It was another three days' travel before we arrived at a solid concrete wall that didn’t want to be seen. You could look at the wall but then be overcome by the desire to look away, or think how insignificant the wall is. Forcing yourself to focus on the wall would make you sick to your stomach or fill you with dread. I recognized the technology as a perception filter. My friend Desey used one for parking her bus without drawing undue attention. The technology reaches into your mind on a low-frequency psychic wavelength. It tells your eyes that you don’t want to look at the item, so you don’t.

"So this wall is what, a door, a hologram?"

"The whole facility is underneath this part of the city. This wall marks the beginning of the ramp down to the main entrance. There is a specific tone that will shift the wall from solid to semi-solid and allow you to pass through."

She began to emit the tone needed, and the wall appeared fuzzy. I stepped forward and walked right through the wall onto the ramp. It led down for two stories and was quite a distance from the entrance doors. Entering the facility, Connie led me through a labyrinth of corridors and passageways. The path opened up to a large room that served as the interface and viewing room for the Grail. I figured if it already had a name, I wouldn’t waste time and energy trying to come up with a new one.

The interface room was a large space with a white motif. The only real controls are a series of panels a few meters from one wall. In the center, a series of rings spin when activated. They turn at furious speeds within each other and appear to create a solid sphere.

"The Grail—I can’t believe we are keeping that name," Connie explained—"is the culmination of several generations of work that archives the memories of every sentient in the galaxy who has ever lived."

"Wait," I interrupted, "what do you mean, every sentient who has ever lived?"

"As I said, David. The Grail is an archive of the memories of every sentient being who has ever lived. Sentient thought leaves indelible marks on time and space. If it helps, you can think of the universe as being like your brain. You access your thoughts and experiences via grooves and neural connections. The Grail searches the universe for grooves and neural connections on its surface."

"To what end? Scientists sitting around spying on the thoughts of beings from across the galaxy?"

"The most scientists could achieve was to dial in on a specific sentient being at a time. They could then see and hear their experiences."

She pointed at the spinning sphere in the middle of the room. I watched my experiences from my own point of view. Appearing in the air above the forest and hearing myself quip about Tuesdays.

"I get it now." The replay stopped, and the machine returned to nominal status. "The pirates want this because it would show them when and where to access anything they wanted. If they timed it right, there would be little to no resistance. Passwords, security measures—nothing could stand in their way. I could use this to find a way back to Delilah. I have access to all the information I would ever need right here at my fingertips."

"It’s not that simple, David. The Grail is difficult to tune. The scientists suspected that it had a mind of its own. It delivered what it wanted them to see, not what they wanted to see. When they could tune it into a specific sentient, they were unable to pinpoint any specific event or time."

"Never easy, never simple," I replied as I familiarized myself with the controls and pulled up the first memory set offered.

Not an entry, do not like.

I wanted to see what ChatGPT would do with the prompt and thought I'd share the results...

"As a detective in the dangerous city of 2030, I've seen my fair share of crime. But this latest case is like nothing I've ever encountered before. A ruthless killer is on the loose, leaving behind a trail of bodies with no evidence to go on.

I've spent countless hours pouring over surveillance footage and eyewitness accounts, but so far I've come up empty. The killer seems to have the ability to evade detection by any means, leaving me stumped.

But I'm not the kind of detective who gives up easily. I've spent years honing my skills, and I know how to follow a hunch. And right now, my bloodhound nose is telling me that I'm on the right track.

I hit the streets, determined to find some clue, some trace of the killer that everyone else has missed. I talk to witnesses, dig into old cases, and pour over every scrap of information I can get my hands on.

And finally, after weeks of tireless investigation, I get my break. I find a tiny piece of evidence that everyone else has overlooked, and it leads me straight to the killer's doorstep.

I confront the suspect, and for the first time in months, I feel a sense of satisfaction as I put the cuffs on the perpetrator and bring them to justice.

It's not an easy job, being a detective in the city of 2030. But I wouldn't have it any other way."

'It was the night before Christmas and all through the house'

He sat back from the keyboard and stared at the blinking cursor.

"No, that's literally "The Night Before Christmas" poem." He said aloud to himself before deleting the line. He took off his glasses and held his forehead in his hands. "Why is this so hard?" He asked aloud, not expecting an answer from the empty room.

"Why is what so hard daddy?" A little voice asked from behind him.

He swiveled around in his chair depositing his glasses on the desk next to the keyboard and swooped the little girl up into his arms.

"Why is it so hard to come up with something new to write?" He answered her in a softened voice as he touched the tip of her nose.

She giggled when he did this, every-time he did this. It was on her list of favorite things after 'the smell of chocolate milk' and right before 'daddy braiding my hair'.

"Maybe it's the unibersies way of telling you it's time for hot chocolate." She said with a huge grin on her face.

"Oh Yeah? You think so sweetheart?" He asked her before tickling her ribs and continuing, "you think it's the universes way of saying it's time for hot chocolate?"

Through bouts of laughter she answered him, "Yes! Yes, Daddy! Hot chocolate! Pepperoni!"

He stopped tickling her ribs and sat her down on the floor. Pepperoni, it was a word that you'd never use while being tickled. It was the word they chose to let daddy know when she was ready to stop being tickled and wasn't just playing along with gleeful requests to stop when you she wanted to keep being tickled.

The smell of the film that forms on the top of milk right before it boils filled the kitchen before being replaced by the sweet smell of instant cocoa as the little girl ripped open the individual packets and handed to her daddy to pour into the pot of milk on the stove. The sound of Christmas carols filled the apartment as they snuggled up together on the couch, drank their hot chocolate, and sang along.

The single string of lights on the little artificial tree they put up every year twinkled with a magic that she could almost feel as her hot chocolate warmed her from the inside out. Meanwhile her father worried about the blizzard outside and whether the heating was going to last the night. And still they sang along as each new carol began and he held her close until she fell asleep. He slipped out from under her, lying her down on the couch and covering her with the blanket draped over the back of the couch. Grabbing one of the cookies off the plate on the table next to the couch. He took a big bite out of the cookie, placed it back on the table, and collected the remaining cookies taking them back to the kitchen and repackaging them.

Three small presents, it's all he could afford this year. It's all he could afford, but he knew inside each of those packages was a glimmer of hope that would help shape the adult his little princess would become one day. With a close enough viewpoint the presents looked giant next to the tiny little artificial tree. He turned off the lamp and sat on the floor next to the couch to watch her sleep. No flying reindeer were going to deliver a wonderous miracle maker to her rooftop. Yet she knew everyone by name, and he celebrated them with her. No magic man in a red suit was going to bring anything that he hadn't bought himself. Yet he would never dream of dashing her hopeful spirit with such harsh realities. Creatures were most definitely stirring; he could hear them in the kitchen as he drifted off to sleep himself. He dreamed of a better life for his daughter, a life just out of his reach.