by VK Fox
Sister Mary continued, “We have people on the inside to let us through the gate and into the library. Our team has been a legitimate janitorial company here for a while in preparation. Earlier today, one of our operatives released the incendiary golem into the vent system. The first part of its mission was to compromise the vent so we can use the knockout gas to flood the building instead of the vault. This time of day there are usually only cleaning staff and a few guards. We’ll know if it worked when we get there—everyone will either be awake or not.”
“What about the oracle?” Sister Isadora was re-sheathing and re-holstering: her small, plump form bristling with weapons like a lethal hedgehog.
“Yep. Taken care of.”
“How?”
“Our contact in Social Architecture filled his schedule with the most time-consuming, mentally exhausting assignment we could think of, and we have him with one of the therapists who reports to us. He hasn’t seen anything.”
“Who’s this?” Olive leaned forward, eyes bright.
Sister Mary frowned, surveyed Olive, and exchanged a glance with Sister Isadora. “Irrelevant to the mission.”
“Oh, no you don’t. What if he shows? I should know what agents could appear on the scene.”
Sister Mary shook her head, “Need to know basis. He’s not coming tonight.”
“No fun is what you are.” Olive grumbled.
Sister Mary continued, “If the knockout gas worked, we proceed. We have the security cameras taken care of remotely. To operate the elevator we need a successful hand geometry and iris scan. I have forgeries to fox the sensors. Jane, you’ll ascend to the vault.” Sister Mary handed over a pair of keys and a book—a linen-covered, gilded copy of The Once and Future King. “The big key is for the vault door. The little key is for the book’s case. Take the conscious copy, secure it in the golem, plant the fake, and come down. Then we’ll head out before anyone realizes there’s an issue. Sana Baba will figure out there was a breach at some point, but I’m hoping the fake book and the damaged vent will buy us a few days to do what we need to do with Dahl. The vent investigation will take some time. The book won’t be recognized as a forgery without scrutiny. Linked books look like normal books until you start messing with them.”
Olive nodded.
“The incendiary golem is still in the vents in case we need to breach the vault. Everyone has a button detonator and a clicker in their kit. Stick the detonator, flip it on, get to cover, and use the clicker to signal the golem. Three clicks will get it moving towards the detonator. It will explode on contact, so make sure you’re in position before you start clicking. It’s a shaped charge, so do not position yourself directly behind the detonator—that’s where most of the fireworks will happen. We aren’t going to get this opportunity again, so let’s get it right. Keep cool heads and we’ll be in and out in under fifteen minutes.”
Jane caught Sister Mary’s eye, “What happens if we fail?”
“As we covered before, failure will most likely be fatal. Killed in action: either shot by a guard or taken out by an agent. Or possibly they have corrosive or flammable gas they can push through the vent system.”
“Not flammable gas.” Sister Isadora’s sweet voice chimed in, “Not in a library.”
Olive grunted in confirmation.
“No, I mean what happens to Dahl?”
Sister Mary’s face was set in hard lines, “I’ve prepared a file with all of our information to be delivered to Ian if we don’t make it out. I’ve also arranged with Mother Superior for another team from my order to support him in whatever action he decides to pursue.”
An icy knot tightened in Jane’s stomach, “I thought Ian’s chances of survival were tiny if he knew.”
Sister Mary held her eye.
“Why? Why hand him something that’s going to get him killed?” So he could fight. So he could be brave and try to help his son. So he could protect reality with the rest of his short life. Sister Mary stared at her. Jane dropped her eyes and studied the floor.
“Communicate through the headsets in your masks. There’s a channel between us and a speaker if you need to talk to the room for some reason. Remember, once we’re inside the library keep your masks on no matter what. Miss Baum,” Sister Mary was speaking to Olive, but Jane caught the tone as well, “no magic. We’ve got the cameras covered, but I cannot guarantee your anonymity if you bust out with powers in Sana Baba’s stronghold. Are we clear?”
Olive shrugged. Sister Mary narrowed her eyes, “Miss Baum?”
“Sure, sure, given there are no surprises.”
“There are always surprises.”
“Then we’ll reassess!” Olive’s white teeth sparkled against her dark, glossy lips. Sister Mary leaned forward.
“That’s on you, then. You let us handle things, we’ll keep you safe and unidentified. You start flying around in full view and I won’t be responsible for the consequences. Follow orders and we’re good. Take charge and it’s your ass. Understand?”
Olive winked, reclining against the side of the cargo van. “Transcendently.”
The details of the library were difficult to take in through the gas mask’s goggles. Jane squashed the impulse to adjust her apparatus for a better view—fussing could potentially compromise the seal. Forty-foot tall built-in bookshelves covered every inch of the walls: beautiful linen, leather, paperback, illuminated, typeset, hand-penned, cheap print that would leave love smudges on her fingers, silk bookmarked, ink-and-paper smelling perfection. If she signed with Sana Baba, all this could be hers. But even after a lot of cold, hungry nights in the back of shitty cars or at the occasional homeless shelter, exchanging freedom for wealth was a fool’s move. But was knowledge worth freedom? Could all of the oversight and rules be a fair price for access to this place? It would make things easier for Ian if she came clean on Friday. Jane clutched the Tupperware golem tighter.
While Sister Isadora secured the door, Jane tore her gaze away from the tempting expanse to assess the vault—a clear acrylic box suspended from the ceiling by elevator cables. Inside, a few dozen books rested peacefully on individual clear pedestals, each sealed in their own transparent case like museum displays. Between the high ceiling and the top of the vault a compromised vent spewed odorless, invisible sleeping gas into the library.
The fact they were on the Las Vegas campus, inside the windowless stronghold, staring up at the vault while security guards and cleaning personnel gently slumbered represented 6 months hard toil, favors, espionage, and bribes at a level Jane had difficulty grasping. Jane swallowed a lump in her throat. Sister Mary was the best kind of friend. The one who saw a need and filled it—giving and not counting the cost. Dahl wasn’t even particularly nice to her.
“All secure!” Sister Isadora’s sunny voice piped through the headset as she relieved the last unconscious security guard of her gun, “Mary, you’re up!” Mary turned to the free-standing console next to the glass elevator and produced a severed hand from her backpack. Jane averted her gaze, feeling a cold sweat prickle the back of her neck, and busied herself with the knowledge of Blue’s forgeries—the hand must be a fake constructed to fool the geometry sensors. She’d probably made it out of clay or something. Jane ventured a glance back to the console as Sister Mary carefully arranged the fingers. Jane noted the presence of fingernails and a silk beaded bag covering the stump. Holy shit. Mary had an actual hand. Whose hand was that? Jane squeezed her eyes closed and swallowed hard. Keep it together. Vomiting in a gas mask would be a mistake.
The console shone green. Next, Sister Mary produced a printed facial portrait with the small addition of a thick clear coating over the eyes. Jane chewed her lip. That wasn’t possibly going to work, was it? Sister Mary held the image steady in front of the iris scanner. The machine blipped yellow. Mary repeated the motion. The machine blipped yellow again and made a small “beep.”
“Saint Jude and Saint Lucy…” Sister Mary breathed.
“And
Saint Philomena!” Sister Isadora piped up, “Patroness of Impossible Causes and Youth. Pray for us.”
Sister Frances’ voice came through the headset, “Dahl’s hardly a child.”
“Youth encompasses everyone! Babies, children, teenagers, the young at heart…”
“He has been shot a few times, just like Saint Philomena—so they have that in common.” Sister Frances mused, “She’s not the patroness of shooting victims, though. Maybe archers? Would that carry over to guns?”
“She’s the patroness of sterility. More common ground.”
“Ladies.” Sister Mary’s voice cut in. “We are not discussing Mr. Dahl’s reproductive potential.”
From her perch outside on the roof, Olive snorted. Sister Isadora mumbled, “Just saying. Lots in common. I humbly ask for her intercession.”
Sister Mary raised the printed image to the machine a third time. A tingling warmth stirred in Jane’s blood, like someone was smiling at her from across the room. The sensation wasn’t magic, but they could have been first cousins. An image of a young girl with a crown of lilies sprang, unbidden, to mind. The light flipped green, and the elevator door noiselessly slid open.
A collective, “Hallelujah,” echoed from the three nuns.
Jane stepped into the elevator, pressing the metal of her counterfeit keys into her palm hard enough to bite through the glove. Her other hand gripped the edge of the petite golem, its legs flailing wildly in anticipation. The glass elevator climbed, leaving her allies far below—books upon books upon books scrolling by as she ascended.
The elevator smoothly docked with the narrow, clear airlock leading to the vault door. Jane tried not to glance down. The vault was higher in this direction, gazing through the clear floor, than it had been when she was on the ground staring up. She licked her dry lips and stepped forward, slotting the first counterfeit key into the lock. It clicked smoothly open.
“Am I good to go in?” Automated security should still see her as a legit visitor— they’d passed the iris scan and hand geometry tests. They had opened the door with a key. Everything was working, but the step into the vault would indicate quiet success or flashing, blaring failure.
Sister Frances’ strong voice confirmed, “Proceed.”
Jane squared her shoulders. She could do this. It would be over soon, and she could go see Ian. They would be able to set things right with Dahl, and they could all be together.
Jane stepped over the threshold. The vault remained quiet and unchanged.
“Thank Jesus!” Sister Isadora chimed. Jane smiled, small and fierce, and hurried to the first display box, searching for The Once and Future King. Her eyes skipped over the volumes, an assortment of old and new, beautiful and ragged, cheap and luxurious. Links didn’t seem to favor a particular type. Why had magic attached to these books when other copies of the same stories were just stories? Jane peered at the titles: Peter Pan, The Invisible Man, Cú Chulainn, Sabriel… she pulled up short. A clay tablet with wedge-shaped stamps pressed into the ancient surface was the odd item out. The fragment was held snugly in a wire stand, suspended vertically in its case. It had to be The Epic of Gilgamesh.
Pausing in front of the tablet, Jane’s pulse raced. She was never going to have this opportunity again. Ian was the latest in a line of thousands linked through this tablet. Their conversation about potential accusations of treason and what would transpire in their wake thundered in Jane’s skull. Would he be safer if he was the last? Would he be protected if, when Ian was gone, so was Enkidu? Would Sana Baba find a way to soften a worst-case scenario if Ian was irreplaceable?
“Jane, time’s ticking.” Sister Mary’s voice jolted Jane out of her thoughts.
“Yeah, okay.” Jane’s vision through the gas mask was a tunnel. She needed to hurry. The key she held for The Once and Future King wouldn’t be the same as the one for The Epic of Gilgamesh: it would be a stupid gap in security to have the same key unlock every case. Jane shook herself and pressed on.
T. H. White’s masterpiece lay at the end of the row, innocently beautiful under bright lights. Not a crease or blemish marked its white, orange, and blue linen cover. The page edges were gilded gold, and a blue satin bookmark peeked out the top. A shiver crept along Jane’s scalp as she studied the resting story—this was the last thing Dahl had seen when he was still master of himself. Jane shoved the key in the lock and readied the Tupperware golem in her left hand.
Nothing happened. Jane tried again, jiggling the key slightly. No give. She took it out and inverted it. It wouldn’t fit. She put the right side up again and attempted to turn. Nothing.
Jane shuffled the golem to the crook of her arm, “We have a problem. The key’s not working.”
“Try again.” Sister Mary’s voice was practiced calm.
“I did. Also a third time.”
“Sister Frances, how long?”
“Eight minutes.”
A tiny pause and then Sister Mary’s voice, “Alright, let’s blow it. Olive, is the incendiary golem in place?”
“Fuck yes!”
“Jane, stick the detonator, get back in the elevator, and wait for the incendiary golem to do its thing. Isadora, get ready to hold the door and if that fails, deal with hostiles. Olive, keep watch, keep the back door clear, and keep us updated. Our objective is still to get out clean without a fight. Use non-lethal force, ladies, unless there are no other options. Ready?”
Sister Frances, Sister Isadora, Olive, and Jane sounded off. Jane placed her button detonator on the side of the box holding the evil book, flipped the switch on, and made for the elevator. Sister Mary crossed herself as Jane pulled out a clicker and depressed the metallic button in three rapid snaps. From the ceiling vent above the vault the incendiary golem plopped out. A rigid cone full of white putty with sticky feet fashioned along its sides, it reminded Jane of a capsized pudding cup crawling like a fat beetle.
As soon as it hit the ground the vault began to flash and blare. The clear acrylic cycled through a migraine-inducing spectrum as assault caliber noise attempted to punch through Jane’s headphones. It would have startled her more if she hadn’t been desensitized by Ian’s watch going off eight times a day. The two experiences were not so different.
The incendiary golem crawled across the floor, bumping against the detonator. Jane closed her eyes a second before the elevator was rocked by a visceral reverberation, a bass note sweeping through the acrylic with numbing intensity. Jane’s feet and legs tingled as it rattled her teeth. The explosive percussion died, and Jane saw the incendiary golem had exceeded their expectations in the worst way possible. Maybe Blue or Sister Isadora made a mistake. Maybe the little creature had spasmed in its last instant of life. Whatever the reason, instead of a neat, focused charge to destroy a single box, the floor of the vault gaped open, jagged acrylic shards and priceless books scattered on the ground four stories below.
“Sound off.” Sister Mary’s voice was clipped and commanding.
“One.” (Sister Frances)
“Two.” (Sister Isadora)
“Three.” (Jane.)
“Four.” (Olive)
Sister Mary came back on, “Jane, is the book still in the vault?”
From the confines of the elevator, Jane scavenged the suspended wreck. Her mouth went dry, “It’s not here. It must have fallen.”
“Take the elevator down, and tell me as soon as it’s secured. Olive, let me know as soon as…”
“Incoming.” Olive’s voice cut in. “Three hostiles, two guards and an agent. Heading for the front door.”
Sister Mary barked, “Jane, get moving. Olive, can you ID the agent?”
Jane started her descent. The elevator was in remarkably good shape. It only wobbled once on the way down. She spent the rest of the ride making her heart continue to function with deep breathing techniques.
“I feel like I should know who that is.” Olive’s unhurried, reflective tone came through the headset, “Mmmm… not sure. It’s a sm
all teenage girl. I have a hunch the door isn’t going to help you.”
Sister Mary unslung her shotgun. Sister Isadora did the same and fell back, putting distance between her and the main door. Jane scrambled out of the elevator to the sound of a clear, musical bell.
Jane clambered forward, pawing through the rubble with her gloved hands. Orange and blue, orange and blue—where was the stupid book? With a high contrast cover it should be easy to find. An unconscious elderly janitor lay near the sparkling edge of the vault remains, only a few feet from where a hunk of acrylic had shattered with explosive force, carving deep wounds into the wooden floor. The janitor’s coveralls hung loosely across her wiry frame, and acrylic dust glittered in white curls. With a glacial turn of her head, she addressed Jane. The headset muffled her incessant whispers, but the dusty tongue swept restlessly along her lips and teeth while her debris-crusted eyes unblinkingly followed Jane’s progress.
Jane shouted, “They’re waking up!” into her headset. The body was clearly doing something other than shaking off slumber, but the creepy words for describing its movement were strangled by her survival instinct. Don’t think about it. Keep going.
“Intruders!” A deep voice sounded from the second story.
“Thieves!” A woman screamed.
“I count three.”
“The vault’s been breached.”
“The books are in danger!”
A cacophony of voices sounded through the blaring alarm.
Bells rang, striking a clear, pretty tune: a march, a dance, a lively parade. The old janitor crawled to all fours, her glittering curls bobbing in time to the beat.
Bam. Sister Mary’s shotgun cut through the noise. Jane’s eyes ravaged the flashing room. Man up, bam, man down. Stirring in the shadows and on the stairs. Flashes of movement became too much to track. “They’re puppets.” Mary’s voice was distinct and cool. “Ring any bells, Olive?”
“Haha. Yes, it’s coming back. I think you ladies are dealing with the necromancer.”
“They’re puppets, Olive, not zombies. They didn’t die of sleeping gas.”