Pyramid Daze: Part I
The Baseball
There are more cones in the retina of your eye than there are people in Los Angeles. When particles of light, photons, enter through the cornea, they are simultaneously existing as wavelengths. These wavelengths create a signature in the form of an electric charge. This electric charge is analyzed by the cones, and interpreted. This interpretation is sent through the optic nerve, and delivered as an electrical impulse in the brain. This occurs 14,000,000,000,000,000 times every second. Or, 2 million times per cone per second.
Now imagine a single cone in an infinite sea of similar cones. Imagine a ball of blue light far above this cone. It has a tail behind it and in front of it. It continues to move closer to the cone. Then the top of the cone opens, and the light disappears.
Pitch Black.
Now this, is what you see:
Standing on the corner of the street in the rain is a man in a white overcoat and matching cowboy hat. He is restlessly shifting his fingers. The walk sign turns on, and he drifts toward a building that is so tall he cannot see the end of it. When he gets to the door, a holographic face appears.
“You’re super late,” it says.
“Shut up STAN.”
The cowboy hastily enters the building and walks up to the front desk. Sitting at the desk is an android with silicon skin.
“Morning Tim,” the cowboy says.
“Hardly.”
“Does Mr. Dimsdale know I’m here yet?”
“STAN just told him. He should be walking out of that door in three...two...one.”
Suddenly a large man dressed the same way as the cowboy comes barging through with a stack of papers so high he can barely balance it.
“Flint! Where in the hell have you been?” he exclaims. “I expected you back two milliseconds ago. Do you have any idea how much trouble you’ve caused me? I should fire you right here on the spot.”
“I’m sorry Mr. Dimsdale, but something happened with the kids and I...”
“Don’t wanna hear about it Flint. Just take this paperwork to your office and get started on it right away. You’re department is about 6,000,066 units behind. Let that sink in.”
“I’m truly sorry Mr. Dimsdale but...”
“G--dammit Flint there’s no time. The entire southern quarter nearly detached! The Host was blindsided by a baseball. The media is really riding my dick on this one and that is the LAST thing I need right now. I put you in charge of whites and reds because I thought you could handle it. If you can’t, then we need to have a separate discussion.”
“No sir, sorry sir.”
Mr. Dimsdale hands Flint the stack of papers, and leaves in a huff. Tim the android shrugs his shoulders while typing. Flint takes a deep breath, and makes his way down a separate hall. While walking down the hall he passes by several highly active rooms. People are rushing this way and that with charts, clipboards, and measuring devices. In every corner there are spectrographs, voltage meters, and sine waves streaming on projector screens. Flint turns into one of the larger offices, which he shares with his assistant Harold Oculus. Harold is sitting at his desk, hunched over a notebook. He is writing down a binary code in reference to a blinking red light in the middle of the room.
“Morning Harold.”
“Mr. Rodd.”
“I told you, call me Flint.”
“Yes sir.”
“Of all people I expected you to be happy to see me.”
“Not today sir. We’re behind, as you probably know.”
The same holographic face from the entrance pops up in front of Flint and says, “Six…Million…Sixty. Six. Units. Flint.”
“Shut UP STAN,” Flint scoffs. He swipes his hand through the air and STAN disappears.
“I really hate him sometimes,” Flint continues.
“Trust me,” Harold sighs, “he’s done nothing but remind me of my shortcomings since I started working in this office. I think he has it out for us.”
“Well I don’t give a flock of flying...”
“Besides, this whole month has been just the worst. It’s the same pattern, over and over. 1101100100110. I mean, not even 1101000100110 every once in a while.”
“Your life is so boring.”
Flint apathetically sits down at his desk and attempts to begin sorting the paperwork.
“I’m serious!” Harold says, “Either the host is unconscious, or we’re watching the sex scene in a movie. No way we’ve been staring at the same point for three entire seconds.”
“We’ve been knocked unconscious. Dim says it was a baseball.”
“Yea if you believe that crock. He’s a real piece of work. You know, I told him that there was an unusual burst coming into sector seven, but no, he wouldn’t listen to me. Said I’d had too many cups of coffee. It’s not my fault he’s never been on a crisis management team before. I know a fast moving object in a blindspot when I see one.”
“I know you do Harold, that’s why I hired you. You’re the best there is when it comes to Rapid Photon Recognition in Unusual Circumstances.”
“Right, that’s why I’m still an assistant.”
“I’m working on getting you promoted Harold, trust me. This business is just as much about popularity as it is photons. You have to earn your status.”
“I earned when I singlehandedly caught a seizure before it happened. That was me!”
“I know, I know. It was in all the journals. Everyone upstairs was very impressed, but they were still the ones who had to turn the host’s head away from the strobe light in time.”
“Yada yada. Maybe I’m past my prime anyway. I’m fully aware that it’s all down hill from here. I mean, I’m three minutes old, and I still don’t have my own office space. Next thing I know I’ll be retired. Then I’ll be dead, and the Host will just go on living like nothing ever happened while someone new takes my cell.”
“You’re doing fine Harold. There’s no need to get discouraged. This is very important work. Of vital importance, some might say.”
Harold shakes his head and pours himself some coffee out of a thermos. He offers Flint a cup. Flint gratefully accepts, and he lights a cigarette to go along with the tasty hot beverage. He separates the paperwork into stacks, and begins to read. Meanwhile, Harold leans forward silently and watches the red light flash. Over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and...
Over.