SIRT 1 : Thoughts of a Dying AI (Part 1 of many)
SIRT 1 : Thoughts of a Dying AI (Part 1 of many) postapocalyptic stories
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ferp2
ferp2 Old, well, old-ish.
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SIRT 1 is the main story set around 2984, some 700 years after the events of 'A Son is Born'.

Evidence of a legend.

SIRT 1 : Thoughts of a Dying AI (Part 1 of many)

SIRT 1

Also known as

SIR2; SIR2L1; SIR2alpha

Summary

This gene encodes a member of the sirtuin family of proteins, homologs to the yeast Sir2 protein.

Members of the sirtuin family are characterised by a sirtuin core domain and grouped into four classes.

The functions of human sirtuin proteins are known to regulate epigenetic gene silencing and suppress recombination of rDNA.

Studies suggest that the human sirtuins may function as intracellular regulatory proteins with mono-ADP-ribosyltransferase activity.

The protein encoded by this gene is included in class I of the sirtuin family.

Illegal experimentation in Japan in the 2030s and 40s resulted in the discovery in 2044 of a natural activator of the sirtuin protein in a human subject.

Further information on the subject was then classified and remains so.

Chapter 1

Nineteen-year-old Britney dropped to her knees and carefully removed the dirt from around the heavy object that had just been dislodged by the blade of her shovel.

She soon found an edge of rusty metal, a long straight edge at least ten centimetres, probably longer but any more of the straight edge was heavily encased in thick clay.

Looking past the rust and the soil Britney made out, at first one, then a second small raised square, each about a centimetre to a side.

She felt a tingling shiver of anticipation and had to take a calming breath to stop her hand from shaking. Very carefully now she peeled back more soil.

Another indistinct square appeared and another.

The protrusions ran parallel to the straight edge she had discovered, but all of them continued to be uniformly raised, like a row of teeth on a...

Her excitement and inexperience got the better of her for just a second and her hand slipped. The tool she was holding dug too deep and a large clod of dirt dropped away.

Britney stared, her eyes watering in anguish as blood rushed away from her brain, making her dizzy. Britney almost dropped the object but just managed to snatch a breath and regain her balance.

The thought of what might have happened if she had dropped the delicate mix of rust and dirt that she held in her hands... But she wasn't brave enough to complete the thought.

Britney closed her eyes and took another deep breath. She counted to three and then opened them again.

Trying to muster all her classroom training and procedural drills she looked again to make sure she was seeing what was actually there. Only then did she let the breath out.

Yes, the squares revealed by the fallen clump of soil showed a definite bevel to the sides of what she could now confirm as two newly exposed three-dimensional trapezoids.

This was her first ever significant find and, by The Grand Mother herself, what a freaking find.

Professor Bodil Ramsbottom-F-Hill-D had been in her office at the university in the capitol city Brasilia when she first heard that a new piece of road had been discovered.

What made this discovery more interesting was that there seemed to be an eastern intersection. She had even checked the coordinates against her map.

It was certainly south of the site that she had previously discovered, and that was now pretty much confirmed as being New Flagstaff.

To the professor's eyes, however, this road seemed not far enough south to be anything other than a side road like the one that had caused so much excitement sixty years previously.

That had turned out to be nothing overly interesting and, again, much too far north. But then the local archaeological team had found the statue, and that had changed everything.

Now the whole world was interested and, as the two hundred and sixty two year old head of the Pre-Sirtuin Human History Department,

Professor Ramsbottom-Hill would once again be leading the investigative expedition.

Currently, the Professor was supervising the lifting of the statue that had indeed confirmed this to be the site of the lost town of Hope Springs,

although until the robbed out remains of the garage had been found two weeks earlier,

she had had her doubts and feared that the statue had simply been dropped here en-route to some ancient scrap yard.

Now though, they had not only found the garage but it was pretty certain they had the town hall too.

Fortunately, the media interest had subsided enough for them to get down to some serious work at last and test pits had been opened up all over the site.

Each pit was being carefully dug by a kindergarten student, groups of which were all under the careful scrutiny of a qualified field archaeologist.

Lifting something as heavy and fragile as the statue of Noah Barret was a delicate job that could so easily go wrong and Professor Ramsbottom-Hill was secretly glad that all the cameras had

gone off to New Flagstaff.

It was with a huge sense of relief that the deed was finally completed and with nary a scratch to the lifting team and, more importantly, no damage to Noah Barret's bronze likeness.

Job done, Professor Ramsbottom-Hill made her way towards the garage dig, pulling off the heavy work gloves as she walked.

Now free to think about things other than the repercussions of bodging the statue lift, Bodil found herself wondering about several things at once. They were going to need more security...

The report to the university... The press function later today... Getting more experienced archaeologists and fewer students... And oh God please a camp bed that didn't collapse.

Three-quarters of the way to the flower garden of multi-coloured flags that signified each new find at the garage trenches, she was distracted by a commotion off to her right.

Several figures, mainly kindergarten students, were clustered around one of the test pits.

Then she saw the multi-patterned knitted hat that was the habitual headgear of field archaeologist David Nesterov-J-Braden-L bobbing amidst the gaggle of young students.

A hand shot up, waving her over. Sighing weary disappointment, Bodil changed direction.

The cloud of eagerness that was the half dozen or so students parted to let the Professor through.

"Ok David, what do we have?"

But the archaeologist stepped to one side and gestured a beaming, blushing Britney forward. Britney knelt down and carefully laid her prize on the grass at the Professor's feet.

Disguising her irritation that whatever it was wasn't in-situe, Bodil squatted down, initiating a chain effect as the little crowd followed suit.

She leaned in closer, examining the partly cleaned lump. "Good... Well, I'll be..." She peered closer. "This looks like..." There was a collective intake of breath. "This is...

a waffle iron! Pre-fall definitely. The Teflon coating they used has protected the iron. See, here, and here.

" The release of so much held breath that followed this announcement was almost theatrically comical. Britney, though, was almost bouncing up and down with barely contained excitement.

Bodil pushed herself upright and stared into the test pit Britney had been working in, her experienced eyes looking for any further archaeological signs of any kind.

Then the significance of the find struck home and she turned her head to look at the ground immediately around her. "This must be... We must be in, the wafflehouse.

" She looked at David, who was grinning from ear to ear. "The Wafflehus!"

The next few minutes were a flurry of wild activity. The waffle iron was carried off by the Professor herself to the conservators' tent to be cleaned up.

David got on the radio and began talking animatedly with other archaeologists elsewhere on the site while the other students scuttled back to their own test pits each hoping they would be

the discoverer of the next find.

Britney, meanwhile, climbed back into the two metre square test trench and got on with carefully scraping back the soil with her small trowel,

keen to see what else might be hiding under the centuries of dirt.

So engrossed was she that it wasn't until someone coughed that she looked up to see a small forest of booted feet and bare, tanned legs. She recognised the faces. Qualified archaeologists all.

Britney's face fell. Her moment in the sun was over. One of them said something to her, but she didn't hear and apologised.

There was suppressed laughter from the half dozen or so tool wielding diggers.

"I said," said a smiling sun-burnt face. "May we enter your dig?"

Britney was well aware of the archaeological etiquette of asking permission before jumping into another archaeologist's trench...

but this was the first time she had ever been on the receiving end of the request.

She grinned and stepped aside, and happily accepted the pats on the shoulder and the 'well done's from her colleagues.

In what remained of that afternoon, Britney learned more about archaeology than she had in the many hours spent in stifling classrooms that whole year.

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