joeseeley

    Simon, a built man, sat in a stone throne that rested upon the roof of the Nantucket watch tower, gazing tensely out over the North Atlantic ocean.  His eyes shifted slowly from left to right, then back again over the many space elevator tethers that reached forever up and beyond the eternally gray skies.    For more than 50 years he had guarded the tethers, waiting and watching in the event a wretched human should ever return.  For more than 50 years, there had been nothing but the sounds of his own thoughts drifting back over time and waiting for a new tower sentry that never came.  Now, for the first time, there was a low and steady