The click-clack hammering of Nigel’s typewriter could be heard throughout the penthouse. Nigel’s butler, an African chap who had been with him since the Colonial Skycarrier Wars, stood by and waited patiently. Nigel paused to take a puff from his vaporizer pipe, exhaled a cloud of blue tinted smoke, and then proceeded to turn dials on his calculating machine. A few quick adjustments later, the machine began spitting out a fine tape of numerical figures.

“Hmph. I knew it!” Nigel exclaimed, reading the figures. “I told those old boys at the council. It simply isn’t efficient.”

“The electromagnetic rockets again, sir?” Utumbu the butler asked with a bushy raised eyebrow.

“Of course, man, what else?” Nigel said, typing rapidly.

He finished the address on the machine and hit send. The typewriter rolled the letter up and loaded it into a pneumatic capsule before ejecting it into the Intertubes. Off the capsule went into the many twisting miles of the Intertubes which would eventually lead to the recipient.