"And so, Miss Wheedle" read the email, "I

"And so, Miss Wheedle" read the email, "I couldn't complete my project because I haven't had access to a computer for over a month now, and a dog ate my printer." She clicked

on his name in her inbox and obliterated him...for real and forever...just like that. When Miss Wheedle signed up for the teacher's technology workshop last spring, she'd never

wished Miss Wheedle's unappetizing smell on anyone. Miss Wheedle smelled like a boiled bag of rotten eggs that had been dragged through the sewers of Bombay.

Knowing the fragrance would be profitable we decided to bottle it and call it "Miss Wheedle's Ode de Egg of Mumbai". Our sales projections were greatly under estimated as stock ran

out faster than we could produce it. Despite the unwieldy name, "Miss Wheedle's Ode de Egg of Mumbai" outsold "CK Contretemps" ten to one that last season on Earth, and the eco

-futurists were up in arms. "This is not the scent of sustainability mixed with total human freedom and potential!" The illegitimate daughter of Ray Kurzweil and Arundhati Roy

Was working on her blog when the riots began. People did not like transhumanism, despite all the propaganda to convince them it was a good future.

They, like most of the faceless populations the transgalactic corporations held in thralldom, were being lied to in order to keep down unrest on the frontiers. Information Starvat

-ion fed this tyranny. Until one day a frontiersman named Ghen on Neptune noticed a flashing on one of its moons. It was Pyrhianna, a young girl holding a mirror. It was the first