Byron frowned up at the pixie-cut blonde. Or rather, he frowned up at the spot where she had been a moment ago. Byron waited dutifully, but no snappy retort or ingenious mating of obscenities issued forth from the empty ledge. He was kneeling unsteadily, ankles crossed, at the bottom of a wide, flat-bottomed, steel mesh basket. It was suspended on every side by thousands of nanometer-thin cables (all encased in thick, black rubber, so as not to cut clean through any errant fingers). Above him, the cables ran together into a sort of chandelier, which redirected their upward course horizontally, and sent them braiding together into a thick, solitary central stalk. The thin wires on their own were near as unbreakable as made no difference; a nuclear bomb wouldn’t have compromised the integrity of that stalk. He really didn’t understand the fuss. Byron did understand that she found the location somewhat unsettling, after her episode in the catwalks -- the basket in which he sat was suspended from an old crane arm jutting from the external wall of the North Post, and if one squinted carefully through the net of nanometer cables, one could see the slight curvature of the Earth on the distant horizon, and the wispy, cerulean ring of the atmosphere fading gently into space – but the exposure to external stimuli was minimal, and the structure infallibly sound.
What do You think about Rx: A Tale Of Electronegativity?
