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- Ричард Морган
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"
Yours
?
"
I
asked
him
,
jerking
a
thumb
at
the
instrument
.
He
glanced
at
it
absently
.
"
Once
.
It
was
an
enthusiasm
I
had
.
Back
when
the
stars
were
still
something
to
stare
at
.
You
wouldn
’
t
remember
how
that
felt
.
"
It
was
said
without
conscious
pretension
or
arrogance
,
almost
inconsequentially
.
His
voice
lost
some
of
its
focus
,
like
a
transmission
fading
out
.
"
Last
time
I
looked
through
that
lens
was
nearly
two
centuries
ago
.
A
lot
of
the
Colony
ships
were
still
in
flight
then
.
We
were
still
waiting
to
find
out
if
they
’
d
make
it
.
Waiting
for
the
needlebeams
to
come
back
to
us
.
Like
lighthouse
beacons
.
"
He
was
losing
me
.
I
brought
him
back
to
reality
.
"
Perspective
?
"
I
reminded
him
gently
.
"
Perspective
.
"
He
nodded
and
swung
an
arm
out
over
his
property
.
"
You
see
that
tree
.
Just
beyond
the
tennis
courts
.
"
I
could
hardly
miss
it
.
A
gnarled
old
monster
taller
than
the
house
,
casting
shade
over
an
area
the
size
of
a
tennis
court
in
itself
.
I
nodded
.
"
That
tree
is
over
seven
hundred
years
old
.
When
I
bought
this
property
,
I
hired
a
design
engineer
and
he
wanted
to
chop
it
down
.
He
was
planning
to
build
the
house
further
up
the
rise
and
the
tree
was
spoiling
the
sea
view
.
I
sacked
him
.
"
Bancroft
turned
to
make
sure
his
point
was
getting
across
.
"
You
see
,
Mr
.
Kovacs
,
that
engineer
was
a
man
in
his
thirties
,
and
to
him
the
tree
was
just
an
inconvenience
.
It
was
in
his
way
.
The
fact
it
had
been
part
of
the
world
for
over
twenty
times
the
length
of
his
own
life
didn
’
t
seem
to
bother
him
.
He
had
no
respect
.
"
"
So
you
’
re
the
tree
.
"
