166 The View From The Top (2/2)
”As long as we have enough to pay all the fucking bills,” said Adam.
”It's that job you used to have. It has made you obsessive where money is concerned.”
”Being the president of an investment fund involves thinking about money a lot,” said Adam. ”It's a habit. It doesn't necessarily make me obsessive. Anyway, let's drop that. It doesn't lead anywhere. Did you get the chance to look at the list of the governors in my region?”
”I did. We'll have to make some changes. But not now. Down the road, when things have settled down.”
”I agree with the changes. There is a lot of placeholder governors in there. I mean, Kissy Lambert!”
”Kissy Lambert? I missed that one. Who is she?”
”She's a porn star, Dad. Not even a big one, either. But she's the only celebrity in that doohickey town she comes from and people admire her. They want to work with her, not against her. She'll do for a couple of months, until everyone figures out she's about as intelligent as a doorknob.”
”Nice,” said Kirk. ”Your own?”
”No, I heard someone use that expression to describe a newly hired guy. You know, back in the old era. Listen, I have to go now. I have a meeting with Ken Sharp, Vallejo district governor.”
”Ken Sharp? That sounds good.”
”He isn't. He ain't as advertised. He can't do a thing on his own, and he's as sharp as a tire iron. He's yet another guy that I'll be replacing in the future. Anyway, see you later. You still driving down to the house tonight?”
”Most definitely,” said Kirk.
”Then let's go together. I've already burnt almost half a tank of gas. The mileage on that thing is just ridiculous.”
”It's an army vehicle,” said Kirk. ”Armed forces never gave a fuck about conserving fuel. I'll be leaving around five. Can you make it?”
”Sure. I'll be there.”
Adam left, and Kirk walked up to the window again and resumed gazing at the world outside. The world outside was currently bathed in slanting, afternoon sunlight: it looked beautiful.
Kirk Lander had elected to have his office located on the northern shore of the entrance to San Francisco Bay. It wasn't in San Francisco proper, but it corresponded exactly with the location of Kirk's capital in the New World. It had the extra advantage of shortening the distance he had to drive to get to his home in the Napa Valley.
There were also many other advantages to this location. It was sparsely inhabited, and applicants for a colonial license that came from the city had a long way to go. By the time they got to the office and had waited for a while in the lineup, they were too tired to cause trouble upon learning that yes, their name had been put on the list, and they would receive their colonist's license and an implant kit in four months' time.
Kirk Lander didn't need a small army to keep the peace, like the guys down at the city town hall. A couple of local cops were enough. There were never more than twenty people in the lineup. By late afternoon, there were no more than five: Kirk couldn't see a single person from his window. The street was empty and silent.
No! Something was approaching from the direction of the bay. Kirk narrowed his eyes, and something took the shape of a man pushing a handcart. As he drew closer, Kirk saw that he was wearing a shabby overcoat and that the handcart was empty. He couldn't see the man's face, it was hidden under the wide brim of a floppy hat.
The man came to the corner across from the former bank building, and stopped. He raised his head and Kirk saw that he was young, much younger than Kirk had expected him to be. He hadn't shaved in days and his mouth was half-open in a grimace of misery. He seemed to be looking directly at Kirk; then he looked down, to his right, then to his left, almost as if he were checking for traffic.
Left, Kirk thought; turn left. Turning left would bring the man to the local diner, whose kind-hearted owner always had a free cup of soup for people in need. Kirk clenched his hands into fists, willing the man to turn left.
He didn't. He turned around and went the way he came. Why? What was the point? Was he going to drown himself in the waters of the bay?
Kirk felt his eyes prickle with incipient tears.
”Ah, fuck it. Fuck this shit,” he said, turning away from the window.
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