107 Everyone Is Talking (1/2)
The dead governor was removed together with the dirty plates. Kirk watched the body being carried out, then turned to Ron Small and said:
”Looks like all those nutrition experts were right. What you eat can kill you.”
”If you don't eat, that will kill you too,” said Small. He added:
”I wonder who Brock will appoint in his place. Old Charlie was an all right guy. A little slow on the uptake, but nice. And the other guy from Illinois is a total asshole.”
”Old Charlie, yes, yes... I seem to have forgotten his last name.”
”O'Connor.”
”That's right! I remembered that he was Irish. I can't for the life of me recall who is the other senator from Illinois. You're saying he's an asshole?”
”Through and through. Hey, it looks like Brock's about to say something. He doesn't look happy.”
It was true. Carlton Brock was standing at the head of the table, glowering at the governors that weren't seated. They'd formed a group in which intense competition raged as to who could deliver the most beautiful laudation for the recently deceased governor. Charles O'Connor had been a living saint! What a loss! The world would never be the same.
Kirk shared Brock's feelings; he too watched, and listened to the false praise with growing disgust and contempt. This was such a waste of time; there was no press around, no newsmen to capture those outpourings on camera and show them on TV screens. He wished the lamenting governors would shut the fuck up and sit down. He wanted this whole thing to be over fast so that he could nip into his room, and and have a go at the spaghetti MRE. His toy breakfast had whetted his appetite.
”Silence please! Return to your seats!” bellowed Brock. He got his wish: the stunned silence that followed was broken only by the noise made by chairs as the governors sat down. Brock glowered at them for a couple more seconds; then he said:
”We must not let this, uh, tragic occurrence prevent us from doing our work. By the time we wrap up today, every single problem on our agenda must be solved. Not discussed or otherwise fucked around with, but SOLVED. So now we shall have a moment of silence for, uh, governor senator Charles O'Connor.”
It seemed to Kirk that barely a few seconds had passed before Brock said:
”Okay. Professors Katz and Molito will now give you the background that will help us make the right decisions. When they are done, I'll give you an outline of what's what. Is everyone fine with that, good. Professor.”
Brock bent down and whispered into Katz's ear:
”Make it brief. We've already lost half an hour. And stand the fuck up when you're speaking. People want to see you.”
”Staying seated together with the others promotes an atmosphere of equal participation and invites discussion,” Chester Katz whispered back.
”I don't want a fucking discussion. I want to get things done. Stand up or I'll fucking kill you. I know! Take my place. Stand right at the top of the table. Move.”
Brock tugged at Katz's arm. Reluctantly, Katz stood up and was maneuvered by Brock to the top of the table. Kirk noted that Brock made for the door as soon as he'd manhandled Katz into place. Lea Panatella, who'd been hovering by the doorway throughout, followed Brock outside. Kirk wondered what that was about, and came to the conclusion that a frantic search for a new governor of Illinois was about to begin.
”I, aaah, will try to be brief,” said Katz. He had a high, reedy voice and he sounded as if his forthcoming attempt at brevity was doomed to failure. Kirk sighed, and took out his pocket notepad and pen. He always took a notepad and a pen to meetings, even back in the old times when electronic equipment worked and everything was recorded anyway.
In Kirk's experience, 90% of the time spent in meetings was time wasted. A pen and a notepad prevented death from boredom. A pen and notepad offered plenty of possibilities: doodling, drawing caricatures of the other participants, even composing poetry! When the catastrophe struck, Kirk was enjoying what he called his haiku period. One of the verses he had written left him truly awed by his own genius:
Leaves are falling and so is my head, heavy with sleep
Everyone is talking
No one's actually saying anything
Katz said:
”First of all, I would like to impress on everyone here that what we, what you will deal with represents a sociological revolution. Nothing like that had ever taken place before, not in recorded history. You will be pioneers.”
”Pioneers? Pioneers? Did he say something about pioneers?” said Looseberry. A couple of angry hisses shushed him down.
”Society as we know it has ended,” Katz said dramatically. ”It has been split into two coexisting societies. One here on Earth - and another one in the New World. What is absolutely extraordinary is that both societies are composed of the same people. They are, they will be simultaneously inhabiting two very different realities. Well, maybe not everyone on Earth will opt to become a colonist. But you, as colonial governors, will be dealing with people that do.”
Kirk leaned towards Ron Small, and whispered:
”That guy has obviously never been married. You get married, you find out what's it like to inhabit two different realities.”
”Maybe he did a lot of drugs instead,” Small whispered back. ”He sounds like he did.”
Kirk tried hard to focus on what Katz was saying, but he found it difficult. Katz's high, reedy voice was just too irritating. After a few minutes of thought, he composed a new haiku:
New life is about to begin
But everything you hear
Is same old, same old
He was proud of it, and spent a couple of minutes trying to decide whether to show it to Small. Could Small use it to blackmail him later? Anything was possible, given a special set of circumstances.