“Come, let us remove these tiles,” I said, and pushed upon the ceiling above us. The tiles lifted out neatly and we pulled ourselves up into the large room atop. I surveyed my surroundings.

There was a line printer, a tape drive, an air conditioner ... if it were not for my unusual companions I’d have sworn I’d stepped back in time. I almost expected this Mark Forer to appear wearing a white coat, glasses and a pocket protector.

“Mark Forer!” the animals said, clearly addressing the computer in front of me. “Speak to us we beg!”

How can this computer talk? What is going on? But then I realised. Then I saw. “SUN SparcStation 4” was emblazoned on the device. It was a mark four. It was indeed Mark Forer.
“Why is he not talking? Make him talk!” they shouted at me.

Hesitantly, I ventured to the VT220 terminal perched atop the machine. I tapped the enter key and the screen came to life. “>>>” it said. I laughed. The machine had halted, perhaps because of the quake. I pressed but five keys – “boot” and enter – and Mark Forer sprang to life. Its disks churned, its leds blinked, its screen filled.

“It’s a miracle,” I could hear voices shouting outside. “The camel has returned. And look! It’s the tarsier too. They are back and healed!”

“Well,” I said, “I guess my work here is done,” hoping I could return to my own time and home.

“No,” the bison said. Tim was suddenly before me again. “We need your secrets. You have computer codes and softwares and we have no economy. We cannot buy such things. Oh, we have computers, believe me we have computers. Many of them, left here by the original architects. But we have seen the price of software and it is too much. You will stay here, you will work for us, we will use you to work and earn money so we can buy the prized software that will allow us to write letters, to look at this thing you call the Internet and to balance our taxes.”

“You need me to earn money for you so you can buy software?” I asked incredulously.

“Yes,” Tim replied. I could see he was serious; there was no hint of humour in his eyes, only menace.

“But not all software costs money,” I pleaded. They laughed. They mocked. Some even brayed and hee-hawed.

“No, it’s true. Look!” and I produced my ASUS Eee. “This unit runs an operating system called Linux. It is free to have. You can pass it around to each other. It costs nothing and it is legal, too.”

The crowd murmured amongst themselves. Could it be true they asked one another. Finally Tim waved his cleft hoof indicating he wanted silence.

“But even if what you say is true, what use is an operating system by itself? Who will produce the very applications and productivity tools we require to achieve our daily goals?”

“That’s also free,” I said. “Using the Linux package manager you can download many, many pieces of software – wonderful things like Open Office which will write your letters and balance your taxes. Or The GIMP so you can photograph each other and edit the pictures. Or Dia for making floor plans of your houses and diagrams of your networks. All free!”

The crowd murmured and rumbled again. I could see their surprise and amazement.

“We will take you home,” said Tim, “provided you give us copies of this Linux of which you speak. And, might we ask, it be somehow tied to animals, for we love animals.”

“Easily done,” I said.

And so, now I sit back in the comfort of my own house, marvelling over my strange adventure and how I could have been subject to crushing labour in a world not my own were it not for Linux. And that’s how the planet ORA came to be using Ubuntu 8.04, Hardy Heron.