Crash, bam, boom - a tornado in the lab

Sitting under a tree in the terminal garden, music filtering in from some student's project, somewhere. Reality recedes. Only cyberspace exists now. Phonemes, speech spectra, put that where, over there, cough, sneeze, illegal instruction.

"I fixed that bug" shouts Seth, off in the distance. Doors slam, the floor rumbles with receding footsteps. Andy watches in disbelief.

The 2314s are still running. All I remember is a carzy man jumping up and down on the washing machine-sized disk drives, where all our lives, our cyber-lives live.

Walter comews in, quizzical expression in place, looking behind him at the receding tornado.

Again, slowly, cyberspace envelopes my thoughts. The world recedes, and code production continues...

William Donelson