Word: Operose

 

operose 

[op-uh-rohs] / ˈɒp əˌroʊs /

adjective

1. industrious, as a person.

2. done with or involving much labor.

********************************

                Dan and his roommate, Kevin, were barely watching TV. It was some documentary about Egypt that neither of them really cared about. But it was background noise that filled the silence that would otherwise dominate the room. Dan considered turning it off and putting on some music instead, but they could never agree on what music to listen to. It was why they used the TV instead.

                Dan was more engrossed in his phone, browsing through the offerings of e-books. He had no idea what Kevin was paying more attention to. Apparently, he was looking at the documentary more than Dan was.

                “Man, this is all bullcrap.” Kevin said.

                “Hm? What is?”

                “They’re talking about the pyramids, but they’re not even mentioning the aliens.”

                Dan let out a quiet groan. Under normal circumstances, Kevin was a decent person. A bit dim, but not too bad. But get him started on any conspiracy? Dan was tempted to just leave. Move to his bedroom and shut the door, leaving Kevin to stew in his conspiracy theorist rabbit holes. But he knew that Kevin would just follow him while explaining why “they” were lying.

                “Don’t.” Dan said. “I don’t want to hear about it.”

                “Why not? Can’t handle the truth?”

                “No, because your truth is dumb and wrong.”

                “You can only say that because you’re so indoctrinated by the system that you can’t see the truth.”

                “If I go away, will you stop talking to me?”

                “No way. You need to have your eyes open man. It’s the only way the world will change.”

                “Right.” Dan said with a heavy sigh. “So let me guess. You think the pyramids were built by aliens.”

                “I don’t think, I know. It’s the only thing that makes sense. I mean, how else did the ancient Egyptians move such heavy rocks without power tools? And how did they make such precise cuts without modern measuring tech? They couldn’t, that’s how.”

                “Uh-huh. Right. Sure. You keep on thinking that.”

                “Oh like you have better explanations.”

                “Better explanations for something that we know happened, rather than make excuses with something that has no evidence? Yes. Yes I do.”

                “Okay then, smart guy. What are they?”

                “Let’s start with how they cut the blocks. They used tools. Bronze chisels and the like. And before you say that hand tools wouldn’t be precise enough, no. You’re wrong. We have videos shot today of people using similar tools to cut stone with the exact precision that you’re claiming could only be done by what, alien lasers or something. Hell, I bet you and I could learn to do it with enough time, practice and motivation. And for moving the blocks? It’s called manpower. The Egyptians had a lot of that at their disposal. And no, they didn’t drag the big rocks across sand. They used logs or some other kind of rolling things. You know, like wheels. That’s also been demonstrated to be doable. So basically, skill and manpower. Things we know exist, and they had. Aliens? No, those have never been shown to exist on Earth. And don’t even try to point to their pantheon. Using mythology for anything is just idiotic.”

                Kevin opened and closed his mouth a few times. “That…that’s just what you’ve been told.”

                “Come on. Which makes more sense: That aliens came down the Earth, made a few stone buildings, and left, or that people built big buildings with tech that we know they had.”

                Kevin did not say anything. Dan could guess that he was thinking hard about ways to counter Dan’s words.

                “You can only say that because your mind hasn’t been opened to the possibilities!” Kevin said loudly.

                Before Dan could say anything else, Kevin stood and stormed off to his bedroom. Probably to chat with other conspiracy nuts and see how he should respond to Dan’s points.  Dan rolled his eyes. Having a conspiracy theorist as a roommate was a lot of things, but boring was certainly not one of them.

Word: Ramshackle

ramshackle

[ram-shak-uhl] / ˈræmˌʃæk əl /

adjective

1. loosely made or held together; rickety; shaky.

   a ramshackle house.

 *************************************

                “No.”

                The single word made Jill deflate like a balloon. She had been so sure her latest design would impress. To be shut down so firmly was not what she expected.

                “What? Why not?” She asked.

                “Why not? Why not?” Jack replied. “Look at the damn thing!”

                He pointed at Jill’s latest attempt at making a combat bot. The thing was barely four feet tall, and looked like it had been thrown together by materials sourced from a scrap heap. Each panel was made of a different kind of metal, many of which were covered with rust. It walked on three legs with joints that were barely holding together. The head had optical receivers that were cracked in several places. The four arms had clumsy, heavy blunt weapons at the ends of them instead of something actually useful. And to top it all off, the thing was held together by screws and rivets instead of proper welds.  

                Jack was amazed that it was even standing upright instead of collapsing into a pile of scrap metal. The fact that it moved was a miracle itself. He figured it would fall apart with a good, solid kick.

                “What’s wrong with it?” Jill asked.

                “You’re joking, right? It’s a piece of junk. And I do mean that literally. I’d be amazed if it stays together for more than a week.”

                Jill shuffled nervously. “It…it’s a prototype. It’s not finished. This is just to test the design.”

                “You built a prototype out of junk? Jill, we’ve talked about this. Designs are to be tested on paper and in sims. Prototypes are for real world testing of the tech. You’re meant to use them for when you have something new you want to try and a computer can’t simulate it. This is not a prototype. This is scrap metal.”

                “Come on, Jack, you know I can’t work like that. Sims don’t capture the real flow of the design. A computer just can’t get everything looking and acting like it will in the real world. I have to build it. It’s the only way to really see if the design works. I’ll make it nicer once we have an actually design to work with.”

                Jack signed heavily. He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Fine. You want to criticize the design? Lets do that. Legs. No. There’s a reason treads and wheels are standard on war machines. Legs, even a tripod design, are finicky, tough to balance and hard to use. Theoretically they’re better at rough terrain, but we’re not using this for a warzone, we’re using this for competition. Four arms. Damn near impossible to control and balance. Especially since we’d want a different weapon type in each arm to have something to use against most opponents. Plus, they’ll be weaker overall than two, since the power draw will have to be distributed among all of them. There’s no room for armor either, which will put us at a major disadvantage. I could go on.”

                “Oh. Great. I get it. You don’t want me to innovate. You want a nice, safe design with a few stripes to make it unique.”

                “I didn’t say that. I’m just pointing out a few obvious problems. You can’t just do whatever you think looks cool. It has to work in the arena.”

                Jill huffed. “Fine! You want an arena bot with nothing new about it? That’s what I’ll give you.”

                She stormed off, forgetting the rickety bot in the middle of the room. Jack groaned. He could go after her, but he did not. Doing that never worked out well for either of them. He would just have to wait until she cooled off and then they could have another conversation. Hopefully one that was more productive.  

Word: Erstwhile

erstwhile

[urst-hwahyl, -wahyl] / ˈɜrstˌʰwaɪl, -ˌwaɪl /

adjective

1. former; of times past.

   erstwhile friends.

  *************************************

As he walked down the well-lit hallway, Ben could only take in the ambiance. The place was quite nice. The floor had a carpet with a well-designed pattern of red, gold and silver. The walls were covered with high quality art from a variety of periods and artists. Well maintained potted plants were positioned between the art, giving a wide variety of colors to the place. Really, there were only two things he could complain about.

The first was the ambient sound. It was not music of any kind. It was ticking. Lots of ticking. Like there were hundreds of clocks, all of which were on slightly different tempos. It was quite distracting.

The second problem Ben had with his current location was that he had no idea where he was. He had been going to pick up a few things, but when he opened the door, it led to the hall. He had been walking along the hallway for several minutes now, and he just got more and more confused with each step.

Eventually, the hallway did change. He came across a door in a wall. It was a moderately ornate wooden door, decorated with images of various time pieces. Clocks, sundials, and even the occasional hourglass were all represented. And Ben could tell the ticking was coming from the other side. Seeing that he had nothing better to do, Ben opened it.

The room was massive. So large he could not see the walls, and the one behind him vanished into the distance. The place was filled with massive shelves, each one filled with clocks. The ticking of those countless clocks was nearly deafening. Ben covered his ears in an attempt to save his hearing, but the ticking did not seem to be affected.

Ben turned to leave, but the door had somehow vanished. Ben furiously looked around, running all over the place, but he could not find the way out. Instead, he found something else. A person. He was a man that looked to be in his late 50s or early 60s, and was dressed in a very well-made three-piece suit. The man even had a top hat, a monocle, and even a mustache that seemed made for the outfit. The two looked at each other for a moment. After a few second, the clock ticking grew quieter. It did not go away, but just became tolerable.

“My apologies for the volume. It has been so long since a human came here.” The man said.

“Uh…sure? What…what’s going on? Where is this? Who are you?”

“Ah, so many questions. If there is one thing humans are good for, it is curiosity. Well then, I am called the Clock Keeper. A rather on-the-nose descriptor, if I do say so myself. But yes, that is what I am called. And this place is the Hall of Time. You can guess why.”

“Uh…sure. That tells me remarkably little though.”

“Oh? You have not heard of this place? I suppose I should not be surprised. It has been so long since your people have been here. It seems like your long absence has made you forget about places such as this one. I do miss those days. I can be quite lonely here, even for one such as myself.”

“Wait, people used to come here? I’m guessing this isn’t just some room with a lot of clocks. And…what exactly are you? You look like a normal person.”

“I am indeed not human. You see me as such because you are human. Other races will see me as one of their own. And you are correct, this is indeed not a normal room, nor are these normal clocks. Each one is a moment in time. Eternally preserved here, in this great Hall.”

Ben looked around. They certainly did not look like a “moment in time.” Of course, he did not know what a moment was supposed to look like.

“So, uh, what do I do here? And how do I leave?”

“It is simple. While here, you may view at your leisure any moment in time you wish. You will not go there in truth, so you may only observe. But with all of time at your disposal, it can be quite an adventure. As for how you leave? That is simple. View one of the moments, and the door leading back to your home shall appear. Once it has, all you need to do is step through it.”

“Huh. Handy. So I just, what, pick a clock and…do something with it?”

“Touch it. The moment will appear before you.”

“Great. I do love it when it’s simple. So, can I look into the future with these?”

“I am afraid not. That is a different place. This Hall only preserves the moments that have already past, not those that will come.”

Ben knew it was a bit of a long shot, but he had to ask. And it was not like this was such a bad thing. Being able to directly observe history, even if it was only a snapshot, was very valuable. If he could figure out how to come back here, it could answer a lot of questions. He would ask about that later. But first it was time to get a look at the good old days.