Professor Mike Pilkington stepped into the RazorShower unit and allowed the water, specially mixed with all the vitamins and minerals suited to his skin type, to wash his body. It was a good job the washing and drying process only took fifteen seconds. Mike was running late.

Clean and refreshed, he dressed himself and grabbed his packed lunch from the kitchen bench. As he opened the front door he heard a loud and throaty "Ah-hem" from behind him.

"You forgetting something, Professor P?" It was Charlotte, holding their baby, Zara. They were both peering at him, two sets of large and lovely brown eyes. Mike grinned, walked over to his wife and child and gave them big, exaggerated kisses on the lips.

"My two favorite girls," he said. "Of course I didn't forget. I'll see you tonight, Charlie."

"Don't stay too late," she called after him, but Mike had left the cottage and was heading down the path, expanding his RazorBike and setting off on his three-mile trip to work.

Cycling was a refreshing way to dust off the haze after a sleep interrupted by a baby's cries, and the off-road route to Windermere University was a scenic one, untroubled by the noise and smog that used to plague his London commute. London, Mike's mind considered the word as he gazed across Lake Windermere, whose ripples were glimmering with the light of the morning sun. The shades of blue and green from the water moved delicately against the green and grey backdrops of the hills and mountains, giving the impression of a deliberate work of art. No, I don't miss London at all.

As part of his daily routine, Mike used the morning commute to organize his thoughts and prepare for the coming day. Today, he had three lectures and a seminar to deliver. The first lecture was to a group of around 200 undergraduates, studying various courses relating to digital technology, marketing and media.

His calves throbbed as he pushed his way up a steep hill. The first time he cycled the route from his house to the campus, he had to dismount halfway up, covered in sweat with burning legs, and push the bike the rest of the way. He saw two versions of his adult self. The first, the fun-loving and hard drinking London scholar who pioneered several studies and had groundbreaking papers published, receiving praise and building a brilliant reputation. He viewed this version, in his early 20s, as a romantic version, leading a life-style that could not be sustained. The first version was extremely unhealthy; with bad skin, the beginnings of a paunch and the inability to carry out even the most basic physical exercise, Mike 1.0 was a flawed genius.

The new Mike, the one who found himself effortlessly pedaling across the rolling green hills of the Lake District on a sunny day in May, was version two. At 32 he was older but healthier, with a flat stomach and muscular arms. He had a fulfilling job, a beautiful wife and a baby daughter, the most precious thing that had ever entered his life. But deep down he knew there was a payoff. He had dulled his genius. Although he was still seen as a leader in his field, his choice of a quieter life had slowed down his output. His role was now purely in the teaching of others and the occasional opportunity to give his opinion via national news broadcasts. Maybe he could have been Rick Razor, an ultra-rich entrepreneur using his talents to push the boundaries of digital technology. Maybe a family life and a dynamic career are mutually exclusive, he wondered. With another breezy blast that blew his hair right back against the top of his head, he shook away the thought. His life in the Lake District had delivered his daughter to him and this was a better reward than any work could have given him. And as he looked to his right at the shimmering lake and then to his left at the distant snow-topped peaks, he confirmed to himself that he certainly didn't miss London. He breathed in deeply; the air was cool and fragrant with nature. He could feel the moisture of the lake, the crisp and sharp oxygen-rich output of the luscious green trees and plants.

He arrived at the campus and his RazorVision glasses flashed a big 'thumbs up" in the right-hand corner of his vision. He'd beaten his average speed by 47 seconds and it was his fastest time of the month. He'd burned 278 calories in the process, too.

The campus buildings were all made of reflective glass, which gave a strange watery quality to the area, with Lake Windermere's ripples visible on some of the walls when viewed from the campus entrance. The buildings were not tall, but they had a curved appearance, looking like space-age igloos. The paths around each building were beautifully landscaped with borders of shrubs and trees. Several benches dotted the path, with students reading and using RazorVision before their classes.

He gazed at the campus with pride. Windermere University would never be Oxford or Cambridge. Most of its courses were vocational in nature and the University was outside the top 50 in the UK in all the respectable league tables. But it would be bottom of the league tables if Mike wasn't there. His presence ensured that Digital Technology Studies was the best course of its kind in the United Kingdom, something he was immensely proud of.

He pushed the "fold" button on his bike and it reduced to a carry-case for him to take into the University. Walking through the door he was greeted by the RazorCom in its mellow, female tone.

"Welcome Professor Pilkington. Please enjoy your day. Your lecture room is ready."

"Thank you," he told the invisible voice and headed to the theatre, his RazorVision reminding him that it was 8.25 a.m., 35 minutes before his lecture was due to start.

"Where would we be without technology?" he thought to himself and grinned.

Mike found his lecture room and walked in. It was a large, circular room, the biggest lecture hall in the university. All seats were made from translucent glass, making the room feel even bigger than it was. The automatic lights illuminated the room and he was welcomed by the RazorCom voice once more.

"Project file please. Digital Sociology 117 – the History of Social Media," he told the system.

"Presentation loaded, Professor Pilkington," replied the voice.

Mike stood in the center of the room and looked at the shimmer of the holographic projection. He recalled his own University experience and the days of whiteboards, chalkboards and slide-based presentations. He had to pinch himself at times at the progression of technology. He still appreciated it. Not like many of his students who would barely remember the days without Razor's magical touch on the world. For that reason, this was a lecture Mike most enjoyed delivering. Students were wowed about the early versions of social media and the various stages of internet communications. The disparate, disconnected technologies seemed more laughable the more time passed on.

Mike looked up to see the first few dozen of his students streaming in to the seats, each one engrossed in their RazorVision glasses. This was going to be a receptive audience indeed. As the auditorium filled and his own RazorVision told him the time had passed 9.00 a.m., he looked to the back to see Simon Churchill closing the door and taking his seat.

Simon was Mike's best student. Not just out of the current crop but over his entire academic career. Although Simon's quiet, unconfident manner gave him an unassuming presence, his...