There exists two alternate Earths, residing in two alternate universes. Despite their differences, the two universes are fundamentally linked together, but the knowledge of this linkage is virtually unknown to both populations. Whenever a creature from a given universe dies, its soul is immediately shuttled to the alternate Earth, and put into a creature that is just being born. This give and take has continued like clockwork for millenia, but that is slowly changing. The very foundations of the universes are being eroded, and it seems that nobody knows, cares, or has the power to stop it... Yet.
December 21nd, 2012
The search continues. Using St. Ann's animal population as observers has worked remarkably well so far. It has turned out to be a simple, subtle, low maintenance, and cost efficient solution, despite the doubts of some. Though the motivations of the critters are difficult to predict, the sheer number of them provide me with fairly consistent coverage of the town. I've also had limited, yet promising successes with remote control of certain subjects. (Not direct control, but a form of operant conditioning.) I hesitate to abuse this effect, as it may lead to suspicion. For now, however, I'll use whatever tools I have at my disposal. Tomorrow,
Mathis stopped typing and listened intently. It was not any sound that caught his attention, but the lack thereof. That's the problem with these Earthen devices,
he thought to himself, only a little annoyed, they don't work by themselves.
He slid his chair back noisily and stood, relishing the chance to stretch too many, too tight muscles. A satisfied groan eased out of his gaping mouth, and he shuffled over to the record player. Mathis pondered dimly about just how long he was sitting there in silence. Too long, in any case.
He stepped over piles of newspapers, stacks of discs, and more than a few long since broken electronics. The only clear spot on the floor stood adjacent to the far wall, and it was zig zagged with faint glowing lines in an enormously complex pattern. Next to the patterned floor stood a large table, littered with bottles of all shapes and sizes filled to the brim with volatile looking liquids. Chips, burns, stains and scars covered its surface. Next to the large table, there stood a smaller one, housing only a beat up record player sitting upon a stack of records, sandwiched in between a pair of mismatched speakers.
Mathis finally made his way there and cautiously flipped the record to its other side. The needle scratched along the rim of the record before falling into the groove, causing fuzzy hisses to precede the music. But when the music came, it came bravely. The London Symphony Orchestra's violin section began the third chapter of the story, chittering along excitedly. A lone oboe made its voice heard among the din, only to be joined by a flute. Mathis grinned broadly and made his way back to the computer. Allegro Vivace, indeed.
Now accompanied, Mathis prepared to type again when a voice was heard from above.
“I honestly can't tell what you hear in this fellow's work that you enjoy so much.” Mathis didn't need to look to the top of the bookshelf; It was Simon, lazing as he was wont to do.
“I wouldn't expect a cat to be an expert on late Romantic music,” Mathis intoned condescendingly. “This 'fellow' is Ludwig van Beethoven. He's considered to be quite the genius on Earth, you know.”
“Genius, eh? This genius sounds like he could learn something about orchestration from Saxhill.” At that, Mathis swiveled his head upwards with a dismissive snort.
“You can't be referring to the Halfling? Please, the only sounds a Halfling can appreciate are erotic moans and the wails of babes.” The familiar fixed Mathis with a yellow eyed glare.
“Isn't that a bit racist?”
“Not if it's the truth.” Mathis winked and turned back to the array of screens before him. Each was flickering through several feeds of shaky black and white video. For a time, the only sound in the room was the punctuated clicking of a keyboard.
“Very clever work with the animals.”
“Thank you, Simon. I thought it was quite good myself. I'm just amazed at how easy it was. You'd be surprised at all the things you can get away with while disguised as a homeless person.”
“Subtle.” Simon said dryly as he stretched.
“Quite.” Mathis popped a potato chip into his mouth with a loud crunch.
“Mathis,” Simon snapped, “You're enjoying too many of Earth's comforts. Do you have any idea how terrible those chips are for you?” Mathis whirled his computer chair around and squinted up at the snow white cat perched upon his bookshelf.
“Simon, I did not bestow upon you the magical gift of sentience so you could constantly belittle me. You're supposed to be my assistant, not my Mother.”
“Somebody has to be... You are alone, after all.” Mathis whirled back around, intent on ignoring the belligerent feline, when something on screen three caught his eye.
“Not for long.” He said, bolting upright, grabbing his coat and heading for the door.
“Now where are you going?” Simon said warily. Mathis grinned the grin of a madman as he flung open the door.
“I'm off to rustle up some heroes. Wish me luck.”