Zeitgeist by Bruce Sterling Read Free Book Online

behind a long banquet table draped in red linen, where cut-glass platters the size of roulette wheels held generous heaps of dolmas and pastry rolls. Starlitz spotted Nick the G-7 Accountant as Nick emerged unsteadily from the men’s room.
    Starlitz beckoned him over. “So, Nick, how’s the nut hanging?”
    Nick wiped his cocaine-crusted nose and sipped his Italian spumante. “Well, our funds look very sound, as long as we don’t export them off this island.”
    “Come closer, Nick, I can’t fuckin’ hear you. Sit down over here, man. Eat something.”
    Liam the G-7 Soundman was violently pounding a medley into the crowd. Over three years of steady touring the act had compiled an extensive signature playlist. Tonight Liam was spooling the G-7 catalog through a full set of his specialty remixes: trance, trip-hop, Balearic, jump-up, Chicago house, hard-step, speed garage, and various other species of the digital-disco jungle.
    Though their music was not for sale, G-7’s mixes were rather well-known on white-label vinyl twelve inches, East European pirate cassettes, and MP3 pirate audio Websites. G-7’s sampled sonic product was infested with other people’s cool, stolen break-beats; it had more catchy hooks than the barbed wire around Verdun. The best-known G-7 hit worldwide, which Liam was pitilessly pumping into the crowd at the moment, was the anthemic “Do As I Say (Not As I Do).”
    Tonight’s G-7 playlist also included the insistent “Speak My Language.” The upbeat “Free to Be (Just Like Me).” The pulse-pounding “We’ve Got the Power,” and the ominous, techno-heavy “Remote Control.” Thegirlishly assertive “It’s the Only Way to Live” had won many converts worldwide in the eight-to-twelve age bracket. G-7’s showstopping encore, a regional hit from Taiwan to Slovakia, was “Shut Up and Dance.” (The forthcoming G-7 effort, destined for their Teheran debut, was a crossover Iranian folk/calypso number called “Hey, Mr. Taliban, Tally Me Banana.”)
    “Eat some baklava, Nick. Try some of this walnut chicken.” Starlitz forced a fork into the accountant’s jittery hand. “Any more trouble shipping the boss’s cut to Hawaii?”
    “Yes, that’s very troublesome!” shouted Nick politely. “The shell companies, no problem! Fund transfers to and from Istanbul, no problem! Tax avoidance, no problem!” Nick helped himself to a grape-leaf dolma. “Large sums of Euroyen from the Akdeniz Bankasi to a Japanese bank branch in Hawaii, yes, that is a definite challenge!”
    Starlitz grew intent. “We need you to handle that, Nick.”
    “The locals don’t like it!” Nick objected. “I don’t like it either!” Enlivened by the excellent dolma, Nick leaned forward to spear an aubergine in peppered olive oil. “Japanese banks are dreadful this year! They’re held together with sticking plasters! They have coppers coming through the front doors and VPs flying out windows!”
    “All the more reason that the boss needs ready money. Screw anybody you have to, Nick, screw the Turks, screw the girls, screw the road crew, but don’t ever screw Makoto. I want Makoto fat and happy, man, I want him in his aloha shirt puffing Maui Wowie.”
    Nick scowled. “Makoto’s a bleedin’ rock musician. He never checks his books, he can’t even read them! We could take Makoto for anything we want! He’d never know, and he doesn’t even care!”
    “Nick, that’s a great wideboy’s analysis there, and I agree with you totally. I love you for that, Nick; I’m glad we have a relationship here. You’re a pro; you’re the tops. Just one thing.” Starlitz plucked the fork from Nick’shand. “You do what I fuckin’ tell you, or you’ll be eating off a plastic tray in Wormwood Scrubs.”
    Nick laughed nervously. “Look, Leggy, I have it under control, okay? Istanbul will work out for us! Even Iran looks all right! It’s all in line, no problem!”
    Starlitz nodded tautly. He left Nick and worked