Curiously the mention of an unclaimed waif bore klout with the inn up the hill. Since he'd arrived, he carried apprehension over what name to use. He tried several throughout the years but they never suited him. How ironic, he thought, that one of mankind's greatest envies - to name one's self - should be so problematic. He signed the register quickly before he could change his mind.
"Right this way, Mister Henly."
He sighed and followed the innkeeper up a set of creaky stairs, and was left in a modest but clean room overlooking an alley. He recognized the back of the bakery a ways over, with its single flickering window.
Henly turned his attention back toward the task at hand, reaching for his device as he removed his coat. The child's flesh had amphibious properties; it was possible that many people here came from somewhere else. He accessed the scanner settings and turned them up. What he detected supported his notion. Tiny pockets of low level chronoton emissions were everywhere. Widening the range, they could be detected to the farthest reaches of Neo Adapolis. Borrowed technology? An accidental discovery? Whatever their origins, their intensity appeared controlled and consistent throughout...
...with the exception of his objective. Whatever was down there emitted an inordinate amount of radiation, with the potential to displace a large portion of Neo Adapolis out of time, not with just the rest of the city but with the rest of the universe. He was not fully versed in temporal physics - it wasn't part of his initial orientation - but it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out the consequences.
He took stock of his paraphernalia, quickly relearning their camouflaged interfaces, with their tangible switches and levers. He couldn't help but admire the elegance of their design. This was truly a clever people: a cultured and civilised people. Henly smiled.
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
3 - A Murky Impasse
In every era of every society, money talks. It may be called different things, it may take the form of a tangible object or a virtual credit on one's profile. Or labor. No matter; it all works the same way.
The baker's demeanor changed with a flash of coin and was soon back working his dough. With minimum discussion of reliable boarders, the child went back into the shadows with the bread and a small jar of jam.
It was very dark on the boulevard now. Shops were closed for the night. Slivers of gaslight flickered from the seams of shutters on upper floors. Having produced his device from a deep coat pocket, he turned into a deserted alley toward the piers.
Sounds of welding cut the air sharply. The essence of burnt metal was carried on the breeze. Other sounds could be heard in the background: the hiss of steam in rhythm, mixed with something else. He slipped into the entrance of a poorly marked workhouse to see several robots methodically building marine vehicles. He smiled. The scene was something out of ancient literature, only fully realized. Then again, these were ancient times.
The other sounds drew his attention. There was something not quite right about this. If this device was any indication, what he sought was the source of those sounds.
He left the robots to their work and stepped out, following the signal and as the sounds grew louder. He stopped suddenly at the edge of the pier; the source was below by at least a dozen meters.
He detected no lifesigns, which was a good thing, but peering into the depths, there was only blackness. He had to reconsider: With no portable light source on hand (much less one which was water resistent), there was little he could do anymore tonight.
With a sigh he rose from his haunches and headed back into town.
The baker's demeanor changed with a flash of coin and was soon back working his dough. With minimum discussion of reliable boarders, the child went back into the shadows with the bread and a small jar of jam.
It was very dark on the boulevard now. Shops were closed for the night. Slivers of gaslight flickered from the seams of shutters on upper floors. Having produced his device from a deep coat pocket, he turned into a deserted alley toward the piers.
Sounds of welding cut the air sharply. The essence of burnt metal was carried on the breeze. Other sounds could be heard in the background: the hiss of steam in rhythm, mixed with something else. He slipped into the entrance of a poorly marked workhouse to see several robots methodically building marine vehicles. He smiled. The scene was something out of ancient literature, only fully realized. Then again, these were ancient times.
The other sounds drew his attention. There was something not quite right about this. If this device was any indication, what he sought was the source of those sounds.
He left the robots to their work and stepped out, following the signal and as the sounds grew louder. He stopped suddenly at the edge of the pier; the source was below by at least a dozen meters.
He detected no lifesigns, which was a good thing, but peering into the depths, there was only blackness. He had to reconsider: With no portable light source on hand (much less one which was water resistent), there was little he could do anymore tonight.
With a sigh he rose from his haunches and headed back into town.
Friday, April 8, 2011
2 - The Silence Broken
To say he was a shapeshifter would be inaccurate. There were several such species in their own rights throughout the known universe. While it was possible to change his appearance (even now he looked nothing like his default visage), it was not a trait which defined what he was.
Shadows fell over the buildings along Prince Dakkar Boulevard. Within minutes dusk blanketed all of Neo Adapolis, lending to an almost surreal appearance. Warm lights from shops, erratic blue flashes and flickers from factories and labs... they struck walls and dark windows with brief shocks of definition.
A low grunt startled him. An inebriated man in a nearby alley. A quick sniff: Absynthe and rye.
The readings spiked.
He fiddled with the device, unaccustomed to its new configuration and ornate switches. It whirred and the display lit up with a pattern of flip-flopping zigzags. They straightened into stripes, then consolidated until a simple, phosphorescent blip chased across a dark green background. He frowned over it having to take extra time to interpret the triangulation.
Suddenly a mass caught him in the side. A young urchin had dashed from a courtyard at full run. They staggered back, but he managed to keep them from falling. "There there now," he said, "where are you going in such a hurry?". The child wriggled in an effort to break free, but his hold was firm. Before turning toward the anticipated direction of a pursuing shopkeeper, he caught in a glimpse the flesh of the child's hand.
Without hesitation he straightened up while keeping a grip on it firmly.
The man arrived from the alleyway in a white apron, dusty with white powder. His great hand clutched a loaf of bread.
"Is there something the matter?"
The man was tall and wide in girth, with a tier of chins draped by a dark mustache. A receding hairline of dark curls glistened from unnatural exertion. The man, clearly a nearby baker, huffed and puffed in an attempt to speak.
This gave the stranger an opportunity to speak first. A quick squeeze of the hand and the urchin understood and relaxed. "I engaged this child to purchase a loaf of bread on my behalf. If there was some misunderstanding then I take full responsibility. For what do I owe you that? It looks like raisin walnut..."
The baker blinked.
Shadows fell over the buildings along Prince Dakkar Boulevard. Within minutes dusk blanketed all of Neo Adapolis, lending to an almost surreal appearance. Warm lights from shops, erratic blue flashes and flickers from factories and labs... they struck walls and dark windows with brief shocks of definition.
A low grunt startled him. An inebriated man in a nearby alley. A quick sniff: Absynthe and rye.
The readings spiked.
He fiddled with the device, unaccustomed to its new configuration and ornate switches. It whirred and the display lit up with a pattern of flip-flopping zigzags. They straightened into stripes, then consolidated until a simple, phosphorescent blip chased across a dark green background. He frowned over it having to take extra time to interpret the triangulation.
Suddenly a mass caught him in the side. A young urchin had dashed from a courtyard at full run. They staggered back, but he managed to keep them from falling. "There there now," he said, "where are you going in such a hurry?". The child wriggled in an effort to break free, but his hold was firm. Before turning toward the anticipated direction of a pursuing shopkeeper, he caught in a glimpse the flesh of the child's hand.
Without hesitation he straightened up while keeping a grip on it firmly.
The man arrived from the alleyway in a white apron, dusty with white powder. His great hand clutched a loaf of bread.
"Is there something the matter?"
The man was tall and wide in girth, with a tier of chins draped by a dark mustache. A receding hairline of dark curls glistened from unnatural exertion. The man, clearly a nearby baker, huffed and puffed in an attempt to speak.
This gave the stranger an opportunity to speak first. A quick squeeze of the hand and the urchin understood and relaxed. "I engaged this child to purchase a loaf of bread on my behalf. If there was some misunderstanding then I take full responsibility. For what do I owe you that? It looks like raisin walnut..."
The baker blinked.
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
1 - Following a Trail
He really didn't need them for the usual reason. It is just that he could see more this way. There were hidden objects and dimensional doorways which availed themselves to him which he would otherwise miss.
It was through one such doorway that he found himself in Neo Adapolis. Distinct readings of chronoton particles led him through a void which opened up in a subterranean alcove of red brick and shallow seawater beneath Adapolis Square. The readings persisted; it would take several moments to triangulate their point of origin.
He climbed a convenient ladder and pushed hard to displace a heavy iron lid, lifting himself out of a manhole to sit in the middle of a cobblestone surface. This appeared to be an industrial part of the city. A steamworks hissed on one side, a distillary on the other. There was not a soul on the streets, not even through the anagraphic lenses of his goggles.
The device indicated a signature to the east. He got up from the lip of the hole and dusted his coat off before briefly squatting to replace the lid. Then he straightened his collar and started on his journey...
It was through one such doorway that he found himself in Neo Adapolis. Distinct readings of chronoton particles led him through a void which opened up in a subterranean alcove of red brick and shallow seawater beneath Adapolis Square. The readings persisted; it would take several moments to triangulate their point of origin.
He climbed a convenient ladder and pushed hard to displace a heavy iron lid, lifting himself out of a manhole to sit in the middle of a cobblestone surface. This appeared to be an industrial part of the city. A steamworks hissed on one side, a distillary on the other. There was not a soul on the streets, not even through the anagraphic lenses of his goggles.
The device indicated a signature to the east. He got up from the lip of the hole and dusted his coat off before briefly squatting to replace the lid. Then he straightened his collar and started on his journey...
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