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before him, a cold illusion of himself. He reached out and touched the smooth, hard surface and his reflection dissipated. Images from a thousand years of history flooded his mind and infused with his being. "Come, join me," the consciousness whispered into his brain once again. The man pulled his hand back and stepped away from the machine. He turned his back to the machine and walked a few feet away, keeping an eye on the machine from over his shoulder. The machine sat, unchanged. Satisfied that the machine had not moved, but still wary of its presence, he lied down in the sand and fell back into slumber.

The man awoke in the bright sun, his vulnerable flesh blistering in the sun. The sky was a post-apocalyptic orange. The scorched sky looked down on the wasteland for soft flesh to burn and destroy. The hole in the sky had shifted and solar radiation would be pouring down on anything in plain sight. "Better to take shelter for now," thought the man. He moved into the shade of the machine, but did not touch it. He sat this way for minutes. The minutes turned into hours and the man's uneasiness increased. Something wormed its way through his brain, a seed implanted for just a brief moment that had started to spread. Neurons fired and his muscles turned his body towards the machine. He sat on crossed legs staring at the cold, hard steel. He raised both palms and pressed them to the machine.
Again, a myriad of images flooded his mind. "Come, join me." The man sat with his palms on the machine. The machine sat unchanged glistening in the fiery sun. "Join me, we shall become one." Something inside him cried out against this unholy union and he removed his hands, severing the connection. He again walked the circumference of the machine. At the base of the sand, he saw a small switch. He deliberated pushing the switch and finally decided against it. He crawled back under the shade of the machine, being careful not to touch it, and went to sleep.
The man awoke the next morning with his head upon the cold steel of the machine. This puzzled him because he distinctly remembered that he was not touching it the night before. He shrugged his shoulders and pushed the thought from his mind. He again took a sip from his canteen and ate a strip of jerky from inside his tunic. He walked the circumference of the machine. The inferno from above beat down on him. He felt his hand pulled toward the machine and grazed it with the callused tips of his fingers. Instantly he heard

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