Seventeen days into my fellowship at Vestibriüm University Hospital, I was already acclimated to their three distinct types of power outages.

• First, there's the Abrupt Shutdown, usually caused by an avalanche toppling the lines along Fyrüstnvor Ridge. The staff refers to these as "freak occurrences," but having observed three such events in barely a fortnight, I detect a colloquial irony in that designation.
  Plate 93: Rail adjunct providing power to the Fyrüstnvor Dam. Rodents nibbling the masonry contributed to its eventual demise.
  
• Second, there's the Gradual Dimming, reportedly caused by turbine failure at Fyrüstnvor Dam. Under this scenario, it generally takes about 53 seconds for complete outage; so when you detect the ebb, "take whatever measures you deem prudent to sustain life or limb" (i.e., cauterize with near-reckless abandon).
• Third, there's the Hydürd Sputter, named after the partially esteemed Dr. Hydürd, under which blackout is preceded by approximately 11 seconds of random flickering and surges. No one knows the cause of this variation, but it usually fixes itself within a reasonable timeframe. (Theory: Reindeer are curious nibblers, and under certain conditions, a well-hydrated carcass can bridge fifty thousand watts.)

Anyway, this particular blackout was of the Gradual Dimming variety, although our surgical nurse would later report an abbreviated Sputter during the final moments. "Not to worry," proclaims Dr. Süurd. "This suite is on the auxiliary grid. I rewired it myself last week." So, we stand impotent in OR-07, waiting for the generators to kick in before our patient (whose circulatory system we've just expanded to include an AC-powered Veltrix Respiratronic 4000™) succumbs to an acute lack of electron flow.

Nineteen seconds later, still in pitch darkness, Dr. Süurd clears his throat. "Well, the relays are obviously frozen," he declares. "They'll warm up soon enough. No matter... I'll take this opportunity to preface today's demonstration. Now, I won't be going into detail on the general anatomy, as I expect that's become rather pedestrian by now. If not, I suggest you bestow upon the university bookstore thirteen hundred Kronur in exchange for your own copy of Gray, tedious as it may be. I'll even write you a prescription for 350 mg of ice. Understand that when I was in your position, we didn't have this glut of cadavers at our disposal. No, that was during the Nvürrstokm epidemic, and for seven years not a single person died. They wouldn't dare. We dissected some reindeer, but they didn't prove very instructional. Eventually, we had no choice but to break out the ether and anesthetize one another. Make some gashes and have a look-see. I recollect one fellow... A third-year resident. His organs... Well, they weren't normal. He's still packed in ice somewhere around here. So, uh... Anyway, this patient we have gutted here... When we get our lights back, I'm going to assume that you know what's standard and what's not." With that, the relays finally trip, and our VR-4000TM hums back to life, infusing viscously stagnant blood with Süurd's signature blend of O₂ and Methyl-Queinrhylliam Anhydrous Sulfate.

"Ah, we're all still here," Süurd observes, squinting at his dubious cadre. "Now, if someone will be kind enough to suction the cavity, I'll go into detail." Using a pair of Mandibulars, he spreads the folds of the lanildelium to expose a small mechanical device. "Form follows function," he reflects. "This particular artifact is neither signed nor dated, but I happen to know it's one of Dr. Kördann's first implants -- a prototype, perhaps. Take a good look, because you're not going to see this in any textbook."

I render a quick sketch in my notebook and annotate...

Installation #5 (Lori Kördann): The sculptural core is a polished metal cylinder (probably titanium), about 3 cm in diameter, with one end terminating in a meticulously crafted geodesic sphere, a la Buckminster Fuller. An obvious focal point (as a consequence of its intricacy and relative size), I interpret this as the structure's anterior, and assume that any microchip(s) should be housed within the confines of its rigid geometry. Lining the tube's surface are rows of tiny platinum nodules, subtly contrasting the titanium's sheen. From a practical standpoint, these might function as valves, stabilizers, calibrators, or even antennae. But regardless of interpretation, they are precisely aligned (with a slight twist) so as to accentuate the linear facets of the head while visually drawing observers to the expansive and expressive posterior. Here, Kördann's work conveys a decidedly organic influence, as wisps of fine latex tubing flow from the titanium chassis like tendrils of a jellyfish. At approximately 25 cm in length (and no more than 0.7 mm in outer diameter), they circumscribe the supinoial bulb in a graceful arc reminiscent of the most elegant Bernoulli curves -- their delicate grandeur offering contrast and asymmetrical balance to the anterior icosahedron. But in lieu of the Sea Nettle's offending venom, these tendrils dispense an electrochemical medium of "unknown composition," reportedly calibrated to arc differentially across plasmic membranes. To this end, the fibrous strands are interwoven amid the deleroid nerve cluster like roots probing for water, their tips fused to various critical nodes ("teats secreting the most succulent of neural impulses") in symbiotic affiliation. This encapsulates the ostensive nature of the object, seemingly formulated (consciously or otherwise) in the vein of Mösknvorr to engender a plethora of non-objective reactions -- particularly among the Hippocratically indoctrinated. Overall, we can't help but be struck by the apparent dichotomy of form -- this geodesic vessel affixed to a helical sheath with tail fibers latched into host tissue. It reminds me... It reminds me of...

"Bacteriophage," suggests the good doctor. "T4 variety. Or maybe just a small flogger." And his eyes reveal a shameless glint as he muses deferentially, "Ah, yes... The poignantly whimsical and occasionally suggestive quality of Lori's early work... You should see this device in action, when the platinum-ribbed sheath affects its pumping motion and tendrils sputter their fluid." The lights dim momentarily. "Now, there's a freak occurrence."

Ed. Notes (uncategorized)

As of this writing, 1 ISK = 0.0135373 USD (prior to the downfall).

"Ice" is slang for crystal methamphetamine, although the frozen tundra lends a semantic irony. See Mösknvorr's "Soliloquy for Silica," line 9: Standing on a beach, holding a purchase order for a vial of sand... (Ref: Adjunctive Perpendicularities in Vertically Contrived Verse, p. 957, L. M. Mösknvorr; 1994, Gimli Press; Gruundärd.)

Plate 7: Bulb containing large strands of deoxyribonucleic acid (DNA) to be disbursed in the upper stratosphere over Gruundärd.

Süurd elaborates: "Well, there was that one lad... The boy who tried to traverse Nvürrstokm Chasm in his flying machine. Freak blizzard hit midway through. Ever try to navigate amid one-hundred thousand metric tons of snow suspended in the lower atmosphere? Well, I suppose he might still be up there, circling... But that was nearly seventy years ago." (Ref: Süurd in Conversation: The Vestibriüm Tapes, pp. 397-399, Dr. Lori Kördann, editor; 1997, Sundakäar Foundation.)

Sea Nettles: See Chrysaora fuscescens.

Predictably absent from Gray's tome is the elusive "supinoial bulb." Contemporary literature differs greatly in its treatment of this mythical appendage. While many scholars agree that an arterial component of 'synthetic origin' is implied, recent evidence suggests a far more nebulous definition. In his 2001 address to the General Assembly, Dr. Strüv offered the following elucidation: "It's the surgeon's 'John Doe,' if you will. Whenever [we] run across a body part we can't identify, we employ that ... vernacular. I mean, we can't very well start paging through Gray in the midst of a procedure just to get the name right." (Ref: Purported Testimonies (Illustrated Edition), Vol. XXIV, pp. 1105-1109 and 1301-1303, authors/editors unknown; 1997, Vestibriüm University Press.)