Imaginaerum

Posted on Tue Oct 26th, 2021 @ 7:42pm by Lieutenant Myne Redal
Edited on on Fri Jan 7th, 2022 @ 1:27am

Mission: MISSION 0 - History Speaks
Location: DECK 8 - Cabin 40 G-O
Timeline: Current
1954 words - 3.9 OF Standard Post Measure

//ON//

'Twas the night before
When all through the world,
No words, no dreams
Then one day,
A writer by a fire
Imagined all of Gaia
Took a journey into a child-man's heart...
A painter on the shore
Imagined all the world
Within a snowflake on his palm
Unframed by poetry
A canvas of awe
Planet Earth falling back into the stars'

The voice that sounded in the cabin, chanting softly in strange rhymes with a saddened tone, resonated along with the sounds of metal being manipulated. A young Trill worked on the floor of her cabin, around her, countless pieces of equipment, shaped in various forms and tools being littered chaotically. The familiar custom PaDD was also being held by a small bot with a long, tall manipulator arm, making sure to keep the precious PaDD away from danger but still in view and reach of the Trill.

'What is it you dream of, child of mine?
The magic ride, the mermaid cove?
Never met a kinder heart than yours
Let it bleed
Leave a footprint on every island you see
I am the painted faces, the toxic kiss
Sowing of doubt, troll beneath the bridge
Come across
Death by a thousand cuts
Believe it, we live as we dream'

Her eyes showed the sign of fatigue and lack of sleep as she assembled the pieces, checked the wiring, and tested each piece several times. Her hand moved without thought to her face, using her wrist to wipe away slow-trailing tears that she was not aware of, nor did she seem to notice them. The movement of her hands was almost being made without registering with the Trill at all.

'Come and share this painting with me
Unveiling of me, the magician that never failed
This deep sigh coiled around my chest
Intoxicated by a major chord
I wonder
Do I love you or the thought of you?
Slow, love, slow
Only the weak are not lonely'

Time to connect the power supply to the gravity stabilizer. It was custom made and it looked the part, but it was compact. Its components have been reduced in size. Somewhere around the mess of her cabin, there was a printer of sorts, tweaked and modified to crank out parts and components at a reduced scale. Components that the Trill then manually assembled, broke, reprinted, and assembled again. Powering up the stabilizer caused an electric arc to shoot up and strike the Trill in the shoulder. The small burn went ignored as she powers down the gadget, opening up and starting to play with its components once more.

'Where is the wonder where's the awe
Where's dear Alice knocking on the door
Where's the trapdoor that takes me there
Where the real is shattered by a Mad March Hare
Where is the wonder where's the awe
Where are the sleepless nights I used to live for
Before the years take me
I wish to see
The lost in me'

Finally, the stabilizer worked, no more faults in it, no more smoke or discharges. Pulling the large metal bucket-looking container, she placed both the generator and stabilizer in. Carefully, then working to lock them in place. Everything she did seemed fascinating, only stopping to look at the PaDD, swiping to the side on the schematics displayed. A fault, something inefficient, a change had to be made to the schematic. Done, easy to adapt, maybe there is enough room for an extra power cell or two? Should be, yes, there should be.

'Restless souls will put on their dancing shoes
Mindless ghouls with lot of limbs to lose
Illusionists, contortionist,
Tightrope - walkers tightening the noose
Horde of spiders, closet tentacles
Laughing harpies with their talons ripping,
sher-chrisss, per-vizzz
The pendulum still sways for you
Such are the darks here to show you, child in a corner,
fallen mirrors, all kingdom in cinders'

With the power cells now placed, it was time to check if everything was secured. Turning the container to the side was hard, so hard, what was resisting her efforts? Ah, the stabilizer, rooting the container in place. Hmmm, wheels should be attached for mobility. First, she turned the stabilizer off, then with a grunt pushed the container to the side. Nothing rattled nor fell. Good, everything was connected, working, and secure. The power cells were charging slowly, good. Pulling the container back up it was time for the wheels.

'A kite above a graveyard grey
At the end of the line far far away
A child holding on to the magic of birth and awe
Oh, how beautiful it used to be
Just you and me far beyond the sea
The waters, scarce in motion
Quivering still
At the end of the river the sundown beams
All the relics of a life long lived
Here, weary traveller rest your wand
Sleep the journey from your eyes'

Her hand moved to wipe the tears from her cheeks again. And again the Trill did not notice the gesture or the implications. The wheels seemed balanced, four of them. The container had to be modified again, to allow the wheels to be inserted on the bottom and hidden from view, which meant having to rearrange the inside of the container and the gears inside. She had to take out two power cells, there were still enough. Putting everything back again was easy enough, the schematics had to be modified again.

'I went to die in a seaside hotel
Lanes of memory paved by sweet frozen moments
Deathbed memories of home
Never let me go
Every little memory resting calm in me
Resting in a dream
Smiling back at me
The faces of the past keep calling me to come back home
To caress the river with awe
You are the moon pulling my black waters
You are the land in my dark closet
Stay by my side until it all goes dark forever
When silent the silence comes closer
Deathbed memories of home
Never let me go'

Was this display good? It should be, small enough on the front to offer much-needed access for the internal system of the container. It was also connected to the processors and memory on the interior side of that wall of the container. The subroutine was activated and working, asking for instructions and purpose. The PaDD had something in it for this exact purpose, it just needed some recoding and bringing it up to date with the move modern system. That was not hard, the legacy itself should provide for her needs, the work of so many before her.

'Don’t give me love, don’t give me faith
Wisdom nor pride, give innocence instead
Don’t give me love, I’ve had my share
Beauty nor rest, give me truth instead
A crow flew to me, kept its distance
Such a proud creation
I saw its soul, envied its pride
But needed nothing it had
An owl came to me, old and wise
Pierced right through my youth
I learned its ways, envied its sense
But needed nothing it had'

It knew its purpose now, the subroutine seemed happy to serve its purpose and it tested its mobility, its range of power, and shock resistance. This discharge came from her, it was intentional but it still left a burn on her other hand. It did work, the internal power system had not been affected, the subroutine knew how to protect itself and to manage the power flow. Placing the lid over the container, the last part began. The boles came first, several of them, all nicely sliding into the couplings under the lid. Of course, now the Trill had to add proper insulation, water or liquids seeping inside of the container would spell doom for the whole machine, and that would have been bad. It would certainly break it and require the entire internal structure and components to be rebuilt.

'We live in every moment but this one
Why don't we recognise the faces loving us so
What's God if not the spark that started life
Smile of a stranger
Sweet music, starry skies
Wonder, mystery, wherever my road goes
Early wake-ups in a moving home
scent of fresh-mown grass in the morning sun
Open theme park gates waiting for
Riding the day, every day into sunset
Finding the way back home'

Now came the stems, leaves, sepals, pistils, receptacles, every single component part of a flower. These had been easy, so easy. Very modular, very complex, adaptable, changeable, powered, interchangeable, and so on. The only problem was tedium, it was a daunting task to repeat the same process over and over and over again, countless times almost. Finally, it was over. How long did this take? Hours? Days? She got up and went to do her shift, but there was no memory of it, just hazy fragments. This had consumed her, to create, to build, to innovate, to make something with her hands and mind. Her body and mind had gone through the motions maybe, doing everything right then returning here. Did she sleep? She could not remember.

'The nightingale is still locked in the cage
The deep breath I took still poisons my lungs
An old oak sheltering me from the blue
Sun bathing on its dead frozen leaves
A catnap in the ghost town of my heart
She dreams of storytime and the river ghosts
Of mermaids, of Whitman's and the ride
Raving harlequins, gigantic toys
A song of me, a song in need
Of a courageous symphony
A verse of me, a verse in need
Of a pure heart singing me to peace
All that great heart lying still and slowly dying
All that great heart lying still on an angel wing'

Finally, it was truly over. Getting up the subroutine began to activate everything, changing shapes, flower forms, lights, heights, lateral extensions, turning from a small shrub to a complex structure of flowers. Everything was working and power consumption was manageable. It would only need to recharge once a year hopefully, for the generator would eventually expire and need maintenance. But the important part was that it worked. Her job was done, her project was completed.

Emptiness, she felt soul-crushing emptiness, again alone, abandoned, nothing to fill the void, nothing to distract her from the horrors inside. What would she do now, why had she done this, what purpose did this serve? She felt tired, exhausted, she needed maintenance herself. Wait, could she even get maintenance? What was she? Looking down at her hands she understood what she was. She was dirty, she needed to clean herself and wash.

Slowly she shuffled to the bathroom and the lights came on. Something was wrong, she could feel it, something was not right. Looking into the mirror red eyes stared back at her. The dirty cheeks were covered in countless tear stains and trails, fresh new tears traveling mid-way down new paths.

The hand moved to wipe them and her gaze moved down to look at the now wet fingers. Was the bathroom shaking? No. Was her hand trembling? No. She was trembling, her entire body was. What was that sound? Was it her? Why was she sobbing? No, she was crying, loudly. The hand closed slowly as she dropped slowly to the floor, curling up in a ball, crying still.

"I hate you Redal, I hate you so much. Why do you torment me like this? All that great heart lying still and slowly dying."

//OFF//

Lieutenant JG Myne Redal
Assistant Chief Operations Officer
USS Elysium