Runcible was sitting on his desk in the form of a stack of papers, most 
of them signed JOHN PERCIVAL HACKWORTH. He unfolded Cotton's document. It was 
still running the little industrial cartoon. Cotton had clearly enjoyed 
himself. No one ever got fired for going with enhanced photorealism, but 
Hackworth's own signature look was lifted from nineteenth-century patent 
applications: black on white, shades of gray implied with nearly microscopic 
crosshatching, old-fashioned letterpress font a little rough around the edges. 
It drove clients wild—they always wanted to blow up the diagrams on 
their drawing-room mediatrons. Cotton got it. He'd done his diagram in the same 
style, and so his nanotechnological battery chugged away on the page looking 
much like the gear train of an Edwardian dreadnought.