Temporal Tuesday: Dances with Wolves

Image by Colin Purrington via Flickr

Dear Readers,

  Imagine with me for a moment something that I think you won't accept as real.  Imagine a world where hominids did not win the evolutionary race to dominance.  It's not the most likely time stream after the hominids develop opposable thumbs, of course, but then the idea that evolution can diverge across time streams might be something you hadn't considered yet.

   When I was earning my second undergraduate degree, the one I got from the University itself, I took a class on evolutionary biology.  The professor cited Anachronism data that showed a time stream where humans' primary evolutionary competitors came to the forefront instead of humans.  This other animal had an intelligent mind, a social mentality, and was a most effective hunter.  This animal was the wolf.  The main reason that wolves and humans did not turn out the other way around in your time stream is right on the edge of your hand; they lacked the opposable thumb.

  Today, imagine a time stream where they did not.  I have (mostly) translated this species' quirks to make the piece more accessible.  The only word I cannot translate is the name "Rolf," though it's curious that this name appears in both wolven as well as German, though they have very different meanings.  Since the wolves are deeply religious, it's been easy to find analogs for other names.  For example, a wolf name meaning "the first wolf" is easily replaced with "Adam."

  Always,

  Dr. John Skylar
  Chairman
  Department of Anachronism
  University of Constantinople

Julie [Orig: "Young One"] clambered up the ramp outside the temple. [Reversed knees would not handle steps well]

Translation Walkthrough with Plastic Farmers, Part III

Image via Wikipedia

Dear Readers,

  I think we've gleaned about all we can from the primary sources.  Let's turn this into a narrative, shall we?

  Always,

   Dr. John Skylar
   Chairman
   Department of Anachronism
   University of Constantinople

The deck's constant pitch and roll made Stephen wan to grab one of the plastic bags off the litter and vomit into it on the double.  He could handle flipping a kayak with just his stomach muscles, but this damn ship and its slow waves out in the Gyre drove his anxiety and motion sickness into overdrive.

He punched the railing and cursed, "Why do I gotta be out here?"

Though he mean the question to be at the sea and the circumstances, he got an answer growled from behind him, "Because ain't another's got the chick-hands we need to use the machinery, that's why.  Not getyerass back to work.  They need this plasty soup back on the shore, maggot."

Stephen knew that voice.  Blogston, the asshole first mate.  Stephen stared at the rail in front of him, where he'd punched a moment before.  When they got back to port, he would hire the first person he could find who could make Blogston's death take more than 24 hours.

He stowed his fury, however, and just answered, "Fine."  If Blogston did not know Stephen hated him by now, then the first mate would have to be the thickest meathead in the butcher's shop.

"That's what I thought." the first mate huffed and the  walked back down the deck.  Stephen started to sigh his relief, but then he noticed a rope coil right in the first mate's path.  His eyes followed it back to the main plastic processor.  If the first mate stepped wrong he would get sucked into the machine and die in seconds.  Not that Stephen cared.  Instead, he felt his guts sink when he realized that if the first mate went into the machine, their entire catch would be ruined and his father would be furious.  Maybe even furious enough to send him out on another of these punishment missions.

Stephen dashed down the deck like a man possessed, and slipped on a water spot in the process, just as the first mate stepped closer to the rope.  They collided, and Blogston went down right next to the rope.  His nose broke the fall.

It took a couple of seconds for the large, bearlike superior officer to gather what happened.  He stood up, with a guttural roar from deep in his gut, and picked up Stephen by the sealskin collar.  No simple feat, at Stephen's size.

"You little shit!" Blogston growled through the blood that streamed down his face, "I'ma break your face too!"  A little blood flecked onto Stephen's shirt.

He meant it.  Stephen kicked out into Blogston's chest, which freed him from the hulk's slick grip.  Blogston yowled and tried to throw a punch out at Stephen, but the younger man ducked.

"I just saved ya from trippin' on the damn lead-rope, peasant sealcrap."  He placed a jab right into Blogston's cheek.  Strength wouldn't beat skill.

Blogston roared, "I wasn't gonna-"

The loudspeaker roared to life, "You wasn't gonna do shit, Blogston.  Kid's correct, this time.  Kid- get up to the wheelhouse, I'm gonna whip you for hitting my first mate.  Bein' correct don't make you in the right for hurtin' my man.  Captain's orders."

Blogston got in close to Stephen's face and hissed, "We'll finish this later."

The loudspeaker crackled again, "Like hell you will, Jeff.  I'll take care of the kid.  You get the damn plastic."

Stephen glared back at the first mate.  Perhaps they wouldn't kill each other.  Today.

Christmas Story: Mendel Claus

Image via Wikipedia

Dear Readers,

  This one is for the holiday, but I assure you that the events within are true for the time stream of origin.  Like yesterday's, it's not too far from your own time stream.

   The notion of some kind of "Jewish Conspiracy" is something you hear a lot about.  Thankfully, in your time stream, these are mostly jokes and not actual paranoia.  In the time stream that I'm featuring today, however, there is a global cabal of sorts, organized of specific Jews.

  Its aim is to repair the world.  And it does it in a most interesting way.

  Always,

  Dr. John Skylar
  Chairman
  Department of Anachronism
  University of Constantinople

Two boys outside laughed and yelled, "Man, I don't even know what we did last night!"

Weekend Worlds: Directions to Earth, Part II

Dear Readers,

  Yesterday I began to tell the story of mankind's return to Earth, far in the future, in a time stream where the planet will be lost from humanity's records.  We left the major players when they discovered a major peril, a fail-deadly system left on and ready to annihilate them.

Image via Wikipedia

  Today, the conclusion.

  Always,

   Dr. John Skylar
   Chairman
   Department of Anachronism
   University of Constantinople

"You know what this means, right?" Not everyone possessed Jan's historical expertise.

Mick shook his head.

"If the signal is reliable, it means that an old nuclear arsenal thinks it is under attack.  From us."

His lips formed a line, then broke, "And what does it plan to do about us?"

"As far as I know, launch itself.  I'll need to talk to the ship historian.  I estimate we have thirty to forty-five minutes to solve this one, or the search for Earth becomes humanity's most expensive barbecue."

Mick did not blink, "Can you be sure of that estimate?"

Jan shook her head, "No, of course not.  We might have ten minutes.  I'm optimistic.  Get me the damn ship."

He re-tuned his handheld to connect with the ship.

She heard a click through the earbud, then, "This is the Captain.  Advance party, are you trying to raise us?"

"Yes sir," Jan answered, "We've encountered something of a problem."

"And that is..."

"Sir, it's...Well, why not listen for yourself."  She nodded to Mick.

He tapped away at the screen and transmitted the message recording to their vessel.

After it played out, the Captain spoke again, "I can see where that would be a problem.  Regulations would say, on any other world, we get back into the atmosphere and head out.  Your recommendation, Lieutenant?"

"I don't know, sir.  I wanted to talk with the ship's Historian.  There might be a way to shut this thing down.  We might have time."  Jan rubbed her forehead.  She saw no

"All right, I'll have a chat with Rich, then."

They listened over the line while he engaged the in-ship communications system.  They heard only the Captain's half of the conversation.

"Rich?  Yeah, it's Captain Vine.

"Yes, well, I'm fine, thank you for asking, but we have a bit of a problem here, it's-

"I was getting to that.  There's this message, I've transmitted it to your console."

They waited while the ship's historian listened to the tape himself.

"Rich, where do you get off telling me to stop worrying-

"Oh, it's a film.  I see.  And they have such a device in it?

"Well, what do they do in the film, then?

"That's not really an option.  Rich, can we get realistic here?

"Hmm.  All right.  Thirty minutes, you think?  I'll work out some plans."

They heard a click while the Captain closed the line.

"All right, Jan, here's how it is.  Looks like this thing is real and the missiles probably still work.  We've got thirty minutes until they launch.  That means 25 minutes to come up with a solution.  Get back to the ship and to my pod immediately.  Don't tell anyone else about this."

A Day in the Life: Here There Be Monsters

Dear Readers,

  Tuesday brings you another Day in the Life, my name for a weekly piece that gives you a "slice of life" from one of the time streams that the Department studies.  It's a fictional short that I write, based on the primary sources from the given time stream I've chosen to feature.

  Today I decided to write about something a little different.  It's a time stream that is very, very similar to yours.  In fact, it might even be your time stream.  The truth of it is yours to decide.  The details, you'll see.  For my part, I don't judge the truth of a thing, but instead present it as it was believed.

Always,

Dr. John Skylar
Chairman
Department of Anachronism
University of Constantinople

LA never gave the 'foreboding city' feeling that Will expected.  Despite the hardboiled detective novels and that whole LA-noir 'confidential' culture, there just was nothing in an irrigated sunny desert paradise that made him shiver.

He looked out of the car to confirm he feelings.  Of course, he could find all kinds of seedy deals when he blew down Fairfax in his busted-up neo-Thunderbird, but it lacked the "Nighthawks" feel he hoped for when he moved out there from Bethlehem, PA.

"Puddles," Will's voice scratched out to no one in particular.  That's what it needed.  Rain, puddles, whatever.  A good flatfoot needed to tromp through the wind and wet and rain, not the breezy desert nights and orange-lit back lot palm trees.  Gumshoes should need to wear trenchcoats and hats just to keep dry, and their Italian leather shoes should make soggy slapping noises.  Instead, he felt surrounded by t-shirts, board shorts, under-armor and other superficial, modern crap.  LA felt like a bad place for a traditionalist.  "What a joke," he shook his head at the neighborhood.

Will came up near Canter's, but of course, could not see even a postage stamp of street parking.  He remembered the little lot nearby, though, and to his luck, found a space fast.  He locked the

Canter's, via Wikipedia

T-bird and straightened the rosary that hung off of its mirror.
Like usual, Will had to chuckle when he walked by the Kibbitz Room.  Nothing like an old Yiddish joke.  The new LA Jews lacked jokesters like the old, too.  He sighed.  Nothing here went deeper than ten years.  Even the land shook off its history like a bad case of fleas, with every earthquake.

He ducked into Canters' and took a dead-on look at an unfamiliar maitre'd.

Weekend Worlds: Jonas and the Metro, Part III

Dear Readers,

  Enjoy this final piece of Jonas and the Metro, translated by yours truly from the original neo-Aegean.

  When we last left the Engineer Jonas, his fellow bathyscaph metro passengers cast him into the waters in the metro tunnel.  From there, we continue.  Look for Parts I and II in the archives, or in the links.

  Always,

  Dr. John Skylar
  Chairman
  Department of Anachronism
  University of Constantintople

The journey out of the bathyscaph metro car plunged Jonas into a topsy-turvy world of tunnel seawater.  Buffeted from left to right, he got only the few minutes' air that an occaisional trip to airpockets at the tunnel ceiling offered him.

If he could have spoken, he might well have said, "Not only will I die, but I will be tortured!  I should never have doubted Athena!"

He struck his head against the ceiling, and descended into darkness with no knowledge whether he would ever return.  [this is a good point to request donations to hear the end of the story; attached to Jonas, your audience will now want to put in a few bits to see what happens to him here]

Jonas came to consciousness surrounded by selkies.  On land, the color and shape-changing creatures seemed more innocuous and innocent than he ever noticed before.  As his thoughts clambered through the fog to find coherence, he watched their young play and fight amongst each other.

"I'm in their nest," he spoke aloud.  The selkies would not care if he talked to himself.

Somehow, as the waters bounced him about, they deposited him in a selkie nest above the tunnel waterline.

"I can't believe it," Jonas said to himself again, and shook his head.

The selkies all turned to face him, and communally opened their mouths.

"Indeed, that is exactly the lesson we tried to teach you.  But you did not see it.  And so, we summoned our servants, these selkies, to save you from the water, so that you might see how we control this world."

Jonas sat dumbfounded, and then prostrated himself, "Athena?"

Back to neo-Aegea: Jonas and the Metro Part I

Dear Readers,

  Neo-Aegea remains a major focus of my research, and it also seems to build a large amount of reader response, so I thought that I would provide another primary source from the neo-Aegean dataset that I have.

  Like the things you've seen before, this source is a story from neo-Aegea.  Remember that neo-Aegea lacks the robust media that you are used to in your time stream, and so storytelling will be a more serious profession there.  These stories represent one of the main entertainment outlets for the Aegeans.  If you saw my post yesterday on Augury, you can imagine that this is why the stories come in with such a strong signal.

  The story today is once again by the Homerian "Civet the Storyteller," though I cannot say if it's an ancient oral story that Civet wrote down for the first time, or if it is something a little more original.  It clearly has a basis in several Judeo-Christian biblical stories, but of course mixed with Ancient Greek paganism and culture from your time stream.  Perhaps you can give me some insights to elements I do not understand about it.

Below, see my translation of the story's first part, after the jump, since I have finally gained the ability to add jumps.  Over your weekend, the second part will go up.  Once again, words in brackets are stage directions for a public performance by a storyteller.

Always,

Dr. John Skylar
Chairman
Department of Anachronism

University of Constantinople

    Athena, a major player in this myth.

A Day in the Life: Martian Milestones

Dear Readers,

Yesterday I posted a folk song from a specific time stream's Mars colonies, one written early on during their history. While I'm tempted to write a long piece of analysis on the idea of grassroots music vs. the genre of folk music, sadly Tuesday is not the day for me to do that.

Tuesdays are for A Day in the Life, where I post a "slice of life" from one of the different time streams I study. I've been on a Martian kick lately, so I'm going to stay on that for this Day in the Life.

Last week I posted a primary source from a colony founded by refugee Armenians from a war that your time stream has not seen. I do not know if it will see that war, but I wouldn't rule it out. Either way, it's likely that you're removed from that particular source, but the challenges those settlers faced are pretty common among time streams where Mars is colonized. Human life on Mars, when it first gets started, will be pretty tough.

Yesterday's Monday Muse gave you a folk song from another Martian colony time stream, which had many challenges shared with the first. It also depicts a hard life with scarce supplies and the like, from its skinny girls and pleas to return from Olympus City.

Well, those of you who follow my Friday Seminars know what I'll do with that. Those two primary sources have a lot of emotional undercurrent, and I'm going to use that to get at the real spirit of Martian colonization. Hopefully my efforts, presented below in fictional story format, hit close to the mark.

Always,

Dr. John Skylar
Chairman
Department of Anachronism
University of Constantinople

The blue Martian dawn looked so much like an Earth night that it just made Levon feel like he woke up too early. He still needed to get used to life here, if he expected to survive it.

Levon turned away from the window, to face his bedroom. He tiptoed past the head of the bed, so he would not wake up his wife. Eliza needed her rest, for their child's sake. With so few children in New Kharkov, her role as a full-time mother was more important than anything he could ever do as one of many farmers. Funny, to think of feminism back on Earth. The only people who really mattered on Mars were women. Men are cheap, in an evolutionary sense. Levon certainly felt cheap.

If Mars taught him anything, it was the cheapness of life. People died every day, from malnutrition, usually. Accidents came in second. Then the strange diseases that came with life on Mars. Bone diseases, mostly. Ah, space.

He got on his rubberized farming clothes. Aside from the workboots, they felt so different from what he would have worn on Earth as well. Here, nothing could be the same. Instead of fields, they used vertical hydroponic farms. Instead of corn, wheat, or rice, they grew legumes and vegetables. Real bread felt like a luxury. For good reason.

Still tired and unmotivated, he snapped up the suit. This would be another day of menial work with no evidence of payoff. He found it hard to look forward to. Plus, Akim's wife looked like she might die, and so he knew his friend would not be at the farm today. The man found--and now might lose--two wives in as many seasons. Such is Mars.

Dressed in the black rubber suit, Levon squished his way out of their family's colony quarters. At least this morning he would be on time to the farm. When he ran late, the boss often cut him slack, but that made the other workers angry. They felt he got privileges because of his child.

"Look at Levon, so virile that he can't even work," they'd tease. He resented it, of course. It's not like he knew that he would be so "lucky" that his sperm would work in the lower gravity. He wanted to accept that they just felt jealous, but he could not.

Levon tripped over something on his doorstep as he walked out. What's this? He looked down and saw a letter. For the next minute, he debated whether or not he would bend down to pick it up. He shrugged, and went for it. As he squeaked his way down, he heard a tremendous boom and felt the ground shake. Startled, he grabbed the letter too hard and crumpled it a little.

What the hell was that? He shoved the letter in his pocket. It could wait. If the farm went up for some reason, they would need him there. He rushed through the habitat section, practically running, though his suit turned it into more of a stumbling, too-fast walk.

On the way, he saw his neighbors poke their heads out their doors, bleary-eyed and surprised. It seemed a lot of people heard the sound. No one seemed to know the cause, until he saw his friend Garabed, letter in hand, flag him down from one side of the corridor.

"Levon! Did you read this?!?"

Levon slowed himself down, in the least graceful fashion possible.

"No, why?"

"Because it explains why you don't have to run. In fact, you don't really need to rush anywhere."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Hagopian. He just blew himself, and the rocket fuel, all to hell. We're stuck here for a long while."

The news hit Levon like a rockslide. "Shit, what?"

"You heard me. We're here for good."

Levon did not know how to react. For a month, all he wanted to do was pack up the colony and leave. They had so many problems since arrival. Half of the people who came, were dead. They were better off with the war back home, war crimes or no. And now Hagopian went and did this.

"That coward. Killed himself too, just so we couldn't argue. Who's gonna take over?" Levon tried not to growl at his friend.

"Letter doesn't say."

"Damn, well, I still need to get to work, I think."

Garabed nodded and Levon left him in the corridor. He decided not to try and run anymore, though. Even with the explosion he would still be early. Plus, he did not want to take the chance that he would trip inside one of these stainless steel deathtrap corridors.

The farm seemed quiet when he got to its vertical fluorescent hydroponic jungle. The watering machines whirred in the background, but their volume was closer to Earth crickets than heavy machinery. Here and there he heard mice scurry through some of the planters. No matter how hard they tried, the colonist found it hard to sever the bond between humans and rodents.

We could learn a thing or two from them. They're not having birth problems.

He looked around. Nobody else at work yet. Just Levon and the soybeans. He went to punch in at the thumbprint reader. Right as he walked up, he saw it on the screen:

"Work suspended in light of fuel crisis. All employees on one day unpaid leave."

Levon punched the wall, hard. "DAMMIT!" he yelled, then, "Aw, ouch." He rubbed his hand, bruised, no doubt, on the unforgiving metal.

Two hours old and this day already got itself into the running for his worst on Mars yet. At least he knew the farm could run itself for the day. Maybe they would make it through.

Friday Seminar: Case Study #2, Emotional Undertones

Dear Readers,

It's time for my Friday Seminar again. This is a weekly feature, where I take you through part of the material in my introductory class, CHRN/AUG 100.

For the past two weeks of Seminar we've discussed the leap from emotive connotations in sources to conclusions about overall "zeitgeist," or spirit, of a given society in a given time stream. To review, we use the emotive undertones of a source to extrapolate what the driving passions of the culture that produced that source are. In principle, it's straightforward. In practice it can be tricky.

Since I featured neo-Aegea this week, I'll use the source I posted yesterday for our case study. My analysis of that source is by no means complete, so the conclusion I come to here are as new to me as they are to you.

The first steps in our analysis, as they have been since the beginning, are to establish a quick idea of the source type and a short critique of that source for us to keep in mind as we go forward.

What I posted yesterday is an easy source type. It was a myth, recorded for the purpose of public performance by a storyteller who hoped to earn money for his efforts. Therefore, I'll call it a mythic play, and leave it there.

What about our critique? That is a little more complicated. Let's keep in mind:

• This source is a myth. Myth typically describes any story with some religious tones that would be called "true" by the people who produced it, but doubted by people from virtually any other society. We have to keep in mind not that this source seems false to us, but that it is quite real to a neo-Aegean.
• This source is for commercial gain. Because it was meant to make money for the storyteller, there are places where clearly the events in the original myth are over-dramatized. It's possible that the original myth, even, is not as bombastic as this source. It's possible that the religious account has wild differences from this text. We need to keep that in mind as well.

While the downside of these two points is that we can't trust the source for much about the everyday life of an average Aegean, the upshot is that this source gives us a great idea of both the sorts of beliefs held by Aegeans as well as the kinds of entertainment that they sought out. Perfect for our emotive undertone analysis.

Let's look at some of the major emotional elements of this story:

• Engineers: Cadmus represents an active authority in his role as an adventurer, explorer and religious official. He is the "hero," and the fact that he is an "Engineer," which means a priest to an Aegean, tells us that religion is rather central to their society. Furthermore, the only entityies that Cadmus subordinates himself to are either gods, or another Engineer like Tiresias, with inspiration from the gods. Clearly, this society has a hierarchical view of the world, with religion at its apex.
• War: this myth is quite foreboding. The "sown men" are meant for war, as Athena warns us. The Storyteller is invited by the stage directions to advertise further stories of war, as well, and to increase the suspense just before the prediction of war is made. That tells us that stories of battle captivate the Aegean audience. These are not pacifists.
• Darkness: dark areas, caverns, and pitch-black oracular halls dominate this story. Aegea is a place full of darkness, and the contradiction presented by a blind seer in a dark room tells us more about Aegeans. Their need to "see" around them is more limited than societies that include greater description in their stories. This may have something to do with their sea floor life, or perhaps some the anti-curious drives that are prevalent in such a Dark Age society.
• Light: still, there is one very strong source of light in this story. The "Golden Bathyscaph" that Cadmus uses to travel, which you would probably call a "golden submarine," is a source of brightness and light. Through the Engineer, darkness is banished, light is produced, and preparations are made to defend from war. This kind of thing entertains the Aegean audience; again we see a centralizaation of the Engineers in their culture, as a source of light against the pervasive darkness.

So far, we have themes of subordination to religious order, in other words, submissiveness, as well as themes of violence, darkness, and light, again from the religious order. These emotive themse combine to paint a picture of at least part of Aegean society. In the era of this story's telling, it is a violent, dark place in most of its corners, with the stability and light sourced only from the powerful religious system. The rest of the people look to these Engineers for the goodness in their lives because of the darkness that surrounds them, both in terms of knowledge and literal currents of war and danger in the environment. And with that, we've reached an understanding of part of the zeitgeist, the driving spirit, of their Age. This understanding, gleaned also from other sources, inspired my "Day in the Life" post earlier this week.

Now, off to your weekend.

Always,

Dr. John Skylar
Chairman
Department of Anachronism
University of Constantinople

A Day in the Life: Tunnel Rats

Dear Readers,

I've decided to begin a new feature here, called "A Day in the Life," where I give you a taste of life in one of the many time streams our department studies. Essentially, each of these posts will be a short story, a creative piece of microhistorical fiction, where I focus on one fictional individual who I think is a good example of his or her contemporaries.

While the stories will be what you would call "fiction," it's hard for me to say that the people I write do not exist. The places, of course, are based on my research, and so to me are very real.

For the first piece, I've chosen to continue my themes on the New York Subway, and write about one of the many time streams where a unique culture develops there. Enjoy!

Always,

Dr. John Skylar
Chairman
Department of Anachronism
University of Constantinople

The shimmery threads of Eno's makeshift confetti net dipped into the water, glitter lost in the dark brown muck. Like usual, he and Tom thought they might catch something interesting.

"Can we move down the platform a little, Eno? There's that drafty spot, and it's so hot in here." Tom's voice neared its too-frequent whine.

"Tom, you're ten years old now," Eno sighed, "You can't take it easy like that no more." He looked at his sandy-haired, younger friend. At thirteen, Eno knew that if anyone else in the subway saw Tom's weakness, they would take advantage.

"It's just some air, Eno," Tom squealed.

"I said no. Now pipe down 'fore somebody hears you."

"But Eeeeno-"

"Wait! I think I got something!" He yanked the net up from the water as soon as he felt the tug. The flooded six train tunnel carried a lot of things down from what remained of the Bronx. This time, he hauled in a live fish, a dead rat, and something else.

Once they took care of the fish, Tom asked, "Eno! What's inside that?"

"I don't believe it...it's...there's a note in this jar!" He rushed to open it. This could be big. If someone with access to paper needed their help, it could mean a big payoff.

Eno's dirty hands broke the tape that kept the note rolled up, and spread out the paper on the subway platform. They looked at the paper together.

SURVIVORS IN NEW YORK:

His Benificience, LORD JAMES STRONGMAN, Calls you to arms!

For a place in his Army, come to HARLEM-125th ST & LEXINGTON

There you will be tested! If worthy, you will get:

• Food
• Water
• Antibiotics
• Weapons

COME ONE COME ALL

"Benfi...beni...huh?" Tom struggled with the words.

"Beneficence," Eno corrected him, "It means he's a nice guy."

"He's got medicine and food."

Eno grinned, "He sure does! Sounds a lot better than most of these other 'lords' running around. If he's for real."

Tom shook his head, "Why would he lie, Eno?"

The older, darker-haired boy laughed. "Why, to catch," he paused to put Tom in a playful headlock, "Poor suckas like you!"

"Hey! Stoppit!" Tom laughed anyway. Eno let him go.

Now serious, he instructed, "Get the boat."

"Why?"

"We'll check it out. If it smells bad, we'll bug out. It's too good to ignore."

"Sure is."

The two boys scrambled down a rope ladder on the grimy platform and clambered into a waiting motor-raft. The faded words "Boston Whaler" peeked out from the waterline. Eno started the engine and they sped away, down the tunnel, into darkness.

More of "The Neuromorphosis"

Dear Readers,

As promised, I have decided to offer more stories from my work in life and from my translation works. Here is more of "The Neuromorphosis", which I adapted from Franz Kafka's "The Metamorphosis."

Always,

Dr. John Skylar
Chairman
Department of Anachronism
University of Constantinople

Horus turned to look out the window at the dull weather. He heard drops of rain strike the pane, which made him feel quite sad.
"How about if I sleep a little bit longer and forget all this nonsense," he thought, but he could not fall back asleep, as he was used to roosting upright, but for some reason he no longer found this comfortable. He tried it a hundred times, and shut his eyes so that he wouldn't have to look at his awkward, bent, fleshy legs. He only stopped when he lost his balance and fell out of bed.
"Oh, God", he thought, "What will this do to my social standing? I can no longer fly as I used to!” He felt a slight itch up on his belly and pushed himself slowly up on his back towards the headboard so that he could lift his head better. He found where the itch was, and saw that it was covered with lots of little brown hairs which puzzled him. When he tried to feel the place with one of his legs he drew it quickly back because as soon as he touched it a cold shudder overcame him.

On Zeitgeist

Dear Readers,

I think that the best way to describe what it is that I do is that I coagulate zeitgeist into a linguistically digestible form. We take raw data, we translate it, and then we squeeze it for meaning until we can say something about the era that it came from.

Or until we can say too much.

But one way or the other, what we are really trying to get at is the idea of what it felt like to live in the society of interest. Part of this is to really feel th text, to become part of its gestalt, and to completely immerse yourself within it. Another part is to completely immerse yourself in people. That's what zeitgeist really is; "crowdsourced" personality, and to study it we have to do something like collecting little snippets of everything and then trying to stitch them together.

I say all of this because in my quest to relate the experience of our department, I realise I've made a major ommission. We live our lives reading stories and understanding them. Reading my letters may get across what I am like, or some part of the feeling of my profession. Reading my stories, and the stories I translate, will give you the real experience. Expect to see more of them.

Always,

Dr. John Skylar
Chairman
Department of Anachronism
University of Constantinople

One of My Writings from My Life

Dear Readers,

In a fit of amusement, the Augury Department today presented me with something I recognized immediately: a short story that I wrote during my time-normal life. Unable to read my native language, they presented it unaware of this fact, but we had a good laugh over it once I saw the transcript. It is only a fragment, but it goes like this:

One morning, when Horus woke from centuries of troubled dreams, he found himself transformed in his bed into a horrible vermin. He lay on his fleshy back, and if he lifted his feathered head, he could see his belly, slightly domed and also covered in hair. His legs, pitifully thin compared with his once powerful frame, would have made him laugh if he saw them on someone else.

"What's happened to me?" he thought. It was no dream. His room, and its four familiar sandstone walls, stood around him as always. On the table, laid out, he could see his ankh, staff, and crown--Horus was a nobleman--and above it hung a picture that he recently took from an illustrated magazine and housed in a fine gilded frame. It showed a lady, her scales glinting in the sunlight, her upper arms clad in fur, and her lower two arms clasped around her tail.

When I wrote this, I believe it was for some form of creative writing assignment, with the prompt that it must be an homage to some literary great, but with a fantastical twist. As you can see, I picked Franz Kafka's The Metamorphosis, but added something of Egyptian myth, as well as something else. Given the mythic undertones in my recent work on the neo-Aegean data, I could not resist sharing this fragment with you. Perhaps I shall reconstruct the full story for you sometime in the future.

Always,
Dr. John Skylar
Chairman
Department of Anachronism
University of Constantinople

Cross-cultural Evidence!

Dear Readers,

I report to you with excitement about the neo-Aegean data! I have found some references which indicate you are direct precursors of this society. It is truly beyond incredible to me that I can tell you something that may be in store for you. Of course, we've screened everything so no one may use it for their gain. And remember, just because the augur sees it, does not mean it shall definitely be so. Caveat emptor.

Below is a fragment of what seems to be a record of an oral story, from that data set. You will see immediately why I theorize that it originates from your culture.

"[beginning of tale is truncated] it was then that Mr. Bennett stared flatly at Heracles and said, "Sir, if your intentions toward my daughter are untoward in the least, you may find me capable of more than sitting in chairs and offering pithy comments."

Now, children, you know that gods, even demigods, do not often take well to criticism. However, in this case, Heracles respected Mr. Bennett as the worried father, and calmed his temper. He smiled widely, and gods'-fire could be seen arcing off of his teeth, "Mr. Bennett, I assure you that if anything ill should come to your daughter as a result of my advances, I will repay every damage to your family with an entire constellation of stars. I will work any labor you ask."

Mrs. Bennett giggled with delight, but the god could see that her husband was still less than pleased."

The manuscript ends there, however I suspect that somewhere in the rest of the data, I will find the end to this story. As soon as I can, I shall communicate it to you.

Always,

Dr. John Skylar
Chairman
Department of Anachronism
University of Constantintople