Love for the Cold-Blooded. Or by Alex Gabriel

Author:Alex Gabriel [Gabriel, Alex]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Alex Gabriel
Published: 2015-07-27T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

When all else fails, try honesty.

“This is an honor that I feel goes out not only to me — perhaps not even mainly to me! — but mostly to the art of combining a modern concept of urban living spaces with a pragmatic view of the necessary constraints of municipal planning.”

Pat couldn’t roll his eyes, seeing as how he was seated on a stage with half a dozen sweat-inducing spotlights glaring down on him. He doubted anyone was paying attention to him, but even so, he knew how to behave.

“My design concept was the city of tomorrow,” the winner of the cityscape contest gushed on. Pat had seen the mock-ups of her design, and it was solid enough, if somewhat boring — good craftsmanship with a streak of elegance. The way the woman regurgitated banal commonplaces as though they were the lost wisdom of the ancient serpent charmers, though, you’d never guess she was actually competent. “In a society changing as rapidly as ours, the city of the future must have the capacity to change along with bla bla blablabla.”

Especially since his city was so much more awesome than the more conservative designs the jury was awarding. Patropolis had a castle surrounded by a moat, and not one but several drawbridges. Patropolis had a magnetic monorail public transport system — coolness factor: infinity, noise and pollution: zilch. Patropolis’ canalization spelled out the ancient rune for ‘enduring, wicked joy’ (probably, nobody had ever really translated it with absolute certainty) while at the same time being the most efficient shape to do the job. Not to mention that Patropolis had a comprehensive waste management concept that tied neatly into water, energy and power, everything brought back into the cycle of —

“Congratulations,” said a too-familiar monotone, flat enough to sound sarcastic to the uninitiated (although Pat knew it wasn’t meant to be). Nicholas Andersen, prominent citizen and noted philanthropist, handed the beaming urban planner a certificate and shook her hand. “Outstanding work.” A smallish storm of cameras flared up as the journalists took their shots.

Apparently, Nick was one of the sponsors of this contest. Who knew, right? Talk about irony.

The other sponsor was the Municipal Planning Office, which was offering paid internships to the first and second prize winners. Pat would have loved to win an internship, but whatever, it was too early for him anyway. And hey, by the time he graduated and had an actual chance of winning contests like this, the long-awaited Municipal Office for Collateral Damages (bureaucrat speech for “hoagie damage”) might have seen the light of day. Maybe he’d be able to intern with them — that’d be the coolest thing ever.

The planning office’s representative shook the glowing first prize winner’s hand, as well, bestowing some vaguely patronizing congratulatory words on her. Nick, for his part, was clearly thinking of something else entirely, now that his part in the ceremony was over.

In all the time they’d been on this stage together, Nick hadn’t looked at Pat once. Not a single time.

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