Narration: At last he stood before the railing that surrounded a grimly bare and geometrical tomb: an hexagonal tablet hermetically fitted into a stainless steel base.

Narration: Without any further delay he pulled a universal picklock from his pocket, a tool he always carried with him, opened the little gate with it and approached the grave on tiptoe.

Narration: With both hands he grasped the tablet that bore, in black and unembellished letters, the name of his master, and turned it in a special way. The slab swung open like the lid of a jewelry box.

Narration: Just then the moon hid behind a cloud and it grew so dark that Trurl couldn’t even see his own hands; he groped around and found something that felt like a strainer, and next to that a large button.

Narration: This he tried to depress, but it was stuck, so he pushed harder—then jumped back, suddenly afraid.

Narration: But the deed was done, something stirred within, the current was beginning to flow, relays clicked like awakened crickets