weary old man.”
Then, on the video screen, Walter Meade looked down at the keyboard of the computer he was using to record the video and tapped a button. The video ended. The screen went black and the computer’s desktop returned.
Cyrus stared at the screen for several moments, not really seeing the screen but replaying in his head the expressions on Meade’s face as the man told his tale and asked for help. The old man clearly knew he would not be able to complete his project. From the sound of it, this project had consumed a great deal of the man’s life. Without a doubt, Cyrus suspected Meade had been one of the greatest minds of our time. What sort of project would’ve captured such a man’s attention for so long? What sort of science could keep a man like Meade interested for years and still leave him stumped? And what possible solution could Cyrus find that a great mind like Walter Meade’s could not?
Spinning around on the stool, he took in the contents of the vault with fresh eyes. Whatever all of this was, apparently it was everything to the old man. And he had left it to Cyrus.
What am I getting myself into?
In truth there was never any question. Backing out or refusing the undertaking wasn’t a consideration. Cyrus walked slowly toward the platform. It was old. It had a high-tech look to it, but an old antiquated high-tech look. Like something built in the sixties when they thought the world would be full of flying cars come the year 2000.
Cyrus slowly climbed the platform. As he stepped into the middle, he looked down. It was the first time he realized that he was wearing only socks on his feet. He found it amusing, but it made no difference. What the hell did this thing do anyway? The old man conveniently left that out of the story. It was an obvious part of his sales pitch.
The control panel was hanging at waist level at the side of the platform. After taking a brief look at the simple controls, Cyrus turned the key thirty degrees. He heard a loud click as the industrial grade contacts inside the switch locked in place. A moment later he heard the sound of electricity, a hum buzzing below his feet. A static charge filled the air.
He waited for the toggle switch to turn green.
As predicted, roughly sixty seconds later the light beneath the protective glass cap went green. He flipped the protective cap and snapped the switch into position. Again, it was another solid click indicating the internal components were substantial and not modern low resistance, low grade, mass produced parts. “Why the hell not?” Cyrus muttered to himself and laid his palm on the large red button. It took more force than he expected, but he pressed it. He quickly returned his hands to his side and confirmed he was standing in the center of the four foot wide circular platform. He smiled at the sight of his socks on the platforms cold surface. It felt like a sheet of glass beneath his feet. There was obviously a great deal of electricity flowing beneath the platform. Even a thin layer of rubber afforded by a pair of shoes would’ve been welcome right about now…
There was a flash of light followed almost instantly by a second, brighter flash. He felt static electricity the hair all over his body. He felt it spreading across the surface of his t-shirt, up the hair on his arms and down the hair of his legs under his jeans. The static made the day old stubble on his jaw and the short bristle of his hair tingle. There was one final flash of light.
Then the entire room went pitch black.
Cyrus stood completely still in the darkness. The static dissipated completely at the same moment the lights had gone out. His ears popped and he felt a little off balance.
What the hell was that?
What was this machine supposed to do anyway? Somehow blowing every breaker in the house didn’t seem very impressive.
Standing in the darkness, Cyrus tried to remember if there had been any emergency light fixtures in the vault. He
Then, on the video screen, Walter Meade looked down at the keyboard of the computer he was using to record the video and tapped a button. The video ended. The screen went black and the computer’s desktop returned.
Cyrus stared at the screen for several moments, not really seeing the screen but replaying in his head the expressions on Meade’s face as the man told his tale and asked for help. The old man clearly knew he would not be able to complete his project. From the sound of it, this project had consumed a great deal of the man’s life. Without a doubt, Cyrus suspected Meade had been one of the greatest minds of our time. What sort of project would’ve captured such a man’s attention for so long? What sort of science could keep a man like Meade interested for years and still leave him stumped? And what possible solution could Cyrus find that a great mind like Walter Meade’s could not?
Spinning around on the stool, he took in the contents of the vault with fresh eyes. Whatever all of this was, apparently it was everything to the old man. And he had left it to Cyrus.
What am I getting myself into?
In truth there was never any question. Backing out or refusing the undertaking wasn’t a consideration. Cyrus walked slowly toward the platform. It was old. It had a high-tech look to it, but an old antiquated high-tech look. Like something built in the sixties when they thought the world would be full of flying cars come the year 2000.
Cyrus slowly climbed the platform. As he stepped into the middle, he looked down. It was the first time he realized that he was wearing only socks on his feet. He found it amusing, but it made no difference. What the hell did this thing do anyway? The old man conveniently left that out of the story. It was an obvious part of his sales pitch.
The control panel was hanging at waist level at the side of the platform. After taking a brief look at the simple controls, Cyrus turned the key thirty degrees. He heard a loud click as the industrial grade contacts inside the switch locked in place. A moment later he heard the sound of electricity, a hum buzzing below his feet. A static charge filled the air.
He waited for the toggle switch to turn green.
As predicted, roughly sixty seconds later the light beneath the protective glass cap went green. He flipped the protective cap and snapped the switch into position. Again, it was another solid click indicating the internal components were substantial and not modern low resistance, low grade, mass produced parts. “Why the hell not?” Cyrus muttered to himself and laid his palm on the large red button. It took more force than he expected, but he pressed it. He quickly returned his hands to his side and confirmed he was standing in the center of the four foot wide circular platform. He smiled at the sight of his socks on the platforms cold surface. It felt like a sheet of glass beneath his feet. There was obviously a great deal of electricity flowing beneath the platform. Even a thin layer of rubber afforded by a pair of shoes would’ve been welcome right about now…
There was a flash of light followed almost instantly by a second, brighter flash. He felt static electricity the hair all over his body. He felt it spreading across the surface of his t-shirt, up the hair on his arms and down the hair of his legs under his jeans. The static made the day old stubble on his jaw and the short bristle of his hair tingle. There was one final flash of light.
Then the entire room went pitch black.
Cyrus stood completely still in the darkness. The static dissipated completely at the same moment the lights had gone out. His ears popped and he felt a little off balance.
What the hell was that?
What was this machine supposed to do anyway? Somehow blowing every breaker in the house didn’t seem very impressive.
Standing in the darkness, Cyrus tried to remember if there had been any emergency light fixtures in the vault. He
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