“
Okay,
K
at it is,” he huffed. “So
what do you want for dinner,
K
at?”
She purred some
more.
“
How about
mince?” He thought he had a small packet tucked toward the rear of
his freezer,
which shouldn’t take long to
defrost.
“Tomorrow we’ll get you some real
cat food.”
Despite
acquiring a new friend, his problems quickly wound up his mind and
consumed his thoughts. So his torment continued afresh, just as
agonizing as before. His quandary revolved around an issue in the
manufacture of the material PortaNet needed to contain a
space
fold
. He’d
managed to get his hands on some through Lars Olssen, before he’d
been assassinated.
Dangerous, dangerous
stuff.
More shocking was how they were
disposing of
the
by-product
. All told, they were heading
down a path that led to a catastrophe the likes of which nobody on
Earth had ever had the gall to imagine.
Fear of the
inevitable cataclysm kept Hans van de Berg toying with the
equipment that crowded his apartment. Fear
of
being killed like Lars Olssen kept
him cautious on the streets.
As he
expected, his apartment smelled like smouldering silicon. The
sordid smoke engulfed him as soon as he entered.
Great.
K
at gave him an uncertain look when he
placed her carefully on the carpet. “Sorry about the smell, you’ll
get used to it after a while.”
She spent the
next ten minutes exploring her new surroundings, cataloguing where
things were, and sniffing all the fascinating scents that humans
didn’t notice. By the time she’d finished
,
Hans had fixed dinner and
K
at ate the mince with a
gusto that could only come from true appreciation.
Hans scanned
his instruments to refresh his memory on the sate of the previous
experiment
.
A
s usual, it was fubar.
Fucked Up Beyond All
Recognition.
He sighed and ran a hand
through his hair, tempted to start pulling it out.
Okay, what’s going wrong here?
He knew what the original material would do if gathered in
large enough quantities; Hans was striving to fabricate something
that had the same desired properties but none of the disastrous
side effects.
K
at distracted him by entwining
herself around his legs in gratitude for the first smidgeon of
kindness anyone had shown her. Hans couldn’t begrudge a smile and
he flopped onto the couch and petted her until she was twitching in
a dream-filled sleep. Although he didn’t know it, he was indebted
to the animal for nudging his mind from the endless
cycle
of failed
experiments.
Okay: cat food, kitty litter,
a basket to sleep in, something to play with – like a ball, a
plate…
It was the first time he’d truly
relaxed in months and it felt fantastic. And, as many great
inventors would testify, the best ideas usually came when something
completely different occupied the inventor’s mind.
*
Thursday, September 16,
2066
World Economic
Forum
14:45 Washington DC,
USA
The heat was
sweltering.
At least, it
was for Nathan Bradford as he struggled to focus on the
proceedings. He nervously adjusted his tie and collar then mentally
rebuked himself for the outward manifestation of his
anxiety.
Why’s the environmental control
set so damn high?
He didn’t enjoy having
sweat trickle down his back and soak into his underpants. And
neither his suit nor the starch his drycleaners had ironed into his
shirt was helping. It left him feeling like a potato
crisp.
Their seating in the WEF
conference hall was arranged in concentric semicircular rings with
a daunting stage pinned at the focal point. A screen that reminded
Nathan of the last time he’d visited a cinema was hanging on the
far wall, behind the French dignitary who was blabbering about the
images projected there. If Nathan had bothered to plug in his
earphones he would have heard the English translation, a poor
approximation of the Frenchman’s flamboyant speech, but a
translation none the less. The hall designers had spared no
expense; they’d splurged on exquisite upholstery and the most
ergonomic chairs they could find. But Nathan’s discomfort had
little to do with the physical appointments in the hall.
The people
around him were enthralled. Some nodded at seemingly random
intervals, wearing their most scintillated expressions while doting
on every word dribbling through the audio system. Whatever the
Frenchman was prattling on about it must have been
mesmeri
s
ing. Nathan
snuck a look to his right and saw his CEO, Neil Walker, leaning
forward, eagerly awaiting the next slide that would fade onto the
screen. He didn’t appear nervous.
How’s
that possible?
Nathan wondered, sitting on
his hands to stop them from fidgeting. It didn’t work. A few
seconds later he was rearranging the papers that had cascaded over
his generous desk. The black velvet folder at the bottom of the
medium
sized
stack
sent chills through his fingers whenever he touched it. The last
time Nathan remembered being so jumpy was before a debate in high
school.
Year eight history if I’m not
mistaken.
In any other circumstances he’d be
grinning at the memory, but
instead
he clamped his jaw shut to stop his teeth from
chattering
,
just as
he had then.
The thought of
delivering bad news to the most powerful people in the world wasn’t
something he relished.
Oh shit, they’re
going to eat me alive.
He cast another
glance toward Neil, admiring him for his outward calm.
They’re going to chew him up
too.
He had no difficulty imagining
the
m lynching everyone in
the PortaNet corner.
He’d been
trying to summon the courage
for weeks. He
had to
present PortaNet’s research
findings
but
had
shrunk from the task
at every
occasion
, always ending up thoroughly
disgusted with himself.
Today’s the
day.
His breathing deepened as a fresh wave
of adrenaline tingled his innards. Years of public speaking didn’t
appear to be paying off.
Deep down, he knew today
wasn’t his day and he despised himself for it. He took
self-loathing to a completely new level and wondered whether he
should start a drug habit to conform to his pitifully low
self-opinion.
Next
time.
He’d used the same consolation
before.
But this time I mean
it
. Sadly, he’d meant it last time
too.
*
Jackie sucked in her
stomach and puffed out her chest before shoving the doors open.
Nobody paid her much attention, save for a few bored members at the
back of the hall who broke off their game of hangman to snigger at
her tardiness.
She absorbed
the scene in an instant and determined that she hadn’t missed
anything important. She rarely did. At least, nothing vital to the
smooth operation of her company. With a determined stride that
could shrivel the penis of a horny chauvinist, she wove a path to
her seat, three rows from the front on the right side of the
partial locus. And with measured movements she laid her agenda on
the desk
, which
curv
ed
to the
right
and
merged
with her armrest
. Next,
she
open
ed
the dainty earp
hone
canister and plugged the earphones
into the intended socket.
“…
that it’s
not important. I think it clearly demonstrates this.” It was a
young woman’s voice, which seemed wrong when the speaker was a
fifty-something man.
Who co-ordinates
these things?
She wished she knew. She’d
have some harsh words to deliver from her forked tongue if she
could find the appropriate people to spit at.
“
I would like
to thank you for permitting me this opportunity today…” The
interpreter paused, hesitating with her translation. “I hope you
have a better understanding of the intricacies involved in
American-European trade relations.”
The spectators
started clapping.
Oh God, not
again.
Jackie hated it when people clapped.
It was so…
thirties.
But the age distribution in the room fit perfectly with the
antiquated custom.
Haven’t we grown out of
that yet?
She, for one, had never clapped at
a WEF meeting. And she never intended to either.
She curiously
scanned the meeting’s agenda for anything of interest while the
French orator left the stage to make way for the chairman. She knew
she had a while; the man was more lard than anything else.
What a fat tub of shit.
It
filtered through her callous mind in a matter-of-fact tone.
He’d be the perfect candidate to test Xantex’s
oh-so-miraculous weight-loss drug.
He was
too large to walk – he waddled. And he soured the appetite of
anyone near him in a restaurant.
Unsurprisingly, there was nothing on the agenda that tickled
Jackie’s fancy and she contemplated leaving. After all, she
had
important
things to do. Then she remembered – she needed the WEF. She
needed the status and power that membership into the secretive
invitation-only organisation conferred. It amused her to think how
it’d wrested so much influence from the old-style governments and
come to dominate the world.
Genius, pure
genius! Invite the rich and powerful to a private cubbyhole, stand
back, and watch them change the world.
She
was inwardly impressed by how far the WEF had come since its
infancy in the late twentieth century. Now it closely resembled a
world government –
The
World Government – or so it purveyed. The fact that it
harboured only the first world’s interests didn’t matter. Concern
over the squalor-bound third world was dwindling due to floundering
public pressure. She thanked the TK-Media Empire for that,
specifically the seven men and two women in the first row on the
left side of the arc. And the fact that
the
WEF
was non-democratic flowed like water
off a duck’s back – she was one of the invited.
Sure, UniForce currently has only one seat, but soon we’ll
have more.
Still in its relative infancy,
UniForce was one of the newest giga-corporations on the well-beaten
block.
Corporate-driven issues consumed a hefty chunk of the agenda.
A button on her control panel would place her in a time-slice queue
if she pressed it, but she couldn’t think of anything worth
raising.
No, today I
watch.
The concerns dredged up by her fellow
corporate leaders were usually more interesting than the scheduled
presentations, which explained why Jackie wasn’t shy of turning up
late to WEF meetings. She didn’t really give a flying fuck what
some pretentious French attaché thought about Euro-American trade
relations. It was far more interesting to sit through the snarling
and clawing of inter-corporate bickering on matters that ranged
from mundane copyright infraction to exotic hostile takeovers.
Besides, it was her duty to interact with fellow Important People.
Sometimes she thought she spent too many hours buried with tedious
matters that nobody else seemed competent enough to deal with. She
inwardly sighed when a Xantex drone plodded to the stage.
I need to find someone reliable, someone to make
those decisions without me.
Her skin crawled
when she thought of
Paul
Savage taking more initiative.
And,
she thought brutally,
I need someone clever enough to keep him on a
tight leash.
The man at the
podium
was proposing a new law to make it
easier for Xantex to access sealed patient records. Jackie wondered
whether anybody in the room was paying attention. People were
muttering in dozens of private conversations that spread like
wildfire across the hall. The Xantex representative, possessing
such a timid voice, found it difficult to maintain order.
Jesus, haven’t you got any
balls?
Even the sensitive microphone and
audio loop equipment weren’t helping. The man spoke the way he
walked – plodding along in monotone with a painfully regular
cadence. When it was time for the vote, Jackie watched less than a
third of the attendees reach for their controls. So she took pity
on the man and decided to boost his voting turnout. But that meant
she must also decide how to vote, and she’d paid no attention to
the details of his proposal.
I bet you
have a small dick.
She thumbed the button
marked ‘negative’ and impatiently waited for the voting window to
lapse. The results projected onto the screen: motion
rejected
. He
required a 50 percent majority and, being incapable of
enthusing 50 percent to vote, passing the motion was
unlikely.