EVERYDAYS WORK#
“The Cathedral”—Engineer Solomon Sanchez looked at the magnanimous Gothic structure in front of him. It never stopped awing him, but at the same time it produced a sense of disgust. It represented not only a pinnacle in human engineering but also in ignorance.
He remembered his classes at the Monitor School—one of the few remaining institutions tasked with educating select individuals in the secrets of information and technology. The structure had been built by fervent religious people of England back in the lost ages, so named due to the deteriorating veracity of global information. Knowledge was being transferred back into physical objects—books, parchments—of terrible quality and questionable historical value.
“Everything is slowly deteriorating into the void,” his old master had said. “Humanity is going with it. Forgetting who we are and where we came from is the final decline of civilization—the end of all things, and the beginning of chaos.”
This cathedral, as the men inside called it, was a place to preach to a God foreign and unknown to the Tech Men. They knew of Him from texts, but never fully understood or debated Him—a metaphysical object in their cosmogony. Officially, it was just another building. Nothing special, except for the ancient machines it housed—machines the Tech Men occasionally worked with.
Approaching the Cathedral drew the attention of Law Men. He wasn’t sure if they were police or army—uniforms had been standardized across all forces. They were called Law Men because they had the final say in any judicial matter. Courts had been abolished, only assembled in emergencies. Civil rights and constitutions had crumbled in the frantic end of what was once the first world.
They didn’t stop him. He wore the emblem that distinguished him from the plebs and remaining government figures: a simple black jacket made of unknown material, built to withstand an atomic blast, adorned with the Tech Man regalia—symbols long forgotten but still used to identify one another. It opened doors. It placed him on a strange pedestal. It was a blessing and a curse.
“Greetings, do you come to the congregation?” asked a man in a brown robe—a monk. Solomon squinted, then gasped and raised both hands.
“Ahh, my apologies! Welcome, welcome great holder of knowledge. This way, please.”
They always bowed and kneeled, treating him like nobility or sanctity. Truth be told, he was just a man with knowledge. Like the monk. Like all who belonged to the Legacy Society and Workframe, as Science Men once called it.
His boots echoed against the stone floor, contrasting with the monk’s flapping sandals. They entered the main library, where monks studied old books at separate tables. Each table held three terminals connected to small local servers.
“Engineer Sanchez,” called a man from the bottom left desk. The congregation turned and bowed.
“Welcome.”
“Bishop McCay.” Solomon nodded—a formality. The Bishop understood. Solomon was quiet, reserved. They had worked together for seven years, but he had only visited this library twice before. This time, the problem was more severe.
“Where is the ailing machine?”
“Brother Nellus, take the Engineer to the location.”
The monk led him to four conventional machines on a wooden table—local servers, Solomon assumed. In his twenty-plus years as an Engineer, seven of which were dedicated to Legacy Hardware, he had seen it all: computers in sewers, systems revived from ruin, ancient builds from scratch. He had earned respect. And he had seen machines glorified—dressed in gold, worshipped like gods.
These machines were covered in candles and incense. One casing had been burned. Ashes everywhere. Solomon passed his gloved hand over the surface, sweeping away dust and debris. The monks gasped.
“Clean them weekly—daily under these conditions. No warm objects. No liquids. No candles.”
He moved a chair, found the service tag, and pulled out a book from his gas mask bag—painted with the Cross of Technology. He searched for the serial code.
“Great one, what is this book about?” asked Brother Nellus.
“It contains information about these machines. This one in particular.”
The pages were archaic—fragile to the touch. He found the tag and sighed in relief. Then frowned.
“Pre-Y2K. Custom made… oh… curses.”
Machines built before the standardization of computing. Before the Unix 2032 Cataclysm—U32—when the world burned due to the negligence of the Gurus.
“Is it bad news, Master?”
“Maybe.”
He connected a small LCD screen from the 4th Office. Red and purple lines. Restarting cleared them, but the machine remained semi-dead. A whirling sound. A TAK TAK from the heart. Then silence.
He tried reseating the cable. Power cycle—on and off—failed.
“Time to disassemble.”
He removed the cables like life support.
“G-Great one, sorry to interrupt!” Brother Nellus panicked. “Would you not be killing the great machine?”
Solomon had heard this before. People believed machines had souls. He used to argue. Now he played along—after Norwich, he had learned.
“No, Brother Nellus. The machine sleeps before I remove its power. It will not die.”
“Ahh, if only we could be like that.”
“I need an empty table.”
The monks cleared a workstation. Solomon opened the casing. Rusted screws. A jungle of cables. The candle had burned through casing, wires, motherboard. And the dust—enough to sew a robe.
“A simple task it is not. An unfortunate event has led to the death of this machine.”
He documented the damage, marked salvageable parts, and painted a red D on the case.
“I will take this back to our shop for proper disposal.”
“And our information?” asked Bishop McCay.
“It can be recovered. But I must do it when the library is empty. I’ll take it with me and perform repairs.”
“I cannot allow removal unless the data is preserved here. We have a congregation in an hour. You may work under watch.”
“Fair enough. I shall return shortly.”
“Do you need to report to the Master Engineer?”
“Yes. And I need additional tools.”
“Very well. Give him my regards.”
“Will do.”
Solomon nodded and left, heading through the grim streets of Lincoln.
PREPARING FOR RESURRECTION#
Luckily, the 7th English Office of Adepts of Technology was not far from the city itself. It held ground close enough in Lincolnshire to quickly respond to any calls from the city and nearby southern counties.
The Office itself was nothing of grandeur. On the contrary, it was a simple two-story house—quite modest, one would say, for men of such knowledge and ‘power’. Two reasons had led to this: economy and security. Scoundrels and extortionists had tried to rip the Order once before, and by mere luck they managed to escape the situation—but not without learning a valuable lesson.
“So, Bishop McCay sends his regards,” Master Engineer Gabriel Johansen began to examine the book carefully.
“Yes, and he was reluctant about me taking the machine.”
“That man has always been like that since I’ve known him.” He read through the report.
“Hmm… do we know the exact year?”
“Label indicated compatibility with Windows 95 and NT 4.0. I’m assuming this machine has to be from… ‘96, maybe ‘97.”
“Borland save us! That machine must be a monster!”
“Indeed, Master. A monster it is. A jungle of cables that sends shivers down my spine. Transistors and chips the size of my pinky. And the dust…”
“Cursed dust demons. Your worst enemy to date, is it not, Solomon?”
“Yes indeed, Master… yes indeed.”
“So, an ancient one.” The Master Engineer finished examining the notes Sanchez had prepared. “Gold and silver decorations… candles… oh, those monks and their beliefs.”
“I wouldn’t complain as much in my report if they followed the instructions we give them, Master. Even a monkey could perform such tasks daily, and it’s not as if we can come up with the required replacement pieces with ease.”
“Unfortunate to think that no matter how hard you try to teach them, they will never understand.”
“One tries to do his best.” Sanchez remembered his little chat with Brother Nellus. “One tries indeed…” And a sigh.
“Speaking of best—I have news for you, my good pupil.”
“Oh?”
The Master Engineer took out a wrapped brown package from a plastic bin sitting on a table with tools and papers, and handed it to Sanchez.
“What is this?”
“It comes from the State Council of Technology. That’s as much as I can tell you.”
Sanchez opened the package, revealing a new purple robe with golden sewn edges and a note with a plastic card.
“A Master Engineer robe?”
The Master Engineer took the card and read the note aloud:
“Third Level Engineer Solomon Sanchez of the 7th English Office. The State Council has reviewed your file and has approved your raise from Third Level Engineer to First Level Master Engineer with Master Knowledge in Legacy Archaeology and Computer Repairs.”
“Oh my… and… I…” The new Master Engineer was speechless. He received a fond hug from his former master and a couple of pats on the back.
“I never…”
“It is a well-deserved raise, Solomon. You’ve earned it, and I couldn’t be more proud of you.”
Solomon changed into the new robe. He passed his hands over the material—silk, pure silk that must have cost a fortune, with a beautiful dark padding to keep him warm when necessary.
Master Engineer Johansen continued reading:
“As an additional note, due to your knowledge in the field, we are assigning you a pupil: First Class Technician Daniel Baldwin, for training under your wing until his third year.”
“A pupil so soon… well, that doesn’t sound too bad. When is he arriving?”
“Excuse me, sir.”
Both Master Engineers turned to see a panting young man in a faded purple robe.
“I am looking for…”
He searched his bag but couldn’t find what he was looking for. He sighed and looked up.
“Master Engineer Sanchez?”
Solomon walked toward him, and the young man bowed three times in a row.
“Yes! I am looking for him.”
“You must be Technician Daniel Baldwin.”
Baldwin bowed again.
“At your service, Master Engineer. Who is…”
“That is me. I am your new master.”
“Ahh… I apologize, sir, but I seem to have misplaced my instructions.”
“Do not worry—it happens to us all. You’ll find that ‘misplacing’ is a common word here in this shop. In fact, it’s our favorite word.”
“I believe, fellow brother, that you should teach your pupil around.”
“Quite true. I will take my leave now, Master… Engineer.”
He hesitated for a second—he had forgotten he wasn’t a pupil anymore. Odd how things can change in one minute.
THE CREW OF THE 7TH OFFICE#
“Come on, damn you! Work!” Second Level Engineer Luis Tavera fought with a computer that kept giving him a blue screen filled with indecipherable blocks of information.
“Oh, why do you curse me so, Blue Screen of Death? Why?”
“Engineer.”
Tavera turned around to see a figure dressed in Master Engineer robes. At first, he thought it was Johansen, but then he saw Solomon’s face.
“Master Engineer… what a surprise indeed.” He walked over and gave Solomon a pat on the back. “About time.”
“Aghh, you know the drill.”
“Politics. Misplacing. My ass.”
Both men laughed jovially.
“What?” The young pupil seemed confused—maybe even a little scared.
“It’s our motto in this shop, young pupil. Politics always hold our work and knowledge down. Misplacing is our best friend. And ‘my ass’—because everyone can kiss it in the end.”
“Ahh…” Confusion and mild disgust now painted the pupil’s face.
“A pupil.” Tavera nodded. “Well, the council loves you all of a sudden.”
“Pupil, this is Second Class Engineer Luis Tavera—our resident software and programmer.”
The Engineer slightly bowed at the mention of his name.
“An honor, sir. I am Technician First Class Daniel Baldwin.”
The pupil bowed, though a bit irregularly—perhaps unfamiliar with the traditions, or simply tired from his trip.
“What field are you specializing in, Technician?”
“Programming, sir.”
“Ahh, anything in particular?”
“Nothing yet, sir, but ASM does look particularly interesting.”
“Oh, by Torvald, don’t be daft, son. ASM was obsolete even when technology reigned. Ignore it and learn something more widespread… like C or Visual Basic.”
“Let me remind you, sir, that ASM—no matter how obsolete—is still the center of everything.”
“Touche. But I’m not a machine myself, nor could I ever remember all the sacred mnemonics for every machine. That would be impossible.”
“One tries.”
“Right.” Solomon rolled his eyes. “Now that I remember—do you know where Clark is?”
“Oh, the wanker went to fix a machine down in the industrial sector.”
“Curses of the Infinite Loop—I needed to verify our current inventory.”
“Tell me what you need and I’ll check it.”
“Verify the serial code of these pieces.” Solomon placed the book on the table where the vile computer resisted repair. “We estimate this was built in ‘96 or ‘97.”
“Oww… I’m not even sure if we have anything left from that time.”
“Well then I’ll have to perform a…” He paused, then shook his head. “Oh, forget it.”
“Master?” The pupil leaned in, curious.
“I planned to do a cable select on the old hard drive and transfer it to one of the three servers. But that means taking them offline, marking the BIOS so the original drive boots first, subtracting the data, and rearranging it inside the new drive… and if that sounds scary, complicated, or simply FUBAR’d, just wait until I find out what program they use to read the server data and verify if it reads the old dump.”
“I can do that for you, Master.”
“What? Fix the computer?”
“The information dump. I can do that for you.”
“How?”
“I’d have to see it myself, Master, but I know I can handle it.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“I was trained by Master Engineer Hector Bilbao-Marquez.”
“You what? How old are you?”
“Twenty-two, Master.”
“If you were trained by him, then why were you sent to me?”
“I know how to work inside a computer—how it runs and processes—but I don’t know how to repair it or understand the parts. My Master thought it would be good for me to learn from someone with deep field knowledge. He selected you.”
“It IS an honor that a Master Engineer from Spain selected me from all the Master Engineers on this continent. But you might rust in those fields if you stay with me too long.”
“Or you could die,” Tavera added bluntly.
“Die? Why, because of the Norwich incident? People are ignorant, that’s all.”
“No good God, no. You don’t tell people that. The whole reason I got into trouble was because of that.”
“You told them they were ignorant?”
“No, I told them the truth. That almost got me killed—had it not been for a group of Law Men patrolling the area.”
“But that was one incident.”
“One of many. It’s the only documented case, but it won’t be the last.”
“You might not know it, kid, or maybe it’s different in Spain, but here in good ol’ England… they don’t like us.”
“That’s enough, Engineer Tavera. Continue looking for what I asked.”
“Yes, Master Engineer.”
“Does that mean we could be walking down the street and next thing we know… we’re dead?”
“It’s a probability, pupil. That’s why we perform our work and proceed with our lives quietly.”
Solomon turned to Tavera, who was still checking a small-sized computer for the requested serials.
“Engineer Tavera will take some time. Let us proceed to meet the final member of our office.”