Pangaea – The CEO

First part of a writing prompt: all the continents are merged again, describe the consequences for the world and everyday life. You can read the whole thing here.


The Mandela tower was the tallest building in the world. And with its almost 200 floors, it would have claimed that title even if all the others had not fallen during the Junction. The newly founded National Bank of Namibia owned the 182nd floor. This was the most prestigious floor in the most prestigious building of the world. And as the CEO of NBN, Nkosana occupied the floor’s best corner office.

The smell of his cup of Kopi Luwak filled the room. For the first time he thought coffee didn’t smell like crap. Far below his office, Nkosana could see almost all of Windhoek. The Namibian capital was bristling with activity, its financial district still new and shiny. All thanks to the new trade agreements with America – well, with South America at least. Calling it “America” was supposedly not PC, but most people would have known he was not speaking about the North one anyway. The North had been too big, too safe, too overprotected. It had never really known hardship, and when the Junction happened, its people were not ready. The continent was not destroyed per se, but morale had been crushed by the catastrophe. Northerners were still bickering about responsibilities rather than focusing on fixing their issues.

On the other hand, Africa and Amer- and South America had thrived. These people were used to hardships. Near the horizon, Nkosana could see the countless fields surrounding Windhoek. Once mostly a desert, Namibia now enjoyed a wonderfully temperate climate. Rain was frequent, but not too heavy. The soil was fertile. The surrounding countries were the richest in the world. There was even talk of several South American and African uniting under one federal government. The United Equator Nations. Nkosana was already pulling strings to have his share. The elders used to tell him how Africa suffered from poverty for centuries. It had only taken the end of the world to end hunger in Africa.

And then, there was that stain. Little China. Dark spots surrounding the whole city, like a gangrenous wound. Asian slums full of refugees from China, Japan, Vietnam, or whatever other lost country they came from. They all looked the same to him anyway. Since the Junction, they were everywhere. Nkosana was partly impressed they had even reached this city. His city. They couldn’t be bothered to find a job, but the little rats could sure as hell walk.

Nkosana scowled and went back to sit at his desk, checking his schedule for the hundredth time. He knew exactly who it was. The only person who could make him check a schedule a hundred time.

His secretary knocked at his door: “Your appointment is here, sir.”

“Thanks, Tomoko.” He had been strongly against taking an Asian secretary, but… quotas.

He stood as a tall man of undefined skin color entered the office, closing the door behind him. The Other. Opaque sunglasses were the only way he could hide his true nature and pretend to be human. They were the only two people in the world – if the Other could even be called people — who knew what had happened on the Moon. The scientists had been too confident, too rash, trying to control forces they had not understood. Nkosana would not make the same mistake.

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