Luckily, one potential source still remained.
“You look distressed,” Callum commented to Tristan, leaning over to speak with him in pseudo-privacy. “Something bothering you?”
Tristan’s gaze slid to his, and then back to Libby and Nico. “Aren’t you seeing this?”
“I’m seeing it.”
“And you’re not distressed?”
Callum smiled thinly.
“I suppose I don’t see much use for having a black hole in my living room,” he said.
It wasn’t as if Callum was unaware that what Libby and Nico （and, he supposed, Reina） were doing was relatively monumental. He could understand, theoretically speaking, why magically modeling a previously unexplained phenomenon was a matter of significance, and for purposes of the Society, he could acknowledge it as the sort of thing belonging somewhere in the archives. There was no question of academic value.
It all just seemed terrifically impractical, and Callum was a practical sort of man.
“Most people are stupid enough that this sort of information is useless,” Callum offered Tristan in explanation. “Why bother understanding the universe when everything it’s made of exceeds basic human comprehension?”
“But they just proved a major element of quantum theory,” Tristan said, frowning. He, Callum noted, couldn’t take his eyes from what they’d done. “Those two twenty-something medeians just created something that all of human history has tried to understand and couldn’t.”
He sounded unreasonably awed, in Callum’s view. Unsurprising; it was all dreamland all the time in this house. Clearly somebody needed a reality check.
“Those two twenty-something medeians put into practice a theory that has been all of human history in the making,” Callum corrected Tristan, trying to shine a little much-needed pragmatism on the situation. “Though, again, I don’t know what possible use could come out of dropping something into a black hole and watching it bounce back out again.”
Tristan finally managed to tear his attention from Nico and Libby’s molecular sleight of hand, glancing sharply at Callum. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“Lethally, I’m afraid,” said Callum. “I think it’s a clever parlor trick.”
“Parlor trick,” Tristan echoed, disbelieving. “And what is it you can do, then?”
Tristan was being facetious, of course, merely proving a point and not genuinely asking, which was a pity, as the answer would have been decently silencing. For starters, Callum could make the twin cosmologists do anything he wanted. That meant, among other things, that he could take ownership of that black hole quite easily himself. If he were in a particularly enterprising mood, he could go a step further and persuade every person in the room to leap inside it.
Across from them, Parisa stiffened.
“I dislike physical magics,” Callum said eventually, turning his attention back to Tristan. “Gives me a sort of unidentifiable itch. Like a scratch in my throat.”
It took a moment, but Tristan did catch the undertones of a joke. Good, so he wasn’t totally inept, then.
“At least tell me,” Tristan sighed, “that you can recognize the significance of what’s happening here.”
“Recognize it? Yes, certainly. An enormous magical event,” Callum confirmed, “which will soon be swallowed up by some other enormous magical event.” That was how all of science worked, anyway. They were all pieces of some other eventual thing. The atom was part of the atomic bomb. Cataclysm, carnage, world wars, subprime mortgage lending, bank bailouts. In Callum’s mind, human history was interesting because of humans, not science. Because humans were idiots who turned the elements of life into a weapon. The only interesting thing Libby and Nico had accomplished so far was to successfully terraform a miniature model of the moon, because it meant the moon could eventually be conquered. Someone would try to build Rome anew, or start a new Vatican. It would be madness, and therefore interesting.
More interesting, anyway, than studying the altered carbon levels or whatever it was they’d managed to do.
“On the bright side, there haven’t been a thousand questions,” Callum commented at dinner that evening, gesturing across the table to Libby with his chin after Tristan had taken the vacant chair beside him. The table was currently occupied with the sound of low chatter between Nico and Libby, who were comparing notes; Parisa had already excused herself for the evening, and Reina was absently spooning food into her mouth while she pored over the duplicate of some ancient journal.