Valiant

[Valiant #42: The Book You Need]

Log Date: 1/24/12765

Data Sources: Kiwi, Feroce Acceso

Event Log: Feroce Acceso

Sunthorn Bastion: Sunthorn Spice

10:19pm SGT

“—came in from the side while Feroce had him distracted, and just nailed him right in the ribs with my hammer.” Kiwi says, mimicking the swinging of a hammer. “Absolutely folded him. Sent him flying clear through the wall, across the atrium, and through one of the walls on the other side. Pretty sure he won’t be doing fieldwork anytime soon.”

“Dayum, girl! And all because he laid hands on your man?” Jackrabbit says, leaning back in her chair. Currently Kiwi, myself, Jackrabbit, Sierra, Luci, and Boaris are sat around one of the tables in the Spice, enjoying late-night drinks while we catch up with each other. “I’ve heard about Ironfist. He’s a tough cookie, from rumors I’ve seen going around. You musta really put some spice into that swing if you sent him flying like that!”

“I can attest to the property damage it did.” Boaris grumbles, sipping from his beer. “Spent most of the past week fixing the mess left behind from CURSE and these hooligans. Those stupid voidbeasts are on the shelves now, but they left a trail of destruction a mile wide before we finally got them checked in.”

I glance at him. “Wait, those turned into books too?” I say, lowering my fizzwater.

“Indeed. Sometimes the Inkspell likes to collect monsters to keep on the shelves.” Boaris explains. “Lots of Libraries do the same thing, actually. They cultivate a collection of monster books for defensive purposes, so their Librarians can make use of those monster forms, or so that they can just summon the monsters outright and set them loose on aggressive visitors.”

Kiwi elbows me. “That explains Kali, and the mechapede thing.” she points out.

“I’m actually a little curious about that.” Sierra pipes up. “So, things that die in a living Library get turned into living books, right? Like that Peacekeeper that Karasol killed?”

“If the Library thinks they’re worth turning into books, then yes, living things that die in a Library will get turned into books.” Boaris says, scratching at one of his tusks. “Some Libraries will even hunt for interesting people to invite into their halls so that they can broaden their collection.”

“Wait, you’re telling us that building is going to move around looking for people to gobble up and turn into books?” Luci asks, leaning forward a little.

“Well, not as such, no.” Boaris says, rolling his eyes. “I didn’t phrase that well. Living Libraries are more like pitcher plants, or venus fly traps. They identify people that they would like to have on their shelves, then lure them in, often by sending them an invitation that offers them the chance to attain something they wanted or needed, usually in the form of knowledge that may be contained on the Library’s shelves. If the person can defeat all the Librarians on the floor where the desired book is, then the Library will yield the promised information, and the person can leave.”

“And if they don’t defeat all the Librarians…?” Jackrabbit asks, raising an eyebrow.

Boaris shrugs. “Another book on the shelves.”

“So you and that catgirl, and Henny, and the ‘pillar — you all fight people that get invited to the Inkspell?” Kiwi says, sipping from her glass.

“Yes and no.” Boaris says, sitting up a little. “Henny’s not a Librarian; she doesn’t participate in any of the check-ins. Nayoh’s only been with the Inkspell for a couple years, so he’s been lightly trained for check-ins, but the boy really doesn’t have the stomach for it. You saw the way he ran when the voidlings came into the Library. Kali and I are trained for check-ins, but she loves checking in new books. I only do it because it’s part of the job, and only because I have to.”

“So technically they’d only really have to fight two of you.” Sierra says. “Doesn’t seem too bad.”

“In theory, yes. But the Inkspell isn’t actively sending out invitations right now and isn’t actively trying to expand its catalogue.” Boaris says. “It’s in one of its quiet periods. Bigger Libraries are like that — once they reach a certain size, they settle down and go through active periods and calm periods. During active periods, they send out more invitations, and take on more staff to handle those checkins. An active Library would have a lot more Librarians than just the four that are currently tending the Inkspell.”

“So, if these things grow, I figure that means that they were liddl’ baby Libraries once, right?” Jackrabbit says, leaning forward on the table and tilting her head to one side. “How do they get born, then? If they’re like carnivorous plants, do they like… send out seeds or something that become new Libraries?”

“There’s a couple ways, but new Libraries get created when an old Library gets too big and needs to split off a few of its floors or wings. Those may get left behind during a relocation, and become a new Library.” Boaris says, using a claw tipped with light to diagram the process on the table’s surface. “The other way a Library gets born is from someone’s personal library, usually a sage or wizard of some sort. That personal collection of books usually has a lot of magical tomes in it, or the actual building containing the collection has magic woven into it. If the sage or wizard dies, and there’s no one there to manage the magic or the books, then they sometimes take on a life of their own and become a living Library.”

“So will we have to worry about the Inkspell trying to eat our people?” I ask, folding my arms. “I think we all would’ve thought twice about bringing the Inkspell back to the Bastions if we’d known that it was basically a giant pitcher plant.”

Boaris shrugs, putting his hands up. “Hey, I wanted to stay on Valcorria and didn’t want anything to do with the Valiant. But you all pushed it, and you managed to convince Karasol. That’s all on you guys; you got what you wanted and now you gotta deal with it. I don’t think it’s likely that the Inkspell will be trying to lure in Valiant staff too often; like I said, it’s in one of its quiet periods and those usually last for decades. Karasol, Kali, and myself are the only Librarians currently on hand that would be able to handle check-ins. Libraries in quiet periods will still send out an invitation every now and then, but not at the rate that they do when they’re in active periods. But Bastions are interesting places with interesting people, and Libraries like to have those kinds of books on their shelves. So who knows — it’s possible that someone on Sunthorn will eventually get an invitation.”

“We should probably send out a stationwide notice.” Jackrabbit says, looking at the rest of us. “Let everyone know that if they get an invitation from the Library, they need to throw it in the trash.”

I notice Boaris smile as he sips from his beer. “Alright, Boaris, spit it out. What’s got you all smily?” I say.

He shrugs, leaning back in his chair. “Library invitations don’t disappear. Throw it in the trash, and it’ll be back on your counter the next morning. Put it in the fire, and you’ll find one in your purse in the evening. Rip it up, and you’ll find one in your mail next week. Once you get an invitation, it stays with you until you sign it or until the Library decides to retract it, and that usually takes years or decades.”

“Is he supposed to be on our side, or against us?” Luci asks at this point. “Because this whole Library thing, it all sounds pretty dangerous to me.”

That gets another shrug out of Boaris. “Libraries don’t take sides, Schrödinger. You guys wanted the Inkspell to come back to the Bastions; well, it’s here now. You all have access to it, and you can read the many books on its shelves, and all the knowledge they contain — some of it lost or forgotten to time, knowledge that you wouldn’t be able to find anywhere else. But that knowledge is valuable, and it isn’t free. The whole point of a living Library is that it is alive, and living things need to eat and feed to sustain themselves. So you’re gonna have to feed someone to the Library every now and then — might be one of your people, or it might be someone in one of the other locations the Inkspell is linked to, but it needs to keep acquiring living books. The longer it goes without new check-ins, the more likely it is to wake up and transition into an active period.”

“So we should tell people to report the invitation, then put it in a place where it’s visible, but where they can ignore it.” Kiwi says, sipping from her cheritza.

“That’s still dodging the problem.” Luci points out. “You can tell people to ignore the invitations, but you still have to feed someone to it eventually.”

“Well, it added a Peacekeeper and a couple of voidbeasts to the shelves, right?” Sierra says. “That’s three new books. Should keep it nice and happy for… I dunno, how often does it need new books, Boaris?”

“Good question. It’s hard to measure a Library’s appetite.” Boaris says, combing a claw through the fur on the underside of his jaw. “Monster books usually aren’t all that complicated; people books typically have some more depth and complexity to them. I’d figure the Library’s good for another couple years, maybe three. It might start getting hungry again after that.”

“Great! So we’re good for the next few years!” Jackrabbit says cheerily.

“Is there anything useful in the book that Onslaught was turned into?” I ask. “Anything we might be able to use against CURSE, or that our intelligence department would be able to make use of?”

“Oh, that’s a good point. I hadn’t thought about that.” Sierra agrees. “When people get turned into books, what kind of books are they? Is it like an autobiography, or…?”

“Usually biographies or autobiographies of some sort.” Boaris answers. “I wouldn’t know what’s in Onslaught’s book because I haven’t read it. I believe Karasol’s still reading through it. But if you want to check her book out of the Inkspell, we can visit later and get you a Library card.”

“Yeah, a Library card would be wasted on her.” Luci says, sipping from his drink. “She’d never use it.”

“Brave words from someone that has to share a bed with me tonight.” Sierra says, throwing an arm around Luci’s shoulders. He just gives a sly little smile in return.

“Some things never change.” Boaris grunts, checking his phone. “Speaking of bed, it’s late, and I should get back to the Library. If I’m out much longer, Henny’s going to wonder whether I got lost on my way back.” Pushing out his chair, he starts to get up, calling over to the bar. “I’m about to come settle up, Sandago!”

“Don’t worry about it, Boaris. First one back is on the house for returning Challengers.” Sandago calls back.

“The audacity. What do you think I am, a loyal customer?” Boaris says, shaking his head. “I’ll be back, you bucket of bolts, and next time you’ll be taking my money.”

“We should probably head on back now as well.” I say, taking a last swig of my fizzwater before starting to stand. “It is getting pretty late.”

“Whaaaaat? It’s not even midnight!” Jackrabbit cajoles.

“Yeah, c’mon Feroce, you could go for another couple rounds.” Kiwi says, swatting at my sleeve.

I almost give my standard, reserved answer, the answer I’d give in polite company — and then I realize that this isn’t polite company. These are all people I’ve known for a while, and I can afford to show some personality around them, to have fun.

And so I do.

“Well, I suppose I could go for another couple rounds here.” I say, taking another sip from my fizzwater before setting it down to tuck a curled finger under Kiwi’s chin and tilt it up a little. “Or, you and I could go for a couple rounds back at the apartment. Got a preference?”

Kiwi instantly colors, biting her bottom lip while Jackrabbit whistles. “Well, when you put it that way…” Kiwi smirks, draining the rest of her drink before standing up and taking my arm. “Guess we’re callin’ it a night.”

“Whoo! Get it, girl!” Jackrabbit shouts as we head for the entrance to the Spice.

“Atta girl, Kiwi!” Sierra calls after us. “Shout his name for me!”

“What? No! Stop being weird, Sierra!”

“I refuse!”

Event Log: Feroce Acceso

Sunthorn Bastion: Central Tower COR

1/25/12765 11:03am SGT

“And we still don’t know what happened?” I ask, folding my arms as I stare at the holoimage of the smoke-shrouded planet in the center of the room.

“There are theories, but nothing confirmed. It doesn’t help that the system is swarming with hiveships right now.” Legaci says, her avatar pulling up other windows to display alongside the planet image. “Nobody wants to risk sending a spy ship into all that. It wouldn’t stay hidden for long. From what I can tell, the intelligence agencies of various major nations are making do with having spy ships skim the edge of the system, and listening in on Collective channels that they’ve managed to crack. Some data packets have been intercepted and decrypted, and I’ve been able to use my backdoors to get access to that information, or the analyst reports on it. The conclusion that most agencies are reaching is that there was a geological disruption of catastrophic proportions, origin currently unknown.”

“And there were no survivors?” I say, taking one of the windows and pulling it over to take a look over one of stolen reports.

“From the chatter that’s been heard, none except those that were on orbital installations. Even the deep-tunnel networks couldn’t protect them.” Legaci says. “Last known population for Tirsigal was roughly seven and a half billion Symbiotes. It’s assumed that all of those people are dead.”

“Eh. That’s a drop in the bucket to the Collective.” Sierra drawls from the hoverchair that she’s slouched in, picking through a container of snack mix. “When your population’s in the multiple trillions, seven billion might sting a little, but they’ll shrug it off and keep going.”

“Mathematically, it may not be significant, but psychologically and economically, it is a considerable blow.” Kaiser says tersely, side-eying Sierra from where he’s standing on the other side of the planet’s holoimage. “While I am not given to sentiment, I have the sense to recognize that the Symbiotes on this planet were more than just numbers to the wider communities they were a part of. The Collective is upset about this, even if it may not have put a noticeable dent in their population.”

“The question is of who is responsible, and whether they will act on it if they find someone to blame for it.” Forecast says, taking a hand away from his folded arms and stroking his chin. “If there is someone or some group that is at fault for this, then the Collective will act on it; I have no doubts about that. But that returns us to the question of what happened, and who may’ve been capable of something like this.”

“They do not know who is responsible.” Legaci answers immediately. “If they did, they would’ve already moved on it. There’s almost no rescue and emergency relief work to be done because there were no survivors on the surface; there was no one to rescue aside from the people in the orbital installations. And besides, they don’t need that many hiveships for disaster relief. Two or three of them could’ve stayed while the rest formed a fleet to move on the responsible party. But they haven’t — they’re all just lingering there in the system. So either the responsible party is still there in the system, or they don’t know who the responsible party was.”

“I suppose the question is — what are the Valiant going to do if the Collective does find out who did this and moves on them?” Forecast hypothesizes. “It will, of course, depend on whether the actor was a government or a smaller group, but what stance will the Valiant take? I assume we would stay out of it, correct?”

“Staying out of it would be the safe route.” Kaiser says, adjusting his spectacles. “Getting involved would carry risks, regardless of what side we would be taking. There may, however, be a benefit to threading the needle; depending on how things develop and if the Collective launches an offensive after this, we can do as we did on Mokasha, where we helped get refugees offworld. That was a substantial public relations victory for the Valiant and it did not require us to take sides.”

“That would make us no better than CURSE, though.” Legaci points out. “If another system gets invaded by an assimilation fleet, are we just going to sit in far orbit being the evacuation police? What kind of message does that send to the people of that world? That we’re willing to get them out, but if they want to fight to keep their planet, they’re on their own? Is that what we want to be?”

“Far be it from me to indulge common sense, but if there is a war that springs up as a result of this catastrophe, we are certainly not staffed for participating in it.” Kaiser says, pulling one of the data windows over to himself to examine it. “We barely have enough people to keep Sunthorn crewed, and our staffing is so limited that we can only have two operations running simultaneously. While getting involved in a combat theatre with the Collective would certainly be an exhibition of the organization’s values and our Challenger roots, it would consume our focus, resources, and personnel to the point of being unable to run operations outside of that combat theatre.”

“Well there’s an idea.” Sierra says, popping a rye chip in her mouth. “If the Collective starts a war — and they might not, but if they do — why don’t we use that as the basis for recruiting? Recruiting always ramps up during a war; people feel a moral obligation to step up and make a difference, so it’s easier to bring them in. We can take the angle that we help people evacuate from worlds under Collective assault, but in order to do that, we need recruits that are willing to train up to go into contested areas and active combat zones to get people out. We bill it as a humanitarian mission, but one that needs some teeth, and that’s how we build up our stock of combat-capable personnel. A couple years of that, and we should end up with a decently-sized fighting force.”

“That is a good point, and a good strategy.” Forecast says thoughtfully. “Making the best of the situation and accomplishing multiple objectives at once: grow the organization, raise our profile as a force for good, and pursue a mission that aligns with our ideals. We may not fight the Collective directly, but we may be able to afford a certain… aggression with evacuations in contested areas.” He looks to Legaci at this point. “Is that enough of a compromise for you?”

Legaci twists her mouth to one side. “I’d hope we’d aim for more than just ‘aggressive evacuations’, but… Kaiser’s right. Logistically, we just aren’t able fully participate in an armed conflict right now. We’d have to give up all other missions we’d be running otherwise. So yeah, that compromise works for me.”

“Something else to consider is the finances of expansion.” I bring up at this point. “I agree with the idea of expanding our staffing. I’d love that. Having more people means we can undertake more missions in more areas, and just do more generally. But the other side of that coin is that we’ve gotta pay those people. Where’s that money gonna come from? Because that funding conference on Hale’ohe didn’t go so hot.”

“The same way we pitch to recruiting new staff, we pitch to donors and philanthropists.” Sierra says, spinning around in her chair. “If there’s a Collective offensive, we bill our involvement in it as a humanitarian mission that needs teeth. Hell, it might even be more effective than our regular funding conferences. People have this visceral reaction to the Collective; whenever you bring them up, it’s usually an emotional response. If you tell philanthropists that you’re going to be rescuing civilians from the Collective on contested worlds and give them a mission plan that holds up under scrutiny, they might just write you a check then and there.”

“Again, I must say that the points she is making are solid.” Forecast agrees.

“While I concur with the feasibility of these proposals, I must also point out that Drill and Valkyrie are still on their way back from Valcorria at the moment.” Kaiser says. “Particularly Drill, as he is our primary financial strategist. His input on financing a potential staffing expansion would be critical to making it a reality, which in itself is a reminder that this discussion is being conducted entirely upon the parameters of a hypothetical which may or may not come to pass. So I would say that for now, we table this discussion until we know more about what happened to Tirsigal, and what the Collective plan to do about it.”

Sierra blows a raspberry at that. “You’re no fun, Kaiser.”

“Jackrabbit and her detachment did return recently from their mission set.” Forecast says, looking towards Legaci. “I understand that she and her teams were running counterops against CURSE? Perhaps she returned with something concrete that we can act on?”

“Yes. We’ve been hitting CURSE in multiple areas, testing their responses and identifying points of interest within their organization.” Legaci says, waving away the image of Tirsigal and replacing it with a complex report in the center of the room. “There are a wealth of potential recovery missions for us in the form of CURSE’s storage sites. These are locations where they have stashed a lot of the property that they stole from the Challengers when the program collapsed, and when it was open season on Challenger facilities and outposts. We also managed to get a chunk of CURSE’s personnel files last year, which has opened up blackmail, social manipulation, and surveillance opportunities for us, and I’ve been cultivating those possibilities since then. I feel like I’m currently in a good position to apply pressure to certain parts of CURSE that will create openings for our Agents to take advantage of.”

“Among those recovery missions, are there any that you think should take particular priority for us?” I ask.

Legaci laces her fingers together. “There is a custom Synthetic frame that my father designed for me, which CURSE stole during their raids on Challenger facilities. I managed to locate it with the information that Jackrabbit brought back from her counterops missions — CURSE is keeping it in their deep storage site beneath the Epperson Institute on Kasvei.”

“We were just there during our last mission set.” Sierra says, nibbling on a pretzel stick. “In fact, that’s where we recruited Jetfire from. He might be able to pull some strings for us on Kasvei if we ask him nicely.”

“We can incorporate it into our next mission set.” Kaiser says. “Per the usual, we will have to evaluate what a recovery mission to Kasvei will entail, and the obstacles we are expected to encounter. But once we have assembled that information, we can plan out the team and mission parameters accordingly.”

“I want to be on the team that goes to Kasvei.” Legaci says. “I’ve got a right to make sure this is done correctly, and the mission will run better with my supervision. Plus, with the transit time between planets, I’ll have plenty of time to upload myself into the Synthetic frame between missions.”

“As in… you want to take your core and be on the ship that takes that mission route?” Forecast asks, as if to clarify.

“That’s correct.” Legaci confirms.

“That will leave Sunthorn without logistical and intelligence support.” Kaiser points out.

“It will, but only for the time that I’m gone. Once I’m back with my frame, I’ll be able to pick up where I left off.” Legaci says. “You all don’t need an angelnet to run the Bastion. It’s just nice to have one do it. Current Bastion operations can be sustained with the staff available; it’ll limit us to just one field operation at a time, but once that operation is completed, I’ll be back and things can return to normal order.”

“I think we can do that.” I speak up at this point. “We can treat it as an exercise in how to run the Bastion in case something happens to Legaci — being prepared for that scenario will  reduce the likelihood of an operations meltdown if she’s suddenly unable to perform those duties. We’ll kill two birds with one stone — getting Legaci her frame while also hardening our operations so we can withstand a sudden capability loss.”

“Works for me.” Sierra shrugs, looking to Forecast and Kaiser. “What do you guys think?”

“It’s not ideal, but if it has to be done, we might as well do it.” Kaiser says. “Still, the exercise will need to be thoroughly planned to minimize the loss of efficiency in the Bastion’s day-to-day operations. Legaci, we will need a comprehensive list of everything you handle, organized in order of priority and importance, so we will know what we need to cover in your absence.”

“I can get that assembled in the next couple of days.” Legaci says. “I’ll also continue analysis on the Kasvei mission so we can start defining parameters and assembling a team.”

“Good.” Forecast nods. “Moving on to other matters, the Council has given me permission to expand the number of Masklings working directly under the Valiant command structure. These would not necessarily be Mask Knights, since we are aware of the conflict of interest that springs from being a government asset working for a private organization…”

Event Log: Feroce Acceso

Sunthorn Bastion: Midnatt’s Lab

1/26/12765 4:16pm SGT

“Wow. Looks like you’re really put this place to use.” I say, looking around the lab that the Viralix had settled into. The room is well-populated with durable workbenches, many of which have various equipment arrays on them. On the far side of the room is a testing enclosure behind a glass wall. “Has Command been able to provide the materials you’re wanting to work with?”

“The Bastion has materials stockpiled. Metals of most types, and the primary ingredients for several common synthetic polymers used in the manufacturing of parts and equipment.” Midnatt replies, his voice resonating with the familiar psi echo that always backs it. Currently he’s leading me among the tables towards a bench that looks like it’s used for assembly rather than any specific type of testing. “Command has told me that the organization does not currently have the disposable income for the rarer materials, so I have been making do with what is available in the stockpile. The quality of my prototypes is still decent, just not as high as it could otherwise be.”

“I see you’ve been busy while I was on my last mission set.” I say, pausing to examine what appears to be an terrarium with a blue crystal colony growing from the water pooled at the bottom. A special lamp array looks like it’s been mounted above the terrarium. “Is this a Crystallizer colony?”

Midnatt looks over his shoulder. “Yes. It was grown from the sample of blood that Valkyrie took from the boy, and once I was able to refine the spectrum of light it needed, it began growing. Once it has reached a certain size, I will see if it can be transplanted into a larger enclosure that will permit for further growth and a higher level of harvesting than it can currently sustain.”

“Oh, so you’ve already started incorporating it into some of your projects?” I say, leaning down to peer through the glass, studying a stump where it looks like one of the crystal growths was snapped off.

“Indeed. It has been a privilege to work with a Crystallizer strain — the Cybers jealously guard their Crystallizer supply and production chain. The versatility of the different strains is without equal; they are one of the best materials you can have for the creation of high technology.” Midnatt says, lifting what looks like a long, narrow, v-shaped device off one of his workbenches. There are straps on the underside that look like the object is supposed to be worn on your arm. “I have constructed two equipment prototypes that I would like you to review. Can I demonstrate them for you?”

“Sure. I’d be happy to see what you’ve been working on.” I say, turning away from the terrarium and coming over to the table that he’s at.

“I had an idea for a piece of equipment that can be worn. The furless species, you usually carry your weapons.” Midnatt explains as he begins to slide his arm into the loops on the underside of the device, and I notice at this point that the device itself is somewhat curved, almost like it was formfitted around his arm. “Viralix and Halfie design philosophy is much different. We prefer to be able to wear our equipment, and to use it in a worn state, since we often shift between biped and quadruped perambulation.”

“That does make sense, come to think about it.” I say thoughtfully. “Jetfire’s armor seemed like it was engineered similarly. It wasn’t just armor; it had integrated utility.”

“I originally started with the concept a traditional medieval shield brought up to modern-day standard, but the roundness was unwieldy, and so were many other traditional shield shapes.” Midnatt says as he finishes tightening the straps. “Modern combat prioritizes speed and reduction of the target profile. It took some time, but I came across a shield concept that meets these criteria, and began adapting it into my own design. Are you familiar with the Rantecevangian punch shield?”

“Punch… shield?” I ask, watching as he takes another v-shaped device — similar to the first one — and starts strapping it to his other arm.

“The name is awful. The ch and the sh sounds bleed into each other and it makes me squirm. But the concept is a narrow shield, only slightly larger than the profile of the arm, worn on the forearm like this.” Midnatt explains, holding up one arm. “It provided an extra layer of protection for the arm while reducing the amount of weight carried and the target profile, and the ends of punch shields usually narrowed to a point, or twin points, that ended just past the wearer’s knuckles, with a padded grip or a brace on the interior end.”

“Ah. So you could punch people with them, right.” I say, connecting the dots. “So, basically just a version of that?”

“Yes and no.” he says as he finishes tightening the straps on the other shield. Lifting his arm, he points it across the room at an empty fizzwater can sitting on one of the tables. There’s a click and whirring as the shield splits along a seam running down the center, generating a low whine before a pulse of energy runs down the split channel, nailing the fizzwater can and sending it bouncing off the wall.

I can’t help gasping. “Ohhh! No way…” I reach out, gingerly taking his outstretched arm to examine the split shield. “It’s a shield and a gun? Oh that is just too cool, oh my god…”

The blue glow of Midnight’s irises seems to intensify as he senses my fascination. “You like it?”

“I love it, that’s amazing!” I say, peering carefully into the channel running down the middle of the shield to see if I can make sense of the mechanism. “This is absolutely the sort of cool invention that the Challengers used to mess around with! Coming up with new things, and then testing them out, and refining them — that’s how we came up with the Shrike mech-jet! I mean, sometimes the inventions didn’t work, or implementation wasn’t feasible, but when those inventions succeeded… this was why the Challenger program was on the cutting edge of scientific and technological innovation. Challengers would create stuff like this and use it in the field, and then other people would see it and try to copy it.”

“I am glad you like it.” he says, and though his tone remains neutral, his ears are tilted forward and his white-tipped tail is swishing back and forth beneath his cloak. “You would want a deployable, combat-tested version of this, then?”

“Oh hell yeah.” I say, letting go of his arm and the shield. “Not sure how often I’d use it but I’d think it’d be pretty versatile, yeah? Provides a little bit of defense and offense all bundled up into a single package. And it runs on the Crystallizer crystals, I assume?”

“Correct. I am still working out the flaws; there is much to consider when designing something like this.” Midnatt says, flicking a switch on the inside of the shield, which causes it to close up again, hiding the open seam that the energy pulse was channeled through. “Miniaturization is the first problem; there is limited space for an energy or plasma discharge system. I can make it work, but it will require some tight design, and some power will have to be sacrificed in exchange for functionality. Second is durability. The materials that form the shield casing will have to be high-quality metals or alloys that effectively reduce or disperse kinetic impacts; if they are too weak, then using them to block impacts may damage the discharge system within. As you said, the device can fulfill both an offensive and defensive role, but it needs to be well-designed and engineered with quality materials in order to achieve that result.”

“Well, it looks to me like you’ve got a pretty good start there.” I say, folding my arms. “It is true that money is tight right now, what with CURSE trying to assassinate our guests during our funding conferences, but I could talk to Drill and see if we could funnel a little bit of money into R&D if we get some breathing room in the budget. We apparently had enough money to get new uniforms designed and produced, so I figure there should be some money floating around for research and development.”

“Excellent. I will continue working on them, then. There are other variations I had been considering as well — versions that produce an energy blade from the end of the shield instead of acting as a worn firearm, or versions that split open to produce a wider energy shield, expanding a user’s defensive coverage against energy and plasma weapons.” he says, motioning to the punch shields as he outlines his design ideas. “These concepts would need refinement, of course, as they’re currently just theoretical. I will focus on producing combat-capable iterations of the gunshield first, then work on prototyping possible variations.”

“Do you think we would be able to produce these at scale?” I ask as he starts unstrapping the shields to take them off. “If we could manufacture these at a reasonable speed, I would love to make these standard issue for our field Agents. Making and using our own in-house equipment would be good optics as well — it would make us more recognizable to the public, sets us apart from other paramilitary groups.”

“I cannot say with certainty right now.” Midnatt says, looking one of the gunshields over. “Production of the individual elements should not be an issue; the Foundry and its nanoforges have proven themselves capable of handling an impressive array of printing and forging requests. The speed issue lies in sourcing metals and alloys with a high combat rating, and then the process of assembly — even if the Foundry can create the parts, a device like this should be assembled by hand and manually calibrated to ensure the highest quality. I am not comfortable with delegating the assembly and calibration to a machine or production line — people will be trusting their lives with this piece of equipment, and I believe a high standard of quality in production should be maintained as a result.” He pauses, then adds “And the power and conduction system relies on Cryofelis crystals, which do not exactly grow quickly, nor are easy to harvest. Which is mostly why I am trying to establish a larger colony that can support harvesting for an array of projects. So yes, I believe that we would be able to produce the gunshields at scale once we have a combat-capable iteration, but I would caution you against expecting a high production volume.”

“Fair enough. Speed usually scales inverse to quality.” I say, taking the gunshield as he hands it to me so I can examine it. “If we have to exchange time in return for higher quality equipment, that’s a trade I’m willing to make. Would it help if we got a second pair of hands to help you with assembly and calibration once there’s a workable version?”

“It would be appreciated. A qualified engineer to assist in the production phase will allow me to continue working on the other design variations I mentioned earlier.” Midnatt says as he starts loosening the straps on the other gunshield.

“I’ll go ahead and bring it up to Command, see if we can add that to the list of positions that we want to staff for as we continue recruiting.” I say, handing the gunshield back to him as I feel my phone vibrate. “I appreciate the work you’ve been doing here, Midnatt. The Valiant wouldn’t be the same without you and Sol. How’s she doing, by the way?”

“She has been helping train the new recruits as they come in. Command just gave her permission to begin teaching a class on stealth and covert action.” Midnatt answers, taking the gunshield back and setting it on the table. “She misses fieldwork, and would like to be included in some of the missions abroad, if you would be able to fit her in during your next deployment.”

“Think we can arrange that.” I say, tucking my hands back in the pockets of my jacket. “On that note… I’ve been thinking about you and Sol since I got back, Midnatt, and I know that the Viralix are community creatures. I’ve heard that it seems to be healthier for Viralix to move and live in groups that have other psions in them, and you two don’t really have that here. Would you like us to see if we could hire more Viralix, as our staffing expands?”

Midnatt tilts his head to one side. “That is very thoughtful of you. Is it within your power to arrange? Our understanding was that your authority within the organization was limited.”

I shrug. “I mean, it is, but I can still ask for things, and sometimes they’ll be granted. And there’s no harm in asking, I figure. It doesn’t really cost me anything.”

“That is tempting. It is true that Viralix usually move in groups.” Midnatt says, setting a hand on the table and looking to the side. “It can be lonely, not hearing the murmurs of the Symphony in the background. Sol does not mind it; she is a Tazelhart Viralix, and they do not embrace the unity of the Symphony like the Reynar Viralix do. But I do miss it sometimes. Even though I am not fond of the cultural orthodoxy of my people.”

“Really? I didn’t know that. Although I understand it; I recently left the religion I was born and raised with.” I say. “I know what it feels like to… not completely agree with the system that raised you.”

“It is conflicting. To crave home, even if you did not always like the way home felt.” Midnatt sighs. A wave of melancholy washes over me as I watch him, and it takes me a few seconds to realize that it’s not my own emotions — it’s Midnatt, his emotions emanating over psiwaves now that he’s let his guard down and his control has slipped.

“You know, Midnatt… would you and Sol like to come have drinks with me and Kiwi at the Spice sometime?” I offer after a moment. “It’s nothing really fancy; we just go for drinks and chat, but it’s nice to hang out sometimes.”

Midnatt raises his head at that. “Just drinks and talking? Nothing more?”

“Yeah. Just drinks and talking. Doesn’t have to be alcoholic; I know that does a number on psions.” I add. “I don’t drink alcohol myself, so I usually just get fizzwater.”

Midnatt is quiet for a moment. “I will consider it. Let me speak with Sol and see if she is interested in that.”

“Fair enough. Just let me know.” I say, then pull out my phone as it vibrates again. “I should go. Jaree’s going to chew my head off if I don’t get down to the Titan hangar to see Renchiko put the Shrike through its first transformation sequence. It was good catching up with you though, Midnatt.”

“It was good to meet with you as well, Songbird.” Midnatt says, inclining his head. “I will give your offer of drinks consideration. May your visit to the Titan hangar be speedy.”

I chuckle at that as I turn and head for the door. “We’ll see about that. It’ll depend on what Jaree has to say to me. Have a good day, Midnatt.”

Event Log: Kiwi

Sunthorn Bastion: The Inkspell Library

1/27/12765 11:33am SGT

“…and Nayoh is currently handing out your coursebooks.” Boaris says, rolling up his sleeves as walks between a pair of tables in the Inkspell’s study hall. Seated at those tables are a number of our freshest recruits, with Renchiko and Ridge among them. Nayoh, the ‘Pillar kid that works in the Library, is handing out slim books that look like they’re primers on the fundamentals of magic. “Treat those books well, and they will return the favor. Treat them poorly, and you will find that reflected upon you.”

One of the recruits, a redhead that looks like a mechanic in oil-smudged overalls, picks up the book and stares at it, holding it by one corner as she turns it from side to side. “How do you… turn it on?” she asks tentatively. “I’m not seeing a power switch anywhere…”

Boaris stops dead, one sleeve halfway rolled up as he slowly turns to the redhead. “Excuse me?”

The grizzled cat Halfie sitting beside the redhead reaches over and takes the book, showing her how to open it. “It doesn’t have a power switch. It’s a book.”

The redhead stares as the book is handed back to her, looking at the Halfie, then the book, then the Halfie again. “…I don’t get it.” the redhead says blankly. “So you just… hold it like this? And read it that way?”

“Yeah…?” Nayoh says slowly, casting an incredulous look at Boaris.

“But the words don’t move.” the redhead says, sounding befuddled. “And the screen is made of paper. What do you do when you need to go to the next chapter?”

“You turn the page, Jill.” the Halfie says, reaching over and showing her how to turn the page.

“Oh.” Jill says, taking the page and looking at either side of it. “The text is kinda small. Is there button anywhere that can make it bigger?”

Boaris bites his lip, turning to where I’m leaning in the doorway leading to one of the adjacent rooms, watching all of this. I can see the despair in his eyes, and it brings a smirk to my face. “Hey, this is what we’re paying you to do, right?” I chuckle.

He takes a deep breath, massaging his forehead. “Think of the money. Think of the money.” he mutters before turning back around. “Jaree, was it? Please help Ms. Jill with learning how to use a book after the instruction hour has concluded. Now, can anyone tell me what magic is at the most fundamental level?”

There’s no answer from the class of recruits, though some of them can be seen leafing through their books, looking for an answer. When nobody answers, Boaris brings his arms up.

“Magic is the manipulation of matter and energy.” he says as he forms a ball of light between his thick hands, and sets it in the air. “Full stop. No matter where you are, what discipline of magic you are talking about, or who is using it. The foundation of every form of magic in the universe is the manipulation of matter and energy. When you use magic, you are manipulating matter and energy. There are different methods for doing so, and the differences in these methods results in the different disciplines of magic. But at the core, every type of magic ties back to that single root — the manipulation of matter and energy.”

“So like… is casting a shadow magic?” one of the recruits asks. “Because you’re manipulating light, which is energy, and creating an absence of it in a certain area.”

“That is a semantic approach to the principle.” Boaris replies, waving a hand in front of the ball of light that he just created. “The answer is no, standing in front of a lamp does not count as magic. But influencing the flow of photons to create a spot of darkness even when there is no physical object to obstruct the light — that is magic.” With that, he forms what looks like a ball of darkness between his hands, and sets it in the air right next to the ball of light. “Magic has been described as manipulating natural laws and concepts to produce unnatural results — such as shaping the flow of photons to create an area of light that has no physical source, or an area of darkness that is not produced by the physical blockage of photons.”

“So instead of sticking a glass of water in a freezer to turn it into ice, magic is you, extracting the thermal energy from the water through… mental control, I guess, to turn it into ice.” Jaree says, leaning back in her chair.

“Yes. Precisely.” Boaris says, tilting his finger towards her. “You are the one actively creating the mechanism and using it to execute the intended function.”

“But most of us in here can’t use magic, right?” Ridge says, scratching his ear. “We don’t really need to know how it works if we’re never going to use it, right?”

“Wrong.” Boaris counters. “The universe is a big place, and there are many different kinds of magic out there. While it is true that there are certain types of magic that are bound to certain cultures, bloodlines, locations, or the genetic lottery, there are other types of magic that any sapient creature can learn and use. There are plenty that have sought out these kinds of magic and have learned how to use them, and any of you could do the same, if you were willing to put in the time and work to learn them. But even if you don’t, knowing the fundamentals of how magic works, and the mechanisms for different disciplines of magic, is essential to knowing how to combat that magic, and protect yourself from it.”

There’s a soft thump from one of the tables, and both Boaris and I look over to see that Renchiko has folded forward on the table, face planted in her open book, having apparently dozed off right in the middle of the lecture.

“She had her first pilot run in a mech yesterday.” Jaree says quickly. “It’s just a bit of pilot sickness; it always hits the rookies hard. I’ll catch her up on the lesson afterwards.”

Boaris stares. “You put that kid in a Titan? She’s barely old enough to be out of high school.”

“It’s a small mech!” Jill says quickly. “Only like, twenty-five feet tall. Kinda like a training-wheels Titan. Not the big-time stuff.”

Boaris opens his mouth, then shakes his head. “Not my department. Not going to worry about it.” Turning, he waves a hand, the ball of darkness evaporating to reveal all the light it’s captured. Taking one of the spheres of light, he starts using it to write on the air itself, like it was his teaching board. “Now that we understand the foundation of all magic — that it is the manipulation of matter and energy — we are going to teach you about the different types of magic. There are two main schools of magic: structured magic and freeform magic. Can anyone tell me the difference between the two?”

“Structured is rune and ritual-based stuff, while freeform is just whatever the wielder wants it to be.” says an older elf that’s sitting next to Jill.

“Almost.” Boaris says, pointing at the elf before turning back to his writing on the air. “Structured magic is magic that is constrained by a set of rules and requirements that, if they are not followed, will not produce a result, or they will produce a negative or undesirable result. An example of structured magic is potion brewing, which is like cooking — you need to put in the right ingredients, in the right order, and follow the instructions, in order to produce the desired result. Can anyone provide me another example of structured magic?”

“Enchantment.” the elf answers again. “That’s like computer programming.”

“Correct.” Boaris confirms, starting to write that on the air as well. “There are many different disciplines of enchantment, just like there are many different programming languages, but they all rely on structure, a set of rules, and logical statements, equations, and formulas. Writing enchantments is like writing code for a machine or a program. If you do it correctly, you can achieve incredible things or automate otherwise burdensome tasks. But if you make a mistake while writing an enchantment — a single misplaced rune or character — then the entire enchantment may malfunction and collapse. Or even worse, it would keep functioning, but do something entirely different from what you had intended when you wrote the enchantment. These are good examples of structured magic; let’s now turn to freeform magic. Can anyone give me an example of freeform magic?”

“Shaping.” Jaree grunts.

“Yes. Elemental shaping is one of the best examples of freeform magic.” Boaris says, taking the other sphere of light and starting to write with it. “Shapers are not bound by the rules that govern potion brewing and enchanting. The only requirement of shaping is that you are descended from a shaper, or you have won the genetic lottery, and that you have some of the element you are capable of shaping, whether that be fire, water, air, so on and so forth. Once those conditions have been met, the only other limitations on a shaper are experience, and the amount of energy they have available to expend on shaping the element. A watershaper can take a volume of water and shape it into a sphere, or form it into a wall and freeze it into ice, or form it into a whip or a spike or a wave, all on the force of will, emotion, or experience alone. There is no written or spoken component required for this — the movement of the body and the desire to bend the element to one’s will is enough. Now, can anyone give me any other examples of freeform magic?”

“Psionics.” calls out the elf that spoke up earlier.

Boaris skrunkles his nose at that. “…okay, well, yes, while psionics does technically fall under the definition of magic, and I’ll accept that as an answer here, don’t ever say that at a conference of arcane scholars. You’ll start the kind of argument that ends friendships; it’s still very much not a settled topic in the arcane academia. There are some that believe that psionics belongs in the science fields, and others that think we should accept it as a magical discipline, and mages tend to get pretty heated when discussing it. But for the purposes of this lesson, we will count psionics as a type of freeform magic…”

I push off the doorframe as he continues his lecture, turning and roaming into the next room over. It hadn’t taken long for the Librarians to settle in once we were back at the Bastion, and Boaris hadn’t had a good reason to turn down the job offer now that he was here. He was still grumpy about it, but the Inkspell wasn’t going anywhere now that it had moved, so he decided to make the most of it since he couldn’t change it.

Winding my way through the rooms, I search for signs of the battle that had taken place here a little over a week ago. Apparently the Librarians had been tied up with repairs since the Library had arrived here, and from what I could tell, it looked like they were well on the way to fixing the damage that had occurred after CURSE’s visit. There were still a few smashed or broken shelves here and there, and you could see the occasional scorch mark from a plasma bolt, but most of the damage seemed to have been remediated. How they were repairing it wasn’t entirely clear; as far as I can gather, there were only four Librarians in the Inkspell, and I remembered that the voidbeasts had been pretty aggressive with their rampage. Maybe the Library, as a living location, was capable of healing on its own, though I’m not sure what that would look like.

“Finding everything you’re looking for?”

The voice catches me as I’m roaming through one of the rooms with a large window facing out towards the grounds of the northern hemisphere. Looking over, I see Karasol sitting in a chair by the window, a glass book open in his lap and Kali sprawled out on the couch opposite him, sleeping on an open book.

“Not really looking for anything, just kinda roaming around.” I say, idling in that direction. “Reading isn’t really my cup of tea.”

“That’s unfortunate. There’s much to be gained from a good book.” he says, combing a hand through the long ponytail of silky white hair that’s draped over his shoulder. “I wouldn’t force anyone to read if they don’t want to, though. Reading is best enjoyed when it’s a product of desire, rather than compulsion.”

I shrug. “Too fidgety. I have trouble with sitting still for that long.”

“Perhaps you just haven’t come across the right book. One that has something you’re interested in.” he says, running his finger along one of the glass pages of the book in his lap. “I might be the director of the Inkspell, but there are some books that I just can’t stand. Not every book is for every person — it’s about finding the right book for the right person.”

“Yeah?” I say, folding my arms. “And what do you think is the right book for me?”

“Mm.” Closing the book in his lap, he laces his fingers together as he studies me. “That is the question, isn’t it. A recommendation in a Library is a question of what you want, and who you are.” He tilts his head to one side, and the motion seems familiar — the white hair, the brilliant green eyes, it’s all giving me a feeling that I’ve been in this situation before, but I can’t quite put my finger on where it’s coming from. “For you, perhaps the right book is a book that you’re not supposed to have.”

I’d expected a lot of things, but that wasn’t one of them. “A book I’m not supposed to have? What do you mean by that?”

“Exactly that.” he says, starting to stand up. “I can tell you’re defiant and obstinate by nature; you thrive when you are told you cannot do something, and you want to prove your detractors wrong. You are defined in opposition. The right book for you is one that you’re not allowed to have, because that is the only kind of book you would be interested in.” He tucks the glass book under his arm as he uses his other one to brush his hair out of his eyes. “That was the case with your handlers, wasn't it? You didn’t care about the ones that were freely given to you. The only handler you cared about was the one you were told you couldn’t have.”

I’m a little taken aback by that, mostly because that’s the kind of incisive commentary I only ever got from one person. Forecast was the only one who knew my history and understood me well enough to recognize the patterns of my vices, and connect the dots of my behavior with this kind of surgical precision. “How did you know about that? Who told you?” I demand.

“You’re in a living Library, talking to the head Librarian.” Karasol says, walking past me and back across the room. “It’s my job to read people like books. Especially if they’ve been turned into a book.” He holds up the glass book he’s got, giving it a little wiggle. “Walk with me. Maybe I’ll give you a book that you’re not supposed to have.”

“What if I say no?” I demand. “I can tell you’re playing games, and I don’t like games.”

He stops and looks back around at me. “Games? No. I’m doing my job. A Librarian’s job is to find the right book for a person, the book they need at that point in time, based on what they want and who they are. I’ve got you figured out; the book you need is a book you’re not supposed to have. I can get that book for you; the question is, are you going to read it if I give it to you?”

I hesitate, glancing back at Kali. She’s still sleeping on the couch, so as far as I’m aware, this conversation is just me and Karasol. “You’re not gonna get me in trouble, are you?” I say, looking back at him.

He raises an eyebrow at that. “How am I supposed to get you in trouble when you are the trouble?”

I roll my eyes at that. “Fine. Whatever. I’ll read whatever book it is you think I need, so long as it’s actually interesting to me. Whatever it is, it better be pretty damn good.”

“Come along, then.” he says, motioning me to follow as he starts walking again. “Looks like a visit to the Floor of Lost History is in order.”

I hurry to catch up with him as he leaves the room, and starts into the depths of the Library. There’s something about this that is unsettling, like I know I’m not supposed to be doing this, but here we are, doing it anyway. It doesn’t help that he seems to know more about me than I know about him, which gives him an advantage over me — one that I’m not entirely comfortable with.

“So what’s your whole deal?” I ask as I follow him, deciding that I might as well try to level the playing field and see if I can extract any information about him. “You just sit around in your Library all day, waiting for people to wander in so you can give them exactly the book that they need?”

“That is one of my responsibilities, yes. I don’t do it for every guest; only the ones that need a bit of guidance and direction in their lives.” he answers as we find ourselves in a hallway leading to what looks like a glass elevator at the end. “That, along with expanding the Library’s catalogue and performing general upkeep and maintenance, are a Librarian’s primary responsibilities.”

“Seems like a pretty weird job.”

“Many jobs are strange. Take, for example, anyone that works in or around the stock market. People that are paid to play with imaginary money, and convince other people to buy into the illusion of imaginary money that just grows forever and ever and ever. Pretty strange, wouldn’t you say? But people get paid to do that.”

“I’m not really much of a finance person.” I say as he stops at the elevator, the doors opening for us. “So how did you get into all this? Being a Librarian, and turning people into books, and all that.”

“Hmm. It’s been a while, now that I’m thinking about it.” he reflects as we step into the elevator. From what I can see, there’s no buttons or interface in here, but the doors close and the elevator starts moving nonetheless. “Nobody really ends in a Library because they want to, or because they were looking for it. Every Librarian I’ve ever known has always stumbled across the job. Maybe they lost their last job, and didn’t know where to go; maybe they didn’t know what to do with their lives, and were lost and needing purpose. You never end up working in a Library on purpose — it’s just something that you kind of stumble into.”

“And that’s what happened to you?”

“It is. I was able to settle into it, and I enjoy it now. Libraries are unique places, places where you have access to knowledge that usually can’t be found anywhere else.” he says as we continue rising through the levels of the Library. “That floor we just passed, with the darkness and the hanging lanterns, is the Floor of Secrets. We often get guests looking for books on that Floor, although they have to defeat the Librarians on that Floor before we let them have what they’re looking for.”

“So the different floors are for different genres?” I say, staring through the glass walls of the elevator as we pass floor after floor.

“Different themes, I suppose you could say. The Floor of Secrets has books which contain secrets, obviously. The Floor of Forbidden Curiosity contains books which hold knowledge on taboo subjects and topics. The Floor of Dreams has books which provide insight into the aspirations and ambitions of individuals, and also doubles as the floor where you can find information about the Dreaming.” The elevator starts to slow down, and he lifts a hand as we come to a halt on a floor that looks like it’s shrouded in fog. “And this is the Floor of Lost History.”

I take a tentative step out onto the Floor as the doors open; the fog is thick, and only gives away the vague silhouettes of objects in the distance. There are lights on this floor, but they’re far away, with their illumination diffuse and scattered by the drifting mist. Moreover, it doesn’t look like there are shelves or rooms here — it’s hard to tell with the fog shrouding everything, but it feels like an open space, with no roof overhead.

“Pretty creepy.” I mutter, noticing how silent it is. “And the book you want to give to me is on this Floor?”

“Indeed.” Karasol says, stepping out of the elevator behind me. Above us, a streetlamp flickers on with the archaic hum of an electrical current being run through a filament bulb. “Finding books on this Floor can be a little difficult. If you’ll follow me.”

“Do people ever get lost up here?” I ask, staying close to him as he starts off into the fog.

“Of course they do. It’s in the name: the Floor of Lost History. Sometimes people get lost up here, unable to find the exit, and roam around until they die and turn into books.” I hear a thump, and Karasol stops, reaching down to pick up something that he ran into — a glass book, giving off a pale blue glow. “Like this fellow. Hold that for me, will you?” he says, holding the book out to me.

I gingerly take the book, finding that it doesn’t weigh as much as I thought it would, given that it’s made out of glass. The surface is smooth and cool to the touch, echoes of light rippling away from wherever I touch the glass — it reminds me a lot of Songbird’s starglass ninjato, though not as vibrant or colorful. “This used to be a person?”

“Any of the books you see that look like that — as if they were made out of glass — were once a living person or thing.” he says as he continues to lead us into the fog. “That is what a soul looks like when it is reduced to the form of a book.”

I give him an alarmed look. “Wait, when people die here, they don’t go to the afterlife? Their souls stay trapped here in the Library?” I demand sharply.

“That’s correct. How do you think a place like this is powered?” he replies as neon signs start to come to life in the fog, painting it in a hazy swirl of colors. It seems like we’re walking down a city street, although the buildings on either side are still shrouded in fog and indistinct. “All the magic and power in a Library has to come from somewhere. Living Libraries are usually powered by the souls of those who die and become trapped there. Those souls are like fuel rods in a nuclear reactor, giving off a strong and steady source of power.”

I press my lips together. That doesn’t sit right with me, knowing that if a person dies here, they’ll never see heaven or hell. In fact, this place could be considered hell, of a sort. “Do you ever let these souls go? Or do they stay here forever?”

“It depends. Often they stay on the shelves, but we can do many things with living books.” he says, starting to track towards the right side of the street. “A Library can turn people into books, but it can also turn them back into people again, and it will sometimes do that if it needs to fill a staffing shortage. When a Library needs more Librarians, but cannot entice enough people into the Library to serve as Librarians, the Library will instead reconstitute living books to serve as Librarians.”

“So on top of killing them and trapping their souls here, you enslave them and use them to do your work when you don’t have enough people to do it yourself.” I say, liking this less and less the more I find out.

“Whoa whoa whoa. Cool your jets, applejacks.” Karasol replies. “People that get invited to a Library to find their book know the risks before they go in. That’s part of the invitation they receive. If they choose to take that risk, that’s on them.”

“What about the CURSE Peacekeeper?” I point out. “She didn’t get an invitation and she didn’t know the risks.”

“She and her friends came stomping in here, guns ablaze, lookin’ for a fight.” he counters. “You attack a Library, the Library’s gonna fight back. Start shit, get hit.”

I skrunkle my nose at that. “I guess. Killing a person makes sense, in that case. But trapping their soul and keeping it as a glorified battery for the rest of eternity seems like it’s taking it a little too far.”

“Oh, it won’t be eternity. Living books do sublimate eventually, if they’re not reconstituted every now and then. A soul can only go so long without interaction before it runs out of juice.” Karasol says, stepping into a shop on the right side of the street that’s resolved out of the mist. It’s got an open front, and oddly enough, despite the neon signs lining the street, this building has tree roots winding through it, bracing its sides and frame. Inside, there are bare wooden counters littered with dead leaves and chips of bark; the shelves behind them are empty, but look like they might’ve once contained tools or equipment. “That’s why Libraries send out invitations, and have a steady inflow of guests. As old living books fade out of their catalogue, they have to replace them with new living books to maintain the power generation that sustains them.”

“Wait.” I say, suddenly realizing something. “I’m not gonna have to fight you for this book you’re finding for me, right?”

“For you? No.” he says, heading towards what looks like a shrine at the back of the root-laced room. “The Inkspell doesn’t need any extra living books right now. We just added a few to the catalogue, and that should be enough for a few years.” Reaching into the root-twined alcove, he pulls out what looks like a battered, leatherbound book that has pages with ragged, rough-cut edges. “You will not have to fight me for this book. But I cannot guarantee that will still be the case if you come looking for another book a few years from now.”

I motion to the book he just picked up. “I wasn’t looking for a book in the first place. You took it upon yourself to find one for me, because I said that I didn’t like to read, and you took that personally.”

“Mmm. That is a valid argument.” he concedes, smiling a little as he holds out the leatherbound book to me. “At any rate, here’s your book.”

“The one I’m not supposed to have?” I say, reaching out to take it gingerly, handing him the glass book in turn. The book he’s given me is dusty, which feels kinda icky, and I brush off the cover, finding that it has no title, author, or any other form of identification. “What kind of book is it?”

Karasol’s already started to walk back towards the foggy street outside. “That’s your father’s journal.” he answers as he passes me.

“Wait, what?” I demand, staring at his back. “This is Forecast’s journal?”

“Not your adoptive father. Your biological father.” he says, stepping back out onto the street. “That’s a journal from his younger years. Since it’s a book that you’re not supposed to have, I can only imagine that there’s dangerous things in it. So read carefully when you do decide to crack it open.”

“Wait!” I call, hurrying after him. “I never met my parents! How do you know who my father is?”

“Oh, I don’t know who he is.” Karasol says blithely as we start back into the mist swirling through the streets. “Never met him; don’t know his name or what he looks like. But the Inkspell does. He visited this Library once, long ago, and the Library remembers him. He was looking for something. For dark knowledge, for things that nobody should know — and a Librarian at the time showed him to the Floor of Forbidden Curiosity. He found what he was looking for, but that Floor often requires that you pay a price, one that is not negotiable. He was required to leave a piece of himself behind in order to obtain the knowledge that he was looking for — and that journal you’re holding is what he left behind.”

I look down at the book, then back up at him. “You’re bullshitting me! You really want me to believe this journal belongs to my biological father, who just happened to visit this Library sometime in the past, so I could pick up this book however many years later?” I shout at him. “Where’s your proof?”

“You’re holding it.” he replies nonchalantly, without slowing his pace. “What you want believe or not believe is immaterial to what the truth actually is. And as for myself — my family, my bloodline, cannot tell lies, and we cannot break promises. You can always trust that what I tell you is the truth — though that means that you won’t always like what I have to say.”

My fingers dig into the book as I clench my hands, and I’m tempted to chuck the thing at the back of his head. There’s something about all of this, about his demeanor, the way he behaves, that is irritatingly familiar, but I still can’t quite place it. I’ve been in this situation before, I just can’t remember when, or where, or who it was with, and it’s driving me crazy.

“You’ll want to come along now. As you saw earlier, this is one of the worst Floors to get lost on — it’ll easily kill you without even needing a Librarian here to do the job.” he says as he gets further and further into the mist. “And you didn’t seem too keen on the idea of souls getting trapped here for millennia on end, so unless you’d like to end up like them, I’d advise you keep up.”

As much as I hate it, he’s not wrong. Looking down at the dusty old journal in my hands, I decide to swallow my pride for now, and not argue the point further. Tucking the journal under my arm, I hurry after him; while I wasn’t scared of dying, I’d always had particular preferences for how I would finally bite the dust.

Lost in a silent fog and surrounded by hazy neon lights was not one of them.

Event Log: Songbird

Sunthorn Bastion: Songbird and Kiwi’s Apartment

11:10pm SGT

There is some part of me that half-expecting to get chewed out when I step back into the apartment.

Today had been a long day, and between all of the meetings I had attended and trainings I had conducted, I was starting to see why the Administrator and management in the Challenger program had stayed so busy. It didn’t seem like a lot when you were looking at the schedule, but before you knew it, the hours had slipped by, the day was gone, and you were left wondering who stole your free time while you weren’t looking. And while I couldn’t deny that it had been a productive day, there was something missing in the way of contentment. The privilege of being able to come home, do something for yourself, and go to bed feeling satisfied that you weren’t just spending your entire day living for the company or organization that employed you. It was a small thing, but over the years I’d found that it was a very important one — being able to have that little bit of time you could call your own, that you could point to as proof that you were living for more than just work. That was an important thing for one’s mental and emotional stability, and without it, you would just feel like a cog in the machine, because, well…

If all you’re doing is living for work, then you’re just a cog in the machine.

And as a sonic sorcerer and a creative individual, that was the sort of thing that would put me in a downright foul mood if I went too many days without a little free time to myself. I needed time to indulge my artistic hobbies and remember that being a soldier, being a combat operative, was not actually what I wanted to do for the rest of my life. It was something I did because I was good at it, and it paid the bills, and because the Valiant’s mission was to help those that couldn’t help themselves, but it wasn’t my dream by any stretch of the imagination. If I had my way and life had gone the way I wanted it to, then I would be an artist.

But my art skills were nowhere in the neighborhood of being able to support myself, and as the door spirals shut behind me and I shuffle into the living room, seeing Kiwi sprawled out on the couch reminds me that if life had gone the way I wanted it to, I wouldn’t have met her. Heading over to couch, I notice that an old, leatherbound book looks like it’s slipped out of her hands and onto the floor. Carefully picking it up, I can see that it looks like the contents are all handwritten, like a journal or a notebook, but the text is odd and shimmery — whenever I look at it, the characters get blurry or seem to slip out from beneath my gaze, fleeing to other parts of the page. Not that I would’ve been able to read it anyway, since it looks like it’s written in a rune language that looks similar to the runemarks around mine and Kiwi’s wrists.

Closing the book, I set it down on the coffee table and sit down beside it, reaching over to move a lock of hair off of Kiwi’s face. That probably tickles enough to wake her up, and her nose twitches, eyes cracking open to see me sitting across from her.

“Sorry I’m back so late. Meetings and trainings for the new recruits went longer than I expected.” I say. “We should probably get you to bed. You’re gonna end up with a kink in your neck if you keep sleeping like that.”

She lets out a soft, sleepy noise, stretching out on the couch, then luxuriously arching her back while letting off a lazy moan.

I give her a deadpan look. “Seriously?”

She chuckles, biting her bottom lip as she relaxes and falls flat again. “ ‘m jus’ playin’ with ya. Too sleepy t’fool around right now.”

“You’re such a tease.” I say, setting aside my data slate so I can slip my arms under her and pick her up. She curls up a little in my arms, resting her head against my collarbone as I head back to our room. “Did you have a good day?”

“Eh. It was okay. Sum weird stuff, tell you ‘bout it t’morrow.” she yawns. “Wha’ ‘bout you?”

“Long day. Did everything I needed to do, but didn’t have the time to do anything I wanted to do.” I say, heading over to the bed and setting her down. “You want a glass of water before we go to bed?”

She starts to shrug her way out of her shirt, although it looks like she’s trying to do it without sitting up. “With ice, yeah.”

“One iced water, coming up.” I say, heading back out to the kitchen as she starts getting undressed. Once I’ve got the glass filled and iced up, I head back to the room to find her pulling on her baggy pajama top, her head popping through just as I return.

“Right on time.” she beams lethargically, taking the glass and sipping from it while I start getting out of my day clothes and into my pajamas. By the time I’ve done so, she’s settled in beneath the covers, drowsily watching and waiting for me.

Coming over, I settle in under the covers on my side of the bed, getting comfortable and finding that she’s still watching me with those sleepy wildfire eyes. Turning on my side, I gaze back at her, wondering what’s going through her head. “You’re not as quippy tonight.”

She smiles. “Just glad you’re back.”

I soften a little at that. Reaching over, I corral her hair out of her face again, gently brushing my fingers over her cheek. “I’m glad you’re here.”

A little giggle. “Where else would I be?”

“Someone else’s bed.” I say, tracing the dim glow of her freckles. “Never thought anyone would see me the way you see me. I’m still not sure why you picked me.”

“The only bed I wanna be in is your bed. And I picked you because you see me, even though you’re not a Maskling. You see me, instead of my species.” she murmurs, bringing her hand up to rest of my forearm. “Why would you think that no one would ever love you? Am I really the first?”

“Well. My family loved me, I’m sure. But you’re the first person that’s ever loved me as a partner, as an equal. As a lover. You’re the only one that’s seen me that way, at least.”

She shuffles closer under the covers so she can take my face in her hands, her fiery eyes studying me. “I can’t believe you spent all those years alone. With no one to hold you or touch you or whisper your name. It shouldn’t have been that way. I almost wish I’d met you sooner, because both of us could’ve been happier much earlier than this.”

“Well. Life isn’t fair. Better late than never, right?”

She smiles, kissing my nose before snuggling in against me, like she was trying to burrow into the loose folds of my pajamas. There’s something about it that reminds me of a bunny or a cat or a chick searching for the warmest place to settle into, and I can’t help but adore her all the more for it.

“Better late than never.”