referring to the original school building.
SNIPE : Ohhhh, that was a bit of a mystery.
KRUMM : There was also an incident involving all the clocks in Avondale.
SNIPE : The entire town was taken. You know, by aliens. I saw it on TV.
NIMREV : Really, Edith.
KRUMM : Yes… well, shortly after the collapse, the Head Principal—
NIMREV : Harold Shepherd. A real stickler for punctuation.
KRUMM : Harold Shepherd retired, and within a matter of days, B.R. Provost arrived.
NIMREV : It is rather fuzzy. You’re right, though. The school had just collapsed, Harold retired—oh, and that new company—
SNIPE : Circles, Phasers, or something…
NIMREV : Sphaera Technologies. Thank you, Edith. Sphaera Technologies moved into town, and somewhere in the midst of it all our wonderful Principal Provost arrived.
SNIPE : Not to mention all those wheelchair people.
NIMREV : Edith!
KRUMM : Ladies! Please, focus. B.R. Provost arrived in Avondale, having somehow heard about the unannounced job opening and was immediately hired.
NIMREV : He had an excellent record.
SNIPE : And, he was so handsome, with so many good ideas for building the new school.
NIMREV : More importantly, he’s never once corrected my grammar.
KRUMM : Thank you. Thank you, ladies. Your assistance has been… invaluable .
***
CONNECTIONS
Monday, March 16th
Earth
P rovost sighed. It felt like only yesterday he’d stood before the cortext, probably in the very same spot that Revolvos had stood over a hundred loonocks before. He could still recall asking Concentric for strength to particle-weave his way across the universe, for wisdom to help find the Corona-Soter, and chancing one additional prayer, for luck to find his old mentor, Petré T. Revolvos.
Strapped to his back, along with a few personal possessions, had been the pinicolis. More vital to the success of his journey than the cortext, the pinicolis would enable the portal to remain open for the return trip. In his haste, his old mentor had been ignorant of the need for a pinicolis. A cortext was the point of origin, the beginning, but always remained behind.
Fingers in place, supplies secured, he’d opened his mind and envisioned a portal through time and space, a door to another solar system, and within it, one giant sun. Beyond that was a planet much like his own, only larger—described, but unnamed, in the Circolar. Provost had felt sure the planet was Earth, from which H.G. Wells had traveled. A planet, Wells had claimed, inhabited by god-like beings, like himself. Beings capable of producing advanced technology, such as the Tsendi and Circanthians had never seen. Technology, Provost imagined, exactly like the cortext.
More important, if the planet described in the Circolar was indeed Earth, then where better to find the Corona-Sorter—translated into the Earth language, the Wheeled Warrior—the being capable of defeating H.G. Wells.
Now, over six years later, if Provost was sure of one thing it was that humans were not gods, and though clever, did not possess the knowledge to design a cortext. And yet…
His gaze shifted to the bottom of the bookshelf, to an oversized book bound in gold foil attempting to pass itself off as gold leaf. It appeared garish and cheap compared to the surrounding leather bound volumes.
Provost had seen, purely by accident, the book entitled, Write Like An Egyptian , lying open on a table in the student resource center. He took, no, borrowed it, so that he could study it further in the privacy of his own office. At first glance, he had been sure his eyes were playing tricks. Exhausted and desperate, having already spent five unsuccessful years searching for the Corona-Soter, he’d come as close in that moment to having what humans referred to as a heart attack, as was Circanthianly possible. There, right in front of him for any being to see, was a book containing pictures of the exact same language used in the Circolar.
Provost had grabbed the book, and for
SNIPE : Ohhhh, that was a bit of a mystery.
KRUMM : There was also an incident involving all the clocks in Avondale.
SNIPE : The entire town was taken. You know, by aliens. I saw it on TV.
NIMREV : Really, Edith.
KRUMM : Yes… well, shortly after the collapse, the Head Principal—
NIMREV : Harold Shepherd. A real stickler for punctuation.
KRUMM : Harold Shepherd retired, and within a matter of days, B.R. Provost arrived.
NIMREV : It is rather fuzzy. You’re right, though. The school had just collapsed, Harold retired—oh, and that new company—
SNIPE : Circles, Phasers, or something…
NIMREV : Sphaera Technologies. Thank you, Edith. Sphaera Technologies moved into town, and somewhere in the midst of it all our wonderful Principal Provost arrived.
SNIPE : Not to mention all those wheelchair people.
NIMREV : Edith!
KRUMM : Ladies! Please, focus. B.R. Provost arrived in Avondale, having somehow heard about the unannounced job opening and was immediately hired.
NIMREV : He had an excellent record.
SNIPE : And, he was so handsome, with so many good ideas for building the new school.
NIMREV : More importantly, he’s never once corrected my grammar.
KRUMM : Thank you. Thank you, ladies. Your assistance has been… invaluable .
***
CONNECTIONS
Monday, March 16th
Earth
P rovost sighed. It felt like only yesterday he’d stood before the cortext, probably in the very same spot that Revolvos had stood over a hundred loonocks before. He could still recall asking Concentric for strength to particle-weave his way across the universe, for wisdom to help find the Corona-Soter, and chancing one additional prayer, for luck to find his old mentor, Petré T. Revolvos.
Strapped to his back, along with a few personal possessions, had been the pinicolis. More vital to the success of his journey than the cortext, the pinicolis would enable the portal to remain open for the return trip. In his haste, his old mentor had been ignorant of the need for a pinicolis. A cortext was the point of origin, the beginning, but always remained behind.
Fingers in place, supplies secured, he’d opened his mind and envisioned a portal through time and space, a door to another solar system, and within it, one giant sun. Beyond that was a planet much like his own, only larger—described, but unnamed, in the Circolar. Provost had felt sure the planet was Earth, from which H.G. Wells had traveled. A planet, Wells had claimed, inhabited by god-like beings, like himself. Beings capable of producing advanced technology, such as the Tsendi and Circanthians had never seen. Technology, Provost imagined, exactly like the cortext.
More important, if the planet described in the Circolar was indeed Earth, then where better to find the Corona-Sorter—translated into the Earth language, the Wheeled Warrior—the being capable of defeating H.G. Wells.
Now, over six years later, if Provost was sure of one thing it was that humans were not gods, and though clever, did not possess the knowledge to design a cortext. And yet…
His gaze shifted to the bottom of the bookshelf, to an oversized book bound in gold foil attempting to pass itself off as gold leaf. It appeared garish and cheap compared to the surrounding leather bound volumes.
Provost had seen, purely by accident, the book entitled, Write Like An Egyptian , lying open on a table in the student resource center. He took, no, borrowed it, so that he could study it further in the privacy of his own office. At first glance, he had been sure his eyes were playing tricks. Exhausted and desperate, having already spent five unsuccessful years searching for the Corona-Soter, he’d come as close in that moment to having what humans referred to as a heart attack, as was Circanthianly possible. There, right in front of him for any being to see, was a book containing pictures of the exact same language used in the Circolar.
Provost had grabbed the book, and for
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