Free The Celestial Instructi0n by Grady Ward Page A

syntax
and rhetoric play with each other: cumulative, periodic, cleft, metaphor and
figures of speech that Joex could not name. Novel forms of punctuation began to
appear to denote aggregated grammatical relationships. Questions about finer
distinctions between symbol and semiote were presented. Joex was not convinced
all the words he saw were actually in a dictionary; somehow, their introduction
was fluid and intuitive. He immediately apprehended them tentatively, then
fully. Sometimes there appeared shocking images or expressions. But the
questions were flying faster than Joex could quite grasp at their
underpinnings.
    The new words and novel relationships of ideas
reminded him of a time long ago where he had been part of this kind of furious
concept incubator: designing new software and products at Mooneye. Being part
of the driving wedge of a technology, hardware and software never seen before
needed new names and re-application—overloading—of old ones. Convex sets, noisy
data, fitness landscape, unsharping, attack surfaces: all euonyms in a world
where the 16-year-old kid next to you is the world’s foremost expert.
    Now, the Games Machine was questioning him about power
sets and aleph sub one and non-deterministic Turing machines. Again with the
powersets. He barely recalled this material from his algorithm design classes
in college. When he paused at a question to reflect upon his memory of the
presentation content (It was so long ago. Another lifetime.) the presentation
changed to some simple verbal analogies, then abruptly changed once again to
elementary music theory with examples. Morphed and sped up, then slowed down
and to match some unnatural rhythm, then something new, not quite related to
what came before. If he thought about it too long, he got it wrong.
    In the fraction of a second between each new
particle of the Games Machine, he realized that the fear in his gut of impending
disaster had disappeared. It was like a bolus of heroin to a bone cancer
patient. He felt more engaged and alive than he had in years. There was warmth
in his groin. In the middle of the textures and timbre of Schnittke, Serena
interrupted him. At that instant, the Games Machine fell completely and utterly
dead.
    “You are doing very well, Jim.” She slowed down and
deliberately enunciated the words “very well” for emphasis.
    Joex realized his hand was shaking and that he was
hungry. And needed to use the toilet again. Through a kind of transparent
lintel block around the perimeter of the ceiling in the scriptorium, he noticed
the day had passed into night. He should be feeling fear, but he felt tired and
exhilarated. He also noticed Serena’s scent, a balm of Gilead. She gripped his
hands in hers. He couldn’t help himself, he was conscious of his erection. He
looked back at the Games Machine. Dead.
    “Hold on there partner,” Serena put a hand gently
on his shoulder. “Do you want more?” Joex could feel her warmth.
    He breathed out, trying to relax. “Yes.” He was
almost whimpering.
    “It is late; let me give you a snack. Come back
tomorrow. I think we will have a place for you.”
    Behind Serena’s desk behind closet doors was a
minimalist kitchen enclave: small refrigerator, two stainless steel sinks,
running water, cabinets of drinks and crackers, a microwave. Joex selected a
ramen package and an individual packet of freeze-dried vegetables; Serena
prepared it for him and a similar snack for herself. Serena and he broke the
silence only once. She simply repeated, “You did very well.” Joex had to catch
himself pausing too long looking at a particular feature of his host.
    “I do want more,” Joex said directly to her blue
and gold-flecked eyes.
     
    She restored the kitchen niche to its original
state and shuttered its entrance. She then simply and abruptly said to Joex,
“Goodnight Jim. See you tomorrow. ” She turned and walked into the scriptorium.
That was it.
    Joex thought of nothing to say so he