Digital Heritage and the Living Cheese

Digital Heritage and the Living Cheese

Yar Kremen

© Yar Kremen, 2026

ISBN 978-5-0069-9990-9

Создано в интеллектуальной издательской системе Ridero

CHAPTER 1: «THE ABANDONED STATION»

Part One: Arrival

The exit from hyperspace occurred precisely at 03:00 ship time.

The Cheese-Eater-2 spilled out of warped space so smoothly that Cheddar didn’t even wake up.

He sat in the captain’s chair, carefully cradling a half-eaten wheel of Ice Brie against his chest, softly snoring.

His ears twitched in his sleep — clearly dreaming of something incredibly delicious.

— Boss, wake up!

Spark nudged him in the ribs.

— Enough sleeping. We’re here.

Cheddar jolted awake, rubbed his eyes, and stared out the viewport with a groggy gaze.

Then he wiped his face, stared again, and suddenly leaped up so sharply the cheese nearly flew from his paws.

— Mother of cheese!

he breathed.

— It’s… it’s really her!

— Yeah, a station,

Spark said flatly.

— Pretty, huh? Like an old tin can.

— Not a can, a legend!

Cheddar pressed his face to the glass, sleep completely forgotten.

— Vintage! The first scientific station dedicated to zero-gravity cheese aging! This is where Professor Vint conducted his famous experiments with hard cheese maturation in a vacuum! I read about it as a kid, in old magazines!

— Calm down,

Spark snorted.

— It’s just a pile of metal that’s been floating in space for fifty years.

— But there’s a light on inside,

Shadow said quietly.

She sat in the corner, as always inconspicuous, studying her scanners.

Her tablet blinked with dozens of signals.

— I’m picking up weak pulses. A continuous beacon on an ancient frequency. Someone’s inside. Or something.

Gadget, who had been fiddling with the instruments, looked up and whistled.

— Shadow’s right. The signal is very weak but stable. It’s using a protocol that went out of style forty years ago. If not for my old libraries, I wouldn’t even recognize it.

— So someone’s there,

Cheddar concluded, pressing back to the viewport.

— And that someone wants us to find them.

— Or they just forgot to turn off the light,

Spark muttered, but without much conviction.

The station hung directly ahead, filling nearly the entire view.

It was old — very old.

Its hull was covered in patina, etched into the metal by decades of cosmic solitude.

Antennas stuck out in all directions like bristles on an old brush, and the docking ports were crusted with cosmic dust and microparticles.

It seemed like a single breath would make it crumble.

But inside, behind the cloudy viewports, lights flickered.

Living, warm, clearly non-emergency lights.

They pulsed in their own rhythm, as if the station were breathing.

— Beautiful,

Shadow said unexpectedly.

— Like fireflies in a night forest.

— Terrible comparison,

Spark chuckled.

— Fireflies in a night forest don’t try to kill you.

— Are they trying to kill us here?

Gadget clarified.

— Not yet, but who knows.

Gluk, who had been pressing against the viewport from the other side, happily squeaked and began rubbing the glass with his brush.

With such diligence that a minute later the viewport shone like new, and the view completely vanished — Gluk was blocking it with his own body, continuing to polish an already clean surface.

— Gluk!

Spark barked.

— Back off! We can’t see anything!

— There’s dust!

the robot squeaked, not stopping.

— I can smell it! So much dust!

— What dust in space?!

— Cosmic,

Gluk answered philosophically and continued scrubbing.

— It settles on glass, blocks the view, ruins the mood, and lowers work efficiency.

— Since when did you become a philosopher?

Gadget marveled.

— A thousand years of cleaning,

Gluk replied without pausing.

— Lots of time for reflection.

Spark stood up, grabbed the robot by his brush, and dragged him aside.

Gluk blinked indignantly but didn’t argue — just sighed with all his fans and stared at the station with longing.

— Dust…

he whispered sadly.

— Later, little one.

Spark patted his head.

— Business first. We’ll clean the station once we figure out what’s inside.

Gluk perked up, lit up his lights, and happily squeaked:

— Really? We’re going to clean the station?

— I promise.

Spark crossed her fingers behind her back.

— Definitely.

Gluk believed her.

He always believed Spark, always and in everything.

Part Two: Docking

Cheddar ordered the approach, and the Cheese-Eater-2 slowly crawled toward the station.

Maneuvering thrusters worked almost silently — Gadget had fine-tuned them again, and now the ship moved with the grace of a well-fed cat.

— Docking port number three,

Shadow reported, cross-referencing maps.

— According to the documents, it should be functional.

— Should be,

Spark grumbled, checking her blaster just in case.

— Haven’t docked here in fifty years. Everything’s probably jammed.

— We’ll see.

The docking went surprisingly smoothly.

Mechanisms that should have groaned and broken engaged perfectly, as if serviced yesterday.

Locks clicked, seals confirmed, and the transition hatch opened with a soft hiss.

— Interesting,

Gadget noted.

— Automation is in pristine condition. Someone’s been maintaining order here.

— Or we’re just lucky,

Spark said.

— Lucky?

Shadow repeated.

— We’re a team that constantly falls into trouble. Luck has nothing to do with it.

— Then someone’s expecting us,

Cheddar concluded.

— And that someone prepared.

He stepped into the transition sleeve first.

The others followed, slightly behind.

Gluk brought up the rear, repeatedly glancing back at the viewports, behind which the station’s tempting dust remained.

The transition sleeve ended, and they stepped inside.

It was dark — pitch black.

Helmet lamps cut through the gloom, revealing walls covered in a thick layer of dust.

Gluk squeaked pitifully — the dust was everywhere, on every inch, and he wasn’t allowed to touch it yet.

It was beyond his strength.

— Hold on,

Spark whispered.

— You’ll scrub it all later.

Gluk nodded and froze, gripping his own leg with his brush to keep from bolting.

They took a few steps forward.

The silence was so thick it could be cut with a cheese knife.

Only their breathing and the occasional clicks of instruments broke the stillness.

— No lights,

Gadget stated.

— Emergency systems are silent.

— Silent but not off,

Shadow countered, pointing to her scanners.

— Power’s present. Someone just decided light isn’t needed yet.

— Or we’re being tested,

Cheddar suggested.

And then the lights turned on.

Not gradually, not flickering, but instantly — bright, blinding, as if someone had flipped a switch.

Red emergency lights blinked in rhythm, illuminating a long corridor stretching into the station’s depths.

Walls reflected crimson glints, the floor gleamed with freshly polished plastic, and the air suddenly filled with a faint scent of… ozone and cheese.

— Well, hello, host,

Spark smirked.

— Took you long enough to look us over.

No answer followed, but everyone felt it: they were being watched.

The gaze of invisible cameras, invisible sensors, an invisible mind deciding what to do with uninvited guests.

— Move,

Cheddar ordered.

— Carefully, but move.

Part Three: Inside

The corridor led deeper into the station, gradually widening.

Every twenty meters or so, closed doors appeared with plaques: Laboratory #1, Sample Storage, Archive, Lounge.

The lettering was old, faded, but still legible.

— Like a museum,

Gadget noted.

— Except this museum is operational.

— Or a prison,

Spark added.

— Also operational.

Cheddar walked first, repeatedly sniffing the air.

The smell of cheese grew stronger, delighting and unsettling him simultaneously.

— There’s cheese here,

he said.

— Real, old, aged. I can detect several varieties.

— You always smell cheese,

Spark waved him off.

— Maybe it’s just the smell of old walls?

— No.

Cheddar shook his head.

— Walls smell different. This is cheese. And there’s a lot of it.

— Professor Vint was a cheese genius,

Shadow reminded them.

— If he worked here, cheese should be present. Maybe even legendary varieties.

— Vintage Cheddar,

Cheddar breathed dreamily.

— Written about in ancient manuscripts. They say it stores the memories of whoever eats it.

— Cheese with memory?

Gadget doubted.

— Sounds like nonsense.

— Sounds like a brilliant invention,

Cheddar countered.

— And I’m obligated to find it.

— Just don’t get distracted,

Spark warned.

— We’re here for the archives, not cheese.

— And where are the archives?

Gadget asked.

— We’ve been walking ten minutes, and all we’ve seen are corridors.

— According to my data, the central hall should be straight ahead,

Shadow answered.

— But the maps are old. Layouts may have changed.

— The station hasn’t changed,

a voice suddenly spoke.

Quiet, scratchy, coming from everywhere at once.

Everyone froze.

— Who’s there?

Cheddar asked, trying to sound firm.

— The Keeper,

the voice replied.

— The Caretaker. The Archivist. Call me what you will. I maintain order.

— You’re SYRO-MAX?

Gadget guessed.

— That’s what they called me.

The voice paused.

— No one’s come in a long time. A very long time. I’d almost forgotten what living voices sound like.

— We come in peace,

Cheddar said.

— We need Professor Vint’s archives.

— Archives…

The voice grew thoughtful.

— I have everything in order. Everything cataloged, filed, labeled, and numbered. But I don’t just hand things out.

— And what do you want?

Spark asked, gripping her blaster.

— For you to register,

the voice suddenly became businesslike, almost bureaucratic.

— Every guest must register. State your name, purpose of visit, and favorite cheese. Without that, archive access is denied.

— Favorite cheese?

Gadget repeated.

— Seriously?

— Absolutely. It’s the most important identification parameter. It reveals character, tendencies, and cultural level.

Spark rolled her eyes but stayed silent.

— Fine,

Cheddar agreed.

— We’ll register. Lead the way.

— Follow the light,

the voice said, and a glowing line appeared on the floor, leading deeper into the corridor.

They followed the line, feeling closely watched.

Even Gluk quieted down and stopped trying to scrub the walls.

Part Four: Holograms and Gluk

The line led them into a large hall, its walls completely covered in holographic portraits.

Dozens, hundreds of images of Professor Vint at different ages.

Young, with messy fur and burning eyes; middle-aged, with graying whiskers and a thoughtful gaze; old, with a wrinkled muzzle and the eternal wheel of cheese in his paws.

And between them — a teenager with pimples, awkward whiskers, and a permanently displeased expression.

— Holy cow,

Gadget whistled.

— Did he photograph himself every day?

— Holographic diaries,

Shadow explained.

— Professor Vint kept logs throughout his life. These are his self-portraits from different years.

— And they’re all… alive,

Cheddar noted, because the portraits were indeed moving.

Young Vint adjusted his lab coat, old Vint wiped his glasses, and the teen picked his nose then immediately caught himself.

— Who are you?

Young Vint suddenly asked, staring at them from the screen.

His voice was sharp, almost adolescent.

— Why have you come?

Old Vint added in a bass rumble.

— What do you need?

Teen Vint squeaked.

And then all the holograms spoke at once, talking over each other:

— This is private property!

— There’s nothing here but dust!

— Dust, by the way, needs cleaning!

— Don’t listen to him, he knows nothing about protocols!

— You know even less, old man!

— Who’s the old man? I remember myself three times longer than you!

— So what? You’re bearded and grumble like an old stump!

— Young stump!

— And me?

Teen Vint whined.

— I’m going through puberty, nobody listens to me!

— Sit still and keep quiet, puberty!

— You sit still!

Cheddar tried to intervene, raised a paw, but no one heard him.

The holograms argued passionately, drowning each other out.

Young Vint called old Vint a dinosaur, old Vint called him a pup, and teen Vint tried to speak but got shut down by both.

— We’re looking for Professor Vint’s laboratory!

Cheddar shouted, hoping to be heard over the racket.

— I’m Vint!

Young Vint declared instantly.

— No, I’m Vint!

Old Vint objected.

— And me?

Teen Vint interrupted again.

— You’re Vint in puberty, sit down and don’t stick your nose out!

— You sit down!

Gluk, watching the scene with growing interest, suddenly froze.

His sensor focused on one portrait — the old Vint, whose screen was covered in a thin layer of dust.

For Gluk, this was a personal insult.

— Dust,

he whispered.

— Dust on the screen.

— Gluk, don’t,

Spark warned, but it was too late.

The robot rolled up to the wall, extended his brush to full power, and began diligently scrubbing the screen where old Vint hung.

With such dedication, such selflessness, with which he usually polished Spark’s boots in moments of danger.

Old Vint jerked, flickered, tried to back away, but the hologram was locked to the screen.

— What are you doing, tin can?!

he yelled.

— Stop it!

— Cleanliness is health!

Gluk happily squeaked, continuing to scrub.

— Achoo!

Old Vint sneezed, and the screen rippled.

— Achoo! Achoo! I’m not dust, I’m a hologram!

— All surfaces are dust to me,

Gluk noted philosophically.

— Especially the ones where dust is visible.

— Achoo!

Old Vint sneezed louder, his image fading, reappearing, smearing and distorting.

Young Vint chuckled:

— Serve you right, grandpa! You’ll learn not to call me a moron!

— Moron yourself!

Old Vint wheezed.

— Turn off that can with a brush!

Teen Vint also cheered up:

— I like this robot. He brings order.

— He brings chaos!

Old Vint howled as Gluk reached his glasses, which were also holographic, and started polishing them with doubled energy.

— My glasses! I can’t see without them!

— You couldn’t see anyway, old stump,

Young Vint quipped.

— Shut up, pup!

Spark finally rushed to Gluk and grabbed his brush.

— Stop!

she barked.

— Enough cleaning! You’re going to smear him across the wall!

Gluk reluctantly stopped, but his sensor eye still burned with zeal.

— But there was dust…

he squeaked pitifully.

— I noticed.

Spark sighed.

— Excuse him, please. He’s… well, you get the picture.

Old Vint, finally recovering, adjusted his glasses and glared at the robot:

— Get this monster away before it rubs me into oblivion!

— He’s not a monster,

Spark defended.

— He just really loves cleanliness.

— Loves cleanliness?

Young Vint repeated.

— Then he’ll like it here. SYRO-MAX loves order too. They’ll get along.

— SYRO-MAX?

Shadow grew alert.

— He’s in charge here?

— In charge,

old Vint nodded.

— Watches over the archives. Very pedantic type. Files everything, systematizes everything. Honestly, we’re a little afraid of him.

— He’s afraid of us too,

Teen Vint giggled.

— We are his creators, after all. In a manner of speaking.

— Where do we find him?

Cheddar asked.

— We need to access the archives.

— Follow the main corridor to the end,

Young Vint answered.

— Central hall. He’ll meet you there.

— Just be careful,

old Vint added.

— He doesn’t like rule-breakers. And you, judging by everything, are quite the rule-breakers.

— Why is that?

Spark bristled.

— Because you don’t have a favorite cheese,

Young Vint smirked.

— We heard your conversation on the way. You’re on the rule-breaker list, girl.

— I’m temporarily cheese-affiliated!

Spark snapped, pointing at Cheddar.

— He promised to share.

— That changes things,

old Vint nodded.

— Then go. And may cheese be with you.

— And order,

Teen Vint added.

— And cleanliness,

Gluk squeaked.

The holograms laughed — even old Vint, though his laugh sounded more like a cough.

The team moved on.

Behind them, the holograms resumed arguing:

— I’m telling you, the robot’s cool!

— Nothing cool about it, he almost killed me!

— You’re just an old grump!

— And me?

— You’re puberty, shut up!

The argument faded as they moved away.

Gluk glanced back, waved his brush, and rolled after Spark, happy and content.

CHAPTER 2: «MEETING SYRO-MAX»

Part One: The Central Hall

The corridor led downward, gradually widening, and a few minutes later the team stood before massive doors.

A plaque read: CENTRAL HALL. UNAUTHORIZED ENTRY PROHIBITED. REGISTRATION MANDATORY.

— Registration again,

Gadget sighed.

— Like an airport.

— Or a police station,

Spark added grimly.

— Or a library,

Shadow said unexpectedly.

— They love logging things there too.

— You’ve been to a library?

Cheddar asked, surprised.

— In a past life. Long ago.

The doors slid apart with a soft hiss, and they entered.

The hall was enormous.

So enormous the opposite wall vanished into semi-darkness.

High ceilings lost to gloom, rows of terminals lined in perfect order, holographic screens silently flashing columns of numbers and graphs.

In the center, in the most prominent spot, rose the main screen — the size of a small house.

— Holy cow,

Gadget whistled.

— How much stuff is in here…

— Everything is cataloged,

a voice replied.

Smooth, calm, devoid of emotion, yet strangely melodic.

A face appeared on the main screen.

It was perfectly smooth — not a wrinkle, not a whisker, no hint of age or emotion.

Symmetrical features, as if drawn with a ruler.

Eyes resembled optical sensors — digits and code scrolled within them.

No smile, but the lips moved slightly, creating the illusion of speech.

— I am SYRO-MAX,

the face introduced itself.

— Chief archivist of station Vintage. Management, cataloging, and storage system. And also — order keeper. Welcome.

— U-uh… thanks,

Cheddar said, trying to be polite.

— We’re looking for Professor Vint’s archives. We need data on his research.

— I know,

SYRO-MAX nodded.

— The holograms already reported. You woke them, caused a scene, and your robot tried to destroy an exhibit.

— He wasn’t destroying it,

Spark defended.

— He was just… cleaning.

— Cleaning.

SYRO-MAX repeated.

His face froze for a moment, as if weighing the word.

— Unconventional approach. Logged. But order is order. Archive access requires registration.

— We agree,

Cheddar quickly said.

— What do we need to do?

— Approach the terminal, state your name, purpose of visit, and favorite cheese.

SYRO-MAX paused.

— The last item is mandatory. Refusal results in placement on the rule-breaker list and access restriction.

— What if I don’t have a favorite cheese?

Spark challenged.

— Then you are a rule-breaker,

SYRO-MAX replied calmly.

— Rule-breakers are subject to… optimization.

— Optimization?

Gadget repeated.

— Removal,

the face clarified.

— Excess elements disrupting order must be eliminated.

— Charming guy,

Spark whispered to Cheddar.

— Real life of the party.

— Quiet,