“Testing.” A woman in white coat and glasses plainly states into a device situated above one of the elaborately designed desks littering the densely cordoned room. “Sound, good.”
Reporting to herself after carefully watching a glass panel mounted on the recording device, the woman begins retrieving a double thick leather sack from beneath her desk. Unfastening it carefully and plucking into it with a thick metal hook she produces a dirt caked red cloth with a gem adorning its tattered clasp.
“Again, ‘retrievals’ have failed to sanitize the relic, but who am I to question them.” The woman mutters as she stretches the fabric back into shape with forceps, and pins it with a handful of magnets plucked from her bracelet.
“Probes read no residuals. Style could indicate ‘lost era’, maybe even older. Where was this…” Cutting herself off and replacing the probe she was using to its holder she begins thumbing through the entry report for the relic.
Typically, this was to be done first but that rarely happens. Researchers are the types who enjoy the mystery.
But this report just added more mystery.
“This could be one of the few surviving relics from the ancient capital!”
Covering her mouth in surprise and glancing at the other researchers around her, she breaths a sigh of relief when she remembers that she skipped lunch hour for this. The only two remotely nearby are a half dozen rows away, and with the hum of hundreds of tables pulling off the grid there’s no chance her voice traveled.
Without another moment of hesitation, the woman begins cranking a knob on the desk, allowing a blue glow to spread along the slats cut across the metal counter top.
The woman, keeping her hands carefully away from the work area glances at a few glass panels beside the dial in confusion as the mana drawn by the relic rapidly begins expanding.
A sudden spike causes the lights in the room to even dim. At first she thought it was a surge on the harvest side but it’s too convenient of timing. Just as the realization hit her, the table she was working at flickered to darkness and the lights again returned to normal.
Again glancing around, the woman notices the two others are peering at her in the distance with frustrated expressions.
Waving at them with a guilty face the woman flips two switches below her desk and finally lugs a thick metal pin back into place. Again flipping the two switches the table ignites back to life.
Twisting the smallest dial on the far left to its highest setting a louder hum begins whirring from her table.
Trying again, this time with draw rate increased by four times the woman carefully turns the mana flow on.
“Incredible. To think that our ancestors could possess this much mana in the ancient times, it will never cease to amaze me. I really thought that this mode was used for nothing but spectacular explosions.” Chuckling to herself the woman retrieves a different probe and begins operating it with a foot petal. “It looks completely stable. Magic array applied might be a variant of a teleportation spell? It’s an archaic formation, that’s for sure, I can’t make sense of half of it. Maybe an early precursor to an inventory sack? Teleports items to a contained space that the user maintains with mana? Very inefficient. Must have been a luxury to have that kind of mana pool.”
*Click*
Pressing a button above her seated position the woman glances around one more time. “I wonder what’s inside…”
Pulling the bags mouth open with metal forceps she peers inside carefully. “Same as an inventory bag, ‘non-visible contents’. I can’t forget to report that later.”
“If you put your hand in this bag. You’ll die. Theft will be seen as a direct threat, precautions will be taken without prejudice.”
The woman’s mouth, fully open, quickly snaps shut as she reaches for a notebook and frantically flips to a fresh page. The sounds of scribbling are heard for awhile before the loud hum of her desk cuts off and she begins shuffling her supplies into a bag.
▐◊▌▐◊▌
Hours later a recent hire delivered her resignation letter, citing a feeling of insecurity in the workplace environment. Apparently, her work table ignited into flames when she was inspecting her most recent relic. The fire destroyed the artifact as well as a few personal belongings, but the researcher was adamant she didn’t want any sort of hazard pay or reimbursement.
It wasn’t unusual for talented new hires like her to get cold feet after witnessing their first meltdown. But the superior couldn’t help but hope she was one of the rare few who would come back after a few weeks of fresh air.
Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case. The model employee he thought she was, vanished the moment she packed that red silken artifact into her purse. The rest was easy. Drop the transcoder onto the slats, and make sure the others witness the resulting explosion.
With the ‘documents destroyed’ the rubble will lose all its significance. For all the others know, the woman was working on a metal box type artifact hence the large metal fragments caught in the blast shield. The only ones who know the bag even existed are the retrieval team who submitted it, but once they are paid they tend to lose interest fast.
If the paperwork system were any better, this wouldn’t be the perfect crime. If the retrieval teams cared at all about history —or anything besides getting paid— this wouldn’t be the perfect crime.
But since it isn’t, and they don’t, it was.
Arriving back at her house late that night, the woman finally breathes a deep sigh. After reversing it she begins laughing quietly to her empty room.
“Big gamble.” She eventually mutters pulling a leather sack out of her bag and setting it on the chair carefully. “Tomorrow should be very interesting.”
▐◊▌▐◊▌
“Crate for…” The uniformed man checks a metal plate on his wrist before poking it in frustration. “I swear these things die faster each generation. Um…”
“Heather Meiyo?” The researcher prompts with a glance at the sticker atop the crate. The ‘prompt service’ written there doesn’t seem to apply when regarding their door staff.
Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.
“Yes, mind tapping here?” The man asks holding out a different tool hung from his belt.
“You’d think they’d…” Heather begins to ponder as she hold her ID against the smaller device and receives a ‘ding’ in return.
“It does. But they figured since it dies so quickly we’d be running through a dozen energy pods a day.” Seemingly fed up himself, the man grumbles as the crate is wheeled in. “May as well just give us back the old tech.”
“Ah. I see.” Heather nods as the man retrieves the roller from beneath the crate.
The door shutting behind him, the man glances back to add one final note. “Don’t forget to give me five stars.”
Pulling open the crate with hard to suppress excitement, Heather again emits a chuckle to herself. “If only they could see us now.”
Luckily, and without knowing it, the delivery person left the desk very near the only open high output terminal in the entire apartment, with only a light amount of maneuvering it was in position to operate. Since the table requires a hard connection it somewhat messes with the flow of the room, but for now that can be forgiven.
“Let’s do it.” Heather chants to hype herself.
Working with only kitchen tools the ex-researcher began retrieving the bag. Any contact would probably kill her instantly so utmost precautious would be required.
No fancy bracelet but fridge magnets will do the trick.
No probes. No tests. Just her now.
Propping the mouth of the bag open with a wood peg she begins prepping the mana settings on the unfamiliar control system of the supply desk.
Glancing up she immediately drops her work and again begins scribbling into her notebook. With no mana supplied to the bag, its insides were completely visible. She was quick to sketch out the flower-like structure built around the pale gem.
She thought it was oddly beautiful like the inside of a red tulip waiting to bloom.
She had to restrain her interest out of sheer excitement for the other unknowns. She had to turn it on.
‘Click.’
If the commercial tables could be called a ‘hum’ would this be more akin to a ‘yowl’?
She figured most of her neighbors would be working around this time, so maybe a noise complaint wouldn’t be filed immediately.
In any case time to start.
“You are a talking magic device, right?” Heather asks in a clear voice moving close enough to make sure she wouldn’t be drowned out by the table.
“That’s right.” The bag responds with a mechanically modulated voice.
“You are shaped like a bag, but you talked about theft. So, am I to take it that your contents aren’t free to take?”
“That’s correct.”
“Then would you make a trade?”
A long moment passed as if the bag was considering the pro’s and con’s.
“You are correct. However there is a maximum of six and you are in debt by three.”
Heather’s face scrunched at the unexpected caveat. “Oh?”
“An item for its equivalent, and the same for a question.”
Heathers eyes widened in shock before nodding in apparent understanding. “Then go ahead.”
“How many years have passed since the reign of King Leonus Wolfbourne?”
“… Le…”
“The uniting of the continent?”
“…” Again Heather remains silent before making a last ditch effort. “Perhaps those are events from the lost era. History, art, technology, magic, all of it vanished around eight hundred years ago. Nobody is exactly sure how many years were lost or what exactly happened during the time, but it might be what you are referring too.”
“Do you know about the Yinotians?”
“The creators?” Heather asks flipping open a nearby book to a folded page. “First generation of humans who built the foundation for all technology.”
“How many years ago did they live according to your history?”
“Dating on recently uncovered texts found near a Yinotian ruin indicate around thirteen thousand nine hundred years.”
“At least four hundred years are missing in your history.” The bag coldly announces before pausing for a long moment. “The war, is it still…”
“Yeah.” Heather answers coldly in return. “That’s three, right? So my debt is clear?”
The bag’s silence answers simply enough. “So, a question or a trade?”
Hearing a banging on the door Heather pauses her internal debate to glance at the clock. “Time flies. Hold on one moment.”
Flipping a switch on the table the black shadow that once stirred around the inside of the silk bag vanished to again be replaced by its actual internal structure.
Tossing a sheet over the bag haphazardly Heather heads to the door and again taps her ID on an awaiting pad. Receiving another box in return she waves and shuts the door as the teen sets off on his next delivery.
“Mmm.” She mutters flipping up the top of the box before once again glancing at the still grumbling mana table. With mouth half filled with bread and cheese Heather mutters her candid impression. “Overheats faster, louder, and less working room than the commercial alternative. And it only cost me my life savings. What a deal.”
Unable to wait, and with complaints unaddressable, Heather plucks the sheet off the table and begins firing it up once again.
‘Silence is underrated’ She concludes as the fans once again begin struggling under the heat of ten’s of thousand’s of Tri’s per second.
“My first trade offering.” Heather quickly states once sure the whirlwind of darkness was again stable. With metal tongs taken from her paltry kitchen, she carefully passes the item through the threshold of the bag.
“…” The bag was slow to respond as it considered the item. “This is food? You realize I feed off of mana right?”
“Of course it’s food. May as well be superfood. It’s got vegetables, bread, even meat, and cheese. All the important food groups covered. It’s important to maintain a healthy diet. And as for the second part… Well I hadn’t thought about that. I was too excited about seeing an item actually teleport using such an archaic design.” Heather admits rubbing her head with a chuckle. “You can give it back if it fails to meet your expectations.”
“It is too late.” The voice booms in return. “I hope you find satisfaction in your fourth deal.”
A long moment later a small cork grew visible from the edge of the bag, slowly growing longer it ended at the lip of a finely crafted glass bottle.
Without remembering the tongs, Heather ripped towards the bottle with a bare hand and plucked it from the mouth of the bag.
“In… Incredible.”
Without minding the significance in the size of the air bubble above the liquid Heather begins marveling over the wine bottle. A bottle made thousands of years ago, with techniques we probably can’t even replicate in, not only perfect condition, but with label intact.
‘Click.’
▐◊▌▐◊▌
When Aryn next woke up in the bag he heard the soft sound of sobs and a distinct lack of the racket he had grown to expect in this place.
“I’m sorry.” The voice stammers in between shaky labored breaths. “I’m so sorry. I’m so so…”
“Why are you apolo…” Aryn began to ask into the vocal changer he had found amongst the trove of junk left by the other armory bearers over the years, but the sound of a blast outside of the confines of the bag causes his heart to convulse mid-sentence. “How long has it been this time?”
Again a blast and the quiet melody of sobs from Heather. “I turned one twelve last month. If I bought the house in ’23 then it would, ninety three years? Was I really nineteen? I suppose I had just graduated…”
“You have no reason to apologize. It doesn’t concern me if nearly a hundred years pass without my knowledge.”
A long pause comes from outside while Heather breaths deeply as if preparing to open a very deep wound. “It would matter if you were human. I think you would be angry if you were human, you might feel betrayed. That’s why I’m sorry.”
Dropping the voice changer carelessly Aryn wipes his eyes before turning to look back at the black wall where her voice originated. “How long have you known? Since the beginning?”
Her silence answered the question well enough, so when she spoke it just felt like needles.
“I pitied you. I couldn’t imagine what would have caused you to enter such a hell. Eternity locked away, and now trapped in an era where you can only bring death to those around you. But I couldn’t do anything to help you. So I thought it was best that I lock you, to both the back of my mind, and my storage.”
Another explosion shook the tower sending a flurry of dust down from the rafters and onto the grizzled hair of the desperate woman.
“But now those locked memories are all I can rely on. So, now I turn to you again, for my final trade. No, a request. Even though I have already taken so much from you. Can you give me anything to reverse this situation? Or at least some way to protect my family?”
Aryn, flinching at each successive blast moves his heavy eyes across the pile of items, but they only end up lying on the sword in the end.
“I have nothing.” Aryn plainly confesses, plucking a smaller bottle from the confines of a black box. He wanted to save it, but now it felt unfair to do so. Stepping over to the wall and pressing the bottle into the event horizon of the spell he mutters the truth. “I can make it only easier.”
“I see.” Heather nods pulling the bottle from the opening of the bag and placing a hand on the control system of the familiar desk.
With a click, Aryn’s world again began shrinking in on him. The final thing he heard, as his head became heavy, was the sound of breaking glass and a much louder blast from outside the walls.