by C. A. Pack
“That was easy,” Jackson said, as they headed back to the elevator.
“All things considered,” she agreed, “we got off lucky.”
They hopped on the elevator, and Jackson studied the buttons. “What floor? I’ve never seen an elevator in the library. Do you think there’s a door hidden behind one of the shelves?”
“I’m pretty sure the basement is level six. Press that button. We can look for an elevator on the main floor after this is all over.”
The cage made a creaking sound as it started to ascend. Jackson gazed at the staircase that wound around the elevator as it climbed. “Could you imagine if we had to walk up all these stairs to get back? There must be thousands of them. Tens of thousands, if the library really does go down to”—he inspected the button panel—“sub-level thirteen-hundred and eleven.”
The cage suddenly stopped between floors, and the lights went out.
“No, no, no, no, no.” Johanna huffed.
The lights suddenly turned on, and the elevator began moving again.
“Frit. My heart dropped to my stomach when that happened. I wouldn’t want to be stuck down here. No one would even know where we were. We would starve to death. Maybe even have to kill one another for food.” He thought about that for a second. “Don’t worry, I could never do that to you. You could eat me first.”
“Uh-huh.” She left it at that.
“You’re supposed to say that you would do the same thing for me.”
“It grieves me to say that you would have to die alone, because the College of Overseers is coming tomorrow evening to escort me to my sentence, and I get the feeling that they would find me no matter where I am.”
“That’s probably true. You don’t think they would leave me down there, do you?”
The elevator stopped. Johanna opened the scissor-gate and stepped out. “I guess we’ll never know.”
They sat together on the sofa. “Be prepared in case the Terrorians appear.”
She opened the back cover and immediately inspected the bottom of the endpaper. “It’s a zero. We’re safe.”
“How do you know?”
“Mal’s diary. I saw a section about how the library’s collection has a hint about the book levels camouflaged in the endpapers.” She turned the book and showed him a minute 0.
“That could come in handy. When were you going to tell me?”
“I just read it this morning,” she replied.
She paged through the History of Terroria. It gave details on Realm Twelve from its earliest days through the present, and included the curators who had overseen it. There was a section on Terrorians’ major contributions to music, art, and literature, and a detailed geographical outline of the world and its natural resources. The book also touched upon the portals, and how all the libraries had full use of them for communicating with the other realms, until the Two Millennia War.
Terroria’s impatience with some of the other realms, as well as its unbridled thirst for power, resulted in a scheme to take over the entire library system. The Terrorian Realm formed alliances with Adventura and Mysteriose to overturn the Council of Twelve (now defunct), a governing board formed by the curators of each of the realms. In a well-planned coup d’état, the three rogue curators seized control of the Council of Twelve and commanded their troops to use the portals to invade each library and take over its operation. The population of each realm resisted the invaders, but could not break the defenses of the well-protected libraries. The nine realms that refused to join with the Terrorians, Adventurites, and Mysterians suffered severe deprivation at the hands of their captors. The population on some worlds decreased by more than two-thirds.
The College of Overseers moved to seal the portals, isolating the rebels in nine separate battles. The overseers immediately convened the First Inter-Realm Peace Council. Rebel leaders agreed to attend, but as soon as the portals reopened, Terrorian curator Claff 8 ordered new troops to transport into the war zones and push for victory. He took two of the overseers prisoner and had them executed in a demonstration of power.
The remaining overseers escaped and sealed the portals again—scrambling their configuration so anyone breaching a portal would never be sure where he or she might emerge.
The war raged on until the overseers secretly built a one-way portal to a containment cell in Lumina. In a stunning use of reverse propaganda, the overseers leaked information that the portal doors would be opened so a secret emissary could travel between worlds, but in fact, no such visit had been planned. Instead, all the portals were reconfigured to lead only to the Luminan cell. In a stunning victory, all newly recruited rebel fighters, along with Claff 8, were captured. The Terrorian curator turned his weapon on himself, rather than become a prisoner. Many of the other fighters broke down and told the Luminans everything they knew about the military operation. Claff 8’s allies were taken into custody and, after cross-examination, found guilty of treason and put to death.
Special Luminan troops traveled to each realm to restore order. A substantial amount of blood continued to be shed during the following half century, while Lumina battled to regain control of all the Libraries of Illumination. Once peace was established, new curators who swore loyalty to the College of Overseers were put into place, and the portals sealed. The Two Millennia War had ended, but would never be forgotten, especially by those realms that suffered the deepest losses. (For more information, refer to “The New Epoch” by Summeria 15.)
“Do you think the Terrorians still hold a bit of a grudge against the overseers?” Jackson asked.
“It’s possible, although that was a very long time ago.”
“Nero 51’s living room had piles of stuff that looked like rocket launchers. They were huge.”
“Did he say anything when he put you behind the force field?”
“Ik, ik, glug.”
“Helpful.”
“You asked.”
“Mal is pretty sure they’re counterfeiting obelisks to buy weapons, which would give credence to your observation of a stockpile of heavy artillery. Did you get a peek into any of the other rooms of the residence?”
“No. He slammed me inside that force field pretty quickly. And a moment later, you began banging on the door. Except, now that I think of it, I did see something that looked like a TV screen on the wall that he momentarily ‘ik, ik, glugged’ into. It may be some sort of communications device.”
“I wonder if there’s a book downstairs on the Terrorian language.”
“Why? Are you planning to say ‘how do you do’ in Terrorian?”
“I’d like to know how they say words like weapons, war, counterfeit, and invasion, so that I’ll know if they’re talking about something other than literature.”
“Well, if you’re going to use the elevator, I’m going to stay behind. And if you’re not back within a half-hour, I’ll lasso the hook in our cupola and dial up the College of Overseers.”
“Maybe I’d better take a flashlight and Mal’s diary with me.”
“You think Mal has a better chance of helping you than I do?”
“No. But I think he’s an excellent backup plan.”
Johanna checked the computer for a book on Terrorian language and syntax, and found one listed on sublevel fifty-six. “Fifty-six must be the Terrorian level.”
She grabbed what she needed, and Jackson followed her down to the basement and watched as she twisted the light fixture.
“The way I figure it,” Jackson reasoned “it should only take you one minute to get down there, three minutes to find the book, and another minute to get back up. After that, I’m calling in the troops.”
“You gave me a half-hour just a few minutes ago.”
“Just hurry.”
Johanna entered the elevator. Before she could slide the scissor-gate shut, the lights blinked.
“See what I mean?” Jackson said.
“I’ll be back before you know it.”
*
During that attempt, the power on twelve different worlds … blinked.
*
Johanna found the language primer quickly and hurried back up to sub-level six. Jackson awaited her there, as promised.
“Four minutes. Not bad. Let’s go back upstairs. For some reason, this place is giving me the creeps.”
Johanna cracked open the book, thankful for another Level Zero designation. Jackson sat down next to her and read aloud from the middle of the page. “Ik, ock, uk: I am; you are; he, she, or it is. What are all these funny symbols?”
“The conjugation of ik, ock, uk, written in Terrorian.”
“While you were down there, you should have looked for a Terrorian-English dictionary.”
“Yeah. Why don’t you just go download one on the iPad while I study this.”
“Good one.” He sat back and closed his eyes.
Johanna turned to the back of the book to see if a word list or glossary existed. She found what she wanted and looked up weapons. “Ergat.”
“You gargling?”
“I’m saying the word for weapon. Ergat.”
“That’s an easy one. Wyatt Earp carried a gun. Mobsters called a gun a gat. ‘Er’ for Earp, ‘gat’ for gun.”
She marveled at Jackson’s ability to make anything sound simple. “Cru.”
“What’s that?”
“War.”
“Okay, war is cruel. Just cut off the end. What’s it say for ‘counterfeit’?”
“Nothing. There’s no listing in here for fake, phony, or even bogus.”
“There’s got to be some equivalent.”
“Noh.”
“There has to be.”
“I didn’t say ‘no’—n-o—I said ‘noh’—n-o-h—which means ‘copy’ or ‘reproduction.’”
“Oh. That’s a ‘noh’-brainer.”
She sighed, even though the corners of her mouth turned up just a little. “Guz.”
“Does that mean they’re going to cut out your gizzard and guzzle your blood?”
“Close. It means ‘invade.’”
“What’s the future tense of ‘ik, ock, uk’?”
Johanna turned back the pages. “Iki, ocko, uku, ikin, ockon, ukin.”
“Rhymes with ...”
“Stop it.”
“Okay. If you hear someone say, ‘Ikin guz,’ it means we will invade.”
“Porg.”
“We will invade pork?”
“Porg means ‘portal.’”
“How do you say ‘takeover’?”
She turned the pages. “There’s nothing listed for ‘takeover,’ but there is ‘seg.’”
“What does that mean?”
“‘Seize.’ So if I hear anyone say, ‘Ikin seg porg,’ I’ll know they’re planning to seize the portals.”
As Johanna tried to commit words to memory, Jackson made up little mnemonic devices to help her absorb them. She laughed at his attempts because they sounded goofy, but had to admit they actually helped her learn Terrorian.
“Do you know this one?” he asked. “Bli z’ Bril.”
“Cold?”
He smiled. “If you’re talking about your answer, it is cold. ‘Bli z’ Bril’ means ‘Library of Illumination’ in Terrorian.”
*
When the clock struck nine, Johanna kicked Jackson out. “Go home. You’ve got school tomorrow, and I’ve got to rest up so I can spend the day learning about Terroria and tying up loose ends here at the library.”
“I’m thinking of taking tomorrow off.”
“Don’t. I need the time to get stuff done.”
“I can help you.”
“You can help me after school. We didn’t get back here until around eleven on Friday night, so they won’t be coming for me until late tomorrow. If you come straight after school, we’ll have plenty of time to go over everything you’ll need to do here while I’m away.”
He made a face at her.
She pulled him over and kissed him. “Really, it’s going to be all right.”
“I hope so.”
*
Normally, Johanna didn’t mind Monday mornings, but this one filled her with anxiety. She dressed quickly and made herself a huge breakfast. She would be taking protein bars to Terroria to help her keep up her energy, but she wanted to make sure that she ate several hearty meals before leaving Exeter. Earth. Fantasia. Realm Eleven. Whew. Everything she had learned in the past seventy-two hours boggled her mind.
She crammed everything she thought she’d need in her backpack, and placed it by the circulation desk. She packed Mal’s diary, but then unpacked it to ask a question.
“Mal, if I leave Jackson my diary, will he be able to read it the way I can read yours, and ask questions?”
His words crawled across the page: A curator has the ability to read the diary of either a mentor or a protégé.
She grabbed her diary and quickly scanned it. Mal had given it to her when she became his protégé. She placed it on the circulation desk.
“How will I know if Jackson asks a question? Will I be able to see it?”
You will sense it. And once you consciously think of the answer, it will appear in your diary. It will be a mostly one-way conversation, however, because Jackson will have no way of knowing if you are trying to reach him.
“Thanks, Mal.” She closed his diary and slipped it in her backpack. She kept busy for the rest of the day by doing chores around the library and memorizing as much Terrorian language and lore as possible.
*
“How’s it going?”
She jumped when she heard Jackson’s voice. “Is it that late already?”
“I had to ask Old Man ... uh ... Mr. Benson for the next few days off to take care of the library, and I asked if I could leave an hour early so you could mentor me. He’s so happy about all the positive feedback he’s getting about our community-service project that he was happy to oblige. It’s like being a superstar. I can get anything I want right now.”
“Help me with my Terrorian. Even better, sit down, relax, and think back to when Nero 51 grabbed you. I need you to tell me everything. What you saw, what you felt, what you smelled, what you heard.”
“I thought we already went over all that?”
“You said he spoke to someone. Can you recall what he said?”
“I’ll need to close my eyes for this.”
Jackson sat on the sofa and put his head back. He envisioned the tentacles pulling him into the residence. He recalled the acrid, metallic smell—like a chemical lab—and while most of the Terrorian library was merely hazy, he remembered the residence contained an oily mist rising from the floor.
“It smelled really bad, like a solvent mixed with rotten eggs. I could actually taste it when I inhaled, but then he picked up a weapon and shot me, and I didn’t really think about it after that.”
“You didn’t tell me he shot you.”
“He didn’t shoot me with bullets or arrows or anything like that. He shot me with a force field that locked me in place.”
“What did the weapon look like?”
“Like all the other weapons piled up against the wall.”
“How many were there?”
“A hundred, maybe? Didn’t you see them?”
“I was too focused on getting you out of there.”
“Yeah, well, if we hadn’t made a run for it before Nero 51 returned, he would have probably used the same weapon on you.”
“So their weapons can immobilize any enemy without killing them?”
“Yeah.”
“Which means they want them alive.”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“Dinner? Slavery? Maybe they want people to work the m
ines. Or maybe, they want to brainwash them and turn them into soldiers, so their own people don’t get killed on the front lines.”
“The front lines ….”
“Yeah. I think they’re planning something big. I didn’t know what ‘cru’ meant at the time, but I’m sure Nero 51 said it to the communication device.”
“Did he use the word tec?”
“Maybe. I don’t remember. What does it mean?”
“‘Spy.’”
“Did you learn anything touristy, like ‘I’m thirsty’ or ‘where is the bathroom’?”
“No.” She looked them up. “There is no word for ‘thirsty.’ Apparently Terrorians absorb liquid from the air.” She thumbed through the book for several minutes while Jackson quietly looked on. “Ewww. They don’t have bathrooms, either. That thick, hazy vapor is their ‘waste product,’ which is discarded through their feet. We walked through that stuff.”
“Everyone walked through that stuff, including the overseers.”
“This is going to be the longest three days of my life.”
“You’d better pack a roll of toilet paper.”
Johanna slumped back against the cushions.
Jackson picked up her hand. “I’ll be with you every step of the way. I won’t stop thinking about you until you return.”
“Oh.” She jumped off the sofa to fetch her diary. She handed it to him. “This is my diary. It has a lot in it about how things work in the library. If you’re stuck and need to ask me a question, write it in the diary on the last page. I’ll sense it and can tell you the answer if I know it. Check it often, even just to ask how I’m doing, so I can answer you, or else there’s no way I can stay in touch with you.”
“What about Mal’s diary?”
“I’m taking it with me.”
“What if they take it from you?”
Her eyes widened with alarm. “Do you think they’ll do that?”
“If they think it’s important to you, they might. If they think they can get secret information about our library, they might.”
“I never thought of that. Maybe I should leave it here.”