March 18, 1998
Square. Dr. Robert Gibson tucked his head in his coat and kept walking through MIT’s campus in the rain. Thunder echoed in the distance.
Square. He couldn’t believe Bobby Friar, a freshman, a damn prodigy, called him that to his face, and in front of the rest of the students and two other members of the faculty. He was the professor of the class, dammit. He was the one who was supposed to teach them. And then this whippersnapper gets up and gives him an entirely different way of doing things – which would work, certainly. But Gibson heard his own voice echo back, “That’s not the way it’s done.”
“Then you’re square,” he said, and the rest of the kids in the room laughed. He’d lost all medocum of any more teaching from that moment. “Think outside the box, man,” he kept on calling, as Gibson tried to keep himself calm. He knew, and they all knew, that it wasn’t working. Thankfully Jeff took over for him, but he had laughed along with them.
Gibson didn’t bother going home. He instead went to his office. He struggled up the stairs, stopping at each landing to take breaths. “You should retire, you old fool,” he said to himself – again. There was too much to do. Even with the influx of these new kids, new brilliant kids who were highly allergic to peanut dust but could run rings around Newton, he knew he had to do too many things.
There was the long-range communicator that didn’t could find satellite connections without a tower. There was the X-ray machine that would detect the most minute tumor. A new, painless Foley. Improvements on sensors for cars backing up.
He pushed aside the door to his office, panting. Usually he caught his breath by now. He felt the agony in his chest. He saw his vision cloud along the edges. He felt his body pitch and roll, and his body hit the floor.
Fuckin’ heart attack! His conscious mind registered. He was totally conscious. He couldn’t move though, and his breathing slowed. I’m going to die.
No way! You have too much to fix! Suddenly, Bobby Friar, glowing bright white, swam into his vision. You got way too much to fix!
Get the hell away from me, kid, let a man die peacefully.
Too much to fix! Too much to fix! Friar reached down and grabbed his hand.
He sat upright, suddenly full of energy – and ideas. His mind filled with formulae, laws, theorems, problems – all solved. He looked around, the room now brighter, and he saw what everything was made of, how things interacted, interwove, lived, died.
I’m losing my fucking mind. Gibson released Friar’s hand. A line of white light flowed between them. It twisted and twirled, looking absolutely beautiful in his eyes. “We’re connected, you, me, the universe – you’re Awakened! You’ll join magic and science, the way it’s meant to be!” Then Friar pointed to the computer that had languished at the edge of his desk, the one that IT hadn’t had a chance to taken out or taken care of. “FIX IT!”
Gibson jumped up and did as Friar commanded. It came so easily. Even the errant part was easily fixed. He looked up, proud of his work, and the white-glowing Friar applauded, then disappeared.
He looked around the room. There was the lock on the desk over there…
Words: 577
Inspiration: Tinker’s Backstory
Music: Locomotive Breath – Jethro Tull
Comments: The Avatar is young, impulsive, and wants everything to be fixed, helped, done NOW!!! Gibson is not an inventor; he only improves on what’s there. Think buffer/debuffer.