his?”
Harlan switched seats so that he could
face her directly. “I’m just as dismayed as you are,” he said. “But I believe that Counsellor Strømberg is acting in our best interests. He and I have agreed… ” (and here he chose his words carefully, covering his thoughts about Project 42) “…to liaise closely with Mr Henry about David’s progress. Hopefully, he won’t be away from us for long. I’ll commingle with him tomorrow and make him understand that this really is just an adventure. Something we’ve all done once. And… I thought we might arrange a treat for his return.”
Eliza looked up. She read in herhusband’s face what was clear in his
mind. “A child? You think it’s the right
time for us to apply for another?”
“Yes, I do,” Harlan said. “The girl we’ve always wanted. A sister for David.”
“Penelope,” Eliza said, brightening up.
Harlan Merriman took his wife’s hand in his and kissed it. “Penny,” he said. “I like ‘Penny’.”
5
The next day, November 4, 031, Harlanand Eliza took a taxicar back to the
therapy centre to pick up David. The three were then whisked away on a journey that was going to change all their lives. The only address Harlan gave was ‘the Bushley librarium’. He knew of no other and the taxicar did not require further clarification.
Eliza remained silent throughout thejourney, leaving Harlan to entertain David. The boy was on his feet for mostof the way, imagineering an escort forthem. He described to his father what he
could see through the shell of the taxicar: a small fleet of golden-coloured rocket
vehicles guiding them to their glorious destination. Harlan joined in the game, extending his fain to construct pilots for the vehicles – square-chinned men in astro:nautic uniforms who saluted David as they flew past, all of them wearing
The Crescent Way
badge.
Pity, then, Eliza thought, that their journey’s end did not match up to its stately approach. When she stepped out of the taxicar she shuddered. They were in a wilderness. A calm and pleasant wilderness of green fields speckled with white and yellow daisies that swung back and forth on the gentlest of breezes (all maintained, she imagined, on low-level diligence from the Higher). No pods or other buildings on any horizon. Just fields and sky and flowers and clouds.
And the librarium.
It rose out of the flowers like a greatgrey monolith. A single tall building withan uncountable number of floors. The
upper floors were lost in wisps of cloud and the whole structure seemed to be bending backwards as though it had reached a critical mass and was ready to topple over at any moment. Fine red sand (or something like it) was raining down from the joints in the brickwork and being taken away in skirts on the breeze. At ground level there was just one door. It was made of wood (unusually) and was twice Harlan’s height. It was already halfway open, despite the fact that a small sign badly attached to the door frame invited visitors to R NG THE BE L.
Harlan moved forward to do just that and
stepped on something that had spilled out of the doorway. It was a large format book. He reached down and picked it up. It must have been thirty spins since he’d seen one. He smoothed a film of the red
sand off the glossy cover and handed it to
Eliza.
“The Art of Baking Cakes,” she read.
Harlan shrugged. “Welcome to the librarium.”
Eliza opened the pages and looked at several of the ancient digi:grafs. “Why do we keep this stuff? I could easily imagineer anything in this. I don’t understand what use this is to anyone.”
“Historical value,” Harlan said. He took the book from her and flipped through its pages. He showed a digi:graf of a chocolate gateau to David. The boy’s eyes
lit up and he quickly imagineered a miniature version. He gave it to his mother.
Eliza smiled and de:constructed it.
“Bad for your purity of vision,” she said.
“I think books are rather quaint,” said Harlan. “And they’re real, of course, not constructs.” He closed the book and laid it back in the doorway. “Our ancestors would have relied on these things.”
Eliza shook her head and looked up at the building. “Is this
real
, do you think?”
Harlan touched the brickwork, feeling its roughness, though that in itself was no proof of authenticity; anyone on Co:pern:ica could imagineer a brick. “Yes,” he said. “I’d be surprised if anyone had enough in their fain to put up something as large as this and still be able
to maintain it.”
Eliza sighed and put her hands on David’s shoulders, pulling him back towards her a little. “Why would Strømberg send him to a relic like this?”
“Well, let’s begin the process of finding out.” This time, Harlan did press the bell. The sign above it tilted and clattered to the ground.
Surprisingly, the bell did work. But rather than making one distinct sound that would normally have soaked through the heart of the building, rooms began to light up at random, each one making a variant of a ring or a clang or a trill or a whistle (
Even a buzz
, Harlan thought). For the first time, he realised there were no coverings of any kind at the windows. No ultra:plex panes to keep in warmth, just a
few wooden shutters half-open here and
there.
“This could take for ever,” Eliza tutted as the noises went on and on and on. She crossed her arms and frowned.
All of a sudden, David pointed to awindow about eight levels up. An emeraldgreen firebird had just appeared on thesill. It made the strange
rrrh
-ing noise thecreatures often did, popped its eyesslightly and went back into the room. Thelibrarium ‘bell’ stopped.
For a moment, all the visitors couldhear was the swish of the breeze and the
gentle rustle of sand falling amongst the flowers. Then a head appeared through the window where the firebird had been. A young girl. No older than David. Her hair was the colour of night. And though a lot
of it was falling in straggles from her face, half-hiding most of the defining bone structure, it was impossible not to see the wild beauty in her shining eyes.
“Yes?” she said curtly.
“We’re here to see Mr Henry,” said Harlan.
“He’s sleeping,” said the girl.
“Through that racket?” Eliza muttered.
The wild eyes immediately picked her out. “Who are you?”
Eliza tapped her foot. “I don’t think I like your impertinence,” she said, extending her fain to touch the girl’s auma and register her official displeasure.
The girl smirked and put a curl of her hair into her mouth. “None of that fain stuff’s welcome here. And Mr Henry doesn’t like people who try it. Who’s he?”
She tilted her chin at David.
“He’s our son,” said Harlan. “He hasan appointment. Now go and fetch Mr Henry or I’ll come in there and find himmyself.”
At this, the girl hooted with laughter. “Yeah? And how many spins of Co:pern:ica have you got?”
“That’s it, we’re leaving,” Eliza said. “Harlan, get a car.” She tapped David’sshoulder.
But David stayed exactly where he was,staring up at the girl and smiling. Andbefore his mother could speak again, theboy did something quite amazing. Heimagineered a bubble on the palm of hishand and blew it gently into the air. Up itfloated, to the eighth level, where itstopped and hovered right in front of the
girl.
“What’s this?” she said, for the first time thrown.
From the ground, David showed her what she should do with it: prod (gently), with a finger.
The girl studied the floating sphere, fascinated by the way its flimsy outer surface seemed to change colour if she tilted her head. She frowned at David, then prodded the thing. It immediately burst. The girl gasped and put out a hand to catch what she thought was a glimmer of light. She gasped again when she saw what she’d really caught. “Water,” she said. “You made a raindrop float.”
“Harlan?” Eliza said, glancing sideways at her husband. “What just happened? How did he do that?”
“I don’t know,” Harlan whispered, though there was no denying what he had seen. His son had changed the property of a droplet of water and made it lighter than air. Somehow, he’d challenged the force of G:ravity.
A clatter of feet on stairs made the
professor look towards the door. The girl heaved it open, cussing as she spilled a whole stack of books into the foyer behind her. She stepped outside wearing a jetblack dress which splayed out in large puffy pleats around her knees and a pair of black and white kicker boots, one of which was unlaced. She went right up to David and looked him in the eye. The two were, as it happened, precisely the same height. “Speak,” she said.
Eliza tutted at the girl’s arrogance. “He
doesn’t like to,” she said. “He prefers to commingle.”
“Not allowed here,” the girl said to David, shaking her head and making her feral hair cascade right across her shoulders. “Mr Henry likes words. Tell me your name.”
“David,” he said.
Both parents raised an eyebrow.
The girl smiled. She looked at her wetted hand and used it to take David by his. “I’m Rosa,” she said. “This is my librarium, and
you
can come in.”
6
“
Your
librarium?” Harlan said.
Rosa bobbed her head. “OK,” she drawled, “spare me the pedantry.” (Which made Harlan laugh and Eliza frown.) “It might as well be mine.” She crouched down and picked a daisy. “I’ve been here for eight or nine spins at least.”
“Nine spins?” said Eliza, sounding alarmed. (A ‘spin’ was a term used to describe the flat rotation of Co:pern:ica round its fire star. Sometimes people called it a ‘year’.)
Harlan touched her arm. “Why were you brought here, Rosa?”
“My family didn’t want me,” she said with a shrug. She threw the flower aside
and took David’s hand. “Come on, I’ve got lots to show you.” They were almost through the librarium door when Eliza called out, “David?”
He turned and let go of Rosa’s hand. Although displays of affection were
uncommon on Co:pern:ica, he nevertheless came back and put his arms around his mother.
“You won’t forget us?” she said, unsure of how to hold him.
David gave her a puzzled look. “It’s anadventure, isn’t it?” He turned to hisfather.
Harlan was looking at the discardeddaisy, lying in the grass, its life juicesteadily seeping away. If this place hadbeen a construct, the Higher would havefixed the daisy by now. He glanced up at
the silent building and nodded. “Yes, a proper adventure,” he muttered. And with that he waved goodbye to his son, drew Eliza into the taxicar and took her away.
“Hey. New boy.” Rosa was at one of the ground floor windows. She had her elbows on the sill and her chin in her
hands. “Cover your eyes and count to ten.”
“Why?”
“After ten, you can come in and find me. And remember, you’re not allowed to extend your fain. If you do, I’ll know and I’ll punish you.”
“Erm, how?”
The dark eyes rolled. “I won’t talk to you for three whole days.”
And this is a bad thing?
David thought, extending his fain so she might commingle if she wanted to.
She stuck out her tongue.
Yes
, shereplied.
So you can commingle, then?
“Yes, but it’s
not
allowed,” she said. “It hurts me, anyway. And I won’t do itagain or Mr Henry will be cross. Eyes. Cover. The full ten, OK? Runcey will bewatching. He’s my best friend. He’ll knowif you cheat.” She pointed to the firebirdin the next window along. It was sittingwith its green wings folded back and aslightly faraway look on its face.
David shrugged and covered his eyes.
After a not-so-generous ‘ten’, he lookedup and saw that Rosa and the firebirdwere both gone. Quickly, he ran inside thelibrarium, where he soon discovered thatspeed of movement was of little advantageand actually a positive hazard. Books of
all sizes and colours, some glossy-backed, some dull and plain, some open, some not, were stacked and strewn in piles of varying height (including singly) across the floor of the foyer and again up the dark, uneven-looking stairs. Picking his way through them, he turned to his right and headed for the room he thought Rosa had spoken from. She wasn’t there, but the scene was exactly the same as in the foyer, except the walls were also laden with books, so many that the shelves were bowing with their weight. As he stumbled across the room, almost losing his footing on something called
Flamenco Guitar Made Easy
, David found himself on the threshold of two more doorways, at rightangles to each other. He took the one he thought would lead him deeper into the