104 It Is Better To Travel Than To Arrive (1/2)

”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.