Body, Inc. (The Tipping Point Trilogy)
Alan Dean Foster
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New York Times bestselling author Alan Dean Foster has always been on the cutting-edge of science fiction. In Body, Inc., he creates a tomorrow where genetic manipulation has become ubiquitous, and the very meaning of what it is to be human is undergoing drastic transformation.
In a world deeply wounded by centuries of environmental damage, two unlikely souls join forces: Dr. Ingrid Seastrom has stumbled into a mystery involving quantum-entangled nanoscale implants—a mystery that just may kill her. Whispr is a thief and murderer whose radical body modifications have left him so thin he is all but two-dimensional. Whispr has found a silver data-storage thread, a technology that will make him wealthy beyond his wildest dreams. He is also going mad with longing for Dr. Ingrid Seastrom. Their quest to learn the secrets of the implant and the thread—which may well be the same secret—has led them to the South African Economic Combine, otherwise known as SAEC. Or, less respectfully, SICK. SICK, it seems, has the answers.
Unfortunately, SICK has also got Napun Molé, a cold-blooded assassin whose genetic enhancements make him the equivalent of a small army. Molé has already missed one chance to kill Ingrid and Whispr and now he has followed them to South Africa. This time, he is not only going to succeed, he is going to make them suffer.
having a heart attack, was beyond him. There had to be some kind of advanced internal respiratory meld that kept her going. Certainly there was enough room within the thickset rotund body to accommodate an extra lung or two, be it transplant or mechanical. “Indeed we do,” she told him. “I value our traditions, skinny man. They mean as much and are as important to me and my work as is my degree in Communications from Witwaterstrand University.” Looking back and down at him she smiled afresh, her
“Maybe just one,” he added quietly. “Ah!” The remora looked gratified. “I knew it! What is it you desire? Your perversions, my friend, are blowing in the wind. Tell me and I will pluck them for you.” “I want,” he told the eager tout, “for her to be kind.” The considerably shorter man blinked at his foreign client. “ ‘Kind’? What kind of ‘kind’?” “Kind,” Whispr repeated. “As in, nice to me.” Small shoulders shrugged. “They will all be nice to you. It is part of what you are paying for.”
the clerk’s face. Screaming at the top of his lungs, his voice reaching the very apex of agony, the younger man fell backward clawing at himself. His eyes had melted away like two scoops of vanilla gelatin and the rest of his face was on fire. So was his shirt. Flailing wildly at himself only served to spread the flames to the rest of his body and to the furniture around him. Their eternal battle interrupted, unfeeling Zulu impis and proper British battalions stood down as they flicked out around
specimens were always coming online. Instead of being treated, failures and mistakes would be—disposed of. Definitely it was time for them to be on their way. Banishing the troubling images from her mind she sank deeper into the self-adjusting comfort of the vehicle’s passenger seat. THAT EVENING SHE ORDERED a second helping from the menu in the lodge cafeteria. The combination of the day’s game drives, the brisk weather, and the excitement of not one but several extraordinary animal encounters
was not the attitude he had displayed in Florida. It was more likely that he would kill her to ensure that she would never speak to anyone else about what she had discovered. Or maybe, she reflected with a shiver as she thought back to that horrific final confrontation in the Everglades, he would kill her just for fun. No—she was stuck with the thread and the unquenchable desire to know where it came from, how it had been fashioned, and what, if anything, was contained on it. Since Molé was as