Read Online Emperor of Gondwanaland by Paul di Filippo - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Paul di Filippo
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little drudge alone, Giff. It’s obvious he’s so in love with his job. Haven’t you seen his lip-prints on the screen?”
Mutt was hurt and insulted. Was it his fault that he had been promoted to assistant editor over Cody? He wanted to say something in his defense, but couldn’t think of a comeback that wouldn’t sound whiny. And then the window closed on any possible repartee.
Gifford unself-consciously scratched his butt with his foam finger. “Okay, pal, maybe next time. Let’s shake a tail, ladies.”
Melba winked at Mutt as she walked away. “Gonna miss you, lover-boy.”
Then the trio was gone.
Mutt hung his head in his hands. Why had he ever slept with Melba? Sleeping with coworkers was insane. Yet he had done it. The affair was over now, but the awkward repercussions lingered. Another black mark on his karma.
Refocusing on the screen, Mutt tried hard to proof the text floating before him. “Epigenetix-brand sequencers guarantee faster throughput …” The words and pictures blurred into a jittery multicolored fog like a mosh pit full of amoebas. Was he crying? For Christ’s sake, why the hell was he crying? Just because he had to hold down a suck-ass job he hated just to pay his grad-school loans, had no steady woman, hadn’t been snow-boarding in two years, had put on five pounds since the summer, and experienced an undeniable yet shameful thrill when contemplating the purchase of a new necktie!
Mutt knuckled the moisture from his eyes and mentally kicked his own ass for being a big baby. This wasn’t a bad life, and plenty of people had it worse. Time to pull up his socks and buckle down and all that other self-improvement shit.
But not right now. Right now, Mutt needed a break. He hadn’t lied to Gifford and the others, he had to finish this job tonight. But he could take fifteen minutes to websurf his way to some amusing site that would lift his spirits.
And that was how Mutt discovered Gondwanaland.
In retrospect, after the passage of time had erased his computer’s logs, the exact chain of links leading to Gondwanaland was hard to reconfigure. He had started looking for new recordings by his favorite group, Dead End Universe. That had led somehow to a history of pirate radio stations. And from there it was a short jump to micronations.
Fascinated, Mutt lost all track of time as he read about this concept that was totally new to him.
Micronations—also known as cybernations, fantasy countries, or ephemeral states—were odd blends of real-world rebellious politics, virtual artsy-fartsy projects, and elaborate spoofs. Essentially, a micronation was any assemblage of persons regarding themselves as a sovereign country, yet not recognized by international entities such as the United Nations. Sometimes micronations were associated with real physical territory. The Cocos Islands had once been ruled as a fiefdom by the Clunies-Ross family. Sarawak was once the province of the White Rajas, as the Brooke clan had styled themselves.
With the advent of the Internet, the number of micronations had exploded. There were now dozens of imaginary online countries predicated on different philosophies, exemplifying scores of different governmental systems, each of them more or less seriously arguing that they were totally within their rights to issue passports, currency, and stamps, and to designate ministers, nobility, and bureaucratic minions.
Mutt had always enjoyed fantasy sports in college. Imaginary leagues, imaginary rosters, imaginary games … Something about being totally in charge of a small universe had appealed to him, as an antidote to his lack of control over the important factors and forces that batted his own life around. He had spent a lot of time playing The Sims , too. The concept of cybernations seemed like a logical extension of those pursuits, an appealing refuge from the harsh realities of career and relationships.
The site Mutt had ended up on was a gateway to a whole host
Mutt was hurt and insulted. Was it his fault that he had been promoted to assistant editor over Cody? He wanted to say something in his defense, but couldn’t think of a comeback that wouldn’t sound whiny. And then the window closed on any possible repartee.
Gifford unself-consciously scratched his butt with his foam finger. “Okay, pal, maybe next time. Let’s shake a tail, ladies.”
Melba winked at Mutt as she walked away. “Gonna miss you, lover-boy.”
Then the trio was gone.
Mutt hung his head in his hands. Why had he ever slept with Melba? Sleeping with coworkers was insane. Yet he had done it. The affair was over now, but the awkward repercussions lingered. Another black mark on his karma.
Refocusing on the screen, Mutt tried hard to proof the text floating before him. “Epigenetix-brand sequencers guarantee faster throughput …” The words and pictures blurred into a jittery multicolored fog like a mosh pit full of amoebas. Was he crying? For Christ’s sake, why the hell was he crying? Just because he had to hold down a suck-ass job he hated just to pay his grad-school loans, had no steady woman, hadn’t been snow-boarding in two years, had put on five pounds since the summer, and experienced an undeniable yet shameful thrill when contemplating the purchase of a new necktie!
Mutt knuckled the moisture from his eyes and mentally kicked his own ass for being a big baby. This wasn’t a bad life, and plenty of people had it worse. Time to pull up his socks and buckle down and all that other self-improvement shit.
But not right now. Right now, Mutt needed a break. He hadn’t lied to Gifford and the others, he had to finish this job tonight. But he could take fifteen minutes to websurf his way to some amusing site that would lift his spirits.
And that was how Mutt discovered Gondwanaland.
In retrospect, after the passage of time had erased his computer’s logs, the exact chain of links leading to Gondwanaland was hard to reconfigure. He had started looking for new recordings by his favorite group, Dead End Universe. That had led somehow to a history of pirate radio stations. And from there it was a short jump to micronations.
Fascinated, Mutt lost all track of time as he read about this concept that was totally new to him.
Micronations—also known as cybernations, fantasy countries, or ephemeral states—were odd blends of real-world rebellious politics, virtual artsy-fartsy projects, and elaborate spoofs. Essentially, a micronation was any assemblage of persons regarding themselves as a sovereign country, yet not recognized by international entities such as the United Nations. Sometimes micronations were associated with real physical territory. The Cocos Islands had once been ruled as a fiefdom by the Clunies-Ross family. Sarawak was once the province of the White Rajas, as the Brooke clan had styled themselves.
With the advent of the Internet, the number of micronations had exploded. There were now dozens of imaginary online countries predicated on different philosophies, exemplifying scores of different governmental systems, each of them more or less seriously arguing that they were totally within their rights to issue passports, currency, and stamps, and to designate ministers, nobility, and bureaucratic minions.
Mutt had always enjoyed fantasy sports in college. Imaginary leagues, imaginary rosters, imaginary games … Something about being totally in charge of a small universe had appealed to him, as an antidote to his lack of control over the important factors and forces that batted his own life around. He had spent a lot of time playing The Sims , too. The concept of cybernations seemed like a logical extension of those pursuits, an appealing refuge from the harsh realities of career and relationships.
The site Mutt had ended up on was a gateway to a whole host
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