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      "body": "Congratulations @eggie! You received a personal award!\n\n<table><tr><td>https://steemitimages.com/70x70/http://steemitboard.com/@eggie/birthday3.png</td><td>Happy Birthday! - You are on the Steem blockchain for 3 years!</td></tr></table>\n\n<sub>_You can view [your badges on your Steem Board](https://steemitboard.com/@eggie) and compare to others on the [Steem Ranking](https://steemitboard.com/ranking/index.php?name=eggie)_</sub>\n\n\n###### [Vote for @Steemitboard as a witness](https://v2.steemconnect.com/sign/account-witness-vote?witness=steemitboard&approve=1) to get one more award and increased upvotes!",
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      "body": "Congratulations @eggie! You have received a personal award!\n\n[![](https://steemitimages.com/70x70/http://steemitboard.com/@eggie/birthday1.png)](http://steemitboard.com/@eggie)  Happy Birthday - 1 Year on Steemit Happy Birthday - 1 Year on Steemit\nClick on the badge to view your own Board of Honor on SteemitBoard.\n\nFor more information about this award, click [here](https://steemit.com/steemitboard/@steemitboard/steemitboard-update-8-happy-birthday)\n> By upvoting this notification, you can help all Steemit users. Learn how [here](https://steemit.com/steemitboard/@steemitboard/http-i-cubeupload-com-7ciqeo-png)!",
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      "body": "**UNIQUE VERSE**\n\nI try to think of something big\n[A topic for this ode]\nBut nothing comes to mind.\nThen it occurs [to me] that\nNothing is really big\nFor what is anything but nothing\nCall it what you will\nThe cosmos, the multiverse\nIt's so empty, an everness of nothing\nEmpty space containing empty matter\nThe very atoms, just more emptiness\nWith tiny tiny particles\nAnd what are they but\nTwists of nothing.",
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      "body": "**BUBBLENEST**\n\n**CHAPTER THREE**\n**SEASHORE**\n\nPiers chose a serpentine path through the park on his way to the beach.  When he was alone and had no need to hurry, he invariably did this.  On this occasion it not only gave his digestive system a bit more time to cope with breakfast, but he delighted in the park almost as much as in his patio garden.  Obviously the park was more mature and he hadn’t had the luxury of choosing its plants himself, but there were other significant differences beyond the obvious ones.  On his roof-garden the plants were ’modded to cope with the changed atmospheric conditions, but not to the same extent as those in the park, after all at the first signs of a storm or even of an emergency storm warning his storm shutters (which also shielded his windows of course) automatically activated to give the protection necessary to weather the really bad flash storms or major common storms, including the common-enough mega hailstorms and tornado blitzes.  The various trees all had thickened ultra-hard bark, and the trunks and branches had whiplike adaptation that allowed them to yield to the storms rather than attempt to resist them.  Other adaptations allowed any plants smaller than the trees to recover quickly after the inevitable damage.  This was partly achieved by enhanced metabolisms and generous reserves stored in subterranean parts of the plants, such as giant rhizomes and multiple dormant bulblike shoots from which new stems and flowers could shoot up within mere days of the storm’s passing.\n\nSome of the trees were huge and that was quite an achievment, since the oldest was planted barely forty years ago.  The shades of green and the variety of foliage types were joy enough, but to that was added as fine and varied a pallet of colour as one could wish for.  Piers would be ever grateful to his parents, not only for a superb loft, but for their choice of its prime situation.  But for all that, he would gladly have lived in a far worse accommodation and location, if he could have had them still alive and well.\n\nWell into the park, Piers heard the faint sound of music, which was common enough, thankfully.  However, it sounded as though it might be interesting – not at all strident nor clicheed, and with a subtle alternation or blending of voice and strings together with what might have been some sort of sampler or syntho.  He changed his direction to give himself a chance of making a fuller assessment, and to satisfy his curiosity as to its source.\n\nBefore long, the small group of musicians and their friends or audience came into view.  They were as good from near by as the distant sounds had hinted, but Piers stopped to listen for only a few moments.  A gorgeous Asian girl, or maybe she just had a pseudo-Asian genemod, caught his eye and they exchanged glances.  He noticed that she had only slight epicanthic folds.  She also had the tiny plain silvery disk of the pro-transhumanists in her right earlobe.  Since body-piercing as a fashion statement was a fad of the turn of the century now held in universal contempt, it could only be the transhumanist sigil.  Of course there was no significant progress along the transhuman path, but it would no doubt come soon enough, with integrated computing becoming an implanted part of the brain being one of the first goals.  However, no matter how great the undeniable benefits would be, the whole area was fraught with difficulty. This was largely due to the bioethicists' insistence that any such radical modification, be it genemod or nano, must become virtually genetic, in that if parents opted for it, it would be passed on to their progeny biologically, or maybe auto-nano-biologically might be something more like the correct term.  As far as Piers was concerned, he had no strong feelings either way; he’d just wait and see what progress offered.\n\nWhilst he was certainly interested in both the music and the girl, he didn’t want to delay his swim any further, so he took his leave without exchanging a word with anyone since there had been no break in the music, and to have spoken while there was a performance would have been unforgiveable.  He decided that he’d come back this way after his swim in case these new people were still there, but if not, no great loss and he would keep an eye out for their possible return.\n\nOnly a hundred and fifty metres beyond the shoreward limit of the park lay the beach.  As the pale yellowy white of the beach came into view, he noted the sea was calm and there was the usual scattering of singles, duos and small groups either relaxing or playing on the beach or in the water.  He knew they were lucky to have a beach at all, as since the Warming had brought such a pronounced rise in the sea level most of the world’s beaches had been drowned or washed away.  The luck of this area was that the currents had just been right to deposit an almost traditional golden beach.  However, although he sometimes liked to use the stretch of beach as part of his frequent jogs, he didn’t favour lying on sand or entering the sea from a beach.  Better he thought, if you were lucky enough to have smooth rounded rocks, as there were further along the shore.  These were better to dive in from, and to relax on too, without having the bother of dry sand sticking to your wet body.\n\nSo, deciding his breakfast had had plenty of time to settle, he jogged along the shoreline, then swung slightly inland for a while when he came to the cliffs.  They started as a jumble of rocks at the end of the beach, but rose quickly to as much as maybe seventeen metres in places, and were mostly almost sheer, with fairly deep water below them.  He continued his run, hardly even slowing for the rise in the ground.  His course soon wound back to the water’s edge where the cliffs were about thirteen metres.  The low rounded rocks of the stretch of water he was aiming for was no more than half a kilometre further, and anyway he always enjoyed running close to the ocean with a slight breeze to the seaward side of his body.\n\nTo his surprise he heard what sounded like laughing and muted cheering from not far ahead.  Full of curiosity he increased his pace, and then slowed as he approached a group that looked as though they were taking it in turns to dive from the cliff.  That was never such a good idea, but when he drew abreast of them he saw that they had chosen the spot where the cliff was maybe ten metres above the waves, but to his dismay where there was an infamous pair of large barnacle-encrusted rocks in the fairly deep water below.  The place had a number of dramatic names such the Devil’s Bollocks or the Gateway to Hell, and took its toll of usually rather immature victims misguidedly out to prove themselves, or to establish some sort of reputation.  As far as Piers was concerned they were all fools, or at the very least foolhardy.  He would just run on by, and would have avoided them altogether if he’d had the option of moving further inland, but the path didn’t give that choice on this stretch.\n\nHe was startled when one of the group of ten or so called out to him.  Slowing he looked towards them again; it was Axel, a friend from his college days whom he hadn’t seen for a year or two.  Being too close to just wave and carry on, he felt obliged to jog over to greet his old companion and exchange a few personal trivia before taking his leave as soon as he politely could.  He would have thought his friend had better judgement than to get involved in this sort of escapade, but he noticed that three of the group were women, so perhaps Axel had been dragged along to what his current girl considered a social occasion.\n\nActually the crowd appeared good humoured and seemed pleasant enough well-balanced people, so he found himself lingering a while.  They were obviously adrenaline junkies for whom the modern world provided few opportunities for voluntary excitement now that sports like organised motorbike racing and jet-tobogganing had been banned.  That was mostly because the powers that be begrudged the unacceptable medical expenses involved in the too frequent catastrophic accidents.\n\nHe watched several of the men, including Axel, dive without incident, and then one of the women took her turn performing a risky acrobatic dive that ended with a perfect entry almost exactly between what seemed like a very narrow gap between the rocks, although in fact they were almost two metres apart.  Inevitably it was suggested that he too dive.  He politely suggested that he wasn’t much of a diver and that it would be better if he declined.  Axel, being new to the group, didn’t want this display of reticence to reflect badly on his own standing and urged Piers further, saying that it would be okay to just jump rather than actually dive.  Several of the rest joined in in good natured encouragement.  The peer pressure was just too much, he’d have to dive in and then politely make his departure as soon as he gracefully could.\n\nThe dive he executed was plain but faultless, and he got a small cheer and his shoulders clapped when he clambered up to the clifftop once more.  However, although he had performed well enough not to disgrace himself or his friend, he had felt almost like a suicide as the twin rocks rushed towards him.\n\nHe watched another of the men, an unusually tall fellow, dive but make a disasterous entry mostly on his back, but thankfully he was well clear of both rocks.  His dive got a chorus of pained exclamations, mostly of sympathy, and then the next diver was standing on the edge ready for his turn.  His dive included a perfect sommersault, but almost ended in disaster as his left shoulder actually scraped one of the boulders as he entered the now bloodied water.  There was a stunned silence among the spectators, but Piers noticed that one of the men was unable to suppress an expression of eager gloating.  Not matter how skilled at camouflaging their natures, psychopaths inevitably gave themselves away in such circumstances.  Piers felt sickened, not so much my the diver’s injuries which although bleeding copiously proved to be essentially superficial and caused by the rock’s razory coating of crustaceans rather than by the rock itself, but by the presence of the psycho.  The spirits of the group had been dampened, with the exception of those of the psycho who no doubt was disappointed that the mishap hadn’t ended much worse.  The diving stopped although one of the divers wanted to continue, no doubt out of bravado, but the rest of the group prevailed against him to save it for another day.\n\nPiers bade Axel farewell and made his escape as soon a he could.  As he resumed his trotting along the cliff top, he reflected that maybe the mooted legislation the authorities had been seriously considering might not be such a bad idea after all.  They didn’t like the citizens taking part in this sort of activity, but it was impractical to ban something when the ban was virtually unenforceable.  However, what they were proposing was that free medical care be withheld from those that were injured in voluntary dangerous sports or pastimes.  That was a virtual death sentence for anyone whose injuries were serious, critical, or even those who needed resuscitation.\n\nStill feeling gloomy, he reached his favourite stretch with its platform of low rounded rocks against which gentle waves were lapping under a perfect blue sky, with the sun tinging the water with brilliant sparkles.  He sat for a while to recover himself and watch the few other bathers who had found their way to this more isolated spot.",
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      "body": "**BUBBLENEST**\n\n\n**CHAPTER THREE**\n**SEASHORE**\n\nPiers chose a serpentine path through the park on his way to the beach.  When he was alone and had no need to hurry, he invariably did this.  On this occasion it not only gave his digestive system a bit more time to cope with breakfast, but he delighted in the park almost as much as in his patio garden.  Obviously the park was more mature and he hadn’t had the luxury of choosing its plants himself, but there were other significant differences beyond the obvious ones.  On his roof-garden the plants were ’modded to cope with the changed atmospheric conditions, but not to the same extent as those in the park, after all at the first signs of a storm or even of an emergency storm warning his storm shutters (which also shielded his windows of course) automatically activated to give the protection necessary to weather the really bad flash storms or major common storms, including the common-enough mega hailstorms and tornado blitzes.  The various trees all had thickened ultra-hard bark, and the trunks and branches had whiplike adaptation that allowed them to yield to the storms rather than attempt to resist them.  Other adaptations allowed any plants smaller than the trees to recover quickly after the inevitable damage.  This was partly achieved by enhanced metabolisms and generous reserves stored in subterranean parts of the plants, such as giant rhizomes and multiple dormant bulblike shoots from which new stems and flowers could shoot up within mere days of the storm’s passing.\n\n\tSome of the trees were huge and that was quite an achievment, since the oldest was planted barely forty years ago.  The shades of green and the variety of foliage types were joy enough, but to that was added as fine and varied a pallet of colour as one could wish for.  Piers would be ever grateful to his parents, not only for a superb loft, but for their choice of its prime situation.  But for all that, he would gladly have lived in a far worse accommodation and location, if he could have had them still alive and well.\n\n\tWell into the park, Piers heard the faint sound of music, which was common enough, thankfully.  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Of course there was no significant progress along the transhuman path, but it would no doubt come soon enough, with integrated computing becoming an implanted part of the brain being one of the first goals.  However, no matter how great the undeniable benefits would be, the whole area was fraught with difficulty. This was largely due to the bioethicists' insistence that any such radical modification, be it genemod or nano, must become virtually genetic, in that if parents opted for it, it would be passed on to their progeny biologically, or maybe auto-nano-biologically might be something more like the correct term.  As far as Piers was concerned, he had no strong feelings either way; he’d just wait and see what progress offered.\n\n\tWhilst he was certainly interested in both the music and the girl, he didn’t want to delay his swim any further, so he took his leave without exchanging a word with anyone since there had been no break in the music, and to have spoken while there was a performance would have been unforgiveable.  He decided that he’d come back this way after his swim in case these new people were still there, but if not, no great loss and he would keep an eye out for their possible return.\n\n\nOnly a hundred and fifty metres beyond the shoreward limit of the park lay the beach.  As the pale yellowy white of the beach came into view, he noted the sea was calm and there was the usual scattering of singles, duos and small groups either relaxing or playing on the beach or in the water.  He knew they were lucky to have a beach at all, as since the Warming had brought such a pronounced rise in the sea level most of the world’s beaches had been drowned or washed away.  The luck of this area was that the currents had just been right to deposit an almost traditional golden beach.  However, although he sometimes liked to use the stretch of beach as part of his frequent jogs, he didn’t favour lying on sand or entering the sea from a beach.  Better he thought, if you were lucky enough to have smooth rounded rocks, as there were further along the shore.  These were better to dive in from, and to relax on too, without having the bother of dry sand sticking to your wet body.\n\n\tSo, deciding his breakfast had had plenty of time to settle, he jogged along the shoreline, then swung slightly inland for a while when he came to the cliffs.  They started as a jumble of rocks at the end of the beach, but rose quickly to as much as maybe seventeen metres in places, and were mostly almost sheer, with fairly deep water below them.  He continued his run, hardly even slowing for the rise in the ground.  His course soon wound back to the water’s edge where the cliffs were about thirteen metres.  The low rounded rocks of the stretch of water he was aiming for was no more than half a kilometre further, and anyway he always enjoyed running close to the ocean with a slight breeze to the seaward side of his body.\n\n\tTo his surprise he heard what sounded like laughing and muted cheering from not far ahead.  Full of curiosity he increased his pace, and then slowed as he approached a group that looked as though they were taking it in turns to dive from the cliff.  That was never such a good idea, but when he drew abreast of them he saw that they had chosen the spot where the cliff was maybe ten metres above the waves, but to his dismay where there was an infamous pair of large barnacle-encrusted rocks in the fairly deep water below.  The place had a number of dramatic names such the Devil’s Bollocks or the Gateway to Hell, and took its toll of usually rather immature victims misguidedly out to prove themselves, or to establish some sort of reputation.  As far as Piers was concerned they were all fools, or at the very least foolhardy.  He would just run on by, and would have avoided them altogether if he’d had the option of moving further inland, but the path didn’t give that choice on this stretch.\n\n\tHe was startled when one of the group of ten or so called out to him.  Slowing he looked towards them again; it was Axel, a friend from his college days whom he hadn’t seen for a year or two.  Being too close to just wave and carry on, he felt obliged to jog over to greet his old companion and exchange a few personal trivia before taking his leave as soon as he politely could.  He would have thought his friend had better judgement than to get involved in this sort of escapade, but he noticed that three of the group were women, so perhaps Axel had been dragged along to what his current girl considered a social occasion.\n\nActually the crowd appeared good humoured and seemed pleasant enough well-balanced people, so he found himself lingering a while.  They were obviously adrenaline junkies for whom the modern world provided few opportunities for voluntary excitement now that sports like organised motorbike racing and jet-tobogganing had been banned.  That was mostly because the powers that be begrudged the unacceptable medical expenses involved in the too frequent catastrophic accidents.\n\nHe watched several of the men, including Axel, dive without incident, and then one of the women took her turn performing a risky acrobatic dive that ended with a perfect entry almost exactly between what seemed like a very narrow gap between the rocks, although in fact they were almost two metres apart.  Inevitably it was suggested that he too dive.  He politely suggested that he wasn’t much of a diver and that it would be better if he declined.  Axel, being new to the group, didn’t want this display of reticence to reflect badly on his own standing and urged Piers further, saying that it would be okay to just jump rather than actually dive.  Several of the rest joined in in good natured encouragement.  The peer pressure was just too much, he’d have to dive in and then politely make his departure as soon as he gracefully could.\n\n\tThe dive he executed was plain but faultless, and he got a small cheer and his shoulders clapped when he clambered up to the clifftop once more.  However, although he had performed well enough not to disgrace himself or his friend, he had felt almost like a suicide as the twin rocks rushed towards him.\n\n\tHe watched another of the men, an unusually tall fellow, dive but make a disasterous entry mostly on his back, but thankfully he was well clear of both rocks.  His dive got a chorus of pained exclamations, mostly of sympathy, and then the next diver was standing on the edge ready for his turn.  His dive included a perfect sommersault, but almost ended in disaster as his left shoulder actually scraped one of the boulders as he entered the now bloodied water.  There was a stunned silence among the spectators, but Piers noticed that one of the men was unable to suppress an expression of eager gloating.  Not matter how skilled at camouflaging their natures, psychopaths inevitably gave themselves away in such circumstances.  Piers felt sickened, not so much my the diver’s injuries which although bleeding copiously proved to be essentially superficial and caused by the rock’s razory coating of crustaceans rather than by the rock itself, but by the presence of the psycho.  The spirits of the group had been dampened, with the exception of those of the psycho who no doubt was disappointed that the mishap hadn’t ended much worse.  The diving stopped although one of the divers wanted to continue, no doubt out of bravado, but the rest of the group prevailed against him to save it for another day.\n\tPiers bade Axel farewell and made his escape as soon a he could.  As he resumed his trotting along the cliff top, he reflected that maybe the mooted legislation the authorities had been seriously considering might not be such a bad idea after all.  They didn’t like the citizens taking part in this sort of activity, but it was impractical to ban something when the ban was virtually unenforceable.  However, what they were proposing was that free medical care be withheld from those that were injured in voluntary dangerous sports or pastimes.  That was a virtual death sentence for anyone whose injuries were serious, critical, or even those who needed resuscitation.\n\n\tStill feeling gloomy, he reached his favourite stretch with its platform of low rounded rocks against which gentle waves were lapping under a perfect blue sky, with the sun tinging the water with brilliant sparkles.  He sat for a while to recover himself and watch the few other bathers who had found their way to this more isolated spot.",
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      "body": ".\n\nSleeping cat\nNever snoring\nSleeping cat\nPuddle of fur\nSleeping cat\nOf birds dreaming\nFeathers fly, as birds fly\nAs blood flies\nCats with balls of wool\nPlay.",
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      "title": "CAT COUCHANT ............................................................. A poem in celebration/damnation of the domestic cat, felis catus."
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      "body": "Eggshells and skeletons,\nA crumple-clatter jive,\nNeon and helium\nTo die to be alive\nTo hell with hell\nFlame and ice\nThere ain't no god\nAnd death is nice!",
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      "body": "@@ -66,17 +66,16 @@\n r lack.%0A\n-%0A\n The flea\n",
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      "permlink": "extinction-event-a-short-thoughtful-poem",
      "title": "EXTINCTION EVENT ..................................... A  short thoughtful poem."
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      "body": "What of Earth with man not there?\nBirds and bison oblivious of our lack.\n\nThe fleas might miss us.",
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      "body": "Sleeping in its ash-dry lair,\nThe dragon dreams of yesteryear,\nWhen it's wake was paved with fear,\nOf how in those far-off days,\nIt inspired the doleful lays, \nOf bards forgotten,\n---- every one.\n\nWill it wake upon the morrow?\nOr hence of years a myriad?\nShall we hear its thunder-bellow?\nOr will it sound when man's long dead?",
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      "title": "DRAGON COUCHANT ................................ A poem"
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      "body": "**BUBBLE NEST**\n\n**CHAPTER TWO**\n**FIRST INTERVIEW**\n\nThe waiting room was enough like any other waiting room in the human resources section of a well-funded research organisation, not to be worthy of special comment.  It had the same quiet colours, expensive but tasteful detailing, and nothing too distracting.  Had they wished to impress or distract or perhaps disturb, they might have deopaqued the outside wall to show off the view of the cityscape and the land and sea beyond.  From the height of one and a half kilometres that surely must have had some psychological impact.  However, the purpose of the interview was to begin the process of extended psych and educational profiling beyond what was standard for the population at large.  \n\nOf course there was no receptionist, so Piers was in the room alone, and had been for the last twelve minutes.  His initial slight nervousness, had given way first to asking himself why he had even bothered to come, and then to a somewhat self-indulgent rather relaxed reverie.\n\nA well modulated light contralto voice bade him enter by the door facing him.  Still feeling relaxed, he strolled over to the rather tall greyish door and let himself in to the room beyond.\nAn apparently elderly balding man was seated behind a large deep chestnut desk in the spacious but not at all daunting room.  That was unusual.  Not the desk or the room, but that the rather pleasant looking man appeared to be elderly.  It was not that age was that unusual, but it was unusual for anyone to show an age of more that thirty or so.  Piers was aged only 32, but choose to look about 23, which was the apparent age most people choose.  The unusualness of the man’s appearance was no doubt chosen for its psychological effect in his capacity as a psytech, but surely that most be a disadvantage in his private life.  An old man was hardly likely to be attractive to women.  Then Piers mentally kicked himself for his lack of insight, surely what seemed to be an actual person was in fact just a holo.  It had been many decades since one could tell a holo from the real thing just by looking or listening.\n\tThe “man” got up from his “desk”, and moved around it with a slight smile.  As he neared Piers, he extended his right hand in a leisurely way saying “Greetings, Piers, so glad you’re here.  I’m Alfonse one of your hosts, or testers if you prefer.”  Piers took the proffered hand; it was real.  “Ho, Alfonse, glad to be here.”  Gesturing towards a low table of the sort they used to call a coffee table in the days when coffee was apparently a popular beverage, the psytech said “Please sit down, we’ll be more comfortable here”.  Piers took the nearer of the two chairs.\n\n“I’d like you to tell us about yourself, please, this is the first stage of your assessment (Piers noted the us; his interviewer wasn’t being coy about the fact that there were not just the two of them present, but no doubt a batch of hidden observers, recorders and analytical devices which were all more important than the man himself.\n\n“Well,” he wished he hadn’t started off that way, he knew better, maybe he was still a shade nervous after all, “I’m Piers as you know, and you already have my full ID profile, and access to a copy of my latest government standard basic psych test and other public or near-public data, so I’ll try to flesh out that basic info.  I hope you’ll forgive me if I repeat some of what you already know, so as to give my account better coherency”.  Definitely rambling on here; definitely as nervous as hell.\n“Okay, that’s enough to give us a whole batch of current psych on you, Piers.  Now tell me how you found out about us, why you applied, and why an architect is interested in our sort of work.”\n“W…” he stopped himself in time, “er, I heard about the project from a new friend, who works for your group.”  \n“Ah, yes, that would be Remene,” the interviewer interpolated gently.\nPiers hardly noticed the interruption and continued, “She told me that although it at first sight looked as though you’d only be interested in very high-powered mathos, physicists, comptechs or quantos, you in fact needed people with certain qualities that were much harder to pin down, to define.  You know, it being a new sort of project, and you’d not had quite the success you’d hoped for with the sort of personnel that you expected to produce results.  So you were looking at an interdisciplinary team, or more exactly a group of more or less disparate *odds and sods* who just might turn up some *paydirt* for you.”  He really wished he hadn’t said *odds and sods* and *paydirt*; those two phrases were anything but current.  That’s what comes of having been brought up by Granfa and Granmo after his parents had died when he was four – no wonder he was just a bit mixed up.  \n“As to why I, as an architect, am interested in your sort of project; there are two main reasons, and to be frank the first is that I’m more or less unemployed, or to be more exact, extremely underemployed – I’ve been doing the odd bit of specialist contract work that no one else really wants to do, and that’s hardly a professional career.  There’s not much demand for basic building architects these days, unless you have the credits to buy your way into a BigName franchise and work within tight guidelines using expensive leased software for virtually everything.  I care about architecture, but to me that’s not architecture.  When I graduated I hoped to be working on spaceship design or orbital habitats, there being talk in those days of an imminent need to build the huge interstellar ships that would be needed to put some of humanity’s eggs in other stars' baskets.  However, as you well know, our economic strategists decreed in their wisdom that we needed to develop new drive science and engine technology before interstellar ventures could even be considered feasible.  And as far as I know the Engine Quest as they are calling it is not making the sort of progress they had hoped -- if they are making progress at all, that is.\nBut I can always get by on basic, just as any of us can if we can put up with the stigma of being a drone.  Well, none, or virtually none of us want to be drones, so your team seemed worth a try, and from what Remene told me it looked as though my mix of professional and personal interests just might have a chance of interesting you enough for you to try me out.  That’s the second reason; I mean, I thought there was a good chance I might fit in with your group.” \nPiers paused for a little too long.\n“Remind me, exactly how did your parents die?” Alfonse prompted, catching Piers completely off balance with the apparent non-sequitur.\nClearly the hidden watchers wanted more emotional data of some sort for the extended profile they were developing.  No doubt Alfonse had a bonefone or some such tech, and was always in touch with the covert part of the assessment team.\n\n“It was during one of the first super storms from the Warming, back in the days when people didn’t know what to expect, as we do today.  It those days giant hailstones were virtually unheard of, and my parents were caught in the open without warning.  The kilogram hailstones got them and about 800 others in the first minute or so – virtually no non-fatal injuries.  At least it would have been so quick as to be almost painless; not like it would be being pummelled by a barrage of the golfball-sized stones of an ordinary storm.  Naturally our buildings are now properly designed for that sort of treatment, giving better protection, and there are reinforced street shelters for anyone who’s in the open when they hear a hail or storm emergency warning on their mophones.  But, of course, nowadays we accept 200,000 or so hail deaths a year.”  He knew he had gone on too long in his answer, guessed that it wouldn’t really matter, since it was emotive content they were scanning for at the moment, not semantic.\n“Yes,” said Alfonse sympathetically, “the Warming really did screw us over didn’t it?”\nIt was the sympathy that did it.  Some sort of agreeable reply was clearly called for, but Piers felt an upwelling of emotion and was unable to say a word.  The assessment team didn’t care; they got exactly what they wanted from the play of conflicting muscles on their interviewee’s face, as he struggled to inhibit the display of feeling.\n“Piers, would you like to take a short break?” Alfonse asked evenly.\n“No, it’s fine.  Let’s keep going.”\n“Okay, tell me what else you do besides architecture.”\n“Well, nothing else at a professional level, but you know that already.  However, as a dilettante, I’m intensely curious and rather excited about advances in science and tech of all sorts and keep up as best I can in the midst of this info explosion, but that’s common enough.  Same goes for computech, especially the more recent quantum, zero-point and AI stuff.  Physically, I exercise a bit harder than average maybe, but nothing exceptional, no team sports unless you call doubles tennis a team sport, I don’t.  However, I am according to my psych profile a ‘team player’, but that of course refers to my professional life.”  He didn’t really need to add that last bit, but like many others he was sensitive to any possible suspicion that he was part of the world’s two percent of psychopaths or even the five percent of those with psychopathic tendencies.  Not that he really needed to worry; any psych profile that indicated any degree of psychopathy was branded with a red alert.\n“And,” Piers continued, “I have a passion for the visual arts, especially ceramics, although I guess that might be called a tactile art too, if you approach it as I do, that is mostly as wheel pottery.  And maybe a bit rarer these days, I love plants in a way that goes beyond the universal respect for the natural world, everything from weeds to trees, but of course some of the garden plants send me into raptures.  Same way as clouds do, or many sorts of music for that matter.”  He knew the last parts had been a bit over the top, but every year that passed seemed to bring the general acceptance of a greater degree of personal openness – he’d probably get away with it; it might even be a plus for him; who knew with these psych guys?  “Oh, and I suppose for the sake of completeness I should add that I do a little meditation, far too little according to the pundits, as I’m interested in consciousness, and too be honest in relaxation too, since I’m sometimes inclined not to relax as much as I feel would be good for me, both physically and mentally.”\n“So, let’s leave it there for now, Piers, shall we?  We can have as many more interview sessions as we need, if you pan out, and if it’s still what you want,” Alfonse murmured, “We’ll go along the corridor for a cup of tea or something, and then I’ll hand you over to the tech boys to finish off the session.  In a few days, I’ll be in touch to let you know how you went, but I can tell you already, that if we’d spotted any contraindications, I’d tell you right now.  So you’re in with a chance.”\nPiers noticed in passing that the psytech had used the obsolescent term *pan out*, so his own reference to *pay dirt* had obviously been understood, or maybe that bonefone had been busy again filling him in with a bit of ancient vocabulary.\n\n\n\n[FOR CHAPTER 3 and subsequent chapters try the tags eggie sf fiction novel adventure .\nIf the response to each chapter is good I'll post further chapters. ]",
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      "body": "**BUBBLE NEST**\n\n**CHAPTER TWO**\n**FIRST INTERVIEW**\n\nThe waiting room was enough like any other waiting room in the human resources section of a well-funded research organisation, not to be worthy of special comment.  It had the same quiet colours, expensive but tasteful detailing, and nothing too distracting.  Had they wished to impress or distract or perhaps disturb, they might have deopaqued the outside wall to show off the view of the cityscape and the land and sea beyond.  From the height of one and a half kilometres that surely must have had some psychological impact.  However, the purpose of the interview was to begin the process of extended psych and educational profiling beyond what was standard for the population at large.  \n\nOf course there was no receptionist, so Piers was in the room alone, and had been for the last twelve minutes.  His initial slight nervousness, had given way first to asking himself why he had even bothered to come, and then to a somewhat self-indulgent rather relaxed reverie.\n\nA well modulated light contralto voice bade him enter by the door facing him.  Still feeling relaxed, he strolled over to the rather tall greyish door and let himself in to the room beyond.\nAn apparently elderly balding man was seated behind a large deep chestnut desk in the spacious but not at all daunting room.  That was unusual.  Not the desk or the room, but that the rather pleasant looking man appeared to be elderly.  It was not that age was that unusual, but it was unusual for anyone to show an age of more that thirty or so.  Piers was aged only 32, but choose to look about 23, which was the apparent age most people choose.  The unusualness of the man’s appearance was no doubt chosen for its psychological effect in his capacity as a psytech, but surely that most be a disadvantage in his private life.  An old man was hardly likely to be attractive to women.  Then Piers mentally kicked himself for his lack of insight, surely what seemed to be an actual person was in fact just a holo.  It had been many decades since one could tell a holo from the real thing just by looking or listening.\n\tThe “man” got up from his “desk”, and moved around it with a slight smile.  As he neared Piers, he extended his right hand in a leisurely way saying “Greetings, Piers, so glad you’re here.  I’m Alfonse one of your hosts, or testers if you prefer.”  Piers took the proffered hand; it was real.  “Ho, Alfonse, glad to be here.”  Gesturing towards a low table of the sort they used to call a coffee table in the days when coffee was apparently a popular beverage, the psytech said “Please sit down, we’ll be more comfortable here”.  Piers took the nearer of the two chairs.\n\n“I’d like you to tell us about yourself, please, this is the first stage of your assessment (Piers noted the us; his interviewer wasn’t being coy about the fact that there were not just the two of them present, but no doubt a batch of hidden observers, recorders and analytical devices which were all more important than the man himself.\n\n“Well,” he wished he hadn’t started off that way, he knew better, maybe he was still a shade nervous after all, “I’m Piers as you know, and you already have my full ID profile, and access to a copy of my latest government standard basic psych test and other public or near-public data, so I’ll try to flesh out that basic info.  I hope you’ll forgive me if I repeat some of what you already know, so as to give my account better coherency”.  Definitely rambling on here; definitely as nervous as hell.\n“Okay, that’s enough to give us a whole batch of current psych on you, Piers.  Now tell me how you found out about us, why you applied, and why an architect is interested in our sort of work.”\n“W…” he stopped himself in time, “er, I heard about the project from a new friend, who works for your group.”  \n“Ah, yes, that would be Remene,” the interviewer interpolated gently.\nPiers hardly noticed the interruption and continued, “She told me that although it at first sight looked as though you’d only be interested in very high-powered mathos, physicists, comptechs or quantos, you in fact needed people with certain qualities that were much harder to pin down, to define.  You know, it being a new sort of project, and you’d not had quite the success you’d hoped for with the sort of personnel that you expected to produce results.  So you were looking at an interdisciplinary team, or more exactly a group of more or less disparate *odds and sods* who just might turn up some *paydirt* for you.”  He really wished he hadn’t said *odds and sods* and *paydirt*; those two phrases were anything but current.  That’s what comes of having been brought up by Granfa and Granmo after his parents had died when he was four – no wonder he was just a bit mixed up.  \n“As to why I, as an architect, am interested in your sort of project; there are two main reasons, and to be frank the first is that I’m more or less unemployed, or to be more exact, extremely underemployed – I’ve been doing the odd bit of specialist contract work that no one else really wants to do, and that’s hardly a professional career.  There’s not much demand for basic building architects these days, unless you have the credits to buy your way into a BigName franchise and work within tight guidelines using expensive leased software for virtually everything.  I care about architecture, but to me that’s not architecture.  When I graduated I hoped to be working on spaceship design or orbital habitats, there being talk in those days of an imminent need to build the huge interstellar ships that would be needed to put some of humanity’s eggs in other stars' baskets.  However, as you well know, our economic strategists decreed in their wisdom that we needed to develop new drive science and engine technology before interstellar ventures could even be considered feasible.  And as far as I know the Engine Quest as they are calling it is not making the sort of progress they had hoped -- if they are making progress at all, that is.\nBut I can always get by on basic, just as any of us can if we can put up with the stigma of being a drone.  Well, none, or virtually none of us want to be drones, so your team seemed worth a try, and from what Remene told me it looked as though my mix of professional and personal interests just might have a chance of interesting you enough for you to try me out.  That’s the second reason; I mean, I thought there was a good chance I might fit in with your group.” \nPiers paused for a little too long.\n“Remind me, exactly how did your parents die?” Alfonse prompted, catching Piers completely off balance with the apparent non-sequitur.\nClearly the hidden watchers wanted more emotional data of some sort for the extended profile they were developing.  No doubt Alfonse had a bonefone or some such tech, and was always in touch with the covert part of the assessment team.\n\n“It was during one of the first super storms from the Warming, back in the days when people didn’t know what to expect, as we do today.  It those days giant hailstones were virtually unheard of, and my parents were caught in the open without warning.  The kilogram hailstones got them and about 800 others in the first minute or so – virtually no non-fatal injuries.  At least it would have been so quick as to be almost painless; not like it would be being pummelled by a barrage of the golfball-sized stones of an ordinary storm.  Naturally our buildings are now properly designed for that sort of treatment, giving better protection, and there are reinforced street shelters for anyone who’s in the open when they hear a hail or storm emergency warning on their mophones.  But, of course, nowadays we accept 200,000 or so hail deaths a year.”  He knew he had gone on too long in his answer, guessed that it wouldn’t really matter, since it was emotive content they were scanning for at the moment, not semantic.\n“Yes,” said Alfonse sympathetically, “the Warming really did screw us over didn’t it?”\nIt was the sympathy that did it.  Some sort of agreeable reply was clearly called for, but Piers felt an upwelling of emotion and was unable to say a word.  The assessment team didn’t care; they got exactly what they wanted from the play of conflicting muscles on their interviewee’s face, as he struggled to inhibit the display of feeling.\n“Piers, would you like to take a short break?” Alfonse asked evenly.\n“No, it’s fine.  Let’s keep going.”\n“Okay, tell me what else you do besides architecture.”\n“Well, nothing else at a professional level, but you know that already.  However, as a dilettante, I’m intensely curious and rather excited about advances in science and tech of all sorts and keep up as best I can in the midst of this info explosion, but that’s common enough.  Same goes for computech, especially the more recent quantum, zero-point and AI stuff.  Physically, I exercise a bit harder than average maybe, but nothing exceptional, no team sports unless you call doubles tennis a team sport, I don’t.  However, I am according to my psych profile a ‘team player’, but that of course refers to my professional life.”  He didn’t really need to add that last bit, but like many others he was sensitive to any possible suspicion that he was part of the world’s two percent of psychopaths or even the five percent of those with psychopathic tendencies.  Not that he really needed to worry; any psych profile that indicated any degree of psychopathy was branded with a red alert.\n“And,” Piers continued, “I have a passion for the visual arts, especially ceramics, although I guess that might be called a tactile art too, if you approach it as I do, that is mostly as wheel pottery.  And maybe a bit rarer these days, I love plants in a way that goes beyond the universal respect for the natural world, everything from weeds to trees, but of course some of the garden plants send me into raptures.  Same way as clouds do, or many sorts of music for that matter.”  He knew the last parts had been a bit over the top, but every year that passed seemed to bring the general acceptance of a greater degree of personal openness – he’d probably get away with it; it might even be a plus for him; who knew with these psych guys?  “Oh, and I suppose for the sake of completeness I should add that I do a little meditation, far too little according to the pundits, as I’m interested in consciousness, and too be honest in relaxation too, since I’m sometimes inclined not to relax as much as I feel would be good for me, both physically and mentally.”\n“So, let’s leave it there for now, Piers, shall we?  We can have as many more interview sessions as we need, if you pan out, and if it’s still what you want,” Alfonse murmured, “We’ll go along the corridor for a cup of tea or something, and then I’ll hand you over to the tech boys to finish off the session.  In a few days, I’ll be in touch to let you know how you went, but I can tell you already, that if we’d spotted any contraindications, I’d tell you right now.  So you’re in with a chance.”\nPiers noticed in passing that the psytech had used the obsolescent term *pan out*, so his own reference to *pay dirt* had obviously been understood, or maybe that bonefone had been busy again filling him in with a bit of ancient vocabulary.\n\n\n\n[FOR CHAPTER 3 and subsequent chapters try the tags eggie sf fiction novel adventure .\nIf the response to each chapter is good I'll post further chapters. ]",
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      "title": "BUBBLENEST    Chapter 1 of a Science Fiction Novel [ other chapters via the tags eggie fiction sf  novel adventure ]"
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      "body": "Thank you, that is very encouraging.\n\n[ John Michael Crichton  was an American best-selling author, physician, producer, director, and screenwriter, best known for his work in the science fiction, medical fiction and thriller genres. His books have sold over 200 million copies worldwide, and many have been adapted into films. In 1994, Crichton became the only creative artist ever to have works simultaneously charting at No. 1 in US television (ER), film (Jurassic Park), and book sales (Disclosure).\n     His literary works are usually within the action genre and heavily feature technology. His novels epitomize the techno-thriller genre of literature. ]\n\nPS  Any comment by the original Isaac Asimov would have been even more highly valued!",
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      "body": "Thank you, that is very encouraging.",
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      "body": "Hi! This post has a <a href=\"https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Flesch%E2%80%93Kincaid_readability_tests\">Flesch-Kincaid</a> grade level of 10.6 and reading ease of 62%. This puts the writing level on par with Michael Crichton and Mitt Romney.",
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      "body": "BUBBLE NEST\n\nCHAPTER ONE\nPRELUDE\n\nDawn broke gently, but brilliantly.  In minutes the dazzling light poured through the high windows of Piers’ loft, to bathe his still sleeping form.  His eyelids were no match for the cascade of light, and reluctantly he scrunched his eyes, and then still sleepy, but somehow already heartened by the sun’s promise of a glorious day, he rolled on to his side to avoid the full enthusiasm of the deluge of light.\n\tThe loft was his dearest possession, indeed the only one of any real value.  It had been left to him by his parents.  It was at the top of an ancient (but now reinforced) low-rise warehouse that had been converted to residential accommodation in the early days of the Crush seventy years ago.  That had been when the population explosion had really made everyone, not just the savvy few, sit up and take notice.  The world population had reached 22 billion and there was nothing like enough living space, in fact not enough of anything.  People were dying like flies from starvation, disease from overloaded sewer systems, and the growing numbers of homeless who used the streets as public toilets, very public toilets.  Not only that, but this was aggravated by the growing effects of the Warming, and population was still growing.  It took extreme measures to check population growth and to stabilise it at 22 billion.  It had been stable now for better than half a century, but it had come at a great price.  Virtually every country in the world had cooperated to enforce draconian measures to halt the hitherto almost uncontrolled breeding.  Human rights had gone by the board.  Mass sterilisations had become the rule, reversable only in the developed countries.  Still even in these there had been universal rioting, which played nicely into the hands of the authorities who quickly instituted martial law, and their extermination programs right there on the streets in the name of crowd control.  Had it not been for the advances in science and technology, the damage already done by exponential human growth would undoubtedly have brought us down, would have ended civilisation, and sooner rather than later.  It had been a close thing, but the human race had recovered albeit with scars and deep trauma.  Most people were superficially optimistic about the future because we had come out of the crisis in many ways richer and stronger.  However, everybody who had not buried their heads in the sand of wilful ignorance knew perfectly well we were all still balanced on a knife edge.  Annihilation was no longer certain, but it was still a significant possibility.  After all, just how long could the world support a population load which was still more than four times the viable maximum?\n\nOne of the loft’s advantages was that it was close enough to the sea to provide good views, and still be far enough away to be more or less safe from the storm surges and such, that put the closer buildings and their residents in constant jeopardy.  The miracle was that the huge park between Piers’s building and the shore had somehow survived the post-Crush development boom, when kilometre-high residblocks had sprung up like a plague of etiolated mushrooms.  At the time, there is no doubt that the city fathers had in corrupt sentimentality hoarded their park like a miser’s treasure, but future generations of this suburb constantly blessed them for the inherited bounty, whilst it goes without saying they were roundly and rightly cursed in their own day for the same deed of deprivation.\n\nBut the superb view was not the only good thing that proximity to the sea bestowed on Piers.  It also provided him with access to one of his favoured pastimes, or more accurately two such leisure activities.  The ostensible one of the pair was swimming, for the sea was now pristine – pristine, but changed and more treacherous than ever.  You could, since the clean-up-or-perish laws of the post-Crush years, delight in pure water and pure air, enjoy the best sea bathing and diving in living memory.  Of course, it was very necessary to pay careful attention to storm and surge forecasts, and to swim with a suitably waterproofed mophone to pick up emergency broadcasts, but that was a small price to pay for the delights the seashore provided.\n\tThe other less obvious advantage, was that for Piers the shore was one of the best places for hitting on girls.  Or for being hit upon by girls, if he were patient enough, because surely if he didn’t make a move, then the girls were bound to.  Now that genetic medicine kept everybody young-looking, healthy and basically attractive, and universally acceptable genemod eugenics was the cream on the cake that made them not only attractive, but actually beautiful (not to mention more intelligent, athletic and emotionally stable), there was a banquet of flesh everywhere.  There was a feast for everyone be they male or female, and the chase was open and enthusiastic with few rules other than good manners and consideration.  This new openness was probably mostly due to three factors; the first being universal reliable mandatory contraception (reversable temporarily only when a couple obtained the rare privilege of a breeding licence for a single child).\n\tThe second was the eradication of all of the sexually transmitted diseases.  So complete had been the eradication, that now there was no actual term for such diseases, be it social disease, venereal disease, sexually transmitted disease, or whatever.  These and half a dozen similar synonyms would only have been known to pedants interested in historical medicine or such.\n\tThe third was the eradication of what Piers saw as a still worse plague – religion.  To be more exact, religion had not actually been eradicated, but rather changed to such an extent that that superstitious practice, as many called it, could now no longer be considered malign, but rather an innocuous affectation of many nostalgic for the past.\n\nMaybe no other generation had had it so good, as far as the eternal dance of the sexes went, but the new conditions made things more difficult in some ways.  Basically, no matter that the hormone-saturated young will claim in their boasting, sex is about more than mere lust, which is merely a means to an end.  In these times lust is easily satisfied, but the real but unacknowledged game is choosing the optimal mate and companion.  Everyone at some level wanted more than just another beautiful body to copulate with.  What they wanted was what to their eyes was a beautiful mind, personality, and nature to spend time with at least, but probably to spend a lot of time with, perhaps even a lifetime, and maybe have a child with.\n\tDo you see their dilemma?  Everyone is almost equally beautiful, so how do they find those other now less obvious characteristics?  Well, not only is everyone now more physically attractive, and genetically near perfect, albeit in great variety, but people are universally well behaved, that is civilised.  And that is not just because people are better human beings.  Just as many of the apples in the current barrel are as rotten, or in various stages of rot, as they always were.  One of the subsidiary problems being that now, truly bad people (remember the two percent of psychopaths just for a start) must behave well, even if they don’t want to, since the penalties if they don’t are just too great.  Well nobody wants to consort or romp with a sociopath or psycho, but how do you spot them?  And worse yet how do you spot that angelic nature hidden amongst all that angelic behaviour.  Or for that matter the soul with a spark that matches or complements your own?  Or that perhaps unique spectrum of intelligence which your intellect longs for, so that you may fulfil each other in that respect.  Ah, there’s the rub, or rather the whole bunch of rubs!\n\tWell, it’s not that difficult, but it certainly takes effort.  Just as always, if the chase is worthwhile, then so is the necessary effort.  The one consolation is that the consolation prizes are always generously available.  Nowadays there’s an awful lot of consoling.  The solution is to get close enough to one’s quarry to pay attention to non-verbal clues and behaviour, at that deep level that even a gifted actor can’t fake.  So everyone consciously or subconsciously develops these skills of reading the non-verbal.  But it doesn’t come easily.  It takes time and diligence, so the older you are (as long as you’re still young, and youth lasts better than a century now that life expectancy is currently about 150) the better you are at the game, and the greater are your rewards.  So age, even though it’s hard to recognise, is almost universally respected.  The old have good judgement, and now that they have excellent physical and psychological health, they no longer burn out or become saturated and very seldom even jaded.\n\tYou notice I stated “almost universally respected” – so who are the exceptions in this respecting of the aged?  They are the psychopaths and their ilk.  An oldster spots these masters and mistresses of deception, these prodigies of camouflage, more easily than anyone.  If you’re a psycho or such, maybe your best bet is to consort only with others of your ilk – but of course these flawed beings want victims not companions.  The garden is still full of snakes.\n\nSome of Piers’s friends started their day with exercise or meditation, but his own priority was always breakfast.  However, since the day looked so promising he decided that checking it out was number one on his list.  Yesterday had been warm and muggy, today was sunny with only a few wisps of unthreatening white cloud, but that was no guarantee that it would not be a bitterly cold day.  Now that the weather had become so chaotic, only the experts, acting very locally and not just over vast areas, had any hope of making a reasonable forecast.  Inside the loft as always the temperature and humidity were optimised – an eternal warm spring.  He checked his weather dials.  The exterior temperature was already 26 celsius, so a hottish day was likely, humidity was less than yesterday at the same time, so it would be comfortable enough, and as for barometric pressure, that could be ignored.  The days when an amateur would dare rely on his barometer for any sort of prediction were long gone.  \n\nSo Piers made straight to the commpanel.  “Oopeekew,” he said to alert the panel, “weather, local, home, forecast.”   He read the resulting display without even thinking consciously of what he was doing, cuing it for detail, as he wanted it.  Weatherwise, locally it promised to be perfect – not that he would dare venture out without his mophone for ermergency warnings; the predictability went only so far; a flash event was an ever-present threat.\n“Oopeekew, sea, coastal, local, home, forecast,” he instructed.  The marine info he wanted appeared instantly and was equally promising.  This could be the perfect day for a swim.  But -- first breakfast.\n\n He had forgotten, as was often the case, to mix fastgrains and seeds with water the previous evening so that they might germinate overnight and yield a highly nutritious, filling and tasty breakfast.  Well, nothing for it, he would have raw fruit, just about as good and almost as easy.  No one had eaten animal products during his time of course, but his grans often reminisced about the old days when that had been the norm.  In those days it was debatable just how healthy vegetarianism especially veganism had been.  Even if healthy, one had required a great deal of knowledge and even more trouble not to suffer nutritionally, although the omnivores were generally even worse off, since in those days most people ignored nutritional advice and capito retailers advertised misinformation for the sake of profits.\n\tNow, of course, genemod, had provided a bewildering variety of fresh vegetables with all nutrients readily available, some in the exact amounts needed, so that for hypothetical lazy persons with absolutely no gourmet bones in their unimaginative bodies, it would have been possible to subsist in perfect health by eating only one of several fruits, or vegetables during their whole adult lives.\n\tPiers quickly selected a wide variety of small to medium sized fruits, knowing the right mix for his personal tastes from long experience.  By not eating the larger ones, he could enjoy a greater variety.  None of them would need to be peeled, washed or to have stones or pips extracted.  Some indeed had stones or pips, but they were soft and pleasant tasting, as were the skins.  He didn’t bother to dress, public as well as private nudity being acceptable, if rather monotonous, in most parts of the world.  With a small bowl of fruits in his left hand, he made his way to the window wall that led to his large balcony patio and garden.  He didn’t see any need to open the wall fully and exited through the smaller side panel to enjoy his meal in his favourite part of his home.  He had eaten these fruits or similar ones most of his life, but he savoured each one, each day, as if it were the first time.  He might not do as much meditation as his more dedicated acquaintances recommended, but he had learnt enough to treat much of everyday life, especially eating, as an almost meditative experience.  For example, he preferred to eat with the minimum of conversation, or distractions such as info programs or music.\n\tTo his surprise, it was the fruit itself that distracted him -- he had bitten into a large hard fruit stone.  It was his lucky day.  Viable seeds were rarities in the genemod fruits, but the bioethicists insisted that a certain small proportion, around one percent, usually, have inedible seeds so that the plant unaided, would still be able to propagate itself.  He placed the seed on a ledge amongst some flowering semi-succulents.  When he had time, he’d plant it and grow it until he made the decision whether he’d find space for the plant in his already rather crowded personal jungle, or give it to a fellow enthusiast as a present.\n\tHe took a moment to enjoy the huge crimson blossoms of his passion vines.  They flowered virtually throughout the year, and an additional advantage of the genemodding was that the fruits as well as being ornamental were edible, which apparently hadn’t been the case with the unmodified ornamentals from which these had been developed.  Granfa said they tasted nothing like real passion fruit, and he missed the mass of small seeds in the pulp of the passionfruit he rememembered from his boyhood, but when pushed he admitted that it was just nostalgia, and that he enjoyed these more.  Those had been the days before there was much genemod at all, and what there was was primitive and rightly viewed with suspicion by a nervous public.  Most of it had been irresponsible and motivated by the profit rather than the benefit of mankind.  In fact genemod could well have been stillborn and become just an historical curiosity had it not been for the twin effects of the Crush and the Warming.  Without genemod humanity’s teeming billions could not have been fed.  But new and better food plants were not enough, it had also been necessary to modify the plants for greater tolerance of the extreme conditions, such as unpredictable spasmodic bursts of intense UV solar radiation getting through the ozone shield, frequent devastating winds, and extreme sudden temperature variations.  Of course virtually no plants were utterly impervious to such conditions even now, but the new genemods had stronger more robust stems, had the ability to recover more quickly and attempt to fruit again.\n\tThis same robustness and hardiness had also been imparted to the modern generation of ornamentals such as Piers’s beloved red passion vines.  But as much as he loved his collection and for that matter, the ornamentals in the park below, as a plant-lover he was grateful that the old stock of plants and been preserved widely in protected enclosures all over the world.  Wisdom dictated that the genetic resources of the planet be preserved.\n \tResting his hands on the balcony wall, munching on the rest of the fruit, he surveyed the park beneath and the sea beyond it.  It was idyllic.\n\n\n\n[FOR CHAPTER 2 and subsequent chapters try the tags   eggie   sf   fiction  or adventure \nif the response is good to each chapter I'll most further chapters ]",
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