"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 built 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 at least 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.
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