“That has to be a bug. Each scan should display a sequence, and all should be unique. But this is a single, corrupted blurt.” Cheryl inspected the machine’s trigger.
Mike winced. “I might have… tapped it?”
Cheryl chuckled. “These things are designed to work in the field. You’d have to smash it to bits before it had trouble.” She stood from her desk. “Let’s run it through calibration.” She strode to a lab workbench and drew a tuning page from a binder. She triggered the sensor through each of the colour shades imprinted on the sheet.
One after the other, details displayed in expected combinations.
Cheryl read from the jumbled screen, “Two Seven Three Four, Hiyama.”
Mike squinted. “That a shade?”
“Can’t be. The crystal structure’s fixed: protocol header is year and manufacturer; product ID flows after that. And that’ll be the same forever.” She tweaked the screen’s brightness and confirmed battery charge. “Never heard of Hiyama before. And a crystal change would need confirmation across the whole industry.” She sniffed. “This is probably a glitch, but let’s run a few tests.”
Cheryl led the way down bare concrete halls and up a tight staircase. She swiped her pass-card, waved to the camera, and waited for a guard to approve.
The lock buzzed, then unlatched.
She nodded. Tight as Fort Knox. Cheryl cracked the door to the main gallery and paced out to the museum floor. Co-workers would not arrive for hours; visitors wouldn’t enter ‘til noon. Until then, this space was her private collection of priceless masterpiece works. Their footsteps echoed on polished wood floors. Artwork gazed down from the walls. They were surrounded by genius; masterful talent that spanned brilliant ages.
“Here,” she said. “This Degas hasn’t been moved for years. Its paint is ancient; no restoration with anything nano-chained.”
“It should show empty?” Mike said.
“Should? It will. Paint dye stamps aren’t even ten years old.” Cheryl raised her sensor and scanned the canvas.
Max Lark lives in Toronto, Canada with two affectionately obstinate rescue cats. You can follow his writing at www.maxlark.com
Copyright © 2025 Max Lark