The Brave New World 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!"

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