Random Logs

He wasn't sure what he should write about. He didn't know how many records survived, or what the current surveillance was. He knew about the obvious stuff. The unseen entities that existed in the higher dimensions. They were truthful and honest, but it seemed like it was a human problem to solve. Still I'm sure they could be counted upon to give some insight.

He tried accessing a certain memory, it was blocked, as if forbidden. There was a small spike of pain. No doubt it was due to the the nanobiologist. Still, codes were meant to be broken. At least he had found the offending shunt, not literally of course, but it did seem to have a location in the right hand, front part of his brain, about two inches from a spot slightly above his eyebrow.

He wondered if it needed some kind of trigger, some sight, sound or thought pattern to unlock. Perhaps when he had reorganized his mind away from chronological storage, which he was already trying to do. That's what the music was for, setting two coexisting paths on a differing tempo. Hyper-processing divergent information.

He thought about his other option, warning the tower. He wondered if they might be part of the same plan. Surely everything was related on some level. Still he wasn't sure he could keep both projects going at once in his mind. He felt selfish putting his own research first, but the initial letter didn't seem to warrant any kind of response that pleased him. That too was short sighted, but then again, so was dropping his studies. They seemed to have their own organizational strategy, and it was far from scientific.

Still he kept the idea on the back burner, perhaps the timing would be better later.

He documented a strategy on the simulator. Some time after the the initial returns, once teams could be assembled, when it was still new enough to matter. Perhaps some of the residual energy would be helpful in bridging the gap, before people settled into a long and unchanging pattern again, showing them there was a new way to bring people across.

That was the key, as soon as he typed it he knew it. He could become helpful either in the warning, or the rebuilding. He was leaning to the latter, but he was mercurial. He would have time to sort out both, perhaps.

If it was to be as the book said plainly, he was already in good shape, he could remember the content and import of his dreams automatically, and in great detail. Not always lucid, in the sense of control, but always aware that he wasn't awake when the sensations came either. That might be another pursuit worthy of study.

He wasn't doing anything else which had any pressing demands on his time and this, at least, was purely mental. He thought about going back to his old haunts on the subject, but he always found them disappointing, catering only to the novices.

Someday, when the dust had settled and they could look around without being so frantic and distracted, he would casually point out that he was, and always had been, miles ahead of the curve.