for?”
“The Quantum Carnival starts
tonight!”
“Hot damn, so it does. I forgot.”
“How could you forget that? It’s
a global phenomenon!”
“Other things on my mind,”
mumbled Franco. “Such as our impending wedding.”
“Of course. How sweet. Can you
also pick up some jasmine oil?”
‘‘Jasmine oil?”
“I bought some candles to float
in our stimulant-bath when we have one of our bubbly wobbly bath moments. Just
wanted a little something to spice up the water my cuddly little lovable teddy
bear.” She came through, wiping her hands on a synth-towel which made a little
hissing sound as it sucked water moisture from her skin. She gave him a big
cuddly wuddly hug.
“OK, will do, my sweet, my little
puff pastry pixie,” said Franco with a tight teeth smile, and climbed down the
sixty-nine flights of stairs muttering, “Jasmine oil? Bloody jasmino oilo?
What the hell is a squaddie’s life coming to when he has to buy bath oil on his
way home from work? It’s because my life’s too great, right? Because my life
has become perfect!”
He needn’t have worried.
Things were about to get bad.
~ * ~
CHAPTER 2
DIRTY DANCING
London.
NewLon. TekCity: a wonder of the modern world, a pinnacle of human and machine
evolution, a climax of science and electronics and modified building genetics.
Constantly re-built, re-structured, re-moulded, it was a colossal empire of
steel and alloy and glass, skyscraper upon skyscraper upon skyscraper soaring
like a mammoth dark phoenix with raised and threatening wings—poised, static,
above the seemingly cowering landscape for a full two kilometres in height.
London. NewLon. TekCity: a showcase for what contemporary architects and
engineers could achieve with a little imagination and a bucketful of cash. A
template for progression. A blueprint for the most advanced in all technologies
and synthetic materials. London. NewLon. TekCity: Global Sales Centre of
NanoTek Corporation.
~ * ~
The
WTS—or World Technology Show—was held every year at Joker’s Hall in NewLon. The
world’s largest trade event for contemporary advanced technology, the guest
speaker on this humid afternoon which promised a violent storm was none other
than Dr Oz, the sole owner—and singular share-holder—of NanoTek Corporation.
As Dr Oz took the podium, walking
the length of lacquered bubble-stage to grasp the gleaming polished wings of
the platinum eagle, a low muttering swept the gathered sixteen thousand
tek-people who had congregated to witness this monumental event.
Dr Oz.
Dr Oz was legend; a near-mythical
figure who rarely ventured into the public domain and never— not since the
early days of NanoTek’s fledgling uprising decades earlier—gave public
appearances. He did not agree to TV, kube or media interviews, was never
photographed by the paparazzi, and most of the people who worked under the
banners of the NanoTek technological evolution and revolution didn’t
actually know what he looked like.
Dr Oz was a small delicate man,
slim of stature and completely bald. His face was neat; an extremity of
paleness, oval in shape, well-proportioned, the nose just the right shape, the
eyebrows slim and waxed, the eyes brown, flecked with gold and just the right
distance apart. He was not particularly handsome, nor ugly—and combined with
his modest stature he was what some would call a grey man. He could
blend with ease into groups of people. Nothing big, nothing clever, a statement
of understatement. Dr Oz wore a simple black glass suit over a white shirt with
blue silk tie. His shoes were slightly pointed, and polished to a deep sheen
that would make any military man proud.
And then Oz smiled, and everyone
present witnessed that simple face turn from blandness into one shadowed
with—what? Just a hint of menace? Or simple vanity? Oz’s teeth were small and
pointed. Perfectly
“The Quantum Carnival starts
tonight!”
“Hot damn, so it does. I forgot.”
“How could you forget that? It’s
a global phenomenon!”
“Other things on my mind,”
mumbled Franco. “Such as our impending wedding.”
“Of course. How sweet. Can you
also pick up some jasmine oil?”
‘‘Jasmine oil?”
“I bought some candles to float
in our stimulant-bath when we have one of our bubbly wobbly bath moments. Just
wanted a little something to spice up the water my cuddly little lovable teddy
bear.” She came through, wiping her hands on a synth-towel which made a little
hissing sound as it sucked water moisture from her skin. She gave him a big
cuddly wuddly hug.
“OK, will do, my sweet, my little
puff pastry pixie,” said Franco with a tight teeth smile, and climbed down the
sixty-nine flights of stairs muttering, “Jasmine oil? Bloody jasmino oilo?
What the hell is a squaddie’s life coming to when he has to buy bath oil on his
way home from work? It’s because my life’s too great, right? Because my life
has become perfect!”
He needn’t have worried.
Things were about to get bad.
~ * ~
CHAPTER 2
DIRTY DANCING
London.
NewLon. TekCity: a wonder of the modern world, a pinnacle of human and machine
evolution, a climax of science and electronics and modified building genetics.
Constantly re-built, re-structured, re-moulded, it was a colossal empire of
steel and alloy and glass, skyscraper upon skyscraper upon skyscraper soaring
like a mammoth dark phoenix with raised and threatening wings—poised, static,
above the seemingly cowering landscape for a full two kilometres in height.
London. NewLon. TekCity: a showcase for what contemporary architects and
engineers could achieve with a little imagination and a bucketful of cash. A
template for progression. A blueprint for the most advanced in all technologies
and synthetic materials. London. NewLon. TekCity: Global Sales Centre of
NanoTek Corporation.
~ * ~
The
WTS—or World Technology Show—was held every year at Joker’s Hall in NewLon. The
world’s largest trade event for contemporary advanced technology, the guest
speaker on this humid afternoon which promised a violent storm was none other
than Dr Oz, the sole owner—and singular share-holder—of NanoTek Corporation.
As Dr Oz took the podium, walking
the length of lacquered bubble-stage to grasp the gleaming polished wings of
the platinum eagle, a low muttering swept the gathered sixteen thousand
tek-people who had congregated to witness this monumental event.
Dr Oz.
Dr Oz was legend; a near-mythical
figure who rarely ventured into the public domain and never— not since the
early days of NanoTek’s fledgling uprising decades earlier—gave public
appearances. He did not agree to TV, kube or media interviews, was never
photographed by the paparazzi, and most of the people who worked under the
banners of the NanoTek technological evolution and revolution didn’t
actually know what he looked like.
Dr Oz was a small delicate man,
slim of stature and completely bald. His face was neat; an extremity of
paleness, oval in shape, well-proportioned, the nose just the right shape, the
eyebrows slim and waxed, the eyes brown, flecked with gold and just the right
distance apart. He was not particularly handsome, nor ugly—and combined with
his modest stature he was what some would call a grey man. He could
blend with ease into groups of people. Nothing big, nothing clever, a statement
of understatement. Dr Oz wore a simple black glass suit over a white shirt with
blue silk tie. His shoes were slightly pointed, and polished to a deep sheen
that would make any military man proud.
And then Oz smiled, and everyone
present witnessed that simple face turn from blandness into one shadowed
with—what? Just a hint of menace? Or simple vanity? Oz’s teeth were small and
pointed. Perfectly
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