The Machine That Goes Ping
Part 6
Posted Fri, Aug 26 2005 7:14 am
There was a crack in reality.
The office moved to Cambridge two weeks ago now, and I met the anonymous
caller who claims to be fictional. I’m tempted to belive her, not being
inundated with options at the moment, but right now we may have a bigger
problem.
Last week the perimeter was secured as usual. I’m not sure against what,
nor whether shooting at fictional things will make them go away, but post
guards around makes DXO happy, and if we ever get out of this DXO being
happy will make my future easier. DXO is fairly rare of its kind, I belive
in that it is a meritocracy. Since I know more about what we’re facing than
anyone else involved (Which, admittedly, is something of a “Taller than
Ronnie Corbett” comptition. You can be very short and still win) I’ve been
placed In Charge. Anyway. Last week we got attacked by a fairy. That is,
a fairy approached the compound, and one of the guards shot it, after which
it got up and flew away. Story over? not exactly.
This evening there was a thunderous clap of thunder, and suddenly there was
a large crack in reality outside our gates. It formed as a black, two
dimentional hole in reality though which swarms of six-inch tall fairies
poured. The first wave of guards stood no chance at all. A three inch sword
doesn’t sound like a major threat, but when wielded by a thousand flying fay,
it’s a little more dangrous. Esspecailly since shooting them just made them
fall over for a little while, then they recovered and were back at it.
We quickly retreated into the building, which was sealled to keep the rain
out. Not quite well enough, however, as a loud buzzing informed us a little
while later. A fairy had got in though an old grating somewhere, and was
fluttering daintily around, killing everyone in sight. Four of the guards
went down before someone managed to though a reinforced mail sack over it,
knocking its blade to the floor.
(Surely they could have broken the windows?)
They didn’t speak. Not a word, a battle cry or a single phrase have I ever
heard one of them speak. Whether I can’t hear them, or they aren’t saying
anything, I just don’t know.
Sargeant Taylor, a braver man than I, picked up the writhing and shaking bag
by the neck and went to throw it out the coal shute in the cellar. As he
carried it across the room, he said to the rest of the men “And I still
don’t believe in fairies”
The bag was still.
We stopped and stared at it. Surely it wasn’t that obvious?
The guards, armed with whatever they could find, stood around the bag as
we emptied it out. The fairy was still and cold. I don’t know if the fey
have pulses as we know them, but this did not. It was very, very still,
even as we poked it with sticks as the rest of the army of fairies battered
at the windows and doors.
(Why didn’t they break the windows?)
Shouting though the windows didn’t work, so we opened on a fraction of an
inch and shouted though it “I don’t believe in fairies”. For each man
who shouted another fairy dropped out of the sky. We passed it around the
building, a way to get fight back, if you could avoid the blades while
you shouted the words.
(Why couldn’t they break the windows?)
We fought all night, shouting until our voices were gone. The words didn’t
work unless the fairy could hear us, so we took shifts shouting and attempting
to regain speech. By four AM the fight had ended, we had won.
By sunrise the bodies had all been replaced by a dusting of gold.
Even ours.
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