“That makes sense, but doesn’t that describe the situation of most of society, nowadays?”
Mahalanobis nodded. “Indeed it does, young man, indeed it does. We are, I fear, headed into very interesting times. The population of this poor earth has been driven past its breaking point, and a collapse is now inevitable. We can only hope that, in the ensuing chaos, we humble Librarians can find some niche to hide in while greater forces destroy each other. At least, that’s the plan.”
“Some might say that it’s not much of a plan.”
“And they would be correct. But it’s the only plan we can come up with that makes sense. Committing mass ritual suicide seemed rather defeatist, and rebelling against the central administration the same thing.”
“What obligations are there to joining your order?”
“If you are accepted, you will be given the entire formal document to review, but it’s really pretty simple and I will sum it up for you. A member of the Librarians Temporal swears to uphold the principle of data integrity, to never knowingly falsify data, or corrupt data archives, neither by deliberate lies nor omissions nor misleading search results. A Librarian also pledges him or herself to their fellow Librarians; to defend them with lethal force if necessary. They must renounce all existing obligations to country, race, other religions, and family. Oh, and to assume a proportionate fraction of the labors and duties required to maintain the order. In return, the order pledges itself to maintain and defend you, on its sacred honor.”
“It sounds impressive, but you don’t need to take a vow of celibacy, do you?”
“Heavens no! Far from it. Although for the last century all Librarians have been forbidden from having children. It is not so heavy a burden on us old men, but more so for the younger women. That is why most of our sisters are past their child-bearing ages. A shame really – it would be so much more decorative with more young people of the fairer sex milling about.”
“You are worried about nepotism?”
“Ah, you grasp it immediately. Yes, nepotism. In the old days if the child of a Librarian were not fit for service, well, no matter, they could do something else. Today, life outside the Library is so horrid, that any child of a Librarian that did not qualify for the order would effectively be condemned to misery and death. The pressure on the parents to bend the admissions criteria would be immense. Our order would be corrupted.”
“Commodus.”
“Yes, good example. The first Roman emperor in a long line to break the chain of meritocracy and be selected by birth. And a disaster. The children of scholars are rarely as talented as their parents – there is always a regression towards the mean. I hope that someday the outer world shall be prosperous enough that such onerous restrictions might be lifted, though I am certain that I will not live to see it.”
“So if this is the Librarians Temporal, is there a Librarians Spiritual?”
“How perceptive of you. Yes, there is. Although we have not heard from them in some time. I fear that their order may be extinct. Pity, they made excellent port.”
“Do you think that I have a chance here?”
“Well, by our rules, any new recruit must be accepted by a two-thirds majority vote of the local library, as well as the central council, and I cannot speak for them. You also must qualify with a handgun: have you any experience with firearms?”
“No, sir. You know that weapons of any kind are strictly forbidden to civilians.”
“Yes, but I thought I would ask and make sure. Although I suspect that you will not have any problems there. Therefore I would think your prospects good. You have the balance of intellectual power, curiosity, respect for the truth, and physical pragmatism that is the heart of our order. We were also intrigued by your thesis.”
“You have an interest in Scandinavian textile history?”
“We have an interest in many things, and it is certainly a more intriguing subject than I would have first assumed before reading your thesis. We were also struck by the intellectual rigor and clarity of your writing. You have created quite a stir amongst my peers that are interested in sociology, political economy, and chemistry. You know, in a way you are lucky that your field is so obscure. If you had published in a more visible area you would likely have gone to federal prison for violating various hate-crime statutes or otherwise disrespecting the politically approved mandates.”
“I am flattered. It all seemed pretty obvious to me at the time, though.”
“All mentally challenging problems are obvious after an intelligent person has figured it out. We shall let you know of our decision in a few days. Do you have a place to stay in the meantime?”
“Yes, Brother Mahalanobis, thank you for asking. I am in no immediate danger of being made homeless, at least not for the next month.”
“Well, that is good then.” Mahalanobis closed the paper folder on his desk. “We will put it to a vote of the brothers and sisters in this branch library, and if the result is favorable, we shall recommend you to the central council. You should hear from us in a week, give or take. Now if you will forgive me, I need to get back to balancing the budget.”
Parker stood up. “Of course, sir. Thank you for giving me a chance, and thank you also for the coffee.”
Mahalanobis watched as the young man left his office, to be escorted out by the same young cataloger that had brought him there in the first place. Such talent, such a brain, he thought. And physically gifted – truly a sound mind in a sound body. We will need that kind of ability if we are to survive what I see coming. And not just survive, but uphold the tenets of our faith. If only I can get this budget to work so that I can keep all my brethren fed and supplied with wine….
6. Brother Librarians, With Me!
“Most people don't realize how important librarians are. I ran across a book recently which suggested that the peace and prosperity of a culture was solely related to how many librarians it contained. Possibly a slight overstatement. But a culture that doesn't value its librarians doesn't value ideas and without ideas, well, where are we?”
- Neil Gaiman, Author, 20th-21st centuries.
“Good shot!” said Brother Mahalanobis. “I believe that you are eight for ten in this series. You have already passed the basic weapons qualifications. We can stop if you want to.”
“No, brother,” said Steven Parker. “I think that I’m getting into it. As long as we can spare the ammunition, how about we try at 50 meters?”
“A decent range for a handgun, more than a decent range. One might call it overly ambitious – tactically engaging a target at that range you would be wise to grab a carbine or rifle and not waste time with a pistol. Showing off in combat is for amateurs, but I don’t see why we can’t have some fun. 50 meters it is.”
Mahalanobis was wearing dark blue overalls (‘I hate having gunshot residue on my robes,’ the older man had said). Parker was still wearing the jeans and ratty denim jacket that he had interviewed in. Both men wore bulky hearing protectors that had been patched so many times that they appeared to be made entirely out of duct tape, and cheap plastic safety glasses. The range was a long corridor in the basement of the library, indifferently lit by irregularly positioned solid-state lights. A small table in front of them had a modest selection of ammunition and gun-cleaning implements.
Mahalanobis pulled on an overhead cable and the frayed paper target moved wobbling and squeaking down the narrow confines of the basement range to the far wall, which conveniently was marked as ‘Far Wall. 50 M.’ Parker finished reloading his reproduction Glock 19 with ten dull brass 9 mm bullets, racked the slide, and sighted in. He squeezed off all ten rounds from a standing posture, taking a deep breath between shots, while Mahalanobis looked at the target through a heavily scuffed and dented spotting scope.
“Four out of ten in the bull’s-eye. Quite good for that range, quite good. Now, I believe that it is my turn.”
The older man unholstered his revolver, and began to remove the bullet
s from the cylinder.
“Why are you unloading your weapon?” asked Parker.
“This is a .357 magnum,” said Mahalanobis. “It has a decent punch for such an old design, but my wrists aren’t getting any younger. When I shoot for pleasure I prefer to use 38 special.” The older man had lined up the eight .357 cartridges in a row on the table, and began systematically reloading his weapon with the less powerful 38 special ammunition.
“I’m not an expert,” said Parker, “but isn’t an eight-cylindered revolver unorthodox? I would think that the Glock would be a more effective weapon: you can load 15 rounds in a clip, and when that’s empty you can load a new clip in moments. It’s also far less bulky. Why this design?”
The older man had finished loading the eight new rounds, and swung the cylinder back into the frame. “Oh, mostly eccentricity, I suppose. I made it a long time ago, and somehow it suits me. Revolvers do have the advantage that you can leave them loaded and ready indefinitely without wearing out the springs, and if you have a dud round it’s easy to cycle to the next one. In any event, sidearms are only for emergencies and to build confidence. We’ll go over the serious weapons tomorrow. Now, check the target through the scope for me, will you?”
Mahalanobis took a broad stance, with both hands gripping the pistol. Then he sighted in and quickly fired all eight rounds.
“Four out of eight,” said Parker. “And rapid-fire as well! That’s impressive.”
“Thank you. Good to know that I am still not so senile that I can hit what I’m shooting at, well, half the time anyway. There is an advantage to a weapon that you have used for so long that it is nearly a part of you. But the hour is late; we need to finish cleaning our weapons, collecting the brass and lead for reloading, and patch the targets. Then I need to get changed or we will miss dinner.”
--------------------
It was later on that evening, and the two men were back in Mahalanobis’ office.
“That was a nice meal,” said Parker. “Thank you.”
“You are welcome. Our food is simple – well, it’s simple by the standards of three centuries ago – but adequate. However the company and discussion are as good as you will find anywhere. And the wine, of course. You know, they say that an army travels on its stomach. I think that our library runs on red wine. Whatever would we do if we ran out?”
“Switch to white?”
“Hah! Good one. Yes, switch to white. Although I have been trying to get my brethren to at least consider serving whiskey, if only on a trial basis.”
The younger man nodded. “Distilled spirits can be made from simpler ingredients, they take less skill and effort to make, they are more compact, and store better. It would be a practical choice.”
“I know. And someday we will probably have to make that switch, or (perish the thought) even give up alcohol altogether. We are efficient enough as it is already, that we will hold on to that one last luxury until we have no alternatives. Now, speaking of luxuries, would you join me with one last glass?”
“I thought that you would never ask.”
“A man after my own heart. Now I must warn you, this vintage is not one of the best. The brothers in charge of wine would die of shame before serving it at table, but nowadays we can’t afford to toss it. It’s still drinkable, and it’s still wine.”
Mahalanobis brought a 1.5 liter bottle of red wine up from under his desk, and poured out two generous servings into ceramic coffee mugs. The two men sipped at it.
Parker winced a little. “Yes, a little raw. Well, very raw. But we are spoiled. From my own research it would exceed what any Viking chieftain ever drank. Probably a match for most of what was served to the Roman emperors. It won’t kill you, it has alcohol, it has flavor, and it’s red. That and fine company? To ask for more would be disrespectful. Skoal!”
“Skoal!” said Mahalanobis. “You are getting along well with my brethren. Tonight at dinner you and Sister Hilbert had quite the discussion on the flight of the Goeben and the onset of World War I. I believe that you have already seduced the brothers and sisters of our local branch. As I have said before, the decision of the central council I cannot speak for, but I am hopeful. But how say you? Are you still interested in joining our band of cranky Neanderthal gun-nut librarian pedants?”
“Absolutely, sir. The more I stay here, the more I want to be here. You cultivate an external façade of eccentric scholarship, but it’s the rest of the world that’s insane. I have never been happier, or felt more at home.”
“Excellent! I should greatly enjoy inducting you into our order. I only wish that times were better. The long-term prognosis for our order – as for the rest of the world – is far from good.”
“You are still worried about global warming?”
Mahalanobis frowned. “Please, that old red herring? No, I am worried about the industrial activity required to feed 200 billion people baking the planet into another Venus. And if the oceans start to boil, well, there goes the atmospheric pressure.”
“You have contingency plans?”
“Of course. We will try to build refuges in caves, or deep tunnels. We will hunker down and let most of the population die off, then see what we can scavenge. Our detailed plans change along with the projections of environmental collapse, but we have a chance. A slim one, but a chance.”
“That sounds about as sensible as anything,” said Parker, “but to change the subject, I was wondering. The names of the brothers and sisters, they are not their real ones, are they? They seem to be mostly of famous scholars. If I am inducted into your order, will I have to change mine?”
“Ah, well, most of the brethren take on the name of some great mind that they admired. Me, I used to be John Oakley, but I took the name of the mathematician Prasanta Mahalanobis. You can take any name you like, though, as long as it is not the one you had before. That’s to emphasize breaking the links with the old. So you can call yourself anything, as long as it is not Brother Parker. You could be Brother Bob if you wanted.”
“I will have to think about that, but you were going to tell me more about how the library is organized?”
“Well, let’s see, where to begin. To start, the Librarians Temporal are split up into local branches, each with no more than 300 brothers and sisters.”
“Because that’s the largest number of people that can govern themselves without police or money.”
“Yes, exactly so. Also, it’s small enough that we don’t attract too much attention, and we can make do by exploiting local niches that are too small to support a larger organization. We have a broader council governing all the local branches, but it is a loose governance.”
“Too much overt organization could attract the attention of the central administration.”
“You pick up on this so fast that I almost don’t feel like I need to tell you anything. Yes, we have a lot more contact between branches than we let on, but we try to act like it’s nothing special. Also, all of our inter-branch communication is either oral or via hand-delivered written messages. We have no imprint in the global data-networks, and are thus nearly invisible to the federal intelligence people. If the federal administration realized how many of us there really are, they might label us as a militia or rebel group and then they would stamp us out. But 300 eccentrics that appear mostly isolated and minding their own business can hope to be left alone.”
“Do you ever worry about spies and infiltrators?”
“Yes, but less than you might imagine. First, the federal administration prefers to do all of their spying via data network snooping – our reliance on written records means that we don’t slot neatly into the standard procedures. Investigating us would require thought, something they mostly don’t have. We also have our own means of performing background checks and determining who is genuine and who is not – I’ll tell you about that later, but it’s pretty thorough. As our last resort, if anyone did make it past the screening they would almost certainly go native – we
would attract such a pull on them that they would join us of their own volition.
“Does each local branch have its own subdivisions?”
“Yes, although they are somewhat informal. We don’t wear different colored robes or anything like that. In the old days libraries were split up into reference, technical services, and circulation. Since we have become more self-sufficient we have moved away from that. The main divisions are archives, security, engineering, medical, and viniculture. Archives is the heart and soul of each branch. It encompasses all of our records, the cataloging, and our scholarly activities. Every brother and sister are first and foremost a member of the archives.”
“And is everyone a member of security as well?” asked Parker.
“Yes, of course. There are a few of the more martially-minded brethren who specialize in that, but every librarian is expected to be armed and to contribute to the defense of the order as required. Engineering covers everything from building maintenance to developing computer programs to repairing broken devices for profit. Medical is more for specialists than the other divisions – the medical field is a bit all-consuming, scholarship-wise, and the materials are hard to manufacture – they cover the routine care of the brethren and also sell their services to the broader community. All local branches cover the basics, but each one has a particular area of expertise. Ours is eye surgery. It’s a major profit center.”
“And viniculture?”
“Yes, well, I did warn you about us and wine. Technically they are cooks, they handle all aspects of keeping us fed and fueled, but they take the greatest pride in their wine. Again, there are some brothers and sisters that spend most of their time on this and they are particularly good, but everyone is expected to help out, if only with cleaning up or carrying supplies.”
Splendid Apocalypse: The Fall of Old Earth (An Old Guy/Cybertank Adventure Book 5) Page 7
