Chapter 83: The Shadow Library - Year One (Part 2) (Patreon)

[Day 210. Rendering compiled data.]

We anticipate it will take five to six months before we can develop a solution to eliminate the pain and mental stress caused by the Living Prototype.

The Operator examined her reflection in the bathroom mirror, saying, “Look at these bags under my eyes. Even with this improved skin I’ve developed, you can still see them.”

You tend to ignore me whenever I bring up the progress of the nanobots and the solution to your mental exhaustion.

“Because I know where you’re going with this, Tera; you want me to rest again.”

I'm asking you. Please. Time is frozen here. There's no reason to keep running tests at the expense of your health.

“Operator.” Napoleon’s voice was louder than usual.

"Aaah!" The Operator jumped, startled.

Looks like he’s learned to move more quietly on those metal legs.

"Something's wrong with Catherine. I was with her while she was reading, and then she said she didn't feel well, and something started coming out of her body."

“Hurry, take me to her." The Operator got dressed as fast as she could, and Napoleon took off, up the stairs toward the floor where the girl was. She ran after him.

As she ran, the library unfolded in sections representing everything Catherine had claimed as her own: bookstands organized by genre, by the languages she had deciphered, and by the names of the worlds she had traced back to, thanks to the language keys Mordran left behind. All of it was sketched on paper in a small child’s handwriting, covering only a corner of the library, a fraction of what she had figured out, yet already a considerable amount.

Along the way, patches of a clear, viscous substance began appearing on the floor, and there were more of them the closer she got. Catherine lay on the library floor in a corner. Books were scattered around her and pushed well back, probably by Catherine herself, so the substance oozing from her body wouldn’t ruin them. The substance was white with a clear tint, seeping from her pores and building a thick layer that had covered most of her but hadn’t reached her head yet.

The Operator knelt beside her, voice trembling with fear. “Cat, let me take this off. Everything will be okay.” She pressed her hand into the slime to tear it away, but it didn’t tear.

“Damn it. This isn’t as soft as it looks. Whatever this stuff is, it’s hardening.” She pulled her hand back, and where she’d reached in, the viscous substance had already stopped looking soft and had hardened. She grabbed another part of it, and it did the same thing, setting the second she touched it and giving her nothing to pull. There was no way to get it off. It was closing the girl in, and there was nothing her hands could do about it.

"I'm really sleepy, Operator. What's happening to me?" The slime crept up over her head, bit by bit.

She’s a Kanryx Operator. This appears to be part of her physiology.

“How long have you been feeling this way?”

“A few days ago, I started feeling tired and noticed this. But I didn’t want to be a bother. I knew you were busy with the formulas. I’m sorry.” The words came out weak and slow.

“It’s okay. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you.” The slime was now over her chin, climbing her face. “I’m going to take care of you. I’m not moving from this spot, I swear.”

Catherine’s mouth moved, trying to shape a few more words, but the viscous stuff was over it by then, and whatever she said never made it out. The layer sealed over her eyes last, and then the whole of her was gone beneath it, a single solid cocoon where a girl had been a moment before. It hardened, and it went still. The Operator knelt there with both hands flat against it.

[Activating Bio Reading.]

Red threads sprouted from her fingers and plunged into the cocoon. Her breathing came fast, and her free hand pressed all over the surface as if she could find a way in. “Tera, analyze this material. HURRY.” She shouted it.

End of entry.

[Day 280. Rendering compiled data.]

“Okay, here’s my idea. I have Technological Sense, which allows me to focus solely on energy sources,” the Operator explained while writing on a board in front of her, as she described it to Tera. She was deep inside the library, with the cocoon holding Catherine right beside her. “Anything around me that doesn’t have electrical energy doesn’t appear in my vision. If I keep it active when we surface, I might avoid seeing whatever is up there. What do you think?”

And what if the thing killing everyone up there uses electrical energy?

“I realize it’s risky, but I can’t think of any other option, and I won’t let the mutation evolution slip away just because I haven’t completed the mission. I know what I’m about to say may not seem very logical or scientific, but deep down, maybe subconsciously, I believe that whatever arrived in this world because of me isn’t electronic and doesn’t rely on a power source.”

Let’s say that works, but you’re the only one with that ability. What about the others?

“I was getting to that. Tera, I need some positive energy here, for God’s sake. I know you’re a sarcastic pain, and I say that with love. You’re probably programmed to expect the worst. But it’s all a gamble, and I’m betting it works.” The Operator raised her hand and opened it. “Napoleon, come.”

He jumped off the floor and landed in the Operator’s hand. “Napoleon is the solution.”

“The solution to what, Operator?” he asked, head tilted.

“To keep whatever’s up there from killing us. So my plan is for you to be our eyes.”

But you said you weren't going to risk Napoleon seeing what's up there.

“And I still think that. But I’ve got a theory, a possible way to install Technological Sense into Napoleon’s eyes. I was planning to use the equipment I brought into this place to build glasses with that system for three people, but I don’t have the equipment I’d need for that.” She lifted Napoleon into the air with both hands. “So, in theory, you’d have a form of Technological Sense, and the glasses would show the others what you see.”

You seem quite confident. Does that mean you already know how to do it?

“I have no fucking idea how to do it, but I’ve got a few theories. Besides, I listened to you. I’m not running any more formulas on the Living Prototype until you find a solution. If I don’t do something else, I’m going to lose my mind. What do you think?” The Operator set Napoleon back on the floor.

I think everything you’ve ever done has been risky, and you’re still alive. But let me think about options for a plan B, in case this idea of yours doesn’t work.

“That’s my Tera. Thank you. I always knew I could count on you to go along with my stupid ideas.”

The Operator dropped to the floor and rested her head against the cocoon. “How long do you think it will be before she comes out of there?”

That's the wrong question. Ask what's going to come out of there.

“She’s still going to be Catherine. I’m sure of it.” The Operator leaned her head closer to the cocoon, trying to look inside. “The transparency’s gone. I can’t see what’s in there anymore.” She stayed there for a moment, her head against the cocoon. “Don’t worry, I’ll be right here, except when I’m hungry or going to the bathroom.” The Operator patted the cocoon a few times.

OPERATOR.

“Why’d you raise your voice? Please be careful. We share the same head. Jesus.” 

A few seconds passed, and Tera didn't answer.

"Tera, talk to me. You know I hate it when you go quiet and leave me hanging."

Sorry. I was finishing some analysis. I've been running a deeper study on the cocoon material.

“Yeah, you already told me there’s no risk to Catherine.”

Actually, I believe I have identified the compound in the cocoon that can help strengthen your skeletal system.

End of entry.

[Day 285. Rendering compiled data.]

The Operator was already at the table, watching the spot where the plate would appear. “Any second now.” She kept watching. “Three, two…”

Black smoke curled up from the table, and a plate sat there. “Like clockwork.”

Right on time, every time. This whole place keeps better time than a clock.

“Better than a clock. Shame it’s a coin flip whether the food’s any good.” She leaned in and looked it over. “And today the coin landed wrong. Gray meat, sauce the color of dishwater, and something green I’m choosing not to think about.” She cut off a piece, ate it, and her face contorted. “Yeah, that’s a no.”

The fork went down, and she looked at the plate. “Catherine would’ve eaten this, though. That kid ate anything you put in front of her and never once complained.”

One of the bad ones? You're usually luckier than this.

"Most days it's actually good, that's the thing. Then every once in a while the wheel lands on this." She pushed the plate away. "He must've eaten like a horse, though."

Five plates a day. The man liked to eat, and never the same plate twice.

“You ever stop and think about the pension that son of a bitch left me? A whole house. Food for life, even when it’s this. A library upstairs with every book from every world he ever touched. Quiet, a roof, nobody trying to kill me for once.”

Careful. That almost sounded like you're happy.

“Don’t push it.” She turned the fork over in her fingers, and her voice dropped. “And I went and adopted a kid on top of it.”

You did.

“I shouldn’t have become this attached, Tera. That’s the honest truth.” She turned the fork in her hand. “I see a kid who needs help, and I can’t walk away. Now, I feel responsible for her.”

Do you want the sarcastic answer or the real one?

"Surprise me."

Real one. Somewhere in that life you can't remember, I think you had a soft spot for kids who can't protect themselves. Some part of you never forgot it.

“…Yeah. That’s what scares me.” She sat with it for a second, then shook her head. “Some weakness I dragged all the way here from a life I don’t even remember. Great.”

Could be worse. Could be a soft spot for the winged ones.

“God, don’t even.” She pushed back from the table and looked at the plate once more. “I’ll wait for the next one. Third of five today, and there’s no way it’s worse than this.”

Napoleon rested on the bed, lights down low, still as could be.

End of entry.

[Day 354. Rendering compiled data.]

Marker covered both the floor and the walls with scribbles, visor designs, formulas, and theories, cluttering every surface for the Operator’s project. She sat at the center, surrounded by electronic parts, cables, and chips, soldering one and testing its function. She had brought desks, tables, and stacks of paper next to Catherine’s cocoon, establishing her workspace.

The nanobots did it, Operator. They’re one hundred percent certain they found the chemical process to get around the problem when you use Living Prototype.

The Operator pulled the goggles off her face. "About damn time. Let's test it."

[Activating Living Prototype.]

The small clone appeared in front of the Operator, staring at her. The Operator took a deep breath, held it for a second, then set it on the desk. “After all these months without it, I almost forgot what this is like. I’m pretty sure this whole thing left me with some kind of trauma.”

Probably. We’ll deal with it later, as always.

“Yeah, later,” she said as she rolled her shoulders and shook out her hands. “Once the nanobots deliver the chemical, start the mutation process on the prototype. Use the formula that fucked my mind the most.”

Are you sure about that one?

“What do you mean, am I sure? You just said it’s a hundred percent. That tone of doubt isn’t helpful.”

I only bring it up because you're going to have to watch yourself turn into that thing.

"Just do it. Let's get this over with."

Fine. It’s going to go well. Applying the dose. And for the record, no drunk effect this time, no crazy laughing. 

A moment passed. Dose applied.

"...I didn't feel anything."

That means it's working.

The Operator held the clone in her palm, and the compound began moving through it. She set it on the floor.

Quick, Operator. Disassembly Field.

The Living Prototype began to change. She grabbed it by the hair, lifted it, and dropped it into the Disassembly Field hovering before her. The skin split first, straight down the spine, and tentacles shoved out through the openings in long, wet ropes. The head sagged and tore loose at the neck, dropping into the field, and where it had been the flesh kept swelling until there was nothing but a bloated ball of meat, worms working under the surface and breaking through it. A mouth opened across the front, wide and crowded with fangs, and a thin red fluid ran out of the base and hung in the air of the field.

The Operator watched the whole thing. She didn’t flinch or cry, her hands steady at her sides. “This is the one. The worst one. The one that used to mess me up so bad. And I don’t feel a thing. No pain. Nothing.”

She stayed still for one more second, staring at the thing that broke her the worst, feeling nothing. “Those beautiful nanobots did it.” She shot up from the chair, laughing, jumping around with her arms raised, while the creature turned its fanged head and watched her from inside the field.

I’m happy for you, Operator. Thank you for stopping the tests when I asked. With this, we may need four or five years of testing, according to my calculations.

“Yeah, but now it’s pain-free. Nothing messing with my head.” She was still grinning. “Let’s get to work, Tera. We’ve got a lot of tests to run.”

End of entry.