The Raw Shark Texts. Steven Hall

The nucleus of the cell contains biological information The second possible Fidorous text, discovered alongside the first. Again, The nucleus of the cell contains biological information is the original title.

      3. Fossil fish reconstruction

      The first image is a replica of a text structure found in the Arundel Way underpass in Sheffield. The image had been created horizontally across two tiles at the base of a stairway (see photos & map of underpass layout) using letter transfers. The structure seems to represent a species of prehistoric armoured fish, although the image is incomplete with large areas of damage. The second image is my speculative reconstruction. The text has been reproduced actual size. No other underpass texts were recovered.

      4. Computer virus mosquito in amber

      This image was discovered as an acetate label on a 3½” floppy disk in Sheffield Interchange (see maps/photos) and has been greatly enlarged here. The structure is probably a mosquito. The disk carrying this image is transparent orange plastic (rather than the usual matt black), giving the impression of an insect trapped in amber. The text appears to be programming source code and there are some similarities to the Melissa Virus code circa 2000/2001. Could this be connected to Fidorous? The disk itself is unsalvageable.

      5. Postcard of the Greek island of Naxos

      This postcard found in a lay-by in the Broomhill area of Sheffield. The reverse of the postcard is still blank but the photo credit describes the image as ‘Naxos at dawn’. There’s some slight rain damage. It’s very unlikely that this is connected to Dr Fidorous or to the First Eric Sanderson but the chance discovery of it gave me a thin sort of encouragement. As this isn’t strictly a ‘find’ I’ve wrapped it in clear plastic along with two pieces of protective post and stored it separately, in the pocket in the top of my rucksack.

       10

       Flotsam and Jetsam

      The rain came down so hard it had real weight, beating my head and shoulders into a flinch, pouring heavy over my waterlogged clothes and streaming in flukes from my hood and from my elbows and from the bottom of my coat. Hard, heavy, roaring and angry. It was difficult to see. I brought a hand up to shield my eyes but this created a new shelf and a flow of fresh rivulets were soon throw-twisting themselves off the ends of my fingers and curling their way under my hood to run down my cheeks and chin. I struggled to blink away as much water I could.

      Then I saw what was out there, and it staggered me.

      God, my lips said. The word was stillborn and tiny and bundled away in a sweep of the gale.

      I’d been hoping the gateway might belong to an old house, the Willows Hotel according to my map, but it didn’t. I’d left the road too early or too late; this was the entrance to a park, not a driveway. Everything beyond the gateposts was furious: a river gone gigantic and deformed and crazy, banks burst and out on a greedy, rolling brown rampage. The size and force of it overloaded me, made me sick and dizzy. A too muchness.

      My rain-blinking eyes struggled back from the flow and down to my feet. The water around my boots was peaty-brown and alive too, I realised. No boundaries. The river was here and reaching and grabbing and actually pulling at my feet and calves with a beautiful, mindless ache. A willpower in pressure. The river wanting to drag me off and smash me up and remake me as part of its pointless and stupidly powerful and passionate drive to change and obliteration.