You put it on screen
Your wonderful dream
I am in the machine
I will make you scream
I am the blue screen
Of death
CHAPTER 60 FARNBOROUGH
“Have you seen that new bird at the gate?” asked Miles “Her tits are absolutely gorgeous. They are really big, but they don’t sag. They are really firm looking. They are….”
“She probably bought em,” said John Mason.
“No ways. She’s one of the protesters. She’ll be a feminist. She’ll be real all right. She won’t believe in implants an that. She’ll be back to nature. Organic food and clothes from fair trade. She probably wears knickers hand woven from….From something organic. And she’ll sleep out of doors in summer surrounded by bluebells and….”
“You get bluebells in spring, not summer,” said John Mason
“How do you know?” asked Miles McLaren.
“How do I know? Everyone knows.”
“Any way, that bird at The Red Horn Gate, now I reckon hers were false, they just felt a bit, you know”
“No I don't,” said John Mason. “I only ever feel real ones.”
“Well you know, kind of, a bit too bouncy. Any way I reckon this bird at our gate must have the genuine article. The real thing. But how come these protesters don’t go in for streaking any more?” Miles looked from the window towards Farnborough Runway
“Streaking?”
“Running about naked. Running across the runway with nothing on.”
“Who wants to see some hairy old dosser with nothing on?”
“Not the blokes. The birds,” said Miles
“Like that old grey haired tart who spat at me? Called me a warmongering fascist? Right old les. She looked old enough to have been at Greenham Common.”
“Where?” asked Miles.
“It was a ban the bomb protest. My Aunty was there. Back in, dunno. Nineteen eighties I think.
“I wonder if the one with big tits would spit at me?”
“Go and ask her.”
“No.” Miles was definite.
“You’re scared mate,” said John Mason.
“Course I’m not scared.”
“You are. You’ll ask her out and she’ll tell you to piss off you evil warmongering killer. Then you’ll tell her their fire is adding to the CO2, and she’ll slap you, and shout rapist, and you’ll spend the next week sulking.”
“I never sulk,” said Miles “I am a sex machine, and if she doesn’t want me, it’s her loss. There’s plenty more where she came from.”
“Sure there are.”
“Well, there are,” said Miles.
“In our dreams. We are geek city.”
“You may be, but I am the future of this planet.” Miles looked from the window again.
“Go on. You fancy her so much. You go out the Farnborough Main gate, without the gate guards, and you cross the road, and you say, I work for the Royal Aircraft Establishment, I’m designing the steering fins on the Flying Brick, and I think you’ve got really great tits.”
“I suppose I could.”
“Of course you could. Ask her out. What have you got to lose?”
“Pride, honour, dignity.”
“That’s only if you have to beg her for it,” said John Mason.
“I always beg.”
“Well, don’t. Ride out there on your bike. In the black leathers. Just ask her out and take it like a man if she says no. Now what about these fin calculations. These are the new possible torque figures. The angles of momentum are like this.” John Mason pointed at his screen.
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