The wind whistled through the gaps in the windows, a mournful sound, accompanied by the flapping snap of the plastic sheeting Derek Gentry had stapled up, in a half-hearted attempt to keep it out. The sounds formed an incongruous duet, but on the 400th floor, there is always wind; it’s his constant companion, or foe. He looked around the flat, the once trendy mid-23rd century holo-walls, defunct now, the genuine FlowglowTM lights, ditto, reduced to inanimate globular ornaments on the ceiling. He supposed he could change it, but he had a world to look after, so new lighting was way down the list.
He shuffled over to Ba, his old bird. She had hunted earlier that morning returning with a small mouse and was contentedly preening herself. She allowed him to stroke her feathers, as he said,
‘Well, old girl, it’s time for work, I’d better start.’ Ba watched him but continued to preen. He walked to the centre of the room and his worn dentist’s chair, surrounded by monitors, tubes, and wires. He tapped the monitor and watched as a faint surge of light came and went. There was still enough energy, but it was running low, he’d better get going.
