SCI-FI - The Transit Atrium By Olofin
In 2147 the Transit Atrium still appeared to those whose neural patterns matched certain rare signatures. Its floor was a continuous lattice of white porcelain tiles, each surface so finely glazed that the high vaulted ceiling seemed to float in liquid china. Crystal pillars rose around the space—neither purely structural nor purely ornamental—carrying data that older civilizations had once mistaken for prayer. A boy named Ashlar stood there, small hand held by a woman whose face felt both known and unfinished. Behind her lingered a second figure, deliberately out of phase with the local light. He almost never spoke. In the long records of the Atrium he was listed only as the Witness. Every observation he made risked collapsing the branching probabilities he had been assigned to monitor. Across an entire lifetime he would utter fewer than a dozen sentences. Each one would matter. The woman’s voice was calm, clinical. “You must remember. They will not like you.” She did not speak of mor...