The Collapsium by Wil McCarthy Read Free Book Online Page B

the grapples are our only means of doing so without tearing the lattice out of whack and creating ourselves an even bigger problem.”
    “Hmm,” Bruno said, nodding absently, pinching his chin between thumb and forefinger.
    A flicker of resentment crossed Marlon’s features. “You disagree?”
    “Hmm?” Bruno looked up, met Marlon’s gaze. “Disagree? No, of course not. You’ve got the right of it, clearly.”
    Her Majesty cleared her throat at that, her eyes flashing angrily. “Nobody’s giving up, Declarants. It’s time to broaden your thinking, and
keep
broadening it until a solution emerges. That, or all your brilliance is for naught. There
is
a solution; I’m sure of that.”
    Marlon smoldered visibly at the rebuke, and it was several seconds before Bruno, deep in thought, realized the obligatory reply was his to make. “Um, yes,” he said, looking up and nodding, because he didn’t disagree with
that
statement, either.
    He and Marlon were
orbiting
Tamra, he saw, striding slowly around her on the platform as if she had some dangerous gravity of her own. Which of course, she did, and his reticence clearly did not put him on the right side of it. A not-so-subtle no-no in the grammar of decorum: ignoring the Queen of All Things.
    “I do need time to think,” he pointed out.
    She nodded once, and her gravity seemed to drop a bit. Permission granted; his orbit could slow and widen. God, how many times had scenes like this played out? Tamra impatient for answers—scientific or otherwise—and Bruno begging silence to contemplate them? He hadn’t missed thefeeling, exactly, but now it had a kind of déjà vu effect, reminding him of a lot of things he
had
missed. He was back in her world, yes. Nodding to himself, he pinched his chin again, and looked down to examine the reflection of the collapsium in the di-clad whiteness of the platform.
    Time passed.
    “Can I answer anything else for you, Bruno?” Marlon asked, with perfect politeness, when ten minutes had gone by.
    “Bruno?” he prompted diplomatically, after another sixty seconds. Finally he snapped his fingers. “Hey you, fathead! Are we through here?”
    Bruno looked up, blinking. “Hmm? Oh, yes, please, go on about your business. I think I have all the information I need for the time being. The problem, as you say, is an exceedingly simple one, even if its solution is not.”
    “You don’t need anything more from me, then?” Marlon prompted.
    “Er, not that I can think of,” Bruno said, realizing that some more time had passed. “I can reach you, yes? If further questions occur?” Then it dawned on him that he was being rude again, perfunctory, exactly the sort of boor Marlon had probably thought him in the first place. Peerless indeed, usurping this other man’s place, his project, his problems. To compensate, if belatedly, he allowed his gaze to narrow, his face to grow shrewd. “If you must go, Declarant, I implore you not to go far. This matter’s been on my mind a fraction of the time it’s been on yours, but once we’re on a more equal footing, I’ll be more ready to assist you.”
    Marlon Sykes was, it seemed, not impressed by such transparent flattery. Without a word he doffed his cap, bowed deeply, replaced it again, and walked to the fax gate; and if it’s possible to disappear in a testy, irritable way, then be assured Marlon Sykes did just that.
    “Nicely handled,” Tamra chided, emphasizing the remark with a not-so-playful punch in the arm.
    “Hmm?” he said, looking up. “What?”
    She sighed, then removed the diamond crown and scratchedthe indented band it left across her forehead. “Bruno, Bruno. I thought you’d changed. You
seemed
to have grown at first, matured, but maybe that was just the gray hair. Maybe we’re just ourselves, irredeemably, until the end of time. A dreary thought. So are you going to stand there all night? If I send for a chair, will you sit?”
    He looked at her, his attention divided,