Vis was in the cockpit when the Moonsaber slipped out of hyperspace and Croish seemed to just appear before them. He’d been coping with the jumps through meditation, sitting cross-legged by Othus’ chair as they passed through hyperspace, and he only felt slightly queasy as a result. Maybe that was why Mela had been meditating this whole trip. A particular weakness of stomach might explain her long periods of silence.
He stood with his legs wobbling underneath him, leaning on the back of Othus’ chair for support, and gaped. His entire life had been spent on Utopia, and his impressions of other worlds had been filtered through what he’d watched, read, and overheard from Rashani who had travelled abroad. Now he was looking at another world in the flesh—so to speak—and he found it hard to breathe. The planet was purple in colour on the sun-facing side, while the dark edge glittered with millions of lights. He wanted to go down there, to meet the people and see the places that he’d only ever heard stories of.
“Pretty sight, isn’t it?” Othus asked, grinning. He leaned forward and pointed towards the edge of the planet. “See that bit of silver coming around the bend? That’s the Consortium. We’ll be docking with it in a couple of hours.”
With the planet glowing before him, Vis hardly cared about the station, until a new thought occurred to him. He dashed into the living quarters, keeping his feet in spite of his wooziness. Nue was already standing, as if she’d known he was coming. Their eyes met and she smiled.
“You’ve got to see this!” Vis exclaimed, leaning on the doorway for balance.
Nue turned her head. “Sikkat?”
Mela was still in her meditative position, as if she hadn’t moved for the entire journey. A deep line moved down the centre of her brow. “Go,” she said, her voice hoarse. She was definitely feeling the effects of the jump.
The two of them bolted back to the front of the cockpit, jostling each other to get a better view while giggling like children. Nue’s gasp of amazement was an uplifting sound, wiping the last of Vis’ nausea away. Making Nue happy was why he was here, of course, and he’d worried he was slacking in his duty.
Nue turned to Othus, eyes wide and beaming from ear to ear. “It’s beautiful. Can we go down there?”
“Maybe later,” said Othus, hands still working the controls. “Orders are to dock with the Consortium. If we want to go anywhere else, we’ll need Aquila approval. Security’s pretty tight right now.”
Vis didn’t like the sound of that. “But won’t they let us visit Croish once the investigation’s done?”
Othus shrugged. “Who knows? Even if you could go down there, the oxygen’s a lot thinner, so you’d have to lug around an oxygen tank.”
“We’ll manage,” Vis said, determined to let nothing ruin this moment. “They say Croish has the galaxy’s largest library—both physically and digitally. Can you imagine? I’d really like to see that.”
“Maybe you will,” Othus said, noncommittally. “Now, if you wouldn’t mind, I need the cockpit clear while I get us into orbit.”
Vis and Nue returned to the living quarters, whispering excitedly to each other. They sat together, eager to talk about what they’d just seen. “It’s unbelievable—I was never sure if I’d ever get to leave Utopia,” Vis confided. “I never thought another world could look so beautiful, like a—a marble made of diamond.”
Nue giggled, trying to cover it with her hand. “You’re so poetic sometimes, Vis. I wonder if it’s as pretty when you’ve got your feet on the ground.” She turned to her instructor, who hadn’t moved from her spot the entire time they’d been gone. “Will we get to visit the planet, Sikkat?”
Mela stirred, casting a thoughtful gaze on them. “Perhaps. It will all depend on what we find in the Consortium, and whether we can confirm Alis’ location. The Aquila conduct thorough investigations, but their reaching out to us suggests severe doubt on their end. If we find a vital clue, we may not have time to visit Croish.”
Nue bowed her head, unable to hide her disappointment. “I understand, Sikkat. If you deem it wise, I will obey.”
“What is wise in some cases is foolish in others, but thank you.” Mela tilted her head towards Vis, her lips turning down at the corners. “Since you seem so eager to see Croish yourself, I hope you will not object to my request.”
Vis smiled cautiously. “What do you mean?”
Mela clasped her hands together. “While I agreed to allow you to join our mission, I’d prefer if you were not present at our investigation. I’m sure you understand—this is the point where Nue must prove herself, on her own, and I cannot risk any interference.”
“He won’t be any trouble!” Nue objected, laying a hand on top of Vis’. “You can’t just banish him—let him watch and learn.”
“No.” Mela’s tone was more forceful than before. “I understand that you two are close, but there will soon come a time when you will not have each other to lean on. Vis, your mere presence may distract her and cause her to perform poorly. You must understand.”
Objections swarmed on the tip of his tongue, but Vis knew that she was ultimately right. “Very well. Where will you have me go? Shall I walk out the airlock?”
Mela actually cringed at that. “Please, Vis—whatever you think, I don’t hate you. I overheard you mention the library—I will get permission and have Othus take you there. Explore, have fun, and forget about the Rashani for awhile.”
The last bit was impossible, but he was sure Mela knew that. “I will go, on one condition.”
“Rather bold for a trainee to ask a Rashani for conditions,” Mela said, a faint smile undermining her stern words. “Let’s hear it.”
“If you do find this clue that leads you to Alis, I want you to promise that you won’t be in such a hurry that you leave me behind. I’m going with you, do you understand?”
Nue’s eyes went wide, and her hand tightened around his closed fist. “We would never!”
“You might not, but your Sikkat believes me a liability. I must make it clear that I think it would be a foolish mistake to abandon me when you may need all the help you can get.”
Mela met his gaze unflinchingly. “You fight well—I have been told so by both Koyla and Syla. I do think there will be fighting to be done, and I agree that it would be foolish to leave you behind. I promise.”
Vis bowed. “Thank you, Sikkat.”
* * *
The goodbyes were short ones. The Moonsaber docked in the Consortium’s scarred hangar, and Vis stepped out to catch a small glimpse of the chaos that had occurred here. The wreckage of at least two other ships had been piled to one side to allow the Moonsaber entry, their metal husks twisted and scorched. The bodies had been removed, but marked outlines and red spots on the floor remained to tell the tale. As Mela strode down the exit ramp to meet the bird-masked Aquila, Vis turned away from the site of the massacre, feeling his stomach protest. He came face-to-face with Nue, hiding just within the threshold of the ship. Her hands fidgeted nervously with her robes, and when Vis quested out to her with his mind, he discovered her anxiety was wound up tightly; present, but mostly under control.
“Are you doing all right?” he asked, walking back up the ramp to meet her.
Nue went rigid, then averted her eyes. “I’m fine.” As she spoke, Vis felt her hold on her emotions loosen.
He reached out and held her hands to stop their fidgeting. “You’re going to be amazing, Nue. You’re going to pass this test, rescue Alis, and become the greatest Rashani that ever lived.”
Nue gave a shy smile. “You’re exaggerating.”
“Well, maybe not as great as me,” he conceded. “Mela’s right, though. This place is already pretty grim—you don’t need me moping around and making things more depressing.”
“I’ve always thought you make my days much brighter,” said Nue, her smile warmer than the sun.
He gently released her hands as he turned red. “Anyone’s day is brighter than mine, but thank you.”
The sound of shoes on metal heralded Mela’s return. “It is time to part ways, I’m afraid. With any luck, we’ll have our answers in a couple of hours.”
Vis hugged Nue before stepping aside. “Good luck.”
“Promise to tell me everything about Croish when I see you again?” Nue asked.
“I’ll try and bring back a souvenir,” Vis replied. “If the library does loans, I’ll find you something interesting.”
Nue smiled one last time, then set off down the ramp. A small band of Aquila greeted her at the bottom, shaking her hand and bowing in greeting.
That left Vis alone with Mela. “Othus has his orders, and I’ve gotten permission from the Aquila government to visit their library. They’ll provide a breathing apparatus when you get there. I trust you will be on your best behaviour. Utopian we may be, but we are still human, and what happened here has made the Aquila wary of our species.”
Vis put a hand over his heart. “I promise to be the most proper little boy you’ve ever seen. In return, please keep Nue out of trouble.”
“I will,” said Mela. She remained standing there for a few moments, just long enough to make it feel awkward. Then she made it a whole lot more awkward when she stepped closer and wrapped her arms around him.
A powerful heat coursed through Vis. As much as he liked to think he was immune to Mela’s allure, having it pressed up against him like this made him feel like he was going to melt. He stood rigidly, fighting the wobble in his knees, all the while holding his breath. When she released him, he stared back in confusion.
“Whatever I may have said about your capabilities, you are still a child of Rasha, and just as precious as any other,” Mela explained. “Stay safe, Vis.”
He nodded mutely, and the Rashani went to join the crowd at the bottom of the ramp. Nue waved up at Vis, and he waved back, then shakily stepped into the ship as the ramp began to retract.
The living quarters seemed so much more spacious without the others, and he walked its circumference, wondering how he’d ever thought it cramped. He supposed it was relative; after so long sharing space with two others, his tiny broom closet of a bedroom would probably feel like a mansion. He found Othus where he always was, in the cockpit, but at least he was out of his seat this time. The pilot was doing stretches, and Vis remained quiet until he had finished and returned to his chair.
“Mela wants you to take me to that library,” he said.
Othus yawned. “Yeah, I know. Must suck, not being allowed to stick around. Are you in Mela’s bad books?”
Vis recalled the warmth of Mela’s hug and blushed anew. “I honestly don’t know. It’s more like I’m in the entire Enclave’s bad books, and she sometimes acts accordingly, but not always.”
“Still sounds harsh,” Othus observed. “What did you do to piss everyone off?”
I was born, Vis thought. “I’ve been told I can be a little abrasive. It’s not important. Are we going or not?”
Othus flipped a few switches on the dashboard, and the heart of the Moonsaber began to hum. “I can see what they’re talking about. Take a seat, buddy, and we’ll be down there in no time.”
Vis folded his legs under him and took his place beside the pilot’s seat. If Othus needed him to leave, he didn’t say so, and Vis found this spot as good as any aboard the ship. He closed his eyes and began to meditate. Even if they weren’t going into hyperspace, he found his thoughts weighing heavily, drawing him deep into his own soul. Nue would do fine; she was smart and capable, and a little shyness wasn’t going to hold her back. Yet he had doubts, and as he descended further within, he began to fear that he wanted her to fail. It was preposterous, but when he tried to picture a world where Nue was a Rashani and he was not, he felt his chest tighten and despair cloud his mind. It was wrong to think like that—un-Rashani of him—and doing so would only push him further from his goal, and further from Nue. He calmed his quivering heart and emptied his mind. In a single moment, he felt nothing, then a brilliant flash of feeling he was certain was Nue herself. He grabbed for it, but it had already faded, and he understood immediately. He couldn’t be there for her, physically or mentally, without skewing the results somehow. Given what he had been thinking moments before, his absence could only benefit her.
There was a slight shift in gravity as the Moonsaber took flight. Othus might have said something, but Vis’ ears were closed to the outside. He focused his mind to a sharp point, the way he always did when trying a Lucidil, but then he turned it to something he rarely did; he prayed. He asked Rasha, She whose Blood ran in the veins of all Rashani, to grant Nue the courage she needed to pass this test and all others she would face in the future. There was no answer, because of course there wasn’t, but maybe by thinking it, he could make it so.
* * *
When Vis woke from the quiet dreams he’d unwittingly slipped into, the ship had already landed. Othus gently shook his shoulder and he stood, blinking against the sunlight that shone through the starshield. It was a clear day, with only a handful of small, wispy clouds rolling across the wide purple sky. As he lowered his eyes, he saw skyscrapers with twin pointed peaks reaching upwards, with small flying transports buzzing between them. On a basic level, none of it was all that different from Utopia, but the knowledge that this was another world made it so much more interesting. He brought his gaze down to ground level and his breath was stolen once again. The landing pad they’d set down on was at the end of a long stone road, flanked on either side by tall, abstract sculptures. Vis followed the road with his eyes, weaving beneath the twisting monoliths to glimpse their destination. While the library was no match for the Enclave in regards to size, it was about twice the width of any other Utopian structure, its stone walls carved into an immense hexagon. Stretching from the two corners Vis could see from this angle were a pair of enclosed bridges, long glass tubes that connected the central hexagon to other, smaller buildings, which Vis guessed were additional wings of the library. He squinted and thought he saw shapes moving along the length of each bridge, but he couldn’t be sure from this distance.
“Here we are,” Othus announced, cracking his neck. “The Great Library of Croish. What do you think?”
“It’s big.” He was at a loss for any witty comments. “Are there really enough books to fill it?”
“Paper has a knack for taking up space, which is why I never bothered with the stuff,” Othus said. “I thought Rashani did the same.”
“With our sacred texts, yes,” Vis replied. “It’s said physical books are more pure than digital, but even so…” He gestured to the hexagon and stretched his arms to emphasize its size.
Othus pushed out of his chair, stretching with a deep groan. “They probably have extra copies, not to mention multiple databanks for backups. We could stand here all day guessing, but I think the best way to find out what’s in the library is to go inside the library, if you follow my logic.”
“That’s wisdom worthy of a Rashani,” Vis said, grinning. “I think I see someone coming.”
A black vehicle rolled smoothly down the road towards them. The overall shape reminded Vis of a clothes iron, carried on three wheels just barely visible beneath the rim. There was no roof, and he could see a pair of masked Aquila within, who pulled the vehicle to a stop before the Moonsaber and climbed out.
“Should we go meet them?” Vis asked.
Othus peered through the starshield, adjusting his visor on his face. “Doesn’t look like they’re going to knock on the door, so I guess we have to go. Remember, oxygen’s thin, so take a deep breath before you exit and try not to talk too much before you get a breathing device.” He fiddled with the control console, and the lights inside the ship dimmed. He started to leave, motioning Vis to follow, then paused in the doorway between the cockpit and living quarters. “One more thing.” A long pause broke up his words. “Stay behind me. You can do that, can’t you buddy?”
Vis stared at the pilot’s back, trying to read his emotions. Nothing; his mind was walled off like a fortress. That was impressive for a non-Rashani. Had his fiancée taught him that, or had it come as an unconscious form of self-defence after years of ferrying nosy warriors?
“We have permission to be here,” Vis reminded him, guessing at Othus’ implication. “The Aquila asked the Rashani to come here. They’re no threat to us.”
Othus lowered his head, and Vis caught a flash of indecision through a crack in the mental wall. “You’re right, but I’m not Rashani. Neither are you, as far as they know. Just stick behind me, will you?”
The big man’s tone was just enough to rattle Vis, and he nodded in agreement. Othus led the march out of the ship, with Vis trailing behind. As the ramp slid down and exposed them to the Croishan air, Vis immediately felt his lungs tighten. He could breathe, but his body was telling him it wasn’t enough. He shut his mouth tight, trying to regulate how much air escaped with every breath.
The two Aquila waited patiently by their vehicle. One was dressed in a turquoise suit with a high collar and wide, sagging sleeves, and the usual beaked mask. The other was a giant of the species, at least six feet tall, and sheathed in what looked like some form of black riot-gear. This second individual had substituted the mask with a domed helmet with a thin strip of a visor to see through. Vis nearly choked out the last of his air when he saw the rifle clutched in the large Aquila’s gloved hands. It was just a precaution, Vis assured himself; they wouldn’t just shoot them for no reason.
The Aquila in the suit waved his hands in greeting, scuttling towards them. Othus moved to step between him and Vis, but the Aquila met the large man’s eye and pressed something into his hand. As Othus glanced down at what he’d been given, the Aquila deftly stepped around him and approached Vis.
“Greetings, guest from Utopia!” the Aquila reached out and clasped Vis’ hand faster than he could react, squeezing it tightly between his own gloved fingers. “It is an honour to have you here at our Great Library.”
Vis felt something pressed into his hand, and withdrew from the greeting to find a piece of plastic sitting in his palm. It was sort of a cone shape, with a pair of holes near the tip. He turned it over to discover it was hollow and filled with some kind of machinery. He looked to the Aquila for an explanation, but then it clicked. It was the beak to one of their bird masks; the breathing apparatus. He quickly fit it over his nose, feeling only a mild discomfort from sticking a pair of small tubes in his nostrils. The sudden burst of air that filled his lungs more than made up for that, and he breathed in greedily.
“That should help with your breathing. It’s been adjusted to draw in more oxygen,” explained the Aquila. “As I said before—greetings, dear guests. I am Mar Wolis, head administrator of the Great Library. I welcome you, and invite you to ride with us. You are free to visit any portion of our archives you wish, and I would be happy to give a tour.”
Vis bowed, remembering Mela’s request to be on his best behaviour. “Thank you, Mar Wolis. I am Vis Unclaimed, and this is our honoured pilot, Donald Othus.” The beak made his voice nasally and unfamiliar, but Wolis seemed to understand.
Othus was still fiddling with his beak, but gave a curt nod at the sound of his name. “Nice to be here,” he said, his words punctuated by an abrupt sucking noise as he got the beak in place. “Who’s the big guy?”
The gun-toting giant, still as the statues on the road behind him, shifted his grip on the rifle and turned his head to stare down at Othus. He didn’t make a sound, but there was a sort of unspoken threat from those small movements; don’t try anything and you won’t need to worry about me.
“That’s just security,” Wolis answered. “There’s no real danger, I assure you, but there are many who aren’t happy having humans on Croish after the Consortium incident, regardless of nationality. Our friend here is to make sure none of those individuals cause you trouble.”
And to make sure we don’t cause any trouble as well, Vis thought. That was probably what the giant had been told. It didn’t really matter, because Vis had no intention of being a nuisance to these people.
Vis and Othus sat in the back of the vehicle, while Wolis took the wheel. Appropriately, the guard rode shotgun, his head tilted so that he could watch them out of the corner of his visor without explicitly appearing to. Vis gave him a wide smile and waved, but the giant didn’t so much as twitch. He heard a low purring sound, and then they were suddenly moving. The vehicle turned back down the road it had come without a single bump, and it moved so smoothly that Vis would have thought they were still stationary if it wasn’t for the wind in his hair and the scenery speeding by.
“I wish the Moonsaber moved this smoothly,” Othus grunted, resting a hand against the side of the vehicle. He seemed more relaxed than before, although Vis was certain the pilot’s eyes wandered to the guard frequently beneath his own visor.
A minute into the ride, Wolis began to speak. “The library is divided into seven buildings, each dedicated to a specific subject. The main building is both a hub for our sprawling database, and where we keep our historical texts—spanning from transcripts of early cave paintings on Aq to last year’s election results from every planet in the Alliance. The northwest wing, standing there to your left, is where we keep our traditional art and literature, and opposite that is our artifacts gallery—our own little museum. We also have three wings dedicated to the sciences, and another containing works borrowed from outside the Alliance. Who knows—maybe we have one of your Rashani texts somewhere in our database!”
Vis couldn’t contain a slight chuckle. “Doubtful. The Enclave keeps its holy texts close at hand. You can’t even take most of those books off the premises. So, how many books do you have in total?”
“About twice as many as there are people in the Alliance, I’d guess,” Wolis answered with a shrug. “It’d be quite the intimidating task to actually try tallying them all up. Let’s say a hundred trillion.”
Othus whistled, while Vis scratched his head over the Aquila’s math. That sounded off, somehow, but he didn’t have the data to refute the statement.
Wolis tittered. “That’s an estimate, mind you. There’s certainly more than any one person could read in a lifetime. Trust me—I’ve been working here for sixty years and haven’t gotten through a tenth of it.”
“That must make organizing it all a real chore,” Vis observed.
A muffled groan pushed through Wolis’ mask. “Please, for the sake of our collective sanity, don’t ask. Our current system mostly works, and that’s all I’ll say. If you input a name into our directory, you will find it—eventually. I suppose it’s possible that something might have slipped through the cracks, but we keep enough backups that there should always be a copy of a text available, either physically or digitally.”
A pothole in the road ahead zipped towards them; the vehicle passed over it without so much as a shake. The statues around them began to take on more discernible shapes as they approached the library, shifting from unlikely geometric objects into figures robed in strange fashions. No matter what they were wearing, from combat armour to long gowns, they all had masks, or no faces at all; the latter were just blank ovals, sometimes with a pair of indentations to suggest eyes. Vis turned to Wolis and the guard, whose faces were likewise hidden.
“Why do you wear masks?” he asked. “You don’t need them to breathe, do you? Not here.”
Wolis nodded, still watching the road as he spoke. “We do not, but the masks are a part of our culture. Please do not be offended, but it is considered improper to show one’s face to outsiders.”
“By outsiders, you mean non-Aquila?” Vis asked.
“Oh no, not just them,” Wolis replied. “Generally speaking, we conceal our faces at all times when in public. Only family and close friends know who we are underneath. It’s a hold-over from our primitive tribal days, I’m afraid. A provincialism that today extends to each planet of the Alliance. To go unmasked amongst strangers was once considered a sign of weakness—now it’s just tradition to wear them.”
“And the statues?”
“Another superstition,” said Wolis, shrugging his shoulders as if he himself was not a part of it. “These statues are of heroes, both real and legend, all long dead. It is disrespectful to depict the faces of those who are no longer with us, so statues are carved masked or faceless, to preserve the deceased’s integrity. This must seem strange to you.”
It was, but Vis knew so little of the galaxy outside Utopia; these sorts of quirks might be commonplace, and he wouldn’t have known. He shook his head, then leaned back in his seat and peered up at the bright purple sky. Where was the Consortium right now? Somewhere up there, above the atmosphere, Nue would be proving her worth as a Rashani by seeking answers that might jumpstart or halt an interstellar war. It was unfair to put such a heavy duty on her shoulders, and Vis wished he could be there. He closed his eyes and reached out with his mind. He expected no answer; the space station was far, far out of reach of any Rashani’s abilities, but then he felt a slight tingle at the back of his head that made him jump.
Othus looked over at him, eyebrow raised. “You OK?”
“Uh, yeah.” Vis blinked a few times, clearing his head. He must have dozed off and dreamt that sensation, the feeling that he’d found Nue. He settled in his seat and smiled at his own silliness.
The vehicle slowed to a stop before the entrance to the library just as smoothly as the rest of the drive. The giant stood first, stepping out of the vehicle and holding the door for the rest of them, more like a valet than a guard. Wolis even handed him the keys as he disembarked, giving his companion instructions to park the vehicle elsewhere. The guard stared at Vis and Othus, but Wolis gave him a pat on the shoulder and mumbled some assurances. The giant seemed appeased by that, and climbed back into the vehicle.
“I really don’t think there’s any harm in you two,” Wolis explained as the giant drove out of sight behind the hexagonal structure. “Now come along. I’d like to take you through as much of the library as I can before you go.”
They followed Wolis under a large ornate stone arch carved above the entrance, passing through a pair of glass doors that were mundane in comparison. The lobby was wide and open, with a hexagonal hole in the centre that allowed Vis to see three floors above and below when he leaned against the railing. The walls were lined with computer consoles, directories to guide visitors through a sea of information. A black cylindrical tower stood in the centre of the hole and stretched up to the higher floors, its surface decorated with screens displaying flickering information in a multitude of languages.
Wolis came up beside Vis, hands clasped together. “This is the part everyone talks about when they visit—with the computers, most don’t need to go any further to find what they’re looking for. I think some of them are afraid they’ll get lost. Fortunately for you, I’m an excellent library spelunker. Follow me and I’ll show you the really interesting stuff.”
* * *
The tour lasted a couple of hours, carrying them through each building of the Great Library. Being head administrator, Wolis was able to take them places few visitors ever saw, but in his rush to show them everything, they only scratched the surface of most wings. There was interesting stuff here, but Vis caught only brief glimpses of it before being hurried off to the next place. As they reached the end of the tour, Vis began to grow weary of the Aquila, and continuously checked his personal computer for Mela’s call telling him to come back. But it didn’t come, and Vis had to make the full circle of the library with a dead-silent Othus at his side. The tour ended where it had started, back in the lobby with the screen-totem. Wolis clearly had much more to say, but his hands were clasped with visible restraint as he wrapped things up.
“Thank you for coming,” he said for the third time that day. “It’s always a pleasure to introduce people to the Library, but I imagine you’d like to do some exploring yourselves. If you have any questions, my office is on the second floor.” He shook both of their hands enthusiastically. “I pray you have a good day.”
Vis leaned against the railing around the central hole once Wolis had departed. “That was…”
“Tiring,” Othus finished for him, removing his visor and rubbing his eyes. “That guy could talk. I couldn’t understand what he was saying half the time.”
Vis nodded. “I think he slipped into Aquilan at some point, but I can’t be sure. So, what do we do now?”
Othus checked his phone. “Nothing from Mela yet. Guess we’ve got some time to kill. I spotted a cafeteria across the lobby—want to grab something to eat?”
“I think I’ll pass.” Worrying over Nue had left Vis’ stomach in a jumbled state. “You get something. So whatever you want. I’m going to have another look around.”
“Really? You’ve obviously got more patience than me,” Othus said. “All right—the Aquila don’t seem as hostile as I thought they would, so you go ahead. Meet me here when Mela calls.”
“Deal,” said Vis, detaching from the railing.
“And don’t cause any trouble!” Othus added.
“I’ll try not to,” Vis replied.
They went their separate ways, and Vis paid a visit to the washroom, which was not too different from a human facility. As he cleaned his hands, he thought over what he might do in the potentially small amount of time he had. He was already standing in the history wing; he could pick a date and start reading, or look up the great wars and events that defined the Alliance’s past. Or he could visit the wing dedicated to nature and biology, maybe crack open a medical text and see what was hiding under those masks. But he sensed that those things would be alien to him, that he lacked the context of being Aquila to really understand what he might read. That was assuming he could he could even read them in the first place; Utopia, once a simple human colony, spoke the Kinship tongue, and the Aquila no doubt wrote in their native language. He might fire up the directory only to find most of the library blocked off to him by a simple language barrier.
He left the washroom and looked up to the level above him. A pair of Aquila, possibly female if the brighter clothing was an indication, peered back down at him. One leaned over to the other, whispering something, and the other burst into distinctly feminine laughter. Vis looked away; were they talking about him? He waited a moment before looking back, but by then they were gone.
What did the Aquila think about the rest of the galaxy? The Kinship, the Empire, the Rashani; what did all that mean to them? Based on that short encounter, Vis couldn’t tell if they’d been admiring or mocking him. Maybe there was a way to find out, though, if he just looked at which non-Aquilan books they read.
Wolis’ tour had hardly touched on the Foreign wing of the library; he had assured Vis that he wouldn’t have been interested in the writing of cultures he already knew, but now it could be the first step in penetrating the barrier of understanding between human and Aquila. He dashed back to that wing, crossing the glass tube-bridge two steps at a time. He needed to hurry; Mela might call him and Othus back at any moment, and he wanted all the time he could for his little research project. It might help take his mind off what was going on aboard the Consortium, at least.
The Foreign wing was located in the southernmost structure, which meekly crouched behind the main building. The inside was much dimmer than the other wings, and he’d seen some very untidy shelves during the brief glimpse Wolis had given him of the stacks. The head administrator had apologized for that, explaining that it was difficult to find enough staff fluent in non-Aquilan languages to organize everything properly. Vis thought he was being genuine about that, but he also suspected most of the library’s funding went to preserving Aquilan culture, with the Foreign wing getting whatever was left over.
The smaller lobby was deserted, except for a clerk who seemed more interested in his personal computer than greeting visitors. The solitude suited Vis just fine, and he likewise paid the clerk no mind as he strode over to the computer built into one wall. By the grace of Rasha, there was a Kinship language option, which made his quest much less of a chore.
Where to start? The great works of literature; ones that had spread across the Kinship, and maybe even into the Alliance. He tried the first ones that came to mind—the early human spacefaring diaries, the infamous Dwin tragedies, even the old Phal war-poems. Searches turned up only about half of what he put in, but it seemed enough to give a general understanding of the cultures of the Kinship.
Perhaps he should try closer to home, then. He recalled Wolis’ bragging from earlier, and put his hypothesis to the test by searching a few Rashani holy books: Rasha’s Will, Oath of the Sisterhood, The Writings of Kris. The database struggled valiantly to give him results, but none of them had been penned by Rashani. He felt both smug and relieved knowing that those sacred texts were not being passed around the galaxy without the Sisterhood knowing. The inner workings of the Enclave were the Rashani’s business alone and were shared at their discretion.
There was one exception, though. One text, more of a notice really, that had been distributed widely across Utopia and to all the Enclave’s major clients. It concerned a certain rogue Rashani and her questionable take on their ethics. There was next to no actual information in the message, just a name and a general warning, but someone had evidently thought it remarkable enough to warrant archiving.
Vis scratched his chin at this, then typed ‘Lindi, Zira’. The loading icon, two curved lines that moved to resemble a distant flapping bird, occupied the screen for what felt like an eternity, giving him ample time to feel anxious. Why was he looking for this? He had no concrete reason, just a vague suspicion born from that single meeting with Zira years ago. The results finally flashed on screen, and there it was: A Condemnation of Zira, Daughter of Lindi. This was a more in-depth explanation of what had been in the flyer, denouncing Zira as a liar and a heretic that sought to mislead clients. Some of it was probably nonsense; he recalled hearing at the time that Zira had wanted to avoid the traditional Rashani clients, believing them to be part of whatever problem she’d seen the Sisterhood to be having. Vis had no real interest in reading it, as its contents had been drilled into the heads of every trainee at the time, and just knowing it was there was enough to sate his curiosity.
His eyes wandered down the screen to see what unrelated subjects his search terms had turned up. The entries were ordered by how often they’d been looked at, which seemed unhelpful for research purposes, and the piddling low numbers told Vis he’d wandered into a relatively untouched part of the database. It was sort of fun, delving so deep into the labyrinth of knowledge. The last entry on the list almost passed without notice, and his hand was moving to type in a new search term when his brain caught up to his eyes and he looked again: Rashani Reborn, by Zira, Daughter of Lindi.
A shiver of apprehension ran through his body. This was impossible; the Council had purged all traces of Zira’s writing when she’d left Utopia. It had to be a mistake, an error in the system, a mislabelling. But what if it wasn’t? Vis swallowed, then opened the page to read the book information, cautiously curious to know where it might be on the shelves.
To his mortification, the page that opened on the screen was the title page of the text itself. It was a digital document, of course. A physical book wouldn’t have survived, not with the Rashani’s thorough methods in eliminating heresy, but digital copies were harder to wipe out, and could be distributed across networks, even to other planets.
It could still be a fake. Vis considered this very carefully, arguing with himself as to whether he should take a closer look. Knowingly reading a heretical work could be considered a heresy in itself, and might be the final straw that would destroy his dreams of becoming a Rashani. Then again, was ignoring the possibility of heresy any better? Didn’t he have a duty to investigate? He could take a quick peek, just to be sure. He flipped to the next page:
To Sharu, a constant source of inspiration.
Vis searched his memory for the name. Sharu might have been one of the Rashani who had left with Zira, but he couldn’t be sure. It wasn’t enough evidence to prove the authenticity of the document, so he moved on to the next page:
Like many Utopia girls, I have loved the Rashani my whole life. They are the ideal human being made flesh; wise, powerful, and most of all, heroic. Before I began my training, I spent many late hours talking excitedly with my bunk-mates about the kind of Rashani we would become, painting the romances of our future. When I ventured from the Enclave, the ungifted girls would crowd around me, asking questions when they weren’t worshipping the ground I walked on. Being a noble Rashani was always my dream, and even now, having earned my Lucidil years ago, I still wouldn’t trade the honour for anything. I still love the Rashani, and that is why it hurts me to see our Sisterhood stagnating, bit by bit.
Vis snapped his eyes shut tight. This was it; he’d never read a single word of Rashani Reborn before, but this had to be it. The heresy had survived, tucked away out of sight in the library data banks, perhaps brought here by Zira herself after her banishment. Did the staff know about this, or had it slipped through the cracks as Wolis had said sometimes happened? This might be the last copy in existence.
His hands were sweaty. This was not a situation he’d ever expected himself to be in. As a responsible trainee, he should destroy the document or report it to the Council to deal with. Yes, the latter was wiser; let the Council file a complaint and demand the offending document be erased. That would solve the issue without causing too much trouble. Wolis probably wouldn’t even miss it, if he’d known it was there at all.
But Vis hesitated, his head echoing with that first paragraph, read in the same kind voice with which Zira had spoken to him. What was it that she had thought was stagnating, and what solution had she proposed that had gotten her exiled? Couldn’t he at least find out that much? After all, it would be wise to know her heresy, so that he could understand why she’d been wrong. That seemed reasonable.
He glanced over his shoulder and saw that the clerk was still checking his phone. The Aquila probably knew little about Rashani Reborn, and likely cared about it even less, but Vis still worried he might be found out somehow. He closed the document, returning the directory to its homepage, and walked further into the building.
The bookshelves stood in neat rows, displaying all the books that were still in good enough condition for visitors to read. There were frequent signs, warning him in dozens of languages to be careful when handling the delicate paper. Vis skimmed the titles as he walked, even recognizing a few. He looked behind him to check on the clerk, but a wide shelf blocked his view. He spotted another directory console, perched on a table in a small alcove—probably a study area for students—and took a seat.
Lindi, Zira; the same results appeared on screen. Vis’ eyes darted across the empty space around him before he opened the document once more. He considered picking up from where he’d left off, but he had to remind himself that he was not supposed to be reading it in-depth. He skimmed a few pages ahead, looking for anything that stood out. He found it near the end of the first chapter.
I once asked a councilwoman—who shall remain nameless out of the respect I have for her—whether we would ever offer our services to the Bythos Empire if asked. She said yes. I was both surprised, and unsurprised; the cynicism building in my heart had told me she’d say this, but I had hoped—desperately hoped—that she would prove me wrong. I asked if she was sure, if money would allow her to overlook the Empire’s crimes against everything the Rashani stood for. They keep slaves, I reminded her. They were ruthless in their conquests, needlessly killing thousands in the process of seizing territory and subjugating other civilizations. And, of course, I mentioned the pirates, many of whom were Empire soldiers flying no flags, which is considered a war crime by both the Kinship and Alliance. Many Rashani were killed by those Imperials, and I asked if our honour would allow us to ignore the blood of our Sisters on their hands. She said yes, and then quoted Rasha’s Will, saying that to deny the Empire our services would be a corruption of our neutrality.
I didn’t know what to say. I excused myself as politely as I could, even as I felt an emptiness yawning wide in my stomach. I realized then what the problem was: our sacred texts are meant to guide us, but too many Rashani simply use them in place of thinking for themselves. The Empire is not evil, but the tyrants who rule it might be, and any Rashani who would serve them because the holy books say they must is blind to the very ideals the Enclave was founded on. I can say, without hesitation, that I would rather die than serve the Empire.
Vis yanked his eyes away, not wanting to pollute his mind further. He’d meant to read only a few sentences, but somehow he’d gone through two paragraphs. This was exactly what he and the other trainees had been warned about, the seductiveness of a heretic’s words; that through the simple act of reading he began to actually consider what she was saying.
Our relationship with Utopia is a special one, a bond forged of mutual respect. Were it not for the Rashani, Utopia would be just another Kinship world, though it does to some degree share the same morality and culture. But because the Enclave is neutral, Utopia is neutral. What the Rashani Council decides for itself is often parroted by the Utopian parliament. The two societies are tightly woven together, and that is what makes our world unique, but I do not think it is a good thing that the whims of only a few may change the wills of the many. Kris fought against tyranny, believing that the Rashani should offer guidance instead of commands, but I fear the current state of affairs may be a corruption of what she wished.
Vis’ heart hammered in his ears, muffling the quiet sounds of the library around him. He could not deny that this was heresy. But he questioned Syla often, sometimes even Koyla, a master Rashani; wasn’t what Zira was saying more of the same? Still, he did not understand what her crime had been. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, in and out, clearing his mind.
He brought out the small personal computer where he stored his books and linked a cable between it and the console. He was no expert hacker, but a life of breaking the little rules had taught him a couple of things. The computer security in this wing was lax, designed more to keep out intrusive viruses than stop things from being copied. Trying to remove a physical book probably would have ended in miserable failure, but downloading a file no one knew about was a cinch. It was barely three hundred pages, and the transfer was complete in under a minute. He closed the directory and tucked his computer back in his pocket.
The clerk lifted his head as Vis walked back towards the exit. Did he know? Could he see the beads of sweat on Vis’ brow, the shaking of his hands? Vis stared into the dark eye lenses, trying to read the soul within. He sensed apathy, not even a hint of curiosity towards the alien before him.
The clerk gave a small, mechanical wave. “Have a nice day.”
Vis nodded, trying not to scream, and carried on. Once he’d gone through the door and stood on the bridge, he stopped to breathe. What had he just done? He opened the file he’d downloaded, and felt his stomach clench; the entire heresy, sitting in the palm of his hand. Why? If he was caught with this, there would be no end to his troubles. Where had the desire to do this come from?
Deep down, he knew, of course. It was curiosity, and the desire to know more about the entrancing woman he’d met years before. If she was his mother, as he hoped, then he had a right to read this. It was practically his birthright. But he knew the danger, so he would read as much as his courage allowed, and then he’d wipe every trace of it.
The computer beeped, nearly startling Vis into dropping it. It was a message from Mela; the test was over. He’d been so excited by his miraculous find that he’d almost forgotten about Nue. Almost. The message was simply a call to return to the Consortium, with no mention of the investigation or how Nue had done. Vis put the computer away and went to go find Othus. He was anxious for Nue, and glad to have something to take his mind off what he’d just done.