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On the Road
Finals were over. I didn’t even wait around to find out how I’d done before I started getting ready to go. My grades were good enough for me to go to the conference in San Francisco, California.
Mom and Dad saw me off at the maglev depot. It was right at the edge of the massive Sherman Rain Forest, thought to be home to large groups of primitive tribes and deadly animals.
The maglev track avoided the dense jungle altogether, in favor of a route over the northern parts of South America.
“Where’s the first stop?” I asked Mr. Grant. He was going to help supervise the group from New Washington. About five other kids were coming along, from around Brazil. They were the best.
I was pretty good.
It had been a week since school let out, and I had learned the basics of the Model United Nations. I’d be helping the more experienced kids out at first, mainly helping to collect research, and I’d only be sitting in on the actual meetings.
“Mexico City,” he replied. “We have to pick up a small delegation from down there.”
“What nation are they representing?”
He smiled. “Those are assigned once we get to Frisco. There are only a few groups needed, considering the number of countries these days, so you should be assigned a country to represent pretty quickly.”
“I just hope I don’t get New France.”
“New France is under United Nations protection, but only seen as a French Colony. And yet, officially, France is dead.”
“Joan of Arc would love that report.”
“She did. Her people still love her to the point where they would not even dream of assassination. Especially since that would mean that everyone in New France would die instantly.”
I nodded. “Oh.”
The Maglev had just left New Boston, which was at the edge of the Atlantic, in the former Spanish province of Argentina. The Spaniards had called it… Buenos Aires. I think it means “good air” or something. The air would have been pretty clear down there, since it was closer to the South Pole than most cities of the time. It was also close to the Strait of Nelson, named for the admiral who had passed his ships through it in his legendary circumnavigation of the globe.
I checked the readout panel above the terminal. It was about halfway here. We had about a half hour to wait.
“So,” I said. “What country do you think they’ll assign us New Washington kids?”
Mr. Grant shrugged. “Could be anybody. Could be Iroquois-Canada, but they’ll probably assign someone from closer to the Border. Maybe someone from Seattle or even New York. Someone from Alaska would know more about Japan. A New Spaniard would know at least a little about either Germany or Carthage. Well, probably more about Carthage, since they built that maglev across Gibraltar. Even Australian kids would know a little about the Indian people in what used to be called Indonesia.”
I smiled. “So us South American kids are pretty much isolated in terms of international connections, huh?”
“New Washington is a hotbed of culture. But mostly from refugees. Like the Zulu descendants who invented jazz, blues, and eventually rock and roll, then rap. Or the mestizos, descendants of the Aztecs or Incas that got into the Latin music invented by the former Spaniards. And all the immigrants from other countries. The problem is that there isn’t a large population from any country in particular. Things like that. You might just end up representing America.”
I sighed. “I hope so. I pay the most attention to American politics and such.”
The street maglevs are pretty fast, but the real maglevs, the ones that go between cities and even countries, are a lot faster. They were built over the old American train tracks, and are easier to maintain.
Maglev cars are essentially plastisteel bullets that soar along the rails at very high speeds. Originally the system was only used to transport weaponry and cargo. Living things could not handle the immense speeds for very long. Somehow we managed to invent technology to counteract the acceleration. Isaac Newton must have rolled over in his grave.
All I know is that it sure beats driving.
The car was minimal. It had a dining car, a luggage car, and a passenger car, and that was it. The maglev car was driven by a sentient AI in a small compartment at the front of the train. It was so minimal because you seldom had to worry about an overnight trip. Most trips were nonstop, only stopping overnight to pick up passengers and let the occupants acclimate to the time change, which frequently happened in maglev voyages. You often crossed at least two time zones. Getting from N.W. to Mexico City meant we’d be crossing through two different time zones, and going on Central Time once we got there. We’d be crossing into California and then go straight along the coast till we got to Frisco.
There was an eight-hour time difference from East Brazil to California.
I don’t remember if I slept. All I know is that the view wasn’t all that good. We were going faster than a bullet from a gun. We were going faster than sound.
We crossed the Panama Canal without even noticing it. People hardly used the old Canal anymore.
And then, quite suddenly, the maglev slowed down. We had to start slowing down early in order to be able to stop in Mexico City.
We arrived there earlier than we’d left New Washington. My watch was suddenly about three hours slow!
Mr. Grant smiled at me. “I’m never gonna get used to these changing time zones. Better than the old system of it being the same time everywhere. I’m glad that the military instituted this time zone policy.”
“Not everybody follows the time system.”
“Especially not Daylight Savings Time.”
“I thought it was just Arizona.”
“Parts of South America, too. Come on, we need to check in to our hotel.”
[OCC: Sorry this took so long, I’ve just been having trouble getting inspired. I’ll be cutting down the installments so I can get them out more often. And don’t worry, there is going to be at least some form of conflict in this story. It wouldn’t be Pax America without a war or two, after all.]
Finals were over. I didn’t even wait around to find out how I’d done before I started getting ready to go. My grades were good enough for me to go to the conference in San Francisco, California.
Mom and Dad saw me off at the maglev depot. It was right at the edge of the massive Sherman Rain Forest, thought to be home to large groups of primitive tribes and deadly animals.
The maglev track avoided the dense jungle altogether, in favor of a route over the northern parts of South America.
“Where’s the first stop?” I asked Mr. Grant. He was going to help supervise the group from New Washington. About five other kids were coming along, from around Brazil. They were the best.
I was pretty good.
It had been a week since school let out, and I had learned the basics of the Model United Nations. I’d be helping the more experienced kids out at first, mainly helping to collect research, and I’d only be sitting in on the actual meetings.
“Mexico City,” he replied. “We have to pick up a small delegation from down there.”
“What nation are they representing?”
He smiled. “Those are assigned once we get to Frisco. There are only a few groups needed, considering the number of countries these days, so you should be assigned a country to represent pretty quickly.”
“I just hope I don’t get New France.”
“New France is under United Nations protection, but only seen as a French Colony. And yet, officially, France is dead.”
“Joan of Arc would love that report.”
“She did. Her people still love her to the point where they would not even dream of assassination. Especially since that would mean that everyone in New France would die instantly.”
I nodded. “Oh.”
The Maglev had just left New Boston, which was at the edge of the Atlantic, in the former Spanish province of Argentina. The Spaniards had called it… Buenos Aires. I think it means “good air” or something. The air would have been pretty clear down there, since it was closer to the South Pole than most cities of the time. It was also close to the Strait of Nelson, named for the admiral who had passed his ships through it in his legendary circumnavigation of the globe.
I checked the readout panel above the terminal. It was about halfway here. We had about a half hour to wait.
“So,” I said. “What country do you think they’ll assign us New Washington kids?”
Mr. Grant shrugged. “Could be anybody. Could be Iroquois-Canada, but they’ll probably assign someone from closer to the Border. Maybe someone from Seattle or even New York. Someone from Alaska would know more about Japan. A New Spaniard would know at least a little about either Germany or Carthage. Well, probably more about Carthage, since they built that maglev across Gibraltar. Even Australian kids would know a little about the Indian people in what used to be called Indonesia.”
I smiled. “So us South American kids are pretty much isolated in terms of international connections, huh?”
“New Washington is a hotbed of culture. But mostly from refugees. Like the Zulu descendants who invented jazz, blues, and eventually rock and roll, then rap. Or the mestizos, descendants of the Aztecs or Incas that got into the Latin music invented by the former Spaniards. And all the immigrants from other countries. The problem is that there isn’t a large population from any country in particular. Things like that. You might just end up representing America.”
I sighed. “I hope so. I pay the most attention to American politics and such.”
The street maglevs are pretty fast, but the real maglevs, the ones that go between cities and even countries, are a lot faster. They were built over the old American train tracks, and are easier to maintain.
Maglev cars are essentially plastisteel bullets that soar along the rails at very high speeds. Originally the system was only used to transport weaponry and cargo. Living things could not handle the immense speeds for very long. Somehow we managed to invent technology to counteract the acceleration. Isaac Newton must have rolled over in his grave.
All I know is that it sure beats driving.
The car was minimal. It had a dining car, a luggage car, and a passenger car, and that was it. The maglev car was driven by a sentient AI in a small compartment at the front of the train. It was so minimal because you seldom had to worry about an overnight trip. Most trips were nonstop, only stopping overnight to pick up passengers and let the occupants acclimate to the time change, which frequently happened in maglev voyages. You often crossed at least two time zones. Getting from N.W. to Mexico City meant we’d be crossing through two different time zones, and going on Central Time once we got there. We’d be crossing into California and then go straight along the coast till we got to Frisco.
There was an eight-hour time difference from East Brazil to California.
I don’t remember if I slept. All I know is that the view wasn’t all that good. We were going faster than a bullet from a gun. We were going faster than sound.
We crossed the Panama Canal without even noticing it. People hardly used the old Canal anymore.
And then, quite suddenly, the maglev slowed down. We had to start slowing down early in order to be able to stop in Mexico City.
We arrived there earlier than we’d left New Washington. My watch was suddenly about three hours slow!
Mr. Grant smiled at me. “I’m never gonna get used to these changing time zones. Better than the old system of it being the same time everywhere. I’m glad that the military instituted this time zone policy.”
“Not everybody follows the time system.”
“Especially not Daylight Savings Time.”
“I thought it was just Arizona.”
“Parts of South America, too. Come on, we need to check in to our hotel.”
[OCC: Sorry this took so long, I’ve just been having trouble getting inspired. I’ll be cutting down the installments so I can get them out more often. And don’t worry, there is going to be at least some form of conflict in this story. It wouldn’t be Pax America without a war or two, after all.]
We can wait a little bit, as long as you aren't forgetting us altogether. 
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