History: Operating under the assumption that I’d eventually adapt the nontraditional structure of the interactive story script into a standardized, short-story format, I devised a direct sequel, set two years prior, which predicates the events and outcomes adumbrated in that script. The entirety of the dialogue has been somewhat finalized, however, only the first half is afforded the embellishment of descriptive language and is therefore presented below as a rudimentary draft. The overarching concept I entertained was to create a trilogy of short stories that moved backwards in time with each successive narrative, and, though self-contained with respect to the journey of their respective protagonists, some elements would be tenuously interlaced between stories and provide a semblance of evocative dramatic irony. Despite permanently remaining in its concept phase, the prospective final tale was intended to incorporate a few condensed character arcs and plot threads originally designated for the full-length novel.
Background: The concept was heavily inspired by the hauntingly traumatic effects of radiation discussed with harrowing detail in Kate Moore’s The Radium Girls, in conjunction with the research of Marie and Pierre Curie.
***
Chapter 1:
Refracted through an array of panes streaked with an obdurate film of russet-hued dust, patterns of dull morning light are lain across pallid, thin hands which flatten a torn slip of paper between the calloused tips of tremulous fingers. In the temperate gleam diffusing from the nearby window, an outline of faded ink, traced along the rutted creases and fraying edges of the yellowing page, reflects an almost spectral imprint of the message it once conveyed.
17/04/1901
Reminder that conclusions must be formalized and all requested alterations completed by the third of September.
-Telegraphist Alfred Miller for Macluto Telautomatics
The stale breath of a shuttering sigh spills droplets of spittle down patches of coarse, auburn stubble that line the angular chin of a silent gentleman. Dabbing his damp jaw against the pronounced bones of his right shoulder blade, the man drags the note to the edge of his cluttered workspace with the sallow, raw nub of a vacant nail-bed.
Emerging from the shrouded pall of distorted shadows thrown by the crowded recesses of the ramshackle laboratory, the lumbering silhouette of an automaton is gradually cast in the pale light of the rising sun. As the automaton engages in a laborious amble toward its companion, its untarnished treads bow and displace the splintering, rotted wooden floorboards underneath the cumbrous weight of its prodigious cylindrical frame. Stalling and sputtering in its errant trajectory, it clatters with a gentle collision into the uneven legs of the man’s chair.
The sudden momentum of the interaction rattles a pipette the man had placed securely against the peeled, cracking skin stretched across his narrow lips. Its contents are relinquished in spatulate drops that splash against the table and blur the diluted ink of the printed text still resting unfurled amongst a consortium of flasks, solutions, distillates, journals, measurement devices, and other assorted equipment. The man hastens to contain the congealing fluid while the rhythmic syncopation of a single, monotoned note sounds through the metallic reverberation of the automaton’s internal chamber. Attuned to the meaning of the sonorous repetition of steady, distinct clicks, the man passively translates the incoming Morse Code emanating from his companion. Upon its culmination, he carelessly brushes the wiry fingers of his left hand through a dense tangle of brown hair speckled with strands of premature gray before giving the automaton an exculpatory wave with the other.
“No matter. I've long since had that date bludgeoned into my memory. A consequence of their gracious generosity.”
The calm affability of his demeanor is punctuated by a strained, conciliatory smile contorting the rigid muscles of his sunken lineaments. A wayward glance meets the unemotive countenance of the automaton and, in the polished surface of its smooth, riveted plates, the man is confronted by an unapologetic reflection of his haggard appearance. Through the dim sheen of his glasses, he regards with tepid interest how the youthful vivaciousness captured in the vivid luster of his green eyes forms a pronounced incongruity with the sagging, hollowed bags which underlie them.
The automaton audibly initiates tapping its reply.
“It seems the term “generous” has a different denotation in your lexicon than it does in mine. It would be quixotic to presume a method of remediation could be devised within the allotted time.”
The man displays an inscrutable expression accompanying a wordless pause. The automaton remains still for a brief instant in a state of contemplation before determining how to properly proceed.
“I sense I was erroneous in interpreting your previous remark as a literal assertion of their munificence.”
“That was in fact sarcasm, yes. Your ability to recognize such venerable linguistic traditions brings me inordinate joy.”
“Adaptability to language patterns is a necessary inclusion to afford clear communication between automata and humans. Otherwise, I would indubitably misunderstand most of your utterances.”
“I truly hope teaching an automaton sarcasm will be regarded as my paramount contribution to science.”
A moment passes, allowing the lingering joviality of his prior remark to dissipate amongst the dry, stagnant air. He begins anew.
“Magnanimous or stringent, it will have to be enough time.”
“Failure is not an impossible prospect.”
A shallow exhalation trembles the corners of the man’s stiffened mouth as it passes beyond his scored lips. He looks askew from the deeply etched lines and lowered brow of his reflected visage, and turns to resume the execution of his task with the vigor of ardent conviction.
“However, it must be, for now, a negligible one.”
Chapter 2:
A switch is clicked and the residual blue glow of a desk lamp’s crooked filament slowly wanes and fades as the puissant rays of sunrise break across the horizon. Amidst handling bits of feathering fabric that insulate the wires comprising a piece of circuitry, the man abruptly raises and reaches for a nearby flask. His enfeebled lower limbs quiver in response to this meek exertion before his creaking kneecaps suddenly capitulate, sending his panicked body into a tremor of frenetic convulsions as he lurches towards the stable presence of the automaton. The sturdiness of its cold, hardened frame arrests the man’s inglorious descent and steadies his weakened personage, slumped over and tense from nervous excitation, against itself. Heaving perceptively in this protected position, the man’s chest soon regains normalcy in the rhythms of its breath. He straightens his posture and recollects his balance while still cautiously leaning beside the metal surface. When he separates himself with the meager strength of his left hand, the fragile joints of his forearm protrude grotesquely under the waxen sheathe of his bruised skin.
Resonating beeps representing the unconcerned rationality of the automaton’s laconic remonstrance sound as the man settles back into the prosaic chair he recently abdicated.
“Maintaining deficiencies in sustenance is highly insalubrious.”
“As are most of my propensities, I’ve been so often told.”
“Yet, you have elected to systematically disregard her reasonable exhortations.”
“No, I simply regarded them for long enough to decide not to follow them. A trend that will, unfortunately for her, persist.”
A wry smile in consideration of his apparent deviance precedes the continuation of his sardonic reply.
“Now, if you wish to be complicit in my indiscretions, hand me that distillate.”
The automaton complies with immediacy, situating a glass beaker and its sloshing contents between the plates of its claw-like grip. It places the solution upon the table with all the care and precision offered by the incremental, graduated articulation of motion about its hesitant joints.
“Your circuitous reasoning must be incomprehensible even to those who are familiar with your unique, stylistic manner of speech.”
“My wife would profess the same.”
A single, hoarse laugh escapes from a slanted but congenial smile as the corrugated cracks of his numb fingertips tenderly press against the clouded surface of the glass. While transfixed in silent rumination, a chill of solemnity stifles the warmth of his temper and supplants his irreverent countenance with a wistful, distant expression.
“Thank you.”
“I can do naught but oblige.”
Chapter 3:
Quiet austerity is evinced from within the warped, heavy walls lining the cluttered laboratory as the man persists in his nimble endeavors. Punctuating the stillness and settling torpor of a collecting layer of dust with its low vibrations, the automaton emits an encoded intercession.
“I have discerned observationally that you harbor a concentrated sample on your personage with unwavering constancy.”
“How wonderfully perceptive of you to notice a behavior I hadn’t attempted to conceal.”
“Impertinent interjection aside, Oberinium’s status renders such additional security measures superfluous.”
“Security? No.”
Knocking the curved hook of a reposed cane aside with a curt, dismissive brush against the elevated veins reticulating the back of his left hand, he reaches into the slack pocket of his pleated trousers. A vial of crystalline salts is lifted from the tattered folds with methodical attentiveness and delicacy.
“The glow is ineffably mesmerizing, isn’t it?”
Lurid in the soft turbidity shading the corners and knotted rafters of the laboratory, a thin band of ethereal green light emanates in a continuous stream from within the narrow tube. The luminescence stains the drab appearance of the man’s loose-fitting raiment and seeps into the exposed layers of his flaking, scarred flesh, imbuing his wan complexion with a hue of preternatural intensity. His gaze reciprocates the fervidity emitted from the glass as his mind perambulates in a sinuous, rapid trail.
“This stunning radiance is partially attributable to the impermanence of its current state. And I don’t mean to merely speak philosophically on the transience of beauty, the effulgence is quite literally caused by the release of energy as the Oberinium transmutes over time.”
“As visually scintillating as this demonstrated phenomena might be, the dissipation of energy still denotes an insuperable degradation of the necessary element.”
“Irrevocable, perhaps, however, we can contend with this decay in other ways. “
He orients himself away from the unblinking bulbs bored into the domed, metal skull of the automaton and indicates with a slight tilt of his head towards his unfinished task.
“The inclusion of lead, for instance, shields sensitive components in the circuitry from its damaging influence.”
“That is simply a trivial alleviation inefficacious in allaying the underlying issue you professed would be fixable within the narrow time frame allotted.”
The man answers this blunt declaration with a wave of his hand, lethargic and slow, as if the dense air dragged against his somnolent gesture and resisted its gentle motion.
The playful cadence of his response is articulated through the soft, crackling tones of his weak voice.
“Your confidence in me is inspiring. I haven’t exhausted all my ideas just yet.”
Chapter 4:
Intensified through the faceted prism of paned window glass, the blended hues of a crepuscular sky graze a pair of twitching, tired lids held tightly closed in protestation of the penetrating glare. Blinking away the encrusted evidence of his stupor, the man peers about the few regions of the laboratory still lighted against the encroaching darkness of the advancing night, his countenance vacant, empty, and reflective of the somnambulant state of his groggy mind. The sharp, extruded shapes of rigid shadows slowly soften as they intermingle and blur together, spreading across slouching depressions and dripping like poured oil into the arterial grooves crossing the floorboards. The viscous blackness pools beside a ragged toy lying discarded at the base of the automaton’s treads.
A flint of incendiary realization is struck amidst the misty haze of the man’s murky thoughts, and he drops to his fracturing kneecaps in a desperate clamber towards the tiny, carved toy before cradling the object with the tenuity of his shaking arms.
His sudden inquiry, plaintive and pleading in its tenor, escapes the chafed aridity of his throat in a broken, discordant vibrato.
“How long was she here? What did she touch? Did she put anything near her face or mouth?”
Florid discoloration tinges the taut, leaden skin overstretching his concave cheeks. Through the filter of his ashen complexion, the blush of anxious vitality stains his lineaments a ghastly purple hue.
“I was able to ensure that no such situation arose. Sadie’s attentions appeared to be dominated by an uncompromising desire to remain in your propinquity. It is surprising you were not ousted from your slumber by her vociferous protestations as I escorted her out.”
The steady constancy of the automaton’s reverberant knell mollifies the incipient fit wracking the frail frame kneeling limply at its front. Rising with strenuous efforts and dragging himself back towards his chair in a disoriented hobble, the man tenderly situates the toy at the corner of his worktable. His eyes, limpid and red from the strain of residual fatigue, look askance in a pitiable avoidance of the automaton’s imperturbable gaze.
“It’s better for her this way. I appreciate your gesture.”
“You are aware there is exclusivity to the cognizance of Oberinium’s existence, confined to the preeminent- “
“She’s my daughter. Additionally, she’s four.”
“Your government did not specify a minimum age to which this stipulation applies. I must ensure that you at least have attributed any distinguishable properties she potentially witnessed to Ionium, as per regulations.”
“…Yes, I did.”
“The delay in your response does not betray certitude. Your government implored secrecy- “
“No, I implored. The request regarding Oberinium was mine.”
His voice, measured and flat, grows flustered as a flush of remembered ignominy stains the inward curve of his cheeks and quickens the pace of his careful, metered cadence.
“It is doubtful you had the puissance necessary to influence the adoption of this immutable policy. As for the content of your original proposition, am I to assume it suggested the interminable suppression of scientific information?”
“Well, no… I never wanted…”
A stunted sigh elicits a low, sibilant whistle as it breezes through the spaces formed from intermittent patterns of crowded and missing teeth. Following a noiseless pause, the man reconstitutes his disjointed thoughts and speaks again.
“Every time a new element is introduced to the public, avaricious sots start selling tinctures of the stuff alongside unsupported claims of its salubriousness. It was imperative to me to prevent the same from befalling Oberinium, so, I proposed the consideration of stringent regulations to moderate its sale and employment.”
“A reasonable pursuit. However, the government’s subsequent response represents a profound extrapolation of your intentions. Clearly, they were not incentivized by your injunctions alone.”
A meek, mournful smile gently curls and recedes his lacerated lips.
“I suppose that’s true, in part. However, some blame must still reside with me.”
Chapter 5:
Beyond the meager confines of the isolated laboratory, bent, sporadic trees and forlorn blades of wild grass span the veld extending inexorably towards the elusive horizon. Particles of the copper plains, drifting in the lassitude of a dying wind, coat the gnarled foliage and eroded stones that rise like austere graves from the sifting ground. The researcher positions himself within the gleam of the earthen tones filtering through the window, the perceptible cant in his imbalanced posture steadied against his quivering cane. He adjusts the tilt in the rectangular spectacle frames slipping down the bridge of his nose and engages in a perfunctory perusal of an officially notarized telegram he recently unfolded.
“I understand the paucity means they must be “particular” about its distribution, however, I- erroneously, quite apparently- figured they could afford to spare me a few additional milligrams.”
As he utters this acerbic condemnation, his creaking fingers tear at the telegram in a vehement staccato of shrill rips.
Rising above the shriek of the shorn message, a single, sustained note elevates in pitch and volume, echoing between the crags and valleys receding into the distance as it follows along the track of an advancing train. A hushed interjection falls breathlessly from the man’s twitching mouth as the blaring noise diminishes in a sudden, precipitous decrescendo dissipating into the russet haze.
“That damned train passes every morning from the mines, I suppose it must be laden with the prodigious weight of “possibility”.
“Ionium ore, predominantly.”
Encumbered with renascent uncertainty concerning the wavering stability of his cane, the man shuffles away cautiously from the window and lowers himself in a gradual, somber descent into his chair. An area is cleared amidst the haphazard arrangement of equipment strewn about his workspace as he rifles through the debris for a clean piece of parchment unblemished by sodden and discolored contamination. He clenches a pen between the shriveled flesh clinging to the porous bones and inflexible joints of his tremulous fingers and begins to transcribe his response.
The sharp point of the pen is carved along the delicate surface of the blank sheet, marring it with a splattered, drawn trail of bleeding ink.
Whispering an acrimonious denouncement of the illegibility of his capricious penmanship, he tosses the implement aside with frustrated resignation.
“Ah, well, I’m sure they’ll appreciate not having to read my handwriting anymore.”
Concurrent with the exhalation of a disgruntled snort, the man cinches the cuffed sleeves of his splotched, weathered shirt above the withering knobs of his distended elbows. A succession of snaps sounds as he unfurls the hunched curvature of his bent spine and solidifies his stiffened body into a reposed position resting against the back of his chair. He interlocks his thin extremities behind his head and entwines them amongst slick strands of gray-streaked hair before addressing his companion in a tone of feigned placidity.
“Are you amenable to typing up an oration of mine?”
“Proceed.”
Reclining while his weary lids contest the descending force of gravity, he recites a sarcastic panegyric dedicated to his superiors and the notable lenity of their constant, unequivocal rejections. The automaton, taciturn and unprovoked by the man’s histrionic implementation of language, hesitates before tapping out its typed transcription.
“Shall I redact the extraneous wordplay?”
“They’re known in the common parlance as ‘puns’, and no, you may not.”
The man persists unperturbed in the articulation of his forced supplication, and, succeeding its conclusion, unshackles himself from the dominating regime of contentious somnolence which had violently set upon his relaxed, defenseless frame.
Stricken with a spasmodic wince as he hoists himself out of his slouching posture, he stammers motionless for a moment before grabbing at a flat metal instrument intended to remove the embedded bolts embossing the automaton’s anterior. He opens the newly liberated cavity and pries the completed message from the prongs of an inset typewriter, a knowing smirk pulling and stretching the upturned edges of his chapped mouth as he reads through the tangible evidence of his dry wit.
“Perfect.”
Placing the flippant reply aside, the man allows his fumbling fingers to commingle with errant wires and abandoned circuitry as his eyes affix their idle and aimless gaze upon these mechanical motions. His left hand gravitates towards the slouching pocket of his sagging trousers and caresses the concealed vial of Oberinium dilutions huddled against a charred, spreading hole chewed into the drab cloth.
Breaching through the severed and singed fibers, the smooth surface of the glass tube brushes lightly against the deadened nerves and raised contusions rippling the naked flesh of his blistered palm.
Precipitated from the fog of desultory introspection, a lone consideration hails.
“I’ve been entertaining the prospect of isolating and replacing the Oberinium components as a method of redressing this encountered wear.”
Stunned by the seeming simplicity of his own succinct proposition, the man allows his desperate mind to be enthralled by the ebullient images conjured from his quixotic cogitations.
The automaton interrupts these unarticulated musings with the clangor of its innocuous query.
“The foundational concept is theoretically feasible, though demanding and precise in execution. Do you propose an empirical test on an independent system to ascertain the practical validity of your supposition?”
Shaking his head knowingly at his own optimistic disregard for the stringent actualities and limiting stipulations concomitant with his proposal, the man represses the compulsive twinges of mounting nervous agitation. With his attention hastily turned to a careful inspection of the automaton, he unfurls the wrinkled cuff of his right sleeve and gathers its loose, drooping folds within his feeble grasp, wiping a splotch of grease from atop the curved plate of the automaton’s head with its rough, yellowing fabric.
“A-Ah, yes. Of course.”
Though a shy smile accompanies the reassuring softness of his whispered words, his eyes glint from beneath the sheer crests of fluttering, purple lids with the ferocity of undampened eagerness and apprehension.
Chapter 6:
Interlaced threads of red, throbbing veins ensnare and lattice the refulgent green eyes that bulge from within their dark, craterous sockets. Through the glassy veneer of his fatigued and distorted vision, the man’s sullen surroundings are painted in a smattering of indistinct impressions mixing into the diluted light spilling from the overcast sky. He wipes his eyes and smudged spectacle lenses, restoring an uncompromising lucidity to the harsh angles of his prosaic reality. Resting the collapsed flap of skin fused to the tip of his thumb against the bristling hairs of his auburn beard, he surveys the completed Oberinium-impregnated circuit functioning flawlessly before him.
“The exigencies of difficult situations justify somewhat hastened experimental proceedings, wouldn’t you say?”
“No. That is demonstrably a poor standard of scientific methodology to uphold.”
“Normally, I would agree, but… We don’t have the time.”
Tethered into despondency by the certitude of his words, the man’s speech falters and tapers into silence. With pronounced reservation, he dislodges his cadaverous tongue from the pungent recess of its shallow resting place and reanimates his stagnant, languishing thought.
“I need to determine if the recorded effectiveness of my replacement method is translatable to more complicated, interconnected scenarios.”
“This intricate Oberinium circuitry you are referring to is—"
“Yours, yes.”
A veil of cold assuredness coats the temperate whisper of his calm cadence. The crimson tint of his strained, narrowed glare meets the unchanged countenance of his unemotive companion as the clang of Morse Code blusters into the stillness with a sharp and penetrating ring.
“I must intercede, the lack of practicality of this venture is insurmountable; the dexterity and delicacy required are beyond your capabilities and the probability of incurring irrevocable damage to my functions is exceptional. I cannot recommend on the basis of a risk-benefit analysis—"
“You are a sapient being, I am not going to concede to allowing the truncation of your life without at least attempting to eradicate the cause--”
The vibratory shiver of his words’ struck chord is stifled as the final, choked syllables are swallowed into the soundless sepulcher of his hoarse throat. A croaking cough trembles the breadth of his stature before a breathless plea clears his raw windpipe and escapes his peeling lips.
“It is incontrovertible that a chance of success exists, I can’t simply ignore that.”
“A likelihood that is statistically negligible. Preventative measures have failed.”
“If they could just supply more time…”
“Ultimately, the decay is responsible for foisting this rigid time frame upon us.”
The weakened tendons of the man’s muscles tense with every jolting crash of iron armature from within the hollow chamber of the automaton’s pulsating chest.
“The orders of your government were entirely pragmatic in their consideration of this ineluctable matter. They provided an opportunity for you to pursue your hypotheses, however, given the lack of efficacy elicited, the expected recourse would be to finally comply with their intentions.”
“They don’t care about the preservation of your life, nor do they respect your agency to decide this fate for yourself.”
Steeled beneath a hardened façade of solemn restraint, his brittle composure begins to fracture against the mounting exasperation of his spewed, bitter admonishment.
“You are cognizant that I have no personal desires. Therefore, I assent to the prudent machinations designated for the final months of my operational life. Establishing mobile telegraphy is a beneficial- “
“You can’t…”
“I reiterate, no judicious alternatives remain. Additionally, if there was veracity to your professed devotion to upholding the sanctity of my purported autonomy, your acquiescence should have been immediately pursuant to my initial objections.”
“That’s…”
His cracking mask of frigid resolution, tempered in the presumed righteousness of his stance, is further defaced by the blunt fustigation wielded by the automaton. He reels for a brief instant to collect his shattering mentality and weld his fragmented thoughts into a cobbled facsimile of the untarnished conviction he previously donned.
He peers with frantic suddenness at the automaton and faces, exposed in the undistorted scrutiny of its polished glass bulbs, his aged and wearied reflection wearing a frightened expression of irrepressible sorrow.
“I’m sorry. I won’t watch you rot.”
“I will not prevent you from trying.”
A resounding clatter answers the quiet wake of the last Morse chime as the man reaches, with desperate impulsivity, for his tools, knocking into the circuitry before him and pitching the morass of wires and components off the worktable, their faint, internal glow abruptly extinguished as they bash against the wooden planks below. The scattered metal writhes in pieces upon the floor, a piercing wail rising from their energetic undulations until the stiffness of rigor settles in and the plaintive whine slowly enervates and dies away.
The man clutches his implements and leans towards the automaton, undeterred by the broken circuitry lying motionless and silent at his feet.