Author's Note: By all means, don't hesitate to leave a review. I shall never improve without it, and it really makes my day to read them. We authors live for such feedback. Sorry for not updating this sooner. I'm regrettably freaking out over potentially losing my school job. Real life must always come first.
Years before the nuclear catastrophe, a handful of wealthy men and women grew increasingly worried by the political unrest across their countries. This congregation, scientists, professors, artists, all felt the need for a place where history and culture could be preserved, safe from those who would destroy it for its seditious content. And so they pooled their resources in the hopes of creating such a place, free from the volatile swings of political agendas…
Nick had been sure this was the place from what he'd learned of Darren's information on the library. The place known as "Hypatia" was somewhere within the caves that now stretched out before him, with only the bioluminescence of faintly glowing greenish mushrooms providing soft light for him to navigate the path ahead by. Nick walked deeper and deeper into cooler and cooler depths, blinking a bit, seeing the light was slightly expanded up ahead, and peering through the dark depths.
Sure enough, he was greeted by a large collection of glowing mushrooms...all of which had grown up around a small host of wooden crosses that stuck up in front of several broken-down robots. They were round robots, with little eyestalk sensors that had once glowed a bright yellowish/orange but were now dulled by synthetic death, suspended up on segmented limbs of steely dark grey, with the central bodies more of a silvery color. There were some additional bulging sensors popping up on the robots, and Nick knelt down, feeling over the cold texture of them, slightly confused.
It was...odd for someone to have "buried" these robots. He didn't think those in the Fallout universe really cared about robots enough to give them a grave with crosses and everything. He looked to the left, seeing the entrance to the vault, the entrance, presumably, to the library, and stood up, walking over to its enormous, gear-shaped metallic doorway, pulling down the lever on the console nearby.
With mighty CHUNKA-CLUNK-KLAK noises, the thing began to roll open, and a voice rang out from an intercom embedded into the console. "Oh, is there somebody out there? How unusual. I'm getting a very strange reading from whatever computer you've got with you. Is it a Pip-Boy?" It inquired, this voice sounding very smooth and knowing, reminding Nick of a late night news anchor. The kind of authoritative, trustworthy voice that you couldn't help but heed.
"A what?" Nick asked, his tone confused, blinking stupidly. "Dunno what a "Pip-Boy" is, I just got a watch."
"A very fancy watch, from what I can make of it. No reason to continue this conversation through an intercom, though. Please, come inside!" The pleasantly cheery voice intoned.
Nick made his way through ANOTHER doorway, finding armored turrets on either side of him, and on either side of another door on the far end of a fairly long room, light fixtures gleaming above, and the faint glimmer of library shelves beyond slightly grimy, dusty windows that lined either side of the hall he appeared to be within. A single maintenance bot was hovering in front of the other turret set at the end of this place, and Nick was certain it was staring right at him. He approached it, smiling nervously and holding up a hand.
"Um, hi there?"
The machine, which was evidently trying to clean up one of the windows with a spray bottle of some substance and a rag, kept on with its work. It was as if Nick wasn't even there. Some wires were a-poking out from its left side, and its silver coating looked rather worn down and slightly dilapidated.
"Can you help me with something?" Nick asked. "Like...maybe tell me who built this place?"
"Please move along." The thing said in ANOTHER rather well-toned, knowing voice that was slightly more...stuffy...than the first voice. It reminded Nick of a college professor that didn't really want to get to know you unless he thought you had "potential". "If you have any questions, James, on the first floor, will be happy to answer." It told him, continuing to clean the window.
"Nevermind, then." Nick said, going to the door nearby, the steely thing rising up as he approached.
And as he stepped through a hallway and into the atrium beyond, passing by "hipster" esque lighting fixtures that looked like they belonged in a movie theater, he beheld Hypatia. He stepped into welcome, cool, blissfully pleasant air, and his mouth became agape at the wondrous sight that was unveiled before him.
It was, indeed, beautiiful. The largest, hugest collection of books he had ever seen. There were shelves upon shelves of books of every shape and size, all the colors of the rainbow, the light fixtures in the room casting a faint shadow of a singular tree in the center of the main atrium. The carpeting was rich and satin, silky to the touch, with ornate flowery designs of crimson and faded gold, and the books…
The BOOKS. Nick ran to a nearby shelf, amazed. There was a section for True Crime, another for Biographies, yet another for Art, every single genre had its own huge, bulging, hulkish section of shelves. In fact, there was an enormous "Tower of Bablyon" esque structure to the back that gleamed high, high above, stretching up to the heavens and devoted to one thing and one thing alone: "Fiction". All of it was organized alphabetically, of course, one row was A, B, C,D, another was E, F, G, H, etc, etc.
And as he saw familiar book after familiar book, it was as if old friends were winking at him from across the room. He could see the Chronicles of Narnia, in both hard AND paper cover. He could see a copy of the Gutenberg Bible! Harper Lee's "To Kill A Mockingbird" had golden lettering that glistened in the light of the atrium, Agatha Christie had almost teen feet of tower devoted to her works alone, the classics of William Shakespeare had a whole front of tower devoted only to them, each with beautifully hand-drawn covers!
"This must be what Harry Potter felt like, walking into Hogwarts for the first time." Nick whispered aloud as he approached another shelf, a shelf filled only with comic books, and he slowly took out "Action Comics #1"...the June 1938 issue, the debut of the one, the only, Superman. He was holding a piece of HISTORY in his hands. And it felt so...so warm and smooth and...safe.
Safe. That was how this library felt. Safe and cozy and natural. As if this was how people were SUPPOSED to be, this was how life was SUPPOSED to be lived. The world of the future, today. Everything warm and cozy, bright and glittering, yet with that faint antique charm, and a charming "retro" undertone running through it all. It brought back warm memories for Nick of the many days he'd spent in his own hometown's library, reading the Bearnstein Bears novels and Animorphs and the Chronicles of Narnia and all the Calvin and Hobbes comics he could get-
"Okay, let's do this right." He heard a voice say. That voice he'd heard over the intercom, and he quickly slid the comic book back, turning around. He was now face-to-face with a robot, a robot with a slightly bulky chest, a faintly domed head, on top of a slightly cumbersome "waist". It had segmented arms and legs, with spiky little "boot" feet, and three-pronged silvery clawed "hands", the "face" looking more like a set of drawers stacked on top of each other with, at the top, evidently a "brain" of sorts, a glowing bright CPU that glistened brilliantly like a torch. "Greetings! I am James! RobCo Protectron unit 13882 and personal assistant for Professor Cartright. How are you, and how may I help you?"
"Well, I'm Nick, and for starters...I mean, this IS Hypatia, right?" Nick asked nervously. "The library?"
"Yes, this is Hypatia, the library built by the professor in the year 2072. One of the most extensive compilations of human knowledge in the world. Well, provided other collections SURVIVED, of course." James the Robot added.
"So what was this place made for?"
"It serves several purposes. From educating the occasional visitor to helping the survivors of the awful fallout-"
"Title drooooop!" Nick laughed a bit.
James, though he had no face, seemed somewhat stunned before he added "...for helping the survivors of the awful fallout of the war build an enlightened society. To remain a beacon of unaltered knowledge of a bygone era and...a safeguard."
"A safeguard? From...what?
"Historical revisionism, among others. The victor rewrites history, that's how the saying goes, is it not? So we need to ensure that the record of past events isn't scrapped because of fluctuating political contingencies."
"I would have THOUGHT that...well, that sort of thing is unconstitutional." Nick said, sounding very much disgusted. "I've read about the government ordering the burning of "seditious materials", aka "books they didn't like" in the "olden days". How is that not a complete violation of the first amendment?"
"Regrettably, the victor also rewrites LAWS." James added. "Just as in times of war habeas corpus had been suspended, so were other laws, including vital protections of the first amendment. There were loopholes introduced to allow for such an atrocity to all great literature that were large enough to drive a truck through."
Nick felt that sense of anger rise up in him but he tried to suppress it, and to get refocused. "Do you get many visitors, then? I know you had at least one, Darren? He told me about Hypatia."
"Ah, yes. Darren Andretti Robinson. We have indeed received our fair share of guests in the past. In the last few years, aside from Darren...not so much." James confessed to Nick. "It would seem nightstalkers built up a nest near the front entrance to the library, dissuading most travelers from even getting near here."
"Night-what?"
"You've not heard of them? They're these rather unpleasant things that appear to be a hybridization between rattlesnakes and coyotes." James informed Nick, who looked a bit surprised.
"Another Enclave creation?"
James shook his head. "No, no. Not that we know of. It IS an issue we shall have to address eventually. But not as long as the war outside is raging, at least. Not that we could do much about it. We're programmed to stay inside and take care of the library."
"...um…" Nick wasn't sure how else to put it, so he went for blunt honesty. "Well, I have good news and bad news. The good news is that the war DID end. The bad news is that the USA and huge chunks of the planet got so badly bombed that everywhere looks like it belongs in "Dune"."
James seemed to go deadly silent for a few moments, Nick was positively sure he had stiffened up. Then, at long last…
"Well. That's at least some relief that it really is over. None of the others seemed fit to mention it." He intoned. "I haven't the foggiest idea why. But if you'd like to stay here for a while, you are more than welcome to use our facility. Please, feel free to speak to Rolland upstairs, he'll gie you a room in our living quarters." James said politely. "That said, there are some rules you should be aware of during your stay here."
"Lay 'em on me." Nick offered.
"Treat the facility with respect. As long as your actions do not threaten our collection, no harm should come to you." James said, his tone sounding more...robotic, and cold, as he spoke.
"Okay, though...that kinda sounds…vague." Nick confessed. "And sort of...scary?"
"Sorry. I know I just dumped that on you like some kind of threat, but it really isn't. We just want your stay here to be as comfortable as possible." James added. "I'm just supposed to give all our guests a basic run-down of our rules. You know. "Rules and regulations"."
"Sure. But who was Professor Cartwright?"
James seemed to perk up a bit, his tone getting more cheery. "Back when titles were still relevant, he was a professor at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology and Chief Science Officer of the RobCo company. His domain of expertise was, as you've surely guessed, was artificial intelligence."
"So he could afford to build this place?"
"It was a well-connected intersection of resources, contacts and wealth. The efforts of five wonderful friends. Of course being in close relation with Vault-Tec's brass played a large part in his success." James added.
"Money talks." Nick chuckled. "But how many machines in here besides you have...well, personality?"
James actually chuckled. "A handful of us have a personality module that Cartwright designed for us. There's me, Helena in the medical clinic upstairs, Rolland in the lounge, and there's, of course, Arthur in the Computer Room."
Arthur. Darren had mentioned him. Nick would have to remember that. "Arthur is important, I take it?"
"He's our database." James confessed. "He's quite well-informed and very knowledgeable though not very...responsive. He's not much for communication."
Nick made a note to remember THIS too. "And I take it this place is self-sustaining?"
"Oh, yes. We've enough resources to sustain ourselves quite nicely, producing our own energy, recycling most of our scrap. And our Mister Handy units go out of the library to scavenge whenever needed."
"And it's a very lovely place, I have to say." Nick complimented.
"Yes, we have a VERY lovely facility here, I assure you. Besides reading, there's a movie theatre, a study and reading room, a laundry room, the borrowing service and the computer room." James added, sounding rather proud of himself and his library. "The second floor has our lounge, our living quarters, our cafeteria, Helena's library and the classroom!"
"A classroom?"
"For if we ever got children." James explained. "Families, you know."
"Did you?"
James seemed to sigh. "Sadly, no. No pitter-patter of little feet."
An idea came to Nick. "Do you, by chance, know where I could get a copy of "Dean's Electronics"? That's one of the books Darren told me I should get when he'd talk about the library, he said it's an exhaustive compendium of modern technology, that it might help me with my watch?" He inquired, pointing at his watch.
James now seemed flustered, stammering slightly. "Well, I...you...should...ask Rolland for any kind of "misplaced" books, I fear. And he's usually loitering around in the lounge on the second floor." He remarked.
"Oh, okay." Nick said, shrugging. "Alright."
"But now that the rules and regulations are taken care of, may I ask YOU a question?" James inquired, Nick tilting his head slightly to the side.
"Uh, sure! Ask away, my boy. Ask away!" Nick remarked.
"I DID hear from the visitors we had, Darren included, that the world outside is violent. If you got here despite having no outward weapons on you, I assume you can take care of yourself out there." James asked, his tone slightly more hushed than before. "Have you already killed someone?"
Nick hesitated. He had, a long, LONG time ago, killed. Years ago, trying to defend innocent lives. He'd fought supervillains and killed them in awful fights. And it had been one of the most disgusting feelings he'd ever had, the realization that he had taken a life. Yes, it had been murdering monsters he'd fought, yes, he'd even killed a literal demon before. And yes, he'd beaten up people so badly sometimes that they'd been close to death, all in the name of saving the world or the galaxy or his friends.
"How did it feel?" James inquired in that same somewhat hushed voice.
"Why do you want to know that?" Nick asked, and he was surprised by how...childish he sounded.
"My entire existence has taken place in this library. As such, I often have trouble relating to the world outside, the violence." James explained. "You could say I only wish to understand it better so I can understand our guest as well."
"It's…" Nick struggled to put it into words. "It's...a disgusting, awful, rotten, foul experience no matter why it's done, where it's done or HOW it's gone. Killing is...I…" He hesitated again. "...when you're in the heat of the moment, fighting someone, you're not exactly "thinking" so much as you're sort of on an "auto-pilot" of sorts. It's like running on instinct, almost. You just don't want to die, and you don't want the people you care about to die, and you'll do anything to make sure they don't happen. You just want to stop others before they can keep hurting you or the ones you love, and it's sort of like…" He sat down in a nearby chair by one of the room's desks and looked down at his hands. "It sort of feels almost unreal. Like you didn't really do it, like you're just a player in a video game, making a character move here, do this, that sort of thing. That it wasn't really YOU doing it. But you know it was. And even if you had to do it, had to stop someone, and killing them was the only way you could, you keep thinking "I should have found another way. If I'd been smarter or more creative or stronger, if I'd just been BETTER, I could have"."
"Do you ever stop thinking that?"
"...it sort of is like this...thing that will pop up in your head again and again every single time you're in another fight. An undertone that spikes up now and then. You probably shouldn't ever stop thinking that. You have to be...better." Nick finally said at long last as he held his head in his hands. "...it's hard. But as C.S Lewis once said, we need only retain our goodness to regain our innocence. Kind of hard, but anything worth doing is hard."
"That's what I believe too. A sad event no matter what the circumstances. I'm glad you said that." James said with a slight spring to his voice. "You seem like a very nice person."
Nick looked up, smiling a bit more. "Thanks." He said, his tone quieter than normal. "I'll...I'll talk to you later, I think I'd like to go lie down in the living quarters."
"By all means, make yourselves comfortable." James insisted. Nick smiled and held out a hand, James taking it in his gauntleted grip and shaking it. It was somewhat uncomfortable, but Nick didn't really mind. He smiled warmly back, and then headed for a nearby doorway. He was about to turn, to find the stairs heading up, but then he noticed he was very close to the "Computer" room.
He blinked a bit, feeling himself being tugged towards it, and the door slid open as he walked inside a rather messy sort of place. Scrap electronics laid all around along with papers, the supercomputer at the back of the room with its gleaming, shimmering, beeping and pinging lights had loud fans whirring through the air, there were too many shelves loaded up with fairly useless, dead machines…
The supercomputer had a plate of gold, named "Arthur" that was plastered above a green computer screen, a chair sitting in front of it. Nick decided to sit down, and smiled. "Um, hello. I'm Nick, and you are?"
It remained silent. Nick stared. "Um...can you answer me?"
Nothing. Still nothing.
"...why is it that you don't want to talk to me?" Nick asked.
"Long ago a young man with an extensive spiritual life made a pact with a spirit." said a deep, resonant voice that echoed through the room. A cultured, and slightly pompous voice indeed. "In exchange for his ability to speak, he learned an important, fundamental secret about the purpose of man. Of course, the moment he learned this secret truth, his voice was silenced for the rest of his life. Obsessed by this knowledge, frustrated by his inability to share it, he resigned himself to live the rest of his life in isolation."
Nick stared a bit, confusedly, at the machine as it simply went on.
"Years went by and solitude weighed heavy on the man's shoulders. He felt his sanity escaping his mind, like sand slipping through clenched fingers. So he decided to carve a piece of wood with the face of people he once knew, people he remembered. People he had loved. He would converse with those, in hopes of preserving some last shreds of sanity. He died eventually, leaving his collection of masks behind. Some say that deep within their frames still subsists a fragment of the hermit's vision."
Nick stared. Then he found himself saying…
"Wait a minute. If he could carve masks, then why didn't he just write out his secret for everyone to read? Wouldn't that have solved everything?" He found himself asking, sounding somewhat mortified. This hermit sounded amazingly shortsighted.
The machine remained silent. Nick groaned. "C'mon, you just talked to me. How did I make you do that?"
"A hermit once learned that by asking his questions to the mountains in the correct manner, the echos would bring him answers."
Nick stared stupidly at the machine again before, at last, sense began to dawn. "Ohhhhhhh. I THINK I get it. You only answer to open-ended questions, don't you?" He inquired, the machine remaining silent. "Okay, then let's try this. What happened to your master? Dr. Cartwright?"
"He died because his body could not withstand his own spirit; a spirit which already had troubles withstanding itself." Arthur intoned.
"...wow, that's...not helpful. Alright, what's the story behind the vault?" Nick tried.
"5 Friends caught in a diluvial rain sheltered under a tree, and pitched some money together. One of them faced the rain to go buy an umbrella. He survived the ordeal. Perhaps because he was as the only one gone when thunder struck the tree."
Nick thought about this. He remembered James had mentioned "Five wonderful friends". So Cartwright had been the one to "buy an umbrella" and he'd been the only survivor. Nick guessed the "rain" had been the nuclear hellfire that had bathed over the world, with only Cartwright surviving. It made sense. "What's James's story?"
"A testament. An heir. That is sometimes all that people need to leave this existence in peace."
"How about Mr. Rolland? That other robot James mentioned?"
"A writer of great renown had it all. Friends, family, wealth. He wondered why he couldn't write anymore. He despaired, he cried. He drank. Why, he yelled, while tossing away heaps of single-worded scripts. "Why? Why can't I write anymore?" "It's simple, my dear." said his wife, freshly awoken. "You're not suffering enough." She added: "I can help you with that."
Nick shuddered. Maybe Rolland wasn't someone he wanted to meet. "Um...what's...Helena's story?" Maybe the only lady robot in the library was nicer.
"Once upon a time a child had a music box he held very dear."
Nick shivered. He had a music box HE'D once held dear, a present from his grandpa. It played "Edelweiss". But when his grandpa had died, every time he opened the music box he thought of his grandfather's death, and it'd driven him to such despair he'd shattered the thing, breaking it against the wall in his grief.
"Though he loved nothing more than hearing the box's sweet melody, he wanted to know how its mechanisms worked. He knew that by breaking open the box, he could have a glimpse of what was inside. And perhaps comprehend, even just a bit, how it worked. Of course, he feared he couldn't repair it afterwards. Opening the box, and risk breaking it...or leaving it the way it was. Eventually...the child would make his choice."
Nick stared at Arthur, looking a little confused. So was Helena the sort of person who wanted to know how people worked? Well, she was in the medical clinic, a doctor, presumably. "Okay, what about…" He thought of the only other robot he'd met. "That maintenance bot out front?"
"A stone, used to whet a flint, which was in turn used to carve tools. Even discarded, the stone was as useful as it was in the first place." Arthur sagely informed him.
"Okay, so he's helpful?" Nick reasoned with a shrug. "What is your story?"
"The birds have vanished down the sky. Now the last cloud drains away. We sit together, the mountain and me. Until only the mountain remains."
"That sounds like a poem. Who wrote it?"
Arthur remained silent. Nick sighed. "Okay, uh...thanks. We'll talk later, then. Bye." He offered, heading for the stairway, and humming a bit. For the MOST part, everyone here seemed very nice indeed. Maybe it wouldn't be so difficult to get Hypatia to be more open to the public after all. He'd chat it up with Helena and he supposed, eventually, Rolland, and then after getting some rest he'd explore the library a bit before talking to James about…
About…
Something had jabbed its cold claws into his spine, the door to the study slowly opening and closing, malfunctioning strangely, as a single light flickered on and off within a room that had a small computer on a desk at the far end. There were various books on shelves that lined the walls, books that appeared to be devoted to classical poetry and literature. A single, solitary lamp sizzled a bit as it kept unnaturally flicking on and off. Dozens of pages had been ripped apart, scattered all across the faded grey carpeting of the floor, and Nick knew...he knew something was wrong even before he looked to the right of the room, and saw it.
Saw the dead, skeletal hand faintly clutching a page of "Edgar Allen Poe" in its grip, all flesh and muscle and sinew long-since rotted away, leaving naught but bones. A bookcase had collapsed upon the poor unfortunate, a cane lying not too far away, along with a golden, gleaming Sheriff's badge, and a pair of crushed glasses on the skeleton's face.
Professor Cartwright had been dead for years, left lying there in a piteous state for God-Knew-How-Long. And he very clearly hadn't just passed away in his sleep. As Nick approached the bookcase and felt how incredibly HEAVY it was, he instantly came to a conclusion. Nobody weak enough to need a cane just to walk around could have accidentally pulled a bookcase down on top of themselves.
This man had been murdered.
Nick suddenly didn't feel so safe anymore.