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Have you ever been in a situation where you realised the frailty of your own existence? It happened to me. I sat thinking this is the end of the line but how little did I realise that I had a saviour alongside me in the form of the free open source operating system called Linux.
You may find my story remarkable; you may find it unbelievable. Nevertheless, I assure you that Linux is true and I ask you suspend your disbelief until the end.
It began on a warm summery day. As I tended to my own business musing over the morning’s mail my attention was alerted to the black vehicle hurtling towards me.
I instinctively leapt from the place where I was standing as this metallic monster halted with the combination of a screech and the demolition of my letterbox. Was this how Linux saved me, I hear you ask? No, for I leapt. Were you not paying attention?
No, this was merely the opening event for the performance which lay ahead. The driver and his passengers – well, I say ‘his’ but I have no means of understanding the gender as you shall see – stepped out. Aghast, my eyes fell upon the creatures I saw. Pale as ghosts and with faces of beasts and fowls no less than 15 strange and wonderful beings now lined the path in front of me.
“I am Tim,” spoke one, some form of hairy bison, possibly the leader. “We come from the planet ORA and we require YOU and have come to take you.” I expressed incredulity at the possible use I may be to this menagerie of colophony, while inwardly distressed by the abduction plans afoot.
Tim’s large nostrils flared. “Our planet,” he began slowly, “has long been the guardian of knowledge about the universe. Our author, Mark Forer,” – “all hail Mark Forer,” they said in unison – “spoke us into existence through his words, the words of understanding and controlling machinations and automata.
Yet, of late, strange and perplexing events have transpired. It began when a quake shook our land and before our very eyes, our revered elder, the great camel, the lady known as Pearl, faded and turned yellow.
It continued when the diminutive tarsier folded in over himself, almost akin to the ear of a dog. Mysterious and inexplicable events have followed forth and yet we cannot reach Mark Forer to request an audience and advice because his sacred domain, “la salle des serveurs”, we call it, has its entrance blocked by rocks from the initial quake.”
“Perhaps,” he added, “the original architects ought to have considered a second entry. But who am I to question the original architects. Forgive me.”
“Ok,” I said, “so you have had this natural disaster and there have been strange and supernatural events since. This Mark Forer possibly holds the solution but you can’t get to him. Where exactly do I fit in?”
Where indeed? For the answer, dear reader, as well as how the wonders of Linux came to be my rescuer, please read on.
CONTINUED
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