Our journey progressed slowly, a dust plain stretching to the horizon while nearby a gnarled twisted hunk of wood stretched skyward, a parody of nature and what was left of it. As we passed though i noticed a tiny speck of green. A sparkling emerald in a world of grey.
Life has a way of carrying on, I suppose.
I was trusting my companion knew where she was taking us, Archimedes could read the grid well enough but the map system had never worked properly. It had caused an argument already, my new ‘friend’ had attempted to modify the software and was greeted by various errors in a language I was sure no one spoke anymore.
I’d trust my machines more than anything modern, anything with a constant Grid connection could be tracked, accessed and altered without my knowledge. Certain information i needed to trust and mankind had long since reduced the accuracy of anything written to a nebulous concept. If it wasn’t etched in metal the ‘truth’ was subjective. I’d seen enough people with abilities to change realities that i need to take a firm hold of my own.
For that I needed Archimedes.
Our ward slept soundly on the board, and as we travelled I considered her luck, something I never had an excess of. Would she be grateful? Part of me just hoped she didn’t remember. Could the mind reconcile being separated from the body and then returned? Another mystery and perhaps another human miracle.
An argument had occurred about truth. Whether we should tell her, explain what had happened and what she had been. It’s always better to know, especially when it will dominate your existence. Society could be cruel and this child would have it the worst. What do I care though, it won’t be my problem for long. I have my own story.
We took refuge for a night in an old store of some kind, despite the long finger of a power antenna on the roof I detected no use of power inside. Just long empty shelves left over from displaying god knows what. Gawky signs that spread mistruths about things you don’t need and could never want.
The haunting silence and coat of dust bespoke the kind of creepiness that only exists in forgotten cupboards. The watchful wariness of objects undisturbed and unrelenting in their vigil. I felt less of an explorer in these places and more an intruder; traipsing back through to remnants of the past, disturbing the old stories with ones of my own.. but it was rare to find a building with no active machinery. A comfort that perhaps made me lax.
Overnight, things changed. It began with a hum and then a blip from my arm rang into the silence. I trust my machines.(Right-click -> Save link as…)
Want to read more of the Little Ghost Nebula? See the full story here.
Keep an eye on our news section for more about Little Ghost Nebula and our other tales (and free music downloads woo!).