Stark torchlight glid across stacks of dusty crates and artefacts draped in yellowing sheets, among the aisles of the Aglostarros University Museum’s store levels. Forgotten hoards cast mountainous shadows on the peeling walls of the neglected archives, as tiny insects fled illumination. More fanciful men might muse that these were spectres of history, of the embarrassments and passing fads that marked the Museum’s past. Garrad had no time for poetry. He was on the clock, after all.
Ten years into a two-year job, Garrad had grown fond of the false alarms that made a museum night guard’s shift even remotely eventful. Down here it was probably just a skrot chewing through a power cable, but that would take time to find. Then he would have to get the replacement parts, fill out several forms… By the time he finished the fix, the sun would be rising. Better than sitting through Thide’s insufferable sitcoms, Garrad thought.
The light settled upon the source of the anomalous blip. Under translucent plastic, an ancient screen had turned itself on. Pulling aside the tarps, dust whirling, Garrad rapped the glass monitor and gave the switches an experimental toggle. In seconds, the whole bank of consoles started grinding back to life, every screen streaming with raw data. Words like “drone”, “discovery” and “coordinates” flashed past in black and white. Garrad was no analyst; this was well above his pay grade.
Throat suddenly dry, he commed Thide.
“Better wake the boss up. She’ll wanna see this.”
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