Welcome to the Machine
Winter. 257 AD. A remote canyon in the high desert mountains of what is now Central Mexico. The wind is cold; the days are short. Old Ishuatl and his grandson Nahual search for shelter. They squeeze through a crevice in a rock wall and find a cave.
Old Ishuatl is not by nature a curious man, and as the night grows black, he quickly falls asleep, but nine year old Nahual lies awake, watching a faint luminescence that plays across the rock wall in the far corner of the cave. Finally, careful not to awaken his grandfather, he creeps across the the floor of the cave, fascinated by the greenish light, and discovered a gigantic pit.
Nahual never told anyone; the people of his village would not have believed him. The steep winding staircase, cut into the solid rock, the vast luminous cavern, the gigantic humming machine — they were his alone. He knew that someday he would return.
When he did, he searched for days, but he was never able to find the crevice again. All that remained were his memories.