Thirst

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6jsAuHOhWzQ

Thirst

Alexandria was very quiet. It also possessed that particular heavy feeling, weighted both physically and metaphorically in that way that only libraries could be. Except that this library was the size of a small city. At least, that was Mike’s current assessment. It was referred to as “the infinite library,” so maybe it truly did go on forever.

It seemed to him that this would make it very difficult to find the information you were looking for, especially considering the non-euclidean nature of the space. One could wander down an aisle and find oneself staring down at the very place they had started, even though they had only ever gone forward.

Even Mike had trouble keeping a mental map of the place. He was starting to suspect that the layout was periodically changing.

At least the librarians always seemed to know where they were going. They were the blue balls of light that floated around the halls, although you could almost see some sort of form about them if you squinted.

“They are my Seraphim,” the Archivist had explained, as if they should know exactly what he was talking about. Maybe Abigail did, as she nodded enthusiastically. “I pieced them together from the thoughts and memories of those who left behind all this knowledge. If you wish to find something, they will guide you to where you need to be.”

Hence why Mike was now following a wispy blue figure through a hall of what looked to be vinyl records. Abigail had sent him on an errand. Sometimes he really didn’t know why he did the things she said to—they were usually kind of a pain in the ass. If he was honest, the inconvenience was preferable to the boredom of simply existing.

Down a few more aisles of dusty records, then through another section full of thin drawers containing maps, Mike continued to follow the hazy figure. At the bare minimum, the reliable source of light was nice to have, though he could have moved much faster on his own. Somewhere over his head floated more aisles of books. They curved around and intersected each other at odd angles. Mike supposed that was one way to save space.

Finally, the orb ceased its quest, and nearly seemed to glance back at him expectantly. They were not at their destination. Instead, Mike found himself confronted by a large gate, blocking off an area apparently called “the Restricted Section” judging from the large sign right above it. The letters were so faded that it was a little difficult to see in the low light.

Said gate was firmly padlocked, with chains so thick that even Mike doubted he could break them. They definitely weren’t made of anything normal, as there weren’t even any atoms for him to tear apart in its structure.

“Can you open this gate?” he asked the librarian. It didn’t make any motion to do so, just simply floated for a minute, as if waiting for him to do something. “I don’t have a key,” he tried to explain.

Mike wasn’t sure if these things were truly sapient, but he could have sworn the thing shrugged at him before wandering off.

Watching it go, Mike let out a sigh. This was deeply irritating. If he went back empty-handed, Abigail would throw a fit about this gate and probably come up with some complicated plan to get it open.

Which would be up to him to execute. Because she still didn’t have limbs.

“Great.”

“That must be sarcasm. The situation in which you find yourself does not appear to be ‘great’ in the slightest.”

A voice suddenly came from behind him, and Mike’s skin crawled. He wasn’t used to being caught unawares, especially not by the owner of Alexandria himself, especially not when he was trying to get into a clearly off-limits section of his library.

“It’s the one emotion I still find myself highly capable of.” He tried his best to make his face into a blank mask. No doubt he was exceeding spectacularly, as his visage just kind of looked like that usually.

“Interesting.” Turning around, he of course came face to face with a pillar of smoke in the shape of a man. He was rather well-dressed as usual, with a deep brown waist-coat and well-pressed pants. Mike wondered if he actually had to press them himself or if they just kind of appeared like that. Maybe the librarians did it for him. “I have never considered sarcasm to be an emotion.”

“We work with what we’ve got.”

“And what exactly is it that you’ve ‘got’? I’m ever so curious.”

Mike turned fully back towards him. “And I’m so curious why you exactly want to know. Aren’t you suppose to know everything?”

“A sad misconception, I’m afraid,” the plume of smoke that hovered where his head should be flickered slightly, like a candle blown by a breeze. “Though I have made great strides in the effort, new Things happen everyday. I will be working quite a while past the end of the cosmos to acquire it all, I’m afraid. To that end, I have quite an amount on your digital companion, but very little about you, Mike Miller. Or is it Nihil?”

“I don’t really care. I’m not either of them.”

“Noted.”

The Archivist waited, as if expecting more.

“I’m not really inclined to tell you anything about me,” Mike clarified.

“If I recall, Ms. Hodge seems to have snatched that option away from you entirely.”

Mike didn’t respond. It was true that Abigail had pledged both of their cooperation. Entirely without regard for any wishes he might have. He could argue that point, say that he himself had never agreed to any such notion. But this was all just a stupid, pointless game where there was absolutely no winning for him.

“Tell you what,” the smoke wiggled. The Archivist seemed nearly… amused. “It appears you have been sent to acquire some information that is currently out of your reach. Should you agree to giving up just a few minutes of your time, I’ll unlock the gate myself.”

Mike did not like this position he was in, being this stupid little pawn thrown about with no regard for itself. But not playing his part would be such a fucking pain.

“Fine,” he agreed.

“Walk with me.”

He turned from the gate, and Mike followed, stepping in beside him. There were but a few moments of silence before the Archivist began. “I hope you’re enjoying your time in Alexandria thus far.”

It was an entirely innocuous statement, but Mike knew its purpose. To frame this interrogation as a simple conversation. Still, it was better than being immediately bombarded. “It’s quiet,” he said simply.

“Is that a good thing?” As they moved down the darkened aisles, it became a little harder to see his slightly ephemeral cloud of smoke, but Mike noticed a hint of amusement in his tone.

“I’m a bit… sensitive… to noise and light,” he admitted.

A slight pause. Now came the real questions, but the Archivist still had to be careful with his wording. “I would have never expected that to be a side-effect from an encounter with my kind, even one as odd as the Truth.”

“It’s not.”

“Oh?”

“The Truth… altered me in some inexplicable way that I may never be able to truly quantify. But that’s not one of them. That’s all Abigail.”

It appeared Mike had led him right to a subject of interest, for he slowed his pace a little. “So she altered you herself. In what way? In detail, if you would be so kind.”

He wasn’t even trying to hide it behind niceties anymore. Maybe he’d gotten impatient.

“How do you know I even remember?” Mike stalled. “That I was even conscious at all?”

“You stiffened when I asked.”

Of all of the things Abigail had left untouched, why was it the portion of his brain that handled trauma? Oh, wait. He’d just answered his own question.

Mike sighed. “I don’t remember everything,” he admitted. “But both extensive surgery on my body and brain were involved.”

“Hence the heightened senses.”

“Partially. That wasn’t the worst of it. It seems she also altered my DNA itself.”

“And she did all of this based on findings from Atomic-era science?”

“Based, not copied. I think the DNA part she pretty heavily modified.”

“And you were awake for this?” Mike wished he could have detected a note of revulsion, or even confusion from his tone, but the only hint of anything behind the Archivist’s words was pure curiosity.

“It felt like my veins were on fire. For days.”

“And yet I’m sure even you can admit the results are extraordinary. Heightened senses, a brain more powerful than your average computer, effective immortality…”

“Sure, it’s great knowing that I’ll be sixteen forever while everyone I love grows old and dies.”

“Is that why you ran away from them, back into the… mmm, arms of Ms. Hodge?”

“No, that’s not it.”

There was a pause, as the Archivist clearly wished for him to elaborate. Mike really didn’t want to. But this was clearly the crux of what he was being questioned for.

“I don’t have to pretend… when I’m with Abigail.”

“Pretend?”

“That I’m still human, that there’s any sort of semblance of Mike Miller left at all. It’s exhausting, and I don’t even do a very good job.”

“But Abigail knows what you are.”

“Being with her… it’s easy,” he shrugged. “I don’t have to think. She does enough of that for the both of us. Sometimes… I think I might even understand her.”

“A slippery slope,” the smoke wavered as the Archivist chuckled.

“It’s already too late anyway. There’s no point in fighting it. It’s not that I enjoy her company. Some days I genuinely think I hate her. But on others she’s the only thing that keeps me moving.”

“She certainly has an… energy about her,” the Archivist’s words had a frown in them.

Mike stopped walking. “I thought you of all… people would understand. You’re just like her.”

That implied frown deepened. “In what way?”

“You crave knowing things. Everything it seems, in your case. That need is so all-consuming that you’re ruthless in your endeavors and don’t bat an eye at anything your quest might cause… metaphorically, of course.”

“That is a view I hadn’t considered.”

“Abigail was—at one point—human. She knows all too well how cruel she is. She just doesn’t care. You… I’m sure you don’t even realize that about yourself.”

The Archivist paused. He seemed… unused to getting psychoanalyzed himself. “I have used many beings in the past to achieve my ends. But I never hurt any of them directly. I would not consider myself particularly cruel.”

“Sometimes indifference is the cruelest thing of all.”

The anomaly considered this. Mike wasn’t sure if he could even conceive of himself in the same way a human could.

His demeanor, however, did seem a little stiffer as he abruptly began walking back the way they’d come. “You’ve given me food for thought,” he called over his shoulder, “and that’s the only thing I eat. I’ll open the gate for you now.”

By the time Mike caught back up with him, the metal was already screeching open and the Archivist was waving him inside. “I knew Ms. Hodge would be a curiosity, but you… you’ve surprised me,” was all he said, a smile playing at the edge of his words.

Mike shivered as he walked past him. He had the Archivist’s interest now, it seemed. And he was almost positive that was not a good thing to have.