MOAB

Chapter 7i^4

Chapter 7i^4

Grrrrrnggggggggg.

Grnnnng.

Grrrrrrrrrrrrnnnnnggggg.

Mr. Andreas’ saw cut through wood like… well a sharp and powerful saw.

It was his latest project, some kind of wardrobe or something. He didn’t like those Ikea things, he wanted to make stuff himself.

He was a retired man, used to work in the Public Power Company. A handyman there as well, he claimed to have laid hundreds of kilometres of cable and repaired over a thousand power transformers.

The neighbours believed him. Everyone who knew the man believed him.

Not a day went by without Mr. Andreas’ projects being heard around the block.

Yanni held his head in his hands.

The noise was too much. He should be thankful however, that it wasn’t one of the man’s steel projects. Those took a lot more work and throwing around of metal.

To imagine the man’s toolshed, you simply had to recall all of the tinker types you had seen in movies. The scrap metal rusting everywhere, abandoned projects all over the place and old power tools that needed a good kick to get started.

Then you had to reverse this image in your mind.

His toolshed was cleaned meticulously between projects, so much that you could have an open heart surgery on his workbench. The surrounding area was full of carefully stacked scavenged materials and replacement parts, all stored in closed plastic bins and labeled. His tools were shiny and sharp, applying his skill into precise cuts and holes.

Grrrrrrnggggggggggg.

Despite all of Ourania’s efforts, Yanni had a headache. He woke up with a bad temper, and it didn’t help having to hear all the woodcutting throughout the day.

He was grateful of course. Without Mr. Andreas’ prompt action in putting the fire out, Yanni might not even have a house to feel lousy in right now. Or worse, his family might have been hurt.

He felt he had to endure.

“Good thing he finishes his projects quite fast,” he told himself. “He begins new ones just as quickly though,” he added.

He knew it was going to be a slow day anyway. He decided to brush up on some math he was struggling with, it had been left unused for eight years and it had taken on the complexity of Chinese for some reason.

“It sure is loud. Should I turn on the stereo?” asked Ourania. She had tried closing the windows and had moved him to another part of the house already.

“No, it’s fine. I wasn’t concentrating that much anyway. Let’s be patient,” he said with a smile and tried to bury his head in the math book.

The loudness of advanced math did nothing to drown the noise.

Yanni decided to turn this to his advantage. He perched up his ear and studied the noise. Imagined the saw cutting through wood.

Oh man, lots of physics there!

Let’s see. We have the cutting of molecular bonds. Sawdust flying around in fractals. Each particle its own unique size and shape, with its own aerodynamic properties.

Grrrrnnnnnnnnnnnnnngg.

Acoustic waves modulated by the wood being cut. Like a violin with single-use strings. Making music by cutting them with a knife.

Wait a minute.

That might be it… All he thought about was not letting the light spill out. What if he needed to get a percentage of the light to spill on purpose, sacrificed, for the sake of data integrity on the lattice?

But was it possible through interference? Or entanglement? Who knew? It was something to build on.

Grrrrng.

He slapped his forehead. He swept the whole desk on the floor and pulled up a notebook, scribbling like mad.

Ourania walked the steps leading to the street. She went to the toolshed where Mr. Andreas worked. She looked around the neat workshop. Walking silently she reached right behind the man, him not taking notice of anything but his craft. She looked at the wall, the rows of neatly placed tools on suitable little hinges.

She brushed her hand over the tools and picked one up in her small hand.

Mr. Andreas was wearing a work mask and protective eyeglasses, the ones that cup your head with silicone for the best fit.

He had a sort of venting system over his workbench that pulled all the sawdust straight into a filter. Bright lights made the workbench an excellent place to work, even for someone whose eyesight was failing him due to age. And of course, two large fire extinguishers always at hand.

The man turned around, and stopped the saw. He was towering over her, a retired handyman who was built like an ox and probably could outrun a few teenagers in a race.

He pulled the mask down and smiled. His skin was plastered with sawdust. His grey hair had taken in even more.

“Oh hello young lady! I didn’t see you there. You should be careful around power tools, accidents do happen,” he said, with a voice suitable for Santa Claus, ready to shower kids with presents.

Ourania was looking innocent, her hands crossed behind her back and her eyes looking up at the big man.

“I can’t hear nor see all that well anymore. Next time hit something really hard so that I notice you at the door, right?” he said with the same grandfatherly tone.

“Will do,” she said.

She swung the hammer in an arc, landing it right on his temple. Mr. Andreas fell on his saw, unconscious, with his weight on the circular sawblade.

She pressed the button and the saw whirred again.

It met bone, and stopped.

She made coffee for him. Washed the mug he liked the most, the one that read “The physics is theoretical, but the fun is real.” It was Yanni’s favourite, a quote from some old TV show.

She brought the coffee to him, and placed the mug on his desk. While leaning, she touched him on the neck. His biometric readings lit up blue in her field of view and she saw with satisfaction that Yanni was in the zone. Dead centre of it. That made her happy.

Yanni was focused on his notebook, scribbling and calculating and mumbling. He had been used to getting served what he needed all these days during the Ellipsis project, so he absent-mindedly picked up his favourite mug and mumbled between sips.

He rubbed his fingers together to wipe off a smudge of blood. He must have had a paper cut, he thought, and quickly returned to his previous thoughts.

He didn’t take his eyes off his equations for a minute. If he had, he would have noticed Ourania standing quietly behind him, a pattern of blood spray on her delicate face.