“Great Lord, forgive me for pulling you away from your sublime daily labors.”
A humble man in worn clothes—an old shirt, torn pants, and boots that looked two generations too old—approached what seemed to be a monk or holy figure.
The figure wore a black cassock and a matching balaclava that masked his face, save for a pair of contemplative brown eyes. A small Celtic cross hung from his neck, and atop his head sat a peculiar tiara affixed with a faintly glowing bulb.
“I am in dire need of an exorcism.”
The Tech Man turned slowly, studying the man with quiet care. He sighed—not a holy man, but an engineer. A Tech Man, as the villagers referred to them, half in awe and half in fear.
“An exorcism?” he asked, confused. “You need a priest. I’m merely an acolyte of circuitry.”
“Oh, no, forgive me, great Lord. We have a machine—a great machine only your kind can understand. A… computator?”
“Computer.”
“Yes, that! Computer. Will you assist us, noble one?”
“What ails it?”
“It makes infernal sounds—noises that rob even the bravest man of sleep.”
He checked his analog pocket watch. “There’s time for a quick consultation. Lead the way.”
They passed through cobbled streets and the town’s busy market. Locals pressed trinkets toward him, hoping for his attention. He ignored them all.
The man’s house was a collapsing wooden husk. He wrestled the door open with two heavy shoves.
“Dear, I am home!”
A woman appeared and immediately knelt, praying quickly before kissing the Tech Man’s hand.
“Holy one, blessed is your coming!”
“I beg you—our home is cursed by spirits born from the machine!”
“Where is the device?” the Tech Man asked.
Upstairs, the old computer groaned and hissed like a beast in agony. Without hesitation, he shut it off and disconnected all cables.
“What will you do, great one?”
“Open it.”
He drew sacred tools from his robes: a white canister with a red straw, a light mounted on his tiara, and a Phillips screwdriver.
“Step aside.”
“What will happen?”
“Dust. Clouds of dust. Endless dust.”
“Oh, don’t worry—we’re used to the dust.”
As if summoned, a tremor shook the house. Plumes exploded from the walls. The Tech Man looked around uneasily.
“See?” the man said proudly.
He cleaned the computer’s exterior. It transformed from dull brown to metallic grey.
“By the machina…” he whispered.
Then, he brandished the Phillips screwdriver.
“A Tech Man cross! He will exorcize the machine!” the man cried.
“Isn’t that an odd cross?” the woman asked.
“Silence, woman. Do not question sacred tools.”
The Tech Man unscrewed the casing. Inside lay a horror of thick, fibrous dust—like cursed cotton candy. He sprayed the canister again and again until the corruption fell away in brown clouds.
“How can such a small object hold so much evil?”
“This hasn’t been opened in decades. No service tags. Not logged in our maintenance books.”
“What are those?”
“They guide us. They track each machina’s service—until it ascends.”
“Ascends?”
“To the Kingdom of Silicon. Where all good machina reside after their labors are complete.”
“What of ours? Has it been exorcised?”
“It is time. I will take it with me.”
“And us, great Lord?”
“You will return to silence. Sleep uninterrupted.”
“Blessed be!”
He closed the lid and replaced the screws. As he left, he chanted nonsense and made vague hand signs. The couple knelt again, kissed his hand, and watched in confused reverence.
He returned to the Great Central of Engineers.
The Quartermaster received the machine with a knowing grin.
“You won’t believe what I just went through.”
“I love engineer tales—please, share.”
“A man asked me to exorcise his computer. They treated me like a saint. I played along, performed the ritual, and took the cursed thing away.”
“Every day gets weirder.”
“How did we fall so far—where machines are demons, where people think they have souls?”
“When the government put Religion above Tech and Education.”
“At least they haven’t burned us yet.”
The Quartermaster hesitated.
“Actually… that’s today’s topic. Someone was burned last week.”
“What madness is this?”
“They called it heresy. Accused the engineer of poisoning minds against God, Country, and Man.”
“A second age of obscurantism. We should never have let technology slip into myth.”
“A tragedy indeed. Now come—the elders await in the meeting chamber.”
The Tech Man nodded and entered the room, where twelve engineers sat deep in fiery discussion over the future of their order, their schola, and the machina.