Ubiquarian, though familiar with descriptions of Fibonacci House and its inhabitants, was still surprised when he walked through the building for the first time. All around was the hum of machinery as pale-faced men and women stared fixedly at screens or tapped at keyboards in staccato bursts; conversation was minimal with only the occasional few words puncturing the hum and tapping.
Coffee mugs were visible on every surface with dark rings underneath indicating the position of their predecessors and it seemed that eating at one’s desk was the norm; empty pizza boxes protruded from rubbish bins and the smell of processed cheese and pepperoni wafted around the room as the resident numbers munched them mechanically, scarcely looking away from screens and keyboards.
