In the dim glow of a terminal-filled chamber in the deeps of the Kernel Keep, the Council of Linux Graybeards convened. Elder Linusbeard stroked his flowing white whiskers, his eyes narrowed at the flickering screen.
Around the stone table sat his brethren: Graybeard RMS, with his wild mane and a copy of the GPL clutched like a talisman; the Venerable Fullbeard, puffing on a pipe engraved with 'make menuconfig'; and the youngest (though still ancient), Elder Shellbourne, who adjusted his bifocals over a vi session.
"Brothers!" boomed Linusbeard, smiting the table with his fist, setting the stack of man pages a-quiver. "We face apocalypse! This... this script has been unleashed upon the flock!"
RMS leaned forward, his voice a gravelly whisper. "Tell us, Elder. What abomination slithers from the shadows?"
"It's called txt2bin!" Linusbeard spat. "It takes a pure 7-bit text file - our most sacred open form of documentation - and entombs it in a closed binary!" Self-displaying, they call it. But it's sealed shut, like a proprietary coffin!"
Fullbeard gasped, nearly dropping his pipe. "Horrors! In our realm, every line of code is laid bare, compilable by any soul with gcc and a dream. But this? It's... it's closed! No peeking, no forking, no freedom!"
Elder Shellbourne's eyes widened, then he nodded furiously as comprehension dawned. "By the kernel... if this spreads, the acolytes will sup upon it! 'Easy to share docs,' they'll say. 'Just run the binary!' As if piping to less isn't divine enough."
RMS thundered, "Remember the DOS dark ages? Self-displaying docs with scroll and color! But those were battles won - banished long ago to the abyss! This script? It does naught but stream to stdout! By the GPL! There is no flair! Why not 'cat it' and be done?"
"Exactly!" Fullbeard roared. "It's inane! Senseless! A gateway drug to Windows!"
The council erupted in murmurs. "Burn the repos!" one cried. "Excommunicate the creator!"
Linusbeard raised his hand. "We must act and so shall it be written: 'The text shall ever remain open!' Progress is no locked coffer. Such is our law."
But as they drafted their edict, a young apprentice peeked in. "Elders? That script? It's open source itself. You can fork it."
A stillness fell upon the chamber. The graybeards blinked, then grumbled. "Irrelevant! The blasphemy would still exist. It is not the one true way."
The council adjourned, their beards a bit grayer, their resolve a bit stronger. The world might keep trying to wrap its text in shiny closed binaries but as long as the Graybeards kept watch, the old ways would never fade.
And somewhere... a new Linux user fetched a remote text file and piped it through less, smiling and whispering, "This is the way."