The Brave New World 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.

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