"Up on ninth, I swiped in and entered the office. Employees shimmered in their nooks like hummingbird wings, faces flipping back to front with every surge peak. Some were translucent - always a bad sign. I checked the manifest. Cubicle 18 was the locus point. First, I'd calibrate the wavefronts. Next, wrap a firewall around the entire grid, and - The inhabitant of cubicle 18 stared up at me, mouth drawn tight with worry."
"Opinion is divided as to whether the population-time-bomb theory has any real validity. It's simple enough. Over generations, the fertility rate drops below replacement levels and economic meltdown follows. Supposedly. Growth is all. Hence the government initiative. Multiplying the citizenry without any of the complications; expanding the horde; getting in on the ground floor. Call it what you like. Invent people to the nth degree - social security, tax codes, even birth certificates - and send your children out into the world."
I swung up to the Cloudberry Tower in a hot morning drizzle and saw the ninth floor flashing green and opal in a repeating rhythm. The lobby lay silent and deserted. Up on ninth, employees shimmered in their nooks, faces flipping back to front with every surge peak; some were translucent. Cubicle 18 was the locus point. The maintenance worker swiped in, intending to calibrate wavefronts and wrap a firewall around the grid. The inhabitant of cubicle 18, Pam Dewsbury, looked human and feared removal. The narrator explained the Time bomb: a government program to create invented people to multiply the population and place them in towers like Cloudberry.
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