It is a hot morning, promising an even hotter day. The muses of biotechnology dance in the gardens of the tidal flats, singing about the beauty of basilar membranes, the ingenuity of protein kinases and the solemn beauty of morphogenesis. Through the mists the strands of the beanstalk reach for the heavens.

Unlike Leonardo's Vitruvian Man, we telemanipulating cyborgs cannot be encircled by neat arcs swept through our outstretched limbs. Our grasp has no limits-upper or lower. We have no fixed scale.
William J. Mitchell, City of Bits