A man in a tweed suit shuffled up the cobblestone steps and through a rough-hewn wooden door set in an oddly narrow, two-story brick building. Chipped black letters painted on a sign clung precariously to a rusty chain, adjacent to a broken window that read “Historical Archives”. The man struggled with the heavy door. He cursed the carpenter who made it, then the tree it came from, before he mustered enough strength to open it and step inside. A gray pigeon perched upon the sign flew away, startled by the thud from the door when the man shut it behind him.

An uneven staccato followed the man across the foyer as his cane tapped a timid rhythm on the floor. He walked towards a desk next to the far wall, which looked fragile and out of place. No other furniture was in the room. The only other item was a coat rack, where with a soft click he hung his hat and jacket. He sighed, breathed in the thick, musty air, and sank into the familiar leather chair with a noisy creak.

He pressed the power button on a grimy monitor with his finger. Whirling noises from machinery coming to life hummed enthusiastically beneath the desk, pushing a tiny puff of dust through ventilation slits at the top of the computer tower. A dull green pixel faded into view on the monitor before him. Letters chased the floating pixel across the screen. The man tensed and leaned in squinting. He produced a pair of spectacles from his pocket, rested them on the bridge of his nose and tapped his fingers together in anticipation. It had been quite some time since one of the archaeology teams had discovered a legible historical document.

CONTENT INCOMING…

DISCOVERY

< Field team 5 >

< Fjord excavation site >

CLASSIFICATION

< Manual >

AGE

< Test results>

< Inconclusive >

<Ancient, Past-modern>

CONDITION

< Poor >

< Fire, II >

< Water, I >

SIGNIFICANCE

< Pending review >

Excerpt 1:

Congratulations, welcome to The Program!

This manual marks the beginning of your journey toward certification. Carry it at all times. Study it thoroughly. The manual is everything. Dedicate yourself to it.

Contents:

Theory
Operation
Maintenance
Repair
Emergency protocols

Models 9849C -7835L

Series II beta and up.

!! WARNING !!

While the possibilities of reactors are limitless, it is essential to fully grasp their complexities before use. Operation by untrained personnel is strictly prohibited. User error has led to catastrophic consequences including natural disaster, altered time, extinction, evolutionary deviation, etc.

Disseminating, copying, and/or distributing the contents of this manual in any way is causation for immediate expulsion from the program along with temporary incarceration pending criminal investigation. As citizenship is [voluntarily] suspended during the program, formal charges may include: life imprisonment, excommunication, banishment, sterilization, or execution.

[Illegible pages]...

The man clicked the file. He rotated a ball set into a joystick with his index finger, scrolling painstakingly slowly through a digital stack of ruined pages. The manuscript was burned at some point. It had significant water damage as well. It was ripped. Pages were stuck together. Sections had disintegrated. Much of it was soiled by dirt, heavily stained, and eaten by bugs.

He diligently assessed the damage. He paused at each page, then after careful consideration assigned a degree of damage from one to ten. His brow knotted in concentration. He lived for these old manuscripts, full of words from lost and wonderful eras. It was so unfortunate the elements treated records so harshly. It pained him to think of the wealth of knowledge the pages contained that would remain lost forever.

One hundred and fifty three pages later, maybe a couple dozen had recoverable text. He’d phone the forensics boys when he was done and cross his arthritic fingers in hopes they could work their magic on them. This was more than just a manual. Each page was a slice of history, every word a testament to the ability of the ancients. They couldn't afford to miss anything.

He settled himself, shifting his weight in the chair. He pushed his sadness aside. There was more here than grief. He felt a hunger to uncover the mysteries of this “program.” He leaned in, infatuated with the possibility of discovery. Secrets ready to be unraveled by his own hands. Could he reveal the true capacity of these enigmatic Reactors his people inherited from their ancient predecessors? One can dream, he thought. He pulled up the next block of legible text, ready to dive deeper into the secrets of the past.

Excerpt 2:

...and for these reasons, it is irresponsible for practitioners to be allowed to enter the experimentation phase without demonstrating complete mastery of theory, operation, and, perhaps most importantly, ethics.

Note to instructors: Students must show proficiency in these benchmarks by the end of term. Students that do not meet these requirements will be assigned to observation by The Program review panel for further assessment to determine fitness for re-entry or assignment of memory extraction.

Handwritten note on page:

At this stage, I must implore imaginative creation over brute force. Art through science. Our job is to nurture, not simply create. While logic is capable of a sterile beauty, our legacy will come from technicians skilled enough to implement flaws into their designs that are subtle enough to operate within the parameters of the system.

[Illegible pages]

More illegible pages. Not so many as before, but he was distracted. His mind raced. A handwritten note! That was an exceedingly rare find. And, it seemed the capabilities of Reactors may be far more profound than his people had been able to ascertain in all their years of tinkering. It was a wonder, he thought, that none of the dire consequences mentioned had been unleashed. Or had they? Would they know? He steepled his fingers together and placed them against his pursed lips, lost in thought. Perhaps their ignorance was so complete they had not even dug deep enough to cause such trouble. Like a child haphazardly rotating the steering wheel back and forth in a parked car while the keys to the ignition sat uselessly on the dash.

“Idiots, we are fools in their shadow.” He moved carelessly through the last damaged pages in front of him, caught up in old gripes about society, “ kids these days”, and the failings of politicians. He felt his insides boiling and reminded himself of his blood pressure. He paused. Closed his eyes. Counted to ten, then flagged a dozen more pages for recovery. The magnitude of the history lost was a hard reality to face, but he had a mandate to preserve what was left. He forced himself to wait for his heart rate to return to normal. Only with patience and careful consideration, he believed, could true understanding be achieved, and hasty judgments must be avoided. He pulled up the next legible scan.

Excerpt 3:

As this technology remains in its infancy, operators are responsible for maintaining accurate up-to-date documentation in The Program database. Failure to log reports will result in loss of licensure and immediate investigation by Th e Program authorities.

Excerpt 4:

< Secondary item >

< Handwritten >

< Stationary >

There is peace beneath the waters. I have dipped my hand through the veil, brushed something there, and understood with complete clarity for a brief moment before it slipped away and my uncertainty returned. Something of its memory lingers, though. I do believe I will hold it in my hands again with continued effort and gentle persistence.

END COMMUNICATION…

\"Bless my soul.\" He said breathlessly. A second handwritten note penned in the same delicate pink ink as the first. What a find, he thought. Transcendence. Reactors that shape the world. Secret programs. “Hot dog! This is unprecedented.” He jammed his finger into the print button on an aging printer and stood up anxiously. He straightened his bow tie, cleared his throat and glanced about the empty room full of energy he did not know what to do with. He paced back and forth while his report slowly collected in a receptacle beneath the printer. When it finished, he gathered the papers and stuffed them in an official red lettered “Historical Archives” envelope. He sealed it, dipped his quill and wrote:

Central Office

ATTN: Dept. of Secondary Review

Multiple flags

Urgency level: X

V: Reference [The Program]

VII: Past-modern period transcendence

IX: Handwritten exposé

He hurried out the door then and down the street with the envelope tucked beneath his arm as fast as his knobby knees would carry him. He slammed the door behind him, disturbing the gray pigeon resting peacefully, once again, upon the sign. The startled bird beat its wings and lifted into the air, flapping so hard that several feathers dislodged. They fell to the ground, melting into a large shadow cast by a distant Reactor before the setting sun.

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