The Tower in the Torch
==December 19th, 2027, 18:21==
{{#if:Work in progress.png|}} | This story is a work in progress. |
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{{#if:Jigsaw green.png|}} | Pig and Whistle story universe |
{{#ifeq: | | {{#ifeq: Lloyd | |
{{#ifeq: Lloyd Brunnel | ||
Author: Lloyd Brunnel
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{{#ifeq: Lloyd Brunnel | |
Author: Lloyd |
Author: Lloyd
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{{#ifeq: Lloyd | |
{{#ifeq: Lloyd Brunnel | | Authors: ' |
Authors: Lloyd Brunnel
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{{#ifeq: Lloyd Brunnel | |
Authors: Lloyd |
Author: Lloyd
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}} {{#if:| — see also [[:Category:{{{category}}}|other works by this author]]}}
I leaned forwards over my desk, examining the strange object in my hands. It was an early Christmas present from Dad: one of the new prototypes his company had come up with. He would sometimes bring one home from work and let me fiddle with it; I’d try and figure out what it was and, on rare occasion, try to improve it. Ostensibly it was market research—if someone could figure the product out without needing to be told it meant that it was more accessible to the consumer—but we both knew it was because I loved to tinker with things and that—as much as he would go on about ‘finding your own path’—Dad was more than happy encouraging me to follow in his footsteps as an inventor. Not that I needed much persuasion.
The prototype I had been given this time was one of the weirdest I had ever seen. It was a strap of leather with a series of Plexiglas bubbles on the end. Guessing from the drawstring, this was supposed to be wrapped around part of the body, but it was too long to be for an arm and too short to go around the waist.
I was feeling lightheaded so I rubbed my forehead to clear my thoughts. The cold must be messing with me—I’d been feeling off all day and the dizzy spells weren’t helping any. Grabbing a sweater from my dresser I returned to my desk and re-examined the leather strap. I could easily imagine it as some kind of belt, but that didn’t make much sense—Albion wasn’t about weird fashion accessories, it made teefer adapted technology.
A light bulb went off in my head as the obvious solution came into focus. The strap was a TAT, which meant that I would know what it was if I figured out which species morph it was meant to help. I flipped the strap over and examined the three slit openings beneath where the glass bubbles were on the other side. Gills came to mind, maybe this was meant to go around the user’s neck? I tried tying it around my own neck—it seemed to fit and the bubbles were where a teefer’s gills would be, though I had some trouble tightening it without choking myself. So I knew where it went—around the neck of a fish morph—but not what it did. The openings ruled out some type of ballast tank or swim-bladder substitute, but maybe the bubbles had to be filled with something…
I grinned as the answer came to me—water, obviously! I ran to the bathroom and opened one of the bubbles to fill it with water in order to test my theory. As I closed the bubbles and retied it around my neck and chill ran down my spine as the water began to seep through the openings onto my skin. It was a gradual, but small flow—there must be a pressure seal inside the leather itself to control the release rate. I untied the strap and headed back to my desk. Now that I knew what it was, it was time to start fiddling—my favorite part. I took out my tools and went to work.
Ten minutes later I leaned back in my chair, smiling at the finished product. I was a little disappointed that there wasn’t much I could change about the strap other than replacing the drawstring with a clasp, but it still felt good to be able to improve something Dad’s R&D department came up with.
A light from the window caught my eye and I looked out through the frosted glass over the yard. Christmas lights had just flickered on across the trees—probably Sam’s doing. I grinned at the thought; my sister may have been three years my senior but she was the youngest at heart and would make it her personal mission each year to decorate the house for the holidays. After admiring the coloured display my thoughts returned to the TAT lying on my desk. I grabbed the strap and ran downstairs to show off what I had done.
Dad was in his office—or rather, his workshop. Scraps of paper lined the room and the floor was covered with discarded blueprints, cables, and various bits of failed inventions. Mom always nagged him about the mess but he never listened. “Albion wasn’t founded on brooms and mops.” He’d say, and I was inclined to agree; clutter sparked the creative mind more than cleanliness.
For once, Dad wasn’t pouring over his workbench when I entered—he was at the desk doing paperwork.
“Ah, Johannes,” he beamed as I stepped over some loose cables, “out of your room so soon? Don’t tell me you’re stumped already.”
I grinned, showing him the strap. “Sorry, not this time. It’s a lubrication device, meant to prevent gills on fish morphs from drying out.”
He chuckled. “And here I was thinking you wouldn’t figure it out until New Year’s. Oh well, it’s the thought that counts.”
I nodded and placed the strap in front of him. Dad immediately picked it up and examined the ends where I replaced the drawstring.
“Clasps?” He inquired.
I nodded again. “The string was good but I almost choked myself trying to tighten it. Besides, knots can get loose over time or become almost impossible to undo. This way the user can tighten it easier and it won’t be hard to undo.”
“Wonderful!” He enthused. “I can’t wait to bring this in to the office. There was a pool going around on whether you’d be able to do anything with this one, and I daresay—Dr. Sauls is going to be out quite the penny.”
He patted me on the head, then frowned. “You’re feeling a bit warm, everything all right?”
I blinked. “Yea, I’m fine. The cold’s just getting to my head.”
“Fair enough.” Dad said, adding, “You may want to go help Samantha set up the rest of the lights by the way; trees are all well and good but your mother would kill us both if she fell off the roof again.” “Ah, right.” I replied hastily. I ran to the hall closet and threw on my winter jacket, scarf and boots before darting out the door. Sure enough, when I reached the front yard my sister was already leaning the ladder up against the garage door.
“Hey, Sam!” I called out.
She turned, beaming when she saw me. “Oh, Johannes! Let me guess, Mom sent you out to help me?”
“Dad.” I corrected when I reached her.
Sam made a pouting look. “One time! One time I mess up—”
“You fell off the roof for the fifth time in three years.” I interrupted. “You’re not very co-ordinated.”
I held out a hand. “Let me do the lights, you can hold the ladder.”
She sighed. “Fine. But make sure to do it right!”
“Yea, yea.”
Sam gave me the lights and held the base of the ladder as I climbed on to the overhang above the garage. Stringing the lights wasn’t that hard—Sam had stuck holders on the rain ducts a few years back so all I had to do was feed the cable through the little hooks. I had finished setting up about half of them when I started to feel dizzy again. I was also starting to feel hot so I unbuttoned my coat.
“You ok up there?” Sam called from the ground.
“Yea… it’s nothing.” I called back. I was starting to feel weak so I hurried to finish the rest of the lights. As I leaned over to hook in the last one my head suddenly felt like it had caught fire. I dropped the lights and immediately pulled off my scarf but it didn’t help, the heat just continued to build and spread across my body as my vision blurred. Everything lost focus and I keeled over, blacking out as I fell from the roof. The last thing I heard was my sister’s panicked yells.