the desert, in the last of the tillable lands before the sand wastes, and they waited, hopeful the birds above would not report this event to their masters, the machines Jed and Mole both truly feared. Jed spoke so quietly as to barely be heard, “You would venture beyond the firewall with this on your person? You have a death wish.” “We live in the boundaries, Jed. We cannot even speak without fear the birds will alert their masters. I’m no safer here.” “None have been taken for nigh a decade, even in the boundaries.” “It will not last.” “Hush. The firewall holds true. You speak nonsense.” “I speak what you do not wish to hear.” Jed turned his gaze back to the dirt, tilling what remained of the soil. He regretted that he had ever been placed in the company of Mole, who he had never liked. From the moment he set eyes upon Mole — who was, by most accounts, a grotesque man with ill-apportioned features that God seemed to have failed to stitch together appropriately — he knew he could not be trusted. And now he was certain that one day Mole’s idiocy would be the death of him. “Where did you even find the disc?” Jed asked. “Where does anyone get such antiquities?” Mole replied. Jed knew this to mean Mole had already gone beyond the firewall, had already ventured to the place where the machines still ruled, where bloodborne were forbidden to go. “If you have gone there,” Jed said, already “then you have ruined yourself. Not even the Oracle’s wisdom could save your soul.” My soul. Mole scoffed at the notion. He found no comfort in the religion that Jed so dutifully clung to. Perhaps it was because he felt he had never been blessed in life. His parents died before he was born. He had been left behind to an old woman who cared little for him. She thought of him as her personal servant, nothing more. And she ridiculed him daily for his hideous form. Later that evening, Mole watched Jed till the soil and found himself taken with jealousy. He could see Jed was happy working the land for all his days, no different from the serfs of antiquity. And why not? He had a woman he could return to at night, who would wipe the dirt from his brow, who would have stew warmed and waiting for him. He had two children with her, who were healthy and seemed to be of hearty stock. By all accounts, Jed had a fine life. Mole resented this, for he was certain such a life could never be his. Not unless he proved he was worthy. The Oracle lay deep within the sand wastes, a week’s journey from the boundaries. There were tales of what lay in those lands. Tales of great sand worms that could swallow the earth whole. Tales of tiny scorpions that could kill with a single prick. Tales of snakes that would wrap around you in the dead of night, squeezing the last breath out of you. But Mole found not a single living thing on his journey to the Oracle. Stranger than the absences of life, however, was the absence of birds. He had not seen a bird in the sky since the first day in his trek. Still, he kept his lead cloak wrapped tightly around him, enduring the insufferable heat in the hopes their eyes could not pierce its veil. But day after day he saw no birds, only sand — unending, undulating, dunes that stretched out as far as he could see. He was well and truly alone out here, though he felt no different than when he was at home. On the seventh day, Mole reached the base of the Great Dune, the dune which withstood the torments of wind, towering above all else in the sand wastes. Atop of the dune, Mole could see the small silhouette of the Oracle, resting peacefully, waiting for him. It took an entire day for Mole to climb the Great Dune, crawling up by inches as the sand slid beneath his feet. The heat beat down on him, and Mole’s water supplies had dwindled, forcing him to slip off his lead cloak, just for the climb, such that he may preserve his water for the journey home. When he reached the top, he found the Oracle was less magnificent than he had imagined. There was no grand temple, no shrine to her greatness, no sign that she was anything more than a machine of antiquity. But Mole knew well that appearances could be deceiving, and this did not deter his hope. Mole bent down and slid his offering into the Oracle’s mouth. There was a moment of quiet in which Mole waited anxiously, desperate to know how the Oracle would receive his offering. Would she offer him her wisdom? Could he return to his village as the hero who endured the sand wastes for their glory? He saw a vision in his mind of his people gathered before him, waiting eagerly for his guidance. Just as Mole’s hopes and fantasies reached a fever pitch, the screen flickered on. A cursor flashed momentarily, and Mole leaned in closer. The letters P-O-N-G crawled across the screen, then vanished, replaced by a white dot in the center and two white rectangles at the edges. Mole watched, scrutinizing every pixel, searching for the wisdom the Oracle wished to convey to him. Then the white dot began to move to the left, where it hit one of the white rectangles, then back to the right, where it bounced off the other rectangle. And so on. Back and forth. Back and forth. Again and again, the white dot trapped between the edges. It was not long before the realization struck Mole, and he understood perfectly what the Oracle was telling him. Humanity was trapped between two bleak realities, one under the tyranny of machine, the other under the tyranny of labor. They were no more free in their poverty than in their servitude. They were helplessly pinging back and forth between two cruel worlds. But this is not what we were meant for. We were meant for something greater. Yes, yes! Mole was certain 25 SOMEWHERE OUT THERE
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