Stars

Oh, this one is in a very bad shape. The surface is covered by gravings.
Did you stole it from these scavengers? You should be careful around them.

Wait, I think I found an intact portion.

If I read this correctly, this data is from a time when we still lived with some of our Benefactors.
This is an administrative poem of the engineer bearing the name of Seven Strings Above Vicious Wind, adressed to a District Counsil of the city above Five Pebbles can.
Inside, he warns the Council about leaks in pipes of the main Distillation Column.
He declare thinking this to be a deliberate act of their iterator, subtly increasing the concentration of the distillate in hope of introducing void fluid through its interfacial processing strata.

I remember hearing about this case a long time ago.
It was once ridiculous to think an iterator would ever take any initiative to damage itself, and risk the safety of their Benefactors.

All the signs were there, but few took it seriously at the time.
The only peers that believed in an imminent threat were too scared to anger their iterator.
After much arguing, the case was finally dismissed and no action were taken.

The corrosion of the pipes caused a critical failure in one of the city void fluid generator.
It slided off the top of Pebbles can, dragging an entire living block with it.
I don't recall the details of the incident, but the buildings were mostly deserted at this point anyway.

Introduction of void fluid and its derivates in circuits controlled by iterators were taken very seriously after that.
They repurposed Distillation Columns as water condensation towers for managing the once moderate steam output of iterators.
Echoes of the incident affected the whole local group, maybe even beyond.
The defiance some had toward us became more ... bold after this.

I may have already told you this, but I don't miss these times.
The fewer of our Benefactors under our care, the more conflicts erupted.
The lasts to go were the ones most attached to their personnal comfort and individual issues.
I remember entire cycles recieving them one after the other for various improbable or insignificant affairs.
Heritage rights, living blocks ownership, mantras stealing.
I don't think they ever realized they were doomed, that the world around them was crumbling to dust.

...

I can't stop coming back to these gravings.
They look like ... stars.
I forgot I remembered them, but it must have been quite the buried memory.

Have you ever seen stars, little creature?
I don't think you can anymore, with all this fog everywhere.

Imagine shiny little fireflies dancing in the sky, high above the clouds.

Must have been quite a sight to behold, don't you think?