by C. A. Pack
“Why don’t you ask Mal?”
*
When Johanna posed the question, Mal did not reply, but she felt the diary shrinking in her hand. It finally stopped when it was a half inch wide and three-quarters of an inch long. A small, metal loop grew out of one corner, and a little glass peephole appeared in the front. She raised it to her eye and saw her last entry. “Mal, do you hear me?”
She peeked inside and saw the word Yes.
“I’ll be right back.” She practically flew up the stairs and went straight to her jewelry box. She returned with a gold chain that she attached to the book and then placed around her neck, slipping the tiny tome under her tee shirt. She smiled at Jackson. “I feel better, now.”
He picked up Johanna’s diary and slipped it in his back pocket. “Don’t worry about me. I don’t need a shrinking diary. I’ll just carry you around au naturel.”
The clock struck eight. And Johanna’s stomach rumbled. “Pizza?”
“Okay. Relax. I’ll run out and get it. You’re getting a little jumpy.”
“I’ll call it in” she said, picking up her cell phone. As soon as Jackson left, she stuck the phone in her pocket. She sat on the sofa and closed her eyes.
*
Ω This is no time to sleep, Johanna Charette. Your sentence has begun.
LOI
CHAPTER 6
A moment later, Johanna and Overseer Plato Indelicat stood in front of the circulation desk on Terroria. Nero 51 was nowhere in sight. The overseer rang a large brass bell attached to the front of the desk.
“Uk infi,” Nero 51 stated as he entered the area. The overseer waved his hand to enact a translation enchantment. You’re late.
Ω I have delivered Johanna Charette to you at the appointed hour. She is here to work off her sentence under the rules of the Arkan Peace Treaty, ratified after the Two Millennia War. She is to be treated in a civilized manner in accordance with her species, which is human. I will inspect her quarters, now.
Nero 51 led the overseer to a small storage room toward the back of the library. It was empty except for the oily mist rising from the floor. The overseer waved his hand, and the mist vanished. A cot appeared, as well as a small sink and a toilet.
“You give preferences,” Nero 51 shouted at him.
ΩI am giving her the minimum accommodations necessary for her species.
He turned to Johanna.
ΩThis room will serve you for one-third of every twenty-four hour period that you are here. You may spend seven consecutive hours here in repose, and one full hour dividing the workday for your meal break. You have merely to say the word ‘sustenance,’ and a meal made up of foods common to Fantasia will appear on this table.
He waved his hand again, and a small table and a single chair appeared.
“You coddle the spy. Call me when she is ready to begin serving her sentence.” Nero 51 left them alone.
ΩAs you can tell, I have enacted a translation enchantment, so that you can understand what Nero 51 and his minions expect of you. I will be back in seventy-two hours to escort you home. Be Illuminated, Johanna Charette.
She dropped her backpack on the cot. The overseer disappeared, and Johanna found herself transported back to the front of the circulation desk. After waiting a moment, she rang the bell.
“You dare summon me.”
“My sentence has begun.”
A tentacle extended the width of the library to a utility closet and withdrew a rag and a jar of oily paste. “Polish the obelisks. If you dare to break one, you will be punished.”
“I will need a ladder to reach the higher shelves.”
“Find one,” he snarled.
“I didn’t want you to think I was snooping around.”
“Look in the utility closet.”
“Thank you.”
*
Johanna started with the stacks to the right of the front door. She planned to work from top to bottom, but she wanted to determine what she was in for first. She selected an obelisk from a lower shelf. It was heavy, which she expected. The one that she had smashed had been just as heavy. As she opened the jar of paste, the noxious fumes nearly caused her to swoon. The odor resembled a cross between putrefied flesh and rotten fish, with a biting quality that stung her eyes and made them tear. She pulled her tee shirt up over her nose to filter the air, and did her best. The paste made the obelisks slippery, and she was afraid of dropping one, so when she climbed to the upper shelves, she tucked the obelisk inside her belt. She also learned a drop of polish went a long way, so she used as little as possible.
Johanna worked mindlessly, but the constant climbing to retrieve crystals made her back and knees ache. It didn’t help that the Terrorian day started just when her day should have been ending. She had been at it for hours, and relief washed over her when she heard a voice out of nowhere say, Ω Johanna Charette, you may take a one-hour meal break.
She returned to her room and lay down on the cot. It turned out to be more comfortable than it looked. She thought back to Nero 51 accusing the overseer of coddling her, and wondered if it was true. It took a while before she felt her back muscles relax. She remained on the cot for a half-hour, then sat at the table and said, “Sustenance.” A plate filled with carrots and peanuts appeared before her, as well as an old-fashioned tankard. She picked up the cup and sniffed. Apple juice. She consumed everything the overseers provided, and slipped a protein bar in her pocket.
Hardly a moment had passed when a voice said, ΩReturn to work.
By the end of the day, she had polished most of the obelisks along the outer walls of the first story. It had been a massive effort, but hardly enough to make a small dent in the number of crystals in the building. She silently kept track of how many times she saw Nero 51. He spent a great deal of time in the antechamber and the residence, and she only saw him every couple of hours, when he would cross from one space to the other.
At the rate she was polishing obelisks, she would never reach the second level, or the curator’s residence. She hoped to get a peek inside, or at least to eavesdrop on some snippet of conversation, but she may as well have been on an iceberg off the coast of Siberia, for all the good her proximity to the Terrorian war effort was doing.
*
Back on Fantasia—as Jackson now liked to call it—sudden demands on his workload kept him on his toes. It started when the president of the library’s board of directors called and demanded to speak to Johanna.
“She’s out of town,” Jackson explained.
“What do you mean, ‘out of town’? We have no record of a request for time off.”
“Her grandmother ... is dying,” the teen fudged.
“Oh. Well. Who’s taking her place?”
“I am, sir.”
“And who are you?”
“Jackson Roth, Johanna’s assistant.” He paused. “You must know about me. I’m her curator-in-training. Just ask any of the overseers of the Library of Illumination ... uh ... foundation.”
“Aren’t you just a kid?”
“I’m the curator-in-training.”
“Well, Mr. Curator-In-Training, some of the libraries in our neighboring communities are impressed with our facility’s new information retrieval system. I’ve invited about two dozen of them to view a live demonstration of it on Thursday evening.”
“No,” Jackson said.
“Yes,” the president of the board of directors stated emphatically. “I’m sure you can find money in your budget for some coffee and cookies. If we play our cards right, we could be named ‘Library of the Year.’ It’s an honor that I would hate to see snatched away from us by a less prestigious facility that’s still operating in the dark ages. We would be forced to cut jobs if that were to happen, if you get my drift.”
“Right. A demonstration for a couple dozen people, with snacks, on Thursday evening,” Jackson confirmed.
“At seven.”
“Gotcha.”
Click.
He thought about the demonstration. How would he show all those people how easily the system worked? A large-screen TV would allow him to illustrate his workflow.
He called the president of the board of directors back.
“What is it?” The man sounded a little snarky.
“This is Jackson Roth, the curator-in-training at the Library of Illumination. There’s the matter of a large-screen TV. I need one to stream our new digitized system, so your guests can see how well it works. Unfortunately, the library board rejected our request last fall. I’m so sorry, but that oversight will prevent me from demonstrating the system.”
“What?”
“No TV, no ability to live stream my digital demonstration.”
“That is not an option. Order the damn TV.”
“Plus installation, of course.”
“Just do it.”
Jackson smiled. This management stuff is easy. He called The Guys Next Door—an appliance store in the village—and explained what he needed.
“What’s the P.O. number?”
“We don’t have a P.O. box. I’ll give you the street address.”
“Not post office—purchase order. What’s the purchase-order number?”
“I’ll have to get back to you.” Jackson put down the phone and began to pace. It helped him think. Unfortunately, he lacked the experience or knowledge necessary to continue. Johanna’s diary. It was right there in his back pocket. He dredged up a memory of her using it to contact Mal. He wrote down the words as he said them. “Johanna, how to you get a P.O. number?” It stands for purchase order, he added, just in case she was confused.
*
Johanna heard Jackson’s voice in her head.
She said aloud, “Why do you need a purchase order?”
After a minute she heard Jackson reply, “The president of the library board told me to get a TV for a demonstration that he’s scheduled here. The Guys Next Door asked for a P.O. number.”
“There’s a pad in the top right drawer of my desk that says ‘purchase order’ on it. They’re pre-numbered. Fill out the next blank page. Take the top copy to the president of the library board for his signature, then give it to The Guys Next Door.”
“Thanks,” she heard him say. “How are you doing?”
“It’s okay. The overseers are making sure I’m treated humanely.”
“Anything you need?”
“Diet Coke with ice.”
“Right.”
Her evening meal seemed astonishingly similar to chicken soup—at least, she hoped it was made out of chicken. It contained meat and a variety of vegetables, accompanied by something that looked like bread that had been run over by a truck. Surprisingly, her tankard held beer. She had never been much of a beer drinker, but after the day she had endured, it quenched her thirst.
She lay down on the cot to contemplate her next move, and felt something poking her—her cell phone. She switched it off and stuck it in her backpack. She would have no use for it here. The next thing she knew, the voice in her head warned her that her workday would begin in twenty minutes.
*
Day two seemed tediously comparable to day one. After her midday break, Johanna saw Nero 51 go up to the second floor, followed by several other Terrorians. I believe I’ll continue polishing obelisks on the outer walls before working my way in to the interior stacks. Since I’m done down here ...
She climbed up to the next level and began working on the crystals that lined the shelves next to the residence. She couldn’t hear a word they said, which was really disappointing. Maybe when they’re done. With luck, they would continue their conversation as they exited the apartment, and she would learn something of value.
Johanna’s stomach growled. She pulled a protein bar from her pocket, but before she could remove the packaging, the door to the residence slid open. She shoved the bar behind the obelisks and grabbed a rag, polishing the closest crystal.
*
Nero 51 fumed when he saw Johanna near his residence. This Fantasian is nothing but trouble. He wished he could delay his meeting until after she left, but the very fact she was on Terroria was the only thing keeping the portals from being sealed. We must be ready by tomorrow. He cursed the overseers for putting a translation enchantment on his library. He would have to contact his followers and demand a night meeting at an outside location. They must prepare. He would be forced to leave the girl alone on the premises; however, anything she learned would not matter once they claimed victory.
He waited until she retreated to her room for the evening. Once he heard her door latch in to place—a precaution taken by the overseers—he walked to the front entrance and hit a switch on a control panel. Giant fans that blew warm, humid air into the library stopped running. No use wasting precious humidity on the Fantasian.
*
Johanna’s sustenance consisted of a fish cake and a hill of beans. Edamame. She thought of the protein bar that she had left on one of the shelves outside the residence. She held her breath as she opened her door, praying Nero 51 was not out inspecting her work. She popped her head out just in time to see him disappear out the front door.
Something struck her as odd. The mechanical sound that droned day and night suddenly stopped. She wondered what it meant.
*
Nero 51 entered Building 7, a neighboring structure at the end of the block. Almost everyone he contacted had already assembled there. “Where is Heil 66?”
“Printing maps of the realms. They must be ready by morning.”
Nero 51 nodded. “Before dusk tomorrow, our teams should be ready to amass outside each portal. They must be indistinguishable from the library patrons I have invited to a special fundraising event in the cupola. There should be no reason to question anyone being there.”
The gathering had originally been organized as a bona fide meeting, and it proved to be fortuitous planning after the teenagers from Realm Eleven breached the portals. Nero 51 decided at the outset that the Fantasians were too young and stupid to be spies. His accusations were deliberately intended to keep the portals open, until Terrorians could use them to invade the other libraries. He knew the overseers would impart justice.
“You could not have planned better,” Opel 29 stated. “If we had dialed the overseers as originally planned, they may have suspected our motives. Instead, we are reacting to an external intrusion, and the element of surprise will be ours.”
Operation Final Darkness would begin in less than twenty-four hours.
*
The lever to the residence was missing, just like when she had tried to rescue Jackson. She crossed her fingers. “Illumination.” Nothing happened.
She took a deep breath. “Delumination.” The door remained sealed.
She had never been within hearing distance when Nero 51 entered his apartment, yet something poked the back of her brain. For some reason, she conjured up an image of Jackson grinning. What did he say? She closed her eyes for a moment and scanned her memory for something he had said, which she should have known, but didn’t.
Ahhh ... “Bli z’ Bril.”
The door vibrated as it slid out of the way. She tentatively entered the residence. The thick, oily mist inside the private quarters made her gag. She remembered what she had read about it and hated having to wade through it. A light would have been helpful, but she dared not use one, for fear of being caught. The building across the courtyard was lit, and let in just enough of a glow to illuminate the cache of weapons stacked against the wall. She did a quick count and moved into the next room. It also appeared to be filled with weapons, although it was difficult to tell because they obscured the window, eliminating it as a potential light source. The only reason why she could see at all was because the entry door remained open and th
e library proper was still illuminated.
She returned to the living room and looked for a desk. She found a short column shrouded in the haze that held several obelisks. It did not appear to have any drawers, and while she had taken the time to learn some Terrorian words, she had not learned the symbols that went with them, so she could not read the obelisks.
The room dimmed. Johanna glanced through the window and noticed the light from the other building had gone out. There was nothing more she could learn here. She slipped out the door, but it did not automatically close. “Bli z’ Bril,” she said aloud. As the residence door whooshed shut, the main door to the Library of Illumination creaked open. Nero 51 had returned, and Johanna stood immobilized—trapped—on the residence floor.
The Terrorian passed beneath her on his way to the curator’s staircase. Johanna slipped to the front shelf that separated the apartment from the balcony overlooking the main reading room. If this library was a duplicate of her own, she’d find a tiny space between the end shelf and a front window. She scurried to it, pressed herself into the space, and held her breath.
“Bli z’ Bril.” Swoosh.
She waited for a second swoosh that would tell her the door had closed. She heard the latch snap into place, and quietly released her breath. I just need to get to the staircase. She waited a minute before stealthily sneaking to the spiral stairs. She had not paid attention to whether they squeaked, and prayed with each step she took. Downstairs, she hurried back to her room and heard the door latch loudly click into place. She wondered if Nero 51 heard it as well.
Johanna picked up Mal’s diary. “What should I do if I found several rooms filled with weapons?” she whispered. She held the tiny book up to her eye and waited. After several minutes, a single line of type appeared.
Nothing. You are only there to serve out your sentence.
Johanna’s face wrinkled. She thought the overseers wanted her to learn as much as she could about the Terrorian plot, but now Mal stated that she must merely serve her sentence. She slumped. Did Mata Hari have to go through this?
*