2206 : Window Onto A New World
XVI. The Solid Time Of Change
XVI. The Solid Time Of Change
B
ernard Sturn marvelled at the star-studded sky as he sat alone in the quiet darkness
of the observatory. Resting on the floor, near the middle of the empty room, his back supported against a side of the console via which the largest Veshtari telescope was monitored and controlled, he was peering through an unopacified wall panel and appreciating the pause. The sting in his eyes was gradually subsiding. Again, he had spent most of the artificial night viewing and responding to video mails, which were clogging his inbox increasingly frequently. He still wasn't done. After the welcome intermission, he would have to resume the necessary yet sometimes tedious activity. And thus, each and every one of the remaining messages seemed like one more reason to delight in the magnificence of the brightly ornamented heavens. The space engineer couldn't recall precisely how it had begun, but all-nighters had insidiously become a regular feature of his routine. He had grown accustomed to them, even to the point of not minding their weight anymore. In fact, at such times, as his sight allowed, he would generally go for the entire period without taking even a single respite. Absorbed in his explorations, he would then be scared out of his wits by colleagues walking unannounced into the lab at the start of a new work day. Occasional, minimal doses of sleep were sufficient for him to stay on purpose, as he found most of his occupations energizing rather than burdensome. Watching video clips was not always one of the uplifting processes though, and so he tended to let the less important communications pile up until clearing up the accumulated clutter was undelayable. It sporadically demanded many long hours, and once in a while, a whole nocturnal shift. The thought made him aware that he would have to return to the chore soon enough. However, as his eyes were still sore and he could still use some relaxation, he pursued his reflections. Over the years, the physicist had learned the hard way that there were transition phases, or at any rate that's how he referred to them. During these episodes, life required him to plough forward at all costs, no matter how exhausted he was, and no matter which obstacles he was facing, lest part of the efforts he had invested in the endeavour, if not all of them, would be cruelly wiped out overnight by circumstances ostensibly coming from beyond his sphere of influence. Strangely, he had come to associate them with the notion of electronic quantum leaps, inasmuch as only two possible outcomes were permitted, either all the way, or none at all. And if the lessons had been heart wrenching, at the very least he had profited immensely from developing the ability to recognize the exacting passages, even in the absence of obvious indicators, such as deadlines for instance. Thus the researcher knew that, despite all outward appearances, he was actually in the midst of one of those stages. He could have stopped to rejoice at the recent confirmation of his sentiments, like most of those who had hoped for the changes that were sweeping Ovel were manifestly doing. The Threshold
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Christopher Stewart