The complexity and sophistication of the desktop machines advanced swiftly, expanding the range of drugs they could produce. Within ten years, the advanced models incorporated a multitude of programmable sieves, capable of churning out all but the most advanced drugs. The DataMail had been right: It was the age of the ultimate designer drug, although their predicted crash of civilization showed no sign of occurring. Any student or qualified neurochemist could generate a synth8 template. There were even self-design programs floating around within the datasphere, where you loaded in your required narcotic effect, and they’d give you a template that should do the trick. Whether you used them depended how keenly you followed the conspiracy tracker sites.
For the biogenetic corporations, desktop synthesizers represented a huge loss of revenue, although supplying vials of high-purity base chemicals certainly went some way toward compensating. What prevented them from suffering the same fate as the publishing and music industries was the sheer range of the new genoprotein and biochemical products, which, thanks to their enormous complexity, still had to be factory produced.
Seventeen green LEDs glowed on the top of Jeff’s unit, showing him the base chemical vials were all still over thirty percent full.
“Click, give me the same Viagra dose I used last time.”
“Synthesizing now,” the computer told him.
He’d bought the desktop synthesizer a few years back to supply himself with some of the simpler drugs his anti-aging regimen required. The only time he’d used the machine after he’d returned from his rejuvenation treatment was to churn out some neurofen capsules to take care of Tim’s hangovers. But after his second encounter with Annabelle at the George he realized that his own stamina couldn’t quite match her own natural youthful endurance. Sue had kept him aroused all night with her diabolical knowledge. Those were skills in which he was now methodically instructing a hugely willing Annabelle. But until he’d finished corrupting her, he simply needed a little something extra to keep that initial blissful physical momentum of their sessions going.
The first time he’d come to the study and instructed a findbot to get him a Viagra template he’d been astonished by the number of results it had fished out of the datasphere. He should have known, of course; it was now a generic name along with Aspirin and Kleenex. Pharmacists had been refining the principle for decades, gradually eliminating side effects such as headaches, loss of balance, constipation, and even tinnitus, until the modern versions could sustain an erection for a very long time with almost no problem. Even with his programming skills it took ten minutes to filter the possible templates down to less than a dozen. After that, he simply took the first one off the list and fed it into the synthesizer. It hadn’t disappointed.
The desktop synthesizer pinged discreetly. Three blank turquoise capsules dropped into the little dispenser tray. Jeff put them in his pocket, and locked the unit up again. It was an hour until he was due to meet Annabelle for lunch. After coping with Rachel for most of the morning as well as last night, he’d probably have to take two of the capsules with his dessert.
36. BIG CITY BLUES
TIM CAUGHT THE MIDMORNING EXPRESS train from Peterborough down to London. He got off at Kings Cross station and took the tube, using the Livingstone line to North Kensington, which emerged just behind the Royal Albert Hall. From there it was a ten-minute tramp through the streets to the flat, with three of the Europol team walking with him.
When the lift opened, Sue was waiting for him in the hallway. She gave him a long hug, resting her head on his shoulder. Tim hugged her back, slightly surprised by the intensity of the greeting. But, he had to admit to himself, it was nice to see Mum again. She represented life from before, when everything was easy and routine.
“You look all right,” she told him as they dumped his single shoulder bag in the guest bedroom. There was a touch of admiration in her voice, as if she’d been expecting a hospital case.
“Mum, you haven’t been gone a month.”
“I know.” She gave him a quick kiss. “But it’s still nice to see you. Now, come along, I’ve got a taxi booked, we’re going to Fortnum and Mason for lunch.”
Natalie Cherbun came in the taxi with them, while the other two Europol officers were left to catch one of their own. His mother, Tim noticed with some jealousy, no longer had a bodyguard team.
The distinguished old department store on Piccadilly hadn’t changed since the last time Tim had visited several years ago—also with his mother. The ground floor was given over entirely to a delicatessen, with long, dark wooden shelves stacked with a fantastic array of bottles and packets. It was as if the old store was completely immune to the decay of global transport and the political instabilities that raged across the world. Delicacies from just about every country were stacked neatly in their sections. Tim imagined each brand and variety must have occupied the same part of shelving for decades, as if they’d somehow colonized the place. There was even tea from China, which had long ago disconnected itself from the datasphere.
His head swiveled around as they walked through, distracted by the smells, first coffee from the big grinding machines behind the counter, then chocolate, then cheese. By the time they reached the far side, and walked up the short flight of steps to the raised restaurant overlooking the shop floor, his stomach was growling with hunger.
“So what’s happening at home?” Sue asked after they’d ordered their drinks. She hadn’t commented on him asking for mineral water, though her raised eyebrow was quite eloquent in itself.
“Nothing much. The usual.”
“Tim, you were desperate to come down here. You might not have said it on the phone, but I am your mother.”
Tim scrunched his lips up, almost forming a sulky pout before he realized what he was doing. “Well, you know, you and Dad separating takes some getting used to. And I did want to see you as well.”
“That’s very sweet. How’s Annabelle?”
“Dunno.” Tim moved his shoulders in what might have been a shrug.
“Ah.” Sue sipped her champagne thoughtfully. “I thought that was odd. I haven’t heard a word about her out of you since the summer ball. Have you broken up?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Everybody says that.”
“Everybody’s bound to. You made a good couple.”
“Great.” Tim slumped down petulantly.
“Oh Tim.” Sue reached over and patted his hand. “It’ll be all right eventually. Broken hearts mend, I know that from experience.”
“Who broke your heart?”
“Lots of people. Boys! You’re a cruel race.”
“I don’t think I broke Annabelle’s heart.”
“Of course you did. She’ll be devastated she was so stupid as to let you go.”