A light grows in the far south-west. It begins like a distant bonfire, but very rapidly, it becomes brighter, brighter. It looks remarkably like sunrise. Some of your crew fall to their knees: others duck behind cover or shield their eyes. One cries, "Dawn Machine waking!""
You keep your eyes to the ground. This is something uncanny.
Light sheets over you. Your hair crackles as if a storm were rising. You squint your eyes shut, but the radiance around you is bright enough you see the pink of your eyelids. The light fades, suddenly. Men and women cry out, curse. One weeps.
Due to Apollo deciding to bring his flaming chariot a few million miles closer to the Earth this week, don't expect much in the way of new articles. It's too damn hot as it is, and both my workplace and home tend to add another six degrees atop of the daily temperature. Life is not fun at the moment.
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