106 Bacon and Eggs

"I'll be damned," said Ron Small.

"Yeah," said Kirk. They had just entered the room that had been prepared for their working breakfast with Carlton Brock. Its center was occupied by a very long table covered with white table cloth and featuring very promising-looking settings, with multiple plates before each seat. Two rows of tuxedoed, bow-tied waiters were lined up along opposing walls. Most of them were attempting to smile at the incoming governors.

There was nothing halfhearted in Lea Panatella's smile, however. She was standing at the head of the long table, and she seemed to be as delighted as if she were hosting a birthday party for all her favorite people. She was wearing a cream skirt suit with a white silk shirt and, to Kirk's experienced eye, the clothes were fresh and clean. Maybe that was why Panatella was so happy: fresh, clean clothes were increasingly hard to come by.

"Good morning, good morning everyone," she sang out. "Please seat yourselves wherever you like. Your waiter will take your breakfast order from you."

Kirk wanted a place near the top of the table, close to where Carlton Brock would be sitting; however, he was politely but firmly blocked by Panatella. She said:

"I'm so sorry, governor Lander. Sir, the first seat on each side is reserved for people coming with governor Brock."

Kirk was about to ask who those people were, but he heard Small call his name. He looked: Small had secured a couple of seats, and was waving at Kirk to join him. Five places down from Brock: that wasn't too bad.

"Thanks, Ron," Kirk said. They sat down and almost immediately a waiter appeared between their seats and said to Kirk:

"Sir? I'm ready to take your order, sir. Orange or grapefruit juice?"

"Orange," said Kirk slightly stunned.

"Toast - white or wholewheat?"

"Wholewheat."

"Scrambled eggs with sausages or sunnyside up with bacon?"

"Fried with bacon." Kirk was having difficulty speaking: his mouth was flooded with saliva. This promised to be the best meal in ages! Well, at least a week. He had to swallow twice before he could inform the waiter that he also wanted coffee and strawberry jam. The waiter turned to take Small's order: Kirk overheard him go for the scrambled eggs with sausages.

He frowned. In Kirk's mind, people who liked scrambled eggs were messed up emotionally. He had valid reasons for this belief: his first two wives had both liked scrambled eggs. The first one had driven into a wall while drunk and stoned, an act that terminated her pleasant high instantly, and her life a day later.

Given this experience, he took a risk with his second wife - she was totally into scrambled eggs, sometimes ate them twice a day. But she had been so efficient, so calm and collected when she was still his secretary! And what happened? She ended up as a certified loony locked up in an institution.

Was Ron Small fucked up emotionally? Of course he was! He was very smart and very ambitious. He was also ugly and, well, small. A mind like that in a body like that had to find life very painful. In a way, it was natural that he would fight back by gathering dirt on people, and blackmailing them into submission.

Well, he'd given the little bastard a nice taste of his own medicine. It had been very effective. Small had abandoned any thoughts of cashing in on his knowledge of the Lander colony. He came around to Kirk's room that morning and practically stood at attention assuring Kirk that he never had any intention whatsoever of telling anyone anything. It had convinced Kirk that Small really had something going.

"Of course, of course," Kirk had said. "We governors must stick together. E pluribus unum."

They ended up going to the breakfast together.

The waiter had just brought both of them their orange juice when Carlton Brock entered, and everyone rose from their seats.

Carlton Brock was accompanied by two people Kirk had never met or seen before: a bald, bespectacled man in a baggy grey suit, and a ugly old woman in a long-sleeved black dress who was also wearing much too much makeup: it made her look like a vampire. The ugly pair quickly moved to take the reserved seats next to Brock, and Kirk nearly burst a brain vessel trying to work out who they were, and what roles they'd come to play.

"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen, and please be seated," boomed Brock, putting his hand on the backrest of his seat. He stood like that for a moment, smiling and looking from left to right as everyone wished him a good morning, too. Everyone except the pair he'd brought with him: they had already sat down, and were ordering breakfast from their waiters.

"I have a proposition," boomed Brock again. "Let's eat first and talk second. What do you say?" He grinned, listening to enthusiastic endorsements. He raised a hand, cutting them off, and added:

"I know all of you have brought brilliant ideas about how to improve the present, uh, situation. However, before we discuss those, two top experts will brief us on this, uh, situation's sociological and psychological aspects. To my right - professor Chester Katz, dean of sociology at Harvard University; to my left - professor Yvonne Molito, dean of psychology, and a leading, THE leading authority in the field of behavioral psychology."

Kirk noted that neither authority bothered to rise and bow. Katz graced everyone with a nod and an uncertain smile, while Molito gave the assembled governors a ferocious glare. She really looked like an angry vampire about to strike.

"All right," boomed Brock. "Let's eat!" A few people actually clapped. Kirk became aware that Edwin Looseberry was grinning at him from across the table; he was sitting next to the whatshisname - something Irish - governor of Illinois. Kirk frowned; what the fuck was happening to his memory? He used to remember names without any difficulty. Maybe he should consult the vampiric Molito about that.

He wanted to ask Small about the Illinois governor - Small was sure to know his name, date of birth, and whether he'd ever caught VD. But before he could do that, the long-awaited eggs arrived.

They were a disappointment. One had a yolk so dark it was almost orange; the other was too pale, paler than a lemon. They were both very small eggs, tiny in fact, and they were accompanied by two strips of bacon that clearly came from a stunted pig that had died from starvation. The toast consisted of four wafer-thin triangles, all burnt on one side. The jam came in a thimble-sized plastic container which was about two-thirds full, and there was no ketchup. That was truly odd. Ketchup was one of the very few things still left on some store shelves, back in San Francisco.

Kirk stole a glance at Small. Small was sitting with his head bent, examining the spoonful of scrambled eggs on his plate as if he was expecting it to move and run away. The sausages were of the size served on toothpicks at cocktail parties. A few seats down the table, someone was asking a waiter if there was a chance of second helpings in a voice that was both frightened and pleading.

Kirk nudged Small with his elbow.

"I wonder what we'll get served with at that working dinner later on," he said. "I'm betting on frog's legs served on a leaf of old lettuce. What do you say?"

Small said nothing. He gave Kirk a dark, sad look and picked up his fork. So did Kirk, and found out the toy eggs were actually very tasty. He was starting to enjoy himself when he heard a terrible, choking croak.

He looked up from his plate. Across the table, the no-name governor of Illinois was turning purple. Spit mixed with bits of food was dripping from his open mouth and onto his empty plate. He had already managed to gobble everything down save for his last piece of toast: he was still holding onto that with trembling fingers. Looseberry was grinning at him and saying:

"Is something wrong? Tell me. Is something wrong? You can tell me."

"He's choking!" shouted Kirk. "Someone give him the Heimlich maneuver!"

"The what?" said governor Looseberry. "What did you say?"

The choking governor's other neighbor seemed to be paralyzed by fear. She was a frail middle-aged woman that had originally become elected a senator mostly on the strength of the sexual abuse she'd suffered as a child. She had also been mugged and raped practically the moment she turned eighteen, and went on to marry an alcoholic who regularly beat her before conveniently dying of liver cancer. Subsequently, she became a fierce advocate of animal rights, which clinched her election. Her love of animals didn't stop her from enjoying fried bacon - a thin strip was dangling from her upturned fork as she stared at the choking governor, her mouth open in horror.

Kirk was about to jump out of his seat and across the table when the Illinois governor suddenly fell silent. The homicidal toast dropped from his fingers. He seemed to be staring right at Kirk with great intensity as he leaned back and toppled off his chair, hitting the floor with a heavy thud.

Everyone seemed to spring into action simultaneously. Chairs were overturned by governors in their great eagerness to help. Kirk saw that Carlton Brock had risen from his seat. He was gesturing to someone standing outside the open doors. Kirk noted that Brock's breakfast was different: it seemed to consist of a slice of melon, nothing more. He heard Small say:

"Just look at this. Look at all the fucking heroes."

Small's voice was dripping with spite. Kirk looked at the crowd assembling round the fallen and presumably dead governor of Illinois. It was already so thick he'd have to fight just to get a look at the corpse over someone's shoulder.

He shrugged and looked down at his unfinished food and thought, what the fuck.

He cut off a piece of egg white, and put it in his mouth.

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