Dammit. It’s been an ongoing problem for weeks now.


It started when I forwarded my desk-phone to my company-issued cellphone before leaving work one night. It’s part of my routine, and I do it every evening.


But this time…the phone system suffered some kind of hiccup. My phone stayed in call-forwarding mode, while every other phone on my floor seemed to lose their call-forwarding capabilities.


Whatever. The prob has been logged with the helpdesk, numerous follow-up queries have been made, but it hasn’t been fixed.


Today, though…I suddenly became curious about something.


My desk-phone is forwarded to my cellphone, right? Well…what would happen if I forwarded that same cell right back to the desk? A nicely closed-loop of call forwarding…


Couldn’t let that be just an idle curiosity, of course. So I went ahead and did it. Then I wheeled over to a nearby desk, and dialed in my deskphone’s extension…


It was weird. It was glorious. It began with a shrill beep from my cell. Followed by a similar sound from my deskphone. Then a quicker one from my cell, and a quicker one from my desk…


...back and forth, like an ancient game of Pong. Faster, shriller, more intense…


And then the lights dimmed, and they were gone. Our computers began shutting down, one by one, as the network disappeared. Surprised, angry voices sounded throughout the room.


Dazed, I wandered to the exit. What I found outside did nothing to allay my nervousness.


Tripping like grounded-out breakers, all the buildings throughout this industrial park were shedding their electricity and going dark. Streetlights and traffic signals were shutting down. Traffic was growing crazy and confused.


But beneath that…the hum had gone away. Do you know the hum? It’s always there, so you rarely notice it. But when the power’s gone, during a blackout or electrical storm, you notice that eerie and profound silence. That’s the lack of hum.


Had I wrought this? Of course I had; I had no doubt. I felt some fear at first – the fear of a Luddite who’d just smashed his machine.


But that faded, and soon I felt only joy. I looked behind me and saw a thin stream of co-workers, also wandering from the impotent building, trying to find something to do, some way to cope.


I’m not sure why, but they looked to me. Silent, wide-eyed, looking for a leader…


At my feet, I saw a handful of twigs, blown from the trees in some recent gale.


I closed my eyes for a moment, and cast my mind back. Years ago, decades ago…when I wore a neat green uniform and a neckerchief and merit badges…I cast my mind back and recovered those long-forgotten lessons.


Then I reached and grasped two of those sticks and held them high over my head. I turned and addressed this frightened crowd that longed to become a tribe…


“Come! I teach you to build fire!”