2041, New York

John Oliver looked out of the small window at the flooded cityscape of New Jersey below. The Atlantic was gradually biting chunks out of the east coast of America, leaving tall city blocks emerging in orderly rows from the glistening sea. But ahead of him, where the drop-copter was taking him, he could see Manhattan. The island was still keeping its head above water. Levees built all the way round were going to keep it dry for a decade more, or so the experts were saying.

The copter swooped in over the skyscrapers of Manhattan and headed towards the distinctive convergence of streets that was New times Square. On his left, he spotted Central Park, filled with abandoned cars stacked one atop the other and rustling like a child's forgotten toys.

John cursed his nerves. He was trembling like a woman at the prospect of a face-to-face meeting with the enigmatic man ....the legend...Ronald Elson.

I will not stutter. I WILL make a good impression. John vowed to himself once again that he wasn't going to stammer as he normally did under pressure. He was going to avoid the tricky words, those that started with a strong 'S'. John had rehearsed his greeting over and over. It involved no 'S' words. He almost sounded normal.

The copter was now circling above the flat roof of the tallest building overlooking New times Square, circling the helipad like a dog preparing to settle in it's basket. New times Square was a life less ghost of itself. He could see pedestrians, one or two electric buses, a lot of places boarded up. The leveesay have been holding back the rising sea, but John realized it was a futile endeavor.

This city's dying already.

The copter touched down gently and the pilot shut off the engine, letting the rotors spin themselves out before pulling open the slide door and gesturing for John to come out and follow him.

"Mr.Elis-s-son is s-s-taying here?" He uttered. "The Patriot hotel?"

"Mr. Elson lives here now. He bought the hotel last year."

The pilot ushered him inside the building, down a breeze-block stairwell to a small foyer, a pair of swing doors ahead of them.

"Through those doors are his private quarters. He lives entirely alone." The pilot looked at him curiously. "You know, you're very privileged to see him face to face. He doesn't do that....ever."

"He lives in this hotel all on his own?"

The pilot ignored his question. "A little word about meeting him. He can come across as quite abrasive and ride. That isn't his intention; he just has no time for small talk."

"O-OK."

"Don't try and flatter him, either. I wouldn't bother telling him he's a genius, or a visionary or a...a wonderful guy. He's heard it all before about a billion times over. You'll just irritate him."

Great.... there goes my rehearsed greeting.

"Most important of all...do not discuss the 'incident' with him."

"The... incident?"

"Chicago."

John nodded. Of course, he was talking about the Chicago incident, 2036. The adt Elson first came to public attention.

"Right...OK." John was trembling.

"Be polite and honest -" the pilot offered him an encouraging smile-"and you'll do just fine." He pressed an intercom button beside one of the doors. "Mr. Elson...I have Dr. John Oliver here for you."

John looked in a small mirror on the wall beside the door. He straightened his tie, patted down a wayward coil of black hair and wished he'd done a better job of trimming his dark beard this morning.

A small green light winked on above the double doors. "You can go through." said the pilot.

John pushed the doors inwards and his feet cracked off linoleum on to soft carpet.

Daylight flooded into a circular room from all sides. John found himself squinting back at the glare. He could just about make out a head and a pair of shoulders silhouetted against one of the large floor -to- ceiling panels of glass that made up the walls of the penthouse.

John shaded his eyes with a hand as he walked slowly over. "Mr.Els-s-son?"

The room was large. Forty, perhaps fifty feet in diameter. His eyes beginning to adjust, Joseph noted a bed on one side, a desk, several cardboard boxes full of papers, but nothing else. A very empty space.

Closer now he could see a little more detail:the distinctive shock of wavy, worry, uncontrollable hair, the narrow shoulders.

" It is an honor...to meet you, Mr.Elson."

The silhouette shifted and turned. He'd been gazing out of the window at New York.

"They say Lady Liberty walks on water now."

John had no idea at all what he meant by that. His dumbfounded shrug gave him away.

Elson chuckled. "Sorry....I confused you. I'm referring to the Statue of Liberty. Liberty Island and the plinth she stands on are all below sea level." He spread his hands. "So...it looks like she's actually walking in water."

"Ahhhh" John nodded."I unders-s-s...s..." John struggled with the infernal word. He felt his cheeks burn hot as he wrestled with the 's' and shook his head angrily.

The word was left unfinished. "I am s-s....I apologize. I have a... problem with -"

"Stammering?" Elson gestured to a chair. "Don't worry about it. It's not important. Take a seat."

John sat down. Elson flipped open a folder and flicked to through some pages of printed paper. "Dr. John Oliver..."

"I anglicized my name to John, Mr. Elson. It...uh... people assume there's a language barrier if your name s-s-sounds foreign." He scratched his chin self-consciously. "I talk in English just as easily as my native...."

"Spanish."

John nodded gratefully at being saved the trouble of speaking the word.

"Dr. John Oliver... you're arguably one of the most knowledgeable people on genetically imprinted artificial intelligence."

Be confident, John.

"I am."

"It seems you've done very impressive work for some leading military contractors. Working on genetically engineered combat units being trialled right now by the US military?"

"Right."