In The Cell

There are in those furtive corners blotted out from sight by nitre and subsumed by the shadow of history, yet once known by the hands of men, lay devices for which purpose no current person could hope to divine. The discoveries of the Roman Dodecahedrons two centuries ago and the much more recent unearthing of the Sabu Disc scarcely a month before lapped at the edges of my ponderings as I tapped tentatively with a gloved digit at the obsidian black tablet's glassy surface. It had been found in an unearthed cabin as part of a greater exhuming of a bizarrely buried palanquin ship, for which I had been brought in as an archeologist's assisstant to this lonely digging in the mountain country of the Orient, and for which I had held no particular interest, despite the oddity of the find, until now. The men had, with the typical untempered zeal for the possible discovery of fencable baubles held by shifty Easterners, of which the workers were mostly composed, ripped open a petrified door connected to the supposed captain's quarters. It took the intervention of my mentor, Dr. Guthrie Samhain, known for his writings on the four channeled Chargbargh gardens that stretched from Spain to Hindoostan, and now seeking work that took him away from the company of noisome, swarthy men more odious than the men with which we now struggled, I, and a dozen officers of the Imperial Court which had been dispatched with us, and whom had elevated faculties compared to their lessers, to stop their looting before any precious artifacts disappeared forever into backwater pockets.

When pacified and sent away, we, accompanied by archeologists from the University of Tokyo, a dimunitive duo, one of typical Asiatic stock and one that was undoubtedly was a product of that Dutch fascination with Japan and served as interpreter, entered the low doorway with electric torches into a space hardly larger than an oubliette. It was here that I had found it. Our group had quickly noted, skirted around with their backs nearly scraping the walls, and perched upon the edge of a miraculously preserved charcoal circle, which to my eye held some unknown religious or occultic importance, in the middle of the room, with I opposite to the door. Dr. Samhain chattered excitedly with the Japanese professor with the mediation of the Dutchman, and soon it became clear we had stumbled upon the cell of an abbott of that Eastern mysticism known as Buddhism. We took great care to avoiding damaging it, turning slowly to check the edges of the room and the corners for anything of significance. In truth, I had already known it was there when I had my back to it. The thing had been jammed between the hull and my bootheel, but the brilliant reflection of my torch on its inky face was where my fascination began. I stored it surreptitiously in a coat pocket, feeling the supremely smoothed and straight edges, and noting that I would report it to the rest of the commission once my curiousity had been satisfied. Something in its twinkle under the light, as if I had peered into a deep, disquieting expanse of star dotted sky or into unfathomably deep ocean whose waves flicker with moon fire at their crests, assured me I would never get to see it again had I shown it to the others then.

We reported the discovery to the overseeing authority of the site and swiftly, though I in much more of a hurry than the others, to our tents. Dr. Samhain, a man also known for very little restraint, and matched in his eagerness by the archeologists from the University of Tokyo, was content to entertain himself with the others in drinking and so I was assured my explorations of the artifact by the light of a gas lamp would go uninterrupted. I fetched it feverishly from inside my coat and marvelled at my find, now clearly seen for the first time. It was pitch black on one side, polished so smoothly that I could spot my reflection in its mirror-like finish, and a light metal, possibly aluminum, on the back that was painted white and patterend with cerulean shapes, only broken up by a small black box of glass that contained what unnervingly seemed to be the lenses of a camera, but at an impossibly precise and small scale. Its perfect proportion to my hand, length equal to the tip of my fingers and width to the sides of my palm, told me that it was made for human hands. Two buttons, one long and one short, rested against my left thumb and I posited one must be, if the device is what I thought, a shutter and the other the focus lever. Had somebody else been inside that room recently before our dig? It seemed highly impossible for myriad reasons: most of all that the entire site had been nothing more than a single hole down to the rigging when we first arrived. This device, too, seemed impossible. If it, as the lenses suggested, a camera, it was impossibly advanced even for the manufacturers of today and missing many of the controls standard to them. I pressed tentatively on the longer button, finding it to depress on either end and affirming my suspicions of a lever, yet no other feedback came save for that tactile sensation. Something, though I know not why, tensed within me when I went to manipulate what I thought to be the shutter.

Light bloomed from the depths of the pitch tablet, illuminating my tent with such a blinding and supernatural white that stung my eyes and caused an unintentional flench in my grasp that pressed the shutter again, ending the light. In spite of my immediate surprise, however, I found myself immediately overjoyed at the success of my proddings. A camera with lenses on both sides! A strange, possibly even not historical find, but it spoke to mechanisms so finely thin they promised a revolution far outside the bounds of mere photography. I clicked the shutter again, facing the light from me toward the ground. The same light shown and I expected to to quickly fade, only for it to linger much longer than a camera ever should. I left it shining in that way for some time and, once assured that the light wasn't quite as bright as I had initially appraised it to be and intrigued by the pattern that seemed to be shown by it suggesting a picture as if light passing through a window painting, flipped it around. The tablet shown to me a picture of a bizarrely dressed girl, clearly from the same country this artifact originated from, seemingly staring right at me. Mercifully, the image remained still, but another part had caught my eye. White dots, arranged, uniform, in a circle, surrounded the face of the unkown Asian, and I instinctively tapped one.

The screen - for what else would something an image was projected upon would be? - vibrated lightly when I did so. Further testing found I could drag lines slightly, though my gloves seemed to muffle my ability to do so, and were thus stored away in my coat hastily. It was then that the next surprise came. The device buzzed angrily in my hand and a little dob of white dropped from the top of the screen, text from the national tongue, unknowable to me, populating its space before disappearing back into the top of the screen among symbols for which I had no reference. I do not know what pushed me toward my next action. I only know that I swiped on the screen with deft movements, drawing the shape of most associated with popular esotericism, the pentagram. The sound of a lock unclicking echoed loudly and registered before the actions of my own fingers had as many fantastical symbols overlayed themselves on the image whose mystery continued to draw me further. One in particular, an ornate pair of doors, marked on a corner by the unnervingly familiar exclamation mark that compelled me to peck at it with a slim pointer finger that lightly scratched the glass with its nail before the soft pad met its cool surface.

The message was there. It was the message, I was sure. In English. The disconcert made me strain my eyes to make sure I saw what I had seen, but nothing shifted or waivered. It was in clearly legible English.

Okina-chan
Where are you?

I could barely contain my excitement at these words pulled from the ether, though the bluntness of the message would've perhaps doused that had I been less elated of discovering technology that would make the advancements of telegram and radio obsolete. A small keyboard, much like that of a typewriter, had pulled up from the bottom of the screen, and I considered my next words carefully.

Me
I am afraid I'm not Okina-chan, but I have found this communication device. May I ask who this is?

It was only after this initial contact that I realized my blunder. It was when I went to write my explanation of my lack of knowledge with the device, giddy to even do so with such expediency though somewhat embarrassed by my faux pas, that I received the next message.

Okina-chan
No need to apologize. I'm just glad you found it. I need you to do something for me.

I quirked an eyebrow at this very forward request from a stranger that seemed to me to know my intentions. I pondered how to respond, hesitant to end the conversation and yet unable to help the feeling of danger creeping up my spine. Even then, the danger was born from the awesome implications of what I held in my hand, and I continued with barely restrained enthusiasm.

Me
Of course, Mr. Okina-chan, I will try my best to accomodate your request.

Okina-chan
It's miss, sir. However, Okina will do just for our purposes. Please, follow this map. I have to meet with you.

An image sprouted from below the message like that of a paper map, stark white and with black lines marking routes and geographical and manmande features, and denoted with a red line that led to some point unknown. I unconsciously tapped it and was amazed by the new image that seemed lightly animated and left me pacing what little room I had in my temporary abode. A red dot, tethered to that same crimson line, paced with me on a feature that clearing our camp was in, though certain oddities piqued my interest, such as the city only three miles away that certainly wasn't there. I threw on a larger cloak with which I could shield the light from prying eyes and a wide-brimmed hat before setting out on foot toward this intriguing woman who beckoned me. I passed quietly between the tents of the workmen, long passed out from post-digging drinking, and nearly made it to an edge of the camp where the communicator urged me to step onto some hidden path through the woods when I was stopped by a particularly imposing officer. He was an exception among the Japs present, somehow eye level to me and even more exceptionally, yet very fortunately, able to understand English, as evidenced by his nods of understanding and stepping away as I made up some excuse of needing to relieve myself somewhere other than camp from the night's libations .

The path wound circuitously through brush that deepened as I descended to the lower country at a slow pace, the foliage and ferns having gone from brushing my ankles to the bottom of my calves. It wasn't till I began rounding toward the town that wasn't there that an actual path, though merely a dirt road, formed before me as if out of thin air. It must be a recent development, still in progress, I thought. I brushed an errant strand of hair from my vision as I looked back down to the tablet when another angry buzzing alerted me to a new message.

Okina-chan
Good. You're approaching my present. Just make sure not to walk in the middle of the road, please.

I wondered how this mysterious woman could monitor my location and state so accurately as I typed my reply, only for a tingling at the nape of my neck to warn of something approaching. What made my hair stand on end was the rapidly approaching lights and the sound of an automobile from behind me, and I barely stumbled out of the way, my loafers clacking against the asphalt of the road's shoulder as I nearly tripped around my own thighs when my legs crossed. It took a minute to straighten my hat, tightening its bow, brushing off my cape, and smoothing out my skirt. Damn idiot! There's a street light right here!

Me
yes, ma'am. nearly got hit by some idiot.

Maybe I shouldn't talk like that in front of Ms. Okina. I think she'll forgive it, though, considering the situation. Oh, another message! Ah, but it's so blurry. Let me..... there we go! Glasses acquired! Glad they were in my pocket.

Okina-chan
You're fine, right? No cuts or bruises?

Me
yes ma'am. I wasn't hurt. thanks for the concern.

Almost there. Just gotta pass over the foot bridge.

Okina-chan
Your chest feels fine, too?

Really? Why wouldn't it? Why would she even-

Okina-chan
You know why.

-ah, I see. Kinda hard not to.

Me
yeah thnx 4 that

Okina-chan
You're welcome. You know, many people would've killed for my blessing in the past?

Me
did ts have 2 b so big tho (ᗒᗣᗕ)՞

Me
ur having me work 4 u anyways not like ts is free ༼ ༎ຶ ᆺ ༎ຶ༽

Okina-chan
I pay you back afterwards, don't I?

Yeah, she does. In ways that......
......fuck!

Me
okina-sama plz

Me
i hav 2 do laundry tonite (≖ ︿ ≖ ✿)ꐦꐦ

Okina-chan
See you soon, Sumireko-chan ☆⌒ヽ('､^)chu