Bone has no opinion, no cultural bias. It cannot be argued out of existence. If you stop believing in bone, bone does not notice, or care. It will still be there, in the ground or in a museum drawer—an answer to itself. Paul stood in the doorway of the bone lab, watching Hongbin unpack the latest box of samples. He hadn’t been down here since the transfer. He knocked on the door. “Ah, so you’re back already?” “What can I say? I missed you.” “It was only a matter of time,” Hongbin said. “How’s it going?” “Slow. It’s a Monday.” “You’ve got to climb the peak of that activation energy demand, huh?” “Something like that.” “How’s the fourth floor treating you? Is it everything we always dreamed it would be?” “And more.” “So champagne flows from the water fountains?” “Of course not. We get our champagne in volumetric flasks, like civilized folk.” Hongbin shook his head sadly. “You’re just like the rest of them. In it for the glamour.”
