Awakening
Blair entered the dripping room behind Garth and the other senior teknoguilders. The ruins of the Beforetime city under the Tor were one of her favourite places, though many of her friends adamantly disagreed. They only saw the loss of life, the dead streets and buildings, the desolated attempt of humanity to better itself. But without ruin, there could be no betterment worth talking about.
Looking around the room, she saw the usual setup expected for a research facility of the Beforetime scientists: the metallic edges, the spartan furniture now lying broken and askew everywhere, and, of, course the computer-machines lining one corner of the streamlined room. Garth and the others made a beeline for the machines, examining them with minute care. They delicately ran their fingers over the keyboards and muttered amongst themselves. Blair hung around in the background, stroking Milord’s white head as he peeped out from his bag around Blair’s neck. She eyed the low ceiling of the office and the long shadows of the rooms wondering who had worked here all those many years ago. All long dead now, but still, she felt a duty to discover what she could about them, as though that would give sense to their demise. She felt it would. After all, it was through their demise that she was who she was, where she was how she was, she owed the Beforetimers that much she believed.
A man is immortal for as long as his memory is honoured, she thought.
Milord’s pink eyes glinted in the light they had bought with them. Without preamble, the rat wriggled out if his pouch and disappeared into the darkness. Blair groaned quietly, not wanting to attract attention from her superiors, half of whom disapproved of the wayward rodent and his insatiable curiosity.
Holding up her own small torch, she hoped she could find Milord before he could cause any trouble. In the direction the fat rat had scuttled were two long crates covered with the filth of centuries. Their foreboding forms held no terror for Blair as she saw Milord’s pink tail under one of these monstrosities. Kneeling down, she groped and found the rat, pulling him out gently and looking him in his beady little eyes.
“Thou art an anarchist.” She told him not being able to withhold a bit of amusement from her tone. She placed the rat’s well-endowed proportions on the top of one of the crates, noticing that there were an improbable amount of wires attached to the rear of the thing. Frowning, she pulled out her brushes from her numerous pockets and began to brush the surface of the crate beside Milord, removing much of the grime with practiced care. The rat sniffed the brush that butted him playfully now and again, and then began to scratch the surface as well. Blair smiled at him, though was wondering about this behaviour. Milord never interested himself in her work other than the cause trouble by getting entangled in the wires. Perhaps he’s apologising, she thought, continuing her cleaning.
After a few minutes of diligent strokes, Blair had bought a frosted glass surface to the light. It shone brightly in the torchlight, especially surrounded by the rest of the filthy surface. Blair’s frown deepened. Why was the inside of the crate cooled? What could be inside? She knew that some of the computer-machines had very complicated cooling systems because of the speed at which they worked, but none were cooled in this manner.
How strange…she thought, cleaning more and more of the glass, trying to see if she could see anything inside. She reached out with her mind, following the course of the wires in the crate, delving to see if there was anything they knew about what this crate was. Running swiftly along the currents of electricity, she found a strange system that made the inside of the crate cold, one that counted the years…and one that breathed. Blair gasped quietly at this discovery. Now why would a machine need to breath? She wondered, eyes alighting with a fire that most people found disconcerting, the more so in contrast to her usual apathy towards practically everything.
Probing deeper she came up against a wall that was unlike any other wall she had ever come across in a machine. But it was vaguely familiar, nonetheless. Her face took on a determined countenance as she pushed a little further, trying to see beyond the frosted glass with her physical eyes.
Blair gave a piercing shriek in shock and fell back, kicking herself away from the crate desperately. The other teknoguilders hurried to her aid, asking what was wrong, but all Blair could manage was to point a shaking finger at the crate.
From inside the crate, a faint knocking sounded, echoing in the prevailing silence…
Blair entered the dripping room behind Garth and the other senior teknoguilders. The ruins of the Beforetime city under the Tor were one of her favourite places, though many of her friends adamantly disagreed. They only saw the loss of life, the dead streets and buildings, the desolated attempt of humanity to better itself. But without ruin, there could be no betterment worth talking about.
Looking around the room, she saw the usual setup expected for a research facility of the Beforetime scientists: the metallic edges, the spartan furniture now lying broken and askew everywhere, and, of, course the computer-machines lining one corner of the streamlined room. Garth and the others made a beeline for the machines, examining them with minute care. They delicately ran their fingers over the keyboards and muttered amongst themselves. Blair hung around in the background, stroking Milord’s white head as he peeped out from his bag around Blair’s neck. She eyed the low ceiling of the office and the long shadows of the rooms wondering who had worked here all those many years ago. All long dead now, but still, she felt a duty to discover what she could about them, as though that would give sense to their demise. She felt it would. After all, it was through their demise that she was who she was, where she was how she was, she owed the Beforetimers that much she believed.
A man is immortal for as long as his memory is honoured, she thought.
Milord’s pink eyes glinted in the light they had bought with them. Without preamble, the rat wriggled out if his pouch and disappeared into the darkness. Blair groaned quietly, not wanting to attract attention from her superiors, half of whom disapproved of the wayward rodent and his insatiable curiosity.
Holding up her own small torch, she hoped she could find Milord before he could cause any trouble. In the direction the fat rat had scuttled were two long crates covered with the filth of centuries. Their foreboding forms held no terror for Blair as she saw Milord’s pink tail under one of these monstrosities. Kneeling down, she groped and found the rat, pulling him out gently and looking him in his beady little eyes.
“Thou art an anarchist.” She told him not being able to withhold a bit of amusement from her tone. She placed the rat’s well-endowed proportions on the top of one of the crates, noticing that there were an improbable amount of wires attached to the rear of the thing. Frowning, she pulled out her brushes from her numerous pockets and began to brush the surface of the crate beside Milord, removing much of the grime with practiced care. The rat sniffed the brush that butted him playfully now and again, and then began to scratch the surface as well. Blair smiled at him, though was wondering about this behaviour. Milord never interested himself in her work other than the cause trouble by getting entangled in the wires. Perhaps he’s apologising, she thought, continuing her cleaning.
After a few minutes of diligent strokes, Blair had bought a frosted glass surface to the light. It shone brightly in the torchlight, especially surrounded by the rest of the filthy surface. Blair’s frown deepened. Why was the inside of the crate cooled? What could be inside? She knew that some of the computer-machines had very complicated cooling systems because of the speed at which they worked, but none were cooled in this manner.
How strange…she thought, cleaning more and more of the glass, trying to see if she could see anything inside. She reached out with her mind, following the course of the wires in the crate, delving to see if there was anything they knew about what this crate was. Running swiftly along the currents of electricity, she found a strange system that made the inside of the crate cold, one that counted the years…and one that breathed. Blair gasped quietly at this discovery. Now why would a machine need to breath? She wondered, eyes alighting with a fire that most people found disconcerting, the more so in contrast to her usual apathy towards practically everything.
Probing deeper she came up against a wall that was unlike any other wall she had ever come across in a machine. But it was vaguely familiar, nonetheless. Her face took on a determined countenance as she pushed a little further, trying to see beyond the frosted glass with her physical eyes.
Blair gave a piercing shriek in shock and fell back, kicking herself away from the crate desperately. The other teknoguilders hurried to her aid, asking what was wrong, but all Blair could manage was to point a shaking finger at the crate.
From inside the crate, a faint knocking sounded, echoing in the prevailing silence…
