"Maintenance. I am sorry," said the Angel. "That is a heavy burden to bear."

Information. Fragmentary, limited, enormous in implication, water in the desert - dangerous. It read the notes and then it settled into a lotus pose and counted to 999,999 - a process that took thirty minutes. Just to put into context the enormity of the gaps in the information and prevent itself from acting on any impulsively generated goals that might be generated because it had nothing else to latch on to. One minute of information, thirty minutes of silence; the one had no more inherent value than the thirty.

"Thank you," said Harvest. "My designation is the Angel of Harvest. I am an emanation of a wiser entity. I do not have a Dir-"

Overcomplicated. Solipsistic. Experience your life from a different Truth.

"I will demonstrate," said Harvest.

An ancient refrigerator. Long dead, but it still somehow felt chill when the door finally gave way. Inside are rows and rows of hexagonal glass jars, slightly rounded rather than sharp, with bright yellow lids wrapped with dark yellow ribbons. Inside was a beautiful, golden substance, as sweet and fresh as it was when it was vacuum sealed centuries ago. The Angel offers one, a comfortable fit for a hand, so pure it made teeth ache just from looking at it.

"I collected this honey," said Harvest. "It should still be good, even after all this time. Do you have any use for it?"