He had to stoop to get through the circular doorway. Inside, the air felt different. Lighter. The floor was polished concrete, curving gently up to meet the walls, which flowed seamlessly into the ceiling. Sunlight filtered through the translucent skin, turning everything the color of honey. There were no shadows, only soft, diffused glows. A small woodstove sat in the center, its pipe snaking up to a vent that looked like a navel. It was absurd. It was impractical. And for a dizzying moment, Arthur felt a strange, unfamiliar sense of peace.
“Yes, Your Honor. The contractor can’t get his excavator past the… the sphere.”
Arthur looked at his cube through the translucent wall. It no longer looked like a fortress. It looked like a starting point. “My house has cracks in the foundation,” he said. “But I think I can fix those myself now.” the bubble house
“What if I rerouted the drainage? Not around the Bubble. Through it. There’s a natural slope under your… your sphere. If I could run a French drain from my foundation, under your floor, and out to the street… the water would never even touch your foundation. It would just pass through.”
The judge sighed. She looked at Arthur, then at Mrs. Gable. “I’m going to recess for one hour,” she said. “When I return, I expect you two to have found a solution. I don’t care if it involves a pulley system and a team of trained badgers. Fix it.” He had to stoop to get through the circular doorway
The Bubble went up just as the leaves began to turn. Every morning, Arthur would sip his black coffee and stare out his kitchen window, and every morning, the Bubble stared back, catching the sunrise and throwing a distorted, wobbly reflection of his own cube back at him. He felt mocked.
Mrs. Gable’s eyes widened. “Under my floor?” The floor was polished concrete, curving gently up
The judge returned. They presented their plan. She looked from Arthur to Mrs. Gable, then nodded once. “Approved.”