A Cupidian Beast
Borusa applies her foot again, kicking the worn and rust-edged medical console she has found in the generic old TT capsule’s silvery shell, that sleeping ruins in her memory from so long ago.
Finally, the diagnostic screens erupt into sputtering life, collecting the light until they provide her waiting eyes with a burned out, vague outline of a nondescript naked woman.
The gist of the data-corrupt primary scan reads,
L1L3^, L^ST PY+H1^.
PR3G&^&+ 8Y 0LM3GH1D0R^
^ $1&GL3 M^L3 3M8RY0.
The other scan’s basics echo the preceding outline’s, but paint a different picture than the first.
L1L3^: FL3$H ^V^T^R.
W1F3 0F R^$$1L0N.
F^L$1FY PR3G&^-CY 1& PR0GR-$$.
^U+H0R1Z^+10& C0D3 F0R P^R+1^L +3RM1NAT1ON OF PR0J3C+:
PtQ: CH3CKM^+3 1& +HR33.
C0MPL3+10& $+^+U$ 0F PR1M^RY 08J3C+1V3:
42%...D^+^ C0RRUP+ ????????????...
C^U$3 0F P^R+1^L PR0J3C+ +3RM1&^+10&:
C0MPL3+10& $+^+U$ 0F $#C0&D^RY 08J3C+1V3:
C0MPL3+3; $U8J3C+$ H^V3 $UCC3$$FULLY L3F+ 0R81+.
C^LL$1G& 0F ^DM1& C0RRUP+3D; ^PPR0X1M^+3 $U8$+1+U+10& ^$ F0LL0W$:
The lights illuminating the displays abruptly start plopping in and out of sync like little fishes playing in a narrow stream.
Finally, they dim.
Then the screens follow the lights into death, blipping once or twice with little hopping lines, before winking off.
Borusa’s wayward feet drag her shivering bum behind her until she hits what must be a wall.
But the wall slides into darkness, revealing the ambling space, hidden and ample, of a whole new room to her disabused spine, and as she contemplates the navigation of its dusty floor, she muses on the curious nature of certain revelations.
It is invariably curious that the scans are just lying there, waiting to flicker on, to be read, even if it -is- her own dream.
And curious indeed the scans should read in English, a human language, when she has never seen or read it, to her knowledge.
But most curious of all; that she would know one way or the other.
But nowhere near surprising.