The aroma was intoxicating; the senses bought alive by the scents of meat, pastry and other confectionary. It hung in the wind, thickly, like incense as it drifted from the newly swept buildings where a small cadre of Borealis solitus, opifex and nanomage worked preparing the products on offer. Three Atrox worked briskly to complete the first packages to be sent to Newland. A leet, attracted by the scent, was sent scampering away in fear as an old bot, reconfigured for security shooed it away.
Oswald "Fatozzie" Croteau inhaled the scents and the scene intently. He stood on a balcony in the main building, looking down from his office perch at the hive of activity below, puffed up like a great big podgey parrot with bald, shining head which glistened in its halo of nano bots.
It was actually coming to pass: his dream -a new venture to capture the small, but profitable food market he had identified. The accountants had done their work and his backers had agreed with his proposal. Now, basking in the first rush of pleasure at his acheivement, he could easily envision the profits that would come tumbling in.
Soon his brand of good quality pies would be spreading to all outlets across the planet. On the back of the demand pies, as expressed by his contacts in the rumour mill, he would build for himself and his backers an culinary empire.
The game was afoot. Surely nothing could stop him now.
If Only You Knew...
