Retrotopia
Page 23
“We can handle it,” said Melanie.
“I also meant you personally,” I said with a smile.
“I survived the Honorable Velma Streiber,” she said, with a smile of her own. “After that I think I can handle just about anything.”
I laughed, and so did she. We busied ourselves with our plates for a few minutes.
“I wonder,” she said then. “If you really want people from your side of the border to see what we’re doing on ours, one way to do it would be to have President Montrose make an official visit. We’d be happy to host something like that.”
I considered her. “That’s a possibility.” Then: “Have you had other heads of state visit?”
“A few.” She gestured with her fork, dismissing the idea. “Once diplomatic relations got reestablished after the Treaty of Richmond, we let it be known that we’d be happy to welcome any head of state that wanted to pay a visit, and reciprocate. The President of Chicago’s been here, of course—show me a country in North America he hasn’t visited—and we’ve exchanged state visits with Quebec and Missouri, but everyone else has backed away uneasily from the suggestion.” The fork jabbed down into her chef’s salad. “We’re still North America’s pariah nation, you know.”
“Even though your way of doing things works,” I said.
“No.” She glanced up at me. “Because our way of doing things works.”
We ate in silence for another few minutes. Of course her words made me think yet again of the same frustrating question I’d been brooding over earlier. It must have showed in my face, because she said, “Penny for your thoughts.”
“Just wondering why everyone else keeps making the same mistakes over and over again, trying to fix their problems by doing more of what made the problem in the first place.”
“Progress?”
“Yes.”
“I have a suggestion.” When I gestured for her to go on: “I think it’s because all your talented people get put to work building new gadgets, instead of solving the problems that gadgets can’t fix. That means you have too many gadgets and a serious shortage of solutions.”
I stared at her for a moment. “And since your people aren’t working on gadgets—”
“We’ve found some solutions. Yes.” Then: “There was nothing wrong with seeing how far progress could go and still get useful results. The problem was simply that people forgot to stop once they passed that point. We’ve got all the gadgets we need; you’ve got more than you need—and maybe it’s time to stop putting all our talents and our efforts into more gadgets and get to work on some of the other things that go into being human.”
I nodded after another, longer moment, but I knew already that I had my answer.
We talked about other things after that, mostly personal; I promised to write—the Atlantic Republic still has a postal system, though it’s nothing like as good as the one the Lakeland Republic has—and so did she; I paid the bill, we kissed, and then she went back to the Capitol and I got my suitcase from the baggage room and headed for the doors to the platforms.
“Train Twenty-two to Pittsburgh via Sandusky, Canton, and Steubenville,” someone called out. “Now boarding at Platform Six. Train Twenty-two.”
I showed my ticket, and a couple of minutes later I was on Platform Six. A conductor took another look at my ticket and sent me three cars up, to a car that was going all the way to the end of the line. I climbed aboard, got my suitcase stowed, and settled into a window seat on the right hand side.
What was going to happen when I got back home, I knew, was a complete crapshoot. Among Ellen’s top advisers, I’d been the most outspoken critic of her plans, and so it was pretty much a given that once I threw my support to the plan, it would go ahead. Just how far the legislature would be willing to cut government subsidies for technology and stop penalizing employers for hiring workers was another question, and just how much of the broader Lakeland Republic program would be adopted was an even bigger one. The more clear it became that what they were doing worked, and what we were doing didn’t, the easier it would be to push that ahead, but there would be plenty of resistance among those who still thought that it made some kind of sense to keep doing the same thing while expecting different results.
Maybe I could make it work, and maybe I couldn’t. Maybe my term as ambassador to the Lakeland Republic would be successful, and maybe I’d flop. For that matter, though I had high hopes for the relationship Melanie and I had gotten going, there was no way to know in advance if that would work out in the long run or turn out to be a flash in the pan. The future hides in a cloud, and you just don’t know what’s going to pop out of it.
The conductor came through, calling out his “All aboard!” as a last handful of passengers got on. Doors clattered shut. No, I thought, there’s no way to tell in advance what’s behind the cloud that hides the future, but maybe—just maybe—I can make a difference.
The car jolted once, and then began to move.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
John Michael Greer is the author of more than forty nonfiction books and four novels, most recently The Weird of Hali: Innsmouth, the first volume of a Lovecraftian epic fantasy series. He lives in a red brick mill town in the north central Appalachians with his wife Sara.
Other Founders House Fiction by the Author
STAR’S REACH
THE FIRES OF SHALSHA
As Editor
AFTER OIL
AFTER OIL 2
AFTER OIL 3
AFTER OIL 4
New Map of North America
Copyright Information
Retrotopia
Copyright © 2016 John Michael Greer
All rights reserved.
Published 2016 by Founders House Publishing, LLC
www.foundershousepublishing.com
Cover art by Matt Forsyth
Cover and interior design © 2016 Founders House Publishing, LLC
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Table Of Contents
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SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
MAP
ABOUT THE AUTHOR