Dream d1169-s: Fracture at the Root

I had a dream where...

I had a dream where I was standing on a rooftop beside an antenna mast, its steel frame cross-hatching the sky into pale rectangles, and from up here I could see all of it: the settlement below, the beacon at its center throwing slow pulses of amber out through the morning haze, the six structures arranged around it like a sentence still being written.

Lano sat at my feet, nose working the air. The white crane was a distant mark above the relay ridge.

I could see the Wire Man on the far side, threading new cable along a conduit run he had been extending for three days. The Beacon Network Specialist was at her post beside the mast housing, reading signal levels from a panel that hummed with the regularity of breathing. Down at the library reading room, a window was open, and the Philosopher had a hand resting on the sill, looking out. Working, or thinking about working, which with him amounts to the same thing.

The Weather Reader had climbed the forecasting tower before dawn. I had seen the lamp on up there when I crossed the courtyard. The Listener was in the signal room, the telegraph key steady under his hand at its slow rhythm. The Dreamer was somewhere in the broadcast station, I could hear her voice carrying out through the speaker array, low and testing cadences, not yet transmitting.

The Builder was below me, crossing between the projection pavilion and the beacon housing, a length of conduit on one shoulder.

Then Lano's ears went flat.

It was not a sound I recognized at first. A tone below hearing, felt through the soles. Then the rooftop surface under my boots shifted, just slightly, like a table when someone leans too hard on one end. The antenna mast creaked at its base bracket.

The sound came next. Somewhere on the settlement's east edge, where the oldest reclaimed structure stood, the one we had not yet finished assessing, a deep concussive crack split the air. I turned and watched a section of that building's facade tilt outward, slow and deliberate, the way something that has been holding for too long finally stops.

Cables ran through that wall. I knew which ones.

Lano barked once, sharp and clear, then held still.

The Builder dropped the conduit. The Beacon Network Specialist was already moving, unhooking her field kit. Down in the courtyard the pulse from the beacon kept its rhythm, steady, steady, then flickered once.

The east structure groaned. A second crack, deeper.

I was already off the roof and on the stairs when I heard the Listener's voice rising from the signal room, calling out channel confirmations, checking what was still connected and what had gone dark.

Lano said, quietly: "Tierra."

I did not stop moving.