The Flipswitch Chronicles. Part 4

Human nature as an independent form, Teleology decrypted, Philosophy of Nature, Between Plato and Socrates, Darwin’s theory of Nevolution, Patrcrohillluses…

“ Phil! I get the feeling you’ve got some non-acedemical books mixed in these piles,” the Biologist shouted over her shoulder as she read off the titles on the massive stacks of books in the Philosopher’s library. “Why couldn’t you at least shelve these?”

“It’s my library, Bi, I’ll put my books however I want. And none of them are non-acedemical! You’d be surprise to learn insightful theories and studies where you don’t want to look.” The Philosopher said as he weaved through the pillars of books. He was carrying some folders which had loose parchment sticking out at the corners, and placed them on a table at the center of the room. “It’s going to take eons to sift through the information you’ll need in those books. I’ve reports and journals here that will be a good start. Your end of the bargain, now?”

“Oh all right. Here,” said the Biologist. She clicked open her purse and took out a small black case. Pushing down a small lever by the side, six glass tubes rose, apparently containing the products of some of her experiments. “It’s a lot easier to manipulate biological entities.”

“Good. I’ve word from the Traveller that we can use the one off the east coast,” the Philosopher said as he took the case from her, studying the contents of the tubes in the light.

“Which translates as ‘I stole a map.’ Right? Honestly I don’t understand why we have to bother lying to each other.”

“I don’t know why either. I just have a strong urge, like it’s the right thing to do. Don’t you feel that way?”

“No. I’m so pure I don’t need to wear gloves when doing my procedures.”

“You make it up by being extremely annoying. We’ll set off tomorrow to retrieve preliminary data, and then return for the necessary tools.”

The Biologist rolled her eyes and went back reading off the last of the book titles just for the sake of completion. She pocketed a book she was not supposed to, and then walked over to the table to go through the journals in the folder. Scanning the pages, she effortlessly picked up information she needed from various pages, pieced it together and wrote relentlessly in her heavy leather-bound notebook. As she did that, she would mark the references she felt needed for extra reading. It continued for hours, after the Philosopher had left the room to attend to his own side of business. Once she slammed her notebook shut, she went over to the pillars of stacked books and retrieved some books that she had picked out from the references, without much care that the pillars were being demolished one by one. It was already dark out when she finished packing the books, so she left the study lights on and left the Philosopher’s mansion, heading for an all-nighter at a bar she frequents.

The next day, the Biologist was woken up by the whirring clinking sounds that the Bartender’s equipments made every morning, followed by some prodding on her cheeks by a long thin object, held by the Bartender himself.

“Bi…. Bi!!” The Bartender called out to the groggy Biologist. “Your skirts are in the way. Move over, I need to sweep up.”

The Biologist lifted her head from the table and rubbed her eyes. When she got it to open, she noticed the mess strewn across the small table in front of her; books and parchments of her handwriting. Noticing the Bartender’s intensive glare, she picked up her bustle skirt and lifted her legs off the floor. When the Bartender had finished, she stomped her feet back to the ground and started looking through her work. “What in Galvations is this supposed to be?” she questioned as she tried to read off the last lines she wrote. “I must have fallen asleep before writing this. I can’t even read it.”

“You’re working on some interesting things there. Mind sharing?” the Bartender said with his back to the Biologist as he pulled some strings that fell from the ceiling.

“Top secret, Bart. It can only get people in trouble should talks start.”

“You make me out to be a mouth off! You know me better.”

“Yes I do, but still, it’s not worth the potential chaos.”

“Here, have some special brew,” the Bartender offered a glass of dark liquid that ran from his mixing equipment strapped on his right arm.

“Thank you,” said the Biologist. She scooped up the books and parchments into her bag, pushed her hive of hair on her head back into a reasonable pile and walked over to the long table up front. She unceremoniously gulped down the glass of brew and breathed out a loud sigh. “That did it.”

The Bartender studied the wreck before him and said to her, “Don’t you have somewhere to be? It’s already hours past dawn.”

“Oh. Yes. Why Phil won’t be pleased at all to be kept waiting; It’s going to be a fruitful day.” The Biologist chucked. “Thanks again, Bart. I do like what you did to this place. The ambiance is just so breathable,” she commented for the umpteenth time as she picked up her bag and walked over to the door.

“Decades of work it is. See you again!” The Bartender bade her farewell.

“See you, I hope.” Though I doubt, she added in her thoughts. She felt sad for a moment, until she crossed the threshold. It was back to work now on their brilliant mission.

The Flipswitch Chronicles. Part 3

"I don't understand why I get to be pushed around," the Engineer said, panting in the Traveller's wake.

"The answer lies in the question itself," the Traveller answered.

The Engineer stopped in his tracks, coming to the realization.

"Come, my dear, we are near out first stop." The Traveler said as he trudged the loose sands, kicking off pebbles from his path.

Quarter of a mile up was a faultline that cut the land like a horizon. The Traveller smiled. It wasn't visible from where they were standing, but it will be more apparent when they are close. The Traveller quickened his pace, excited to approach the faultline which held host the key to their survival.

They could almost see the ripples of distorted light, much like a hot-road mirage, but different. This was something that they could feel. Something under their skin was dancing to the gravity pull it exuded. Goosebumps intact, the Traveller made his last few steps before looking up to the large rip in the air, right above the crack in the ground. He immediately realized that it had grown from the time he found it two months ago. It was almost twice larger, now spanning a train cart length. 50 feet of dancing light which did not correspond to any spectrum they were familiar with. It stretched diagonally and he could almost touch it but dared not. The Traveller was proud of himself because he felt like he owned this thing, like he felt he owned all the others marked on his map. He turned to the Engineer, expecting to see a very awed young boy who would praise his discovery. However it was not the Engineer his eyes laid upon. It was the Chemist.

“I’m starting to really pity you.” The Chemist said, somehow sounding like he really meant it. “The boy left quite a while back. I met him going the other direction at Kluesy Town.” He walked past the dumbstruck Traveller and observed the rip in space, hanging in the air. “This is quite remarkable. I’ve only ever seen drawings of the one that appeared in our hometown. They were quick to isolate it.”

“Ch-Ch-Chemist! You followed me!” the Traveller exclaimed, sounding like he didn’t mean the shock.

“Well somebody was following you. You didn’t seem to mind it at all.”

“I thought you were the boy. So, what do you reckon? Possible, am I right?"

"Hmm... Yes... But it will be difficult."

"Well, since you’re here, you can start collecting data.”

“Here I thought I could dupe you. You meant me to follow all along.”

“You didn’t seem to mind.”

The Chemist sighed and put his bags down.

The Flipswitch Chronicles. Part 2

Brass pipes, steel doors.

The metallic clinking of wonder-works around the whole building.

They were all familiar to the Mercenary. However, just down the tunnel was an area he never ventured. For a reason, but that reason was overwritten by his desire to win. He wouldn't take the "don't win, but never lose" attitude the lower-rank citizens had made a motto of. He was the Mercenary, and he had to win, to stay on top. A very effective way to stay on top, he believed, is to have power. And quite honestly, power was the only way he could think of for this situation. He didn't have much knowledge like the other professor-ranked members. But as long as he held power in his hands, they would never top him.

The tunnel seemed to stretch far, and the pipings on the wall seemed to increase. The way was getting narrow; he had to be near by now, he reasoned. More mechanical sounds added to the constant chattering background, each wave echoing against surfaces, spiralling along the tunnel. He wasn't claustrophobic, but the myrad of sounds that enveloped him was telling him tales of fear. Only tales, because the Mercenary was too strong for that. It was very warm and humid as the coolers were challenged the deeper the tunnel went. Finally he came to the end of his walk.

The tunnel ended in a very large mass of space (because you couldn't call it a room) where the floor was a very very long way down, and so was the ceiling; being very very way up. Suspended in the middle of the room was a large round metal container with indentations that made it look like a miniature moon. Inside this container, held the thing he sought. He knew what it was, but not what it looked like. The Revolution Bureaucracy (RB) had been developing a new energy source that would one day take over their steam-engines. Rumours of "the Battery" had circulated within his ranks, but he was sure he was the only Doomsday member who held this rumoured information. Information that he could now prove true.

The space he was staring at would be the future research facility that would look into these "alternate energy sources". How bold of them, to place their inspiration like a trophy, no doubt to induce encouragement into the lifeless ranks of workers. Ideas the RB had were too futuristic and unbecoming for their world. The Mercenary never understood them, and always felt like they were from some place far. All that didn't matter though, because their world is ending.

He took out his crossbow and fired a precise shot to the pipings that held the container. A small anchor hooked around the pipe securely as he tugged the cord that attached the anchor to his crossbow. Without hesitation, he swung over to the container, forced it open and grabbed the object inside.