The Palais des Nations in Geneva is a masterpiece of mid-century modern architecture, all sweeping curves of glass and polished marble. Today, it is a pressure cooker of global anxiety and corporate greed.
I stand on the VIP balcony overlooking the grand assembly hall, my heavily bandaged hands resting on the cold steel railing. Below me, hundreds of diplomats, journalists, and bio-tech executives are seated in the tiered rows, their faces illuminated by the harsh, blue light of their datapads. The air smells of expensive perfume, stale coffee, and the sharp, metallic tang of ozone from the massive holographic projectors at the center of the room.
At the center of the stage stands Lord Alistair Sterling.
He is dressed in a flawless charcoal suit, his face pale, his eyes bright with a ma
