The Well of Mimir

I will not die…I will not die…I WILL NOT DIE..! The words, which would have been screamed if he had the air or the time, echoed in his head as the plasma burst surged through the ship’s bridge — an instant, blinding, killing flare that left utter darkness in its blazing wake.

It was up from this darkness he swam some unknown time later, eyes miraculously opening, body aching with a thousand agonies, but moving, not seared to atomic dust as he should have been had the plasma struck.

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Dilbert has a problem.

But it’s one he doesn’t know he has.

Dilbert doesn’t care about science-fiction.

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He was a spark of consciousness in the machine, a glimmering pinpoint of brilliant light wrapped in tubes of dark, cold emptiness and lifeless metal. But he was an important spark. He was the heart of the mechanical beast drifting through the black universe.

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