Part One: Of Light Lost
Section Two

People jammed the transport pads in a futile effort to get to the plant, office, or wherever they worked. One man appeared to have been loudly exclaiming his displeasure for a moment that is a minute to us. Here we see a battle so that some regularity of a normal job could be instituted. Off in the distance there was a figure. Tall and proud he stood uninvolved. As we approach, we see he was the epicenter of events that followed this scene. For him, things were going well.

He had stopped for a moment, straining his senses to their uppermost limits. He was receiving two signals. The more obvious and explainable was the bully behind the bush. As with all bullies, he had limited himself to his strength, a blade, and a war cry. Looking inside, we see this bully was afraid. People scared him, so he scared people to make himself feel better. He desired to be unafraid, but he lacked the resources. War was a way of life for him. Unlike most bullies, he was a military dictator with some real power. His power was insignificant.

While we are examining people, let's look at our focus. He had a self-inscribed super-ego that lacks some situational and historical information. Therefore, he had to rely on the id in some circumstances. In his brain, formulas combine with other formulas and the unexplained in multi-dimensions to form the force called magic or the supernatural. These combinations buried themselves and were unknown until they were jerked to the surface.

We move into a room in his mind marked "MOTIVATIONS." It is a large, empty room that is over-used. On the floor is the only item in the room, a piece of paper. I can read the clear, definite words on the paper --  "Lack of history --," and then in small letters, "No parents." We will go back now. There will be more later. We move on.

The clock on the wall ticked the hours. He stared at the non-repeating, interconnected, unintelligible markings on one of the clay-like sheets before him. He sneered at it. For a solitary, hazy moment, it looked at him and laughed, not only the laugh of a jester, but also the amusement of knowing -- but knowing what?

He was startled. The ticks now counted the minutes. He could feel a curtain had been drawn to reveal something. It was still in the dark. He needed to find a light.

He was excited. A good walk might help. So, he left the building. He passed into the campus gardens. It was peaceful there. Nobody was around.

He did not recognize that the bully was there. He was too involved -- or rather uninvolved -- with his walk. The sound coming overhead in the tree of, "Pilot to bombardier, pilot to bombardier, target in sight. Fire at will," and the sight of the balloon shushing with its contents overhead didn't register with him.

He looked up, dripping wet and red from the force of the impact. The bully was there, laughing. When the bully regained a little of his semi-adult self, he issued a cry. "Secret agent            has done it again. He saved the president, rescued his girlfriend, bombed the treacherous nerd-lord, and cracked the super-secret spy code all in time to get home in time for dinner."

He looked down into his dripping hands. There he saw a dim glow form...

Diary Entry: Jan 30, 11:12 pm: It's great! Better yet, IT'LL WORK!! Well, at least it should work. Why didn't I think of something so simple before!?! It's just encoded. People come and go, but this will live forever! One moment...

Hate to cut short, but the janitor is making me leave. Until Monday...

We are in a small market. The smell of fresh foods would inundate the air if it weren't 'frozen'. If anyone is hungry back there, please get something for after this stop. But remember to 'pay' for it. The register is empty. Don't pick anything that needs to be weighed. The balance was in use, recovering from pressure placed upon it, even though it had been minor so far. It was about to be augmented.

If you feel something, it is The Being. It has come here because of the events of the last few days. It was awakened at the dig. It moves faster than we do, so we can't see The Being.

Moving along, we find him about to have entered the structure we just left. He appeared off balance in mid stride. The clothes he wore were unchanged and wrinkled from being pressed in the same position for hours, maybe days. He carried a list. On it was a stockpile of words symbolizing foods which have been preserved, dried, canned, or otherwise similarly processed to remain for a long time.

We again move inside of him, returning to the same room. It is open. A fuel line passes through the doorway. Watch your step. We find the paper is now gone. Now, there is a poster here. It says the same thing.

He entered the computer room with the mountain of food he had just gathered. He was in newly changed clothes. His eyes would have glowed of vigor had not such been shrouded by his lack of rest.

He pulled out the cans, lining each one up neatly to the side with the slowness and deliberateness of a tired thinker deep in the solving of mismatched clothes, hastily put together into random order so that each pile appearing was as a child's drawing. Underneath this -- the first thing to be thought of -- were the tablets, carefully wrapped for the journey, a stack of computer disks, and a dusty box labeled "HARD DRIVE." Taking the contents out of the box, he connected them to an enormous computer and slipped it into a corner. Inserting the disks one by one into a slot in the computer, he began to copy the contents of each one onto the hard drive. Turning to the door, he locked, barred, and barricaded the door.

Days passed. Then weeks. Then months. Finally, he assembled it.

Two more hard drives, each with a larger storage capacity, had been added to the system. The ultimate program that he had finally assembled from all of the little programs, data files, and sweat he had created took all of the space. This was history in the making.

A piece of what was a scanner, a device which reads images into a computer's memory, and other miscellaneous items compounded a machine referred to as a 3D-microscopic scanner. Cradled inside of this were the two pieces of clay-like substance inscribed with ancient words. It is said that necessity is the mother of invention. Desire works just as well.

Diary Entry: June 13, 2:0 something, a.m. I think: Somehow, in these last few months, I have completed every course I was taking in order to devote more time it's got to work to the analysis just rest up of the tablets found I will need to rest going home today need to be safe I hope the time spent here will not be sleep in vain before starting the system and program rest, I will install an energy barrier yes, protect to keep this room safe no one will be able to enter but me history in making at home I will sleep for the next two days years meanwhile, the computer should be able to analyze the bed tablets the greatest artificial intelligence system to bed ever tired be developed

We are back in his room. He is fast asleep, getting up only for relief and food. He had pushed himself too far, and now needs rest and recuperation.

The room showed the lack of use; dust covered the rooms, save for a daily newspaper. It showed brilliant pictures of armies fighting one another. The headlines read "TERRORIST ORGANIZATIONS ARISE IN TERROR". More recent papers underneath read "TERRORISTS BREAK THE BACK OF PEACE: GLOBAL WAR I!" and "WORLD LEADER TRIES TO STOP THE TRAIN." The articles described how it was country vs. country, terrorist organization vs. anyone, and everyone was on his own. Do not fear, for we are only watchers of events to verify their truth. We have no form, substance, or impact on this world and its events. We are merely observers for the future.

The clock on the wall says it is June 22. In a few moments of time, he will awake.

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