Elements of Earth: The Element Trials

Chapter 9b, 2020, Estrellita: Reality; Search for dreams in my father's workshop

I drag a finger along the dusty workshop table. The top is wood, requiring more maintenance than metal, but far less conductive for electrical projects. I haven't been down here in a long time, but aside from some cobwebs it hasn't changed. The floors are still made of concrete except in one section in the corner that's hardwood. That section is where the drafting table is. It's an old fashioned number with no digital accessories. Just paper, carbon and ink. Left of the table and set into the wall are two bookshelves of instruments and reference books. Ranging from carpentry to chemistry and every craft invented in between. And far away from all the shop equipment, out of range from anything that could damage it, but prominently visible from the entirety of the workshop, is my stasis capsule.

So many memories are here. Father instructing me in programming my first arduino project, a light cube he still displays prominently in his office. Then the 3D printer we built together. I've used it in many personal projects since then. It seems like we used to have so much more time together. Though my memories are jumbled, in my youngest memories I think I was only thirteen or fourteen. Daddy says that this is because even before I came to live with him I had a lot of health problems. He says my body is different. Special. That I have a beautiful mind. But with the benefits, there are also hazards. Sometimes I was in medically induced comas. Even though I've lived with Daddy and Vivian for five years, I've missed a lot of birthdays.

I touch the cold glass of the stasis chamber. My mind was active while I was in stasis. For an incalculable time I merely dreamed. But then I became conscious of the dreams. That's when I built my library. I could only come out of stasis for short periods, but I told daddy about my library. He said that creating the library meant that I have a beautiful mind like him. I told him how sad I was that so many of the books there were empty, but daddy is a genius. He developed a way that I can communicate wirelessly with machines. Ever since then my library has always had wifi. I downloaded so many books I had to rebuild the library to fit them all. Whether he, Touma tou san or someone I've never met is my biological father, I will always love him for the love he's given me.

The workshop is cold. The heat of my hand condensates the glass. It makes a sad sound as I slide my hand off its surface. I'm not in the mood for a project but I don't want to leave. I take my father's usual place, sitting on the stool in front of the drafting table. Underneath the blank white sheet of paper is a green rubber mat, not so soft that a pencil would break through the paper. The table has metal in it so that magnetic rulers and compasses can ease their use. I trace a finger along the giant page. It's still attached to the roll and seems to be the only thing that hasn't gathered dust. Perhaps one of Vivian's bots had it cleaned. Maybe she thought I would be in the mood for a project.

As was father's habit when looking for inspiration, I stare at the titles of the reference bookshelf. Mostly filled with textbooks their spines have unimaginative titles like 'CHEMISTRY I' or 'A REFERENCE GUIDE TO THE USE OF MATERIALS 2013 EDITION.' But some were not educational at all. Many science fiction titles also lined the shelf. He said that rather than entirely inventing new concepts you could find inspiration in the ideas of others. But then I noticed something odd. One book wasn't a science fiction at all. It was an epic fantasy. 'The Fellowship of the Ring.'

It's the same book that Dak had read to me, I mean Kira, when she was in recovery. I shouldn't draw conclusions from happenstance... even before the films came out it was a very popular book. I would have glanced right over it had it not been in the wrong place. My father is meticulous. Every book on the shelf is in order. First the reference books, then the ones meant for inspiration. All of them in in alphabetical order. No, not all. Right after 'Ender's Game,' where the fellowship should be is 'The Wizard of Oz,' printed in Portuguese.

My father has always been a connoisseur of languages and Portuguese was my first spoken language. He'd read it to me when I was between stasis sleeps before I built my library. But rationalizing why he has the books doesn't explain why they're out of order. I inspect them closely. They are just as covered in dust as everything else. I remove both books and briefly check them for dog-eared pages or handwritten notes. Nothing. I move to return them to how I found them... But I can't. Even in my library, where I can summon any book I want at will, every title is in order. If I put them back out of order, it will bug me the rest of the day.

I put them back the proper way and turn to go. By the time I reach the stairwell I think I heard the faintest sound. I might have imagined it, but it was almost like a slow sigh. I walk back into the workshop to investigate the potential noise. Nothing seems different. I sit on the stool to test if it was leaking air from the pneumatics of the stool. Bouncing on it doesn't shift its height one iota. Satisfied that the stool wasn't the origin of the noise, I surveyed the workshop. The only portion I hadn't examined more closely was the second shelf.

While most of what it holds is equipment and tools, some of the objects presented there are creations. Some of them made by father, the rest however are mine. The earliest a woodworking project, a simplistically carved bird. Another, a purple crystal grown from a home chemistry set. What made it unusual was that it was also in the shape of a bird. Accomplishing that took ingenuity and dedication. Usually a crystal in these kits grow up a string from a liquid solution. Father helped me weave the string in an intuitive design. Then I had to carefully time the growth of each string, reorienting the delicate crystals before applying the solution directly with strategic precision. I never told father the reason I have such a fascination with birds. The first reason is that because I have always lived inside the mountain and have never seen one. The second being jealousy. To feel the freedom of being able to fly wherever they want.

There is one other creation associated with flying, but it's not mine. It is a flat, wide paper airplane. Strangely enough I've never seen it before. I don't know if father made it because I haven't been down here in almost a year. I pick it up turn away from the shelf and give it a good throw. It flies straight for about a foot before doing a half barrel roll to the left, dives and doubles back. It's slides in for a landing into the gap between the bottom of the reference shelf and the floor. A gap that, as I lay on the ground to retrieve the plane, isn't present on the other shelf. I squeeze my fingers under the gap, gripping the bottom of the shelf with my fingertips to crawl my hand closer to the flag. But my hand isn't getting closer to the plane, the shelf is moving closer to me. Moving closer, but not leaning forward to pinch my fingers or drop books on my head.

On each shelf there is a coat hook, on which rest lab coats and workshop aprons. I tug on it slightly, unsure of what to expect. It swings open silently. With no extra force it opens all the way. Whatever anchor system it uses it reduces friction to negligible levels. If it had creaked, I would have felt more Scooby Doo. It also would have felt more Scooby Doo if when I walked in the only thing behind the hidden door was no more than an empty closet. I begin to think it's odd that the solid steel rail that clothes would hang on is mounted at waist level and far too close to the walls. That is until the door closes behind me, shutting away the only light. Then the floor falls.