Sanctuary

The technician, noting the time that had slipped away from the
glowing, green fascia, put down the assortment of wires and circuits he
had been toying with. He moved purposefully to wash the yellow stain
from his hands, before heading quickly out of the laboratory, hardly
pausing to throw his white coat down onto a nearby bench.

He hurried past the silver, cylindrical towers close to The Company,
which were sluggishly puffing grey, twisted curls into the pale blue
sky. In order to make faster progress he moved sideways down an
alleyway and proceeded to criss-cross around a network of corroded
pipes, which were connected to an out-moded chemical exhaust.

Moving back onto the main road, he reached the security gates,
breathless. He handed over his plastic card to the visored security
guard. The guard took the card, and without speaking, inserted it into
a small slot in the wall. There was a flash of coloured light,
accompanied by a shrill electronic hum, as the gates opened.

He was met by a vast, overlapping network of concrete roads. The man
rushed through, and nervously waited for a break in the traffic. It
came, eventually, and he reached the other side and moved through an
opening between two grey, tarnished metal blocks.

To a casual observer, the new location was not particularly different
from the sterile, slabs of concrete and metal factory, with its
towering geometric walls, where he spent ten hours a day. The
technician stood on a spot marked with a red cross, about one quarter
of the way down the centre of a pale, grey rhombus. The rhombus itself
surrounded by tall, metal walls which almost screened out most natural
light. Surrounding the walls were a network of roads, carrying business
people and military people to and from irrelevant destinations.

The surroundings, the movement of vehicles, was unimportant to him. The
one solitary object, fixed in the centre of the rhombus, was the only
item in the world that interested him. He sauntered slowly towards it,
enjoying the anticipation, the build up. His heart began to beat
rapidly. Had it changed? Had it grown?

He reached the small tree, and smiled. He gazed, child like at the
green leaves, the partially formed buds, the intricate twigs and
knotted bark. He was content. At peace. This was his sanctuary. His
shelter. His turn to look. A chance which came once every three or four
years, to experience the last national treasure.

The alarm on his wrist chronometer starting buzzing obtrusively. It was
time to return to work.