Ükür will always be a fascinating place for me. I’ve always been interested in the people of Ükür—they always seemed so exotic, so full of life (or at least color) and there was always something vaguely magical about them. As an adult, now living in the country of my dreams, I can say that the magic remains for me; it is a darker dream, however, shadowed by something I cannot really explain. My love of this place seems obsessive, and I’m afraid of what it might imply. I have friends here, two local guys named Dül and Xéŗšé; they’re a couple, though it took me a while to figure that out. I can be rather dense at times. It is because of my friends that I’m writing this. I’ve asked them to help me with a project, to guide me through the strange currents that define the deep and murky sea that is their culture. A part of what I’ve asked them to do seems to trouble them to no end. Everyone knows about the strange, anachronistic machines that lie scattered throughout Ükür. Similar devices have been found as far away as Agara. Dubious claims indicate that Estonia might harbor a few of these odd devices as well. I can find no substantiated examples of Estonian machines, but that doesn’t really matter. They’re here, and in a duller, prosaic way, they’re in Agara. It’s likely that the Agarans invented the machines and used them as a means to incorporate their country into the immense and complex workings of a nation-sized clock. Theories surrounding the Ükür artifacts hint at a similar possible use, though examples of the machines themselves seem to indicate a more cryptic purpose. The most disturbing (and compelling) thing about these machines (called čotí [plural] in Üküré) is that they are wonders of advanced mechanical engineering, though they were built thousands of years ago. Hundreds of these machines are on display in various museums around the world, and hundreds more lie untouched in the strange mounds that have housed them in the Üküré countryside for at least three millennia. These devices are more sophisticated than anything we have yet built. We’re proud of our Hubble Space Telescope and our nuclear reactors, cell phones and insipid Wii machines but they’re nothing compared to what these strange (and troubling) devices represent. My friends, Dül and Xéŗšé, know more about these things than they’ll ever say. Dül was born and raised in the city of Šeš, a contaminated, industrial canker-sore on the face of southern Ükür; he has encountered these machines during his childhood, and has told me that locals tend to conceive children in the mounds that house them. The Üküré are largely secular people; they don’t believe in magic, and yet they seem to endow these machines with strange, paranormal attributes. Though Dül and Xéŗšé won’t be conceiving any children, I suspect that they’ve also gone to Šeš, to consummate their relationship in the presence of a machine. And maybe this is the reason behind their reluctance to share an exploration of these devices with me. I’ve managed to talk them into a journey to Šeš. They’ve agreed, grudgingly, and so I’ll be seeing one of these devices in its native environment. I need to do that. I’ve seen them in museums, and I’ve researched as much as I could. I need to see a “wild” one now, in its native context and not inside of a sealed, glass case. I hope that our trip to Šeš will be a good one, and I hope that I’ll be able to finally understand why it is so important for me to see one of these things, up close and personal. --Samantha Braden/Personal Journal (unpublished) *** This isn't actually a machine from the fictional land of Ükür. It's part of a tow-truck's engine in the midst of an endless repair job. But hey, I like any excuse to visit Ükür that I can get. As always, thank you for viewing, readning, and commenting.