"The Collapsium" - читать интересную книгу автора (Mccarthy Wil)

that your house down there?"
"Er, yes," Bruno replied, following her gaze. "It isn't 'down,' though; the
ground's quite level here. Shall we go inside?"
She nodded. "Somewhere we can sit, yes. There's much to discuss."
"I'd gathered."
He led her back across the meadow, dainty robots trailing behind. Her velvet
skirts smoothed a trail in the grass as she walked, the sunlight full in her
round face. Even her long shadow was more regal than lanky, a Queen among its
kind. Bruno couldn't keep his eyes forward. Didn't try.
"It's closer than I thought," the queen remarked as they approached the house.
"Smaller. You've dwelt in a shack all these years? A hovel?"
Bruno shrugged. "The planet size again. If the house were any broader, the
curvature of the floor would become apparent. You couldn't roll a ball bearing
on my floorЧit's gravitationally flatЧbut indoors I find the eye prefers
straight lines and right angles."
"Add another level, perhaps?"
He shook his head. "The upper story would feel less gravity, and a lot less air
pressure. Thirty percent less. The gradients are steep on a planet this small."
He pointed to the snow-capped Northern Hills. "The air's thin up there. And
cold."
She smiled. "Those little things?"
"My Himalayas. I'm quite comfortable, Tamra, really, and I don't think you've
come here to remodel the planet."
Bruno waved for a door as they approached. It opened,and they stepped through.
The house had remodeled itself in his absence, throwing down trails of red
carpet joining furniture more elegant than he'd normally employ. Chandeliers of
gold and diamond hung from a ceiling striped with stained-glass murals of green
and tan and blue, stylized scenes from Her Majesty's native Tonga. They moved
and changed, almost too slowly to see.
Presently, a ring of speakers formed along the walls at chest level, and began
playing "Thank God for the Revival of Monarchy," which was the Queendom of Sol's
quite popular unofficial anthem; the official one was the dreary "Praise upon
Her," which was almost never played. Or hadn't been, anyway, when Bruno's
network gate last functioned. He supposed fashion had probably overtaken such
musical preferences by now, along with all the clothing and furnishing styles he
knew best. Fashion was always doing things like that, making the most ordinary
things seem ridiculous and the most ridiculous seem ordinary. Immortality had
yet to bestow any higher aesthetic upon the Queendom, although he supposed that,
too, could have changed in his absence.
It was nineteen years since he'd quit Tamra's court, eleven since he'd quit
civilization altogether, trading it for this silence, this peace and solitude.
Out here, he wasn't peerless or depended on. Just alone.
He realized he should speak, behave as a host. "Uh, refreshment? Food, drink? I
have vegetables fresh from the soil."
She wrinkled her nose. "Still doing that, are you? Thank you, no. A glass of
water, perhaps. Shall we sit?"
"Oh. Yes. Forgive me." He indicated a chair beside a low table, waited until
she'd seated herself, waited until she'd nodded permission for him to join her,
and finally sat in the chair across. A gently clicking robot appeared, whisked a
pair of glasses of ice water onto the table between them, and was gone. "You