Panthiome

Shrap Talos lent backward into his outdated interface, closing his eyes as the wall-sized array hijacked his visual cortex and an image took shape. He could see the archive as a highly detailed three dimensional sphere from every angle at once, as if he had a thousand eyes orbiting it like satellites around a planet. That had taken him a while to get used to six long months ago when the technology had first come out. If it wasn't for the daily regime of drugs he was taking to enhance his neuroplasticity, he might never have managed. His plumage shifted a fraction as the thought of being left behind sent a chill across his skin. His role in all this was of the chief architect and maintainer of the archive.