““I am not,” he said at last, “Richard Feynman.” If the coffee Elspeth was sipping had been real, it would have come out of her nose. “Excuse me?” The physicist smiled and ran a hand through tousled gray hair. “Because Richard Feynman died fifty-three years ago.” Her cup rattled on the table when she set it aside. “All right, Dick,” she told him. “You got me. You’re not Feynman. So tell me what the hell you are.” “I don’t know,” he said carefully. Elspeth Dunsany grinned hard. “Postulate, Dick.”... His hands tapped his knee, restless, seeking. “I have always held reliance on paranormal explanations to indicate a lazy mind. But I sure as hell feel like Dick Feynman.” He shrugged. “Even though Richard Feynman is dead. So I’m left with interesting gaps in my logic.” Elspeth raised an eyebrow inside her VR suit. Her image mimicked the motion. “How did you find out that you were dead?” she asked him. He held out a portfolio. “I found the library.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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