“… but there’s no darkness in our lives,” Lee said. He held a knife in one fist. Now he opened his other hand flat on the bar top and began to thump the knife’s point into the spaces between his fingers.
“I wish you wouldn’t do that,” Brox murmured. He fiddled with his glass and peered upwards, searching the cavern ceiling for a time display. There was still an hour to wait for the day’s big event, the opening of the Complex at the centre of the Earth.
His eyes were drawn back to the walking blade. Lee was a good friend, but sometimes his moods were claustrophobic.
At last, inevitably, the blade stabbed towards the knuckle of Lee’s middle finger.
Brox jumped – but the metal seemed to hit a casing a hair’s-breadth from the flesh.
The knife slid sideways and clattered to the bar surface.
A couple at a nearby table looked up from their languid conversation. Lee glared at them, and they turned away. Brox felt deeply embarrassed.
Lee put away the knife. He tapped out a code on the bar top and two frosted glasses were extruded from the surface. “There’s my point exactly,” he said.
“Two million years ago some pre-man must have sat under the stars and played exactly the same game with a chip of flint. But since he wasn’t encased by a nannyish machine, the game had a bit of spice -”
