INTERZONE 253 JUL-AUG 2014 by Andy Cox Read Free Book Online

HANFORD

    Felix Kapel believed the sweet smell of success to be that of gold. This was his logic: Gold was the highest standard in the world of finance, and in Felix’s own business as a globally respected olfactory specialist, a nose among noses , it stood to reason that any person who could discern the subtle smell of gold would rightly have attained the pinnacle of the fragrance world. Gold, Felix imagined, would have an aroma that was cool and warm, bright and mellow. It would be rich too of course but, at the same time… Well, it would be pointless to attempt to convey what the smell of gold was like because it would be unique.
    Felix kept a South African Krugerrand in a velvet-lined box in his desk drawer. On days when business had gone particularly well he took it out, but as successful as he became – and during his career he had been on retainers with Parisian perfumeries and Assam tea producers, the cosmetics divisions of several famous multinationals and every distillery on the Scottish island of Islay – he had yet to detect even a glimmer of that elusive smell.
    Now, sitting at breakfast – linen with not too much detergent, a carbon scrape of toast, the earthy jag of espresso – he was beginning to think he never would. Not the way the world was heading these days. All the computer modelling, nanoscale particulate sensors, and organic synthesis were pushing craftsmen out. Modernisation, his customers told him regretfully. The push for quality control and molecular copyright couldn’t be guaranteed by human abilities alone any more.
    Felix snapped shut his ancient laptop, hiding the latest missive of dismissal, and took his coffee to the window. Only a year ago his view had been of elegant Wipplinger Strasse, a quiet street, a block or so from a place that sold the best Kaiserschmarrn in Vienna. The new apartment in Ottakring offered a far poorer vista. Rain-dark and utilitarian, blare and grit. It wasn’t a happy change, but finances had forced it. The one thing he hadn’t had to compromise on yet was his coffee. He lifted the demitasse and breathed deep, let the aroma cloud about him, fill his passages. He did not waste the experience by drinking it. People who drank good coffee were, in Felix’s book, degenerate criminals.
    He turned when Joanna entered with the morning’s mail and her yipping dog. She dumped most of envelopes on the dining table but retained one, waved it. He knew without looking that it was the revised quote from the decorators.
    “I’ll look at it later.” Bijoux sniffed at his shoes, then looked up expectantly, all brown eyes and pink tongue. He nudged it away with a gentle kick.
    “Oh, Felix, it’s really not that expensive.”
    “Later, Joanna.”
    She stilled. “It’s been nearly a year . And we’re still living like this.” Dramatically, she thrust out her hand. She could have been pointing anywhere, it wouldn’t have mattered. It was all shabby and none of it was chic. “You promised.”
    He scowled. “And you promised not to let Bijoux into the dining room. He stinks when he’s been out in the rain.”
    Joanna ignored him and sat to butter herself some toast. He rejoined her and flicked through the rest of the mail. Bills mostly. He pushed them aside.
    “What’s that one from Gustav & Jacob ?”
    Her buttery knife was levelled at a cardboard box. Felix should have recognised the logo of the Czech chocolatiers immediately. He’d consulted on their aromatics for nearly fifteen years, until they too had taken the leap to automation and dispensed with his services.
    Felix slit open the box – hamster cage packaging, sex toy polyurethane – and scooped out the shredded paper and a padded bag. Inside the bag was an arrangement of white plastic. A moulded respirator cup was attached by a neatly coiled tube to a box. Nestled into the top of the box was an ampule of amber liquid. Next to that was a switch.
    The scribble, in English, on the G&J compliment slip was