“Ahhh. You found the wormhole. Good work Aspinwall. Now come on out and rest.”
One day later…
“You see, Allen Martin. The hole grows larger and your Aspy grows smaller. Soon she will be a mere baby. It’s an exchange of energy. Once fully opened it will consume that world and we will be able to see what’s on the other side. Aspinwall will have her children.”
The elder Martin pries his eyes away from the spinning vortex long enough to glance over at Urch again. “I still can’t believe you’re Jack Lemon’s grandson. You could be him as a kid. I’ve seen pictures.” He tested the urchin child again. “And you say you grew up in Bennington?”
“Farmington,” Urch corrected.
“And your father was Patmos Jim?”
“John,” returned Urch. “But back to the hole, you can see it’s positioned at the end of that row of 6 different wall pieces. Those are the masters. The hole acts like a punctuation mark. The sentence is forming. When we know what it says, that will be the end. World gone. It’s a cypher world. It’s only purpose. It’s like a lid into another dimension. A lid placed there so you wouldn’t just stumble upon it and fall in.”
“What’s beyond?” Allen Martin asked Urch, face closer to the picture now. “Any speculations?”
“Well, we have a giant wall just over there.” Urch points northward. “An asp whose gaping mouth seems to want to consume Collagesity as a whole, starting with the TILE temple. The first three sims the wall passes through north to south are Athetis, Spini, and Pyri. ASP. It’s abundantly obvious that Aspinwall here is suppose to be associated with that wall. ASP in Wall.”
“Yeah, I get it,” says Allen Martin. “Hey, wasn’t your mother a Tiler, Urch? Uma, wasn’t it?”
“Ursula,” she corrects again, shifting her weight to the right. “A reformed Tiler, yes. She accepts the existence of religions based on numbers other than four. Like your Christianity and its trinity. Like the Martian Pentagostals… so forth.”
“And what about you sprout?” furthers Allen Martin. “Do you follow in the sanctified footsteps of your mother or the dusty hoofprints of your father? Which way do *you* spin?”
“Perhaps I will only find that out when the hole is opened. Shouldn’t be long. See? Aspinwall is growing a little shorter by the minute. I’d say another day at the most.
All look down at the withering serpent. The bird on the plate seems to eye it almost hungrily.