Debian Orphanage - Chapter 1

Soon to be available as downloadable PDF from www.RedVenice.co.uk

By

Leigh Cole

The street spat out the fire.
Outstretch the algorithm by a solitary hertz from the interior rule, via the Navigators Precautionary Arrangement Protocol and all concluding cornea views, substantiate to a meagre lived association with the floor, accompanied by a metallic waxen clamour and acute shocks through the anterior lobe.
Technically there is no aim of the Internal Resonance Byte Emitter than to bestow sound and corporeal form to the frequency of thought flowing through the consciousness’s mental lobe.
This was scribed across the box
Many provocateurs of sound had fashioned such reverberation to Magnetic Paper Slate, bundled it with amateur circuitry and traded it on the undergrounds vales as art, before an avalanche of plagiarist’s ruined its original silhouette.
Marketing executives sold it in vast amounts, beyond its basic construct and psychologists played on the clatter of the psyche and its undeviating versatile depiction of the essence in exchange for unaffordable currencies.
The scrape of this said effect was currently blistering through the mindset of Lab Technician Sinclair due to the uncalled for set of explosive quantities burning through the halls and traders exterior of the Exeter Building, just off The Amber Capital Plaza.
The building was truly encapsulated with the living and amid the dancing flames held the shapes of the flaming, indignant and frail.
Sinclair ran a thought that helping them would instigate some small pleasure protocol across the Internal Resonance Byte Emitter. But opted this thought to another section of the head, only because the scraping and screaming of the technology was proving harder to maintain at this present moment in time.
He cross referenced a cleansing memory of childhood and without warning the Emitter regained its normal thought processing drone.
With the personal frame arisen, spectacles pivoted upon the edge of the nose from the pavement drawl it became clear the situation was dragging itself out of hand.
A mammoth selection of thieves and looters were breaking the very foundation of the building apart. Everything based around a mineral product was being abducted and taken down the street, all members of staff appeared to be adorned in flame and the Element Resistant Panel seemed no closer in placing the flames within the realm of a damp Airspace Definition.
In catching himself in a traders window he reveals to himself a lack of anything to feel, brushes off the dirt from the street and carries on to refresh the buds of taste with a replenishing Caffeine Etiquette.
No feeling to convey on the matter as it happens every day. The looting of food and minerals over textured currency had its appeal but Sinclair wanted an answer to the question.
The Emitter buzzed for a second, he still hadn’t got the swing of the control. Granted this technological implanted version of the Internal Resonance Byte Emitter cost around 700 Jaded Market Points and you couldn’t apply it to Master Copy Download but paying the regular cost, which held itself at 4000 Class Factory Opals was highway robbery at its best.
On the corner of Sailors Ave. a misery poured into skin, this Oriental Dormer Caste was peddling Caffeine Etiquette from a street cart drenched in a sequined veil.
She positioned her face through a slit in the fabric and using a Facial Rearrange Protocol broke a smile through pock marked cheeks.
No words needed to be spoken, Sinclair plugged the PNP Currency Transactor into the small currency hungry display before him and felt his points drain away for the sake of a fluid replacement.
She applied further protocol and her face slid back into a sullen lump.
With that he took his Caffeine Etiquette and sipped it softly, it was neither a massive buzz nor special effect.
Nothing was technically displaced as such and it was in this sadness that either his body had become accustomed to the feeling or maybe the bubble had just burst in the caffeine market.
The water was rising; maybe the forests these caffeine beans were raised in were just not homely enough for a better taste.
Sinclair relished the truth for a moment; he had seen it all in an array of Cathode Projectors covering the matter at hand.
The rising of the house prices was like the rising of the tide, not of course caused by the global warming fad but by our very human presence on earth itself. Slight overcrowding here and there because a shift in the balance of the elements displayed in a gravitational breakdown at the very core, an expansion of the earths mantle was shifting the water up the estuaries and into the cities.
As a Government Primer it was his duty to discover the cause of this, or work out an agenda of escape.
Neither of which was coming at great lengths to his being.
_______________________________

The basic principle of the change in climate was down to the slight expansion of the universe and us.
This moved not only stars further apart...but orbits out of alignment and coupled with the curve in space time would take us closer to the sun.
Not much, but enough to employ a greater frequency of radiation from the sun hitting the atmosphere and effecting the magnetizing at the poles.
This in conjunction with the size of the population, with as much iron in their blood, increased the charge of electricity flowing through the earth.
The charge has altered the frequency and is ailing its imperfections to a massive degree.
A new earth is upon us all...
_______________________________

Sinclair approached the Villago Complex at Oxford Grove, down the drive itself and across the Vehicle Machination green.
The Villago Complex has stood in these grounds for over a century and had been the epicentre of the years when the Skin Trials occurred.
Cures for all diseases rested within cement like casings and skin trials were one of many examinations on lower level members of society.
Many Guilt Reformers had seen the inside of these walls and many had lost not only the will to live but their lives themselves through testing, compliers and approach.
Now the complex stands as Britain’s last hope in a defence against the elements.
The sliding glass frame of the door hummed in anticipation of Human Current, and the Dante Cord hung loose from its holder.
Evidence that the team was already here and toiling away between the test tubes.
Sinclair opened his mouth and dragged the Dante Cord’s Amplex Pickup across his teeth, from back to front until he clipped the Amplex Pickup Decoder that drove a current from his body to create a bridge for the sliding doors effect to take place.
The lab was a mere fifteen or so metres from the main entrance, no receptionist, no guards, the amount of diseases here was an effective repellent against thieves and the like.
Another sliding glass frame required the use of a the Dante Cord and Sinclair thought about how many people had used the cord today, how clean were their incisors? And who actually cleans the cord…
The labs mouth opened to a sterile environment without the need of suits or preparation, the use of Suppressed Antibodies in the air of the lab prevented any sort of contamination or otherwise.
The antibodies themselves had been created by a Triumph Adler who was perfecting a form of knowledgeable cure, a virus that has a small database of all know viruses on earth, of course he left out a Gene Controller here and there and what resulted was the breakdown of his own body to mulch. The antibodies were perfected by our own Government Compilers and put to gods use, hospitals, prisons, and so on. No disease just elemental issues.
The lab itself gaped across at least half a mile and its apparatus almost a little further, nothing was really sectioned off and it suffered a great deal of open plan.

“Sinclair!”

Professor Arch shouted out in a structured excitement.
Sinclair reminded him of his dead son, Arch and this was becoming a burden. Christmas holidays and birthdays that were not his own were celebrated with presents and cards irrelevant to his taste.
A white lab coat adorned this aged ninety year old male, hair like god or a tramp, white and shoulder length flowing and bags hung from his eyes like lost luggage.

“Professor Arch. I trust all necessary arrangement have been made, regarding this final experiment today.”

Arch propped himself up in excitement.

“All preparations have been set as minutes, post and pre-calculated and simulations have been graded as a must. No flaws or abstracts have been noted in the results, or in fact any so called glitches. The slight nature of this completion has added to a satisfactory wheeze on my behalf though.”

He chuckled

“It’s so good to see you!”

Even though it was Sinclair and Arch who programmed the simulation only yesterday.

“About time, I’ll add Sinclair.”

Commodore Amstrad butted into the morning festivity.

“I’m nervous and on all edges regarding this test.”

“Test? This will be more than that, a biblical entry I might say.”

Arch noted over nose tipped spectacles
Amstrad was your run of the mill military man, all press ups and side partings bearing insignias of wars lost not through battle but through the memory and media. He had wound up here as a guinea pig of sorts after a reprimanding from fellow officers lead to a self defended manslaughter, and that look seemed to be in his eyes for Arch right now.

“You know how serious I defend this project as I would defend my own daughter; it is my pride and maybe my lack of vocabulary that extends out at this moment.”

Arch offered no linguistic grip on the conversation from there, Amstrad’s eyes were fearsome and male. He had no eyelids, so that made him quite fearful to even talk to; his eyes were held in a circular glass case within the socket, fibre regalia extending to the brain and within applied protocol aspects of colour.
The Homelands Eastern Dissent battle called for operations beyond the call of duty and a need to stay conscious for the extent of the battle itself. This involved the removal of the eyelids under the Constant Effect Program, coupled with an adrenalin drip placed near the heart for full effect. Amstrad had been awake for 15 years through the implant and its obvious removal would cause death to the user.

“To be honest all, this line of experimentation lies directly in the arms of science fiction...”

Professor Callum finally had her acne scared two pennies worth. She was young, ambitious and this basically made her a threat to all. These types of cut throats and may look the part but are extremely merciless in their approach.

“And why is that Callum?” Sinclair pounced.

“Because it lies in the realm of fantasy and beyond.”

“The only fantasy touched on is hope and acquiring said product.”

“A product needs components and what we apparently seek is neither here or there.”

Her point was slight, acquiring the state they wanted would involve a vast scientific leap, and this hope conspiracy was the last great search. For the essence, the soul if you like.

They had scraped the barrel, used riot seized substances based on Thought Structural Ethos, spliced with Advancers, and the basic principle was that the genetic experience of past close relations was fused for split seconds with your own.
You had to study a various subject for at least a day and prepare the question for analyses. Of course if the answer was not what you wanted or irrelevant there could be no turning back or use of the drug further.
The team came to the conclusion, without Callum of course, that to separate the essence from the form was the only plan of action left.
This collage of ideas was formed from channelling the energy of collapsing stars.
There were many recorded instances of special distortions between two collapsing Sister Stars. The distortion itself is closer to a tear in time and space than to harming the physical. The galaxy orbiting Radeon Satellite, was proof of this due to its accidental journey of being caught between Sister Stars and returning on its course unscathed but sending back a whole host of readings and statistics.
The test mice inside the device had had their essence separated from the form.
The team across these statistics and put them to good use. Firstly by creating a Pipeline Hexagon Format, to house said test subject within its frame, and secondly the construction of a Virtual Collapsing Star Generators.
On Sinclair’s notes and Arch’s construction knowledge it had been possible to construct such an array.
The Pipeline Hexagon Format was central to the opposing Virtual Collapsing Star Generator, and was at its most fundamental a hexagon sphere of pipes made from a derived super conductor made up of altered carbon genomes.
This would house the subject from the initial blast of the collapsing stars.
The Virtual Collapsing Star Generators stood side by to this as two large black chrome cubes, towering and magnificent in their descent. Inside them, the simplest of electronics and explosive quantities.
An enhanced Splicer could be activated to take electromagnetic waves from the air itself and alter the frequency so as to cause the strength equal to the collapsing of the stars.
Behind all this lay an Electro Intermittent that sends a small shock every half second to displace the Hexagon.

This would cause the light wave, reversed upon itself in a hexagon form, would splice the wave consciousness wave form, then as the wave is shattered by intermittent electromagnetic waves, this creates spaces between the original reversed light wave, the consciousness wave form then fills the gaps, one last surge of electricity along the hexagon frame reverses the reverse wave light and causes it to collapse, this in turn displaces the consciousness wave form frequency from the human form, the use of a small collapsed star recreated in the lab then breaks down the frame of time within the hexagon.

Breaking it down to a certain point, the length of the exploding star equates the bending on the frame of consciousness, hence the test subject’s removal from his frame and placement to who knows where.

The theory was that when the human form is destroyed on one end it stays removed in the other.
Amstrad displayed a deep breathing motion for preparation purposes, the removal of clothes and the folding of said items completed in a overall military fashion, eyes still glass laden and bulging.

“Has the outcome displayed itself on paper as of yet?” Amstrad enquired.

“The outcome is just ‘as is’ to be honest Amstrad.”

Arch returned the vocal gesture, running an old hand through his beard.

“As is…doesn’t cover me seeing my daughter ever again. As is doesn’t fill me with the greatest of confidence.”

Amstrad folded the clothes one time further.

“Regardless of that the main aim is to separate the essence from the form for mere seconds, if that.”

“And if the return cannot be accomplished?”

“The return is of no other option. It would be on par with an astral projection of sorts, the essence must return to its original form.”

“I hope your right Arch. That’s all I hope for your sake.”

Amstrad finally ascended the slight staircase to the hexagons edge. Took one final look around the room, at the Collapsing Star Generators and stepped inside.
It was not much bigger than him and any form of claustrophobia was dispelled by the fact that the gaps were of a large length and an escape could easily be administered.
Arch and Sinclair pushed analogue buttons, slid digital levers and generally tinkered with the levels in the control room.
Callum did her best to keep up and apply readings constantly to the theory notes. Everything seemed to be going as planned.
Both generators were at warming levels, the CPU’s hummed in alignment, nowhere near the levels needed for collapsing. The control rooms protective windows began to hum with the vibration of the change in atmosphere.

“Risk levels harbouring near the centre of the scale, looks like its not going to go over the turning point.”

Callum added.

“Fantastic, as long as the readings stay true to themselves we should encounter a low reading attainment.”

Sinclair gleamed.

The generators then took a massive leap in power, all lights in the building flickered slightly, then the street lights went out, this spiralled to the centre of the city, then outer villages and finally up and down the country.

“Display release readings as a steady seven. Callum mark them down to four and give me a theoretical view.”

Arch blasted.

“Still steady, release on time and with verve.”

Callum calculated.

The release was set to four seconds. There wasn’t even enough time to move in the seat. The generators collapsed sending light through the hexagon casing and engulfing Amstrad in white light.
His eyes played out a theatrical rupture at that point and streamed down his face in a soft yellow jelly. The control room could neither hear his screams nor see his writhing body in the mist of light.

“Two second decrease in five…four…three…two…one…”

Sinclair screamed.

Then it was over, the level of collapse had been brought down to safe levels. The light of the collapse is removed from the room and liquid nitrogen is pumped the generators for cooling effects.

They all stare at Amstrad’s lifeless body on the floor and move at the speed of light to help him. Callum cuts her foot from the glass of his eyes and lets out an omnipotent scream.

“Is he dead?”

“Theres no way of knowing unless we feed him through the Med-Séance and even then we cannot be sure.” Arch ruffed.

Sinclair levied the body onto a nearby stretcher and manoeuvred Amstrad down the maze of corridors until his final destination was adhered to.

The Med-Séance held a grand autonomy in the Medi-Bay area of the lab, it was at least a hundred years old and stood a grand height and width almost filling the locale. It was proficient in all identified scans and had not been perfected in a hundred years.
There were no more scans to perform or seek out. This machine broke the mould. Its main array was of plant life that acted as a conductor to the various electronic outputs needed for an accurate answer. Harnessing simple light as a power source.

Sinclair flicked the switch and the machine came animate. Not by the flashing of diverse buttons and aesthetic knobs but by the hum of its grey exterior.
Sinclair and Arch fed Amstrad through the machines initial conveyor belt mechanism. This would be followed by the plant life mesh conducting a thin charge of electricity to the body’s outer rim and taking its readings from that.
“Position of outcome?” Arch snorted.

“No internal or external injury sustained to the body, no life signs whatsoever, but what is really taxing my brain is the fact that there is no cerebral activity and that the body seems to be deceased but no sign of rot or mottle to the corpse itself.”

Sinclair added.

“He’s dead! I can’t believe it! What about his wife and daughter?”

Callum broke down in tears.

“Apply some passive protocol for all our sakes!” Sinclair barked “She will receive a payment larger than ours regarding a years work over this.”

“So callous, we have taken these tests to their natural conclusion. And it is a conclusion that will embrace us all in the end. The end of this planet seems like a blessing in disguise.”

She wept further.

“And its this type of non committal that has killed the dear Commodore.”

Arch held her by the arm and slapped her across the face.

“What do we do now??!!?”

she screamed.

“The results are admitting this is far from over. All we can do is to trap patience in the box.”

Sinclair became adhesive to the droll.

“Amstrad seems to be far from dead.”