A World Between Read Free

and full-time politics and fulltime politicians with a vengeance—all of it in perpetual flux and most of it transpiring electronically via the net As Carlotta Madigan sat alone on Lorien, tens of kilometers from the nearest human and further still from the capital at Gotham, it all flowed through her via screens, microphones, speakers, controls, satellites, laserpipes, and computers.
    Lean and bodily youthful in her mid-forties, Carlotta was graced with a face that on the comscreens of subordinates, colleagues, and political adversaries was an ageless image of authority that flowed not so much from her office as from who she was. Though her fair skin was barely lined at all under flowing black hair, her blue eyes were old steel, and her proud nose and full expressive lips might have been those of an ancient Doge of Venice. With Royce Lindblad as her helpmate, she was the best damn Chairman Pacifica had had in two generations, and no one knew it better than she did.
    Carter Berman, the current Minister of Industries, a gray-haired man in his seventies who had shuffled in and out of that office more often than probably even he cared to remember, was on the comscreen now, in something of a defensive dither, trying to persuade her to establish a Pacifican Skyliner Corporation to bring down the fares on the routes between Gotham and the Cords, and Carlotta was getting that familiar sphinxlike look which should have told him that it was a lost cause.
    “....s things stand now, there are only two lines operating between Gotham and the Cords, and the competition is virtually nil, Carlotta...
    As he spoke, Caroltta punched up the traffic figures on her access screen. “So is the traffic,” she said. “The two lines operating now are averaging only 6I percent of capacity.” .
    “But check the fare structures.”
    Carlotta punched up the figures. TransColumbia was charging 180 valuns for coach and 230VN for first class. Zipline was charging 167VN and 240VN. “So?” she said testily. “There’s absolutely no evidence of price-fixing.” “Look at the charge per passenger-kilometer and compare it to routes of similar length.”
    When Carlotta punched up the figures, she saw that the charge per kilometer was nearly 30 percent higher than Gotham-Valhalla or Valhalla-Lombard and even 17 percent higher than Gotham-Godzillaland. But on the other hand, the profit margins didn't really seem excessive.
    “Look at the figures yourself, Carter,” she said. “The profits aren’t out of line.”
    “They’re 25 percent above what they should be. A government corporation could cut the fares 20 percent and still show a respectable profiit.”
    “At the same capacity figure?”
    “Of course,” Berman said, squinting quizzically.
    “Well hell, Carter, what makes you think we could run that line at 6I percent?” Carlotta snapped. “Demand’s inelastic. Compete with TransColumbia and Zipline, and all the liners will be running less than half-full, and the gov-corp will run at a loss along with the freecorps. Then they’ll drop their routes and we’ll be stuck with them.” “Have you modeled that or are you just winging?” Berman asked, beetling his brows in annoyance.
    “Winging it,” Carlotta said. “And so are you, right? You don’t have a computer projection on that, do you?” “No,” Berman admitted.
    “Well, when you come up with one, plug me in again,” Carlotta said, unplugging herself from the circuit. She sighed. For all his Technocrat pretensions, Berman was an Interventionist at heart. If he had things his way, there’d be a new govcorp every time someone’s profit margin went half a point above 10 percent. For her part, Carlotta preferred to leave the free market alone until something got really flagrant.
    The Constitution gave the government monopolies in energy production and mining, which was more than enough to let the government run at a profit, pay a decent dividend on citizen’s stock, and keep