Ildarim's Arrow

Ildarim's Arrow - Part 4

Before them stood a long rectangular chamber lit by four skylights. Beneath these skylights stood four corresponding tables covered with material, mostly books and documents, in varying states disorder and condition. Surrounding the room, stretched high on the walls, were bookshelves filled to capacity. A track ladder gave access to the highest of these shelves.

Lucien's heart skipped a beat. He drew in a breath rich with history and he exhaled slowly. This was beautiful, he thought. This was why he had come.

Lucien gazed over the tables and out over his impressive assignment. Several centuries of information were here, recorded on media from all across the spiral. There were Kluffian vocal canisters arranged and packed in small half-opened boxes. There were several tall boxes of Trehelian binary storage slates, and trays of Silvanish beryllium film spools; not to mention, a rather large collection of magazines of what appeared to be Oornthian porn. On the shelves stood hundreds of Terran tomes...histories, biographies, and literature, and mixed in with these works were innumerable notebooks of assorted scrawl and script. Bindings of vellum-like material, a variation of leather or hide, were placed in long rows, the print on which was faded and indistinguishable. On a far shelf, near the top row, Lucien was surprised at what he saw: a collection of black eelsheen folios from Kaarth; coated, as rumor would suggest, with a deadly neurotoxin. These were secret works, high-level edicts from death cult priestesses, and Lucien hungered for a pair of protective gloves, a respirator, his universal translator, and a chance to see what lay hidden in those forbidden pages.

"That is it for now," Terrence said. "Would you like me to show you to your room, Mr. Voss?"

Lucien looked over at the servant and frowned. "I've changed my mind," he said. "I think I'll get started right away. There's much to do, Terrence."

"As you wish. Dinner tonight is roast beef. I'll notify you when it is ready."

"Thank you," Lucien said as he leaned in close to inspect the dusty cover on one of the books poking out from its shelf. "Oh, and I'd like to request an Oornthian onrod visor, if that's possible?" he asked as he brushed the ancient binding with the tip of his finger. "I'll be needing that immediately."

"I can place an order and it should arrive tomorrow by hopper," Terrence said with a smile. "Anything else?"

"Not at this moment."

Terrence nodded and left the room.

Lucien found an empty chair and collapsed into it. He had imagined a library that needed a little sorting out, and he hadn't anticipated working on something this diverse or on this grand a scale. Walter Byron Ildarim had travelled to hundreds of star systems, and these were things that he brought home with him. It was the intellectual booty of one of the greatest explorers in Earth.

Where to begin?

It was well into evening when Terrence entered the library and announced that dinner was served. By then, Lucien had cleared two of the tables and had begun the slow process of sorting through the documents, books, and artifacts. Realizing he was hungry, he set the books down and made his way to the kitchen.

Lucien ate everything that was set before him. His meal was so good that for a moment he was convinced that it was real beef that he was eating. When Terrence told him that it was indeed real beef, Lucien nearly choked on his fork.

"I thought you were joking," Lucien said. "Isn't this illegal?"

"I have resources," Terrence said. "Master Ildarim was fond of the stuff."

Lucien had never tasted real beef. It had always been synthetic. Of course, now with advancements in wormhole technology, anything would be possible. It was said that soon entire planets would serve as agricultural farmland for ravenous populations, and as he poked his fork into another chunk of tender flesh, Lucien imagined a pasture world of roving beef cattle. As he fell asleep that night, to the sound of waves crashing against the rocks below, Lucien dreamed of tall grass bending in the wind, grazed by endless herds of mewling cattle.

When Lucien awoke the next morning, he was startled to discover that Kimbo, the Luvish honey bear, was clinging to a post at the end of his bed. Lucien stared at the creature, and the creature stared back, its brown fur radiant and warm under a spear of morning sunlight.

"Hey there, little fella," Lucien said. "What'cha doin'?"

The honey bear did not move, and its unblinking eyes gazed back at him like black buttons. Lucien pulled off his covers and swung his legs to the floor. He began to stand, keeping a close eye on the honey bear as he did. "What happens now?" he wondered as he restrained a yawn and ran his fingers through his hair. He'd try to move past it and make for the bathroom, he thought. As he came around the bed he could feel the creature's gaze, and as he tiptoed past Lucien felt compelled to touch the soft, inviting fur.

"Hey there, little fella. Hey there, Kimbo."

Lucien extended a finger. "You're a good little honey bear..."

The honey bear recoiled.

It opened a mouth replete with tiny serrated teeth, and released a blood-curdling screech—the sound of a steel blade scraping against glass.

Lucien lept straight into the air and bolted across the room where he threw open the door catapulted himself into the hallway where Terrence was standing. He had just left the conservatory, a watering can in his hand.

"Don't tell me," Terrence said. "You've had a run-in with Kimbo? Tsk, tsk, tsk..."

Lucien's heart was galloping at many hundred beats per minute.

"Just leave him alone and he won't bother you," Terrence said. "Your breakfast will be ready shortly."