Julian Comstock: A Story Of 22nd-Century America - Plot & Excerpts
It soon became obvious that what I had overlooked about Julian was his per sis tent and unconquerable love of theater. That aspect of his personality had not been much manifest during his tenure as Major General Comstock ... but neither, apparently, had it been wholly suppressed. The interior of the ware house (illuminated by freshly-scrubbed skylights and a generous number of lanterns) resembled nothing so much as the backstage shambles at some colossal production of Lucia di Lammermoor, 77 with Julian as the property-master. Men in uniform had been made into seamstresses, working bolts of black silk at feverish speed, often while cutters slashed at the same cloth. Carpenters had busied themselves sawing wooden poles or lathing into supple strips as tall as a man. Cordage from a wholesale spool the size of a millwheel was carefully mea sured out, and segments of it rewound onto smaller hubs. This was only a sample of the vigorous business taking place. The huge room stank of various chemical substances, including caustic soda and what Julian claimed was liquid phosphorous (in several pitted metal barrels).
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