At the heart of the plantation, they found an ancient, gnarled tree, that had lost all its vivacity, colour and leaves. The bark all scuffed and unravelled in a disorderly manner.
This is the original Fibreoptic tree, said the Forest Manager. It was sent down to us by the Gods when they had a competition to provide the most useful thing to humanity.
Zeus called thus competition to decide a name for the greatest City in Greece, he continued, The garlanded winner would be the one who gave the most treasured item to humanity. Poseidon gave watery springs, but the water proved to be salty, so no one cared. Athena gave the Olive tree with all its oil and fruit, and Hermes gave Fibreoptics. Unfortunately, this was long before the internet had been spun and so nobody knew what to do with the fibres, otherwise the capital of Greece might have been called Hermes Town, or New Hermes.
All these other trees here are born from its vitality, no new trees can be create without, continued the Forest Manager, The interweb will undo, its web will be unwebbed.
It is dead, said the Sphinx looking up through the branch lines, no need for my subatomic sensors here, it has shuffled off this mortal and is no more. She extended a sharp inquiry with her claws to discern the nature.
I can see that a creature, perhaps a rhinosaurus or a unicorn has sharpened its hardened horn against this bark and unraveled the fibres, some are even cut down in shreds. I cannot mend, nor mend it together, although.
Sheba said, Shall we send delegation to Hermes for a new sapling that might burgeon and replenish? I understand that he is still in a sulk, having lost the competition. But if he knew the great wonders that his fibres now withhold, maybe he would come through?
I shall go, said She Sphinx, We are known of old. But I must bring him a present, he loves a surprise, to govern his mood and bring him, emotionally, into the fold of our needs.
I shall repatriate these fibres that we have harvested to the Blue Knight, spoke Sheba, That he may apply his resin mit fibres to the Thread of his questing nature, stiffen its resolve and be on his way. I may, incidentally, put in a word for justice, as I am keen.
I shall go and have a word with the restless creature that has chosen to use this venerable tree as a sharpening post, said the Spotlight, If the joy and pain of the internet are to continue, this must not reoccur.
How is this creature to be discovered? ask the Forest Manger
I was a Searchlight in a previous, supplied the Spotlight, I will find the way.
Without this, and despite, they split their functions and passed into history. The story of the Sphinx’s visit to the underworld, where Hermes is sulking, and how she gives him a gift that he cannot refuse and returns carrying the precious young sapling of the Fibreoptic Tree from the Underground, without looking back, is written in oral history elsewhere.
Likewise, the tale of the Spotlight’s search for the Rhinocorn is writ somewhere by someone else, as I have to get back to the Thread of which the storyline of this plot is made.
Sheba and her precious burden, the only available fibreoptics until later, travelled back to the great City of Az where the Blue Knight was preparing a large pot of epoxy resin.
The Thread, pale and listless, lay supine upon the work bench of the Blue Knights atelier. Stirring the pot of resin, he painted the Thread all about with a generous layer and quickly, before the resin could mature and finally leave home, he applied the glinting strands of fibreoptical strands, Sheba aiding and abetting. They worked day and night, for an hour or two, until the entire length available to see was suitably covered and covered.
How long has this been going on? Asked Sheba
It should harden overnight, said the BK, at this temperature it might take longer, but let us under engineer and leave it to this time tomorrow.
Do you have any notion as to where the Thread of your story quest will lead you? Asked Sheba.
No, said the BK, I only know that where it leads, I must follow. Righting wrongs, feeding the hungry, enfranchising the disenfranchised, clearing the debris fields, bringing succour to the poor, balance to the rich, rules to the unruly, coals to Newcastle and rock to Brighton. I may find myself shoulder to shoulder with the hoi polio in the market shelf, or gasping for an undusty breath on the desolate plains of nowhere. Even, mayhap, cast adrift on a flimsy raft upon the wine dark seas, enslaved by the songs of the sirens. But in all those place, I am bound to bring the light of reason, food and drink, safety first and no rest for the wicked.
And the Scales of Justice? Asked Sheba
And those, said the Blue Knight, Let us retire until tomorrow.
The Guardians of the Cave 