by C. A. Pack
“We just sent specimen 76 to the Vern unit and were told the unit is full.”
“The Cada unit, then,” he said shrilly. “Or the Lodi unit.”
Mal whispered to Artemus Rexana, “I’ve never heard an Adventuran express any level of emotion. What is going on?”
Before the overseer could answer, another worker shook his head. “The Cada and Lodi units are not available. Those units were designated for specimens 18 to 22, and specimens 66, 68, and 90 through 111. That would fill them to capacity.”
AR:∑ Prophet IAN c. Is there a problem?
The curator turned abruptly, unaware Artemus Rexana and Mal had entered the lab.
The curator stared at the overseer. “What can you do to remediate solar flares?”
AR:∑ They occur naturally and are way beyond any power an overseer might possess.
“New organs for our oldest and most revered bloodline are dying off. Prophet EZECHIA q.’s will soon fail, and there are no freezers left to store his tissue. We are about to lose another cherished line of citizens. How am I going to tell Adventurans that our bloodlines are dangerously imperiled?”
Artemis Rexana closed his eyes, and a moment later the College of Overseers agreed unanimously to provide refrigeration. He chanted as he widened his arms. The far wall of the lab was suddenly lined with a dozen freezer units.
“Quickly, Prophet DANIEL p. Place Prophet EZECHIA q.’s tissue in one of the new units. And gather a company of men to move half of those freezers to other locations. Once they’re in place, we will divide EZECHIA q.’s tissue.”
Mal rubbed the side of his head, disturbing his chaperon. He tugged it back into place. “Why move those units, at all, when you clearly need them here?”
The lights blinked but stayed on.
“That is why,” IAN c. explained. “Our power system is in a state of flux because of solar flares, and we’ve had an extraordinary number of power outages. We cannot take the chance of storing all the freezer units in one place. Nor all the tissue from an originator at a single location. We will surely suffer losses but are trying to lessen the severity.”
AR:∑ I fully understand why you rejected our earlier offer to offset the loss of dying originators with some of Lumina’s most renowned citizens. But the offer remains if you should suffer a remarkable amount of loss.
IAN c. shook his head. “It is too much to consider at this time. Our first priority is to preserve our heritage.”
Marbol crouched into a tight ball when he heard glass breaking and stayed in that position for so long, he could no longer feel his legs beneath him.
He’d heard no other sounds since the initial disruption and decided it was safe to continue inspecting the library. Besides, from his vantage point halfway up the cupola stairs, he hadn’t seen any movement, although he did have his eyelids squeezed shut most of the time. He looked around, took a deep breath, and continued on his way.
The cupola was barren. It resembled a wheel hub with empty aisles extending from it. No shelves. No books. Just a layer of powdery dust covering the floors. Peer Meap isn’t going to like this. He wondered where the curator had disappeared to, now that the library was defiled.
Tick…tick…tick. He froze again. More noise coming from below. The teenager shook his head. I’m getting too old for this.
The Terrorian warehouse, where Nero 51 took Odyon, looked like an abandoned structure. The walls were cracked, the windows blackened, and wild growth crowded the walkways. Nero 51 picked up a stick and pressed it against a rock on the far side of weeds surrounding the building. A whirring sound accompanied the movement of undergrowth, which seemed to fold back onto itself, and the ground opened up, revealing a steep staircase leading way down below the building. Odyon followed Nero 51 inside.
The curator relied on his tentacles to keep him from toppling down the stairs. Odyon shifted into a beam of light and descended without trouble. At the bottom, Nero 51 pulled a lever on the wall, and daylight disappeared as the opening rumbled to a close. Overhead lights clicked on automatically, and the time machine stood in the middle of a mist-covered dirt floor.
Odyon looked up. “This is an unusually deep subterranean chamber.”
“It is a very safe place, designed to misdirect outsiders.”
“I can see how it might do that. But we’re not here to discuss the space. Let us start working on a way to bypass the portals for time travel.”
The overseers and Mal sat around the conference table at the Library of Origination.
RS:⌘ I’m surprised the Adventurans refused our donation of tissue samples.
AR:∑ I believe they are currently preoccupied with lessening the impact of solar eruptions on their electrical system.
“I don’t think we need any more than that,” Mal said. “Surely, if I appear regularly as your emissary to assist with their cloning crisis and get updates, they would not regard it as an intrusion. By now, I’ve been there enough times that those closest to IAN c. recognize me.”
RS:⌘ You have a point. Our original offer was predicated by our desire for you to be able to freely visit that realm in a capacity other than as an overseer.
AR:∑ Unless they feel too inundated by the current crisis to acknowledge your presence.
“Do you think that might happen?”
RS:⌘ Adventurans are not emotional by nature and could dismiss your visits during this critical juncture as unnecessary.
AR:∑ Actually, IAN c. was as emotional as I’ve ever seen a modern-day Adventuran. He appeared… frazzled.
“I was just thinking the same thing. Their brains, after all, are human. Why wouldn’t they have emotions?”
RS:⌘ For centuries, they depended on logic and scientific study to survive, burying their emotions. But now that neither of those have prevented a perceived catastrophe, Adventuran emotions may be resurfacing.
RS:⌘ Mal, go as our emissary with an offer of additional refrigeration units. If the Adventurans accept, your telepathic request for the units will be acted upon immediately. We could arrange for you alone to provide them, but we think it might be better to keep your role separate from that of an overseer. The Adventurans may feel they can speak more freely in front of you than they could around an overseer.
That afternoon in the library, Johanna actually whistled while she worked.
Both Ava and Chris noticed how lighthearted she seemed and compared notes in the cupola. “Do you think she and Jackson made up?” Chris asked.
“Not that I know of.”
Four stories below on the main level, Johanna hummed as she laid out Shakespeare’s First Folio in the display case.
The front door swooshed open and Jackson rushed in.
She looked up. “Wow. Somebody’s in a hurry.” She looked at the clock. “Oh. Is it that late, already? I didn’t realize you weren’t here.”
“I…uh…had to do something.”
Chris’s sneakers pounded as he raced down the cupola stairs. “Where have you been, bro? We’ve been waiting for you.”
“Uh…”
“C’mon. Out with it.”
“I had to rent a tux.”
Johanna’s face lit up. “Really? Where are you going?”
“Prom,” Jackson mumbled.
“That’s so nice for you,” she said, before turning and walking away. She continued humming as she replaced the key to the display case in a drawer.
Jackson’s eyes narrowed. He looked at Chris. Chris shrugged. Something had rocked Johanna’s world, and neither of them knew what it was.
Tick…tick…tick.
“Marbol, are you in there?”
Marbol’s shoulders relaxed. Duddu.
“I’m here,” he shouted, and he practically flew down the cupola stairs. He ran to the broken window and saw Duddu outside.
“You got in,” Duddu said in amazement.
“I told you I would.”
“What’s in there?”
“Come in and see
for yourself.”
“Is it safe?”
“I’m standing here talking to you, ain’t I?”
“I tried to enter through the back, but I can’t.”
“No. You can only come in through this window.”
“But there’s glass here.” Duddu lifted his hand to knock on the glass and gasped when his fist went through it without a sound.
“Told you….”
Duddu hesitantly hoisted himself through the window. “What’s that smell?”
“Dead monsters.”
“Ugh.” He paused momentarily. “Are you sure they’re dead?”
“Come take a look.” Marbol led the way to the heap of decaying Terrorians.
Duddu made a face. “Peer Meap is going to have a fit when he sees this.”
“Where is Peer Meap? Did you bring him with you?”
“Nope. Can’t find him.”
“Where did you look?”
“Everywhere. You know. All the usual places. I got everyone I could find together and sent them out in different directions. They’re all knocking on doors, looking for him.”
“I thought you already looked everywhere?”
“I looked in all the usual places. I sent the others to look in the unusual places.”
“We’d better look, too. We need him.”
Nero 51 watched as Odyon paced, displacing the mist that hugged the dirt floor of the hidden Terrorian warehouse. It had been the shapeshifter’s habit during the entire night. They would try something. It wouldn’t work. Odyon would pace. They would try something else. It wouldn’t work. Odyon would pace. And so it went. Nero 51 had expressed his displeasure at first, but Odyon’s bitter rebukes had now resigned the curator to silence.
Odyon spun around and walked back to the time machine with purpose. “You said you took possession of the time machine following the overseer’s challenge. Head toward Lumina with that date in mind.”
“Lumina is the last place I want to travel.”
“Which is why it just might work. Come.”
Nero 51 activated the time machine, and it whooshed into dark space, nearly leaving his stomach behind.
“Mysteriose, now!” Odyon demanded, and the curator switched his thoughts. He and Odyon were thrown against the side of the vehicle before either of them could prepare for the rapid change in direction, and they both lost consciousness.
The next morning, Jackson left the library before either of his siblings woke up. He had a lot of stuff to do, and if he didn’t do it right, there would be hell to pay. Logan already had the Mini Cooper warming up. Jackson dropped his bike in Logan’s driveway and hopped in the passenger seat. “What’s the plan?”
Logan pulled onto the main roadway. “First thing, we’re going to The Dunes to pay for the cabin. Cassie called last night to make sure there was one available.”
“And it’s just for the four of us?”
“No. Kaden and Madi, and Darrius and Shayna, are also in on it. But we are the team leaders. They’re just footing half the bill.”
“Once we have the key,” Logan continued, “we’re going to pick up a kegerator, and then we’ll hit the florist.”
“Do you think they were annoyed at having only one day to fill the flower order?”
“Nah. Florists always get last minute orders. You can’t very well call ’em and tell ’em Uncle Ned is going to die in an accident next week, so you want to pre-order flowers for the casket.”
“Good point. And House of Luxe promised the tuxes would be ready by noon.”
“That’s because we’re dashing, debonair, and perfect specimens of manhood, and our tuxes didn’t need any alterations.”
“And that’s it?”
“Except for the food, but that won’t be ready until one. We’re supposed to run it back out to the cabin with the kegerator and set everything up.”
Jackson twisted in his seat to stare at Logan “We’re setting it up? Why aren’t the girls doing that?”
“Because they’re at some hair salon getting done up.”
“Figures.”
Logan pulled up in front of The Dunes office. “If you’re feeling left out, I could fluff up your hair for you.”
Jackson made a face. “And file my nails, too?”
“That would cost you extra.”
The Romantican sun hovered just above the horizon when teams of militairres, their friends, and families arrived at the Library of Illumination to continue their work on refurbishing the library gardens. Many picked up spades and shovels and got to work building flower beds and laying new pathways. A second large group used soapy water, brushes, and brooms on the exterior stone surfaces, scrubbing away the soot that clung to seams and crevices. The generosity and devotion of the workers transformed the once-charred garden into a beautiful landscape, and they swore an oath to protect Roma against any invader who might try to infiltrate their realm and harm their fellow citizens.
It was a powerful sentiment, foreshadowing a future time when their adversaries would seek dominance over the citizens who now worked shoulder-to-shoulder. And it wasn’t lost on the platoon leaders, who knew better than their fellow citizens that a serious threat remained.
Around midday, Natalia suggested the rest of the restoration be left to the citizens under the leadership of Dame Erato while the militairres returned to the compound to practice their skills. “We need our women to be better prepared, and planting flower beds isn’t the way to do it.”
“That is a perceptive observation,” Dame Erato said. “Do you also have a solution?”
“Yes. We must train to be self-sufficient. And we should do it sooner rather than later. I believe a three-day mission in the forest, in which the girls have to do everything on their own without being able to retreat to the comfort of their homes, might prove useful.”
Felicia’s eyes widened with excitement. “We would be forced to perfect our survival skills if we suddenly had to take shelter in the woods and live off the land.”
Milencia jumped into the conversation as well. “The militairres are adept in starting fires from flint and cooking on the fly, but not many of us are good at hunting and fishing for food. There are shops for that, and the people who trap game for the trades are experts at it. Most militairres barter or pay for game but have no idea how to catch it on their own. We must learn to do that.”
Arraba joined in. “I agree, and we should do it without warning. Each team of girls and her co-captain should be responsible for either capturing game for consumption or fishing for it. It’s not as easy as it looks, but the only way to learn is to try.”
“Should we have a professional trapper come in and teach us how to catch game?” Milencia asked.
“No,” Natalia replied. “Let’s see what we can accomplish on our own. Then, if we utterly fail, we’ll ask for advice. The lesson will be better learned by militairres who have actually tried and failed than by women with no frame of reference.”
“Let’s do it right now,” Felicia said.
“Tonight?” Arraba asked. “We’ll make a lot of enemies with those women who have already planned their evenings.”
“If we are attacked by invaders,” Natalia reasoned, “any previous plans anyone has made would be scattered to the winds. I agree with Felicia. We do it now.”
“But only for three days,” Arraba confirm.
Natalia grinned. “This time.”
—LOI—
27
Mal returned to Mysteriose for the reopening of the caves. There were long lines the first day, but they dwindled by the second morning. In all, one out of three Mysterians chose to withdraw all their assets from the caves. “It’s a sizable number,” Mal confided to Hue the Elder, “but it is still a minority of the population. I believe my occasional presence here is still warranted.”
The two men slowly walked toward Hue’s home for a midday meal. “I agree,” Hue answered, “and while I hate to admit it, Mysterians are not the mos
t honest of races; there will be thefts from the homes of people who have withdrawn their resources. You will be needed here to help judge the wild claims that will come in.”
“Wild?” Mal asked.
“Oh, yes. Some complaints will be valid, but others will come from people who will lie about being robbed. There will be those who have not made any withdrawals at all, but will say they did, and they’ll swear they’ve been robbed.”
The afternoon was warm and humid, and Mal removed his robe and chaperon so he could eat more comfortably. “It’s hard to believe anyone would think they could get away with that.”
“Maybe on Fantasia. Definitely on Lumina. But here on Mysteriose, prevarication is to be expected.”
Pru Tellerence sought solace in the garden behind the Library of Origination and found Horatio Blastoe contemplating its beauty under a brilliant violet sky. She sat beside him on a bench made of solid diamond. PT:★ Am I disturbing you?
HB:✠ Not at all. I was thinking about the fire on Romantica and its devastating effect on the library.
PT:★ How are the women dealing with the aftermath?
HB:✠ Natalia is, of course, heartbroken. And there’s not much I can do at this point to help them rebuild.
PT:★ Do you really think the Terrorians will attack them again?
HB:✠ None of us dares predict the future. That would be, as Malcolm Trees might say, “a slippery slope.” But there is also the escaped shapeshifter to take into consideration. We do not know what he has planned for his future, and if it should, perchance, intertwine with what Nero 51 has in mind, no library will be safe.
PT:★ Would you mind if I traveled to Romantica to see how the women are doing?
HB:✠ Not at all. I will accompany you.
