Devil’s Architect
Two words: “programmable afterlife." Need I say more? (Apparently I do: here are 3,500 previously unpublished words inspired by that phrase.)
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TERRANCE WALKEDEN KNEW WEALTH when he saw it, and the woman who had just entered the showroom of the Pearly Gate exuded it like an exotic perfume. Money practically dripped from the vat-grown mink draped around her shoulders, from the glittering micrograv gold spheres she wore as earrings, from the sleek black silk of her dress, and from the never-marred-by-the-sun porcelain perfection of her skin.
Peripherally, Walkeden saw Gerald Peters, his assistant manager, starting toward the new customer, but Walkeden stopped him with a hand on his arm. “I’ll take care of her myself.”
“Of course, sir!” Peters smiled, bowed, and t
