<Apologies to Vanadorn>
Lifting his leather boots to rest on the seat in front of him, Vorlon looked
out the window of the Great Northern Railway car as the scenery passed by.
Gentle hills gave way to fruited plains. The air crackled with life, and the
Stars and Stripes flew from every doorway. How could the general leave
such a paradise? What would gay Paree offer that could draw him away?
The southern beaches? America had those. Red wine? America had
traded for those; the old horses that could no longer bear her soldiers
were now proving their strength on foreign shores.
Reaching inside his cloak, Vorlon reviewed his notes.
There were hills near Denver, Pittsburgh, and NYC that looked
attractive for mining. And the number of slave workers that had stared
at him with hollow eyes would be ideal for such backbreaking labours.
The pastures and plains near South Park, Reno, Joliet, and Palo Alto
were not yet fully roaded, and the railheads were incomplete near
Salt Lake City and Hershey. "Perhaps," he thought, rubbing the stubble
on his chin, "it is because they are headed for that tiny spit of land,
just below Tallahassee, to pave the way for our troops to crush Sarwon
and Uxmal. I wouldn't like to be the ones to climb that volcano!"
A heavy-set lumberjack dozed in the seat across the aisle. As he snored,
a book fell from his lap, and several dried, pressed wildflowers fell out.
"I'll bet he skips and jumps, too," Vorlon muttered. There were still
forests that could be chopped to aid production near Winnipeg, South Park,
and even some near the core cities -- Philadelphia and NYC.
A young couple giggled as they passed, holding hands and heading for
the sleeping compartments. "Seems like everyone is getting a little
patriotic action." Is that where the missing general was headed?
To move heaven and earth? The cities of Sacramento, Milwaukee,
Hershey and Nashville all had rivers running nearby. No need to build
aqueducts there; probably could turn those citizens into scientists,
once they'd finished their victory celebrations after the Maya and Koreans
were vanquished.
As he had left the President's office, there had been a copy of
Popular Science on the desk...although it looked as though another
magazine might have been hidden inside. The President had been
concerned about the costs of the whiz-bang techs described in PS,
but he needn't have been. Mass Production and Motorized Transport
(Tanks
) both cost around 3360 beakers, and the great American
empire was producing 952 beakers per turn. And that was before
construction was completed on all those libraries he had seen from
the train windows. America's best days were definitely ahead of her.
He loosened his cloak, replaced his notebook, and checked his ticket again.
Miami. The fishing was supposed to be great, he had heard. Perhaps
that was where General Automated Teller had gone. The conductor
weaved through the carriage, announcing the next stop.
![[party]](/images/smilies/partytime.gif "Party [party]")
! I will play the next Set of Turns tomorrow. As always, I'll check in here first for any last-minute advice.
