tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-312016422011-07-17T00:46:27.543-07:00A novella in progress.Merchttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15011150737394796331noreply@blogger.comBlogger81100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31201642.post-1153062508896380912006-07-16T08:05:00.000-07:002006-07-16T08:26:06.690-07:00

Table of ContentsChapter 1Chapter 2Chapter 3Chapter 4Chapter 5Chapter 6Chapter 7

Merchttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15011150737394796331noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31201642.post-1153060504441621032006-07-16T07:34:00.000-07:002006-07-16T07:35:04.443-07:00

Pippa brushed grass from her knees and pushed through the thick flock of sheep that covered the lawn ten-deep. She had found The Saint. Now she had to find the way to his office. Maria Thingumijig, what was her name? Skoda? Skowska? Something like that. She’d seen it before somewhere, but where? On the empty heliport Pippa stood still and closed her eyes tight. Think now. Concentrate. Where is

Merchttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15011150737394796331noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31201642.post-1153060432220487162006-07-16T07:33:00.000-07:002006-07-16T07:33:52.223-07:00

Theodor Saint sat cross-legged on his desk facing the slit of window that peeped out over the lawn. He was finding it hard to concentrate. The sheep would come by soon, he thought. It was mid-Spring and they were always brought over to graze the lawns of the G.U.T. before the grass grew too high. He had kept his composure when in Dr van Arroz’s office, had even gone to the right edge of heavy

Merchttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15011150737394796331noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31201642.post-1153060337840228542006-07-16T07:32:00.000-07:002006-07-16T07:32:17.843-07:00

In his office on the 12th floor of the Tusk, Dr Humid van Arroz sat back in his armchair and crossed his long thin legs on his desk so that his size 12 hand-tooled shoes blocked out the door to his office. There had been something about that blonde in the pants skirt and red tights, red tights of all things, who had fallen to his feet, and that something bothered him. He didn’t know why and had

Merchttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15011150737394796331noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31201642.post-1153060273435714612006-07-16T07:31:00.000-07:002006-07-16T07:31:13.436-07:00

Josinta Rena worked on Pippa’s floor in the Tusk. She had nothing to do with fishing for radio stations, although she knew all about them. Josinta knew about everything in the G.U.T. and was a cross between an institutional memory and a grey eminence in the area of legalese and confidential papers. Other people in the G.U.T. were not aware of the extent of her knowledge of heavy and light detail,

Merchttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15011150737394796331noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31201642.post-1153060126418129522006-07-16T07:28:00.000-07:002006-07-16T07:29:52.856-07:00

Pippa came to in the basement of the Tusk, just below the bust of Samuel Morse. Her pants skirt was soaked. “I’m all wet,” she said aloud and looked about her.“Only some bubbly. It’s not the Titanic,” a voice said.Pippa looked up and saw the bronze bust of Samuel Morse shaking his head slowly. “But too much of that bubbly stuff can lead to disaster.”Somehow Pippa wasn’t too surprised to hear the

Merchttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15011150737394796331noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31201642.post-1153060001763622002006-07-16T07:25:00.000-07:002006-07-16T07:47:44.426-07:00

The offices of the G.U.T. were arranged in a high tower with ivory friezes about each of the many windows. From the outside it looked like a tall, engraved, upside-down tusk with its tip disappearing into a vast green lawn. Underground corridors ran off from the tusk’s tip to surface again in a long, low narrow building called the Tube, and in another facing the tramline called the Shoebox. There

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Pippa Sandberg chewed the end of her HB pencil and wondered how she could change the world. She wasn’t so ambitious as to want to change the whole world, not yet, her immediate one would do for starters, and anyway, whatever she did would have to come from within the G.U.T.The G.U.T. was the Global Union of Telecommunications which counted 200 members, a smidgeon more than the United Nations.

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