The Spark

He stared at the screen.  He leaned back in his chair stretched out his hand over his head all the while staring at the screen.  Years of coding since leaving the Tri-Verse had led him to this moment. Asa blinked and rubbed his eyes.  He did not know what would happen to the Tri-Verse once an ancient technology inserted itself into the modern one nor did he know if Tamar would reconcile.

His code was much like a floppy disks being inserted into a neur-ocular connection. He wasn’t even sure it world work, or if it did if Tamar would know who or what had sent it. With such a small amount of information the code had to be perfect. It was his masterpiece; his only way of letting Tamar know he was alive and happy.

He stared at the screen. This idea had come to him while meditating atop of his dune in the heat of the day. He knew it must be from the Almighty. It MUST be. He was not so intelligent to think of such a thing on his own. He’d had other attempts but nothing like this.

Asa had left the Tri-Verse because he was made to. Fearing he would pollute the priesthood with doubt he was not allowed to return to the Tri-Verse once his conscience had been discovered.  The decision was swift and the only connection he cared for was severed. Tamar, a new priestess in the order, was fragile in her newly tattooed state. Letting him near her was out of the question as far as the council was concerned. He shook his head at the memory.

He stared at the screen. He pushed enter. The communication that popped on the screen read “Message Accepted” and then a blue screen appeared and his system overloaded. He’d had the blue screen every other attempt; the “Message Accepted” was new. Tears ran down his weathered cheeks, cracks in the silver tattoos on his arms showed as he brushed them away. The old Abbot could only sit back and wait to see what God had wrought.