybe even an actress if she got lucky. Their parents were very proud of her, and repeatedly asked Bingo why he couldn''t be more like his excellent sister, and cease being a pain in the ass. Naturally, Bingo retaliated against his sister as often as he could, and this provoked a growing public outcry as all the sisters who had brothers reared on Bingo turned into adults, and demanded that their voice be heard. Eventually, Bingo was killed off and another comic hero took his place. But long before that happened, an October, 1967 issue featured Bingo grinding some pills he''d stolen from the bathroom cabinet, and sprinkling the powder into his sister''s bedtime Ovaltine. After she''d drunk that and fallen asleep, he sneaked into her room with a toy he''d received for Christmas from his naive grandfather. It was a battery-powered, knee-high green plastic model of Godzilla. When activated, it walked around uttering threatening screeches while lit up by a bulb inside. If Sven could recall correctly, the Godzilla was a big hit. Bingo''s drug-moronized sister went out of her mind, and ceased to be a threat to Bingo''s operations. Sven decided he would model his behavior on Bingo''s. "I think we both deserve a little reward," he said, looking at the distant camp and thinking of Bingo. Ulla looked at him expectantly. He stayed silent, forcing her to ask: "What do you have in mind?" Sven opened the satchel slung on a strap across his shoulder and took out a small leather bundle. He unwrapped it in front of Ulla and showed her the dried mushroom caps. "You''ve done well on this trip," he said. "Help yourself. When we get back home, I''ll give you back your stash. You''re fine again." Her hand shot out, and she crammed the caps into her mouth like a greedy animal. Sven felt a little better about what he was about to do. He said: "Easy now. Leave some for me. Here, wash them down." He held out his leather bottle and picked up a bunch of caps and when she tilted her head back to drink, he quickly replaced all but one. He wrapped the caps back up and put the bundle in his satchel, chewing the single cap as if his mouth was full. He took the bottle back from Ulla, and drank deeply before plugging it up again. "So what do we do now?" said Ulla. There was no way the mushrooms could have started working, but her voice had already changed. "Sit down and admire the view," said Sven. "It''s going to be a trip. Maybe later we''ll saunter down to that camp and check it out. It doesn''t look much, at least from here." "They were just a bunch of scrawny kids," Ulla said. "Yeah," said Sven. They sat side by side in silence, admiring the view, because it really was something to admire. In the distance, snow-tipped peaks glittered in the sunlight. Lower down, a thick fur of trees rolled over hills and dove into gullies that were black with shade. Right under the cliff, the rocks bared their teeth. When Sven felt his dick begin to thicken, he knew Ulla must be ready too. It was the magic of the mushrooms, all this extra blood pumped by an eager heart. Sven could feel the pulsing in his temples when Ulla said: "Wanna fuck?" He turned and smiled at her. "Sure," he said. When they touched, she said: "Me on top." "Later, you crazy bitch," he told her. They kissed and he pushed her down onto the ground and lay down between her thighs. Her legs were around his waist before he''d even got inside her. He started fucking her, slowly at first. As he sped up, he grabbed her neck and pulled her face up and kissed her. He continued to hold her up and kiss her as her ass slid a little closer to the precipice with each stroke. She moaned that her ass hurt halfway there and tried to lie down, but he didn''t allow it. Had she lain down, she''d have found out her head was already over the ledge. So he kissed her to shut her up, and kept fucking and finally felt that it was his arms alone that were keeping her from falling to the rocks below. He gave her one final savage thrust, shouting in fake panic: "Watch out!" The he loosened his grip, and watched her fall. She was so stunned she didn''t make a sound as she went down. She did make a sound when she hit the ground. There were a couple of distinct cracks punctuating the loud, wet smack. It took Sven a few moments to get himself together. He was crying when he climbed down the cliff. He was crying because on the way down he''d purposefully fallen onto a couple of big stones, acquiring several cuts and many bruises. He could have handled Ulla''s death, or the cuts and the bruises. Together, it was a bit much. And anyway he felt that maybe it was wise to cry a little, in case anyone was watching from above. Ulla was dead. She''d hit the ground headfirst, and her neck had snapped. So did an arm and a leg, with her shinbone piercing her skin. Sven clenched his teeth, and hammered his left arm against a rock until the underside of his forearm became a disaster area. He also gave one his knees a good knock. Not disabling, but painful enough to remind him to start limping when he came across one of his people. He made sure Ulla was dead, then picked her up and slung her over his shoulder, on his uninjured side. It was going to be a long, long way back to the mine. It was going to hurt like hell. He decided he''d treat it as penance for what he''d done. As he started walking, he heard a crow screech above his head. The screech sounded full of approval. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 66 The Best Cook Sven arrived at the mine just as the afternoon was changing into evening. By that time, he was in a shape resembling Ulla''s. Her blood had mixed with his own to run and crust all over his legs and arms and face. He was exhausted and looked it, looked very much the devoted leader who didn''t abandon fallen comrades even when it meant lugging a dead body for many hours. "Fell from a cliff," he said, in response to a flurry of questions. He put Ulla''s body down by the fire, and sat down nearby and waited for the two other teams to return. He had a very long wait. Karl and Erik returned right after sunset with nothing to report; but Henrik and Lasse didn''t turn up until close to midnight, with plenty to report. They''d come across the kids'' camp, the camp Sven had seen from the clifftop. It had turned out to be nothing but a desolate huddle of shacks with little of value: all Henrik and Lasse had found was a few primitive tools, and some untreated animal hides. Henrik and Lasse had spent a lot of time going through the camp with a fine-toothed comb, and as a result night had fallen before they could complete their journey home. They''d gotten lost, and had nearly wept with joy when they smelled the smoke of the fire burning at the mine. If it wasn''t for that, they might have spent the whole night wandering around in the forest. Sven listened patiently to everything Henrik and Lasse had to say, and examined the kids'' tools. Made of stone and wood, they were very crude. His New World duties done, Sven promptly went to sleep and woke up back at his farm near Jokkmokk. Things had changed in his absence. He could hear the bleating of sheep from the yard: it seemed Olaf had succeeded in buying some from Persson. Sven got up from the hiber bed, feeling tired even though he had had over seven hours of sleep. He wondered, not for the first time, whether physical exertion in the New World affected his Old World self. It definitely felt that way, and he suspected that it did, although the effect was very muted, just as it was with physical pain. He had cracked a rib during one of his excursions in the New World, and he had felt a persistent itch in the same spot for a couple of Old World days until his rib had healed. He left his room and made his way outside, gingerly stepping between and over the sleeping Vikings. It put him in a bad mood. He had to find a way to accommodate all those people elsewhere. It tired him out, having so many people living at his farm for such a long period of time. He needed some peace, privacy, and solitude. He had his bedroom all to himself, true, but that wasn''t enough. Olaf was standing right in the center of the yard, examining the ear of a sheep. He had turned it inside out and was prodding at it with the tip of his finger. The sheep objected by uttering a series of plaintive bleats. Sven grimaced, and shouted: "Olaf! Leave that unhappy animal alone and come here." When Olaf joined him, Sven asked: "What the fuck were you doing to that sheep?" "I think it''s got an ear infection." "Are you out of your fucking mind? You''ll be eating that sheep tonight." "Maybe it''s not wise to eat a sheep with an ear infection." Sven stared at Olaf for a while, then said: "From now on, I forbid you to have any more contact with those fucking sheep except when eating roast mutton. You''ll be wanting to marry one, next. It''s off to the hiber bed with you. You need a proper dose of the New World." "That''s great. It''s kinda boring back here. But you know, my guy in Svenborg is bored out of his skull as well. I mean he''s sitting on his ass and listening to bitching and complaints all day." "I left you with a lot to do." Olaf shrugged. "It''s all getting done," he said. "It was all just a matter of getting things properly organized. By the way, the guys have finished working on the crossbow. They''re making a bunch of bolts now. They''re saying it packs a hell of a punch. It put an iron bolt clean through five centimeters of wood at fifty steps." "Sounds good," said Sven. "Now go and wash and have some rest. Spend a day in Svenborg and maybe get laid. At least you can still find some privacy over there. I''ll wake you up in time for dinner." Sven watched Olaf go into the house. Getting concerned about a sheep''s ear was a disturbing sign. What was happening to everyone? They all seemed to be going nuts, in both worlds. He frowned, and made his way across the muddy yard to the stable, where the communal kitchen had been set up. A space around ten meters square had been cleared in one of the corners. That was where stuff sent from the New World arrived. Ulla was busy cooking an enormous pot of soup. It smelled good: she really was a great cook, capable of making a good meal out of next to nothing. Sven saw that the shining blue dot was missing from her forehead. He ignored her, and went over to the corner to examine the new arrivals. There was a bunch of crude copper ingots, flecked with impurities of all sorts. They would have to be smelted down again before being used to mint coins. This reminded him: he had to go into town to talk to the jeweler who was making the coin dies for Sven''s mint. Jokkmokk''s only jeweler, close to bankruptcy before the catastrophe, was now working around the clock on coin dies for at least twenty newly registered mints. He was the only person in town with the right tools for the job. Sven wanted to make sure his order was right at the front of the queue. He needed to make money fast. He would need to have at least a couple of sacks of coins in a week''s time, when the new currency became the only legal tender. There was a solitary bar of silver among the copper. Sven picked it up, and looked it over. Like the copper, it was full of impurities. He sighed; he would have to set up a proper smelter at the farm. There was so much to do! Running a drug operation was pure relaxation, by comparison. It had mostly consisted of talking to people on the phone, with a drink parked in front and a joint in his telephone-free hand. This New World thing was turning him into its slave. He walked up to Ulla, and waited until she had finished chopping up a large onion and turned to him, wiping her hands on the dirty apron hanging from her waist. "How is it going?" he asked. "We''ve nearly run out of vegetables," she said. "We''ve got two sacks of potatoes and another of turnips and some onions. And that''s it. I have no idea how we''re going to feed all those people in a few days'' time." "I''ll think of something," he told her. "How do you feel?" "Better. You were right. I''d had a little too much of the New World." "Yeah," Sven said. "Too much of a good thing always ends badly. You''ve kept your signal muted?" "Yes, it was nice without that voice jabbering away all the time. Why?" "You didn''t feel any shock or discomfort? Particularly in the last couple of hours or so?" "No. Why?" It had worked! She wasn''t even aware that her second self was dead. She seemed to be much better, too. The hints of craziness that had hung around in her face were gone. "Your Ulla in the New World is dead," he told her. "We were fucking on top of a cliff and we fell down. She broke her neck. My guy was pretty badly knocked about too, no serious injuries though." Ulla actually smiled. "Death while fucking," she mused. "You know, Sven, I wouldn''t mind going out like that. For real." He grinned and said: "Yeah. I wouldn''t mind that, too." "We''re still going on that trip? That tour on the motorbike you talked about?" "Yes." "Good," she said. She shuddered and added: "I''m starting to feel claustrophobic here." "Me too. As soon as the first of March rolls around and I''m done with the colony formalities, we''re off." "I can''t wait." "Neither can I," said Sven. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 67 Legs and Eggs Stefan Sonberg, mayor of Jokkmokk, sat next to Max Dahl, the town''s police chief, on a dais fronting a roomful of policemen and town clerks. The policemen and the clerks sat on chairs arranged in rows; they reminded Sonberg of schoolchildren called to assembly by the school principal. They were all listening to Max Dahl drone on as he summed up the new procedures for dealing with food hoarders and speculators. His audience fidgeted and whispered. Sonberg noticed that one of the policemen sported a black eye accompanied by an ugly greenish-grey bruise on his cheekbone. He knew how those injuries came around: that particular cop had tried to stop a fight which had erupted over the few cans of cat and dog food foolishly left on a self-service shelf by the store''s owner. Sonberg had called this meeting at the town hall because the food situation in town was becoming catastrophic. He had been getting more and more nasty glances from other people, partly because he was very fat, no doubt, a grave offense at a time when food was increasingly scarce. But quite independently of that, the mood in town was getting ugly, and there was a growing threat of unrest. Jokkmokk had received fifty thousand daily ration packs from a nearby army base, but that wasn''t much for a town with over 10,000 inhabitants. Stefan Sonberg was doing his best to find more food for his townsfolk. Jokkmokk had exactly eighteen working vehicles that were ancient enough not to have vehicle data transmitters installed. Sonberg ensured all eighteen were on the road night and day, trying to secure new supplies. They had very little success: everyone was hoarding food. Sonberg knew that there were at least fifty big-scale hoarders in Jokkmokk. There was a law that allowed the authorities to requisition food from hoarders in times of crisis, such as war or a natural disaster of immense proportions. What had happened on the second day of January was clearly a natural disaster of immense proportions. However, it was far from clear how to put the law into practice. Policemen balked at forcing their way into people''s homes to conduct searches, and take away whatever excess food they had found. ''Excess'' was defined as more than a month''s supply. Sonberg knew that several hundred households had already ran out of food. He''d seen them line up as early as six in the morning to collect their daily ration packs. Everyone without food was entitled to receive one ration pack every day. The drone of Max Dahl''s voice stopped suddenly, breaking Sonberg''s reverie. He turned to look at his police chief. He expected Dahl to announce that he was done, and that mayor Stefan Sonberg would now make his closing remarks. But Dahl had a surprise up his sleeve. "I would like to apologize to everyone in advance for keeping you here longer than was planned," he said. "Unfortunately, something big has come up. Big and urgent. So I would like to take this chance to discuss it right away." He finally became aware of Sonberg''s increasingly heavy stare, and glanced at the mayor. Sonberg said: "If it''s big and urgent... Please go on. The sooner we deal with it, the better." "We have evidence that Sven Holm has established an illegal colony in the New World," Dahl said dramatically. "It has come to our knowledge that one of the cubes appeared on his farm. He has appropriated all of its contents, and he is using them to colonize the New World." "And what do you propose, chief?" Sonberg said silkily. The town clerks in the audience flinched. They had all heard that tone in Sonberg''s voice at one time or another. They knew what followed next from bitter experience. Dahl didn''t. He said: "We must conduct a search of Holm''s farm and confiscate anything related to the New World: implant kits and hiber beds along with whatever he''s been receiving from over there. My sources tell me he''s sending in food and goods from the New World." "He''s sending food?" Sonberg asked softly. "Yes." "I see. Let me ask you something: do you know how many people he''s got staying at his farm?" "Forty two," Max Dahl said confidently. "I know that it''s a lot. I''ve checked, and in situations such as this I can request assistance from the military. I probably will. This will discourage Holm from resisting arrest." "You''re proposing to arrest Holm?" asked Sonberg. "Of course." "This is the biggest load of crap I''ve heard in a long time," said Sonberg. He got up from his seat and barked at Dahl: "Sit down. Sit down, damn you!" Dahl sat down, looking dazed. Sonbergh turned to the room and said: "I want you all - our police chief included - to understand a few things. Vital things that, it seems, has escaped our well-meaning chief''s attention." "I - " started Dahl, rising from his seat. "Sit down! Listen to me. Point one: Sven Holm is feeding over forty people on his farm. Point two: he''s already importing food from the New World. Point three: he has registered a mint that actually promises to be a real operation. Point four: he will be here promptly on March first, purchasing at least a hundred colonial licenses." "He told you that? And you believe him?" cried Dahl. "Yes, he told me that. And I believe him. He wanted to reserve a thousand licenses. I told him it couldn''t be done. The number of licenses I can issue cannot exceed the adult population within my jurisdiction. He practically got down on his knees when he was asking me for at least a hundred. He was ready to pay double the price, too." "I''m still - " "Good idea. Stay still and shut your mouth while you''re at it. Holm has promised to supply the town with food, up to half the value of the coinage he mints concurrently. I forbid you to touch Sven Holm. Do you understand?" "Yes, I do," Dahl said grimly. "Holm gets off scot-free, and on top of that he won''t be paying tax on his mint." Sonberg sighed and said: "God give me strength." He bent threateningly over Dahl, and added: "You didn''t get the most important part. He''s going to be supplying the town with food." At that very moment, not more than a couple of hundred paces from the town hall, Sven Holm was providing proof the mayor was right. He was handing a bag containing a couple of kilos of roast mutton to Oskar Blom, Jokkmokk''s only jeweler. "Thank you very, very much," Blom said, and meant it. "Have you got the dies ready?" "The hammer dies, yes. I haven''t finished the casts, though. I need another week for these. You said they weren''t a priority." "I did nothing of the sort. I said the hammer dies were the top priority." "And they are all ready for you. Won''t you be just cutting and hammering the coins out for the first few weeks? You told me you haven''t even built a proper smelter, yet." "Look at me," Sven said heavily. "If I find out you''re sneaking in other orders ahead of mine - " "You won''t! Making a hundred dies takes time! I''m working as fast as I can." "How many have you got ready?" ""Around twenty." "Let me see. Put them on the counter." ''They''re in the safe." "So go and get them." While Blom was getting the dies, Sven examined the hammer dies he''d received. They resembled huge nails, with a cap for the hammer on one end and the coin die on the other. Each coin required two different dies, one for each of its sides. It was a very labor-intensive method of producing coinage, but it was the only method available to him at this time. He needed to take a lot of money with him on his tour of the other Viking chapters. And he needed to leave some behind, too. He had already promised that everyone involved in his colonization effort would be paid both well and regularly. The official kickoff date was first of March, just a few days away. It looked as if he would be able to leave them no more than a couple of silver coins per head. Hopefully, given the terrible shortage of the new currency, those two silver coins would be enough to cover a month. After all, they were all getting food and board already. Bloom came back with the dies he''d made for casting coins out of molten metal, and Sven discovered that the idiot had started with the ones meant for small denominations. There was only a single set of dies for casting ten-krona pieces! Sven felt compelled to say a couple of nasty things to the jeweler, and received the promise that all the remaining dies would be ready in five days'' time instead of a week''s. "I''ll be bringing a lamb leg," he told Oskar Blom. "If everything''s ready, you get to eat it. If it isn''t ready, I''ll beat you to death with that leg. It''s going to take a long time, and it will hurt. Got it?" "All the dies will be ready. I promise," Blom said. "Good. I might even bring a few eggs." And with that Sven was gone, banging the door of the shop shut with unnecessary force. Oskar Blom watched him walk out. When he was sure Sven wasn''t coming back, he allowed himself a chuckle. "You''re a smart man, Oskar," he said aloud. He was right. He had all the dies ready. But had he given them all to Sven, he wouldn''t be receiving a leg of lamb in five days'' time. And quite possibly, also a few eggs. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 68 I Heard It On The Radio Sven Holm walked back to his farm with a heavy step. The dies and casts he was carrying weighed a lot, and he also had a big load on his mind. He was sure Blom was holding out on him. But this wasn''t the right moment to get tough with Blom. He needed his services, needed Blom to be enthusiastically cooperative instead of sulking with a cast on a freshly broken finger. No, that was definitely out; his favorite negotiation tactic was out. It would be grossly counterproductive. Blom needed to have all his fingers in excellent working order. Sooner or later, Sven would be placing another order for coin dies. He was passing by the town hall when its big double door opened, and a stream of people began flowing down the entrance steps. It looked as if the town''s entire police force was involved. Some of the cops threw dirty glances in Holm''s direction. He smiled at them, and waved with his free hand. "Holm!" He turned his head and saw that Stefan Sonberg was standing on the top step. He was wearing a fur coat that made him look like an overweight bear. Sven stopped and waited, looking at Sonberg. When it became clear to the mayor that he was the one who would have to make the first move, Sonberg puffed out his cheeks and descended the stairs in a very majestic manner. Sven decided to compromise, and walked a few steps towards the mayor as he stepped down the last stair. Some stragglers were still in the process of leaving the town hall, and Sonberg glanced at them pointedly before saying in a loud voice: "I want to discuss something with you. Serious accusations have been made." He broke off to glare at a couple of town clerks who had slowed down almost to a standstill, ears flapping. "Have a nice day," Sonberg told them nastily. Within a moment, there was no one within earshot. He turned to Sven and said: "That moron Dahl wants to arrest you. He says you got equipment from a cube that appeared on your farm, and that you have started a colony in the New World." Sven smiled at the mayor, and said: "So?" "So make sure you''re right at the front of the lineup to the Colonial Office when it opens for business. There''ll be two hundred licenses waiting for you." "Two hundred? Thank you very much. I''m really happy to hear that." "You won''t be so happy when you hear why you''re getting an extra hundred. We''ve reestablished radio communications. Yes, wireless transmissions are possible again. And almost the first message we got was from the New World Colonial Council. They''re limiting the number of implant kits received with every colonizer''s license to just two, instead of ten." "Shit," said Sven. "There''s also another change. Only licensed colonizers will be allowed to purchase individual colonist licenses, and then only up to eight, for a total of ten implant kits. You want to get more, you''ll have to buy another colonizer''s license." "Aha," Sven said. "Smart. They''re ten times as expensive, right?" "Right. My guess is, they simply want to suck all the old money from the market. Colonial licenses are going to be the only thing old money can still buy. So they''ve found a way to make them more expensive without actually changing the price." "It''s still a hundred thousand crowns? For a colonizer''s license? And ten thousand for the colonist''s license?" "Yes." Sven did a quick calculation in his mind, and said: "Sounds like I''ll have to find an extra couple of million. Well, thanks for letting me know in advance." "My pleasure." "Goodbye." "Goodbye." Sven resumed his journey, fuming inside. Yes, he could afford a couple of million crowns extra. But there were eighteen other chapters of the Viking Motorcycle Club, and they''d need more money, too. He''d already promised them a million each. That meant he was left with just ten million crowns'' worth of wiggle room. And they would all expect at least an extra million each. He was already eight million crowns short. He''d have to take along a lot of coins, more than he had planned. He was sure everyone would be only too happy to exchange their old money for the new currency. He would tell the presidents of the other club chapters to buy up old money if they came up short for the colonial license fees. But would they listen? They all needed to eat and drink. They needed all the new money they could get simply to satisfy their Old World needs. He worried about it all the way back to the farm. The moment he got there, he was hit by new worries. "We''ve lost communications with the New World," Olaf Berg told him the moment he got back. The bag of dies clanged and tinkled as Sven dropped it on the floor. He stared at Olaf and said: "One moment." He took off his thermal jacket and boots and went to his desk in the main room and got a flat bottle half-full of aquavit from a locked drawer. He had a good swig, and sat down and lit a cigarette. He said: "Okay. One step at a time. What happened?" "Well, Henrik noticed his guy had stopped transmitting right after you were gone. He woke me up and I couldn''t get in touch with my guy, too. I asked around, and it''s the same for everyone. We''ve all lost the ability to communicate with our people in the New World." "Hang on." Sven put his fingers over the implant in his head and rubbed it gently in a circular motion for a while, drinking and smoking with his other hand. He looked up at Olaf and said: "You''re right. I didn''t know about it. I''d muted my guy for the trip into town, and now he isn''t there. The signal''s completely gone. Something funny is going on. Did you try the hiber bed? Can you enter your guy in the New World?" "No, I didn''t. Just didn''t have the time." "Then find out," said Sven. "Find out right away. Go to my room, and use my bed. I''ll wake you in a few minutes." He sat at his desk and drank and smoked. People constantly entered the house, made to approach him, then saw his face and quickly changed their minds. A couple of idiots called out his name. He gave each of them a look that sent them scurrying outside, and out of his sight. He was getting really fucking tired of this whole business. It wasn''t fun any more. It had been nearly two months since he''d last got properly drunk. Instead, he was increasingly relying on crystal meth to get through the day while attending to most of the things requiring his attention. Most of them, because there was no way he could attend to them all. Not even while working eighteen-hour days. Time was short! He was about to embark on a trip, would be gone for almost a month. He had to make sure everything was running well before he left. Praise heavens for Olaf! Berg was the best organizer he''d ever met or heard of. In a way, he was wasting his talents with the Vikings: he would be a priceless asset to any organization in the world. That reminded him: it was time to wake up Olaf, and find out if the transition between the two worlds worked as usual. More work! Sven upended the bottle of aquavit in his mouth and killed it - there were just a couple of gulps left, anyway. Feeling somewhat refreshed, he went to wake Olaf. Olaf was sleeping like a baby, and no wonder: he had big dark circles under his eyes. Like everyone else, he wasn''t getting enough rest and enough food. He didn''t really need the hiber bed to sleep, he could probably lie down anywhere and go out like a light. It took a while to wake him. When he did, it was another while before he was coherent. "The transition is fine, but there is a small panic in Svenborg," he said eventually. "Everyone is upset because they lost contact. I tried to calm things down but I think you need to get over there. It''s probably a good idea to visit Sellberg, too. It''s been a while since you went there, and they''ve been sending less and less salt and iron ore. You need to kick some ass over there, Sven." Sven groaned and shut his eyes. "Sven?" "Go and see Ulla and bring me a bowl of whatever she''s got going," said Sven, without opening his eyes. "Of course! All that walking you did today - I won''t be a minute." Olaf bustled out of the room. Sven opened his eyes and stepped over to the chest of drawers at the foot of the bed. He took out another flat bottle of aquavit from the bottom drawer. Unlike the bottle in his desk, it was untouched. He was going to eat the food Olaf brought, and he would tell him to take over. Then he would lock the bedroom door, and get drunk and pass out. And when that happened, he would pass into the New World and the whole business would start all over again. Running around and fixing things and taking care of a hundred different little issues. He was beginning to miss normal sleep, sleep without an implant in his head. His brain felt close to bursting with everything it had to process constantly, without a moment''s break. When Olaf entered bearing a bowl of watery soup and a hunk of ancient bread, Sven said: "You know, I think I''ve worked it out why we can''t talk to our guys in the New World. The mayor told me today that radio transmissions are possible again. I think it''s connected." "Radio? Great! Why do you think those two things are connected?" "Work it out for yourself," Sven said wearily. "I''m putting you in charge of everything for the next twelve hours. During that time, I''ll kill anyone who tries to speak at me. If they just look at me, I''ll stop at breaking an arm or a leg." "You''re tired." "I''m more than tired," said Sven. "Now, fuck off. Please. And shut the door." NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 69 Todays Special On Thursday, February the 22nd, 2035, Amanda Queen and Sharon Starr set off together for Skykomish - the tiny town where Sharon''s cousin was living with his family. They had initially planned to make the trip much, much earlier, but several factors conspired to delay it. The first of these was the discovery of tiger rock practically next to their settlement. They had been looking for it far and wide, and it had been under their noses all the time! It was hidden in a narrow ravine that they''d always skirted because it was overgrown with thorny shrubs. Linda, however, had discovered that the thorns made great fish hooks, and on one of her visits dropped her knife when a thorn fought back and pierced her hand. It was a great knife, arguably the best knife they had in their settlement, with a blade that cut animal hide as if it was paper. Linda had spent very many hours chipping tiny flakes of stone away to make it sharp, and almost as many hours on the knife''s handle, rubbing it down with grit and sand until it was perfectly smooth. It was much too precious to lose. They had to mount a special expedition to recover that knife. It took several hours, and they were all covered with wounds from the thorns by the time they''d found it. But in the process they discovered the ravine, and tiger rock. Discovering tiger rock changed their lives, maybe even saved their lives back in the Old World. They immediately built a launch platform, and began sending all the food they could. They stopped after two New World days, when almost half of the back patio of Amanda''s Seattle home was covered with fish, wild roots, berries, and herbs. Then they did nothing but ate themselves stupid for two full Old World days: eating, sleeping, waking to eat even more, sleeping again. The old saw that when it rains, it pours proved itself to be true yet again. On the third day of their gargantuan feast, they were visited by a couple of sailors from the U.S. Navy. When Amanda saw them, she initially thought they''d come because someone had tattled the Amazons were running a colony in the New World. But the sailors smilingly informed her the Navy was delivering thirty daily ration packs per person in a household: was it true the Amazons, the whole band, were staying at her place? Could they get autographs? They got something better: signed photographs of every girl in the band, while the girls in the band got some variety in their diet. They all liked fish, but it was starting to get old. All that food made them lazy. When Amanda managed to dig up an old, paper road map of Washington state, and discovered Skykomish was actually over a hundred kilometers away from Seattle, she did two things. First, she gave Sharon shit for claiming Skykomish was just half an hour''s drive away. Then she announced that they''d put the trip off until the weather got a good deal warmer. Traveling a hundred kilometers on a bicycle would take at least one long, exhausting day. The third factor that made them postpone the trip was that with the onset of winter in the New World, peace and calm came to the nascent Amazon empire. The weather discouraged new settlers, and those that had come earlier had learned to give the Amazons a wide berth. Fiona even said there was a rumor in town about a bunch of psychotic, bloodthirsty bitches raging around New World''s Puget Sound. She claimed she''d heard it from two different sources during her periodic forays into town. But after watching the third Sunday TV broadcast of the new world government, Amanda decided the trip couldn''t be postponed any longer. It was evident that there would be hordes of settlers rushing into the New World now that colonial licenses could be purchased with old currency, the old money that otherwise wouldn''t be worth the paper it was printed on. What was more, it appeared everything was scaled differently in the New World. The area corresponding to Skykomish in the Old World would be not a hundred, but a thousand kilometers away from the Amazon colony! Securing that route, and the area around it, involved a chain of at least twenty settlements! It was time to get busy. For the first three days following that fateful broadcast the Amazons were kept busy working on their bicycles: they were all in lamentable condition, having been neglected for a while. This activity necessitated wandering all over town to get a half-full can of WD-40, and a cupful of machine grease. Everything necessary for bicycle maintenance and repair was in great demand. In addition, each of them had to put in a couple of new weeks in the New World, where spring had just arrived. The previous year, they had successfully grown some oats from seedlings replicated in the New World. They had to clear a field to sow the seeds they had from that first harvest, and clearing a field with next to no tools turned out to involve back-breaking labor. Not one of them had a hand with less than two broken fingernails by the time they were done. On Thursday, February 22nd, Amanda and Sharon set out on their journey to Skykomish right after dawn. It was a grey, chilly day, with light powdery snow falling and melting soon after it hit the ground. But they started out well-rested and fed and clean, and they made sure to mute the signals from their alter egos in the New World. They didn''t want to listen to any bitching about how hard life was over there. And so, they were in high spirits as they whooshed on their bikes down the quiet, still streets of the sleeping city. Once they got onto the freeway, they went even faster, spurred on by the immense empty road whose size made it seem they were hardly moving at all. The snow stopped soon after they left the city, and Amanda was struck by how clear and pure the air was - it was almost as good as the air she breathed in the New World. As she pedaled on over the bridge across Washington Lake, she ran through some calculations in her mind: on an ordinary day back in the Old Times, there would be at least half a thousand cars per kilometer on the multiple lanes of the highway. Some would be electric, but there still would be several hundred combustion engines with many cylinders each, all running at least a couple of thousand revolutions per minute. Every second, each of these engines emitted at least twenty or thirty farts of toxic gas. Every second, there were thousands of liters of poison pumped into the air around the highway. But now every breath she took was pure goodness, bringing a fresh jolt of power to her muscles. She was high on oxygen, and her body sang with joy. Sharon was feeling the same way. They raced each other, riding side by side on the deserted road. They slowed down when the highway passed right next to the seashore. The sun had begun playing peekaboo behind the clouds, putting a light show on the water, and the view was magnificent. Amanda felt such joy that she came close to crying. She didn''t know what had inspired her to turn her head and look the other way, at the uninspiring landscape of the suburbs. But she was glad something did, because that landscape featured a cougar. It was bounding effortlessly along the side of the highway, keeping pace with the bikes and getting closer. "Sharon! Faster!" Amanda shouted, rising from her saddle to give the pedals extra push. She had taken her Glock pistol along, but it was in her backpack. Sharon looked at Amanda and saw the cougar. It was almost within leaping distance of Amanda. "Fuck!" Sharon screamed, and that seemed to give the cougar food for thought. Startled by the new voice, it stopped to look at Sharon. When Amanda glanced over her shoulder a few seconds later, it was still standing by the edge of the road and thinking things over. They kept going at full speed until there were absolutely no cougars within view. Then they slowed down, and Sharon asked: "What the fuck was that?" "A cougar," Amanda said. "I think they have some sort of cougar zoo around here. Can''t remember all the details, but I think it''s one of those setups where they roam around in a big enclosed area. They probably had nothing to feed the cats any more, so maybe they let them out. Or they escaped. Whatever." "I didn''t get a good look, but it seemed in fine shape. If it was starving, it wouldn''t have given up on us that easily." "Maybe it''s name is Fuck," Amanda said. "Or maybe it''s already made a meal of someone. Or something." "Or something." They cycled on in silence for a while, busy with new, sad thoughts and keeping an eye out for threats. They entered a town. They saw a few people out, some walking fast and purposefully, some standing and talking in pairs or little groups. Amanda was wondering why she couldn''t see anyone riding a bicycle - it seemed odd, they were all over the place in Seattle - when Sharon called out: "Do you see what I see?" "What?" shouted Amanda. Sharon raised her hand from the handlebar and pointed a finger and when Amanda''s eyes followed its direction, she saw a large restaurant signboard with big white letters spelling out: WE ARE OPEN. "Interesting," she called to Sharon. "Check it out? There''s an exit coming up." "Okay." They got off the highway and turned twice before coming to a stop in the restaurant''s empty parking lot. It was one of those old diners, with tinted glass windows that let them see there were actually a few people inside. It really seemed that the restaurant was open for business. This was the first time Amanda and Sharon had seen an open restaurant in quite a long while. They got off their bicycles and Amanda said: "Why don''t you go and find out what''s up? I''ll stay with the bikes." "Okay." Sharon set off and Amanda followed, pushing the bikes with a hand on each of the handlebars. She stopped by the pillar supporting the roof over the entrance and set the bikes against the pillar and took off her backpack. She thought it would be good idea to move the Glock into the big inside pocket of her parka. She''d just finished doing that when Sharon emerged from the diner, looking pale. She walked up to Amanda, head down and moving fast, and as she did the door to the diner opened and a man stepped out. He was tall and fat and ugly and had a flat, stupid face. He was dressed in dirt and grease: dirty greasy baseball cap, dirty greasy anorak, dirty greasy jeans. He called out: "Hey girls! Come on inside. It''s been a while since we had some nice female company here." Looking at him, Amanda was sure he was speaking gospel truth. She said: "No thanks. We''ll be on our way." She put her leg over her bike and ugly fat fuck started walking towards her, saying: "Now just hold on a minute. My treat! I''ll treat both of you nice girls to something hot, heh." Amanda saw dark shapes appearing right behind the tinted glass door to the diner. She took out her pistol and pointed it at the ugly fat fuck and said: "Stop." He did, mouth opening in amazement. "Now what the fuck - " "Shut up! Turn around. Turn around now, or I''ll blow a hole in your stupid face. Good. Now walk back inside. Move, asshole!" The door to the diner opened and another throwback lumbered out, calling: "Hey, what the fuck is this, what''s going on - " Amanda fired. She''d aimed at the top of the glass door but forgot how hard the Glock kicked, and hit the light mounted over the entrance. It shattered with a loud crash, spraying both men with glass. One of them shouted in pain. "Go!" Amanda shouted to Sharon, and they were off on their bikes like rockets. Amanda quickly fell behind: it was difficult to handle the bike with the gun still in her hand. She shot a glance back when they were exiting the parking lot. No one was chasing them; a small group of men had gathered in front of the door; one of them was bending over with hands to his face. She put the gun back inside her parka, and caught up with Sharon. They didn''t have any breath to waste on talking until they were back on the highway, and at least a couple of kilometers from the diner. They drew level and slowed down and Amanda asked: "What the hell happened in there?" "They had a body on the counter. They tried to block the view but I saw it anyway. An old body, all grey and with sagging skin and tufts of white hair. I turned and walked out the moment I saw it, before they said anything. They seemed pretty surprised when I walked in." "What the fuck where they doing with that body?" "I don''t know. I have no idea. But there was a very bad vibe in the air." They cycled on in silence for a while. Then Amanda said: "From now on, no stopping. We keep going until we reach your cousin''s place." "Right on." Small flakes of snow started to drift down from the sky again, sticking to their faces and melting instantly. It promised to be a very long day. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 70 Lost in the Mountains An hour later, just as they turned off the highway, the snow began to thicken. A gusty wind began to blow, and Amanda began to have doubts about continuing the journey. They had chosen a route that involved cycling down a couple of trails. Sharon said she''d taken it in the past, and it was considerably shorter than following the road all the way to Skykomish. Amanda wasn''t entirely convinced until Sharon told her that the trails ran by a couple of old, abandoned mines. They could mark the exact location of those mines on their way, and then mount an expedition to the corresponding area in the New World. "We''re doing this whole thing because we need metal ores, right?" Sharon had said, and Amanda had to agree with that. When Sharon added that she''d biked down the trails just a couple of years earlier and found it easy going, Amanda decided that this would be the route they''d take. But cycling down a trail in good weather was one thing, and doing it in a blizzard was another. They stopped at a deserted gas station for a quick conference. Amanda expressed her reservations, but Sharon was bursting with confidence. "I''m sure it''s going to be okay," she said. "The only part that may be a little tougher is getting across from one trail to the other. But it''s like a few hundred meters, and last time I went through there I actually rode the bike all the way. We''ve got trail bikes, right? So let''s hit the trail." "You didn''t run into any cougars?" Sharon laughed. "No," she said. "Those two trails are pretty popular. All those people constantly coming and going have frightened all the wildlife away." "I doubt whether there were a lot of people coming and going, recently. And we saw a cougar in the suburbs." "Didn''t you say they had some sort of a zoo over there, and that it must have escaped? Anyway we''ve got a gun, and you know how to use it. And remember, you said we should find a good spot for a settlement near those mines. In the New World." "Let''s take another look at the map," Amanda said. A gust of wind nearly tore it out from her hands as she unfolded it, and she shook her head. But once again, it was clear from the map that the trail route was not more than twenty five kilometers long. In normal weather, that would take three hours at the most. But it could take an eternity in a blizzard. On the other hand, sticking to the road meant they would have to double back. They would have to travel an extra twenty-odd kilometers, and might not be able to reach Skykomish before dark. Amanda put the map away and turned to Sharon and said: "It looks good, but the weather doesn''t. There''s a blizzard coming." "Bullshit," said Sharon, and Amanda frowned. "It''s like this all the time, in the mountains. I grew up in a shithole mountain town, remember? If we wait for perfect weather, we might be stuck here for a week." She broke off because of the look on Amanda''s face, and added quickly: "Of course it''s your decision. But maybe we could at least try to go up to the Middle Fork trailhead. It''s just ten kilometers, we''ll be there in an hour even in this weather. We''ll be almost halfway to Skykomish, and then you can decide whether we go on or turn back." "Okay. Let''s go," said Amanda curtly, and mounted her bike. She added: "You know the road, so you take the lead." "Okay." Sharon initially set a very brisk pace, so fast that Amanda had difficulty keeping up. She found herself thinking nasty thoughts about Sharon, and drummers in general. They didn''t even make music, they just helped others make music by providing a rhythm. They provided it by beating up on things. Doing that didn''t require a world-class intelligence, to say the least. She stopped thinking about that before long, however, because the road to the trailhead was full of evidence it hadn''t been frequented in quite a while. A few times, branches and boughs and rocks littering the trail forced them to get off their bikes, and carry them over the obstacles. Fortunately, the dense trees lining the trail partly protected them from the wind. They reached the trailhead nearly half an hour later than they''d planned. The weather hadn''t gotten worse; nor had it gotten any better. Once again, Amanda got out her map and she and Sharon pored over it, heads touching. The trail they would follow ended in the middle of nowhere. But Sharon said that there was no chance of getting lost if they followed a couple of creeks, and continued along the shore of a lake they''d encounter. She knew the route, knew the landmarks, and it was four, at most five kilometers cross-country before they hit the trail that would take them almost directly to Skykomish. "We will be there three-four hours from now," Sharon said confidently. "I can promise you that." "Let me think," Amanda said, and got out her cigarettes and offered Sharon one before lighting up. She didn''t smoke often: a pack of twenty sometimes lasted her a whole month. She''d found a cigarette improved her mental focus, and right now she needed it to be as good as it could get. She instantly knew that she didn''t really have a choice. Doubling back to stay on the road virtually guaranteed they wouldn''t reach Skykomish until well after nightfall. Being on the road at night wasn''t a good idea. There had been some nasty rumors circulating about things that took place at night, both in Seattle and elsewhere. In a desperate situation, people did desperate things. Staying somewhere overnight was risky. The encounter at the diner suggested it might be wise to avoid strangers. Asleep, they would be defenseless. No, the only way to go was forward. She just hoped Sharon knew the route as well as she''d claimed. She put her hand on Sharon''s shoulder and said: "If we get lost, I''ll fucking shoot you before I shoot myself. Let''s go. You know the way, so you lead." "Okay," Sharon said. She didn''t seem so confident any more. Mentioning they might get shot tended to have that effect on people. It put them in their place. It was a newly subservient Sharon that got on her bike. They discovered the two bicycles before they''d traveled a hundred meters. They were clumsily concealed, dumped flat behind trees that weren''t quite big enough to hide them. Sharon and Amanda stopped to have a closer look. It was clear the bicycles hadn''t been there for a long time. They were clear of forest debris that would have accumulated otherwise. There were strangers around, somewhere nearby. What were they up to? It was Amanda that came up with the answer. "Poachers," she said. "People are desperate for food. But poachers are always armed. And they might not appreciate running into other people." "So what do we do?" Now that''s more like it, Amanda thought. The drummer revolt was over. "We go on, of course," she said. "I''ll be right behind you. You see anyone or anything suspicious, get into the trees." Within a few minutes, they had to get off their bikes to lift them over a fallen bough. And things got progressively worse; before long, they were doing more walking than cycling. But they still moved along at a respectable speed: when Amanda checked the time on her old wind-up watch, she found it was barely past noon. It was hard to believe only six hours had passed since they''d set out. So much had happened in the meantime! After about an hour, they reached a wooden bridge spanning a large creek. They stopped on the other side to eat - they were both ravenously hungry. They stuck the air-activated heaters onto the pouches with the food and waited for it to warm up. They were just about to start eating when a voice said: "Hey there." They jerked round almost as on command. The voice belonged to a lean, mean-looking man who looked to be in his fifties: the bristle on his face was mostly grey and white. He was dressed in a skiing cap and a green anorak and camo pants, and high-topped laced leather boots. He was holding a shotgun in his hands. It was pointed to the side, like his finger on the trigger guard. But that could swiftly change. There was another man standing behind him. He was much younger, no more than early twenties, and he looked scared. He was carrying big leather bags slung from both shoulders, bags that were full of something lumpy. The man with the shotgun didn''t look scared. He seemed amused. He said: "Having a picnic? Not very good weather for that." Amanda said: "Would you have any food for sale?" That threw him off, all right. He was lost for words. "These are our last MREs," Amanda said. "We really need to get some food." "You came up here looking for food?" the man said, wonderingly. "Well, sort of. It''s the guys that are doing the looking. We just tagged along to help them transport whatever they would find." "The guys? What guys?" "My husband and her boyfriend. They should be back soon." "I see," said the man. He glanced around, as if looking for husbands and boyfriends to begin popping out from behind trees. The young man behind him said: "Let''s get going, Dad. Mom will be getting worried." Dad hesitated, looking at the MREs. "All right," he said eventually. "Okay. Hey, girls, you can tell your guys they won''t find nothing around the trail. Maybe around Treen Peak, that''s the rock showing between the trees over there. Now you have a good day." "You too," Amanda said. Sharon just smiled and nodded. They waited until the two men were across the bridge before they tore open the pouches with the food and began to eat. They were too hungry to talk. When they''d finished eating, Sharon said: "That was brilliant, the way you handled those guys." Amanda shrugged. "I don''t think they meant to do us any harm," she said. "Well they were poachers, just like you''d said. And the guy with the gun didn''t look pleased to see us. They seemed to have gotten something, too. I wonder why we didn''t hear that shotgun." "They''d likely set traps," Amanda said. "I think I heard metal clink in one of those bags when they went by." Sharon shook her head. "You are brilliant," she repeated. "At the very least, they''d have taken our MREs." "Maybe. Okay, off we go." Within fifteen minutes, they came to the end of the trail. But Sharon pressed on confidently, and they quickly emerged into a small clearing with a creek running alongside. Following it was tough at times, and Amanda began to worry. But then they came across the first of the two abandoned mines Sharon had said they''d find. It hardly deserved to be called a mine. It was a cave dug into the slope descending to the creek. Its ceiling and sides had been supported by wooden beams and boards, most of which had fallen away. The entrance was half-obscured by rubble. Amanda wanted to look inside, but she changed her mind when a large stone came unstuck from the ceiling of the cave as she approached, and thudded down right in front of her feet. "What did they mine here?" she asked Sharon. "Gold. What else? But where there is gold, there are other metal ores. Fuck. I wish my phone would work well enough to get the coordinates." "There are no smartphones, no coordinates in the New World," Amanda said, and Sharon laughed weakly and shook her head. After another half an hour they got to a clearing, and saw the waters of a lake flashing between the trees to their right. The snow had stopped falling, and the wind died down. It was eerie, walking alongside their bicycles in almost total silence except for the crack and snap of twigs breaking under their feet and the bike wheels. Sharon became puzzled: she couldn''t find the second creek that was to guide them to the other trail. Once again, the map came out. "Maybe it dried up, or changed course," Amanda said. "Let''s just keep going northwest. We''re bound to hit this big lake thing here, and then we just have to follow the shore north. Right?" "Right," Sharon said uncertainly. Fifteen minutes later, they got lost. They were distracted from their course by a gleam of water to the north. It took them a while to get there, and see that it wasn''t the lake they were looking for: it was hardly bigger than a pond. When they tried to retrace their steps, they came across a clearing they were sure they hadn''t seen before. They determinedly kept going and came to a cliff Sharon had never come across during her previous travels. She started to get hysterical, and Amanda had to slap her face to calm her down. "Wait here," she told her. "Don''t you dare budge one little bit. Get some rest. Meanwhile, I''ll climb that cliff and have a look around." "You''re going to climb that? It''s way too steep!" "I''ll go around it and up that slope to the side and I''m sure I''ll find a way, from the back." She was right. After she''d rounded the cliff, she found a place where she had to climb just a couple of meters, with plenty of convenient footholds. When she''d gotten to the top, she stood up straight and looked around and right away she saw the lake they''d been looking for. It was no more than a couple of hundred meters away. Its size and shape corresponded with the lake on her map. She went back to join Sharon and saw that she was crying from a long way off. She was sitting on a fallen tree trunk, and blubbing into her hands like a little girl. She tried to hide it when she heard Amanda coming, but without much success. A fresh tear welled up over her eyelid and slid down her cheek just as Amanda stopped in front of her. Amanda said: "Perk up, girl. We''re right on track. That lake we''re looking for is just a couple of steps to the west. Come on." This time around she was the one to take the lead, although it was Sharon who supposedly knew the way. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 71 Bears Paws Amanda and Sharon found the trail that would lead them to Skykomish in the nick of time: it was already getting dark. Within a few minutes, night had fallen; this made riding the bikes dangerous if not impossible. The trail was littered with debris that could cause bad damage both to the cycle and the cyclist. The night was cloudy, and once it got dark visibility was next to nil. The bikes were equipped with wheel rim dynamo powered lights, but at low speed they emitted an orange glow that was more hindrance than help. Amanda also had a flashlight, but the batteries were so weak she was restricting its use to emergency situations. She had attempted to buy fresh batteries, of course. But buying fresh, working batteries proved to be impossible. It was pretty much impossible to buy anything useful at all throughout Seattle. Anything that could be of use in the new reality was in great demand; Amanda suspected storekeepers were intentionally hiding what useful stock they had, too. They were waiting for the new currency, due to become legal tender in just a week''s time. On the other hand, there was never a better time for buying a major electrical appliance, or a new car. All car dealers insisted that the vehicle data transmission system would be fixed in the near future. In the meantime, here was a chance to acquire a top-of-the-line luxury vehicle at 10% of its standard price! Of course, it would have to be towed home by horses, but having something like that parked in the driveway was every driver''s dream. And once the VDT system was fixed - yes, of course, it would be fixed, everything would eventually get fixed and it would be just like the old times, before the catastrophe. No, better! There would be a rebound following the fall, a rebound of astronomical proportions. Just look at what happened to the world after World War II! Global prosperity on an unprecedented scale! Many people bought into that very literally. During her battery search, Amanda had passed by several car dealerships and saw many cars proudly sporting SOLD stickers on their windshields. She reflected that it made a kind of perverse sense to spend money that was about to become useless on stupid, useless things. What a change! Just a few months earlier, she''d been a rock star with fans all over the world. When she wanted to get somewhere in a hurry, she called her concierge service to arrange for a limousine and a private jet. And now she was stumbling in the darkness along a forest track on a winter night, cold and tired and increasingly hungry, burdened by the depressing knowledge that she still had a long way to go. The trail wound its way along a broad stream; an hour into their journey, Amanda and Sharon crossed it over a narrow wooden bridge. They stopped for a short rest and it was a mistake: they became aware of all the sounds in the forest. There were mysterious rustlings, hisses, even a couple of muted snarls. It was better to keep moving, the noise they made along the way made a good deterrent, all wildlife was rightly frightened of noise that indicated human activity. Humans had proved themselves to be the most dangerous species that had ever existed in Earth''s entire history. Staying clear of humans made good sense. Shortly afterwards, they came to a short bridge over a creek and Sharon said they were halfway down the trail. "So, how long before we get to your cousin''s place?" asked Amanda. "Well, first we''ll get to this turnoff to a camping ground. That''s where the trail changes into a dirt road, and we''ll follow that until we hit railroad tracks. It''s maybe half a kilometer along the tracks, and then we''ll come across a proper blacktop road and we''ll be there in ten minutes." "I asked about how long it will take from where we are right now," Amanda said through clenched teeth. "Two hours, I don''t know, maybe three. Let''s say three." "How about four?" "No, less than four. For sure." "As long as we make it there before midnight." "Oh, for sure, I... Did you hear that?" "What?" "That sound right now." "Stop that silly whispering, and let''s move on." "Amanda! Here it is again. Listen. Again! Maybe we should - " Although it was a very dark night, Amanda saw red. She whipped out the Glock from inside her parka, pointed it at the sky and fired a shot. BANG! The muzzle flash lit up Sharon''s face for an instant. She looked so scared it was pitiful. "That''s taken care of any sounds now and in the future," Amanda told her. "Now get your ass in gear or I swear I''m going do something drastic. And you won''t like it. Move!" They did. They kept moving and reached the dirt road in under half an hour. It was good enough to get on their bikes, and to go fast enough for the lights to work properly. They got to the railway tracks in less than twenty minutes. After not much more than an hour, they stopped in front of what Sharon said was her cousin''s house. It was amazing what firing a gun could achieve. The house was one of the first they''d come to. It was a big two-story building on a large lot that featured several parked vehicles. There was a large saloon and a station wagon and a wheeled tractor. Interestingly, there also was a police cruiser, parked next to the tractor. Only one window in the house showed a light. It was located on the top floor and the light was yellowish and weak. It suggested a candle by the bed, left alight while the bed''s owner prepared for sleep. They approached the front door, Sharon leading, Amanda giving the police cruiser a good long look as she passed by. She was relieved to see that it was covered by dirt and detritus that spoke of a lengthy stay. Most likely, the cop that had parked it there was long gone. Sharon proved to be a birdbrain by pressing the doorbell, and actually waiting for someone to come even though the bell hadn''t rung. Amanda pushed her aside and grabbed the heavy metal knocker and banged it against the door a few times. It worked. After a short wait, they heard steps approach the door and a pissed-off male voice asked: "Who is that and what the fuck do you want?" "Jeffrey!" screamed Sharon. "It''s me! It''s Sharon! I''ve come all the way from Seattle! Oh my God, I''m so glad you''re home." The door opened and a flashlight beam hit their faces, blinding them. "Sharon!" "Jeffrey! Oh, yes. This is Amanda. Leader of our band." "Honored to meet you," Jeffrey said slyly. Amanda examined him the best she could. He was short for a man, but looked powerful with broad shoulders and arms that fairly bulged with muscle under the thick, knit sweater he was wearing. He had a pleasant, clean-shaven face with regular features, but his eyes and brows suggested it wasn''t a good idea to fuck him around. His dark hair was cut and combed in a style that suggested a business executive: medium short and with a side parting so straight it could have been drawn with a ruler. It took Amanda a moment to realize that he was wearing a wig. When she''d been telling Amanda about her cousin, Sharon had repeatedly referred to him as a real sweetie. Amanda wasn''t sure if she would''ve ever been able to call a man wearing a wig a sweetie. Well, it was a matter of personal taste. Jeffrey the cousin said: "You girls must be properly tired. And hungry too, I bet. Get those bicycles inside, bikes are hot property nowadays." He helped them with the bikes and led them to the kitchen, where he sat them down, poured three stiff scotches and proceeded to prepare a meal on a gas stove that must have been around for at least half a century. They both received plates with huge oval steaks with mashed potatoes and red beans. The mashed potatoes were of the instant variety, but Amanda and Sharon didn''t mind: it was the most delicious meal they''d eaten for quite a while, in the Old World. Sharon said: "This is so good, Jeffrey. Are you sure you can afford to give us all this food? We don''t want to eat you out of house and home." Jeffrey snorted and said: "I''ve got a whole buck hung up in the back. Don''t you worry." "This is deer meat?" asked Amanda. "No, what you''re eating is bear. Bear paws, to be exact. Best part of a bear to eat. Couple of weeks back this beast got a little too inquisitive for his own good. Wandered into my backyard, just like that. Got a fine fur off him, too." "That''s so cool," said Sharon. But for Amanda, the meat suddenly didn''t taste so good any more. She wished Jeffrey hadn''t been quite so specific about the origins of the meat. She was fond of bears, maybe because there was no chance of any visiting her backyard. Jeffrey left them for a while to prepare a couple of rooms for them to sleep. He told them he had plenty of space. His wife and kids were staying with the wife''s parents, who happened to own the small local supermarket. There was definitely no fear of a food shortage for this particular family. Amanda and Sharon held a short, whispered conference while Jeffrey was away, and agreed he looked like a very good choice for a leader of an Amazon settlement, even though he was a man. They would talk to him about it in the morning. They also agreed to keep their signals muted through the night. They wanted to stay focused on their Skykomish mission, without any New World events to worry about. Falling asleep under an enormous feather-filled duvet, Amanda felt uncharacteristically optimistic about what the next day would bring. And part of her wondered whether that wasn''t because she''d taken a full day''s break from the New World. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 72 The Blue Sky in Skykomish Amanda woke up late, to a day so beautiful and sunny it seemed unreal. She picked up her watch and saw that it had stopped; she''d forgotten to wind it up the previous night. It indicated twenty past five, but the sun made it clear that it was not far from noon. It was simply wonderful to wake up somewhere else than in her home in Seattle! She''d been cooped up in there for many weeks. Without electricity and later also without food, it had become to feel like one of those blood-soaked, haunted mansions in horror movies. The worst moment was when they had to kill the dogs. They''d all cried, and the Wailing Sisters went into outright hysterics. It was a day before they could bring themselves to start eating the dog meat, even though they had been close to starving for quite a while. Standing at the window and admiring the sunlit view, Amanda raised her hand to turn on the signal and find out what was happening in the New World. But at the last moment she changed her mind, and scratched her neck instead. She knew that the moment she connected with the New World, she''d be faced with new problems, new difficulties, new worries. She didn''t need any of that. She''d come to Skykomish on an important mission; she needed to focus on it without extra distractions. She dressed and pulled her towel and soap out of her backpack and left her room just as Sharon was leaving hers. Sharon was looking great; the dark circles under her eyes were gone. Skykomish was doing them both a world of good. Jeffrey was in the kitchen, pondering something by the window with a big mug of coffee in his hand. His breath smelled faintly of brandy when he told Sharon and Amanda he''d heated the water for the shower to give them a special treat. Amanda insisted Sharon went first. Jeffrey invited her to help herself to a coffee, so she poured herself some from the jug and looked at him expectantly. After a while, he grinned and opened a cupboard and got out the brandy, and poured a slug into her coffee. It spelled well for the coming negotiations, and Amanda didn''t mind the fact her coffee was barely warm. So was the shower; Sharon had used most of the hot water. Once again, Amanda didn''t mind. Jeffrey was indeed turning out to be a nice man, just as advertised by Sharon. Amanda still balked at classifying him as a sweetie, though: that wig of his made it impossible. She knew Sharon and Jeffrey had been talking about her the moment she returned to the kitchen. There was a guilty air around them, even though they''d rustled up a great breakfast in the meantime: scrambled eggs and real smoked bacon and genuine-to-god baked beans in tomato sauce. Baked beans were an item that had disappeared from all the stores in Seattle within a week of the catastrophe. Same applied to bacon and eggs. "This is so good," Amanda said to Jeffrey, halfway through her meal. He smiled and said: "Nice to hear. Anyway, I also heard something else. Sharon says you guys are running a colony in the New World." "And?" said Amanda. She concealed her shock with a forkful of baked beans, and bit into her toast. Jeffrey said: "Thing is, I''ve got one too." Amanda and Sharon both stopped eating and looked at him. Jeffrey smiled at them and raised a hand to his head and said: "Ta-da!" He pulled the wig off his head and Amanda saw the blue glow among the bristle of his own hair. He''d implanted himself directly above his left ear. Most likely he did it himself, that was the favored placement when self-implanting with the kit in the right hand. Natural, and within easy reach. Amanda could see from Sharon''s face that Jeffrey hadn''t told her anything about owning a colony. But she was going to grill Sharon all the same to find out what she''d been talking about with Jeffrey while Amanda took her shower. Maybe she''d have to smack her down a little, too. A lot depended on how things would turn out in the next few minutes. A lot rode on what she''d say next. She took her time, chewing her food while looking Jeffrey in the eye. She swallowed, followed up with a couple of sips of coffee, and said: "Well, in this case, I take it you''re interested in what I have in mind." It was his turn to chew on something, and it wasn''t anything in his mouth. Eventually he said: "And what do you have in mind?" She told him. She knew she was speaking to a man who had ready access to supermarket supplies. She knew she was talking to a guy who turned intruding grizzlies into steak. She remembered she was dealing with someone who had a police cruiser parked in his front yard, had it parked there for a while. Jeffrey clearly was someone with good friends in the local police force. It wasn''t impossible that they were partners in his colonial scheme. She knew that it would be an uphill battle to convince someone like that to join the Amazon Empire. His colony could well be both bigger and better developed than her own. But she wasn''t the Amazon leader in both worlds for nothing, and she gave it a damned good try. She spoke to Jeffrey about the advantages of a single colony stretching all the way to the coast. A colony the size of many independent Old World countries, given the tenfold difference in scale. She reminded him that brand new, undiscovered lands lay in the New World''s Pacific ocean: access to the coast would let him have a crack at those! With any luck, they would dominate New World America''s northwestern coast. A hop, skip and jump from Asia. The possibilities were endless. Jeffrey listened to her with a smile that she increasingly found condescending. So she lied and told him the Amazons were already coming his way: they''d founded a second settlement east of Seattle, and were preparing for a third. That knocked the smile off his face all right. It was fortunate he didn''t glance at Sharon, who had completely forgotten about her breakfast and was watching Amanda with eyes like saucers. Jeffrey said: "Everything you just said makes sense. I like to plan big, too. Why plan small when you can plan big, hey? But plans are plans. So let me ask you very plainly: what do I get out of this?" "You get access to the coast." "That''s very nice, but it still belongs to the realm of plans. What do I get out of this right away? And let me tell you, it has to be something I can''t get on my own." Amanda smiled at him and put a forkful of eggs in her mouth, buying time. She looked at the table in front of her and had a sudden flash of inspiration. She looked back at Jeffrey and said: "You get salt." "Salt?" repeated Jeffrey, and his tone told Amanda that she''d scored a hit. "Salt. Lovely ocean salt of unparalleled taste." Jeffrey was silent for a while. Then he said: "You know, I''d best bring in my partners on this. The guys I''m running the colony with." "How many, and who are they?" "Just two. The sheriff and his deputy." "That the sheriff''s car in front?" "No, the deputy''s. He came by to wish us happy new year and stayed the night and next day, all that shit came crashing down. Following that, one thing kinda led to another." "Wow," Amanda said. She put down her fork, and added: "I think it''s time you sat down, and told us how you came to be running a colony in the New World." NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 73 Salt and Gold "I got a cube practically in my backyard," Jeffrey said, pulling out a chair and seating himself. "Maybe twenty paces from the back fence. It spooked me something proper. Like I told you, Jim - Jim Haley, that''s the deputy - came over New Year''s Day, and we had a little celebration. Matter of fact, we celebrated pretty fierce. Jim had to stay the night. So when that cube appeared I woke him up and we went to examine it together. He knew as much as I did right from the start." "So you made sure to get the law on your side." "Right. Once we understood what this whole thing was about, we went to talk to Brian - that''s the sheriff, Brian Madison. And he in turn went to talk to the mayor. Then the mayor assembled the whole town and we voted to keep everything from the cube, and set up a colony in the New World." "The whole town? You''re kidding!" "Easy. Our total population is like a hundred and fifty people. Used to be in the thousands, a long time ago. There isn''t a year when someone doesn''t move to greener pastures, so to speak. So we got the mayor and the sheriff onside, and they''re the local authorities, so everything''s nice and legal." "It''s not nice and legal if you''re already running a colony," said Amanda. "Yeah, well it made sense to set something up quickly because of the money situation. You know, this new currency thing. It was obvious we''d better get ourselves some precious metals. So the mayor authorized Brian and Jim and myself to scout out the area in the New World." "I see. Any luck?" Jeffrey grinned from ear to ear. "We found a nice gold seam almost right away," he said. "And when we went looking for that stone they call tiger rock - you know, to build platforms and send stuff back here - we found more gold. And silver, and copper, and iron, and manganese, and about half a dozen other metals." "But no tiger rock?" "On the contrary. It took a while, but right now we''re sending thirty to forty kilos of ore a day. We''ve already registered the town mint, and set up a smelter. It became operational yesterday. We already got gold and silver worth at least a couple of thousand of the new dollars. We''re still working on the dies, but March first, right after midnight, we start making money. We calculate we can easily hit a thousand coins a day. Most in smaller denominations, but we''ll be making at least five hundred bucks a day, no problem. The whole town''s on the act." Jeffrey paused and looked at both Amanda and Sharon in turn, examining their faces for the effect of his words. What he saw evidently pleased him, because he got up and got out the brandy, and put it on the table along with three shot glasses. "So you see," he said, pouring, "We have a bright future here. We got no food problems. We got our own electricity, from wind turbines and panels. It''s enough to keep the town running. We got a stream of gold and silver coming in from the New World. Sure, it would be nice to set up a trade route. We''d be happy to give you some of that gold and silver in exchange for this wonderful salt of yours. But giving up our independence for coast access? I don''t know. We got almost everything we need right here, and I''m not sure we''re interested in colonizing islands in the Pacific." "You can try and shut out the rest of the world, sure," Amanda said. "But you know something: sooner or later, the world is going to come knocking on your door." "What''s that supposed to mean?" "You know very well what it means. You won''t be able to survive in your little bubble. It''s going to get pricked, and it will burst. All the more so because you''re sitting on all this gold." "I don''t like the sound of that," Jeffrey said slowly. "It sounds like you''re trying to threaten me." "It''s the facts that are threatening you, not me. I''m actually offering you a way out of danger." "Yeah. Join the glorious Amazon empire so you don''t get rubbed out? By the aforementioned Amazon empire? You know, you got a bit of mouth on you, Amanda. I guess it comes natural, you being a rock star and all. And you''re used to other people doing what you say, right? But we got a whole new ballgame here. Old rules don''t apply. So take it easy, or you might just inspire us to organize a visit to your new colony. And it won''t be a friendly visit." Amanda gave Jeffrey an amused smile, and finished eating her breakfast. The silence in the kitchen became very heavy by the time she wiped her mouth and turned to Jeffrey and said: "You''re not getting something. Maybe it''s my fault, I didn''t make it clear. We''ve got several million people worldwide, over ten thousand in the Seattle area alone, waiting to become colonists after March the first. And you''ve got a hundred and fifty, counting infants and the old and infirm. Can you do the math?" Jeffrey was silent for a while. Then he said: "You know, I really got to get the sheriff and the mayor in on that. I''ll go and bring them over now, if you don''t mind." "Can''t you call them? You''ve got a stationary phone." "No, I''m due at Brian''s house in about half an hour anyway. I''ll just go over and tell him what''s up and then probably we''ll go and see Luke - the mayor. Likely he''ll want to come with us. So why don''t you girls rest up a little while I do all that. I reckon it''ll take a couple of hours. Okay?" "Sure," Amanda said. She reached and picked up the glass of brandy Jeffrey had poured, and held it up and said: "Cheers." "Cheers." "Cheers," Sharon said belatedly, sounding as if she were announcing a death. Jeffrey left immediately. Amanda and Sharon cleared up after breakfast, and treated themselves to a couple more brandies. Then Amanda said: "Let''s go outside for a cigarette, and maybe take a little stroll and a look around. It''s a beautiful day." "Okay," said Sharon, with a sharp glance. They got dressed and went outside and indeed, it was a wonderful day. The sun was strong enough to be felt as well as seen, and they didn''t even have to zip up. As soon as they lit up Sharon said: "You don''t think Jeffrey has the place bugged? I mean Jesus, Amanda, I just don''t fucking know what''s going on in your head. Millions of members worldwide? Tens of thousands in Seattle?" "Sharon, you''re a birdbrain," Amanda said calmly. "I told you we''re activating our fan club the moment March rolls around. At the last count, just before Christmas, it had eleven million members. Not everyone will join us, most won''t even qualify, but I''m sure we''ll get a million or two. And ten thousand in Seattle isn''t so far out when you consider we''ve got nearly a hundred thousand registered fans right there." That shut Sharon up, and they strolled back and forth in silence for a while. Amanda was silent because she''d been struck by a new thought: what if Jeffrey was preparing to pull some sort of fast move? He would be trying to think of one, that was for sure, and so would be the sheriff and the mayor. She was sure they''d try and stall for time, at the very least. But time was something she couldn''t afford. There were just a few days left before March came. It would take them a full day to get back to Seattle, and once she was there she would have to throw herself into a whirlwind of frenzied activity. Organizing a network of thousands of colonies all over the New World! Managing over a million colonists! Well, she would have to delegate. And delegating always meant someone, somewhere fucked up. Still, she was sure she was going to enjoy it. Running a worldwide empire was something that appealed to her. The fact that she could get even more wealthy in the process didn''t hurt, either. "What did you and Jeffrey talk about, Sharon? While I was in the shower?" she asked suddenly. Sharon became flustered. She puffed on her cigarette for a while before saying: "I was just giving us and you in particular a little buildup. You know, to make him receptive." "Did you mention anything in particular?" "Well, yes, a few things." After a short pause, Sharon added: "I told him you''d personally killed at least half a dozen people in combat." "Good," said Amanda, pleasantly surprised. "You did good to tell him that." "Thank you. You think this whole thing, with Jeffrey and the others - how is it going to turn out? You think it will go well?" "You should have the better idea of what he''s like," said Amanda. "You''ve known him for a while. So why don''t you tell me, instead?" "That''s the thing. I don''t know what he''s thinking." "What does he do for a living? You mentioned he''s involved with some sort of an environmental agency." "It''s not an agency. He''s set up his own environmental organization. Strictly local, so you wouldn''t have heard about it. And then he''s a sort of leader of this church." "A church! What the hell do you mean?" "Well it''s officially called a church, but it isn''t really. It''s just like a bunch of people that share certain beliefs. There is no God or worship or prayers of any sort involved. They just kind of get together from time to time to talk about things." "I see," said Amanda, and she did. Her respect for Jeffrey grew. She remembered that Sharon had told her Jeffrey''s second name was Bent, Jeffrey Bent. It was a name that fit, that was for sure. Good old Jeffrey ran an environmental organization, no doubt paying himself an appropriate salary while raking in government and private money in grants and donations. He also ran a church, a religious institution that enjoyed many tax breaks. In summary, Jeffrey seemed to be a hell of an operator. It would be good to have someone like that on her side. He would have to be watched closely, though. She turned to Sharon, and said: "You know, Sharon, I have the feeling things are going to work out very well." NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 74 Meet The Mayor, Meet the Presiden Amanda''s optimism faded as time went on, and there was no Jeffrey, no sheriff, no mayor. When they eventually showed up, she couldn''t help feeling grateful to them just for being there. Then she realized they''d come late on purpose, so that she would feel that way. It gave them an immediate advantage in any negotiations that would follow. She didn''t like that, and she didn''t like the mayor either. Luke Kovacs was a tall, thin man with a sallow, cadaverous face with a five o''clock shadow that wasn''t cultivated. He also had plenty of hair on his hands, and a few tendrils sprouting from the front of an unbuttoned shirt. There was none on his head: the bald dome gleamed evilly in the sunlight. As if to compensate, the few lanky strands that survived were long enough to curl on his collar. He had deeply sunk, hooded eyes and a mouth like a razor slash. Amanda could see he wasn''t going to be easy to deal with. She wasn''t so sure about the sheriff. He was a chubby guy with a mustache like an old hairbrush. He was smiling at her in an easy-going, aw-shucks kind of way, but there was a glitter of ice in the slitted eyes. "So you''re the famous Amanda Queen," said the mayor, and his voice was unexpectedly deep and rich. Amanda the singer knew a things or two about voices. Luke Kovacs had a beautiful voice, completely at odds with his looks. She could see or rather hear how he''d become the mayor of Skykomish. "Genuine article," she said lightly, and tried her appreciative smile on him. It didn''t work. "Luke Kovacs," he said sourly. "And this man here is Brian Madison, sheriff. Jeffrey tells us you have a business proposition. We''re listening." "It''s more than a business proposition," Amanda said. "It''s an offer." "We''re listening." "We''re set to establish one of the biggest colonies in the New World. Possibly the biggest. We''re asking you to join us." "Become part of your colony?" asked Kovacs. "Yes." "No thanks." "You might want to think about it," Amanda said. "There''s nothing to think about," said sheriff Madison, and Kovacs threw him an appreciative glance. "There," he said, turning back to Amanda, "He said it. But I also understand you have salt for sale. We can do business there. We''ll pay you in silver or gold or both, whichever you like best. Deal?" Amanda was silent. She could feel Sharon watching her, and she knew her reputation was at stake. "I''d first like to know why you don''t want to join us," she said. "If I decide you have valid reasons - then we can discuss deals." There! She turned the tables on those assholes in an instant. She was back in charge. "Okay," said Kovacs, after a pause. "I''ll spell it out for you. These two gentlemen here like the idea of running an independent colony. And I am fully supportive. You see, I happen to be their district governor. I combine the offices of mayor of our town and district governor of the corresponding territory in the New World. Much larger, if truth be known. Do you know Evan Vanderhorn? The Washington State senator? I do. We''re good friends. Evan is state governor in the New World. You started your colony from Seattle, he''s your state governor too. You want to pick a fight with all of us? Or you want to do a deal? I can''t make it any simpler." Amanda stared at him for a while. Then she turned to look at Jeffrey, who was hovering to the side with a nervous smile. "Thank you for your hospitality and the magnificent food, Jeffrey," she said. She turned to Sharon and said: "It''s time we got going. If we ride hard, we could still make it to Seattle before nightfall." "We''re leaving like, right now?" "Yes," said Amanda. She looked over her shoulder at Kovacs. "I''m sure your friend Evan Vanderhorn can fix you up with all the salt you need," she told him. "Goodbye." She nodded to the sheriff and went back inside the house. Sharon followed her, a little reluctantly Amanda thought, so the moment they were alone she said: "We''re leaving in five minutes, so you''d better get ready fast if you want some time with your cousin." "Amanda, I - " "Get going." It took Amanda under a minute to gather up her belongings and straighten out a couple of things in the room: she wanted to leave it exactly as she''d found it. But Sharon was even faster than her; Amanda could hear her going down the stairs just as she reached for her backpack. When she left the house, she saw Sharon talking animatedly to Jeffrey in the center of the front yard. The sheriff and the mayor were still present. They had parked their butts inside the parked police car, with the sheriff behind the wheel. It didn''t seem like they were preparing to leave, Amanda could see they were talking and smoking up a storm in there, the air was blue even though they''d cracked the windows open. Jeffrey had glanced at Amanda when he heard the front door open and he split with a long, loping stride before she could join him and Sharon. Sharon watched him go, then turned to Amanda and said: "He''s gone to get our bikes from the shed." "Good," said Amanda. Sharon hissed with exasperation. She said: "Couldn''t we spend one more night here? Then we could leave early in the morning, and get home before dark without busting our asses on the way." "No," said Amanda. Sharon maintained a hurt silence until Jeffrey returned, pushing the bikes. "Here you go," he said, tilting Amanda''s bike towards her. She made him wait by strapping on her helmet and pulling on her gloves before reaching for the bike. "Thank you," she said. "Thank you for everything." Her tone made it clear the ''everything'' included the talk with Kovacs as well as bed and board. "I''m sorry you came all that way for nothing," said Jeffery. Amanda heard a crafty note in his voice, and sure enough, he added: "Maybe we could at least make a deal on the salt. What do you say? Gold and silver or copper or iron or whatever you want. We can sell you ore, we can sell you smelted bars. Hell, in a few weeks'' time we can even pay you with money. Gold and silver coins. Minted to the new currency standards, you can transfer and use them back home. What do you say?" "I say that you guys made a mistake," Amanda told him. "I say it''s a mistake you''ll regret. Starting now, because there won''t be any salt deals. Goodbye." "Goodbye," she heard him say when she was already pedaling away and down the driveway to the street. For a while she was afraid Sharon wasn''t following her. When she finally saw Sharon''s bike in her rear view mirror, she felt huge relief. She stopped when she came to the railway bridge and waited for Sharon to join her. Then she said: "Well, that turned out to be a total washout, Sharon." "I''m sorry. I honestly thought it would work out. It''s those two guys, the sheriff and the mayor. Jeffrey would have joined us if it wasn''t for them." "Have you met them before?" "No, that was the first time. I hadn''t seen Jeffrey for a while. I''m not even sure they were in office last time I visited. I''m sorry." Amanda sighed. "It''s all right," she lied. "Don''t worry about it. Now listen, we''re taking a different route home. We''ll stick to the road this time. It might be the longer way but it won''t take us more time, maybe even less, than following the trails. We''ll be going faster on a paved road." "Okay," said Sharon. She seemed ready to agree with anything Amanda said. "By the way, have you checked in on the girls in the New World? I had them muted all along." Sharon looked flustered. She said: "I tried a couple of times this morning. But there was just no connection. I was to try again later, but you know how things turned out." "I certainly do," said Amanda. "Hang on a minute." She took off her helmet and massaged the skin over her implant. Nothing happened. She rubbed harder. Nothing happened. "Fuck," she said. "You aren''t getting anything either?" asked Sharon. "It''s like you said. There''s no connection any more." "Oh fuck. What will we do?" "First things first. Let''s get home as fast as we can." Luckily for them, the beautiful weather held for the rest of the day. The long, glorious sunset meant they reached the city before it had gotten dark. They saw right away that the streets were busier than they had ever been since the catastrophe. There were people out for a walk, a stroll without any purpose other than to stretch their legs. Of course, the weather was a major draw. But Amanda also noticed that a number of stores were open, even if conspicuously empty of customers. And before they got home, they saw two private cars on the road. Both at least fifty years old, but seemingly in very good working order. The driver of the first car Amanda encountered definitely proved he had very good brakes: he came to a screeching stop with the fender almost touching the bike''s front wheel. He had been coasting in neutral gear and she hadn''t heard him coming, and of course didn''t expect a private car. The army vehicles could be heard a long way off: at home she could hear the clatter of steel tracks from an expressway a couple of kilometers away. Luckily, vehicles on tracks had been banned from entering residential areas. They weren''t initially, but it quickly transpired the steel tracks tore the road surface into shreds. There were no less than four lights on in the front windows of Amanda''s home, and she frowned: she''d told the girls to conserve electricity. It took a while to get the gate open; the electronic lock had been fried, luckily while left open, during the electromagnetic storm. There were two padlocks on two separate, heavy chains: unlocking and locking the entrance took the best part of five minutes. During that time, Sharon stood silently by Amanda''s side, which was highly unusual. Sharon couldn''t keep her mouth shut for more than a minute unless specifically asked to do so. The standard Sharon would have been prattling away about the trip, even though it had been far from successful. Something was afoot. "What''s the matter, Sharon?" Amanda asked. "Something bothering you?" "I think I saw a man in one of the windows when we arrived. It was just a glimpse and I''m not sure but whoever it was, it wasn''t one of the girls. Unless she had a total makeover or something." "Well, let''s find out," Amanda said. "Let''s put the bikes away first. We''ll go in through the garage." They didn''t. Before they reached the garage, the front door opened and Fiona Fizz appeared. She looked really scared to see Amanda. But before Amanda could ask her about that, Fiona was joined by a guy. The guy was nearly two meters tall and seemed to be almost as wide: he had a beer-tank belly capable of handling several gallons at a time. He had long, dirty dark hair and a long, dirty beard, and wore a jean vest over a black leather biking jacket. Lower down, the order was reversed: black leather chaps over jeans, and boots with enough straps and buckles to harness a couple of horses. "You must be Amanda Queen," he said. He had a voice like a throat cancer survivor, all rasp and wheeze. "I am. And you are?" "Ron Pierce. President of the Bandidos Seattle chapter. You and me, we got to have a serious talk." NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 75 The Bandido Ultimatum When Amanda entered her house, she saw two more Bandidos lounging in the hallway, smoking cigarettes and tapping the ash onto the Tabriz runner that had cost over twenty thousand dollars. They had small, evil-looking submachine guns slung over their shoulders and she wondered where they had hid them on their way in. The police and army patrols stopped anyone carrying a gun, and confiscated that gun even when its owner had a permit. She''d thought long and hard before taking her pistol along on the trip to Skykomish, and had packed it deep inside her backpack. The house was lit up just like in the good old days when everyone took electric power for granted. She could hear the thrumming of the generator in the basement: it was running at full power. She checked her watch: there were still ten minutes to go before the city switched on the power for three hours. What the hell was wrong with the girls? She''d told them to use the generator sparingly. She was furious, and glared at Fiona. She was about to give her a piece of her mind, but the observant Ron Pierce said: "Relax, miz Queen. Don''t give that poor girl here any shit. We persuaded her to switch on the power because you got electric heating, and we wanted to warm up after the trip. Anyway, we brought a gift: ten gallons of gasoline. I gotta tell you the boys and myself are great admirers of your talent. I particularly like Rip ''Em Up." He would, thought Amanda. Rip ''Em Up was a big Amazon hit. It was an original riff on a favorite teenage fantasy: ripping up the rule books and outlawing the law, and enjoying a life of total freedom, including freedom from any guilt. She said: "I''ve just got home from a long trip. Can you give me half an hour?" "Sure." "Good. Front room in thirty minutes, then. Fiona?" They both went upstairs and into Amanda''s room. It was the biggest room on the first floor of the house, big enough to serve as a day room and study as well as a bedroom. Amanda told Fiona to shut the door and took the Glock out of her parka and put it down on the side table. She unzipped her parka and took it off and said: "What the fuck is going on? Start at the beginning." It was total doom and gloom, all the way. It began with the arrival of a dozen Bandidos at the Amazon colony in the New World. They were armed to the teeth and they caught the Amazons on duty by surprise. They didn''t even need to resort to violence. Concurrently, half a dozen Bandidos showed up at Amanda''s house in Seattle. They came bearing a gift of gasoline and politely requested that the gate be opened, so that they don''t have to fuck it up. They came well equipped to do so, and Fiona decided to let them in. Earlier on, Betty had woken up and told her what had happened in the New World. The Bandidos had promised to wipe out the Amazons there if the Amazons here did not cooperate. All that had happened late the previous evening. Fiona had attempted to get in touch with Amanda via the New World, but the contact had been broken. The Bandidos had grumpily agreed to wait twenty four hours for Amanda''s return from Skykomish. That translated into ten days in the New World, and there wasn''t enough food in the Amazon colony to feed the invading Bandidos throughout that time. "Did they tell you what they want?" asked Amanda. "They want our land in the New World. They''re prepared to let us go free with whatever we can carry, but all the livestock stays." "I see," said Amanda. "Can you go downstairs and set things up in the front room? And get all the girls together. I want everyone to be present. I''ll be down in twenty minutes." She undressed and had a quick wash up in the ensuite bathroom on full automatic, her mind racing as she digested all those news. She was intelligent enough to realize that it was game over. She didn''t waste any time of trying to think how to turn the situation around in her favor. Instead, she focused on the options that were left. They would have to resettle, that was for sure. All the work they had put into their colony had been wasted. No, it hadn''t been wasted. They''d learned a lot of things. And they''d use that knowledge when starting over. All she could do was negotiate the best terms possible. She would try to squeeze something extra from Pierce, even if it was no more than another ten gallons of gas. Gasoline was a hot commodity, even though it was a while since the last car pulled up at the pump. She dressed in a white silk shirt and the black Merino wool pant suit that she''d worn to the memorial service for her parents. She was ready well ahead of time, and spent some time hesitating with her eyes fixed on the small, locked drawer in her bedside table. The drawer contained Amanda''s emergency stash: two grams of medical-grade cocaine in a tiny stoppered tube. She hadn''t touched it since the beginning of January, more specifically - since the second day after the catastrophe. She truly kept it only for the direst of emergencies. The situation she currently was in definitely constituted a dire emergency. So she treated each of her nostrils to a short, thin line from the compact lid mirror. It wouldn''t have done a thing for her back in the days when she was going through several grams a day. But it worked well now. Boy, did it ever work! It was the old, bold, confident Amanda that went down the stairs for her conference with the president of the Seattle Bandidos. Unlike she expected, Ron Pierce was waiting for her all by himself: his Bandido friends had been banished from the conference. He seemed to be enjoying the fact he was alone in a roomful of very attractive girls. He was seated in an armchair by the coffee table which was decorated by a large bottle of Scotch whisky and two glasses. He was smoking a short, evil-smelling cigar and Betty was in the act of bringing him an ashtray when Amanda entered the room. She noted the way Betty''s hand trembled when she put the ashtray down in front of Pierce. "Care for a drink?" Pierce wheezed, raising the bottle. "Maybe the girls would like one, too?" "No thanks. Betty, can you bring me a glass of water? Thank you." She could feel the wave of resentment from the girls when she sat down across from Pierce. She was glad she''d treated herself to a toot before coming down; otherwise she might have not been able to resist the Pierce''s offer. But her girls hadn''t had the privilege, and she knew they were dying for a drink. Serves them right, she thought, accepting her water from an almost tearful Betty. To let the colony become overrun like that, without any resistance! "I understand you want our colony in the New World," Amanda said right away. She was determined to cut the negotiations as short as possible. She wanted Ron Pierce to disappear where he''d come from, together with his whisky bottle. Pierce treated himself to a generous slug of liquor before spreading his arms and rasping: "Straight to the point! I like that. That''s right, miz Queen. We want your land." "I''d be interested to know how you''d heard about it," said Amanda. Pierce shrugged. "Sure," he said. "I don''t mind telling you about that. We got a bunch of implant kits from some kids who needed drugs. They warned us about a bunch of crazy, bloodthirsty bitches inhabiting a prime stretch of coastline. Sorry, that''s a direct quote. Anyways, we set up our own little operation and made sure we were well prepared for meeting you guys. When you didn''t get around to visit, we did. You got the most perfect natural harbor in this part of the country. And we''ve got serious sea-going plans." He leaned forward, pressing his belly into the coffee table, and added: "You can go free with whatever you can take, except for the animals. Well, you can take the dogs. Stupid dogs, if you ask me. Didn''t bark once when we arrived, came running with tails wagging. Guess they could smell the roast meat in our bags. Anyways, let me tell you this: my boys would like a bit of old-fashioned **** and pillage, you know? I hadda go a long way to convince them to hold their horses. So you gotta decide right away. You go peacefully, or you go out the hard way." Amanda nodded. "We go peacefully," she said. "Just give us some time to get our shit together, okay?" "How much time?" "Till the end of the month." Pierce opened his mouth in a soundless laugh, and shook his head. "No way," he said. "You guys stick around for more than a day, I can''t vouch for my boys. Most of them were really looking forward to some nice nooky." "A day? Until tomorrow evening?" "No, miz Queen. You got that wrong. A New World day. You got a little over two hours. Not much, ''cause I figure you know communications have been cut. Hopefully you or one of your girls can get a nap and pay your New World guys a visit and tell them what''s up. I can fix you up with some Nembutal if you want." "I''ve got my own," said Amanda. She considered asking about gasoline, but her pride won. She stood up and said: "It''s a deal. What''s the time of the day there, right now? I''ve lost track." "Early afternoon," said Fiona behind Amanda''s back. "We''ll be gone by noon tomorrow," Amanda told Pierce. He remained sitting down, staring at his whisky as if beset by fresh doubt. He probably didn''t expect me to agree so quickly, thought Amanda. Yes, she could see he was trying to find the hidden catch. "There are no hidden catches," she said. "And if you find there are, you know where to find me." Pierce nodded. "I sure do," he said, and finally lumbered to his feet. "I''m sorry I can''t say I''ve been pleased to meet you," said Amanda. Pierce emitted a wheeze that could have been a laugh, and said: "Yeah. I can understand that. Enjoy the whisky." He went out, and she heard him calling his guys to assemble. She finally turned around and faced the girls. They weren''t frightened any more: they were stunned instead. Amanda liked that. People who were stunned tended to follow orders without hesitation, and that was exactly what she needed. "Alright," she said. "Any volunteers for a whisky and Nembutal combination?" NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 76 The Big Move There was no shortage of volunteers to visit the Amazon colony in the New World. They all volunteered, in fact, even the Weeping Sisters - Sheila and Mary. Nembutal and scotch sounded real good to Amanda''s girls. They were prepared to go to a newly hostile New World for that. Amanda ended up pouring a drink for each of them. She lined up the glasses and placed the pill in front of the row. She said: "The first person to touch a drink must also take the pill." "Easy," said Sharon right away. She stepped forward and picked up the pill and popped it in her mouth. Then she washed it down with her scotch, and put the glass back on the table. She did it so fast it was over before any of the remaining girls managed to get their hands on the drinks. "I can use the rest," she told Amanda. "It was a hell of a ride. How are you holding up?" "I''m fine," said Amanda. She hadn''t done coke for quite a while, and the tiny toot she''d had was still working wonders. She said: "Tell Linda I''ll be waking her up soon. She needs a break, she''s been there for ages. You just keep everything calm and peaceful until it''s time to split, okay?" "How are we going to this? And where are we going to go?" "I don''t know yet. I''ll find out right away. Problem is, I''ve got stationary phone numbers for just a handful of the fan clubs. Four or five in all of North America." "Shit." "Yes. Well, three or four, really, because I remember one of these is in Albuquerque. We don''t wanna go there." "I agree. I - wow. I think I''d better go lie down. Anything in particular you want me to tell Linda?" "Just a thank you. I''ll talk to her here when she''s awake and back." "Okay." Sharon started turning to go, then looked at Amanda and said: "You want me to start getting stuff together for the move? Like, to the new colony site? I don''t think Skykomish is a good idea." "Neither do I. We''re not moving the colony, Sharon. We''re liquidating it, and starting a new one. And we''ll start it from somewhere else than Seattle." "Good idea," said Sharon. "Just wake me up before you pull my implant, okay? I don''t want to experience dropping dead over there." "Promise. Sweet dreams." "Thanks." Sharon left, and when she opened the heavy door to the hall Amanda suddenly realized she couldn''t hear the Bandidos talking or moving around. They seemed to be all gone from the house. Sharon shut the door behind her and Amanda looked at the girls that remained and saw all the glasses were empty, and all the eyes were on the bottle on the coffee table. It was more than half full, and the girls'' eyes were full of desire. Alcohol, the magic drug, thought Amanda. The only drug that was also food, highly calorific food in fact. The drug that made it possible to stay constantly high, and live on without having to bother about eating. It might not be a long, healthy life, but it definitely could be a happy life, as long as one stayed drunk all the time. But that was where complications ensued: staying drunk all the time cost money, and it was difficult to make money while staying constantly drunk. It was one of those situations that are commonly known as serious life dilemmas, and Amanda couldn''t recall knowing or even hearing of more than half a dozen people who had really managed to pull off that number. It was a hard number to pull off, the digits just didn''t jell, they couldn''t jell when one of the parties was seeing them double. "That''s for later, girls," she told all the hungry eyes. "And anyway I haven''t had a drink myself, have I? Give me your glass, Fiona, I''m too lazy to go all the way to the cabinet." She poured herself a drink, making sure it was exactly the same size as theirs. She raised her glass in a salute to them all and drank quickly, hiding the grimace she made when she saw all those eyes focused on her drink. She said: "It would be best if we all got some rest as well. Sharon and Linda will deal with everything over there. Make sure to tune out - mute the signal so that you all get some real rest." Then she went looking for the Bandidos. She saw the first of them emerge from behind the house the moment she walked out. He was wheeling a family-sized rickshaw: an ancient-looking motorcycle whose front fork had been exchanged for a wheeled platform big enough to seat six, provided fat Pierce took the driver''s seat. She watched the remaining Bandidos troop out from behind the house, all carrying huge backpacks bulging with stuff, with Pierce bringing up the rear pushing a second motorbike rickshaw. Its platform was half-filled with bundles wrapped in garbage bags. Amanda recognized the bags she''d bought back in the days when garbage was a problem. Pierce stopped and looked up at her and grinned and wheezed: "Hey. We parked those round the back, just in case. You know, those fucking patrols. I''ve talked to the boys and it''s a deal. You got two more hours, twenty over there." "You said twenty four hours." "Well, that was a while ago. The clock sure didn''t stop when I said that. It''s six minutes per hour, right? Oh yeah, one more thing. We''re taking your implant kits and beds and scrolls. Not all, we''ve left you ten kits and ten beds and two scrolls. That''s more than enough for all of you here." "You can''t do that!" "The fuck I can''t." "Fuck you, Pierce. You never mentioned that when we were talking." "I thought it was kind of obvious. Anyway, it wouldn''t have changed a thing. You''d have gotten your ass reamed for a bunch of implant kits? I don''t think so. You got more than enough money to make things nice and legal. You''ll get kits with your license, and you''ll have ten extra kits on the side. You won''t be hurting." "Fuck you." "Yeah well. Promises." He resumed pushing the bike: the first few Bandidos were already busy opening the main gate, conspicuously free of the chains and padlocks that used to be there. Amanda watched him go, boiling with fury. She made a silent vow to herself: wherever her new colony might be, she''d make a point of hunting down every Bandido settlement she came across. She was sure they would be all over the place, they had chapters in a whole bunch of cities in the US as well as Canada. It was time to face a sad fact: the first Amazon colony had failed. The absence of any metal ore within reach had been a fatal handicap. Had the Skykomish deal gone through... No, it was already too late for that. What had lost that first Amazon foray into the New World was her own reluctance to break the law. The girls had urged her to recruit more people the moment the food situation in the New World was under control. She resisted. She told them that they should wait until everything was made legal. They had a head start anyway, she''d argued. They''d go full speed the moment the licenses had been bought. It was a problem brought around by her upbringing, she saw that clearly. Her parents brought her up to respect the law. She had rebelled against it and broke it many times, but always within certain limits. She''d thumbed her nose at it, not kicked it to death. She hadn''t figured on colonizers such as the Bandidos, colonizers who didn''t care whether law lived or died. That had been a bad mistake. It was pretty obvious to her now that gangs and other criminal organizations would be very eager to set up operations in the New World. It was something she kept in mind as she looked for the stationary phone numbers of Amazon fan clubs located in North America. She actually had many more than the three or four she''d told Sharon she had: close to a hundred. But most of them involved locations where starting the new Amazon colony would be either impractical or simply a bad idea. She wanted plenty of empty country, and good natural resources. She wanted plenty of water: drinking water as well as a waterway that would enable her to connect with other Amazon colonies on the continent. And she needed a strong local branch of the Amazon fan club, big enough to yield many colonists. That really limited her choices to just three or four locations. She disconnected the stationary phone downstairs, and took it with her to the study next to her bedroom: she didn''t want anyone listening in on her conversations. Her study also acted as her office: its walls were covered with various awards won by her band. She looked at them while locking the door - she didn''t want to be disturbed while making the calls. She grimaced: her previous life, the life of a world-famous artist, now seemed to have been some sort of a joke. She put the phone she''d brought from downstairs on a side table by the door, and used the one on her desk. It was a vintage piece with a rotary dial, the box and the handset done in ebony and silver. The hand-wound, antique ormolu clock next to the phone told her she had just over one hour and forty minutes to find the site for the new Amazon colony. She came close to running out of time. Her first choice, the relatively small town of Eureka in northern California, beautifully located on the shore of a large lagoon, was a washout. The president of the local fan club turned out to be a total dickhead, one of those semi-retarded males that slobbered when they saw her and had to be restrained from kissing her feet. She just couldn''t imagine dealing with him every day, and on top of that Eureka and its environs seemed to be pretty crowded already. They''d had two cubes in that area, the dickhead told her, and one of them hadn''t been discovered by the authorities for over a week. Northern California in the New World was already crawling with colonists. She called the fan club in Portland, Oregon next. This time around, the fan club president was a hysterical chick who had lost many friends and family members in the aftermath of the catastrophe. She had difficulty answering simple questions, and had no idea at all about the colony situation down there. Portland was a relatively big city, but Amanda had been hoping for a colony site somewhere along the Columbia river, preferably between Portland and the Pacific coast. However, it was fast obvious the amount of cooperation and help she would receive were next to nil. The third site was across the old border, in Canadian Vancouver. Once again, Amanda had been hoping for a place outside the city: the coast stretching north of it was sure to contain plenty of good colony sites. The president of the Vancouver fan club was on the ball, too: a confident and level-headed young woman who knew the score. Unfortunately, the score wasn''t good. There were literally hundreds of illegal colonies in the corresponding area of the New World. One of the cubes had appeared undetected on an island in Vancouver Bay: it had been stripped clean before the authorities caught wind. Worst of all, the Bandidos as well as Hell''s Angels had already set up colonies, and were beginning to throw their weight around. That took care of the three good options Amanda had. She still had a fourth number she could call: unfortunately, it was located in Toronto. Just getting there on their bicycles would take a month. And she was quite sure the whole Great Lakes area in the New World would be as crowded with colonies as Seattle or Vancouver. However, there were tons of empty space north of the Great Lakes. And from what Amanda knew, that whole area was rich in mineral resources, and covered with a dense network of waterways. It took half an hour for someone to answer the phone at the headquarters of the Amazon fan club in Toronto, and another ten minutes before its president was located and brought to the phone. By that time, Amanda was close to boiling. Betty and the Wailing Sisters had been calling fan clubs all over North America for days, impressing the importance of keeping the stationary phones staffed at all times. It didn''t feel like a good start. Fortunately, it went well from there. The prez of the Toronto fan club turned out to be as sharp and on the ball as the one in Vancouver. And she also had some very good news: she intimated the Toronto Amazon fans were in possession of a large quantity of implant kits. A colony in the New World? They were all raring to go over there, she told Amanda. No, not from Toronto or indeed any spot along Lake Ontario. There was an area to the northwest, between Toronto and Ottawa, that was just perfect. It checked all the boxes on Amanda''s list. Matter of fact, her fans in Toronto had already been planning to set up a colony right there. They would go wild with joy if the great Amanda Queen and the rest of the band joined them personally in that enterprise. A few minutes later, it was a done deal. The Toronto club would get going promptly on the first of March: when the Amazons joined in a month''s time, they''d arrive in an established colony. A colony with plenty of space to grow. But... A full month on the road, and that assuming they covered a hundred kilometers per day! Just the preparations involved would take several days. She also had to arrange for someone to take care of her house while she was away. And she also needed to wake up all the girls right away, and pull their implants before the Bandidos in the New World got rough. The clock on the desk told her she had just over five minutes: more or less, a single New World hour. She was quite sure she would need all the coke in her emergency stash to get through the days ahead. She shook her head. "You''re a fucking leader, so lead," she said out loud. Then she shook her head again, and went to wake the girls. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 77 A Perilous Journey Rafi Susanto stood on the edge of the beach feeling as sad as if he was attending the funeral of someone very close and very dear. This was highly unusual, because Rafi Susanto wasn''t close to anyone, and there was no one that he held dear. Being fabulously wealthy meant everyone tried to fuck him all the time. As a result, he wasn''t very fond of other people. Susanto''s low spirits were caused by Gabriel Cruz''s imminent departure. He was watching Cruz supervise the loading of supplies into the boat which Cruz and six hand-picked crew were to sail to Adamstown on Pitcairn Island. It felt as if Cruz was abandoning him. For a moment Susanto wished he had volunteered to captain the boat on its perilous voyage. He quickly reminded himself there was a fair chance Cruz would miss Pitcairn - it was a tiny island, smaller than Henderson Island on which they were presently. And the next landfall after Pitcairn was in the Antarctic, unless Cruz changed his course and tried to reach Gambier Islands, several hundred kilometers to the west. No, it was better to stay put, even though Cruz was taking more than half of the remaining packaged food - the food that had been taken off Susanto''s yacht, the Golden Dawn, before it sank. Susanto wasn''t scared of dying of hunger and thirst. There was a spring with salty but drinkable water on the island. There were tons of coconuts, and the crewmen of the Golden Dawn turned out to be pretty good at catching fish with the professional deep-sea fishing tackles salvaged from the Golden Dawn. They''d survive somehow even if Cruz perished at sea and failed to fetch help. But Susanto still regretted insisting that Cruz take with him all the remaining chocolate bars. He liked chocolate, and wondered what had made him so generous earlier on. He felt a fresh urge to ask Cruz to postpone the journey. Surely any day now, a ship or an airplane would show up, spot the castaways, and rescue them! But he knew Cruz would refuse to delay his departure any longer. "We don''t know what''s going on in the world," he''d told Susanto that very morning. "What if everyone''s smartphones and computers are broken, just like ours? Can you imagine the chaos that would cause? No one is going to look for us under such circumstances. We must take the initiative." Besides, Cruz''s departure had already been delayed by a number of days. Their first plan had been to move the base to the southern coast of the island, and launch the boat from there. It turned out that the entire southern coast was composed of steep cliffs that made accessing the ocean impossible. They''d wasted four days looking for a safe way to get down to the water. Then there was another day spent on a dejected trek back to their original base on the north shore of the island. The failure of that plan had put Susanto in a despondent mood. He could see nothing but doom and gloom ahead. He could also see that Cruz and his crew were done loading the boat. Cruz said something to the crewmen and walked up to Susanto, kicking up sand with his bare feet. He was wearing a canvas jacket over a floral Hawaiian shirt and long, floppy shorts whose side pockets were bulging with the various odds and ends Cruz thought could come useful on the journey. "Well, Rafi," Cruz said, coming to a stop and putting his hand on Susanto''s shoulder. "This is it. Don''t look so worried. We''ll make it. You''ll see me again in a week, at most." "I hope so. I really hope so. But there are so many things that could go wrong." "Rafi, it''s not that complicated. Your mate is a good sailor and navigator, very dependable. He thinks we can do it. All we have to do is stick to the course for twenty hours. With the wind we''ve got today, we could see Pitcairn before nightfall. We probably will, with binoculars." "What if the current carries you sideways? You could be sticking to your course and miss the island anyway." "We''ve got it all worked out. Don''t worry. Listen, I''ve got to get going. It''s already past seven. You sure we can take all that food?" "Of course I''m sure. You will need it if you miss Pitcairn, and have to sail west to Gambier Islands. That could take a week or more." "We''ll be back in a few days. Trust me." Susanto didn''t like being told to trust someone or something. As an American business acquaintance of his had put it: ''trust me'' was how they said ''fuck you'' in Los Angeles. So he shook his head and smiled sadly and then embraced Cruz as if he was seeing him for the last time in his life. He watched Cruz walk up to the group gathered by the camp and say goodbye, then join the sailors who were already busy pushing the boat off the beach. It kept tilting and bouncing on the incoming waves and it took a while before all seven men were inside - a couple of times, it looked the boat would capsize as they clambered over its gunwales. But finally they were all in, rowing the boat away from the shore and hoisting the homemade sail they''d made onto the emergency beacon mast. Susanto watched the boat sail along the shore - it had to go around half the island before setting course for Adamstown. He felt so sad as it got smaller that he decided he''d walk along the coast and follow its progress. But before he could do that, there were duties to be discharged. He was in command of the remaining castaways: six crew from the Golden Dawn, and four whores. Cruz had taken six of the best men, and the ones that stayed would need firm leadership. He''d have to think of something to keep them busy. He walked up to the group under the awning that had formerly graced the swimming pool deck on the Golden Dawn. As he drew near, he noticed that two of the whores were crying. One was the whore Cruz had brought with him for the cruise; the other was the one Susanto had procured for Cruz in case Cruz came without a bedmate. The two whores Susanto had brought for himself were dry-eyed but solemn, as were the sailors from the Golden Dawn. They weren''t really sailors and that was the problem, Susanto thought. The chef and his helper, two stewards, two cabin boys - that bunch would have trouble taking a pontoon across a pond. They were easily scared, too. They had all been to the New World at least once, and they''d been extra nervous and apprehensive ever since. The chef and one of the cabin boys were the best anglers. He pointed at them in turn, saying: "Juan and Pico, get the tackles and see how many fish you can catch before dinner. Girls, you go and gather as many coconuts as you can. James, you''ll come with me. And you three get going on the cube. Remember the proportions: ten implant kits for every mat and scroll. Dump everything next to the cube, we''ll move it together with the rest later. Everything clear? Any questions?" "How many coconuts do you want?" one of the whores asked. "All that you can find between now and dinner. I''ll be disappointed if there are less than a hundred." The moment he said that there was a thump as a nut from one of the nearby palm trees hit the ground. He added quickly: "That''s a hundred apiece, two hundred total. Okay. Any other questions?" But there were none, just a sulky silence. He nodded to James, his personal steward on the Golden Dawn. They both picked up a bottle of water, with Susanto slinging the strap of his binoculars around his neck. Then they started walking along the beach, following the boat. It was already so far away Susanto couldn''t make out the men inside without the help of his binoculars. Even then, they were hard to tell apart; they were all huddled down in their seats except for the two oarsmen. The wet blades of the oars flashed in the sun as they rose and fell, rose and fell again in perfect harmony: Susanto guessed someone aboard, the mate or maybe even Cruz himself, was calling time to the oarsmen. It looked good, and he felt some of his fears recede. Aboard the boat, Cruz was experiencing the opposite. If he had been calling time to the oarsmen, his voice would have been hoarse with fear. He felt none of the confidence he had earlier displayed to Susanto, and he was afraid the others might see it. Fortunately, all the men in the boat seemed to be busy with private thoughts: even the mate, calling time to the oarsmen, somehow sounded wistful. He had told Cruz earlier that they could count on twenty four hours of good weather, but no more than that. This set a firm deadline for finding Pitcairn Island. With fresh pairs of hands at the oars every half an hour and a continuing stern wind, they could hope to see land before nightfall. If they didn''t... The moon was just a quarter full, and was gone by midnight. Each life contains one or more watersheds: milestone moments that can completely turn that life around. When such a moment comes, everything that has happened up to that point ceases to count, and nothing is ever the same again. Cruz was aware his life had reached one of those life-changing milestones that mercilessly separate the past from the future. The next twenty four hours would determine whether it wouldn''t be his last. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 78 Living on an Island Susanto followed Cruz''s boat along the beach until he came to the cliffs that lined the southern shore. When he and James climbed onto the rock, he saw that Cruz had changed course in the meantime. The boat was no longer following the coast, it was headed out into the ocean, steering for Pitcairn Island. Susanto stayed on the cliff for a long time, watching the boat through the binoculars. A couple of times he saw Cruz turn around and raise his binoculars to his eyes and look back. They waved at each other, and Susanto thought he could see Cruz grin. The boat kept getting smaller and smaller, and soon enough it wasn''t possible to tell Cruz apart from the crew, and the sun was more than halfway to its resting place beyond the water. It was time to go back to the camp. It didn''t take long, since they cut across the island instead of following the shore. The sun shone down from a cloudless sky; insects buzzed and chirped and hissed; the plant life rustled mysteriously. As he walked, Susanto fell into a near-mystical state. He saw himself as a human speck moving across a speck of land lost in an enormous ocean. And he wasn''t even human, most of him! Those clever scientists in their white coats had established, beyond any doubt, that 52% of the cells existing in a human body were property of various microorganisms that were pleased to call that body their home. More than half the cells inside anyone belonged to someone else! What was more, changes in the body''s guest population were responsible for most of the illnesses that affected its human host. Rafi Susanto was a man with feet firmly on the ground but right then, as those practical feet of his trod on the wilderness of Henderson Island, he felt elevated beyond his normal state of consciousness. Could it have been caused by his rare emotional state? He''d felt longing when he was looking at Cruz sail away into the ocean. As a rule, he didn''t long after or for anything or anyone, including money, which was the only thing he loved. He was a genius, and he was just six years old when he discovered the basic rule governing human relationships: whoever cared less had more power. Subsequently, he''d never allowed himself to become crazed by money, like people who came close to orgasm when they saw their investments had paid a record profit. He who cared less had the power. Susanto smacked money around like some bitch that had displeased him, and money obeyed him: it came crawling to his feet, licking its nose and begging for forgiveness that it had been away for so long. Of course, all of his money smacks were strategic smacks, administered with the right force, at the right time, and in the right place. Wasn''t timing everything? Everything and everyone had a time of birth, and a time to die; a time to flourish, and a time to wither. They got back to the camp just as the sky was turning red, right on time for dinner. It consisted of grilled fish and coconut kernels. As Susanto ate, he thought: so this is what my life has come to. All that effort and struggle, everything I did, thought, dreamed - to end up on an island in the middle of nowhere, grateful just to be alive, to be able to eat, drink, fuck... No, not fuck. The whores'' makeup supplies had ran out, and the life of castaways clearly didn''t agree with them. When he thought of fucking one of them, his dick tried to disappear into his body. Without makeup, without their fancy leather and latex and lace, they looked exactly who they were: a bunch of empty, soulless women whose lack of morals and skill at sex had made them temporarily successful in the money-making game. He thought about the tears he saw on the faces of the two whores that had been fucking Cruz. He was sure they had been crying not because they''d been intimate with Cruz and felt sad to see him go; they had been crying because his departure made them feel lonely and helpless. People didn''t cry because of the pity they felt for other people. People always cried because of the pity they felt for themselves. This last thought made Susanto aware he had been guilty of pitying himself. He recoiled at that thought. He firmly believed self-pity a mark of cowardice, and a total waste of time. Worse, self-pity destroyed lives. He''d known many talented guys that allowed their lives to be sucked down the vortex of self-pity. He wasn''t going to go there. He was Rafi Susanto, a multimillionaire on his way to become a billionaire. That was when he knew he would have to make another trip to the New World. He was scared shitless when he thought about it, and that was exactly why he had to do it. The New World had made him feel helpless and afraid, the two emotions that he hated most. He was Rafi Susanto! A conqueror! A winner! Besides, he really wanted to check out the timon thing. If what Cruz had said was true, the part of the New World they had accessed was rich in timon. Susanto had no doubt timon would become the most valuable commodity ever, beating gold or diamonds hands down. Forget about being a billionaire: he would become an instant trillionaire once he secured a supply of timon! He had to see with his own eyes what Cruz had seen: a cave whose walls were composed entirely of timon. Or something. A beach of timon sand would work, too. That was it; it was decided. Susanto narrowed his eyes and scanned the company before him, evaluating each person in turn. He''d leave James behind to wake him up - James was the only person he really trusted in that lot. And he would take along just a single companion: more people attracted more attention. He would go off and implant himself somewhere else, too. The cave Cruz had discovered was located near the original replication point, but fuck that: there was no way Susanto was going to deal again with those giant mosquitoes. Whom should he take along? It had to be someone expendable, someone he could throw to the dinosaurs if the need arose. The crewmen of the Golden Dawn were experienced, but definitely not expendable: they were freaked out enough as it was by their previous visits to the New World. He needed them to remain stable and reliable while they all awaited their rescue from Henderson Island. That left the whores: a most unsuitable choice. But was it, really? After all, what or rather whom he needed was someone to sacrifice if the necessity arose. The whores were definitely expendable. They could freak out all they liked afterwards. And it would be kinda fun to see their silicone tits bounce as they ran screaming from a man-eating dinosaur. Which one to take? Candy! That was the right choice. She was the second of the two whores Susanto had taken along to cater to his sexual needs. She was physically fit, more so than the remaining three whores. And she had gagged while sucking his balls on New Year''s Eve while Estella, his other whore, took care of his dick. Susanto really resented that. He had taken extra care while shaving his scrotum before the frolics, a very difficult and dangerous exercise that took over an hour. He''d also perfumed his gear with five different colognes and aftershaves, distributing the various scents as appropriate. Estella had been ecstatic: she''d said sucking his cock was like drinking a field of flowers. And Candy had gagged! Of course she tried to cover it up with a cough and then continued, being a professional, but it still rankled. Yes, it would be Candy. Tomorrow they would take an implant kit and hiber bed each and go to the western shore, with James along as their caretaker. Of course everyone would think he was motivated by a fancy of having sex with Candy in the New World. Maybe he would, at that, if no dinosaurs were sniffing at his asshole, and he''d found what he was looking for. If he managed to secure a supply of timon, he''d become the richest man in the world in no time at all. And that was what he wanted above everything else. He looked at Candy and kept looking until she stopped chewing and looked back: their eyes met. She smiled at him. A small white sliver of fish flesh was stuck near the corner of her lips. He smiled back. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 79 The Crucifixion of Cruz Gabriel Cruz kept his binoculars glued to his eye sockets until the silhouettes of Susanto and his companion completely disappeared from view. When he lowered the glasses, he was shocked to see how far they already were from the island. He turned round to face the front of the boat, and felt a fresh rush of fear. There was nothing but water, water, water stretching all around him, as far as he could see. Water that was alive: it moved constantly, rising and falling, making sounds. It was as if the boat was riding the back of a gigantic beast whose body consisted of water. It was docile right now: its hiss was the soothing sound made by a mother calming a child. But Cruz remembered its roar during the terrifying storm right after New Year''s Day. He''d listened to it aboard a luxury yacht that had been built to handle cyclones and typhoons, and he''d been scared shitless. Now he was sitting in an open boat that lurched and bounced even on the tiny waves caused by the wind. Well, he could console himself with the thought that he wouldn''t drown if the boat ran into a storm. He would have a heart attack after the first few thunderbolts. He needed a distraction from those thoughts. He turned to Felipe. Felipe, first mate of the Golden Dawn and its de facto captain, was also the captain here. Cruz felt inferior to Felipe, even though Felipe throughout his entire life wouldn''t make half the money Cruz made in a single day. "How far do you think we have come?" he asked. Felipe frowned and threw a glance over his shoulder at Henderson Island. He ordered fresh men to the oars before looking back at Cruz and saying: "You mean our distance from the island? Five, maybe six miles." Cruz was horrified. According to his map, Henderson Island was much bigger than Pitcairn. Yet it was already no more than a smudge on the horizon to his naked eye. He raised his binoculars again, and it reassuringly popped into view. But already he couldn''t see the trees, couldn''t even see where the cliffs began. He knew Felipe had meant sea miles. A sea mile was nearly two kilometers, 1.85 if he remembered right. They were roughly ten kilometers away from Henderson Island, and it was already starting to disappear from sight. It would be invisible at night, he was sure. And since Pitcairn was at best half the size of Henderson Island... If they didn''t reach Pitcairn before nightfall, they were as good as lost. "Do you think we''ll get close enough to Pitcairn to see it before it gets dark?" he asked Felipe. Felipe pursed his lips; his eyes darkened. He pretended to be deep in thought because he''d heard the fear in Cruz''s voice, and wanted to prolong that delicious moment: the all-powerful billionaire was hanging on his lips! Eventually he said: "We should, if everything goes well and we don''t drift too much." "Drift? Why should we drift? Those guys are rowing like crazy!" "I estimate we''re drifting east about half a mile an hour," said Felipe. "I am going to adjust our course for that later in the afternoon." "Why not now?" "I''ll be able to do it more precisely later." Cruz wanted to press the point, but didn''t know how to do it effectively. He expected he''d hear some navigational mumbo-jumbo that would tell him nothing, and fail to provide him with a valid counter-argument. He needed to assert himself, somehow: he felt he''d lose face if he didn''t. So he said: "What do you think about us, you and me, taking a turn at the oars? Those men aren''t fresh any more." "You want to row the boat?" said Felipe, and grinned although he really tried his best not to do that. He was afraid it would make Cruz angry, and he was right. "No, I don''t want to row the boat," snarled Cruz. "I don''t even want to be in that fucking boat. I wish I was somewhere else. But if those guys run out of steam just as we''re getting close to Pitcairn and it''s getting dark, we''re sunk." "We have three shifts. An hour''s rest for each half an hour at the oars. It really isn''t necessary," Felipe said placatingly. "I want to do it, goddamit!" "All right. If you insist. It''s my shift next. I''ll let Francis off halfway through, and you can take his place. Is that all right?" "You think I can''t handle an oar for half an hour?" Felipe''s eyes turned opaque. Looking over Cruz''s shoulder, he said: "I don''t think anything, sir. I haven''t seen you row a boat. I don''t even know if you''ve ever done it before." "Yes, I did. Many times, in fact." "All right. But it will be good if Francis stretches his muscles a little, too. So maybe you could take over after fifteen minutes and I''ll row together with you for as long as you like. The men will get some extra rest. That will be good." "Fine," said Cruz. When his moment came, it turned out to be somewhat less than fine. It was the skin on his palms that was the problem. It was so soft! He wished he''d brought a pair of gloves. He had three: a fingerless pair he used when exercising with weights, a string pair he used for selected leisure activities, and a silk pair he sometimes wore to bed after applying cream that promised to keep his hands looking younger. It was a lie: they were looking older with every year. But he kept using it anyway, because who knew - maybe without it, his hands would turn into wrinkled claws even faster. The fingerless weightlifting gloves were a lie, too. He''d put them on, swing a couple of relatively light dumbells for a minute or two, and then put the dumbells back in their bag together with the gloves. He didn''t need gloves at all for that kind of exercise. Cruz felt blisters forming on his palms after no more than ten minutes. He gritted his teeth, and kept going, concentrating on keeping rhythm with Felipe. He knew Felipe was throwing him discreet glances, evaluating his condition. He was absolutely determined to serve out a full half hour, no matter what. After twenty minutes, his shoulder and chest stomach muscles were beginning to scream with pain. His arms were a bit sore, but still okay - who would have thought? Cruz had told Felipe a fib about having rowed a boat many times. The vessel in question was a small inflatable dinghy with tiny oars that weren''t much bigger than paddles: it had been one of his favorite toys when he was a boy. He spent a lot of time in it on the artificial pond on his father''s estate. The pond contained koi fish and he loved to sit in the dinghy and watch their graceful, silent moves in the green water. Twenty five minutes! Just five more minutes to go! Cruz''s body was on fire: even his legs were hurting. He was sure he wouldn''t survive another minute, let alone five. So he was ecstatically happy to hear the observant, diplomatic Felipe say: "Sir, I would like to take a break. I''ve been rowing for nearly three quarters of an hour. I would like Daniel and Joshua to take our places now. Is that okay?" Cruz nodded: he didn''t have the breath to speak. He returned to his seat at the stern of the boat and discreetly examined the palms of his hands. Half a dozen blisters on each, and nearly all of them had burst. He put his hand over his chin as if deep in thought, and furtively licked it clean. After a while he shifted in his seat and repeated the procedure for his other hand. He''d done that a few times when he was a boy and knew it worked really well. He didn''t want to draw any attention by asking for the boat''s first-aid chest. Time passed; Cruz found himself sinking into a stupor. His body continued to throb painfully even when he kept perfectly still. He broke out of his trance to eat in the mid-afternoon, then slipped right back into it. He was experiencing reality in a totally new way, as if he''d just been born anew. It was a highly mystical experience, and Cruz immersed himself in it so deeply he didn''t notice the sun preparing to set until it touched the water and the ocean began sparkling with thousands of moving highlights. Cruz looked at the darkening, setting sun and felt heavenly inspiration. If he was going to go out, he would go out in a blaze of glory, just like the sun. Because he, Gabriel Cruz, was a sun too. His light and warmth brought life to thousands, hundreds of thousands, millions! Millions of people depended on paychecks from the Cruz empire. He didn''t realize that his flight of fancy was caused solely by his extreme physical effort earlier on. It was something he hadn''t done for many, many years, and his organism went on red alert. A wide variety of kickass hormones was injected into his bloodstream, while thousands of repair teams worked feverishly to repair the damage to his muscles. Muscles always get torn during exercise: the whole process of growing bigger, better muscles is a consequence of damaging existing muscles. But Cruz''s muscles, weakened by thirty years of next to no exercise at all, felt like they were more than torn: they felt shredded. This was the reason why Cruz experienced the ecstasy people reportedly feel when they''re about to die from torture. There was less than an hour before nightfall, less than an hour to spot Pitcairn. But he wasn''t scared any more. He turned to Felipe and said: "So, what''s your bet?" "Sir?" "What''s your bet? Are we going to see Pitcairn before it gets dark?" Felipe was still considering his answer when one of the crew shouted: "Ey!" They both looked at him, then at his arm - he was pointing at the sky. His finger was aimed at a solitary bird, suspended above the boat as if on a string - its wings hardly moved at all. It was too high up to tell details, but it definitely wasn''t of a size that would let it stray very far from land. "I think we might see Pitcairn before dark," said Felipe. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 80 Sailing To Salvation Sadly, Felipe was wrong. They did not spot Pitcairn before sunset. The bird that had raised their hopes so high flew away, heading west. This provoked a short but heated discussion among the crewmen: one of them voiced the opinion that it might be wise to abandon their course, and follow the bird. It was a very stupid idea, and Felipe told the man to shut up. However, it revived Cruz''s fears that they might miss Pitcairn. If they did, they faced a grueling journey to Gambier Islands. It would take a week if they were lucky, two if they weren''t. Being out of luck would mean having to survive on a single frugal meal and a couple of cupfuls of water a day. Cruz was far from sure he could handle that. As the sun sunk lower, so did his spirits. Coming down from his spiritual high was more unpleasant than the pain he still felt after rowing the boat. He glanced at Felipe, looking for reassurance, and was disappointed: Felipe was very solemn. This did not bode well: Felipe was a cheerful man who had managed to appear serene even during the terrible storm right after New Year''s Day. It was a beautiful sunset. The sky was orange and pink and purple; the boat seemed to be sailing through a sea of gold. Cruz felt very sad when looking at all this beauty. He had the disagreeable premonition it might be the last sunset he''d ever see. He cleared his throat and turned to Felipe and said: "How far do you think we still have to go?" "Twenty to thirty miles," Felipe said, without the slightest hesitation. "What? At least twenty miles? That''s what, thirty seven kilometers? It''s going to take hours!" "Five, maybe six hours," Felipe said calmly. "But you said earlier we''d see Pitcairn before dark!" "I said there was a chance we would see it before dark, sir. But I miscalculated the current. It weakened as we moved away from Henderson Island. The wind has shifted, too. It''s three-quarters back now. Still good, but it means increased drift. I calculate we are going a knot slower because of all this. It adds up over time." "A knot? What are you talking about?" "A sea mile. Same thing, sir. So all in all, I think we''ve traveled eight, maybe nine miles less than I thought we would." "So we''ll be getting close in the middle of the night," Cruz said slowly. "We could pass it without seeing it, am I right?" "No," Felipe said stolidly. "You are wrong, sir. We''ll see it." "How can you be so sure? There''s hardly any moon!" "It''s a very clear sky. There''ll be plenty of starlight." "Starlight!" Cruz snorted. "We also have the flare gun. I''ve taken along a dozen illumination flares. They light up a huge area. When I think we''re getting close, I''ll fire a flare." Cruz could think of nothing to say to that, so he raised his chin in silent contempt and turned away from Felipe. As he did so, he couldn''t help noticing that the rapidly darkening sky to the east already twinkled with hundreds of tiny lights. Cruz stared at them, his mind in total turmoil. He owed his success to meticulous planning. He was a planner by heart: every move he made was carefully calculated beforehand. And now, his life depended on light from faraway stars, light that took hundreds of thousands or even millions of years to actually arrive, and illuminate his world. A light that could be extinguished in an instant by a change in weather. And out in the ocean, the weather could change completely within a few hours. There was nothing he could do about it. For the first time in an eternity, he was totally helpless. He was a tiny, insignificant counter lying on the gambling table while the cosmos rolled its dice. It would have been all so much easier if he believed in God! But Cruz believed in God the same way he believed in Cinderella, or Snow White. He believed in the power of stories: people were powered by myths that were their own creations. Myths gave people strength to endure extreme hardships. They also frequently made them stupid and cruel, but there was a price to be paid for everything. When Cruz took his First Communion and later took his children to theirs, he didn''t feel like a hypocrite. He was paying obeisance to the greatest myth ever, acknowledging its power in his own life. That was all. Now, sitting in the swaying boat, he felt the urge to pray. But he had no one to pray to. No one to ask for help, no one to tell that he was sorry. Night fell rapidly, and soon enough both the sky and the water were sparkling with starlight. Cruz examined the horizon through his binoculars, and was very relieved to find out that he could make out things even at a fair distance. He also found keeping watch was a better way to pass the time than dwelling on his own insignificance. It provided him with the occasional jolt of pleasant excitement: he could see something! Land? No, just a pattern created by breaking waves. But never mind: next time around it really could be land. Felipe kept watch, too. From time to time he stood up and, holding onto the beacon mast with one hand, scanned the ocean with the intensity of a prophet looking for a portent. It seemed to Cruz that the oarsmen weren''t rowing quite so vigorously any more. It was hardly surprising, they''d been at it for nearly twelve hours. Felipe seemed to share his opinion, because a while later he ordered a switch to twenty-minute shifts. Cruz''s arms, still hurting after his own rowing spell, began aching unbearably from the strain of holding the binoculars to his face. He dropped them to hang on his chest, and entertained himself with another covert palm-licking routine. He thought that his hands were hurting a little less after he did that. He was about to resume staring at the ocean through his glasses when he felt Felipe touch his shoulder. He looked up - Felipe was standing by the beacon mast. He was pointing to the front of the boat. And he was saying: "Pitcairn, sir. We''ve made it." "Where?" exclaimed Cruz, and got to his feet very quickly and very nearly capsized the boat. After the brief panic had passed and the shouts died down, he repeated: "Where?" "Almost exactly in front of us. Maybe five degrees to starboard, not more." "Starboard?" "To the right." Cruz followed Felipe''s pointing finger with his eyes and raised his binoculars and yes! He could see something! A small shape was blocking out the stars just above the horizon. "We''ve made it," he breathed. He lowered the glasses and laughed and clapped Felipe''s shoulder. ""We''ve made it!" he shouted, and everyone in the boat cheered. In the couple of hours that followed, Cruz repeatedly felt that the cheers had been a little premature. It took forever for the small dark shape to get bigger: at times it felt as if they were making no progress at all. This was despite the oarsmen putting all their remaining strength into making the boat move as fast as possible. Eventually Felipe fired a flare, and that was when they saw Pitcairn was closer than they thought. A couple of pinpricks of light appeared on the dark coast; then the sky over the boat turned a brilliant white as a flare fired from the shore came alight. Everyone in the boat was laughing and cheering. Everyone except Cruz: he sat down and and pretended to look away, at the glittering ocean painted silver by the flare. He didn''t want anyone to see that he was crying. He did it! He reached Pitcairn! He was back in the civilized world! He looked away from the flare and up, into the dark sky and its mysterious twinklings. He wanted to thank his lucky stars, quite literally. But no words could adequately describe the gratitude he felt to this wonderful, kind, loving universe. He felt Felipe touch his shoulder again. He was beginning to like it when Felipe touched his shoulder. It meant good news were on the way. "I think they''re sending out a boat to meet us," Felipe said. Cruz wanted to thank him for his wonderful navigational feat - Felipe was the real hero! He''d successfully navigated the boat straight to Pitcairn! But no words would come: his throat was squeezed tight. He started crying again, smiling though his tears. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 81 The Pain of Losing It All A few hours later, Cruz was crying again. At least he didn''t have to hide it from anyone: he was alone in a large room which had served as tourist accommodation in happier times. He had just found out he was a beggar. His billions were gone, just like that. In just a few days, a new, coin-based currency was to become the only legal tender in the entire world. All the old money would become almost worthless. It could be used for one purpose only: the purchase of licenses to colonize the New World. That was the last thing Cruz felt like doing. His experiences of the last weeks, culminating with the terror-fraught boat trip, had given him a new appreciation of his life on Earth. He had become determined to enjoy it to its fullest. He wasn''t going to spend any of his remaining time on Earth stretched out on a hiber bed while his second persona dodged dinosaurs in the New World. That kind of thing was fine for excitement-hungry kids, too stupid to understand and appreciate the extraordinary richness of ordinary life. Being alive at all was magic! Unfortunately, it was magic with a best-before warning and an expiry date. In Cruz''s case that date wasn''t as distant as he''d have liked it, and it was getting closer every day. He wasn''t going to waste any of his remaining time on this whole New World business. The simple act of breathing was pure poetry! Those had been his thoughts when he finally got to leave the boat, and felt solid ground under his feet: it actually felt odd not to feel it move. He''d had to wait quite a while before that happy moment arrived: they had to sail practically the length of the whole island to dock at a small pier squeezed in between rocks. Unlike Henderson, Pitcairn Island was mountainous and didn''t have a single beach. If one of the island''s longboats hadn''t come out to guide them, they would have never found the tiny harbor that was the island''s only port. They were also lucky to arrive the one day when everyone in Pitcairn was wide awake despite the late hour. Earlier on, the island''s only functioning short-wave radio established contact with Welington, New Zealand. The islanders had been completely cut off from the world for eight weeks. The news they heard turned everything upside down for them as well as Cruz. However, Cruz noted that they weren''t half as dejected as they should be. In fact, they seemed to be in high spirits. He quickly noticed almost everyone was wearing headgear of some sort: baseball caps, beanies, straw hats. The only people he saw bareheaded were people with a head of thick hair, long enough to completely obscure the scalp. There weren''t many of those. The permanent population of Pitcairn counted forty people, and most of them were around retirement age. They greeted Cruz and his crew affably enough, but with none of the cordiality that follows a successful rescue. An old fellow named Peter Christian introduced himself as the mayor; moments later, another geezer presented himself as the island''s governor in the name of His Majesty the King. Pitcairn Island was a British Overseas Territory, but the English spoken by its inhabitants sounded like a different language to Cruz. That was even though he was someone who had traveled extensively, and had heard English being mutilated by a staggering multitude of voices. The governor''s name was Paul Christian, and indeed he and the mayor were brothers. Power was something that seemed to run in the Christian family: they were both descendants of the infamous Fletcher Christian who had led the mutiny on the Bounty. The mutineers had settled on Pitcairn with a bevy of Tahiti women, and burned their ship in a ceremony meant to show their commitment. The mayor and the governor were the sour fruit of that commitment. They quickly dispersed Cruz''s crew around Adamstown. Pitcairn''s sole settlement had plenty of tourist accommodation, and very few tourists. The mayor was quick to stress he was offering everyone a reduced rate because of that when he was showing Cruz into his room. This was when the first complications ensued. Cruz had taken his wallet, loaded with glittering credit cards as well as a wad of American dollars. But the mayor shook his head dolefully. "No cards, no cash," he said. Then he explained why. It took him a long time. Cruz interrupted him constantly with angry, disbelieving questions: a couple of times he lay down on the bed, clutching his chest as if he was having a heart attack. Midway during this show, the governor showed up, expressing the hope that Cruz would pay for his crew''s rooms. After some more explaining and tough negotiations over the value of Cruz''s gold watch, bracelet, and neck chain, the matter was finally settled. Cruz asked about food and drink, even though he had taken a small stash of supplies from the boat. After some hemming and hawing, the two gentlemen agreed to deliver something to Cruz and his men. Then they all agreed to meet again the next morning, and Cruz was left alone. The food and drink showed up surprisingly promptly. It consisted of a bottle of water and some sort of fish paste mixed with leaves. Cruz forced himself to eat it: he had to admit it wasn''t as bad as he''d feared. It was nearing dawn by then, and he was completely exhausted. But he couldn''t fall asleep. He just wasn''t able to get his head around everything that he''d heard from the mayor and the governor. Everything wiped clean, including debt! That hurt: a number of people owed him lots of money. He reminded himself that this money was worthless anyway, but that hardly made him feel better. He began running his mind over his assets. He was instantly reminded that he had gold: he had over a hundred kilos in gold bars stashed in three different banks, in different countries. But there were no countries any more! And what would become of the banks? Banks needed money like a living body needed blood. And now all that blood would be gone, just like that, in a single day! Cruz could already hear the crash of the whole banking and financial sector. It would be a deafening crash, punctuated by wet smacks as the bodies of the window-jumping bankers hit the pavement. The successful retrieval of the gold he had stored in bank vaults would verge on a miracle. One bank was in Switzerland, naturally. Another in Luxembourg, and the third in Liechtenstein. And how the hell was he supposed to get to Europe? It would take half a year aboard a fucking sailing ship - it would have to go the long way, because Cruz knew the Suez canal was unlikely to be working. One of his companies had supplied new software for the computers that ran the complicated system of locks on the Suez canal. It was programmed to shut everything down in an emergency. He remembered that he kept a bar of gold at his home in Manila. But it was a toy bar, literally. It weighed just a kilo and it really was his personal toy. He would take it out sometimes and play with it, weighing it in each hand, rubbing his cheek with it, and looking fondly at the fingerprints he''d left on the gleaming metal. They always reminded him of the time when the famous Economist magazine called him ''the man with the golden touch''. But he also had a lot of real estate! He had half a dozen homes scattered all over the globe! Surely that would still be worth something? Cruz groaned: he wouldn''t know where he stood until he got back to the real world. Pitcairn didn''t count as the real world. He thought a little about the people he''d encountered, and came to the conclusion that everyone on the island was involved in the New World. They obviously showed great care to hide their implants under all those silly hats and hairdos. They''d had a cube appear on Pitcairn too, and they took advantage. Wasn''t that exactly what he and Susanto had done? It was more than possible that in the New World, Henderson and Pitcairn were parts of a single land mass. He remembered that the documentation scroll stated there were two big new archipelagos in the Pacific, with islands as big as Greenland. If he was right, and the people of Pitcairn were colonizing the New World - did they find timon? How did they deal with the dinosaurs? Cruz tossed around on his bed, prodded by his thoughts. There were very many questions he would ask the governor and the mayor when he met them the next day. But first and foremost, he had to find a way rescue Susanto. Getting him off Henderson Island was going to be difficult. From what he''d seen, the Pitcairn navy consisted of a couple of longboats outfitted with masts big enough to carry a proper sail. They were more seaworthy than the boat in which he''d made the journey, but they would be carrying an extra eleven people on the way back. It wasn''t going to be a picnic, he would have to pay through the nose for any help, he could tell. Pay? With what? He forced himself to lay still and relax. There was a higher priority than rescuing Susanto. This priority was to get some rest. He needed to be rested for the upcoming meeting with the governor and the mayor. It would likely be the most important single meeting he''d ever had. Staring at the dark ceiling, he slowly began to formulate a plan. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 82 How To Become A Billionaire "You must stop saying, in the name of His Majesty the King," Peter Christian told his brother. "There is no king over us any more." "I know, I know. Force of habit! All those years..." "I understand." Peter and Paul Christian lapsed into a gloomy silence as they contemplated the vast number of years that they had lived and perforce, the tiny number of years they still had left to live. They were seated in Peter''s office in Adamstown''s town hall. Paul''s office was next door: they chose Peter''s for the meeting with Cruz because they''d forgotten to get rid of all the British flags and crests decorating Paul''s office. Pitcairn Islands were no longer a British Overseas Territory. There was no Britain any more. Pitcairn was independent, just like Scotland and Wales. Well, supposedly Pitcairn was ruled by the World Council in New York, the seat of power of the new global government - the capital of the whole Old World. But New York was very far away. Early that morning, the ashen-faced radio operator brought the brothers twenty pages of transcripts made from transmissions received during the night. Then he staggered off to finally get some sleep while the brothers perused the pages they''d received with great attention. By the time Cruz woke up, had a brief nervous breakdown, and began his preparations for the meeting, the brothers had read and discussed what they had read. By the time he showed up, they had an ambitious plan. They''d also agreed Cruz might be useful in helping them realize that plan: to make Pitcairn a major player on the New World scene. This would automatically make Pitcairn''s people - all forty two of them - the richest people in the Old World. But to achieve this lofty goal, Pitcairn needed more Old World people. People who could be replicated in Pitcairn''s New World colony. There were only eight women of child-bearing age on Pitcairn; this wasn''t a problem that could be alleviated through reproduction. The Christian brothers had a good idea who Cruz was. His business successes had brought Cruz great fame. Hundreds of thousands of people worked for him, in one way or another. Given the crisis that had followed the catastrophe, plenty of those people would be more than willing to replicate in the New World. The Pitcairn colony needed those people. It was a matter that called for very careful handling. It wouldn''t be good if Cruz realized how much they needed him. Fortunately, right at this moment he also needed help, very badly. The Christian brothers were determined to squeeze every last drop of advantage from this circumstance. But they agreed they''d be nice about it: after all, Cruz would become a partner of sorts if they were successful. It didn''t do to alienate a prospective partner. They even regretted their earlier insistence that Cruz pay for his crew''s lodging and food with his gold baubles. But their regret wasn''t strong enough to back out of that deal: gold was gold. They decided they''d butter up Cruz any way they could, instead. And so, when Cruz entered the mayor''s chamber, just a little late - it was three minutes past the agreed ten o''clock - the brothers rose from their seats to greet him with affable smiles. It was a striking change of attitude, and Cruz was immediately suspicious. He examined the rulers of Pitcairn with a critical eye. They had both worn hats when he''d arrived: Paul a ridiculous bowler, Peter an equally silly trilby with a feather stuck in the headband. Now their heads were bare, and he could see that they didn''t have implants. It didn''t mean much: if Pitcairn had gotten its own cube as Cruz suspected, the brothers would have plenty of implants at their disposal. They could easily afford to waste a couple by removing theirs for the meeting with Cruz. He was sure all of Pitcairn was on the New World thing. When he was walking to the meeting, he''d encountered a couple of the island''s inhabitants. One had hurriedly put on a baseball cap the moment he saw Cruz; the other suddenly developed an itch just above his ear, and kept scratching his head until Cruz had passed. Cruz felt a fresh wave of dislike for Pitcairn and its lying, deceitful, avaricious inhabitants. But his dislike started to melt away when the brothers'' secretary brought in the coffee. It was freshly brewed, and accompanied by a big plate of biscuits. Cruz had to make a real effort not to cram several in his mouth right away. This was heaven! He was beginning to revise his earlier opinion that Pitcairn wasn''t part of the civilized world. He mellowed visibly after he''d eaten half a dozen biscuits, and drank two cups of coffee. The brothers exchanged glances, and Peter said: "You mentioned last night part of your crew and your business partner are on Henderson, awaiting help. Do I remember this correctly?" "Yes," said Cruz. He took a sip of the delicious coffee, dabbed at his lips with a handkerchief, and added: "I''m glad you brought this up. I would like to ask for your assistance in getting them off the island." "Of course!" exclaimed Peter; Paul grunted sympathetically. "We''ll be happy to help you. It will involve hiring out a couple of longboats with crews, but we''ve already come to an agreement about that." "We have?" "Well, yes. Your watch, bracelet, and neck chain - you didn''t think we wanted these merely for your food and lodging? We need to pay the owners of the boats, and also the men that will make the trip." This was news to Cruz, and it was also news to Paul, the erstwhile governor of Pitcairn: he gave his brother an unhappy look. Peter ignored it, and added: "I''ll make the necessary arrangements the moment this meeting is over. The boats shall leave at dawn tomorrow, and they''ll reach Henderson by nightfall." "I''m very happy to hear that, and very grateful," Cruz said, wondering what was the hidden catch. His life had taught him people didn''t become all sweet and helpful without a reason. They always wanted something in return. "However, we''d like to find out something first," Peter said, smiling ingratiatingly. "Could I ask you a question?" "Please go ahead," Cruz said, thinking: here it comes. "When you were on Henderson... You told us you spent quite a few weeks there... Did you happen to come across a big, glowing cube?" Cruz grinned. They had just presented him with the perfect opening to launch his plan. "Yes," he said. "Probably very much like the cube you have here. You do have one, don''t you?" They were both silent: he''d surprised them. This gave him control of the conversation, which was exactly what he''d planned. He said: "Come on. You have a cube on Pitcairn. I can tell." "Oh?" said Paul. "May I ask how?" Cruz waved a dismissive hand. "Gentlemen, we''re all grownups here," he said. "Better than that: we''ve all been grownups for a while. I''ve been to the New World, and so have you. You''ve read the documentation from the cube; so have I. And you probably think what I think: Pitcairn and Henderson Island are part of the same land mass in the New World. A land that is unfortunately inhabited by mesozoic life forms which include plenty of predators. You know what I''m talking about, don''t you?" He got a hesitant nod from Paul, and an affirmative grunt from Peter. He continued: "I''m sure you agree it makes sense for us to coordinate our efforts in the New World. Pardon me, I should say your efforts and Rafi''s. That''s my business partner, currently stranded on Henderson Island. Rafi Susanto? Have you heard of him? No? He''s a very smart man, and very rich. And he''s very enthusiastic about colonizing the New World. I am not. I have too much to handle on good old Earth to get involved over there." That floored them. They stared at him with their watery eyes, mouths slightly open. It was time to wrap things up. Cruz said: "I think we share the same priority: rescue Rafi Susanto from Henderson. It''s best that you talk to him as soon as possible. I''ll be ready at dawn tomorrow - of course, I must go along. I''d also like to take one of my crewmen with me. An excellent sailor, unlike myself. Is that all right with you? Do I make sense?" "You want to go back to Henderson?" said Peter. "You''re saying you''re not interested in the New World?" said Paul. "Oh, I am interested. I think it''s very exciting. I''ll follow your progress with great interest. I just won''t be taking part." "But you''re sure mister, er, Susanto wants to take part?" asked Peter. "Yes." "Does he... Is he..." said Paul, drawing a stern look from his brother. Cruz smiled. "Rafi Susanto is a very powerful man," he told them. "You''ll be glad to have him in your corner." He rose from his seat, fighting an impulse to grab the two biscuits that still remained on the plate. "I must visit my men and see that they are all right," he said. "Are we agreed on everything? Will you send someone tomorrow, or should I find the way to the jetty by myself?" "Of course I''ll send someone," said Peter, jerking his body off the seat. "Of course." "Of course," echoed Paul, standing up as well. He cleared his throat twice as if he was about to add something, then changed his mind. Cruz beamed at him and Peter. "So we''re all set," he said. "I''m happy we''ve reached an agreement. By the way, would you be so kind and have some food sent to me and my men? Those biscuits are very nice." "I''ll make sure to include a tin," Peter said. He shook Cruz''s offered hand as if in a daze; so did Paul. "It''s been very nice talking to you," said Cruz. "But I really must look in on my men. Maybe we could talk more later? Over dinner? Let me know. I''ll be back in my rooms by early afternoon." He gave them a final smile, and left without waiting for an answer. It was a while before the two brothers sat down again, and when they did they remained silent. They were used to outmaneuvering and manipulating other people. No one had ever done it to them, and with such effortless skill. Cruz hadn''t given them the smallest opening to put in a squeeze. Eventually, Paul said: "So that''s how you become a billionaire." Peter sighed. In a voice tinged by deep foreboding, he said: "I wonder what that Susanto character is like." NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 83 A Delightful Picnic Rafi Susanto wouldn''t have made much of an impression on the Christian brothers if they''d met him at that very moment. He''d woken up before dawn full of apprehension. His subconscious was telling him Cruz had missed Pitcairn, and was adrift somewhere in the Pacific. An itchy rash had developed on the inside of his thighs while he had slept. A sudden flashback took him back to New Year''s Eve: he saw himself pouring champagne, and raising a toast. He''d been so happy, so hopeful! And just a couple of days later, everything turned to shit. These unhappy thoughts and the itchy rash made it impossible to return to sleep. He tossed and turned, and eventually got up and walked down to the beach. His men had painstakingly cleared all the trash from the stretch of sand neighboring the camp; but every night, fresh trash floated in. Susanto walked along the water''s edge with his forehead creased in thought, kicking plastic bottles he encountered back into the ocean. Did Cruz make it? What if he didn''t? What if he did? How long would they have to wait before help arrived? Susanto hated waiting; waiting was a waste of time. So as soon as the sky in the east started turning pink, he returned to the camp and woke everyone up. Juan was instructed to prepare an extra hearty breakfast, and to include one of the two remaining cans of sliced pineapple as a morale booster. Unfortunately, the main course was the same as for lunch and dinner: fish and coconut kernels and palm shoots. Although Juan did his best with the spices and herbs at his disposal, that particular dish was rapidly getting old. Following breakfast Susanto treated himself to a kretek cigarette, noting with alarm he had just eight left. As he inhaled the clove-scented smoke, he reviewed his plan for the day. It included paying a visit to the New World. The prospect scared him, but the prospect of just sitting there on that fucking island doing nothing but waiting for help scared him even more. Rafi Susanto was a doer: he had to keep active. He had to do things, keep moving to stay alive, just like a shark. He issued a series of stern instructions, sending everyone but James and Candy to their tasks. The crewmen were to continue taking items from the cube; the whores - gather coconuts and anything else that was edible. Then he pulled James to the side for a quick conversation. "James," he said rather dramatically, "I am about to place my life in your hands." James didn''t look happy when he heard that. Susanto noted this with satisfaction. His steward''s unease meant he was fully conscious of the great responsibility placed on his shoulders. Without question, he was the right person to act as Susanto''s guardian during the planned excursion into the New World. "We are going to visit the New World," he told James. "But only Candy and I will go all the way. You''ll stay here, so that I can use your guy there to communicate. If there''s trouble, you''ll remove my implant. That''s all there is to it." "But what about the dinosaurs?" asked James. "We''ll replicate in a different spot. Hopefully, we won''t run into any, at least not right away. I need to have a look around over there. I just might get lucky, and find some tiger rock and food to send back here." As Susanto had anticipated, the chance to obtain some fresh food immediately won James over. He said: "You can count on me, sir." Susanto nodded and patted his shoulder. "Get a package together," he told James. "Food and drink for three people for the rest of the day, two of those mats, six implants." "Six?" "Just in case, James, just in case. It''s good to have backup at all times." "Of course, sir," said James, and scurried off to his task. Susanto approached Candy, who had been watching him with a new interest ever since he asked her to stay instead of going off with the other whores to gather food. Candy was a realist; being realistic was a must in her profession. She knew she ranked behind Elena, probably behind the two other whores as well. She suspected she''d been asked to stay for a different reason than sex, but she had no idea of what it might be. Candy was somewhat limited in her imagination, and it actually hurt her career not a little. An imaginative, inventive whore was a better whore. Susanto stopped in front of her and smiled. She tried to read something from that smile, and failed. "Candy," Susanto said, "I have the exquisite pleasure of inviting you to a picnic." "A picnic?" said Candy. No one had ever invited her to a picnic before. She wasn''t even sure what the word meant. She had a vague idea it involved sitting down on the ground, and eating food out of a bag. "Yes. We shall have a delightful little excursion down the coast, and relax. It will do me good to get away from this place for a while. It feels like I''ve been here for years. I''m sure you feel the same." "Oh yes," said Candy happily. "That will be very nice. I know a perfect spot! A small beach over there." She pointed east, and Susanto frowned. "You mean the east coast? What do you mean, a beach? It''s all cliffs." "It''s under the cliff. And I found a way to get down to the beach. It''s not difficult. And there is no rubbish on that beach." "Okay," Susanto said slowly. "When did you find it?" "Yesterday. When I was looking for coconuts." "Hmmm," said Susanto. He clearly remembered that the previous day, Candy had brought the smallest haul of all the whores: a hundred coconuts, not a single one more. Elena had brought in almost a hundred and fifty! So that was what the little bitch had been up to! Lying on a secluded beach and catching a few rays while her companions labored! Still, a spot like that might be perfect for his purposes. He asked: "And how far away is this beach of yours?" "A little bit down the coast... I was walking along the shore, so it took me almost an hour. But if we took a shortcut we could be there in twenty minutes. Maybe half an hour." That made it over a kilometer, but less than two. Susanto tried to recall, from what he''d seen of the New World, what the landscape east of of his original arrival point looked like. But all he could remember was that the New World beach stretched a long way to the east, and ended with a jumble of rocks at the base of a cliff. Thick vegetation had obscured the view inland; all that could be seen from the arrival point was the top of the hill with gold nuggets - and a timon cave, if Cruz was to be believed. They had all made for the top of that hill, hoping to get a better idea of the surrounding countryside. But Cruz had circled the hill first and ended not climbing it at all, because he found a cave with walls of timon. And when Susanto had made it to the top of the hill, his attention had been distracted by the wildlife. His skin crawled when he recalled what he had seen. What he couldn''t recall was what the land east of the hill looked like; the dinosaurs had been gambolling around in a clearing to the south. Well, he would find out today. And Candy would have the honor of being the first whore to visit the New World. "Okay, Candy," he said. "We''ll visit your secret beach. We''ll be leaving soon; maybe you would like to change your clothes?" "What would you like me to wear? I''ll bring it with me. I can change once we get to the beach." The stupid bitch thought he had meant one of the costumes she wore for her professional performances. Susanto had a good mind to punish her by making her wear skintight black latex from head to to toe while they walked under the sweltering sun. But he didn''t want to be cruel, at least not yet. He wanted her to be in a good frame of mind when he told her she''d be visiting the New World. "I meant something you''ll find comfortable on our picnic. Maybe something with pockets? You could carry the first aid stuff. You know, bottle of Dettol, cotton wool, bandage, some sticking plaster." Candy''s eyes widened with alarm. "Am I going to get hurt?" she asked. "Don''t be silly. I always take that with me on trips. What if you or I slip and fall and hurt a leg or whatever? We''ll be very glad to have that stuff with us." "I understand," said Candy, in a tone that told Susanto she didn''t, not really. "Okay. Go get ready. I need to get ready myself." He watched her walk away, biting his lip and wondering whether he''d made the right choice when he selected Candy as his companion. Then he remembered the incident involving his testicles, and grunted. He''d made the right choice; whatever would happen, she deserved it. He caught himself hoping they''d run into a dinosaur. Nothing too dangerous, maybe one of those plant-eating lizard cows with spikes or something similar on the back - he remembered the picture from his school days. He could even remember the name! He grinned, and murmured: "Candy, meet mister Stegosaurus. Mister Stegosaurus - Candy. Please be gentle." He let out a guffaw, and went to talk to James. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 84 The Things People Do For Love It was noon before they reached Candy''s secret beach, and by that time they were all sweaty and tired, hungry and thirsty. But it was worth the effort: the beach was like a tiny paradise hidden among the cliffs. The sand was as fine and soft as talcum powder, and there was a pool of shade right under the cliff. The rocks that ran out into the sea on both sides made the water as calm and clear as in a swimming pool. Unfortunately, bathing called for great care: there were many small, sharp stones scattered on the sandy bottom. They all bathed anyway, because they were sticky with sweat. Taking the shortcut had been a bad idea. It meant they had to make dozens of small detours around a variety of obstacles. All in all, it would have probably been easier just to follow the shore, as Candy had done the previous day. But Susanto actually appreciated all the little unexpected difficulties they had to deal with along the way. He felt it put him in the right frame of mind for his upcoming trip to the New World. After he''d rinsed the sweat off his body, he dried himself with great care: seawater and sun was a lethal combination. The water evaporated quickly, leaving a residue of salt that the sun burned into the skin. Susanto was fairly sure that was the reason behind his rash. He just hadn''t wiped his legs dry properly. Noticing that morale was low, he instructed the others to eat something, have a drink, and generally relax for a while. They retreated into the shade: he remained at the water''s edge, the sun beating down on him as he stared at the ocean with his mind racing. He needed to invent an argument that would make Candy follow him, all smiles, into the New World. It wasn''t easy. His mind was constantly jabbering about Cruz: did he make it? What if he didn''t? Fuck! Susanto felt sure that a few more weeks on that island would turn him into a psycho killer. He would end up slitting the throats of all his companions, and eventually his own. As he wrestled with all those complicated psychological issues, his right foot had been mindlessly playing with the sand, smoothing it, digging in, flicking a toe to send a spray of sand into the air. Suddenly, Suanto felt a painful pinprick. He bent down and saw his exploring foot had uncovered a seashell fragment. He bent down and picked it up. Two white ridges ran around a pink oval that turned purple in its center. The piece was oval-shaped too, and overall it reminded Susanto of a cunt. Of course! Sex was the only thing, the only motivation Candy could really understand. She''d follow him willingly into the New World if there was sex involved. Susanto smiled: he loved it when he had one of those flashes of inspiration, an idea that solved the problem. He had taken along his cigarettes - just in case, it was good to have backup - and after a mournful glance at the few that remained, he took out a kretek and lit it. Okay: that Candy business was solved. Now, what was his plan for the New World? No dinosaurs chewing on his ass: that was the priority. That was why he was taking Candy with him. He would tell her to walk ahead of him under the pretext of admiring her ass. Snakes! It was a lizard world, it likely featured plenty of snakes. Yes, Candy would lead the troops. Guided by wise advice from the troops, she would lead them to a safe observation point. It would have to feature thick vegetation that offered protection from those flying fuckers, those ptero-somethings that tore a strip of flesh off him on his last visit to the New World. And that vegetation had to be free of giant mosquitoes or spiders or ants eager to take bites out of his ass. He had a good plan in place by the time he had finished his kretek cigarette. He turned and walked up to James and Candy, who had finished munching coconut kernels and were busy refreshing themselves with the brackish water from the island''s only spring. All the bottled water that had been salvaged from the ship was long gone; the plastic bottles were refilled periodically with a liquid very inferior to the one advertised on the label, although it likely had a richer mineral content. Susanto noticed Candy grimace at the taste as he approached. It reminded him of the gagging business yet again, and he felt fresh delight at the thought of what he''d planned for her. He stopped in front of her and said: "Candy. I would like to share something special with you." She was smiling when she looked up at his face: he''d pressed the right button. James got up from the sand and sauntered off, bottle in hand, to admire the rocks some distance away. That was the mark of a good manservant: he knew when to be there, and when not to be there. Susanto felt a wave of warm affection for James. They''d been together for so many years! He looked back at Candy and said: "Candy, we will make love in the New World." She liked that; she liked that a lot. But then her face creased and she said: "But it''s dangerous over there. You can get hurt. You can get killed! I saw what happened to everyone who went there. I remember how they screamed!" "You won''t scream," Susanto told her. "You''ll enjoy yourself. Because if something bad happens - it''s like a horror movie. People watch horror movies so that they can scream and feel scared while eating popcorn. We all need a bit of variety in our lives." "I don''t like horror movies," Candy said. "Well, the moment you don''t like something, you leave. You understand? James will stay here. He''ll pull your implant and bring you back the moment you feel like it. It''s all up to you. Candy! We could be the first couple ever to make love in the New World." That got her, like he''d thought it would. She had built her career, her life on fucking people. Scoring a first in that category ranked big. She said: "Really? The first couple ever?" "Yes." Candy frowned. She could remember the screams only too well. But being the first to fuck in the New World, ahead of Elena and the other whores, carried a powerful appeal. And who knows? Maybe she''d like it. She dimly remembered Cruz and Susanto explaining that the New World was located in another dimension. Fucking in a different dimension! No, she just had to experience something like that. The look on Elena''s face when she learned Candy had fucked Susanto in the New World was an extra motivation. She was going to be twisted with envy. Maybe she would convince Susanto to take her along too, but whatever happened, she would come second. For the first time in her life, Candy thought, she would come first. Her mind, abundantly fed by pop culture, told her she could become a star. More than a star: she could become a goddess! The Goddess of Love in the New World. She would get new business cards printed the moment she got the chance. She smiled into Susanto''s eyes and said: "I think I would like that." "You will, Candy," lied Susanto. "You''ll like it a lot." NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 85 Angel Love Susanto implanted James first. The idea was that the James in the New World would have a look around, and communicate his findings. Once it was established no giant lizards or insects were present, Susanto and Candy would replicate in the New World. Unlike James, they would then lie down on the hiber beds and fall asleep. James would be watching them, as well as listening closely to what his New World self had to say. Unofrtunately, complications ensued right away. James could not communicate with his second self in the New World! He rubbed his implant repeatedly to increase the strength of the signal, but to no avail. A faulty implant? Susanto removed it, congratulating himself silently for having brought extra implant kits. Then he implanted James again, moving to the other end of the little beach before he did so - just in case. It didn''t help. James rubbed his head until his scalp got sore, with no success. Susanto felt totally flumoxed by this development. He instructed James not to worry, but was very worried himself. What could be wrong? He had no idea. He examined the the four remaining implant kits one by one, but they all looked the same. They looked the way they''d always looked: there were no signs of any physical damage. There was only one thing left to try. Susanto sighed heavily. He turned to James and said: "James, I need you to lie down on that mat and make the trip over there. Just to see whether it''s possible at all. I''ll be watching over you here. I''ll wake you up the moment I see the slightest sign of distress." "You''ll pull my implant, sir?" asked James. "There''ll be no need, James. The link is broken. Once you''re awake, you won''t feel a thing even if your guy there is being eaten alive." James swallowed and looked at the ground. Then he said: "Sir, please. Promise me you''ll remove my implant. We''ll still have three left, one for each of us. I can see now how wise it was, to take those extra implant kits." "All right," said Susanto, annoyed at James''s clumsy attempt to butter him up. "I promise I''ll pull your implant. Don''t look at me like that. I mean it." Still slightly doubtful, James obediently lay down on the silver mat. He actually struggled to keep awake for a few seconds. Of course he fell asleep almost instantly anyway, but Susanto''s eyes narrowed at this new sign of disobedience from his trusted manservant. He told himself familiarity always bred contempt, that it couldn''t be helped: but all the same, he decided he''d let James wriggle a bit before waking him. He could always lie later that the sleeping James had showed no anxiety at all for - how long should he make it? A minute? That amounted to around ten minutes in the New World. Yes, that would be more than enough. Susanto''s experience with the ptero-somethings and the giant mosquitoes had been shorter, and the terror he''d felt had almost made him lose his wits. He didn''t want any witnesses, so he ordered Candy to move her ass somewhere else: he said her presence impeded his concentration. Pouting, she relocated to a spot twenty steps away. Susanto sat down beside James, making sure he blocked as much of the view as possible. Then he watched and waited. He stared at the old wind-up watch in his hand, ready to give it a shake if it stopped working. But minutes ticked by, and nothing happened. James was sleeping peacefully; Susanto even detected a trace of a smile on his face. He should have felt good about his manservant enjoying himself in the New World - it meant things were safe - but he didn''t; somehow, it was disquieting. He had expected something else. He checked the time: nearly ten minutes, an hour in a half in the New World! James kept on sleeping, sleeping so deeply he appeared to be dead, at times. What was going on? After fifteen minutes - over two hours in the New World! - Susanto could stand it no longer. He reached out, and started to shake James awake. He got a bad fright; James didn''t wake up for what seemed like a very long time. When he finally did, Susanto felt like kissing him with joy. He said: "James! Can you hear me? Look at me! James?" James continued to gaze dreamily into the sky. He said, so softly that Susanto had to bend to hear him: "It was so beautiful. So beautiful! Sir, I would like to return there right away." Susanto jerked upright, his face darkening with anger. He said: "You''re forgetting yourself, James. You are to do as I say, not what you''d like to do best. I''m ordering you to tell me what happened to you over there. And look at me while you''re speaking." James became contrite. "I''m sorry," he said. "It was just... it was a very powerful experience, sir." "I understand it was pleasant?" "Very pleasant, sir." "Made you feel good? At peace, and happy?" "Oh yes, sir. I -" "I am going to make you distressed and unhappy if you don''t start making sense. I want to know what happened right from the beginning. Starting now." "Well, sir," said James, swallowing, "I found myself on top of a big cliff, a little like the ones here. I had a good view, there were a few big bushes growing around, some reached higher than me, but I could still see clearly in all directions. And -" "Wait. Did you see the ocean?" "Yes. But it was much further out. The beach below the cliff was much, much bigger than ours. There seemed to be some funny-looking objects lying down there. I thought about investigating them, I didn''t find a way to get down the cliff." "Okay, never mind that. What about about the rest? Did you see any, er, birds or any other animals?" "No, sir. I saw angels." "What!?" "Angels, sir. That''s what they looked like. Beautiful women, floating in the air. I asked them to come closer and they understood me! They didn''t speak, they just floated in close to me and... and..." "And what? Fuck! And what?" "They made love to me, sir," said James. "They made love to me. All of them. One angel would go, and a new one would take its place. It was heaven." "What happened after that?" "Nothing, sir. You woke me up." "James," Susanto said sternly. "Are you making this up? Okay, I know you wouldn''t, but maybe you''re exaggerating a little. Adding a little color. Right?" "No, sir. I swear. This was exactly what happened." "But people don''t float in the air! You were fucking people, correct? Human beings? You could feel them, am I right? Flesh and blood?" "Yes, sir. But they weren''t human beings. They were more than that. They were angels." "And I guess all of them were beautiful women with tits like watermelons," snarled Susanto. "Yes, sir. That''s correct." Susanto was struck dumb. He had no idea what to think. First, there was that loss of communication; and now, this. James had to be wrong. This just wasn''t possible. Candy''s beach was less than two kilometers from the camp. A move like that could not result in a totally different environment around the corresponding spot in the New World. Angels instead of dinosaurs? Nonsense! It was obvious he''d have to make the trip himself. For a moment, Susanto contemplated sending Candy, or taking her along. But if even a fraction of what James had said was true, the stupid bitch would go crazy with happiness. She would be of absolutely no use to him; she would be a hindrance instead. He''d have to go alone. He stood up, brushing the sand from his legs, and looked down at the lying, lying James. He was sure his manservant was spinning him a story, and it didn''t matter if James himself believed it or not. It had to be a lie. "Get up, James," he said. "I am disappointed. I expected you to spend your time there exploring. Instead, you were busy having sex with figments of your imagination. Your sense of duty has failed, James. I am not sure I can trust you to do the right thing any more." That hit James hard. He clasped his hands and raised them in supplication; Susanto half-expected him to fall to his knees. "Sir, I am so sorry. I did not lie to you. What was happening made me lose my mind. I am so sorry, sir." "All right, all right," said Susanto. "Now listen: I''m going to have a look myself. I want you to wake me exactly after three minutes have passed. Here, take this piece of shit. No wait, I''ll wind it up first. Watch this long thin red hand like a hawk. It measures seconds. It sometimes stops briefly, and you have to give the watch a knock. What the fuck is Paco doing with a piece of shit like that? I pay him well enough to afford a decent timepiece." "It used to belong to his father, sir," said James. "And his grandfather before that. It''s sort of a family heirloom." "James! I want you to concentrate. Three minutes, no more. Got it?" "Yes, sir. You can count on me." "Don''t let Candy distract you. Lose any thoughts you might have about sex. Understood?" "I''ve already lost them, sir." "Good." Having requested James to move the mat to a spot with deeper shade, Susanto spent some time choosing an implant kit for his personal use. They were all identical, there was nothing to choose between them, but performing this meaningless little ritual put him in the right frame of mind. He told Candy to stay where she was and keep quiet, then returned to James. He put the implant above his right ear, where it could be easily removed; then he lay down on the mat and instantly closed his eyes. He would show James how this was done - NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 86 The Love Frui He found himself lying on his back, on grass so thick, so soft, so springy it felt as if he was lying on a matress. Overhead, feathery clouds drifted across a pale blue sky, softening the sunlight. The air felt very warm, but not uncomfortably hot. There was a slight breeze; it carried the tang of the ocean. And he could hear an odd noise - he focused his mind: it was a buzz! The buzzing of hundreds of insects! Susanto sprang to his feet, and looked around. He was in the middle of a grassy clearing. At first glance, it appeared to be the size of a football field, and it featured clumps of tall, majestic shrubs that reminded Susanto of juniper trees. The nearest was within arm''s reach, and Susanto frowned: unlike junipers, the shrubs had ordinary leaves, small and round and thick. They were speckled with fruit: berries whose color ranged from yellow to red. He could also see a few tiny yellow flowers, and he could also smell them: their scent reminded him of orange blossoms. The buzzing he''d heard was caused by the swarms of insects hovering around the flowers. They were tiny, he could barely make them out - there wasn''t a single giant mosquito in sight. There were no flying lizards, either. Watching out for snakes, Susanto carefully edged around the bush and saw the ocean. He remembered what James had told him - he was on top of a large cliff, he could see where it ended, maybe fifty steps away. James had mentioned seeing something odd on the beach below the cliff: intrigued, Susanto walked towards the cliff''s edge, watching where he put his feet. But there were no unpleasant surprises apart from the occasional prick from a dry twig or a small, sharp stone. He lay down on his stomach a few steps from the edge - just in case, just in case. Then he cautiously wriggled forward until he had a clear view of the beach below the cliff. The sand was deep purple, almost black where it was wet. Incongruously, a number of pale yellow rocks were scattered on the beach. They all were almost perfectly round, resembling giant beachballs - Susanto estimated they had no less than a meter in diameter, maybe even two. They seemed to be covered with spikes - they weren''t rocks, they were moving! He was sure he saw at least two move. He strained his eyes until they watered, and was about to give up when he saw one of them move again. It seemed to jerk, instantly hopping maybe half a meter before freezing still. It took its time: Susnato had counted to forty three before the spiky ball he was watching made another hop. This reminded him other beasts might be hopping around, too. He got up, and fearfully looked around: was he alone? It seemed he was, not counting the insects. He reminded himself that James had spent over two hours in the same spot, unmolested except by sex-hungry angels. He had to do a bit better than James; he had to have a proper look at this place. This he proceeded to do, stepping with utmost care. The clifftop was smaller than he''d intially thought, and before long Susanto confirmed that it was completely isolated from the ground below. The cliff fell away almost vertically to meet the ground no less than fifty meters down. That would be no obstacle to the flying ptero-somethings, but thankfully there were none of these around. Having completed a circuit of the clifftop, Susanto stood on the edge facing inland and tried to locate the hill he''d climbed on his first visit to the New World. He couldn''t see it. The land within view was a flat, thickly overgrown plain: he thought he could see a stream sparkle in the sea of green. But there wasn''t a single hill, not even a hint of a hill as far as he could see, and his field of vision stretched for at least six or seven kilometers. How was that possible? Candy''s beach was less than two kilometers from the camp, the launching pad for their earlier voyages to the New World! Frowning, Susanto surveyed the land before him. Nothing but treetops, merging into a sea of leaves - and yes, there definitely was a stream or a small river snaking under the canopy, he saw sunlight flashing on the water, he could even roughly trace its course. There wasn''t a single dinosaur in sight. Not that it made much difference: no dinosaur would be able to climb onto the cliff. The clifftop was the perfect, safe observation point. Completely cut off from the ground below, it was also totally useless as the starting point for expeditions to the New World. It offered little beyond a chance to die of thirst and hunger with the comforting knowledge there was no danger from the dinosaurs. Susanto frowned: he''d just remembered about the berries on the shrubs. The flowers smelled very nice: perhaps the berries were edible? What a foolish notion! There was no sense in staying on that clifftop even if each berry provided complete nutrition for a full day. With a jerk, Susanto realized that he''d lost the track of time. James might be returning him back to Earth any moment! He walked back to the arrival spot, frowning and shaking his head. He couldn''t understand why he hadn''t been able to see the hill he knew from his previous visit. As a matter of fact, the entire landscape looked different from the landscape he''d seen from the hill. It was inexplicable. There was a new arrival among the insects buzzing round the berries: a large dragonfly, at least as big as Susanto''s spread hand. But it showed no interest at all in Susanto. It hovered above the insects, occasionally darting into the swarm. Susanto guessed it was feeding on the insects. He shuddered, and felt fresh contempt for all those Nature-lovers back on Earth. This was what Nature was like: you got eaten while making love to a flower. Making love! James and his angels! What the fuck had happened to James while he was here? Struck by a new thought, Susanto moved closer to a a bush and plucked a particularly big, red berry. He examined it closely: it was the size and shape of a large grape with perfectly smooth skin and a smell that made his mouth water. It was simply the most beautiful scent he''d ever felt in his entire life. It was the essence of all the best scents in the world. Fruity and flowery notes mixed with a hint of spice, a mixture of cinnamon and vanilla. It wasn''t a strong scent, on the contrary: it was faint and fleeting, disappearing with the slightest breeze. Susanto lifted the berry to his nostrils and inhaled deeply: bliss, absolute bliss! He licked it; it didn''t taste of anything. He felt a twinge of anger, and bit it. It was like biting into a capsule containing a concentrate of all the fruit flavors in existence. It was completely overwhelming. A dozen alarm bells were ringing loudly in Susanto''s head, but he greedily pushed the berry into his mouth anyway, and started chewing. He had never eaten anything that good. He swallowed hurriedly and reached out for another berry. He plucked a yellow one this time: identical smell, identical taste! Well, maybe a little bit fainter, but this could be an illusion - it was his second berry, his sense of taste could be slightly dulled. He was about to pluck an orange berry to complete his taste experiment when he got proof that James had been telling him the truth. The bush in front of him seemed to dematerialize. Its place was taken by a nebulous shape that quickly solidified into the most beautiful, most desirable woman Susanto had ever seen both offscreen and onscreen. She was an amalgamate of all the women he''d desired most. She was a dream made perfect. She was floating just above the ground, her feet were almost level with Susanto''s knees. He blinked. James had been telling him nothing but the truth! He said hoarsely: "Come here. Come closer. I want to touch you." She smiled! He could swear she''d smiled! She was floating towards him, into his arms! Susanto was shaking all over. He just couldn''t control himself. He tried hard to stop that fucking shaking, and couldn''t. Some unknown force was shaking him. He blacked out- - and woke up with James''s hands gripping his shoulders, gripping them so hard he felt pain. James was shouting, shouting the same words over and over again: "Sir! Wake up! Sir! Wake up! Sir!" "Shut up, James, and let go," Susanto said dreamily. He finally opened his eyes and looked at James and said: "You were right. I apologize. You were right all along. I saw an angel. To be precise, I saw an angel after eating a couple of those berries over there. You ate a berry, didn''t you? You ate a few. Come on. Confess." "I did, sir," James said penitently. "Just one. I forgot to tell you." "Never mind," Susanto said benevolently. He was feeling so good! Suddenly he jerked and sat up so quickly he almost butted James in the face. Fuck timon. Those berries were going to be a world bestseller! Correction: a two-world bestseller, equally popular in both worlds! Cruz could have all the timon they came across. But in return, he would have to agree to Susanto''s monopoly on the berries. No scientists, no technicians, no tons of people needed to investigate timon and develop technologies for its use! No factories, no pricey machinery, no production lines and lines of government people he''d have to bribe to keep everything moving along! On your table, straight from the wild orchards of the New World - Susanto sprang up from the mat, shocking James who instinctively threw up a protective arm. "I need to be alone, James," said Susanto. "I need to think." NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 87 Freeing Felipe Following his meeting with Peter and Paul Christian, Cruz visited his crewmen. It took a while, because they had been dispersed around Adamstown: as he made the rounds, Cruz had the thought this dispersal could have a dark purpose. He wouldn''t put anything past the Christian brothers. The mutineer gene was clearly present in both of them. It was fortunate, Cruz thought, that the only valuables they''d brought to Pitcairn were his own gold watch, bracelet, and neckchain, and that he''d already given them to the brothers for their help in rescuing Susanto. He had no doubt at all that the brothers wouldn''t stop at murder as long as it brought a profit. He found that the crewmen were in good mood. Everyone appreciated spending the night in a proper bed. They''d all been fed by their Pitcairn hosts too, and although the food was indifferent it provided a welcome change from the diet they''d lately had on Henderson Island. Felipe was the last man he visited. He''d planned it that way: he needed to talk to Felipe at length about the situation. When he''d finished recounting the results of his meeting with the Christian brothers, Felipe frowned and said: "I think, sir, that we should keep a close eye on things. With your permission, I''ll inspect the boats before we sail for Henderson. I also think it might be unwise if just the two of us go. It would be better if we all stuck together." "This is exactly what I''ve been thinking, Felipe!" exclaimed Cruz. He nodded to himself, and added: "I was regretting I proposed only the two of us go as soon as the meeting was over. But maybe it''s wiser to advance one step at a time. So you have a funny feeling about the people here, eh? So do I, so do I." Felipe shrugged, and said: "Maybe it''s because they''re all living here in total isolation. People often become weird in such circumstances." "Whatever the reason, it''s the end result that matters. We must stay on our guard. Constant vigilance, eh, Felipe? We won''t take any bullshit from them." "No, sir." Felipe left together with Cruz in order to have a look at the boats that were to take them to Henderson Island. They split up in front of Cruz''s house, with Cruz promising Felipe he''d look in on him after his meal with the island''s rulers. Then Felipe went on his way, and Cruz went to his room. A pleasant surprise awaited him there. The Christian brothers had sent him a big basket loaded with diverse goodies. Prominent among those was a round tin of the promised biscuits. There were even a couple of apples, green Granny Smiths! Cruz ate one with great relish, alternating bites from the apple with biscuits. When the Christian brothers showed up around four in the afternoon, Cruz was in a bouncy mood. He had eaten more sugar in an hour than he had in the previous week. He assumed the brothers had come to personally escort him to dinner. They had not. "We have come to complain, sir," said Peter Christian right away, wiping the welcoming smile off Cruz''s face. "To complain, and to issue a warning. We will not tolerate any violence on the part of your men. Physical aggression will be punished with fines and jail sentences." "What? What are you talking about? What violence?" "One of your sailors - what''s his name, Paul?" said the mayor. Paul Christian blew out his cheeks and shook his head. "Damn me, I can''t remember," he said. "Something silly. Made me think of Flip and Flap, you know." "Felipe Flores?" said Cruz. "That''s it! The man has been put in custody. He has assaulted three of our townfolk. He has injured a couple. His behaviour has been absolutely outrageous." "I cannot believe it," said Cruz. "I cannot believe it! Felipe is an exceptionally capable, stable man. I must speak to him. I promise to punish him severely if, if - " "If what I say is true?" Peter Christian asked acidly. "If he doesn''t convince me that he had a reason for doing whatever he did. I believe you, of course. But I think we should investigate what led to this unfortunate occurence." The brothers looked at each other. Peter raised his eyebrows; so did Paul. Peter lowered his eyebrows; Paul didn''t. He thrust his chin out at Cruz, and said: "I shall take you to see mister, mister - " "Flores," Cruz said. It turned out Felipe was confined inside the governor''s house. A tiny room had been converted into a holding cell by mounting a couple of sturdy brackets on the wall. Felipe was handcuffed to one of those brackets, looking rather hangdog. He barely answered Cruz''s greeting. Cruz noticed that the knuckles on the shackled hand were red and raw. He sighed and turned to Paul Christian and said: "Could we get those handcuffs removed? I personally vouch for this man''s behaviour." "This man is a prisoner awaiting trial," Paul said heavily. "Agreed. But where is he going to escape to? I solemnly swear to take all responsibility for his actions." Paul huffed and puffed; he seemed to be trying to think of a good reason to refuse Cruz''s request. He failed to find one, and eventually he said: "Very well." Accompanied by the unshackled Felipe, Cruz went out onto the large verandah gracing the front of the governor''s house. He led Felipe as far away as possible from Paul Christian, who stood in the doorway with suspicious eyes, ears flapping. Cruz smiled at him by way of reassurance. Then he turned to Felipe, and said: "I hear you''ve been beating up on the locals. Judging by the state of your hands, it''s true. What the hell happened?" Felipe looked down at his feet and said guiltily: "I did hit a couple of people, but I didn''t start anything. They were the ones that started the fight, I swear. I was just defending myself." Cruz groaned. "You''d better tell me everything from the beginning," he said. Felipe shuffled his feet again and glanced uneasily at Paul Christian glowering in the doorway. "We have nothing to hide," Cruz said. "Just tell me what happened." "All right, sir," Felipe said dubiously. He swallowed, and said: "I went to the jetty to look at the boats, sir. There were a few guys hanging out nearby. One of them told me that I musn''t touch the boats. He grabbed my arm, and I shook him off. He grabbed me again, and I gave him a shove. He shouted and a couple more guys came running and they all started hitting me. So I hit back." "I see," said Cruz. He turned to Paul Christian, and said: "Did you hear all that? It was a simple misunderstanding that regrettably turned into a violent confrontation. And my man here acted in self-defense." "He was resisting arrest," said the governor. "Arrest? The men who attacked him were police officers?" "We do not have a police force. We are our own police. It was a citizen''s arrest." "On what charges?" "Resisting arrest." "But why was he being arrested, in the first place? On what charge?" "Assault and battery of a public official." "A public official?" "Pitcairn citizens that perform public duties are temporarily awarded the status of public officials." "But he says your men hit him first! Why did they hit him?" "He was resisting arrest." Cruz let out a soft moan, and massaged his temples: a dull ache had started there. "Could we talk to the men, pardon me, the public officials involved?" he asked. "No. That isn''t possible." "Why not?" "One of them has a broken jaw. The other two have been diagnosed as suffering from concussion. They are not to be disturbed." Cruz looked at Felipe with new appreciation. Susanto''s first mate was clearly a man of many talents. He remembered dimly that Susanto had told him two of the sailors also acted as his personal bodyguards. It seemed Felipe was one of them. "This is just one big misunderstanding," he told Paul Christian. "I greatly regret a couple of people have been injured. What can I do by way of compensation? Ask for whatever you like, within reason." He noticed a mischevous glint appear in Paul Christian''s eye when he said that. He instantly realized the whole assault and arrest business had been arranged especially so that he would make this statement. "We need Peter," Paul said. "He''s the mayor. It will be up to him." "But of course," said Cruz. "Can we go and see him now?" "It''s damned inconvenient. But I suppose you can''t wait." "Not really. I''ll be very grateful." "Good," said Paul Christian. "But your man stays here." It took Cruz an extra ten minutes to convince the governor to release Felipe on his and Cruz''s own recognizance. It would have usually taken much less - Cruz was good at convincing people - but he was impeded by the anger he felt at the thought that those two hicks, those inbred island morons had outwitted him. He would pay them back for that in spades. Not right away: revenge was a dish that tasted best when eaten cold. The day was ending when they finally caught up with Peter Christian. He was inspecting a plantation out of town. A half-an-hour hike up a steep dirt track left Cruz flushed and sweaty and out of breath. He was happy to let Paul Christian do all the explaining to his brother. Of course he listened closely, ready correct any misrepresentations. There weren''t any. Paul Christian put everything in very simple terms: Cruz was ready to do anything needed to get his man released, and - here, the governor threw Cruz a triumphant glance - to obtain the help needed to rescue the castaways on Henderson Island. The mayor listened attentively, nodding with great emphasis. He said: "I am very pleased to hear that. You must understand, sir," he said, turning to Cruz, "That keeping anyone prisoner isn''t in our interest. We cannot afford to assign something like twenty percent of our remaining manpower to guard duties." "I fully understand," said Cruz. "I''ll be happy to do anything within reason to resolve this situation." "All right," said Peter Christian. "We do have a request. A very reasonable request." "I''m listening." "We''re short of people, mister Cruz. We need more people to colonize the New World. We request that you provide us with a thousand people, five hundred each of men and women, all between twenty and thirty years of age. We will draw up a list of professions we require." "You want me to move a thousand people to Pitcairn?" "Just for the implantation process. They''ll be free to go back the moment they''ve replicated in the New World. I was about to say they can keep the signal fully muted, but there''s no longer any need for that." "By ''signal'', you mean the telepathic link with the New World?" "Yes. It''s broken. Everything else is working as before, so not to worry." "Let me get this clear. You''d like me to bring a thousand selected people here, you will implant them, and then they''re free to go back home?" "That is exactly correct." Cruz laughed. "I am going to surprise you gentlemen," he said. "You want a thousand people? Well, I''ll give you two. A thousand men and a thousand women. How is that?" The brothers looked at each other: Paul shrugged. Peter grimaced. Paul shrugged again. Then they both turned to Cruz and said simultaneously, like characters in a comedy show: "It''s good." NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 88 The Coming of Cruz Susanto was sitting on the beach and watching the sun set when he saw the boats. At first, he thought his eyes were playing tricks. He stood up for a better view: boats! There could be no mistake, two boats, each outfitted with a mast and a sail. Who could that be? It couldn''t be Cruz. He would return in a ship, hopefully a proper vessel outfitted with a shower and with plenty of hot water. That fucking rash on the inside of his thighs was spreading. He was beginning to suspect it heralded a serious disease. History has recorded many instances of people offering a kingdom for a horse. Susanto didn''t exactly own a kingdom, but he would have gladly paid a thousand - no, ten thousand! - dollars for a long, hot shower. He watched the boats draw near with growing apprehension. It was very likely they contained a new bunch of castaways. Henderson Island wasn''t exactly the land of milk and honey; an extra dozen hungry mouths would put a strain on resources. Susanto turned away from the boats and trotted back to the campsite for his binoculars. He didn''t get there. Halfway through, he heard a muted bang in the distance. He stopped and turned just in time to see a yellow flare explode in the sky. He remembered Cruz taking a flare gun! He remembered him taking multi-colored flares! Cruz? Yes, it was Cruz. He couldn''t make out faces at this distance, but he recognized the garish splash of Cruz''s Hawaiian shirt. He resumed walking back to the camp: he wanted to check on things before Cruz showed up. As he drew near, he saw that his fellow castaways had noticed the boats, too; several pairs of binoculars were being passed around, and there was a lot of hand-pointing. James stood to the side of the excited group, his face sour. He brightened when he saw Susanto approaching, just like a dog spotting its master. As soon as Susanto halted next to him, James said: "Sir, those boats - it looks like we might have company. You''ve appointed me the quartermaster, so I feel it''s my duty to tell you our food supplies won''t last long with this crowd. There must be at least ten of them. I have to tell you the women are already failing to meet the quota, they''ve brought in just over a hundred coconuts yesterday. All of them! They were supposed to gather a hundred each." "Forget about all that," Susanto told him. "It''s mister Cruz. He''s brought help." "Mister Cruz!? Really, sir?" "Yes. Make sure everyone looks decent, and behaves. I''m going down the beach to greet mister Cruz." This he did. As he waited for the boats to come in, he made a final decision: he wouldn''t be giving Cruz all the timon rights in exchange for a monopoly on the love fruit. Susanto had made two more excursions into the New World looking for love fruit. Both expeditions were launched from new locations, from the westernmost and southernmost points of Henderson Island. The first time around, Susanto found himself in something resembling a mangrove swamp. He was afraid to move lest he might drown. James had woken him up in the nick of time: an anaconda-like snake had appeared in the vicinity, and was eyeing the trembling Susanto with much interest. The second expedition, launched from the cliffs lining the southern shore, started very promisingly. Susanto found himself atop a hill, so far inland that he couldn''t see the ocean. The landscape reminded him of a savannah, and when he climbed a tree he saw a bunch of dinosaurs in the distance, enormous fuckers that almost made him piss himself. But the lizard cows showed no interest in him. They were grazing. Susanto had noticed a couple of cone-shaped bushes that resembled the love fruit shrubs. But they were too far away for him to be sure, and getting closer would have meant getting a lot closer to the grazing dinosaurs. They looked peaceful, but they were just too fucking big for comfort. And so Susanto was still sitting astride a bough in the New World, straining his eyes, when James woke him up. What if the love fruit was an anomaly that could be found just on that single clifftop, and nowhere else? What if the plant-eating dinosaurs devoured every single shrub the moment it bore fruit? That was a distinct possibility. It seemed that setting up a love fruit operation could be quite complex after all. What was needed was more exploration of the New World. And in the meantime, it was best to say nothing about the whole business to Cruz. "Hey! Rafi!" Susanto smiled and waved. The boatmen cheered, and set about lowering the sails. Within a minute, the first boat was close enough for Cruz to jump off - the water reached halfway up his thighs. He walked through it towards Susanto, swinging from side to side with each step. "Gabriel!" said Susanto as soon as Cruz got out of the water. He spread his arms, but Cruz stopped short of his embrace. He wrinkled his nose and said: "Good God, Rafi. When was the last time you had a bath? There is a whole ocean available, in case you haven''t noticed." "I can''t do that," Susanto told him. ""I''ve got this rash... Fuck that. Who are those people? What happened? You''ve come to take us away, or to stay? Couldn''t you get hold of a proper ship?" Cruz sighed, and Susanto was instantly apprehensive. It had been a sad sigh. "There''s a lot I have to tell you, Rafi," said Cruz. "A hell of a lot. Those guys, they are from Pitcairn. The boats belong to them. There wasn''t a proper ship available on Pitcairn. Most likely, there isn''t a single proper ship available in the world." "What?" "We need to have a long talk. But in a nutshell, the world as we know it is gone. It just doesn''t exist any more." "What - Gabriel, start making sense. What doesn''t exist any more?" "Independent countries, for a start. There is a single global government. They''re in New York. And all the money you have, all the money I have is worthless. There''s a new global currency based on metal coins. Basically, everything and everyone has gone medieval. We''re back in the Middle Ages, Rafi. All the computers are screwed." Susanto stared at Cruz. Then he said slowly: "You''re right. We need a long talk. But first things first: have you come here to take us to Pitcairn? In a couple of fucking sailboats?" "They were the only boats available, Rafi." "We really need to talk." Unfortunately, a couple of hours passed before Susanto and Cruz had dealt with all the issues that followed the boats'' arrival. Four Pitcairn men had come along with Cruz and crewmen from the Golden Dawn: they formed a sulky group, and eyed the whores with great hunger. The whores had become pretty run down after all those weeks on the island, too. Susanto guessed Pitcairn women must be exceptionally shitty if their men behaved like that. Following a dinner enriched by a bunch of bananas and a haunch of lamb brought from Pitcairn, Cruz made a short speech. He said they would all be leaving the island first thing in the morning. Beds and bathrooms were just twenty four hours away. The Pitcairn islanders were wonderful people, brimming with hospitality. The future was bright, and getting brighter. He didn''t say anything about the great changes, about the new world order. Susanto thought that was wise. Small minds panicked when confronted by huge issues. As it was, Cruz''s speech lifted the castaways'' morale considerably. The whores were particularly overjoyed. During that time, Susanto did his best to prepare himself for more shocking news from Cruz when they finally got a chance for a prolonged private conversation. But still, he was totally unprepared for the bombshell Cruz dropped right at the start. "I''m not going to be taking part in any of this New World business, Rafi," he told Susanto. "It''s all yours to enjoy." Susanto was dumbfounded, but only for a short moment. He began to question Cruz aggressively about his motives. He couldn''t believe his ears. The man wanted to sit around smelling flowers and watching bees and butterflies and shit! So that''s what happened to billionaires who abruptly stopped being billionaires: they lost their minds! It dawned on Susanto that he was no longer a multimillionaire, either. For a while, he contemplated following Cruz''s example and retiring to live a simple life. Well, maybe not too simple - that would be painful. Like Cruz, he had a few gold bars stashedaway, enough to live on comfortably for the rest of his days. However, that wasn''t a life worth living. Susanto''s nature craved action. He needed to keep making deals. He needed to make lots of money fast, now that he was no longer a multimillionaire. He was determined to regain that status as quickly as he only could. Cruz had gone soft in the head. That happened quite often to people as they got older. When Cruz got around to telling him about the promise he''d made to the governor and mayor of Pitcairn - two thousand New World colonists! - Susanto lost his cool. He snorted, and said: "You doubled what they initially wanted? Why don''t you send them even more? You know, why don''t you also build them a nice, new hospital? With a psychiatric ward, that''s mandatory. Patients could be made productive, grow flowers and keep bees and shit." "No," Cruz said gently, after a diplomatic pause. "I''ll send them the people I promised. I''ll make sure they have rocket launchers and flamethrowers and machine guns. I''ll burn the place to the ground." "I thought you said you wanted to retire." "I will. I just need to do a couple of things, first." Susanto drew a deep breath, and said: "Well, Gabriel, I want to tell you that I''m not retiring. I intend to carry on. I want to colonize the New World. You said those guys already have something happening over there. I want to take it over. I can''t take it over if you erase those guys. So I''m asking you to reconsider. Don''t you worry, I''ll make them squeal. I''ll make them suffer for all the, all the indignities they forced on you." Although it was dark, Susanto felt Cruz look at him with a new interest. He heard Cruz say: "You want to take over their colony?" "Sure. Take over that fucking island of theirs, too. Why not? It''s not like they got a huge population that can rise in arms. It looks to me I won''t need two thousand or even a thousand people. How many did you say they''ve got - forty two? And those four you brought here are the prime male specimens? Gabriel, we can pull a coup the moment we get to Pitcairn. We got assault rifles and shotguns and pistols and stuff. Think about it." Cruz did. After a longish silence, he said: "You could have a point there. Let''s talk about it again after you''ve seen the place." "Deal," Susanto said. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 89 The Coup That Never Was Of course, they talked more about it before Susanto saw the place. They spent an hour in intense conversation the next morning while the others struck camp. It took a while, because Susanto had instructed his men to keep the guns out of sight of the Pitcairn men. Felipe had a flash of genius and picked up the scoped rifle and a handful of bullets, and invited the Pitcairn ensemble for some target-shooting down on the beach. This they did with much enthusiasm, while the whores bundled the two Heckler \u0026 Koch assault rifles with the wide selection of whips and canes they''d brought and insisted on salvaging from the sinking yacht. In an inspired touch, they included the fishing rods and made sure their tips protruded from the bundles. Meanwhile, Susanto was having a hard time with Cruz. During the night, Cruz had come to the conclusion that it would be better to put off the takeover of Pitcairn and the Pitcairn colony in the New World. "I think it''s better to to return with a professional force," he told Susanto. "I can easily gather a hundred security men, all with military experience. Plus an extra fifty in support personnel." "Not a thousand or two?" "Stop it, Rafi. I got carried away, I admit." "And now you''re being too cautious. We''ve got three assault rifles, a scoped hunting rifle, two shotguns, and eleven handguns. All with plenty of ammo! There''s a gun for everyone excluding the whores. And they can be usedtoo, in support roles, as cooks or nurses. A couple of them have even got nurses'' uniforms. Latex, but what the hell, at least they are easy to keep clean. Gabriel, if what you say is correct we have more capable men than they have, on that fucking island of theirs." "It''s better if this gets done by professionals, Rafi." "What are you talking about? My crew are professionals! Listen, it''s going to take a while before we can return home. And once we do that, it''s going to take a very long while to get everything under control. We''re going to arrive in Chaos City, Gabriel. I know it and you know it. It''s going to be six months - at least! - before we can get around to dealing with Pitcairn. That''s around five New World years. A lot can happen in five years. A lot can happen in six months too, come to think of it. We have to move faster than that." Susanto went on and on until Cruz crumbled, and agreed that they would stage a coup almost as soon as they found themselves on Pitcairn. They''d get the brothers to immediately grant Pitcairn citizenship to Susanto and his crew, and organize an election a couple of days later. Susanto would be unanimously elected as the new ruler of Pitcairn in both worlds. Speed was essential: Susanto had be enthroned before the new global government in New York got in touch with Pitcairn. Otherwise, complications could ensue. "Are you quite sure you don''t want to be included, Gabriel?" asked Susanto. "No, Rafi. The New World is all yours. Once those two inbred throwbacks get their faces rubbed in shit, I''m retiring from all that. I have different priorities." "Pity," Susanto said, and meant it. They finally set out for Pitcairn just after seven in the morning, with Cruz in one boat and Susanto in the other: they''d agreed beforehand it would be a wise move. The wind was three quarters front, and the Pitcairn men grumbled they wouldn''t get the island by nightfall. Things got worse during the night: by morning, they were sailing directly into the wind, and the waves had swollen to the point where their crests would occasionally break over the bows of the boats, drenching the occupants. Clouds were gathering rapidly too, and Cruz felt a return of the fears he''d felt on his earlier solo journey. It was mid-afternoon by the time they finally docked in Pitcairn''s tiny harbor, and for Cruz it couldn''t have happened a moment too sooner. He needed to find his feet before leading an armed takeover of the island, and communicated this to Susanto as soon as they got out of the boats. He was also made apprehensive by the fact neither of the Christian brothers had come to greet the returning expedition. They sent half a dozen men instead, of ages ranging from seventeen to seventy, ostensibly to help with the luggage. Two of the older men came ill-equipped for porter duties: they already carried heavy shotguns, big pieces with pump action. One of those men, an oldster with gnarled features and shifty eyes, approached Cruz and informed him the whole party was to proceed to Adamstown, where everyone would be allocated their quarters. Cruz pretended to agree. As soon as they''d formed a column and set out for the town, he whispered to Susanto: "I''m going to the front of the column. When we reach the town, we all stop and tell those guys we want to talk to the governor and the mayor first. They''ll have no choice but to see us, and that''s when we start the show. Make sure the men are ready." It didn''t work out that way. As they entered the town, they were met by the Christian brothers. The rulers of Pitcairn were accompanied by a third man, who wore a naval uniform complete with peaked, braided cap and a pistol on his belt. The brothers looked sheepish when they introduced him as Lieutenant Commander Jared Knight of the Royal New Zealand Navy. "Pleased to meet you, gentlemen," the commander said, shaking Cruz''s and Susanto''s hands. "I am happy to see you here. I am not so happy because it appears I''ve sent my ship on an unnecessary journey." "Your ship?" said Susanto. "What ship? You have a ship?" "Take it easy, Rafi," said Cruz. He turned to the commander, and said: "Please excuse my companion. It''s a little hard to believe. You sent your ship to rescue us from Henderson Island? What sort of ship?" "The HMNZS Kahu. It''s a training vessel. A three-masted barque with a crew of sixty, plus sixty naval cadets. I suspect that you must have passed each other during the night. Unfortunately all of our electronics have been shot to hell. Otherwise they''d picked you up on radar. Anyway, gentlemen, I am pleased to welcome you on New Zealand territory." There was a heavy pause. "Oh," said Cruz. "Last time I was here, this island was independent." Lieutenant Commander Jared Knight spread his hands, and smiled. "Things change," he said. "And not always for the worse. Sometimes, they change for the better." Turning to the Christian brothers, he added: "Isn''t this true, gentlemen?" "Yes," said Peter. Paul said nothing, just nodded and looked away. It was clear that the Christian brothers didn''t feel the change in Pitcairn''s status was a change for the better. Neither did Susanto. He let Cruz do all the talking while his mind worked feverishly on this new development. His plans for a coup were blown to bits. It was one thing to take over an independent island with a population of forty two people, and another to stage a revolt in a freshly claimed province of New Zealand. But hadn''t Cruz told him there was just one, global government? And if that was true - where was the commander''s authority to claim Pitcairn as New Zealand territory? But when he joined the ongoing conversation to make this point, the commander said: "That''s correct. There is a single, global government, and it has rearranged things. From the administrative point of view, it makes no sense to create territories out of island states with no population to speak of. We''ve been in contact with the world government in New York for over a week already, and the governor of New Zealand has received instructions to incorporate the whole Pitcairn archipelago into his territory. It was one of the first messages to come through, actually. You see, it''s a matter of being represented in the world parliament. New Zealand has a member there, Pitcairn has not. So we set sail for here right away to put this situation straight. And also conduct an inventory on all the items taken from the cube that appeared here. Did you have a cube appear on Henderson Island?" "Yes," Cruz said right away. It was no use pretending otherwise. When HMNZS Kahu reached Henderson Island, its crew would quickly discover both the cube and the enromous pile of items that were taken from it by Susanto''s crew. Cruz didn''t mind telling the commander this. He was happy. It made him happy to see the Christian brothers stripped of all their powers. It made him happy to hear there was a ship capable of taking him back home, or at the very least - to New Zealand. He''d visited New Zealand a few times in the past, and he''d liked it. "Don''t worry, Rafi," he consoled Susanto once they were settled in their quarters. "This ship is actually a godsend. I was afraid we''d be stuck for months here." "But all our plans have been destroyed! Can''t you see that, Gabriel? All right, all right: those two Christian guys got their asses kicked, and without any effort on your part. But what about the New World? What about timon? You don''t care, right? You''re out of this. But you wanted out. I didn''t. I''ve been kicked out. And all that stuff, all those implant kits and shit - lost!" "You can still set up a colony in the New World, Rafi," said Cruz. "You can even set one up from here. I''m sure the New Zealand governor will be agreeable. You''ll simply be going the legal route. That''s nothing bad, is it?" Susantro grumpily agreed going the legal route wasn''t bad. However, as a rule it was much less profitable. "You''ll come out on top anyway, Rafi," Cruz assured him. "If anyone can do it, you can, and will. Once you''ve sorted out everything back home you can return to Henderson with a party of good people, hand-picked for the job." "I guess I can," Susanto said dejectedly. He still hadn''t told Cruz about the expeditions to the New World he''d undertaken in Cruz''s absence. Well, maybe Cruz was right. That last trip, from the southernmost tip of Henderson Island, was promising. And he could also hire some professional mountaineers for another go at the cliff he''d discovered from Candy''s secret beach. He sighed, and said: "You''re right, Gabriel. I''ll just have to arm myself with plenty of patience." "That''s the spirit," Cruz said. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 90 The Burning Man Rani was at the market the very next day after Amrita moved in with them. As usual, she took a basket full of food for sale. She expected to see Amrita''s mother again, and kept some fish and mangoes to give her when she showed up. But after three hours of being badgered about the food she still had in the basket, and with Amrita''s mother nowhere in sight, she sold all she still had left, and went home. Samir had made a deal for two bicycles with the owner of a small supermarket not far from where they lived; she hoped this would be the last time she would have to spend an hour walking to the market, and another getting back. Although Amrita''s mother had not come to the market that day, Rani saw many other mothers that had brought their children in the hope of finding someone who would be able to take care of them. It seemed to be a growing trade. The trader who had set up shop next to her, a gaunt-faced man who had brought two immense baskets of mixed greens, had arrived alone but left in the company of a boy ten or eleven years of age. Rani had overheard some of the conversation between the trader and the boy''s tearful mother. She practically begged him to take the boy, because she was unable to feed him any more. The trader only agreed after she''d pressed a few filthy banknotes into his hand. She wanted to tell Samir what she had seen when she got back home. However, Samir had plenty to say to her too, and got started the moment Rani showed up. He had gone to the supermarket to collect their bicycles: the store''s owner had promised they would be ready and waiting that day. They weren''t. What was more, the price had changed. The store owner now wanted an extra ten kilos of mangoes and ten of fish. Bicycles were a very hot commodity, everyone wanted one. After that, Samir had gone to the newly opened Colonial Office near their home. He wanted to find out more about the cost of colonial licenses and the privileges that they bought. No one knew anything. It was all a joke. The first of March was supposed to be the big day when everyone switched to the new currency, and the colonization program was officially launched. That was just a few days away! They''d never get the whole thing working in time. On top of that, their illegal little colony in the New World wasn''t doing well. The two newborn babies were a great burden. Samir had already conferred with Madan over there, and they''d agreed they just couldn''t handle the workload. When Samir told her he wanted to replicate Amrita in the New World, Rani was aghast. "But you can''t do that!" she cried. "I''ve talked to her about it. She''s already agreed. If you want to know, she''s happy to do it." "But she can''t decide! She''s under legal age!" "Rani," Samir said. "She''s old enough to look after the goats and the rice paddy. It will be a great help. At the very least, she''ll be earning her keep. She''s got a good appetite, I''m sure you''ve noticed." "She''s already looking after our vegetable patch here." "There will be a while before we get to eat any of those vegetables. Anyway, it only takes her a couple of hours a day." "I won''t agree to it. I just won''t. It''s not right." But within a couple of hours, she was forced to change her mind. After their meal, they tried to communicate with the New World, and found that they couldn''t. The telepathic contact had been broken. Samir freaked out so badly he had to go for a walk to bring himself under control. Rani felt very tired by it all, and she lay down for a nap. Thanks to that, she could tell Samir when he returned that it was business as usual with the New World. There was no direct contact, but otherwise everything had stayed the same. As proof, she pointed to the small pile of mangoes she''d sent over in the meantime. Then she told him about what she''d seen in the market. She told him about the mother who paid money just so her son would get taken off her hands. She told him there were more and more mothers with a similar problem. Samir jerked as if he''d been prodded with something sharp. He said: "We can do a lot of good, Rani. We can take in some of those kids, and care for them. But only if they also help us out in Kulaba." ''Kulaba'' was the name they''d given to their colony in the New World. It was inspired by a historical island fortress south of Mumbai. This time, Rani did not say''no'' right away. Samir had picked the right argument to get through her defenses. But she wasn''t enthusiastic either, and they were still arguing when there was a piercing scream outside. Amrita ran into the room, wild-eyed with fear. She cried: "There is someone on fire outside! The bucket, quick!" But the bucket was empty: it usually was at the conclusion of a meal, after all the cooking and eating utensils had been washed. And it was all over before they''d managed to fill it up at the communal tap. Samir told Rani and Amrita to go back inside. Then he went to talk to the people who were standing over the twisted body lying in the field. He was gone for a quite a while, and when he returned he told them that the dead man was Sunil''s father. Sunil was a man who lived in one of the houses across the field. Samir and Rani knew him: he was a tall, overweight man who was always smiling, and took great pride in having a job that required him to wear a proper shirt. A couple of times, he and Samir had gone for a beer together. "They''ve been short of food for a long time," Samir told Rani. "And the old man was sick, and in constant pain. They''d run out of painkillers and couldn''t get any. He killed himself so as not to be a burden to them any more. That''s what they say, anyway. But he chose the wrong way to go about it." "What do you mean?" "He used up the last of their kerosene. They can''t afford to buy more. It''s gotten very expensive. They''re in a bad fix, and I''ve promised we''ll help them." "You want me to cook for them?" "No, no. Amrita, can you leave me alone with my wife for a moment? I''ll call you when we''re finished." After Amrita had left, Samir said to Rani: I''ll give them some firewood. We''ve got enough in Kulaba. I''ll send some over and take it round to their place." "But it''s completely different from the firewood you get around here!" Samir shrugged. "I don''t think they''ll ask where it came from," he said. "And even if they do, I won''t tell." "Oh, but they won''t ask you about it. They''ll just gossip about it to everyone they know. The whole neighborhood will know about our mysterious firewood." "By the time they do, we''ll have our licenses and everything will be fine. I''ll ask Sunil to make sure they keep quiet about the firewood. I''ll tell him he won''t get any more, otherwise. I''m sure that will work." "Why are you being so nice to Sunil and his family? It''s not like you are friends." "I''m thinking about recruiting him into Kulaba," said Samir. "You want to replicate him in our colony?" "Yes. We need more people, Rani. And they need us. You know that. You''ve told me about the market. It''s become a market for people, too. Mothers selling their children into slavery." "It''s better to be a slave than dead from starvation," said Rani, instinctively leaping to defend the mothers. "And there are many different kinds of slavery. Remember what you used to say about Mr. Go and his five-year contracts?" "We are talking about different things," Samir said. "I''ll put it straight to you. If Amrita cannot help us out in Kulaba, she leaves. There are plenty of other people who need help as badly as her, and who will gladly take her place. And who will be very happy to join our colony, get all the food or firewood they need, and maybe even get rich with time." Rani was silent; he could tell he''d scored his point. Just to make sure, he added: "She''s been helping out here with the vegetable patch, and I didn''t hear you making comments about child labor. If she''s old enough to work over here, she''s old enough to work over there. She will like it better than working here. You''ll see." Rani said: "But it''s not a question of her working or not at all. Having a second self in another world is a big thing, Samir. Only an adult can make that sort of decision." "And what does ''adult'' mean, Rani? She''s old enough to work. She''s old enough to have a baby." "How do you know?" "You forget I am the one who takes out the garbage," Samir said. Rani was silent. She knew what Samir said was true. She''d given Amrita some of her own sanitary pads when she saw the girl was using a dirty rag to stop her menstrual bleeding. She should have told Amrita to throw them away somewhere else than the garbage can. "And think about those people you call children that you saw at the market," Samir said. "Did you see boys capable of fathering a child, and girls capable of bearing one? They''re adults. That''s who they are. That whole legal age thing has been determined by older people. People who didn''t want to share power with the young. I''ve met plenty of so-called children that were more capable and clever than so-called adults. So have you. Anyone capable of reproducing is automatically an adult. That''s the natural order of things." "Yes," said Rani. "What?" "Yes. I agree. If Amrita wants to..." "She does. Amrita! You can come in now." NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 91 A Fire Without Smoke It was raining hard when Samir, Rani, and Amrita woke up the next morning. The air was damp and cold. A tongue of water slid under the makeshift door and slowly advanced into the room, wriggling as it passed over the holes and cracks in the concrete. After they got up, they all stared for a while at that shiny, translucent tongue moving towards them slowly but surely. Rani and Amrita prepared breakfast while Samir attacked the water with a red plastic dustpan. The three of them ate a hurried breakfast. Then they lit a fire in the middle of the room, using the firewood they''d sent in from the New World during the night. Sunil would have to wait a little before Samir made good on his promise. It was a good moment to introduce Amrita to the New World; Rani wanted to accompany her so that she would feel safe. Samir was left on his own in the concrete box that was his home. For a while he watched Rani and Amrita sleeping on the mats. There were no signs of any distress or joy, and it quickly became boring. He got up and checked there was no one around the house. The rain was coming down so hard it was splashing mud into the air. It was very unlikely someone would come to visit. Samir got out the metal cashbox from its hiding place. He sat down with it at the table and opened it. They were rich! They had more money they''d ever had. They had more cash than their parents had ever had! It was more than he and Rani would have earned in a full year of working for Mr Go. When Samir and Rani had moved into the unfinished house on the shore of Karanja Creek, Samir had taken the precaution of finding out about the house''s status at the town office. It had been abandoned; its owner, a businessman, had died of natural causes, and his family was far, far away, some as far as Europe. Taxes hadn''t been paid, and if they continued to be unpaid the city would seize the property, and sell it to someone else. Samir was determined to be that person. The property included a lot of space around the house. He knew he could easily sell a few land parcels and raise enough money to finish the house. It was a good house, two floors, designed by a good architect - Samir could tell that even from the bare concrete shell. At the town office, they had told him he could get both city mains and power connected at the snap of the fingers, provided the snap was accompanied by a hefty bribe. And so, owning that house became his dream, his secret dream - he didn''t talk about it to Rani. There was too much that could go wrong in the meantime. As he looked at the cashbox full of money, money that would become worthless in less than a week, Samir felt his dream was within reach, yet slipping away with each passing moment. He had to wait until a full hour had passed since Rani and Amrita had left for the New World: Rani had insisted on a full ten hours in Kulaba to make Amrita feel at home. Samir spent that time making a moneybelt out of small clear plastic bags and electrician''s tape; he''d stolen a roll of it from the office when he was still working for Mr Go. He put it on around his waist, made a few adjustments, put it around his waist again. He was massaging it into a shape that wouldn''t show under his clothes when he became aware of someting really, really odd. The fire they''d lit to warm the place up and dry the air a little should have gone out a long time ago. It hadn''t. It was still burning, and wasn''t even close to going out. Samir stared at it and became aware that it made surprisingly little smoke. It was lit in the middle of the room, and there should have been clouds of smoke inside by now. There were none. There was a faint, pleasant smell of burning wood, the occasional bluish grey wisp rising from the orange flames - and that was it. Samir frowned. The same firewood emitted the standard amount of smoke in the New World, he was sure of it. Well, come to think of it, maybe a little less. It did also seem to burn a little longer; both Rani and him had noticed that very early on, but put it down to the timeflow difference. And didn''t the fire feel hotter than it should have felt? He was standing at least four steps away, yet it felt as if he was standing right next to it. He frowned, and experimented by moving around the flames, getting closer, then retreating. It definitely gave more warmth than a fire of that size should! It was amazing. He would have to investigate it later. Because right here and now, he had other things to do. He shook Rani awake as soon as the full hour was up. "How''s Amrita doing over there? All right?" he asked her. "She loves it! She''s instantly made friends with Madan and Kali and I can tell she will be very good at taking care of the babies. She -" "Rani," interrupted Samir. "I''m very happy to hear that. But I have to go and attend to some business, right away." "In this rain?" "It really can''t wait." "What is it?" "I have to go to the Colonial Office. Maybe at least they''ll register our mint this time." "I really don''t know why you''re bothering to do that," Rani said. "We can''t mint coins here. It just isn''t possible." "I know. We''ll mint them in the New World." "From what?" "Last time I was there, Madan had found copper a few days'' trip to the east. Where there is copper, there is at least some silver. We''ll mint the coins in Kulaba, and send them over. Twice as much as we need, because our wonderful new government will be taking half." "Half? I didn''t know that. Really? A full fifty percent?" "Yes. That''s the price we have to pay for making our own money. It''s not much different, really, from what it used to be. Rani, I really need to go. Please watch over everything here." "I will," Rani promised him, and he left. Her eyes followed him out of the door, then they settled on Amrita. She was sleeping very peacefully. Rani thought she could see a hint of a smile on her lips. Yes, after Mumbai the New World felt like paradise. The only thing that troubled her in the New World was Madan''s behavior. It implied ulterior motives, a secret plan. She wished Madan and Kali weren''t living many miles away, back on Earth. She would have liked to meet them in the world she''d been originally born into. In her mind, she used to call it the real world. But which world was more real? After all, everything she''d ever known or felt primarily existed in her own mind. People that had died still existed in her mind. Places that didn''t exist still existed in her mind, just because she''d read about them in a book. Once her New World experiences took up more of her mindspace than the Old World, the New World would become the real world, by default. She had already seen it happen to Krishnan, a young nephew of hers. It had taken place several years earlier. Using a combination of emotional blackmail and incessant nagging, Krishnan got presented with a game console by his parents. Within a year, he turned into an obese neurotic zombie in spite of always choosing handsome and generally positive characters in the games he played. His parents had threatened to confiscate the console when Krishnan''s school grades started slipping, so he made very sure he got very good grades - he wasn''t stupid - and continued to play video games until his eyes popped. He got very good. He won a couple of amateur tournaments, and signed onto a professional e-sports team. The day before they were to take part in a major contest he died of a heart attack, at seventeen years of age. Getting good at video games involved playing them for over a hundred hours a week. Getting good at playing video games, fast, often involved Krishnan staying up for two nights in a row. It wasn''t possible to miss a night''s sleep, and maintain top reflexes and focus without some help. The help involved plenty of sugar in all shapes and forms along with drugs. A combination of sugar and crystal meth turned fatal for Krishnan''s heart just as he was about to realize his dream. The world he had chosen to inhabit had killed him. It had to! All of Earth''s religions, basic common sense warned against mental relocation to a new world. It ultimately meant being banished from everything reassuringly familiar and comfortable. Rani knew she already was a different person that she''d been before the appearance of the cube. She couldn''t define what that difference was, but she felt it strongly all the same. She was already looking at everything in a different way. It felt like the right way, but so had Krishnan''s, to him, right before he died. Just like Krishnan, she had begun to feel happier in the New World than in the dreary reality of her Old World existence. It truly was an existence, it wasn''t a life. She''d often felt like an ant moving with a column of other ants, performing set sequences every day. The New World felt so much better. She was so much happier. But when she looked at the mirror that hung over the wash basin, she saw she was changing just like Krishnan had changed. She already had that secret glow in her eye that signaled esoteric wisdom far beyond the reach of average humans. She hadn''t gained weight, on the contrary, but there was something about her face that reminded her of Krishnan, something that couldn''t be explained away by the fact that he was a relative of hers. She hoped Samir would be back soon. She needed to talk to him. She turned away from the mirror, and looked at the sleeping Amrita. "I wish you were here with me," she whispered. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 92 Samir Buys A House Samir didn''t tell Rani the whole truth about his trip. In addition to registering his mint, he wanted to talk to the municipal clerk he''d been dealing with during his earlier inquiries. He was sure he had more than enough money to pay all the outstanding taxes on the abandoned house. He intended to give whatever was left over after paying the taxes to the clerk, along with the two choice mangoes he was carrying in his pockets. This, and the promise of more food to come should ensure the clerk''s cooperation. Once Samir''s tax payment was entered into the municipal books, he would have an official claim on the house, and could become its owner in two easy steps. The clerk had to officially put up the house for sale, and then register Samir as the new owner following his payment of all outstanding taxes. It was basically a matter of writing up two documents, and filing them where appropriate. Samir''s neighborhood had been incorporated into Mumbai just a few years earlier: the local municipal office was housed in a former school. Most of the classrooms had been converted into waiting rooms. When Samir arrived, soaked despite having an umbrella and a supposedly rainproof jacket, he was greatly surprised to find all of them empty. The mystery was quickly resolved: soldiers were distributing free rice to people at a square nearby. Samir''s contact was surprised Samir didn''t rush to get some the moment he heard the news. "I don''t have to worry about food," Samir told the clerk. "And if you help me out with something, neither will you." Things went very smoothly and very quickly from there. The collapse of the electronic banking system meant that the clerk and all of his fellow workers hadn''t received any pay at all for two months. Bribes were very, very welcome, and the chances of getting caught - nonexistent. All the computers were dead: no one had access to any electronic data, if any still survived. The whole system had broken down, and inserting a couple of back-dated documents into the paper files was a piece of cake. An hour later, Samir was officially the owner of the house and over an acre of land. The clerk kept all the papers, though. It was his guarantee that Samir would bring him thirty kilos of food every month, including no less than fifteen kilos of fish. The arrangement was to run for six months. Feeling very pleased with himself, Samir went to register his mint. This time, he was able to do it without any trouble. It really seemed he was on a lucky streak. Eager to capitalize on it as much as possible, Samir paid a visit to the Colonial Office, which was located in a different part of the same building. His lucky streak continued: there finally was some information available. He was pointed to a table stacked high with mimeographed sheets of paper. He took one, and found it listed the rules and regulations that applied to starting a colony in a New World. It contained two unpleasant surprises. The first surprise was that he and Rani would lose the right to a guaranteed income if they acquired licenses to colonize the New World. However, Samir didn''t think it would matter much. A colonizator''s license included a license to trade New World goods, and Rani was already bringing in thousands of rupees every day from the market. The second surprise was that he could pay for the licenses with the old money, the money that was to be replaced with the new coin currency in just a few days'' time. However, the price was steep: a full lakh, or one hundred thousand rupees per license. Samir had heard earlier the price would be set at ten thousand rupees, but a female clerk explained that was for a colonist''s license, which provided the buyer with one implant kit and did not include a permit to trade New World goods. "They are meant for colonizers who need more implant kits," she told Samir. "You get just two kits with a colonizator''s license. So it''s very likely everyone will want more." "Two? Last time I asked, they said there would be ten! Ten implant kits with each colonizator''s license." "No, no. You can purchase up to ten, but only get two to start with. If you want ten implant kits, you have to buy an extra eight colonist licenses." "For ten thousand rupees each?" "Yes. They''re very cheap." Samir laughed a hollow laugh, thanked her, and took an extra information sheet for Rani. Then he walked back home, biting his lip and frowning although it had stopped raining, and the sun began to peek through the clouds. He needed a lot of money fast. It was something he hadn''t foreseen. He had spent everything he had on the house and the bribe for the clerk. Two colonizator licenses, plus sixteen colonist licenses - it came to 360,000 rupees! They would have to sell a lot of food to raise that. On top of that, there were the monthly thirty kilos he had to deliver to the clerk. And the sad truth was, there was no way this was possible. Not with a colony consisting of four adults, a teenager, and two needy infants. "We need to start recruiting people right away," he told Rani, after he''d gotten home and described what he''d learned. She was ecstatic when he told her about the house, and one thing sort of led to another, so it was late in the afternoon by the time they got off the bed and began talking about their colonial plans. "More people will mean more mouths to feed," she said. "And where will they stay?" Samir shrugged. "Here," he said. "The house is ours now, all of it. Once I build a staircase to the second floor, we can easily accomodate up to twenty people. Rani, if we assign just four of these people to full time fishing, we''ll have so many fish you''ll need a cart to get to the market. That''s another thing I have to arrange, a cart. And collect our bicycles from that thief, too. There is so much to do! We need more people, plenty of new people." "We don''t have many implant kits left," said Rani. "We still have close to thirty. And we''ll get more when we buy the licenses. You said you saw plenty of other children of Amrita''s age at the market. Take in as many as you can. They have to be past puberty, or at least very close to it. They have to be capable of physical labor, but nothing very strenous: fishing, foraging for food, looking after the rice paddy and the goats. You know." Rani nodded. "I shouldn''t have any difficulty finding a few," she said. "But aren''t you afraid the authorities will find out about our colony? It won''t be legal until you get the licenses." Samir laughed. "You should have seen the people in that office," he told her. "They''d sell their own children for a cup of rice. If we get in trouble..." He broke off, and rubbed the fingers of his right hand in the universal gesture indicating the payment of a bribe. Grinning, he said: "I''m hungry. What''s for dinner?" "Fish curry." Samir grimaced. He said: "I wish we had a little more variety. Don''t look at me like that, you''re the best cook in the world, but it''s getting monotonous - fish this, fish that. Maybe we should slaughter a goat in Kulaba, and send in some meat? What do you think?" "I think it''s a stupid idea," said Rani, putting the pot with the rice onto the stove. "We need to grow that herd as fast as we can." "There are a couple that don''t give any milk." "That might change." "You really think so? They aren''t too old?" "No." "Should we wake Amrita to eat with us?" "No, it''s better to wait until we''re ready to go. She can stay awake then, and watch over things." They continued to talk while they ate: there were very many things waiting to get done in both of their worlds. Samir became increasingly aware even twenty people wouldn''t be enough to do what needed to get done. Their colony needed thirty, forty, fifty people! The moment he finished eating, he stood up and said: "I''ll go and see Sunil now, and take him at least a few pieces of firewood. Maybe he knows someone who could help us with building a staircase." "Come back soon," said Rani. "There is a lot to do in Kulaba. And I need to talk to you about something too. Before we lie down." Samir thought she had a funny look on her face when she said that, and he instantly became apprehensive. "Is it something bad?" he asked. "No. It''s neither good or bad. It''s just something I''ve noticed about myself. Something new." "All right," said Samir, frowning. "I''ll be back as soon as I can." He left the house and began walking across the field to Sunil''s house. The weather had definitely changed for the better, and the sunset was spectacular. The muddy field with its struggling seedlings, the dilapidated, ramshackle houses on its perimeter all seemed beautiful in the golden light. Samir felt slightly guilty: he hadn''t told Rani that he was also going to ask Sunil to join their colony in the New World. Sunil was quite good with his hands - he''d showed Samir a few things he had done around the house, and Samir had been impressed. Sunil''s wife was an accomplished seamstress, and they would need lots of clothes for the new colonists. Best of all, Sunil had two teenage sons, and a daughter that was approaching puberty. Very importantly, Sunil lived very close by. He and his family could continue living in their house while colonizing the New World. It was a win-win situation. It was very unfortunate that Rani hadn''t taken to Sunil. "There is something oily about this man," she''d said after meeting him for the first time. It was true: there was a certain insincere slickness in Sunil''s manner, Samir had noticed it too. But he didn''t think it important. "Some people simply don''t have the social skills you have, Rani," he''d said, and she''d smiled and never broached the subject again. But now, as he approached Sunil''s house, he remembered her words and worried. He worried that Sunil would try to pull some sort of number - denounce Samir to the authorities? Demand payment for his colonial duties? Deceive Samir in any number of ways? And what would happen if Sunil managed to buy a colonizer''s license too, and started bringing in his own people? That could end with his taking over the colony. The kids were a much safer option. They were practically guaranteed to be obedient. And with time, they could be trained to remain obedient even once they grew up. He needed 360,000 rupees, fast! He had no choice. He had to try and recruit Sunil. And Rani had to find at least a couple of well-grown boys at the market. Whatever Sunil''s future plans might be, he wasn''t the type of man to attempt any funny business when the numbers were against him. Samir reminded himself that he was on a lucky streak. Everything would work out. He kept repeating that to himself all the way to Sunil''s house. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 93 A Question of Faith "Everything will work out," Madan said. Samir gave him a grateful look. He turned to Rani and said: "You see. Madan agrees with me. I think you let your initial dislike of Sunil influence your judgment." The three of them were squatting by the entrance to Kulaba''s communal cookhouse. When Samir returned to his home in Mumbai, Rani was already stretched out on the mat, with Amrita awake and watching over her. Amrita was bubbling with happiness. The New World was wonderful! She loved it there! She wanted to go back as soon as possible. Samir sourly instructed her to stay awake and alert, and to wake him and Rani an hour before dawn. That gave him three full days in the New World. Then he lay down, and called a meeting the moment he entered his second self in the New World. Madan''s wife, Kali, did not participate. She always left the decision-making to Madan, and anyway there was no shortage of tasks to attend to: the infants, the goats, repairing the fishing net, gathering firewood, foraging for wild foods... Rani looked at Samir and Madan. They were both staring at her as if they were trying to will her into agreement. Was she really stupidly prejudiced against Sunil? She tried to tell herself she was but no matter how hard she tried, deep inside she still mistrusted him. There was something false, something phony about Sunil. It bothered her. "Does it matter what I think? I''m outvoted anyway," she said. "Of course it matters what you think," said Madan. "What you think is very important," said Samir. Rani smiled to herself. Had Samir really valued her opinion, he would have never recruited Sunil in the first place. She said: "I think we''re wasting time. What''s done is done, Sunil and his family will be joining us in a few days. They''ll all need a roof over their heads, and basic clothing. On top of that, there are all the commitments Samir has made. We''ll have to produce ten times more food than we do to meet them. So please excuse me, I have to help Kali with the net." Samir and Madan didn''t move when Rani left. They remained squatting by the cookhouse entrance, squinting in the sunlight at what they could see of their settlement. After a short discussion, they decided to convert the storage shed they''d built earlier into a home for Sunil and his family. "We''ll be sending home practically all the food we''ve got stored there anyway, given your commitments," said Madan, and Samir thought he could hear censure in his voice. Samir was silent for a while. Then he said: "Listen, Madan. I told you many times you should move closer to us in Mumbai. You are wasting a lot of time here on all those trips to send food from the platform you''ve got at your old place. Now that I have a house, you could move in with us for a while. And later on, after we''ve made some money, you could get a house nearby. From what I''ve seen, it won''t be hard to find one." "Rani won''t object?" "She was the one who had the idea first. She''s told you should move, too." Madan looked uneasy. After a while, he said: "It''s going to take a while. We will have to walk all the way from Khalapur." "You don''t have bicycles?" Madan shook his head. "Remember what I told you about the street gang that took over my first settlement?" he said. "They paid me a visit in Khalapur, too. I had to bribe them to leave us alone. I had no money when they came, so they took some other things. My bicycle was one of those things." "That''s another very good reason why you should move to Mumbai." "Kali''s family is in Khalapur," Madan said. "She won''t like that." "She prefers to live in a place where you''re terrorized by a street gang? A gang that took over your New World settlement, raped her, and turned you two into slaves?" "That gang doesn''t really exist any more. Soldiers shot a few when they were looting a store, and killed the leader. A couple more were arrested." "But you didn''t get your bicycle back?" "No." Samir sighed. "Madan," he said. "You really must move to Mumbai. It''s the only reasonable solution. Now let''s get started on that shed." They only had a few hours left before sunset, but they managed to assemble most of the building materials they would need for the construction work. They also got started on taking their stores out of the shed. Samir could still feel Madan''s resentment at the fact that most of the communal food would be sent to pay for Samir''s purchase of the house. But Madan''s attitude changed when, over supper, Kali voiced enthusiastic approval for their proposed move to Mumbai. She thought it was a great idea. "But I remember you saying you don''t want to leave your family," Madan protested. "My family is here," Kali said, and Rani was so moved she felt her eyes moisten. Everything was finalized before they split up to go to sleep. Samir took that chance to tell Amrita in Mumbai about the big shipment of food that would be coming. She didn''t expect him to be around - after all, he''d told her to wake him an hour before it dawned in Mumbai. And so he caught her standing just outside the house, and chatting to a boy he''d never seen before. "I told you to keep watch," Samir growled. "But I AM keeping watch! He is helping me." Samir examined the boy. At the moment, the boy looked like he wouldn''t be any help to anyone: he was badly scared. He was roughly Amrita''s age, maybe a little older. He was taller than her by a head, and terribly thin. Samir noticed that the boy kept one of his hands hidden behind his back, and he instantly guessed what had been going on: Amrita had been giving him food. "What''s your name?" he asked. "Neil." "Your family lives around here?" "No." "Then where are you from?" "Chanje." "But that''s a short walk away! Why are you lying?" "My family doesn''t live in Chanje any more. I am the only one left there." Samir was about to tell the boy to go away when he had an idea. He looked at Neil with new eyes: yes, given a week and plenty of food Neil could become quite useful. He said: "Well, come in and eat something and tell me how come you''re on your own." His patience was tried: Neil couldn''t talk for the next few minutes. He was too busy stuffing his face with food. The story, when it came, was sad. Neil''s mother had died the day of the catastrophe of a heart attack. Not long after that his younger sister died too, of a sickness that caused constant diarrhoea and stomach pains. His two older sisters were living with their husbands in different towns, far away: they''d lost touch. His father, driven half-insane by the two deaths, the loss of his job, and alcohol, had hanged himself a couple of weeks earlier. Suicide was a mortal sin for Christians, and the priest had refused to give him a burial. "So you''re a Christian?" asked Samir. Neil nodded warily. "It makes no difference to me," Samir told him. "I just asked out of curiosity. Listen, I think I may have a solution to your problems." Neil listened very attentively and patiently to what Samir had to say. Amrita didn''t. She interrupted Samir repeatedly, telling Neil he just had to experience the New World. It was wonderful! It was beautiful! It was paradise! It was all agreed shortly, and Neil received an implant and lay down on his own hiber bed when Samir did on his. Samir forgot about one thing: clothes for Neil. He arrived in time to hear Rani''s squeal, and to see Neil hunched over and covering his testicles with his hands. Hurried explanations ensued, after which Neil received Samir''s spare pair of goatskin drawers. Neil''s eyes bulged when he saw the pile of food Samir and Madan had taken out of the shed. They remained bulging as Samir led him through the basics of colonial life. "My God," he said, when he saw the fish jumping in the creek. Madan had accompanied Samir and Neil to the shore of the creek, and he twitched sharply when he heard Neil''s exclamation. "Neil is a Christian, back home," explained Samir. "I see," said Madan, in a voice heavy with meaning. A while later, when Neil and Amrita went off to collect firewood, Madan drew Samir aside for a private conversation. "Your plan is to import as many colonists as possible, am I right?" he said. "Yes," said Samir, slightly puzzled. Madan had always been in favor of what he called safety in numbers. He had been insisting on new colonists practically from Day One. What was this? "You''ll agree, my friend, that many people means many different people," Madan said, smiling a smile that suddenly reminded Samir of Sunil. Yes, Rani had been right: there was something oily about Sunil. Right now, there was something oily about Madam, too. Samir said: "So? Madan, just get to the point. We have a lot of work to do." "All right. You and I, Rani and Kali, we are are all alike in that we aren''t too religious. If you know what I mean." "I do," Samir said, feeling vaguely guilty. It made him angry and he snapped: "I asked you to get to the point." "It''s one of the reasons we get on together so well. But the new people we bring in, they might not all be like that." "What do you mean?" "I don''t know how things are in Mumbai. But in Khalapur, people are going religion-crazy. There are at least three new religions, all worshipping our great-great-great-grandchildren who have given us this wonderful gift: a new world. And of course they''ve already started fighting among themselves. Each side is convinced their vision is the only one that is true and right. You know how it goes." "Yes," Samir said. "And your point?" "Most people aren''t like you, me, Rani, Kali. Most people need religion in their lives. If we let them import all their religious differences here, into the New World..." Madan let his voice trail off. He shrugged, and looked at Samir. "You understand?" he said. "That''s the point?" "The point is," said Madan, "That we have to found our own religion. All of our people have to share the same beliefs. True unity is impossible otherwise. And without unity, we will have serious trouble, sooner or later. We have to have spiritual unity in our colony, Samir. That''s my point." "You want to invent a new religion?" Samir couldn''t help himself; he started laughing. He stopped only when he saw Madan getting angry. "No, I don''t want to invent a new religion," Madan said finally. "I want to do what founders of new religions always do: take bits and pieces that are already there, and assemble them in a new way." Samir was silent. Madan smiled, and added: "Spiritual unity, Samir. We must have it." "Fine," Samir said. "Now let''s get going on that shed." NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 94 The Bicycle Thief Amrita woke Samir up an hour before it dawned in Mumbai, just as arranged earlier. He ate a light breakfast, glancing at the sleeping Neil. The boy had already proved to be a hard worker, and intelligent - not too much, just the right amount, without any danger of getting too many ideas of his own. However, even with Neil''s help they couldn''t welcome Sunil and his family into Kulaba just yet. It would take them at least three New World weeks to finish Sunil''s house, sew the needed clothes, make a few extra pots and bowls and baskets... Food was a problem, too. Samir had promised the clerk at the municipal office he''d deliver the first thirty kilos within a couple of days. As soon as the sun came up, Samir went over to Sunil''s house. He informed a sleepy Sunil that he wouldn''t be joining the colony just yet: a couple of extra days were needed to set up things properly for his arrival. Sunil immediately became suspicious. No longer sleepy, he bombarded Samir with questions. Would the rest of his family get their own hiber beds? What was the daily food quota he could send back home? How did the other colonists react to news of his impending arrival? Each of Samir''s answers brought more questions. Eventually he grew irritated, and told Sunil to stop: he would be finding things out for himself within a few days. He returned home, and found a mound of food had been sent over in the meantime. Samir and Rani had situated the launch platform in the New World so that the goods they sent arrived in a windowless corner of their room, safe from inquisitive eyes. It was obvious that location wouldn''t work so well for large quantities. Delivering said quantities to the municipal clerk was going to be difficult, too. Samir groaned, and passed his hand over his face. Problems, new problems to solve everywhere he looked! He decided he would begin by going to the store owner who had promised him a couple of bicycles. He had demanded an extra ten kilos of mangoes and ten of fish last time they talked. Well, first he would have to show his good faith by giving Samir one of the bicycles. That would make delivering the town clerk his due much easier. It was a hot, humid day, and Samir was sweating heavily by the time he got to the supermarket. It was deserted, save for the security guards: there was nothing to sell. One of the guards informed Samir he would find the owner in the office at the back. The owner of the supermarket was a big, fleshy man in his late fifties who had mysteriously become even fleshier and fatter in spite of the food shortage. His name was Paul Leduc, and he had been born in Lebanon: he''d inherited the pale skin of his European great-grandfather, who had been a sergeant-major in the French Foreign Legion. The store owner had repeatedly mentioned that to Samir, as if having an ancestor in a military organization full of criminals was something to be proud of. The Foreign Legion granted its soldiers immunity from prosecution: it had been a favored employer among Nazi war criminals following the Second World War. When Samir entered the office, Paul Leduc was sprawled in an office chair he''d moved to the window, and was looking at the view outside with a jaundiced eye while chewing on a toothpick. He glanced at Samir and raised a pudgy hand in greeting, along with an enquiring eyebrow. "I''ve come to collect one of the bicycles," said Samir. He was about to say more, but stopped. There was a bicycle inside the office, propped up against the wall next to the entrance. It looked brand new, and it had a wide baggage rack in the back and a large wire basket in the front, mounted just below the handlebar. It was perfect for Samir''s purposes. "That''s all very nice," Paul Leduc said lazily. His tongue flicked out and moved the toothpick to the corner of his mouth. "Have you brought the fruit and the fish? I don''t see any." "You''ll get them, don''t worry," said Samir. "But the deal we made was for two bicycles. I''ve already paid you more than enough for one." "Correct," nodded Leduc. "It was for two bicycles. And you''ll get them when you deliver what you promised." "I need a bicycle right now." "That''s too bad." "Why can''t I take that bicycle?" asked Samir, pointing. "Because it''s mine." "You have bicycles in your storeroom," said Samir. "You showed them to me." "So?" "So you can easily replace this one." Samir stepped up to the bike and lifted it up, turning it around. Leduc got up from his chair and took a step forward. "Put that bicycle back," he growled. "I''m taking it," Samir said simply. "I''ll be back with the fish and the fruit within a couple of hours. Then you can give me the second bicycle." "You''re a thief!" "No," said Samir "I''m your new business partner. You want to have some food to sell in this store of yours? I can deliver it." He didn''t wait for a response. He pushed the bicycle through the doorway while Leduc watched, suddenly deep in thought. He was still deep in thought when Samir returned together with Neil two hours later. He took delivery of the mangoes and the fish, grumbling about the quality of the fruit. "Those are wild mangoes," Samir told him. "You found nothing wrong with them earlier. Now give me the second bicycle." "Wait," said Leduc. He glanced at Neil and said: "Can you leave us alone for a minute?" "No, he stays," said Samir. "He''s my partner. And that means he''s your partner, too." Leduc stared at Samir. "You''ve changed," he said slowly. Samir shrugged. Leduc glanced at Neil again, then looked at Samir and said: "Okay, let''s go get your bike. I''ll let you choose from the bicycles in the stockroom." There were seven, all but one identical to the bicycle Samir already had. The single exception had its frame painted dark red instead of black, and that was the one Samir chose. The second bicycle was meant for Rani, and he knew she liked red. Following that, Leduc and Samir had a short but fruitful business conversation. Leduc got first pick of any goods Samir would import from the New World. He would get the first few shipments free of charge. In return, he would send a small but well-equipped construction team over to Samir''s house. They would build a couple of staircases to the second floor, put shutters in all of the windows and doors in the doorways. Samir undertook to feed the men in the team as long as it took to complete the job. A couple of hours earlier, Leduc had been calling Samir a thief. Now he was calling him mon ami, a stupid affectation because Leduc, in spite of his name and ancestral roots, knew nothing of French except for a handful of useful words such as ''putain'' and ''bordel''. Things had definitely changed. A few minutes later Samir and Neil left, each riding a bicycle. They went home, loaded more food, and traded it for two strong chains with hefty padlocks. Samir noticed that Neil had begun looking at him with a doglike devotion. He remembered what Madan had said about spiritual unity, and snorted. When people were well off, when everyone had a comfortable life, religious differences magically melted. Sure, they could still be exploited, used as a tool to gain ascendance over an adversary. But otherwise, they simply ceased to matter. Madan and his new religion! He''d have nip this project in the bud, particularly if it involved long ceremonies, religious holidays, days off work. If someone wanted to get mystical, they could smoke some of the wild hemp they''d recently found growing not far from Kulaba. It was a valuable discovery: in addition to entertainment, hemp could provide them with tough clothes and strong ropes. When they got home, Amrita begged Samir to let her rest: she had been up for eighteen hours. She was also very eager to return to the New World. Samir could see Neil liked the notion, too. He told Neil he could give him an hour, and went out to inspect the vegetable patch. As he did so, he suddenly became aware of the fact that the field around the house was legally his, all of it. This included the patches cultivated by people living across the field. They were using his property without permission! Samir instantly became angry. He had been doing the same thing, worse, he had been living in someone else''s house right up until the previous day. But ''someone else'' hadn''t minded that. ''Someone else'' had abandoned the house and the land. Samir was on the spot, and had no intention of letting people use his land. Well, maybe he would make an exception for Sunil, but no one else. It was clear as day it was time to get a private force organized. Nothing much, a few boys with stout staves would be enough. He''d pay a visit to each of his neighbors with this entourage, and explain that the little plots they worked were now his property. He would let them continue until the harvest, of course. He wouldn''t be heartless. They could pay him for using his land with some of the food they''d grown. Samir was struck by a sudden brainwave. He would recruit all of them into his colony! It was the ideal solution. They all lived close. They all needed his help. In return, they would provide him with colonists for Kulaba. And as Kulaba grew bigger and stronger, so would Samir''s position in Mumbai. He could become lord of the whole area if he wanted to! "Samir!" He jerked. He looked around and saw that it was Sunil who had broken his reverie. Sunil was trotting across the field to speak to him. He looked very worried! Samir felt himself getting tense: he was sure bad news were on the way. He was right. "An army officer was looking for you," Sunil told him. "I intercepted him before he got to your house. I told him that you were away, and that you are a very busy man. He asked me to pass on a message. He wants to talk to you. He said he will come again in a week''s time. Second of March, two pm. He said things could go badly for you if you aren''t there." Samir swallowed and said: "Did he tell you why he wanted to talk to me? What this is about?" "No. Just that he needs to talk to you, and that you''d better be here." "You said you intercepted him? You were at my house when he came around?" "No, no," Sunil said quickly - too quickly, Samir thought. "I was tending my plot. He walked up to me and asked if my name was Samir." "I see," said Samir. He did. Sunil was lying. Most likely, he was the one to have brought the officer sniffing around. There would be pressure applied, but no threats about running an illegal colony, that was clear. The mysterious officer wouldn''t give Samir the chance to legalize it, otherwise. What was Sunil''s plan? What was he after? Samir looked into Sunil''s eyes and saw they were frightened. He smiled and said: "Sunil, I have news for you, too. It''s about this land." NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 95 The Eye of the Tiger "But this is very bad news," Madan said. Samir grimaced. "We don''t know yet if it''s good or bad," he said. "Maybe that officer wants to offer his services. Second of March, Madan. The day after our colony becomes legal. If he wanted to put a squeeze on me, he''d have simply gone on to my house after talking to Sunil, and waited until I came home." "I don''t like this Sunil," said Madan. Samir sighed, and said: "You know, it would be good if you met him before we bring him over. Are you joining us soon? When are you moving to Mumbai?" "There is a lot of things I have to do before we can leave Khalapur. You cannot even imagine how many," Madan said reproachfully. "Don''t give me that. What is it, Madan? What''s holding you back? It isn''t Kali. She said she''ll be glad to move." "She was being polite." "Nonsense." "You have nowhere to put us." "I told you I have a construction crew coming. By the time you arrive, there''ll be a room waiting just for you." "There are things we want to take from Khalapur. Too many for us to carry." "I will personally hire a cart or a couple of donkeys, and send them to Khalapur to fetch you." It went on like that for a while: Madan raised new objections, and Samir demolished them one by one. He raised his voice as his patience ran out, and ended up shouting at Madan to make up his fucking mind. It worked: Madan finally confessed what was the problem. "We''ll be putting ourselves completely at your mercy," he said, avoiding Samir''s eye. Samir couldn''t deny it was true. He''d thought of that long before Madan brought it up. In fact, it had been an important reason for asking Madan to move to Mumbai. But something that cannot be denied can always be given a new label. Samir said: "Mercy? Are you out of your mind? I keep asking you to move because I really need you in Mumbai. There are just too many things for me and Rani to manage, we''re close to losing control. I need you there with me, Madan. I''m not sure I can go on without your help. I am the one who is at your mercy, and not the other way around." Madan liked that. He said: "You''ll really hire a cart and send it for me?" "I''ll hire the best transport I can find. Who knows, maybe I can send a car. I saw a couple of old Ambassador taxis on the road today. I saw a couple of mopeds, too." "I thought only military vehicles could run." "Any vehicle without a data transmitter can run." Madan laughed. "A car!" he said. "That would be traveling in style. But tell me: how are you going to pay for all this?" "We have to crank up exports," said Samir, his course at Mr Go''s business college suddenly kicking in. "And diversify in what we send. Not just food, but other things." "Like what? Pots and baskets? Food is the only thing that sells." Samir smiled a very superior smile, and said: "We''ll send money. We''ll send ready-made coins, maybe metal. It is better if we smelt the ore here in Kulaba. But it will be easier to mint coins in Mumbai. Better tools." "Much better tools," agreed Madan. All the tools they had in the New World were made of wood, stone, and hardened clay. Madan could make and bake a clay knife as sharp as a razor but it would be brittle, wearing out quickly and shattering into pieces if dropped on a hard surface. "It''s time we paid a visit to that valley where we found the copper and the silver," Samir said. "I couldn''t agree more. The furnace I''m using for baking clay is good enough for copper and silver. And, Samir?" "What?" "The stream that runs through that valley. Did you examine the stones and the gravel in the stream bed? I think we can get tin from the gravel. Then we could smelt bronze." "That would be very,very good," said Samir. "But for now, we''ll concentrate on the copper and the silver, all right?" Madan shrugged. "Tin is very easy to smelt," he said. "All you need is a campfire. I want a basket of that gravel in Kulaba. You''ll thank me for that when you get your first ax with a bronze head." Samir and Madan began their journey early the next day. They took two big baskets each, with shoulder slings that left their hands free for weapons. Each of them carried a bow with a dozen arrows and a bamboo pole with a long, sharp end. Madan also carried a stone ax, and Samir - a couple of ceramic knives. It was wise to always have at least a couple of these because of their fragility. The area around Kulaba was heavily wooded, but as they traveled inland the soil changed and the trees became sparse. By late afternoon, they were walking through a gently rolling savannah, with solitary trees and bushes scattered in a sea of tall yellow grass. In the distance, they could see the hills that hid the mineral-rich valley which was their destination. They had been alert and watchful when they''d started their journey, but as time went on their vigilance relaxed. One of the reasons the New World felt so bucolic was the almost total absence of creatures that could make life there a misery, or outright dangerous. There were some mosquitoes, but it seemed they did not transmit diseases. Madan claimed to have seen a scorpion once, and Samir had seen a snake sliding into the vegetation a couple of times. It had happened so quickly he wasn''t even sure of what kind of snakes he''d seen. Most snakes were harmless, anyway. By the time the sun slid down to touch the treetops they''d left behind, Samir and Madan had dropped their guard low enough to talk as they walked. Madan argued it was time to launch their new religion. "What, you''ve already thought one up?" Samir sneered. "I did," Madan said gravely. "Excellent! Who gets nominated God?" "Our great-great-great - grandchildren, of course. They gave us this place." "I remember reading on the cube they specifically asked not to call them gods." "I don''t think they''ll mind," said Madan. "Anyway, they won''t be worshipped in the active sense. They''ll be like the founding fathers, a benign spiritual presence somewhere in the background. The gods that will be actively worshipped will be the demi-gods physically present in the New World." "Demi-gods? Like in mythology?" "Something like that. Maybe a little better." "And who would those demi-gods be?" "Us," Madan said simply. "You, me, Rani, Neil. Whoever - as long as they originate on Earth." Samir started laughing. He couldn''t help it. Finally, he said: "So there will be quite a few gods around with your religion. Many more than the worshippers, in fact. No chance of a sudden shortage?" "It doesn''t matter," Madan said. "I would even say, the more gods, the better. Why not? It''s more democratic, in a way. And with time, with more and more people born in the New World..." "I still don''t see why those New World people should choose us to be their gods," Samir said. "I mean, it won''t be hard for them to see we eat and shit and sleep and fuck just like them." Madan smiled a superior smile that really got on Samir''s nerves. "Go on," he said. "Tell me. Tell me how to get myself nominated as a god or demi-god or whatever. Maybe I can work the same number back in Mumbai." ''You can''t," said Madan. "It isn''t possible. It''s possible in the New World only thanks to the timescale difference. A single year back home translates into ten New World years. Didn''t you notice how fast your daughter is growing up?" "What are you talking about?" "She''ll be having her first birthday soon," said Madan. "And in the meantime, you''ve aged just a couple of weeks. She''ll grow up, marry, have children, and die - all in the space of five or six years of your life. Because she was born in the New World. She is not a replicated Earth human. And this will apply to everyone else born here, too. They''ll be born, and live their lives and die, and in their eyes we''ll remain ageless. Untouched by time! We will become their gods whether we like it or not. It will be completely automatic." Samit stopped so abruptly the basket sling slid off his right shoulder and down the arm which held the long, sharp bamboo pole. The basket now hung from his wrist, impeding movement, but Samir was too scared to let go of the pole even for a couple of seconds. Madan had stopped right after Samir did, and was looking at Samir in great surprise. But then he followed Samir''s eyes and instantly became very scared, too. There was a tiger standing directly in their path, no more than ten steps away. Its striped coat harmonized perfectly with the play of light and shadow in the tall grass. It was its eyes that gave it away - reflected light made them blaze like miniature suns, the pupils contracted into tiny vertical slits. Samir and Madan stood perfectly still: they both stopped breathing. Samir desperately tried to remember what was the right thing to do. He was almost sure everyone warned against looking into a tiger''s eyes, but he was helpless. He just couldn''t tear his eyes away. His gaze was locked with the tiger''s for what seemed like an eternity. Then the tiger growled softly. To Samir, it sounded like a don''t-fuck-with-me growl, as opposed to an I''m-about-to-tear-your-head-off growl. He tried to convey a similar message to the tiger. It looked as if he was succeeding. The tiger moved back a step; then another. Its eyes were still locked with Samir''s. Then it snarled and suddenly was away in a series of leaps and bounds. It disappeared almost instantly, but Samir could hear it crashing through the vegetation for quite a while. When the sound died away, he permitted himself a look at Madan. Madan was grinning like a madman. Samir shook his head and said: "Who knows. Maybe there is something in this demi-god idea of yours. At least the tiger seemed to think so." They both laughed. Then they resumed their journey, looking for a good place to spend the night. Their choice fell on a large acacia tree whose bottom branches were almost horizontal. The night passed without incident, and so did the rest of the trip. They arrived in the valley shortly after noon. Everything was exactly as it had been on their last visit, except for one thing. There was a small campfire still smouldering near the pebbled shore of the stream. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 96 The Dead Girl Samir and Madan stopped as if they''d run into a wall. They looked hard for whoever had lit the campfire, but they didn''t see anyone. "They heard us coming," Samir whispered to Madan. Madan shook his head. "No. We were very quiet," he whispered back. It was true. The encounter with the tiger the previous day had made them very careful. They no longer talked while walking, and made frequent short stops to examine the way ahead. "Let''s get out of sight, just in case," said Samir. They moved behind a large bush a few steps up the slope of the hill overlooking the valley. Samir cast an anxious glance up the slope - they could still be easily seen by anyone on top of the hill. For a moment he wanted to propose moving there, but the top of the hill was bare rock. The few stones and clumps of grass that grew in isolated pockets of soil didn''t provide enough cover for an observer. They squatted behind the bush, searching the valley for the slightest hint of a strange presence. They couldn''t see any, but they played it safe and stayed hidden long after the campfire had ceased sending its smoke signals. After a while, they got hungry as well as thirsty. They ate dried fish and boiled air potatoes wrapped in wild spinach leaves, and drank all the water that remained in their waterskins. There was still no sign of life in the valley, apart from big, colorful butterflies that were enjoying flitting between the wildflowers scattered along the stream. Samir caught himself staring at them instead of watching out for intruders. He wished he could splash cool water over his head and neck: the sun was merciless. "I think it''s safe to go down there," he whispered to Madan. Madan was sweating as badly as Samir was, and didn''t protest. Cautiously, they skittered down the slope like a pair of lizards, eyes and ears on maximum alert, stopping now and then to appraise the situation. Nothing, no one! They were alone in the valley - or so it seemed. They examined the dead campfire thoroughly: its ashes told them it had been built by someone with little experience. Several thick pieces of wood were laid on the very bottom, and it had been topped with leafy branches guaranteed to give little heat and plenty of smoke. Anyone hoping to cook anything on that campfire would be starving by the time it was done, that was for sure. "It''s time we got to work," Samir told Madan. "We''ll have a hard time with the tools we''ve got. Let''s use whatever light there''s left to make a start." Madan agreed, and they both approached the spot where they''d found seams of copper and silver ore. There was a patch of bare rock at the base of the hill overlooking the valley, neighboring a dent that wasn''t deep enough to be called a cave. When they got closer, they saw a foot sticking out of the hidden space, propped up on a flat stone. They both froze. They looked at each other; then Samir took a cautious step forward, his bamboo pole at the ready. Madan followed. The foot was attached to a leg. The leg turned out to belong to a young female. She was lying on her back, dressed in a rawhide shift, with glassy eyes staring at the rock overhang. Her other leg was bent in an unnatural way. The knee resembled a purple melon; despite the swelling, Samir could see the kneecap had moved to the side, 90 degrees from where it should be. There were no signs of other injuries. After they''d looked at the corpse for a while, Samir and Madan agreed it had to be an unlucky accident. They found it a little hard to accept - the girl should have managed to survive even with a knee out of joint, with water so close by - but then Madan turned the corpse around, and they saw the streaks of shit running down the dead girl''s thighs. "Diarrhea and a twisted knee," Madan said. "That can kill you. For sure. Oh! Wait." He bent down and picked up something from the ground. "That''s what did it," he said. "Jatropha berries. I''ve seen the plants around Kulaba, too. I''ve warned everyone, but it looks like no one warned this girl." "You''re sure she''s dead? She felt warm when we turned her around," said Samir. "She''s dead all right. But it''s a hot day, and she hasn''t been dead for long. She was probably dying while we were sitting behind that bush." They were both silent for a long time. Then Samir said: "We wouldn''t have been able to help her. It was too late." "We could have held her hand when she was dying," said Madan. Samir snorted. "You''re alone when you die," he said. "Even when you have a crowd assembled and everyone''s wailing and pushing to touch you or hold your hand. Because it''s you that is doing the dying. Madan, let''s just bury her and get on with the job. And while we''re at it, let''s think how she turned up here. Maybe she''s got friends that will come looking for her. Maybe they''ll think we killed her. It''s best that we do what we have to do as quickly as we can, and leave." "If she did have friends," Madan said, "Then sooner or later they''ll discover us in Kulaba." "Maybe that''s good. Maybe they''ll join us." "And maybe they''ll want to kill us all." "Madan," Samir said. "You need to lighten up. Not all people are assholes. Look at you and me. We''re fine, aren''t we?" Madan shot Samir a dark look and said nothing. "What is it?" Madan cleared his throat and said: "You did not have the experience Kali and I had. You had no bandits attacking you and beating you until you are half dead and raping your wife and giving you a choice to become their slave, or become dead." "This isn''t going to happen," said Samir. "We''ll get plenty of new colonists, never mind Sunil - I''ve got plenty of other neighbors. And Rani''s brought a couple of fine boys and another girl from the market. That''s what she told me right before we left. We''ll build a big, strong colony, and we won''t sit and wait for anyone to discover us: we''ll go looking for them. And if they aren''t friendly, we''ll just kill and destroy them!" Samir stopped, embarrassed by the fact that he''d raised his voice till he was close to shouting. He saw Madan was embarrassed too, more - he was uneasy. It was time for a bribe. "With many new colonists and your new religion, we won''t need to fear anyone," Samir said. It had the right effect. "Let''s hope so," Madan said, trying but failing to appear unpleased. "You''re right. Priorities are priorities. Let''s get to work." By the time it got dark, they''d only managed to fill half a basket with promising-looking stones and ore literally scratched out of the rock. After a short discussion, they decided they''d not light a fire, and that one of them would keep watch at all times. Samir took the first of the two shifts. The moon was nearly full that night, and the cloudless sky sparkled with countless stars. Samir watched the stream wink and glitter: he heard the trees sigh in the wind and the grass hiss as invisible small creatures went about their business, most likely giving his immobile form a very wary eye. He was one of them. He felt their fear. It increased his determination to recruit new colonists, even if they were kids. A hundred rats could defeat a wolf. Of course, they all needed a good reason, good morale. Madan''s new religion could be helpful. Samir found himself wavering in his determination to put an end to Madan''s project. When something was useful, did it make sense to discard it for purely ideological reasons? He had to be more flexible. A ruler had to listen to his people. He looked at Madan. They were in this together practically since the beginning. It was only fair to let Madan have his way from time to time. It wasn''t exactly a calamity, becoming a demi-god or whatever Madan had in mind. He decided he''d give Madan''s new religion full support. They were in this together, after all. They both worked like madmen from the moment the sun came up. Even then, they did not manage to fill the baskets by nightfall. When that became obvious, they stopped work to bury the girl. After a short discussion, they decided to bury her in the rawhide shift she wore. It made Samir regret they hadn''t come down the hill in time to hold the girl''s hand when she died. It would have given him the moral authority to take her dress. It was good hide, thick and strong and hairy, and they could have used it back in Kulaba. Their second night in the valley was a troubled night: they were running low on food, and staying put increased the chance the girl''s friends would show up. When morning came, they threw themselves into work with such vigor they were done by midday. They filled their waterskins, with Madan putting carefully chosen handfuls of stream-bed gravel into one of his baskets. Then they set out on the long way home. It was much harder that going the other way. The straps of the baskets bit deep into their shoulders; they each carried an extra fifty kilos of weight. There was no question of their talking along the way. They didn''t have enough breath left for talking. They didn''t see the tiger on their way back, but they heard it. It snarled and roared the evening they passed their earlier meeting spot. Samir had no experience at all of tigers, but Madan did. He told Samir tigers didn''t make noises for no reason. He said the tiger knew they were there, and promised to let them pass as long as they didn''t stay. Samir kept glancing at Madan for the next few hours as they went on. He was full of admiration and wonder. What an imagination! Madan was clearly cut out to head a new religion. When they finally arrived in Kulaba, Rani was ecstatic. "I didn''t wake you because it isn''t bad news," she said. "But I couldn''t wait for you to get back! You''ll never guess what happened." Samir groaned. "Oh no," he said. "Have mercy on me, Rani. I''ve just walked close to a hundred kilometers." "But you must try and guess." "Forget it. I''m too tired to provide any entertainment," Samir said. His voice had hardened; Rani shot him a glance and said: "The army officer came back. Only he isn''t an officer at all, it''s the sergeant we met when the soldiers were unloading the cube! Sunil is so stupid, you should really think twice before making him a colonist." "I will," Samir said quickly. "What did that sergeant want?" "He knows we have a colony. He did not tell anyone, and he won''t. What he wants is to join it, and he says many of his soldiers want to, as well." NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 97 Samir Starts An Army The sergeant showed up just a couple of hours after Samir woke up in Mumbai. Samir barely had the time to wash and eat and have a talk with the construction crew that arrived to work on his house. He told them he might have more work for them: he wanted a couple of small barracks built on the edge of his property, along the lane that ran to the main road. The two boys and the girl Rani had brought from the market were squatting in one of the spare rooms on the ground floor. Samir gave each of them a few mangoes, and told them to make themselves scarce. He did not want the kids around when the sergeant came. He would interview them later, when the visit was over. The kids hadn''t been gone for more than a couple of minutes when the sergeant arrived. He came in a jeep driven by another soldier, who remained in the parked vehicle. Samir invited the sergeant to sit down and to help himself to some fruit: he''d noticed him hungrily eyeing the mangoes in the bowl on the table. He waited patiently while his guest greedily ate half a dozen mangoes. The sergeant apologized to Samir for making him wait, and got straight to the point. "Thank you for the fruit," he said. "I''m not sure if you remember my name: it''s Arjun Varma. I am a sergeant commanding a squad in the 16th Infantry Division. You''ve already met some of my soldiers while they were guarding the cube in the field outside your house. They''re good, disciplined men. And I hope you remember I let you keep some items from the cube." Samir said that yes, he remembered it very well, and was grateful. He would happy to return the favor. Was there anything he could do for the sergeant? "Yes, there is. None of us got paid this month," said the sergeant. "And there is no sign we''ll get paid next month. The army feeds us, but I also have a family. Each of my men has a family. I know you have a colony running in the New World." "Who told you?" "No one. It wasn''t necessary. I have eyes and ears. I also have a pair of good binoculars. You should know that anyone standing on the roof of a building can look into the rooms on the upper floor of your house. You have a small pile of implant kits and mats in the room directly above us. You should cover up the empty window holes." Samir burned with shame at being caught out like that. He said: "I''ve already moved everything, and hid it from the workers I have here. They''ll be putting shutters and doors everywhere." "That''s good," said the sergeant. "You must understand I''m not here to blackmail you. I want to ask you for something else. I already told your wife, she said she''d pass it on to you. Here it is: me and my men want to join your colony. We all know how the whole process works. But we want something in return. Enough food to feed our families, and maybe some money. Nothing big. A cut of your profits that would reflect the contribution we''ll be making to your colony." "I see," Samir said. He said that whenever someone''s words triggered a vision in his mind. The vision he saw now was of a group of replicated soldiers taking over Kulaba, and imposing a military dictatorship. "I think I can promise you we''ll be very useful," said the sergeant. "You must know you''re not alone in the New World. Our unit is confiscating illegal implant kits and hiber beds every day. I suspect that in Mumbai alone, hundreds if not thousands of people have already replicated themselves in the New World." "I wouldn''t know," Samir said evasively. "Let''s get back to the subject. I like your propostion, but it''s a big decision for me. I''d like to think about it." "I need an answer now." "You said you would be coming back next month to my neighbor the other day. What''s the big hurry now?" "As of today, the army has stopped issuing us extra rations for our families. Like I told you, I have a family - a wife and two children. All of my men have wives and children, too. That''s the big hurry." Samir nodded. "Fine," he said. "I can agree in principle right away. But I need more time to work out how to handle this. It''s not as easy as you might think. Listen, I''ll give you some food later today. Come around in the evening." "I''ll be here. But can I ask you something? Could you give us enough food so that everyone gets at least a single meal?" "Everyone?" "Me, my men, and our families." Samir groaned. "But that will be thirty or forty people," he said. "Am I right?" The sergeant''s guilty silence told him that indeed, he was right, probably even underestimated things a little. Samir sighed. "I will help you," he said. "But it really isn''t going to be easy. And now you''d like enough food for forty meals, right away! I need you to help me so that I can help you." The sergeant became wary. He shot Samir a suspicious glance. "I have a friend living in Khalapur with his wife," Samir explained. "And I need to move them here. My friend is an excellent craftsman. He has skills that are very useful in the New World. But he has no transport, and neither have I. You do." The sergeant thought this over. Eventually he said: "You want me to drive to Khalapur and bring your friend?" "And his wife. They don''t have children - not in Khalapur, I mean." "You''ll have my food waiting when I bring them here?" "You''ll go right away?" "Yes. It''s not far. I can be back in a couple of hours." "My friend will need some time to pack." "They can only take as much as I can load into the jeep. And that''s not much. Let''s add an extra hour. I''ll see you three hours from now. Give me your friend''s name and address." "I don''t have it handy," Samir said. "I have to look for it. Can you wait by your car? I''ll bring it to you in a few minutes." As soon as the newly suspicious Arjun Varma walked out, Samir retrieved his hiber bed from under the mattress, cursing the broken telepathic link with the New World. Neil and Amrita were outside, doing the exact same thing they were doing in Kulaba: weeding the vegetable patch. Samir called Amrita over and told her to wake him in five minutes, or earlier if she saw the sergeant approach the house. He lay down, entered Kulaba, found Madan after a frantic search, warned him of the impending move, and memorized Madan''s Khalapur address at the last possible moment: Amrita woke him when he was still repeating the street name and number to himself. He got up from the mat, wrote Madan''s address down on a notepad and tore off the page. After a moment''s hesitation, he also tore a thin strip of paper off the top. He didn''t want the sergeant to see the Go Far Logistics logo that was printed on top of the page. He knew the sergeant would guess Samir had stolen the notepad from work. Walking to the parked jeep he saw that Sunil was standing outside his house, watching the scene. Samir felt a twinge of guilt: he had suspected Sunil of snitching to the army about the colony. He would let Sunil join the colony, after all. Sunil was innocent. Sunil, Sunil''s family, the three new kids, eight soldiers - he was going to need more implant kits, many more implant kits. "Here''s the address," Samir said, handing the sergeant the mutilated notebook page. "You say you''ll be back in three hours?" "If everything goes well," the sergeant said, putting Madan''s address into his breast pocket and buttoning the flap. "And if it doesn''t?" "Then we''ll be here a little later. But you can be sure we''ll be here with your friend. So please make sure you have the food ready and waiting." "I will," Samir said. He quickly walked back to the house, lest Sunil approach him and start adding more worries to his present load. The sergeant had already added quite a few. So there were thousands of illegal colonists around Kulaba! Why hadn''t they run into any? Well, that was not quite true. He had run into Madan. But Madan wasn''t even from Mumbai. After the street gang took over his budding settlement, he and Kali had made the trek to the coast in the New World! There was the dead girl they''d found recently. Wherever she came from, there would be others. All the same, Samir was sure there was no one within a day''s trip of Kulaba, in any direction. They''d explored the area very thoroughly, and found no traces of human presence. Suddenly, he understood why the campfire in the valley had been built the way it was. It wasn''t meant for cooking. It was meant to produce as much smoke as possible. The girl was trying to alert someone to her plight, someone close enough to see the smoke. Samir felt a shiver run down his back. Kulaba was in danger! Arjun Varma and his soldiers were a godsend. He would give implants to all of them the very next morning. They would have to cope without any clothes initially, and sleep without a roof over their heads. Too bad. In the meantime, he needed to get food, lots of food. As soon as the kids got back, he would send them off to the New World with fresh instructions. Rani had told him she''d already fed the kids. It was time for them to start earning their keep. But first he had to get rid of any potential snitches. Samir left his room and found the foreman of the construction crew. He was standing by the side of the house, chewing a straw and examining his men, who in turn were examining the building materials they''d brought. No one was actually doing any work. "You can go now," Samir told the foreman brusquely. "That''s it for today. We''ll start tomorrow at seven sharp, all right? I can''t have you around now, I''ve got people coming from out of town." "What about our food?" "What food? You didn''t do any work today. You just brought the building materials and the tools. You''ll get your pay at the end of the day tomorrow. I''ll add a little extra for today." Of course, he had to give them the last of the mangoes before they left. Happily, the kids appeared almost the moment the workers disappeared. Samir stood in the doorway and watched them approach, a grim smile on his face. He glanced to the side and saw that Sunil was coming his way, too. No, no, no! This was too much. "I think I''m going to go crazy," he whispered. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 98 While Everyone Sleeps "There are eight of you altogether, you and seven others, correct?" Samir asked the sergeant. The sergeant nodded with visible reluctance. He seemed to be regretting he hadn''t given Samir a higher number. "There''s at least kilo of fish and a kilo of mixed vegetables and fruit for you and each of your men," Samir told him. "Plus an extra kilo of both just for you. After all, you''re their leader." As he had hoped for, the bribe successfully stopped the sergeant from trying to haggle for more. Arjun Varma turned round and signaled to his driver, who had respectfully stayed behind and stood by the parked jeep still half-full of Madan and Kali''s belongings. Unpacking it was taking a lot of time, maybe because Madan was the only one doing it. Kali stayed hidden in the room Samir had allocated to them, most likely sunk in depression. Moving into a raw concrete box from a home they''d presumably made comfortable for themselves had to be a downer. The sergeant and his driver were much more efficient. They each grabbed a handful of the bulging shopping bags and plastic bundles that contained the food imported from the New World, and carried them all to the jeep in one trip. They started shouting at Madan to hurry up the moment he appeared in the house entrance next to Samir. Samir was glad of the intervention: he expected Madan to have a lot to say to him, and judging by the look on Madan''s face most of it wasn''t going to be nice. The sergeant came up to Samir and extended his hand for a handshake. "I''ll see you on Friday morning, then," he said, pumping Samir''s hand up and down. "Yes." "You''re sure it won''t take longer than an hour?" "That''s with the safety margin added," Samir said. "We should be done in half the time. Now, listen. I want to ask you something." "Yes?" "You said you were confiscating implant kits and hiber beds practically every day." "Well, yes," said the sergeant uncomfortably. "You''ll all need female companions over there. I don''t care who they are. They may be your wives, they may be your lovers. But you''ll all need women. That means sixteen implants, and extra hiber beds, maybe one for each couple. It''s still a lot." Arjun Varma was grinning when Samir fell silent. The idea of having a female companion of his choice in the New World was very appealing. "You want me to keep back a few?" he said. "For our own private use?" "You can put it like that," said Samir. He would have preferred the sergeant to put it in another way. He didn''t like the suggestion that he and the sergeant had become equal partners. "Done," the sergeant said. "It will be a couple of implant kits at a time, you understand." "Of course." "I''ll see you on Friday, and I''ll bring my men." "Good." "Will you have some food for us?" "That will be up to your own selves in the New World," Samir said. "They''ll get the tools to fish and gather wild foods right away, and they''ll be directed to the right spots. After that, it will up to them - or you, however you prefer it." "Do you think they''ll be able to send some by the evening?" "Oh, for sure," Samir said. "Twelve hours equals five full New World days." "Good," said the sergeant. "When should we bring our women?" "Sunday should be all right." "Sunday, fourth of March?" "Yes. We''ll talk more about it when I see you again." The sergeant walked back to the jeep with Madan, who had just reappeared to unload the final batch of his belongings. Samir quickly retreated to the house and began putting his room in order. It stank of fish and there were plenty of fish scales and plant rubbish on the floor where all the food had arrived. Samir could have told the kids to do the cleaning - he''d put them all in the next room. But they were all sleeping so sweetly on the silvery mats, sleeping and smiling. And anyway he wanted to appear busy for as long as possible, to put off the inevitable conversation with Madan. To his surprise, Madan didn''t jump on him with recriminations the moment he''d completed unloading the jeep. He stayed in his room with Kali: Samir caught snatches of conversation when they raised their voices, then they both fell silent. Samir had the unpleasant thought that Madan and Kali were busy compiling a list of complaints and accusations. Why was he feeling so guilty? It was infuriating. He concentrated on tidying the room, with growing determination to move the launch pad in the New World at the earliest opportunity. There were four large rooms on the ground floor of his house, all connected by a wide hallway in the center. The largest room was occupied by himself and Rani; the second largest contained the five kids they''d recruited into their colony. Then there was Madan and Kali, which left one room empty. Samir decided he''d turn that room into a receiving platform for goods imported from the New World. The launch platform would just have to be moved slightly, and made larger as well. They would be importing at least a ton of food every month, and hopefully much more. Just two more days to go, and then - March the first! On that day, the race to colonize the New World would officially begin. From what the sergeant had told him, there would be many enthusiastic colonizers. Samir frowned, and decided that he would pay a visit to the Colonial Office the next morning, bearing a bundle of food. There could be a horde of people storming the Colonial Office when it began selling colonization licenses. It was wise to ensure preferential treatment ahead of time. Having made his plans for the immediate future, Samir drew a deep breath and went to talk to Madan and Kali. Their room did not have a door, yet: instead, a length of sacking hung from two nails hammered in over the doorway. Madan and Kali were both asleep on hiber beds. They''d eaten the food Samir had left for them - a big bowl of rice and fish curry. They didn''t look so unhappy any more. Samir had no desire to wake them up and listen to recriminations about their living conditions. He went outside instead, and inspected his vegetable patch the best he could - it was night. Even then, he could tell the kids were doing a good job of caring for it. They''d weeded it thoroughly, and tilled the soil and watered the plants. However, his vegetable patch was much too small now. He really needed to do something about his neighbors cultivating their own little plots on what was now his land. He was reminded of his earlier plan to enlist all of them as colonists, and frowned. The he went back into the house and got the ladder the workmen had brought that day and climbed to the upper floor of the house. He''d hidden his stash of implant kits and other cube items atop the walls of one of the upper rooms, split up into a multitude of bundles, small enough to stay concealed from an observer standing on the floor. There was no ceiling: the outside walls ended abruptly where they met the roof beams. Everything was there, wrapped in the clear plastic from the roll Samir had stolen a long time earlier from his workplace. That clear plastic had been his undoing. It had allowed Arjun Varma to recognize what Samir had hidden when Samir had simply dumped everything in a room corner on the upper floor. He hadn''t suspected someone would be inspecting his house through binoculars from a nearby rooftop. Samir unwrapped his secret stash, and counted the implant kits. He still had twenty eight. Sixteen of those would needed for the soldiers and their women; an extra two for Sunil and his wife. That would leave ten. He wrapped everything up again and hid it away. Then he returned downstairs and started worrying about Rani. She''d been coming home increasingly late from the market, but even then it was well past the time she should be back. Almost as soon as he''d thought it, he heard the rattle of her bicycle on the lane and she entered the house a moment later, pushing her bike - they kept their bicycles in their room even though they were immobilized with chains and padlocks. Someone could fancy a new chain or lamp or mudguard. Rani had taken a lot of goods that day, and she brought over a hundred thousand rupees from the market: she told Samir prices were tripling every day. She also said that she''d lined up another couple of kids - a boy and a a girl - as candidates for colonists. Samir held up a hand when he heard that. "A lot has happened," he told her. "But eat first, and then I''ll tell you about it." "Twenty new people," she said, when Samir has finished speaking. "Are you insane? We''ll have to feed twenty new people and import a ton and a half of food every month. Don''t you see that''s mutually exclusive?" "No," Samir said, "It''s not. They''ll all have to find their own food and generate a surplus, too. It''s not going to be difficult. We have our second rice harvest coming up, and this time around we can afford to eat some. The goats are multiplying like crazy. And Neil has come across a big herd of Nilgai antelopes. This boy has a special talent for tracking animals. We''ll send him to lead the soldiers on a hunt, they''ll bring back plenty of meat, you''ll see. Soldiers are specially trained to kill all sorts of living things, correct?" "Maybe not with the kind of bows and arrows we''ve got." "They''ll learn." "I hope so. You''re sure Madan and Kali are asleep?" "Yes." "And the children?" "Yes. They''re all in the New World." They looked at each other in silence for a while and Rani thought: he''s getting really dumb because of all those responsibilities and worries. Should I make the first move? But she didn''t have to. Samir finally understood what her eyes were telling him. "Oh, Rani," he said, and reached out for her. They started kissing. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 99 A Governors Journey Kirk Lander sat in his seat in the train to New York and looked at the dismal landscape flowing past his window. The train was in the process of leaving Cleveland, Ohio: from what he could see, it was an almost completely lifeless city covered in dirty snow. During the train''s passage through the urban area, Kirk had counted a grand total of twelve moving vehicles, half of which he saw when the train stopped at the station in Cleveland. He was in the fifth day of his train journey to New York. The aged Baldwin steam engine was surprisingly fast; however, there were plenty of short stops along the way. The train had just two passenger cars; the other twenty carried cargo - food and fuel. At each stop, some of the cargo was unloaded, or a car uncoupled from the train; occasionally, new cargo was loaded. Just past Omaha, several cars full of livestock had been added to the train. For some obscure reason, they were inserted right behind the passenger cars. A day later, whenever the train stopped or slowed down to a crawl, the stink of the manure that had accumulated in the livestock cars made Kirk gag. He had wanted to travel by air or at least by road, in a military vehicle, but that was ruled out by his boss: Carlton Brock, the man who ruled all American territories in both worlds. "Sorry, Kirk, but you''ll have to tough it out," Carlton Brock had said. "Anything that can move and carry a load is delivering food and aid. And bringing back a lot of corpses, Kirk. People are dying all over the country. It''s a real tragedy. Mostly the elderly, it could''ve been worse, but a life is still a life. The train you''ll be on will be hauling food and stuff, too." "But it''s going to take days!" "Don''t let it stop you from taking care of your responsibilities in the New World. Take frequent naps, Kirk. Make sure things are going well there. I want a strong California, a wealthy California, and you''re the guy in charge of making that happen. Got it? "Yes, sir," said Kirk. "Excellent. By the way, it will do you good to travel coast to coast and see with your own eyes what''s happening along the way. It''s going to be grim. I want you to think of possible solutions while you''ll be traveling, Kirk. I want everyone to think of solutions. That is why I have called a conference of state governors here in New York. We have to think of a good plan, because heavy shit will be hitting the fan on March first." "Yes, sir," Kirk said again. He had to say it a few times more before Brock was finished. Carlton Brock loved delivering little lectures, making breaks now then expressly to hear the two words he loved to hear: yes, sir! When the required amount of yes, sirs had been spoken, Brock ended the conversation, sometimes abruptly. The amount of yes, sirs needed to stroke his ego varied with his mood: when Brock was in excellent spirits, just a couple did the trick. When his mood was foul, the number required often exceeded a dozen. Kirk knew Brock was very pleased to have become the governor of all U.S. territories in both worlds. At the same time, he couldn''t be happy to hear about people dying in droves from illness, hunger, and cold. That made six yes, sirs, give or take one either way. The train clanked and rattled as it ran over switches, changing tracks: it was passing an abandoned construction site, littered with snow-capped mounds of soil and haphazardly parked vehicles. A man stood next to the wire fence surrounding the lot. As the train passed, he raised a clenched fist and held it high. It was hard to tell whether this was a salute or an act of defiance. Kirk checked the time: he was due in the New World in half an hour. Adam would be expecting him. Kirk had appointed his elder son the deputy governor of California in both worlds. This move greatly angered Libby Placek, the other California senator before everything got turned upside down by the catastrophe. She''d kicked up such a fuss that Brock very nearly reneged on his earlier promise that gave Kirk freedom to appoint whomever he wanted to. Kirk resolved the problem by making Libby Placek governor of the Southern California region, with a boundary running just north of Fresno. Adam Lander became governor of Northern California while remaining Kirk''s deputy. In Kirk''s book, that was an acceptable trade. The Lander colony was being run by Kirk''s younger son Bernard, with assistance from Karen, Debbie, Hank Vorner, and nearly three hundred colonists they''d recruited so far. They''d stepped up recruitment the moment Kirk had accepted his post. "Adam and I are the ones who are supposed to report any existing colonies, so you have nothing to fear," he''d told them. "But be discreet. It''s just two more weeks and everything will be made legal." He didn''t feel any guilt about concealing the existence of the illegal colony he had founded himself. He was sure his traveling companions - State Governors of Omaha and Illinois - were guilty of the same sin. All three of them seemed to share a dislike for talking about illegal colonies, and Kirk and the Illinois governor also shared a dislike for the guy from Omaha. The Illinois governor was, like Kirk, a former senator. He had hated Kirk''s guts in the US senate, and he continued to do so now. The Omaha governor was a Mister Nobody - Omaha''s senator had died in the week following the catastrophe. He was a local politician and businessman of some sort, and had made it obvious he considered himself equal in standing to the senatorial governors. They both snubbed him. In consequence, the three of them had spent most of the journey ensconced in their compartments, pretending that their governor''s duties made them too busy to engage in socializing. The remaining occupants of Kirk''s car changed frequently, often on a station-to-station basis: they consisted exclusively of government and military officials. They all looked worried and weren''t given much to talking. The other passenger carriage, between the engine and Kirk''s car, was occupied by relief crews and the soldiers comprising the train''s escort: young men with haunted eyes that walked back and forth along the station platform, guns at the ready, whenever the train stopped - to load, unload, take on water, sand, coal, or firewood. Yes, firewood, like in the fucking nineteenth century! Kirk had actually seen it being loaded onto the engine tender and this, more than anything else, convinced him things were really bad and getting worse. He was also worried by the fact that Randy Trueman had been forced to abandon the colony: he had received orders over the phone to report immediately to his unit based in San Diego. This had forced Randy to remove his implant, killing his second self in the New World. As Kirk had feared, Randy''s absence in the New World caused an immediate drop in the colonists'' efficiency. It also disrupted the military training program Randy had put in place. "It''s temporary," Randy had told Kirk before he left for San Diego in the scout car that had been sent for him. "I''m going to apply for an immediate discharge when I get there." Kirk doubted whether Randy''s application would be accepted. He suspected that once Randy rejoined his unit, he would receive a new implant in order to join Libby Placek''s garrison in the New World. But there was a silver lining in this particular cloud: he would have a spy in the enemy camp. Randy had agreed to gather as much information as possible. They didn''t quite work out how he would pass it on - phone calls were sure to be monitored - but Randy was confident he would find a way. "They can''t forbid me to keep in touch with my wife, can they?" he''d said. "Karen can visit me, and she''ll tell you what I''d found out in the meantime." The train was passing a complex of apartment blocks. The building nearest to the tracks had been gutted by a fire. All of its windows had been blown out: soot stained the concrete walls. There was a mound of salvaged items near the entrance. As Kirk watched, a couple of men emerged from the building, carrying a sofa and struggling to get it through the doorway. A cop stood nearby, leaning on a bicycle and watching the proceedings while smoking a cigarette. Everyone seemed to be taking up smoking these days. People were no longer afraid of getting lung cancer. It made perfect sense, Kirk reflected. Why worry about developing a deadly illness in the future when everyone''s future was a big question mark? He shuddered, and told himself to get a grip. He was the governor of California in both worlds! He had a future, and a good one at that. He was going places! He glanced at his watch, an old Rolex that had belonged to his father. It was running perfectly in spite of its ancient wind-up mechanism, a testimony to the craftsmanship of a bygone era, when things were made to last as long possible. He had just ten minutes left to his meeting with Adam in the New World. He made sure that his compartment was locked; then he kicked off his shoes and lay down on the silvery mat spread over his bunk. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 100 Will Work For Food "... and it should be ready by the end of next week. At the latest." Kirk blinked. He was looking, at pretty close range, at a small wooden hut standing in the middle of a row of similar small wooden huts. He took a deep breath and found himself inhaling the aroma of human excrement. He coughed, and heard Adam laugh. He turned and saw his son, dressed in a tan suede jacket and pants. The pants were tucked into stained brown leather boots whose tops ended just below his knees. Two men leading horses by their halters were passing behind Adam, talking in low voices. The ground was covered in dead leaves, and the trees in the background were already half-naked in preparation for the coming winter. Adam laughed again and said: "Dad, you got me completely fooled. I was sure you were here all along. You arrived just this moment? I''ll be damned." "Let me collect my thoughts," Kirk said, meaning it very literally. Whenever he entered his second self in the New World, he got access to the memories and insights his double had collected in the meantime. It took time to adjust; things definitely worked smoother when there was telepathic contact between the two worlds. "You were saying the new latrines will be ready end of next week?" he said. "Yes," said Adam. "It''s taking a hell of a long time." "That''s what I was getting to. There''s been all this rain, and the wood is taking a long time to dry." Kirk nodded. "I understand you haven''t started working on the ship?" "Not yet. I guess we''ll build it in the spring." "That''s not good," Kirk said sternly. He lifted his chin and looked his son in the eye. "We must reconnoiter the whole coast right down to the Channel Islands," he said. "Because Channel Islands is where Bernard will be building our southern base." Adam let his breath out with a hiss. "You''re really got it for that Placek woman, don''t you, Dad," he said. "Don''t call her a woman," Kirk snapped. "She doesn''t look like one and she doesn''t like to be called one, either. If you called her a woman to her face she''d have probably slapped you. Correction: she''d give you one of those killer punches they teach at anti-rape workshops." "I really can''t imagine anyone wanting to **** her," Adam said. "You''ve got a limited imagination, son. And a bad memory. Remember that kid couple of years back? The one that preyed on widowed grandmothers? The youngest was sixty nine and the eldest eighty, and he raped them all." Adam shuddered. "Did he get life?" he asked. "Sure he did. But he had one of those difficult childhoods and if he plays nice, he''ll be out in twenty. Who knows, probably less, with all the shit that''s been coming down they''ll be releasing people much earlier. Anyway. We must get going on that ship. It''s the least we can do for Bernard. You know he''ll be going down there with a bunch of people to start a new settlement. Scouting out the location in the New World is the least we can do." Adam shook his head. "It''s six thousand kilometers, Dad," he said. "You realize that? Six hundred times ten. It''s going to take years." "Well, we''ve got nearly three years," said Kirk. "He''s planning to go in June." "He''d better make it very late in June," Adam said. "Not possible. He''s got to start the settlement in the early summer at the latest. Late June makes it winter." "Can''t he wait an extra couple of weeks, then? He could get it going in the spring." "We''re going to lose a whole year. " "Bernard can catch up on that," Adam said. "He''ll just hit Placek harder from Day One. He''ll get all the colonizers along her bit of coast screaming blue murder within a few years, or few months, depending on your choice of time zone, so to speak." "It''s not enough to get them screaming blue murder. Her whole region has to take a significant economic hit. I need to have a solid reason to replace her with someone we like." "We''ll do it, Dad, don''t you worry," Adam said. "You know what we should do? Get going on a second ship right after we''ve launched the first. A caravel, not another fucking cog. Much faster, and sails better." "We need the cog to transport goods. A caravel won''t carry half as much." "I doubt greatly we could fill a rowing boat with the goods we''re likely to trade with anyone in the next couple of years." "Well, you''d better hope it''s much better than that. We''ve got to develop trade with the colonies that will be popping up south of Golden Gate. Both our income and our jobs depend on it." "I have a feeling most of our trade will be coming overland, from the glorious Lander colony," Adam said. He reached out and gave Kirk''s arm a squeeze and added: "I''ve got to go, Dad. Got to look at a couple of things before sunset. You staying for a couple of days?" "Could be difficult," said Kirk. "I''ve got just one day left before I see Brock and he wants to hear solutions to the situation back home. You have no idea how bad it is up north, Adam. We got off lightly." "Yeah. Well, if you aren''t around I''ll just deal with your guy. He''s just like you, makes no difference. It''s eerie." "It''s not eerie," Kirk said. "It''s natural. He''s my double." "See you later, Dad. One way or another." "See you." Kirk watched his son walk away. No, he wasn''t mistaken - the New World Adam was better built and more muscular than the original model. All that physical activity had made its mark. He began walking towards the neat row of log cabins stretching along a dirt road that ran through the center of the settlement. His own house was on the top of a gentle rise overlooking the assembly square. It was larger than the cabins: it had a big front porch, and its own kitchen in a separate hut at the back. The colonists living in the cabins used communal kitchens: one for every ten houses. They''d all learned the hard way it was better to keep cooking fires well apart from sleeping quarters: during Kirk''s short tenure as governor, there had already been a couple of fires that could have been catastrophic. The settlement was located on a strip of land jutting into Richardson Bay, an inlet cut into the tip of the northern peninsula of the pair that formed San Francisco Bay. The road that began at the assembly square in front of the governor''s residence ran down to the jetty protruding into the bay; it was flanked by rows of cabins. The two rows ended in big storage sheds purposely built next to the waterfront in anticipation of thriving trade. A large launch platform of tiger rock had been built right at the water''s edge. It wasn''t the best spot for that; the settlers had been forced to put it there. All the other locations had resulted in New World exports arriving back home on rooftops, in private backyards, and other inconvenient spots. The very first attempt to send something from a small platform in the settlement''s assembly square was particularly unlucky. It delivered the goods right in the middle of a road intersection. This caused one Jonah Palmer, aged sixty six and a little slow to react, to drive his bicycle right into the unexpected obstacle, fall off, and crack his helmet-less, bald head on the kerb. He was killed on the spot. The settlement buildings containing the communal kitchens were located behind the cabins, three on each side. The stables and barns and chicken coops and workshops were out of sight: located further inland, they were guarded by a couple of watchtowers which were manned around the clock by sentries armed with crossbows. They had already killed two illegals trying to steal eggs. A search party sent out to find illegal colonies had returned empty-handed, maybe because they were under orders not to carry the search too far. Kirk didn''t want government soldiers discovering one of the settlements belonging to the Lander colony. The commander of the colony''s militia wanted a palisade built to protect the farmhouses and the workshops, but Kirk had objected. "We have more important things to worry about than a couple of thieves stealing a few eggs and chickens," he had snarled. "We need more residential buildings. We need a glassworks, we need a second carpentry shop, we need to expand the smelter. We need manpower and wood and I''m not going to waste any on building a palisade. We''ll build a fort at the base of the peninsula, later. We''ll build TWO forts! But not now. Later. When we''ve got a surplus of wood after clearing land for fields and pastures." There were 248 colonists living in the settlement at the moment, counting Kirk and Adam; Kirk estimated he needed at least twice that to get things really going. But food was a major problem - Kirk was obliged to send at least half of all produced food back to Earth. Nearly half of the colony''s population was involved in food production, one way or another. The gatherers already had to spend a full day traveling before they found a single mushroom or a berry. Luckily the fish didn''t seem to get scarcer, even though the fishermen were pulling in over a ton almost every day. "Sir?" Kirk jerked, badly startled. He had stopped by the front steps to his house without thinking, lost in his daydream as his eyes wandered over the settlement. He focused on the man who had accosted him, and recognized him instantly as one of the people working in the smelter. He was an old man, far too old to be a colonist, in Kirk''s opinion. But back on earth, back in San Francisco, he was a university professor with special knowledge of medieval smelting techniques. "Yes? What is it?" Kirk barked. He wasn''t pleased; he received petitioners at his office every morning. If he let them bother him outside those hours, they''d turn his life to hell. "I''m sorry, sir," said the professor, sounding like he really meant it: really weepy. "I have a favor to ask - a great favor. My relatives - I have two sons back home, and each of them has a family - would very much like to volunteer as colonists, sir. They are out of work and out of money and are close to starving." "What do they do? I mean, what are their professions?" "They are - they worked in the banking industry, sir. They were vice-presidents." "And they ran out of money? Incredible." "They were fired without any notice or severance pay, sir. The banks they worked for are going into liquidation. All their savings were in stocks and shares, and evaporated. They will work for food, sir, as long as they can send some home. They don''t need pay." Kirk shrugged. "I''m sure they can raise enough money to buy licenses and set up colonies of their own," he said. "They''ll be able to do that in a week''s time. They can survive a week, can''t they? Don''t they have any, I don''t know, family silver that they can sell off? Correct that. Tell them to register a mint, and start making coins. And start their own colonies. I''ll give you a tip: tell them to choose locations some distance away from San Francisco. This whole area is going to get very crowded, very soon." "They can''t join the settlement, sir? They''re good boys, with good heads." "I don''t need good heads," Kirk said. "I need skillful hands. Are they any good with their hands? Can they chop down a tree, build a house, actually make something? Are they good at anything at all, apart from sitting on their asses and looking at a computer screen and attending meetings and making phone calls?" The professor was silent. "Tell them to get a skill," Kirk said. "Tell them to register a mint, and start their own colonies. And next time you want something, come and see me during my office hours." He turned away and climbed the steps and went inside his house, still fuming. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 101 The Final Solution The governor''s house was much nicer and more comfortable than Kirk''s old royal palace in the Lander colony. It had a wooden floor, separate rooms, real furniture. It even had a bathroom; attached to the free-standing kitchen at the back of the house, it boasted a wooden tub and had heating of sorts, thanks to the proximity of the kitchen stove. It was cared for by Kirk''s housekeeper, a thirty-something female that was neither attractive nor ugly. There were nearly fifty females in the settlement, and some of them were very pleasant to look at. But Kirk chose a plain-looking woman on purpose. He didn''t want anyone suspecting he was having sex with his housekeeper, who gave him a blowjob every Saturday evening. Kirk would close his eyes, and imagine someone else''s mouth around his dick: of late, it was almost always Debbie. He missed her. The five days he''d spent on the train so far translated into seven weeks in the New World, a world in which everything was much more physical. Absence did make the heart grow fonder; the old saw was very true. Of course, there was no question of his seeing Debbie in the New World until the Lander colony became legal, and it would be difficult even then. It would take three to four days on horseback to get there, and the same amount of time to get back. He couldn''t abandon his duties for such a long period of time. Kirk stood in the entrance of his house for quite a while, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness. The windows all had solid wood shutters, kept closed when no one was present in a particular room; it was getting chilly outside, winter was just around the corner. The moment Kirk opened the shutters on one of the windows, a blast of cold air blew into the room that served as Kirk''s bedroom, office, and dining room. Working quickly, he stirred the ashes in the fireplace, found that all the embers had gone out, and spent an increasingly chilly couple of minutes getting a fire going with flint and tinder. Blowing air at the tiny flames, he swore and cursed when hot ash got into his eyes. Continuing to curse, he arranged the sticks of firewood so that they would burn slowly and evenly, then went up the window and stood there blinking until his tears washed away all the dirt. He didn''t want to rub his eyes. The first and the last time he did that in the New World, he developed conjunctivitis and it took a full month for his eyes to recover. The window he stood at afforded a view of a field. Several women were tending the cows and sheep grazing among tree stumps that had proven too difficult to tear out. Kirk narrowed his eyes: from what he could see, at least two were pregnant. Fuck! More babies! Babies were totally unproductive, more, they cut into the productivity of his settlement. And he couldn''t forbid sex; it was about the only entertainment the settlers had. The settlement''s two doctors had tried to make contraceptive sheaths out of sheep intestines, but as could be seen the results were highly unsatisfactory. Kirk closed the shutters, plunging the room into semi-darkness lit only by the crackling fire. It would be at least an hour before his housekeeper returned with whatever mushrooms and berries and firewood she''d managed to find. He felt like a nap. His housekeeper would wake him when dinner was ready. He went up to the long, wide bench set against the wall and lay down on its leather cushions... ... and lay with his eyes shut for a while, listening to the rhythmic double thump of the carriage wheels as the train sped on towards New York. He was hungry. He sat up on his bunk, and allowed himself the luxury of rubbing his eyes without fear of an infection caused by dirty hands. He carefully dragged the smaller of his two suitcases off the rack, put it on his bunk, and opened it. It was half-full of food; he''d already eaten the other half. He''d been warned that there would be no restaurant car on the train, and had prepared accordingly. Smoked meat and bread again! Oh well; at least he still had some wine. While he ate, Kirk sought to improve his morale by thinking about all the millions of people who sucked their left thumb for breakfast and the right thumb for dinner and maybe, just maybe, got to eat some leaves and grass for lunch. This reminded him that Brock was expecting to hear solutions to that very situation. But the only solutions that came to Kirk''s mind were partial ones. Require everyone to grow their own fruit and vegetables? The average city dweller would find it hard to survive a month on a full year''s bumper crop. It was fucking hopeless. Many people would just have to die. Luckily, the unproductive ones would go first - old people, and babies. They would be accompanied by those whose lives depended on taking all sorts of pills regularly. The next batch would consist of people who were inherently frail in one way or another. Birth defects, inherited diseases, low aggression - all this spelled a quick death. Aggression was particularly important. Aggression led to initiative; aggression made people get up off their asses, it made them DO things as opposed to sitting and bitching and moaning. Who knew? Maybe all those deaths would be a blessing in disguise. Survival of the fittest. That was the way Nature had planned it, and who could argue with Nature? Wasn''t Nature always right? Kirk sighed. It seemed the only solution he could think of was letting things run their natural course. He couldn''t tell Carlton Brock that, or at least that alone: it would have to be supported by something else, something substantial. A good, strong idea that would cover plenty of bases. A knock on the door to his compartment interrupted his thoughts. "Yes? What is it?" he shouted. A muffled voice informed him that the governors of Illinois and Oklahoma desired a meeting. Kirk stifled a strong desire to tell the man to go to hell, and shouted: "Tell them I''ll be there in ten minutes! And fuck off and die," he added, in an undertone. He looked a mess and it took twelve minutes before he emerged from his compartment, all dapper and fortified by two slugs of brandy from his chest flask. A worried-looking man in a rumpled suit and an unbuttoned overcoat - some sort of government flunkey - was waiting for him in the corridor outside. Kirk followed him to the Omaha governor''s compartment. It was located at the other end of the carriage. He passed an open compartment door on the way and glanced and saw a man in trousers and undershirt sitting on his bunk with his face buried in his hands. Kirk reached out and slammed the door shut and walked on, thinking: what a fucking idiot! Putting himself in public view like that! Some people really had no shame. The Omaha senator was clearly one of those people: it turned out it was him that had called the meeting. However, he was quick to press a very big bourbon into Kirk''s hand, thus proving to possess basic political skills. Somewhat mollified, Kirk seated himself alongside the Illinois governor, who was very busy with his drink: his glass was almost empty. Three governors, Kirk thought: two former senators against an arriviste Mr Nobody with money and good bourbon. He refreshed himself with half the contents of his glass and said to the Omaha governor: "This is fine whiskey. Now what is this all about? You wanted to share something? Ask something, talk? Then let''s talk." The Omaha senator looked uncomfortable. Then he said: "It''s governor Carlton Brock''s request to come up with solutions to the present situation. You know. He''s talked to you too. He''s talked to everyone about it. I thought it could be a good idea for the three us us to get together and, you know, present it together. As fruit of our collective efforts. I would like a formal motion that we do so. We can vote on that right now." "I see," Kirk said. "You can''t come up with anything so you bring us in on the chance one of us did. And then the two clueless ones vote to use his idea, sparing themselves the difficulty of some hard thinking. Am I correct? Is that the way you''ve figured it out?" The Omaha senator stared at Kirk. He swallowed and said: "Yes, that''s exactly how I figured it out. More bourbon?" "Not bad," said Kirk, holding out his glass. "You''ve got a future in politics. Okay, let''s have that vote. Senator? Sir." But the Illinois governor was asleep. He was well over seventy: mottled skin showed through milky white strands of his surviving hair. His wire-framed, round spectacles had slipped to the tip of his nose: his eyes were two wrinkled purple pouches, sunk deep into his face. Kirk shook his shoulder. "Wake up, senator," he said sternly. He kept calling the Illinois governor ''senator'' to remind the Omaha guy who was who. The Illinois governor sighed; a bit of spittle appeared in the corner of his mouth. "I abstain," he said weakly, eyes still shut. "It''s none of my business." Kirk turned to the Omaha governor and said: "Please record one abstention. What''s your vote?" "Aye." Kirk nodded. "So I thought," he said, and drank some bourbon. "Well, what''s your vote?" Kirk was about to agree - what the hell, they both had nothing, they could kick the ball around a little and see if they scored as a team - but then he had a brainwave. He had an idea! He had the final solution to Brock''s problem! And it had been the old codger from Illinois that had supplied the answer. That whole thing, the deaths and the approaching famine and so on - it was none of Brock''s business! It was Penny''s. Mark Penny was the President of the United States. Brock should let Penny deal with all that shit. He grinned at the Omaha senator and said: "I vote against. I like to do my thinking on my own." He put down his empty glass, wobbling slightly as he stood up. "Fucking trains," he said. "Good luck, governor. And thank you for the refreshments." "Please wait. Let''s discuss it further." Kirk shook his head. The Illinois senator unexpectedly let out a bubbling snore that ended with a whistling wheeze. Kirk pointed at him, and said: "Why don''t you try talking to this guy? He could have some good ideas." He smiled at the Omaha governor, and left. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 102 An Unlikely Colonis Kirk was about to lie down and revisit the New World when the train squealed to a stop at a station. He was expecting this: the train had been crawling through an urban area for the past ten minutes. What he didn''t expect was the sight of another train at the station. It seemed to have just arrived from the opposite direction - Buffalo? - and was pulled by a small diesel engine. Its angular shapes suggested it wasn''t much younger than the steam Baldwin at the head of Kirk''s train. Intrigued, he got up to get a better look. He was just in time to see the other train depart: the diesel hooted, and a shudder ran along the train. Clanking and rattling, the carriages began to move. It was a short train: two passenger cars, six cargo, ending with a cistern that revealed a small group of people standing on the platform across the tracks. They had obviously just gotten off the train: clutching their luggage, they were hurriedly lining up in front of an enterprising man who appeared to be selling corn-on-the-cob from a handcart. Fascinated, Kirk watched the corn being snapped up, ignoring the sounds of activity behind his back: slamming doors, footsteps hurrying along the corridor, voices asking questions, muffled answers. He pushed his window open and inhaled the cold air and smelled the corn - it was buttered! Lord Almighty! He wouldn''t have minded buying a couple of cobs himself. Most of the people in the lineup were buying more than two. In fact, they were buying so many that the corn was all gone before the last person in the lineup - a young man in an anorak carrying an enormous backpack - could buy any. The corn guy instantly wheeled his cart around and started pushing it towards the platform exit. "Hey," the young man shouted. "Hey! I wanted to buy some! I wanted to buy some corn!" The Baldwin engine emitted a piercing whistle and Kirk almost fell over when the train jerked and began creeping forward. He steadied himself with a hand on the open window, and slid it shut. Simultaneously, the compartment door behind his back slammed as someone wrenched it open. Kirk turned and saw a big travelling bag enter his compartment. It fell to the floor with a thump, revealing a young woman, hardly more than a girl. She had shoulder-length blond hair with a center parting and was dressed in a sheepskin jacket with fur trim and jeans and knee-high boots. A bulging satchel that matched the bag hung from her shoulder. She was breathing heavily from exertion, and she was quite pretty. She looked at Kirk and said: "Oh. I''m sorry. I thought this compartment was empty." "Unfortunately it isn''t," Kirk said. "I''m sure you can find one further down the carriage. But why don''t you sit down for a minute to catch your breath? Then I''ll help you find a place." "Thanks." She stepped over the bag and sat down, and Kirk congratulated himself for having made up his bunk prior to leaving for his earlier meeting with the other governors. "Deborah Wilson," she said, introducing herself without looking at Kirk. His irritation instantly disappeared. Debbie! Just like his wife! The traveling bag and the satchel were made of thick coffee-colored leather: the girl had class, too - Kirk recognized class instantly. "Kirk Lander," he said, and felt some of his earlier irritation return: the girl showed no sign of recognizing his name. "Governor of California." That got her attention, all right. She looked at Kirk, eyes widening. "Wow," she said. "A governor? Wow. This means, does it mean you''re already been there? In the New World?" "Many times." Kirk thought briefly about sitting down next to her, but decided to remain standing. It allowed him to talk down to her without appearing to. "Really? Could you tell me a little about it? You see, I''m on my way to join my boyfriend in New York. Him and me and some friends are going to start a colony. He''s already registered a mint!" "You''re going to start a colony?" repeated Kirk, somewhat doubtfully. He couldn''t quite see that girl sleeping in the open and chopping wood and dressing dead animals and cooking food over an open fire. "Oh yes. I can''t wait. It sounds like paradise. Clean air and water, no sickness or disease, and pure, unspoiled nature all around." "Well it''s not quite like that," Kirk said diplomatically. "Really? But that''s what I heard." "Well it''s definitely true about the air and water," said Kirk. "As long as you drink from a stream or a spring. And there is no flock of sheep doing the same thing a little upstream, urinating and defecating while they''re drinking. They like to do that. As for the air, you must know you''ll be doing a lot of breathing inside a house with one or more fires burning. It can get pretty smoky, at times." "Oh." "Sickness and disease, hmm. How shall I put it. It''s true we haven''t seen any epidemics so far. But a lot of people had, uh, upset stomachs. And it''s easy to catch a cold. Also, life there is, is... very physical. It''s likely you''ll be carrying at least a few bruises and cuts at any given time." "Oh." This time, he heard suspicion in her voice. He said: "At least that''s been my experience. Tell me, are you planning to launch your colony from New York?" "I think so, yes." "You realize tens, maybe hundreds of thousands of New Yorkers will be doing the same thing?" "Do you really think so?" "More than that. I''m practically sure of it. In San Francisco for example, the interest has been immense. I''m estimating that there will be at least a couple of million colonists in California." "But isn''t there ten times as much space? I heard there''s a difference in scale." "There is. My point is, it might be wiser to launch a colony in a different spot from a million other people." "My boyfriend says we''ll be ahead of everyone else, " Deborah Wilson said confidently. "We''re going right on the first of March." "It will be the middle of the fall over there. Please keep in mind you''ll be arriving stark naked, and without any tools or food." "Boy. You really are encouraging, with all this stuff." "Sorry if I disillusioned you. That''s the way things are. I just wanted you to know." She kept a slightly hostile silence throughout their search for a free compartment, and refused Kirk''s help in moving her luggage. He said goodbye and left her, shrugging. Kids! They always had to learn the hard way. He''d had to learn the hard way too, when he was a kid. That was just the way things were. He finally got to lay down and fall asleep nearly an hour later than he''d planned. In consequence, he arrived in the New World just as the day was drawing to a close. However, it was good timing in other respects. He found himself seated at the table, halfway through a dinner prepared by his housekeeper: a whole roasted fowl of some kind, mashed turnip, and buttered corn. It was delicious, especially the buttered corn. He''d wanted some ever since he''d smelled the cobs sold by the guy at the station, earlier. And really, New World food was so much tastier! He was about to ask his housekeeper for a second helping when the front door banged open, and Adam stormed in. "Dad," he said, "I''m sorry to interrupt your meal, but we must talk at once. In private," he added, glancing at the housekeeper hovering by the back door. She reddened and left. When they could no longer hear her her footsteps, Adam said: "One of the patrols just came back. Dad, they ran into a settlement belonging to our colony." "What! When? Where? I mean, which settlement?" "It''s a new one. Bernard''s been pushing south to reach San Francisco Bay as close to March 1st as possible. I told him to be careful, Dad. I told him we''ve got patrols going all along the shore. Fortunately the people there, our settlers managed to run and hide before the soldiers saw them." "Then how do they, how do you know it''s one of our settlements?" "They''ve searched the camp and brought back a couple of pots. They''re our pots, Dad. I recognized them." "Shit. Forgive me if I continue eating." "Of course." Kirk cut away a slice of roast meat, speared it with his knife and put it in his mouth. He chewed thoughtfully for a while, swallowed, and said: "We must warn Bernard. Adam, you have to go home and tell him what''s afoot." "I''ll be absent for a week. Someone might get suspicious, Dad." "You''ll be absent from San Francisco, back on Earth. You''ll be present here. That''s what counts. What''s keeping you in San Francisco, anyway? You don''t need to be there, do you?" "I do. I''m meeting Randy tomorrow. He''s going to brief me on Placek. He also said he''ll have a rough plan of her settlement. He''s actually commanding a troop there." "Ah! That''s very important. You must stay for that. You can go home after you''ve seen Randy." "But that''s ten New World days, Dad. If we don''t send out a stronger patrol to investigate that settlement within a week at the outside, eyebrows will be raised and all sorts of rumors may start. We can''t afford that." "No. We can''t. You know something? Give me an hour. Let me finish dinner and give it proper thought. I''m sure I''ll come up with something." "You want me to come back in an hour?" "Yes. And Adam? It wouldn''t hurt if you did some thinking too, in the meantime. Who knows, you might come up with a winner." "Okay. See you later, Dad." Kirk finished his food without much pleasure, eating mechanically while his brain raced to find a solution to this new predicament. He couldn''t allow anyone to find out about the Lander colony - not just yet. March 1st was only three days away, back on Earth. But that was a full month in the New World. He looked at the debris on his wooden plate, then picked up the bone from the drumstick and bit its soft end off. He gnawed on the bone until it was reduced to a handful of splinters, licked clean of aspic. One of these, with a particularly sharp end, pricked his tongue while he was sucking on it. Kirk winced; then a beatific smile slowly spread on his face. He had found a way out! He pushed his plate away, wishing he had a cigar. He deserved it. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 103 The Fine Art of Lying It was raining when Kirk woke up the next day. His housekeeper hadn''t come in yet and he dressed shivering in the cold, dark room. He combed his hair with his fingers, put on a wide-brimmed leather hat, and went out to see Adam. He half-ran, half-walked across the assembly square: Adam''s house was directly across from his. Kirk went around the side of the house and knocked on the back door and waited and waited and knocked again and waited some more. He was close to boiling by the time a disheveled Adam answered the door. "Get your ass in gear, son," he hissed, the moment they were inside. "We need to take fast action. Call a meeting with Pat Hanson and that patrol commander for noon. At your house, not mine. I want it low-key. Okay?" "I had the impression you wanted to drag things out as much as possible," said Adam. "It''s counterproductive. What we need to do is keep the boys busy. I''ll ask Pat how many men he can spare from the garrison, and send them out on patrols along the coast. You know how Pat hates weakening the garrison, he''s constantly worried about us being rushed by a horde of illegals. He won''t release more than a dozen men. That''s enough for three patrols: two along the coast, one going east and the other west, plus one to check on this settlement that''s been discovered. You''ll be in charge of that third patrol, Adam. You''ll go along and make sure your patrol doesn''t run across any more settlements. Of course you have to warn Bernard, too." "Dad, I have to see Randy first." "I know. Call him." "But you said all the phone landlines are likely to be bugged." "Just shoot the breeze with him for a while. Mention you''ll be heading one of the patrols being sent out to discover illegal settlements. Boast that you''ve already found one. He''ll catch on." "Okay," said Adam, a little doubtfully. "See you at noon." Kirk left by the back door. It was still raining, and there were very few people outside. He quickly returned to his house and found that his housekeeper had come in. There was a fire going in the fireplace and a warm pot of ersatz coffee made from roasted grain and acorns. Kirk poured himself a cup and sweetened it with honey from a small clay bowl. His housekeeper was in the outhouse, cooking breakfast in the kitchen. Kirk told her to boil a cauldron of water for his bath and returned to the house for another cup of coffee. It was nearing noon by the time he''d eaten his breakfast and taken his bath; a bath took a hell of a long time in the New World. He went over to Adam''s house to find out everyone had arrived early. Pat Hanson, the settlement''s military commander, stood by the back window. One of its shutters was open, letting in pale light that competed with the glow of the fireplace and the lights of two candles Adam had placed on the table. Two candles! Kirk''s household had ran out of candles a few days earlier. Candles were rationed very strictly. As governor, Kirk was entitled to a triple take: a whopping half a dozen candles a month instead of the standard two. Somehow, they never lasted beyond four weeks, at the outside. He privately suspected his housekeeper might be stealing them when they''d burned down to short stubs. Adam was seated at the table together with a soldier Kirk couldn''t recall meeting before. The soldier was attempting to draw something on a piece of birch bark, using a short stick with a blackened end. Kirk knew it would take another year before the paper mill was completed, and actually produced any paper. The settlement was only eighteen months old, after all. But being reminded of the paper situation never failed to irritate him anyway. He was a governor! How was he supposed to run things without proper writing utensils? A governor without documents was like a soldier without a weapon. "Good morning, everyone," Kirk said sternly. He invited Hanson to seat himself at the table, but remained standing himself. He gave everyone the hard, appraising eye, mouth set in an angry line. The soldier that had been drawing some sort of map had three pale, wooden pips on the single epaulette of his leather jacket. He was a sergeant, had to be the commander of the patrol that had found the illegal settlement. "First and foremost, I want to swear everyone present to total secrecy," said Kirk. "No one must be allowed to learn of what we discussed here. Gentlemen, I suspect we have a spy in our midst. I think one or more of our colonists may be agents working for outlaw colonizers. We all know criminal organizations, especially the biker gangs, are very eager to establish a strong foothold in our world." "A spy?" Adam said incredulously. Watch and listen and learn, son, Kirk thought grimly. ""Most likely more than one," he said. "I wouldn''t be surprised if the illegals from that settlement turned out to have their man here. Maybe that''s how they managed to avoid capture by you and your men, sergeant." The sergeant was predictably eager to support any explanation that absolved him from blame. He jumped up from his seat and said: "That''s brilliant, sir. Yes, that''s what must have happened." "Well, I''m going to give you a second chance," Kirk said. He turned to Hanson. "Colonel, I need you to immediately send out patrols to comb the country for illegals. How many men can you spare?" Hanson made a face as if he''d just bitten on a very sour lemon. "I can''t really spare any," he said. "It''s not like they are sitting around on their asses. We''re building two new watchtowers." After a short discussion, Hanson grudgingly admitted the world wouldn''t come to an abrupt end if he assigned a dozen soldiers to patrol duties. The rest of the meeting went exactly as planned. Adam put in a fine performance when Kirk commanded him to join the sergeant''s patrol. He agreed very strongly he should go, but protested it was simply impossible for him to leave the settlement at such short notice. He was sure the sergeant and his men could use a few days'' rest, too: after all, they''d only just returned after a long absence. Once again, the sergeant agreed with great enthusiasm. In the end, it was agreed that the coastal patrols would set out the very next day, and Adam''s group - a full week later. "You were a master, Dad," said Adam, after the two soldiers had left. "Thank you, thank you very much," said Kirk. "Listen son, do you think you could let me have one of those candles? The shorter one, of course. I''m out." "Of course," Adam said. "Just remember to save and give me the wax." Kirk nodded. Beeswax was a very precious commodity. All colonists, including himself, were required to turn in the melted wax from their candles. Anyone who didn''t risked getting their candle ration cut in half. "I''m going to hang around until the evening," he told his son. "Then I''m going to tune out for a while. I''m going to have hell in New York, Adam. I can feel it." "Why?" "Because the next few days will be hell for everyone. And it will get even worse when March hits. It will be total chaos, for weeks." "How long are you staying there?" "Don''t know. Definitely can''t stay more than a week. It''s going to take ages to get back on that fucking train, too." "Maybe you''ll get air transport this time." "No chance. Brock swore every working plane is booked for months ahead. Listen, can you handle things here today? I want to check the progress on our new industrial village." "That would be good. Maybe you could resolve the current problem there." "What problem?" "Everyone''s objecting to the tannery because of the stink. They want it moved at least half a kilometer away from the other workshops." "I''ll see what I can do." The rain had stopped by the time Kirk mounted his horse, and he was enjoying himself by the time he left the main settlement. The track ran between pastures and fields covered with the short stubble left after the harvest. A rainbow had appeared to the east - it had to be good omen! Maybe they''d already managed to produce something at the newly built distillery? If so, the governor was obliged to test the quality of the product. Kirk was smiling to himself at this prospect when suddenly everything went black, and he felt himself falling. It was a while before he realized that he''d fallen out of his bunk, and was lying on the floor of his compartment. The train gave one last spasmodic jerk, and stopped. Kirk got up and approached the window without switching the light on. He thought he saw a white flash in the distance. He heard the popping of faraway gunshots the moment he opened the window. He stuck his head out, grimacing at the cold, damp air, and saw a soldier standing by the side of the train, holding his assault rifle at the ready. "Hey!" shouted Kirk. "Can you tell me what''s going on? Why have we stopped?" The soldier didn''t answer. He glanced at Kirk, raised his arm and pointed in the direction of the distant gunfire. It seemed to intensify; there was a flash, immediately followed by a muffled thump. Grenades! This was serious. Someone knocked sharply on the compartment door, making Kirk jump. "Come in!" he called, turning around. He reached out and turned on the compartment light. The door slid open, and a young soldier leaned inside. He wore no cap and had corporal''s stripes on his sleeves. "Just a quick heads-up, sir," he said. "There is no danger to us, or the train. It''s just the locals fighting between themselves." He started to withdraw. "Wait!" shouted Kirk. "What locals? Why are they fighting?" "I understand it''s a conflict between two local militias. That''s all I know." "And we''re going to sit here and wait until they kill each other off?" "Something like that. There''s a lot of stray bullets flying around. Now please excuse me, sir, I have to tell the others." He left the compartment door open. Cursing softly, Kirk slid it shut. Then he switched off the light and returned to the window just in time to see another grenade explode. If this was what went on in Pennsylvania, what would be waiting for him in New York? He was glad he''d taken his Colt along with a couple of spare magazines. He shook his head. "Jesus wept," he whispered. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 104 It Is Better To Travel Than To Arrive "Jesus wept," muttered Kirk. He put down his luggage, and inspected his new living quarters. He''d been assigned a room at the Westin hotel in New York. Located almost exactly halfway between New York''s Central Station and the United Nations Headquarters, it had been chosen as the temporary residence of the state governors summoned by Carlton Brock. Under normal circumstances, it took no more than seven-eight minutes to walk from the station to the hotel, and from the hotel to the UN building. Unfortunately, the circumstances were anything but normal. To being with, Kirk had to carry his own luggage all the way: the soldiers that had escorted him and the other governors from the station refused to help. Well, they did help the Illinois governor after he''d dropped to the pavement, wheezing and gasping as if his last moment had arrived. Kirk briefly contemplated pulling a similar stunt, but his pride wouldn''t allow it. The soldiers relented once everyone was inside the hotel, and carried the governors'' baggage up to the fifth floor. They all had to use the stairs. Some efficiency genius had implemented a computerized system to reduce elevator waiting time, and all the guest elevators weren''t working. The staff and service elevators hadn''t been hooked up to the system - apparently elevator waiting time wasn''t a concern there - and Kirk couldn''t understand why they couldn''t use those instead of the stairs. "It''s a power conservation thing, sir," the lieutenant commanding the escort told him. "They''re only used for emergencies. The staff have to use the stairs, too." It was clear that the hotel staff disliked climbing the stairs as much as Kirk did: the room smelled of dust and dirt. Kirk had already been warned that the air conditioning was switched on for an hour twice a day, in the morning and in the evening. He hadn''t been warned about the silverfish in the bathroom and the bedbugs and cockroaches everywhere else. A particularly impudent cockroach was waving its antennae at him from the night table. Moving as stealthily as a trained commando, Kirk took off one of his shoes, grasped its toe, and crept towards the cockroach, making sure he raised the hand holding the shoe very, very slowly. He stopped when he was within range, held his breath, and brought the shoe down with all his force. The smack was as loud as a pistol shot, but the fucking thing skittered away at the last moment, so fast that Kirk wasn''t sure where it went. The light from the window was pretty weak. He had been instructed to switch on the room lights only after nightfall, and cautioned to use the bathroom light sparingly. They expected him to shit in the dark! It was outrageous. Fuming, Kirk opened the mini bar and found it contained just three miniature bottles: one vodka, one scotch, one bourbon. He drank all three and embarked on a vicious campaign against all forms of insect life in his bedroom and bathroom. When he was done, he treated himself to a tepid shower, shaved, and carefully combed his hair. He found a lot of new grey hairs. He''d brought a coloring rinse, but was too tired to fuck around with that. Fortunately, his hair was still thick enough to completely hide his implant. He checked the time and saw that he still had a full hour before the meeting scheduled in one of the hotel''s conference rooms. He decided to rest a little. He needed it after that grueling train journey, a journey that had been extended by almost half a day by stoppages forced by ongoing gun battles near the railroad tracks. What was it with Pennsylvania? There had been no gunfights along the way in Nevada, Utah, Colorado, Nebraska... The guy from Omaha - about to be officially confirmed as Nebraska''s governor - had ventured the guess that the militias were fighting for control over the areas corresponding to mineral-rich areas in the New World. "We had some guys like that in Nebraska," he told Kirk as they were getting off the train in New York. "I sent the fucking army in. Sorted it out in no time at all. I set up colonial administration centers everywhere they''d fought, sometimes in the middle of fucking nowhere, and founded New World settlements from those locations. And what do you know, my guys discovered a bunch of illegal colonies and a shitload of goodies. We even found gold and silver. Who is the guy in charge of Pennsylvania? Do you know?" "There are, ahem, two Pennsylvania senators," said Kirk, with extra stress on ''senators''. "I have no idea which one was appointed governor of Pennsylvania, both here and in the New World. Maybe they''ve each been given part of the state territory. I don''t know." "You mean you got two guys running the place instead of one? That explains it. They''re probably fighting each other through their proxies, each trying to grab a bigger piece of the pie." "Don''t be a fool." "We''ll see who is the fool eventually." Kirk was about to tell the guy from Omaha what he thought about him in a few well-chosen words, but at that moment the lieutenant leading the escort showed up and told them they''d have to walk to the fucking hotel. Lying on his bed, Kirk closed his eyes and immediately opened them very wide. He couldn''t fall asleep! He had to stay in the here and now. He got up and slapped his face a couple of times and lit one of his remaining cigars: he was down to six, he simply had to get some more. He smoked it very slowly, luxuriating in its taste and thinking that every cloud had a silver lining, after all. The failure of all the computerized systems meant he could smoke all he liked in his hotel room and no one was any wiser: the smoke detectors did not work. He finished his cigar with expert timing, with just five minutes to go before the meeting. He ran a last check on his appearance, and was examining his face for new lines when there was a knock on his door. A soldier had arrived to take him to the meeting; on the way, Kirk wondered aloud what was up with that - couldn''t they simply call his room if they wanted to make sure he was there? His guide informed him the hotel''s internal phone system didn''t work. "Not many things seem to work nowadays, sir," he said with a smile before leaving Kirk in front of the entrance to the conference room, and at the mercy of the Omaha asshole who was nearby and immediately pounced on Kirk. "Guess what," he said. "There was a letter from governor Brock waiting for me in my room, along with a bottle of champagne. Warm, but what the hell. It confirmed my nomination as governor of Nebraska." "Good for you," said Kirk. "Bad for Nebraska." He turned away and entered the conference room before the Omaha asshole could make a riposte. It was clear not all the governors were present: Kirk quickly counted the heads, and came up with twenty three. Many faces were familiar. After a short hesitation. Kirk chose to approach a face he didn''t particularly like. However, it belonged to one Ron Small, a senator from Colorado. Ron Small was always extremely well-informed about everything that went on. That was how he''d become a senator. He''d had no money, not really when compared with any other senator. He had no connections. He wasn''t well-known, let alone popular: Kirk recalled a poll in which only one in ten Denver residents knew who Ron Small was. However, almost anyone involved in politics in Colorado knew Ron Small only too well. This was because they''d all met Small when he popped out of the shadows to inform them that he knew about their personal crimes. There was this little matter of a half a million dollars in return for a road repair contract. There was another involving a juicy Mexican senorita, newly pregnant and dismissed from her job, yet able to purchase a palatial home and luxury car with ready cash. Not bad for someone newly pregnant and newly unemployed! And how about that recent rezoning that increased the real estate value of select properties by close to a 100% overnight? By a curious coincidence, all of the lucky owners had made very large cash withdrawals just prior to that decision. Yes, Ron Small knew where everything was at, and it was good to talk to him even though he was short and ugly and had bad breath. He was alone at the moment, standing in the corner like a disliked pupil in a hostile classroom: Kirk guessed the governors present had all had an intimate, unpleasant conversation with Small at one time or another; now they were shunning him. Kirk had no reason to shun Ron Small. Small had nothing on him. All of Kirk''s peccadilloes had been dealt with, a long time earlier. And he''d never taken any bribes. He didn''t need to, he was fucking rich. And of course he was a man of strict morals, strict principles. And so Kirk approached Ron Small without any fear, and smiled at him and said: "Ron. Good to see you. How have you been?" "Excellent, just excellent," Small said suspiciously. "And you? I hear you''ve been doing very well. More than well." "Really? What do you mean? I''d like a morale booster." Kirk''s words gave Small an instant mental hard-on. He said, a little breathlessly: "Jesus. Don''t look at me like that, I may be Jewish but I still believe in Jesus. What the hell are you talking about, Kirk? You got nominated governor of California over Libby Placek. And you know she''s got plenty of pull, she''s fucking all of the lesbian senators and at least half the dykes in the Congress." "Perhaps that''s why she lost. Besides, you''re kidding me, Ron. She''s got a face that could stop a thousand clocks." "Maybe she''s got good moves, good action," said Small. "Did you think of that?" He sounded resentful, and Kirk realized the ugly little runt had taken that last remark personally. It was best to surrender quickly, before he turned hostile. "I didn''t," he said. "I''m too tired to fucking think. I''ve just spent almost a week on a fucking train and I could use a break. You know what, Ron, let''s make a deal. You ask me anything you want and answer just a couple of questions for me, in return. How''s that? Fair?" Ron Small grinned at Kirk. He had blindingly white teeth, teeth that implied a sweet strawberry breath. They had to be artificial, Kirk thought: no living bone could be as white as that. Small said: "I''ve heard you''ve got a colony going, Kirk. In addition to being governor. Is it true?" Before Kirk could answer, before Kirk could react a voice intoned: "Ladies and gentlemen, please take your chosen seats. Ladies and gentlemen, please seat yourselves now at the seats corresponding with the nameplate on the table." Kirk threw a glance it the direction of the voice and saw Lea Panatella standing alongside a man holding a megaphone. He turned to Small. "I''ll talk to you later," he said. "That would be good," said Small. They both began looking for their seats at the conference table. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 105 The Hand of God The padded seat of Kirk''s chair had a small brown stain right in the center of the cushion. Kirk frowned at it for a while: it looked dry. He sat down cautiously and glanced left, then right. The neighbor on his left was one of the few women in the room. Her name was Anabel Adams, and she was a senator from Alabama: the first black female senator ever elected in a southern state. The last few weeks had been good to her; she''d shed at least twenty kilograms of weight. She needed to lose another forty - her arms were as thick as Kirk''s thighs. On Kirk''s right sat Edwin Looseberry, the octogenarian senator from Maine. Looseberry sported an improbably thick mop of white hair on the top of his head, painstakingly installed by a talented hair transplant professional. The mottled hands sticking out of his expensive suit looked as if they''d been transplanted too, from an ancient Egyptian mummy. He was always grinning, maybe because his eyesight and hearing were very poor. Kirk exchanged how-are-yous with Adams, and patted Looseberry''s shoulder to get his attention. "What? What?" said Looseberry. "Wait a moment. Wait a moment! I got it. Lander! Kirk Lander. How are you. You from California, right?" "Correct," said Kirk, wondering how the hell Looseberry could have been appointed Maine''s governor. The other Maine senator, Chuck Piffel, would have been a much better choice. Looseberry seemed to read his thoughts. "Chuck went private," he said. "Chuck''s starting a colony of his own. So here I am." "It''s good to see you," lied Kirk, stunned by Looseberry''s prescience. He reminded himself that this was exactly why Looseberry kept being re-elected as senator. He seemed to have the ability to read people''s minds. He was doing it now. Grinning, he said: "Didn''t expect that, eh? I''ll tell you something. Yes, I''ll tell you something. We are all going to be very surprised, shortly. We -" "Ladies and gentlemen," the megaphone voice interrupted, "May I have your attention please." The hubbub around the long table died; heads turned. With everyone''s eyes on her, Lea Panatella confidently strode towards the empty chair at the head of the table, and sat down. What was this? Had she been appointed governor of the entire US territory? Impossible! But Lea''s enormous tits, seemingly unaffected by the laws of gravity, were a silent statement that anything was possible. She beamed at the shocked faces, and said: "First of all I want to apologize very deeply on behalf of governor Brock. Governor Brock has been detained by unexpected developments. As we all know, these are difficult times. Governor Brock has instructed me to say he''ll meet you all tomorrow at nine in the morning, for a working breakfast followed by a series of briefings and a working lunch. There will be a question and answer session next, and following that governor Brock will remain available for one-on-one consultations, until... until five o''clock. You are all invited to a working dinner at six, during which any remaining issues and questions will be dealt with. As long as it''s possible, of course - as we all know, these are difficult times." She broke off and beamed at everyone once again, as if difficult times were a source of unending joy. "Now wait a moment," boomed Anabel Adams, making Kirk jump in his chair. "Can you tell us something about the other arrangements? What about the rest of today? It''s almost dinner time." Before Panatella could answer, another voice shouted: "Where can I get a can of Raid or Black Flag or whatever? My room''s crawling with bugs!" A chorus of voices strongly supported that statement. Lea Panatella smiled, and waited for the ruckus to die down. When it did, she said: "Unfortunately, given the ventilation situation we cannot use chemical insecticide inside the building. It could cause serious respiratory problems. And we have been unable to secure any insect traps. Believe me, we tried very hard. So in absence of everything else, we have provided each room with a supply of illustrated magazines." "Magazines?" "You expect me to read myself to sleep with cockroaches crawling across my face?" "I didn''t see any magazines!" "Neither did I!" Lea Panatella rose from her chair and pulled her shoulders back, aiming her tits like a couple of nuclear warheads at the outraged faces. It worked. They fell silent, just like wailing babies plugged with pacifiers. "You will find the magazines, along with food, when you return to your rooms," she said. "Once again, I''d like to apologize for all those inconveniences. Whatever they are, they are relatively minor in comparison to what''s happening right now in most American families. In fact, in families all over the world. Which is why governor Brock has convened this conference. We have to find solutions!" Kirk glanced around the table. The glum faces indicated proposed solutions would be few and far between. He felt Anabel Adams nudge his shoulder. "What is it with those magazines?" she hissed into Kirk''s ear. "Has that woman gone crazy?" "It''s not like that," said Kirk, edging away and turning to look at her. "I mean, they aren''t meant to be read. What you do is take a magazine, roll it into a baton, and use it to whack bugs." Unexpectedly, Anabel giggled. "Lordy me," she said. "I haven''t done that since I was a little kid! It might be fun." "I envy your optimism," Kirk said, a little stiffly, and turned to look at Lea. Lea Panatella was saying something that sounded very important. However, he was late. "... is no further questions, governor Brock and I would like to wish you all a good and restful night. See you in the morning!" Edwin Looseberry turned in his seat to grin at Kirk. "Did she say, a good and restful night?" he asked. "She did," Kirk told him. "She seems to have a sardonic sense of humor." He got up, instinctively noting that he was the first to do so: immediately, several others followed suit. Good timing! That was what really made a politician: good timing. A successful leader sensed what people wanted, and moved first. Everyone followed automatically. Small was in the act of getting himself up when Kirk touched his arm. "Ron," he said. ''Yes," Small said. "Let''s talk." They retreated to the anteroom, moving to a corner where they wouldn''t be overheard unless someone tried really hard. Kirk glanced round to make sure no one was doing that, and said: "What did Lea say at the very end? It sounded important, but I didn''t catch that." "Oh, just bullshit about not going out without an escort and sentries posted on every floor." "Sentries? They''re keeping us in here under armed guard?" "It''s supposed to be for our own good. Our own safety." "Yeah. I seem to remember they said something like that to the people sent off to concentration camps." "Kirk." "Yes." "I''ll repeat my earlier question. Have you got a colony going?" Kirk grinned. "Of course I have," he said. "So have you. So has everyone else. Carlton specifically appointed governors from senators with active colonies." It was a real whopper of a lie, and this was exactly why it succeeded. Kirk was familiar with the teachings of Goebbels, the Nazi propaganda minister. Goebbels was the master of the big lie. A small lie attempted to influence its audience through a manipulation of facts. A big lie ignored facts altogether, and appealed directly to the emotions. It worked much better than a small lie: people trusted their emotions more than they trusted their brains. That was what made them people. Small''s face had turned pale. He said: "How do you know? Who told you that? I''m not running a colony." "No," agreed Kirk. "Your proxies are. Who told me that? Carlton himself." He''d scored; he was victorious! Small knew that disproving something was much harder than proving it. And Kirk knew that Small was sure to keep tabs on many illegal colonizers in Colorado. It was part of his nature to gather dirt on people. And he would have a hard time explaining why, being Colorado''s governor, he hadn''t reported and shut down all the illegal colonies. It was logical to assume he had a personal interest in that. "If I were you," Kirk said in a friendly tone, "I''d keep all that under my hat. Know what I mean? Like Lea said, these are difficult times. We mustn''t make them more difficult." "No," agreed Small, still a little pale. Kirk was happy to see Small was looking at him with new respect. "See you in the morning, Ron," he said. He gave Small''s shoulder a squeeze, and went off to his room. As had been promised by Lea, food and magazines had been delivered in the meantime. The food consisted of a bunch of MREs, and Kirk grimaced when he read the labels: elbow macaroni with tomato sauce, cheese tortellini, spaghetti with meat sauce. "Mamma mia," he said, sounding as if he was a movie mafioso mourning a dead mother. Then, guided by a sixth sense, he had a look inside the mini bar. Yes! His instinct hadn''t failed him. In his absence, an unseen, mysterious hand had put five new miniature bottles of liquor inside the mini bar. It had to be The Hand of God. No one else could have done that. Kirk rolled his eyes in minor ecstasy. "Thank you," he murmured, reaching out. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 106 Bacon and Eggs "I''ll be damned," said Ron Small. "Yeah," said Kirk. They had just entered the room that had been prepared for their working breakfast with Carlton Brock. Its center was occupied by a very long table covered with white table cloth and featuring very promising-looking settings, with multiple plates before each seat. Two rows of tuxedoed, bow-tied waiters were lined up along opposing walls. Most of them were attempting to smile at the incoming governors. There was nothing halfhearted in Lea Panatella''s smile, however. She was standing at the head of the long table, and she seemed to be as delighted as if she were hosting a birthday party for all her favorite people. She was wearing a cream skirt suit with a white silk shirt and, to Kirk''s experienced eye, the clothes were fresh and clean. Maybe that was why Panatella was so happy: fresh, clean clothes were increasingly hard to come by. "Good morning, good morning everyone," she sang out. "Please seat yourselves wherever you like. Your waiter will take your breakfast order from you." Kirk wanted a place near the top of the table, close to where Carlton Brock would be sitting; however, he was politely but firmly blocked by Panatella. She said: "I''m so sorry, governor Lander. Sir, the first seat on each side is reserved for people coming with governor Brock." Kirk was about to ask who those people were, but he heard Small call his name. He looked: Small had secured a couple of seats, and was waving at Kirk to join him. Five places down from Brock: that wasn''t too bad. "Thanks, Ron," Kirk said. They sat down and almost immediately a waiter appeared between their seats and said to Kirk: "Sir? I''m ready to take your order, sir. Orange or grapefruit juice?" "Orange," said Kirk slightly stunned. "Toast - white or wholewheat?" "Wholewheat." "Scrambled eggs with sausages or sunnyside up with bacon?" "Fried with bacon." Kirk was having difficulty speaking: his mouth was flooded with saliva. This promised to be the best meal in ages! Well, at least a week. He had to swallow twice before he could inform the waiter that he also wanted coffee and strawberry jam. The waiter turned to take Small''s order: Kirk overheard him go for the scrambled eggs with sausages. He frowned. In Kirk''s mind, people who liked scrambled eggs were messed up emotionally. He had valid reasons for this belief: his first two wives had both liked scrambled eggs. The first one had driven into a wall while drunk and stoned, an act that terminated her pleasant high instantly, and her life a day later. Given this experience, he took a risk with his second wife - she was totally into scrambled eggs, sometimes ate them twice a day. But she had been so efficient, so calm and collected when she was still his secretary! And what happened? She ended up as a certified loony locked up in an institution. Was Ron Small fucked up emotionally? Of course he was! He was very smart and very ambitious. He was also ugly and, well, small. A mind like that in a body like that had to find life very painful. In a way, it was natural that he would fight back by gathering dirt on people, and blackmailing them into submission. Well, he''d given the little bastard a nice taste of his own medicine. It had been very effective. Small had abandoned any thoughts of cashing in on his knowledge of the Lander colony. He came around to Kirk''s room that morning and practically stood at attention assuring Kirk that he never had any intention whatsoever of telling anyone anything. It had convinced Kirk that Small really had something going. "Of course, of course," Kirk had said. "We governors must stick together. E pluribus unum." They ended up going to the breakfast together. The waiter had just brought both of them their orange juice when Carlton Brock entered, and everyone rose from their seats. Carlton Brock was accompanied by two people Kirk had never met or seen before: a bald, bespectacled man in a baggy grey suit, and a ugly old woman in a long-sleeved black dress who was also wearing much too much makeup: it made her look like a vampire. The ugly pair quickly moved to take the reserved seats next to Brock, and Kirk nearly burst a brain vessel trying to work out who they were, and what roles they''d come to play. "Good morning, ladies and gentlemen, and please be seated," boomed Brock, putting his hand on the backrest of his seat. He stood like that for a moment, smiling and looking from left to right as everyone wished him a good morning, too. Everyone except the pair he''d brought with him: they had already sat down, and were ordering breakfast from their waiters. "I have a proposition," boomed Brock again. "Let''s eat first and talk second. What do you say?" He grinned, listening to enthusiastic endorsements. He raised a hand, cutting them off, and added: "I know all of you have brought brilliant ideas about how to improve the present, uh, situation. However, before we discuss those, two top experts will brief us on this, uh, situation''s sociological and psychological aspects. To my right - professor Chester Katz, dean of sociology at Harvard University; to my left - professor Yvonne Molito, dean of psychology, and a leading, THE leading authority in the field of behavioral psychology." Kirk noted that neither authority bothered to rise and bow. Katz graced everyone with a nod and an uncertain smile, while Molito gave the assembled governors a ferocious glare. She really looked like an angry vampire about to strike. "All right," boomed Brock. "Let''s eat!" A few people actually clapped. Kirk became aware that Edwin Looseberry was grinning at him from across the table; he was sitting next to the whatshisname - something Irish - governor of Illinois. Kirk frowned; what the fuck was happening to his memory? He used to remember names without any difficulty. Maybe he should consult the vampiric Molito about that. He wanted to ask Small about the Illinois governor - Small was sure to know his name, date of birth, and whether he''d ever caught VD. But before he could do that, the long-awaited eggs arrived. They were a disappointment. One had a yolk so dark it was almost orange; the other was too pale, paler than a lemon. They were both very small eggs, tiny in fact, and they were accompanied by two strips of bacon that clearly came from a stunted pig that had died from starvation. The toast consisted of four wafer-thin triangles, all burnt on one side. The jam came in a thimble-sized plastic container which was about two-thirds full, and there was no ketchup. That was truly odd. Ketchup was one of the very few things still left on some store shelves, back in San Francisco. Kirk stole a glance at Small. Small was sitting with his head bent, examining the spoonful of scrambled eggs on his plate as if he was expecting it to move and run away. The sausages were of the size served on toothpicks at cocktail parties. A few seats down the table, someone was asking a waiter if there was a chance of second helpings in a voice that was both frightened and pleading. Kirk nudged Small with his elbow. "I wonder what we''ll get served with at that working dinner later on," he said. "I''m betting on frog''s legs served on a leaf of old lettuce. What do you say?" Small said nothing. He gave Kirk a dark, sad look and picked up his fork. So did Kirk, and found out the toy eggs were actually very tasty. He was starting to enjoy himself when he heard a terrible, choking croak. He looked up from his plate. Across the table, the no-name governor of Illinois was turning purple. Spit mixed with bits of food was dripping from his open mouth and onto his empty plate. He had already managed to gobble everything down save for his last piece of toast: he was still holding onto that with trembling fingers. Looseberry was grinning at him and saying: "Is something wrong? Tell me. Is something wrong? You can tell me." "He''s choking!" shouted Kirk. "Someone give him the Heimlich maneuver!" "The what?" said governor Looseberry. "What did you say?" The choking governor''s other neighbor seemed to be paralyzed by fear. She was a frail middle-aged woman that had originally become elected a senator mostly on the strength of the sexual abuse she''d suffered as a child. She had also been mugged and raped practically the moment she turned eighteen, and went on to marry an alcoholic who regularly beat her before conveniently dying of liver cancer. Subsequently, she became a fierce advocate of animal rights, which clinched her election. Her love of animals didn''t stop her from enjoying fried bacon - a thin strip was dangling from her upturned fork as she stared at the choking governor, her mouth open in horror. Kirk was about to jump out of his seat and across the table when the Illinois governor suddenly fell silent. The homicidal toast dropped from his fingers. He seemed to be staring right at Kirk with great intensity as he leaned back and toppled off his chair, hitting the floor with a heavy thud. Everyone seemed to spring into action simultaneously. Chairs were overturned by governors in their great eagerness to help. Kirk saw that Carlton Brock had risen from his seat. He was gesturing to someone standing outside the open doors. Kirk noted that Brock''s breakfast was different: it seemed to consist of a slice of melon, nothing more. He heard Small say: "Just look at this. Look at all the fucking heroes." Small''s voice was dripping with spite. Kirk looked at the crowd assembling round the fallen and presumably dead governor of Illinois. It was already so thick he''d have to fight just to get a look at the corpse over someone''s shoulder. He shrugged and looked down at his unfinished food and thought, what the fuck. He cut off a piece of egg white, and put it in his mouth. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 107 Everyone Is Talking The dead governor was removed together with the dirty plates. Kirk watched the body being carried out, then turned to Ron Small and said: "Looks like all those nutrition experts were right. What you eat can kill you." "If you don''t eat, that will kill you too," said Small. He added: "I wonder who Brock will appoint in his place. Old Charlie was an all right guy. A little slow on the uptake, but nice. And the other guy from Illinois is a total asshole." "Old Charlie, yes, yes... I seem to have forgotten his last name." "O''Connor." "That''s right! I remembered that he was Irish. I can''t for the life of me recall who is the other senator from Illinois. You''re saying he''s an asshole?" "Through and through. Hey, it looks like Brock''s about to say something. He doesn''t look happy." It was true. Carlton Brock was standing at the head of the table, glowering at the governors that weren''t seated. They''d formed a group in which intense competition raged as to who could deliver the most beautiful laudation for the recently deceased governor. Charles O''Connor had been a living saint! What a loss! The world would never be the same. Kirk shared Brock''s feelings; he too watched, and listened to the false praise with growing disgust and contempt. This was such a waste of time; there was no press around, no newsmen to capture those outpourings on camera and show them on TV screens. He wished the lamenting governors would shut the fuck up and sit down. He wanted this whole thing to be over fast so that he could nip into his room, and and have a go at the spaghetti MRE. His toy breakfast had whetted his appetite. "Silence please! Return to your seats!" bellowed Brock. He got his wish: the stunned silence that followed was broken only by the noise made by chairs as the governors sat down. Brock glowered at them for a couple more seconds; then he said: "We must not let this, uh, tragic occurrence prevent us from doing our work. By the time we wrap up today, every single problem on our agenda must be solved. Not discussed or otherwise fucked around with, but SOLVED. So now we shall have a moment of silence for, uh, governor senator Charles O''Connor." It seemed to Kirk that barely a few seconds had passed before Brock said: "Okay. Professors Katz and Molito will now give you the background that will help us make the right decisions. When they are done, I''ll give you an outline of what''s what. Is everyone fine with that, good. Professor." Brock bent down and whispered into Katz''s ear: "Make it brief. We''ve already lost half an hour. And stand the fuck up when you''re speaking. People want to see you." "Staying seated together with the others promotes an atmosphere of equal participation and invites discussion," Chester Katz whispered back. "I don''t want a fucking discussion. I want to get things done. Stand up or I''ll fucking kill you. I know! Take my place. Stand right at the top of the table. Move." Brock tugged at Katz''s arm. Reluctantly, Katz stood up and was maneuvered by Brock to the top of the table. Kirk noted that Brock made for the door as soon as he''d manhandled Katz into place. Lea Panatella, who''d been hovering by the doorway throughout, followed Brock outside. Kirk wondered what that was about, and came to the conclusion that a frantic search for a new governor of Illinois was about to begin. "I, aaah, will try to be brief," said Katz. He had a high, reedy voice and he sounded as if his forthcoming attempt at brevity was doomed to failure. Kirk sighed, and took out his pocket notepad and pen. He always took a notepad and a pen to meetings, even back in the old times when electronic equipment worked and everything was recorded anyway. In Kirk''s experience, 90% of the time spent in meetings was time wasted. A pen and a notepad prevented death from boredom. A pen and notepad offered plenty of possibilities: doodling, drawing caricatures of the other participants, even composing poetry! When the catastrophe struck, Kirk was enjoying what he called his haiku period. One of the verses he had written left him truly awed by his own genius: Leaves are falling and so is my head, heavy with sleep Everyone is talking No one''s actually saying anything Katz said: "First of all, I would like to impress on everyone here that what we, what you will deal with represents a sociological revolution. Nothing like that had ever taken place before, not in recorded history. You will be pioneers." "Pioneers? Pioneers? Did he say something about pioneers?" said Looseberry. A couple of angry hisses shushed him down. "Society as we know it has ended," Katz said dramatically. "It has been split into two coexisting societies. One here on Earth - and another one in the New World. What is absolutely extraordinary is that both societies are composed of the same people. They are, they will be simultaneously inhabiting two very different realities. Well, maybe not everyone on Earth will opt to become a colonist. But you, as colonial governors, will be dealing with people that do." Kirk leaned towards Ron Small, and whispered: "That guy has obviously never been married. You get married, you find out what''s it like to inhabit two different realities." "Maybe he did a lot of drugs instead," Small whispered back. "He sounds like he did." Kirk tried hard to focus on what Katz was saying, but he found it difficult. Katz''s high, reedy voice was just too irritating. After a few minutes of thought, he composed a new haiku: New life is about to begin But everything you hear Is same old, same old He was proud of it, and spent a couple of minutes trying to decide whether to show it to Small. Could Small use it to blackmail him later? Anything was possible, given a special set of circumstances. He was jerked back to attention when Katz said: "You must be especially aware of one thing. Two parallel societies composed of the same people just cannot exist. It''s not possible, not in the longer run. Therefore, they will merge into one, one society. A society that will be guided by new principles, new norms, new beliefs. A mix of the New World and the new Old World. Because make no mistake, what we have here on Earth is a new deal." Small groaned, and whispered: "Why don''t you just fuck off." Katz did, after re-introducing the vampiric Molito. She proved to be very refreshing. She had a deep, rich voice that properly belonged to an overweight opera singer. She said: "You all remember what was happening last year. And the year before that. And the year before that. People were becoming more and more immersed in their own fantasy worlds, starting so young that their fantasies played a dominant part in forming their superego - the set of internalized principles guiding both beliefs and behavior. I want to stress that a fully developed superego is what characterizes an adult person. "Everyone has fantasies. Most don''t work well in reality. But right before we were struck by the disaster, we were at a point where most individuals chose not to confront their fantasies with reality. For example, sexually active individuals preferred to masturbate to images on a screen instead of engaging in sexual intercourse. And everyone got offended and hurt by anything that didn''t coincide with their own worldview. Which was largely shaped by their private fantasies, not actual reality." Molito broke off to stare down someone who had started to giggle at the far end of the table. The giggling stopped instantly. She said: "Laugh while you can. Because as colonial governors you will be dealing with dreamers suddenly confronted by a new, hard reality. They''ll all be convinced that the New World is a dream come true. They''ll all find out it''s a nightmare come true. They will have to work very hard to survive. Most of them won''t. Every colonial administrative center will be besieged by hordes of failing colonists begging for handouts. It''s in everyone''s best interest that you do not give them any. "I understand that all governors, regardless of their standing, will be essentially independent contractors given total freedom in decision making. Regardless of the decisions you choose to make, I strongly advise all of you to develop a strong standing military force. Thank you." Kirk heard some clapping as Molito vacated her position at the top of the table. Well, it was to be expected. There were a lot of people who reacted to the words ''a strong military force'' the same way Pavlov''s dogs reacted to the ring of a bell: they started to salivate. He turned to Small, and said: "Didn''t expect so much sense from that broad, did you? What a pleasant surprise." "Oh, I''m not surprised. Vampires usually hate humans." "What?" "Didn''t you hear? She just advised us not to help any starving people. And to keep lots of soldiers ready to kill anyone who gets violent." "No, no. I clearly understood that as a suggestion to keep law and order despite all the loonies disappointed one has to work hard in the New World." "Put it however you like," said Small. "It''s going to have the same end effect. A lot of people are going to get killed." "I didn''t realize you were such a humanitarian, Ron." "I''m not," said Small. "I''m a realist. That rules out being humanitarian. But I''m kinda sentimental about seeing people suffer." "That''s a crock of bullshit, Ron. You''ve made quite a few suffer." Small shrugged. "I had no other choice," he said. "Sometimes, it''s let someone suffer or suffer yourself." "Some people choose to suffer instead of making others suffer." "Some people are mad," Small said. "And many others are liars. Would you choose to suffer for someone else, Kirk?" "I''m not mad, and I''m not a liar," said Kirk. "Good. Hey, Brock is back! He looks angry." Kirk turned away from Small and saw that indeed, Brock had just re-entered the room. He did look angry. His face was flushed and he strode to his spot at the top of the table in a very decisive manner. He looked at all the waiting faces and said: "All right. My turn now. The, uh, experts have given you an idea that basically, we will be managing a bunch of fuckups. That is not true. There will be many colonizers who will manage things well and these are the people I want everyone to focus on. "But before I go any further with this, I''m going to brief you on something else. We''ve made small changes to the colonial administrative system, indeed to the the governor system. And sadly, I have to inform you..." Brock trailed off, looked down as if to inspect his own soul, looked up as if to gain blessings from above, looked at the waiting governors and said: "You''re not going to like everything you hear." NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 108 How To Get Wealthy "Before I go into the details," Brock said, "I want to stress that nothing is final. So no complaints about changing rules. When everything is changing, the rules must change too. Sticking to old rules in a new situation always ends in disaster." Brock broke off to treat the assembled governors to a baleful glare. He could see that some of them were upset, so he said: "Let me make something clear. You''re not employees of the colonial administration. You''re all independent contractors, working on a percentage. You don''t like the way things are, you can quit. Anytime. There are lots of people that would like to take your place. Because regardless of the changes made and changes that will be made, one thing is sure. All governors will get fucking rich. I want them, I want you to get rich. If you get rich, so will I." Brock acknowledged the appreciative titters with a smile, then continued: "Here''s how it works, from the ground up. The district governor is the lowest tier. A district governor will rule over a maximum of ten to twelve colonies. It could be as little as two, it could be a dozen. Because a colony might have just one crummy little settlement that is barely getting by, or it might have twenty. Including some really big, big enough to be called towns or cities. "The next tier consists of regional governors. Each region will consist of up to a dozen districts. Area governors come next - they will administer up to a dozen regions. The next step up is where you come in: state territorial governors. You will be managing all area directors within your state territory. Of course, first you have to appoint them. You have complete freedom in that regard. You can choose anyone you like. "You may appoint regional directors too, or leave it to your area directors. You definitely don''t want to get involved too much at the district level. Of course if you think you have someone who will make a good district governor - sure, give them the job. But otherwise, leave that business to the governors under your management. You''ll go crazy otherwise. Remember that your duties also include New World business here, on good old Earth. Just New World business, and nothing else." "But we were told we would govern the same territory in both worlds," a querulous voice said. "You will. But don''t get involved in administration and politics here on Earth. What you need to understand is that here on Earth, a governor acts as an overseer for the new world government. You''ll watch and listen and make periodic reports, and of course attend to anything connected with the New World. You definitely won''t have the time to get involved beyond that. You can, but let me tell you - you don''t want to. Things are bad, and they are going to get a lot worse." "I thought we came here to discuss, pardon me, offer solutions to that," someone said. "No, no. Not that. Earth business is Earth business. Let the elected representatives deal with this shit. That''s what they were elected for. The problems we have to solve are New World problems." Kirk felt his heart sink when he heard that: his brilliant solution, conceived during his train journey, was worthless. Brock had already come to the same conclusion on his own - no, that wasn''t possible, he was just too dim for that. Someone else had the same idea, and talked to Brock before Kirk could. He glanced around the table and saw many governors present shared his feelings: many of them were exchanging feverish whispers. Like Kirk, they''d assumed the conference would be about the situation on Earth: as Brock had mentioned, it was bad and getting worse. They''d all been thinking hard how to deal with Earth problems. They''d all been wasting their time. He glanced at Brock. Brock was frowning, waiting for the excitement to die down. When the whispering ceased, he said: "We are here to discuss New World business. I expressly forbid anyone to moan about the unemployment and the hunger and the deaths here on Earth. Have no fear, you''re going to have to deal with plenty of hunger and deaths in the New World. I''ll come to that in a moment. But first, I think you''d all like to know how you''ll make money." A murmur of approval ran around the table. Brock smiled, and said: "Every governor will be paid a percentage of the value created by the territory under his control. In addition, as independent contractors you''re free to mint as much money as you can or want. Of course you''ll have to register your mints just like everyone else, and pay the 50% tax. In other words, one coin for you and one for the government. "Initially, most of a district governor''s production will come from his own settlement. Officially it''s called a colonial administration center, but let''s just call it a district capital, right? With time, the colonies in that district will produce more than the biggest capital imaginable. The owners of those colonies, the colonizers will have a choice: send what they produce to Earth - or sell it to their district governor in the New World, in exchange for needed goods. And there will be a whole fucking lot of needed goods." You can say that again, thought Kirk. He had turned off the signal completely the moment he''d arrived in New York, and hadn''t visited the New World while he slept. But he still remembered only too well the numerous discomforts of living in the New World. Brock was sure to be aware of them, too. Brock said: "All those guys will be arriving in the New World buck naked, without a single useful thing. They will need clothes. They will need tools. They will need food. They will need crop seeds and livestock and technological know-how. This is where the district governor steps in. He can extend credit to colonizers he thinks worthy, and sell them whatever they need. He can delegate experts - for a fee, of course - who will assist colonizers in setting up farming and industry. He can do whatever he wants to increase the productivity of his district. "Because that''s the first and only responsibility of a colonial governor: he makes sure that his domain is productive. That''s all that matters. Every governor, regardless of rank, has complete freedom of action and decision. Every governor will be judged solely by the productivity of his domain. If it''s good - great! If it''s bad, he gets replaced by someone who can do a better job. Do not hesitate to fire area governors who aren''t pulling their weight. The less productive they are, the less productive you are. You don''t want that." The silence around the table was an approving silence. The governors all agreed that everyone under their rule should work their asses off. Subordinates that worked their asses off meant the guy on top could cut himself some slack. Controlling other people was inevitably a nerve-wracking experience, and every governor was sure to need every bit of slack he could get. Kirk surprised himself. He said, quite loudly: "That''s fine. But what''s my cut?" Everyone laughed, including Carlton Brock. Someone shouted: "Kirk Lander for President!" "He doesn''t want that job," Brock shouted back. "Why the hell do you think I resigned?" His question restored silence immediately. All the assembled governors had their own private theories as to why Brock let the hated Mark Penny have his job. "All right, here''s the deal," Brock said. "I warn you that this is the deal right now. It has changed, and it may change in the future. This is a very new and difficult situation that we have here. We will have to adapt as we go. "A district governor gets 10% of the value created in his settlement, through both production and trade. Basically 10% of everything he sends back home. A regional governor gets 10% of his capital''s exports too, plus 1% of everything exported by the district capitals in his region. Same goes for area directors - 10% and 1%. Same goes for all of you guys: 10% of what you send, 1% of total state territory exports. But it''s not the same for poor me. I don''t get the 10%, because I do not rule my capital. I have appointed a mayor, and am content with 1% of all New World trade within United States territory." Brock grinned widely as he waited for the appreciative laughter to die down. Then he said: "Learn from my example. You can hire as many deputies as you like, paying them from your share. Delegate, delegate, delegate. That''s the best advice I can give you. Applicable both here and in the New World." He made a show of looking at his watch, and said: "I see it''s almost time for our working lunch. And we all need a few minutes to stretch our legs. But before we take a break, I want everyone to start thinking how we are going to solve the biggest problem involved in colonizing the New World. I want ideas on how to deal with the hordes of naked, starving fuckups who will begin besieging all the colonial capitals in just a few days'' time. And keep in mind this isn''t just a New World problem. Those people could seek you out and make your life hell here, on Earth. So don''t think you can just shoot them all or whatever and the problem''s gone. The guys you''d shot in the New World might try to shoot you here, at home." Kirk was riding high: the applause he''d received after his earlier contribution inspired him to try again. He said: "I am going to impose strict controls on the number of colonial licenses issued in my state. No more than so many a day, the number depending on the overall situation." Brock stared at him. So did all the others. "Brilliant," Brock said eventually. "Kirk Lander, you''re the man! Okay. Let''s get the hell out of here so that the staff can set the table for lunch." "That was good," Ron Small said to Kirk as they both rose from their seats. Kirk looked at him sharply - he thought Small had sounded ironical. But Small repeated: "That was good. Really good. Of course, if there are controls in place you must make sure everyone''s resistant to bribes." "Are you resistant to bribes, Ron?" asked Kirk. "Depends on who''s giving them," Small said. "Not the amount, you understand." "I do," said Kirk. He didn''t bother telling small he hadn''t ever taken a bribe. Small wouldn''t believe him, anyway. "What do you think we''ll get for lunch, Ron?" he said. "Whatever it is, there won''t be a lot of it," said Small. It was very sad, but he was probably right. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 109 Chickens and Turkeys "Did you get it?" Carlton Brock asked Lea Panatella. They walking to together to Brock''s suite in the United Nations building, an object of much envy from leaders of national territories that weren''t as important as the United States. "Yes, I got it," said Panatella. Brock felt a great wave of affection for Lea Panatella. "Lea, you''re the best," he said. "No one can - fuck it. I don''t want to think about all those losers. I can''t remember when was the last time I had roast chicken. A whole roast chicken!" "Half of it is mine," warned Panatella. "Of course, of course. Did you - did they -" "Yes, they made a big bowl of potato salad. And I''ve also brought some pickles and of course pepper and salt." "Lea! You''re as good to me as my wife. Better than my wife, dammit." This was true. Brock had recently taken a few days off, and spent them at home in Virginia. As governor of the entire US territory, he rated a plane ride. On his way down to Virginia, he wished he''d taken the train. The airplane was an ancient Beechcraft Bonanza. It was a single-engine plane, and Brock mistrusted single-engine planes. If something went wrong with the engine, that was it. In a twin or any other multi-engined job, the airplane could continue to fly on its remaining engine or engines. The Beechcraft''s engine was as ancient as the aircraft. It lost its beat and spluttered several times during the journey: Brock was briefly convinced he was listening to its death rattles. After they''d landed on the deserted, lifeless international airport in Washington, DC, Brock directed his steps straight to the airport manager''s office. After five minutes of shouting they promised to do their best to secure a twin-engine plane for his trip back to New York. While Brock was haranguing the airport manager, his wife was waiting for him in the empty arrival lobby, busy composing a harangue of her own. Carlton Brock''s wife was a socialite. She''d been born with a swizzle stick in her mouth, along with the silver spoon. Her favorite way of spending the time was to sip a very dry, ice-cold martini at a party, making catty comments about everyone except her audience. There was a distinct shortage of parties to attend following the catastrophe, and Carlton Brock''s wife was close to bursting with frustration. Brock''s stay with her had not been a happy one. He''d finally gotten laid, true, but at times he wondered whether it had been worth it. He was truly relieved to escape back to New York, back into the loony bin located in the United Nations building. "Lea, you just can''t imagine how stupid most of those guys are," he said as he opened the door to his suite. Back in the old days, it would be opened for him by his security detail. But all the bodyguards belonging to the assembled national leaders were busy providing security for the whole building. The police and the soldiers had been withdrawn: they were very badly needed elsewhere. Brock and Panatella didn''t talk much for the next ten minutes. In the space of those ten minutes, they managed to consume a whole chicken plus nearly two pounds of potato salad. They washed it all down with a bottle of white wine. Brock had had the foresight to secure himself a very large supply of alcohol right after the disaster struck. He instinctively knew that alcohol would be very hot commodity in the days that followed, and time proved him right. His foresight had benefited him in more ways than one. Several world leaders pledged their undying allegiance after Brock had presented them with a couple of nice bottles. An ashen-faced, trembling Ruslan Grot pledged an eternal alliance between Russia and the United States, and Brock liked to think the trembling was caused by genuine emotion. "I am ready to sign the agreement tomorrow," Grot had declared. "Just bring me the paper and the pen, and I will sign." Two bottles of vodka had achieved, in two minutes, what the best diplomacy had failed to achieve in twenty years of trying. "Have you decided who you''re going to appoint governor of Illinois?" asked Panatella. "No. The other Illinois guy, Chuck Warner, is a total asshole. I''m not going to call him senator. He doesn''t deserve to be called senator." "I wonder how he managed to get elected," said Panatella. Brock sighed. "Lea, Lea, Lea," he said. "You''re too sweet for your own good, do you know that? People vote for the politician they identify with, and most people are assholes. That''s how Warner got elected. Fuck! We''ve got to move. We''ve got to do that fucking lunch with all those fucking losers." "Carlton, you''re being very cruel," said Panatella, wiping her mouth and rising from the table. "I''m not being cruel. It''s a realistic assessment. They get the biggest break in their fucking lives handed to them on a plate, and what do they do? They freeze with terror and moan and bitch. Did you see anyone cheering or clapping, Lea? I didn''t. Have you forgotten what was going on yesterday, when those guys began arriving? Carlton, I don''t know what to do. Carlton, please help me. Carlton this, Carlton that. There are exceptions, of course. Kirk Lander is one. I''m really impressed by that guy. He just fixed half a dozen major problems with a single sentence. Did you hear what he said?" "Yes. He wants to control the number of issued licenses. I thought you were fundamentally opposed towards any regulations like that. You were saying the New World must be open to everyone." "It will be, it will be. Some people will just have to wait a little." "How are you going to manage to eat your lunch?" asked Panatella, as they rounded the final corner on their way to the conference room." "I''m getting a slice of melon. Same as breakfast." "Won''t it excite comment?" "Fuck that," said Carlton Brock. A small group of senators were standing near the entrance to the conference room: it looked to Brock that they were having a little conference of their own. It displeased him, because the group was composed of people he disliked. He had no doubt they were criticizing him behind his back. Bunch of fucking assholes! He stopped by them, put on his best smile, and said: "Guys, why are you standing here like that? Why aren''t you at the table? Why all the sad faces? You''re afraid the food''s going to be horrible?" An uneasy silence told him his question had hit the spot. Brock sighed deeply with fake sympathy. "I know, I know," he said. "These are difficult times. But every difficulty is an opportunity disguised as a problem! I, for instance, have adopted the diet my doctor has been badgering me about for years and years. A slice of melon or some other fruit for breakfast, another for lunch, and a modest dinner. Never felt better. Come on guys, chins up! Let''s go and eat." Brock entered the room and saw that the seats next to his, previously occupied by Katz and Molito, were empty. He immediately walked up to Kirk Lander and put a hand on his shoulder. "Kirk," he said. "Why don''t you move, and sit next to me? I''m sure I could use your help." "Why, thank you," said Kirk, rising from his seat and looking rather helplessly at at his plate: the two seats near the top of the table hadn''t been set. "Don''t worry about that. One of the waiters will bring everything over. Lea?" But Panatella had already gone off to issue appropriate instructions to the waiters. Brock felt a fresh wave of affection for Panatella. What a woman! She just read his mind, read it so well that she even knew when he wanted it to be read, and when he did not - obviously, there were times when it was inappropriate. Brock became conscious of the fact that Ron Small, sitting next to the now-empty chair, was looking at him with a sad hostility that signaled hurt feelings. He recalled that Small was a dangerous man. Small men, in stature as well as name, were very often dangerous men. They just had to keep proving how important they were to everybody. Those that couldn''t hope to be liked or loved settled for being hated. It wasn''t a bad deal in terms of getting attention: hate usually got precedence over love. Carlton Brock believed in the adage that it was good to keep friends close, and enemies even closer. He said: "Ron, why don''t you move and sit next to me, too? You''re one smart guy." "Thank you very much," Small simpered. He was clearly touched. Brock went so far as to actually put his hand on Small''s shoulder when ushering him to his seat. "Look at that," Kirk said almost as soon as the three of them were seated. There was wonder in his voice. The waiters had carried in an enormous roast turkey. It actually took two of them to hoist the platter up so that everyone could admire it. Shouts of approval accompanied by clapping broke out. "My God," said Small. Brock looked at him sharply. He knew that Small was an atheist. Small had revealed that about himself when he got drunk at a party in the White House. The fact that he''d gotten invited had falsely led him into assuming he had been finally accepted in the social sense, and he got very full of himself. "It''s all bullshit," Small had said. "The clerics have it that God created Man in his own image. The opposite is true: Man has created God in his image. That''s why God is so attention-seeking and jealous and cruel. On your knees when you talk to me, scum! Beat the ground with your head so I can fuck you in the ass! That''s humanity to a T." Someone had tried to break the frosty silence that followed by observing that the word ''humanity'' started with an h, and that sometimes it could be confused with another derogatory term which also began with an h. Much hilarity ensued when it became clear that the speaker couldn''t spell ''whore'' correctly, or possibly pretended he didn''t know in order to lighten the atmosphere. Brock could see something similar was needed now. The waiters had just informed the assembled governors that the turkey was to be split up among everyone. There were forty eight hungry mouths salivating over that turkey, and those mouths were immediately twisted with disappointment. There were numerous glances cast in Brock''s direction - Carlton, please help me! But the thin slice of melon sitting in front of Carlton Brock made voicing a plea impossible. Brock stood up and said: "Ladies and gentlemen. Tomorrow, before you leave, I shall have half a dozen extra MREs delivered to your rooms. That''s a solemn promise. And I''ll make sure each set includes beef with black beans. Enjoy a taste of this magnificent bird for now, but remember! I still want to hear your ideas. Kirk here has proposed a brilliant solution, but I want to hear from all of you." It worked: they stopped thinking how hungry they all were for that turkey, and began worrying about what they would say later instead. Brock sat down, and turned to Small and said: "How about you? Do you agree with Kirk? Strict license controls?" "I agree wholeheartedly," said Small. "Oh look! They''re bringing in baked potatoes!" Brock frowned. He wondered why he hadn''t gotten a roast potato with his chicken. Then he remembered he had specifically asked for potato salad. He felt Kirk gaze at him enquiringly, so he said: "So many things to remember about. Sometimes I think I''ll go crazy." Kirk nodded with deep understanding. "So do I," he said. "So do I." NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 110 A Patron Sain By the time the day ended, Carlton Brock decided that it had been the longest day in his career, no, more than that: in his entire life! It felt much, much longer even than the days preceding his birthdays when he was a child. He''d spent them wondering what presents he would get the next day, constantly looking at the clock and finding that only a few minutes had passed in what had felt like an hour. Accompanied as usual by the indomitable Lea Panatella, he returned to his suite and immediately made straight for the cabinet that contained his private bar. He poured a stiff Wild Turkey for himself and a Dubonnet for Lea. Handing her the glass, he said: "You know, Lea, sometimes I amaze myself. I really do. You know that I carry a gun around at all times, now that everyone''s bodyguards have been reassigned to building security. I had the urge to pull my gun out and shoot a couple of assholes every few minutes, I kid you not. It called for supreme self-control." "Why? They agreed to everything," said Lea. "They agreed because they had no other choice. What did you say, governor? That you''re opposed? You''re fired, get the fuck out of here right now. They all knew that would be exactly what would happen if they got difficult with me." "You were disappointed by their lack of enthusiasm," said the mind-reading Panatella. "Exactly. Exactly! I give them total power, absolute power to do anything they like within their territories. And how do they react? They''re horrified! You know why?" "They are afraid of the responsibility?" "Absolutely. No more hiding behind someone''s back, pointing the finger of blame everywhere but at the mirror. They have to produce, and keep increasing production. They have unlimited powers, so if they fail there will be no excuse." "I was about to tell you that I heard Mark Penny is adopting the same approach at the White House," said Panatella. "He would. The dumb fuck never has any ideas of his own. He has to steal mine. I don''t mind. He won''t be President much longer, anyway. The election''s scheduled for next year, right?" "It was. But don''t you think they might move it, because of all that had happened?" "I don''t know and I don''t care. Lea, you cannot imagine how wonderful it feels not to be at the mercy of the moronic mob." "You mean the voters?" "Yeah, I mean the voters. The amount of disgusting people I met when I was campaigning... I tell you, anyone who goes through that hell deserves more than the Presidency. He deserves to be canonized. A saint! That''s who you have to be, on the campaign trail." "Even Mark Penny?" "I''m afraid so, yes," said Panatella, getting her notebook from her handbag. She flipped a few pages and said: "We kick off at nine with minister Weinberger. He wants to discuss the new financial structure before the vote." "Another guy that likes to evade responsibility. Who''s next?" "Nelson Odongo, at eleven." "That guy," Brock said, nodding. He had a swig of bourbon and said: "I really feel for him. I mean, I''ve got just fifty one assholes to deal with. He has what, around a hundred and forty?" "He worked for various aid agencies when he was young," said Panatella. "So I''m sure he has plenty of experience dealing with assholes." "You''re right, let''s not worry about Odongo. He''s really fucked himself though, hasn''t he?" "What do you mean?" "Well, he obviously thought that being the leader of the world parliament he''d also head the Colonial Council. And everyone on the Colonial Council will make megabucks, Lea. Speaker of the world parliament, a thousand a month. Peanuts." "It really is peanuts," Panatella said, shocked. "That''s less than welfare before the, you know, in the old times." "Welfare? Hah! You know how much the guaranteed minimum income is going to be?" "Less, I guess." "Much less. Ten dollars a month. Everywhere, across the whole world." "Ten dollars!" "Lea, ten dollars or pounds or whatever is going to be the same as a thousand, in the not-so-good old days. Anyway, you and everyone else on my staff have nothing to worry about. I''m paying you all out of my cut, and I''ll make sure it''s enough so that you have everything you need, and more." "Thank you." "And on top of that, you''ll be getting the ten bucks, too. So will I, like everyone else who is certified as a living, breathing adult. It''s not dependent on being out of a job." "What about children?" "What about them?" "Well, they have to eat too, don''t they?" "Children are the responsibility of their parents," Brock said firmly. "The new government is all about giving people back their responsibilities. Anyway, what happens after Odongo?" "There is a final brainstorming session scheduled at two. Practically everyone will be there, so it will take place in the assembly chamber." "Brainstorming? What the fuck? I thought everything has been agreed upon." "The final vote is the day after tomorrow. I guess everyone wants to have their say before that, maybe propose something new." "A hundred and forty guys, and each will have something to say?" "Hopefully not. Anyway, not everyone will be there." Brock nodded. "I knew it," he said. "I told all those guys: stay here. You go back to your country, you''re inviting trouble. You might even get killed, or put in jail." "It''s happened to a few," said Panatella. "Really! A few? I heard about this guy, whatshisname, Tunisia or Algeria or something like that. He was shot, wasn''t he?" "He was from Libya, and committed suicide." "Can''t blame him. If I were from Libya, I''d do the same thing. How did he kill himself?" "With his own gun." "I knew it," Brock said, with deep satisfaction. "I knew that he died from a gunshot. What about the others? You said there are others." "The president of Uzbekistan has been shot, too. By his wife." "So it''s not political. Personal family business." "Om the contrary. His wife had founded a political party of her own. An opposition party." "He must have been one hell of a lousy husband," said Brock. "Your own wife founding a political party that fights you... Yeah, he had to be a major loser. Anyone else?" "No one killed. About a dozen arrests on corruption charges. And another dozen or so have already communicated they won''t be able to make it back on time." "That''s good," Carlton Brock said. "The less people are here, the better. As long as we have more than half, and they all vote in favor." "I think I - oh yes. There''s one more thing. Britain is sending someone new. Lady Bernice Chatterlay, their prime minister, has resigned." "She RESIGNED? You''re making this up, Lea. She''s been made national territory governor and member of the world parliament and she RESIGNED?" "Yes. Apparently her husband and her cat are both sick, and she hasn''t been feeling well herself lately." "Health grounds," Brock said, nodding. "I understand health grounds. Are they sending someone else instead?" "Mr. Odongo didn''t tell me that. He said he will discuss it with your tomorrow." "It would look bad if the Brits weren''t represented," Brock said. "I mean they''re just a piddly little country like everyone else after they''d lost Scotland and all of Ireland. But I like having a Brit around. They side with us on everything, and if they don''t a few quiet words always do the trick." "I had a very good conversation with Monsieur Caron, head of the Colonial Council. He asked me to pass on that you always have his full support." "Oh, this doesn''t mean a thing, Lea. He says it to everyone. He''d tell a tree on the sidewalk that it had his full support." "He sounded as if he really meant it." "He always does." "Well, that''s it, sir. Except that the governors of Alaska, Hawaii, and Puerto Rico are waiting for you to call." "They can wait some more. They can''t drag their asses over here for the conference, it''s their own fault they get left out of the loop." "You won''t call them at all? I''m not sure it''s appropriate for me to handle this." "Oh, I''ll call them all right. In the morning. Bit of training for the shitstorm that will follow next. And I also have to appoint someone for Illinois, to take poor Charlie''s place. Did you give it some thought, Lea? I mean I saw the names on the list but I don''t know those people at all. You do." "Not that well," said Panatella. "We''ve shortlisted six people like you asked on the basis of their qualifications." "That''s too bad. Are any of them lucky?" "What?" "I was talking to Caron the other day," Brock explained. "He said being lucky can be much more important than qualifications. He told me that Napoleon always asked about people''s luck before he appointed them marshals or generals or whatever." "Actually one of them might be like that," said Panatella. "His name is Gino Valente, and he used to run a very successful casino." "That''s the guy we want," Brock said firmly. "Set me up for a talk with Mr. Valente, will you? I mean if he doesn''t work out I''ll talk to all the others, but my gut tells me he''s the guy I want." "What time?" "I''ve got those three assholes to call before Weinberger at nine, but each won''t take more than a couple of minutes. Make it eight thirty for Valente." "If that''s all, I''ll go and set it up now," said Panatella. "Good night, Lea. You''re a treasure." "Thank you, sir. Good night." When Panatella had left, Brock immediately poured himself another very large bourbon, and loosened his tie. What a day! And there would be many days even worse than that, starting tomorrow. However, he still felt lucky. It was great to be a governor! Governors were appointed, not elected. Of course, they could potentially be removed if the territories under their care performed poorly. But Brock knew that the good old US of A would do very well indeed in the New World. With coasts on both oceans, excellent waterways, and plenty of natural riches, it was destined to be the big winner in the colonization race. Russians? Bah! The Chinese? Pah! Only Americans had the talent and the drive to colonize new worlds properly. Carlton Brock''s name would be up there, alongside Washington''s and Lincoln''s. He would make damn sure of that. He had told Panatella anyone who went through a presidential campaign was a saint. Well, he would become the patron saint of the United States. He raised his glass and said to the empty room: "Your very best health, Carlton." He drank. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 111 Gangsters and Banksters Carlton Brock got up at seven. There was no hot water - it was barely warm - so he was in a bad mood when he began calling the three state territory governors who hadn''t made it to the conference. He made the calls short and snappy. This is what has been agreed, this is what you do. Alaska and Hawaii meekly agreed with everything. But the guy from Puerto Rico got difficult. He complained that he hadn''t been asked to vote by phone or telex. "You weren''t asked to vote because your vote would have mattered about as much as a fart during a thunderstorm," Brock snarled, with eloquence enhanced by the Wild Turkey he''d had before starting the calls. "Don''t you know the rules? Absolute majority wins. We''ve got fifty one votes total. Twenty six is an absolute majority. Everything discussed yesterday got forty seven ayes. Case closed." He added that he''d be conducting a performance review in a month''s time. Any governor found lacking would be immediately replaced. "But this is impossible," cried out the governor of Puerto Rico. "We are still working out the borders of the districts. And I haven''t appointed most of the governors." "Well, you better start moving faster, or it''s your ass," snapped Brock, and hung up. He ate a hurried, secret breakfast consisting of a tin of sardines and hard-boiled eggs and bread. He really needed a second bourbon after that. Then Lea showed up to tell him Mr. Gino Valente was ready and waiting for Brock''s call. "How did he react when you told him I wanted a talk, Lea?" Brock asked. "Oh, he was overjoyed. Very enthusiastic." "That''s great." "Yes." "This was a ''yes'' full of doubt, Lea. Out with it!" "I don''t want you to think that I''m prejudiced in any way, sir. But he sounds, he sounds very Italian." "Did you understand everything he said?" "Oh yes, perfectly." "Then there''s no problem," said Brock. "Thank you, Lea." She left, and Brock flexed his fingers before dialing the number she''d brought him, and picking up the receiver. He was feeling slightly stunned when he put it down again a few minutes later. He''d just given the governorship to a mafia mobster! That was what Panatella had meant by ''very Italian''. Her inborn tact had prevented her from being more explicit. Yes, Mr. Valente was one of the wise guys. He as much as said so, before making an offer Brock couldn''t refuse. Mr. Valente said he, his family, and friends all loved the idea of colonizing a new world. They''d already planned a network of colonies not only in Illinois state territory, but throughout the United States. The heavy emphasis Mr. Valente put on the word ''planned'' told Brock many of those colonies were up and running already. "I know how to motivate people, sir," Valente told Brock. "I know how to reason with them. My people are all very reasonable people. Reasonable and reliable. And very highly motivated, very ambitious. They have real drive. They will make perfect colonial government representatives." Brock believed him. He also believed him when Valente said he had family ties in most American cities. Mr. Valente was very influential, and the casino he''d managed at one time in Reno was more profitable than most of the famous Las Vegas casinos. "I just have a natural knack for running a business," Mr. Valente said modestly. "It runs in the family, so to speak. It will be good to put all this talent to good use, working for the government." He said it in a special tone, and Brock heard loud and clear that Mr. Valente''s talented family and friends would otherwise work against the government. So he made Mr. Valente governor on the spot. After all, what mattered most was productivity. Brock had no doubt that under Mr. Valente, New World Illinois would turn out to be a very productive territory. Brock barely had the time to visit the bathroom before Weinberger showed up, a full ten minutes early. The Weinberger that entered Brock''s suite was a very different Weinberger from the grey-faced zombie that used a wheelchair to get around. He radiated energy and good mood so strongly it was detestable. This transformation had taken place following a long consultation with John Knox, the chief doctor at the United Nations building. Knox had examined Weinberger pretty thoroughly and in almost total silence: he grunted a couple of times, as if a suspicion had been proven right. Then he said: "You''re in remarkably fine shape, Mr. Weinberger. There is no reason for you to use this wheelchair. I believe you have a purely psychological problem. It''s all a matter of restoring your confidence." Weinberger agreed strongly his confidence could use major repairs. "In that case," said Knox, "I recommend that you come in every morning for a shot of vitamins and nutrients that will be beneficial for your nervous system." Weinberger had arrived in Brock''s suite right after receiving his daily injection from the good doctor. In addition to vitamins, he also received a mix of drugs tested and approved by Dr. John Knox for his own personal use. They included cocaine and a couple of amphetamine derivatives, plus half a dozen other compounds for balance - the doctor didn''t want Weinberger climbing walls or jumping off the roof of the UN building to see if he could really fly. After receiving his daily shot Weinberger was ready to conquer the world, just like the doctor had promised. He bounced around Brock''s reception room like a basketball gone crazy, clicking and grinding his teeth. Brock had to force him to sit down, and asked about the purpose of their meeting. "I mean, why come to me? You got something, you talk to Caron or Odongo, not little poor me. I''m just the governor of the United States." Weinberger let our a bark of laughter and said: "You''re so modest, Carlton. Everyone knows you pull the strings around here. I''m here because I need your support, of course. We have this big pow-wow coming at two o''clock today, and I want to propose something, and I want to humbly ask for your support." "What is it?" "I want to propose that the tax collectors are also responsible for all of Earth''s citizens, and any payments due to the local, er, Earth government." "What? Can you explain in a little more detail?" "Naturally! The world''s tax collection system will rely on tax collectors, contracted for a percentage of the moneys they collect. So why not make them responsible for everyone instead of just the mint owners and the colonizers? They could also handle the minimum guaranteed income payments, and the remittances made to local Old World governments. Put everything under one roof. Much simpler." It really was much simpler. It also meant taking over all fiscal control from the local governments at all levels. This move would greatly increase Weinberger''s influence and clout. "Every local government official will scream bloody murder," Brock said. "You''re basically cutting their balls off. They will become totally dependent on us for money." Weinberger shrugged. "I don''t see that as a bad thing," he said. "And I will propose we increase their cut. They were to get 25% of the profit generated by colonies created on their New World territory. I want us to give them 50% of everything we collect. More than double of what they had." "But they''ll be losing the taxes they''d collected directly." "Do you see any government on Earth, at whatever level - municipal, county, province or state, national - do you see ANY of those guys as able to collect any taxes in the foreseeable future?" Brock thought about it for a moment, and concluded Weinberger was right. "You got a point there," he said. "What''s more, it would give us a little extra push. For example, that asshole Penny - you know, president of the US - is getting increasingly difficult about using troops to set up colonial government centers in the New World. The troops and their commanders are downright enthusiastic. They love it. If I told them to pull a coup tomorrow, they''d do that for sure. They hate Penny. Everybody hates Penny. He''s such an asshole." "Am I to understand you''ll support my proposal?" "You talk to anyone else about this?" "You are the first," said Weinberger, and jumped out of his seat, unable to contain himself any longer. "We''ll give them half the money," he barked, "But we''ll keep the other half! And we will control ALL the money. And oh yes, I want to tell you that I shall also propose a flat 50% tax on everything. No deductions, no write-offs of any kind. Everyone pays half, keeps half, including colonizers, all the way up and down through the money chain. But then who will be the recipient of the final half, the half which isn''t split with anyone else? The local government. It''s all theirs, they decide how to spend it. They''ll all agree, I''m sure they will." "You''re getting into deep waters here," Brock warned. "They''re gonna blame us for problems with money supply. There''s no way they will have enough coin to pay everyone their minimum income for at least a few months more." "They''ll issue scrips," Weinberger said confidently. "Scrips? Like, bank notes? I thought we were getting away from that kind of stuff." "I''ve already discussed it with Troll. He agrees it''s the only solution, on the condition that every issued scrip is backed by solid coin by the end of this year. Earth year." Brock just couldn''t stand being in the same room with Weinberger any more. Weinberger was driving him crazy. He was circling the room at such speed that watching him made Brock dizzy. He said: "I''ll support your proposal. Now get the hell out of here. I''ve got another meeting coming up." "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" cried Weinberger, and waltzed out of Brock''s suite. Brock sat down and did some heavy-duty frowning after Weinberger had left. He knew about Knox''s treatment - the good doctor provided him with up-to-date information on all of his patients. He decided he would have to speak to Knox, and ask him to reduce the dosage a little. He looked at the clock: not even ten, and Odongo wasn''t due until eleven. It was time to get together with Lea for some serious breakfast. She had mentioned she might be able to arrange mushroom omelettes. He was so taken with this thought that he forgot to lock his door. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 112 The Beauty of Chaos When Carlton Brock returned to his suite following a delicious second breakfast - mushroom omelettes ruled! - he found Odongo waiting for him inside. "Nelson!" he exclaimed. "What - how did you - oh, I see. I didn''t lock the door." "I''m sorry," said Nelson Odongo, and he looked like he meant it. He really looked full of sorrow, and Brock had the disagreeable premonition it was one of those Carlton, help me situations. He said: "What''s up, Nelson? Why did you want to see me? Let me guess. You need my support this afternoon." "Of course I need it," Odongo said sadly. "Who doesn''t? But this isn''t what I wanted to talk to you about." "What is it, then?" "I want to resign," said Nelson Odongo. "What?" "I am forced to resign as world parliament member for the Uganda territory." "You want to resign from the parliament? Are you crazy?" "I don''t think so," said Odongo. "Listen," said Brock. "I know what this is all about. It''s about the money. You''re getting a shit salary and no cut from New World profits." "Money does play a part," said Odongo. "But you''re forgetting I am also, by default, governor of Uganda''s territory. So I am getting a cut of the New World profits. However, I cannot continue representing Uganda here in New York and simultaneously govern its territories in both worlds. It''s just too much." "Other guys are in the same situation, and they''re doing fine." "I have serious doubts whether they''re really doing fine," said Odongo. "Time will tell. Anyway, the parliament members that think they''re doing fine don''t have the complicated political situation I have, back home." "What do you mean?" "Carlton, please. I''m not a president or a prime minister. I''ve never been a member of Uganda''s government. They asked me more than once to be a minister of something or other, and I refused. They don''t like me for that over there." "Why did you turn them down? Money not too good?" "Oh, the money would have been excellent if I stole and robbed whatever I could along with everyone else in the government," said Odongo. "Becoming a government minister in Africa is a shortcut to becoming a millionaire. Or a multimillionaire, if one is already a millionaire." "Perhaps even a billionaire?" "It''s been known to happen." "You don''t like to rob and steal?" "I don''t," said Odongo. "And I don''t like giving bribes, either. It''s a major handicap for an African politician, possibly any politician. It was a major bonus when I was working with the aid agencies, though. That''s how I advanced in my career: through international politics instead of local, national politics." "I see," said Brock. "You have no support base over there." "No." "Can''t you delegate duties to someone who has?" "What?" "I''d prefer to stay here. I don''t want to go back to Uganda." "Then you have no choice. You''ll have to appoint a deputy who will take care of things over there." "I would prefer to resign my governorship. But as you''ve pointed out, the money one gets for being a member of the world parliament isn''t too good. And a national territory governor gets 1% per cent of the New World profits. That''s excellent money. Carlton, this afternoon I want to propose a change. Governors would get half a percentage point, and members of the world parliament half a percentage point also. If someone continues in both functions, they get a full point, just like now." "Whoa, whoa, whoa," said Brock. "Hold your horses for a minute. Let me think. How about a drink?" "A glass of water would be very nice," said Odongo. "Water," murmured Brock, slightly horrified. He walked up to his mini bar and fixed himself a bourbon. He couldn''t find a single bottle of mineral water! He said: "Nelson, I seem to have run out of bottled water. You don''t want to drink that shit from the tap, do you?" "Can I have a Coke? Or Sprite or whatever?" "Whatever tickles your fancy," Brock said heavily. He got a can of Coke and after a short hesitation, put some of his precious ice in Odongo''s glass. All the while he was thinking, thinking, thinking. So that was what it was all about - another Carlton, help me story! Odongo wanted half a point for being a member of the world parliament - that''s what it all boiled down to. He said: "I''m afraid I can''t help you, Nelson. More: I''m going to fight your proposal tooth and claw. Splitting member of parliament and governor duties is a very bad move. Don''t you see that?" "I want to stay in New York." "Look, I can understand that. I really do. New York is a hell of a better place than, than Nairobi." "Kampala," said Odongo. "The Ugandan capital is Kampala." "Exactly. Don''t want to hurt your feelings, but that sounds even worse than Nairobi. My heart fucking bleeds for you, I kid you not. But there''s no way I''ll support splitting parliament and governor duties. Do you understand? It''s suicide. It makes the whole world parliament irrelevant." "A return to the roots," said Odongo. "As powerless as the former occupants of this building." "Nelson, you aren''t making any sense." "I''m sorry. So you''re saying I have no choice?" "Of course you have a choice. You have many choices. You can quit everything and start a chicken farm or something. You can go hang yourself in the bathroom right after this conversation - nice tie, by the way. You can -" "I get the picture," said Odongo. "Good." "All or nothing." "Exactly." "So I don''t have a choice, after all," said Odongo. Brock hissed with exasperation. "What''s so fucking bad about appointing a deputy governor?" he asked. "I would have done it for sure if it weren''t for the fact that I live here. Lots of guys are doing just that, lots! Why, that Canadian broad, whatshername, Lepine, she''s appointed TWO deputies. And she''s just across the border." "I don''t have anyone I can trust." "You said that already. It''s bullshit. You have total power over your deputy. You can fire his ass the moment he speaks out of turn, you understand? You don''t need to trust him. You don''t need to trust him because you got an iron hand on his balls, twisting hard just so he remembers who is the boss. And when you get bored with that, you fire him and get a new pair of balls to twist. What''s so fucking difficult about that?" "I don''t know if I''m up to all this twisting," said Odongo. "Balls. I mean, bullshit. You know what you do? You appoint someone you hate, your worst enemy as deputy governor. Then you''ll enjoy the twisting, Nelson. You''ll go in singing let''s twist again, like we did last summer. And you''ll completely neutralize him as an enemy at the same time. More, he will be grateful to you because you''re making him rich." "You make it sound so easy," Odongo said suspiciously. "It is easy. What''s not easy is making up your mind to do it. That''s always the worst part. But you don''t really have a choice, right? Unless you want to raise chickens, or ruin that beautiful tie." "Appointing my worst enemy as my deputy," Odongo said. "That''s brilliant, Carlton. I''d have never come up with this solution." Pouting with pride, Brock said: "Keep your friends close, and your enemies even closer. It pays to remember that, Nelson. It''s good to remember it at all times." "Thank you." "Now listen," said Brock, "Do you think we''ll run into any trouble this afternoon? I mean, are we going to have a bunch of people making moronic proposals?" "Like mine?" "If you want to put it that way," said Brock, and smiled disarmingly. "I think I can tell you several members will propose moving the deadline. By a month, by six months, maybe even by a year." "That''s absolutely impossible." "Carlton, the first of March is three days away." "I know." "Nothing has been organized properly. Jean Caron told me that so far, less than five percent of all governors have been appointed! Over ninety five percent of all governor posts remain vacant." "The national governors have all been appointed, and that''s all that matters," said Brock. "And I can tell you I have already appointed all of the governors that come under me. I don''t see why others can''t do it, too. It''s easy, just pick a local politician or businessman or activist or even a fucking criminal, whoever you think will get the job done. You can always fire them anytime, anyway. Jesus! What''s the matter with all you people? Everyone seems to have difficulty grasping basic concepts." "Carlton, you''ve appointed fifty one state territory governors. That''s likely less than one thousandth of the total you need." "Not my problem," Brock said firmly. "It''s the problem of the guys I''ve appointed. That''s why I appointed them, in the first place. For fuck''s sake, Nelson, stop it. You''re reducing me to tears. Tears of despair." "But Carlton, on the first of March no one will have enough money. The local governments won''t have enough for the monthly minimum income payouts. They are supposed to start on the first along with everything else! And what about the whole retail chain? It cannot function without money." "People can write scrips and IOUs and promissory notes," Brock said. "People will learn how to function without money when it isn''t there. They will write notes or checks or however the fuck you want to call it, they will barter, they will offer services in exchange for goods. People are good at adapting when they have no other choice. You know, Nelson, I once talked to a guy doing life in jail. He said it was the best time of his life. He did a couple of degrees in something and was about to start on a third. Shows what people can do under difficult circumstances." "Most people wouldn''t have been capable of that." "Then maybe they are meant to die," snapped Brock. "Life is a privilege, not a right." Odongo was silent for a moment. Eventually he said: "I''ve seen too many refugee camps to disagree with that, Carlton." "Great," said Brock. "So are we all set? Doubts dispelled, and ready to deal with stupid shit all afternoon?" "I think so," said Odongo. "Thank you, Carlton. I really needed this talk." "You''re welcome." Brock refreshed his drink the moment Odongo was gone. He sipped it, thinking: what was the matter with all those people? Why were they all so scared? But of course he knew why everyone was so scared. People were always scared of change. And yet they craved change at the same time, wanted change to happen. But they wanted change without any change to their security. They wanted change with things staying the same, or better. So they carefully organized and engineered every change they had to make, fucked around with it until it made no real difference. True change couldn''t be organized. True change was chaotic by definition, and chaos was good. Chaos was good because it forced people to reassess their priorities. And no real change was possible in the first place without people reassessing their priorities. Brock loved chaos. He was much better at reorienting himself than most people. He truly shone in chaotic circumstances. And he believed chaos was both beneficial and necessary to progress, to achieving something good. It was a little like wine-making: crushing wonderful ripe fruit and letting it all go bad and rot and ferment, and the end product? Wine, delicious wine, one of the most important discoveries ever made! But bourbon wasn''t bad either, thought Brock. In fact, often it took bourbon to hit the spot. He had a feeling he''d need a couple after lunch, before the two o''clock meeting. Maybe even three. He could hear those losers going on already. We don''t know what to do! We''re moving too fast with this! Whatever we do, there will be trouble! Carlton, help me! "Assholes," he said to the empty room. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 113 The Die Is Cas By half past one, Carlton Brock had drunk at least a pint of bourbon. He stopped only when he''d finished the bottle. After due consideration, he got out a flat, silver flask, filled it from a fresh bottle of bourbon, and put in it in the breast pocket of his jacket. It made him fully prepared for all the hours of listening to bullshit that he would have to endure. He arrived in the general assembly chamber a few minutes early, and watched the members of the world parliament come in. They came in two basic varieties. Some were clearly in excellent moods and optimistic - it was hard to tell whether this was because of the occasion, because of drugs, or because of both. Weinberger''s magic transformation - from a grey zombie to fire-breathing achiever in just a few minutes! - had resulted in many discreet enquiries, which in turn resulted in very busy mornings for John Knox. The good doctor now had over a dozen patients coming in for treatment every day. He could have easily had many, many more, but he took on only those that were healthy. Heart conditions were a definite no-no, as was serious obesity. This last hurdle felled quite a few national leaders. One Marshal Admiral President For Life of an unnamed country took great offence. "You are saying I too fat?!" he had bellowed at Knox in broken English. "I too fat for your treatment?" "You''re definitely overweight," John Knox had said. "I mean, a hundred and twenty eight kilos of weight at a hundred and sixty eight centimeters of height is definitely excessive." He had the impression the Marshal Admiral President For Life was about to reach for his holstered pistol, so he hastily added: "You''re a very big man. And in my opinion, you don''t need any treatments to improve." It had been the right thing to say. The Marshal Admiral President For Life still bristled, but his hand moved away from the holster and stroked his mustache instead. From what Brock could see, the optimists were a distinct minority. Most of the people that entered the general assembly chamber seemed depressed. Luckily, only a very few looked both angry and determined. Brock''s experience told him those would be the guys that would make things difficult. Of course, he was beyond their line of fire. He was just a governor and member of parliament like everyone else. He saw that Odongo was ushering in a small group of experts; he recognized Olaf Troll instantly, even though almost completely hidden from sight by the others. There was also that delectable Patel woman, that Worst idiot, Katz, Molito, and a couple of faces that were new to Brock. The members were being shoehorned into a question and answer session! Brilliant, just brilliant. None of the angry members could hope to outwit and out-talk an expert, maybe with the exception of Brock himself, and he wasn''t about to propose changing anything. Things were fine as they were. Odongo performed a check on everyone present: there was a total of eighty one members in the general assembly chamber. Ten more than the absolute majority required to win the vote. Odongo introduced the experts to everyone, and Brock learned that the two new faces belonged to scientists: an astrophysician and a statistician. Following the introductions, Odongo said: "If anyone wants to introduce a motion, or ask a question, please raise your hand. We''ll go row by row, from back to front. We''ll move to vote on everything, point by point, right after that." Instantly a forest of hands shot up, and Brock groaned inwardly. He was trapped in there forever! He had taken care to seat himself at the back: it carried a double benefit. It made him appear modest, and allowed discreet use of the silver flask. There were three other parliament members seated in the last row with Brock. He was angry to see one of them - a desiccated woman who properly belonged in a museum featuring mummies - had raised her hand. "The honorable member for Azerbaijan," Odongo said equably. The woman bent to the microphone on the desktop in front of her. "I like to know what we really dealing with," she said. "I like to know what this New World really is and where it come from. I don''t believe this glowing scroll. To me it is a practical joke." "Professor Berli," Odongo said smoothly, and smiled at the astrophysicist. He was as old and wrinkled as the woman, and thus started on an equal footing. "I agree with the member for Azerbaijan," he wheezed into his microphone. "It may appear to be a joke. But in absence of relevant facts, we must take it seriously. Especially since the arrival of those cubes has caused such upheaval. In my opinion, those cubes were mini-portals to another world, the world inhabited by our great-great-great grandchildren. Specially designed to admit only one-way traffic in selected artifacts: the implant kits, the scrolls, the mats referred to as hiber beds. They''re definitely for real, wouldn''t you agree?" "But this New World," persisted the Azerbaijani horror, "What is it exactly? How did it take shape?" Berli cackled wickedly and said: "You must realize something first. Eighty five percent of our known universe is composed of something we call dark matter. We know next to nothing about dark matter and dark energy. We know it''s there, but that''s it. Our whole scientific knowledge of the universe is based on the fifteen percent that we do know - more or less. "So the best I can give you is an informed guess, at best a fifteen-percent-informed guess. The New World is a copy of Earth in a universe that is a copy of our own, and exists in another dimension. Or rather another set of dimensions. There are anomalies of space and time present, there is a really big time anomaly - time flows ten times faster than on Earth, yet time flow feels the same. There are also questions regarding scale. It seems everything but the land masses is on a much smaller scale, again estimated at ten times smaller than what we have here. These are the initial findings, very initial findings." "It is very little to go on," insisted the mummy. "It is enough." "How can you say this? You admit you know next to nothing! How can you say that''s enough?" "Madam," said professor Berli. "We are presently on a continent that wasn''t supposed to exist, six hundred years ago. And when it was discovered, everyone thought it was part of Asia. So as you can see, forging forward in spite of having little or no information can bring very great rewards." "Why can''t we all wait with this New World until we know more?" demanded the mummy. "Because we''re unlikely to know more. Not for a long, long time. Practically all advanced scientific equipment around the world is presently disabled. There''s not much we can do except think. And every thinking person recognizes the New World as an opportunity, not a problem. Thank you." Brock was full of admiration for professor Berli. What a smooth move! He glanced sideways and saw the others seated in his row were focusing on the Azerbaijani horror. He quickly took out his flask, and had a swig. Better! Much better! That was the stuff to give to the troops. Brock consulted the flask at regular intervals through the next couple of hours, while the experts demolished all opposition with effortless skill. Things got really heated when one of the members - Brock was busy with his flask, and did not notice who it was - demanded a new legal code for the new world. "I have talked to many lawyers," he said, "And all of them agree anything that happens in the New World is beyond their jurisdiction. In other words, the way things are now **** and murder are perfectly legal in the New World. So is slavery, and from what I heard there is real potential for slavery to develop in the New World. I refuse to support any move made without a proper legal framework being present." To Brock''s great surprise, Odongo did not ask Jean Caron to deal with that. Jean Caron was surprised, too: he was already leaning to speak into his microphone. Odongo said: "All of you here are national territory governors. All of you here can introduce whatever legal codes you want on the territories under your care. You want to penalize **** and murder? Very good! Then penalize it however you like, with death if you feel that''s appropriate." A murmur ran through the assembly, and Brock could hear from its tone that most members were very happy with that solution. "However," Odongo said, catching the whispering members by surprise, "Before you introduce your very own penal code, there are two things you must consider. You must be able to enforce it, otherwise it will become a farce, and breed contempt for the letter of the law. "The other consideration is that your laws must make sense. Laws that don''t make sense breed contempt for the law in general. It doesn''t take much effort to realize this has very bad consequences. Young people are especially disillusioned, being high-principled. As a result they enter adulthood with the conviction that law is something stupid, and shouldn''t be respected. We''ve all seen that happen, and you know it''s true. So when you begin introducing your laws in the New World - only wise, well-thought-out laws, please, laws that increase respect for the law instead of diminishing it." The uneasy silence among the assembled members clearly signified they''d never thought of that, even though many had already rewritten entire constitutions in the countries they led and represented. The discussion moved onto economic matters. Predictably, a lot of members complained about money. There just wasn''t enough money around! They wanted more money! But they were no match for the one and only Olaf Troll. "You want more money? Then make some," he said. "You can. It''s entirely up to you. You can issue written guarantees to people if there''s a shortage of coins. You have what''s known as a blank check. You can do anything you like." Then it was Weinberger''s turn, and he announced his proposal that the new world government effectively seize control of all fiscal matters in both worlds. Local governments would receive half of all receipts on corresponding levels. Each governor would transfer half the money earned in his domain to the government of the corresponding Earth territory. For example, a national governor would transfer money to its elected national government; a district governor - to a mayor, or maybe a borough council. Brock grimaced when he heard that, even though he''d known for quite a while he would be basically giving money to that Penny asshole. The assembled members really liked the idea of controlling all the money in both worlds. There was even some scattered applause. Odongo took full advantage: he asked if there were any more questions, and a couple of seconds later announced an end to the discussion. It was time to vote! It went smoothly and it went fast, so fast Brock was pleasantly surprised. Everything was approved; sometimes there would be a couple of dissenters, but never enough to upset the absolute majority required on each vote. By six o''clock, the die was cast. In just three days'' time, the greatest free-for-all in the history of humankind would begin. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 114 The Last Supper By the time voting had ended, Brock had drank the contents of his silver flask and was quite drunk. Full of goodwill and bonhomie, he intercepted Troll and Caron as they were leaving the general assembly chamber, and invited them to his suite for dinner. As a result, at seven o''clock that evening his suite was invaded by both invited and uninvited guests. The indomitable Panatella quickly organized extra settings and extra rations. Brock''s private stock of beef and black bean MREs - the best-tasting of all MREs, hands down - was seriously depleted. Brock consoled himself with bourbon - he''d felt obliged to bring out a fresh bottle for his guests, and the least he could do was make sure he drank as much of it himself as he possibly could. It didn''t work well this time; it made him sulky. He was ominously silent when everyone sat down to eat. His mood wasn''t improved when Panatella put a couple of bottles of red wine on the table. She asked him first if she could, of course, but the way she put it he had no choice but to tell her to go ahead. Brock''s guests were the cream of the select group of people who were deciding what the world - both worlds - would be like. Olaf Troll sat at the other end of the table. To his right, Brock had the vampiric Molito. He hadn''t invited her; Troll did. He''d thought that when Brock told him he could bring someone with him, he really could do so. Luckily, Lea Panatella was seated next to Molito. Brock knew she would intervene fearlessly if Molito said something that didn''t sit well with Brock. Panatella''s presence was also valuable because of her enormous tits. Everyone was intimidated by them, including Molito. Odongo and Caron, possibly the two most important men in both worlds - after Brock himself, of course - were seated on his left. They were visibly thrown off balance by being seated across from Panatella and Molito. It was like watching soft porn and a horror movie simultaneously on a split screen. Ofongo hadn''t been invited either; Brock had had his fill of Odongo earlier in the day. But once again, he''d told Caron he could bring someone if he wanted to. It was just a social reflex, totally meaningless, and in normal times it would have been interpreted as such. But these were times when an invitation to eat attracted extra guests the way honey attracts wasps. There wasn''t much conversation to begin with: Brock didn''t initiate any, and his guests were only too glad to be able to devote their undivided attention to the food. Red wine was also consumed, but uncharacteristically it did not make people talkative. The cause behind the silence was expertly identified by Molito. When she''d finished eating, she said: "You seem to be quite angry about something, governor Brock. Perhaps you''d like to get it off your chest?" "Yes, you look worried, Carlton," chimed in Caron. He grinned and added: Brock glared at him, and said: "No, you didn''t. And I''m not angry, just tired," he added, turning to Molito. "I spent the whole day yesterday with my state governors. Making sure they''ll do what they''re supposed to do." "Will they?" "We''ll see. If they won''t, it''s their ass. I am giving each of them a year to shape up. That''s ten years in the New World." "That''s very generous of you," observed Caron. "It''s not generous. It''s realistic. Hell, most of them won''t be home on the first. They''re travelling by train. It will be at least a month before they settle into the job. It will be another three months before they get things running properly." "What I don''t understand," said Molito, "Is why you''re insisting on March the first as the starting date. It''s obvious, even to me, that everyone''s unprepared." "What isn''t obvious to you," snarled Brock, "Is that no one is ever going to be one hundred percent prepared for what we''re going to do. This whole premise, that you can be fully prepared for something totally new, is just pure bullshit. If something''s new, there are going to be surprises." "I fully agree," chimed in Odongo. "Besides, professor, there''s a very real threat of civil wars breaking out everywhere if we sit tight. The only reason they didn''t break out immediately after the catastrophe was the total breakdown in communications. Rebels need good communications even more than a government does." "Yes, I understand that," said Molito. "A government has established procedures for everything. That''s exactly my point. You don''t seem to have a set of established procedures for the New World." "Of course we don''t," snapped Brock. "It''s the New World. New, do you understand that word, professor?" "Many things can be predicted with great accuracy even when we''re dealing with completely new circumstances," said Molito. "Be my guest, professor," sneered Brock. "Please go ahead. I am sure everyone is greatly interested to hear your predictions. How well do you know the New World, professor?" "I have the general idea," said Molito patiently. It was obvious she''d put in many hours dealing with crazies of all sorts. "But regardless of what the New World is like, it''s only half the equation. The smaller half. Maybe as little as a third." "And the other two thirds?" "Human nature," said Molito. "And that''s something we''re all familiar with. And very predictable." "I fully agree," said Brock, surprising everyone. "That''s exactly why we have to move fast. Because if we don''t give all these frustrated fuckers something to do and dream about, the world is going to explode. We''re going to have a famine in a couple of months, professor. A worldwide famine. Not one of those somewhere-in-Sudan-or-Somalia famines no one really cares about. The real thing." "A lot of people will die," Odongo said solemnly. "We need to give the ones that survive hope, professor. Plenty of hope. The New World is that hope." "Not to mention that they''ll be able to send food back home," said Caron. "In my opinion, that is the most important factor." "If you don''t give people something to do, they do themselves in," said Olaf Troll, surprising everyone. He had been silent until now, following the conversation with the bemused smile of an adult listening to children talk nonsense. It was four against one, but Molito handled it with ease. In her career, she''d dealt with many multiple-personality disorders. Quite often, a single patient would spring half a dozen different personalities at her in the space of a single hour. She said: "I hope you know that most of your brave colonists will die. And most of these will die twice: in the New World, then here." "I have plenty of experience dealing with situations where people die of deprivation," said Odongo. "And I can assure you most of those situations are self-inflicted. That''s the sad reality behind the sad reality." "We all have to die sometime," added Brock. "Hard to believe, but it''s true. I might have a stroke tomorrow." "Actually, I don''t feel too well right now," said Troll. Caron giggled, and asked: "Why? What''s the matter, Olaf?" "I think it''s the beans," said Troll. "I haven''t eaten beans in a long time. My stomach isn''t used to beans." As if to make his point, he emitted a squealy fart. "You better get out of here before you gas us to death," said Brock. "I''m sorry," said Troll, blushing. "Please excuse me." There was a brief silence after he''d left. When it was safe to breathe and speak again, Molito said: "I think I''d like to experience the New World myself, governor Brock. Could you make it possible?" "I don''t have to," said Brock. "It''s already possible. When you get home, visit your local Colonial Office and get a license. I don''t issue those." "It''s the smart thing for you to do anyway," said Caron. "For food, if anything else. But I''d advise you to form a group with like-minded, competent individuals. Don''t go alone." "Oh, I''ve got those two bases covered," said Molito. "I have a son who is a survivalist. He''s spent the last five years building and outfitting a bunker in preparation for the new world war. He''s already invited me to join him there, and talked about establishing a colony in the New World." "You have a son?" said Brock, astonished. "Several. Not all of them are mad. It''s ironic that it''s the mad one who seems to be best prepared." "Several sons? Really," said Brock. "Any daughters?" "Just one," said the surprisingly fertile Molito. "We lost touch. She married an Australian, and moved there quite a while ago." "I see," said Brock, although he didn''t. He stood up and made a point of looking at his watch. "Fifty four hours to blastoff," he said. "I hate to do this, but we all have a busy day tomorrow, so..." His guests rose from their seats with obvious reluctance. Usually, that would have made him happy. It was nice when people wanted to stay in his company. But not that day. He wanted to be alone so that he could drink himself into oblivion, and fall asleep. He thanked Panatella for her help, and sent her off too. When he was young, Brock formulated a theory that still had to be proved wrong. His theory had it that during the week, his brain accumulated a lot of of unnecessary baggage - dirt, simple dirt, like dirt that gathered on the clothes he wore. A weekly cleansing was beneficial: Brock called it washing his brain in alcohol. Following his weekly booze session and the subsequent hangover, Brock invariably emerged feeling clean, bright-eyed, and bushy-tailed, ready to tackle anything life might throw his way. He knew he would really need to feel that way in fifty four hours time, when shit was going to start happening, big time. He got out a fresh bottle of Wild Turkey, and looked at it for a while before twisting it open and pouring some. He hesitated before taking the first sip. Was it really the right thing to do? But then he remembered a basic fact about humankind, the kind of fact that that wasn''t taught anywhere. He''d heard it from several authoritative sources, most of which had been sober when they told him about it. This fact was that humanity as such was fueled by alcohol. Civilization got started when the nomadic half-apes discovered alcohol, and found they have to stay put in one place so that the fermentation process could run its course. Alcohol, or more specifically the production of alcohol, forced the half-apes to start planning for the future. What a paradox! The substance that turned a human being into an ape was the one that turned apes into people. And apart from everything else, alcohol also made people feel better about their circumstances. Brock had a serious need to feel better about his circumstances. He had to get the old fighting spirit back in shape. He raised his glass in a toast. "George Washington or bust," he said. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 115 Going South On Saturday, 24th of February, Li Yang woke up at exactly five minutes past midnight. He hadn''t slept for more than a couple of hours, and the couple of hours he did sleep were filled with nightmares. He tried to remember what they were when he woke up and couldn''t, and decided that was just as well. He knew what had brought his nightmares about even though he couldn''t remember them. He was about to leave the apartment where he''d spent all his life. He was about to leave it for good, or maybe bad - whatever. He wouldn''t be coming back. It made him sad, which was odd, because his time there hadn''t been a happy one. But the apartment had become a part of his life, an important part. Lying on his bed and staring into the darkness, Li Yang realized that was how things worked. You could love or hate someone or something, it didn''t matter: an emotional investment in something meant it became a part of your life. It would stay with you forever no matter what happened next, no matter how hard you tried to forget all about it and get on with your new life. The lights had been working for over a week, but he got up and got dressed in darkness: he''d gotten used to that. Jake Donato would be coming shortly: he''d promised to be there by one o''clock in the morning. At two o''clock, the whole team would leave the apartment on Mott Street and begin the journey to Fairhaven, the little town on Chesapeake Bay where Harper Lee''s friend owned a small farm. There were six of them: Li Yang and Jake Donato, Harper and Charlene Lee, and Harper''s friend Bobby plus his Russian girlfriend, Olga. Bobby and Olga had arrived the previous day, and were sleeping in Rose Fogerty''s former bedroom. Li Yang wasn''t impressed with Olga any more than he''d been impressed with Bobby. She had short spiky blond hair and a total of seven rings installed in various parts of her face: two in each earlobe, one in each eyebrow, and one in her nose. The rings were thin and elegant, but to Li Yang they still meant that Olga was one of the people his mother used to call the new barbarians. She''d been convinced that their appearance meant civilization was about to die. As he dressed, Li Yang thought - not for the first time - that she had been right. He still felt that way when everyone had assembled and they set out, leaving the apartment block on the stroke of two o''clock. The night was dark, but the night wasn''t silent: they heard an army vehicle growl past on a neighboring street. They all felt very reassured by that sound. Heavy military presence was all that kept New York from erupting into one big battleground. Naturally, Harper Lee was the leader of their little band. "That''s a contradiction in terms," said Olga. Although Li Yang had known her for just a few hours, he''d already identified her as someone difficult: hard to understand, hard to like, hard to get to agree with anything that was proposed. "Life is a contradiction in terms," Harper said. "You''re born in order to die. We''re going to run across a lot of army and police patrols. I''m the only one that has a gun permit. I want those guns well hidden, you hear me?" He spoke softly, but everyone heard him very well. "Okay," said Harper, when he was satisfied with their silence. "I''ll ride in front. We come across a patrol, let me handle that. Charlene, you ride second. And can everyone understand right now I''m not favoriting Charlene. I''m using her. A family story always works well, if anyone starts asking a lot of questions." "Thank you for using me, Harper," said Charlene, and Bobby laughed. "Okay," Harper said again. "Bobby, you and the rickshaw come next. Olga next, Li Yang and Jake bring up the rear. Everyone fine with that?" Li Yang wasn''t fine with that. He didn''t like the idea. He wanted to be close to the front- not up front, being the one in the front always meant extra danger - but second, or third. He turned to Jake and said: "You and I, we better ride side by side." Jake nodded. "Very good idea," he said. They set off. Almost right away, they heard the pop of a distant gunshot, and everyone gripped their handlebars a little bit tighter. They saw no one until they reached the Holland Tunnel. An army APC was parked in front of the entrance. There were five soldiers sitting or standing around it: three black, one tan - Indian? It was hard to tell in the light - and one white. The white soldier was in the process of taking a hit from a blunt when they came by. He continued to smoke it even when one of the black guys, wearing numerous stripes on his sleeve, shouted: "Hey! You guys! Halt!" They all stopped, obediently. The striped commander unglued his ass from the side of the patrol vehicle, and walked a few steps up to Harper, stopping midway. Li Yang noted that one of his hands hovered over the butt of his gun. "Okay," said the striped commander, sounding very much like Harper Lee. "Who are you? Where are you coming from? Where are you going? And why?" "We''re residents of New York, leaving for the country," Harper answered with great dignity. "A friend of ours owns a farm in Virginia. We''re going to join him." "Wise move," said one of the black guys. "Shut up," said the striped commander. "You carrying any weapons or drugs?" "I have a registered handgun," Harper said, "And my sister here is taking medication for her nerves. She has her doctor''s prescription with her, if you''d like to check." "I wouldn''t," the striped commander told him. "I don''t give a fuck. Now listen. You going down to Virginia, keep to the main roads. We got plenty of patrols there. You take another route and someone fucks your ass, you''ve only got yourselves to blame. Get it?" "You mean we could run into bandits?" said Harper Lee. "Of course you can run into bandits. You''re guaranteed to run into them sooner or later. Everyone''s going apeshit. Once you get out of the city, it might be a good idea to keep to the side roads." "I understand," said Harper Lee. "I''m not sure you do." The white guy sitting with his legs dangling over the side of the vehicle let out an evil cackle. "Kowalski," said the striped commander, "When I hear you laugh, I lose all faith I have in mankind and the meaning of life. Shut up." "I''m sorry, sir," said Kowalski, and Li Yang was sure he''d heard him stifle another cackle. "I told you to shut up." Kowalski prudently remained silent. "Okay," repeated the striped commander. "Carry on. Keep an eye out. Something''s funny, you fire that gun of yours," he said, looking at Harper. "Some of our boys will be within earshot for sure, and they''ll come running. Or riding or whatever." "Thank you," said Harper Lee. They got back on their bikes and went into the tunnel. Only every fifth light was lit; the magneto-powered bicycle lights cast wavering, weak beams on the road ahead. Li Yang felt this was a prophecy of sorts. What would happen once they got to their destination? What could happen before they got to their destination? His future was full of question marks. Luckily, he was used to that. It seemed everyone else was used to it, too. They rode on in a determined silence; in Li Yang''s ears, the loudest noise was the rattle of his bicycle chain. It was pretty slack, but he''d been frightened of making it tight. The bicycle Harper Lee had found for him was pretty old. Bicycles were worth their weight in gold, "It cost me a hundred paper dollars and one of Charlene''s bracelets," Harper had told him. "Here''s some WD 40. Get it in good shape, it''s got to travel five hundred miles." Of course, Harper''s gift wasn''t a gift. In exchange, Li Yang had to part with more than half of the implant kits he had. He now had exactly eight left. He didn''t feel bad about giving most of the implant kits to Harper. It made it much more less likely Harper would kill him for the kits he still had. They didn''t leave the city before dawn. They were stopped by numerous other army patrols along the way. Luckily, none of those wanted to search their baggages. Without any doubt, there would''ve been numerous difficulties if then soldiers discovered all the other guns. They left the city for good just as the sun was rising. Melting ice crystals cast a light show: sparkles of blue, purple, yellow, pure white. Li Yang watched them sparkle and die as he pedaled on, and couldn''t help hoping that he would sparkle too before he died. Wasn''t that all he could hope for? Wasn''t that what he wanted to do? His family had been erased. He was the only one left. It was all up to him. As the dawn broke over the wet, dark road he gritted his teeth and promised himself he would leave a mark. Deep and strong enough to be seen by many future generations. And the moment he''d thought it, the sun came up over the horizon and said yes, yes, yes. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 116 Essential Killing "No, no, no," said Harper. "That bag is used to heat your meal. Open it, and put the bag with the food inside and pour in some water. See those lines on the bag? That''s how much water you put in." "I think I''m going to eat mine cold," said Olga. "Don''t be stupid." "I don''t want chemicals in my food." "There won''t be any chemicals in your food! You put the unopened bag with your food into the bag with the powder and - " "No," said Olga. "Leave her be," said Bobby. Li Yang thought that was a very good plan. Olga was proving to be a major pain in the ass. ''No'' seemed to be her favorite word. They all sat and waited for their MREs to heat, trying not to look at her eat. She opened the package with the crackers and crumbled them into the bag containing chicken with noodles and vegetables and began spooning the mixture into her mouth. "It''s good," she said. "It would have been better warm," Harper said. "Say, Bobby. What has she been eating in the meantime?" Bobby shrugged. "MREs, just like everyone else," he said. "She would put everything into a saucepan and add stuff and heat it the traditional way." "Add what stuff?" "Salt and pepper and shit." "Shit?" laughed Harper. "Drop it, man," Bobby said. They had been on the road for over eight hours, but had traveled no more than fifty kilometers. Soon after exiting the city, they found out why the patrol commander had told them to take the side roads. The highway running south was full of abandoned vehicles. Most of them had been broken into, and the road was covered in trash that included plenty of small, sharp objects. Before long, both Harper and Charlene caught punctures and they wasted over an hour patching the tubes with one of the repair kits they had brought along. They switched to the side roads as recommended by the commander, but it made little difference to their speed. There were frequent stops and map consultations and a lot of bitching from Charlene. The tube on her front wheel was leaking air, and she had to use her bicycle''s hand pump every fifteen-twenty minutes. "I told you there was another puncture somewhere, Harper Lee," she kept saying. "I TOLD you!" Harper and the others stayed silent, and let her rant. Around ten thirty, they stopped to rest and eat. They were on something called Applegarth Road; it ran along the highway, maybe half a kilometer away. They''d just crossed a bridge over a small creek; the bridge afforded a view of a nearby golf course, with roofs of a township on its other side. Someone had abandoned a pickup truck right after the bridge, and its platform served them as their table. "There are no birds because they all dead," Olga said with gloomy satisfaction. She''d already finished eating, and was looking pleased with herself. She added: "I seen that happen in Russia. People kill every living thing for food. And birds especially bad because they eat grain people sow around that time of the year." "I don''t see any crop fields anywhere," said Harper. "Don''t you worry. All those people living over there, everyone has a small field in their own back yard. If they have any sense." Li Yang turned to look at Jake Donato, and winked. It was pretty clear Olga regarded herself as the smartest person alive. Then he returned to his chicken with noodles and vegetables. They were all eating the same MRE; the carton they''d opened contained only chicken with noodles and vegetables. There was the crack of a gunshot just as Li Yang was scraping out the meal bag with his spoon, hunting down every last little scrap. They all froze. The shot seemed to come from the trees bordering the golf course to one side, maybe two hundred meters away. "You see?" Olga said triumphantly. "I told you. They shoot anything that moves, and eat it." "We''d better get going," Harper Lee said nervously. "Don''t you worry, Harper," said Charlene. "No one would want to eat you. You''re not tasty enough. Now me, that''s a different story." No one laughed. They quickly concluded their meal and got on the bikes and rode away. They passed through a couple of little towns where nothing stirred and the only noise was the noise they made on their bikes. They passed by silent storefronts, decorated with big TO LET and FOR RENT signs; they passed roadside restaurants whose parking lots falsely suggested there might be someone inside. Li Yang was increasingly feeling as if he was in some sort of a horror movie. And when they finally did come across someone, he briefly thought he was hallucinating. They''d just switched to different local road, and after rounding a clump of trees they saw several small fields spread out to one side. A man was attempting to plow the field closest to them with a horse. It was evident that the horse didn''t like it, even from a distance. As they drew closer, the horse looked at them, snorted, and jumped forward, tearing the small metal plow from the man''s hands. "Oh Jesus," they heard the man say. Harper raised a hand, and they all stopped near the aspiring farmer. "Good morning," Harper said. "Don''t know if it''s that good," said the man wearily. He was wearing a baseball cap and a short sheepskin jacket and jeans. He took the cap off, revealing greasy black hair, and wiped his forehead with his sleeve. "I''m sorry to hear that," Harper said. "Just one quick question and we''ll stop bugging you and be gone. Is there any chance of finding a store that''s open anywhere near here?" The man laughed. "You must be fucking kidding," he said. "A store that''s open? You from another planet? Jesus." "We''re from New York," Harper said. "Yeah," the man said, as if their being from New York explained everything, including the dumbest of questions. The horse had been observing them suspiciously, and now it snorted again. The man turned to it and said: "You''re so fucking clever, aren''t you? Why can''t you pull a fucking plow?" "It''s a fine horse," Harper said. "It''s obviously a riding horse. It wasn''t trained to pull a plow." "Why don''t you all just fuck off and die," the man said tiredly. He took a step towards the horse. The horse moved a couple of steps away, and looked at the man triumphantly. "Oh Jesus," the man said. They rode away, but barely an hour passed before Charlene threw a major tantrum. She was fucking tired of having to stop every few kilometers to pump more air into the damaged tube on her front wheel. It turned out Bobby was fucking tired of it too, and they spent over an hour repairing the tube. It took so long because Charlene discovered the tube had been damaged while getting the tire back on the wheel after the first patching and had a major fight with Harper, who told her to fix the bike all by herself from now on. By two in the afternoon, after a full twelve hours on the road, everyone was tired and nerves were beginning to fray. They stopped again, and ate another meal of chicken with noodles and vegetables. Everyone took their time about it. They all needed to rest. After a while, the sun began to slide behind the treetops to the west. Harper became upset. He had a friend in Philadelphia, a friend who could find all of them a place to stay: he worked in a hotel. "I want to get there before it gets completely dark," he said. "Let''s get going, people. We can get there in an hour if we step on it." But night fell quickly, very quickly. And they were still a long way from Philadelphia when they saw a fire burning at the crossroads in front of them. Harper stopped them and they all looked at the fire in the distance. There was a small supermarket right next to the intersection, but it appeared deserted. "Hey, bro," Bobby said to Harper. "I''m gonna get my gun and put it in my pocket. I strongly advise you to do the same." "I don''t know if it''s a good move," Harper said. "I think it is," Bobby said. Li Yang thought so, too. He glanced at Jake and they both got off their bikes to get the guns from their backpacks. Jake had brought along a revolver very similar to Li Yang''s, just slightly bigger and holding six shots in its drum instead of five. But it was the same caliber, a thirty-eight, and Jake gave Li Yang a handful of cartridges. Li Yang loaded up his gun, and put the remaining ammo in his pocket. He retrieved the small snub-nosed revolver from his backpack, and after due consideration put it in the side pocket of his jacket, leaving its flap unbuttoned. The pocket was deep enough to ensure the gun wouldn''t fall out by accident. "Just take it easy, guys," Harper said, looking at them. "We don''t want any shooting." No one said anything to that and Harper pushed off and everyone pushed off after him, one by one. They were less than fifty meters away when several figures stepped out of the murk and into the light cast by the fire. Li Yang quickly counted five guys - two blacks and three whites. They all held long-barreled guns, shotguns and rifles, but they were pointed at the ground and one of the white guys raised his hand and waved in a manner that seemed friendly. He shouted: "Hey there! Don''t be afraid, come closer. We''re just keeping an eye on who goes through." They approached them slowly, and Harper stopped a good ten steps away. Li Yang broke rank and drew up alongside Bobby and looked at him. Bobby looked back and his eyes were full of bad news. "We''re from New York," Harper was saying. "We''re on our way to stay with a friend out in the country. It''s hard to survive in the city." "What do you say," said the white guy who had called out earlier. He was wearing a beanie and a black leather biking jacket and black leather pants. The gun in his hands was a pump-action shotgun. He turned around to his companions and said: "Did you hear that, guys? The man says it''s hard to survive in the city." They all grinned or cackled. They seemed to find it really funny. The leather-clad leader turned to Harper and said: "You seem to have a lot of stuff for guys who are finding it hard to survive." "It''s everything we own," Harper told him. The leader nodded. "That''s fine," he said. "We''ll let you through, don''t worry. But you''ll have to pay a toll." "A toll?" "A toll. Payment for using this road, which is kept safe for travelers like you by guys like us. Don''t you think that deserves payment?" "It does. Absolutely," Harper said quickly. "How much do you want us to pay?" "Well," said the leader, "That depends on how much your stuff is worth. If it''s everything you own it must be worth a lot, right, guys?" His crew agreed. All of them also moved a few steps closer. Most of them were using both hands to hold their guns. Li Yang had received some rudimentary gun training from Jake before they''d left. Jake had told him how to hold the gun. He''d said: "Don''t aim the gun, just point it at the target as if you were trying to touch it with the muzzle. And hold it in both hands, cup the butt with your left hand before pulling the trigger. Remember: both hands on the gun." Li Yang looked at the self-appointed guardians of the crossroads and knew, just knew they were ready to shoot him and the others with no hesitation. He glanced at Bobby and saw that Bobby''s right hand was already inside his jacket. He let his right hand drop down to his pocket. "Just tell us how much you want, and we''ll pay you," Harper said. "Okay. But we''ll have to look through what you''ve got before we can tell you. We gotta check things out for ourselves. You understand?" "You want to search us?" "Correct. In some cases, that will mean a body search. Like that sweet doll you have here. From what I can see she''s carrying something nice on her chest." The guardians of the crossroads really enjoyed that. When they stopped laughing, one of them said: "I want to search that sweet Chinese boy. I never had a Chinese boy." The leader looked at Li Yang and grinned and said: "Sylvester here likes boys more than girls. Don''t worry, he''s very nice and gentle." He turned to Harper and said: "All right, get off that fucking bike and tell them to do it too. Otherwise - " He didn''t get the chance to finish. Li Yang did one of the two things Jake had told him to do. He pointed his gun at the leader in black leather, and pulled the trigger. The bang was so loud it deafened him, and the gun almost jumped out of his hand, hurting his wrist. He was stunned, and it was all over before he could recover. Bobby began shooting almost at the same moment, so fast that the shots merged into one. So was Jake. And Olga was shooting too, shooting like a pro, with both hands clasped on a small black automatic spitting white flames. It lasted no more than two seconds. Four of the crossroads guardians were lying on the road around the fire. One - the leader - had fallen backwards into the fire. He wasn''t moving or complaining. "God almighty," Harper said hoarsely. "Oh God." "Let''s go," growled Bobby. "Oh God." "Move your stupid ass, Harper!" shouted Charlene. He did. So did all of them. Pedaling like mad, they raced to then next intersection, turned right, then turned left after a while. No one said a word, everyone saved their breath and kept going. They went on like this for the next half an hour, newly grateful for the darkness, the empty road, the silent buildings, the lack of any human presence. A faint glow appeared over the horizon in front, as if there was another fire burning just out of sight. But Harper let out a short, happy laugh and called out: "That''s Philadelphia! We made it!" NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https://www.webnovel.com/book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 117 The Virgin Shooter Harper''s joy was premature. It took them over four hours to find the hotel his friend worked at. And when they did, unexpected complications ensued. "We only take guests who can pay in the new currency," Harper''s friend told him. Harper''s friend was a tall, handsome mulatto, with short curly brown hair and large, moody eyes. His name was Jordan. Astonishingly, he was wearing a clean white shirt. Li Yang hadn''t see anyone in a clean shirt, let alone a clean white shirt, in quite a while. "But no one has any of the new currency just yet," protested Harper. Jordan smirked and said: "You''re wrong. As of this moment, we have seven paying guests." "Seven! You''ve got what, a couple of hundred rooms?" "A hundred and twelve," Jordan said. "Our rooms are much bigger than the standard hotel rooms. That''s why this hotel is called Hotel Excelsior. Get it?" "You''ve got seven people paying you with the new currency? They''re paying you with coins? What coins?" "Silver dollars," Jordan said with offended dignity. "Silver dollars! And how much do you charge per night?" "A dollar." Harper was stunned. "A dollar," he repeated weakly. "A single dollar?" "That''s right. It includes an English breakfast. And every room is guaranteed to have at least one working light." It was immediately clear to everyone they simply HAD to get rooms at the Hotel Excelsior. After twenty minutes of increasingly frenzied negotiations, Jordan relented slightly. He consented to take Charlene''s gold anklet as payment. There was a delay as one of the hotel''s guests - a jeweler by trade - was woken up and asked to evaluate the anklet. He was an elderly man and grumbled a lot, and had to be promised a fee - a silver ring also belonging to Charlene - for his professional services. "This is eighteen karats," he pronounced finally. "What?! It''s twenty four karats!" exclaimed Charlene. "Eighteen," said the jeweler. "Seven-eight grams. Now that," he said, pointing at Olga''s nose, "That is twenty four karat gold. See the difference?" "I''m not giving up my nose ring," Olga said immediately. "Why not? It makes you look like a stupid savage," said Charlene. "Shut up," barked Harper. He turned to Jordan. "Seven grams of eighteen carat gold is still a lot of gold," he said. "That''s the equivalent of seventy grams of silver." "Fifty," said the jeweler. "It''s eighteen karat gold. Can I go back to sleep now?" He left without waiting for an answer. "A gram of silver is worth ten cents," said Jordan. "So you guys are good for five dollars. A little less, because it''s not coin. I can let you have four rooms for that. All the rooms have double beds." "I''m not sharing a room with you, Harper," said Charlene. "It''s my anklet and I''m entitled to a room of my own." "No way," said Olga. "You snore." "For fuck''s sake," said Jake Donato. He stepped up to the reception counter and deposited a handful of small coins in front of Jordan. Harper was dumbfounded. "Where did you get those?" he asked. "I was working for guys that had registered a mint back in New York," Jake told him. Jordan was busy examining the small copper coins Jake had dropped on the counter. He pushed them around with a finger and held a couple close to his eyes and finally said: "They seem legit. But you''ve only got a total of seventy nine cents here." "You''ve also got a five-dollar anklet," Harper reminded Jordan. "Enough," said Charlene. "We want to talk to the manager of this dump." Jordan smiled at her and said: "You''re looking at him. I''m the manager and also one of the owners of this dump, as you put it. And your big mouth is starting to piss me off." "I apologize for my sister, Jordan," Harper said quickly. "We''ve been on the road for twenty hours now and everyone''s tired and short-tempered. Can we finalize this deal?" Jordan pursed his lips and said: "Five rooms. Third floor, you''ll have the whole floor to yourself. Take it or leave it." Li Yang and Jake Donato looked at each other. Li Yang nodded. "We''ll share a room," Jake said. "Good," said Jordan. "You can leave your bicycles in the restaurant on the ground floor. It''s closed and they''ll be safe there. Then take the stairs to the third floor, and take any room you like. But five rooms total, do we understand each other?" "You aren''t giving us any keys?" asked Harper. "There aren''t any keys. We had a hell of a time getting rid of the electronic locks. And so far we couldn''t find a locksmith to install new key-operated locks in the guest rooms. Checkout time is noon, make sure you leave by then." "But it''s almost midnight!" cried Charlene. Jordan looked at her heavily, and said: "Okay, one o''clock. Special deal. Don''t try my patience any harder. Hot water between eight and nine, and breakfast will be brought to your rooms between nine and ten. Remove the Please Don''t Disturb signs from the doors of your rooms so that we know where you are." They wheeled their bicycles into the big, dark dining room, and trooped upstairs in a heavy silence. Now that everyone''s immediate future was secure, their thoughts returned to the shooting at the crossroads. Inevitably, Li Yang and Jake began talking about it the moment they''d settled in their room. They settled on a room with two single beds, which compensated for the fact the door couldn''t be closed properly: they had to use the plastic wedge provided for that purpose. Both the door and the door jamb featured tacky pieces of plywood nailed over the holes left after the removal of the electronic lock. "I''ll take the bed near the door," said Jake. "Anyone tries anything funny, I''ll pop them one. Hey, man. Why the long face? Look, we got two working lights - one by each bed." "It''s that shootout with the bonfire guys," Li Yang said. "I can''t help thinking it was all my fault." "Why?" "I started it." "Bullshit. I started it. Or maybe Bobby did." "I fired the first shot," Li Yang insisted. "I was the one that shot that guy in leather." "You shot him?" "Yeah." "Then so did I, twice. I shot the guy next to him next, twice as well. And Olga and Bobby got a guy apiece." "How do you know?" "What do you mean, how do I know? I saw it happen." "I didn''t." "What?" "I was confused. And I couldn''t see well, I was looking down the barrel when I fired and the flash blinded me for a couple of seconds." "Well yeah," Jake said suspiciously. "It was over pretty fast. Tell me something. Did you ever shoot a gun before? Or was that the first time?" Li Yang swallowed a couple of times, and said: "That was the first time." "Aah, alright then," Jake said. "Now I understand. Listen, what happened wasn''t your fault." "I think it was." Jake sighed. "I see I have some serious explaining to do," he said. A few doors down the hallway from their room, Harper was seeing the same thing. "Stop bitching about paying for everyone''s rooms, Charlene," he said. His sister had invaded his room the moment she''d claimed hers, and proceeded to make many hurtful remarks about Harper''s sense of justice and intelligence in general. "You think I don''t have the right to bitch about paying for everyone?" she hissed. "Why didn''t Bobby pay? Why didn''t Olga?" "Because Jordan wouldn''t have taken a nose ring with her snot on it," snapped Harper. He checked himself. He sighed theatrically, and said: "I''m sorry, Charlene. This is getting out of hand. We all agreed at the start that half of what everyone had was automatically communal property. You have enough anklets to outfit an Egyptian dancing troupe." "It was twenty four karat gold! That lying old Jew - " "He is Greek," Harper said. "I got his business card. Now, listen, Charlene. I promise you than soon enough, you''ll see Olga without a single ring in her face." The utter improbability of Harper''s prophecy struck Charlene speechless for a moment. "I''ll become the Queen of England before that happens," she declared. "There''s no such thing as the Queen of England," said Harper, as detail-minded as ever. "Exactly." "Charlene," said Harper, "The moment we get to Jimmy''s farm, we''ll pool our communal resources. That will be the moment your throw one anklet less onto the pile." "And a ring," said Charlene. "Don''t forget about the ring. It was pure silver, and had a precious stone." "It was amber." "Amber is a precious stone." Harper sighed again, and this time no theatrics were involved. His head was starting to ache. He said: "All right. One anklet, gold, one ring, silver, one precious stone. I''ll remember that." "The weight''s important to. Do you remember what it weighed, or should I remind you?" "Why don''t you do that when we get to Jimmy''s farm," said Harper. "And in the meantime - how about we both get some sleep? We''re supposed to be out of our rooms by one, but I want to leave earlier than that. We''ve still got a long way to go. I hope we won''t have any more incidents like today''s." Charlene didn''t move to leave. She was uncharacteristically silent for a while. Then she said: "That thing with those assholes at the crossroads. It doesn''t bother you, Harper?" Harper was in the act of lying down on his bed. He jerked upright and said: "Did you shoot anyone, Charlene?" "No. You know I didn''t." "Neither have I," said Harper. "I see," said Charlene. She left right after that, and Harper had to get up from the bed anyway to wedge the door shut. He walked back to his bed and stopped and looked around. "I didn''t shoot anyone," he told the empty room. Then he switched off the bedside lamp and stretched out on the bed without taking off his clothes. The room wasn''t warm enough for that. After a while he got up and took the gun he''d gotten from Bobby, and put it under his pillow before lying down again. He didn''t shoot anyone, but there was a first time for everything. And whatever happened for the first time always happened unexpectedly. It was better to be prepared. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https:///book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 118 A Cat Ragout? Li Yang was jerked awake by loud, insistent knocking on the door to their room. He looked at Jake and saw Jake was awake, too. The knocking stopped. They heard footsteps moving away from their door, accompanied by the clatter of a metal trolley. Li Yang checked his watch and saw he''d forgotten to wind it up the previous evening: it had stopped at a quarter to six. Jake was looking at his watch too, and he said: "That must be breakfast. They said they''d deliver it between nine and ten." "What time have you got? My watch has stopped." "Twenty to nine. Hey, you should get an automatic watch, like mine. There''s a small weight inside that moves and winds it up when you move your hand. All you have to do is wear the watch, it''s always wound up." "I''ve never heard of a watch like that." "Now you have. I''ll snag one for you when I see it." "Thanks." The English breakfast turned out to consist of four slices of white toast smeared with orange marmalade, and a mug of weak tea. The marmalade consisted of jelly and sugar and a bunch of chemical additives for that genuine, sun-ripened orange taste. The only thing it shared with a real orange was the color. They wolfed it down in record time anyway: it was ages since they''d had any toast. It was a nice change from the MREs. "And to think I used to sneer at people eating Wonder Bread," sighed Jake, putting the last piece of toast into his mouth. There was a new, gentler knock on their door. It opened, and Harper put his head inside. "Good morning," he said sternly. "We are going to gather downstairs, by the reception, at ten thirty. I''ll raise the subject of this disgraceful breakfast with Jordan at that time. In the meantime, eat one of your ready meals. We have a long way to go today, and we won''t be stopping half as often as we did yesterday." "Why are you calling the breakfast disgraceful?" asked Li Yang. "I enjoyed it." "You would," Harper said, before he could stop himself. "But we were told we''d get an English breakfast. An English breakfast includes eggs and bacon and sausages. Sometimes broiled kidneys and kippers, too. Remember: ten thirty downstairs, by the reception. Make sure you''re there on time." And he left, his face grave with all that responsibility resting on his capable shoulders. Jake and Li Yang lazed around for a few minutes, talking of this and that. Then they took turns in the bathroom, and were unpleasantly reminded that hot water was available only between eight and nine. They both cut their bathroom visits short, and treated themselves to the MREs in their backpacks: every member of the group was allowed to keep ten rations for their personal use. The cartons with the communal food were transported on Bobby''s rickshaw. They heard the raised voices before they''d finished descending the stairs. When they got to the reception area, they found out that there was a major fight, the mother of all fights in fact, going on between Harper and Charlene. The fight had been caused by Jimmy the cat. Harper had forbidden Charlene to take it along. So Charlene mixed some sleeping pill powder into Jimmy''s food on the eve of their departure, and stowed the cat away in her backpack. Jimmy had received a nearly lethal dose, and fell into a deep coma from which he emerged only that morning. Greatly invigorated by his thirty-six hour rest and freaked out by the chemicals still present in its brain, it escaped its confinement, scratched Charlene, scratched and bit Harper, and disappeared into the labyrinth of empty ground-floor rooms. Harper''s friend Jordan had managed to calm down the warring siblings by the time Li Yang and Jake joined them. They had stopped shouting and screaming at each other, and were exchanging insults in a thoroughly civilized manner. "You''re a birdbrain," Harper was telling his sister. "I told you all the reasons why you can''t take the cat a hundred times." "They were the reasons of a stupid asshole," Charlene said. "I don''t take no advice from stupid assholes." "You don''t?" "I don''t." "Then you can stay. I''m not taking you to Jimmy''s farm. Jesus, Charlene, my guy''s name is Jimmy, just like that fucking cat''s." "I told you I can call him something else." "That cat isn''t coming with us. You have a choice: come with us, or stay with the cat. It''s your call." "I can''t abandon Jimmy like that," said Charlene, and Li Yang was amazed to see a tear roll down her cheek. "I just can''t." "I can take care of the cat," said Jordan. Harper very nearly jumped with joy. "You can? Jordan! Thank you so much." "Why would you want my cat?" asked Charlene suspiciously. "We''re starting to see rats around. They''re hard to deal with when you can''t just call a service to do the job. I could use a sharp cat, and this cat looked pretty sharp to me." "You can say that again," agreed Harper. He raised his scratched hand to his mouth, and gave it a tentative suck. "So my cat will be like a hotel employee?" said Charlene. "You''ll feed him and give him a place to sleep and take care of him?" "Absolutely," Jordan said, hooding his eyes. He sounded very solemn. At this point, Bobby and Olga showed up. They both seemed unhappy about something and threw meaningful glances in Harper''s direction. Harper became uncomfortable. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and put his elbows on the reception counter and rubbed his face while Charlene concluded negotiations concerning the cat''s future life and career prospects. When she''d finished, Harper said: "Jordan, there''s something I wanted to talk to you about... Not another cat, I promise. It''s about today''s breakfast." "What about it?" said Jordan. "You said we''d be getting an English breakfast. It wasn''t an English breakfast." "What the hell you talking about?" said Jordan. "You got tea, right? And toast? And genuine English orange marmalade?" "That was genuine English orange marmalade?" "That''s what it says on the can," said Jordan. Harper laughed weakly, and said: "What do you serve when someone asks for a continental breakfast? Like, French?" "Coffee and a croissant or some other pastry," Jordan said promptly. "But we''re all out of pastries. So there''s no French breakfast." "You serve American breakfasts too?" "We do. Coffee and toast and strawberry marmalade. Or raspberry. Depends on the day." "I see." "I''m glad you do. Anything else I can help you with?" Jordan said, turning his head and giving the clock on the wall behind the reception a meaningful glance. "Well, if you could offer us any advice on the route to take - like I told you, we''re going down to a place on Chesapeake Bay. And you mentioned earlier today steering clear of Washington is a good idea." "Most definitely," said Jordan, pursing his lips. "Stay well away from Washington. Baltimore isn''t good, either. We got lucky, we got a good mayor here. He told the army to shoot a few looters and that was it, peace and quiet and maybe even a little bit of love." "But there is no way we can get where we want to get without passing through Baltimore, or nearby." "That place of yours right on the shore of the bay? How far south?" asked Jordan. "Yes, right on the coast. It''s called Fairhaven. Tiny place almost directly west of Washington." Jordan nodded intelligently, and said: "Tell you what. The navy cadets from Annapolis are running a ferry to Charlestown." "Charlestown?" "Town just past Wilmington. Wilmington''s safe, and so is Charlestown. It''s basically one big marina, located on the northern tip of the bay." "So you''re saying we can board this ferry in Charlestown and it will take us down to what, Annapolis?" "Correct. From what you say, this place of yours is a hop, skip, and jump from Annapolis." "How much does it cost?" "I''m not sure. But I''m sure they still take the old money. I mean, it''s supposed to be official tender for a couple more days." "Thank you, Jordan," said Harper. "We''ll take that ferry. Do you know where it docks?" "No. But you''ll find the right wharf, don''t worry. There''ll be people standing around and waiting for the ferry. But you better hurry. They only do two trips a day, morning and late afternoon. You better be on the spot before five." A frenzy of activity followed. Everyone preferred a ferry ride to pedaling dozens of kilometers through potentially hostile country. The Philadelphia mayor''s iron grip manifested itself in the condition of the roads, clean of debris, with abandoned cars all pulled to the sidewalk. They were out of Philadelphia by noon, and reached Wilmington less than an hour later. There was other traffic on the road too, quite a few vehicles: mostly bicycles and cargo rickshaws just like the one they had. But they also saw a couple of old motorcycles driven by old, long-haired, determined-looking men; an old pickup truck that was full of sheep; and a number of military and police vehicles, some stationary, some moving through the traffic like kings of the road: everyone respectfully gave them way. Li Yang thought the soldiers looked very well-fed and confident. It made him feel happy and safe. They didn''t make a single stop on the way, and arrived in Charlestown just after three. It was a small town, and they located the ferry''s wharf very quickly. It was only then that they allowed themselves to relax. There were a few people waiting for the ferry already. Harper quickly established it was due between four and five, and that it was a two-hour journey to Annapolis; the charge was a hundred old dollars, or one new. There was a patch of green and a scattering of picnic tables not far from the wharf, and they moved there and ate and rested and talked and watched what was going on - not much. Li Yang and Jake sat a little to the side, discussing the morning''s events; they hadn''t had a chance to do so earlier. At one point, Jake asked: "What do you think will happen to that cat?" Li Yang was silent for a while. He squinted at the horizon, as if the answer was hidden somewhere in the distance. Then he said: "I think they''ll kill and eat it. They''ll kill and eat the rats, too." NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https:///book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 119 The Angry Cow and the Courier The ferry showed up just before four o''clock in the afternoon. Slowly, it took the shape of a big flat metal barge towed by an ancient tug with a tall smokestack that belched black smoke into the sunny sky. It took a long time to dock because of all the intricate maneuvers required to bring in the barge parallel to the pier. By that time, quite a few people had assembled into a surprisingly orderly and peaceful queue. It looked as if the barge would be at least half full. Harper made sure their group was close to the front of the lineup of expectant passengers. Two grim-faced naval cadets stood in front of the queue: one had set up a small folding table, and put a metal cash box on top. Half a dozen other cadets lined the side of the tug, smoking cigarettes and watching the proceedings with alert eyes: Li Yang noticed all of them carried holstered pistols. A couple more cadets manned the barge, one standing at the front, the other in the rear: those two cadets were armed with assault rifles. The ferry brought no more than half a dozen passengers, a small pile of cartons and crates that looked as if they contained packaged food, and a couple of mournful-looking cows. Getting them off the barge proved to be a problem that got worse when one of them squirted liquid shit on the man that was pushing it from behind. In the moments that followed, Li Yang learned several new swear words, and he already knew quite a few, being from New York. Everyone waited patiently for the unloading to end. Finally the disgruntled cow was led off the pier, and one of the cadets waved the first person forward: a single middle-aged man wearing an elegant hat and overcoat. He was carrying a briefcase handcuffed to his wrist, and the cadets seemed to know him well. Harper noticed that he was allowed to board without any money changing hands. The people that followed answered a few questions, paid for the passage, and got on board of the barge, donning life jackets from an untidy pile speckled with cow shit: it was right next to the portable stairs distrusted by the second cow. Harper had confirmed earlier that the ferry cost a hundred old dollars or one new, silver dollar; he was relieved to see everyone was paying with banknotes, and that they were accepted without a qualm. Naturally, he stood at the front of the group. When his turn came, he stepped forward and said right away: "The five people behind me - we''re traveling together. They''re with me." "We''re the ones who decide who is with you and who is not, bud," said the cadet pleasantly. "But I''m the one with the money," said Harper. "Good to know," said the cadet, and his companion with the cash box laughed. The cadet standing in front of Harper grinned, and said: "What''s your name, and where are you coming from?" "Harper Lee. And this is my sister Charlene, and this -" "Enough. Got any ID?" "New York," remarked the cadet. He gave Harper a sharp look. "Where are you going to? Annapolis?" "Well, yes, I understood that''s where the ferry''s going." "I''m asking about your final destination." "Oh. Fairhaven. It''s a small town on the -" "I know Fairhaven," interrupted the cadet. He took another look at the driving license and then at Harper''s face. "What''s the purpose of your journey?" he asked. "We''re all moving there, I mean myself and the others. I have a friend who owns some property in Fairhaven, and we''re going to stay with him." "What''s your friend''s name?" "Jiimmy Dow." "Doe?" "Dow. As in the Dow index." "Ever heard of a Jimmy Dow?" the cadet asked his cash box companion. "Nope." "Neither have I. I guess that''s good," said the cadet. "You can pass. Pay the gentleman over there one hundred dollars, or one new dollar." "I want to pay for the people with me, too." "You''ll pay if and when we let them through. Stand over there." Harper obediently paid, and moved to stand a few steps from the table with the cash box. As he waited, he wondered what all those questions he''d been asked were about. They didn''t make sense to him, but then many things didn''t seem to make sense any more. Charlene went through without any trouble, and so did Olga and Bobby. Harper was asked to pay an extra hundred dollars for Bobby''s rickshaw, though. "Everyone''s allowed a bicycle or a moped," the cadet explained. "But this thing takes up as much space as a couple of people with bicycles. Weighs a lot too, from what I can see." Li Yang was next, and for some reason he appeared furtive. The cadet examining the prospective passengers got suspicious when Li Yang couldn''t produce an ID other than a dated library card. Jake Donato saved the situation. "Hey, give the guy a break," he piped up. "He just lost his mother and his sister. Couple of weeks ago." "Is that true?" the cadet asked Li Yang. Li Yang nodded dumbly. "It''s true," said Harper. "We rented rooms in the same apartment, his mother and myself, and my sister. I can vouch for him, I''ve known him for years." "Okay," the cadet said wearily. "I guess there''s some truth in that, and I don''t have the time and energy to separate the truth from the lies. That''s a hundred dollars, mister banker." A moment later, Jake was also let through and they finally boarded the barge. Everyone took care to pick a relatively clean life jacket. They were told to move to the rear by one of the cadets with the assault rifles. The man that had a briefcase handcuffed to his wrist was the only one allowed to stay in the front of the barge, and they all wondered who he could be. Finally, the guard at the back got tired of their half-whispered conversation and said: "That''s Mr. Sherman, one of the couriers to the governor of Maryland. We see him a lot." "A courier to the governor of Maryland? What does he do?" asked Harper. "He does what a courier does. Delivers documents. You''re beginning to get on my nerves." Harper promptly fell silent. It was clear he didn''t want to get on the guard''s nerves. They finally got under way over half an hour later, close to five. By that time, the barge was two-thirds full of people and diverse baggage. One middle-aged woman was carrying a huge comforter, rolled up and tied with string; a young couple had brought a blue baby pram; an old man was carrying half a dozen oil lamps threaded by their handles onto a rope looped over his shoulder. He sold a couple right away to other passengers, and Li Yang noticed that the buyers were paying with shiny new copper coins. The tug''s engine started up with a bang that made some people jump. It took a while for the tug to turn around and pull the barge free of the pier; it was moving at a snail''s pace. Fortunately, once they were clear the tug''s engine began thumping in a newly determined way, and a small bow wave formed at the front of the barge. The waters of the bay were almost perfectly still. This was a lucky development for Li Yang. He was on board of a vessel for the first time ever in his life, and the undulating motion of the barge made him nauseous. Night was falling by the time they docked at Annapolis. The area around the ferry''s wharf was surrounded by a tall wire fence; three helmeted cadets with assault rifles guarded the exit gate. There was a delay while the governor''s courier chatted with the guards, waiting for a jeep that eventually arrived to whisk him away. The small crowd awaiting exit was very docile. There were no complaints at all about being forced to wait. One of the guards asked everyone leaving about their destination, and then just nodded and let them through. When it was Harper''s turn, things changed. "Where are you headed?" asked the guard. "Fairhaven," Harper told him, and went into his spiel about the group and his friend Jimmy. "I''d strongly advise you not to make that trip at night," said the guard. "You mean it''s dangerous?" "Could turn out that way." "But we can''t stay here. We don''t have a place to stay. We don''t want to end up in lockup." "Lockup?" "That''s what would happen in New York. Someone''s from out of town, and they''re camping in the street, they get taken in." "There''s is a place just half a block from the academy. Right in front of the main gates. You''ll see a big tent and a couple of guards and people waiting for daybreak. You can get a bed in the tent for twenty bucks. Or twenty new cents." "Thank you," said Harper. They had no choice but follow the guard''s directions. They located the tent, pitched on a big lawn just outside the academy''s perimeter. The stink of old sweat and dirt inside the tent was suffocating, and they elected to sit together under one of the enormous trees lining the edge of the lawn. Li Yang fell asleep almost instantly; he was exhausted, mainly by the effort he''d had to make to keep himself from throwing up. The waters had gotten a little choppy towards the end of the trip, stirred by an evening breeze blowing off land. It seemed to him he''d hardly slept at all. He''d shut his eyes and almost instantly, Jake was shaking his shoulder and saying: "Wake up, man. We''re about to set out." NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https:///book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 120 This Way To Paradise They got on their bicycles and left almost immediately, without eating anything. "I don''t like the way things feel here," Harper said. "It''s as if something bad was about to happen. We''ll stop for breakfast once we get out of the city." Harper had a point. Li Yang had noticed many envious, and some angry glares when they ate while waiting for the ferry the previous day. In the new reality that took shape following the catastrophe, eating was an activity best done in private, like sex or defecating. It was very early, and the streets were empty except for the occasional police or military patrol. Their group drew many suspicious glances, but no one stopped them. They made good progress until they got onto the expressway that, according to Harper, was the fastest route to get out of Annapolis. He was wrong. The expressway was littered with abandoned cars and broken glass. Bobby caught a puncture after just a few minutes. There was no way he could continue without repairing it: his rickshaw carried a heavy load. While Bobby and Olga patched the puncture, Charlene challenged Harper''s leadership and questioned his intelligence in scathing terms. Looking at them fight, Li Yang had the thought - for the first time ever! - that maybe it was lucky his sister died before she could grow up to be like Charlene. He felt very bad, very guilty when he thought that. He liked to think of himself as a virtuous person. Jake noticed something was off right away; they''d been very close friends, and knew each other well. This carried disadvantages along with advantages. Jake said: "Hey. Are you okay?" He sounded so warm, so friendly that Li Yang blurted out what was on his mind. Jake was silent for a moment. Then he said: "You know, I''ve often thought that my parents dying was the best thing that happened to me." Li Yang stared at him. His mouth had dropped open with shock. He was aware of that, and felt like a moron. He said: "What do you mean?" "They were always on my case. You know that. My Dad used to hit me when he was angry. He only stopped when he saw that I''m going to hit back. But that wasn''t the big thing. The worst thing in this whole family bullshit was all the little lies and manipulations. Like twenty, thirty times a day. As they say, you can choose your friends, but you can''t choose your family." Li Yang was silent. He was really shocked. He used to envy Jake, simply because Jake had a father. He''d never thought that had his own father been around, he could have turned out to be a total asshole. Maybe it was good he''d never met his father. It was a notion that turned his whole inner world upside down. Jake added to his confusion. He said: Jake''s reasoning didn''t convince Li Yang. He simply didn''t know what to think any more. Fortunately, Harper ordered everyone off their bikes, and Li Yang had to focus on a new task. They were to walk in front of Bobby''s repaired rickshaw, making sure its path was clear of sharp objects. "A bicycle without a rider is light enough to be wheeled across a bed of nails without any trouble," Harper said. They were all slightly dazzled by this observation: it seemed to contain deep wisdom. Even Charlene was silently obedient, for once. Wise or not, Harper''s orders meant it took them a good couple of hours to get out of the city. When they finally got off the expressway, they got on their bikes again and rode for a few minutes, until they came to a stretch of road free of any other human presence. They finally could eat without anyone envying their food, and possibly making plans to take it away. They arrived in Fairhaven an hour later without encountering any misadventures along the way. Jimmy Dow was supposed to own and live in one of the houses on the outskirts of the little town. It was a small clapboard-covered building with a tiny yard and Li Yang found it hard to imagine how they could all fit into that. The rusted, sagging wire fence around the assorted weeds that decorated the property dented his confidence even further. Unluckily or luckily, it turned out that Jim Dow did not live there any more. No one did. Bobby and Harper spent ten minutes going around the house, and knocking on doors and windows. The house was empty. So was the house across the road - they went there to ask for directions - and the next house, and the next. Fairhaven, like many of the towns they''d passed through earlier, seemed to be a ghost town. The general mood quickly got ugly and it was very fortunate that they finally encountered a living human. The living human was a black boy of around ten in an oversized football shirt and baggy pants. He also wore a baseball cap with the peak sideways, a sure sign he regarded himself as unique. Harper slowed down to talk to him as soon as he saw him, but the kid wasn''t to be robbed of his fun. He pulled out and pointed a pistol as Harper drew near, and said: "Stop right now or I''ll blow your fucking brains out." "I''m stopping, I''m stopping," said Harper, and did. He raised his hands, and smiled at the kid. He said: "We''re friendly. We aren''t out to hurt anyone. We''re looking, I''m looking for a friend of mine, Jimmy Dow. You know him?" The black kid grinned from ear to ear and lowered the gun. "No fucking kidding," he said. "Everyone knows Jimmy Dow. He''s cool." "He used to live in that house down the road," said Harper, "But it seems he''s moved. Do you know where he lives now?" "Twenty dollars," the kid said promptly. Harper stared at him for a while, and said: "I hope you mean the old dollars." "I do," said the kid. He looked down at the ground and smirked while Harper located and pulled out a twenty-dollar banknote. He took it from Harper with fake reluctance, and said: "Jimmy''s moved to paradise. He bought the whole property. You lucky Jimmy''s your friend. Everyone likes Jimmy." "So do we, so do we," Harper said. "He''s moved to paradise? That must have been recent." "Couple of weeks ago." "But he''s alive, right?" The kid stared at Harper. "Of course he''s fucking alive," he said. "He''s moved to paradise, I juss told ya. Go down this road and the next right turn you come to, you''ll see a sign." Harper shielded his eyes with his hand, lookout-style, and said: "I think I can see it. Couple of hundred yards, right after the house with the rusty roof?" "That''s it," said the kid. After a short pause, he added: "You wanna know more, that''s another twenty dollars." "I''ll pass," said Harper. He smiled at the kid. He said: "I''ve known Jimmy longer than you''ve been alive." The kid grimaced and said: "Aah, fuck you. Just fuck off and die." He put his hand on the butt of the gun he''d stuck into his waistband, and Harper turned round to the others and said: "Let''s go." Li Yang obeyed Harper''s order just like everyone else, but as he passed the kid he felt a very strong urge to pull out his revolver - he''d put it, freshly reloaded, in the side pocket of his jacket - and shoot that fucking kid right in the middle of his stupid, sneering face. He gritted his teeth and focused on pedaling his bike at exactly the same speed as the others. He was forced to stop a couple of minutes later. "Well I''ll be," said Harper, sounding blown away. Li Yang looked up from his handlebar. Everyone was staring at the sign affixed to a pole just behind the turnoff. The red letters, hand-painted on a white background, said: THIS WAY TO PARADISE "Hold on," Jake said. He got off his bike and walked and bent down to pick up the missing, bottom part of the sign from the ground. It had been painted on three boards that had been nailed to the post, and the bottom board had dropped off. It said: VILLAS 500m "This way to Paradise Villas, five hundred meters," said Harper with fresh confidence. "Thank you, Jake. Let''s go." NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https:///book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 121 The Lady in the Red Robe "I don''t like the look of this," said Jake Donato. "Of what?" asked Harper. Jake pointed at a tuft of grass a few steps away without saying anything. "For Christ''s sake," said Harper. He walked up to the spot indicated by Jake pushing his bike, stopped, and said: "What - " He fell silent. "For fuck''s sake," said Bobby. He climbed off the rickshaw and walked up to Harper and froze. "What''s happening, Harper?" asked Charlene. "Have a look for yourself." They all did, and they were all struck speechless. There was a grey human finger lying in the grass. It was crawling with ants. Bobby turned it over with a twig and they saw the fingernail had been ripped off. "I strongly advise everyone to keep their gun handy," Bobby said. He straightened up and added: "It''s been here for at least a day, maybe two. Nothing more to see here, folks. Let''s get moving." "Who did that?" said Charlene. Bobby gave her a heavy look and said: "That''s the dumbest question I''ve ever heard. How the fuck am I supposed to know? Hey! The sightseeing''s over. Let''s go. Paradise awaits." No one laughed. Li Yang noted that Harper didn''t say a thing. He seemed to accept that Bobby had taken over the leadership of their group. He mounted his bicycle but then just sat there without moving, staring down the road. Li Yang followed his eyes and saw that about a hundred yards ahead, the road curved out of sight behind a thick clump of trees. Then Li Yang surprised himself totally. "I''ll lead," he heard himself say. Someone - for it truly felt as if another entity was in command of his body - someone made him give the bicycle a push, and start pedaling. He didn''t even look back, to see if the others were following him. He was completely focused on the clump of trees hiding the road. He was sure there was more to it than met the eye. There was. A forest began right after the bend; in places, trees were perilously close to the narrow road, close enough for Li Yang to touch them if he stretched his hand out. He moved to the center of the road and finally glanced over his shoulder and saw Bobby''s rickshaw following him some distance behind. He rode the bike slowly to let the others catch up, his eyes constantly flicking from one side of the road to the other. But there was no movement of any sort in the deep shadows between the trees, no sound except the rattle of his bicycle''s chain and the swish of its tires on the tarmac. Everything was still and silent under the midday sun. There was another curve coming up, to the right this time, and Li Yang stopped pedaling and let his right hand drop to his gun pocket. He was sure there would be something waiting for him around that bend, and he was right. He came around the bend and saw Paradise Villas. Li Yang stopped where the track met the road and waited for the others. Bobby was the first to join him. He stopped the rickshaw next to Li Yang''s bike and wiped his forehead with his sleeve. "Fuck, man," he said, sounding deeply aggrieved. "Look at all those rose bushes," Olga said, when she arrived a moment later. "They''ll be beautiful in a couple of months." "My Russian rose," Bobby said. Li Yang noticed Olga smiled to herself when she heard that, and it wasn''t a nice smile. "I think we should go down that track," said Li Yang. Bobby nodded, but said: "Let''s wait for Harper." It took a little while. Harper was last, so far behind the others Li Yang briefly suspected there might be something wrong with Harper''s bike. But it wasn''t the bike that was malfunctioning; it was Harper. When he finally joined the others, Li Yang saw that his face was grey and his eyes were wide with fear. He stopped his bike and took in the scene, breathing through his open mouth. "Welcome to Paradise Villas, Harper," said Charlene. "Shut up," snapped Bobby. "I''ve had enough of your fucking lip, girl. Keep your trap shut or I''ll shut it for you, and I don''t think your brother will interfere." Li Yang was shocked by that, but Olga wasn''t. "Finally," she said, with deep satisfaction. "All right. What do we do now?" "We find out what''s down that track," said Bobby. "You okay with that, Harper?" Harper didn''t respond. "Hey, relax, bro," said Bobby. "That finger didn''t belong to your dude. It was a white boy''s finger." Her turned away from Harper and looked at Li Yang and said: "Lead on." Li Yang got on his bike and got going and very nearly got off the bike again: it was difficult to ride on the gravel. He heard Bobby curse and grunt with effort, behind him. Happily, the gravel ended after about hundred yards. The dirt track that began where the gravel ended ran straight for a short distance, then bent sharply to the left and ran into the forest behind the housing plots. It didn''t look promising, but soon enough the track bent again, and suddenly Li Yang was looking at several trailer homes set in a row, one behind the other, in the middle of a big clearing. A fast-running stream was burbling somewhere nearby. He stopped immediately. Right away, a couple of black men emerged from behind the nearest trailer. They were dressed in outdoor jackets and jeans and held rifles across their chests. "Hey!" one of them shouted, just as Bobby stopped beside Li Yang. "Good morning, mah man," called out Bobby. "We lookin'' for Jimmy Dow." The two men walked a few steps closer and the one that had shouted earlier said: "I''m Jimmy Dow. Question is, who the fuck are you?" "Harper," called out Bobby, keeping his eyes on the two men and their guns. "Harper! Get your ass over here. We''ve found your friend." "Harper?" said the man who''d said he was Jimmy Dow. "That''s me," said Harper in a strangled voice, moving to the front. "It''s me, Jimmy. Harper Lee." Jimmy seemed to literally explode with joy. Li Yang had seriously feared Harper had been exaggerating his deep friendship with Jimmy Dow. But all those fears dissipated as he watched Jimmy throw his arms around Harper, grinning from ear to ear. It all went smoothly from there. Jimmy invited all of them to stay as long as they liked the moment Harper had finished explaining the purpose of their visit. "We got a trailer that we''ve been using for storage," he said. "It''s gonna get a bit cramped, so we''ll have to organize a couple more. But we can deal with all that tomorrow, after you''ve rested a bit. You''ve come all the way from New York, man, that''s fucking unbelievable. And you made it through Baltimore." "We didn''t go through Baltimore," said Harper, and told Jimmy about the ferry. Jimmy laughed. "Man, you sure made the right choice," he said. "Is it that bad? In Baltimore?" asked Harper. "It''s fucking bad. Washington''s pretty bad, too. It was bad around here too, matter of fact. But it''s over now, things are getting back to normal. Whatever normal is, these days." "We saw the houses that burned down," said Harper. "And earlier on... We found a human finger by the side of the road." Jimmy nodded. "Yeah," he said. "There were a few things going on. But like I said, it''s over. I can tell you about it later, if you like. But now, why don''t you settle in and eat something and rest a little. I''ll show you your trailer and then tell the girls to get some food ready." "We''ve brought food," said Harper. "That''s good. But it''s my treat today. Hey, I even got a couple of nice bottles knocking around somewhere. Come on, let me show you your new home. Then I''ll introduce you to the others. By the way, this dude here is Bud." "Nice to meet you," said Harper, shaking the hand of the man introduced as Bud. "Hey Bud," said Jimmy. "Go get Billy Joe. We need him to help move stuff out of the storage trailer." "Billy Joe is consulting with the Poet." "Ah, that''s different. We''ll have to manage without him. Come on." "Who is that guy you mentioned, the Poet?" Harper asked Jimmy when they were walking to the last trailer in the row. "He''s our leader, man. A very wise dude. He knows the answers to everything, man. Everything. You got problems of any kind, you go talk to the Poet." "What''s his name?" "I told ya. The Poet." "That''s what you call him?" "He really is a poet. You''ll see." The trailer Jimmy had generously given them wasn''t a pretty sight. It was dirty and dusty and half-full of goods of astounding variety. Li Yang began by carrying out the pair of skis that were propped up against the wall next to the entrance. His next load consisted of two garbage bags filled with clothes - he peeked inside one, and saw a female summer dress printed in a flowery pattern. He deposited them on the ground near the trailer, and carried out a brand-new gas grill next, complete with an empty gas bottle. After they emptied the trailer they had to clean it, bringing water in a bucket from the stream that ran nearby. It was late afternoon before they were done. By that time, several new people showed up on the scene. Li Yang counted two guys - one white, one black; a middle aged, spindly white woman in jeans and a jean jacket and a wide-brimmed brown leather hat; two friendly young black women, called Linda and Janice; and finally, a very old white lady that stood nearby and stared at them for quite a while without saying a single word. She was dressed in a long red quilted robe without a belt. The wrinkled, spotted hands that held the robe closed in front were decorated by at least half a dozen glittering rings. She had red slippers with white fur trim on her feet and watery blue eyes sunk deep in her face. Jimmy and his people took absolutely no notice of her, as if she didn''t exist. Harper nodded to her and said hello and got no reaction at all. After a long while, she walked away and disappeared inside one of the trailers. "Who is that?" Harper asked Jimmy as she was walking away. "That''s Mrs. Gibson," Jimmy said. "She used to live in one of the villas. You know, the houses that burned down. Her husband died, and she''s gone crazy. She''s completely nuts. Totally harmless though, no worries there. She''s been refusing to eat. My guess is she''ll be dead soon." "That''s terrible," Harper said. Jimmy shrugged. "That''s how it goes, these days," he said. "Now listen, I''m gonna go help the girls set out the food. It''s ready, judging by the smell. You guys wash up and join us. We got a big table set up in front of the first trailer." "It smells real good," said Harper. "It smells like roast beef." "It is roast beef. We got so much beef we can''t eat it all. Shot a couple of cows a few days back." "There''s a lot you''ll have to tell me," Harper said wonderingly. "I will. See you in what, fifteen-twenty? You''ll get to meet the Poet." "I can''t wait," said Harper. But as he watched Jimmy walk away, he shook his head. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https:///book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 122 Of Meat and Money The sun was already beginning to set as they sat down to eat. The world took on a golden hue: Li Yang was reminded of the advertising posters in the old days, with beautiful happy young people cavorting on sandy beaches, each holding a bottle of Buy-This-Right-Now soda. The waiting food looked even better. Three picnic tables had been set together end to end, and there was hardly any space between tin trays piled high with meat, bowls of potatoes and corn, and jars of pickles. Li Yang''s mouth was full of saliva, and so was Jake''s - Li Yang heard him swallow a couple of times. "Sit down, sit down," said Jimmy. "Where are the plates? Janice! The plates and forks and knives, now! No no no, guys, y''all sit on one side of the table and we''ll sit on the other. That way, we''ll get to know each other real fast. Harper, you sit near that end; I''ll be across from you." "Where are you going?" asked Harper. "To tell the Poet everything''s ready. Be right back." "This is the America I like. The land of meat and money," said Olga. She quickly took a seat at the table. Li Yang and Jake chose to sit at the other end from Harper. Li Yang had Jake to his right, and Olga to his left. He would have preferred Charlene, but she sat down next to her brother. They immediately started a whispered conversation. "Wow," said Jake. "Just wow." He was staring at the pile of meat on the tray right in front of him. The pieces were all shapes and sizes, all colored a dark, angry red streaked black from being cooked over an open fire. Li Yang was very tempted to grab a small piece, and stuff it in his mouth. "Looks good, doesn''t it," said Jake. "Hey! Look at that." Li Yang turned his head. A small procession was approaching. At its front, Bud and a white guy Li Yang hadn''t seen before were carrying folded director''s chairs - they rushed forward to unfold and set them down, one at each end of the long table. They were followed by Linda and Janice carrying paper plates and cutlery and rolls of paper towels. The rear was brought up by the black guy they''d seen with Bud upon arrival; he was bearing two half-gallon jugs of red wine and a stack of waxed paper cups. "This is a fucking feast," said Jake, with wonder in his voice. "It''s not every day that we have visitors," said Bud. He was standing next to Jake, dusting the canvas backrest of the chair he''d just set down with the back of his hand. He gave it one final slap, and added: "Great, the Poet''s here. We can get down to business." Li Yang''s view was blocked by Olga: he leaned forward, and looked. He stopped by the director''s chair at the far end of the table and said: "Thank you, Billy Joe." Then he sat down, with Harper on his right and Jimmy on his left, and reached out and grabbed a cob of corn. It was a signal for intense action. Li Yang opted to start with meat. It was quite tough, and had a slightly bitter taste, like a blade of grass that has been chewed for too long. But it made a wonderful change from the military rations, and the boiled potatoes and corn and everything else was wonderful, too. Li Yang ate like an automaton, pausing only to sigh with contentment. He had a surprise when Janice, seated across from him, filled and put a paper cup of wine in front of him. "You can drink my wine," he said to Jake. "I sure will." "You don''t like wine?" asked Janice. "I don''t drink alcohol." "No kidding," said Janice. "Do you smoke pot?" "No." "Do any drug at all?" "No." "Do you fuck?" Li Yang was silent. Janice giggled. "Sorry," she said. "It kinda slipped out." She turned to Jake and said: "Your friend belongs to a monastic order or something like that?" "What''s a monastic order?" said Jake, his face blank. "Never mind." Li Yang definitely didn''t. He was happy. He hadn''t imagined a welcome like that in his wildest dreams. There he was, stuffing himself stupid on a beautiful evening, as warm as if it were spring, surrounded by friends and trees and bushes that were beginning to sprout new leaves - this was so much better than New York! He was reaching to grab a fresh piece of meat when a deep, beautiful male voice said: "May I have your attention, please. Everyone. May I have your attention please." Every head swiveled to look at the head of the table. Li Yang was shocked. The voice belonged to the man everyone called the Poet! The way he looked, he should have sounded thin and reedy. "This is a special day," said the Poet. "Our commune welcomes six new members." "What''s he talking about, what fucking commune?" Li Yang whispered to Jake. "I didn''t join no fucking commune." "It''s not what you think," Jake whispered back. "Then what is it?" "Shut up, you two," hissed Janice. All of a sudden, she was looking really stern. The Poet went on speaking, but Li Yang wasn''t listening to him any more. He knew what to think, all right. A commune shared everything, correct? Harper knew he, Li Yang, had many extra implant kits. He''d be forced to give them up, give them to their hosts: the Poet and his merry band. It all came to him in a flash and the moment it did, he was convinced it was true. You never got something for nothing. He''d be paying for that great meal with his implant kits. He glanced down the line of their hosts, seated at the other side of the long table. He noticed that the old woman in the red robe wasn''t among them. The director''s seat at their end of the table had been occupied by Bud. He winked and smiled at Li Yang. It didn''t feel reassuring. The Poet was saying: "... a mint of our own, thanks to the generosity shown by brother Harper. Brother Harper, please stand up so everyone can see you when they applaud you." Harper stood up with difficulty. He had to lean on the table for support. He''d just found out he was expected to give up all the gold, silver, and copper brought from New York, and he didn''t like it. He was also regretting he''d told Jimmy everything he did. The Poet''s people all smiled at him, and clapped - his own group were all silent and frowning. Harper said: "Thank you. Thank you very much. Of course we haven''t worked out any details yet - " "We''ll discuss the details later," boomed the Poet. "May I finish saying what I have to say? Given these circumstances, I think we all agree it is only fair to include our new members in our colony." "Colony? What colony? You didn''t say anything about a colony," Harper said to Jimmy. "Our colony in the New World," said the Poet. "We founded it at the end of January. That''s around nine months in the New World. It''s a well established colony, I am proud to say. And your arrival here is very fortunate. We were about to start looking for some fresh blood." Harper cringed. "Fresh blood?" he said. "More people. More colonists." "I see." "I understand from brother Jimmy you want to venture into the New World." "Well yes, we do." "Of course," said the Poet, "You may prefer to found your own colony. Preferably somewhere nearby so that we can work together. We''ll be happy to offer you an alliance." "I told you everything, and you didn''t say a single word about a colony," Harper snarled at Jimmy. Jimmy remained totally relaxed. He smiled at Harper. "Relax, brother Harper," said the Poet. "Will you let me finish? I want to make clear your generosity will be reciprocated. If you and your friends join our colony, each of you will receive two implant kits. From us, in addition to the ones you''ll be getting with your licenses. Because of course we''re going to keep everything nice and legal." Li Yang was dumbfounded. This was the exact opposite of what he was expecting! It was all happening so fast, too fast. He didn''t know what to think. "I don''t know what to say," said Harper. "Then don''t say anything," advised the Poet. "We''ll have a long talk later." "Yes, we must." "But not before I''d had a word with you, Harper," Charlene''s voice rang out. The silence that followed was heavy with meaning. It was broken by Olga. She said: "Is this finished now? Can I get back to my dinner?" NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https:///book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 123 The Old Man and the Fee They all slept like logs. Their journey and the heavy food knocked them out, and no one minded the fact that the six of them were squeezed like sardines in the narrow trailer. They had all carried all their baggage inside: it was all they had left, and they wanted to keep it close. Li Yang slept with his backpack serving as a pillow, as did Jake. Jimmy Dow woke them all up knocking on the door just after eight. He''d come to tell Harper the big pow-wow with the Poet was scheduled for ten. He also invited all of them to breakfast: it was laid on and waiting, he said. Li Yang and Jake left the trailer immediately, and went to the stream to freshen up. The breakfast consisted of leftovers from last night''s feast, but they didn''t mind. They both got busy, Li Yang gnawing on a piece of meat and Jake on a cob of corn. They were so immersed in this activity they took next to no notice of other arrivals at the breakfast table. These included Harper and Jimmy, who sat directly across them. And so, Li Yang and Jake Donato could not help but overhear what Jimmy was saying to Harper. And Jimmy was saying: "Listen, bro, that''s simply the way we do things here. Everything''s shared. We share what we have, and we share what we get. And we''re gonna get a whole fucking lot of stuff, man. To begin with, we goin'' to get a couple of more trailers. One of them exclusively for you guys. Then we goin'' to help out with the licenses. You a little short, we take care of that. But in return, we expect you to share what you have, too. Without keeping anything back. So when we go in to talk with the Poet, keep that in mind, bro. That''s just the way we do things around here." By that time, both Li Yang and Jake were totally tuned into what Jimmy was saying, and they got a shock when Olga inserted her head between theirs and said: "Guys?" "What?" Jake said, angry at having been startled. "You want to go for a ride? I''m going to town to have a look around. It would be nice to have company. And if you don''t turn out to be total assholes, I might tell you something very interesting." Li Yang and Jake looked at each other. Then Jake said: "Sure. After we''ve finished eating, and taken a dump." "A dump?" "After we''ve had a shit. Don''t you Russians ever shit?" "We do," said Olga. "We just don''t talk about it all the time like you Americans do. Shit this, shit that." "We talk about shit all the time?" "You do. Every second word is shit or fuck. I guess it says a lot about what you are like." "Nice," said Jake. "And you''re saying you want us to come with you?" Olga shrugged. "Do whatever you like," she told Jake. "I''m leaving in a few minutes. You''ll be sorry, later, if you don''t come with me. It''s your choice." They finished eating quickly, and did what they had to do in the bushes. When they returned to the camp, Olga was waiting, standing beside her bicycle and wearing her backpack. "Are you coming with me?" she asked. "Yes," said Li Yang. "Then hurry up. And better take your stuff. Just in case." Li Yang was tempted to ask in case of what, but Jake pulled on his sleeve and they went to get their bikes and their backpacks. Harper came round to the trailer just as they were about ready, and asked: "And where are you guys off to? What''s happening?" "We''re going to check out the town," Jake told him. "We didn''t see much of it yesterday. Maybe we''ll come across something interesting." "But why are you taking your backpacks? You''re coming back, right?" "I''m not going to leave my stuff lying around," said Li Yang, and Jake nodded in affirmation. Harper sighed. "I understand," he said. "I understand only too well. I''ll see you later, then." They joined Olga with the intention of asking her a couple of questions, but they saw a man they''d never seen before emerge from the first trailer and stare at them in an unfriendly manner. So they all got on their bikes and quickly pedaled down the dirt track and turned towards the town when they reached the crossroads by the burned-out Paradise Villas. Back at the trailer camp, Harper was listening to his friend Jimmy Dow. "You gotta understand something, bro," Jimmy was saying. "This New World, it''s very competitive. We got a cube right in the middle of the town. We grabbed all the stuff we could before the cops showed up, and everyone else was grabbing as much as they could get, too. We''ve already ran into some people in the New World, and they weren''t nice, if you know what I mean. You ever play King of the Hill? Don''t look at me like that, it''s an online game." "I don''t play video games," Harper said. "I''m too busy with real life." "You don''t get it, bro. For many people, video games ARE the real life. I guess I''ll leave it to the Poet to explain things to you." "I''ve been to the New World," Harper said. "I have an idea of what it''s like." "You don''t. I know you don''t because I''ve been there for a while, and you''re talking nonsense. Come on, let''s talk to the Poet. He''ll explain it all to you." "I hope he will," said Harper. Li Yang and Jake forced Olga to stop as soon as the charred heaps called Paradise Villas disappeared from view. They had questions to ask, and they asked them. "But I''m telling you the truth!" cried out Olga, after Jake pulled out his gun and began to scratch the bristle on his chin with its barrel. "My girlfriend from Russia works in this hotel on that cape across the bay in a town called Cambridge, like the university in England. I talked to her on the phone back in New York. The hotel is empty, she can put us up. And those people there, Harper''s friends, I don''t trust them. I don''t even know most of them. There were a lot of new people this morning." "They were busy in the New World when we arrived yesterday," Jake said. "Janice told me." "Whatever. I still don''t trust them. I''m leaving, and if you have any brains you''ll leave with me, too." Jake and Li Yang had yet another glance exchange. This particular exchange concerned the fact they both had an amount of precious metals in their backpacks, and didn''t like the idea of turning that over to the commune. Let''s go along with it and see what happens, said Li Yang''s glance. Let''s go along and see what happens and if worst comes to worst we''ve got guns, said Jake''s glance. They went along. They followed Olga to the junction with the road running along the coast of the bay. Olga insisted on turning left, and Jake made a feeble joke about her being a good Communist. It turned out that Olga had good intuition. Before a minute had passed, they spotted someone working on a boat berthed at one of the piers that jutted into the bay. Like the others, it was on private property, so they dismounted their bikes and let Olga go first, making sure their weaponless hands were in plain view. Olga dropped her bike onto the ground and boldly walked onto the pier and engaged the old man working on a sailboat in conversation. After a while, she looked at them and waved for them to join her. "There are my friends from New York," she said, when they did. "And like me, they want to get away from this madness and wait somewhere peaceful until it passes." "That''s very reasonable," said the man. He was quite old, and probably had a good idea of what was reasonable. "But to take you across the bay - " "Hold on," Jake said to Olga. "We''re going across the bay?" "Yes," said Olga. "If this kind gentleman agrees to take us." She smiled at the old man, and Li Yang had to admit that even given her punk hairdo and gold nose-ring, her smile was charming. Most likely it was something in her eyes. The old man thought so, too. He said: "I can take you folks across the bay. But as you can see, I''m old. My time is precious." "We''ll pay," said Olga. "How much?" Negotiations ensued. After a lot of smiling from Olga, the old man agreed to take them to Cambridge for ten elbow-lengths of Jake''s thick copper wire, amounting to roughly a quarter kilo. He warned them it would be dark by the time they got there, even though they had a good wind. "I hope you know what you''re doing," Jake said to Olga as they cast away, and the main sail started flapping to catch the wind. "I don''t hope," said Olga. "I make plans." NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https:///book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 124 The Laughing Seagull Both Jake and Li Yang were eager to find out more about Olga''s plans. However, she sat down by the old man at the boat''s stern the moment they cast off, and immediately engaged him in vigorous conversation. When Jake touched her soldier and indicated he''d like a bit of conversation too, she frowned and said: "I''ll talk to you guys later." Them she returned to talking with the old man, all smiles and charm. Li Yang and Jake moved to the front of the shallow cabin and half sat, half lay down, keeping their heads low because of the swinging boom of the mainsail. The stern wind meant they could hear Olga''s conversation with the old man - she was telling him about her life in Russia - but Olga couldn''t hear them if they spoke softly. "I don''t trust her," Li Yang said to Jake. "Then why are you here? You wanted to go along." "I trust those people at Paradise Villas even less." "Yeah. There''s something bogus about that setup," said Jake. "I have an idea. Let''s ask the old guy what he knows about them." They waited for their moment, listening to Olga describe their journey from New York to the old man; they noted that she kept out the shooting at the crossroads. But apart from that, she was very forthright and honest. She told the old man they''d ended up with a group of people living next to the burnt-down Paradise Villas, and hadn''t liked it there. "What happened to those houses, why did they burn down?" Olga asked. "Do you know?" The old man was silent for a while. He bent down his head so that the peak of his baseball cap hid his face. After a moment he raised his head again to give Li Yang and Jake appraising looks, then turned to Olga and said: "I sure do. I know what happened to Paradise Villas. They were set on fire. You want the whole story?" "Of course," said Olga. "Yes, please tell us," said Jake. The old man threw him a glance and said: "You kids sure don''t know much. Okay, I''ll help out in that department. It was revenge for something that happened last year. See, one of those houses belonged to big shot in the music business. He was rich, and he was gay, and he made sure everyone knew that. He had a guy staying at his place, and they would roll into town in this silver Maserati and then walk around, groping each other and kissing in public and that kind of stuff. I guess they got a kick out of shocking other people. Anyway, one evening they were a little too successful and got called a few names by a couple of local boys that had been drinking. "So, you know, after everything broke down including law and order, them boys collected some friends and paid a visit to Paradise Villas. Really stupid, because the new government cancelled all outstanding debts, right? But like I told you, they were none too bright. "So they went there, and some people ended up getting shot and killed, including old Mr. Gibson who lived with his wife in the other house. He was a retired businessman, and a decent guy even though some people said he was some kind of accountant for a crime organization. But people always say that kind of thing when someone has more money than they do, it fills them with envy and it makes them hateful. "Anyway, Mr. Gibson tried to intervene, and got shot for his pains and his house burned down along with the other. His wife must''ve died in the fire, no one''s seen her since." "What happened to the two guys in the other house, the gay guys?" Olga asked. The old man shrugged. "What do you think? They was shot and killed too." "And the guys that did it? The local boys and their friends?" The old man looked away and at the water, as if admiring the bay. He said: "They''re still around. I heard a couple are staying with those people that set up a trailer park behind Paradise Villas." "Oh fuck," said Jake. Li Yang didn''t say anything, but he fully agreed with Jake. Olga was shaken a little too, but she recovered instantly. She said: "They got away with it? What about the police? You don''t have a sheriff?" The old man laughed. "Girl," he said, "Our entire police force consists of three people. The sheriff, his deputy, and someone we unkindly call Joe the Retard. He answers the phone and writes out parking tickets and he really has to think hard to get either done. But still, calling him that isn''t kind. "Anyway, all three including Joe have been drafted to help deal with troubles elsewhere. So after they left, we had a few killings, some arson, a few robberies - but it''s nothing compared to what''s been going on in other places." "We''ve heard things were bad in Baltimore," said Jake. "Yeah, things are pretty bad in Baltimore. You heard right." "What''s going on there?" "A lot of things, son. Snipers on the rooftops, Molotov cocktails, hundreds of dead every day... In the old days, with proper communications and helicopters and drones and cameras recording every single fucking thing it would have all been over in a couple of days. But these aren''t the good old days. It''s funny how they seem good now. Back then, everyone was bitching how bad things were all the time." They were all silent for a while. Then the old man said: "And how was it in New York? We got next to no news down here." "It wasn''t that bad," said Jake. "There were a couple of weeks back in January when things got a little out of control, but then the army moved in and within a week everything was as close to normal as it could get." "Yeah," said the old man. "We had a platoon of National Guard back in January. Stayed for a couple weeks, saw that everything was a-okay, and left, taking our entire police force with them. Couple of days later, people get killed and a couple of houses get burnt down. I''m not even sure it got reported." "You didn''t report it?" "Of course I didn''t." "You did the right thing," said Olga, and Li Yang and Jake nodded in agreement. Reporting a crime, or indeed interacting with the system in any way meant a lot of wasted time if they were lucky, and even more wasted time plus a lot of new troubles if they were unlucky. Jake said: "Hey, Olga. This friend of yours at the hotel. Care to tell us a little more? Like maybe her name, and how long you''ve known each other?" "Her name is Irina," said Olga. "We grew up together back in Russia. We came to the U.S. together. But she got lucky and got this job and I got stuck in New York." "I guess that makes you close friends, right? That''s good. But when was the last time you actually talked to her?" "Last week." "Last week?" "Last week. It took two trips to the post office and half a day of waiting." "So she knows you''re coming?" "Yes." "That was your plan from the start? To join your friend?" "Yes." "What about Bobby?" asked Li Yang. He had grown to like Bobby after the shootout at the crossroads. "Are you crazy?" said Olga. "Did you really think I was staying with this black pig?" "Wowowow," said Jake. "Watch your language, Olga. You better not say things like that." "Why not? He''s black, and he''s a pig." "It''s racist. It means you''re a racist." "I am not racist," said Olga. "For example, Li Yang is okay. So is that guy Harper. Not his sister, she''s a stupid black bitch." "I told you, don''t say things like that." "You are one stupid white asshole," said Olga. "How do you like that? Is it racist, too? Or maybe it''s just a statement of fact?" The old man laughed out loud, and said: "Kids. Stop it. I been hearing this particular argument for most of my life and believe me, it''s always unresolved. You better use your heads and your energy and your time to plan and make a future for yourselves. It''s not gonna be easy, it''s gonna be even harder than back in the old days." "What about you?" asked Jake. "What is your plan?" "I don''t need a plan, son. I got cancer. It''s slow, maybe a little faster now that I''m getting no treatment. The best I can hope for is a couple more years. I just intend to take it easy, and enjoy whatever time I got left." "I''m sorry to hear that," said Jake. "Don''t be stupid," said the old man. He leaned to the side to get a good look forward and said: "Holy smoke, we''re already nearing Poplar Island. We''re making better speed than I thought. You boys keep your heads down, we''re changing course." "How much longer is it going to take?" asked Olga. "If this wind holds, a couple of hours. I''ll have a hell of a time getting back, though." "Maybe you shouldn''t go back," said Olga. "Maybe you should stick with us." The old man laughed. "I''m too old to make moves like that," he said. "But thank you for the invitation." Li Yang heard a seagull screech ironically. He raised his head and watched it fly over the boat and away, still screeching - it was almost as if it was laughing. At them, at their half-baked plans, at all the losers that couldn''t fly. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https:///book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 125 Red Russian Clouds were gathering overhead by the time they entered the long, narrow bay formed by the mouth of a river flowing from the interior of the peninsula. Cambridge was located on the southern shore of that bay, a few kilometers away, but the old man was determined to dock at the first wharf they came to. "The weather''s set to change," he told them. "I don''t want to get caught in a thunderstorm on my way back. You got bicycles and it won''t take you long to get to that hotel. You can''t miss it, if you just keep going east and through the town. It''a big complex with a golf course and its own marina and lots of other stuff that rich folks get to enjoy." "As long as no one shoots us before we get there," said Olga. The old man laughed, and said: "Well yeah, there''s that. Makes you wonder if things wouldn''t have been better if all private gun ownership was illegal, except for hunters. Anyways, you don''t have anything to worry about. I been to Cambridge several times in the last few weeks and it''s real peaceful there. John Hardin is a good mayor. He''s governor now too, for this whole chunk of the peninsula. You guys are going for that New World stuff? You want to go and start something over there?" "We hope to," said Jake. The old man smiled. "Well, you''re gonna need a whole lot of luck, that''s for sure," he said. "What do you mean?" "Come on. From what I heard you arrive there buck naked, without a thing to call your own. You''ll need plenty of luck, for sure." They didn''t talk for the remainder of the journey. It didn''t last long; about an hour later, just after three in the afternoon, they docked at the first pier they came to. The old man told them it belonged to a nearby college specializing in environmental science. "It''s practically deserted right now," he said. "None of the students and almost none of the staff got back from Christmas break. I figure they''ll be going out of business, soon." "I can see some staff are definitely around," said Jake. They all looked where he was pointing, and saw two men stepping onto the pier. They wore dark blue outdoor jackets and pants that seemed to be a uniform of some sorts. They had rifles slung from their soldiers and official-looking baseball caps. "Security guards," said the old man. "I know those boys. Yeah, they stuck around. Hey, boy, stop messing with that sail. I appreciate your good intentions, but I''ll be raising it again in a couple of minutes. Better help me with that line." The security guards reached them just as they''d finished securing the boat, and were beginning to unload their possessions onto the pier. "Hey," said one of the guards. "Who told you you can dump your stuff here? You students?" "Relax, Stan," said the old man. "Those kids are on their way to Cambridge. I gave them a lift across the bay." "Okay, fine," said the old man. "I won''t. But let them through, will you? There''s a storm coming and if I take them all the way to Cambridge, it''s gonna hit me on the way back. I mean hell, how long are they gonna stay on your grounds? They got bicycles and they''ll be gone in under five minutes." The guards looked at each other. Then Stan said: "All right. Just this once. But remember, from now onward you dock in Cambridge. I know it''s a longer trip, but then you can charge your passengers more." He grinned slyly. "Good point," said the old man. "Thank you." Li Yang, Jake, and Olga wasted no time unloading their possessions from the boat. They put their backpacks on and wheeled the bicycles off the pier, escorted by the two security guards. As they were mounting them, Jake looked at Li Yang and said: "You heard that, right? Our guy there is running a regular ferry service." "Don''t be such a smartass," Stan said immediately. "He''s helping people. The Chesapeake Bay bridge is a long way off without a car. He''s helped you, right?" "Right," said Jake. "So shut up and move on." Stan helpfully extended a finger to indicate the direction of their desired movement. They obeyed. They cycled down a nearby road. It turned right sharply after a while, and led them past some buildings that looked like they belonged to the college. They had no map, but knew that they have to keep going east. The road ran through a small forest and emerged onto a golf course and for a moment they thought they''d already reached the hotel. But there was no sign of an hotel anywhere, or of its marina. So they cycled on, and almost right away ran into a couple of women riding their bikes in the other direction. "Excuse me, is this the way to Cambridge?" Jake called out, as soon as they''d drawn close enough. "Yes! Keep going, you can''t miss it!" one of the women called back. A few minutes later, the road joined a small highway and simultaneously, they saw houses in the distance. They turned out to belong to a small housing estate. There were people pottering around in their back yards here and there: it was such a calm and peaceful scene that Li Yang felt his throat tighten. Olga sped up until they were riding side by side, and said: "You see? Anyone with any brains is starting a vegetable garden." "You''re going to start a vegetable garden?" "Of course! The moment I settle in one place." "You think they''ll let you grow vegetables at the hotel?" "They''re already doing that," Olga said triumphantly. "Irina''s boss, the hotel manager, is a very smart man. All the staff that stayed got new duties." "What about the guests?" "There are very few guests at the hotel." "Do you think they''ll let us stay?" "Maybe for a night or two, no longer than that," said Olga. "But they''ll help us find a place, for sure." "I wonder what Harper and the rest are doing now." "I don''t," said Olga. "I don''t want to think about bullshit." And she stood on her pedals and overtook Jake and settled in the lead. Jake didn''t protest; he turned his head to look at Li Yang, and winked. They entered the town proper immediately afterward, and there were actually people walking on the pavement, there was traffic, there was life! They stopped to ask directions from an elderly couple. Reassured, they kept going. Their route took them right through the center of the town and Li Yang was amazed to see a couple of stores that were open. However, there was a long lineup in front of each of these, and after a hurried conference they decided they wouldn''t be stopping. The street they were on ended at a big, eight-lane freeway. Like all the other freeways they''d seen, it was littered with abandoned cars. They carried their bikes across as a preventive measure against punctures, and found themselves looking at another golf course. It was much bigger and lusher than the golf course they''d seen earlier. Screens of trees ran across it at all angles, but in spite of that they were able to make out a group of big white buildings in the distance. "This must be the hotel," said Jake. "It IS the hotel," said Olga. She moved forward with her bike. "Stop," said Jake. "We''d better not go through golf course grounds, not with out bikes. Let''s go along its boundary, this way." He pointed. "Why can''t we go across the golf course? Is it like a sacred burial ground for rich Americans?" "You got it almost exactly right," Jake told her. "Except maybe for the burial part. Okay, let''s go." He led them for nearly a kilometer down the lane that ran alongside the golf course. It turned out they''d made the right decision. They came to a road that ran towards the buildings they''d seen. A group of people was cycling along that road, riding in their direction. As they drew closer Li Yang saw both men and women; there were seven or eight of them altogether. They all wore baseball caps with some kind of logo in front. A girl was leading the group, and some of her hair escaped from under the cap on one side and was fluttering in the breeze created by her movement. Li Yang had just noticed the girl''s hair was red when Olga yelled: "Irina!" The red-haired girl slammed her brakes on and there were shouts and curses as the cyclists behind her collided with one another. One man fell off his bike and landed to the side of the road, from where he proceeded to curse Russians in general and their road manners in particular. Olga and Irina took no notice. They dropped their bikes and ran to each other and embraced as if they were long-lost sisters reuniting after decades of separation. Jake and Li Yang stood astride their bikes, looking on and grinning foolishly. The man that fell off his bike got to his feet and stopped cursing and started throwing hostile glares. There was muttering among Irina''s group. Occasionally, Li Yang heard what they were saying. "Who are those guys?" asked a female voice. "That one over there is Chinese," said someone observant. "They look scruffy. What are they doing here?" "Maybe we should tell them to fuck off where they came from." "No," Irina said loudly, freeing herself from Olga''s embrace and turning to face the group. This is my best friend." She pointed at Olga. "This is my best friend," she repeated, "And she''s brought a couple of her friends with her. She''s also brought something that all of us will enjoy very much. You know what I mean?" "You mean drugs," said a deep male voice with utmost certainty. "I mean very good drugs," Irina corrected him. Li Yang felt the group''s glances at him become less hostile, even friendly. "Why don''t you all go on to town," said Irina. "I''ll take them to see Terry, and ask if they can stay tonight." "Terry will bite your head off," said the guy who had fallen off his bike. "He won''t. Otherwise, I''ll bite his head off, next time," Irina said mysteriously. It was obvious to Li Yang that the group knew well what Irina was talking about. There were grins and a couple of titters. One of the girls in the group looked cross, though. "See you guys later," said Irina, and walked up to her bike and picked it up. The group moved off, one by one, throwing curious glances at Olga, Li Yang, and Jake as they went past. Li Yang smiled so much his face was beginning to hurt. Finally they were all gone, and Li Yang looked at Irina and saw that she was examining him and Jake critically. When he caught her eye, she said: "You guys have to clean up a little before I show you to Terry. Follow me." And she got on her bike and rode off with Olga by her side. "New World indeed," said Jake. "Foreign broads are pushing us around. Fuck it. Let''s go." They pushed off and rode after the two girls. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https:///book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 126 Beggars and Barbarians Irina wanted them to leave their bikes on the bike racks by the entrance. Li Yang and Jake objected, and an argument developed. Olga didn''t seem to mind. She squatted to lock her bike to the rack, then straightened up and said: "Don''t be so fucking backward, Jake. No one is going to steal your precious bike." "You mean awkward," corrected Jake. "I mean both backward and awkward." "You''re not bringing bicycles into the hotel," Irina said crossly. "It is forbidden. You understand? Or is my English too bad?" Sulking, they left their bicycles in the racks, and followed Irina and Olga into the hotel. Irina led Olga to her room first; she was to share Irina''s. Jake and Li Yang followed at a distance, sulking even more deeply than before. This was because they were both stunned by the hotel''s opulent interior. It made them feel like beggars. Li Yang was especially affected: he''d never seen riches like this before in his entire life. He had no idea luxuries like that existed! Each of the gleaming leather armchairs in the lobby looked as if it cost more money than Li Yang spent on all of his needs in an entire year. Each of the wall lamps in their gold-plated mountings cost more than he spent in a month! He felt like a poor barbarian on his first visit to a wealthy, civilized city. He waited with Jake out in the hallway as Irina helped Olga settle in; they didn''t even dare to look inside Irina''s room. But a pleasant surprise awaited them. Irina showed them into a large room with a bathroom that featured a jacuzzi, and told them it was theirs for the night! She was pleased by the awe on their faces, and smiled before saying: "You''ll have to share the bed. It''s big enough. I hope you don''t mind." The bed was gigantic; Li Yang estimated his whole family - mother, sister, himself - would have fit in comfortably. "Sure," said Jake. "Thank you so much. This is great." "Two things. First, don''t use the jacuzzi. We are conserving water. Two, I''m coming back for you in half an hour to take you to see mister Morello. He''s the boss here. If he doesn''t like you, he can tell you to leave right away, and you must obey, you understand? So make sure you''re clean and presentable." "Of course," said Jake. Both him and Li Yang were practically standing at attention. "And don''t forget to clean your fingernails," said Irina. "Mr. Morello pays a lot of attention to people''s hands." They both involuntarily glanced at their fingernails. "Mine look so bad I''ll just have to rip them out," Jake said. "But I guess Mr. Morello doesn''t want me dripping blood on his carpet." "You guess right," said Irina, and left. When she returned to fetch them for their meeting with the mysterious Mr. Morello, she wasn''t happy with their efforts. "You still look like two vagabonds," she told them. "I guess it can''t be helped. Follow me." "The elevators aren''t working," Irina explained, as they began the long climb to the sixth floor. "That''s okay," said Jake. "We kind of expected that." The top floor of the building was taken up by penthouse-style apartments with access to the rooftop garden. Li Yang and Jake followed Irina down a white -walled hallway, newly awed: the silvery grey carpeting felt as if they were walking on air. Irina stopped and knocked on a door adorned by a burnished metal plaque that announced Terence Morello, Director, was the person behind that door. "Come in, come in," sang out a pleasant baritone. Li Yang felt his spirits lift a little: the owner of that voice, presumably Mr. Morello, seemed to be in a good mood. Irina opened the door and said, without stepping in: "Terry, I''ve brought the two guys I told you about." "Friends of your friend Olga? Bring them in," the baritone declared, ""I''m ready to face the worst." Irina glanced at Li Yang and Jake and beckoned them to follow before stepping inside. "Close the door behind you," she said without looking at them. Jake closed the door while Li Yang stood still and did his best to keep his mouth from falling open. He was in a room so futuristic it only lacked a couple of shining robots to complete the picture. Everything was white or black or shining steel or glass. The only item of remotely earthly origins was a huge zebra hide that hung on the wall behind Terence Morello, Director. Terence Morello, Director, was reclining in a black-leather-and-chromed-steel revolving armchair that properly belonged on a science fiction movie set. He was a long, lanky man, with curly black hair that showed streaks of silver here and there. He had a thick handlebar mustache and wore green teardrop sunglasses in gold frames and a cream silk suit over a cream silk shirt. His sockless feet, shod in gleaming tan loafers, were resting on the glass top of his spaceship-commander desk. He was enjoying a large cigar and an orange-colored cocktail that featured several maraschino cherries. It was pretty clear he was in a benevolent mood. "More stray orphans," he said. "Come a little bit closer. Tell me your names. You first." He pointed at Li Yang. They recited their names. Unexpectedly Mr. Morello grinned, revealing big white closely packed teeth. Li Yang had the thought they were the teeth of a predator. Mr. Morello said: "Don''t be so fucking scared. Relax. So, what''s your story and your plan?" "We''re from New York," Jake said quickly. "We came down here to find a place where we can live in peace and do some farming and launch a colony in the New World." "Oh," said Terence Morello, visibly becoming less benevolent: his forehead creased. "You want to start a colony from here?" "Maybe not exactly here. Somewhere nearby." "And you''re saying you''re looking for a place to stay? You can''t stay here." So that''s it, Li Yang thought. He felt very sad. He''d been looking forward to sleeping in that bed. "As for your colony plans," said Morello. "I must tell you the governor issues licenses only to people from our community. In other words, you won''t be able to start a colony in his district. And from what I know, that''s pretty much the case everywhere. Lots of people are very eager to give the New World a try. And everyone''s got to to have enough space, enough land to grow a colony. I, personally, need a lot of space." He grinned at them, and continued: "Because I''m a soft-hearted schmuck, I''ll let you stay here tonight and get some rest. But you must be gone by noon tomorrow. Olga can stay," he added, looking at Irina. "Olga''s okay. I can find a use for Olga." "But Terry," said Irina, "Those guys are so fucking stupid. They didn''t tell you the most important thing. They want to start a mint." "So does everyone else." "They''ve got gold." "What?" "They''ve brought metals with them. Gold, silver, and some copper. Correct?" she said, giving Li Yang and Jake a scornful look. "Yes," Jake said. Li Yang didn''t dare look at him or Irina or Morello. He stared at the zebra hide on the wall. Morello noticed. "Hey, relax," he said to Li Yang. "It''s plastic. Owning the real thing has been forbidden since forever. Irina says you got precious metals and that you want to start a mint here. Is that right?" "Yes," said Li Yang. "Yes," said Jake. "What have you got?" "Just a couple of kilos of gold and silver," said Jake, "And ten kilos of pure copper. That''s all we could carry. We know where to get more, though." It took a great effort for Li Yang not to show any surprise when he heard that. Jake had told him the metal he''d brought was all that he had. "I suppose you wouldn''t want to tell me where you get it from," said Morello. "We wouldn''t," said Jake. Morello nodded. "That changes things," he said. "Or maybe not. We shall see. You''re in luck. John Hardin is coming round for a drink with me tonight. He is our mayor in Cambridge and governor of our district. He really needs that drink, he''s going to have a hell of a day tomorrow." "First of March," said Jake. "First of March," agreed Morello. "Okay, this is what we will do. You two jokers show up here again at eight thirty. Irina, can you make sure they''re here?" "Of course." "Good. Mr. Hardin will look you over, ask a few questions, and decide whether he wants you to pollute Cambridge with your presence. Got it?" Yes, sir," Li Yang and Jake said in unison. "And now kindly fuck off," said Morello. "Not you, Irina. I need you to look at something." He grinned at her. "You''ll find your way back? Good," said Irina, without meeting their eyes or waiting for an answer. She added: "I''ll see you around a quarter past eight." They left with their heads hung low. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https:///book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 127 Its All About Money "Can you believe that guy," Jake said to Li Yang the moment they were back inside their room. "A fucking cigar and a cocktail and did you see all that ice? His glass was half full of ice." "No," Li Yang said stupidly. "I mean, I didn''t notice that." He wasn''t capable of saying anything intelligent; he was shaken by everything he''d seen and heard in the last hour. "Fuck, man," said Jake. "It''s a real downer, all this local resident bullshit. I mean that whole thing about not being allowed to start a colony. If it''s serious, we''ll have to go back to New York to get started." "We can''t go back to New York," said Li Yang. "Correct. We can''t. There''ll be at least a million people competing for every available bit of space. There were a million assholes competing for every available bit of scrap already, before we left." "You told that man we can get more precious metals," said Li Yang. "Can you?" Jake shrugged. "I''ll have to think of something," he said. "I promise you that I''ll think of something, sooner or later. Don''t worry about it." "Maybe we should leave and try somewhere else." "Jesus," said Jake. "Try where? This whole peninsula is great farmland. Great fishing and great farmland. So it''s going to pretty much the same, or better, in the New World. And the most precious currency in the near future is going to be food, not gold. People will be willing to pay a small fortune for some food. It''s happened before, and it will happen again. It''s due. It hasn''t happened for a while." Li Yang had gone hungry often enough to know that Jake had a point. He said: "What if they tell us they don''t want us here?" Jake shrugged. "Then yeah, we''ll have to go somewhere else," he said. "We''ll go across into Delaware - that''s the east coast, and it''s not far - and see what gives. And if Delaware doesn''t work out we''ll go south. The southern tip of this peninsula belongs to Virginia. Different state, different governor." "Three different states have pieces of this peninsula?" "Yes." "It''s crazy." "It''s because of historical stuff. Historical stuff is often crazy. Anyway... What we gotta do right now is do our best to convince this mayor guy to let us stay." "I think it would be a good idea if we had a proper wash," said Li Yang. "Maybe even trim our hair. I have scissors." "You''re going to trim my hair? No fucking way." "You can do it yourself. And you should shave." "I''m growing a beard." "It makes you look like a rat hiding behind a toilet brush." "Fuck you." "It''s true." Jake sighed heavily. "Okay," he said. He pointed at the bathroom door and added: "You go first." "You still look like shit," Jake told him, and disappeared into the bathroom. Li Yang examined himself in the mirror over the dresser and decided Jake was just getting back at him for that rat and toilet brush remark. He really looked a lot better. He prepared and ate one of his MREs, with some misgivings: he had only seven left. Stealing food from a store was no longer a viable option. He was in the middle of farm country, but it was the last day of February; it would be a while before there would be any crops. He worried about where to get food, in one way or another, until a clean-shaven Jake emerged from the bathroom. "You look amazing, man," he said. "I don''t know," said Jake. He examined himself in the mirror, and frowned. "I don''t know, man," he repeated. "I think I better put on a shirt and a tie." "You have a tie?" "I''ve got several. I can lend you one. It would be a good move if you wore a shirt and a tie, too." "I don''t have a shirt," said Li Yang. "I mean, not the kind of shirt you''d wear with a tie." "I can lend you that, too. I''ve brought a couple." "I don''t have a jacket. I''ll freeze wearing just a shirt." "Don''t be stupid. The thermometer says it''s fourteen degrees in here. It''s practically like summer. You know what? You can wear that black V-neck sweater you got over the shirt. It looks good, looks brand new actually. Where did you get it?" "I can''t remember," said Li Yang. It was true. He''d stolen stuff from so many stores in the last eight weeks he couldn''t remember what he got where. He was wearing the black sweater over Jake''s blue shirt and tie and Jake was wearing a short jean jacket when Irina came to fetch them for the big meeting with the mayor. She smiled when she saw them and said: "That''s better. You actually look like human beings. Now listen to me. Don''t open your mouth except to answer questions. And don''t forget to thank Terry for letting you stay tonight. Let''s go." Terence Morello, Director, and John Hardin, mayor and governor, were relaxing over drinks in Morello''s room. Harding was a short, bald, fat man with a habit of raising his pinkie when he drank from his glass. He wore jeans and an expensive leather jacket and round wire-framed glasses with lenses that made his eyes seem huge. He examined Jake and Li Yang for a while after Irina had led them inside. So did Morello, with an appreciative smile: he''d noticed the effort they''d put in improving their appearance. "Terry tells me you want to start a mint, and actually have the resources to start one," Hardin said. He had a husky voice, as if he was suffering from a hoarse throat. "Yes," said Jake. Li Yang nodded. Hardin''s huge eyes made him feel uneasy. They were very intelligent, calculating eyes. He was sure the mayor will quickly succeed in trapping Jake in a lie. "A couple of kilos of gold and silver, am I correct? I assume it''s mostly silver." "We''ve got a quarter kilo of gold," said Jake. "And ten of copper. It was all we could carry, and we figured it''s enough to get started." "You''ve got more?" "We got a stash." "How big is the stash?" "About five times as much as we have," Jake said smoothly. Hardin considered this with pursed lips. "That''s not a lot," he said finally. "I''m also a partner in a mint in New York. Here," Jake said, digging in his pocket. He pulled out a silver coin and offered it to Hardin. Hardin examined it with a small smile and passed it to Morello. He said: "Nice. Solomon Mint, eh? Like in King Solomon''s Mines?" "That was the inspiration," Jake agreed. He glanced at Morello, who was smiling at the coin in his hand, and added: "My two partners in Solomon Mint will likely move down here to join me if I''m doing well. If they do, they''ll be bringing the entire stock with them. Not a lot of gold or silver, but they''ve got over a quarter ton of copper. And they''ve also got a lot of tin, I actually brought some, too. The plan was to build a small furnace, and smelt bronze. Bronze goes for twice the price of copper." ''Your partners seem to be doing nicely where they are," said Hardin. "Why would they want to move here? Why do YOU want to settle here?" "We all want to settle somewhere where there is peace and quiet, and where we can do a bit of farming. A safe base from which we could launch a colony in the New World." "That makes sense," observed Morello. He seemed to have fallen in love with the coin in his hand. Hardin gave him a contemptuous glance. "Give me that thing," he said. He gave the coin back to Jake and said: "I''ll be honest with you guys. You''re young. In my experience, young guys are usually wankers who think they''re gods because they did well in some stupid video game. Do you play video games?" "No," said Li Yang. "Very rarely," said Jake. "Never had the time to get into video games." "That''s good," said John Hardin, mayor, governor, and god. "That''s very good. It means you have an idea what real life is like. No saves, no reloads when things go bad. You get a single shot to score and if you fuck up that''s it, goodbye. I''m willing to give you this shot. I''m willing because you got down here from New York, and that means initiative and at least some brains. Problem is, we''re short of land. Lots of people want the same thing you want: a nice, quiet spot to found a colony." "What about that place we talked about last week?" said Morello. "Old Fred''s cabin?" "Yeah, that''s it." Hardin frowned and refreshed himself with a big swig from his glass. Then he said: "There''s one thing you have to understand, guys. I run a tight ship here and in the New World. That means no fighting or territorial grabs or any stupid violence at all, in either world. If there''s any conflict, it''s brought to my attention and I decide what''s to be done. If anyone disagrees, they''re out. You understand? Out of the New World and out of here, by any means, including clever use of violence." "I think you''ll find we''re both peaceful and reasonable," said Jake. "Both here and in the New World." Hardin nodded. "Fine," he said. "Like I said, I''m willing to give you your shot. A spot has been vacated by the sad death of someone I personally liked a lot. Make an appointment with my secretary at my office. not tomorrow, because he''ll be busy like hell tomorrow. You''ll register your mint and sign lease of property papers and pay for your licenses up front, if you like. But you won''t be getting any implant kits just yet. I don''t want you starting a colony earlier than June, maybe late May." Both Li Yang and Jake looked really stupid when they heard that, so Hardin added: "You''ll just have to wait your turn. But you can move into your property as soon as you''ve signed the lease papers, and paid a deposit. You can use the next few weeks to settle in, and get the mint up and running." "How much is the deposit?" asked Jake. "One hundred new or ten thousand old dollars." Jake nodded. "Sounds good," he said. Li Yang didn''t think so. He thought it sounded more than bad. But he knew better than to say it. "All right," said Hardin. He pulled out a card and offered it to Jake. "Address of the Government House and my secretary''s name, at the bottom," he said. "Go and see him early next week. I''ll tell him to expect you." Jake took the card and looked at it. He nodded, and put it away. "Thank you very much," he said. "We''re really grateful." "Thank you," mumbled Li Yang. He felt Irina''s eyes hit the back of his neck like two daggers, so he repeated: "Thank you very much. For everything." They were both shuffling to the door when Morello said: "Hey. You two. I want to see you later. Maybe you can do something for me, and in return I''ll let you stay until you can move into your new place. Irina?" "Yes?" "Can you bring them in at, uh, ten thirty?" "Of course." "Good." They left the room; Irina stayed. The moment they were outside, Jake said: "We''re in, man. We''re good." NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https:///book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 128 A Perfect Modus Operandi "Where are they, brother Harper?" asked the Poet. Harper Lee swallowed nervously and said: "I don''t know. I mean, I don''t know exactly. Maybe Bobby has a better idea." He glanced at Bobby, who was standing by his side in a nonchalant pose, with thumbs hooked into the pockets of his jeans. "Why the fuck should I have a better idea?" Bobby said. "Because they all left on Olga''s initiative, and Olga''s your girlfriend," said Harper. "I was sitting there with them when she came over and asked if they wanted to go with her. Wait, I''ve just remembered something. She said she was going into town to have a look around." "Olga is not my girlfriend," Bobby said crossly. "We have a special kind of relationship." "Town meaning Fairhaven?" asked the Poet. Jimmy Dow, who was standing behind the Poet''s chair, giggled and said: "Calling Fairhaven a town is stretching it. Stretching it a lot." "I assume she meant Fairhaven," said Harper. The Poet nodded. "All right," he said. "I''ll send a couple of people to ask around in the morning. Hopefully they can get a lead." He looked sternly at Harper, and added: "You said you were sitting with them and that you saw them leave, you saw they were taking their things? Why didn''t you ask them where they were going, and when they''d be back?" "I assumed they''d be back within a few hours." "You saw them taking their things and you assumed they''ll be back within a few hours? That wasn''t a very logical assumption to make, brother Harper." Harper did some fast thinking. He didn''t want to tell the Poet that everyone in his group including himself was afraid of getting robbed by the Poet''s people. He said: "We''d been on the road for a while, and developed a habit of keeping our things close." "How much metal did they take?" "Jake and Li Yang took what they brought with them, and it wasn''t much. It was mostly copper. Some silver, a little bit of gold. I don''t know about Olga." He glanced at Bobby, who said: "That bitch took half of my gold, nearly two hundred grams. And a full kilo of silver." "That''s a lot," said the Poet. "I know," Bobby said. "And I''ll get it back. And while I''m getting it back, I''ll skin that bitch alive." "You''ll have to find her first," observed the Poet. "All right. It''s very unfortunate that this has happened. Your explanation is not very convincing, brother Harper. But I''ll give you the benefit of doubt. Brother Bobby, from what you said I understand you have been robbed." "Fucking right I''ve been robbed," said Bobby. "I''m going to kill that bitch." "When we find her, we''ll hand her over to you so that you can deal with her at your leisure," said the Poet. "Make no mistake, we WILL find her, sooner or later. Hopefully still in possession of your gold and silver." "No, brother Bobby. You mentioned you were an experienced plumber, and I''ve got an important job for you. As important as locating your girlfriend." "She wasn''t my girlfriend." "Whatever. You can be sure we''ll find her. We''ll talk again tomorrow morning, brothers. Make sure you get a good night''s sleep, there''ll be plenty to do." As soon as they''d left the Poet''s trailer and Harper made sure no one was listening, he said: "Bobby, you told me you had nearly a full kilo of gold. And I just heard you tell the man Olga stole half, and that the half was less than two hundred grams." "I lied," said Bobby. "I''m not giving them all my gold. If you''re smart you won''t, either." "There will be trouble if they find out you''re cheating them." "We''re in trouble already," Bobby said. "That dude of yours, that Jimmy. How could you ever trust him? He''s a double-faced motherfucker." "Aren''t we all," said Harper. "What the fuck does that mean? You calling me a liar?" Harper sighed. "No, Bobby, I''m not. Listen, you really have no idea where they could have went?" Bobby shrugged. "They went to town, and went on from there," he said. "I know that much, too," said Harper. "But where is there?" At that very moment, Olga, Li Yang, and Jake were in Morello''s penthouse office. Morello was saying: "So, summing up, this is the deal: you can stay here until you can move into the cabin. But in return, I become a partner in your mint. It''s not like I''m asking for a free ride, I can get my hands on a lot of copper. Some tin and silver, too. Bear in mind that I''m also starting a colony. It will be a big, strong colony. You''ll be happy to have that colony as your ally in the New World." "Mr. Hardin said he runs a tight ship," said Jake. "Mr. Hardin said he won''t tolerate any armed conflict. Unless of course it is initiated by himself, for the greater good." "Hardin is Cambridge district governor, and regional governor of Maryland territory on the peninsula," said Morello. "He cannot stop some asshole based in Virginia or Delaware from raiding your colony. When that happens, you''ll be glad to have an ally nearby." Jake shook his head. "I find those future raids a little hard to believe," he said. "It doesn''t make sense. Everyone will be busy setting up their own colony. They''ll have to get food production going and develop basic industries and - " "You''re missing an important point," interrupted Morello. "The quickest way to get stuff is to steal it. That''s the way it has always been. All that waffle about violence and killing being bad is a very recent development. For thousands and thousands of years before that, violence and killing meant getting rich fast. "Why bother to develop food and goods production when you can steal both? Let some other stupid fucker do all the work, then kill him and take everything he has. Correction: kill or enslave him. Enslaving is better because you get free labor, and they can keep producing stuff for you. That has been the standard modus operandi throughout the history of mankind. It''s going to enjoy a big renaissance in the New World." "What''s modus operandi?" asked Li Yang. "What does it mean?" Morello groaned. "It means the way someone operates," Jake told Li Yang. "And renaissance means - " "I know what it means, thank you," said Li Yang. "And I think Mr. Morello is right." "Of course he''s right," said Olga. She smiled at Morello. Morello looked at Jake. "Well?" he said. "If you''re right, you''re right," said Jake. "I agree. I guess everyone agrees." "Good," said Morello. "From now onward, we''re equal partners in the mint and we''ll register it as such. I may not have gold or silver, but I have contacts. Contacts that will provide us with dies for the coins and other equipment to set up a good operation. We''ll be up and running in next to no time." "Maybe you could explain something to us, though," said Jake. "Why do we have to wait until late May to start a colony?" "Mr. Hardin likes to get things done in an orderly fashion," said Morello. "No more than two or three new colonies every day." "And he''s regional governor?" said Jake. "His whole region - and that includes our colony - will fall way behind the others." "No it won''t. On the contrary, it''s a sure bet we''ll come out ahead." "I''m not sure I understand." "You wouldn''t," Morello told Jake. "You young cocks don''t appreciate the importance of doing things in an orderly fashion." He frowned, and added: "I''m not hundred per cent sure I should be telling you this, but what the hell, it isn''t exactly a secret. The way it works is that you set the exact place and time for the founding of your colony with governor Hardin. You''ll arrive in the New World buck naked, without a thing to call your own, and surprise! For there will be a bunch of goodies waiting for you in your chosen spot. A set of clothes for everyone, some basic tools, and an initial supply of food. Maybe also some building materials, I don''t know." "I hope there will also be soap," said Olga. "Wow," said Jake. "That''s great news." "It''s not free of charge," Morello warned them. "You''ll pay for it later with goods produced, in instalments. But you''ll start the race running. You can bet your ass there''ll be plenty of guys elsewhere starting one minute past midnight tonight, and by late May they still won''t have proper tools. If they hadn''t died in the meantime, naturally. A lot of them will." "You really think so?" said Jake. "I don''t just think so, I''m sure of it. John and I are friends, and I sat in on a few interviews he held with people who want a license. You know something? Let''s celebrate a little. I mean we''ve just become partners, it would be mean if I didn''t offer you a drink." A while later, they were all seated with drinks in their hands. It took a while because Mr. Morello had to pay a quick visit to the bathroom, from which he emerged much energized. Li Yang''s drink consisted of tomato juice with two ice cubes. He really liked Mr. Morello. He thought Mr. Morello was a swell guy. Mr. Morello was saying: "I''ll tell you about an interview I participated in. John showed me the guy''s papers before he came in, and his papers say he''s a fucking demi-god. Top student, scholarship to one of those places that train you to look down on other people, a major activist for at least half a dozen noble causes. Twenty four years old, you might say that''s an ideal age because he is as young as you can be without being naive. You expect good judgment from a brainy guy that age. "Anyway, he comes in and the first thing I see is that he''s seriously fat. He''s the kind of guy you don''t want as your neighbor on a bus or train or a plane because you''ll barely have the space to breathe. Okay, I say to myself, once he arrives in the New World he''s gonna shed a lot of weight in a hurry. Might be an advantage, it''s like he has a built-in hamper full of nutritious fat. "John and the guy start talking and initially all is good: he''s quick and to the point and confident. But then John asks about his skills and the floor falls in. He''s one of those activists that never move their asses, all his activist activities are conducted through a keyboard. Can he cook? Yes, if the instructions are there on the box and there''s an electric oven or microwave nearby. He''s never even tried boiling an egg. "Can he sew - what do you mean, sir, like sawing wood? No, I''ve never done that, never really worked with wood. Can he help with farming, can he handle plants? Well, he had a potted cactus for a couple of years, but it died. And it really takes a lot of talent to kill a fucking cactus. "How about something basic, like digging ditches? He''s never handled a spade in his life. If you sent him out with an ax to chop some wood, he''d need medical care. So John asks him outright: why do you think you can run a successful colony? Turns out the guy used to be, still is I guess the world champion in some fucking colonization game. He kicks ass left, right, and center in that game, so he''s going to kick ass in the New World. "You know, that rationale came up pretty often. I guess the majority of people think life lived out through a computer is real life because it is a big part of their own, real lives. It''s happening for real! Except it isn''t. "It made John revise his outlook about video games. He said that if ever things returned to normal he''d ban video games for anyone under sixty. When someone gets old and they''re basically waiting to die, it''s nice to indulge in some fantasies. But when you''re young, it''s a crime. Committed by you, on yourself." Li Yang had never played any video games except for a few fumbled minutes on a friend''s phone. What he heard made him feel like a saint. He really liked Mr. Morello a lot. He was happy to wait until late May or even June with the founding of their colony. And it really made sense, because they needed to make enough money from the mint to pay for their licenses. For the first time since the catastrophe, he had the feeling that everything was going to go well. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https:///book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 129 Five Minutes To Midnigh "It''s going to be a disaster," moaned Weinberger. "It''s going to be a total catastrophe! I''ll get lynched." His eyes were close to popping out of their sockets with fear. He was sweating heavily even though the room was quite cool, as rooms tended to be these days. His mouth was working, and its lower lip was slick with spittle. Olaf Kroll took all of this in, shook his head, then put a hand on Weinberger''s shoulder. "Kasper," he said. "Calm down. There will be no disasters, no catastrophes, and no one is going to lynch you. Yes, a lot of people will be miserable for a while, but that''s nothing new." Weinberger''s mouth opened and closed without making a sound. Kroll shook his head again. "You were fine about everything just a few hours ago," he said. "Why are you panicking like that? Has something happened?" What had happened was that the beneficial effect of Dr. Knox''s morning confidence booster had disappeared. The doctor had calculated the mix so that the drugs wore out around or slightly before bedtime. It was pretty hard to fall asleep while the magic drug cocktail was still working. "We don''t even have five percent of the liquid cash we need!" cried Weinberger. "And in just a few hours'' time, people will start lining up for their guaranteed income payouts!" "They''ll be temporarily paid with scrips." "And trade! What about trade? How is everyone going to trade when no one has any money?" "They can barter. They can also issue letters of credit valid for up to a year." "Chaos," said Weinberger. "Complete, utter chaos." "Yes," agreed Kroll. "But everything will sort itself out. It always does." Weinberger stared at Kroll. He said: "I admire your confidence." "Yes, people keep telling me that," Kroll said smugly. "It''s my Viking blood. Now come on, let''s go join everyone else in the banquet room. It''s already after ten." "I can''t go, I won''t go!" wailed Weinberger. "You will. Do you have any alcohol? Here, in this room?" "I, I have some brandy. It''s in the top drawer of my dresser. But alcohol doesn''t work for me. It won''t help." "Yes it will. In here?" "Yes. I already tried, and it didn''t work. But if you insist... The glasses are over there. Over there, I said. Olaf! What are you doing?" Olaf Kroll grasped Weinberger''s jaw in an iron grip with one hand, and pushed the open, upended bottle of brandy into Weinberger''s mouth with the other. Weinberger''s eyes practically came out of their sockets and he made noises as if he was drowning: he had to swallow fast to save his life. The bottle was more than half empty before Kroll relented, and released Weinberger who whooped and wheezed and coughed for the next minute. He glared at Kroll with bloodshot, angry eyes. Then unexpectedly, he grinned. "The secret is in the dosage," Olaf Kroll said. "Now come on, let''s go and join the others. We''re late already." That night, there were nearly half a thousand people assembled in the grand banquet room of the United Nations building. There were over a hundred former heads of state, now national territory governors and members of the world parliament, and each of them had brought at least one aide. The entire Colonial Council was present, and so were all the experts invited to provide guidance in the shaping of the new world order on poor, old, chaotic Earth. Most importantly, there were also over a hundred waiters and other serving staff in attendance, busily rushing around to provide drinks and snacks. The start of mankind''s greatest-ever colonization venture had been fixed at eight in the morning in each time zone. Thus, even though it was still February in New York, colonies were already being launched from many of the Pacific islands, from Kamchatka, from New Zealand; the first reports had already been telexed in. Jean Caron, head of the Colonial Council, was beaming, partly because he''d already consumed several glasses of wine. However, the news that had reached him were undeniably good. "Such enthusiasm, such immense enthusiasm!" he was saying to the people gathered around him. "I just had word from Auckland. The lineups in front of each Colonial Office there stretch for blocks! The people waiting are dancing and singing! It''s one gigantic celebration the world over." This rosy view wasn''t shared by Nelson Odongo. "No meaningful violence so far, but everyone is pretty angry," he was saying, in response to Carlton Brock''s earlier question. "People are shocked they''re getting just ten dollars a month, and that just a handful of cents is paid out in coin. If it wasn''t for the free food we''re handing out with each payment, there''d have been riots everywhere, I''m sure of it." "Thanks to you," said Brock. "That was a smart idea." Odongo shrugged. "I just recycled something that worked when we were distributing food in the refugee camps," he said. "Give everyone their bag of rice or flour or whatever and you have sulks, angry muttering, threats. Give them the same bag with something extra - something stupid like a tiny bag of peanuts, or a roll of candy - and they''re all smiles." "It''s the unexpected bonus thing," Brock said, hazily remembering information from his student days. "You give someone a bonus they didn''t expect and they''re happy even though they''re being as badly fucked as ever." "They didn''t teach me that at Oxford," said Odongo. "I learned this at the age of ten, running a lemonade stand." "I never ran a lemonade stand." "You''ve missed out on an important experience... Hey, what''s this?" A wild-eyed, elegantly clothed young man was pushing his way through toward the beaming Caron, and Brock found himself hoping it was bad news. Caron was getting on his nerves. He was getting almost all of the attention that evening. That frog-leg eater, that snail aficionado was getting more attention that Carlton Brock! "It''s one of the people from the communications center," said Odongo. "This doesn''t look good." He was wrong. The wild-eyed messenger reached Caron, and said what appeared to be a very short sentence. Caron appeared to go out of his mind. He raised his arms high up in the air, splattering a couple of people nearby with wine from his glass, and screamed: "Oui! Oui! Oui!" "He needs to hit the can," said Brock. But Caron was shouting: "Listen everyone! Everyone listen to me! We''ve found timon! We''ve found pure timon in Samoa!" The messenger bent towards Caron''s ear, and whispered something. Caron''s face fell along with his arms. He dismissed the messenger with a flick of his fingers and became aware that everyone was staring at him, waiting for more news. "We''ve found timon," he said loudly. "But it seems that part of the New World is inhabited by dinosaurs." Brock had to fight not to burst out laughing. He was furious when Caron announced the discovery of timon. This was because there was Samoa, and then there was American Samoa. Located next door to the independent Samoa, it nevertheless belonged to a different timezone. It would be over twenty hours before colonization was launched in American Samoa. And the governor there obviously wasn''t pulling his weight. It seemed he hadn''t even established a settlement in the New World. Had he done so, he would have been sure to discover timon first. "Excuse me, Nelson," he said to Odongo. "I have to check on something." "So do I," said Odongo. He had been looking at the red-faced and exuberant Weinberger, who had just entered the banquet room accompanied by Troll discreetly holding his elbow to help Weinberger walk in a straight line. Odongo sighed, and went to talk to Caron. Brock wasn''t interested in talking to Caron; he wanted to find Lea Panatella. He found her at the buffet table, eating cheese-flavored nachos. The buffet tables were covered with trays and bowls of various packaged snacks: peanuts, potato chips, and others. It was the only kind of food still plentiful in the United Nations building''s pantry. "Lea," Brock said. "Did you hear what Caron just said?" "Not really," said Lea Panatella. "Those things are pretty noisy to eat. What did he say?" "He said they''ve discovered timon in Samoa." "Yes?" "I want to know why we haven''t discovered timon in American Samoa." "Sir," said Panatella, hurriedly swallowing her last mouthful of nachos, "We don''t have a governor appointed yet in Samoa." "What?!" "It was in the weekly briefing I gave you. I can''t remember his name, but anyway the gist is, the governor there went insane. He insisted on being the first to enter the New World and something really bad happened to him over there. When they woke him up he didn''t make sense. He was screaming and babbling about monsters and they had to put him in a straitjacket." "He wasn''t replaced?" "The lieutenant-governor refused the job, and resigned. But he did set up a Colonial Office. Unfortunately, it seems no one is interested in launching a colony from there." "So we don''t have any presence in the New World over there?" "That''s right." "Who''s responsible for that whole region of the Pacific?" "American Samoa is an autonomous area. You are directly responsible for it, sir." "Oh fuck," said Carlton Brock. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https:///book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 130 New World, Old Realities The seagull perched on the roof of the Port Douglas town hall blinked, bent its head, and blinked again with its other eye. It didn''t help - there was no food to be seen. It was a new experience for the seagull. Wherever there was such a large group of people, there was food - that had always been the rule. Those ungainly apes were pretty much always eating. They ate even when they weren''t hungry. And whenever they ate, they''d also drop and leave food all around them! It was a miracle such a stupid species managed to thrive. Flying is a tiring business. Many of the small birds in colder climates need to eat their own weight every day in order to survive. Staying alive means looking for food all the time. Captive, caged birds have it good: they can eat themselves stupid without lifting a wing. When they are released and have to fend for themselves, most of them quickly die. It had been a very lean February for the seagull. It had been a very lean February for the seagull. Usually, the sandy beach was a smorgasbord of goodies, with half-eaten hot dogs a top favorite. But there had been nothing but sand in February. January hadn''t been that bad: a lot of little creatures of the sea had washed up dead following an incredible storm, a storm that had very nearly killed the seagull. It had survived by sheltering in an overturned trash can. The seagull got a last, good look at the disappointingly clean street and took off from the roof, headed for the ocean. Getting to eat something was going to be very hard work, lots of flying just above the waves, hunting for a fish that had stupidly moved close to the surface of the water. In preparation for that effort, the seagull''s intestines constricted and expelled a drop of liquid shit. The less weight to carry, the better! Harold Pendelton saw the drop of birdshit splatter on the shoulder of the man standing before him in the lineup that began at the town hall entrance. He rejoiced inwardly, for he disliked the man in front of him. He was one of the normally absent citizens of Port Douglas: a holiday rental property owner who lived elsewhere while his house became a source of pounding music and drunken yowls very late into each night. There were many properties like that in Port Douglas; it was a popular holiday destination. And many of their owners had returned in recent weeks, mostly hitching rides on the army truck that brought very basic supplies in very basic quantities every day. There was a lot of free space in the truck, it could easily accommodate quite a lot of paying passengers. A large part of the income was distributed among the soldiers in the platoon of engineers that was stationed in Port Douglas; like the truck drivers, they''d hadn''t received their February pay. "Shit," said the man in front of Harold Pendelton, looking at his freshly soiled shoulder. "Indeed," said Harold Pendelton. "This is a designer T-shirt," the man said. "I paid two hundred fifty for that T-shirt." "Indeed," repeated Harold. The man turned his back on Harold and pulled out a crumpled tissue from the pocket of his shorts and began smearing the birdshit all over his shoulder. Harold turned away; he looked at the line of people behind him. He estimated at least a hundred. However, not all were prospective colonizers: some of them would be lining up to receive their guaranteed monthly income. They could be recognized by their angry, anxious faces. The word was that the guaranteed income payment would amount to ten dollars. The argument was that each new cent would be worth a full dollar in old money, but ten dollars still sounded like next to nothing. He was sure that there would be plenty of angry scenes once the town hall doors opened for business. Most of the people waiting to purchase a colonial license would get angry too, because they were going to be turned away. Harold and his friend David Ramsey had anticipated that. Two weeks earlier, they entered into long and complicated negotiations with the mayor, Jane Leary, a fifty-year-old business woman who until recently had ran the town in a very capable manner. Her performance deteriorated steadily from the moment she was instructed to found a settlement for the colonial government in the New World. Previously a model of stability under stress, she became hysterical at the slightest provocation. She resigned as mayor and district governor a week into Harold and David''s delicate negotiations. Her successor, Henry Deacon, was a retired restaurateur well known for his pragmatic, down-to-earth approach. He refused to be shaken by even the most dramatic of events; had aliens aboard a spaceship arrived in Port Douglas, he''d have asked them whether they''d like to eat something following such a long journey. After his appointment, new difficulties popped up in Harold and David''s efforts to acquire as many licenses as they could afford. "I cannot promise you anything beyond the official minimum, whatever it might finally be," Deacon told them. "Everyone and their dog wants a colony in the New World. The territory under my control doesn''t permit more than half a dozen independent colonies. People will just have to bunch together, that''s all." "But we ARE bunching together, Henry," said Dave Ramsey. "My two sons with their families will be arriving any day. My daughter with her husband and kids is coming, too. They''re going to be very useful, in Port Darwin as well as the New World. One of my sons is an accomplished carpenter; it has been his hobby ever since he turned ten. The other is a geologist, and I don''t have to explain how useful he''ll be in the New World. And my daughter is a medical doctor, like myself. "They''re all bringing their spouses?" "Yes." "I''m sorry, I can issue you with just a single colony license. At this point in time, it guarantees you two implant kits and the option to purchase eight more. That will be enough for all of you." "A single colony license, that''s fine," said Dave Ramsey. "But my children are bringing their kids! They''re all teenagers or in their early twenties. Ideal age!" "You want to replicate teenagers in the New World?" asked Deacon. "Yes. Why not? That''s probably the best age to get introduced to the New World." "How many?" "Three," Ramsey said. "But please note that four of my grandchildren are over eighteen. They''re teenagers, but they''re adult teenagers." "You want seven extra implant kits?" "Yes." Deacon shook his head. "Impossible," he said. It went on like this for three more meetings, spread out over a week. Their wives - Gladys and Susan urged them to give it a rest. They argued they could use the secret stash of implant kits and hiber beds they''d kept. But Harold and Dave were firm. "Every single person we have in our colony has to be a licensed colonist, and that''s that," Dave said. And so, they kept requesting new meetings with Deacon and hammering away at his defenses with new arguments. Deacon couldn''t refuse to see them; they were year-round Port Douglas residents, and important members of the community. They had also been regulars at Deacon''s restaurant, The Happy Turtle, prior to its sale and his retirement, and Deacon used to join them for after-dinner drinks at least once a month. Their happy break came at the conclusion of Harold and Dave''s third meeting with Deacon. He was just showing them out of his office when one of his aides, a woman who had formerly been his favorite waitress at The Happy Turtle, walked on them with urgent, important news. "The Sheraton gang are all leaving," she told Deacon while Harold and Dave pretended they weren''t eavesdropping. The Sheraton gang was composed of the hotel employees that had stayed in Port Douglas. They''d decided to pool and boost their resources by stealing whatever could be sold for cash from the hotel, and use the proceeds to found a colony. There were nearly a hundred of them, and they were a force to be reckoned with. "Are you sure? That obnoxious little twerp, their leader, was here just yesterday. I had the impression they were determined to stay. He asked for another two weeks'' food supply." "It''s all fixed. A Sheraton bigwig arrived the other day and told them Sheraton is going into the New World in a big way. They''re going to develop a big chain of resorts for people who want to experience the New World without any hardship. They''re calling in all of their people to start the required settlements. Luckily for us, they won''t be starting a settlement from here." "Luckily? I don''t know," said Deacon. "It would''ve meant a lot in taxes." Dave Ramsey couldn''t help himself. He stopped pretending that he wasn''t listening to the conversation, and said: "Henry, this just shows how important it is to have people fully committed to this town. Those are the people you can count on in the New World." "Come back into my office," said Deacon, and dismissed his assistant. He closed the door and faced Harold and Dave and said: "A colony spot has just become vacant. I''m giving it to you, Dave; you won''t have to share with Harry any more. You can get up to ten implant kits with your license, so that''s more than enough to take care of you and your little brood. But that means I have a problem with you, Harry. This leaves just you and Gladys as the founders and owners of an independent colony. I''ll be blunt: I cannot afford to give a good colony spot to someone who wants a retirement home in the New World. When you come in to get your license, make sure you''ve recruited at least six other colonists. Of both sexes, and of procreation age if you know what I mean." Harold Pendelton did exactly that. It turned out to be really easy. He paid visits to the young people who''d staffed the town''s fast food outlets. Out of jobs, money, and hope, they were very eager to join his scheme. Within two days, he had signed up eight colonists that included the manager of the local Pizza Palace and his girlfriend. He had their written declarations of commitment in his briefcase. Most importantly, he was happy with his recruits. They were great kids, disciplined and highly motivated. The former Pizza Palace manager had already begun designing an easy-to-build baking oven for their New World settlement. He heard and felt a ripple of excitement move through the lineup. He raised his head: the town hall doors were opening. Henry Deacon stepped out, and there were many gasps. He was wearing an elegant morning suit complete with a top hat, as if he was about to attend an important wedding. He surveyed the crowd before him, and said: "Good day, everyone. We''re open and we''ll stay open until everyone is served, so put your minds at ease. But one at a time, please. Madam, please follow me." And he disappeared inside the building. Two soldiers in full combat gear popped out immediately, and took station on both sides of the entrance. Helmeted and armed with assault rifles, they did their best to look very fierce. The young woman who was at the very front of the lineup had already started following the mayor; now she stopped. She was wearing a black leather biking jacket and leather jeans and she clearly regarded herself as someone who didn''t take any shit from anybody. She looked at one of the entrance guards and said: "Stop frowning so hard, that pimple on your forehead is set to burst." "Please move to the end of the line," said the soldier. "Next!" The second person in line, a middle-aged man in a light suit, lost no time at all in plunging inside the building. The young woman said: "This isn''t right! I was the first in line. I''m going in." "No you aren''t," said the soldier. "We''re the ones letting people in. And we''ve just decided people with oversized mouths come in last." "I was the first," said the woman. "You aren''t any more. Now get to the end of the line, unless you want to get arrested." An abnormal hush reigned over the waiting crowd as the girl meekly moved toward the end of the lineup, her face set in a mix of fear and anger. So this is what it''s going to be like, Harold thought. He looked around, searching for Dave. Dave had his hands full: one of his sons arrived the previous evening, and he was busy settling him in. He''d promised to join Harold by the time the Colonial Office opened. But Dave was nowhere to be seen. Harold looked up: a seagull was perched on the edge of the roof''s rain gutter. It was too distant to tell, but Harold had the feeling it was watching him. The door to the town hall opened and the man in the light suit came bounding out, grinning as if he had just won the lottery. Harold stared at him and felt a small shock of recognition. The man''s name was Nicky Rizzo, and he was widely believed to occupy a senior management position in the drug network that supplied the town''s holidaymakers with basic necessities. "Next!" called out one of the guards. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https:///book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 131 Old World, New Realities Dave Ramsey showed up in the nick of time: the man in the birdshit-smeared two hundred and fifty dollar designer T-shirt had just been told to enter by the entrance guards. "Crikey," Dave said. "I never expected they''d process people so quickly!" "Yes, Henry seems to be as efficient as ever," said Harold. "And newly ruthless." "Ruthless? What do you mean?" "You''ll see." Dave did, very shortly. The town hall doors crashed open and the man in the soiled designer T-shirt was led out, or rather carried out, by two soldiers. They were gripping his arms so tightly his feet were barely touching the ground. "You''re hurting me," he was saying. "You''re hurting me! Let me go!" "Right away, sir," said one of the soldiers. They set him down on the top step and the soldier who''d spoken gave him a push. The man went tumbling down the steps, and there was a subdued gasp of horror from the assembled people. "They had no right to do that," said a loud female voice the moment the doors closed behind the soldiers. "They did have the right. Shut up," said one of the entrance guards, just as loudly. A shocked, disbelieving silence settled on the crowd. "What are you waiting for?" the guard said to Harold. "You didn''t tell me I could enter." "That''s right, sorry. Got a little distracted. You seem to have the right attitude. Please go in." "The two of us are together. Henry, I mean Mr. Deacon is expecting us." "Go ahead." They did. The entrance lobby contained a dozen soldiers, all in combat gear, looking determined and grim. Harold and Dave crossed the lobby and went into Deacon''s office and immediately noticed an important change. A huge map of Port Douglas and adjacent territory was hung on the wall behind the mayor''s desk. It was covered by a cellophane sheet marked with mysterious red and blue circles and lines. The district governor and mayor of Port Douglas was pacing the ground in front of the map, looking rather grim. But he brightened up when he saw Harold and Dave. "Hello, chaps," he said. "It''s so nice to see someone who is reasonable. Sit down," he added, waving at the chairs set in front of his desk. They sat down, silently marveling at the appearance of Deacon''s desk. His elegant top hat sat to his right; to his left stood three separate piles of paper. "Yes," Deacon said, catching their eye, "We''re back in the pen and paper era. You''ll have to sign a couple of documents." He began plucking paper sheets off the piles, saying: "After you sign those, go home and wait for the tax collector. He''ll come round by the end of the day to collect the license fee, and issue you with implant kits. Harold, did you manage to find enough people for your colony?" "Yes." Harold took out the signed declarations of commitment from his briefcase, and passed them to Deacon. "Who is our tax collector, Henry?" asked Dave. "Nicky Rizzo." Dave and Harold were stunned. "Nicky Rizzo?" Harold said after a while. "But he''s a criminal. I mean I know nothing''s ever been proved in court, but it''s common knowledge." "Nicky Rizzo is a former drug dealer," said Deacon. "I say former, because he''s freshly out of work. That whole business just doesn''t exist any more. An unemployed criminal is a very dangerous criminal. It''s better that he''s busy doing something legal. And there''s another advantage to giving him the job - I don''t have to worry about his security. Tax collection is going to be a dangerous business, as I''m sure you understand." "I do, and I''m sure Harry does too," said Dave. "But could you please put us under someone else?" "Mr. Rizzo is the sole tax collector in Port Douglas. It''s just a few hundred households. He declared he can manage that with a thumb up his arse, to use his words. And between you and me and a rubber boot, I think appointing a second tax collector in Port Douglas would be bad move. I would have to appoint a new one every month because they''d keep disappearing. You get my drift?" They did, and nodded silently. "I''m pretty sure Rizzo will be good at the job," said Deacon. "Of course if you have any complaints, come to see me. Hopefully it won''t come to that." "I want to ask you something, Henry," said Harold Pendelton. Henry Deacon raised an admonishing finger. "Just a moment," he said. "Let me show you your colony sites first." "Our sites? You''re selected the colony locations for us?" "Of course. I''m obliged to. Every colony has to be given enough space to develop to a meaningful size. I don''t want tiny hamlets whose production amounts to a fart on a windy day. I know you two want to run a colony together. That''s good. You''re free to do that, but you must launch them separately, in locations indicated on this map. I''ve put you as close to each other as I could without questions being asked. Come over here." They got up, and joined Deacon in front of the map. "The district capital, the new Port Douglas in the New World is located here, on the peninsula," Deacon said, tapping the blue circle drawn on the transparent sheet covering the map. "I''ve given both of you coastal locations, so count your blessings. Harold, yours corresponds almost exactly with where you live here. I''ve decided to reward you for safeguarding the cube, and assisting with the evacuation of its contents from your property. "Yours," Deacon said, turning to Dave Ramsey, "Is a little further down the coast, at Yule Point. That''s just ten kilometers away. You''ll launch from Yule Point, and send your colonists north to join up with Harry in the New World." "But that will be a hundred kilometers in the New World!" exclaimed Dave. "That''s the best I can do. Harold, is something the matter?" There was. Harold was greatly shaken to discover there was an operational district capital in the New World; Deacon hadn''t even as much as hinted at that during their numerous meetings. Harold had had the impression that this had been abandoned after Jane Leary''s nervous breakdown. What was more, Deacon''s capital was very close to his and Dave''s existing, illegal settlement! It was a miracle they hadn''t been found out. He was determined to keep it that way, and he lied: "I was just thinking that both of us could send out scouting parties and meet somewhere in the middle. Make things easier." "I don''t know," said Dave, catching onto the ruse instantly. "What if they miss each other?" "Maybe you could discuss that among yourselves later, fellows?" asked Deacon. "Harry, you said earlier you wanted to ask about something. Go ahead." "Those soldiers you''ve got here, the guards at the entrance. They''re being pretty rough with people." "Were they rough with you?" "No, other people." "Then why are you complaining about it?" Harold was dumbstruck. "I wanted to say, I thought it''s a citizen''s duty to report irregularities," he said eventually. "Where you are concerned, yes. If as you say the soldiers were a bit rough with other people, they probably had good reasons. That fellow that came in before you - I had to have him removed by force." "I see." "Actually, the words I used were to throw him down the stairs, and see if he''ll bounce." "Henry!" "Don''t ''Henry'' me. I told him to behave himself twice. He didn''t, so he got thrown out." "Isn''t this a little brutal?" "No, it isn''t," said Deacon. "It''s the right way to do things. You know, the past couple of decades - what am I saying, it''s closer to half a century - there''s been a steady decline in respect for authority. Governments everywhere kept getting softer to win over voters, forgetting that people always complain and always want more, no matter how much they get. And then there was all this bullshit propagated by the entertainment industry. It''s great be a gangsta, fuck the law! "Music, movies... Fucking Hollywood with all those movies about corrupt, venal policemen and politicians, and about criminals who are really loving, kind men. It was basically the system''s fault that they turned to crime. Correction: they were FORCED into crime. It got to the point where fucking rioters were suing cops for excessive force! The authorities, the guardians of the law became the villains, and the villains became angels, martyrs, victims - you name it. "That''s over and done with. We''re not going to go that route, because it leads into a cul-de-sac." The smug look on Deacon''s face indicated he was pleased with this little final verbal flourish. Harold wasn''t. He said: "We?" "The new world government," Deacon said. "And now, chaps, I really have to ask you to leave. I want to get home for dinner." It was a very sensible wish, a wish that couldn''t be disputed. They said their goodbyes and left. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https:///book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 132 A Slice of Lime Harold and Dave walked back home deep in thought, silently digesting what they''d seen and heard at the town hall. That wouldn''t have been possible in the old days. In the old days, walking down a street in Port Douglas meant encountering hundreds of holidaymakers. Some would be drunk, some high on drugs, and some both drunk and high on drugs. Occasionally, there would be someone who was merely hungover. All of them were invariably loud, proudly displaying their stupidity to everyone along with their bodies: wearing as little clothing as possible was the mandatory uniform for anyone on a holiday. The combination of rowdy behavior and bare flesh adorned with tattoos and piercings often made Harold feel he was surrounded by barbarians. "You know," he had said to Gladys one day upon getting home, "It really makes you wonder. For hundreds and hundreds of years people sought to differentiate themselves from animals. Now it seems it''s the other way." "But people ARE animals, darling," Gladys reminded him. "From what I''ve seen and heard, calling someone an animal is an insult." "It can also be a compliment," Gladys had said, making Harold sulk discreetly for the next few days while he wondered if she hadn''t been referring to his behavior in bed. He always took utmost care to be gentle when making love to his wife. "Remember the days when streets were filled with ugly brutes?" he said to Dave, in an attempt to drown out his uncomfortable memories. Dave smiled. "You know that old saw about everything having a silver lining," he said. "I''m reminded of it every morning when I wake up after sleeping through the night without being woken up at least once." "We used sleeping pills, myself and Gladys," said Harold. "They really helped." "I don''t use sleep aids, and I''ve always told my patients not to use them," Dave said. "That''s a little radical. Isn''t providing relief part of your duties?" "Every symptom is a physical manifestation of something going on inside a patient," Dave said. "I''ve always tried to cure people, not just treat them. That meant identifying the cause of their illness or discomfort, and getting rid of it. People can''t sleep because of stress. The answer is vigorous and productive physical activity. It reduces stress and tires you out enough to fall asleep the moment you lie down." "Productive? Like having unprotected sex?" Dave laughed, and said: "That''s the sole exception. That can actually increase stress. No, by productive I mean chopping wood or doing something that yields concrete results, such as a pile of firewood or a renovated house or whatever. Where you can actually see and touch the improvement you''ve made. "You were telling your patients to go and chop some wood?" "Hot and cold?" "I mean a stream or a river. You don''t want to drink from ponds and lakes out in the country. Running water is cleaner water." "I didn''t realize you took such a holistic approach to your work, Dave." "It''s the only way to approach it. But can we discuss something else? I''m really worried about the perspective of having to walk a hundred kilometres in the New World." "We could cheat." "What do you mean?" Harold shrugged. "We''ve been cheating from the day we founded our settlement in the New World," he said. "And you''re asking me what I meant?" "In practical terms only." "In practical terms, we don''t have to do anything at all. We just proceed with what we have. If Henry gets curious, you''ll tell him how you trekked along the coast enduring extreme hardship along the way, and then immediately attack him with accusations and recriminations about making you suffer for no reason. That will put him on the defensive right away. He won''t ask any questions, he''ll be mumbling about rules and regulations instead. Just like the time your son lit up a joint in his restaurant, before it became legal. You remember that visit of his? I didn''t get to meet him, Gladys had lost a tooth and she was having hysterics about falling apart piece by piece." "I remember that. And speaking of Sean, I had a long and very illuminating talk with him and Maureen last night, after he''d finished settling in." "Maureen?" "His wife." "I see." "She''s a doctor, too. She''s a general physician, sort of family doctor. Sean''s a surgeon. An orthopedic surgeon. I think I''ve told you that." "They sound like they could be really useful in the New World." "You''re such an old grouch, Harry. Always taking the pessimistic view. What''s going to happen if everyone stays healthy? We''ll have to treat you for depression." They continued to exchange little barbs like that, the way old friends do, all the way to Harold''s house. Its front lawn had been transformed into a vegetable garden: the turf had been ripped up and replaced with corn seedlings. They''d tried planting seeds directly into the open ground but they were all gone within a day. Birds wanted to eat just as much as humans did. They heard Gladys calling out ''They''re here!'' to someone before they entered the house. Harold''s mouth was disfigured by a sour twist when he went inside: he was tired, he had been up from six in the morning: he wanted to be at the front of the town hall lineup that he''d been rightly anticipating. At twenty to eight, he''d found that over a dozen people had already assembled in front of the entrance. His mood improved a little when he saw Dave''s son Sean and his wife Maureen stand up to greet him. They had good manners, such a rarity in those days. They looked to be in their middle twenties in spite of being at least a dozen years older - they had to be, with an adult kid. Sean was tall and blond and blue-eyed and generally looked the kind of doctor used to advertise analgesics. This was hugely misleading, since he specialized in cutting and breaking people''s bones before making them well. His wife Maureen had shoulder-length wavy dark hair with curls at the tips. Her black eyes were slightly slanted, and she had a thin nose and mouth. She generally looked like the neighborhood witch whom everyone consulted, back in the Middle Ages, when they were feeling unwell, and who got burned at the stake when everyone needed someone to blame for their misfortunes. Harold wasn''t sure he''d trust her with his children, had he any; he wondered about her success as a family doctor. He also wondered why an attractive man like Sean would marry a witch like Maureen. His life experience suggested a very special affinity in bed, most likely involving unusual sexual practices. Of course, there had to be a meeting of minds too. It wasn''t possible to stay with someone for any length of time without a meeting of minds. He said: "You must be Sean and Maureen. Dave has told me so much about you. Glad to meet you." They shook hands. Sean the bone-breaker had the appropriate grip, making Harold wince. Maureen''s handshake was like grasping a wriggly fish. "Let me get you something to drink," said Harold, out of force of habit, and was brought short by amused stares: his own Gladys betrayed him by raising a hand to her mouth to stifle a giggle. "He got up at six today," she said. "Harry''s had a long day. He''s the one that needs a drink. You too, Dave. Come with me," she added, throwing a meaningful look at Harold. They''d been together for a long time and he knew that look meant: I''ve got something important to tell you, in private. He followed her into the kitchen where she made a fuss of giving him a glass of water with a thin slice of lime: to Harold''s eye, the slice of lime had been used at least once in an earlier drink. That was okay, he''d gotten used to their recycling things until they really couldn''t be recycled any more. What wasn''t okay was what Gladys said: "We had another visitor before Sean and Maureen came over. A horrible man in a plastic jacket who said that the tax collector, Mr. Rizzo, will be paying us a visit this evening and can we make sure we''re in. Harold, is this Rizzo the same Rizzo who was in the news last year? They said he was a gangster." "He''s a tax collector now," Harold told her. "Oh my." "I already raised the subject with Henry. Henry Deacon, you know, the mayor. He says it''s going to be okay." "I don''t believe it. You don''t either, if you have any sense." Henry took a sip of his water. He could tell from the taste the slice of lime had been used at least twice, not just once. He said: "Can you tell me what makes any sense nowadays, Gladys?" Gladys was silent for a while. Then she said: "Drink your water." She walked out of the kitchen. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https:///book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 133 Lamb Chops and the Tax Collector Harold drank all his water before following Gladys out of the kitchen. He also ate the worn-out slice of lime. It had seen plenty of use, its pulp was bleached white; it was time to retire it from service. He ate the rind too - it was very bitter, and so he wasn''t smiling when he re-entered the living room. It contained just Sean and Maureen; his wife and the Ramseys were gone. "They''re out back setting up the barbie," Sean said, unasked; he was clearly skilled at reading people''s thoughts, and scored a point with Harold for that. He scored another point when he added: "We brought a couple of bottles of gas. Hopefully the nozzle will fit. We also brought some meat. Very salty, we didn''t want it to go bad, but your wife said she can deal with it." "I''m sure she can," said Harold. "And thank you." His lip trembled; he stopped himself at the last moment from asking whether they''d brought any booze. But Sean, the orthopedic surgeon from Melbourne, was Superman in disguise. He said: "We''ve also brought a jug of red. It will make all that salt bearable." He smiled at Harold. Harold said: "Thank you, thank you! That''s quite a feast we''re about to have. Things were tight here for a while, you know. If the army hadn''t trucked in some food, we''d have been in poor shape. I take it things weren''t so bad in Melbourne?" "Mixed. The first week after the disaster, everyone was sort of stunned and trying to function as normal. Then everything got progressively worse, and by the end of the month it was risky to go out. Then the army stepped in, and they were fairly brutal. They shot some looters, and then they shot some people who were protesting about the killed looters. They also started distributing food, the new government announced the currency reform and that all debt was cancelled, and everyone calmed down and got busy thinking how to make some money "But the past few weeks, it became pretty clear we''d end up starving if we didn''t make a move. So we sold or bartered whatever we could sell or barter. We''ve still got the house, but I don''t think we''ll see it again. We aren''t going back." "I''m sorry to hear that," said Harold. It wasn''t exactly the right thing to say. When Harold became aware of that, he added: "I don''t mean you aren''t welcome here. You''re very welcome, more than welcome. But I''m sorry about your house." "We also lost over a hundred thousand in stocks and shares," said Sean. "Are you sure? Lost, just like that?" "They''re worthless. I managed to cash our life insurance policies back in January, and withdrew all the money we had in the bank. Just in time, too. Our bank collapsed a week later. Practically all of them did, over the next few weeks. There are no banks or any financial institutions left. The whole financial system is just gone." "There was a demonstration day before we left," Maureen said. "Bank tellers and brokers and people like that. They aren''t getting much sympathy." "We had this fellow living down the street," said Sean. "His wife used to work as a loan officer at Standard Commercial. She was beaten up and raped. They didn''t even bother to report it to the cops. They moved even before we did." "Forgive my curiosity," said Harold. "How did you get here? It couldn''t have been easy, it''s a long trip." "We got places on a train to Brisbane," Sean said. "That cost a small fortune in bribes. There are very few trains running, and almost all carry freight only. We traveled in a boxcar full of canned apple juice. We stopped at Dave''s - that''s my older brother, he lives in Brisbane - for a couple of days. Then another train took us all the way to Cairns, and the army kindly transported us here, for a relatively modest financial consideration, as they put it." "Basically, we were scared out of our wits for over a week," added Maureen. "Traveling with all that cash." Harold nodded. "I can imagine," he said. "No, I probably can''t. What about your brother - David, like his father? Dave said he would be coming, too." "In a week or so," Sean said. "He still had a few loose ends to tie up. But he''ll definitely be joining us soon." "Attention, everyone," Dave Ramsey said, entering the room. "I hereby announce we''re going to dine on lamb chops in about half an hour. Can you help out with that, Harold? Sean and I have to fetch something from my house." He winked, and Harold knew that he meant the money. The Ramsey clan was basically financing the purchase of the colonial licenses. Harold and Gladys had lived comfortably on their pensions - their house was all paid up - but they had little in the way of savings. They had received no money at all from the beginning of the year, and were flat-out broke by the end of February. And the two colonial licenses, with full privileges that included a license to trade colonial goods, cost a hundred thousand dollars each. Dave had done his best to put Harry at ease about that. He''d said: "Harry, without you this whole thing wouldn''t have been possible. That bloody cube landed in your yard, not mine. We''ve been practically living at your place ever since. And it''s not like we''ve got other options of spending all that money. It''s worthless, the only thing you can spend it on is a colonial license." Harold told Dave Ramsey he was very grateful, and he was. But he also wished he didn''t have to depend on Dave''s money. It just didn''t feel right. Just an hour later, everything felt right for Harold. He''d just eaten his best meal in over a month. He''d had a couple of glasses of red wine. Life was good. This outlook was shared by everyone assembled. They tried to keep their voices down, but they still were loud enough to be heard from the front of the house. Nicky Rizzo stood on the front steps for a moment, head inclined to the side, listening hard. It was a waste of time - he couldn''t make out what they were saying - to hell with it. He turned to the two men respectfully waiting behind his back and said: "I''ll get them to open the door. You stay here with the gear. Understood?" "Yes," they both said, one right after the other. Rizzo made his way down the side of the house. The voices grew louder, and he was tempted to stay hidden for a little while and listen to the conversation. It was a move that had saved his life on more than one occasion in the course of his exciting professional career. He had to remind himself that he was working for the government now. Skulking behind walls didn''t fit his new role. And a couple of people were watching the proceedings from across the street, excited by the arrival of Rizzo''s little caravan: a handcart filled with goodies, hauled and guarded by two men armed with assault rifles. Nicky Rizzo stepped out from behind the wall and found himself looking into the Pendeltons'' back yard over their picket fence. He caught the smell of barbecued meat and instantly began salivating like a dog, he couldn''t help it. They''d been having lamb chops! He swallowed and said, very loudly: "Sorry I''m late for dinner." He grinned - he''d made everyone jump in their seats. "Mr. Rizzo," Harold said, "Henry Deacon told us you''d come. Let me get the gate." "No," said Rizzo. "I need you to open the front door. I''ve got people waiting there." "What people?" "You''ll see. Front door, please." He walked away. Dave and Sean rose as if on command and followed Harold into the house. "Who was that guy?" asked Jason, Sean''s son. Jason was eighteen, and very confident: he''d been on his school''s rugby team. "He''s our tax collector," Susan Ramsey said, after a pause. "He''s come to collect the fees for the licenses, and issue us with equipment." Jason laughed with delight. "That was your tax collector? They nominated a creep like that?" "Jason!" hissed Maureen. "I swear, he looks just like a cannibal creep I had to hunt down in a game." "Jason!" "All right, all right," Jason said. He turned to his sister. "He did look like a creep, don''t you agree?" he asked. The creep in question was busy counting the wads of cash Dave had just handed him. "Maybe you''d like to step inside, and use a table," Harold suggested. "No," Rizzo said. "Everything I do is done in plain view, with witnesses around. Just so there are no misunderstandings." "That must be a new experience for you," Dave said before he could bite his tongue. Rizzo gave him a cold stare. "It is and it isn''t," he said. "I''ve had plenty of experience cutting assholes down to size." He resumed counting the money. Dave and Harold exchanged looks and Dave said: "It''s definitely a completely new experience for me. That''s what I meant." "Sure," said Rizzo. "I don''t mean to be impolite, but can you shut up for a moment? You''re making me lose my count." The count went on for a while, with Harold and Dave feeling increasingly uncomfortable. Finally Rizzo passed the last wad of the money to one of the two brutes he''d brought with him, and said: "Two hundred thousand exactly. Gerry?" The other brute stepped forward and handed Rizzo a clear plastic bag. Harold saw it contained implant kits and a couple of rolled hiber beds. "Is there a scroll?" he asked, taking it from Rizzo. "Henry told us there''ll be a scroll with the documentation." "It''s in there," Rizzo said. "Any other questions?" "We''re cleared to launch our colonies right away?" "Yes." "From the locations Henry, I mean the governor gave us?" "Yes." Harold and Dave exchanged glances and Harold said: "That''s it, then." "No," said Rizzo. "I have a question for you, too. You haven''t registered a mint. Why?" "Why should we? Is it mandatory?" Harold said. Rizzo smiled at him as if he was dealing with a retarded child. "No, it''s not mandatory," he said. "It just makes sense. All the other colonizers have registered mints. Nearly fifty people who aren''t colonizers have registered mints, too. Owning a mint means you can literally make money. And you''re asking why?" "We intend to make money in other ways. We intend to trade. We plan to grow food in the New World and send the surplus here and sell it. We anticipate great demand for food," Harold said, paying Rizzo back with a retarded-child routine of his own. "You know you have to keep exact records, and pay fifty percent tax?" Rizzo said. "We do." "That''s good," Rizzo said. "Because I''ll be coming round to collect it. And you know what happens to people who try to cheat on taxes?" "They lose their colonial trade license," Harold said. "Correct. Thank you, gentlemen." Rizzo turned, and his gorilla flunkeys moved to haul the handcart back into the street. Harold watched them go, and it felt unreal. The previous time he''d dealt with a government tax official, he''d tapped a computer keyboard for a few minutes. "Wake up, Harold. We''d better go back inside," Dave Ramsey said. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https:///book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 134 Real Time Lies The moment they were back inside the house, Harold turned to Dave and said: "I''ve just learned from Sean that Dave - your older son - won''t be joining us for another week." Dave looked uncomfortable. He said: "Yes, that''s what he told me too. He''s still got some things to get done before he can make a move." "What things?" "He''s assembling the equipment for a proper geologist''s lab. You know, to examine minerals from the New World." "We can''t send that lab there." "No, but we can send the mineral samples here." "Listen, mate," said Harold. "We really need him in the New World. We need to find metal ores. Those stone tools we''ve got - I needn''t tell you how bad they are. Those clay blades Susan''s been making are only useful for plants and hides. They crack and chip even on soft wood. We need metal tools, and to get metal tools we must find metal ore." "Exactly," said Dave. "That''s why we must have a proper geologist''s lab set up. To examine the minerals we''ve found for metal ore content." "But we haven''t found any metal ore at all near our settlement." "Not with our skills. But Dave might very well find that minerals we''ve dismissed as worthless are actually worth something." "You think so?" "I''m sure of it. We''ll look really silly if we start sending expeditions to look for ore, and find out we had a good source sitting right under our noses all along." Harold sighed. "All right," he said. "But there''s also another problem, a big problem. In a week''s time, I''m supposed to implant the youngsters I''ve recruited for our colony. They''re going to arrive there and see a settlement that has obviously been founded a long time earlier. They could be bamboozled into believing we''ve managed to build all that in just over two months of New World time if there are plenty of settlers there. There''s no chance of them buying into that if it''s just me and Gladys. I know we can count on your family not to blab to anyone that we''ve had an illegal colony going for a while. But the people I''ve recruited - they will talk. They''ll be all excited and eager to tell all their friends about their adventures in the New World, and you can bet anything you like that whatever they say will find its way to Henry." "Relax, mate," Dave said. "We''ve known Henry for a long, long time. He''ll be flexible. As a matter of fact, I think he suspects we have something going over there already. It''s not in his interest to make anything out of it. He needs established colonies. He needs them to produce as much food as fast as they can, he''s told us that more than once. He''s not going to revoke our licenses." "He''ll be forced to when it becomes public knowledge that we''ve been running an illegal colony." "It''s legal now." "All right," Dave Ramsey said. "You have a point. What do you propose we do about it?" "You must go down to Yule Point first thing tomorrow, and go through the whole rigmarole of pretending to launch from there. When my recruits arrive in the New World and find half a dozen people present, they just might believe everything''s been built in nine weeks." Dave Ramsey was silent for a while, and Harold had the disagreeable impression - for the third or fourth time that day! - that his old friend was hiding something from him. "Well?" he said. "You''re right, in principle," Dave said. "But couldn''t you try and postpone things? Tell those youngsters you''ve recruited that they''ll have to wait another week." "I can''t. They''re on fire, they want to get going yesterday. I had to twist myself in knots explaining that ten naked, bewildered people arriving in a new world would mean a lot of discomfort, and that it was much better if I and Gladys went alone first to reconnoiter the area, and set up things. They''ve all been out of work for two months. They have no money and no food. They''re desperate." "Fine. What do you propose we do now?" "You go and break the news to Sean. And I''ll have a quick look at our settlement. I''ll try to view it as if I had just arrived for the first time. Could you tell Gladys to wake me up in half an hour? I don''t need a lot of time there." "All right," said Dave Ramsey, and yet again Harold had the impression that something was being left unsaid. He thought about it while he made his way to his bedroom, and laid the silvery mat out on his bed. Dave was acting strangely, no two words about it. He had been late at the town hall - nearly two hours late. That was out of character; Dave Ramsey took pride in being punctual. Harold lay down on his hiber bed and was asleep instantly, as usual. It was raining in the New World. It was raining so hard he instantly became concerned about their dwellings. They were constructed of wattle and dried mud, and the dried mud was quickly turning into wet mud. He examined the ceiling of the hut that belonged to him and Gladys and saw drops of water already beginning to form on its ceiling. He went out. More wet mud, and water pooling in the circular courtyard around which they''d built their huts. The fireplace in its center had a designated keeper who made sure the fire didn''t go out. At present, the designated keeper was New World Dave, and he was rushing around frantically trying to repair the gabled roof they''d built over the fireplace. He looked satanic in the clouds of steam rising from the flames. The moment he''d entered his double in the New World, Harold was aware of what had been going on there. He knew that Gladys and Susan had gone off on a salt and mussel-gathering expedition, he knew that it had already been raining for a while. All thought of his life back on Earth disappeared; lately, his life on Earth was becoming an increasingly hazy memory whenever he was present in the New World. His New World life was assuming a constantly growing importance. At the rate things were progressing, soon it would feel much more important and more meaningful than the long life he''d already lived back on Earth. Naturally he''d noticed that process, and he was worried. It all had begun as a fascinating hobby, no more than that. Within a few weeks, his whole schedule was organized around the time he personally spent in the New World. Just a few days earlier, he''d realized with a shock that whatever occurred in the New World meant much more to him than what happened in his REAL life, back home. He thought about it. He did some counting, and found out that he''s been living three full New World days for every one set in the reality of his home. No wonder his New World life was overtaking his old, his REAL life in importance! And then he remembered a conversation he''d had with Dave a long while earlier, soon after the Ramseys had made their retirement move to Port Douglas. As often happens with older people, Harold had complained that the less time he had left, the more quickly it seemed to pass. "When I was a kid, a year took forever," he''d told Dave. "I just couldn''t wait to grow up. I wanted time to pass as quickly as possible. Now that I''m older, it would be nice if it slowed down. I''ve got one year less to live with every year that passes. But what happens is the exact opposite. Time seems to be constantly speeding up, a day goes by in a blink. When I was a kid, it took a small eternity." "Yes," Dave had said with a laugh, "What can I say? Same here." "Listen, mate. I think I''ve worked it out. It''s the bloody routine that does that. Every day you do the same old things and they just don''t have any meaning any more. I noticed that whenever I go somewhere and do new things, like on a holiday abroad, time instantly seems to stretch. A week like that feels like two or three. Then it''s back home and back to the old routine and two or three weeks feel like one." "That might play a part," Dave agreed. "But I think the real reason lies somewhere else." "Oh? Enlighten me." Dave smiled a sad smile before saying: "It''s age that does that. The number of years you''ve been alive. When you''re five years old, a year equals a fifth of your entire life, or as much as half of your whole conscious life - newborn infants are completely blown away by the reality they''ve found themselves in. Total information overload, thousands of new circuits forming in their brains every hour - that''s why they have such stupid eyes. There''s absolutely no conscious, controlled thought going on." "I think you''re being a little cruel." "I''m a doctor. You can''t help but learn the facts of life when you''re a doctor. They''re as pretty as blood and guts and shit. Anyway, returning to time: when you''re five years old, a year equals twenty percent of your whole life. When you''re fifty, it''s two percent. A tenfold difference. So time goes by ten times faster. That''s all there is to it, really." They''d had many good conversations like that. And now, Dave was hiding something. It wouldn''t be something big and bad: Dave Ramsey was a proper bloke. But still - Standing in the doorway of his New World hut, watching the New World Dave Ramsey dance around the fireplace, Harold had a brainwave. Ever since the telepathic link between the two world had been destroyed, updating information involved a personal visit. The New World Dave Ramsey was exactly the same as good old Dave back on Earth. But he wouldn''t know what went on in the old world, back on Earth, between Dave''s visits. Dave''s last visit to the New World had taken place before Sean and his family arrived. At least that was what he''d told Harold. He said he would skip the New World on the morning of the first of March, just like Harold did, and join him outside the town hall before it opened for business. He would be there a little later, because of Sean''s arrival - he had to tell the gang what they were allowed to eat, and so on. It had all sounded perfectly reasonable. Harold followed through on his brainwave by throwing himself into action, helping Dave save the fire, and it was as if this was exactly the sacrifice needed to make the weather gods change their minds: it stopped raining. When they''d finished congratulating themselves - flames were happily dancing in the fireplace - Harold asked: "So tell me, how did you like dealing with our Mr. Rizzo? Henry was right about not having to worry about his security. Those two gorillas he had with him were carrying Armalite rifles." Dave laughed. "Did you see his face when he was counting the money?" he asked. "He was salivating like a dog over a steak. But never mind him now. Can you help me get some fresh cover for that roof? It''s in bad shape." "Lead the way," Harold said. He wanted Dave to lead the way so that his friend wouldn''t see his bitter smile as he thought about what he''d just heard. What he''d heard told him his old friend had lied to him. He''d secretly visited the New World earlier that day. That was how the New World Dave knew about Rizzo. That was why Old World Dave had been late to join Harold at the town hall. It was a small lie, an innocent lie. But now that Harold knew that it was a lie, he started wondering about other things Dave had said. A small lie is often the pebble that starts an avalanche. As he followed Dave into the forest, his eyes were very thoughtfully fixed on his friend. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https:///book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 135 The Governors Visi They''d barely entered the strip of forest that separated their settlement from the shore when they encountered Gladys and Susan running back to the settlement, their eyes wide with fear. Harold instantly thought about the settlers they''d killed. Had they returned to the New World? Were they looking for revenge? "We saw a ship!" cried Susan. Gladys tried to add something, but couldn''t; she was short of breath. "Calm down! What ship? Where?" asked Dave. "How am I supposed to know what kind of ship it is," snapped Susan. "It''s headed for the shore and there are people on it." "Of course there are people on it," said Dave. "Ships don''t sail by themselves." Susan turned red with anger. Harold stepped in quickly, before things got out of hand. "Sorry you girls had a shock," he said. "Now, try to take it easy. Go back home and we''ll go on and investigate - right, Dave? Then we''ll return and tell you what we found out. Go on, now." But Susan and Gladys weren''t to be dismissed so easily. They started speaking, interrupting each other in their excitement. "It looks like one of those Viking boats in movies. It has - " "No it doesn''t. It has a triangular sail, not square. It hasn''t got - " "Never mind what it hasn''t got. What it has is at least a dozen people on board. And some - " "A dozen MEN, not people." "Men are not people?" "That wasn''t my point. I meant - " "Girls," Dave said. "Girls. Girls!" "Stop calling us girls," Susan snapped. "We''re over sixty. I am sixty five. But you wouldn''t know, would you? You always forget my birthday." Harold moaned and covered his face with his hands. "What''s wrong with you?" Gladys asked him crossly. It took a while before everyone calmed down, and Susan and Gladys let themselves be persuaded into returning to the settlement. "And don''t forget to put the fire out," Dave told them. "Put it out? It''s a royal pain to get it going again!" "We don''t want those people, pardon me, those men to see the smoke," Harold said. Susan and Gladys felt a little stupid they hadn''t thought of that, and they finally agreed to return to the settlement and await news there. Dave and Harold jogged along the path that led through the forest and to the beach, slowing down only when the trees got sparser. They reached the treeline, and hid behind neighboring tree trunks. Their wives had been right. There was a ship offshore, and it was headed toward land. It was quite close, not more than a quarter of a mile away, and they could see plenty of activity on board. Like Gladys had said, it had a single mast carrying a huge lateen sail that was being taken in by the crew. It was obvious the ship was coming in to land. "Oh Jesus," Harold said. "They''re armed. That feller standing in the bows has a spear." "Look, it''s turning. It''s carrying a flag! Can you see it?" "Not very clearly. But it seems familiar." "Familiar? You''ve seen someone flying a flag before? I don''t think you''ve told me about it." Harold was tempted to add ''either'', but he bit his tongue in time. This wasn''t the right moment to begin recriminations. "Of course I haven''t, here. I meant back home. It''s - by God, I''ve got it. It''s the symbol from the flag of Queensland. A crown in the center of a cross." They were both silent for a moment. Then Harold said: "You''re right. Do you think this means what I think it means?" "It means governor Deacon wants to pay you a visit." "Oh God. If he sees our settlement, we''re sunk." They both watched the longboat approach the shore with increasing horror. Then Dave said: "When they land, you''ve got to show yourself. Take off all your clothes first, you''re not supposed to have any yet. Tell them you and Gladys have just arrived, and that she doesn''t fancy showing herself naked to strange men. Tell them everything''s fine, tell them whatever it takes to make them go away." Harold uttered a soft, bitter laugh. "Don''t be stupid," he said. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" "This. Look here." When Dave did, Harold slid the rabbit-skin briefs he was wearing off one buttock. It was very pale, in shocking contrast with the rest of his sunburnt skin. Dave nodded. "You''re right," he said. "That''s rock-solid proof you''ve been here for a while." "We both look like we''ve been here for a while," Harold said. It was true. Their skin was burned brown and they had long, unkempt beards and hair. They had calluses on their hands and feet, and their nails were dirty and chipped and cracked. Anyone with an IQ higher than room temperature would instantly see they''d been living in the New World for quite a while. They watched the vessel come closer and closer. Harold thought he could recognize Deacon. He was standing next to the man holding the headstay, which Harold had mistaken for a spear. He desperately tried to think of something that would prevent disaster. He couldn''t. Suddenly, there was a lot commotion aboard the boat. Harold heard a shout and froze with fright, convinced the crew had spotted him and Dave. Deacon retreated hurriedly from the bows, and a man carrying a long pole rushed to take his place. "Is that a musket?" Dave asked hoarsely. "No. It''s a pole. Look, there''s another! They''re - Dave, we''re saved. They''ve run into a reef or a rock. We''ve never swam out that far, but we''ve seen a few around, remember?" "By God, it looks you''re right. They''re trying to push the boat away from the rocks. I hope they fail." "I hope they don''t. If that boat sinks, they''ll all come ashore. And then we''ll be sunk, too. In a worse way than them." "Jesus! They''ve hit." The longboat''s mast tilted crazily to one side and there was a chorus of screams and shouts from the men aboard. Harold felt his knees start to tremble. A part of him wanted to run and hide. Another part wanted to run to the water''s edge to see if he could help the unlucky sailors. He forced himself to stay put behind his tree, cautiously peering out with one eye. The drama offshore had a happy ending. Amidst much shouting, the hull was pushed off the invisible reef. For quite a while the boat wallowed in the shallows, not more than a hundred meters from the shore. A conference seemed to be taking place on board: Harold thought he could make out Deacon''s raised voice. At long last, the crew dispersed and began turning the boat away from the shore. Both Harold and Dave watched with burning eyes, afraid to blink lest they miss something important, and trembling with tension. Luck was on their side that day. When the bows were pointing towards the open sea, the ship''s sail was unfurled and it became clear that it was sailing away. "Saved," muttered Dave. "For the moment, anyway. But I bet they''ll be back." "You think so?" "It looks like Henry is taking his governor''s duties very seriously. There could have been only one reason behind his showing up here." "He''s checking on people," Harold said. "He''s making sure everyone''s where he wants them to be." "You know, I think it''s our fault, in a way." "What the hell are you talking about?" "We told him we want to merge, remember? We wanted to know whether that was okay." "He said it was." "Yes. And once we''ve officially merged into a single colony, he''ll have a colony spot vacant. That''s why he''s going to show a lot of extra interest in how we''re getting on. I think we can expect another visit from our governor in the not-so-distant future." "Bloody hell." "He''s sure to sail along the coast to the spot he''s marked for me." "He will, damn him. The bloody busybody. How did he manage to get himself a bloody ship so quickly? Ships take time to build. And that sail. It was crude, but it was a proper sail, from woven fabric." "He''s likely been running a settlement for around two years," Dave said. "That''s a long time. Enough to set up a weaver, and build a boat." "He hasn''t been running it for two years. He only took over from Jane Leary barely a month ago." "Whatever. Let''s not split hairs. He''s got a boat, and he seems determined to monitor our activity." "You''ve got to get going straight away," Harold said. "You want everyone here right away?" Harold shook his head. "Your group will have to start from Yule Point, like Deacon wants you to." "And walk all the way here? Without clothes, without any food or water?" "That''s right." "But Susan and myself, we''re already here. What do we do about that? Remove our implants and start over?" Harold thought about it for a short while. "Maybe we don''t need to go that far," he said eventually. "What I think you could do is try and meet Sean halfway. You and Susan could take along a couple of baskets of provisions, and some water." "Halfway is still a long way." "Around fifty kilometers. It can be done in a single day if both groups start out early enough. And it will be actually easier for you to find each other when it''s dark. Take flint and tinder and some ready-made torches with you and light them up at nightfall. There won''t be anyone else in the area waving a flaming torch around, that''s for sure. Sean and his gang should spot you easily." "That''s an idea." "It''s not an idea, it''s the only way to proceed, and we must do it right away. Let''s go home and tell the girls." As they were turning to go home, Dave said: "Look. It seems that bastard''s turning south." "He''s going to check out Yule Point. You''d better make sure he doesn''t see you running along the shore when you go to meet Sean." "It''s going to take him a couple of days to get there." "Maybe less. Dave, two days here amounts to a few hours back home, have you forgotten? Come on, we don''t have any time to waste." They started running. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https:///book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 136 A Colonial Rebellion "This is crazy," Sean said. "You want us to walk barefoot for over a hundred kilometers, without any food or water?" "It won''t be a hundred kilometers. I and Susan will meet you halfway. We will bring food, water, and and footwear for all of you." "Footwear? Who''s your shoemaker?" "Susan makes very nifty sandals. Admittedly they don''t last long. But they''ll definitely last long enough for you to complete your trip." "I''m not doing it." "What?" "I said I''m not doing it. It''s insane." "It''s the only way, Sean. If Deacon - the governor - finds out we''ve been playing tricks, we could lose our licenses." "First of all, let''s get something clear here," Sean said. "You''ve been playing tricks, as you put it, from Day One. You started an illegal settlement in the New World." "That wasn''t quite like that. We started it before all the rules and regulations were announced." "You didn''t turn over all the gear you got from the cube, either. Let''s not split hairs, Dad. Besides, if you''re so determined to play fair and square now, why aren''t you coming with us?" "Well, we wanted to make things easier for you by meeting you halfway." "Harold and Gladys can meet us halfway, too." "Sean!" "Dad, don''t ''Sean'' me. You''ve panicked. You''re not making sense. How the hell will Deacon know we didn''t launch our settlement from Yule Point?" "I told you that he''s investigating what''s going on." "He can investigate all he likes. He agreed you and the Pendeltons can merge colonies. You''ll tell him you launched from Yule Point like he told you to, and instantly set out to join the Pendeltons." "If he finds out we lied to him - " "You''ve been lying to him all along." "That''s why we have to stop. Every consecutive lie increases the chance of getting caught out." "Dad, if you''re serious about me and Maureen and the kids having to trek barefoot for two days then we''re out. We''re not doing it. I''m sorry." "What do you mean?" "I mean we won''t be joining your settlement." Dave Ramsey was struck speechless. He circled the room, and came to a stop in front of Sean. He said: "Sean, I have to remind you that I''m the license holder." "And I have to remind you," Sean said, "That you paid for that license with my money." "Sean, I had to help the Pendeltons. They had very little money saved. The cube landed on their property. Harry generously offered to share everything with us; I owed him something in return. We all owe a lot to Harry. He was the first to enter the New World, all this was his idea. And thanks to him, we have a cache of implant kits, more than we got together with our licenses." "That''s very noble of you," Sean said. "It doesn''t change the fact that I paid for your license. I did it happily. And now you''re starting to play power games." "Yes you are. Anyway, that''s beside the point. Regardless of everything else, I refuse to take my family barefoot through the bush just because you''ve decided it''s time you started playing nice with Deacon. You want to play nice? Play nice with me." Dave didn''t know how to respond to that. After a while he said: "I''ll have to talk this situation over with Harry." "You do that," said Sean. "And I''ll talk it over with Maureen." Dave found that his hands were trembling when he went to wake up Harry. His friend looked so happy, stretched out on the silvery mat atop his bed, that Dave hesitated. He disliked to be the bringer of bad news. It crossed his mind that all of them felt much happier in the New World than they did back at home, on good old Earth. Except Earth wasn''t so good any more. Earth seemed to be going through one of its periodic transformations. Dave Ramsey was a man full of intellectual curiosity. He wanted to know as much as possible about the world he lived in before he died. This led him to read about the history of Earth. Among other things, he found out that Earth had been covered in an ice sheet all over on three separate occasions during its existence - well, some experts argued there was a thin band of ice-free water at the Equator. Another fact he learned was at at the beginning of life on Earth, as much as the entire planet was covered by a warm ocean, so thick it resembled a soup. Gazillions of primitive bacteria happily swam around in this soup, finding plenty of nourishment and multiplying like crazy. Luckily or unluckily, their waste - their bacterial shit - consisted of oxygen. The amount of oxygen they released changed Earth''s atmosphere, killed off most existing forms of life including the oxygen-shitting bacteria, and ushered in a new era in the planet''s development. Life on Earth had chosen to commit mass suicide 2.5 billion years earlier. History liked to repeat itself. Dave often thought that life on Earth was headed toward another mass suicide event. A few hundred million years later, new living organisms would evolve in Earth''s new environment. Dave liked Earth as it was. It distressed him to see it change. The only change he would like would was a change to the way things were a couple of centuries back: less people, less noise, less trash, cleaner air. He fell in love with the New World from the moment he arrived there. All of its hardships paled in its pristine beauty. It made him feel vaguely guilty, but he had to admit it: he liked his life in the New World more than the life he had on Earth. He knew that his old friend Harry felt the same way. When he woke him up, he said right away: "I''m so sorry, Harry, but something''s come up. We need to talk about it." "Hang on a moment," Harry said. "I need a drink. I''m bloody parched." He drank noisily from the half-full glass on the night table by the bed. Dave said: "You drank half that glass twenty minutes ago, and you woke up feeling parched?" "I was doing a lot of running around over there, and felt very thirsty," Harold said. "It sort of carries over. You know what I mean." Dave did. He''d felt whatever he''d felt in the New World echo inside him when he returned home. When Harold put the empty glass back on the bedside table, Dave said: "Sean refuses to launch from Yule Point. He is convinced that we''ve panicked, and that it''s a lot of suffering for nothing. He''s ready to quit the whole scheme if we insist." Harold sat up on the bed and rubbed his face. Then he said: "You know, he might have a point." "You didn''t feel that way before," Dave said. "You said that Sean absolutely had to launch from Yule Point." "I think we''ve both been hasty," said Harold. "The girls came running talking about bloody Vikings and it just put us into a certain frame of mind. That, and the fact we feel guilty because we''ve been lying to poor old Henry all along. It''s like we''re expecting retribution." "So you think he can launch from here?" Harold shrugged. "It seems the only sensible thing to do, doesn''t it," he said. "Mind you, you should all engage in a bit of playacting, like we discussed earlier. Go down to Yule Point, wander around in the bush for a few minutes, and come back. Make sure someone sees you while you''re at it." "I wouldn''t put it past Henry to post a spy down there," Dave said gloomily. "That would be excellent. He''ll get a report you obeyed his instructions to the letter." Dave was silent, and it was obvious to Harold it was one of those silences that contain a lot unsaid. "What''s the matter, Dave?" he asked. It was obvious Dave felt uncomfortable with what he was about to say. He looked left, he looked right, he looked at the ground. He was still looking at the ground when he said: "It''s stupid really, but the way Sean spoke it felt like, it felt like a power grab." "Power grab?" "Come on, Harry. We''ve always quietly assumed we''ll be running this colony." "We weren''t assuming anything. That was the way it was. The four of us were running things." "Well there''s going to be eight of us the moment Sean''s gang goes over there, with many more to follow. I don''t think the system we''ve had is going to work any more. We need to decide who will be doing the deciding in our colony." "You mean we need to choose a leader?" "Yes." "How about old-fashioned democracy? Everyone has one vote?" Dave laughed. "Come on, mate," he said. "You want me to believe you''ll be happy when you''re outvoted by all those youngsters you''ve recruited? The kids from MacDonalds and Pizza Hut? Especially when they want to do something stupid?" Harold was silent for a while. Then he said: "You''re right, Dave. That would be a little hard to swallow. Considering that we''re the ones who got this whole thing going, and so on." "We have to think about that, and soon," said Dave. "You''re right, again. But what you have to do even sooner is do this Yule Point thing. Get Sean and his gang and go there and do it, the quicker the better. We''ll talk about it when you get back." "It will be deep night by the time we get back." "We''ll talk about it in the New World, then. It''s better this way actually, we won''t have to hide from Sean." "But you agree with me, in principle? That we need to introduce a system of government?" "A system that recognizes us as founders of the colony? Of course I agree." "I hope you mean a system that makes us leaders because we founded the colony. Right?" "Yes. I was trying to be diplomatic. Go on, get this thing started with Sean. We can''t afford to waste any time." "Okay," said Dave. "Do you think we should take implant kits and stuff with us, just in case?" "Of course," said Harold. "Remember about Deacon''s spy." He watched his friend go and shook his head. Rebellious kids! Deep down, he was happy he and Gladys never had any. Everyone said a life wasn''t complete without having children. Harold thought the opposite was true. You couldn''t have a complete life when you sacrificed a lot of it for other people. And children were the most needy people of them all. They cost a lot of effort, and a lot of money. And from what Harold had seen, all children were emotional vampires. He was going to make sure they had a damn good system in place, a system that handed him and Dave unquestioned leadership in the colony. They had founded it; it was theirs. And that was that. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https:///book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 137 Dirty Dancing "Goddamit," said Sean. "Do we have much farther to go? It''s bloody hot." "Another fifteen minutes or so," said Dave. "We''re getting close." "You said so half an hour ago." "I''m sorry," said Dave. "It''s easy to miscalculate distance when you always drove there in a car." "Why didn''t you get yourself a bicycle, Dad? Why didn''t you have one, in the first place? It''s good exercise." "I prefer to walk. Walking is better exercise than riding a bike. We tried to buy bicycles when it became apparent our car was immobilized for good. But we couldn''t. We offered a thousand dollars to a fella who had two, and he laughed at us. Told us there were five people engaged in a bidding war for his spare bike, and that the top bid was four thousand dollars." "That''s not much." "What?!" "They were selling for up to ten thousand dollars down in Melbourne." "That''s insane." "Well, these are crazy times." "Let''s take a break," said Maureen. "Jessica is exhausted." Dave stopped and looked at his granddaughter. Her sweating face was red; she was in poor shape. She was only fifteen, and much weaker than her older brother, who actually seemed to be enjoying the trip: he was a good twenty paces ahead of everyone else. "Jason!" called out Sean. "Stop. Jessica needs a rest." Jason sauntered up to their group, lips twisted in a wicked little smile. "You''re such a wombat," he told his sister. Jessica started crying. "Jesus," Dave said under his breath. He caught Susan''s eye and they moved a few steps away from the others. "This is turning out more difficult than I thought," he told her. "I wish Henry had more sense," she said. "What''s the point of launching from a different spot when we''re going to join the Pendeltons anyway?" "I have no idea. He probably got orders from above to disperse people, so that every settlement has room to expand." "But he knew we''re in this together with the Pendeltons. You said yourself he was pleased that he''ll have a vacant colony site." "He issued two licenses. Most likely the way it works, it''s one license per site. He has to report to the regional governor, and show that he''s following the rules. If a site becomes vacant later, that''s another story." "It''s stupid. And all this playacting is stupid, too. Walking all the way there and back just for the sake of appearances." "Let''s just get it over with," said Dave. "In a couple of hours we''ll be back home, implant Sean and the rest, and we''ll be done." "Hey," Sean called. "What are you up to over there? Let''s get going, shall we?" They got going, but didn''t get very far before Jason - who was ahead of the others, as usual - stopped and shielded his eyes from the sun with his hand and stared hard at something. "Isn''t that the spot we''re supposed to launch from?" "Almost," said Dave. "We''re supposed to launch where the road meets the beach, just a bit further on. Who did you see?" "How the hell could I know? I saw this fella and he saw me and dived into the trees." "He''s probably Henry''s man," Dave said. "Sent there to make sure we do what we''re supposed to do." "Dad, your implant''s showing," said Sean. "Damn. It''s the sweat. Susan, can you do your magic?" "I didn''t bring my makeup case," Susan said. "Oh damn." "Put on your cap," Sean said. "I''ll sweat even more with it on," said Dave. "Well, your implant is showing anyway. The damage is done." Dave reluctantly put on his golfing cap. "Looks okay?" he asked. "Yes. Let''s go." They hadn''t walked more than a hundred paces when four men emerged from the trees on the right side of the road. One of them was smiling, the other three were grim, and they all looked rough. They were all wearing long bush jackets, which was odd considering the heat. "G''day," the smiling man said. "What are you up to, mates? Out for a little stroll?" They all stopped and looked at the four men approach and saw them reach into their pockets. "Fuck me dead," Jason said. "They''ve got bicycle chains." "Susan, Maureen, Jessica, move to the back," Dave snapped. "And get ready to run." The smiling man was already just a few paces away, and he stopped smiling when he heard that. "There''s no use running, duckies," he said. "We''ll catch you quick. What have you got in that bag?" "In here?" said Sean, lifting the canvas bag he was carrying. "Nothing much. Just some water." It was only partially true. Apart from a couple of bottles of water, the bag contained the implant kits they''d brought, just in case Henry Deacon did send someone to Yule Point to check on them. "That''s good," said the leader of the four men. "Because me and my mates are all thirsty. You''ll share it with us, won''t you?" "Fuck you," said Jason, and Dave saw his hands clench into fists. "Jason," he said in a warning tone, but it was too late. "You got it wrong," the leader of the four men said to Jason. "You''re the one that''s about to get fucked." He took two quick steps forward and swung his arm. The bicycle chain unfurled from his hand and hissed through the air. But Jason''s rugby training paid off: he ducked, then sprang forward and hit the man''s jaw with an uppercut that almost lifted him off the ground. All hell broke loose. The hit man''s three companions jumped forward, chains swinging. Dave caught a crack on the side of his head that dazed him. Before he could recover, a savage kick to his knee brought him down, shouting with pain. Sean and Jason did better. Sean wasn''t a rugby player, but as an orthopedic surgeon he took care to stay in good shape. He worked out in a gym twice a week, and squeezed a couple of steel ball bearings whenever he watched TV to keep his fingers strong. He even attended karate classes for a while, getting as far as a blue belt. But no amount of training can beat experience. A bartender with scar tissue covering his knuckles will defeat a black belt in karate who has never been in a real fight. Because a real fight is not about fancy killer moves; a real fight is all about hitting the opponent first, hitting him so hard he cannot hit back. Sean was out of the fight very quickly. Jason did better; he ducked a couple of blows, and managed to land a few of his own. But two of the men converged on him and things would have ended badly if it wasn''t for Dave, who called out hoarsely: "Stop. For heaven''s sake, stop. We''ll give you everything we''ve got. Stop!" A few kilometers away, Harold was also calling: "Stop. For heaven''s sake stop! You''re killing me." Harold was in real danger of dying from laughter. It was caused by the sight of his old wife prancing around, yelling and whooping as if possessed. The reason for this behavior lay buried in a pile of dirt mixed with gravel that was lying on the ground next to the fireplace. There were specks of shiny yellow here and there in the pile. Gladys had gone to collect water that morning from a nearby stream that had cut a gash in the ground. When she stepped onto the small overhang that had formed over the running water, it suddenly broke away. She fell into the stream and banged her elbow on a stone and sat still for a while, rubbing the painful spot and cursing under her breath. And as she sat there, she saw the stream wash away the soil that had fallen into the water, leaving several bright yellow flecks. She picked one and held it close to her eyes. It was no bigger than an apple seed. She tentatively put it between her front teeth and squeezed. It was metal. It was soft. It was gold. She picked the remaining tiny nuggets out of the water. Then she scooped several handfuls of gravel from the bank of the stream, and sifted them through her fingers. She was rewarded with three more tiny gold grains. She took off her clothes and fashioned them into a crude sack and filled the sack with soil and gravel from the bank of the stream. Then she ran back to the settlement. Harold was full of doubt. "It might be fool''s gold," he said. "I don''t know enough about minerals to tell. But I have an idea." He dropped a couple of the gold grains onto one of the stones surrounding the fireplace and pushed the stone into the fire. Within a few moments, the tiny grains began to melt. "Good God," Harold said. "Gladys, this looks like gold. You''ve found gold!" They both started laughing, but laughter simply wasn''t enough to express the joy both felt. They both started dancing around the fireplace. Harold caught a stitch in his side, but Gladys carried on as if she were seventeen instead of seventy. When she was too exhausted to continue, they both sat down side by side and began picking through the gravel and the dirt. "I can''t wait to see the look on Dave''s face when I show him that," Harold said. "Don''t do it without me," said Gladys. "I want so see the look on his face, too." NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https:///book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 138 Power Games Harold and Gladys waited impatiently for the Ramsey clan to return from their expedition to Yule Point. They wanted to tell them about the gold. But when the Ramseys did return, everything was turned upside down. Dave was limping very badly, and sported a black eye. Sean''s face was dark with bruises, and one of his eyes had swollen shut. But it was the brave, confident Jason that got hurt the most. His face on one side had been flayed open. It was bleeding badly, and so were half a dozen other wounds on his arms and neck. The man he''d hit at the beginning of the fight had taken revenge once the fighting was over. The women didn''t fare so badly. Maureen had been slapped around a little for being slow when the leader of the attackers ordered her to hand over the bag with water and implant kits. Jessica was threatened with **** and got her bottom pinched so painfully that she squealed, which caused much merriment among the ruffians. They were in a very good mood after they''d found the implant kits - so good that they didn''t carry out their threat to **** both women, and beat the men senseless. The injuries the men suffered anyway were bad enough to qualify for a hospital visit, back in the old times. Fortunately, no less than three doctors were present: Dave, Sean, Maureen. Dave had a cabinet full of medical supplies at home, including surgical needles and thread. They came in very handy: Jason alone required a total of thirty one stitches. It was late in the evening by the time everyone was patched up. Harold and Gladys were horrified to see what had happened to the Ramseys. Neither of them said a word about the gold they''d discovered in the New World. They had plenty of questions to ask, instead. When they''d learned everything about the ambush on the road to Yule Point, Harold said: "I have a feeling those thugs are connected to Rizzo." "Interesting," Sean said thickly. He had difficulty speaking: one of the blows he received had nearly dislocated his jaw, and another caused him to bite his tongue so badly it was swollen to twice the standard size. "He''s working for the government, so he would have known about the colony launch locations. When he was in the drug business, he had a number of scummy types working for him. They probably still do." "Never mind all that," Dave said wearily. "What matters is that they''ve stolen six implant kits." "Don''t worry about that," said Harold. "We''ll dig into our secret supplies." "We don''t have that many left there, if you consider the seedlings and animals we planned to replicate once everything legal. And anyway, I''m not going to let this slide. I''m going to see Henry first thing tomorrow to give him a piece of my mind. Harry, can you come along?" "Of course." "There will be no more of this Yule Point nonsense. And I''ll demand replacement kits for the ones that got stolen." "Oh, things will get tricky all right," said Dave through clenched teeth. "But not for us." They all went to bed soon afterward, and Harold hadn''t had the chance to tell Dave about the gold until they met up in the New World. This turned out to be unnecessary. Harold and Gladys went to sleep after the Ramseys. When they arrived in the New World, Dave and Susan already knew all about the gold. They killed and roasted two rabbits in celebration, and seriously depleted the small store of mead they''d made from wild honey. The New World Dave had none of the injuries sustained by the original, and they all got very enthusiastic about their life in the New World. After a heated discussion, they also decided they''d follow Rizzo''s advice, and register a mint. It seemed the sensible thing to do given their golden find, but no one was very happy about that. Operating a mint meant a lot of work that meant spending more time back home, and less in the New World. Dave and Harold also had a long talk about sharing power in the New World. "Gold changes things," Harold said, and Dave agreed. They decided not to tell Sean and his family about the gold for the time being, and swore their wives to silence. Early next morning, following a frugal breakfast, Harold and Dave set out for a showdown with mayor and governor Henry Deacon. Mayor and governor Henry Deacon kept them waiting for almost an hour before they were admitted into his august presence. It made them more feisty than they had planned. Deacon rose from his chair to greet them wearing the look of a lord being bothered by some of his less intelligent minions. However, his expression changed quickly when he saw Dave''s injuries. "Crikey! What happened to your face, Dave?" he said. Dave was more than happy to tell him. Dave told him everything from start to finish, sparing no detail. He concluded his story with some insights about the role Deacon played in the incident. "You nearly got us killed, you fuckwit," shouted Dave, and it was one of the milder statements he made about Deacon''s intelligence. "By pals of your crooked tax collector," added Harold. That really hit Deacon hard. He blanched, and hid his hands behind his back: they''d started trembling. "Pals of my tax collector? What makes you think that? Have you got any proof?" he asked, doing his best to appear both outraged and calm, and failing miserably. "I''ve seen those bogans before," said Dave. "They worked for Rizzo when he was pursuing his previous career." "They probably still are," said Harold. "They stole six implant kits. More than half! You''re going to replace those kits, Henry." "I''ll do everything I can to resolve this situation," Deacon said evasively. "Harold, you were there with Dave?" "No." "Ah," said Deacon, a note of satisfaction appearing in his voice. "Dave, do you, um, have someone to corroborate your statement?" "Yes, I have!" shouted Dave. "My whole fucking family. You want me to bring them over? They all want to meet you. They all want to talk to you. They are all dying for a chance to tell you how much they appreciate your bright ideas." "All right, all right," Deacon said hurriedly. "I will trust you on this, Dave. Six implant kits? You want them now?" "Of course I want them now." "All right. And I''ll arrange for someone to escort you home," said Deacon. "Oh by the way, Harry. Have you launched yet?" "Yes I have," said Harold. He bent his head and spread his hair with his fingers, revealing the glowing blue dot. "Excellent," said Deacon. "Wonderful. Actually, I was near your site in the New World the other day. Thought I''d drop off a couple of useful things, like basic clothes and tools. But the bloody boat struck a reef and we turned back. Had no idea there''d be a reef there. That stretch of beach in front of your house is free of reefs. You launched from your house, am I right?" "Yes," said Harold. "And that''s where Dave will be launching, too. No more of that stupid Yule Point business. You''ve already agreed we can merge our ventures into one." "Now, that is not the way it should be done," Deacon said. "I have clear instructions - " "Henry," said Dave. "You can shove your clear instructions. Anyway, you can tell the moron that issued those instructions that they were obeyed to the letter. Can''t you?" "We''re just being honest with you, mate," said Harold. "We could lie and say yes, sure, Yule Point it is, and then do what we want to do anyway. But we prefer to be upfront with you. We want to have good relations. And I think it''s in your best interest as governor to have good relations with the people colonizing in your district." "It wouldn''t be bad idea to reconsider your choice of tax collector either," said Dave. They hammered away at Deacon until he was ready to do anything just to get rid of them. They registered their mint, and left carrying six new implant kits in the company of a sulking soldier who resented having to walk several kilometers in the heat. Everyone was waiting for them at Harold''s house, traditionally and now officially the base for their colonial operations. Susan and Gladys were asleep, while Sean and Jason nursed their wounds in grim silence. Maureen and Jessica were gloomily assembling a meal in the kitchen. The atmosphere improved considerably when Dave plonked down the kits on the table and announced complete success. Susan and Gladys were woken up, and two celebratory tins of sardines were added to their lunch. "We really have to start sending food from the New World," said Susan. "I came across a couple of pieces of tiger rock the other day, and brought them in. We definitely have enough now to build a decent-sized platform." "Good idea," said Harold. He looked Sean in the eyes and added: "And speaking of the New World, I am pleased to announce that we''ve found gold." "Gold?" said Sean. "Gold as in gold?" "Yes. It''s hard to say at present how much gold there is, in the location where we found it. But it''s highly likely we''ll find more places like that. This changes things. We were thinking of focusing on food, and selling the surplus here." "You can''t eat gold," said Jessica, in the stern tone teenagers use to announce a new belief. She had become remarkably outspoken ever since her older brother was silenced by the line of stitches running down the side of his face. "Indeed," agreed Harold, "You cannot eat gold. But gold can buy plenty to eat, even when there''s a scarcity of food. Anyway, that''s beside the point. The point being, Dave and I have registered a mint today at the town hall." "A mint? As in a place that makes coins?" said Sean. The blows he''d taken to the head seemed to make him unsure about everything. Maureen worried about damaged blood vessels, but Dave knew that a beating often had that effect. Especially the very first beating ever: it invariably shook up one''s worldview, sometimes permanently. "Yes," said Harold. "We''ll be making money, in more ways than one. In addition, next week I''ll be introducing eight new colonists that I''ve recruited. It''s high time we got properly organized. It wasn''t a concern when there was just the four of us: myself, Dave, Gladys and Susan." "Properly organized? Like setting up a hierarchy?" said Sean. "Exactly," said Harold, and Dave thought: Sean is about to undergo a radical adjustment to his worldview. "We want everyone to have a say," declared Harold. "But we - the founders of this colony - shall have the final say." He looked at Sean and added: "In practical terms, this means that if I tell you to jump, you jump. I''ll happily listen to any objections you might have, because they may make sense. But if I overrule them and insist you jump, then you jump. Is that clear?" Dave looked at Sean, then at Maureen, and finally at their two children. Jessica couldn''t care less one way or the other. Jason''s eyes were dull like the eyes of a dog regularly beaten by its owner. Maureen''s were full of acceptance. Sean''s showed obedience. "Yes. It''s clear," Sean said. "Absolutely," said Maureen. "It''s been your show from the start." "Everything''s fine by me," said Jessica, affecting boredom. Jason nodded silently, then parted his lips and hissed: "Fine." "Excellent," said Harry. "You know of course you''ll be getting a cut of all profits - from the mint, from trade, and so on. We''ll work out the details as we go. Because now that we have an agreement, I think we should get going without any delay." "Right away?" asked Sean. "Right away." "I''m not in the best shape," said Sean. "Neither is Jason." "And neither is Dave. But he''s perfectly fine in the New World." "I was fine when I was replicating over there," said Dave. "It may not work that way with them." "From what I know, they can heal over there as well as they can here. Maybe better?" said Maureen. Everyone looked at her, because no one had expected her to speak. "You''d like to go now? As in, this minute?" said Sean. "Yes," said Maureen. Jason nodded and hissed: "So do I." Jessica said: "Is it true that we will be completely naked when we arrive?" "We''ll pick a discreet spot," Maureen told her. Jessica smiled. "Then let''s go," she said. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https:///book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 139 Snow and Sven Snow was coming down thick and fast in Jokkmokk, Sweden, and the people waiting in the lineup at the town hall doors were increasingly loud in their disapproval of Stefan Sonberg, mayor and governor of the Jokkmokk district. "It''s now over half an hour," a man announced, after glancing at his watch. "What the hell are they doing in there? It shouldn''t take more than a few minutes!" "They are good pals, those two," said a woman in a fake leopard fur coat who was the third in line. "The mayor is very good friends with a career criminal. I, for one, will not be voting for him in the next election." "You''d better keep quiet," the man in front of her advised. "He might not be the mayor any more, but he''ll still be the governor." "What do you mean? One goes with the other!" "No it doesn''t. Governors aren''t elected, they''re nominated. He became governor by default because everything was done in such a rush. But he''ll stay on as governor even if he ceases to be the mayor. He''ll be the governor here until the governor over him decides otherwise." "But this is totally undemocratic!" "Welcome to the colonial world," said the man. "I''m going to start a petition to the regional governor to have Sonberg removed from his post. Who is the regional governor?" "I don''t know. And I wouldn''t ask Sonberg if I were you. He might take it the wrong way." "This is outrageous," said the woman in the fake fur coat. Her outrage was doubled by the fact that the falling snow flakes clung to the fur, and obscured the splendor of the leopard spots. She kept brushing the snow off until she realized it made her appear undignified. "This is completely outrageous," she repeated. Her sentiments were shared by Sven Holm, who was locked in a bitter battle of wills with Stefan Sonberg. "This is outrageous," he told Sonberg. "You promised me two hundred licenses. You told me I''d be need to buy twenty colonizer licenses, because each entitles a colonizer only to a maximum of ten colonist licenses. Three million eight hundred thousand crowns! It wasn''t easy to get all this money together. But I did it. I got it here. And now you''re saying I can only get a single colonizer''s license!" "I already told you twice," said Sonberg. "It''s not my decision. It came down all the way from above. You want to change it, you''ll have to go to New York, and convince the Colonial Council that you''re right and they''re wrong." "I must have those licenses," Holm snapped. "Otherwise, I''ll have to rethink the other deal we made." Sonberg was very much aware of that. Even a trickle of New World food would make a huge difference - the difference between a peaceful town and a hotbed of unrest and violence. He said: "Sven, be reasonable. I told you how it works. I have instructions to issue just a single colonizer''s licence per no less than four square kilometers of my territory here. That''s four hundred in the New World, enough for a colony of decent size. Based on that, I can issue a maximum of sixteen licenses. Sixteen! And you want twenty just for yourself. Can''t you see that''s impossible?" Holm snorted derisively, but remained silent otherwise. Sensing an advantage, Sonberg continued: "I would fiddle things to accommodate you if I could. But I can''t. The powers that be are watching my every move. Someone told them there was a cube on your farm. And I''d reported that the only cube in my area was the one south of Vajmat. They''re also upset with me because I haven''t set up a proper capital in the New World." "What the hell does that mean?" said Holm. "I don''t like the New World, Sven. It''s just too uncomfortable. So I hired a couple of deputies to run things and they, well, they didn''t do a very good job. See, I''m being totally honest with you." Sven Holm sighed, and said: "So I''m getting a single license, and that''s it?" "Yes." "Because you only have sixteen to give?" "Correct." "You''ve got several hundred people lined up to see you, Stefan. You''ll have to turn almost all of them away." "Oh, no, that''s different. Almost all of them want to purchase a colonist''s license. You know, a single implant kit and no license to trade New World goods." "I want to purchase two hundred of those." "You can only get ten, counting the two you get with your colonizer''s license." "What if I sent a hundred and ninety people your way?" asked Sven. "You''re obliged to sell each of them an implant kit - let''s stop this license bullshit, what you''re doing here is selling implant kits. Correct?" "If the people you send are local residents, yes. They have the right to a single license, okay, okay! A single implant kit." "They are all residents within your district," said Sven, fixing Sonberg with a heavy stare. "I want you to reserve a thousand kits for people I''ll be sending your way." "A thousand? What will you do with a thousand kits? A thousand colonists? That''s crazy. Half of them will die within a couple of weeks." "That''s my problem. Besides, you''re wrong. They won''t die. They will thrive." "But where are you going to find a thousand people who - " "That''s my business," said Sven. "Do we have a deal?" Sonberg hesitated. It went against his nature to agree to a deal without wringing out a final concession from the other party. He said: "You know, you''ve given me an extra worry the other day. Some people my deputies had sent out in the New World came across yours. And your guys weren''t nice to them at all. Very threatening and intimidating. And now I have to report there are illegal colonists in my district. I have to, the word is out. And they''ll want me to do something about it." "Who exactly is ''they''?" "My area governor, my regional governor, the provincial governor, the national governor, and the Colonial Council." "You''re joking." "I''m not. We are to crack down very hard on illegal colonizing." "But it''s up to you what goes on in your district. You''re the law." "I am. But if my area governor doesn''t like the way I''m running things, I''m gone. Just like that. Because in this area, HE is the law." "All those words instead of telling me outright you want a favor," said Sven. "All right. What is it?" "I... Well, I... I thought that maybe you could sell us some tools. And clothes, if possible. You know, in the New World. We''ve already made contact there, it seems my capital is right next to your colony. It shouldn''t be hard to establish a route." "I thought things worked the other way around," said Sven. "I thought governors were the ones helping colonists get a foothold over there." Sonberg was silent. "All right," said Sven. "But for obvious reasons, I can''t help you for at least a year, maybe two. Two would be safer. Otherwise there''ll be talk about those guys that arrived in the New World and started manufacturing metal tools practically the next day." "A year? You mean a New World Year?" "Of course." "That will be the middle of April," mused Sonberg. "Okay. I might be able to work with that." "I''ll send out scouts to locate your capital," said Sven. "You''ll need to give me some directions." It was another ten minutes before they were done; the actual signing of the documents and payment took two minutes. When Sven emerged from the town hall, he was greeted by hostile stares and a muttering that resembled rumblings before an earthquake. Someone said very loud: "Hey, asshole. What were you doing in there for so long? Giving fat Stefan a blowjob for your license?" Sven stopped at the top of the front stairs and looked for the man who had spoken. He found him, and it wasn''t someone he''d seen before. There were people coming over from all around Jokkmokk to buy a license, so it wasn''t surprising. The guy in question was tall and heavily built and obviously felt his bulk made him more important. And he was from out of town, and didn''t know who he was talking to. "You''re waiting to acquire a license?" Sven asked, smiling at him. "Of course I am. Why the hell do you think I''m standing here in this fucking snow, moron. You think I like it?" Sven smiled at him with extra warmth, and said: "I''ll remember you. See you in the New World." He descended the stairs and walked away, surrounded by silence and the falling snow. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https:///book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 140 Freedoms Gate Sven wasn''t in a great hurry to get back home, even though there were very many things awaiting his input and involvement. He had to admit it: he wasn''t eager to get back precisely because there were so many things awaiting his input and involvement. Besides, he needed to calm down after his talk with Sonberg, and the suggestion made by the asshole waiting in the town hall lineup. He needed to change into the cool, dispassionate Sven before facing the people assembled at his farm. There were fifty one people living there, fifty two counting himself. Ulla needed three assistants in the kitchen just to keep everyone fed. Over two-thirds of his colonial population was busy producing food! He needed them to make tools, he needed them to make weapons, he needed them to mine iron, copper, and precious metals, and they were all busy with fucking food. And it was about to get worse because of his promise to pay tax on his mint with food. There already was a substantial amount of tax to be paid. His mint had been operational for four days. Twenty people were busy hammering out coins using Blom''s dies. They were working under a hastily erected roof well away from the farm buildings - otherwise, the noise would have driven everyone insane. The mint workers were upset when they found out they''d have to work out in the open, without any protection from the wind. "Your job involves a hot fire going at all times," Sven told them. "Hot enough to melt metal. Besides, you''re supposed to be working, not jerking off. You''ll be warm enough if you keep moving. Complaining about the cold means you''re fucking around instead of working. And if I find anyone fucking around, they''re out. Right away. Out of here, and out of the New World. Good luck finding another job, and something to eat." No one complained about the cold after that. They worked their asses off. It was a little tricky to start with - when Sven saw the first coins, he wanted to weep - but they quickly got the hang of things after a couple of days. The previous day, Sven''s mint produced over a thousand coins. There were sixty two golden ten-krona pieces, each worth a thousand old crowns. There were also nearly two hundred silver krona coins, and another two hundred of half and quarter krona pieces with varying proportions of silver and copper. The remaining coins were all copper alloys, in three denominations: 10, 5, and 1 ore. "We''ll need half and quarter-ore coins too," Olaf Berg had told Sven. "For what?" "Well, people need to make change. And a single ore is going to be worth an old krona." "Olaf," said Sven, "Did I ever talk to you about opening a supermarket?" Berg was completely taken aback. He frowned, trying to remember if Sven had ever mentioned opening a market, while Sven marveled how someone as intelligent as Berg - he was an absolute organizational genius! - could be so stupid at the same time. "You remember right. I never said anything about it. We''re not running a store, Olaf; we''re making fucking money. I''m not going to waste anyone''s time on tiny coinage when they could be turning out gold and silver coins." Halfway on his walk home, Sven stopped. He closed his eyes and bent back his head and relished the touch of snowflakes falling on his upturned face. He reflected that it was probably the last snowfall that year. The previous year, snow stopped falling at the end of February; the year before that, even earlier. Was it a sign that the overheated planet was finally beginning to cool down? He stood like that for quite a while, and when he resumed walking he was completely calm and collected once again. His newfound composure was tested by Berg the moment he got back. He''d hardly had the time to take his sheepskin coat off and sit down before Berg attacked with twenty problems requiring twenty decisions. The people were complaining about being squeezed like sardines in the barn together with the sheep. The lake on whose shores Svenborg had been founded in the New World was showing signs of being overfished. The inhabitants of Svenborg, Sellberg, and three other newly founded New World settlements were fucking like crazy and female colonists kept getting pregnant. This resulted in significant drops in production. "We must do something about it, Sven," Berg said. "We can''t have half our workforce fucking around with babies. Babies are doubly unproductive. They eat but they don''t work and prevent their mothers from working, too. I mean I got them all doing stuff at home, making clothes and rope and string and shit like that, but I need people out in the field. And if you don''t want to run out of metal for the mint, you''ll need to appoint at least ten extra miners." "You''re asking me to stop people from fucking?" said Sven. "You know it can''t be done. Lots of people have tried, some very hard indeed, and it just cannot be done." "I''m asking you to tell them to use common sense," said Berg. "They need to leave a safe, wide time window for the ovulation period. They can fuck for a week following menstruation and of course during menstruation too if they''re desperate. But no more than that." "Isn''t that a little harsh? Women aren''t fertile for more than ten days every cycle, and that''s with a big margin for error." "No, it''s not harsh," said Berg. "Chicks are getting pregnant the moment someone looks at them, I swear. It''s incredible. I mean, I should know." "You certainly should," said Sven. "By the way, how is your son getting along?" "He''s amazing. He is just over a year old and he''s already trying to stand up." "Good to hear," said Sven. "Okay. Is that all? Come on, I can tell you''re holding back something heavy." "Well yes, there''s something potentially serious. Our scouts have discovered a settlement down the river. And it''s not the usual two men and a sheep business. It''s quite large, maybe twenty people. Must have been started about the time we founded Sellberg, at the very least." "How far is it?" "Two days downstream." "A hundred and fifty kilometers?" "Henrik puts it at around one twenty. He was leading the scouts, and he''s good at calculating distances." "Is he here?" "Yes, he''s just woken up." "Ask him to see me in fifteen minutes." "Okay. What about the miners? The mint boys say they''ll run out of metal day after tomorrow." "Later. Let me talk to Henrik, first." "Okay." Left alone, Sven closed the door to his bedroom and washed down a hit of speed with aquavit from his desk. The mixture was just starting to work when there was a knock on the door. "Come in!" shouted Sven, full of fresh energy. It was Henrik. He looked exhausted, the deep shadows under his eyes contrasting with his pale, drawn face. Sven was a good leader, and he immediately treated Henrik to a pill and a cup of aquavit. He also permitted Henrik to smoke a cigarette, although he loathed the smell of tobacco smoke in his bedroom. He brushed aside a couple of Henrik''s tentative questions about Sven''s visit to the town hall. "Never mind all that," he said. "Olaf has told me you discovered a settlement down the river. I want to know everything from the very beginning." "Well, after we escorted the guys you sent to start our first settlement on the river, we went a bit downstream, to check things out like you told us to. We built a raft and went far the first day but then we came to some rapids and had to proceed on foot. Just for a single day, you understand, I was planning to turn back the next morning. I had a sort of feeling there was something interesting waiting for us down the river. Tell me, Sven, did you notice that in the New World, your intuition kind of works overtime? You get these hunches all the time, and most of the time they''re right." "I noticed," said Sven. "Go on with your story." "We came across this place at the end of the day, we were actually looking for a good spot to set up camp for the night. The wind changed, it was blowing upstream and we smelled smoke and went to investigate. We came to a spot where the river widens into a small lake and saw a hamlet right on the shore. Half a dozen good-sized huts and a couple of sheds and they even built a rickety pier twenty steps long. The big thing is they''ve got a blacksmith, we could hear his hammer. We tried to get closer for a better look but it was getting dark and we had to get going back home the next day, we didn''t have a lot of food left. So I basically watched the place for maybe an hour before it got too dark, and next morning we started back on our way to Frihetsgrind." "Frihetsgrind? Freedom gate? What the fuck do you mean?" "That''s what the people there decided they''ll call it. Because that settlement is our first step on our way to the sea." Sven resented that. He was the one that gave settlements their names. But like every great leader, he remained focused on what truly mattered. He said: "So you watched them for an hour. Conclusions?" "There are about twenty of them," said Henrik, "Give or take a couple. That''s assuming I saw maybe half of the people that live there. All the chimneys were smoking, so presumably there was someone inside each house to mind the fire. Yes, I think the total would be twenty people. Give or take a couple." "Any weapons?" "None that I could see. But I couldn''t see much at that distance." "If they''ve got a blacksmith, they''ve got weapons," said Sven. He was silent for a while, nodding when Henrik asked if he could light a second cigarette. A hundred and twenty kilometers downriver. Perfect location for a second settlement on their march to the sea. Everything ready and built, including a blacksmith. There was only one way to proceed. "Listen carefully, Henrik," said Sven. "Two things. First, eat something - tell Ulla I''ve entitled you to double rations - and have some more sleep. When you wake up, I''ll need you to help me assemble a war party. A dozen people, ten fighting men and a couple of porters. Ten men - eleven with me - should be more than enough to take over that settlement you''ve found." "We''re taking it over?" "Of course we''re taking it over. Strict discipline, I want to capture everything intact." "There''s bound to be a few people killed." "I was talking about the buildings. The people? It will be safest just to kill them all." "Maybe some would want to join us. We could use the extra labor." "No," said Sven. "Because their controllers will inform everyone here that a bunch of guys has taken over their New World village. They''ll point fingers, provide descriptions and maybe even a few names. I want everyone dead, dead before they even know what is going on." "I understand," Henrik said, and he did. "Good. Now go eat and get some rest because both of us are going to have a very busy time. I want you to help me select the men for the job." "I want to take Lasse," Henrik said right away. "He''s got a new bow that he says is much better." "What about the crossbows?" "We''ve got five or six that are good, but we only have enough bolts for a couple." "I''ll tell Olaf to sort that out," said Sven. "Now go and get some rest." He got dressed again and left the house to check on the mint. The farmyard was a quagmire of melting snow and mud and sheep shit. He forced himself to answer a couple of greetings without looking at his greeters - they tended to dart forward and pester him about something the moment they caught his eye. It was bullshit about the bolts, he wouldn''t bother Olaf with that. Extra ammo would let him take along an extra crossbow or two, but it wasn''t worth it. They''d be fighting at most a dozen people, the rest would be too scared to resist. Hand to hand combat! A quick charge, naturally preceded by careful reconnaissance. That was the answer. He would lead that charge himself. There was nothing as good as leading by example. His mouth set, Sven walked fast toward the thudding and clanging that came from a small spinney growing next to his farm. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https:///book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 141 The God of War The morning mist was lifting, and Sven was finally able to make out the buildings of the settlement across the lake. His war party had arrived in the area the previous afternoon. It had been raining hard all day, and everyone was in a nasty mood. Some of his men wanted to attack the settlement right away, and Sven knew why. "You''ll have to stay wet for one more night," he told them. "We won''t attack until we know the exact layout of that village. I don''t want anyone there to get away." They scouted out the village''s perimeter that same evening. They came across a path leading away from the lake and into the forest. Sven would have missed it in the rain and the murk that came with the dusk, but Henrik once again proved his worth as Sven''s best scout. He halted the scouting party with an upraised hand, dropped to one knee, and examined the ground. He beckoned Sven to join him, and whispered: "There are people walking through here regularly. Not many, maybe a couple, once or twice a day. They''re coming and going, to the village and away from it, inland. The ones going to the village are carrying heavy loads." "How can you tell all that?" marveled Sven. "I can''t see a fucking thing." "My grandfather took me hunting a lot when I was a kid. I loved it. He taught me how to track animals. He could tell whether it was a moose or a reindeer that had passed, whether it was walking, trotting, or running, and how much it weighed. Those people going to the village... The ground is wet, so maybe they aren''t carrying as much as I thought. Tracks are always deeper in soft, wet ground." "I still can''t see a single fucking track." "There." Sven''s eyes followed Henrik''s pointing finger, and indeed he there was suspicious hollow in the moss. The ground everywhere was liberally sprinkled with pale, dried-out fir needles, and Sven saw that the ones in the hollow were bent or broken. "It''s probably the path to the mine," he whispered to Henrik. "What mine?" "They have a blacksmith, so they have metal ore. They must have a mine somewhere." "They''ll have people working there." "Correct." "Maybe we should check this out before we attack." Sven shook his head. "No," he whispered. "We''ll capture the village, and lie in ambush for anyone that shows up. Chances are they''ve got hunters and gatherers out in the country. It''s September, my guess is most of them will be busy harvesting food for the winter. We''ll wait for them to come home." They spent a couple more hours that evening reconnoitering the area around the settlement. They found another path leading along the shore of the lake. It was marked by fish scales scattered here and there, and Henrik guessed it must lead to a good fishing spot further down the shore. "It will clear soon," said Sven, and took Uwe along on a trip to a good observation point across the lake from the village. It involved getting thoroughly wet while crossing the river, and Uwe wasn''t happy about that. "I feel I have a bad cold coming," he complained soon after they found a good lookout spot atop a small cliff close to the shore. "I''m as wet as you are. You want to go home?" said Sven. That shut Uwe up. As Sven predicted, within an hour after sunrise the mist had cleared enough to see the village. It seemed dead. Nothing and no one was moving. But there were people there, all right: Sven could see the smoke rising from the rooftops. The settlers definitely had metal tools, and good tools too: the small pier had been built with well-hewn timber. There would be several very sharp axes in that settlement, for sure. For a moment, Sven regretted bringing just one bow and two crossbows. But he brushed the thought away: all his men excelled at melee combat. Every single male in Holm''s nascent empire was obliged to spend at least an hour every day training with two weapons of his choice. A year and a half added up to a lot of hours. They had good swords and axes and throwing spears, and knew how to use them. It was time to start putting thought into action. "Okay, we''ve seen enough," he said to Uwe. "Let''s rejoin the others." When they did, Henrik had some news. "Karl and I went to have a look at that path in full daylight," he told Sven. "You know, the one you said leads to their mine. Almost the moment we got there a guy comes trotting along with a big wicker basket. It was pretty heavy, he shifted it from hand to hand twice while we watched him, and we only watched him for a couple of minutes, maybe less." "He didn''t see you?" "Of course not." "He was going into the village?" "Yes." "Then that mine must be pretty close," said Sven. "He must have left some time after dawn, and that was what, two hours ago?" "A little longer than that." "And you saw him when?" "Uh, maybe an hour ago. Yeah, around an hour." "The sun moves faster with every day now," Sven reminded him. "You''re right, I didn''t allow for the day getting shorter Less than an hour, then. But not by much." "Okay," said Sven. "Has everyone had breakfast?" "Yes, if you can call it breakfast." "I want everyone to come closer," said Sven, and waited until they assembled before him in a semicircle. "We''re going to split into three groups," he told them. "I''ll take Lasse and Jens. Henrik, you head the second group. Choose three guys to go with you, and include one crossbow. Lennart, you''ll lead the third group. Same setup, if you and Henrik want the same guy you''ll have to sort it out among yourselves." "Does this mean we''re going to fight, too?" said Johan, one of the porters. Sven gave him an appraising look. The porters - Johan and Hans - had been chosen from among relatively recent recruits to the New World; Sven remembered that they''d arrived sometime in late spring. They had weapons - short axes and blades resembling machetes, and by now they were sure to have had over a hundred hours of training. But they had no armor and no helmets. And most importantly, they had no combat experience. They hadn''t killed anyone yet. He grinned at each of them in turn, and said: "You might have to fight, yes, and I''m sure you''ll do just fine. One of you will bring up the rear in each group. If any of the boys in front has to deal with more than one opponent, you move in to help. Clear?" He gave each of them a sharp glance. They fidgeted, and had difficulty meeting his eye. They definitely were short of confidence in their own abilities. But he saw no fear, and that was what counted most. "I''m fine with that," said Johan and Hans, the other new boy, nodded in agreement. "Good," said Sven. "We''re going to hit them from three directions. I''ll attack along the shore. Henrik, you''ll advance along the path to the mine. Lennart, you have the farthest to go: you''ll take your men all around the village, and attack along the shore from the other side. Watch out for fishermen on that path there. Everything clear so far?" They nodded, and Sven continued: "Get as close to the buildings as you can while staying out of sight, and wait. You''ll hear me shout when it''s time to strike. If something happens, if you''re about to be discovered, don''t wait for me - give me a shout, and go for it. Three abreast, crossbow in the center, the new boy jumps in to take his place as needed. Got it?" The new boys looked uncomfortable with being called new boys. That was good. It would make them eager to show they were just as good as the old boys. "You''ll just have Jens and Lasse with you," Henrik observed. "We''ll manage," Sven said. "As long as you''re all in position when I give you the signal. I want to attack about half an hour from now. That gives you more than enough time to get into position. Questions?" "What about prisoners?" asked Johan. "We''re not taking any." "Women and kids?" "I said, we''re not taking any prisoners. Got it? If your conscience bothers you, make sure they die quickly and without unnecessary pain." He stared hard at Johan, making it clear he didn''t appreciate stupid questions. "You''ll go with Henrik," he decided. "Lennart, you''ll take Hans. Okay, get moving." He waited until both Henrik and Lennart left with their teams, discreetly watching Johan. He seemed all right, eager and alert when Henrik issued him orders. He turned to his companions and said: "I''ll go first. You two follow ten paces behind. When I drop to a crawl, you start crawling too. No noise." He set off and smiled to himself when he heard them begin to follow exactly on his tenth step. They were good, those two. He preferred having the two of them over half a dozen new boys. Both Jens and Lasse had spent well over a year in the New World. They knew what was what. They''d camped just over half a kilometer from the village, in a spot Henrik was sure wasn''t frequented by anyone for quite a while. They half walked, half ran crouching from tree to tree for just a few minutes before Sven dropped to one knee, raising a hand. He stayed frozen for a while, listening hard and sniffing the air. He was pretty sure the village lay just behind the mild rise in front. He looked over his shoulder at Lasse and Jens. They grinned at him. They were ready. Sven shifted the equipment fastened to his belt to his back, and lay down on the ground. He began to crawl: left arm and right leg forward, then right arm and left leg. He stopped occasionally to clear stones and sticks out of his way, and he was pleased to hear that Lasse and Jens made almost no sound at all. He loved this: sneaking up on an enemy, blood hissing in his ears, heart pounding with the thrill of the coming fight. He was born to do this. Everyone was born to a certain calling, to a profession that would make the best use of their inborn talent. Sven was rock certain he was born to make war. That was what he loved most. He was the god of war. As he had thought, the village came into view when he reached the top of the rise. He could see parts of two buildings through the trees: a log cabin, and a shed of some sort. They were just under a hundred paces away. He raised himself on his elbow, and signaled the others to join him. When they did, he whispered: "Let''s try to get a little closer. Spread out to the sides to form a line. Eye contact every few seconds, when any of us stops the rest stops too. Lennart won''t be in position for a few more minutes, so we can take our time, slow and careful all the way. Okay, go." He waited for them to get into position. When they were ready, he began moving forward once again. He had barely covered a couple of meters when a dog started barking in the village. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https:///book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 142 Bloodbath Sven froze. He tried to guess whether the dog''s barking was caused by its getting wind of strangers or by something harmless, such as a piece of meat dangling just out of its reach. He glanced left - Lasse''s eyes were fixed on him. He glanced right - Jens was watching him, too. They were both waiting for his decision, for his move. Henrik was in position for sure, but Lennart probably wasn''t. It didn''t matter. If the barking dog made the inhabitants of the village aware of the Vikings preparing to attack their settlement, then every moment that passed was a moment lost. Sven stood up and raised his arm and swept it forward and down, pointing at the village with his ax. Then he started running towards the buildings. He heard Lasse and Jens start running, too. He was about twenty paces away from the shed when a man appeared from behind the building. He was walking in the direction of the lake, and didn''t even glance Sven''s way for several steps. But then he did, and opened his mouth to shout, and Sven took a gamble and threw his ax. It cartwheeled crazily through the air, flying straight at its target. But the man was looking in that direction and saw what was coming and ducked, at the last possible moment. The ax sailed past his head, and Sven swore and broke his step to draw his sword. Something hissed next to his left ear, and an arrow thwacked into the man''s neck before he could make a sound. Good old Lasse! Sven felt a rush of warmth spread over his body - it was glorious to rush into combat with trusted comrades, friends that knew what to do and did it right! He roared like a wild animal pouncing on its prey. He ran through the gap between the shed and the cabin and halted. To his left, maybe thirty paces away, two men were staring at him open-mouthed: they had no weapons. To his right, a couple - a man and a woman were emerging from their cabin, and the man was holding a sword. A sword! They had swords! Sven ran at the enemy swordsman, and the idiot pointed his weapon at him as if he was trying to impale a rushing pig. Sven smote it to the side with his weapon, and ran his blade across the man''s belly in the return movement. Forehand, backhand! That was the way all Vikings were trained to fight. There were no unnecessary, preparatory moves - upswing was just as lethal as downswing. Morons that harmlessly raised their swords before striking a blow asked to be skewered with a thrust. It took him two steps to stop - he''d been running fast. He whirled round, his blade hissing through the air. But the man whose belly he''d split open was in the act of dropping to the ground, making grotesque bleating noises. The woman that accompanied him was frozen with terror. She had short brown hair cut short, it was like a helmet, and Sven''s sword split it in two with such force that bits of her brain spattered and stuck to his face. He heard shouts to his right, and whirled round in time to see a a woman run out from between the buildings. She was holding a two-tined, primitive pitchfork and he uttered a half laugh, half bark. He swatted the pitchfork to the side with his sword and looked at her face just as he was about to slash her belly open. She was beautiful. She had golden hair braided and twisted into a tight crown atop her head and cornflower-blue eyes that seemed to take up half her face. Her breasts raised the rawhide shift clear off her chest, and the legs under it were slender and strong. Sven fell in love with her instantly. It was magic, the kind of magic that inspires poets. He froze. He stared at her as if he''d just seen God. God was about to plunge a long knife in his belly when Lasse''s bow twanged again, and the arrow he sent pierced the woman''s cheeks like a skewer going through a chunk of meat. It was far from a lethal strike, but it made her hesitate. Sven didn''t, not any more. He nearly cut off her head with a savage strike at the base of her neck, and followed it up with a swipe that sliced off the hand with the knife. She collapsed and he gave the corpse a kick for good measure. He heard shouts to his right, familiar voices, and knew that Henrik had begun his attack. He whipped round in a circle, sword ready, but he saw no more enemies. Lasse and Jens were crouching over the bodies of the two men they''d killed, Lasse holding his bow ready with the arrow stringed. There were screams from the other end of the village, horrible screams full of suffering. Sven tensed, then relaxed when he realized that the voices didn''t belong to his men. He ran up to Lasse who was standing over the man he had killed, with a new arrow ready on his bow. Jens was retrieving his ax from the back of the man who had tried to run away. A fresh explosion of screams indicated Henrik and Lennart weren''t wasting time. "Houses," snarled Sven at Lasse. "One by one. I''ll open each door and stand aside. Nail anyone that you see, then I go in and finish the job." Lasse nodded. Sven ran up to the nearest door, belonging to a large building that belched smoke from the opening in its roof. He wrenched it open. It was the communal kitchen. A large fire was burning in the center, its flames licking a big, round blackened metal pot. They had metal pots! There was a woman standing next to a pot, holding a cleaver. Sven laughed. He was next to her in an instant, his stabbing sword breaking a rib with a loud crack before she even managed to raise the cleaver. He whirled round and saw another woman, trying to hide in the dark corner of the big room. She was holding a bundle of some sort. It was a baby, an infant. Sven''s sword passed through both bodies and hit the wooden wall behind them with a thunk. He wrenched it free and the woman sank to her knees, still holding the halves of her baby: it had been cut in two. She tried to say something and blood gushed out of her mouth, splattering Sven''s feet. He grimaced, and put her out of her misery with a quick chop to the head. There was no one else inside the building. He ran to the doorway and saw Lasse raising his bow and releasing an arrow. Sven''s eyes followed its flight and saw it hit the corner of the shed-like building, right next to the head of a man - no, it was a boy, he couldn''t have been more than fourteen. The boy turned and ran straight into Henrik, who had just appeared from behind the shed. Henrik killed the boy with a careless swipe of his sword, almost as if he were batting away an obnoxious insect. He looked at Sven and their eyes met and they both threw their heads back and roared like wild animals. When they fell silent, the silence was total. There were no shouts, no screams. Only the hurried slapping of feet running on wet ground. Lennart emerged from behind a cabin to Sven''s left. He was holding a sword; he''d used up all three of his throwing spears. "Lasse," said Sven, and pointed with his sword at the door of the cabin. Lasse nodded, pulling a fresh arrow from the quiver on his back. Lennart needed no orders. He wrenched open the cabin door and stood to the side as Sven went in, sword ready. There was no one inside the cabin, and for once Sven was able to look around at his leisure. They had fucking beds! The bed inside the cabin had a sturdy wooden frame, and was wide enough to accommodate three fully grown people. There even was a proper table, with three-legged stools arranged around it! A beautifully shaped clay jug surrounded by stubby mugs on the tabletop! Sven felt envy and anger, immediately followed by a feeling of triumph - all this now belonged to him. He''d won it fair and square. "Hey, Sven! Sven?" It was Lennart''s voice. Sven exited the cabin and saw that almost everyone was assembled in the broad, muddy lane between the two rows of buildings. Johan, the new boy, was there too. He was pale and looked as if he was about to throw up. But the blade of the long knife he was holding was red with blood, and Sven walked up to him and patted his shoulder and said: "You''ll get used to it." He turned and gave the others a questioning look. "All clear," said Henrik, and Lennart nodded. "Good," said Sven. "Anyone check that shed?" "Sure," said Henrik, and grinned before adding: "It''s half full of supplies. Smoked meat, hides, mounds of all kinds of wild roots. And a million mushrooms stringed and hung up to dry." "Nice of them to have dinner ready for us," said Sven, and everyone roared with laughter. Even the pale Johan smiled, a little uncertainly. "Okay," said Sven. "Henrik, take a couple of men and find a good spot to dig a pit for the bodies. I saw a patch that looked free of roots behind that shed. Lennart, run along that path with the fish scales and see where it leads. When you return, check on every single fucking square centimeter of this village. Make an inventory, and help Henrik get rid of the corpses. Then set up an ambush for anyone who might show up, and wait for my return." "Where are you going?" "To that mine of theirs," said Sven. "I need three people with me. Hey, Lasse. Lasse?" "Yes?" called Lasse. He was busy retrieving an arrow out of the body of one of his victims. He pulled it free and shook off the tendrils of flesh clinging to its barbs. "You''re coming with me. Jens, you too. And Johan." Everyone was surprised, Johan most of all. "Me?" he said disbelievingly. "Yes, you. You''re a good man." Sven paused to let this sink in, then said to the others: "We should be back inside a couple of hours. If we don''t return, don''t send a search party. I want all of you to come running to the mine before they castrate us and gouge our eyes out." He laughed. Everyone else laughed with him. Sven being taken prisoner - that would be the day! Sven looked at them and listened to them laugh and felt immense love for all his men, felt the powerful bond that forms between men that have killed something or someone together. "All right," he said. "Quick break. Retrieve all your weapons before you start fucking around with the corpses. Lennart, you really used all three of your spears?" "I missed once," Lennart said guiltily. "He was running and jinking left and right." "You got two?" "Yeah." "That''s good enough. Okay, guys, let''s get down to work." NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https:///book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 143 Blood Lus They were on their way to the purported mine around half an hour later. Lasse was in front. There were three reasons for this. First of all, Lasse knew how to track - not as well as Henrik, but he''d also done plenty of hunting with his marksman bow, back in the old times. Secondly, Lasse was the only Viking who hadn''t been spattered with blood - he wouldn''t scare off anyone encountered, at least not as badly as the other Vikings, richly decorated with other people''s blood. The third reason was his bow. If they ran into someone, and that someone did get scared and tried to run run, Lasse would nail him. His new bow was a vast improvement on the previous one - Lasse could hit a palm-sized target at twenty paces, and as earlier events had proved he had no problem hitting a man-sized target at distances much greater than that. Jens came next, a good twenty steps behind Lasse. He would rush to Lasse''s aid as needed, and do his best to stay out of sight otherwise. Sven and Johan followed another ten steps back. Sven didn''t want to lead the group because he needed private thinking time. A lot had happened in the past hour or so. It had been a splendid victory. The prize was magnificent: a ready-to-live-in settlement outfitted with all the basic workshops, and with plenty of stored food. There were lots of well-made tools too - axes, hammers, shovels and spades, rakes, pitchforks - there was even a wood plane, several spindles, and two weaving frames. Sven had mixed feelings about this, because Svenborg appeared poor by comparison. He had been very proud of his capital. Now he was faced with the sad truth someone had made more progress than him. He had to find out why. The Vikings had begun colonizing the New World practically the moment the cubes appeared, so a time handicap could be ruled out. The colonists they''d just killed clearly had better knowledge, better skills. It was a pity they couldn''t be taken prisoner. When he reflected on this, Sven realized that he had made a bad move. He''d wanted to prevent any possibility of anyone discovering that the Vikings had founded an illegal colony. Sonberg knew, but Sonberg was all right. Sonberg got at least three kilos of lamb, a dozen eggs, and a kilo of mixed New World wild fruit and vegetables every single fucking week. Sonberg was fat, and wanted to stay that way. However, colonizers whose New World settlement had just been taken over were sure to complain back home. They would point out that the attackers had to have come from an illegal colony. Swords, axes, armor - such items weren''t possible to acquire within a month of arriving in the New World. And having been taken prisoner, they''d also be sure to learn enough, given time, to identify Sven Holm and his motorcycle gang as the culprits. His blood lust had blinded him. He could have taken them prisoner. More, he could have tried to work out a deal. Those colonists could have been quite willing to join the Viking empire, especially if the alternative was death. True, it would have been a headache; Sven had no illusions about forced loyalty. But with time, little accidents could have been arranged, here and there, until only the children of the conquered colonists remained. New World children that knew no other reality than Viking rule. And in the meantime, twenty pairs of skilled hands would have been working for him. On top of that, he''d made another, minor blunder. He''d assumed Johan took active part in the combat despite his misgivings - he''d patted his shoulder, taken him along because of that! But before they''d left the captured settlement, Sven found out that the blood on Johan''s blade came from a dog, the dog he''d heard barking when they were preparing to attack. That brave dog tried to defend the village from the invaders; with animal cunning, it selected Johan as the weakest target. The only killing Johan did was in self defense, defense against a fucking dog. If there were injured enemies or prisoners to be killed off in the near future, he would appoint Johan as their executioner. Yes, there would be prisoners to be killed off in the near future. He had to take a prisoner or two, at the mine or whatever the path was leading to. He had to find out where the founders of the village had originated from, back home. He had to find out who they were, how it was possible for them to advance so far, so fast. He saw a lizard pretending to be a stick among the plant debris littering the path: the cold wasn''t bad enough to send it into hibernation, but it had made it so sleepy and lazy it didn''t skitter out of the way of the approaching giants. He was about to crush its skull with his heel as punishment, but at the last moment he changed his mind and stepped over it. He had to control his blood lust, his love of violence and combat a little more. It made him stupid. Loving something or someone always made one stupid. He''d learned that much. Sven shut out his thoughts, looked at the grey sky, and looked at Lasse up front just in time to see Lasse raise his hand in warning. He saw Henrik stop and stopped himself instantly; the stupid Johan continued until Sven hissed: "Freeze, moron." They stood in silence and they all heard what Lasse had heard first: a faint, rhythmic clanging. It came in short series: clink-clang-clang, clang-clang, clink-clang. They were all looking at him, waiting for his decision. Sven raised his arms and swung them in as if grasping something to his chest. They all gathered around him, and Lasse said right away: "I think you were right, Sven. It''s a mine. That sound, someone is hammering a spike into something. Probably rock with veins of ore." It was exactly the conclusion Sven had come to in the meantime, and he was a little annoyed Lasse got to reveal it first. He said: "Good thinking, Lasse. Good because it reflects what I think, too." He grinned at Lasse, and continued: "We have to get off the path and out of sight, just in case. Lasse, you and Jens take the left side. Jens, you''ll move first, twenty-thirty steps. Wait for Lasse to catch up, then repeat. We''ll follow you two on the other side of the path and twenty steps back. Jens, make sure I can see you when you want to signal something." The all moved into position and proceeded, as smoothly as a well-oiled machine: Johan was being extra diligent to make up for his earlier mistake. He was acting the way a freshly reprimanded kid acts around a grown up, even though there were less than ten years of age between him and Sven. Sven observed this discreetly - the kid had a conscience. That was both good and bad. Good because he''d always try to do better, bad because people with a conscience were harder to train to do distasteful things. Sven decided he''d have a little talk with Johan, soon. He''d explain things were different in the New World. He seemed to remember that Johan was one of those guys that played lots of video games. If that was right, it would all be simple: the New World is like an ultra-realistic video game, Johan. You kill but you don''t, not really, and when someone kills you, you aren''t really dead. It''s just fun and games, enjoy the guiltless gore. He would go to all this trouble because his intuition told him Johan was promising material, someone who would make a very good Viking indeed given the right mindset. He had a good physique too, far better than most video gamers. And he moved well, with the fluid grace of a field athlete. Yes, Johan definitely was someone Sven would watch closely. The clanging got louder and louder as they got closer to the mine. It was still well out of sight when they started hearing other noises too: the muffled thudding of a pick, the crunching of rock being split, occasionally a voice uttering what sounded like a command or a curse. When they got close enough to distinguish individual voices and make out what they said, they gathered together again, on Sven''s side of the path. Lasse said: "You were hundred percent right, Sven. It''s a mine. There''s a guy working in a cave or shallow tunnel with a pick, and there are two guys on the outside. One''s working with a spike and hammer on the rock face, the other''s splitting pieces of rock into smaller ones. There could be a fourth guy, I''ve heard them make references to someone who is away." "The fourth guy was at the village," said Sven. "He''d brought in a basket of ore. We killed him this morning. There are three of them, one in a deep cave or tunnel from the sounds of it. It''s going to be very easy." "More fucking slaughter," said Jens, and grinned widely. Johan flinched ever so slightly. "No," said Sven. "We need to find out more about them. I want prisoners this time. One or two, we''ll have to kill someone right away so that they see we aren''t joking." Jens and Lasse weren''t happy about that; Johan was. Sven said: "Of course you might have no choice. But I really want at least one alive." "Maybe we should just take out the ones outside and capture the guy in the cave," suggested Jens. "He has to come out sooner or later." "We''re not going to wait for him to come out," said Sven. "If he doesn''t come out right away, he''s dead. But good thinking, Jens. Let''s try to take one of the guys outside alive too, though. Just in case he knows something the other doesn''t. One more very important thing." He fell silent and looked at each of them in turn to make sure they got the importance of his message. "They cannot identify us," he said. "So no first names. I''m one, Lasse two, Jens three, Johan four. Those are our new names. Second point: all of you keep your traps shut around the captive or captives, however it turns out. You don''t speak until I speak to you and I''ll make sure to phrase things so that you answer with a yes or no. Got it?" They did, including Johan. He could see it in their eyes. "Good," he said. "Spread out a little and follow me closely, two paces. Lasse, I want you to my left. Let''s go." NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https:///book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 144 The Black Widow They moved forward stealthily, hardly making a sound, eyes and ears straining. The ground started to rise, but it was impossible to tell whether this was a mild swell or the beginning of a slope belonging to a mountain or a hill: the trees and the undergrowth were too thick to see beyond a dozen steps. Big stones, then rocks started appearing here and there, and Sven was struck by their appearance. He raised his hand signaling the others to stop, and halted by a a couple of melon-sized stones. They were a shiny dark grey, with a jagged surface that had plenty of sharp edges. When he dropped down to his knee to examine one of them closely, he heard a clink as the pommel of the sword hanging by his side struck the stone. He glanced down at it and saw that it was sticking to the stone''s surface. Magnetite! The richest iron ore there was! It made him hiss with excitement. The ore they were mining at Sellberg was hematite; it was very good ore with high iron content, but magnetite was twice as good. The newly captured settlement was even richer than he''d thought! No wonder its founders had made such swift progress. He got up, brushing needles and crumbs of dried moss from his knee. He could feel the others watching him curiously. They would have to wait for an explanation; this was no time for talking. He signaled them to move, and as he crept forward among the trees, a new plan began to form in his mind. The ground kept rising until it became a steep incline; then it suddenly leveled off. They all stopped again, and listened. The voices were quite distinct now; they were no more than thirty paces away. They belonged to two men bitching about someone called Theo. Theo was a lazy asshole. He was gone for far too long. He was likely fucking his brains out down in the village instead of hurrying back with the food. They were going to kick his ass when he got back. Sven smiled to himself, and signaled the others to draw closer. When they were all huddled around him, he whispered: "I''ve got a plan. They are waiting for the guy who took the ore down to the village. He was supposed to come back with food. They won''t be alarmed when they hear someone approaching. I want you to advance until you see those guys. When you do, stop and watch. I''m going back to the path, and I''ll simply walk in on them and order them to surrender. We''ll take all of them prisoner, if possible. I have a lot of questions that need answers." "But it''s going to be just you against three," whispered Johan. Sven gave him a contemptuous glance. "I can handle three veklingar like that with one hand tied behind my back," he hissed. "And anyway, I''ll have the three of you ready to jump in if needed, correct?" "You''ve got blood all over you," whispered Jens. "They''ll see that." "What if they attack you?" Johan again. He was beginning to be a pain. "Just do what Lasse and Jens tell you to do," he hissed. Then he turned away from them and began to creep back towards the path. He reached it quickly, it was just fifty paces away. He stepped out in the open, and ran a check on his appearance. The iron scales on his breastplate were smeared with blood. He stepped to the side, ripped up a handful of moss and gave them a cursory cleaning. Then he set out for the mine, walking confidently. The miners heard him coming. One of them called: "Theo, I''m really going to kick your ass hard! We''re dying of hunger here." Sven smiled to himself. We''ll see who kicks whose ass shortly, he thought. And hunger definitely won''t be how you die, assholes. The final stretch of the path curved sharply around a huge grey boulder, so they didn''t see him until he stepped out into a small clearing littered with stones and rocks of all sizes. He swiftly took in the scene. Two men in rawhide shifts reaching down to their knees; one was kneeling over a rock with a small pick in his hand, the other holding a crude hammer, standing next to the face of a cliff that featured a big ragged hole just above the ground. They were both staring at him with open mouths. "Good day," Sven said pleasantly. "So you''re the miners from that illegal settlement by the lake." They stared at him as if he was a ghost. "You''re from the colonial administration?" the kneeling man asked finally. He got up, and Sven noticed he was gripping his pick very tightly. He grinned at him, and said: "Tell your friend to come out of that hole. I''ve got something to say to all of you." He saw the man''s eyes narrow as he spotted the blood on Sven''s clothes. There had been too much of it to clean off. "Axel!" called the man standing at the cliff face. "Come out! We''ve got an unexpected visitor." The man with the pick was staring at Sven''s legs. A lot of blood had crusted and fallen off on Sven''s journey to the mine, but what remained was more than enough to arouse suspicion. The man said: "You''ve come from Edefors?" "Yes," said Sven. It was clear the man was referring to the captured village. "Who did you talk to down there? Are you alone?" asked the man at the cliff face. Sven looked in his direction and saw the third man emerge from the hole in the cliff on all fours. He was dragging a basket tied to his waist with a long leather thong, and immediately began complaining: "I''m done for today. Olle, it''s your turn. My knees and elbows are completely raw. Who the fuck is this?" He was staring at Sven. Sven said: "That''s enough. I ask the questions around here." He raised his hand and drew a circle over his head. Lasse and Jens emerged from between the trees, with Johan following closely. Lasse''s bow was drawn and aimed at the man with the pick. "Drop your tools," Sven said. "You''re under arrest." "Arrest!?" "You''ve been running an illegal settlement." "It''s licensed! We''ve got the papers to prove it!" "You founded it a long time ago. It wasn''t licensed then. It was expressly forbidden to enter the New World without a license." "Ah, fuck off," said the man with the pick. Sven nodded to Lasse. Lasse''s bow twanged and the arrow hit the man in the back of the neck with a dull smack. Its head emerged just to the side of his Adam''s apple. The man swayed, and uttered a horrible gurgling wheeze before sinking to his knees with his hands clasped to his throat. "He was so rude to me," said Sven. He smiled at the two other miners, and said: "Drop your tools. I''m not going to repeat it again. Drop them, and kneel down with hands over your heads." He turned to Jens and added: "Finish him off." Jens stepped forward and there was a wet, crunching smack as he brought his ax down on the wounded man''s head. He toppled to his side and lay still. It all became very easy after that. The two surviving miners were eager to answer all of Sven''s questions. They were survivalists, members of a club that gathered each Christmas for two weeks of self-inflicted misery in the wilderness. They came from all over Sweden - Lulea, Umea, even Stockholm - to a cabin they rented near Vuolerim, around forty kilometers southeast from Jokkmokk. They had celebrated the end of their survivalist exercise and New Year''s Eve at the cabin, and were to begin returning home the next day. But the next day a terrible storm took place, and then a glowing cube appeared practically on the doorstep of their cabin. They investigated it, read the documentation, and decided it was literally a gift from heavens: the perfect chance to test their finely honed survival skills. So they took it. Survivalists! So that was how they managed to progress so far so fast! They''d had the perfect training, the perfect skills to colonize the New World. "You launched your colony from the cabin?" Sven asked Olle, who was crying by then, crying and sniffling like an old woman. "No," Olle moaned. "There''s this abandoned mine a few kilometres from Vuolerim. Very good ore, but there was a cave-in that killed a lot of miners, I don''t know, about a hundred or maybe even two hundred years ago. So it was abandoned. We thought that if the New World is a copy of Earth, there would be an iron ore deposit in the same spot. Or somewhere nearby." "And you were right," said Sven. "Where exactly is this mine, back home? Does it have a name?" "Six, maybe seven kilometers southeast of the town. You can''t miss it, it''s at the base of a big black cliff in the middle of the forest. They call it the Black Widow now, after all those dead miners. It used to be called something else a long time ago. But I don''t know what that was." Sven was silent for a while. Vuolerim was beyond Sonberg''s district, he knew that. He was operating on another governor''s territory. Well, that didn''t really change anything. "What''s the name of your club?" "Clan of the Brown Bear." A bunch of big children, thought Sven. Clan of the Brown Bear! "Do you have any other settlements?" "No, just Edefors." "How many of you are there?" He questioned them for a few minutes more. When it became apparent they''d told him everything they could, he nodded to Jens. Jens smashed Olle''s head with his ax while Lasse slit the other man''s throat with his knife, spraying blood. He fell on his face and started threshing on the ground. "Finish him off," Sven said to Johan. Johan stood still, his eyes like saucers. "Do it now," said Sven, in a tone that promised punishment if Johan didn''t obey his order. Johan wrenched his knife from its scabbard and started stabbing the writhing man in the back again and again. On the third stab, his knife jammed between the man''s ribs. He struggled trying to pull it out. "That''s enough," said Sven. "He''s dead now." He bent down and pulled Johan''s knife out of the body without showing any effort. "You''ve destroyed a perfectly good shift," Jens scolded Johan. "Why didn''t you stab him in the neck? You hit right in the middle just below the skull to break the spine, and it''s done." Sven saw that Johan was close to tears. He said: "A beginner''s mistake. Let him be." He dropped to his haunches next to Johan and reached out, grasped his chin and turned Johan''s face to his. As he''d suspected, there were tears welling up in Johan''s eyes. "Your knife," he said, and pressed it into Johan''s hand. He let go of his chin, and smiled at him. "Isn''t this more fun than a video game?" he said gently. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https:///book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 145 The Deadliest Disease Sven walked back to the village a few steps behind the others, deep in thought. He had several problems to solve. From time to time, his gaze fell on Johan. He wasn''t sure if the therapy he''d administered earlier had worked. Well, if Johan didn''t get a grip, he''d have to go. From the New World, and from Sven''s farm back home. Weakness was a highly infectious sickness. Weakness in the New World meant death. He wasn''t going to have Johan infect the Viking colony. His second problem was that he had to leave a garrison in the newly captured village. That meant at least half a dozen men. And he was short on manpower as it was. Svenborg, Sellberg, Rikruva, Jula, Groenstad, Frihetsgrind - the Viking empire already had six settlements. Each of these was already short of hands. Sven had to make numerous sacrifices when he assembled his raiding party, reconcile himself to the thought there would be a meaningful drop in production. Twelve men equaled nearly ten percent of his available workforce. And now, he''d acquired yet another settlement that needed at least a dozen colonists. No, twenty, that was the minimal population. He had to make sure half of them were women. That was the best way to keep things stable: make sure everyone had someone to fuck. Deprived of sex, people quickly grew angry and rebellious. It wasn''t an original thought - back on Earth, governments came to a similar conclusion half a century earlier. A few years before the catastrophe, there was even talk of legalizing copulation with animals. However, the animal rights lobby and anti-rape activists nixed that. They argued that sex with an animal was okay only if the animal gave its informed consent, and enjoyed the experience. There was no way to obtain the former, and no way to confirm the latter. So the whole project was shelved, to the great disappointment of zoophiles around the world. Sven made sure none of the Vikings were zoophiles or indeed of any but the standard sexual orientation. He accepted only heterosexual males and females, and this applied to both worlds. He had no prejudices against people of any sexual orientation, but heterosexual males were more aggressive, and Sven wanted his Vikings as aggressive as they could get. Aggression was the driving force behind humankind''s dominance on Earth. Aggression was what got people out of bed in the morning, and drove them to action. Aggression discovered new lands, created new inventions, made people rich. People who didn''t have the drive to assert themselves were subhuman. They deserved to be exploited, and to have their asses kicked at every opportunity. That had always been Sven''s credo, a belief reinforced by being shared with some prominent psychologists. It had served him well, and made him rich. Of course, it was an investment in the future. Their kids would eventually grow up, and begin to contribute. But in the meantime they would need to eat, and to be cared after. That was always the problem, whatever one did there always was a price to be paid. People who weren''t aware of that ended up paying the original price plus interest, interest that grew bigger as time went on to the point where it eclipsed the original cost. Sven knew all that. He was a thinker as well as a doer, which was why he was president of the Viking Motorcycle Club and Emperor of the Vikings in the New World. But his ability to think well carried a price too: it made him aware of more problems than he wished to deal with. And stuff like what to do with Johan, or how to split up his already insufficient workforce was minor, really. Because the most important problem was when to move the capital of his empire to the captured settlement. He had to move it there from Svenborg, that was for sure. It was the most well-developed of all the settlements in his domain. Before their death, the miners had told him the lake was teeming with fish, and that there was a large herd of reindeer roaming the area. There were two salt licks and a salt spring within a day''s travel and there was the mine, with top quality iron ore mixed with smaller quantities of other metals useful for creating a variety of iron alloys. There were plenty of mushrooms and berries and wild roots and grasses that yielded grain. Most importantly, the village was situated on a waterway that led directly to the sea. He had a lot of planning to do; it was a big move. And so he stayed silent, walking by himself, until they arrived at the village and of course a new shitload of problems immediately descended on his head. " You found that mine? That''s great," Henrik said. "But in the meantime, a bunch of those guys showed up. They had been out hunting, they brought back a wild boar and a couple of deer - extra food for us! But they were armed and tried to fight and when it was clear they''d lost, their controllers back home pulled the plug." "They removed their implants and killed them?" "Yes. You were lucky to get those miners alive." Sven grunted in assent, and went to examine the corpses. There were five, all armed with bows and knives and throwing spears. He pretended to look at everything very closely, hiding the fact that he was boiling with rage. The miners had lied to him! Well not exactly lied, but they hadn''t told him about the hunters, which was just as bad as an outright lie. Sven knew this was because he''d treated them well. He hadn''t tortured them. If he had cut off a couple of fingers and gouged out an eye, they''d have told him about the hunters, too. He was guilty of weakness, the very disease he fought so hard to prevent. He wouldn''t be making this mistake again in the future. It was that fucking Johan, he''d infected him. Sven decided he''d remove Johan''s implant when he got back home, and kick him out of his farm. "You had no chance to question them at all?" he asked Henrik, pretending to examine the bow lying next to a corpse whose face had been turned into chopped meat. "None. I mean we got a couple alive, but the moment we started the interrogation they dropped dead." "Fuck," said Sven. "I hope everyone kept their mouths shut." "We did. They don''t know anything about us, or where we came from." The bow was quite well made, almost as good as Lasse''s. It made Sven angry. "Fuck," he said again. Straightening up, he kicked the corpse and said: "Strip those losers, and bury them with the others. Why the hell haven''t you collected their weapons? Did you count how many of those guys we got in the village?" "Fifteen. We thought you''d want to examine the scene as is, Sven. You always insist on leaving things untouched until you''ve had a look." "Yeah. How many women among the fifteen?" "Uh, hang on... Nine. Definitely nine. And six kids." "There are at least a couple of women from that settlement somewhere out there," Sven said. "Who knows, there might be more, and some guys as well. You''re sure that you got every single man in that bunch here, that none escaped?" "Hundred percent. We set up an ambush like you told us to, and they walked right into it." "Good," said Sven. "But there still are others out there. I can feel it." Henrik knew better than to dispute Sven''s feelings; he stayed silent. "I need to eat something," Sven said eventually. "Make sure those bodies are gone and get rid of at least some of this fucking blood. And send a couple of scouts out, we don''t want any more surprises. They can come back in a few hours when you''ve cleaned up here." "Sure," said Henrik. "There''s good smoked fish in the warehouse. There''s even some bread." Sven stared at him. "You''re fucking kidding me," he said finally. "No. We''ve found both stone and iron querns. Almost everyone had their own personal handmill for grinding grain." "Maybe they had a field or two going somewhere nearby," said Sven. "No. Not nearby. We had a look. No fields, but we discovered a few patches of wild oats and barley. Oh yes, and there''s a fisherman''s hut and a smokehouse about a kilometer along the shore. You know, that path where we found fish scales." "Empty?" "Yes. No one had been there for at least a couple of days, from the looks of it." "Post a lookout there," said Sven. "I have a feeling someone might be coming up that path soon." "Hey, Sven," called out Lennart. Sven turned and saw Lennart approaching. He waited until Lennart stopped beside him, then said: "Keep your voice down, you fucking fool. There might be people we don''t know about within earshot. Wait." He turned to Henrik. "Run along and tell the others to keep quiet, too," he said. "And get going on those fucking corpses. I want everything pristine yesterday. Move, man." When Henrik had gone, Sven asked: "What do you want, Lennart?" Lennart looked unhappy. Clearly, he had been expecting a friendlier Sven. He said: "I''ve made a rough inventory of all the loot we got. It''s a lot, Sven. It''s a fucking lot. Those guys have been really busy." "So it would seem," said Sven. That was it! The village would become his new capital. He would need to decide by the end of the day whom he would move here. A messenger sent out tomorrow wouldn''t reach Svenborg for at least a week. It would take Olaf at least another week to assemble and send out the people needed, a third week or more for them to arrive... And winter was coming, winter was just around the corner. There was no time to waste. "Grab this guy''s feet," he told Lennart, pointing at the corpse. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https:///book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 146 The Glass Miracle "Shit," said Sven. He examined the object in his hand once again. It was a crude, badly shaped small bottle. What had made him swear, what made him examine it so closely was the fact that it was made of glass. Thick glass containing plenty of faults and impurities - but undeniably glass. He''d already taken a detailed tour of the captured village. It really was a great prize. There was a blacksmith, a small smelter, workshops for carpenters, potters, weavers - but there was nothing, not even a trace of the tools and rough materials needed to produce glass. There was just no way the glass bottle could have been made in that village. The lake shore was rocky, with next to no sand, and Sven hadn''t seen any limestone either. That meant the glass bottle had been made somewhere else. Sven''s men had already explored the area around the settlement, and hadn''t found any hidden glass workshops. Those fucking miners! They seemed so eager to tell him everything he wanted! That was why he''d decided not to torture them. They didn''t tell him about the band of hunters. And they didn''t tell him there was another settlement not far away, a highly developed settlement, a settlement that was capable of manufacturing glass. There was a silver lining, though - there was always something fortunate in any misfortune. The mysterious glass-producing settlement had to be illegal. It was impossible to reach that level of development quickly. This meant Sven and his Vikings could take it over without fearing an outcry or risk of discovery that they too had been illegally colonizing the New World. It all added up to a major change in plans. Sven began by executing point one of his old plan: he sent messengers to Svenborg with the latest news, and a request for the immediate transfer of a dozen colonists to the newly captured village. Of course, he would inform Olaf of that need the moment he went back home. But the colonists needed guides to lead them to the village, guides and porters for all the stuff they had to take with them. Following that, Sven treated himself to a major pigout, eating three smoked fish and six flat loaves of bread. It resembled wholewheat pita in size, shape, and texture, but the taste was truly unique. A variety of fillers had been used to make up for the scarcity of flour - there was plenty of bran, and a whole range of different ground wild roots that stained the round flatbread with green, yellow, grey. But still, it was bread, no doubt about. A real luxury in the New World. It improved Sven''s mood, and he stopped snarling and snapping at people. He sounded almost serene when he said: He''d nominated Lennart as the temporary commander of the village partly to make up for the bollocking he''d given him while Lennart led him around the settlement. It was the right move. Lennart was very happy with his appointment. Grinning from ear to ear, he said: "We''ll keep the place sewn up so tightly a mouse won''t be able to move unobserved. Thank you, Sven." Sven nodded and turned to Henrik and Lasse and said: "We''ve still got a couple of hours of daylight left. Get ready and report back in a few moments. We''re setting out right away." They had luck: as the sun set, the sky cleared, giving them an extra hour before it got too dark to advance. They stopped for a moment at the fisherman''s hut - Sven wanted to inspect it, and being Sven found something that had been overlooked earlier: two fishing rods with lines of twine, wooden sinkers, and finely-wrought hooks. The hooks were weighed down with soft bands of pig iron hammered into place half an arm''s length from the hooks. By nightfall, they''d covered at least another three kilometers along the shore: they could see where the lake narrowed down into a river, again. They moved some distance away from the water and found a gully that hid them from sight. Then they rested, one man on watch while the other two slept. Sven took the last watch, the hours preceding the dawn. He needed to digest his visit home, that took place while he slept in the New World. He had woken up in his bedroom with Henrik snoring loudly beside him on the big bed. He barely had time to wolf down a piece of cold mutton before he was buried under an avalanche of questions, demands, and arguments. The mint guys were running out of metal. The kitchen was running out of both food and fuel. The people sleeping in the barn with the sheep, and in the dilapidated shed that had once housed cows and pigs - they''d had enough, they were close to mutiny. The warmer weather had made the stink inside absolutely intolerable. Sven had intended to find Johan, and kick him out of the farm after removing his implant. But he had to give up on that plan: there was too much to do. He reminded the inhabitants of the smelly farm buildings that it was totally up to them how quickly they moved somewhere more pleasant. They had started constructing a big, barracks-like building a week earlier. It could be completed within another week if they really put in an effort. No building materials? Then get some, idiots! Use your brains, show some initiative! He had to make half a dozen speeches like that and his voice got hoarse. Then he hunted down Olaf. Olaf was busy supervising the slaughter of the sheep that was to become that day''s dinner. "We''re going to run out of sheep soon if we go on like that," he said mournfully. "And it''s such a waste. They mate in the spring, Sven. If we could stop killing them for a few weeks we could grow our flock. Can''t you persuade people to turn vegetarian for a while?" "We don''t have a lot of vegetables either," Sven told him. Then he told him about the latest developments: the captured village, the mine, the workshops, the glass bottle. "I need at least a dozen people there right away," he said. "Six women, six men. Go hit the sack, and start organizing that. I''ve sent guides, they should reach Svenborg in six days'' time. Make sure everyone''s ready by then." Olaf instantly began bitching and complaining. They were short of hands in Svenborg as it was! Did Sven realize several important projects would be delayed if a fifth of Svenborg''s workforce was taken away? "Do it anyway," said Sven. He smiled at Olaf and grasped his arm and said: "Olaf, I''m counting on you. Don''t let me down. If you run into an insurmountable problem, come and see me." Of course, he didn''t want Olaf to come and see him about a new problem. Basically, he just wanted everyone to fuck off so that he could escape back into the New World. After a quick shit and wash and a hurried meal of cold meat and cold potatoes, he did exactly that. Henrik was just coming awake when Sven re-entered his bedroom: evidently, Lasse had relieved him on watch in the New World, letting him rest. "Anything new?" asked Sven, sitting down on the bed and kicking off his boots. The smell that rose told him it was time to change his socks. He grimaced, and decided: to hell with it. He wouldn''t smell a thing once he fell asleep on the silvery mat. "Nothing new," Henrik told him. "All quiet and peaceful. Wait, that''s wrong. Lasse told me he heard wolves." "Howling, or moving in to take a closer look at us?" "Howling. It''s turned out to be a clear night and the moon''s nearly full over there." "There were no wolves at all over there at the beginning," Sven mused. "They seem to be multiplying fast." "There were no wolves because there was nothing for them to eat, Sven. There was no game. It was months before we saw the first hare and another couple of months before we saw a mountain goat." "Vidar maintains it was a sheep, a ram to be precise." "Vidar''s full of shit. It was a goat. I looked at its tracks." "You could tell?" "Of course. That''s almost like comparing a cat and a dog. Anyway, Sven, if you''ll excuse me - I''m fucking hungry." "There''s some cold mutton and potatoes," Sven told him. "You could ask Ulla to warm it up for you." "Potatoes? I thought we were out." "They bought some." "What!?" Sven laughed. "The power of money," he said. "Of the new money, to be exact. Erik bought a hundred kilos of potatoes with a single gold ten-krona coin." "Nice. Sven, I gotta go or I''ll take a bite out of your leg." "Go, then." The moment the door closed behind Henrik, Sven stretched out on the silvery mat atop the bed - - and found himself shivering in almost total darkness, his nose filled with the aroma of the forest. He got up and stretched and tapped Lasse on the shoulder. "Already?" Lasse said softly. "You''re a bit early." "Yeah. You know, it''s nicer here than there." "Yeah, I do know," Lasse said. "I wish I didn''t have to go back every time I fall asleep. I wish I could tune out the signal the way I can back on Earth so I can sleep without being present here." "You tune out sometimes?" "Are you kidding? I don''t want to miss a single minute." "I had to tune out a few times, a few weeks back," Sven confessed. "I was close to going crazy. Of course, that was when the telepathic link still worked. It''s actually better without it. At least I like it better." "So do I," said Lasse. He sighed. "Okay," he said. "See you later." "Later." Lasse lay down to sleep but didn''t succeed for quite some time: Sven heard him tossing and turning. It irritated him: a thick mist was rising, and he was depending on his ears to give him warning of an intruder. He was about to give Lasse a kick up the backside when Lasse finally stopped moving around. It was so quiet, so peaceful in the forest - no frogs, no insects: it was already too cold for that. Sven could see his own breath smoking in spite of the fog, but he didn''t feel cold, even though his forearms and calves were completely bare. His heart was thumping steadily, sending warm blood into every nook and cranny of his body. The New World worked on him almost like a drug, injecting him with excitement and energy that were missing from his life back home. He heard a bird call in the distance: dawn was approaching. It would be another magnificent day in the New World, beautiful and inspiring even if it rained all the time. It would also be the day on which he would solve the riddle of the glass bottle. The settlement it came from couldn''t be more than a day''s travel away, he was sure. And it had to be close to the river shore, because glass required sand - fine sand. Those fucking miners! Had he been less kind to them, he''d already know all about that mysterious settlement. He''d know where it was located, its size and population. But he had to admit to himself it was more exciting this way. Exploring without an idea of what he might encounter, stepping out into the unknown... Another bird gave voice, uttering a loud cheep quite close to where Sven was hidden. "And good day to you," he said softly. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https:///book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 147 The Secret Meeting "I can count five," Henrik said, squinting. "There are six. Four women and two men. The fourth woman stopped to take a shit. See, there she goes." "I don''t see her." "She''s stopped again to wipe her ass with some leaves. She''s half-hidden behind that huge fir with the yellow top. You might not see her from where you are." They were lying side by side, a step apart, on top of a large cliff overlooking the forest. It was thinner here, and they could see a large clearing in the distance, maybe five hundred paces away. They saw the pale flash of the woman''s face as she threw back her head and looked up - almost directly at them, it seemed. There was no way she could spot them - they were watching her from behind a screen of seedlings growing at the edge of the cliff - but they both instinctively pressed their bodies against the ground. "It''s all right," Sven said softly. They heard a crack as a dry branch broke under the woman''s foot. "Let''s go rejoin Lasse," said Sven. They moved back from the edge, rose to a crouch, and began climbing down the cliff''s other side. Sven and his men had been following the tracks left by the group of two men and four women all morning, and most of the afternoon. It had been easy once they reached the spot where the oblong lake changed back into a river. Up to that point, there had been so many tracks it was obvious the inhabitants of the captured village took that route regularly. Once Sven''s band reached the river, narrow but sluggish at this point, they saw why: a series of cage-like traps weaved from thick wire had been stretched right across the water to the other shore. Inside two of those, a beaver and a small animal resembling a weasel were throwing themselves about. They left them there, and pressed on. After the line of traps, the tracks dwindled in number that Henrik initially estimated to indicate two to three people. He revised that to four or five after an hour, explaining to Sven: "A couple of them must have been gathering berries, then they rejoined the others. There are tons of berries growing to the right. Look!" He pointed out a cluster of bright red loganberries just above the ground a dozen steps away. "Good thinking," said Sven. They continued their chase, and as time went on Henrik discovered more clues. He fixed the number of people in the party at six: at least one man, at least three women. "How do you know?" asked Sven. "Most women and men walk differently. Men take larger steps, and hit the ground harder with their heels. But it''s not easy telling them apart. That''s why I''m not sure about the other three." "You sure there''s six of them?" "Absolutely." Sven shook his head silently; this bordered on black magic. He dropped back behind Henrik and began following him mindlessly, his thinking focused on something else. But that whole wire business wasn''t half as bad as the ability to produce glass bottles. Making a bottle involved a blowpipe. Making a blowpipe meant the ability to make long metal tubes. And the ability to make long metal tubes meant the ability to make gun barrels. From there, it was but a short step to manufacturing firearms. That short step was acquiring gunpowder, and gunpowder wouldn''t be difficult to acquire. It had three basic ingredients: sulfur, charcoal, and saltpeter. Sven knew of at least three sulfurous springs within existing Viking territory. Every Viking settlement was already producing charcoal. And obtaining saltpeter was a matter of pissing and shitting into a straw and ash-filled pit for a while, then leeching the needed salts from the nitrified soil with water that would be subsequently evaporated, leaving saltpeter crystals. The rival colony was at most a few months away from developing a working gun. The realization of that fact made Sven''s mouth go dry with tension. Yes, they would be primitive guns, and there would be few of them to begin with. They would be crude and inaccurate and not half as good as a well-made crossbow in combat. But guns were guns. They would be made better and more deadly and before long, guns would dominate every battlefield. His best Viking sword-and-ax virtuoso would be as defenseless as a baby against a woman with a gun! Okay, so he could wipe that colony off the face of the New World, kill them all before they got to make a single pistol. But if he''d run into a colony as developed as that so swiftly, there would be others, many other colonies who had also developed the technology needed to make firearms. His conquest plans had to be significantly sped up. Otherwise, his Vikings could be stopped before they even reached the sea by forts and castles bristling with cannon. These weren''t easy thoughts to digest. Sven maintained a sullen silence until, several hours later, Henrik said: "We''re getting really close. No loud talking, no talking at all if we can help it. They''re just a few hundred paces in front, and there could always be a straggler." "You can hear them?" "No. See those blades of grass? They haven''t been broken, just bent, and they still haven''t fully straightened out. We''re close." Within the next few moments, they were close enough to hear voices. They crept forward and caught sight of the group of people they''d been following. The watched strangers had just finished resting and eating and were about to resume their journey. Sven noticed a steep cliff rising from the ground nearby, and the hard climb to its top rewarded them with a good view of their quarry. "They have arms," Sven told Lasse upon rejoining him at the foot of the cliff. "The men have bows and axes. The women have cutlasses. They''re all carrying sacks slung on their backs, and those sacks are almost full. They''re definitely not out gathering food, with that amount they''d be making their way back to the village." "Maybe they are," Lasse said. "Maybe they''re from a different village that we haven''t discovered yet." "You''re a fucking fool," hissed Henrik "You think I can''t tell where they came from?" Lasse raised his hands in mock surrender. "All right, all right, I''m sorry," he said. "I wasn''t questioning your abilities." "Enough," said Sven. "They''re far enough now for us to get going. Henrik, you lead." They didn''t get far. After just a few hundred steps, they saw the clearing they''d spotted earlier from the top of the cliff. The group they''d been following had halted under a solitary tree growing near the middle of the clearing. They were too far away to see details, but Sven thought they''d taken off their crude backpacks: seen from the side, their silhouettes had no hump. He also noticed one of the men stepping out from under the tree to look at the sun, his hand shielding his eyes. That gesture told him everything he needed to know. "They''re waiting for someone," he told his men. "They got here ahead of time. What time is it, Henrik?" Henrik glanced at the sun and then at Sven and said: "What''s today? The eleventh?" "Twelfth of September," Sven informed him. "I really should get a fucking quadrant," said Henrik. "It''s nearing two o''clock in the afternoon, or maybe just past it." "Quiet," hissed Lasse. They all fell silent and listened and heard an echo of a rhythmic, ragged sound that steadily got louder and closer. When Sven recognized it for what it was, he closed his eyes and whispered: "Oh fuck." He opened his eyes again to see two horsemen burst out from the trees on the other side of the clearing. Under the tree in its center, a couple of people were waving to them, hands raised high. Fucking horses! He had a few replicated in Svenborg, but they were too precious to ride: all of them apart from the pregnant mares were busy pulling or carrying loads, plowing, helping clear trees, or with construction work. The two riders slowed down and stopped by the tree and dismounted. This definitely was a prearranged, friendly meeting. Sven scanned the clearing for any cover that would enable him to get within earshot of the group under the tree. He couldn''t see anything, and he absolutely couldn''t risk discovery. Henrik and Lasse had been trying to work something out, too. Lasse said: "Maybe I could climb a tree. At least I''d have a clear field of view." "It will sway and they''ll spot that and then you and then we''ll be neck deep in shit," Henrik said. "No, it''s better that I have a go. I''m pretty sure I can get close enough to hear what they''re saying." "How can you be so sure?" asked Sven. Henrik shrugged. "I can get within twenty steps of a deer without it noticing me," he said. "All right," said Sven. "Do it. Get back the moment you''ve worked out what''s going on. Earlier, if there''s no chance of safely getting close enough. No risks, you understand?" "What risk are you talking about?" said Henrik. He didn''t waste time. He moved out instantly, crouching and then dropping to his belly. Watching him, Sven had the feeling he was watching a veteran lizard stalking a landed insect. Men like Henrik were a treasure. He had many men like that. He wasn''t going to risk losing a single one of them to a bullet fired by a moron who''d just learned how to wipe his ass. He was going to solve this mystery, and then solve any problems that became apparent. He looked for Henrik, but Henrik had disappeared. Incredible! The grass in the clearing had grown high, it was true, but it was sparse, growing around bald patches of rocky, mossy ground. A cat could hide itself in that, but a grown man? But Henrik just wasn''t there! Was he tunneling like a mole? Sven saw a small, mossy mound move - or were his eyes deceiving him, exhausted by the strain? No, it moved again! The mound seemed to shift, then grew a human eye. The eye sent Sven a wink - he could see it clearly even though it was at least sixty steps away. Then the eye disappeared and the mound moved again and then it was gone, just like that, as if it had melted into the ground. It felt like a miracle, and not only to Sven. "He''s fucking good," breathed Lasse. Sven was brought back to reality with a jerk. He instantly recognized it was time to assert his leadership, if just a little. "Aren''t we all?" he said, giving Lasse a questioning look. Lasse responded the way he should. He grinned and said: "Yes, we are. You bet we are." NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https:///book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 148 The Ambush Henrik wasn''t gone for very long. He was back inside a quarter of an hour, and gave Sven and Lasse a scare. He had chosen a different route on his way back, reentered the forest to the side, and crept around to approach them from behind. He said: "Guys." Sven and Lasse whirled round, Lasse raising his bow. "Relax, relax," said Henrik. "You''re a fucking fool," Lasse said, repaying the compliment Henrik had paid him earlier. "I very nearly shot you." He would have said more, but Sven silenced him with a raised hand. "Learn anything?" he asked Henrik. "Yes. Those two guys on horses have come from another settlement." "We knew this much already," Lasse said. "Shut up," Sven said to Lasse. He turned to Henrik. "Go on," he said. "That settlement is about two hours on horseback from here." "How do you know that?" "Because one of them said they must get going soon if they are to get home before sunset." "Anything else?" "Yes. They wanted a quick fuck from the women. From the remarks they made I gathered there aren''t many females in that settlement of theirs." "And?" "The two women they wanted to fuck were willing, but the rest said no. One of the men in the group said they still had to cover a lot of ground today to make it home by sunset tomorrow." "Very good," said Sven. "Excellent. You did well, Henrik. Thank you." "They''re already coming back," said Lasse. He had been sulking after Sven had told him to shut up, and had resumed watching the action under the tree in the middle of the clearing. Sven stood up - they''d all been crouching - and took a look, taking care to remain hidden behind the trunk of the tree. Lasse was right. The two horsemen had remounted their steeds, and as Sven watched they trotted away. Sven narrowed his eyes: yes, a pair of sacks tied together bounced behind each horseman. They were carrying whatever goods they''d received back to their settlement. But he couldn''t see the people that had brought them, and became anxious. Did they choose a different route? Then he saw their heads emerge into view and realized they''d been invisible because of a dip in the ground. "Let''s move back," he told the others. "They''re all looking in this direction." Crouching, they ran fifty steps back into the forest. When they stopped, Sven said: "We''re going to ambush them by that cliff. They are taking the same route to walk back, and that will be the perfect spot." "It''s three to six," said Lasse. "Scared?" said Henrik. Lasse reddened with anger. "I don''t like the idea of chasing any of them for the rest of the afternoon," he snapped. They half-ran, half-walked back to the cliff: Sven estimated the distance at six to seven hundred meters. He didn''t have a lot of time to think of a plan, and still hadn''t thought of anything good when they reached the cliff. But his problem was solved when he examined the site of the ambush. The pathway ran right by the cliff, and there was a ragged drop on its other side, at least a full meter. The six people in the group would have to walk in a line, no more than two abreast. They''d have to stay that way for twenty-thirty steps. He grinned and turned to face his men and said: "They will pass through here in a line. You two will take them from the front. When they were going the other way, the men were in the lead, and they''ll probably walk in the same formation. Whether they do or not, you two kill the two men right away. Then Lasse steps back with bow ready and shoots anyone trying to run. Henrik, you''ll cover him. Don''t kill any more of them unless someone''s trying to escape, clear?" "What about you?" asked Henrik. "I''ll take them from the back. I''ll hide there." Sven pointed at a large bush growing at the base of the cliff. "They''ll spot you," said Lasse. "No. There''s a a hollow if the cliff right behind that bush. I''ll be able to lay down." Henrik walked up to the bush and looked behind it. He turned round and looked at Sven and said: "Let me do it." Sven hesitated. He preferred to be the one who would be acting alone. If the group tried to fight back they would rush him, not the two men in front. He was confident he could handle that. He wasn''t confident Henrik could. But Henrik really did have an amazing talent for merging into the background and becoming invisible. Sven said: "Okay. Henrik, make sure the last one has passed by a few steps before you move. Don''t get too close to them, kill only if someone attacks you or tries to run away." "I can take one down with my throwing ax," said Henrik. "Save it for anyone trying to escape. I and Lasse will take out the two men, and I''ll also kill the nearest woman. The remaining three should be easy to deal with." "They''ll run Henrik''s way," said Lasse. "So? You get one, Henrik gets another, and there''ll be just one left to chase, if she''s still running. I think she won''t. I think she''ll freeze and shit herself with fear." "What if she doesn''t?" "Then we''ll have to do a bit of running," Sven said. "I want at least one of those people taken alive. You understand? At least one. I prefer two or all three." "Three," said Henrik. "This way, everyone gets a cunt of his own." Sven shook his head and sighed. "What''s the matter?" asked Henrik. "We won''t get to fuck them?" "You will," said Sven. "But not until I tell you that you can. Got it?" "Loud and clear." "Good. Let''s do it, they''ll be here before long." The closest cover Sven could find was twenty paces away from the spot where the pathway left the cliff. Lasse was forced to move even further back: Sven''s hiding place was too small for both of them. "I''ll have to close the distance a little when the time comes," Sven told him. "I''ll just walk out and keep walking towards them, saying something to distract them. When you see me raise my arm to throw my ax, shoot. If the men are side by side, take the guy on your right. If they''re in line, take the second one." "Of course," said Lasse. "But what do we do if they discover Henrik?" Sven grinned. "We move very fast," he said. "Go." Lasse scurried away to hide behind his chosen tree. Sven crouched behind a bush similar to the one that grew in front of Henrik''s hiding place. He was perfectly still, yet his heart was speeding up, beating strongly. A low-pitched whistle started in his ears. It was his blood singing, it was his blood song whenever he prepared to kill. His victims were a long time coming. Sven was becoming impatient when he heard a laugh, followed by a murmur of voices. He couldn''t see anyone yet: a screen of trees blocked his view of the pathway on the other side of the cliff. He glanced over his shoulder at Lasse, who gave him a thumbs-up before sliding out of sight. The voices were getting louder and closer. They sounded happy and relaxed. Finally, after another small eternity, the group came into view. Like before, it was led by the two men walking side by side, and Sven swore softly when he saw them. The bows! He''d forgotten those assholes carried bows. They''d be sure to aim them at him when he showed himself. If they rightly suspected he had bad intentions, they would shoot. And they wouldn''t miss, not at distance of a dozen paces. He felt sweat bubbling up on his forehead. He''d have to rush them, count on being able to run ten steps before they reacted. It was too late to tell Lasse about the change to their plan. He''d have to count on Lasse using common sense. Lasse had shown plenty of that on several occasions, most recently when they attacked the village. Yes, he could count on Lasse. Sven pulled his ax from behind his belt, and picked up his shield. He''d intended to walk out without it to appear as harmless as possible, but now it could be useful if those two managed to get an arrow off. He had good reflexes, a good chance of stopping a single arrow with his shield. If there was more than one - He stopped thinking about that. The group had stopped, and he could only count four - the two men and two women. Then he saw them glancing back and guessed they were waiting for the stragglers to catch up. He was instantly proven right when one of the men shouted: "Move your fucking asses, we''ve only got an hour of light left." "Don''t be silly," a woman''s voice called out in answer. "At least two." "It''s darker in the forest. Stop trying to be clever, and move your ass." "You''re just jealous because Hugo wanted to fuck me." The women giggled and Sven saw the man mouth something that was probably a curse. Then he turned and started walking forward again, his companion following. The two stragglers finally came into view, trotting and giggling. Sven grinned: they were in for a rapid change of mood. He waited until the two men were just a couple of steps away from where the cliff ended, and the pathway entered open terrain. Then he sprang forward like a wild cat pouncing on its prey. He''d run several steps before they even looked at him, several more before they understood what his appearance could mean. He was within accurate range and raised his arm to throw his ax and heard the twang of a bowstring. Good old Lasse! Lasse''s arrow hit just as the ax was leaving Sven''s hand. The arrow hit with such force that the hit man staggered backwards, raising his hand to his neck with his eyes close to popping out from shock and his mouth working soundlessly. Lasse had hit him in the throat. His companion glanced in his direction and Sven''s ax hit his jaw. There was a crack of breaking bone and a scream from the woman who had been walking directly behind him. Sven ran at her, pulling out his sword. He was about to run her through the belly when she dropped to her knees and raised her hands as high as she could and started screaming: "Don''t kill me! Please! I surrender! Don''t kill me!" Sven glanced up from her and saw that Henrik was holding a woman by her hair. Another lay at his feet. The fourth woman was pressing her back against the cliff, as if she hoped it would part and let her escape inside it. Her mouth was wide open and her head kept flicking to Sven, to Henrik, back to Sven again. Sven stepped up to the man he''d hit and wrenched his ax out of his face. Then he split his head with a single blow, spilling blood and brains. The kneeling woman let out a whimper. Sven looked at her and saw that she had her hair braided into a single thick braid: very useful! He grabbed it, making her squeal with fright. "Shut up," he told her. He looked at the woman still trying to wriggle into the cliff, and smiled. "An honorable surrender?" he called. She nodded, and lowered her eyes. "Come over here," Sven told her, and nodded to Henrik to join him as well. Lasse already did, another arrow ready on his bow. "Kneel down beside her," Sven said to the approaching woman. He let go of the braid. No one was going to do any running. It was over. When Henrik had joined with his captive, Sven said: "I''m sorry, ladies, but circumstances require we tie your hands." They did that with strong leather thongs, making them tight: no one dared complain. Then they blindfolded the women with clothes ripped off the corpses, tying them over their faces so that just the chin and the forehead showed. There was a little squirming when they did that, and one of the women said: "You don''t need to do that. We''re not going to try to escape." "Promises, promises," said Sven, and made sure all the blindfolds were tight. "You can sit or lie down now if you want," he said when he''d finished. "Make yourself comfortable." He winked at Lasse and Henrik, and added: "We''re going to have a nice conversation. It''s so nice to meet someone new in this wilderness." He dropped to a squat in front of the woman in the middle, the one with the braid. He reached out and gently grasped her chin and turned her blindfolded face towards his. He said: "What''s your name?" NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https:///book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 149 The Gentle Persuader Throughout the interrogation, he kept working on a thin, straight branch with his knife. He stripped off the bark, and whittled down one end to a blunt, rounded point. He cut a long, slanted barb a thumb''s length below the point. He made the barb very sharp. The women quickly told him the basics: their names, when the village they''d called Edefors was founded - within a few days of the catastrophe! They''d entered the New World simultaneously with Sven''s Vikings. They were equally forthcoming on all the specifics concerning their village, and the life they led in the New World. Most importantly, they told Sven that they''d met colonists from another settlement just days into their New World foray, and set up a primitive trade route. "We meet the day before full moon," the woman with the braid told Sven. "We sell them stuff from our village for silver and glass goods." "Silver?" "We haven''t found any gold or silver in the area around Edefors. We found a lot of iron, but just a little bit of copper. We have a mint registered back home and need gold and silver." This was exactly what Sven wanted to find out about: their home back on good old Earth. He intended to pay them a visit once he''d learned where they lived. He wanted to make sure the Clan of the Brown Bear would restart their colony far, far away from Viking land. Nothing more than that, just a single very reasonable request. But before he asked the women about their location back home, he instructed Henrik to check again the contents of the three big satchels the group had carried. A cursory check earlier had revealed food, and a few crude glass bottles. Waiting for Henrik to complete his search, he asked a few questions about the settlement Edefors had been trading with. He was greatly surprised to learn no one from Edefors had ever visited the other settlement, and vice versa. "We met them while exploring, and they were doing the same thing. We agreed that the best way to keep our settlements safe was to keep them secret." "Safe from whom?" "From each other." Sven laughed. It made sense! It made perfect sense. That was exactly what he''d have done on a first visit: see whether an attack was feasible, and start planning one if it was. "So you don''t know where they are located? Except that it''s far away?" The woman he asked was silent, and he was about to slap her when she said: "Sven?" said Henrik. He bent down and dropped a few small silver ingots on the ground in front of his leader. Sven picked one up. It was approximately the size and shape of his thumb, only thinner. The silver was dull in some spots and shiny in others and flecked with many impurities. Vikings smelted much better ingots than that, from the silver they''d found along with copper in Rikruva. "Okay, so they pay you with glass products and silver. What exactly do you sell them?" "Mainly pottery and food - flour, and smoked fish. Some hides, and pig iron in ingots. They can never get enough iron, they pay half its weight in silver. We would sell them more if we could but we need plenty of iron, too." That sounded very promising. If the mysterious settlement didn''t have a good source of iron ore, its ability to make arms and armor was significantly weakened. Sven reached out and patted the woman''s head and said: "You''ve been very cooperative. In reward, we''ll now remove your blindfolds." He signaled for Henrik and Lasse to move behind the women. "Remove their blindfolds, and stay there," he told them, a little unnecessarily. Henrik and Lasse weren''t eager to show their faces to the captured women. Every single Viking had it drummed into his head that avoiding recognition by anyone back home was of utmost importance. Sven didn''t care about seeing his face seen by the women. He intended to visit all of them back home, anyway. It would actually be good if they instantly knew who they were talking to. He said: "And now, I''d like to know where all of you live, back home on good old Earth." They instantly guessed why he wanted to know that, and they didn''t answer. A glassy look of obstinacy appeared in their eyes. Sven sighed and held up the pointed, barbed stick he''d made and said: "Do you know what this is? Forgive me, that''s a stupid question, of course you don''t: this tool does not have a name. I call it my gentle persuader. When you want someone to be honest and they''re not, you push it into the liar''s asshole and keep pushing until the tip is buried deep inside his gut. Then you jerk it back, and pull his intestines out, piece by piece. It takes a long time, the average adult has four meters of intestines coiled inside their belly. It''s also very unpleasant, very painful in fact. "You can tell me what I want to know right away. Or you can tell me after I''ve pulled you inside out, and hung your own guts from your necks. You." He pointed the stick at the woman with the long braid. "Your full real name, full address back home. Now." "I''m, I''m, my real name is what I told you earlier. Kristina." "Second name?" He saw her eyes go blank for a split second and knew that she was going to lie. "You''d better not lie to me," he said. She didn''t. She died instead. She had been sitting on the ground, and she just toppled over as if pushed by an invisible force. Sven leaned forward and pressed the tips of his fingers into her neck: no pulse. Her controller had pulled the plug. Her controller knew what was going on, her controller was going to warn the controllers of the other two women. "Fuck!" shouted Sven. He grabbed the next woman by the throat and put the point of his gentle persuader into the corner of her eye. There wasn''t enough time to fuck around with her insides. "Real name and home address," he snapped. "I''ll count to three, then you lose your eye and it''s going to fucking hurt. One. Two - " He felt her go limp and released his hold and she fell to the ground. He turned to have a go at the third woman and found her looking straight into his eyes. She said: "I''ll remember you." And she flopped to the ground and lay still, as dead as one could get. "Fuck!" shouted Sven again. He felt like cutting the three corpses to pieces with his sword, but restrained himself. He wasn''t going to lose control in front of his men. Correction: he wasn''t going to lose control, ever. Henrik and Lasse were looking at him like two obedient dogs waiting for orders. He said: "That''s that. We haven''t done badly, all things considered. We''ve learned a lot, and killed the last of those Edefors guys. And we''ve even got a bit of silver." He grinned at them, and they grinned back. Lasse said: "It sounded to me as if that mysterious place they were trading with might be easy to take." "Yeah, I got that impression too," said Henrik. "We shouldn''t get our knickers in a twist just because they''ve got a few horses." "They can make glass bottles," said Sven. "That has implications." He explained the implications to them. Henrik shrugged. "So we have to move fast, before they arm themselves with guns," he said. "No big deal. It would be actually good if we let them make a few prototypes. Save us the trouble, and a few primitive guns won''t make much of a difference in a fight." "It''s nice to hear you''re using this brain of yours for other things than thinking about sex," said Sven. "I was fully prepared to hear you moan and groan you''d been counting on a good fuck, and now this." He gestured at the three dead women lying on the ground. Henrik sighed sadly. "I liked the one with the braid," he said. "Too bad. What now?" "We''ve got to clean up things here," said Sven. "Just in case those horse guys decide to break the agreement, and cross that invisible border. We don''t want anyone to find anything. We''ll put all of them into that pit to the side of the path, next to the cliff. Dig a shallow grave and cover them with dead branches and shit. Get going on that grave, I''ll run through all of their things and assemble the stuff we want to take." Lasse and Henrik departed for the pit, sulking slightly, and Sven examined closely the belongings of the last inhabitants of Edefors. They''d been carrying several kilos of silver! There were extra ingots hidden in pockets and stuck inside loops sewn into the inside of their satchels. There also were eight bottles of varying shapes and sizes; two even had glass stoppers. And there was quite a lot of good clothing. Sven was particularly impressed by the footwear. No sandals for this crowd: they all wore boots with tops reaching past the ankle, with soles made of several layers of tough leather. It was going to take a bit of effort to carry all that back to the former Edefors. Sven reminded himself that he still had to think of a new name for the captured village. He''d intended to move his capital there and call it Kronborg, but maybe that was a bit premature. He would be capturing plenty of new settlements in the near future, starting with the one that traded with Edefors. One of those future conquests could be a better choice for a new capital than Edefors. That was the kind of problem he liked to have: how to name a newly captured settlement. He finished stripping the corpse with Lasse''s arrow buried in its neck. He looked at it for a while, listening to the soft thwacks and thumps coming from where his men were working on the common grave. Lasse was already working hard. He''d do him a good turn. He bent down again to cut the arrow out of the corpse''s neck. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https:///book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 150 The Magical Properties of Potatoes Their victory had a downside: it left them with plenty of baggage. They talked about making a crude sled. One man would pull and another push, and they''d both lift the sled as necessary to pass over obstacles. But making a sled involved staying where they were for the night and part of the next day. In the end, Sven said: "We can leave some of the stuff here, and retrieve it later. That, or we turn into fucking camels and carry it all. I''m ready to turn into a camel." If Sven was, so were his men - Lasse and Henrik knew the rules. They agreed grumpily, and the three of them moved off shortly thereafter, trying not to stagger. Everyone was carrying a heavy satchel, two sets of leather clothes, and a sack slung over the shoulder. They were all wearing armor and carrying shields and weapons and what remained of the food they''d taken with them. On top of that, they were tired. It had been a very productive but very tiring day. They were all secretly glad when it got too dark to continue their journey. This time around, Sven took the first watch. It was a clear night, and the full moon made keeping watch more difficult, not easier: the moonlight cast shadows that moved with the moon''s passage, altering shapes. Sven had taken the first watch because he wanted to think things over before waking up on his farm. But his thoughts were constantly interrupted: did that crack mean someone was approaching, or was it just one of the sounds made by a living forest? Was there someone moving behind those trees? As a result, when he staggered out of the bedroom of his country home, simultaneously pulling on his leather jacket, he didn''t have a plan. That was very quickly fixed by Olaf Berg. He was waiting for Sven in the main room, his ass perched on the corner of Sven''s desk. When he saw Sven he let out a whoop of joy and said: "I was about to commit a grave sin, and go and wake you up. We have a problem." "Just one?" asked Sven. "Just one that''s new. But it''s a big one." "What is it?" "The guys working in the mint have been stealing coins." "Let me make myself some coffee," Sven said. He did, and in the process found out there was just one half-kilo pack of coffee left. "This is reserved for our personal use," he told Olaf. "No one else gets to drink coffee, just you and me." "Thank you," said Olaf, visibly moved by that great honor. "I''ve sent out a couple of teams to look for supplies. I gave each ten crowns in silver and one in copper. I hope this meets with your approval." "They''ll need transport if they manage to buy goods worth ten crowns," said Sven. Sven drank his coffee in silence for a while, frowning heavily. Eventually he said: "So what''s the story with the minters?" "Two of them have been stealing coins. Small denomination, they didn''t touch the gold or the silver." "They didn''t steal a lot, then." "Around half a krona each. Forty eight and fifty one ore, respectively." "Who found them out, and how?" "I did," Olaf said proudly. "I look into the mint every couple of hours to collect coinage, and take a quick inventory. You know, to make sure they send what we need from the New World. Two hours equals almost a full day over there, and it takes two days for ore to reach Svenborg." "They must have been remarkably stupid to try and steal something with you around," said Sven. Olaf beamed. "I don''t make any notes while I''m there," he explained. "I write everything down once I''m back in the office you set up in the study." "Christ, Olaf," said Sven. "You have a mind like a steel trap." He glanced at the kitchen window and added: "Is it warm outside? It doesn''t look good." "It''s cloudy, but there''s no wind. It''s really warm if you keep moving." "So let''s get moving," Sven said, and they both went to the mint. The six minters present in the mint were working with great gusto, maybe because it was nearing the end of their shift. Olaf ordered them to stop, and assemble in front of Sven who stood silent, looking at each man in turn. Olaf had told him who the thieves were on the way to the mint. They were the two best minters he had. They''d been recruited precisely for their metal-working skills. He couldn''t afford to lose them. When the six minters had assembled in a line abreast Sven said, very careful not to look at anyone in particular: "Some of you have been stealing from the mint. I want everything taken to be placed on that table." He pointed to the table on his right, and waited. He didn''t have to wait long. The two thieves stepped out of the line, walked up to the table, and began digging small copper coins out of their pockets. They were so eager to cooperate that they arranged them in small piles of five for easy counting. "Anyone else?" asked Sven, staring just a little bit over the heads of the remaining four minters. One of them bit his lip and lowered his head and broke the line to walk up to the table and deposit a single small coin. "That''s a brass twenty-ore piece!" exploded Olaf. "You weren''t supposed to make those yet. We are very short of zinc." "It''s a prototype," said the minter. "You said you wanted a prototype made so that you could examine and approve it." "What? When did I say that?" "The very first day, when we started operations. I was to show it to you on your next inspection. This inspection," he corrected himself. Olaf turned and looked at Sven. Everyone was looking at Sven. They were all awaiting his judgment and sentence. It was going to be a lenient sentence, because Sven was pleased. The way things went meant they were all scared shitless of him. When Sven spoke, everyone listened and did what they were told to do. And anyway, he couldn''t afford to lose three minters, two of which were the best ones he had. He took a couple of steps towards the three repentant thieves standing by the table, and said: "Why did you take those coins? What did you need them for? You''ve got a place to stay and you''ve got food, all free of charge. And on top of that you''re getting a monthly payout, based on the profit we make." He was answered by silence, a deeply ashamed silence. Finally, one of the men said: "There is a rumor there''ll be no payout this month, or the next. Maybe never." Sven raised his eyebrows, looking at Olaf. Olaf coughed and glanced sideways and said: "There was a pair of chicks spreading gossip like that. They came with the last batch. Newcomers. I think they expected to get paid the moment they showed their faces. I''ve already dealt with them." "How?" "Sent them ice-fishing. They can bitch all they like to each other out there." "We might have to kick them out," said Sven. He looked at the three thieves. He said: "You thought I''d cheat you, so you decided to cheat me first." "I really didn''t intend to keep that coin," said the minter who had made the brass piece. "I put it in my pocket to show it to Olaf on his next inspection." "Shut up," said Sven. He pointed at the two minters that stole copper coins, and said: "You two must be punished. You will each pay ten times the amount you stole. It will be subtracted from your payout. The next time you steal, the next time anyone tries to steal anything, it''s going to get much, much worse. You''ll find it very painful and you''ll wish you never met me, maybe you''ll even wish you were never born at all. Do you understand?" They did. They were trembling and shuffling their feet and looking at the ground. "You," said Sven, pointing at the brass coin minter, "I''ll give you the benefit of doubt. And ask Olaf first, next time you want to make a prototype of a new coin. Okay, back to work. Move your asses." "That was very generous of you," Olaf said in a wondering tone as they walked back to the farm. Behind their backs, the mint clanged and clinked with great vigor. Everyone was working with new enthusiasm. "I''ve got some very good news," Sven said. And he told Olaf about all the latest developments in the New World. "So, in summary, we''ll be capturing another settlement soon," he ended. "We can''t afford to lose any more people from Svenborg or any other settlement," Olaf said sternly. "It''s going to really fuck things up." "Then we need to recruit more people here. We need to get plenty of new people anyway. I''ve told you Sonberg refused to sell me more licenses. But he cannot refuse someone new, someone who wants to buy an implant kit - what he calls a colonist''s license. I want new people, our people at his office every day getting their promised kits." "And where are you going to put them? This place is bursting at the seams!" "I''m going to talk to the owners of the camping ground. They''ve got cabins for rent, enough to accommodate at least sixty people And they definitely won''t be seeing any tourists this year." "And how are you going to feed them?" "We''ll only communicate in the New World?" "A fucking telegram." "Yes. We''ve been set back a century, in some respects." "And a couple of millennia over there." "We''ll be making progress fast. We''re going to have telegraph and firearms within the next few months. Earth time, or course." "Telegraph! But that requires electricity!" "Yes. Did you know you can produce electric current from a potato?" "You''re joking." "No. A potato contains mineral salts that can be ionized. All you need to do is stick a copper nail in one end and a zinc or galvanized iron nail in the other, and run a wire between them. It makes a very weak battery and it''s a pretty weak current, but you can connect a whole row of potatoes to produce something that is usable." "We don''t have any potatoes there." "We''ll start growing them next spring. We just need to grow and implant some seedlings here." "Sven, you''re a genius." "I know," said Sven. He didn''t believe in false modesty. Like before, they took the roundabout route between the spinney where the mint was located, and the farmhouse. Walking through the yard meant wading through a sea of slush and mud and sheep shit and petitioners begging Sven for a moment of attention. He looked down at the tracks they''d left when they were walking the other way, and saw that their footprints had already filled with water. It really was warm for this time of the year. They''d reached the road and were about to turn to walk the last hundred steps to the front entrance of Sven''s house when Olaf said: "Look. It seems we may have visitors coming." Sven followed Olaf''s pointing finger. Atop the hump of the hill that hid the town from view, a beetle-sized shape was moving, growing larger. He could already hear the buzzing of a faraway engine. He recognized that sound. "It''s an army car," he said. "We''d better get home quickly." NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https:///book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 151 New Blood in Edefors "Fucking crazy!" Sven said nothing. They were standing in Sven''s former study, converted into an office. A window afforded a view of the army Volvo Sonberg had arrived in. Its uniformed driver was sitting behind the wheel. He seemed totally engrossed in the difficult task of pulling out carefully selected hairs from his nostrils, assisted by the rear-view mirror. He looked totally moronic to Sven. Sven turned to face Sonberg, and said: "Can you tell me again what happened? I want to take notes." He walked across the study, and sat down at one of the two desks. Atop the desk stood a treasure: an ancient Macintosh Color Classic that actually worked. It was the property of a newly recruited Viking who was also a computer nut. He had hidden it in a special chest thirty years earlier, confidently expecting it to fetch millions of dollars at some point in the future. The chest was insulated against all kinds of threats including water, fire, and radiation; and so the little Mac''s processor survived the worldwide computer chip meltdown that followed the catastrophe. It really was worth millions now, even though there were no collectors, no museums willing to make a bid. Any working computer was almost worth its weight in gold. But Sven had no intention of selling it: the ancient Mac bravely soldiered on as the central data repository of the Viking colony. Of course, Olaf still insisted on paper copies of every single document - just in case. Sven switched the Mac on; it emitted a melodious ping, and started making crunching noises. "Christ," said Sonberg. "You''re sure this thing won''t explode?" "It''s got an ancient hard drive, with magnetic disks," said Sven. "First things first. Who did you say called you?" "Matti Andersson, mayor of Vuollerim and governor of the corresponding district in the New World. He said a bunch of bandits had wiped out one of the colonies started in his district. Killed everyone - men, women, children." "Who told him that? The colonizer that got hit?" "Him as well as several colonists of his. There''s no shortage of witnesses, so you can forget about bribing or threatening everyone into silence. There''s just too many of them. And like I said earlier, they recognized you." "A lot of people have blond hair and blue eyes around here," said Sven, his fingers busily tapping the keyboard keys. "Oh, for fuck''s sake. This is no time for silly jokes. They remembered that rune tattoo on your wrist. No one else around here has a tattoo like that. Couldn''t you cover it up with a wristband or something before you started killing people?" "Don''t ever cover it up," the tattooist had told him. "It will bring bad luck. When you cover the sun, it ceases to shine in your life." "Did Andersson name me as the suspect?" Sven asked, keeping his fingers poised above the keyboard. "Yes. He even helpfully offered you''re the guy with the farm just outside Jokkmokk, on the road to Arvidsjaur." "Did he mention any other names? Like the name of the guy that brought the complaint?" "Of course he didn''t," said Sonberg. "He isn''t stupid. He knows about you, and what you do to people that you dislike." "I see," said Sven. He bit his lip thoughtfully, and switched off the Mac. It fell quiet with a final, tired wheeze. "I think it''s really very simple," he said, rising from his seat behind the desk. "You''ll tell Andersson you''ve talked to me, and I denied it." "But Sven! The rune - " "Just tell him it''s bullshit." "He can find out it''s not." "By the time he tries," said Sven, "I''ll have a new tattoo on my wrist, something that will incorporate that rune. Maybe a dragon with a spiky, upturned tail? Do you think that would be in good taste?" Sonberg emitted a sigh that was heavy with suffering. "And since you''re here," Sven added, "Why don''t you collect your due at the same time? By the way, I have something to show you." He reached into his pocket and took out a shiny gold coin. "A ten-krona piece," said, offering it to Sonberg. "Take a look." Sonberg took the coin in a reverent manner. He examined it closely, and gradually his eyes began to shine as brightly as the gold. "Very nice," he said. His voice had gone all husky; he had difficulty speaking. "Keep it," said Sven. "A little present from an old friend. And now let''s go and talk to Olaf. He''ll get everything ready for you really quickly." Twenty minutes later, just as the sun began to slide below the horizon, Sonberg departed in the Volvo, clutching a sizeable parcel to his chest as tenderly as he would a newborn baby. Sven stood in the entrance to his house, smiling and waving goodbye, a little longer than was necessary. Then he went back inside the study, and cursed for a while. He wasn''t worried about the Edefors massacre. That had already been dealt with. However, Sven''s plans for the immediate future included another massacre, and then of course there would be more of that to follow before very long. He was determined to expand along the river all the way to the coast in the shortest time possible. It was a fair bet that he''d run into many freshly founded colonies along the way. The door to the study opened so violently that it banged against the wall. "Sven, for fuck''s sake," Olaf said, with a note of hysteria in his voice. "What are you doing in here, meditating? I told you there''s a hundred things we need to talk about before you disappear again." Olaf was exaggerating; there were just about a dozen issues that he wanted to discuss. All the same, it was quite a while before they were done. Sven wolfed down a half-cooked lamb chop and a couple of potatoes and escaped to his bedroom. It was empty: Lasse and Henrik had both returned from the New World in time for dinner. Meal times were increasingly becoming sacred. When he returned to the New World, his little band was already back in Edefors. He found himself seated at the huge table in the communal kitchen. It was dinner time in the New World, too: a full day and half the preceding night had elapsed in the few hours he''d been attending to the business back home. "I''m here," Sven said to Lennart, who was seated next to him on the long bench. "Perfect timing!" beamed Lennart. His face was shiny with fat, and he smelled strongly of smoked fish. "Did Lasse or Henrik tell you about our visitors?" "What visitors?" asked Sven. "The young couple that Uwe brought in this morning. They were wandering around the forest nearby, dazed and confused." "Why did he bring them in? Has he gone stupid? Why didn''t he kill them before they saw anything or anyone?" "Relax, Sven," Lennart said. "It''s not like that. They''re fresh arrivals. They just got their implants. They got a little impatient and were about to die of hunger and exposure when Uwe found them. They''ve begged us to let them swear allegiance, and join us. So I did. I hope you don''t think I made a mistake. You can look them over and interrogate them yourself if you like, after dinner. But they''re good, I tell you, they''re good. The guy is an expert on reindeer. He says he can tame a few from that herd that''s around here - they actually saw them, it''s at least sixty heads." "And the girl?" "His wife. They just got married last year. She can knit and sew and weave like a master. I''ve tested her. She wound a leg''s length of excellent rope from the yarn we found here in, I don''t know, no more than fifteen minutes." "Sounds good," said Sven. "Where are they now?" "Sleeping. We gave them some clothes and food and they gobbled it up and collapsed." Sven nodded slowly. "They sound all right," he said. "You made the right choice, Lennart. But I''ll see them in the morning. We''re going to hold a general conference the moment everyone stops stuffing their faces. We have plenty to discuss." "Yeah, I know," said Lennart. "It looks like we''re going on the warpath again soon, eh?" "That too. The thing is, we''ll have to be very careful about it. There have been complaints about what we did here." "You''re kidding. They had an illegal colony and they complained?" "They likely didn''t tell the governor the whole truth." "You mean Sonberg? Sonberg''s our man." "No, I don''t mean Sonberg. This place is in the district belonging to a guy called Matti Andersson. Mayor of Vuollerim back home." "I know all about that Finnish asshole. Well, half Finnish anyway, through his mother." "What do you know?" "He owns a couple of companies. Logging and transport. Has a lumber mill near Vuollerim. He fancies himself a tough guy." "That''s not so good." "I said fancies himself. He isn''t one. He''s a big man but he''s one of those big men that squeal and jump onto a chair when they see a spider. He''s got, what is it called, ara-something, like those nuts in little packets." "Arachnophobia. Fear of spiders." "You got it." "He might be afraid of spiders, but not of anything else," said Sven. "In fact, he might be very eager to compensate for his fear in other areas." Lennart shrugged. "I''m no psychology expert," he said. "But I haven''t heard anything that would confirm he''s really a tough guy." "Who told you all that stuff?" "I have a cousin who lives in Vuollerim." Sven was silent for a while, thinking hard. Then he said: "I want you to talk to your cousin in Vuollerim when you''re back home. Take the Zundapp, it needs a run before my trip." "Of course. Why would I change my mind?" "We''ve had plenty of new developments here." "I''ll still be here every week or so," said Sven. "You won''t be tuning out?" "No." "Good," Lennart said doubtfully. He glanced at Sven''s plate and added: "Are you going to eat that fish?" Sven looked down at his place. A smoked fish lay across his wooden plate, glistening with fat. It was accompanied by a couple of pieces of flatbread made by the recently deceased inhabitants of Edefors. "No," said Sven. "You can have it. But leave the bread." He picked up the round flatbread, bit off a piece, and began munching thoughtfully. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https:///book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 152 Full Moon "I have bad news." All the post-meal chatter and banter ceased instantly. Everyone was silent: all eyes were fixed on Sven. "This settlement, this place is within another governor''s district," said Sven. "His name is Matti Andersson. He''s the mayor of Vuollerim back home, and he''s already lodged a complaint with Sonberg. As you can guess, the founders of this settlement have identified us. They''ve told Andersson we''re the culprits. That''s why he complained to Sonberg: he knew we came from Sonberg''s district." "I know Matti Anderson," someone said. Everyone turned to look at the speaker. It was none other than Johan, the weakling who had found it difficult to kill other people. Sven raised his eyebrows. "Go on," he said. "I - I know him well. I''m from Vuollerim. I moved to Jokkmokk only a few months ago, to live with my girlfriend." "We''re not interested in your girlfriend," Sven said. "We''re interested in Matti Andersson." "I''m sorry. Well, to begin with, he wasn''t elected. Our mayor, I mean the mayor of Vuollerim, died of a heart attack during that storm after New Year''s Day. He''d appointed Andersson as his deputy, so Andersson took over the post. It''s supposed to be temporary, they''re supposed to elect a new mayor in the spring." "There won''t be an election this spring, or the next spring, or the next," said Sven. "What else can you tell us about Andersson?" "He''s a businessman. I think he owns a logging company and a lumber mill. And a couple of other businesses beside that, but I don''t know what they are. I''m sorry." "There''s nothing for you to be sorry about," said Sven. "At least, not yet. Anything else?" "Well, he''s a bit of a showoff. He rides around in a red cabriolet, one of those big American cars. Or on a horse. He''s into horses, he has a stud farm and he breeds racehorses." "That''s very interesting," Sven said slowly. "What else?" "Not much, really. I heard he likes to party. And that he has a collection of old firearms. Muskets, flintlock pistols, stuff like that." "That''s very interesting," repeated Sven. "Does he also collect old glass? Antique decanters, bottles, glass figurines, anything along those lines?" "Not that I know of," Johan said. "But it''s funny you should mention that. His wife is an artisan glass maker. She makes stained glass. Lamp shades, windows, decorations. I saw some of her stuff. She''s good." He frowned, and added: "That''s all I really know." "It''s more than enough," said Sven. A change had come over him; he sounded very stern when he added: They waited until the others had exited the dining hall, with Sven congratulating himself that he didn''t terminate Johan like he''d wanted to. And he''d been angry not to have located him back on the farm, furious he couldn''t fire his ass! Well, life was like that. You wanted to do something, you were angry it couldn''t be done, then you were happy you hadn''t done it after all. One long chain of surprises! And thank God for that; otherwise, everyone would kill themselves before they turned forty out of sheer boredom. The moment Sven was alone with Henrik, he said: "Henrik, did you listen to what Johan told us?" "Yes." "Your conclusions?" Henrik shrugged. "I don''t know enough to draw any conclusions," he said. "So the guy is a wealthy businessman and owns... Okay, I have a conclusion. Maybe it''s far-fetched, but it sounds like he''s in love with himself. The red cabriolet, riding around town on a horse..." He shrugged again, and looked questioningly at Sven. Sven said: "That''s not bad. I think you may be right. He''s one of those jerks who think they''re gods because they''re rich, and they can fire and hire people. But there was also something else. Didn''t you catch that?" "I''m sorry, Sven. I''m tired. We''ve been walking and carrying all that shit from dawn till dusk." "Why do I have to do all the fucking thinking," said Sven. "I''m as tired after today''s hike as you are, and I''m tired of all this fucking thinking." "Maybe don''t think so much," suggested Henrik. "You know, delegate tasks and stuff." "To whom?" asked Sven. Henrik was diplomatically silent. "All right, I''ll throw a couple of hints," resumed Sven. "Ancient firearms. Glass." Henrik continued to be silent. Sven said: "A third hint. Horses." Henrik''s eyes widened, and he said: "No. Oh fuck. Seriously. The settlement those horsemen came from belongs to this Andersson guy?" "I think so. And you''ll confirm it. Don''t sulk, it has to be you, you''re the best scout I have. You''ll get a full day''s rest. Two days. How''s that?" Henrik sulked a bit more to make his point. Then he nodded, and said: "You want me to locate that place, and check it out?" "Exactly." "Prisoners?" "Absolutely not. You can''t be seen." "Then we''ll have to hang around there for a few days to get the full picture. Do I get to choose my men?" "Sure. Take as many as you like." "It doesn''t make any sense to take more than three. We''ll need to take a shitload of food anyway." "How much?" "Three weeks minimum. Four would be better." "It''s September, Henrik," said Sven. "As you repeatedly pointed out to me, it''s harvest time in the forest. Three weeks." "All right. Are you going to be around? I mean, personally?" "Every few days, yes." "Sven." "What?" "If that settlement turns out to be Andersson''s district capital, what will we do?" "We''ll wipe it out," Sven said. "We won''t capture it, we''ll destroy it. We''ll burn it to the ground. We''ll kill everything that has two legs, excluding chicken." "Fuck," said Henrik, deeply awed. "You best keep it to yourself for now," Sven said. "I''ll make it public when I get back from the tour." "How long will you be away?" "I''ll try to wrap everything up in two weeks. But it might take me up to three." "That''s half a year over there." "I know. We''ll go after those guys in the early spring. It will give us time to get a good picture. And it will give us the time we need to assemble a proper army." "How many?" "That depends on what you find out. But it won''t be less than forty." "Wow." "Yes," Sven said. "Olaf will throw a fit. Now let me take a look at those two stray puppies Lennart has taken in." The two stray puppies were resting in the cabin nearest the pier. That way, the pier sentry could keep an eye on the cabin''s door. They were rudely woken up by Sven, who conducted a quick interrogation. Satisfied with its outcome, he emerged from the cabin and stopped and looked at the moon which had just ascended into the sky. It was another clear night, and the moon looked gigantic above the black spires of the treetops. Its reflection on the lake''s waters glittered with a thousand moving lights. The wind, gentle that night, sighed among the trees of the forest. Sven and Henrik stood side by side silently, and drank in the atmosphere as if it were the finest wine. Henrik was the one who broke the mood. He said: "So you really want to go after a fucking governor? It''s really wild." "Keep your voice down," said Sven, glancing at the sentry''s silhouette on the pier. Then he looked at Henrik and added: "And keep your mouth shut. I had to tell you everything because you need to know why you''re scouting that place out." Henrik nodded. "I understand. I''ll make sure to find out everything that matters. Including if the sentries are allowed to go for a shit when they''re on duty. But are you sure we have to burn everything down?" "We have to," said Sven. A few moments later, he had to repeat those same exact words to Olaf Berg, at his farm. "Are you fucking crazy?" Olaf demanded. "We can''t do that!" "We have to." "But why? Why can''t we leave them be?" "Andersson''s settlement is sure to be located on the river. It commands the waterway to the sea, the waterway that has to be under our total control. We have to do it, Olaf." "But he''ll do everything to destroy us in revenge! And he''s a governor. He''ll be able to call on other governors for help." "He won''t be a governor after he''d lost his capital," Sven said. "He''ll be fired right away. Sonberg told me how the system works when he was begging me for help. If a governor''s district isn''t productive, he''s gone. And Andersson''s district will become extremely unproductive. In fact, it will cease to exist." "But they''ll nominate another governor." "Good luck to him, starting from scratch with a handicap." "He won''t be starting from scratch. He''ll just launch from the same spot as Andersson. He''ll have a ready-made settlement waiting for him." "He won''t. We''re going to raze it to the ground. And we''ll send our own people to the site. Make it look as if they''d just arrived, and are building a village." "He''ll chase them off." "With a bunch of naked, hungry guys? Use your brain, Olaf." "He''s bound to do something." "Of course. He''ll come begging us to help him, and we will. We''ll even pick the site for his new district capital. More, we''ll give him tools and clothes and food to get going." Olaf laughed. He gave Sven an admiring glance, then laughed again. "It might work," he said. "It''s totally crazy, but it might work." "It will work. He''ll become our pet, just like Sonberg." Olaf shook his head, and said: "It''s long way to the seacoast, Sven. There are going to be many more district capitals along the river. It''s a major waterway, an important one. We''re bound to run into this problem again." "When we do, we''ll solve it," said Sven. "Now listen. I''m going to be away for a couple of weeks..." He began to tell Olaf what he wanted to get done during his absence. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https:///book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 153 Sticks and Stones Samir jerked in his seat, and darted a look at the window: the window pane had cracked in a starburst centered on where the stone struck the glass. It had been small stone, small enough to penetrate the protective grid of thick wire fastened on the outside, but had hit with sufficient force to break a hole in the window pane. The shouts outside immediately sounded louder and more menacing. Samir turned away from the window, and looked at the Second Assistant to Deputy Governor of the Navi Mumbai district. The First Assistant was a small, roly-poly man with shining bald head. His face was half-obscured by a flamboyant mustache and enormous glasses with thick black plastic rims. In spite of the mustache, he didn''t look to be a particularly brave man. His posture suggested he was ready to dive under his desk. "It was just a pebble from a slingshot," Samir said reassuringly. The moment he finished speaking there was a loud thud as a big stone hit the wall of the building. The Second Assistant flinched, and exclaimed: "Where is the police? Where is the army? Why isn''t anyone protecting us?" Samir was diplomatically silent. The colonial office - located in a building which had been originally built as a school - was in fact protected by around a dozen security guards armed with batons and pepper spray. The guards had prudently chosen to retreat inside the building, but would no doubt act the moment anyone tried to force the door. Sensing a lack of sympathy for his fears, the Second Assistant grunted and resumed laboriously filling out the large form laid out before him, copying the entries from an identical form that he''d already filled out. The form contained information about Samir''s license, and it was needed in triplicate: one for Samir, one for the local colonial office, and one for the office of the Governor of the Navi Mumbai district. There were no working copiers at the office, and no carbon paper: each form had be filled out manually. It was a simple process, but it was made much longer by the clerk''s habit of of examining each new entry while frowning and sucking on his teeth. Samir sat patiently, congratulating himself on his foresight. He had arrived at the colonial office the previous afternoon, bearing parcels of food which he used to bribe the office personnel to let him stay the night inside the building. He was determined to be the first in line when the office started issuing colonial licenses the next morning, and he knew a couple of the former classrooms had been converted into dormitories. Close to half the office staff ate and slept at their place of work following the nearly total breakdown of services in the city. It didn''t work. There were at least a couple of hundred aspiring colonizers gathered outside who wanted licenses to trade colonial goods. The Deputy Governor was shouted down, and quickly retreated inside the building when the first stone hit the wall not far from his head. The forty lucky applicants that had been admitted into the office were processed by the Second, Third, and Fourth Assistant to the Deputy Governor responsible for the Karanja area, while the First Assistant strode importantly from room to room and desk to desk, checking on their work and uttering official-sounding grunts. Samir tensed whenever the First Assistant entered the room he was in, and so did the Second Assistant working on Samir''s license. The First Assistant had a threatening presence, which was likely the reason for which he''d appointed as a First and not Second or Third Assistant. Samir saw that the Second Assistant had completed filling out the final, third form, and was now busy reviewing it with a heavy frown. He took the risk of sliding his hand inside his shirt to scratch the itch left by the sticky tape he''d used to fasten plastic-wrapped bundles of banknotes to his body. He''d been literally wearing money when he arrived at the colonial office the previous day; 360,000 rupees amounted to a lot of banknotes. It took the clerk in charge of receiving payments over ten minutes to count them all, and write out a receipt that Samir handed to the Second Assistant along with his application for a colonizer''s license. He''d felt great joy when the Second Assistant began filling out the first form. It had been a long and difficult journey to get to this point. The last few days had been hellishly busy: both Samir and Rani had made several trips to the market every day, carrying sacks of food and returning with wads of money from its sale. Kulaba, their settlement in the New World, was almost completely cleaned out of food even though its entire population had been busy fishing, gathering, and hunting week after week. In the end, it was Neil - the new recruit - that saved the day. He managed to kill two antelopes and it was their meat, hurriedly smoked before being sent back home, that enabled Samir to purchase his license along with eight extra implant kits. He thought of the night when the glowing cube first appeared in the field outside his house: it seemed all that had taken place an eternity earlier. What a trip it had been! What an incredible journey! From a poor clerk living illegally in an abandoned house to a property owner, and a licensed colonizer! And everything in the space of just three months! The Second Assistant across the desk made a particularly loud sucking noise, startling Samir out of his reverie. He stacked the three filled-out forms on top of each other, and after a moment''s reflection pushed them towards Samir. "Sign each of these at the bottom," he said sternly, pointing to the spot. A sudden roar from the crowd outside made his hand tremble, and he withdrew it hastily. Samir signed the three forms and pushed them back towards the clerk, who rose heavily from his chair and said: "I''m taking them to the Deputy Governor for his signature. Wait here." Samir waited. There was a roar from the crowd outside, and the sound of a big engine. He rose and cautiously approached the broken window. Keeping to its side, he peered out. An army truck was slowly pushing into the mob, dispersing them to the sides. An officer wearing a red beret was standing behind the machine gun mounted on the driver''s cab. He was holding a megaphone in his hand, and as Samir looked on he raised it to his mouth. The crowd fell silent. Behind Samir''s back, the door to the room opened with a protesting squeal from its dry hinges. "What are you doing at that window? Are you mad?" exclaimed the Second Assistant. Samir turned round, and said: "It''s all right. The army is here. Listen." They both stood still and listened to the officer on the truck order the crowd to disperse. Colonial license applicants were to line up in an orderly fashion at the entrance. Anyone disobeying those instructions would be arrested. Any violence would be answered with violence, much stronger violence. The muttering that rose from the crowd after these last words was cut short by a burst of machine gun fire. Samir risked a quick peek outside, his eyes wide with apprehension. A wisp of smoke was curling from the gun''s barrel: it was pointed at the sky, everything was all right. The protesters had instantly become very well-behaved: a neat line was quickly forming at the entrance to the colonial office. Soldiers that had jumped out of the rear of the truck walked into view, holding their assault rifles at the ready. Samir looked at the Second Assistant and said: "He was just shooting into the air. It''s all right." The Second Assistant beamed at Samir. He walked up to his desk and put a single form into a plastic sleeve of the sort used in document binders. He held it out to Samir, and said: "This is your copy of the license. Please take good care of it. Take it to the registry, and show it there to receive your implant kits and hiber beds and a documentation scroll. I wish you very good luck in your colonization effort on behalf of the Governor of the Navi Mumbai district." "What about the mint papers?" asked Samir. "I was told I would receive a registered mint owner certificate along with the license." "You''ve registered a mint?" "Yes." "Here, in this office?" "No, at the town hall." "Then you must go to the town hall." "But they told me I would get it here." "They told you wrong," the Second Assistant said, frowning dangerously. "But - " "Did you pay the registration fee?" "Yes." "Do you have the receipt for that payment?" "Yes." "Then they cannot refuse to issue you with a certificate. You must go to the town hall. Now you must excuse me. I have many applicants waiting." "Goodbye, and thank you for all your help." "Goodbye." Things went fast at the registry. He showed his license, and was given ten implant kits along with two hiber beds and a documentation scroll. He put everything in his backpack, and went to collect his bicycle. He''d left it behind the building, in the enclosed courtyard where the office staff left their own vehicles. The two security guards by the double sheet metal gate opened it just wide enough for him to pass through. He wheeled his bicycle out into street, taking in the scene. Many of the faces in the lineup at the entrance turned his way; many eyes looked enviously at the bulging backpack strapped to his back. He was safe, there were soldiers stationed at intervals along the street. But there wouldn''t be any further on, and he had to cycle over four kilometers to get home. As he mounted his bike, Samir regretted he hadn''t brought anyone with him. But it really hadn''t been an option: everyone was too busy with food, producing it in the New World and sending it home. Sergeant Varma would be arriving the very next day, bringing seven of his men with him. Then there was the clerk at the town hall that had helped Samir acquire the rights to the house, and Paul Leduc, owner of the supermarket - they''d both been promised regular deliveries of food. And that wasn''t all. Samir also had to feed the builders Leduc had sent to work on his house, Madan and Kali, the four kids he''d recruited as colonists. Most importantly, he had to feed Rani, and himself... It really added up to a lot of food. No, he really couldn''t have taken anyone with him. Eighteen hours amounted to a full week in the New World, a hundred hours that could be spent fishing or hunting. He would just have to pedal hard and go as fast as he could on his bike, and hope no one guessed the contents of his backpack. And if worst came to worst, he''d have to make good use of the sturdy stick he''d taped to the top of the bike frame. Muttering a private prayer he stood on the pedals and took off, splashing through the small puddles scattered on the road. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https:///book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 154 The Lonely Leader No one had challenged him on his way home, although a couple of times he saw heads turn and felt many eyes following his progress as he pedaled furiously, making the bicycle go so fast he actually overtook an ancient, farting scooter. He told himself that only the people waiting at the entrance to the colonial office knew his backpack was full of implant kits, but it didn''t help much. Implant kits were destined to become very, very precious. The size of the crowd at the colonial office convinced Samir of that. There had been several hundred people there. Samir was sure that without the soldiers being present, they''d have thrown themselves at him and knocked him off his bike and robbed him. He felt very relieved when he finally turned onto the path that led to the front door of his house. It had seen plenty of traffic recently, and was rapidly turning into mud. He had to get it paved - maybe he could ask the men working on his house to help with that? But the workmen had other ideas. When Samir entered the house, they were standing around the unfinished staircase in a moody silence. The eyes that met Samir''s were full of grievance. "What''s the matter?" he asked right away. The foreman took a step forward, and said: "We have run out of blocks. We cannot finish the staircase." "Can''t you get more?" "We can, but concrete blocks are very heavy. And we have no transport." "Ask Mr Leduc to provide some. He told me he would provide your transport." "There is no free transport at the supermarket. They are very busy. It''s their first day of normal business after a long break. They''re very busy." "I heard that the first time around," snapped Samir. "It doesn''t make sense. What''s stopping you from borrowing a couple of carts for a few hours?" "They''re all very busy." "The carts are busy? The donkeys are busy?" "Yes." Samir laughed. It was a short, bitter laugh, the kind of laughter that follows an unpleasant discovery. "All right," he said. "What do you want to get this done?" The workmen all fell into silent contemplation. Finally the foreman said: "We will need to hire transport." "Can you do that?" "We will have to pay." "You mean I''ll have to pay," said Samir. "All right. I''m listening." "I think ten kilos of smoked meat," said the foreman. His men murmured in approval, and he added: "And maybe another ten of greens and fruit." "What makes you think I''ve got smoked meat?" "We could smell it." "That''s all gone. We''ve sold it. We hardly ate any ourselves." "Then you should get some more," said the foreman. There was another murmur of approval. "Come with me," he said, and led him to the storeroom. It was the room across from the one he used to share with Rani. Used to, because presently it acted as the communal kitchen and dining room. Samir and Rani slept in the storeroom; they''d moved the launch pad in Kulaba so that goods sent from there arrived in the far corner of the room. Rani and Samir slept under the room''s biggest, double window: even then, sometimes they found it hard to fall asleep because of the intense smell of all the food gathered in the room. It was strong enough to make the foreman stagger when he stepped inside. "You see?" said Samir. "Half a basket of mangoes, two baskets of greens, and some saltfish. That''s all we have right now." "You forgot about the air potatoes," said the foreman, pointing. "And you forgot that I already paid you with food for the whole week. Including tomorrow and Sunday." "I need the food to hire an ox cart," said the foreman cunningly. "I don''t need it for myself." "I see. And the cart''s owner told you he wanted smoked meat?" "Yes." It was such a stupid, brazen lie that Samir was speechless for a moment. But there was nothing he could do. Accusing the foreman of lying would only result in his acting offended, and refusing to cooperate. And Samir needed him to cooperate. He needed everyone to cooperate. He felt very alone when he realized that. Even Rani seemed to be in the other camp. "All right," he said to the foreman. "Take ten kilos of greens and air potatoes as initial payment, and I''ll make sure to have the meat by the time you''ve brought the blocks in. Agreed?" It was, after some haggling that substituted a kilo of greens for saltfish. Having dealt with that problem, Samir tackled another. He went to talk to Madan. The room Madan shared with Kali had a freshly installed door, and Samir saw that it was hung crooked. He would have to get the workers to fix that, and they would likely have more demands. Repeated knocking on the door produced no result, so Samir pushed it open and saw that both Madan and Kali were fast asleep. He shook Madan''s shoulder, then shook it again. On the third attempt, Madan finally opened his eyes. "We have to talk," Samir told him. "Join me in the room when you''re ready." ''The room'' meant the communal kitchen and dining room. It had automatically become the headquarters of the whole enterprise, thus confirming the old truth that most new ventures are launched around the kitchen table. While he was waiting for Madan, Samir quickly ate some cold rice with chutney and - after a short hesitation - a strip of smoked antelope meat from the wicker box at the very back of the kitchen larder. He was brewing a pot of tea when Madan entered, drops of water from his wake-up wash glistening on his forehead. To Samir''s surprise, Madan seemed to be in an excellent mood: recent experiences had made Samir expect fresh problems everywhere he looked. It turned out Madan had a very good reason for his high spirits. "I am proud to tell you, my friend, that we now have metal tools in Kulaba," he announced right away. "We have a bronze hammer, and two bronze knives. I am working on a pair of tongs. And Neil has brought in another antelope. That boy is an excellent hunter." "That''s good," Samir said. "I need ten kilos of smoked meat right away." And he told Madan about the workers'' ultimatum. He didn''t get any sympathy; Madan pooh-poohed his difficulties. "Don''t worry about anything, my friend, everything will work out fine," he declared. Samir shot him a suspicious glance. He had found out in the meantime that Madan was fond of smoking a little hashish from time to time, and had brought a small supply with him when he moved from Khalapur. "Are you high?" he asked. Madan immediately became offended. "I am not high," he said. "I only smoke a little in the evening. You have no idea how wonderful it is to work with metal tools. We are going to make fantastic progress from now on." "Hopefully, by the end of the year we''ll enter Iron Age." "There''s no need for sarcasm," Madan said stiffly. "We''ve taken a great step forward." Samir nodded. "I''m sorry," he said. "From stone to bronze - it''s more than a step, it''s a leap. What about the huts for Varma and his soldiers?" "We haven''t completed any yet. We were too busy with food." "They''re arriving today. They''ll be here by the evening." "They''re soldiers," Madan said. "They''re tough. They''ll survive sleeping out in the open for a few nights." "I hope so," Samir said. "Listen, I have to go to the town hall. I need you to stay awake, and supervise everything here while I''m gone. Can you do that?" "Why do you have to go to the town hall?" "To get the certificate for our mint. It''s time it became operational." "Good move," agreed Madan. "I''ve minted a couple of coins in Kulaba. Well not really coins, just discs of metal. It was just an experiment to see what''s involved. I made a couple of rough clay dies. But they both fell apart after making a single copper coin. I need to make proper dies, from hard-baked clay. It will take a while." "I still want to get that certificate today." "You should go and talk to that neighbor of yours, Sunil, before you go." "Why?" "He was here this morning. He was upset you were away. He said you promised him implants for his whole family today. They are all waiting to join us in Kulaba." "Well, they''ll have to wait a little more. I''ll see him when I get back from the town hall. Tell him that if he comes around again." "There''s one other thing," Madan said, suddenly becoming grave. Samir felt like groaning out loud. He had already started to hope he would get away without being confronted by another problem. "What is it?" he demanded. "Neil says there are other people, other settlers around Kulaba. He says he came across an old campsite." "Did he go to the valley where we found the dead girl?" "No, no. That''s much too far away. He went to the place where the antelopes graze. It''s just a few hours'' fast walk from Kulaba. He didn''t see any antelopes so he went a little further and he came across signs that a couple of people had been there recently. That''s what he says." "What signs?" "A campsite. He says he saw the remains of a fire, and a couple of spots had been cleared for laying down. And he came across some human shit nearby. He says it was no more than a couple of days old." Samir''s mouth went dry. He tried to swallow, and couldn''t. Madan reached out and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. "It was bound to happen sooner or later, my friend," he said. "It was bound to happen." Samir looked at him, nodded gloomily, and said: "When I was at the colonial office, I found out there will be forty colonies in our district. And from what I saw, there will also be hundreds or thousands of free colonists, all looking for food." Madan patted his shoulder. "Go," he said. "Go and take care of that business at the town hall, and return as soon as you can. I''ll keep an eye on things here in the meantime." Samir was on the point of leaving when he was struck by a new thought. He stopped in front of the door and turned around and said: "Madan?" "Yes?" "Do you have enough bronze to make a few weapons?" Madan narrowed his eyes, and looked away from Samir. "I was planning to make a few tools first," he said. "Shovels, hoes, a pick, some proper fish hooks. But I can probably make a couple of ax heads first. We need axes anyway, and they can be used as weapons." He faced Samir again, and Samir saw that Madan was really distressed. "Is it really necessary, Samir?" he asked. "Does meeting other people have to be bad? Maybe they''ll be nice people. Maybe some will want to join us, in our colony." "Maybe we don''t want that," Samir said. "We have up to sixteen new colonists joining us by Sunday. Sergeant Varma and seven of his men. And I told him to make sure every man has a woman." Madan didn''t respond, and his silence was making Samir feel bad. He said abruptly: "I''ll try to be back fast. We''ll talk more when I return." He felt very alone when he left the room, and shut the door behind him with more force than was necessary. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https:///book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 155 The Emperors New Bodyguard It was a very wise move. The clerk who received the food became very helpful. Samir had the mint certificate in his pocket before an hour had passed. He also got some unasked-for advice from the clerk. "You will have to work very hard to make your mint a success, my friend," the clerk told him. "There are over three hundred mints registered in our area. I believe the total for all of Mumbai is over fifty thousand mints. You aren''t going to find any scrap metal for your mint, either. Not around here, and probably it''s the same everywhere else." "I have a source," Samir told him. "I hope it is a good source," the clerk said. After a pause, he added: "Last week, the army shot three men who were trying to steal a drum of cable." "I don''t need or intend to steal anything." "Things change," the clerk said mystically. "Things always change." The clerk''s verdict made Samir feel vaguely unhappy. He didn''t really feel like going home right away. He wanted to be alone for a while. He tried to think of the last time when he met with other people simply to have fun. For the past couple of months, practically every conversation involved solving a problem. There was a man selling small packs of cigarettes off a wooden tray right outside the town hall entrance, and he was taking old money. Samir had a couple of hundred-rupee notes in his trouser pocket, and decided he''d buy a pack. He wasn''t a smoker, although he didn''t refuse a cigarette offered by someone else when he was drinking. The last time he had smoked a cigarette was at the Christmas party at work. Mr Go always threw Christmas parties for his employees. Everyone got a paper plate with a few spoonfuls of food, and a bottle of Kingfisher beer. Suddenly, Samir felt a great longing for those times. Maybe a cigarette would help? After a lot of haggling, he managed to purchase a pack. The seller wanted three hundred rupees; he told Samir he was saving up money to buy a colonist''s license. His disclosure put Samir in a bad mood. He got on his bike, and pedaled until he came to the turnoff that led directly to his house. A large tree was growing on that corner, and in its shade a very old man sat on a wooden bench, smoking a cigarette. Samir asked him for a light, and sat down beside him. For a while they smoked in silence, sitting side by side. Suddenly the old man said: "So you''re Samir Sharma." Samir had been smoking in a comfortable hunch, his forearms resting on his knees. He jerked straight and turned to look at the old man. He was sure he''d never met him before. "How do you know my name?" he asked. The old man grinned. He was missing a couple of teeth in his upper jaw, and somehow that made his grin seem evil. He said: Samir uttered a joyless, short laugh. "Famous? You must be pulling my leg. Famous for what?" "You are prospering at a time when others are becoming destitute." That didn''t sound good at all. That promised trouble, and Samir was quick to say: "Oh yes, I am very prosperous. So prosperous that I had to haggle for a long time to buy those cigarettes. My pockets are full of money. See?" He pulled the side pocket of his trousers out. The only thing it contained was a bit of fluff that had stuck to the bottom seam. Samir pinched it between his fingers and held it up in front of the old man''s face. "Gold," he said. "Finest gold." He flicked the fluff away, and pulled on his cigarette. The old man said: "You bought your house. You have people working on it. You have plenty of food. You have been to the New World." "Who told you that?" The old man shrugged, and turned his face away from Samir''s. "Everyone around here knows those things," he said. He bent down and stubbed out his cigarette on the ground: he''d already burned it down to the filter. Samir took out the small pack of Player''s Medium that he''d bought. He slid a cigarette half-out and offered it to the old man. "Thank you," the old man said, and stuck the cigarette behind his ear. Samir asked: "The men working on my house have been talking?" "I haven''t seen your workmen," the old man said with great dignity, the kind of dignity that''s often used to cover a lie. Samir nodded in acknowledgement; he didn''t trust himself to speak. The old man had to know what the workmen looked like in order to say he hadn''t seen them. Samir was very tempted to point that out, and make a fool of the old man. But he''d already learned the first rule of ruling: do not make new enemies unless it''s absolutely necessary. So he got back on his bike without comment, and even waved goodbye toi the old man as he pushed off. It was wasted: the old man was busy examining the cigarette Samir had given him, probably expecting to find gold and diamonds inside. As he rode his bike home, Samir digested his newfound knowledge. Everyone was talking about him! He was famous! Wasn''t that something to be happy about? It wasn''t, not for Samir. Rani had showed up for their very first date with a cheap magazine devoted to celebrity gossip sticking out of the flat basket she used for a handbag. When Samir had noticed that magazine, he said: "Don''t you feel sorry for all those celebrities?" It had been the right thing to say. Rani had had a number of first dates with various men prior to meeting Samir, but this definitely was an original conversation opener. She was intrigued. She said: "Why should I feel sorry for them? They have it so good that I envy them." "That''s exactly why you should feel sorry for them," Samir told her. "Just imagine what it is to be like, being envied by everyone. Everyone hates you. Everyone lies to you. Everyone is after your money. People pretend to be your friends because they want to give their careers a boost or for some other profit. And you cannot move anywhere without people recognizing you. By the end of the day, your face aches from all that smiling." Rani laughed. "I never thought about it this way," she said. Emboldened by her laugh, Samir continued: "It doesn''t stop there. If you''re really wealthy and famous, you run a great risk of being imprisoned, sometimes even executed. History books have plenty of examples. If you have any children, chances are that someone''s thinking about kidnapping them for ransom at any given time. And - " "Stop," Rani said, laughing. Much later, she told Samir that this was when she''d started to fall in love with him. Of course, a lot of what Samir had said to Rani on the subject of fame was pure affectation. But there was a core of truth in what he told her. He truly wasn''t ever hungry for fame, and he thought that people who craved fame were stupid. Fame wasn''t a blessing, it was a curse. And so, he didn''t enjoy in the least the news that he''d become famous. His face was dark with worry when he got off his bike in front of his house. As it turned out, that was a stroke of good luck. Sergeant Arjun Varma was waiting for him inside the house. Sergeant Varma informed Samir that he and his men were more than ready to to replicate in the New World. Glancing at Samir''s worried face, he added: "I would also like to ask your permission for me and my men to camp on your property." "What? What do you mean, camp on my property?" Sergeant Varma became fidgety. In fact, he was acting a little as if Samir was his commanding officer. He was practically standing at attention when he said: "We have been ordered to seek our own food and lodging by the high command." "By who? What command?" "Our regimental commander said the army cannot afford to pay or feed us any more." "I saw some soldiers today," Samir said. "They looked well-fed and generally satisfied to me." "It doesn''t affect all the units. They''re cutting a regiment from every brigade." "It doesn''t make sense. There''s no shortage of work for soldiers, these days." "We''re on call-up. They''ll send for us when they need us. That''s what they told us." "So basically, you want to live here now." "That''s correct." The magic of chance! Had Samir not bought a pack of cigarettes, he wouldn''t have stopped to have a smoke on his way home, would have never had the enlightening conversation with the old man. The prospect of having Varma and his men living on the premises would have dismayed him. It made him happy. Having a bodyguard of eight professional soldiers was the right thing to have when one became a local celebrity. Within minutes, him and the sergeant had everything worked out. The soldiers would bring tents, and pitch them along the lane connecting the plot to the road. And they would start construction of a wooden barracks on the western edge of Samir''s property. Sergeant Varma was overjoyed that Samir had proven to be so agreeable. He had been expecting difficulties, great difficulties when he saw Samir''s troubled face. He declared Samir would never regret his decision. When he was about to leave, he added in a conspiratorial manner: "I''ll be bringing five implant kits. We confiscated them yesterday and didn''t get the chance to turn them in, you understand." "I do," Samir said. "Believe me, I can understand almost everything now." Sergeant Varma smiled. "I am so glad," he said. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https:///book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 156 Bandits and Thieves It was a funny thing, but Old World problems always felt unimportant in the New World. They seemed unreal. Yes, he had to talk to Rani right here, in the house, in Mumbai. She''d gone to the market like she did every day, and she''d taken Amrita with her. She was always back by late afternoon; Samir was determined to wait for her return. He forced himself to walk around the house and slapped his face and even smoked another cigarette. But it had made him even more sleepy instead of perking him up. So he made himself a pot of very strong tea and drank it with lots of sugar, feeling guilty. Both tea and sugar were in short supply. When he spotted Rani and Amrita coming down the lane to the house, he very nearly ran out to meet them halfway. But he stopped himself when he saw that they were bringing back nearly half the goods they''d taken to sell - something had gone seriously wrong. "It''s all changed," Rani told him a few minutes later, after they''d put everything back in the storeroom and she sat down with a mug of tea. "They''ve put barriers all around the market, and there are policemen keeping watch. Everyone comes and goes through a single entrance that''s guarded by soldiers who ask for documents. All traders must show a license to get in." "You didn''t get in?" Rani shook her head. "We went all the way to the market in Khopate, but it was exactly the same," she said. "No license, no entry. So I just sold what I could along the way." "I can''t believe this!" exclaimed Samir. "You couldn''t find enough buyers to sell everything?" "Exactly," Rani said. "I couldn''t find buyers. No one had any money to pay with. You told me to only accept payment in the new currency. Look at this." And she put a small handful of coins on the table, saying: "One rupee and fifty-one paise." Samir was so shocked he didn''t know what to say. He prodded the coins with his finger, noting that they were pretty crude. "Did you get everything done at the colonial office?" asked Rani. "What? Yes, yes. I got all the papers, you''ll be able to show your license at the market tomorrow. Wait a moment. You''ll have to show it every time you go there?" "No, just once. They issue special tokens to licensed traders. Of course you have to pay for them." "How much?" "One new rupee." "The thieves," Samir said through clenched teeth. "The bandits. Bandits and thieves!" "I can''t believe this," Samir said. He prodded the coins again, scattering them on the table. "They were supposed to start paying people guaranteed income today! And no one had any money?" "They pay them with promissory notes." "Promissory notes!?" "Yes. They get slips of papers with a declaration that the world government promises to pay the bearer ten rupees exactly a year from now. They are stamped and signed and what people are doing is they go to their local store, and deposit them there on account." "On account? What are you talking about? Ten rupees is nothing!" "It''s a lot of money now," Rani said gently. "One of those new rupees is worth a hundred old ones. That''s why they''ve brought back the paisa. They''re even making half-paisa coins, look." She pointed at the coins scattered on the table. "It may not look much, but it''s a lot of money," she said. "Especially because the shopkeepers charge double when someone''s paying with those paper slips." Samir''s mind went blank. His mental fuse blew because of information overload. He looked at the coins scattered on the table and at Rani and at the coins again. "I must have a cigarette," he said, and pulled out the small pack of Players. "You''ve started smoking!?" "Just today. Rani, I had an exhausting day. Constant tension, one problem after another. I went through hell." And he told her about crowd at the colonial office, the visit to the town hall, and the workers'' blackmail. "What''s worst of all," he said, "They''ve been going around and telling people we''re rich. But sergeant Varma will be here to protect us." "Varma will be living with us?" "It''s not that bad. He won''t be sleeping in the house." And Samir explained that the sergeant and his men would have separate accommodation. "Varma has access to military supplies," he concluded. "So they''ll be bringing a week''s worth of rations and tools and some construction materials. They''ll be building a barracks." "I hope the workers will install good locks in our new doors," Rani said sourly. "What are you going to do now?" "I need to get some sleep. And I need to visit Kulaba to check on things." "That''s a very good idea," Rani told him. "Madan has been getting above himself lately. He''s taken to ordering everyone around as if he was the one running the colony." There was a short, uncomfortable silence. "I think I''d better go now," Samir said finally. Rani didn''t speak. He went to the storeroom and closed the door and lay down on the silvery mat - - he was walking a few steps behind Neil, and his legs hurt - they''d been walking for a long time. New information streamed into his mind as he reconnected with his New World self: they''d set out of Kulaba to examine the campsite Neil had found earlier. They had found it, spent the night there, and decided to explore further the next day. They had climbed a small rise just after midday, and spotted smoke far, far away. Samir had decided that they had to investigate, and a couple of hours later they came across two corpses of little children. They had died of hunger and dehydration. Neil was very shaken by this discovery, and wanted to turn back. But Samir decided they would continue at least until the end of the day. He looked at the sun: it was no later than three in the afternoon. They were walking over fairly flat ground overgrown with sparse, waist-high grass. Scattered shrubs and trees, a couple of birds circling lazily high up in the sky, and total silence. Samir couldn''t see the smoke any more; it had disappeared. He looked left, he looked right, and had an idea. "Neil," he said. Neil stopped, and turned round. Samir pointed at big tree growing around fifty paces away to the right. "Think you can climb that tree?" he asked. The lowest bough was at least three meters off the ground. "If you let me stand on your shoulders, yes," said Neil. It wasn''t pleasant: Neil stank of sweat and dirt. At one point, his foot dangled right in front of Samir''s nose, making him gag. Samir reflected he likely smelled as badly as Neil did; he didn''t feel it because everyone got used to and accepted their own stink, on both physical and psychological levels. Me smell fine, me do no wrong: it was impossible to get on and through one''s own life without that belief. It took Neil a while to climb to the top of the tree: he ran into a column of ants along the way, ants that were highly resentful of his presence. After much yelping and cursing he was able to get around this obstacle, and soon afterward he called: "I can''t see anything!" "Look harder!" Samir shouted. Something was pressing into the small of his back. He reached round and found he had a knife strapped to his belt! He slid it around to the front. It was sheathed in rough hide, and it wasn''t big - when Samir pulled it out, the blade didn''t even reach across his palm. But it was metal! Matte, dark brown metal pocked with many tiny holes, but metal! And the blade was sharp, all right - Samir tested it with his thumb and a thin red line appeared instantly. Sucking on his wounded thumb, he waited for Neil''s report. It wasn''t coming. Instead, he heard Neil moving among the branches: a few dead leaves fluttered down. It sounded as if Neil was climbing down. What was he thinking? "Hey!" Samir called out. A branch shook violently, and Neil''s face appeared in the foliage, still quite high up. He was holding a finger to his lips! Samir dropped to a crouch, his right hand on the hilt of his new knife. Neil''s bow and throwing spear were propped up against the trunk of the tree, and he grabbed the spear and glanced around wildly. No one and nothing within a couple of hundred paces; but he could hear sounds now, gentle rustling sounds - it was impossible to tell whether they were caused by Neil or by someone else, someone or something out of Samir''s sight. Gripping the spear tightly, he waited. Finally Neil dropped to the ground with a soft thump. He wiped the palms of his hands on his hips and looked at Samir and said softly: "There are some people coming our way. I could just see their heads and shoulders but I think they don''t have any clothes. There are four or five of them and there is at least one woman. They will be here in a few moments and they''ll see us if we don''t hide now." "How far away are they?" Samir whispered. "By now, no more than a hundred paces. What do we do?" NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https:///book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 157 The Long and Winding Road To Your Home "Follow me. Try to make no noise. If you want to communicate something, tap my shoulder. Let''s go." Crouching, he began moving towards a big shrub growing on a small rise in the ground. After a few steps he glanced round to see that Neil following him exactly as instructed. The boy was good, he made practically no sound - he was actually stealthier than Samir himself! It had been a very good move to recruit him. Samir picked a course that minimized disturbing the tall grass. When he reached the rise, he dropped flat and gestured at Neil to do the same. They crawled over the rise, turned round, crawled a few steps back and hid behind the shrub. Samir reached out and parted a couple of branches: he could now safely watch the scene while staying undetected. He spotted the strangers right away. They were crossing a relatively bare patch of ground less than a hundred paces away, walking in Samir''s direction, in the direction of Kulaba! Something would have to be done to make them change their course. But as Samir watched the small group draw closer, he began to doubt it would get anywhere near Kulaba. The travelers were on their last feet. They took small, short steps and as Samir watched, one of them staggered and came close to falling down. He counted them: five, three men and two women. One man and one woman were still teenagers. They seemed to be coping better than the others. They were walking at the rear of the group, likely following orders from an older and supposedly wiser leader. They had to stop frequently to avoid running into the people in front. Samir decided the two teenagers were the most dangerous of the whole group. He glanced at Neil and saw that the boy had his bow ready. He whispered: "Don''t stand up and show yourself when I do. Stay hidden, and take aim at that young man at the back. He''ll be the biggest danger if there''s any trouble." Neil''s eyes grew wide with apprehension, but he nodded obediently. Samir added: "I don''t think there''ll be any trouble. And if there''s a fight, we''ll win: they look exhausted. I think I can resolve this peacefully. But if it turns out I am wrong, don''t hesitate. Act. Remember, the young man at the back." "I''m not sure I can hit him," whispered Neil. "This bow - " "Yes, yes. I know. Do your best. And I''ll do my best so that there isn''t any fighting." They waited, watching the strangers approach. They were in no mood to climb even the slightest rise in the ground. They changed their course slightly to pass maybe twenty paces to Samir''s left. The grass grew higher and in greater abundance there, and he decided he would challenge the strangers earlier, before they drew level. He turned his head and whispered to Neil: Then he swiftly crawled a few steps away from Neil and stood up, leaving his throwing spear lying on the ground. They didn''t notice him! Their eyes were fixed on the ground, they were completely focused on taking small, baby steps. Samir had a brainwave: the terrain here was much harsher than around Kulaba. There was plenty of small, sharp stones, plenty of dry, thorny twigs. The strangers were stark naked, and it was unlikely they had any footwear. It was very likely the soles of their feet were covered with wounds. In any of them tried to run, they wouldn''t get far. Samir cleared his throat. Nothing! No one looked at him. Incredible! He cleared his throat again, and said loudly: "Stop. Stop now, all of you. You''re on my territory." They stopped immediately - they''d probably been thinking all along of stopping. Their hands flew to their crotches: the two women raised arms to cover their breasts. They all stared at Samir, who had to make an effort to give them a reasonably friendly smile. He said: "Who are you? Where did you come from? What are you looking for?" One of the men in front of the group was visibly older than the others. His hair had receded from his forehead, and there were deep grooves running down around his mouth. He carried himself proudly in spite of his misery, and obviously was the leader of the group. Samir pointed at him, and said: "You. Answer me." The man opened his mouth, but all that emerged was a rasping wheeze. Samir reached back and brought his waterskin round to the front and slung it off his shoulder. He took out the stopper, and made a show of pouring water into his mouth. It was a brilliant move. It instantly hypnotized the strangers into total obedience. Not one of them would be even thinking of running away. Samir held out the waterskin by its strap, and said to the group''s leader: "Come closer." They all started shuffling closer, eyes fixed on the waterskin. Samir stooped, and picked up the throwing spear. "Stop, or there''ll be trouble," he said sternly. "Everyone will get a drink, I promise. Neil? Come over here." Neil emerged from behind the shrub, bow at the ready. He slowly walked to stop by Samir''s side. "No funny business," Samir said. It had been the favorite phrase of his supervisor at work, back in a bygone era. He handed the waterskin to the group''s leader, saying: "Have a drink and pass it back to the others. And start telling me what I want to know. Who are you, and where are you from?" The man drank noisily, taking several gulps before passing the waterskin to a woman whose hands shook when she took it. He said: "We''re from Jambulphada. There is plenty of water in Jambulphada. But there wasn''t any here when we arrived! They lied to us. They told us the New World was a copy of what we have back home! They told us there was plenty of water and wild foods!" The rest of the group murmured in agreement. The woman who had just drank from the waterskin said: "We spent a full day looking for water around the place we arrived in. We didn''t find any, and we found very little food." The leader silenced her with an outstretched hand. He didn''t like her stealing his show. He said: "I decided we should head west. I was sure we would come across the government settlement if we kept going west. And I was right!" He glanced back at the others triumphantly. Samir said: "You were wrong. You haven''t found a government settlement. This is a private colony. My colony." There was a short but heavy silence, broken only by the gurgling noises made by the teenagers at the back of the group: Samir''s waterskin had finally reached them. Samir didn''t doubt it would be completely empty by the time he got it back. He wasn''t worried: Neil''s waterskin was more than half full, and there was running water, a small river, within a four-hour walk. But one had to know which way to go; if the unlucky colonists from Jambulphada kept on their course, they''d pass the river without ever seeing it. The leader of the group said: "We are very sorry, sir. We did not know this land belongs to your colony." Samir nodded graciously. "What do you do, back at home?" he asked. The leader told him he was a caretaker at a primary school: he had his wife with him, and she was a teacher. The other adult man was the wife''s brother. Back home, he''d been employed as an electrician''s assistant. The two teenagers were the leader''s nephew and niece. They had already finished school and had held jobs of their own, until recently. The boy had worked in a motorcycle repair shop, and the girl worked at a neighborhood farm. They had all purchased colonist licenses - implant kits accompanied by a few pages of basic documentation. They had saved and scrimped to do that, and sold off whatever belongings they could. They had been led to believe the New World was a paradise waiting with open arms. Plentiful food, no dangerous animals or poisonous insects, no diseases! They were close to collapsing from dehydration when they met Samir. They were hungry and desperate. They begged Samir to let them join his colony. They promised to obey him, and work very hard indeed. All they wanted was enough food to keep on living, both in the New World and back home. Please! Please, sir! Samir felt really good listening to their pleas. Power is a very strong, very enjoyable narcotic, and he was far from immune to its charms. He no longer had to put any effort into his smile. He turned to Neil, and asked him: "What do you think, Neil? Tell me." A fresh chorus immediately rose, telling Neil he had the kindest heart in the entire universe. Samir frowned, and said: "All right. Enough of that. I will demand you to swear an oath of allegiance." They were all ready to swear it to such a benevolent lord. They were ready to swear it right away! "No," Samir said sternly. "It is a very special ceremony. And it will only take place once you''ve proved your loyalty." "Our lives are in your hands," said the leader''s wife dramatically. It was music in Samir''s ears, all the more because it was true. "All right," he said, after a suitable silence had passed. "I will take you in as my colonists. For a period of probation. If you fail to prove yourselves..." He paused. It dawned on him he''d failed to devise a system of penalties. Madan and his religion nonsense! What the colony needed was a penal code. He felt angry he hadn''t thought of that earlier. He glared at the supplicants before him, and said: "You better prove yourselves. You better prove yourselves!" Once again, an enthusiastic chorus promised him hard work and total obedience. "Good," he said. "Neil, we''re going home. We''ll stop tonight at the river," he added, winking with the eye that was hidden from his new recruits. He turned to face them, and added: "We will share our food with you when we stop for the night. You will be able to drink as much as you want to, and to wash. We will reach one of my settlements tomorrow." He turned to Neil and winked again and Neil winked back. He was a bright boy, and he understood the importance of returning home by a roundabout route, just in case. Samir said: "All right, let''s get going. Neil, you''ll lead the way." NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https:///book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 157 The Long and Winding Road "Follow me. Try to make no noise. If you want to communicate something, tap my shoulder. Let''s go." Crouching, he began moving towards a big shrub growing on a small rise in the ground. After a few steps he glanced round to see that Neil following him exactly as instructed. The boy was good, he made practically no sound - he was actually stealthier than Samir himself! It had been a very good move to recruit him. Samir picked a course that minimized disturbing the tall grass. When he reached the rise, he dropped flat and gestured at Neil to do the same. They crawled over the rise, turned round, crawled a few steps back and hid behind the shrub. Samir reached out and parted a couple of branches: he could now safely watch the scene while staying undetected. He spotted the strangers right away. They were crossing a relatively bare patch of ground less than a hundred paces away, walking in Samir''s direction, in the direction of Kulaba! Something would have to be done to make them change their course. But as Samir watched the small group draw closer, he began to doubt it would get anywhere near Kulaba. The travelers were on their last feet. They took small, short steps and as Samir watched, one of them staggered and came close to falling down. He counted them: five, three men and two women. One man and one woman were still teenagers. They seemed to be coping better than the others. They were walking at the rear of the group, likely following orders from an older and supposedly wiser leader. They had to stop frequently to avoid running into the people in front. Samir decided the two teenagers were the most dangerous of the whole group. He glanced at Neil and saw that the boy had his bow ready. He whispered: "Don''t stand up and show yourself when I do. Stay hidden, and take aim at that young man at the back. He''ll be the biggest danger if there''s any trouble." Neil''s eyes grew wide with apprehension, but he nodded obediently. Samir added: "I don''t think there''ll be any trouble. And if there''s a fight, we''ll win: they look exhausted. I think I can resolve this peacefully. But if it turns out I am wrong, don''t hesitate. Act. Remember, the young man at the back." "I''m not sure I can hit him," whispered Neil. "This bow - " "Yes, yes. I know. Do your best. And I''ll do my best so that there isn''t any fighting." They waited, watching the strangers approach. They were in no mood to climb even the slightest rise in the ground. They changed their course slightly to pass maybe twenty paces to Samir''s left. The grass grew higher and in greater abundance there, and he decided he would challenge the strangers earlier, before they drew level. He turned his head and whispered to Neil: Then he swiftly crawled a few steps away from Neil and stood up, leaving his throwing spear lying on the ground. They didn''t notice him! Their eyes were fixed on the ground, they were completely focused on taking small, baby steps. Samir had a brainwave: the terrain here was much harsher than around Kulaba. There was plenty of small, sharp stones, plenty of dry, thorny twigs. The strangers were stark naked, and it was unlikely they had any footwear. The soles of their feet were probably covered with wounds. In any of them tried to run, they wouldn''t get far. Samir cleared his throat. Nothing! No one looked at him. Incredible! He cleared his throat again, and said loudly: "Halt! Stop now, all of you. You''re on my territory." They stopped immediately - they''d probably wanted to stop for a long, long time. Their hands flew to their crotches: the two women raised arms to cover their breasts. They all stared at Samir, who had to make an effort to give them a reasonably friendly smile. He said: "Who are you? Where did you come from? What are you looking for?" One of the men in front of the group was visibly older than the others. His hair had receded from his forehead, and there were deep grooves running down around his mouth. He carried himself proudly in spite of his misery, and obviously was the leader of the group. Samir pointed at him, and said: "You. Answer me." The man opened his mouth, but all that emerged was a rasping wheeze. Samir reached back and brought his waterskin round to the front and slung it off his shoulder. He took out the stopper, and made a show of pouring water into his mouth. It was a brilliant move. It instantly hypnotized the strangers into total obedience. Not one of them would be even thinking of running away. Samir held out the waterskin by its strap, and said to the group''s leader: "Come closer." They all started shuffling closer, eyes fixed on the waterskin. Samir stooped, and picked up the throwing spear. "Stop, or there''ll be trouble," he said sternly. "Everyone will get a drink, I promise. Neil? Come over here." Neil emerged from behind the shrub, bow at the ready. He slowly walked to stop by Samir''s side. "No funny business," Samir said. It had been the favorite phrase of his supervisor at work, back in a bygone era. He handed the waterskin to the group''s leader, saying: "Have a drink and pass it back to the others. And start telling me what I want to know. Who are you, and where are you from?" The man drank noisily, taking several gulps before passing the waterskin to a woman whose hands shook when she took it. He said: "We''re from Jambulphada. There is plenty of water in Jambulphada. But there wasn''t any here when we arrived! They lied to us. They told us the New World was a copy of what we have back home! They told us there was plenty of water and wild foods!" The rest of the group murmured in agreement. The woman who had just drank from the waterskin said: "We spent a full day looking for water around the place we arrived in. We didn''t find any, and we found very little food." The leader silenced her with an outstretched hand. He didn''t like her stealing his show. He said: "I decided we should head west. I was sure we would come across the government settlement if we kept going west. And I was right!" He glanced back at the others triumphantly. Samir said: "You were wrong. You haven''t found a government settlement. This is a privately owned colony. My colony." There was a short but heavy silence, broken only by the gurgling noises made by the teenagers at the back of the group: Samir''s waterskin had finally reached them. Samir didn''t doubt it would be completely empty by the time he got it back. He wasn''t worried: Neil''s waterskin was more than half full, and there was running water, a small river, within a four-hour walk. But one had to know which way to go; if the unlucky colonists from Jambulphada kept on their course, they''d pass the river without ever seeing it. The leader of the group said: "We are very sorry, sir. We did not know this land belongs to your colony." Samir nodded graciously. "What do you do, back at home?" he asked. The leader told him he was a caretaker at a primary school: he had his wife with him, and she was a teacher. The other adult man was the wife''s brother. Back home, he''d been employed as an electrician''s assistant. The two teenagers were the leader''s nephew and niece. They had already finished school and had held jobs of their own, until recently. The boy had worked in a motorcycle repair shop, and the girl at a neighborhood farm. They had all purchased colonist licenses - implant kits accompanied by a few pages of basic documentation. They had saved and scrimped to do that, and sold off whatever belongings they could. They had been led to believe the New World was a paradise waiting with open arms. Plentiful food, no dangerous animals or poisonous insects, no diseases! They were close to collapsing from dehydration when they met Samir. They were hungry and desperate. They begged Samir to let them join his colony. They promised to obey him, and work very hard indeed. All they wanted was enough food to keep on living, both in the New World and back home. Please! Please, sir! Samir felt really good listening to their pleas. Power is a very strong, very enjoyable narcotic, and he was far from immune to its charms. He no longer had to put any effort into his smile. He turned to Neil, and asked him: "What do you think, Neil? Tell me." A fresh chorus immediately rose, telling Neil he had the kindest heart in the entire universe. Samir frowned, and said: "All right. Enough of that. I will demand you to swear an oath of allegiance." They were all ready to swear it to such a benevolent lord. They were ready to swear it right away! "No," Samir said sternly. "It is a very special ceremony. And it will only take place once you''ve proved your usefulness and your loyalty." "Our lives are in your hands," said the leader''s wife dramatically. It was music in Samir''s ears, all the more because it was true. "All right," he said, after a suitable silence had passed. "I will take you in as my colonists. For a period of probation. If you fail to prove yourselves..." He paused. It dawned on him he''d failed to devise a system of penalties. Madan and his religion nonsense! What the colony needed was a penal code. He felt angry he hadn''t thought of that earlier. He glared at the supplicants before him, and said: "You better prove yourselves. You better prove yourselves!" Once again, an enthusiastic chorus promised him hard work and total obedience. "Good," he said. "Neil, we''re going home. We''ll stop tonight at the river," he added, winking with the eye that was hidden from his new recruits. He turned to face them, and added: "We will share our food with you when we stop for the night. You will be able to drink as much as you want to, and to wash. We will reach one of my settlements tomorrow." He turned to Neil and winked again and Neil winked back. He was a bright boy, and he understood the importance of returning home by a roundabout route, just in case. Samir said: "All right, let''s get going. Neil, you''ll lead the way." NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https:///book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 158 A Change of Hear At first his new colonists limited themselves to whispers between each other. The whispers gradually grew louder and more frequent. Soon, his new recruits were speaking quite openly. They went so far as to glance at Samir, as if to make sure he''d heard what they''d said! It was impertinence of the highest order. They said they were thirsty. They said they were hungry. They were exhausted! There were unpleasant comments about Samir''s leadership, totally unfair because after all it was Neil who was leading the group - Samir had stayed at its rear. He wanted to keep an eye on his new recruits, and Neil knew the way well enough. It was a bright, starry night and when the moon rose, the extra light seemed to embolden the new colonists further. The teenage boy expressed doubt if Samir''s settlement existed. The caretaker''s wife, the teacher, declared that they might all be walking to their perdition. She seemed to have a penchant for drama. Samir was sorely tempted to whack her ass with his spear. He could tell they were no more than thousand paces from the river: he''d been in that area often enough to recognize its features even at night. He had to impose discipline before they reached water. The presence of water would dilute his power instantly. His new colonists would gain confidence, who knew, they might even rebel against him! It was five to two, after all. "Halt!" he shouted. Everyone stopped. All eyes were speculatively fixed on Samir as he walked to the head of the group, and joined Neil. "Get your bow ready," he whispered. He turned round to face them, shifting his grip on the spear so that he could use it instantly if needed. The preparations didn''t go unnoticed by the new colonists. They drew closer to each other, watching Samir closely. He had their undivided, respectful attention. Samir said: "I heard what you were saying earlier. You wanted me to hear it. Now it''s my turn to tell you something." He paused to glare at them. He said: "I''ve changed my mind. I don''t want you in my colony. You can go back where you came from. You can go anywhere you like, including hell. I want you off my land. If you stay, be prepared to face unpleasant consequences. Very unpleasant consequences." That was another line he''d borrowed from his former supervisor at work. It never failed to scare him then, and it didn''t fail now. The teacher wailed: "Have mercy on us! Please!" It was was the signal for other wails and supplications. The teacher fell to her knees. They all fell to their knees! They were all kneeling and reaching out to him and begging him for mercy. "All right. But things are going to be different from now on. You have abused my trust in you, and you will have to work to regain it." Neil was carrying a long, plaited leather cord around his middle: it was a very useful item on an expedition. Its uses ranged from shaking fruit off tree branches to trapping animals. It would now be used in a new way. Samir said to Neal: "Tie them together by their necks. Leave enough space so that they can walk in a line. Tie one knot at the beginning and one at the end, and just loop the rope round the necks in the middle. Start at the back, and leave enough rope free in front for a lead." He turned to the kneeling colonists, and said: "Form a line. Stay on your knees! Form a line. I want you at the front." He pointed at the teenage boy. He was the fastest walker of the lot. He would keep everyone too busy to complain. "I protest," said the former leader of the new colonists. "You''re treating us like slaves. Like animals!" "I don''t trust you any more," Samir said. "You don''t like it? You can leave. Would anyone like to leave?" No one did. They obediently shuffled into a line on their knees. Samir ordered the caretaker and his wife to the back of the line. He put the former leader last. When everyone was where he wanted them, Samir said: "Get going, Neil." Neil did so a little reluctantly, so Samir added: "The sooner we get this done, the sooner we''ll all eat, drink, and rest." Thus motivated, Neil was done in a couple of minutes. Samir ordered the group to rise, and nodded to Neil. "Lead the way," he said. "Let''s go," Neil said harshly. He picked up the lead and gave it a tug, just as if he was leading a train of donkeys. They moved off, with Samir bringing up the rear. He couldn''t resist the pleasure of prodding the former leader''s ass with the blunt end of the spear a few times, speeding him up. Progress was swift, and shortly they came to the river. The captive colonists were ready to dive into it right away, but Samir ordered them to stop. Neil tugged on the rope and indeed they stopped, with the three in the middle making choking noises. "Don''t drink straight from the river," Samir told them, approaching the former leader. He handed him the waterskin. "Use that," he said. "Fill it up and drink from the spout. You can keep it until we arrive in my settlement." Stunned by this act of generosity, the colonists meekly followed the caretaker to the bank of the river. While they were busy drinking and washing, Samir held a quick conference with Neil. "Neil," he began, "I know you don''t like this situation. I don''t like this situation. I regret asking them to come along." "Why did you? We could have stayed hidden, and let them go by." "Because they were close to dying," Samir said. "Because I have a kind heart and I didn''t want them to die. But I don''t want us to come into any harm too, and that''s why it was necessary to tie them together." Neil was shocked. "You really think they could hurt us? That they could kill us?" he said. Samir shrugged. "Why not?" he asked. "They''d get water, food, clothes, weapons - a clean sweep." He put a comforting hand on Neil''s shoulder, and added: "It''s the New World, Neil. No rules apply here except the ones we make up." "I understand," said Neil in a tone that indicated he didn''t, not quite. Samir chose to ignore it. "Good," he said. He squeezed Neil''s shoulder reassuringly, and got down to lighting a campfire. He could feel the curious eyes of the colonists as they emerged from the water. He glanced at them over his shoulder and saw that the women weren''t bothering to cover their breasts and crotches any more. The teenage girl really was something to look at, but the caretaker''s wife - ouch! She truly needed to cover herself up. The old cow had no shame! He got the fire going, and invited the colonists to sit down. Then he distributed the food for the evening meal, keeping half for breakfast the next day. Neil and Samir only had a day''s worth of rations when they ran into the unlucky colonists, so there wasn''t much food to go around. Samir gave himself and Neil double what others got, and he still felt hungry after eating it. But even such a tiny amount of food was enough to knock out the colonists. They were all asleep quickly, lying on the soft ground by the whispering, gurgling river. Samir decided that he wouldn''t sleep. Too much was at stake. He told Neil to get some rest and walked down to the river and splashed water on his face. He repeated that many times through the night. He didn''t do it to stay awake. He had no difficulty at all in staying awake. He was so tense there was no question of his falling asleep. He splashed the water on his face to calm himself down. What had he done? It was a big mistake, a mistake that was bound to lead to many subsequent mistakes! The brutal bottom line was that he''d acquired five more mouths to feed and five more bodies to clothe, and that those bodies belonged to potential rebels capable of derailing his colonial project. For a while he considered waking Neil up so that the two of them could sneak away while the colonists were fast asleep. But he would be leaving them by a river whose waters were full of fish, and whose banks were abundant in edible plants and roots. It flew into the ocean steps away from Madan''s old settlement, abandoned when he and Kali moved to Kulaba. And he''d left it standing as it was, a ready-made home waiting for new colonists! Then he was struck by an idea so brilliant it was almost blinding. It was one of those ideas only real leaders have: a single, simple move that turned the whole situation on its head, and in Samir''s favor. He wouldn''t be taking the new colonists to Kulaba. Kulaba was about to burst at the seams with new arrivals: the soldiers and their female partners, Sunil and his family - that was twenty one people off the bat. Five extra could make everything boil over. He would take them to Madan''s old settlement instead. It wasn''t hard to survive there - after all, hadn''t Madan and Kali done exactly that? And the new colonists would have it easy. They would move into existing huts, they even had a storage shed and wood-chopping block ready! And there was also a clay oven, bits of old netting, a couple of old, cracked pots - riches galore! Being a benevolent ruler, he would leave them his flint and the spear, and he''d tell Neil to donate his stone ax. Given such a good start, the new colonists should have no trouble at all settling in. And it would be the perfect test of their abilities and usefulness. Of course, he would pay them a visit a week or two later. He would come leading a troop of soldiers, and bring them gifts: clothes, tools, a few goats maybe. Yes! It was the perfect plan. Trembling with excitement, Samir looked up at the sky and saw that the night was about to end. He waded into the river and splashed water on his face once more. Then he went to wake up Neil. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https:///book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 159 Blood and Guts The new colonists weren''t so upset any more about being treated like a train of donkeys. Donkeys and people shared an important trait: they could both get used to anything, anything at all. It was a cloudy day; it looked as if it would rain later. Samir hoped it wouldn''t happen until the afternoon. He''d calculated that they''d reach Madan''s old settlement if they kept walking steadily for seven hours. Well, they''d have to take a couple of breaks: eight hours. They had set off just as the sun''s rim rose above the horizon, bathing the world in an orange glow. They could make it by the middle of the afternoon. Reaching Madan''s old settlement quickly was a necessity, because they had no food left. There wasn''t any waiting for them there, but from past experience Samir knew it wouldn''t be hard to get. He''d fished with Madan on a couple of occasions, and knew where the best spots were. It only took a couple of casts to catch a fish even when using an old, holed net. Madan had told Samir he''d even caught a few fish with his bare hands. "They''re so thick there that when they try to escape they bump into each other and completely lose their stupid little fish minds," Madan had said, in a tone that indicated that unlike the fish, he was possessed of a god-like intelligence. In addition to the fishing spots, Samir also knew the location of two primitive salt pans Madan had dug out on the beach. They were little more than hollows where water flew in at high tide, and evaporated to leave a thin residue of salt. He could safely send a couple of his new colonists to scrape up whatever salt they could - all they''d have to do was walk along the beach for a few hundred steps, there and back. While they did that, Samir, Neil, and the remaining recruits would catch a few fish. And there was a good coconut grove nearby too: after such a long human absence a dozen nuts lying on the ground were virtually guaranteed. They''d eat well that evening. It was important that the new colonists ate well. From Samir''s experience, people who ate well were much more cooperative than people who didn''t. He was proud of his plan. Around mid-morning, he revealed it to his new colonists. He was forced to do that because the moaning started. They didn''t complain any more, they moaned. The teacher moaned that her life was coming to an end. Her husband prophesied his own end was coming a little later, after he''d suffered more than she ever would. The wife''s brother, the former electrician, reminded everyone that he''d warned them something that started badly would end badly, too. He''d stayed mostly silent until that moment, and whenever he did open his mouth he spoke a basic, simple truth with the air of someone who had just discovered time travel. He was very crafty about it. He said: "I told you I am going to test you. If you cannot go without food and rest for a few hours, you''re useless. If you pass this test, you''ll get a reward, a reward that will exceed all your expectations. A settlement of your own, all built and ready and waiting for you. Located in the perfect spot, with fresh water and plenty of food around. No one will bother you there. I have an army. And I protect my people." The moaning stopped instantly. "A settlement of our own?" asked the former school caretaker. "Already built, with plenty of food?" asked the wife. "It sounds too good to be true," said her brother. The teenagers were silent. But their faces began to glow with hope and when Samir saw that, he knew that he''d succeeded. Old people''s emotions were the same as young people''s. The only difference was that old people filtered their feelings through the masks they were wearing, the masks life had taught them to wear. The teacher, her husband, and her brother were as full of hope as the kids. They all walked on with a new determination, and by two in the afternoon - give or take half an hour - they were getting near. Samir recognized the clump of coconut palms from a distance; the abandoned settlement was just a few hundred steps away from the grove. He led the group towards the coconut palms. He would let his new colonists rest there. They''d split a few nuts open and drink the milk and eat the hard white flesh, and they would start feeling better about things. While they did that, he would take Neil and conduct a quick reconnaissance. He''d pay a visit to the settlement, and take inventory of what was there, what was not, and what was needed. He knew something was wrong even before he saw the buildings. A couple of wild berry bushes were growing next to the path leading to the settlement. They had been picked clean. "Look at this," Samir said to Neil, and pointed. "Maybe the birds ate them," Neil suggested. Samir shook his head. "There were always a few left," he said. "Look sharp. By the way, do you remember that smoke you saw just before we met and took in the new people?" "Yes." "They say they didn''t light any fires. That if there was a fire, it was started by someone else." "But they came from that direction!" "I know. But they insist they didn''t start that fire. And I believe them, because they had no means to start a fire with them. No flint, no kindling... And they had no reason to start a fire, either. They didn''t have anything that needed cooking." "So it had to be someone else," Neil said. "Yes." "That means there are many new people in the New World." "Yes." "You think we''re going to run into some now?" "We may. Let''s exercise caution. Keep behind cover if we can." They took care to make as little noise as possible. They darted between bushes, trees, and rocks, always stopping to look and listen before moving again. When they heard a male voice asking some sort of question and another answering, they became even more cautious. The few primitive buildings that comprised the settlement were arranged in a semi-circle around a big fireplace. Samir led Neil to the right, and behind the back wall of the primitive shed Madan had built for storage. The voices fell silent and they crouched there, waiting for the conversation to resume. When it did, things immediately became unpleasant. "There''s someone hiding behind that shed," a strong, male voice said. "You''re joking." "I''m not. I heard something. Let''s take a look." Samir immediately grasped Neil''s arm and they retreated a dozen steps. It didn''t go unnoticed. "Did you hear that?" "You were right, someone''s really there!" The approaching footsteps quickened into a trot. "Get ready," Samir hissed to Neil. They stepped a couple of paces apart, Neil slinging the bow off his shoulder and reaching for an arrow. Samir tightened his grip on the spear. A couple of men emerged from behind the shed, running as if they were jogging. They were naked, and they weren''t carrying any weapons, not even a stone. It was obvious they were confident they could deal with anything and anyone with their bare hands. They had some good reasons for this confidence. They were young, tall, and bulging with muscle. They looked like the rich young men who went to the gym regularly back in the old times, preferring to improve their bodies instead of their minds. They had hardly any cuts or bruises, and Samir guessed both men were very new to the New World. "Halt," Samir said. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Neil raise the bow and draw the string back. So did the two men. They stopped, and the one slightly in front said: "What''s this? You''re trying to hurt someone? Be careful that you don''t end up hurting yourselves." "What are you doing in my settlement?" demanded Samir. "Your settlement? You must be joking." The man took a step forward, and Samir raised his spear and said: "Not another step. You take another step, you''ll be sorry." "Why? You''re going to make me cry? You''re going to hurt me?" The man behind laughed, and stepped forward to the side of his companion. He looked at Neil and said: "Daddy let you play with a bow? Maybe you two play together sometimes? He puts his thing in your mouth, or in your rear?" The twang of the bowstring and the wet thwack of the arrow hitting its target merged into one sound. Samir''s eyes widened as he looked at the arrow''s shaft protruding from the man''s stomach, just above the belly button. It didn''t protrude much: the arrow had gone in pretty deep. He looked at the stricken man''s face. His eyes were popping and his mouth was wide open. He slowly sank to his knees, making no sound. His companion did. He shouted: "You little gandu! I''ll kill you for this." Samir advanced a step and thrust his spear forward to bar the man''s way - he was about to throw himself on Neil, who was backing away and frantically trying to fit another arrow onto the bowstring. Samir was late. He didn''t bar the man''s way. Instead, his spear struck the man''s side and pierced the skin. It wasn''t much of a blow and the man swatted the spear to the side with his hand. He turned a step towards Samir, saying: "You - " The bowstring twanged again. This time, Neil missed - the arrow passed right in front of the man''s face. He stopped and glanced at Neil. Samir took his chance. He rushed forward, driving his spear into the man''s stomach as hard as he could. "Ugh," said the man. He grasped the spear shaft with both hands. They stood like that, just a couple of steps apart, looking at each other; and then there was another twang and this time the arrow went into the man''s shoulder. His knees buckled and Samir let out a roar and pushed the spear in deeper. Screeching like a madman, Neil ran forward with his stone ax raised high and brought it down on the head of the kneeling man that had been shot first. It was all over within a few moments. Samir frantically tried to wrench his spear from the dead man''s body and couldn''t; in the end, he had to push all of it right through. In the meantime, Neil checked the area for other unwelcome visitors. He returned to Samir to tell him breathlessly he hadn''t seen anyone else just as Samir was attempting to clean the spear with a handful of dry grass. After going all the way through the man''s bowels, it was sticky with blood and liquid shit. When Samir heard there were no other people around, he looked at Neil and said: "You did very well, Neil. I''m proud of you." "He called me a gandu." "Don''t worry about it. You did the right thing." "What do we do now?" Neil asked, after a short silence. "First, I''ll go and wash this thing in the ocean," Samir said, throwing a disgusted glance at the spear. "And then - " He paused. He looked up at the sky. To his amazement, he saw a vulture. It was definitely a vulture, not a big seagull! It was circling lazily at least fifty meters above the ground. It was the first time Samir had seen a vulture in the New World. Things were changing fast. He looked at Neil and said: "And then we''ll get rid of those corpses and kick some dirt over the blood and have a bath. What do you think?" "I think it''s a very good idea," said Neil. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https:///book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 160 When Good Is Bad and Bad Is Good There was a sail out there. A single triangular sail, barely visible above the horizon. It was very far away, but after watching it for a while Samir ascertained that it was moving north, together with the wind. Who could it be? It was Trouble, that''s what it was. When the spear was clean, he waded back to the shore and tossed it onto the sand and then turned around and ran into the ocean, diving into the water headfirst as soon as it was deep enough. He took a mouthful of seawater on purpose and spat it out when he surfaced. It left a bad taste in his mouth. That was good. It was proof that something very, very necessary - didn''t life as such begin in the ocean? - could taste bad, very bad. He hadn''t killed anyone ever before. The man he''d pierced with his spear was his first victim. It was good that he was young and strong and most importantly, that he''d attacked first. Whatever was done was done in self-defense. My first kill, thought Samir. My very first kill. How lucky! Many first kills consisted of killing a cowering child or a whimpering old woman. Or someone equally defenseless and helpless. But he had killed a man much stronger and more dangerous than he was, himself. It was more than okay, more than all right. It was a triumph! He stood still, the water reaching to his neck, and threw his head back and roared at the sky: "Aaaarrrgh!" His cry dissolved instantly in the hissing ocean. Almost as quickly, he had the thought he might have been heard by the strangers in the boat. The wind was offshore - no, that was absurd, the sail was at least a thousand paces away. But still, he turned around and started half-swimming, half-walking back to the shore. He was about halfway there when he saw Neil running down to the beach. He waved to Neil, and Neil stopped. He stood and stared as Samir finally got out of the water and approached him, shaking water out of his ears. "What is it?" demanded Samir, He twirled a finger inside his ear hole, bent his head, and unplugged his ear. He turned the freshly tuned ear towards Neil and gave him a dangerous, slanted look and repeated: "Come on. What is it?" "I heard you shout," said Neil. "So I came and saw, and saw this." He raised his arm and pointed at the sail and squinted at Samir, as if it was his fault the sail was there. "I saw that sail too," Samir said. "We''ll talk about it later. Let''s deal with those bodies first. It''s going to be a lot of work." "Can''t we just throw them into the ocean?" "They might wash upon the beach." "Exactly. And when the high tide comes - " Samir broke off. He stared into the distance with unseeing eyes. Giving people a good scare was the perfect way to secure their obedience. As a wise man called Machiavelli had put it: it was better be feared than to be loved. "We leave everything as it is," he said. He gave Neil a critical glance, and added: "You need a wash. Have a swim. I''m going back to the village to take a look at things. Join me there when you''re ready." "What about the bodies?" "I said we leave everything the way it is. We''ll tell the others the truth. That someone tried to take over my settlement, and that we killed them." Neil was silent for a while. Then he said: "I understand." He sounded like he really did. Samir nodded, and said: "I''ll see you later." He was done quickly with taking inventory of everything in the abandoned settlement: the list was short. Madan had taken all the good stuff when he moved to Kulaba. But what had been left behind was still more than enough to give the new colonists a good start. Of course, it might not appear that way to someone who was new in the New World. A few huts built of wattle, cracked pots, holed baskets, and shredded nets could look disappointing to newcomers. Samir was aware of that, and when he and Neil got back to the group resting in the palm grove he said: "Forgive me for being away for so long. We came across intruders who were trying to take over my settlement, and we had to fight them. We killed them." He paused and savored the silence that followed his words. Then he added: "The settlement I am about to give to you is a precious prize. But you don''t have to worry about anything now. You''re safe. You''re under my protection. Come on, let''s go, and don''t forget to take... You ate all the coconuts?" "There were just eight or nine," said the caretaker. "And you were gone for a long time." "A very long time," said his wife. "We thought you were dead," said her brother. Samir looked at them and once again congratulated himself on his wise decision. He wouldn''t have been able to stand them in Kulaba. Dealing with them on a daily basis could end with bloodshed. He frowned. "Where are the youngsters?" he asked. "They went to look for more food. They should be back soon." "We can''t wait for them. I''ll send Neil to fetch them later. Let''s go." It was a while before they reached the settlement. It was another while before the new colonists got used to the idea of living there. There were no complaints, no moaning. Just a stunned silence while they examined their new abode. The silence got very heavy indeed when Samir showed them the two bodies and gave orders to bury them. Luckily, Madan had left behind a crude shovel: a cracked turtle shell inserted into a split branch. "You can also just throw them in the ocean," Samir told his new subjects. "Of course that means you''ll see them again before the tide and fish make them go for good. It''s up to you. It''s your village. By the way, I should appoint a leader. I appoint you." He put his hand on the caretaker''s arm. The former leader of the group had looked shaky when he was shown the corpses. However, now he recovered so swiftly it was nothing short of a miracle. "Thank you," he said. "Thank you. You made the right decision. I shall not disappoint you. What about, what about... Food?" "I''ll bring some fish by the time it gets dark," said Samir. "In the meantime, send someone down the shore. There are a couple of salt pans a few hundred paces from here, they can''t be missed. And you - " He turned to the not-quite-a-full-electrician with a morbid outlook on life. "You''ll start a fire," he told him. "Here''s a flint and some kindling. It''s up to you to collect enough firewood. Me and Neil are going to find the youngsters, and take care of food. We''ll be bringing fish, so make sure the fire is ready." "When are you going to be back?" asked the newly appointed mayor. "Around nightfall. Make sure everything is nice and tidy and there''s a fire going when we return." "Of course." Samir collected Madan''s old net, and set out on the trip to the palm grove together with Neil. On the way, Neil said: "That sail. Who do you think that was?" Samir shrugged. "It had to be government boat," he said. "They got started here early. With craftsmen and experts and full support." "Full support? From where?" "Full support," Samir repeated. He wasn''t quite sure what it meant. But that was what he wanted himself, and it was becoming his favorite phrase. The youngsters were waiting for them at the palm grove, properly scared because for a while they''d thought they''d been abandoned. It pleased Samir to see them scared. He took charge in a very confident and effective manner and by the time the sun was sliding into the ocean, they''d caught plenty of fish. The youngsters had also found some wild spinach and other greens in the meantime, so when they returned to the village they were carrying plenty of food. The teacher had found some wild herbs and brought a handful of salt, and her brother had built a fire. It burnt merrily under and around a clay pot full of water and air potatoes. It turned out the caretaker-turned-mayor had found a small stash that Samir, as well as the invaders, had overlooked. "They were in a hole covered by rocks," he explained. "I saw a lizard trying to get in and I took a closer look." "You saw a lizard?" "Yes." "What did it do?" The caretaker shrugged. "When I got closer, it ran away," he said. A lizard! That was another first. The New World was rapidly becoming populated by many diverse species, not just humans. "Hmm," Samir said. "All right. Here''s a knife. Get going with the fish." NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https:///book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 161 A Fishy Funeral When he woke up, Neil was already gone from the shed. Samir lay still for a while, listening to the sounds coming from outside. He could hear the crackle of burning wood and the bubbling of boiling water, and the soft hiss of the ocean. In spite of sleeping for so long, he didn''t feel completely rested, and wasn''t in the best of moods. He would have liked to go straight back to sleep, but he needed to relieve himself. He got up and staggered to the shed''s entrance on stiff legs and looked outside, squinting at the sunlight. The caretaker''s wife was squatting by the fire, looking at the boiling pot with great disappointment, as if she was blaming it for all the misfortunes of her life. She barely answered Samir''s greeting. This wasn''t good. Frowning, Samir dropped to squat beside her and asked: "Where''s everybody else?" "The youngsters went fishing," she said. "Jagat and Mitesh went to bury the bodies of the men you''ve killed." Jagat was her husband''s name, and Mitesh - her brother''s. "Good," said Samir. It was clear she didn''t share this view. He felt like giving her a thump, but he restrained himself. Instead, he asked: "What''s for breakfast?" "You can have a yam. That''s the last few." "I''ll show you where to find more. Don''t worry, you won''t starve here. There''s plenty of food around here." "Mitesh had a fish bone stuck in his throat," she said, in a tone that indicated eating any of the advertised food was a dangerous occupation. "Is that why he was coughing last night?" ''Yes." "He''s all right now?" "Yes." "But you aren''t." She pouted for a while before saying: "We need clothes. I am not used to wearing leaves on a string, like a savage." "There''s plenty of things you''ll have to get used to in the New World," Samir said sharply. He stood up and added: "And if you want clothes, then make some." He left her and walked behind the storage shed and urinated on the dark stains that marked the ground where the bodies of the two men had lain. He wondered where the teacher''s husband and her brother had taken the bodies. He also wondered about Neil - had he gone fishing with the youngsters? He returned to the settlement. The teacher - her name was Devi - still squatted and stared at the boiling pot, blaming it for everything that was wrong. Samir picked up a sharp stick and speared an air potato from the pot and asked: "Where is the salt?" "It''s all gone." "Where''s Neil?" he asked. "He''s gone fishing." "What about you?" She looked at him, her face blank. "What about you?" he repeated. "Why aren''t you doing something? Go and get more salt. You know where it is. Get up! Go!" She did, after some more shouting. Samir watched her waddle away, feeling hate. Stupid old cow! He forced himself to calm down and ate his meager breakfast and decided there was no time to lose. He would go and find Neil and they would set off for Kulaba right away. But he couldn''t do that! He was a ruler. He had responsibilities! Suddenly and totally unexpectedly, Samir felt a fierce longing for the days when he was a poor squatter, working for peanuts in a shabby office. He missed them! He missed being a Mr Nobody. It had many advantages over being a king. He was still brooding when Jagat the caretaker, his new mayor, showed up. He was sweaty and dirty and his hands were covered by many new cuts. "I''ve come for the flint," he announced before Samir could berate him for being away for so long. "The flint? What do you need it for?" "I need it to light the pyre. We are going to give those men a proper burial." "Wait," said Samir. "Are you telling me you''ve built a pyre?" "Yes. It wasn''t difficult. We found a dead tree. That''s where we took the bodies." "You spent all morning on those two bodies? Looking for wood, and building a pyre? Are you insane?" Jagat was shocked. He didn''t know what to say. He looked sideways and at the ground, everywhere but into Samir''s eyes. "I have appointed you as the leader," Samir said heavily. "Your people need food and clothes. And you''re messing around with corpses." "I spoke to our priest back home. He told me to give them a proper burial." "You spoke to your priest back home? What did you tell him?" Jagat was silent. "You told him about me? You told him about this place? You told him what happened?" "Yes." "You fool," said Samir. "Do you know what you have done?" Jagat stayed silent, and Samir briefly thought about killing him, his stupid wife, and her insufferable brother. He was tempted; his hand moved to the hilt of his knife. He restrained himself with the greatest difficulty. He said: "You have made sure you will have people coming here. People who will want food and clothes and a place to live. They''ll kill you and your wife and her stupid brother and take everything you have." Jagat was horrified. "No," he said. "The New World has been given to us by the gods so that we can mend our ways and live in peace." "I can hear your priest talking through you," Samir said. "He''s never been to the New World. It''s obvious he doesn''t know much about it. Why do you think I killed those two men? For fun? They wanted to kill me. They wanted to take my settlement. And now you waste a whole morning messing around with their corpses." "What do you want me to do?" Jagat said sullenly, still refusing to look at Samir''s face. "I want you to finish what you started. Here, take the flint. I want all of you back here in a couple of hours. I want to speak to all of you before I leave." "You''re leaving?" "Of course I''m leaving. I told you that last night." "I was thinking you will stay for a few days." "No. I must return to the capital. I will come back in a week or two. In the meantime, you''ll have to manage the best you can." Jagat was crestfallen. "But I don''t know if we can manage on our own," he said. "Then you''ll die," Samir told him, and went off to look for Neil. He didn''t have to go far. He met Neil and the two teenagers a few moments later. They were returning to the village, loaded with goodies. They had fish and coconuts and some greens and the girl was also carrying hairy coconut husks. Their fiber was easy to twist into a string. It showed good thinking, good initiative, and Samir felt a little better about his new colonists. When they were back in the village, he generously gave the girl his knife to scale and gut the fish. "Do it right away next time, and drop the guts into the water where you fish," he told her. "The fish like that. It''s food. It doesn''t bother them they are eating their friends and companions. They will come back for more." Then he took Neil aside for a quick conference. "What do you think about those two?" he asked. Neil grinned. "They''re nice," he said. "We''ve become friends. Did you know Keya is Hunar''s sister? They don''t look alike at all." "I thought she was his girlfriend." "So did I." "I like them," Samir said. "I don''t like the other three." Neil was diplomatically silent. Samir sighed, and said: "It seems were stuck with them. Oh well. Listen, we''re going home this afternoon. We''ll eat, I''ll tell everyone what to do, and we''ll go. I want you to leave your ax with them. Give it to Hunar if you like. I''ll also give him my spear." "The others are going to be offended." "I don''t care." Neil''s face changed suddenly. His eyes widened, and he said: "What''s that?" Samir turned, squinting at the faraway column of grey smoke. "Oh, that," he said. "They''re burning the bodies of the men we killed. Those two asses, Jagat and Mitesh, spent the whole morning setting it up." "Samir?" "What?" "Hunar and Keya told people back home about your colony." "I am going to kill them all," Samir said through clenched teeth. "I am going to kill them all. They are going to ruin everything." "I told them they shouldn''t have done that. They promised to keep quiet in the future." "What''s done is done," Samir said. He bit his lip, his face dark. It was obvious he wasn''t thinking nice thoughts. "All right," he said finally. "Let''s see how they''re getting on with those fish. I want my knife back." NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https:///book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 162 Samirs Progress The moment Samir finished eating, he delivered a lecture on the importance of keeping his colony a secret. "If you tell everyone about your experiences here, about my colony, about this settlement, you''re going to get into plenty of trouble. There are thousands of new people in the New World. Remember your own situation? What are you going to do when ten, twenty, thirty people show up here? What do you think they are going to do?" "We could invite them to join us," said Jagat, and Samir exploded. "That''s enough!" he shouted. "You seem to think I killed those two men for fun. I am dismissing you from your post. Hunar will be your new leader." Everyone looked at Hunar, who smirked hideously. "But he''s just a child!" cried Devi. "I was teaching children older than him." "I am fifteen," Hunar said. "Do not refer to me as a child." "I appoint people on merit," Samir said. "Hunar and Keya were the only ones who accomplished anything this morning on their own initiative. Their own initiative! It was Jagat''s duty to organize everything. But he went off to prepare a ceremonial burial for the two killers who had tried to take over this settlement! If it wasn''t for Hunar and Keya, you would have nothing to eat." "This is going to end badly," said Mitesh. "It will," snarled Samir. "It''s going to end up very badly for you. I am going to kick you out of my colony if you keep complaining instead of working, for a change." He glared at Mitesh and then at Jagat for a while. Then he said: "I must return to my capital, and I''ll be leaving the moment we''re finished here. I''ll be back a week to two weeks from now. By that time, I expect you to have fully settled in. I expect to find a store of food, a store of firewood, and a new hut built for Mitesh." "I''ll make sure everything is done," said Hunar, his eyes glowing with anticipation. He had taken to his new role like a duck to water. Samir ended the meeting by officially anointing Hunar as the leader. He handed him the spear, the waterskin, the stone ax, and the flint. "You know what needs to be done," he told him. "I''ll be bringing clothes and some tools when I return. But don''t let that stop you from trying to make your own. Most importantly, keep everyone busy." "They will be," Hunar assured him enthusiastically. Samir squeezed his shoulder, signaled to Neil, and they were off. They''d walked just a couple of hundred steps when Neil said: "Maybe it would have been better to stay the night, and leave in the morning. We''ve only got a few hours of light left." "They''ll be staying at the house?" "No. They''re bringing tents, and they will be building a barracks. But first they''ll need to build a new latrine. And I also have to hurry up the builders working on the house. I need the room where you and Amrita and the others are staying. You''ll be moving upstairs, and those lazy asses haven''t even finished working on the staircase. I have a lot to do, a lot to do!" "I like it better over here than back home." "So do I," Samir sighed. "So do I." They stopped for the night in the exact same spot where Samir had slept a long, long time earlier, on his first exploratory journey south. He had met Madan the next morning... It all seemed to have taken place such a long time ago! They ate the fish they''d brought with them and went to sleep instantly, tired out by all the walking they''d done over the last few days in the New World. It was still night in Mumbai when Samir woke up in the storeroom that also served as bedroom for himself and Rani. She was sleeping by his side on the silvery mat. Just like before, he didn''t wake her. He got up and left the room quietly. He went to look in on Neil and the other kids first. Neil had gone back to sleep as soon as he woke up: like Rani, he was getting a full rest in both worlds. Samir went into the big room where he previously lived with Rani, before the influx of new inhabitants forced them to give it up for communal use. He looked into he larder, and swore: they were running out of everything! He would have to visit Leduc, the supermarket owner, taking along a lot of food and hopefully bringing at least some tea and sugar back. There was no smoked meat left, there wasn''t even any chutney. Samir thought about waking Rani up, but decided against it. She and Amrita would be going to the market in the morning, just like they did every day; she needed plenty of rest. He was tough! He could manage. He had some cold rice and picked up a couple of mangoes and took them to eat outside. It was the time of new moon on Earth, and the night was very dark. Everything was perfectly still. Samir smelled smoke and looked around but didn''t see a fire, didn''t see a single light. The air felt very thick and heavy. Was there a cyclone coming? The cyclone season didn''t start until May. But there had been noticeable shifts in the weather following the catastrophe, and the terrible storm. With a start, Samir realized there had been no cyclones at all during the full year he''d already spent in the New World. A few heavy storms - yes, but they never lasted long and on the whole did much less damage than a similar storm would back home. He and Rani had talked about that, and they''d agreed the different weather was likely caused by the big archipelagos in New World''s Pacific Ocean. The documentation had stated some of the islands were very big, the size of Greenland on Earth. That would make big changes to the climate, for sure. And in a few hours'' time, change of a different kind would be arriving in his household. It would double in size with the arrival of the eight soldiers. After dealing with that, Samir had to talk to Sunil. Sunil had been looking for him already, impatient to begin a new life in the New World, and Samir had been avoiding him. He was up to his ears in new colonists and he wanted to postpone the Sunil''s arrival - he''d be bringing his whole family! - for a few days. Then he thought: why not dump them in Madan''s old settlement, together with the colonists he''d acquired in the New World? He would make Sunil the new leader. And he could send a couple of soldiers to stay there, too. Yes! It was the perfect solution. As he bit into the last of the mangoes, Samir decided he would have to think of a suitable name for the settlement. Madan had called it Nadeekatat - he had spent his first few nights right by the river before moving and building his settlement a thousand paces to the south. Samir wanted a grander name than Nadeekatat. He was pulling on a mango fiber stuck between his teeth when he decided he would call the settlement Pragati. Pragati meant progress - a perfect fit! He wondered about his neighbors, the inhabitants of the houses next to Sunil''s. Did any of them acquire colonial licenses? If they did, and they launched into the New World from their homes, they''d be arriving in the New World practically on his doorstep! They would be naked and frightened and hungry and of course they would be asking him to take them in. Another new problem! He thought of a brilliant solution instantly. He would use them to start a settlement in the valley where he and Madan had found the dead girl, the valley with the metal ores. It would be a good idea to send a couple of soldiers with them, too. He would have to talk to sergeant Varma about that. And it would be wise to move fast. With so many new colonists arriving in the New World, someone was bound to snatch that spot up. He went to the communal room and checked the time on the big, wind-up alarm clock that stood on the table: it was the household''s official time piece. He had been up for over half an hour already! It was time to return to the New World. He rinsed his mouth and washed his face and hands. Then he went to lie down next to Rani. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https:///book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 163 The Humble Servan His eyes weren''t the only things that glowed in his face. In the center of his forehead, a softly shining blue spot indicated the presence of a timon implant. Half an hour earlier, Samir had ceremoniously implanted the sergeant, and issued him with his very own hiber bed. He assured Varma he would watch over him, and took a chair while Varma lay down on the silvery mat in preparation for his first journey to the New World. All of Kulaba was waiting for him there. He was given a pair of goatskin shorts and treated to a bowl of stew and offered a cup of weak wine that Kali had made from wild berries. Then he was shown around the village, and led to the house that had been built especially for him. It had a floor of ceramic tiles, and walls of mud brick. Sergeant Varma was ecstatic. News of the brutal realities of the New World were already spreading like wildfire. Naked and without any tools save for their own hands and teeth, many new colonists died. Others were killed when their controllers lost all hope, and removed their implants. Sergeant Varma had already heard a couple of horror stories prior to his arrival at Samir''s place. The reception he was given in Kulaba exceeded his wildest hopes. He immediately became a fanatic fan of the New World. "I and my men are proud to serve you," he said to Samir, with deep conviction. Samir was pleased to hear that, very pleased indeed to hear the sergeant use the word ''serve''. He didn''t quite realize ''serve'' was a mostly empty term in military language. Militaries were called armed services. Soldiers, people trained to kill other people, were called servicemen. Armies preparing for invasion were called defense forces. It could all be very misleading. But Samir wasn''t fully aware of all that. He told sergeant Varma that he was immensely happy to have him in his colony. They agreed on a plan: Varma''s soldiers would enter the New World in teams of two. Samir would implant two soldiers every day. He would take the first pair to Pragati together with Sunil and his family. It was the only way to proceed for practical reasons. Kulaba could absorb a couple of settlers every ten days without too much trouble. And back on Earth, a strong team could keep working without distraction, keep working around the clock on the infrastructure needed to accommodate Samir''s new army. Immediately upon arrival, even before he''d received his implant, Sergeant Varma had dispatched four soldiers to secure whatever tools and equipment they could find, equipment useful to the construction of the new latrine and barracks. "They''re going to secure equipment?" Samir had asked Varma. "What does that mean?" Varma frowned, and answered a little pompously: Varma''s first trip into the New World lasted twenty minutes, which translated into over three New World hours. During that time, Samir sat on a chair watching over the sleeping sergeant, and brooding about what was going on. He suspected that by ''securing equipment'', Varma had meant confiscating it, and he was quite right. He also suspected that he was powerless to do anything about it, and he wasn''t quite right. But Samir had no difficulty persuading himself that he was powerless, because it was to his own advantage. More tools and equipment meant work could progress faster. He told himself that once the work was done, he''d ask Varma to return everything taken back to the original owners. However, right now he had different priorities. "I must leave you to your work now," he told Varma. "I have to see one of my colonists about something. Are you sure about the latrine?" "It has to be built close to the creek," Varma said sternly. "But the ground waters - " "We''ll build it downstream. We can''t put it next to the lane. And for obvious reasons we can''t put it next to the barracks." "Why can''t we put it next to the lane?" "Because everyone passing by will use it. Even if they don''t need to. It''s just human nature. And I''m not going to post a guard. That would be inefficient and cruel." "I understand," Samir said. He waited until Varma had left to supervise his soldiers, then treated himself to a snack. Rani had made some chapati bread and fresh chutney before she left for the market with Amrita. She had also unearthed a pack of tea she''d hidden away. "You must get some more from that man Leduc when you go to the supermarket," she''d told Samir. "I know." "And sugar." "I know." "And cooking oil." "I know." "And flour." "I know. I know!" Samir truly loved Rani, but he felt relieved when she left for the market with Amrita. Now, as he munched on the delicious fresh bread she''d made, he thought about his upcoming talk with Sunil. He knew that Sunil was expecting that he''d be living next door to Samir and Rani in Kulaba, that they would be neighbors the way they were in Mumbai. It was going to be a little tricky. After he''d eaten, Samir treated himself to the luxury of a cigarette. The he washed and put on a relatively fresh shirt and went to talk to Sunil. Sunil had been waiting for him. His sullen face communicated that he''d waited longer than he''d wanted to. Samir wasted no time in telling him the good news. "Sunil," he said before they''d even sat down, "Tomorrow is your big day. Tomorrow, you shall enter the New World." "Tomorrow morning?" Sunil asked suspiciously. "Yes. Well, maybe in the early afternoon." "My family, too? Everyone?" "Yes. That''s why it''s been taking a little longer. I''ve had to make special arrangements." "Let''s sit down," said Sunil. "I''ve saved a bit of cocoa. Would you like some cocoa?" "That''s not really necessary," Samir said, but Sunil insisted and even came up with a can of condensed milk. They sat and sipped and Samir praised the cocoa. "Cadbury''s," Sunil said proudly. "The best. So, about tomorrow. You want us to come over to your house? What time?" "What time is it now?" "Around ten. You want me to check?" "No, no. There''s no need. I''ll come around noon. One o''clock in the afternoon at the latest. Make sure everyone is ready." "They will be." Samir took a sip of his cocoa and said, very gravely: "Sunil." "Yes." "I have decided to confer a great honor upon you. I hope that you will accept it, and that you will prove you deserve it. I am appointing you the mayor of my second settlement in the New World." "You have a second settlement!?" "Yes." "You didn''t say anything about this earlier. You''ve just started it?" "No. It''s actually been founded some time ago. There are five people living in it already." "Oh." "You''ll be their leader," Samir said. "You''ll be ruling that settlement in my name. I am going to send some soldiers with you, too." "The soldiers that showed up at your place today?" "Not all of them. Just a couple. It should be enough. You''ll have a total of around a dozen people. That''s a good, manageable population for developing a village. Easy to feed, but still capable of bigger tasks." "And I''ll be their leader?" "Yes. You''ll be in full control. Of course, you''ll be answering to me." "Of course," said Sunil. He beamed at Samir, and added: "I am greatly honored by this opportunity to be your humble servant. Can you tell me more about this place?" "It''s called Pragati," Samir said proudly, and went on to describe everything in glowing terms. There was plenty of food, the fish were so thick they could be caught with bare hands. A river supplied excellent drinking water. There was wild foods galore, roots and fruit and greens. There were even a couple of salt pans! "You built all this?" Sunil asked. "Samir, you''re amazing!" "It was a communal effort," Samir said modestly. He drank his remaining cocoa, and added: "Of course, it''s not finished yet. There are numerous structures that still have to be built. I am counting on you there." "What structures?" "More housing, to begin with. I''ll show you around the area, you can be sure you won''t go short of building materials. There''s plenty of wood, and a good clay pit within easy walking distance. By the way, there''s also a large oven that can be used for cooking as well as baking pottery, even bricks." "What about tools?" "You''ll be provided with all the tools you need to get started," Samir said. "But I really expect you to make your own, after a while. You are good with your hands, aren''t you?" "Yes," admitted Sunil, after a short hesitation. He''d boasted about being a talented handyman too often for Samir to forget. He licked his lips, and asked: "Does my post, does a leader receive appropriate privileges?" "Of course. You will be running the show." Sunil cleared his throat, and said: "I meant more in the way of participating in the profit generated by the settlement." Samir laughed. "Sunil, are you expecting to start making money right away?" "Not right away," Sunil said hurriedly. "I am an intelligent man. I know there are other priorities when building a new settlement. But do I, do we get to keep what we produce? You told me we''ll be able to send food here." "You will." "And firewood? That firewood you gave me - it was excellent. It burned longer, and gave more heat." "Of course you can import firewood." "As much as we need?" "As much as you need," Samir said. He frowned. He could foresee discussions coming in the future about what was and wasn''t needed. He said: "Can you get a piece of paper and a pencil or a pen? I want to draw you a rough map of my colony." He put a lot of stress on the word ''my''. Sunil didn''t seem to notice. "Of course," he said, rising from his seat. "I''ll bring everything right away." NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https:///book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 164 Smelly Business The next item on Samir''s agenda for this particular Earth day was seeing Paul Leduc, the supermarket owner. He''d agreed to deliver food, food he''d imported from the New World, to Leduc''s store. He''d agreed to deliver so much that it had to be broken into instalments, and the first instalment was due at the beginning of the month. Samir loaded five kilos of fruit and vegetables into his backpack, and put another five kilos of dried fish on the rear carrier of his bicycle. This was nearly half of all the food in the storeroom; he really couldn''t take any more. He wheeled his bicycle down the path leading to his house and onto the lane that led to the main road. The air smelled odd, as if someone was burning trash not too far away. Samir looked at the soldiers digging holes for the corner posts of the barracks building. A couple of them raised their heads to look at him and smiled and waved, and he waved back. Feeling reassured, he mounted his bike and started pedaling. He saw the source of the odor hanging in the air soon after he''d turned into the main road. A column of smoke rose above the sea of roofs of corrugated sheet metal stained with rust. He could also see smoke twisting up into the sky from a couple of spots further away. A shiver of dread ran down his back; he gritted his teeth and hit the pedals harder, speeding up. It was good that he did. A couple of youths ran out from a passage between the buildings and it was obvious that they wanted to intercept him, and failed only because he was going too fast for them to do so. A stone swished through the air a hand''s breadth from Samir''s ear, and bounced on the road ahead of his bike. Samir swerved to the center of the road and stood up on the pedals and kept going as fast as he only could. When he finally reached the supermarket, he was drenched in sweat and gasping for breath. There was a thin ring of people surrounding the supermarket - skinny, ugly people in dirty clothes. They reminded Samir of the scum that formed around the rim of a pot with boiling soup. Luckily, the deliveries gate was open to admit an ox-drawn cart half-full of sacks and crude crates. Samir skidded to a stop right behind it, and was relieved to see that one of the guards at the gate recognized him. They exchanged nods, and a moment later he was inside the delivery compound and the gate was clanging shut to an accompaniment of protesting shouts. "Samir!" Leduc exclaimed, rising from his seat. "It''s so good to see you. You brought goods for me?" "Some, yes," said Samir. He slung his back pack off his shoulders and put it on the desk and said: "You never told me you''re going into the New World." "I didn''t?" Leduc seemed to be genuinely surprised. Then his face cleared, and he said: "Of course. We haven''t seen each other for a few days. Yes, I got a colonizer''s license. I was forced to. All of my old suppliers are out of business. My whole supply chain has simply ceased to exist. If it goes on like this, I''ll have to close down the store." "You can''t do that!" cried Samir, horrified. Leduc''s supermarket figured largely in his plans. "I can, and I will if I have to. Did you see what''s happening outside?" "I saw some people," Samir said cautiously. "They''re are all waiting for the right moment to storm the store, and steal everything I''ve got. And half my security force is missing. Those idiots all bought implants, and replicated in the New World. They''re all busy getting rich. The ones that are here have already died of thirst and hunger over there. A few were killed. Can you imagine? I only hire the best. A couple of my security guards have won bodybuilding contests. And they were killed by some guy with a kid. The kid had a bow and plenty of arrows and they were helpless." "Why don''t you take a look at what I''ve brought," Samir said quickly. Leduc acquiesced. After a while, he declared: "This isn''t much. I hope you''re bringing more, soon." "Four to five days," said Samir. He swallowed, and asked: "You founded your own colony?" "Yes. A long way from here, though. Launching in or near Mumbai is crazy. It''s like arriving in a nudist colony. A hostile nudist colony, not like one of those places that used to exist where everyone smiled and said you were beautiful no matter how ugly you were. I went all the way up to Vaitarna River and hired a boat, and launched from Jhow Island. There were some naked fools already present there, but I had nine good men with me and we sorted them out quickly. Some stayed with us, some left. Know what I mean?" The look Leduc gave Samir clearly indicated that he had already come to a conclusion regarding the killers of his security guards in the New World. Samir had told Leduc quite a lot about his colony in order to win him over to his plan; now he regretted it. He realized it was one of those moments that involved a clear-cut choice. He could lie and make an enemy for life, or he could be frank and maybe, just maybe, he would gain a friend. He said: "I think I might have killed those people of yours. I ran into a couple of fellows who tried to take over one of my settlements. They just wouldn''t listen. I had no choice." "Oh," Leduc said. He massaged one of the mangoes Samir had brought him, and said: "Don''t worry about it. They bought their implants without consulting me. They paid their price." He put the mango he''d been caressing back on his desk, and added: "We have to work closely together, you and I. It''s the only way we''ll survive. Do you know what''s happening in the city? People are running around and slitting each other''s throats. They''ve been told that the moment the New World is opened up everything will be just fine within days. The only thing that has been keeping them down was hope. A lot of those fools sold everything they had to buy an implant. And two days later - after a couple of weeks in the New World - they crash and burn." "Crash and burn?" "The Americans have this expression for total failure," Leduc said. "It''s very graphic, very convincing. Whenever the Americans come up with something, it''s very graphic and convincing. Even when it''s completely stupid." Samir wasn''t sure what Leduc was talking about. He seemed to have gone off into a kind of trance. Samir waited politely for a while, then said: "I wanted to get a few things from you. Tea, sugar, flour, cooking oil." Leduc stared at him as if Samir had gone mad. "You''re sure you don''t want any champagne?" he asked. After a difficult twenty minute question-and-answer session followed by some shouts and curses, Samir left with three hundred-gram packs of leaf tea, a kilo of sugar and another of flour, and a two-liter jug of cooking oil. It cost him one rupee and twenty paise in the new currency. The money Rani had brought the previous day was reduced to a small handful of copper coins. It was outrageous, and he told Leduc so. Leduc said: "Samir, this may be the last tea you ever get to buy from me. I don''t own a tea plantation. My supplier doesn''t own a tea plantation, either. He buys tea from a warehouse at the railroad station. The trains aren''t working. My supplier has gone out of business. I''m giving you tea I meant to keep for myself. When you want to buy tea again, go and talk to someone else. Or maybe start your own plantation." "It takes years to harvest tea from a plantation," Samir said. "You must be joking." "I''m not joking. I''m completely serious. It''s the whole situation that''s a joke. Nothing''s working any more." "It''s too quick to tell," Samir said. "I think things will get straightened out." "They''ll be straightened out into a rod that will get rammed up your backside. Listen, I''m depending on you to make the deliveries we''ve arranged. I can promise you a pack of tea whenever you make a delivery. For twenty paise. In coin." "A single pack of tea? Hundred grams?" "Yes. And twenty paise will amount to less than half price; I can easily charge half a rupee. You know why I''ll be giving you my own tea for less than half price? It''s because I''m grateful. Not for the colonial goods, no, I didn''t mean that, I''m grateful for the goods. But I''m grateful even more for killing those two morons I''ve got working for me." "I don''t understand," Samir said. "They stopped caring about their jobs. All they cared about was the New World. Now they are working as hard as ever." Leduc paused. He gave Samir a meaningful look and said: "Don''t leave through the front gate. They are guarding the front gate." "I came through the delivery gate at the back," Samir said. "If I were you, I''d go the way I came," said Leduc. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https:///book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 165 The Sergeant Takes Charge Samir got many dirty looks from the people lined outside the wall surrounding the supermarket compound. It was lucky that he''d received very few goods from Leduc: a full backpack would have encouraged thieves. He got onto his bike, and rode it home as fast as he could. He had a strong premonition something really bad was about to happen. He was right. Both Rani and Amrita were already home. They''d never made it to the market. They were assaulted and robbed on the way there. The thieves took Rani''s bicycle as well as all of her goods, and beat her when she resisted. Fortunately, no bones had been broken. After he''d calmed down a little, Samir ran out of the house to find Varma. But the sergeant was nowhere to be seen: one of the soldiers working on the barracks informed Samir that Varma had gone to ''secure supplies''. Samir surprised himself by feeling happy when he heard that. He wasn''t sorry any more for Varma''s victims. He didn''t go back inside the house. The sight of Rani''s bruises made him angry, and he needed to stay calm. He watched the soldiers work and counted five; that meant Varma had taken with him almost half his workforce! It would take forever to build the barracks and the latrine if something like that happened every day. He was walking up and down the lane, waiting for Varma''s return, when he was accosted by Madan. "You have to come back to the house with me," Madan said. "You have to visit Kulaba in person for a few hours. We have a crisis." "What crisis? What''s going on?" ""An invasion of beggars," Madan said. "It''s madness. They''re arriving from all directions! We have twenty naked, hungry people camping in the village. And your Samir insists that we let them stay instead of chasing them away because you want to start a new settlement in the valley with the metal ore." "Twenty people!?" "Well, at least ten." "I have to stay here. I can''t sleep now." "Well, we have to do something. They''re going to eat us out of house and home." "Can''t we just send them off to the valley with a guide?" "Without clothes? Without tools? Without food?" "Just give them some crotch pieces and a couple of knives, and maybe an ax and a flint. They can work the rest out on their own." Madan stared at Samir, making a show of breathing heavily. He said: "We can''t do it this way. If we are keeping those people, we have to cultivate their loyalty. We have to make them feel cared after and protected. I''ll be blunt: we have to make them psychologically dependent on us." "You''re using very big words, Madan. In reality it''s very simple. You do not win people over with strokes and kisses. You win them over by plunging their heads into shit, and then letting them take a breath when they''re about to drown." Madan was speechless for a while. Eventually he said: "You''re mad. You''ve finally gone mad. I noticed you are changing, and not for the better. I hoped that you''d stop yourself in time. So I said nothing and you didn''t stop and now it''s too late. You''ve gone mad." "No," Samir said. "I''m not mad, I''m right. I''ll prove it to you right away. How often do we feed them?" "Two meals, one in the morning and another in the evening. They''ll be having their evening meal soon." "Delay it. Don''t give them anything to eat for a few more hours. Then give them the food, and watch their reaction. You''ll see how happy they are then. Much happier than if they''d received their meal at the usual time." "You may be right about that," Madan admitted. "But this doesn''t mean it''s the right way to do things. It''s cruel, Samir." "The right way to do things," Samir said, "Is the way that brings the best results. Everything else is secondary." Disgust flitted over Madan''s face. Samir saw that, and added quickly: "Madan, you''ve known me for a while. We have been managing Kulaba together for a while. Am I a bad person? Am I cruel person?" "No," Madan said, but there was a tiny hint of doubt in his voice. "They must work if they want to eat. Get them busy fishing, gathering coconuts, whatever. Send them out right away. "Everything''s picked clean around Kulaba. They''ll have to go further out. They may get lost." "That''s their problem," Samir said. "We don''t want colonists who cannot find their way to the toilet. Give them some baskets and a net, and a kick in the arse if necessary." "It would be better if you did all this in person." "I can''t. I am waiting for sergeant Varma. I have to speak to him the moment he returns." "Why?" "Did you see Rani when you woke up?" "No." "Go and say hello to her. You''ll find out why I want to talk to Varma." "Can''t you just tell me?" "Go," snapped Samir, and turned his back on Madan. Madan went away. He felt he was beginning to boil with impatience. Where was Varma? What was taking him so long? He found out when Varma finally made an appearance nearly an hour later. Varma showed up driving a cargo rickshaw. His three men brought more booty: one was leading a goat, another a calf, and the third a train of three donkeys. The donkeys were carrying an assortment of sacks and baskets, and the rickshaw''s cargo tray was half-full of various items. Samir couldn''t believe his eyes, and immediately became apprehensive. He''d reconciled himself to the thought that Varma would be confiscating things from people. But this went far beyond that, it was robbery on as grand scale! It wouldn''t go unpunished. He was wise enough to conceal his feelings, and greet Varma warmly. He congratulated him on his haul before asking: "Can you tell me how exactly you came into possession of all this? It''s much more than I expected. A goat! A calf! Three donkeys!" "All of the animals were found wandering unattended in the street, breaking traffic regulations," Varma said, slightly stiffly. "They have been impounded. And we also destroyed a major gang of smugglers." "Smugglers?" "They were trading or were about to trade without the proper papers. They tried to run away the moment they saw us. I think you''ll agree this was very suspicious behavior. We found they were in possession of New World goods. None of them had a colonial license." "They could have received those goods from someone else. What were they? Food?" "Yes. I could tell right away they were New World imports. The had smoked fish that were exactly like the fish I saw in Kulaba. There are no fish like that here." "You''ve confiscated them?" "Yes, of course." "Can I see?" "Of course." A single look was enough to convince Samir that Varma had been right. The mangoes looked exactly like the mangoes from Kulaba. The salted fish - why, he could have sworn he''d salted a couple of these personally. He congratulated Varma on his quick thinking, and then told him what had happened to Rani and Amrita when they went to the market. He stopped halfway through his story, staring at the mangoes. "Wait," he told Varma and went away to fetch Rani. Varma was outraged when he saw her cuts and bruises. "I will hunt down those savages," he declared. "I''ll find them, and confiscate all of their possessions." "You''ve already found them," said Rani. Varma stared at her. He said: "What do you mean?" "These are the mangoes I took to the market today. I recognize them, and I recognize the fish too." "The bastards," Varma said through clenched teeth. "The bastards! And I let them keep their bicycles." "One of these was probably mine," Rani said. "It was stolen." "I am going to go back there at once. I''ll get it back for you. I''ll hunt them down no matter where they hide." "I''m sorry, Arjun, you cannot go yet," said Samir. "You have to lie down for a few minutes first. And I need to implant a couple of your soldiers right away." He described the situation in Kulaba to Rani and Varma. "I''ve dealt with refugees before," Varma said, with contempt creeping into his voice. "I''ll get rid of them." "We must help those poor people," Rani said. "We''ll do both," Samir said. He told them about his plan to start a mining village. "It has to be done right away," he said. "I want them on their way to the valley at next sunrise." "I''ll need more than two soldiers with me," Varma said. "How many of those refugees do you have right now?" "They''re not exactly refugees. They are -" "I know who they are," Varma cut in. "How many?" "Madan said at least ten." "I need four soldiers with me," Varma said. "And a guide." "I''ll guide you there myself, and we''ll return together. We''ll leave the soldiers there to keep an eye on things. Do you agree?" "I do," sergeant Varma said after a short but heavy pause. "And I think that I need to recruit more men." "More men? How many?" Samir asked. "At least half a dozen. Maybe more. It would be better to get more. I can find them easily if you give them the same terms you gave me." "I''m short of implant kits," Samir said. "If you give me the money, I can go and get colonist''s licenses and implant kits for all of them. And I should be able to find and confiscate a few illegal kits if I keep looking." "If I give you the money," Samir said. Varma winked at him. "Don''t worry," he said. "The money will come." NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https:///book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 166 The View From The Top Kirk Lander was standing at the window of his office located on the top floor of a small building that had previously been occupied by a bank. The bank in question didn''t exist any more; only a handful of banks had survived into the third month of 2035. The building''s owner was only to happy to lease it to the new colonial government at a rock-bottom rate. The government would have gotten an even better deal in one of the monumental skyscrapers that dominated the San Francisco skyline. Offices located above the fifth floor were being given away free of charge! The only thing the owners asked for was that the new tenant pay a share of the utility bill. But strict electricity rationing meant the elevators weren''t working, and no one felt like climbing endless flights of stairs. The building Kirk was in had been built nearly a century earlier. It had a wide, central staircase that had been actually built for everyday use, and it was only three stories high. It had plenty of wide windows that let in a lot of light, and all of its walls were brick. It was warm in cold weather and would stay cool when the summer heat arrived. Kirk had selected it personally after a two-day search. He was permitted to do that as the governor of California. He hadn''t wanted to set up office in San Francisco''s town hall. San Francisco''s town hall was a fortress continuously besieged by a horde of supplicants. It required a couple of hundred cops and a similar amount of soldiers to be present at all times. Otherwise, the angry crowd would have started a riot. "We need more people," Adam Lander said again. "I heard the first time," Kirk said without turning around. "We can''t hire any more staff, and you know why." "Yes. We have to be self-sufficient, and make enough money to cover costs. And that''s exactly why I think we have to increase the daily quota of licenses we sell. More licenses mean more money." "But they''re all paying us with old money, Adam," said Kirk. "Wages and bills have to paid in the new currency." "We could put a premium on the extra licenses. It would be payable in the new currency only. No coin? Then you''ll just have to wait your turn. It only makes sense." "We are not going to do that, Adam," Kirk said firmly. "One colonizer and twenty colonist licenses per day. That''s the absolute maximum. We won''t go beyond that. If we do, we''ll be quickly faced with chaos we cannot control." Adam shook his head. "I''m really surprised, Dad," he said. "Your views seem to have changed a lot. I mean, you were always for making everything available to everybody. No limits, no restrictions of any kind." "He likes you." "And I intend to keep things that way. He''ll stop liking me pretty fast if bad shit happens, son. You heard about Maryland and New Jersey and Pennsylvania?" Adam shrugged. "Just a rumor there''s trouble in some states," he said. "It''s not just a rumor. And ''trouble'' doesn''t describe it. The National Guard in New Jersey ran out of ammunition, Adam. Doesn''t that tell you something?" "It tells me they were issued with a lousy couple of clips apiece," said Adam. "They''d use that much up firing warning shots into the air. But yeah, I did hear things are hairy." "Hairy? I was on the phone with Carlton this morning. Over a thousand dead just yesterday!" "In the New World?" "In our world, Adam. In the New World, it''s tens of thousands every day. That''s a major factor behind all the rioting. I don''t want any of that happening here." Adam sighed. "Well, in New World Frisco we do have a couple of dozen colonists coming in each day, and begging for help," he said. "You see? And you want to increase the daily license quota. Where is the sense in that?" "But we need money. You know how much they''re charging for a single kilowatt hour? A full dollar! In the new currency!" "So we use less electricity. Work by daylight, manual typewriters, carbon copies whenever possible. That''s why I chose this building. Plenty of light, and comfortable stairs." Adam still looked unconvinced. Kirk walked up to him and put his hand on Adam''s shoulder, and added: "We''ve just started minting coins. We''re minting them left, right, and center. We control two government mints in the New World: one in your capital, one in mine. Debbie, Karen, and Bernard are building mints in the colonies, too. And we have yet another mint right at home. Karen and Hank are running it. Hank told me he got at least a couple of tons of good scrap. Give it time, Adam. Give it time. It''s the sixth of March for chrissake, it hasn''t even been a full week. Everything will get straightened out by the end of the month, you''ll see." "As long as we have enough to pay all the fucking bills," said Adam. "It''s that job you used to have. It has made you obsessive where money is concerned." "Being the president of an investment fund involves thinking about money a lot," said Adam. "It''s a habit. It doesn''t necessarily make me obsessive. Anyway, let''s drop that. It doesn''t lead anywhere. Did you get the chance to look at the list of the governors in my region?" "I did. We''ll have to make some changes. But not now. Down the road, when things have settled down." "I agree with the changes. There is a lot of placeholder governors in there. I mean, Kissy Lambert!" "Kissy Lambert? I missed that one. Who is she?" "She''s a porn star, Dad. Not even a big one, either. But she''s the only celebrity in that doohickey town she comes from and people admire her. They want to work with her, not against her. She''ll do for a couple of months, until everyone figures out she''s about as intelligent as a doorknob." "Nice," said Kirk. "Your own?" "No, I heard someone use that expression to describe a newly hired guy. You know, back in the old era. Listen, I have to go now. I have a meeting with Ken Sharp, Vallejo district governor." "Ken Sharp? That sounds good." "He isn''t. He ain''t as advertised. He can''t do a thing on his own, and he''s as sharp as a tire iron. He''s yet another guy that I''ll be replacing in the future. Anyway, see you later. You still driving down to the house tonight?" "Most definitely," said Kirk. "Then let''s go together. I''ve already burnt almost half a tank of gas. The mileage on that thing is just ridiculous." "It''s an army vehicle," said Kirk. "Armed forces never gave a fuck about conserving fuel. I''ll be leaving around five. Can you make it?" "Sure. I''ll be there." Adam left, and Kirk walked up to the window again and resumed gazing at the world outside. The world outside was currently bathed in slanting, afternoon sunlight: it looked beautiful. Kirk Lander had elected to have his office located on the northern shore of the entrance to San Francisco Bay. It wasn''t in San Francisco proper, but it corresponded exactly with the location of Kirk''s capital in the New World. It had the extra advantage of shortening the distance he had to drive to get to his home in the Napa Valley. There were also many other advantages to this location. It was sparsely inhabited, and applicants for a colonial license that came from the city had a long way to go. By the time they got to the office and had waited for a while in the lineup, they were too tired to cause trouble upon learning that yes, their name had been put on the list, and they would receive their colonist''s license and an implant kit in four months'' time. Kirk Lander didn''t need a small army to keep the peace, like the guys down at the city town hall. A couple of local cops were enough. There were never more than twenty people in the lineup. By late afternoon, there were no more than five: Kirk couldn''t see a single person from his window. The street was empty and silent. No! Something was approaching from the direction of the bay. Kirk narrowed his eyes, and something took the shape of a man pushing a handcart. As he drew closer, Kirk saw that he was wearing a shabby overcoat and that the handcart was empty. He couldn''t see the man''s face, it was hidden under the wide brim of a floppy hat. The man came to the corner across from the former bank building, and stopped. He raised his head and Kirk saw that he was young, much younger than Kirk had expected him to be. He hadn''t shaved in days and his mouth was half-open in a grimace of misery. He seemed to be looking directly at Kirk; then he looked down, to his right, then to his left, almost as if he were checking for traffic. Left, Kirk thought; turn left. Turning left would bring the man to the local diner, whose kind-hearted owner always had a free cup of soup for people in need. Kirk clenched his hands into fists, willing the man to turn left. He didn''t. He turned around and went the way he came. Why? What was the point? Was he going to drown himself in the waters of the bay? Kirk felt his eyes prickle with incipient tears. "Ah, fuck it. Fuck this shit," he said, turning away from the window. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https:///book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 167 Trouble At Home "Yes, sir," said special constable McCoy. Special Constable McCoy was one of the two cops standing guard at the building''s entrance. He was one of the five policemen employed by the Fort Baker Police Department: a sheriff, a deputy sheriff, and three special constables. There were no ordinary constables. Being a special constable meant a couple of dollars extra in the monthly moneybag, and a couple of dollars went a hell of a way longer than a hundred bucks used to, in the old days. The sheriff knew how to care for his people. "I realize that an intimidating appearance can be helpful when maintaining order," Kirk droned on. "However, there is no reason why you should glare at everyone who passes by. I want this office to project a friendly image, officer. I want people to like us. This is hard to attain when your presence makes people afraid of crossing the street." "I understand, sir," said special constable McCoy, wishing the old windbag would fuck off and go back inside the building. His wishes were met. Kirk said: "Thank you, officer." Then he went back inside the building to wait for Adam. It was almost closing time, just a couple of minutes to four. Kirk had set working hours to 8-16 to take maximum advantage of daylight. As he waited for Adam, Kirk strolled back and forth across the former bank lobby. It had been empty for a while; most days, all the license applications were processed by two in the afternoon. Kirk had retained all of the bank''s fittings and furniture. Applicants for a colonial license approached a teller''s window, manned by the single clerk who processed their applications and collected payment. Subsequently, the applicants went into the former office of the bank''s manager. They were seated in a chair previously used by people applying for loans, and instructed to read and sign a small stack of documents. They signed them after pretending to read them for a few seconds each, and received a colonizer''s or a colonist''s license, and a bag containing one or more implant kits. The bags had been taken from a defunct supermarket in Sausalito. They bore the legend Happy Pepe''s, and featured a grinning Mexican. He had the mandatory mustache and sombrero and looked as if he''d just seen the greatest piece of ass ever walk down the street. Kirk quite liked that picture, although of course he''d have preferred more classy wrapping for the kits. He thought the grinning Mexican showed optimism and an upbeat attitude, the very qualities he wanted in new colonists. There were some protests, particularly when they were told to change their plans. But having already signed an agreement to do so upon request, they had no choice but to obey. Having done that, they were congratulated on their new status, and shown out. Kirk employed a total of four people to attend to these duties, and this was counting the cleaner/handyman who spent most of his time chewing a toothpick while comfortably seated in one of the many empty rooms. When discovered, he would explain he was just taking a short break: he prudently kept a mop and a bucket by his side at all times. There really was absolutely no need to hire more people, Kirk thought. Adam and his ambitions! The governors of Maryland, New Jersey, and Pennsylvania were in the process of learning the costs of expanding too fast, and wouldn''t remain governors for much longer. Carlton Brock had told Kirk as much when they held a brief teleconference following Kirk''s move into his new office. "I know you''re running three days late because of the train trip and shit," Carlton Brock had said. "That''s fine by me. All I want is peace and productivity. I''m firing those three assholes the moment I have the right replacements. I''m tired of listening to all the wails and lamentations. I know I won''t hear any from you. Go for it, Governor; but go at your own pace. You''re the boss." "Yes, sir," Kirk had answered, sorely tempted to say ''yes, boss''. The big, wind-up standing clock that served as the official office timepiece began to beat out four o''clock, and Kirk nodded to the clerk in the teller''s window. He used to be the bank''s assistant manager. Kirk would have employed the manager too, but the man had committed suicide. Such a waste! "I''ll see you tomorrow," Kirk said, and exited. He left the locking up to his staff. He was a governor, not a goddamn janitor. "I''ll see you tomorrow, boys," he said to McCoy and his companion. The two cops said their goodbyes, and walked off in the direction of the police station. Kirk''s official car was parked behind the building, but he waited for Adam on the front steps, admiring the view. Back in the old times, Fort Baker had throngs of tourists snapping pictures of the Golden Gate Bridge and San Francisco Bay. How peaceful and quiet it all was, now! Even the birds were gone. There had been swarms of them at first, in the weeks following the catastrophe when all traffic had stopped. But they dwindled and melted away in the constant rattle of gunshots fired by Fort Baker residents who were happy to get something for dinner without paying, or having to travel too far. "Hey Dad!" Kirk jerked, his foot slipped off the step, and he had to perform a small acrobatic feat to stop himself from falling. He looked: Adam was walking down the street in his direction! Where the fuck was his car? "Sorry I''m a little late," Adam said, drawing near. "I ran out of fucking gas, can you believe it? Fortunately, just a few blocks away. You sure you''ve got a full tank?" "I''m sure," Kirk said. "It''s almost full. I had it topped up yesterday. I don''t drive around as much as you do." He began walking to the car park at the rear of the building with Adam by his side. Adam said: "I forgot to tell you. The guys down at the city hall are complaining you never show your face." "Let them complain all they like," Kirk said smugly. "I don''t give a rat''s ass." "Well, you should look in on them from time to time." "I''m planning to go down there next week to fire a few people. I''ll fire a few people every single time I go in there. It will be easy enough to find a few assholes who aren''t pulling their weight. Soon enough they''ll be begging me to stay away." They fell silent when they reached Kirk''s car: a big four-door Chevrolet sedan. It had been painted a matte green, and was at least thirty years old. It had bulletproof glass in the windows and light armor plating and had been too valuable to discard. The military liked hoarding plenty of old, useless vehicles, spending tons of money on keeping them serviceable. It had turned out to be a clever policy. Kirk started the car up, and soon enough they were driving along the 101 through Sausalito. There was next to no other traffic, and the streets were empty of pedestrians. Everyone was conserving energy in all of its shapes and forms. It was close to an hour''s drive to the Lander mansion in Napa Valley. Kirk and Adam amused themselves by making a bet on the number of vehicles they''d encounter along the way. They both bet in the low hundreds; it turned to be wildly optimistic. They had encountered twenty seven by the time they reached Petaluma, more than halfway home. Most of the vehicles they saw were army trucks, although they also passed an ancient Harley-Davidson motorcycle. It was hauling a two-wheeled cart filled with hay. "I hope it''s not someone''s dinner," Adam commented, craning his head to follow the vehicle with his eyes. "A lot of people have taken to riding horses," Kirk said. "I''m actually surprised we haven''t seen any." "I''d take a short cut across the country if I had a horse," said Adam. "A horse is the ultimate cross-country vehicle." "That it is," Kirk agreed. "Maybe we should take a couple back to the office. Use them for shorter trips. I mean, I''ve burned up half the month''s gas ration in less than a week." Kirk chuckled, and said: "Don''t worry, son. As the state governor, I''m entitled to issue extra gas rations when really necessary. Of course I can''t go crazy with them, but I can get you a few extra refills." "Thanks, Dad. I should have opted for an old clunker, like you. It looks like it''s very fuel-efficient." "Lighter armor, weaker engine, and no silly gadgets like guns or road spike strip launchers. But you had your heart set on driving a little tank." "Yeah," Adam said gloomily. "I thought that, traveling around without an escort... You know." "I don''t, and I don''t want to find out. That''s for stupid assholes like the guys in Maryland and Pennsylvania." "You don''t think we''re going to have that kind of trouble here?" "I don''t think so," Kirk said. "California''s an agricultural state. We''ve got enough food for everyone, even assuming this year''s harvest will be a tenth of what it used to be. And very importantly, we''ve kept everyone''s hopes intact. Hope is key, Adam. I know that because I used to be a politician. A politician is a trader in hope. Take away hope, and you instantly have a shitload of problems." "And everyone here''s still hoping they''ll build themselves a wonderful future in the New World." "Exactly," said Kirk. "If they''re going to be disillusioned, let them get disillusioned at the rate of ten a day. Not a thousand every hour." "Smart." "I like to think so," Kirk said. Twenty minutes later, they finally turned into the driveway leading to the Lander mansion. Almost instantly, they saw something was seriously wrong. A crowd of at least a hundred people of all colors and ages was gathered in front of the entrance to the house. Some were carrying placards on sticks, and all of them turned to look at the car approaching up the driveway. "Oh shit," Adam said. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https:///book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 168 The Art of Governing Kirk stopped the car exactly in front of the entrance and killed the engine. He glanced at Adam, raised a surprised eyebrow, and said: "What''s the matter, son?" "I recognize some of those people," Adam said. He sounded very unhappy about the fact. "Yes?" "Didn''t you recognize that fat bearded guy in the blue windcheater? He''s the mayor of Napa. He had his heart set on becoming the district governor. And I''m sure at least a couple of the others have been to my office. I''ve seen them around." "So? You make a little speech, and everyone goes home happy." "I''m not sure I can pull it off, Dad." Kirk snorted with disbelief. He said: "Christ, Adam. Imagine you''re talking to a bunch of investors pissed off about some fuckup. It''s pretty much the same thing." "I don''t think so," said Adam. "Investors wear suits and ties and I usually dealt with just a few at a time." "They won''t hurt you." "I just don''t know what to say." Kirk sighed. "All right," he said. "I''ll deal with it. Follow my lead. Now let''s get the hell out of this car. It''s beginning to look funny." They climbed out of their seats, with Kirk smiling and nodding to the assembled people. He seemed pleased to see them, and supremely confident. People who had opened their mouths to shout questions and accusations made no sound. Everyone silently watched Kirk stride confidently around the front of the car, and lead Adam up the front steps. Kirk stopped abruptly one step short of the top and turned around, signaling Adam to do the same with a discreet flick of his fingers. He glanced over his shoulder at one of the guards and recognized Wayne, Wayne from Maine, lance corporal in the US Marines. Wayne was a competent guy. Kirk liked Wayne. Kirk said: "How is it going, Wayne?" "Pretty good, sir," said Wayne. "I''d have called for backup otherwise." Kirk nodded. The Lander home was guarded by a squad of Marines. They had been herded into the guest apartment and a couple of bedrooms, with three soldiers to each double bed. Every double bed in the Lander mansion was big enough to accommodate a family of four, and all were very comfortable. No one complained, not even the token female soldier that even the smallest military units were obliged to have, in the interest of sexual equality. The soldiers were on round-the-clock duty and worked shifts, so each bed usually contained a solitary sleeper anyway. It had been done by a talented artist; it was a good likeness, it really was Adam. Kirk had to fight to stifle a laugh. He glanced at Adam, and said: "What''s this vampire stuff?" "I asked people to donate blood," Adam said guiltily. "You know how badly hospitals need blood. They can''t store as much as they used to, and they keep running out." "You asked?" "Well, it wasn''t mandatory. But naturally anyone who signed a declaration to donate blood was expected to donate. That''s the way it works." "Nice," Kirk said. He turned to face the crowd: he had no need to ask Adam about the parachute in the picture. Kirk Lander was the one who had arranged the parachuting. The Lander estate was located in the Napa district, or Napa County in the Old World. The mayor of Napa had been enthusiastically looking forward to being appointed Napa district governor, thus ruling Napa in both worlds. He was disabused of this notion by Adam Lander, who appointed himself instead. He had the authority to do so as the governor of the entire Northern California Region. The Napa district included the Lander estate in the Old World, and most of the Lander-owned settlements in the New World. Only a Lander qualified as a governor of this particular district. Anyone who thought otherwise was insane. "Let me deal with this," Kirk said to Adam in an undertone, without turning his head. He could see some of the people in the crowd were getting restless. It was time to end this nonsense. Kirk suddenly grinned from ear to ear, then actually bent and raised his hand to his mouth, as if he was trying really hard to keep himself from laughing out loud. This little pantomime immediately silenced the murmurs that had begun to rise here and there. Everyone''s attention was focused on Kirk; most likely, some of the watchers thought that he required medical help. Kirk straightened up smiling widely, pointed at the placard with the parachuting Dracula, and said: "I think that picture is just great. Is it for sale? I''d like to have it in my office." He was rewarded by titters and stunned stares. He said: "I understand some of you don''t like my son being appointed the governor. But what could I do? I was already district governor in Fort Baker." There were more titters and more stunned stares. Good! Kirk continued: "I am the governor of California. But I have my home here, in Napa county. So naturally it''s a place that occupies a special place in my heart. I have always felt privileged to live here, surrounded by wonderful people and natural beauty that rivals, uh, all those famous places that are featured on covers of travel magazines." It was a mouthful, but the names that came to his mind couldn''t be spoken. Napa County, though nice, couldn''t compare with the famous places featured on travel magazine covers. By those standards, it was halfway to shithole. Kirk continued: "I would have become the district governor here myself, if it had only been possible. Because this is the place where my heart is. And the best way to ensure it got the treatment it deserved was to put myself in charge. Don''t you agree?" He grinned widely. Yet more titters, even a couple of laughs! Some of the stunned or angry faces were relaxing. A few were becoming more angry, true, but he already had the majority on his side. Kirk suddenly switched off his smile and became deadly serious. He looked right into the eyes of the angry mayor, and said: "I couldn''t do that, so I did the next best thing. I instructed my son Adam Lander, governor of North California region, to serve the Napa district by becoming its governor. A little bit of nepotism never hurts when it''s in everyone''s interest. I think I can promise you... Well, I shouldn''t... Can you promise you''ll keep it to yourselves?" Someone actually shouted: "Yeah!" Kirk acknowledged the shout with a grin and a wave, and said: "I think I can promise you that the district of Napa will receive special attention, special care. Very special care. I think Napa district is already on the way to become one of the most successful, wealthy, and happy districts on the entire fucking continent. But ssssh!" He raised a forefinger to his lips, shushing them all with another hiss. Then he cleared his throat and said in a very official tone: "Of course everything will be done to ensure that Napa does not receive unfair advantages in comparison with other districts. The governors of Northern California and California will make sure of that." He winked at the crowd. The he turned to Adam and said softly: "Smile at them like you mean it, and wave. Then run inside and talk to whoever is on signals duty. Get them to ask for a truck to take the losers without transportation back home. It shouldn''t take more than a few minutes. I''ll handle them in the meantime." Adam departed, drawing just a couple of muted boos. Kirk smiled at the crowd, and said: "Are we all happy now? Any questions?" There was a short silence. Everyone had just had a drink of fresh hope; no one wanted to question fresh hope, to lose its taste. However, after a few seconds a slim woman with bobbed hair, dressed in jeans and a leather jacket, raised her hand as if in class and said: "Why is it taking so long to acquire a colonial license? I was told I have to wait nearly six months." A murmur ran through the crowd. Evidently, it contained many unhappy would-be colonists. Kirk said: "It''s in every governor''s best interest to increase the number of colonies and colonists in his district, and to do it as fast as possible. The key words are, fast as possible. I want all of you to be successful. I want you to build settlements, towns, magnificent cities! I want all of you to become happy and wealthy. None of this will be possible if your second self dies within days of arrival in the New World." He put extra stress on the word ''dies'', and it worked the way it always worked. Everyone was totally focused on what he would say, or possibly who he would name next. Kirk said: "My plan for you is to give you a perfect start in the New World. I want you to arrive and find food, clothes, and tools already waiting for you, in you chosen spot! This is exactly why we require you to declare your launch point. We want to be there for you, in the New World." Damn, that wasn''t bad! There was a time when he was bullshitting people many times every day, and he hadn''t lost his touch. He continued: "But we are just getting started with this whole enterprise. At this point in time, I cannot provide you with the care you need. True, we''re letting limited numbers of applicants through. But they all have to sign a document in which they take full responsibility for their actions, and absolve the colonial government of any blame. I find it very disturbing, very distasteful that we, the colonial government, are forced to ask people to sign this declaration. But we have no choice! Anyone who chooses to start a colony now runs a great risk. Tremendous risks!" Kirk broke off and lowered his head and said gruffly, as if he was fighting deep emotion: "I feel I am personally responsible for all of you. All of you! Me." He thought about pretending to wipe a nonexistent tear from his eye, but decided that would be overdoing it. And anyway, there was no need. There were some cries asking about jobs and public services and general welfare, but Kirk deftly pointed out that this was the responsibility of local elected officials. "I cannot intrude on the decision-making of elected officials," he concluded, giving the mayor of Napa a heavy look. "All those matters are their sole responsibility." Suddenly, the sound of an approaching vehicle cut through the dusk. Everyone turned to look in the direction of the road, already invisible in the growing darkness. The sound of a motor vehicle generated as much excitement as it had almost a century and a half earlier! It was amazing how much things could change in just a hundred days. "I have arranged for transport for everyone who is tired and has a long way home," boomed Kirk. "And thank you for this great opportunity to hear your views! Thank you!" And he retreated inside the house, just as the light beams of the approaching truck slashed through the evening sky. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https:///book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 169 The Smell of Success This wasn''t just because they smelled bad. Where the sense of smell was concerned, good and bad scents were a matter of taste, or even of circumstances. An odor universally accepted as revolting could be also regarded as beautiful in another set of circumstances. During the Second World War, an American infantry unit liberating Normandy was pinned down in the same spot for a few days by the ferocious German defense. The strip of land separating the opposing forces, popularly known as No Man''s Land, featured a large building damaged by a bomb. When the wind blew from that direction, a horrible stench of rotting corpses filled the air. Soldiers gagged, and threw up. Everyone agreed that there had to be many decomposing bodies in the bombed building. Upon liberating that particular strip of Normandy a few days later, the American soldiers discovered the building was a warehouse half-full of what was described as ''deliciously ripe Camembert cheese''. The troops were ecstatic about this wonderful addition to the monotonous diet of military rations. The smell that had made them vomit now actually gave them an appetite. A similar, though much fainter, smell pervaded the Lander mansion. After a moment''s thought, Kirk identified its origins. Frowning heavily, he started looking for the sergeant commanding the squad of marines billeted at his house. He located the sergeant quickly; however, having a talk with him wasn''t possible. A soldier informed Kirk that the sergeant was in the process of taking a shower in the ensuite bathroom of the guest apartment. "Well, tell him I''d appreciate it if his men followed his example. Including yourself," Kirk told the soldier. Then he went to look for Bernard. His younger son was officially in charge of the Lander colony, ably assisted by Debbie. They both seemed to enjoy it very much. Most of the time, they were stretched out on the silvery mats in their respective bedrooms. Kirk discovered they were doing exactly that. He initially wanted to wake them up, but changed his mind. It was natural to take a nap after dinner. He''d hate it if someone woke him up. He went to the kitchen to get something to eat for himself. He fully expected to find Adam there, but he didn''t. Instead, he found Randy Trueman. His son-in-law was consuming a very large sandwich in a guilty manner. "She''s already found about it," Randy informed Kirk. He spoke with food in his mouth, and a wet crumb flew out of his mouth and attached itself to the lapel of Kirk''s jacket. Kirk flicked it off, and said coldly: "I would be grateful if you could stop stuffing yourself for a moment, and told me what''s going on." Randy swallowed hurriedly, and took a sip of what appeared to be iced water from his glass. Kirk''s nostrils twitched: he thought he could detect a faint scent of juniper berries. It seemed Randy Trueman was in the process of depleting Kirk''s stock of gin. Kirk didn''t mind. He appreciated the fact a man could need a drink at the end of the day. In fact, he felt like having one himself. So he said: "Can you give me a glass of whatever you''re having? Gin on the rocks, is it?" "Uh, a martini," said Randy. "Debbie made a pitcher. It''s in the freezer. Just give me a minute." Kirk gave him a minute, and spent it inspecting the kitchen. There was a big pot of very promising-looking thick soup on the stove. He turned the stove on to heat it up and helped himself to a piece of homemade flatbread. He noted with satisfaction that the drink Randy handed him was of the king-size variety. He took a sip - damn! Debbie mixed one hell of a martini. She was such a treasure! Kirk''s eyes moistened with affection for his dumb but talented wife. He said abruptly: "All right. Give it to me. I want all of it, right now." "There isn''t much," Randy said. "Libby Placek found out I''m married to your daughter. She immediately took away my command, and posted me to fucking Yuma. You know Yuma?" "There was a famous western about a train to Yuma," said Kirk. "I know! 3:10 to Yuma. Saw it a hell of a long time ago. That''s the extent of my knowledge of Yuma." "Keep it that way," Randy advised. "You don''t want to get to know this place." Kirk cleared his throat. "Well, actually I should," he said. "I mean, it''s California. But I can''t remember who is the governor over there." "One of Placek''s bitches." "Really? I must look into this. Appointing people to important posts in return for sexual favors... It doesn''t look good. It doesn''t look good at all." "I didn''t mean it that way," Randy said. "At least, I don''t think I did. But it might be true." "It might," Kirk said, with a fresh gleam in his eye. He was already beginning to feel invigorated by Debbie''s excellent martini. He took another sip and said: "That''s it. I''ll launch a little investigation. As for you, son, don''t worry. I hereby appoint you garrison commander in Napa." "But it''s going to take forever for me to get here in the New World." "We''ll remove your implant, and give you a new one right on the spot," said Kirk. "We''ve got plenty to spare, no worries there." He winked at Randy, and added: "What worries me though is that with you, we''ve lost our main source of intelligence inside the Placek camp." "I might be able to help," said Randy. "I''ve made a couple of friends there that don''t like Placek any more than you do. I''ll look into it." "Discreetly," Kirk said, frowning and raising a warning finger. "Of course. And if I may ask, are you going to be handling my transfer personally? Or should I go talk to someone?" "I shall handle it personally," declared Kirk. "And now that you''re here, you''ll be able to brief me directly and in detail on the Placek situation. I mean Karen''s been passing on everything you told her to, but it''s not the same thing." "It isn''t," agreed Randy. "Well, I think... From what I''ve seen and heard... Yeah, I think I can tell you Placek is in trouble. She''s overruled your limits on new colonists. She basically lets everybody in. People are starting to die in droves." "Really? That''s excellent news. But you don''t have to brief me now. You must be tired after your day. How did you get here?" "I got a ride with a courier as far as Frisco. And I immediately got another ride on a truck to Napa. Rest of the way, I walked." "Walked? My boy, that''s twenty kilometers!" "By road. I took a few shortcuts. Anyway, I enjoyed it. You know, lately I''ve been spending a lot of my time on this planet sleeping on a fucking mat in a room. Right now, my guy isn''t even half the way to Yuma. It''s a fucking long way in the New World." "We must arrange your exit carefully," Kirk said. "How are you traveling?" "A small caravan. They''re carrying supplies, it''s a regular run. They can go on without me." "Excellent. You''ll just tell them you''ve received new orders, and turn back. Find a secluded spot for the implant business. We don''t want them finding the corpse of your old guy." "There''s still the question of my horse and equipment." "Unsaddle the horse, and let it run free. Most likely, it will go back home. As for the equipment, hmmm. I guess you won''t have time to fuck around with tiger rock." "Even if I did, there''s no telling where all that stuff would arrive here," Randy said. "Listen, Kirk. If that horse returns home without me, with saddle and harness missing - it''s going to raise questions." "Kill the fucking horse, then," Kirk said firmly. "Kill it and bury all the equipment. There''s no other way." "Okay," Randy said reluctantly. "It might take a while. I mean, I don''t have a shovel or a spade." "I didn''t mean it literally. Shove it inside some cave or crevice or any convenient hole you come across. Shove it inside, and cover it up. That should do it." Randy nodded. "I''ll do exactly that," he said. "When do you want to do the implant thing? In the morning, say twelve hours from now? Five days is more than enough to get completely lost in the New World. What do you think?" Kirk pondered Randy''s question for a while. He refreshed himself with the rest of his martini as he did so. Sniffing his glass, he said: "I smell success. I think it''s a good plan. I''ll take the day off tomorrow. I haven''t had a day off in weeks! I''ll just give Placek a call and tell her what''s what. I''ll also ask her for a full, updated list of all the governors in her region. That will make a good starting point for getting her slung out on her fat ass." "She''s not so fat any more," Randy said. "She''s lost a lot of weight." "Do her good," Kirk said. "Is there anything left in that pitcher?" NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https:///book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 170 Bernard Loses His Head "Bernard!" Kirk exclaimed, a little indistinctly. He hurriedly swallowed the food in his mouth and added: "I''m so glad that you''re up. We really need to talk, and I didn''t want to wake you." "Yeah, we definitely need to talk," Bernard said dreamily. An alarm buzzed in Kirk''s head. He knew, from painful past experience, that when Bernard wanted to talk there was a serious fuckup of some sort involved. Kirk waited patiently while his younger son and leader of the Lander colony fetched a mug and made himself a coffee. He opened his mouth when Bernard sat down across from him and snapped it shut when he saw his son take out a pack of cigarettes, and light one. "You''re started smoking cigarettes?" he said stupidly. "Yeah. I''m running out of pot. And this whole colony business, Dad... It''s stressful. Don''t get me wrong, I enjoy it a lot, but it''s stressful." "There are healthier ways to relax. Bernard, you''ve got to realize that you are still very young and your lungs are still developing and that smoking is especially bad for you." "So is getting my head cut off with a machete," said Bernard. He blew a plume of smoke at the ceiling and looked Kirk in the eyes and said: "I''ve nearly had a fucking revolt. They killed me over there, Dad." "They killed you!" "Correct. They cut off my fucking head. From behind, I didn''t even see it coming." "Who did?" "A couple of fucking Mexicans." Kirk was silent for a while, digesting this information. There were about thirty implanted Mexicans living on Hank Vorner''s semi-defunct farm. They''d proved to be a very valuable addition to the Lander colony in the New World. They had excellent manual skills, and many of them were accomplished craftsmen. There was a real honest-to-God blacksmith, several carpenters, and a number of women that turned out to be expert weavers. "Okay," said Kirk, "A couple of Mexicans. But why?" "I think it''s part of a larger problem. Dad, did it ever occur to you that the Mexicans could try to take over California?" "Take over California? What the hell are you talking about? Why would they want to that?" "Because it originally belonged to them. We grabbed a lot of Mexican territory while building the good old U.S. of A, Dad." "But that''s ancient history. And the Mexican president and governor is a very friendly guy. Carlton told me they were about to sign a treaty." "I''m not talking about the Mexican government, Dad. I''m talking about Mexicans." Kirk frowned. Having fixed himself a coffee, Kirk sat down again and noticed his son was already on his second cigarette. However, this wasn''t the time to make a speech about lung cancer. Kirk said: "Bernard, are you saying Mexican colonizers are trying to take over California in the New World? Is this it?" "It''s more than that," Bernard said. "It''s not only the colonizers, it''s the Mexican colonists, too. Those two that killed me over there - they wanted to start a revolt." "How do you know?" "Hank and I put them through a good, tough Q\u0026A session. Then Hank removed their implants, and kicked them off his farm. I tried to catch them over there, too. I gave myself a new implant right away and put an armed party together the moment I arrived in Fort Lander. But they gave us the slip, and chasing them was a waste of time." "What did they tell you under interrogation?" "Well, they were pretty evasive. They started by trying to feed us all sorts of bullshit. They only opened up when Hank told them they were getting kicked off the farm anyway, but that he''ll give them a couple of dollars if they came clean." "Did he?" "No. But he gave them enough food for a couple of days. Same thing. Anyway, those two said that''s it''s a movement. That Mexican colonists in California are getting in touch with each other and that the general plan is to take over Californian colonies one by one. And that many Mexican colonizers have already agreed to pitch in. We''ve got a ton of Mexican colonizers right here in California, Dad. You must know that. They''re recruiting exclusively Mexican colonists. They''re building a state within the state." "But this is insane. It''s only been a week." "That''s two months in the New World, Dad." Kirk was silent for a moment. Then he said: "I''ll have to do something about it when I get back to work. Yes, I''ll definitely do something about it. What about the situation in Fort Lander? Things are under control?" "Oh yes, no problem there. After Hank kicked those two off the farm, the rest have become very docile. And anyway there''s only a dozen Mexican colonists in Fort Lander, and sixty-two Americans. You see, that''s the ultimate proof they have a whole network operating. They had no chance to take over Fort Lander. They killed me because they wanted to show by example what could be done. To send a signal." "It doesn''t make sense." "It does. Like you pointed out, it''s only been a short while since the whole thing got officially started. There are plenty of undecideds. A move such as a colony owner''s assassination has great persuasive powers." Kirk pondered that for a while. Understandably, it crossed his mind that he too could be the target of an assassination attempt. Not in the New World, oh no. Here, on good old Earth. Maybe Adam had been right to choose a vehicle that was almost a full-fledged military armored car. Maybe it was time to start traveling with an escort. He sighed, and said: "I''m going to have a very thorough, very deep look into that whole Mexican thing. But let''s put it aside right now. How are things going for our own enterprise? Have you reached the coast yet?" "No. We''re at the point where Napa River broadens into a lake. It''s huge in the New World, Dad. You can''t see the other shore in some places. Anyway, I''ve put down an outpost at the northern end. A dozen people. They''re working on a quay and I''m planning to take a boatful of settlers down there next month and set up another outpost on Knight''s Island. It''s not enclosed inside a lagoon in the New World, Dad. It faces the open sea. I''ve sent out scouts to find the best spot for a settlement, and that''s what they''ve reported." "So we''ll have a settlement on the coast within a couple of months?" "Yes. And it''s not like we''re cut off from the ocean right now, either. It''s just a couple of days'' sailing away. But the ship isn''t ready yet. We had to wait for a hell of a long time for the wood to dry before we could start working on it. It should be launched next month, and then it''s going to take another month to fix the rigging." "What ship type did you end up going with?" "A small caravel. Two masts, two lateen sails. Can carry up to fifty people on short distances, if you really squeeze them in. But it only needs a crew of eight, not counting the gunners." "Gunners?" "Yeah. We''ve made our first cannon. Just a light piece, a swivel gun. But we''ve already tested it and you can actually hit a house-sized target at a couple of hundred paces." "You''ve got gunpowder?" "Sure we''ve got gunpowder. I made it a priority. Had no idea getting it involved piss." "Well, that''s the simplest method to get saltpeter. I must say I''m impressed. Yes, I am impressed, Bernard. Good work. You''re going to mount cannon on that ship?" "At least a couple. Maybe four. I''ve been running into the competition, Dad." "Who?" "Well, there''s been some around Napa, but Adam is taking care of that. The problem is with the guys from Vallejo. There are a couple of colonizers there who want the Napa lake to themselves. The scouts I sent out to Knight''s Island ran into those guys. They''ve established settlements controlling the mouth of the Napa river. We can get around that, because like I told you the lagoon has turned into a bay, and there are half a dozen other rivers flowing into that. They''re big enough to let through a full-sized ship." "We want control of the entire Napa river," Kirk said firmly. "And we''ll get it, no fear. A year from now it will be all ours." "A year?" "I meant five weeks. A year over there." "Okay," Kirk said. "Sounds good. I''ll be around all day tomorrow, and we''ll discuss everything further. Right now I''ve got to check on things in my study. What are you going to do?" "I wanted to stretch my legs a little, and then turn in for the night and lead the expedition to Knight''s Island." "Good plan. Is Debbie up, too?" "No, she''s still over there. Dad, Debbie has gone nuts with chickens. Try and rein her in a little." "Why? What''s the matter?" "She keeps breeding them like crazy. The whole town is turning into a goddamn chicken farm. She''s already got over half a thousand." "What!" "You heard right. I''ve got two guys employed full time just dealing with all the chicken shit. It does make good fertilizer but, man, the whole fucking town stinks. I''m going to move the colony capital if she doesn''t stop." "No, no," said Kirk. "You can''t do that. I''ll talk to her. I''ll get it sorted out, I promise." "See you tomorrow?" "You will," Kirk said, and got up and went to his study, feeling slight dread at the thought of what awaited him there. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https:///book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 171 A Message From Above Following the total and irreversible death of all electronic equipment with a processor chip, Kirk dug out the answering machine from the basement and to his amazement, found that the cassette tape hadn''t become demagnetized in the meantime. The answering machine still worked the way it was supposed to; it had been made at a time when people made and bought products that would last for many years. It was a Panasonic Easa-Phone made at a time when Japan was still trying to prove to the world that it made quality products. It wasn''t exactly bulletproof, but it came close. Kirk was very fond of his father''s old answering machine. However, its blinking light filled him with apprehension. He was long past the age when people called just to have a pleasant chat. That kind of thing disappeared with the onset of his thirties, the age when everyone began to become aware that they would die one day, and that it was time to squeeze life for all it was worth. Any man past forty years of age only opened his mouth when it was in his interest to do so. It wasn''t any different for women. Their deceptively mindless chatter concealed a multitude of stealthy probes, sent to discover what the other party wanted to hide. Joyous, honest conversations were what made being young so special, so nice. Of course, there were other advantages, too. Kirk sighed sadly - at one time, he could get it up and shoot his load half a dozen times in a single day, well okay, a day and most of the following night! He was lucky if he could do that a couple of times a week, now. Once a week seemed to be the new, or maybe rather the old standard. He still needed to get his rocks off once a week, though. If he didn''t get it once a week, he became testy and generally unpleasant to everyone he came into contact with. Kirk thought briefly about his housekeeper who gave him head on Saturdays in the New World, and shuddered. He''d picked a plain-looking housekeeper to avoid suspicion. Well, if he didn''t change the housekeeper for someone better-looking, soon enough there wouldn''t be any grounds for any suspicion. As it was, he always thought about Debbie when the action took place. Otherwise, there would''ve been no action at all. Kirk became aware of the fact that he''d been purposefully distracting himself from listening to the messages left on his answering machine. He approached its winking light, and stretched out a hand to press Play and there was great sadness in the way he did that: almost as if he was about to put a flower atop the coffin during a funeral. Kirk paused the message playback with a violent prod that almost pushed the answering machine off his desk. Smelly soldiers, treacherous Mexicans, and now Penny! Fuck this senator shit. Kirk froze. He was experiencing an epiphany. Senator sounded good, yes, it definitely sounded good. But suddenly, being a senator seemed to be a major pain in the ass. Did he really need it? Frowning, Kirk paced his study, hands clasped behind his back. The elected government had been downgraded to the level of a janitor: keeping things as clean as possible, doing a lot of smiling, making lots of promises that weren''t going to be met. Running around and kissing the voters'' unwashed asses was a very high price to pay for something like that. It just wasn''t worth it. True, in the past being a senator carried various advantages. But Kirk enjoyed many more, many bigger advantages as governor. Basically he ruled California in both worlds. And ''senator'' was a honorific title. He would be addressed as senator even when he was no longer a senator, just like all those retired presidents and marshals and admirals. He checked his watch. It was nearly nine o''clock in California. It would be nearly midnight in Washington. Never mind - I am a man of action, thought Kirk. He picked up his phone and dialed the number left by Penny. If he woke up Penny or interrupted some private business, so much the better. Penny didn''t answer the phone for nine rings. Then his wife did, and Kirk was happy about that. He knew Penny''s wife hated Penny''s guts, and that he was speaking to an ally. "I''m so sorry," Kirk lied. "But I have to speak to the President immediately. It''s a matter of utmost urgency." His new ally, Penny''s wife, assured him she''d make sure Penny came to the phone. She sounded as if Penny was currently engaged in a task demanding utmost concentration, and would suffer greatly if interrupted. She sounded as if she was going to enjoy interrupting him to make him talk to Kirk. Penny sounded hoarse when he came on the line. Kirk had the fleeting hope that Penny had choked on something when he heard Kirk was calling. Kirk said: "This is Kirk Lander speaking, Mr President. I''ve just listened to your message, and of course I''m calling you back immediately. Sir, I am handing in my resignation as senator for California state." Penny was silent. Kirk held noises in the background: it sounded like the wife was pouring herself a drink. When Penny finally spoke, it was obvious he hadn''t been drinking water either. Penny said: "I''m, aah, I''m not sure what you just said. You said..." "I''m resigning, effective immediately. I''ll send it in writing. But I thought you''d appreciate being informed of it earlier." "Yes, of course, yes, of course," said Mark Penny. "We can talk about this more day after tomorrow. I''ve arranged a plane ride for you. It''s, uh, picking up mail in Kansas City and Indianapolis, but you''ll still arrive by the evening." "I''m very grateful, sir, but it''s unnecessary," said Kirk. "I am resigning with immediate effect. I should have done it the moment I was chosen the governor of California, and I beg your pardon for this oversight. The duties of a senator and a governor cannot be reconciled, it just isn''t possible. Besides, everyone would object to such an accumulation of authority in one person. And I personally wouldn''t feel comfortable, wielding so much power." This was Kirk''s lie of the century, given the fact that he''d die well before the century ended. But it still was a very powerful argument. No one would challenge that argument. Everyone thought that they were the best person in existence, and #1 on the list of candidates to rule the world. Everyone lied about it. Challenging that lie was like challenging humanity itself. Penny had no choice but to accept, and he did. He covered his retreat with some hoarse-voiced pronouncements about duty and difficult times and the need for sacrifices. Kirk said: "I understand that, Mr President. I''m not sure you understand a governor''s duties involve being two different persons in two different worlds simultaneously. I cannot continue attending to senatorial duties, as well. I can split in two but I cannot split in three. It just isn''t possible. Please accept my apologies." Mark Penny had no choice but to accept both the apologies and the resignation. "I''m sorry," he said. He sounded a little worried, but definitely not sorry. Kirk said: "By the way, is Libby Placek expected to attend this meeting?" "She is," said Penny. "She is actually flying on the same plane." "What plane is that?" "It''s a Dakota. A DC-3. The most reliable plane ever made." "I wasn''t asking about the type of plane," Kirk said. "I was asking whether that was the plane I was supposed to take." "Yes." Kirk wasted no time in reasserting he wouldn''t be on that plane; he stressed, once again, that he was resigning effective immediately. He had the thought that maybe he was passing on the chance to throw Placek out of the plane at suitable altitude. Those old planes had doors that could be opened anytime. But of course there were bound to be other people travelling on that plane... Witnesses and all that shit... No, that wasn''t a good idea. The counter on the answering machine told Kirk he still had two messages left, most likely two shitloads of trouble to deal with. But he was tough. He could take it. He pressed the Play button. The second message consisted of a long hiss recorded by a hesitant caller, someone too shy to speak. The third message featured the voice of Carlton Brock, who said: "Kirk. Where the fuck are you? I called your office and some throwback said he was just the janitor and about to close up. Something important has come up. Whatever time you hear this, call me back immediately at this number..." Kirk had to play back the message three times to write down the number provided by Brock. While he did that, his mind was busily speculating on the reason behind Brock''s call. He dialed the number, and waited. After the fourth ring, a female voice said: "Hello? Please identify yourself." Kirk recognized the voice. It belonged to Lea Panatella. He said: "It''s Kirk Lander, governor of California. Carlton left me an urgent message." "Just a moment," said Lea Panatella. The moment stretched into three. Kirk was about to hang up and try again when Carlton Brock said: "Hello? Kirk?" NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https:///book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 172 Lonely At The Top However, this time Kirk''s calculations misfired. Carlton Brock snarled: "Stop sounding so pleased with yourself, Lander. You''re sitting on a rebellion. We are all sitting on a rebellion! We''re a step away from a revolt. A fucking revolution!" "I know things are bad in some state territories," Kirk said soothingly. "But they are peaceful here, Your Excellency. Well, I had a group of demonstrators come to my residence, but they dispersed after I talked to them." "What the fuck are you talking about! I just got some numbers from California. Over a hundred riots in the past six days!" "There have been no riots in the Northern California region," Kirk said firmly. "But I admit I haven''t received a report yet from Libby Placek - you know, the governor of Southern California. I did hear she''s not doing so well." "She hasn''t let you know at all what''s happening at her end?" "No, sir." "It''s a disaster. A fucking disaster!" "I agree she''s a disaster, sir. With your approval, I''ll start looking around for someone to replace her." "Okay. But we also have to do something immediately to put out this fire before it spreads. We''ve got a whole fucking Army corps in New Jersey, Kirk. An Army corps in addition to all the cops and the National Guard. And they all have their hands full." "But aren''t those protests directed at the national, elected government? I mean they are the ones responsible for the ordinary people." "They''re directed at us, Kirk. A lot of ordinary people acquired colonial licenses, and when they did, they became our responsibility. Colonists and colonizers aren''t entitled to the guaranteed monthly income, Kirk. They sign their right to that money away when they receive a colonial license. They all think they''ll import New World food, and get rich on the colony profits. Then they''re dead within a day, I mean our kind of day, ten days in the New World. They can''t even feed themselves over there, they can fucking forget about sending any food back here. So they''re left with no food and no money and very poor job prospects. Sure, they can reapply for the guaranteed income when they return their licenses, but they won''t be getting any for a month or two. It takes time to process things now that we''ve regressed into the Paper Age. And who is to blame for all that shit? We are!"" "We must enforce strict limits for new licences on all levels of government," Kirk said. "Kirk, Kirk, Kirk. Every governor, irrespective of level, is fully independent - remember? They can be fired and replaced at a moment''s notice, but we can''t give them orders." "Time is something we don''t have. We need an immediate solution." Kirk sighed, regretting that he had done such a good job of impressing Brock earlier on. Impressing someone once wasn''t enough. They expected to keep being impressed. A failure to impress repetitively counted as a failure. "Offhand, I can think of only one thing," Kirk said. "And it''s not a perfect solution." "There are no perfect solutions to anything. I''m listening." "Increase the number of implants received with a colonist''s license to two. That will mean every failed colonist to date will get an extra implant, a second chance. And all new colonists will have a backup implant." "We can''t change the license fee. You know that. And it''s not like we have an unlimited supply of implant kits." "But we have over ten billion worldwide! More than one per every person living." "Kirk," said Brock. "How many implant kits have you used so far on your capital in the New World?" "Around fifteen hundred. I exported a lot of domestic animals and seedlings, and I''ve got around three hundred colonists there at present." "And there are a million governors worldwide," said Brock. "Do the math. What''s more, we need to keep at least a couple of billion kits in reserve. We don''t know how to make them. It''s a strictly limited supply situation. It let us promise everyone could get an implant because we calculated no more than half the global adult population would want a license. At most four billion people, most likely less. But if we start giving everyone two kits it could be eight billion total. That leaves us with no reserve." Kirk became painfully aware that he had over seventy thousand illegal implant kits stashed in the wine cellar he''d built inside a cave. The cave was located a short walk from the house, and the kits plus some hiber beds and a few documentation scrolls were hidden in the enormous wine barrels lining the cave''s walls. The entrance to the cave was blocked by a tall steel fence and a locked gate. A large notice on the gate read: NOT TO BE OPENED BEFORE SUMMER 2040. "A good wine has to age," Kirk had told the inquisitive sergeant in charge of the Marine squad. "And this is going to be the best wine ever produced in California." The sergeant was impressed, and left it at that. The secret stash of items taken from the cube was safe. But it weighed on Kirk''s conscience, and he had to clear his throat before he said: "Like I said, it''s not a perfect solution. But it''s going to take a while to process two billion applicants. It''s going to take a very long while once all governors start to apply limits to the number of new colonists. We''ll cross that bridge when we come to it. What matters is that this change - two kits per colonist, a replacement kit for everyone who has fucked up - this should go a long way to solve the existing problem, the problem we have right now." Brock was silent for a while. Then he said: "It might work. But people are still going to fuck up the second time around. They''re still going to die over there." "It will be exclusively their own fault," Kirk said. "They''ll only have themselves to blame. And they''ll know that. Anyway, they''ll have a choice: take the extra implant, or surrender their colonial license and reapply for the guaranteed income. Once people have a choice, they''re easier to manage. Even when it''s a fake choice. And there''s another small extra step we can take, too." "Go on." "Let everyone apply to become a colonist in one of the colonial administrative centers in the New World. It''s like a job, really. They can send back food and industrial goods within limits set by the governor in charge. Or they could leave handling their quota to the governor, and would get a cut of the profit once the goods are sold. We don''t need to hire everyone who applies, of course. We''ll hire the people we select and naturally that takes time, and people understand that kind of thing because that''s exactly the process they go through when looking for a job." "Kirk," Brock said. "That''s brilliant. You''re a lifesaver. I knew you''re the man to call about the current shitstorm. Think on. You get any new ideas, I want to hear them right away. And fire Placek''s ass and put someone in charge who''ll do what he''s told. Rinse and repeat for every governor who dared overrule your new colonist limit. Of course, that''s only my advice. I cannot order you to do anything." Brock didn''t need to say ''but I can fire your ass anytime I want to''. Kirk heard it loud and clear anyway. He said: "I''ll do exactly what we agreed on, sir." "Thank you. Thank you! Goodbye." "Goodbye," said Kirk. He left his study, and went to look for Adam. He needed to talk to the governor of Northern California immediately, and inform him of the latest developments. Kirk found Adam on the magnificent back terrace of the mansion. Adam was refreshing himself with an unidentified drink while looking sadly at the defunct fountain in the center of the garden. With water costing one new dollar per cubic meter - one thousand liters - operating a fountain was expensive even for the very wealthy. The garden was far from looking its best, too: March wasn''t the best month for viewing gardens in the northern hemisphere. Kirk walked up to Adam, noting that his son did not turn his head to see who was approaching. It bode badly. Kirk said: "Adam, I''ve just finished talking to Carlton Brock." "Yes?" asked Adam, still looking at the dead fountain. "We''ll be making some big changes." "Yes?" "Carlton agreed that it''s time to fire Placek''s ass." "That''s nice." Adam sounded like a cancer patient who had just been told by a doctor that he could maybe live another three months instead of just one. Kirk said: "Adam, what''s wrong?" "I just feel sad and lonely, Dad. I don''t know why." "I do," Kirk said. "It''s lonely at the top." 173 The Price of Living Comfortably "This is the first time ever I''ve heard you mention feeling lonely." "Don''t attach too much importance to it," Kirk said. "Everyone feels that way sometimes." "Yes. But you''ve never talked about it, before." "And I don''t intend to do so, in the future. It just slipped out." "Maybe that''s good." "No it isn''t. It''s best not to talk about things like that." "Why? Sincere communication - " "Sincere communication is very overrated," Kirk said. "To begin with, it''s never sincere. Words stop being sincere the moment they leave your mouth." "I''m not sure I understand that." "You do. You just aren''t honest with yourself about it." Adam laughed. "You''ve changed a lot in the past couple of months, Dad," he said. Kirk shook his head. "I haven''t," he said. "People don''t really change. They adapt. Deep inside, they stay the same." "Well, you definitely behave and talk differently." "I''m adapting," Kirk said. "It''s a new situation, so I''m adapting. So are you. So is everyone else. Bernard has been forced to do a lot of adapting, very fast. Did he tell you he got his head cut off over there?" "No!" "Yes." And Kirk went on to tell Adam about his younger brother''s misadventure. He concluded by saying: "Bernard thinks the Mexicans are plotting to take over California in the New World. I gather Hank Vorner shares that view, too. What do you think?" "It''s not impossible," Adam said. "Really? I thought Bernard was just getting paranoid. You know, getting your head cut off is not a pleasant experience even when it takes place in another reality." "Well, I''ve been talking to a guy I used to hang out with at the university," said Adam. "He''s a district governor in Florida now. He told me the Cuban emigres in Florida are planning to take over Cuba in the New World." "Adam, surely that''s different. They''re Cubans, they want Cuba. California is American!" "It used to belong to Mexico, if I remember right." "Hell! So did many other states. Are they going to invade U.S. territory in the New World to take them back? They''d be stupid to even think about it." "I have the feeling, Dad, that they indeed might be thinking about it." "Impossible. Insane! That''s like asking for punishment." "They might be stronger than us over there, Dad." "You think so?" "It''s definitely possible. It''s an equal start for everyone." "But it doesn''t make sense! We have a world government. The whole world is truly united, for the first time ever. Anyone can move and live and work anywhere." "Ethnic groups! You''re suggesting we''re going back to tribal level?" ""We''ve certainly moved back in time technology-wise," Adam said diplomatically. "And you know something, it looks like the bottom feeders are rising to the top. That poor farmer in Africa or Asia or South America or wherever who works a tiny plot of land, and makes his own clothes and tools because he can''t afford to buy any - that''s the guy who is king today." "Surely you''re exaggerating." "I''m not. He produces food, and knows how to use his hands other than for jerking off. Jerking off and operating a computer mouse and keyboard - that''s about the only manual activity many people know how to do." Kirk was silent as he reviewed his own manual accomplishments. After a while, he said: "You might have something there. Yes, a highly developed civilization can make people soft. There was this Molito woman in New York. Carlton invited her along with a guy called Katz - I think she was dean of psychology at Harvard, and he was dean of sociology or something like that. I recall they said people from highly developed countries are going to be disadvantaged in the New World." "Can''t argue with a Harvard dean, Dad." "Yeah. Those guys go on and on until everyone''s asleep. Anyway, I think that''s what I''m going to do now - get some sleep." "Are you going to stay tuned out?" "Yes. Why?" "You haven''t been to the New World for a while, Dad." "Is it a problem?" Adam shrugged. "It doesn''t seem so," he said. "I mean, your guy over there is you. But you know how it is with problems. Everything seems to be okay and then all of a sudden it turns out that there is a problem after all, and that it''s been there for a long, long while, only no one paid any attention. You ought to check in from time to time, Dad. Check in, and have a look at things." "All right," sighed Kirk. "All right. I''ll tune in before I fall asleep." Kirk did not go to sleep right away. He looked in on Debbie first. She was still sleeping! Stretched out on her hiber bed, she looked both comfortable and happy. Kirk thought he could see a faint smile on her face. Bernard was asleep too, but he was frowning. Kirk decided he''d definitely have to tune in, and find out what was going on with Bernard in the New World. Then he remembered that in the New World, he and Bernard were separated by a nearly thousand kilometers in a straight line, across both land and water. Getting together required a journey that would take half a year, there and back. Well, he could talk to Bernard over breakfast to find out what was going on in Fort Lander. Judging by the expression on Bernard''s face, something definitely was going on there, and it wasn''t pleasant. For a brief moment, Kirk wished things were the way they had been in the old times. In the old times he simply hired the right people to do needed jobs, and spent his time making speeches and attending parties and playing golf. He made speeches on automatic, he just had to switch on the tape appropriate to the current circumstances. Parties were kinda similar, with the option to drink alcohol. Golf! Yeah, that was the best thing of them all. Golf involved doing something productive with his hands. Kirk thought about his forthcoming visit to the New World, and shuddered. He definitely liked it better in the Old World. Yes, there were many new privations, but they were nothing compared to the barbaric existence he was condemned to when living in the New World. Taking a fucking bath was a major endeavor! That gave him an idea of what to do next: he would take a bath before he went to bed, or rather hiber bed. He directed his steps to the private bathroom he shared with Debbie. When he entered it, it was immediately obvious that it hadn''t been used in a while. His wife had ceased to wash herself! It wasn''t as much of a problem as it would have been if Kirk was younger, but nevertheless he felt an angry sadness. Something had passed into the past, something was gone. It went against his will, and it went unnoticed until it was too late to do anything about it. Kirk spent quite a while lying in the jacuzzi, soaking in the scented water - he put in plenty of his favorite bath salt. While he was bathing, he did a quick calculation. He''d used a couple of hundred liters of heated water; most likely, the combined cost was close to a full dollar. A new dollar, or a hundred old ones. A hundred bucks for a fucking bath! After some intense mental calculations, Kirk reduced the price to fifty. It still was a lot, a whole fucking lot. It suddenly dawned on Kirk that light and heat were becoming luxuries. They were both a given, in the old times. Everyone had electricity and everyone had heating, people who didn''t were truly rare exceptions. And the combined cost for the whole month, per person, used to be less than the money Kirk spent on his lunch. Light at night was a luxury. Heat was a luxury. And if it was too hot in general, fucking forget about air conditioning. Running a couple of air conditioner units would cost something like a dollar per hour in electricity bills. A new dollar - hundred old dollars. Insanity squared! Kirk stayed in his bath until the water became chilly and uncomfortable. He rubbed a towel over his body looking at the emptying bathtub. He knew he ought to clean it, because there was no longer a maid to take care of stuff like that; Maria had never returned from her holiday in her native Mexico. Was there really a Mexican conspiracy to conquer California? Fuck! The mirror over the hand basin wasn''t too clean, either. Kirk examined his face and found several new lines. Maybe they''d been there for a while, and he''d forgotten about them? No, they were definitely new, new signs of old age. He entered his bedroom and was instantly hit by yet another wave of sadness: Debbie didn''t sleep there any more. Those days, she chose to sleep in one of the guest bedrooms. She wanted to sleep by herself. She did not want to be woken up by someone else, she didn''t want her time in the New World interrupted by anyone, including her husband. Kirk took a fresh pair of pyjamas from the bedroom dresser and discovered that they had a musty smell. Frowning, he put them on anyway and got into his enormous double bed. He wasn''t using a hiber bed, he wanted to spend as little time in the New World as he only could. It would have been different had he been living in Fort Lander over there, together with Debbie and Bernard. He checked the time before he fell asleep and calculated he would be arriving over there around noon. It was winter over there and although winters in both New and Old World California were mild, it still was the worst season of the year. Noon! He''d probably arrive in the middle of some fucking meeting. Grimacing, he raised his hand to the implant behind his right ear and began to rub it, tuning in. When he was done, he lay back on his bed. He felt himself drift away - NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https:///book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 174 Bernard Bleeds Again He''d kept back something when he told his father about his unpleasant misadventure. He didn''t mention he''d acquired a very strong, very deep desire to rip the guts out of every Mexican he came across, in either world. He felt it again as he lay back on his hiber bed. When he arrived in Fort Lander, he found himself frowning at a wayward chicken running down the street in front of the house that served as his residence. The chicken was chased by one of the Mexican colonists, and Bernard realized that a bit of planning was required before he could indulge in his murderous desires. The Mexican colonists were very useful - they took care of the fucking chickens, among other things - a final solution to the Mexican problem required careful planning, and plenty of foresight. Bernard stood on the front porch of his residence and watched the Mexican capture the chicken with a diving lunge at its legs. The chicken''s bid for freedom was ended; it beat its wings madly while hanging head down in its captor''s grasp. It was utterly helpless, and Bernard smiled an evil smile. He had begun to dislike chickens lately. He was able to tell that the chicken struggling in the laborer''s grasp was a cock. A male chicken had a very short life expectancy. It was used to impregnate as many hens as possible while it grew to biggest possible size. Then it was slaughtered for meat, while its numerous lovers went on contentedly laying eggs, and getting laid by a succession of fresh males. It was nice to be a hen. While Bernard was watching the chicken, his brain was busy absorbing all the new New World data: an update on what had happened since his last visit. When the last update on the list popped into his conscience, he grimaced and set out for the ship dock. The road to the harbor on the river led between two rows of buildings, mostly wooden cabins inhabited by colonists. The wood was already turning grey because of the weather. Here and there, children were playing in front of the sagging front porches of the houses. Bernard encouraged colonists to bring along their children. Yes, they were a burden to begin with. But they''d grow up ten times faster in the New World, and make much better citizens than their parents. They''d know what was what by the time they grew up. They''d be obedient. It was a ship that clearly wasn''t ready to sail anywhere. Its smaller, rear mast was tilted at a crazy angle; the rigging hadn''t been completed. Two men were working on the ship''s steer, suspended on a platform - a plank with two ropes: they appeared to be fastening the steer blade mount with big wooden hammers. Thuck-thuck went the hammers, in rhythm with Bernard''s steps, as he descended down the partly cobbled path towards the pier. The foreman had seen him approach, and he jumped off the side of the ship almost the moment Bernard stopped. He half-walked, half-ran up to Bernard, meeting him at the beginning of the pier, and said: "Good morning, sir." Bernard inspected the man before him from top to bottom in a single sweeping gaze. The boots and leather pants were okay, but one of the wooden buttons on the thick leather vest was cracked. Another was hanging by a thread. Bernard said: "Mend those buttons the moment you finish this shift. What''s going on?" "Everything according to plan," the foreman said. "We''re slightly ahead in some areas. But the rigging - the rope-makers are late. I have to ask you to have a word with them. They''re already a couple of weeks behind. And we still don''t have a single anchor." "I thought the first anchor was delivered a couple of days ago!" "It cracked when we tested it. The blacksmith''s working on a new one. It should be ready the day after tomorrow." "We need two anchors by the end of the week," Bernard said. "I know. So does the blacksmith. But there''s only so much that he can do." "He''ll have to work harder," said Bernard. A gust of wind hit his face, bringing the stench of the leaves rotting along the shoreline of the river. Baring his teeth with disgust, he said: "And so will you. I want this ship ready for tests no more than a week from now. Seven days. I''ll make sure you get everything you need. Do you need extra men?" "A couple of hands would be good, sir," said the foreman. He was stiff with apprehension. His intuition was correct. Bernard said: "I''m firing you if you don''t deliver. You''re out of here. You can go and stand in the lineup with the other losers applying for handouts if you fail me. Do you understand?" "Yes, sir," said the foreman, silently hating Bernard. The fucking pipsqueak! He wasn''t even eighteen! Who the fuck did he think he was? "I''m going to talk to the rope guys right away," said Bernard. "Get your ass in gear. Move!" "Yes, sir," said the foreman, and scurried towards his coworkers like a frightened cockroach. Bernard moved too, walking fast to the rope maker''s workshop. It was located at the other end of Fort Lander, and he was beginning to sweat by the time he got there. What he found at the rope maker''s workshop instantly made him hot with anger. The rope maker was leaning against the back doorway and talking to a grinning Mexican chica, while his two young assistants were clumsily undoing the plaits of a short thick rope, each of them working at one end. "What the hell is that?!" Bernard shouted. He had a mind to give the Mexican girl a clip on the ear, and the rope maker a kick in the ass. The girl''s hand flew to her mouth when she saw Bernard, and she ran away; the rope maker turned round, and snapped to attention. "Good day, sir," he said. "It''s not going to be good for you," snarled Bernard. "I''ve just talked to the shipbuilder. You''re two weeks behind schedule and you stand around scratching your ass!" "We''ve run out of yarn," the rope maker said quickly. "We''re having to take apart bits and pieces left over from the ropes we''ve already made. Even then, we won''t have enough yarn until the latest batch of fiber is converted into slivers. It''s in the process of being impregnated with oil, it''s going to take another day. It takes time for the fiber to absorb the oil." "You should have planned ahead for that," said Bernard. "I did! The oil presser was late. Over a week late! Please, sir. Could you have a talk with him?" "I will. Right now though, I''m talking to you, so listen carefully. If you don''t deliver all the rope needed for the ship''s rigging by the end of the week, I''m replacing you and kicking you out of the colony." The rope maker turned pale. The colonists inhabiting Fort Lander were allowed to send home ten kilos of food every month, including two kilos of meat and two of fish. It was a very valuable perk. "We''ll work day and night, sir," he said. "You better," Bernard said grimly. He directed his next steps to the oil press. He found no one there. A glance inside the shed standing next to the press told him why. The shed was used to store seeds from which oil was pressed, and it was completely empty: not a single sack or basket of seeds! Bernard guessed the oil press crew was out looking for acorns. Acorns could be pressed for oil, and they were plentiful at this time of the year. His mouth set in a grim line, Bernard set out for the fishermen''s shacks located near the bank of the river. Halfway there, he changed his mind and stopped, drawing curious glances from a couple of passing colonists. He''d intended to requisition all the fish oil stored in the fish smokehouse. But he knew that this intervention would inevitably disturb another supply chain, cause new troubles somewhere along the line. Governing the Lander colony was like dealing with a mess of tangled lines; pulling on any of them invariably involved pulling on some of the others. He was sick of it! It had been great at the beginning. He got a kick from issuing orders to men twice his age. But the novelty had worn off a while ago. Governing was like a tiresome slog through a swamp, where every misstep could have serious consequences. It was time to appoint a deputy to deal with all that shit. Nominally, Debbie was the colony''s lieutenant-governor. She took care of all the food business: fishing, hunting, gathering, agriculture. She was really good: no one went hungry in the Lander colony, and there was a regular food surplus. Bernard took it upon himself to manage manufacturing and construction work in the colony. He''d always greatly enjoyed strategy games where correct management of the economy was crucial to victory. But in a game, everyone did what they were ordered to do. Things didn''t work like that in life, in either of the two worlds. Hank Vorner! He would appoint Vorner as his second deputy. Hank was a great guy, and very knowledgeable about pretty much everything that concerned the practicalities of life. And Bernard had a good excuse for appointing a second deputy, too. He intended to lead the expedition to King''s Island aboard the new caravel. He wouldn''t be around to manage things. It was too early for Hank to be at home. He had gone to fetch pig iron from the colony''s out-of-town operation. The colony''s only source of iron ore delivered ore of such low quality that it was impractical to transport it to Fort Lander. It was smelted into pig iron onsite, with ingots collected once a week. And this was that day of the week. He''d talk to Hank in the evening. And in the meantime, he''d visit the alehouse to test the quality of the latest batch of beer. It could vary wildly, together with the material used for brewing: it would be another couple of years before the barley crop covered both the brewers'' and the bakers'' needs. Beer quality had huge impact on the colony morale. It was clearly Bernard''s duty as governor to ensure certain standards were kept. Bernard resumed walking, the frown disappearing from his face. He''d test the beer, and then he would go around and give a few people shit, just so that they remembered who was the boss. "Good afternoon, sir," said a passing colonist, carrying a bundle of firewood on his back. Bernard smiled at him, and raised a hand in acknowledgement. "Good afternoon," he said, and walked on with a lighter step. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https:///book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 175 Sail Ahoy When he''d finished retching and coughing, Kirk wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his leather jacket, and wiped the sleeve on the handrail. He looked astern, and saw that the shore wasn''t that far away: he could clearly make out the people standing at the end of the wooden pier. That meant they likely saw him throw up; fuck! He shouldn''t have drank all that ale before stepping aboard. But it was hard to resist the ale. It had been brewed especially for the ceremony preceding the maiden voyage of the first ship built in Fort Baker, Kirk''s capital in the New World. Then there was also the roast duck - seven ducks! They had been brought in by the settlement''s hunters along with several hares and half a dozen squirrels. Game was visibly becoming more abundant in the New World. It was even harer to resist the roast duck - such a treat did not come often. And now, it was the fish that were feasting on Kirk''s largely undigested meal. What a waste! "Is everything all right, sir?" Kirk straightened up and turned to face David Craw, captain of the Albatross and commander of Kirk''s colonial navy. Back on good old Earth, David Craw was a former naval officer and a renowned sailor, winner of many yachting trophies. He was also very interested in historical sailing ships, and had at one point built an exact replica of an eighteenth-century schooner. He was the perfect man to take command of the Albatross. Well, maybe not perfect, but definitely the best man available. Kirk smiled at Craw, and said: "Yes, I''m fine now, thank you. How''s the ship? You like her?" "Oh, she''s fine, she''s fine so far. Of course, a few things are bound to come up by the time we dock back in port. I think we should have taken more ballast. She rolls a little strongly." "Rolls?" "Sways. Like, a sideways motion." Craw illustrated the discussed motion by wagging and tilting his hand. "Is this something normal?" "Pretty much, yes. Only she rolls and yaws a little too strongly for my liking." Kirk finally realized Craw was offering him an excuse for being sick earlier on. What a gentleman! He said: "David, given your leadership I''m sure this ship is capable of sailing all the way to Asia." "I don''t know, sir. Well, maybe if I went north along the coast, all the way up to Bering Strait. She''s a solid ship, but she won''t be able to sail twenty thousand sea miles without landfall." "Twenty thousand?" "Or more. Remember, sir, the distance is going to be ten times greater." "You wanted to have a look at Angel Island, sir. Because of the settlement you ordered set up there. We''re carrying some supplies for them. With this wind, we should be there before nightfall." Kirk looked up at the enormous square sail above his head. It wasn''t even half-full. His doubt must have showed on his face, because Craw said: "We''ll be turning east in an hour or so, once we get clear of Point Caballo. We''ll pick up speed then. It''s a good westerly breeze, should stay that way for a while." "I see." "Would you like to go up to the bows? Or maybe up on the poop deck? You''ll have a better view." Going up anywhere was out of the question. The only direction Kirk wanted to move was down, as in lying down. He said: "I think I''ll just stay here awhile. Get my sea legs." He smiled at Craw. "As you wish, sir." Craw left, and Kirk turned and put both of his hands on the railing. He felt it going up and down, up and down in a relentless rhythm. Perhaps the swaying would be gentler if he moved towards the center of the ship? No, he was going to stay where he was, and absorb the view. It was stunning. It was amazing. There was no Golden Gate Bridge, and Golden Gate was miles and miles wide - Kirk could barely make out the coast on the southern side of the strait. Sunlight sparkled on the water; above, several seagulls swooped and circled, looking for prey. It was an almost cloudless day; solitary, fleecy clouds moved majestically across the vivid blue sky. It would be a perfect day, everything would be perfect if it wasn''t for the bad taste in Kirk''s mouth. He glanced to his left, then to his right. The ship seemed to be sailing itself: he could see no crew except for the two lookouts: one in the bows, and another in the deep crow''s nest high above the deck. His head was little more than a dark dot in the sky. The water hissed softly as the ship''s hull cut through the sparkling surface of the bay. For a moment, Kirk considered climbing the steps to the poop deck: the helmsman and Craw were there. But then the low door to the crew''s quarters under the foredeck banged open, and several crewmen emerged. The last in line was wiping his mouth and Kirk realized they''d all been having a hurried meal. Craw had told him earlier that everyone was up an hour before dawn, and that the entire morning had been filled with frenzied preparations for the ship''s first journey. Kirk had asked about those preparations, and Craw rattled off a whole list of things Kirk couldn''t understand. However, the last item on that list caught his attention. "Water pump? What''s wrong with the water pump?" "The pistons don''t fit properly. We have to take it apart, and put it back together again. We can''t put out to sea without a working pump." "You''re anticipating an accident?" "No, of course not. The ship leaks and - " "Hold on! The ship is leaking? The hull is letting water in? And you''re proposing to sail?" "All wooden ships with a hull of planks leak a little, sir. It''s normal. Brand-new ships leak more because the wood is dry. When it''s bloated with water, it makes things tighter. It''s just a few gallons of water per hour. It''s nothing to worry about." "You''re saying gallons of water coming in every hour are nothing to worry about?" "Correct, sir." Kirk had spent a fairly restless night prior to journey. Now, standing on the deck of the Albatross, he performed some rudimentary calculations: sixteen to ten hours earlier - that was while he was talking with Randy Trueman and later Bernard, back home. He shook his head. They''d sail all the way to Angel Island and back before he awoke in his bed back home. Two or three days full of discomfort! Why the hell had he wanted to sail all the way to Angel Island? It was at least twenty miles, and that was in a straight line. It simply wasn''t safe to undertake such a long journey in a brand-new, largely untested ship. He saw Craw descending the steps from the poopdeck. Craw looked at Kirk and waved and walked up to him as surely as if he''d been walking down a paved street. Kirk noted that Craw''s knees were slightly bent, absorbing the movement of the deck. Craw came to a stop a few steps away from Kirk and grinned and said: "She''s good, sir. Great piece of work by the builders considering that''s the first time they ever built a cog. And using pretty primitive tools, too. Great job. The tiller''s a bit of a pig to operate but otherwise she''s easy to steer. The bows are true, she holds course without any trim." "Uh?" Kirk said. "Tiller? You have a tiller operating the rudder on this ship?" "You didn''t know? Oh, I see, you haven''t been up on the poop deck yet. Yes, we have a tiller. A steering wheel would have meant a month of mucking around with ropes and pulleys, so we settled for a tiller." A tiller! Like in some fucking rowboat! This definitely wasn''t a proper seagoing ship. Kirk made up his mind to issue a governor''s order limiting the Albatross to the waters of the bay. Craw said: "What I wanted to ask you, sir, is to move elsewhere. We''re about to execute a turn, and the boys need space to work the sail sheets." Kirk became aware that a sailor was standing nearby, frowning at a long rope fastened around a T-shaped cleat. The rope ran up to the yardarm of the single, huge sail. "Of course," said Kirk. "Where should we go?" "The poopdeck. I need to give orders to the helmsman." "And I''ll get to view the famous tiller in operation," said Kirk. Craw grinned. "Correct," he said. "Now, if you''ll just follow me - " He was interrupted by a shout from the crow''s nest. The lookout was shouting: "Sail! Sail ahoy! Bearing around forty degrees port!" "A sail? What the hell?" said Craw. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https:///book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 176 The Mystery of Angel Island The captain of the boat they were sailing on attempted a smile, It wasn''t a successful attempt. "It''s a ship," he said weakly. "I can see it''s a ship! I''m asking once again: what is this? You told me no one had any ships!" "I am sure no other colony has managed to build a ship. It must be a government ship." "Government? What are you talking about?" "I meant the colonial administration. Everyone calls them the government." "Turn around. We''re going home." "But you said - " "Turn around! It doesn''t matter what I said earlier. This ship changes everything." "You''ll have to move, senor. The sail - " "Yes, yes," Morales said irritably. Keeping a hand on the gunwale to steady himself, he followed the captain to the rear of the boat. The boat was a large pirogue outfitted with a single, triangular sail and crab claw rigging: two spars joined to form a V. The sail was huge, and could be turned almost through a complete 360-degree circle thanks to the rigging, originally invented by Polynesian sailors in prehistoric times. It made the pirogue a very agile vessel: it was capable of sailing almost directly into the wind while maintaining respectable speed. The sail was more than just a means to propel the boat. To Arturo Morales, it was a symbol of his own ingenuity and ability to get things done. Just a little over three months earlier, Arturo Morales was visiting a recycling facility he owned in California. Back in his native Mexico, Morales was known as the King of Trash. He had very consciously chosen that career path upon graduating, with some difficulty, from a rural secondary school. His graduation difficulties weren''t caused by a lack of intelligence on his part. While his peers threw themselves into looking for jobs, Arturo spent a full month thinking about his next move. He wasn''t satisfied with flipping hamburgers to become, one day, an area manager for a fast food chain. In past days, he would have seriously considered a career as a narcotraficante. However, the widespread legalization of most drugs had seriously eroded the profit potential of all drug businesses while maintaining, even increasing, the unpleasantly high mortality rate that went with the job. The secret to a profitable career was finding a service or a product which would be always in demand, more - a service or a product for which demand would grow and grow as time went by. After a month of hard thinking, Arturo Morales decided he would focus on trash. Arturo Morales focused on recycling electronic equipment. Every piece of electronic equipment, even the cheapest mobile phone contained precious metals. Gold was a better electricity conductor than silver, and silver was a better conductor than copper. A computer could contain up to quarter gram of pure gold. The combined value of gold, silver, copper, and platinum in an average cellular phone was well over half a dollar. After many years of effort, Mr Morales owned a string of companies specializing in the disposal of electronic trash. He was paid to take it away, and the second payoff came when the valuable metals were extracted in furnaces that pumped toxic smoke into the atmosphere. But truly, the amount of pollution they caused was next to nonexistent when compared to the pollution created by tourism. A single jet full of holidaymakers en route to an exotic destination produced more pollution than a furnace burning plastic around the clock. And this was just the top of the iceberg. For most people, a holiday involved an orgy of consumption in all of its shapes and forms. Popular tourist spots employed armies of garbage collectors that were always falling behind with their work. It just wasn''t possible to keep up with the trash output of someone on a holiday. Compared to all that, Mr Morales'' chosen business was saintly in its care for the environment. Mr Morales was the proud recipient of many environmental awards, and the happy recipient of numerous government grants and subsidies that allowed him to operate at minimal cost. He was performing a community service! And at the very end of the process, he was paid in silver and gold. When the catastrophe struck, Arturo Morales was visiting the recycling plant he owned in California. It was located in a former gravel pit just east of Vallejo, on the northern coast of the long, multi-named bay that stretched between the Pacific Ocean and the mouth of Sacramento River. Some of the plant''s imported, Mexican workers were living in shacks erected along the bank of Sulphur Springs Creek east of the plant. They reported a glowing cube had appeared atop one of the hills surrounding the creek. Some babbled about aliens, others - about the second coming of Christ. Morales was quick to investigate the cube, and reported it to the authorities after a day''s delay. During that 24-hour period, he helped himself to several thousand implant kits from the cube along with hundreds of hiber beds and documentation scrolls. He instantly saw that he had been offered the business opportunity of a lifetime. All the top economic thinkers said that ''crisis'' and ''disaster'' were just different names for ''opportunity'', and they were right! By January 10th, Arturo Morales had a fifty-strong colony going in the New World. By January 20th, he had implanted over a thousand plant seedlings, and exported them to the New World. The seedlings mostly included food crops: corn, onions, potatoes and tomatoes. They also included one of the most versatile, most useful plants in existence. That plant was flax. Flax fibers made yarn that could be used to weave fabric; flax seeds were a valuable food. When pressed, the seeds produced what was known as linseed oil, and the crushed mush could be boiled into a nourishing porridge. Best of all, flax grew and matured quickly. It was possible to get three harvests in a single year. Each flax plant could produce hundreds of seeds. Flax could be planted very densely, and after the first two harvests the Morales colony had enough flax to begin producing linen in quantity. In the meantime, Mr Morales identified another area of importance. It was clear that in the New World, transportation would be a problem. There were no roads, at least not yet, and there were precious few animals that could be used to transport people and goods. Water transport ruled! A small handful of men and a boat could carry more than a full-sized caravan, and carry it more quickly too, without nightly stops and that whole business of taking care of the pack animals. King Morales - his people had begun calling him El Rey all by themselves, he was a modest man and would have never thought to bestow a royal title on himself - king Morales was quick to begin the construction of two large pirogues, made from the hollowed-out trunks of gigantic trees. They were almost as big as Viking longboats of a bygone age. Adding big sails made of linen turned them into swift and highly maneuverable craft, easily capable of carrying a couple of dozen people or a sizeable cargo. As a rule, successful exploitation of an opportunity breeds more opportunities. Arturo Morales was very aware of that fact. He quickly sketched out a plan that saw him expand his colony along the shores of the series of bays stretching all the way to the ocean. When he read about the new Pacific archipelagos in the documentation scroll, he was instantly convinced of their great importance. Why else would the creators of the New World create them, otherwise? He was determined to find out, one day. King Morales was quick to secure four colonizer licenses the day they became available. He also bought an extra thirty-two colonist licenses. It cost him a couple of the small, 50-gram gold ingots stored at the recycling plant near Vallejos. A third ingot found its way into the pocket of the Vallejos district governor. It convinced him that by a stroke of luck, Arturo Morales'' three cousins were present at the plant when the disaster struck, and that all three would make model colonizers. Once everything was nice and legal, King Morales launched a series of expeditions to secure an unfettered access to the ocean. Unfortunately, his scouts brought back discouraging news. There were colonies sprouting all over the place. Angel Island, which figured largely in his strategic plan, was already home to three small colonies. That was the confirmed number; there could be more. Angel Island was a hell of a lot bigger in the New World. Early the previous day, Morales had boarded La Flecha - the slightly bigger of the two pirogues - in the company of a dozen carefully selected men. He had plenty to choose from: the current population of the Morales colony was nearing two hundred. All of the men were good sailors, and half were also very good fighters. They were armed with bows and throwing spears and bronze cutlasses. One of the reasons Morales was so eager to colonize Angel Island was the fact it probably had deposits of iron ore. He could remember visiting it back in the old times as a tourist: he had seen rocks with iron ore content on the island''s mountain. There would be ten times more ore on the Angel Island in the New World. The second reason for colonizing Angel Island was the reason that applied to almost any piece of real estate: location. Anyone with a strong presence there could control both the San Francisco and San Pablo Bay, and thus - the Golden Gate strait leading to the Pacific. La Flecha had showed excellent sailing qualities, and the expedition made landfall on the eastern shore of Angel Island on the evening of the previous day. One of the newly established colonies was nearby. Its nine dirty, hungry, half-naked inhabitants came to the camp begging for food. Morales ordered his men to unload a sack of corn and a roast goat leg, and graciously gave both to the desperate colonists. They were ready to kiss his feet! He would have no trouble persuading them to join his colony when the time came. In the morning, he had the idea it might be smart to look for a similar collection of colonists on the shores of the Golden Gate. The pirogue sailed around the southern end of Angel Island, and approached Alcatraz sufficiently close to determine it was still a hell of a place to live, even in the New World. They had to tack back and forth to keep sailing west because of the westerly wind. Their zigzagging course had brought them to within a mile or so of Point Cavallo, a sharp tip on the peninsula cutting into the bay from the north. And then, just as they were about to tack southwest, the big ship came sailing out past Point Cavallo. A government ship! How was that possible? The colonial government''s capital had to be somewhere on the southern peninsula. That was where the city of San Francisco was located, back in the Old World! And he''d been repeatedly assured there wasn''t a single vessel operational in the bay! The starving colonists encountered on Angel Island had confirmed that only the previous day. Maybe the location of their colony, on the island''s eastern shore, could have prevented them from observing what was going on in the west. Halfway down his journey to the rear of the boat, Morales nearly fell over and into the water - the boat began turning very sharply. The gunwale dipped so deeply he got his hands wet. Resisting an impulse to crawl, he edged towards the stern, keeping both hands on the gunwale. By the time he got there, the pirogue had completed its turn. The wind in its back made it shoot forward, fully living up to its name. Morales looked astern and saw the big ship was turning too, turning in their direction! He waited until the captain stopped shouting at the crewmen handling the sail, and said: "I want you to take another look at that ship. Is it chasing us?" NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https:///book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 177 Chasing a Ghos "Eh?" said Kirk. He was standing in the bows of the Albatross with captain Craw at his side. They were both watching the yellowish sail about a mile in front of the cog. When Craw made his observation, Kirk had been cursing the Fort Baker glass maker for failing to deliver a telescope for the cog''s maiden voyage. "I don''t have the right tools to grind a lens," the glass maker had told Kirk. "Yes, I could probably have a telescope ready. But the view you''d get would be very poor. Everything would be distorted." Kirk had subsequently paid a stormy visit to Fort Baker''s toolmaker, but there wasn''t much that could be done. Making precision tools required precision. Precision was something hard to come by at the current level of the settlement''s economic development. Progress was being made, but all too often it resembled the progress made by a very tired, weak snail. "That boat there," said Craw. "I said that she''s gaining on us. She''s faster than we are." "Can''t we go any faster?" Craw turned around to glance at the sail, then looked at Kirk and said: "Yes, we can go a little faster. A ship this size needs time to gain speed. But I don''t think we''ll be able to catch that boat." "What kind of a boat is it?" "I don''t know. I can''t see the hull. Probably some kind of big canoe. Very light, very fast. Our ship was built to be sturdy, and to carry large loads of various cargo. It''s no contest. It''s like chasing a ghost. There''s something I''m wondering about, however." "What is that?" "That sail. It''s definitely not a mat. Of course it could be made of leather, but it would take a lot of finely worked leather to make a sail like that. I''m thinking it might be made of fabric." "Fabric? As in cotton or linen or whatever?" "That''s right." Kirk snorted. "That''s ridiculous," he said. "It took us a full year to set up a textile industry, if you can call it that. I mean, it''s just a bunch of fucking weavers. It took them forever to make that sail here. And Fort Baker is a colonial capital! It''s got over half a thousand inhabitants! This, this whole colonization business has only been open to the public for seven days. Yes, I remember that a single week equals over two months in the New World. But weaving enough cloth for a sail in that time just isn''t possible. Getting enough yarn to weave anything within two months isn''t possible!" "They could be illegals," said Craw. "Illegals? You mean that boat could belong to an illegal colony?" "It''s probably been made legal, by now. But the owner of that boat there has definitely made an early start. Either that or - have you been in touch with the governors of the districts around the bay?" "Well, one of them might have built a vessel." "I know that a few have built boats." "There we go. It might be one of them. But then I don''t understand why it seems to be running from us. It should be actually seeking contact if it belongs to the colonial administration." "The governor''s likely not aboard," Kirk said. "Governors have plenty to keep them busy, many things to do that are more important than sailing around on a boat. And who knows what the moron in command of that boat thinks." Kirk glanced at Craw, and saw that the captain seemed to be taking his words very personally. He added hastily: "You''re a professional with a handpicked crew. But my guess is, many governors don''t have anyone who is so highly qualified. And you know what Einstein said." "Einstein? The scientific genius? The guy who discovered that time was something relative?" "Yes, that guy. He said there''s only one thing bigger than the universe, and that thing is human stupidity. The guy in command of that boat could be a moron running to report to his governor that he has seen a ship." "I see what you mean," said Craw. He raised his hand to shield his eyes from the sun, and resumed watching the faraway sail. Kirk followed suit. Yes, the sail was definitely getting smaller; soon it would disappear from view. The hell with it! He felt much better than he had just half an hour earlier. He was getting his sea legs. A mile east of Kirk, Arturo Morales was also shielding his eyes from the sun, and watching the ship pursuing his pirogue. It was becoming obvious that it had no chance of catching her. Another couple of hours, and it would disappear from sight. The captain of the pirogue was convinced that the mysterious ship belonged to the colonial administration. "It''s built like the Roman trading ships in ancient times," he''d said. "Single square sail, a rounded hull. It''s meant to carry a lot of cargo. It must be a government ship." "I''m glad to hear that," lied Morales. Of course it was good to hear that no other colonizer had built that ship. That would be disastrous. But the thought that the colonial government had a vessel capable of sailing anywhere didn''t make him happy at all. A single visit to his colony would instantly convince even the dimmest, least observant governor that Arturo Morales had established it well before the official date. He wasn''t worried about his own district governor; he had him in his pocket. But the district governor he''d bought had a superior: the governor of North California. And that governor in turn had another superior: governor of the state territory. Morales had heard that both posts were occupied by the Landers: members of a prominent, wealthy Californian family. He''d never met Kirk or any other Lander. He''d seen Kirk''s picture and seen his signature on documents that passed through his desk. Just the previous year, he''d gotten a letter signed by Kirk demanding that he cut toxic emissions from his recycling plant by 25% within the next twelve months, or face the loss of state subsidies and a potential fine. King Morales did not like Kirk, although he''d never met him. He wasn''t pleased to find out Kirk had become the governor of all California. He had been counting on the other California senator, Libby Placek, to fill that post. California was well known for its progressive attitudes, and Libby Placek embodied those attitudes. Morales had been convinced she was a shoo-in. She wasn''t. Carlton Brock, governor of the USA territory, appointed Kirk as governor of California. He''d have never dared to do that in the old days, when he was still the President and at the mercy of the voters. But now the only authority Brock answered to was the newly formed Colonial Council, where Brock himself held an important seat. And so, much to Morales'' surprise, Kirk Lander became the Californian governor. Morales wasn''t that much worried about Kirk. From what he''d seen and heard, Brock was the typical American politician who got by thanks to a buddy network. He wouldn''t be a dangerous adversary in the wild, harsh realities of the New World. Still, a single visit by his ship... The captain of the pirogue said: "What''s the plan now, senor? Are we sailing home?" "Let me think for moment," said Morales. He frowned; the thoughts that came weren''t pleasant. They''d failed to accomplish the objectives set out at the beginning of the trip. At the very minimum, they were to explore Angel Island and get a good idea of the number of colonies there, along with the availability of iron ore. "Do you think we''ll lose the ship that''s following us before we reach Angel Island?" he asked the captain. "Oh, easily. We''ve most likely lost it already. I mean we can still see that ship, but the people aboard might not be able to see us. We''re much smaller." Morales nodded. "All right then," he said. Set course for Angel Island. I want a good look at the western shore. If we see any signs of human presence, we''ll land to investigate." "It might be getting dark by the time we land to investigate," said the captain. Morales laughed. "It will be just like yesterday, yes?" he said. "We make landfall and set up camp and within a few moments the beggars come, asking for food." "Could be," the captain agreed. He glanced up at the sun, licked his finger and held it up to gauge the wind. He said: "Which end of the island do we start with? North or south?" "Your preference?" "South. We could sail north along the western shore, and then around the northern tip of the island. We haven''t been there yet." "Then south it is. Do you need to adjust the course?" "Yes, but not yet. I''ll wait until that ship disappears from sight. I hope they don''t have a telescope." "You think they might?" The captain shrugged. "I have no idea," he said. "What if they do?" "They''ll see we are headed for Angel Island. Once we''re sailing along its western shore, it will be easy for them to catch us. If they want to." "Hmm," said Morales. He rubbed his chin with his thumb. No, he wouldn''t be running home with his tail between his legs just because a ship popped up. They hadn''t achieved any of the objectives of their mission. "Proceed with the plan," he told the captain. "Change course for the southern tip of Angel Island when you''re ready." "Yes, senor." NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https:///book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 178 A Handful of Corn It was Morales himself who ordered the landing. At that point, he and everyone else had spent over ten hours in the boat. Everybody was glad to stretch their legs, and several crewmen also had other pressing needs. They disappeared into the bushes beyond the beach while the rest of the crew made the boat secure. "We could rest a little, and then sail up the coast a little before it gets dark," the captain told Morales. "When we were getting close, I spotted the ideal spot to spend the night." "Oh? What makes it better than this spot here?" asked Morales. He didn''t really want to board the boat again, at least not until the next morning. "A stream," said the captain. "Fresh water." Morales nodded. "I see," he said. He could, of course, order everyone to set up camp where they were. They had enough drinking water for a full day, and could refill their water bottles when they passed by the stream in the morning. No, he couldn''t do that. It would be a sign of weakness. Morales sighed, and said: "Please tell me when we''re ready to leave." "Of course, senor. I estimate we''ll be ready to leave in something like ten minutes." "Excellent," lied Morales, and sauntered away walking along the water''s edge. The coast sharply swerved west just beyond the beach, and he tried to spot the stream the captain had noticed earlier. But he couldn''t see it, not even when he reached the end of the beach and climbed onto higher ground. He remained standing there for a while, scanning the horizon. There was no sight of the ship that had pursued them earlier. They''d lost visual contact a good couple of hours before they reached the island. La Flecha was truly an arrow, and Morales decided he''d order the construction of several more pirogues. A pirogue with outriggers and a platform could carry a serious cargo load, too. Yes, the pirgoue was the ideal water craft for operations in the bay. Much better than the lumbering ship that had foolishly attempted to chase La Flecha. He turned and began to walk back to his men, and not a moment too soon: he saw that the captain was waving, signaling their approaching departure. Well, they''ll be stopping again, this time for the night, in less than a couple of hours. He''d survive. He raised his arm, and gave his captain a cheery wave. * * * "That''s Mount Livermore. Angel Island, sir," captain Craw said, pointing at the horizon. Kirk blinked, then blinked again. He couldn''t see a fucking thing. "I''ll take your word for it," he said. "How much longer is it going to take to reach Fort Ayala?" "We won''t get there before dark, sir. We''ll have to stop outside the port, anyway. I don''t want to risk of running us aground." "That''s correct, sir." "Jesus!" "We wasted a couple of hours chasing that boat," Craw said. "And when we changed course, we lost the stern wind." "Why did we change course? Aren''t we sailing to Angel Island?" "We are. But Alaya Bay and Fort Alaya are on its northern shore. That boat we were chasing was sailing south by southeast. It took us off our course." "Why the hell did we locate our settlement there? It should be on the western shore. Shorter travel time, better communication." "Alaya Bay is the best natural harbor on the island. And it''s just three miles off the Tiburon Peninsula, under an hour''s sailing time with good wind." Kirk knew better than pursue that argument. He decided to be partially honest. A little honesty - not too much, just a little - a little honesty had often helped him get out of awkward situations. Kirk said: "Hell, I was hoping to lie down in a bed tonight." "You could retire to your cabin, sir," Craw said helpfully. "I know there are two bunks in there, but it''s all yours." "Ah, my cabin," said Kirk. "Yes, of course." He dimly remembered the narrow, grave-like space that he was shown after stepping on the board of Albatross. It really wasn''t much bigger than a grave; the dim light coming through the single tiny porthole had revealed two narrow racks set against the opposing walls. If Kirk lay down on his side, he just might fit in provided his knees were slightly bent. "It promises to be a beautiful night after a beautiful day," he said to Craw. "I think I''d like to sleep under the stars. Could I have a hammock slung out on the deck?" Craw looked uncomfortable." "We don''t have any hammocks, sir," he said. "I was told there was a shortage of rope." "Everyone sleeps on bunks?" "Yes." "And they''re rested in the morning?" "Well, we haven''t really tried it out, sir. This is the first time we''re going to spend a night out on the water." "Ah," said Kirk, making a mental note to conduct an close examination of the cog''s crew in the morning. He smiled at Craw. "The cabin it is, then," he said. A few hours later, as the sun began to slide out of sight, the Albatross passed within a couple of sea miles from where Arturo Morales was enjoying a tortilla stuffed with roast goat and chili peppers. Hidden in the glare of the setting sun, it remained invisible to the men on the beach. Morales chewed his food thoughtfully, as did everyone else. A meal as good as this merited special attention, a certain reverence, particularly when it came at the end of a day filled with physical effort. Had any of the feasting seamen bothered to stare into the sunset''s blinding glare, then maybe, just maybe, they''d have spotted the faraway ship. But no one did. When the meal was concluded, king Morales permitted himself a slight belch and said: "All right. I want two sentries, two shifts. Volunteers?" There were none. The captain had to pick the losers who wouldn''t get a full night''s sleep. When the first pair of sentries grumpily went off on their first circuit of the camp''s perimeter, Morales said to the captain: "I am a little disappointed with the men. Their morale seems low." "No, no, senor," the captain said hurriedly. "It isn''t that. They''re just tired." "Are they little children?" "No, no." "They behave as if they were." Morales was partly right. Several hours later, sentries chosen for the second shift were woken up amidst plenty of soft curses and muffled thumps. They neglected to patrol the perimeter of the camp. Instead, they filched some roast meat from the stores and and decamped to a clump of shrubs nearby to eat the loot in total secrecy. Having eaten, they remained sitting and conversing in low, drowsy voices. Several dark shapes detached themselves from the dark treeline down the beach. They slid almost soundlessly over the sand, approaching the camp. The ghostly shapes halted a stone''s throw away from the men sleeping around the glowing embers of the campfire. Then they scurried towards the small mound of food stores that had been unloaded from the boat. The sentries who were supposed to be keeping watch weren''t totally unobservant. They kept an eye out in case the captain or Morales woke up, and found them shirking their duties. And so they cast a glance from time to time at the campsite, and finally noticed there was suspicious activity taking place. They got up and began trotting forward, stringing arrows on their bows as they advanced. Yes! Something odd really was going on! "Hola!" one of the sentries shouted. The dark shapes sprang away from the plundered stores, and started running. "Alto!" The shapes kept moving. The captain had already jumped to his feet, drawing his cutlass. He screamed: "What are you waiting for? Chase them ! Shoot them!" Arrows began whizzing through the air, with freshly woken men joining in. "Stop!" commanded Morales. A bowstring twanged. "You!" Morales pointed at the overenthusiastic bowman. "Your food export allowance is cut in half this month. Do you know how long it takes to make a good arrow, moron? You think you''ll find them in the dark? You''re all behaving like retarded children! Captain!" "Senor!" "Stoke the fire, and light a couple of torches. I want a full inventory done right away. This idiot here and the two cretins who were supposed to keep watch will immediately start looking for the arrows. They are not permitted to stop until they''ve found every single one. You and I will stand watch over the campsite for the rest of the night. The men that kept the first watch can go back to sleep." "Yes, senor." The night dragged on unmercifully for Morales and his men, with the exception of the two lucky sentries who had successfully completed the first shift. When morning came, a couple of arrows were still missing. But the men who were looking for them had found something else. It was hidden among the trees along the beach: a corpse of a young boy, thirteen or fourteen years of age. He was naked except for a half-dried vine twisted around his hips. Limp, dried out leaves revealed scrawny buttocks and tiny, shrunk genitals. The boy''s ribs showed through the dirty, scratched skin. The arrow had struck him from the back, halfway up the left rib cage. It managed to slip between the ribs, and went in fairly deep. There was little blood around the shaft, but plenty when the body was turned around - it spilled from the boy''s mouth, quickly forming a pool on the ground. The crew of La Flecha included a designated medic, a young man who had been in his second year of medical studies when the catastrophe took place. He examined the body with pursed lips for a while, and said: "Punctured lung. He drowned in his own blood. The state he was in, it didn''t take long." "It''s good to know he didn''t suffer much," said Morales. It was important to put a positive spin on things. He looked for a while at the corn that had spilled from the boy''s grasp when he fell. Then he said: "Get that arrow out, and throw him into the water. Rapido! I want us to be sailing away from this place as fast as possible." "Will we continue to explore the coast?" asked the captain. "Of course. There''s no reason to change our plans." He turned his back on the boy''s corpse and walked back to the campsite, his mouth set in an angry line. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https:///book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 179 Under Cover, Out of Sigh His head hurt. His head was fucking splitting! He had been unable to sleep most of the night. He had stayed out on the deck until he was so tired he was tripping over his own feet. Then he gritted his teeth and went inside his cabin, and spent ten minutes carefully arranging his body on the narrow bunk before finally falling asleep. He woke up in the middle night with a headache of monumental, I-got-really-drunk-last-night proportions. The stink of tar and wood resin in the tiny cabin made it difficult to breathe. He got out of his bunk forgetting about the low ceiling, and hit his aching head hard enough to raise a bump. Cursing under his breath, Kirk exited the cabin and climbed the short staircase to the deck. His sudden appearance greatly discomfited one of the two night watchmen who had been discreetly masturbating on the poop deck. Hurriedly stuffing his gear back into his pants, he took a look at the dark figure approaching the gunwale, and called out softly: "Hey there! Is everything all right?" "I''m fine," snarled Kirk. His voice made the watchman realize who he was talking with. He froze, with one hand still stuck inside his pants. Kirk glanced over his shoulder at the motionless silhouette standing on the poop, and repeated: "I''m fine. Carry on with whatever you''ve been doing." "Yes, sir," said the watchman in a shaky voice. For a moment, he wondered about taking the governor''s remark literally. But no; the old coot was still on deck! And anyway, the magic moment had passed: he had lost his erection. He''d just have to wait for the old bastard to get back into his cabin. But the old bastard had no intention of returning to his stuffy cabin. Kirk stood with his hands resting on the railing that ran atop the gunwale, staring out into the night. Angel Island loomed darkly about half a mile away. Small waves splashed rhythmically against the hull: there was a breeze coming from land, carrying a faint, tart scent. Craw had ordered the crew to drop both anchors even before the sun had set completely. They anchored a mile away from the entrance to the narrow strait between Angel Island and Tiburon Cape, with Kirk protesting mildly. "Surely there''s enough light left to keep sailing a little longer," he''d said to Craw. "We must be quite close to Alaya." "We are, and that''s the problem," Craw told Kirk. "It''s easy to run aground in those waters. True, it seems the bay is much deeper than it is back home. I guess there isn''t so much silt. But I don''t want to take the risk. This literally is a new world. Who knows, there might be a few rocks underwater. We''ll get going again at dawn, as soon as the lookout in the bows can see what things are like." The introduction of tobacco into the New World had been a divisive issue. Many people argued it was the height of stupidity to introduce the devilish, poisonous plant into the pristine paradise of the New World. A tumultuous meeting at the Lander mansion had discussed the subject, and ended with Kirk saying: "I''m fucking sick of this. Get this into your heads: wild tobacco grows naturally in this part of the world. It''s most likely present in the corresponding part of the New World, too. Lung cancer? You think that burning all that wood and charcoal won''t cause cancer, but smoking a pipe will? You''re out of your fucking minds." "But that doesn''t mean we should add another health hazard," piped up Karen. Kirk looked at her with hate. Karen was always after him to give up cigars, and was given to enacting small dramas whenever she entered his study and found it full of smoke. "I am importing tobacco seedlings into Fort Baker," he''d said. "And I know Bernard will be importing some into Fort Lander. You can ban smoking in that settlement of yours, Karen, if you like. See where it gets you." Karen didn''t speak to him for a couple of days after that. Yes, a cigar would have done a lot to relieve Kirk''s misery as he waited for the sun to come up. He sat down, then tried to lie down on the deck, but when his head was next to the wooden boards the tar-and-resin stink hit his nostrils again. In the end, he sat down on the steps leading up to the poop deck on the starboard side of the ship. The single most important trait of any leader was an infinite patience. Kirk reminded himself of that repeatedly while he waited for the night to end. A dozen miles to the southeast, Morales and his men were engaged in a similar activity. Untroubled by the dangers of running their boat aground, they got aboard and resumed their journey as soon as the dark sky began to lighten. When the sun came up, they had already traveled a considerable distance. The mood on the boat, initially subdued after the night''s events, gradually returned to normal. But it didn''t improve much for Morales. Morales was worried. It was increasingly clear that there was a morale problem. Killing a thief wasn''t a valid reason for the air of despondency that hung over the crew earlier that morning. And they had all been so enthusiastic at the beginning of the expedition! They''d even played a little game as the pirogue sailed out into the waters of the bay. Everyone tried to guess what they''d find while exploring. Someone suggested a settlement inhabited solely by young, attractive women, and everyone agreed the right course of action would be to have plenty of sex with them, by force if necessary, and subsequently turn them into slaves. They had all been full of merriment when they arrived at this conclusion. The captain of the pirogue touched Morales'' arm, interrupting his thoughts. "Pardon, senor," he said. "I think I can see something interesting. Could I ask you to come with me to the front of the boat?" They moved to the bows of the pirogue, stepping awkwardly over the legs of the men catching up on missed sleep. "There," said the captain, pointing. Morales looked in the indicated direction. About a mile ahead, the coast curved out west and ended suddenly with a sharp tip. Morales said: "Where''s the settlement?" "A settlement?" "I thought you spotted a settlement. I thought you wanted me to have a look." "No. I spotted a ship." "A ship!" "Yes. It''s too far away to make out any details, but I think it may be the ship that tried to chase us yesterday." "Where is it? I can''t see it!" "Just a finger''s width from that tip of land there." "I still can''t see it." "No matter. You''ll see it in a moment when we get a little closer. What are your orders, senor?" Morales hesitated. Then he said: "I remember you saying yesterday that the people aboard that ship weren''t able to see us even when we could see them. On account of our boat being much smaller." "That is correct, senor. I don''t think they can see us now." "Then proceed on the present course until there is a danger they might spot us. We need to find out whether it''s indeed the same ship." "Yes, senor." "One more thing. You saw nothing of interest along the shore? No buildings or any activity, not even a wisp of smoke?" "Nothing at all, senor. But I beg you to remember that we thought the area around the stream was uninhabited when we set up camp yesterday. So there might be people hiding from us somewhere on that shore." "Why would they hide?" The captain shrugged, and Morales answered his own question. "Yes," he said musingly, "It''s not impossible that I would hide too, in their place." "We could land, and send out a search party." "No. I want to find out more about that ship. Ah! I can see it now!" What both Morales and the captain saw wasn''t really the ship: it was its big sail, which was the size of a small postage stamp at that distance. They both stared at it as their boat got closer. After maybe fifteen minutes the hull came into view, and the captain said: "It''s the ship from yesterday, I''m sure. And it''s sailing east." This was very bad news. Continuing east would bring the ship into San Pablo Bay. Continuing east even further would allow it to discover the Morales colony. "We must keep an eye on that ship," said Morales. "I depend on you to maintain the right distance. We must know where it''s sailing to." "Yes, senor." "One more thing. I want you to give a pep talk to the crew. A little later, when everyone''s awake. Remind them that we are all in the same boat, literally. They need to give their best effort if they want to be pleased with the outcome. I''ll be giving rewards for outstanding performance, and handing out punishments for those who don''t make the grade." "As you wish, senor." "I''m going to sit down in the stern to think things over. Alert me to any developments." "Yes, senor." Morales picked his way to the rear of then boat, considering the options available if the mysterious ship indeed sailed across San Pablo Bay, and discovered his colony. It would be another two or three days before it arrived anywhere nearby. He had two or three nights to make sure the Morales kingdom remained undiscovered. They could approach under the cover of darkness, and stay undetected while they performed an act of sabotage that would force the ship to abandon its journey. Damage its rudder? Set it on fire? Or maybe simply cut the anchor ropes if and when it stopped for the night? There was a good chance setting it adrift would make it run onto one of the numerous shallows scattered around San Pablo Bay. However, even if they were successful it was a short-term solution, at best. He needed a long-term plan. A few years down the road, no one would be surprised to see a well-developed colony in the New World. He had to think of a way to delay any government exploration efforts. Morales sat down on the bench in the stern, forcing the helmsman to move a little to the side. He put his hand over the side of the boat - they were sailing really fast! The water frothed around his submerged fingers. Enough of this doubt, of this uncertainty! He would win. He always did. He gave the helmsman a stern look. "Did you wash at all today?" he asked sharply. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https:///book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 180 An Answer In Black and White The deputy governor in charge of Fort Alaya looked uncomfortable while he searched for hidden criticism in Kirk''s praise. Fort Alaya currently consisted of a dozen shacks housing a dozen colonists and essential workshops. It had no pier - Kirk had come ashore in the dinghy stored aboard the Albatross - and it bore no resemblance whatsoever to a fort. One of the two cows providing the settlement with milk stood near Kirk''s landing spot, watching him with its big wet eye. Kirk grinned and winked at it, and the cow raised its tail and squirted a jet of liquid shit onto the ground. "I''m really happy to be here," Kirk repeated firmly. He waited, in vain, for the governor to show him where he''d be staying during his visit. He didn''t mind staying in a shack, as long as that shack had a bed of ordinary dimensions, and didn''t stink of tar and resin. "I feel privileged and happy to see you here so soon, sir," lied the governor. "Would you like me to show you around?" "Certainly. Certainly! But I think the captain wants a word with you first. We''ve brought you some supplies." While captain Craw discussed the details involved in bringing the supplies ashore, Kirk walked up to the nearest pair of shacks. He was smiling. It was wonderful to feel solid, stable ground under his feet. He really had no idea why he''d disliked staying on the ship so much. Back in the Old World, back in the good old times he''d often boarded ships and joined yachting friends and he''d never felt this way. The door to the shack was closed, which was a pity: Kirk was curious how things were inside. His curiosity was partly satisfied, for he heard a male voice inside the shack say: "... kissing the governor''s ass." "He''s scared he''ll get fired," a female voice stated confidently. "You think so?" "I''m sure of it. He didn''t expect an inspection so soon." Kirk softly stepped away from the shack, and glanced over his shoulder. Captain Craw and the deputy governor Kirk had appointed to run Alaya were engaged in a heated exchange of words. He began walking towards them, ears flapping. He heard Craw say: "No way. She''s got just six feet of water under the keel, and I''m not moving her in any closer. You''ll have to build a raft." "But you have a boat." "It''s too small to handle some of the stuff we''ve brought. You''ll have to build a raft, and build it fast. It has to be ready by the evening." "That''s impossible. I - " "Captain Craw," said Kirk, coming to a stop beside them, "I think it would be a good idea if we sent the governor some help. Maybe the ship''s carpenter, and a few crewmen who know how to work wood." "Thank you, sir," said the governor of Alaya, breathless with gratitude. "Let''s take a little walk," Kirk said, putting his hand on the governor''s shoulder and exerting a little friendly pressure to turn him around. They began walking side by side up the muddy path that led to the group of shacks which constituted Fort Alaya. As they passed the cow, it emitted an unhappy grunt. "Is someone looking after that animal?" asked Kirk. "Yes, of course, there must be." "Never mind. Governor, if I recall correctly we sent a couple of canoes with clothes, tools, and food. You had all that waiting for you upon your arrival here." "Yes, sir. We were very grateful, we are very grateful for your help," said the governor. He felt totally bewildered. His ears told him a small shitstorm was coming. Yet Kirk had been praising the wonderful progress made in Fort Alaya just a moment earlier! "I assume you''ve been able to furnish the homes you''ve built with beds." "Well yes, a couple," said the governor. "A couple?" "Well, most people sleep on hides you''ve so kindly sent. They put them on top of some hay and leaves and it''s quite comfortable. The carpenter''s currently completing a new bed every few days. That''s all he can do at present, he''s also busy with a lot of other things." "Do you have a bed?" "Yes." "Can I see it?" "Why, yes, of course." "Let''s go." They walked to the last shack in the group that stretched along the muddy path running down to the shore. It was also the most poorly built of them all; Kirk guessed the governor had moved into the very first shack that had been completed. Its walls were made of wattle, and the door was a bunch of trimmed branches roughly nailed together. "It''s just temporary, of course," said the governor, opening the door. This involved lifting the door up prior to swinging it open: the hinges consisted of leather loops. Kirk poked his head inside for a look. It was pretty dark inside the shack: a rough mat suspended from a nail hung over the window opening. The floor was almost as muddy as the path; here and there, small heaps of leafy twigs provided stepping stones that led to the bed. It was a pretty basic bed: a crude wooden frame on four legs topped with a mattress of hay and hide. But it was bigger than both of the cabin bunks put together, and the smell inside the governor''s home wasn''t unpleasant: herbs and hay and wet bark. "I''ve been up all night keeping an eye on things," Kirk said. "I could use a rest. Would you mind?" A few miles northeast of Fort Alaya, the very same thoughts were thought by an increasingly weary Arturo Morales. Just like Kirk, Morales hadn''t gotten much sleep that night. Subsequently, Morales spent most of the day lying in the the pirogue''s bows and watching the mysterious ship. It sailed about halfway into the strait separating Angel Island from the Tiburon Peninsula, then executed a sharp turn to port and disappeared behind a spit of land. "Alaya Bay," the captain of the pirogue said knowingly. "That''s where it''s been headed." "Alaya Bay?" "The island appears to be roughly the same shape as it is back home, senor. And Alaya Bay is an excellent natural harbor. A little shallow, but offering good protection in a storm. This cape in front of us, back home it''s called Point Lone." "That cliff looks pretty steep." "If it''s similar to what it is back home, we can climb it." "Then we will try to do so," said Morales. "I want you to make landfall there. We''ll climb to the top. I want to have a good look at that bay." It took another three hours before Morales was able to satisfy this desire. By then, he''d acquired several bruises and scratches and got very dirty in the process. When he wiped the sweat away from his eyes to look at the bay, it was like smearing mud. The ship was standing at anchor near the inner shore of the bay; the big sail had been furled. On the shore, a clearing had been cut out from the vegetation. A clutch of small, crooked buildings stood in the clearing. The captain claimed he could also see a small boat on its way back to the ship, and a cow. "A cow?" said Morales. "Are you sure?" "Yes, I''m sure. It''s a big cow, one of those Dutch cows that are black and white." "A Fresian," mused Morales. The presence of the cow answered all his questions. There was no way an animal that big could have been transported to the island. It had been replicated from the corresponding spot back on Earth. A cow plus a sailing ship - now that he could see it better, Morales thought it was a medieval cog. A cow plus a cog equaled government. No one except the colonial administration was capable of something like that. There was a government settlement on Angel Island! This could be a catastrophic development. Angel Island was central to the plan Morales had in mind. But there was simply no way he could challenge the colonial administration, and get away with it. Well, not on his own, anyway. But if he had good allies, numerous allies - He thought about that all the way down the cliff. Following a quick bath, he climbed into the pirogue with a firm resolve to visit the hungry colonists encountered on the eastern shore of Angel Island. He planned to have a good look around, then pay another visit leading a bunch of settlers and some well-armed soldiers. It was a weak half-measure, of course. He needed better allies than a bunch of desperate losers who were only too eager to be swallowed up by his colony. He needed to make contact with other well-established colonizers, colonizers who shared his dislike of government control and interference, colonizers like himself. He was sure there were more than a few around. But how to find them? Where to look for them? In which world? "Captain," said Arturo Morales. "Yes, senor." "Please set course for that spot on the eastern shore where we stopped on our way out." "In a moment, senor. I want to make a dogleg north to put more distance between us and the entrance to the bay. Just to make sure no one sees us. Are we going to stop for the night in the same spot?" "Yes," said Morales. "I also intend to give whatever food we can spare to those people we met there." The captain was truly impressed. "That''s very generous of you, senor," he said. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https:///book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief. 181 Leading By Example "We''re going to run out of coffee soon," Bernard said. "What? Run out of coffee? I saw a whole carton, untouched, when I was checking on the stores yesterday." "That carton doesn''t contain coffee." "Are we talking about the same thing? The carton I''m referring to has a Maxwell House logo on it." "It''s full of Debbie''s herbal teas. The ones even she won''t drink, they taste so bad." "Oh. By the way, is Dad around?" "No, he''s still sleeping." "Shouldn''t we wake him up?" "He told me he''s taking a day away from the office, and that you''re taking a day off, too," said Bernard. He seemed far from overjoyed at the prospect of having his father and older brother around for the whole day. ""What about Debbie and Karen?" "They''re up, all right. They''ve been up since dawn." "Funny," said Adam. "I haven''t seen them." "They''re working on the vegetable garden they''ve started cultivating a couple of weeks back." "I haven''t seen any vegetable gardens around either," said Adam. "I must be losing my grip." "It''s behind the shed with the llamas. By the way, Karen managed to acquire three more llamas from the zoo in San Francisco." "I hate those fucking animals. Did you notice they sort of sneer at you when you look at them?" "Yeah, they''ve got a kind of a supercilious air about them. But they''re really useful in the New World." "I don''t see why we should keep llamas around here once they''ve been replicated in the New World," Adam said. "I really have to talk to Debbie and Karen about that." "While you''re at it, talk to Debbie about the chickens." "Chickens?" "She''s gone nuts with chickens. We''ve got hundreds and hundreds of chickens running around Fort Lander. You can''t take a breath without smelling chicken shit." "That''s too bad," said Adam, silently congratulating himself on turning down the leadership of the Lander colony. Naturally, upon accepting Brock''s offer of governorship, Kirk had offered the leader''s post to Adam. Adam had demurred, and indicated he would be much happier serving under Kirk in the colonial administration. And so, Bernard had been appointed the leader of the Lander colony. It had provoked an angry speech from Karen, who accused her father of sexism. Kirk had mollified her somewhat by offering her the area around Lake Hennessey for a settlement of her own. It was good land, with plenty of timber and fertile soil, and Karen would have almost total autonomy. "What if there''s one vote for, one against, and one abstention?" Karen had said. She was well aware of Debbie''s reluctance to take sides in a dispute. "You''ll just have to work it out between yourselves," Kirk had told her. "All progress depends on people working out things between themselves." As it turned out, Bernard was a good leader. He didn''t impose his will on anyone, relying on his considerable persuasive skills to turn people round to his point of view. The persuasive skills in question consisted largely of Bernard''s ability to remember every single fuckup, every shameful situation in everyone''s life. When he encountered opposition, he was quick to recite a list that made his opponent blush. No one liked to be reminded they could be as crass and stupid as anyone else. Bernard usually got his way. Having secured Adam''s cooperation in resolving the chicken shit crisis, he said: "I have a favor that I''d like to ask you." "Ask away," Adam said warily. "You know how important it is for us to have access to the ocean." "Right." "That involves having free access to San Pablo Bay." "Yeah, I know. Dad mentioned you''ll be starting a settlement on Knight Island." "I''d prefer to start it somewhere else. Knight Island is basically one big salty swamp. A lot of the bay coastline is one big salty swamp. It isn''t easy to find a good spot for a healthy settlement." "It might be difficult west of the Napa river, I agree. But surely everything on the eastern bank is okay." "It is. And it appears to have been settled already." "Really?" "Really." "Well," said Adam. "I can''t recall the exact numbers for Vallejo right now, but I''m sure the governor there has been sticking to the limit. Actually, I remember now that he told me he''d issued four colonizer licenses to a single guy with friends, to found a single colony." "Whatever. I don''t know who owns the settlements my scouts spotted. That''s the favor I wanted to ask you. Could you find out?" Adam shrugged, and said: "Sure, that''s no problem at all." "Could you also find a reason to fire the Vallejo guy, and combine that district with yours?" "Wow," Adam said. "That''s radical. Why do you want me to do that?" Bernard rolled his eyes, and said nothing. ""I see," Adam said. "You want me to take over the Vallejo district, and secure a spot for one of our settlements?" "That would be best." "I''ll look into it," Adam promised. "But you understand I have to consult this with Dad. Dad''s big on giving everyone equal treatment and so on." "Shouldn''t we wake him up? It''s already after nine." "Let him sleep," Adam said. "He''s been getting little sleep for the past few weeks, and he''s been tuning out. He hasn''t been to the New World for a while. I''m sure he has plenty to do there." Adam was both right and wrong, as is so often the case. Kirk wasn''t asleep. He''d jerked awake a couple of minutes earlier, and was presently sitting up in his bed and staring at the wall with unseeing, haunted eyes. His spooked demeanor was at least partly caused by the fact that he was reviewing all the things he still had to do in the New World. The first thing he had to do was see Fort Baker''s resident doctor. His sudden awakening was caused by his losing consciousness in the New World, after he fell down in the cog''s hold. He had stupidly joined the cog''s crew in the task of moving the ship''s ballast, made necessary by the unloading of all the supplies for Fort Alaya. The ballast consisted of large, heavy stones, and Kirk slipped and fell while carrying one of these. He struck his head on another stone and was instantly knocked out. Had he gone insane, over there? It was beneath a governor''s dignity to lug stones around in a ship''s hold! Then Kirk remembered the going-away party held in Fort Alaya prior to the cog''s departure. The ship''s cargo included a barrel of the ale brewed for the ship''s commissioning ceremony. It was Kirk''s intention to present the brave colonists in Fort Alaya with this gift soon after his arrival. But the two days he''d spent in the settlement on Angle Island turned out to be far too busy to allow for party time, and the subsequent hangovers. It took more than a day of frenzied work to build the raft needed to ferry supplies from the ship. These included construction materials such as massive wooden beams, and getting them ashore required many hours of hard work. Of course, Kirk didn''t involve himself in that bullshit. Captain Craw handled everything very admirably. Instead, Kirk spent his time wandering around Fort Alaya and its immediate neighborhood, making grandiose plans for the settlement''s development. He was very interested in the workings of the communal kitchen, and assisted the cooks with many valuable suggestions meant to improve the flavor of the food being prepared. The cooks were so grateful that they contemplated putting shit-stirring herbs and toadstools in Kirk''s bowl of stew. When all the supplies for Fort Alaya had been unloaded, Kirk finally permitted the release of the ale to the working population. He had promised himself repeatedly he wouldn''t drink any; the ship was about to sail, and he remembered only too well what had happened the moment it had sailed from Fort Baker. But he''d allowed himself to get caught up in the explosion of joy after the ale barrel had been brought ashore, and opened. Hadn''t he gotten his sea legs on the outward trip? By the time the Albatross had anchored in the Alaya Bay, Kirk could walk around the ship without the need to clutch at things for support. He deftly compensated for the deck''s movement with movements of his own, and was quite proud of his newly-acquired seaman''s swagger. And so, he allowed himself a cup of ale. It was very good. He had another. The governor of Alaya made a speech praising himself and Kirk, and naturally that necessitated a third cup. It inspired Kirk to make a speech of his own, in which he stressed the importance of leading by example. The fourth, fifth, sixth cup were all instances of Kirk leading by example; everyone followed joyously. He''d felt fine. He''d felt strong enough to move mountains! When it was time to move the ballast, he stupidly decided to lead by example yet again. Brooding heavily, Kirk at last got out of bed and stretched. He was more than ready for his morning coffee. He wouldn''t mind something to eat, either. He checked the time: nearly twenty to ten! He grabbed and put on his dressing robe, and hurriedly shuffled to the kitchen. He''d forgotten about the soldiers guarding his home, and was embarrassed not to have shaved and dressed and combed his hair before venturing out: he ran into a couple of Marines before getting to the safety of the kitchen. Bernard was there. He was seated at the table and writing something in a big notebook, frowning heavily. "Good morning, Bernard," Kirk said. "Working hard? How about some breakfast? I could make scrambled eggs." Bernard shuddered. "No thanks," he said. "No eggs for me, Dad." "Why not?" "They, um, have unpleasant associations," Bernard said mysteriously. "But you go ahead. Don''t mind me." "Hmm," said Kirk. "Maybe more coffee? I see your mug is empty." "We''re beginning to run out of coffee, Dad." Kirk sighed. It was clearly going to be one of those days. NOTICE This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com. https:///book/15767933905886705 If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author''s consent. The owner of that site is a thief.