The fifteenth day of January, 2035 was Martin Luther King Day in the United States. Carlton Brock took this opportunity to visit several boroughs with a large black population, riding around in a vintage but brand-new red Studebaker that was automatically applauded wherever it appeared. It was a beautiful car. It was a car that worked! Its appearance meant things really were returning to normal.

His speechwriters had been busy throughout the night: he delivered no less than three different speeches, recycling a couple at later stops. All three of his speeches contained the announcement that he was stepping down, or rather up, as the President of the United States. He was to become the UN commissioner for the US: a godlike figure in the new government that ruled both worlds - old and new.

Brock's speeches made it clear that he remained in charge. Should Penny step out of line, he would be gone. He urged the approving black population to freely speak out about all the hardships they endured under Penny's coming reign. He knew that there would be many, but did not share that knowledge with his audience.

He oozed confidence from every pore, and so did general McAdam, who accompanied Brock on his last presidential tour. New York in the New World was busy churning out iron tools. With New World spring in full swing, the intensity of bitching and complaining in the settlement lessened considerably. Thanks to the know-how shared by the president of Mongolia, the pioneers had started to produce a mildly alcoholic drink from the milk of mares replicated in the New World. Called kumis, it had become an instant hit in the settlement.

The only worry Carlton Brock had at that moment was establishing a network of reliable governors in New World America. One of his choices was senator Kirk Lander from California. Brock had offered him a district that corresponded in shape and size to Napa county. But Lander wasn't happy with that. He wanted all of Sonoma, and a big chunk of Marin county as well. He wanted good access to the ocean. He'd told Brock he was determined to plant the US flag on the islands of the mysterious South Pacific Archipelago. Brock couldn't help but agree with this sentiment.

But Lander was also unhappy about the money. The thing was, he wouldn't be getting any money. He would have to earn it. A colonial governor's position paid a percentage of the profits from his district. A colonial governor was employed by the Colonial Council as an independent contractor that could be replaced if his district's profits were below par.

No salary and no job security, thought Kirk Lander as he sat in his study, sipping a Wallbanger. On the other hand, he would have total, absolute power over all the settlements in his district. The Colonial Council wasn't interested in how he ran things, as long as the money kept coming in an ever-increasing stream.

He would receive 25% cut of that money. And that cut wouldn't be limited to what he would produce in his own settlement. He would be getting his cut on all goods he'd obtained from the settlements in his district: by trade, by force, by whatever means he thought appropriate.

And there would be a lot of these. His own settlement - administrative center, as Brock put it - would automatically be the capital of the whole district. As its governor, Lander would also control all of the implant kits, hiber beds, and scrolls in the corresponding area back on Earth. His priority would be to grow his settlement as quickly as possible to produce a surplus of food, clothing, tools and other goods needed by the colonists in his district.

Trading this surplus with the settlements in his realm had the potential to bring in immense profits. But even the biggest financial bonanza wouldn't erase the basic disadvantage of becoming a governor.

He couldn't call himself a king. And deep down he yearned to be a king, not some goddamn governor. What was a governor? A bureaucrat. A fucking bureaucrat. He wouldn't be ruling his district, he would be an overseer over a collection of independent colonies. He wouldn't be able to have his own coat of arms! He wouldn't be able to design his own flag!

What was more, the Lander colony in the New World was developing very nicely. They were already smelting iron - Bernard, his dear younger boy had been instrumental in achieving that. The private school he attended was definitely worth the huge fees.

There was plenty of food, too. Adam had been busy on his bicycle, and the colony now had chicken, geese, and dairy cows. It was also growing potatoes, beans, and peas. This was Debbie's brilliant idea. She'd implanted a few spuds that had begun to grow shoots, and they were successfully replicated in the colony. Bean and pea sprouts followed, and there was more to come.

Kirk Lander's daughter, Karen, was in charge of obtaining seedlings for a whole variety of useful plants. She was in the process of replicating tomatoes, cucumbers, strawberries, and marijuana from Bernard's little plantation of cannabis plants, strictly for private use.

"It's hemp, Dad," she'd told the frowning Lander. "It's a very useful fiber. And we can use some recreation over there as well. Maybe you could be induced to smoke some weed, too. It will be a while before we have booze over there."

Kirk had shook his head. He'd tried pot, and didn't like it. It made him paranoid. He was a man with plenty to get paranoid about, and getting stoned had been very unpleasant.

"Get going on tobacco too," he'd said. "I like to smoke a cigar after a meal." He would have said more, but then the telephone rang with Brock's call and the whole household went crazy with excitement.

Communication had been restored! Kirk was on the phone with Brock for a long, long time. During that time, the remaining members of the household ran around trying to get anything electric to work. Nothing did.

When Kirk had concluded his talk with Brock, he immediately shut himself in his study, ignoring questions and demands. He needed private time to think, he'd told them. They would all get together in an hour and he would tell them about everything. There were important decisions to be made. In the meantime, could everyone fuck off and get busy looking for another salt lick in the New World? The one they'd found was poor, and close to being exhausted.

He got up from his chair and started circling his study, hands clasped behind his back, head bent with heavy thought. He was interrupted by Adam, who knocked on the door and shouted:

"Dad! What are you doing in there? Everyone's assembled and ready and waiting for you."

"I'm coming!" Kirk shouted. He fished out his great-great-grandfather's windup pocket watch - an important family heirloom - and frowned at it. Indeed, a full hour had passed, and he was still undecided.

Governor or king? What a difficult choice! He'd already floated the king idea to the Lander clan, and was very disappointed by their reaction. There was a sneer in Karen's voice when she'd asked if he would wear a crown and ermine coat.

And then he had a brainwave.

He would tell them what Brock had said. Then he would ask about their opinion. That was always a good move, it led to instant infighting among the opinion-givers. Regardless of what their conflicting opinions were, he would give them a straight choice.

He could rule them as a governor - and fuck all this gobbledygook about independent colonies - or he could rule them as a king. A king who loved his subjects was better than an impartial bureaucrat intent on squeezing as much profit as possible, was he not?

But if he were to be king, they had to promise that they would be loyal, respectful subjects. No sneers about crowns and ermine coats. They would do what he told them to do, and do it all smiles.

He would be a good king, a generous king. He would give them all titles. Prince Adam, duke Randy, that kind of thing. They could have their own coats of arms, too. And in time, they would have their own baronies, counties, duchies. Formed from new settlements started and conquered by the Lander kingdom.

Yes, there would be a governor appointed to administer the Napa county in the New World. But the Napa county would consist of the Lander kingdom and no other colonies. The governor's profits would be determined by how well he got along with king Kirk. If he got difficult, a couple of quick raids would settle his hash.

Because king Kirk already had a colony under way. He had enough food to start recruiting new colonists. He wouldn't have a problem with that. There were plenty of unemployed people even before the catastrophe. There would be many, many more now. He only had to put together a good recruitment scheme.

The only difficulty would be in concealing all the items taken from the cube. Brock had made it plain that everything belonged to the new global superstate. But Kirk had been smart enough to stay silent about his own, private, glowing cube. And he knew Brock wanted to hear just one word from anybody he talked to, well maybe three: 'yes, Mister President'. Saying this at regular intervals had kept Brock from asking any questions during the phone conversation: he was already happy with what he was hearing.

He'd have to get those lazy bastards that were his family to take everything there was to take from the cube. That was the priority, right after the meeting. The meeting that would decide whether he would be a governor or a king.

As he left his study, Kirk Lander thought: fuck this senator business. I'm not going to stand for reelection. I'll save tons of money otherwise spent on the campaign. I'll use this money instead to get plenty of good people into my colony.

Whichever way he looked at it, both governor and king sounded better than senator. And they both offered better profit potential. Far better, because it was unlimited.

Kirk strode into the big lounge where the meeting was to be held with a confident step. They were all there, and waiting, and looking at him. He had the strong feeling things would go the king route.

Because 'governor' was just an official label. He would be king, either way.

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