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?"
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