[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
with our own actions, we're building the story of our own world. Each of us, some less and some more,
is helping to tell the same amazing story, and our reborn species is our medium. Our page.
There was a pause.
The other panelists remained very still, waiting for a reaction. And a cheer rose up from the ends of the
auditorium, thin at first but growing louder. The panelists shifted in their seats, allowing themselves to
relax. Then came a thin rain of applause before the auditorium fell silent again, leaving a residue of smug
good feelings that showed best in Timmons hard, self-congratulatory smile.
* * *
How's the family enjoying their vacation?
Pretty well. The boys like the hotel's playland, and my wife hits the shops down in the concourse. Jack
regarded his grilled bonito for a moment before adding, Actually, there's not much up here that they
can't do at home. Which is why Tasha took them down to Quito for the day.
They'll have fun, Timmons promised. Really, it's a beautiful city. They've done a wonderful job
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
absorbing all their prosperity. He was working on a thick cultured steak, slicing the boneless meat into
juicy red ribbons. I've visited Ecuador on business. Two or three times.
When you were consulting for Miracle, Inc.
Sure. The man was untroubled that Jack knew his work history. In part, they wanted my expertise.
How much traffic would the skyhook bring, and how soon? But mostly, they just wanted someone who'd
say the right words. Who'd tell their officers and investors to sleep easy, at least for the next few years.
Jack said, Sure.
Timmons took a hearty bite of steak.
Miracle's building its own ships, Jack pointed out. Using Smiler engines and Goggle-eye materials,
and it wants to launch from everywhere on the globe.
That's what I hear, Timmons allowed. I'm not with those fools anymore. He set his fork and knife on
the edge of his plate, wiping his mouth with a perfumed napkin. Timmons looked prosperous and
relaxed, wearing a bright silk shirt and a tightly knotted tie, an old-fashioned Rolex on his right wrist and a
simple gold band on the ring finger. A clear quick twinkle came to his artificial eyes, a little smirk building.
Then he folded his napkin and set it on the table, remarking to his dinner guest, But you already knew
that, don't you? Miracle, Inc. and I parted ways ... how long has it been...?
Three years, answered Jack.
A division of opinion, it was. They thought they were going to have the first major presence in space.
Launching tanker-sized cargoes, and then small cities. But I warned them. I told them they'd have
troubles with local governments and the UN. They had to expect long delays. There would be concerns
about the plasma engines. Regulations and air passage rights, and headaches like that.
All of which have come true, Jack said.
Timmons gave a quick shrug and a half-wink. Then he grinned, asking, But you're not entirely sure who
pays my bills now. Are you?
Do you mind my asking?
You can always ask. Timmons pretended to consider the question, but his mind was already made up.
Not yet. He said as much when he picked up his fork again. He said it when he set a clean napkin into his
lap. Then, speaking to the waiter standing beside their table, he said, More wine. Please.
The machine smiled at both men, asking, And for you, sir?
Nothing, Jack replied. I'm fine for now.
They were the only diners on a tiny island bracketed by a swift artificial stream. The waiter walked
across an arching bridge, leaving them. The island was thickly planted, lending to the sense of isolation.
Orchids were in bloom, displaying elaborate flowers that may or may not have been natural. Jack didn't
know his botany well enough to tell if these were wild species or marvels cooked up in someone's new
laboratory. For a moment, he watched the stream sliding past, and then Timmons broke in on his
thoughts, asking, What's on your itinerary tomorrow?
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
Actually, I've got a speech in the morning. An Hour With an Oracle, is the title. He laughed, adding,
A usefully vague title.
I've got an early panel, said Timmons. 'Memories of Our First Contact. Which means, I suppose,
that I'll be talking about the Balla again. Myself and He named two retired writers. Which means
you're the lucky one here.
Both men laughed.
Then Jack mentioned, Afterward, I'm taking the kids and Tasha up to the construction zone. We're
being given a full tour.
It must be a lot of fun, being who you are.
Sometimes, Jack allowed.
I'd love to have a close look at the work. Just to be up there
Maybe I can talk to someone, Jack offered.
Would you?
I'll try, said Jack. I can't promise anything. But I will try.
Both men knew that if Jack made the request, permission would be granted instantly, without hesitation.
I hope I get that chance, Timmons confided. Then he glanced over his shoulder, watching what
appeared to be a giant daddy-longlegs stepping across the bridge. There wasn't room for a human inside
its dangling body. Someone was operating the machine from his hotel room, or, more likely, from his
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]