14. Back to Work

The Infinite Library was technically part of the TSAB central office, but in reality quite separate, a relic of Al-Hazard that employed the peculiarities of dimensional space to create an information repository that was a dimension in and of itself. In fact, it used rather similar principles to the Eye of Tzintchi, though neither side of the conflict was aware of this peculiar irony.

It was said that the Library contained all the knowledge in the multiverse, and indeed books, shelves and sometimes even entire sections would simply appear and disappear without warning or even outside intervention. As such, it was theoretically possible to keep reasonably up-to-date with interdimensional events simply by observing shifts in the Library's structure, provided one knew what one was looking for.

This curious function of the ancient pocket dimension had become particularly important during the preparatory stages of Operation Guardian. It allowed the Bureau to gather information on the enemy's activities independent of the Integrated Data Entity's Humanoid Interfaces, who were both limited in usefulness beyond what was going on in their (admittedly strategically-vital) universe and disconcertingly reticent regarding certain subjects. It wasn't perfect by any means – even if you knew and could find what you sought, information from Wild Space tended to be garbled, incomplete, or simply non-existent, and the territories beyond the Great Wall were as much of a mystery as ever. Besides that, there was generally a notable time-gap between an event happening and someone writing something down about it. Still, it was better than nothing.

At any one point these days, there seemed to be hundreds (if not thousands) of assorted staff from various departments poring through the shelves, their telepathic communications weaving together in such a way as to make specific conversation virtually impossible. It was for this reason that Nanoha and Hayate had decided to visit in person.

The entrance to the Library was clogged with a sea of humanity, almost-humanity, and not-really-humanity-at-all, either staggering under piles of documents, wandering along with the sort of blank expressions that indicated some futile attempt at telepathic communication, or just being generally loud and energetic. As they approached, the two young women activated their Barrier Jackets, illuminating the surrounding area with a quick flash of pink and white light. Were it not for the dampening field that permeated the station for safety purposes, quite a few people could have been blinded on the spot.

A path was immediately cleared. The Bureau's Ace of Aces tended to get that reaction, and one of the aptly-nicknamed 'citykiller' SS+ mages even more so. Both nodded and smiled politely as they walked past, quietly hoping that the crowd's actions had been motivated by respect more than simple terror. They lifted off the ground just as they passed into the Library, feeling the lurching sensation in their stomachs that indicated the huge station's artificial gravity had disappeared.

Inside, the pocket dimension resembled a literate hybrid between a beehive and a digestive tract. Shelf-lined tunnels branched and spiralled into the distance, each big enough to fly a light destroyer through. Gleaming white structures like ossified vines occupied the space between the shelves, obscuring the more distant parts of the network. There was no floor, which wasn't that much of a problem for most given how basic a magical talent flight was, though handholds had been fitted on the walls just in case. Swarms of people crawled across the shelves, dressed in the uniforms of a dozen departments, as well as one large orang-utan who wasn't wearing a uniform, but was moving so purposefully that they assumed he was supposed to be there.

"How are we going to find him in all this?" Hayate asked.

Nanoha jerked a thumb at a pale green light approaching from one of the tributaries. "There's your answer, I think."

The light slowed down, and resolved itself into the smiling form of the Chief Librarian, Yuuno Scrya. A string of hefty-looking volumes orbited him like papery satellites, and lines of verdant text scrolled up the inside of his glasses.

"That was fast," Hayate commented.

"Upgraded the security systems a few months ago," he explained. "Bunch of far-right nutjobs broke in to raid the Weaponry section. Almost got away with it, too – we found blueprints for some pretty vicious stuff on them. Anyways, just picked up a couple of massive energy signatures coming through the southern entrance, and decided to pop over and see what was up. We're not getting many folks above S-rank around here at the moment, you see."

He gestured, and the books flew back to the shelves in perfect formation.

"Anyway, it's good to see you two. Sorry I haven't had much time to chat lately – as you can see, things are rather chaotic around here. Our friends the gods have been up to their old tricks again; we've been reading the fluctuations, and it seems they hit another universe about a week ago."

Nanoha's stomach lurched again – this time, though, it had nothing to do with abrupt gravity failure. "What happened?"

"Couple of minor skirmishes, plus the terminal destabilisation of a galaxy-spanning empire ruled by a code called the Praxis. Think your basic militaristic dictatorship, only on a grander scale than average. Censorship, slavery, genocide... all the good stuff. Oh, and that wasn't just my personal prejudices formulating that list – they have some really unpleasant methods of information-control. Had, rather."

"So they toppled a nasty government," Hayate said. "What's the bad news?"

Yuuno pushed up his glasses with the fussy precision that inevitably heralded a transition into scholar mode. "You never read the books I got you for your birthday, did you? A civilisation like that – and I use the term loosely – never goes down tidily. Too many rivalries, too many people with blood on their hands, something to gain, or both. Your average evil empire isn't just comprised of sadistic rulers and a noble, downtrodden underclass, not if it survives as long as this one did. As soon as they sparked the fire, the Chaos forces did what they always do, and simply moved on. No picking up of the pieces, no smoothing of the transition, no nothing. Two days later, eighteen billion people were dead. It's probably far, far more by now."

Eighteen billion... that's three Earths. Nanoha tried to imagine it, but couldn't. Those who started it... they couldn't have known that would happen. Could they? What would they stand to gain from that sort of slaughter?

Yuuno broke the silence. "I'm sorry – that wasn't what you came here to discuss, was it? I seem to have picked up a habit of giving lectures at inopportune times – it's endemic to academia, I'm afraid. May I ask what it actually was?"

Relieved at the change of subject, Nanoha handed him a datapad. "We've been having issues with interdimensional travel regarding our new allies – it's a technology-compatibility thing, from what I hear. High Command thought you could help; the relevant information's all in the pad."

The librarian scanned through, his glasses performing the scrolling-text trick again. "Good grief – omega-level clearance? Well, that explains why they sent you two along. It says I'll be liaising with a Spiral scientist – may I ask who he is?"

"His name's Leeron," Hayate explained. "By all accounts, he's a technological genius, responsible for a frankly disproportionate number of their more exotic innovations. On the other hand, he's also a little... eccentric. Here's the photo we got given."

An image floated in the air, projected from her staff. It showed an ageless, androgynous, and vaguely piscine-looking individual wearing heavy eyeshadow blowing a kiss towards the camera.

"I... see." Yuuno said eventually. "Don't worry, though – I've dealt with academics before. As long as this one doesn't have to be repeatedly convinced that he's not some form of shellfish, we should be fine."

He waved to a pair of familiars hovering some distance away. "Aria, Lotte, I'm heading out for a while. You're in charge. Please don't molest too many of the younger visitors, all right?"

They giggled and waved back.

"Good grief, are those the Lieze twins?" Hayate asked, clearly taken aback – not that Nanoha could blame her. "What are they doing here?"

The librarian looked apologetic. "Sorry, Hayate, I know your history with them, but... well, Admiral Graham died last year – natural causes, believe it or not – and they had nowhere else to go, so I decided to take my cues from that speech you gave in Parliament a while back. You remember, the one about how everyone deserves a shot at redemption? They're in the rehab program now – the library job's for the community service aspect. I figured that if we were going to excise some of the poison good old Gil was feeding them before the Book of Darkness Incident, late was better than never."

A dozen emotions flickered across Hayate's face at once, too fast for Nanoha to track. She could sympathise entirely – encountering the people who had killed your only real family (albeit temporarily) in order to turn you into a ravening, world-destroying monstrosity and then tried to bring about your death as well could not be easy.

"I see," the colonel said in a calm, level voice. "Yuuno, I both commend and fully endorse this little project of yours. I'd be delighted to see them properly reformed... which is why I must ask you to keep me away from them at all times, because if I encounter them alone, I will not be held responsible for my actions."

"I'll keep that in mind," Yuuno replied solemnly, placing the datapad in a coat pocket.

He looked up and smiled. "My, this conversation does keep taking a turn for the gloomy, doesn't it? And people wonder why I never host parties. All right – where is this Leeron at the moment?"


"You know what I love about thish plashe?" the man sitting next to Leeron slurred. "Sh'got everything. Intershtellar capital, all the li'l backwater comfortsh of Earth, an' nobody makesh fun of my name."

He was a twitchy, grubby individual with wavy red hair whose face appeared to be swept back from his nose. Empty glasses were crowded in front of him, many of them having contained drinks that the Spiral had never heard of before they had been ordered.

"Oh?" he asked, intrigued. "What's your name, if I may ask?"

The man told him. Leeron crinkled his forehead, bemused.

"What's so funny about that?"

"You shee? That'sh exshactly what I mean!" He blinked owlishly. "Thish plashe ish gettin' a good write-up in the Guide, lemme tell ya."

He fumbled around in his noisome bag, eventually withdrawing a compact, battered object with the words 'DON'T PANIC' written on the casing in big, friendly letters. Leeron was about to ask what it was, when the man's truly monumental alcohol consumption finally caught up with him. He tottered over sideways, falling to the floor with an impressive crash. His head landed on the scientist's foot, and was pushed away with a dainty kick.

Leeron examined his own glass, and found it disappointingly empty. He withdrew another couple of coins from his wallet, and flipped them onto the bar.

"Bartender, another of those divine mint juleps, if you would?"

"Certainly, sir."

The man hadn't asked where his near-infinite supply of money came from, which was probably for the best. Leeron rather doubted that anyone back home would look very kindly on him abusing Spiral Energy to pay for cocktails. For some reason, the prospect of the universe imploding was something they got very uptight about. He took an experimental sip of the proffered drink. As expected, it was worth it.

"So, what unit're you with?" the bartender asked conversationally.

"Unit?"

"Sorry, I just assumed you were part of one of the military departments. This is a soldiers' bar, you see, and you've got the look about you."

The lanky androgyne pondered this. Either he's unusually perceptive, or they have a very unconventional approach to warfare. Whatever the case, I think I'll fit in here just fine.

"Oh, no, I've only just arrived. I am supposed to be linking up with the First Expeditionary Force at some point, though, and I must say, I'm actually looking forward to it quite a bit. All those handsome young military-types in their tight, tight uniforms..." He trailed off dreamily.

"The First Expeditionary Force? You mean Hayate's Lesbian Army?" a patron called out from another table. "Yeah, don't think you're going to have much luck there, mate."

The others sitting next to him sniggered.

Leeron raised an elegant eyebrow. "Oh?"

"It's mostly female combat mages," the first speaker's equally large and hairy companion explained. "You know how they are – don't spend so much time diving for cover as they do diving for-"

"Chain Whip!"

A ribbon of pale green light slashed into the table, shattering it and sending its occupants flying backwards. The caster, a bespectacled young man with long blond hair drawn back in a ponytail, wiped his hand on his trouser leg disdainfully.

"I hate that nickname," he announced to the room in general.

The bartender winced. "Come on, Yuuno, that's the third time this month. Grow a thicker skin, will you?"

"Oh, just take the repair expenses out of my account, Lagonda," the new arrival said casually. "You know I'm good for it."

"Yes, but-"

"All right, fine, it won't happen again. Probably." He turned to Leeron, who was watching the proceedings with mild curiosity. "As for you, you're coming with me. By the way, feel free to crack any off-colour jokes about my friends you've got stored up – I've been doing some research into offensive applications for shielding spells lately, and I'd just love to have a live test subject."

The Spiral grinned. "Wouldn't dream of it, sweetie. I assume you're my liaison with the First?"

"In a manner of speaking. I'm Yuuno Scrya, head of the Infinite Library. We'll be working together on that little transport problem Operation Guardian's been having lately. Sorry about the unfortunate first impression – I'm not usually like that. Those idiots just hit a nerve, is all."

In their struggle to escape the tangle of broken furniture they had found themselves in, one of Yuuno's victims accidentally elbowed another patron in the face. This had led to a full scale bar brawl, whilst the poor bartender could only watch and wave around his Armed Device in a vaguely alarming manner. Even the semiconscious travel writer had joined in, employing what appeared to be a weighted towel with devastating effect.

"So I see," Leeron commented. "Shall we depart? I really didn't like the look the owner threw at you just then."

"You're probably right," Yuuno agreed. "He'll get over it eventually – he always does – but I probably shouldn't be seen around here for a few days. In the meantime, I'll see you to your quarters. We'll discuss our objectives in a few hours' time – I assume you've already been briefed, but here's our take on the situation anyway."

He passed Leeron a datapad. On examining it, the Spiral saw that it was of the electronic variety, usable by a non-magic-user such as himself. Very considerate of them.

"So, what will you be doing once I've been dropped off, sweetie?"

"Heading back to the Library and making sure it hasn't burned down in my absence. I swear, it's like herding cats. Well, catgirls, anyway."

"Ah, I see."

They walked off in silence, Leeron discreetly checking out his escort's toned behind in the process. Maybe working with the First won't be so bad after all...


Though Colonel Yagami and the combat mages certainly had plenty to occupy them, life for the rest of the Eventide's crew was fairly uneventful. Most of their time was spent filling out paperwork, keeping the ship maintained, and meeting friends and family back on Mid-Childa. In particular, Fred Jones had spent the past couple of days engaged in the last of these three.

It had been simply idyllic – his daughter was back from school, and his wife had managed to schedule a completely free weekend. On the first day, they'd gone to one of the new amusement parks, a product of the currently-fashionable Mid-Childan preoccupation with Earth culture. Though it lacked much of the low-tech charm of the genuine articles his own parents had taken him to when he was a child, the park had certainly compensated for it with a plethora of technosorcerous bells and whistles. Little Georgia (she wasn't so little any more, but that was how he'd always thought of her) had been utterly enamoured, dragging them from ride to show to ride until Fred thought that his joints were about to give in.

The second day had been more sedate. They had stayed at home, playing games with each other and sharing stories of their time apart. Fred had flashed up a few of the images he had captured during the Eventide's expedition – the scarred face of Bloodhaven, alien ships trading shots between the stars, the gleaming Spiral capital... wonders and terrors of such magnitude that they seemed almost absurd in their cosy, slightly untidy little home. In the evening, he and his wife had left Georgia with the neighbours, heading out to a small restaurant they saved for special occasions. Once they had finished, they returned to the house, he put on some music, and they danced together for the first time in ages. He wasn't nearly as spry as he had been, and the extra pounds he'd put on in the intervening years didn't help much either, but somehow that hadn't seemed to matter. They'd gone to bed afterwards, and he'd been pleased to discover that a certain old nightgown still fitted her very nicely.

Now, though, he was back at the office, and wishing it felt more like a commute than an extended stay. He doubted the current situation would allow that, though – they'd already been assigned a new mission, and the preparations for launch had begun almost immediately.

He knocked on the door to Gunther's quarters.

"Enter."

It slid open, revealing an immaculate, spartanly-decorated room beyond. Gunther was working at his desk, neat stacks of order forms and cargo authorisation requests on either side.

"Problem?" he asked.

"Good guess, boss. There's been a mix-up in catering – wrong supplies got sent down. They wanted you to have a look at it."

"Staff there can't resolve?"

"'Fraid not – the stuff they got was meant for an entirely different department. Bit outside their jurisdiction."

"Show me."

"You got it, boss."

Gunther got up, grabbing his uniform jacket from where it was folded over the back of the chair. As he did so, Fred took the opportunity to further examine the room. His earlier opinion of 'sparsely-decorated' turned out to be something of an understatement; apart from the desk, which had been heavily customised with lots of little ergonomic drawers and stationery-holders, the room was completely devoid of anything that might indicate habitation. No mementos, no personal effects, no nothing. This was a room for sleeping and working in, nothing more. Fred was not in the habit of rifling through the wardrobes of senior officers and old friends, but he suspected that if he had, he would have found the clothes within as tidily folded as if they were still on the shelves they had been bought from.

Not for the first time, he wondered if Gunther had any friends apart from him. If he did, Fred had never met them.

They headed out into the central office's endless corridors, Fred falling into step beside and slightly behind Gunther as always. A tall, willowy woman passed them by, holding a stack of datapads. Fred gave her a wave, and she waved back, somehow managing not to drop any of the pads in the process.

Gunther shot him a quizzical glance.

"That's Stella Kei," he explained. "One of our junior accountants. Doesn't look like her new diet's been paying off too well – at least she seems to be over the divorce, though."

"Divorce?"

"Yeah, a real messy one – her husband took just about everything." He sighed. "We did warn her that the bastard was a conniving thug. Whole department had a whip-round, got her a nice little hamper full of goodies as commiseration. Anyway, glad to see her looking remotely cheerful again."

The glance had turned into a full-on bemused stare. "You know everyone?"

"I try, boss."

Soon, they were on the walkway to the Eventide once more. Looking down, Fred saw that the bustling of the ground crew was a bit more precise and organised than last time. Clearly, Gunther had been working his usual magic.

Signum walked past, nodding to her fellow captain.

"Quartermaster."

"Ma'am."

Fred couldn't help but notice the wistful glance his friend directed at the knight's retreating form.

"Think she's a bit out of your league, boss."

A faint grin. "Man can dream."

By the time they arrived at the galley, it was already busy. Several of the more prescient crewmembers hadn't even bothered moving out of their quarters on the ship once they got back, and there was usually quite a large queue at mealtimes. Fred noticed a new addition to the catering staff – the time-traveller girl, Mikuru Asahina, who had taken to serving food like the proverbial duck to water. At the moment, she was ladling potatoes onto the plates of two serious-looking thirteen-year-olds in the uniforms of combat mages who he recognised as Erio Mondial and Caro La Rushe, Captain Testarossa-Harlaown's adoptive children.

The other two representatives they had retrieved on their first visit to the informally-titled 'Suzumiyaverse' had gone on to rather more exalted positions. Emiri Kimidori had been attached to High Command along with her fellow Humanoid Interfaces, whilst Itsuki Koizumi had been busy helping out the refugees they'd pulled out in the few days before that universe's Earth had gone completely to hell.

That had been a bad business – Fred had heard the stories from those who had taken part in the mission. Running silent through a dimensional storm, hoping against hope that the fragile wards they had been given would shield them from the eyes of an enslaved god, had only been the first part. Once they had hit the ground, they had been forced to fight off seemingly endless waves of monsters, daemons, and insane once-humans whilst evacuating crowd upon crowd of soldiers and civilians, many of them mutated, badly injured, or both. Even the terrain itself had assaulted them, trees walking, buildings crushing them with stony fists, and the ground opening up beneath them to swallow them whole. In the end, they had lost four ships and over three hundred combat mages (including several above AA-rank), all to save fifteen thousand people. Fifteen thousand out of six billion. To top it off, the Interface who had organised it all, Yuki Nagato, had turned out to be acting against orders and was effectively sentenced to life imprisonment for her actions, which was generally considered a mild punishment by her compatriots.

All in all, it was no wonder that High Command didn't fully trust the Integrated Data Entity and its representatives any more.

He'd talked to some of the refugees, too, when Gunther had been sent down to help with housing and supplies. Seeing as the First had been so haphazardly pulled together from all over the Bureau, nobody higher-up felt too much guilt about borrowing some of them from time to time for outside work. It had been... strange. Most of them were specialists; time-travellers, espers, and the like. The sort of people who had been reasonably clued-in about the peculiarities of the local cosmology before the Fall. That was probably why they'd managed to survive so long, in fact. As such, they knew that there were still powers out there that could reverse this, make it all better. The Integrated Data Entity, for instance, which was presumably the reason for its refusal to back the evacuation. Even as they'd told him this, though, Fred had seen the doubt, the dread in their eyes. What if Chaos gets to them first? What if they aren't as good as we think they are? What if everything comes back... wrong, somehow? Living with gods and god-like beings looming over your head all the time had its advantages and its disadvantages.

The other refugees, the ones from the Federation's universe, were rather different. They had no gods, no magical reset button in the sky. Their problems would only be resolved by a long, gruelling recovery process (if at all), and they knew it. Understandably, tensions had been a little high between the two fledgling communities. Fred was very, very glad that dealing with it wasn't his job.

He heard curt orders coming from the rear of the galley – clearly, Gunther had gone into action. He wandered over to see how things were doing, and saw a couple of kitchen staff scurrying off, presumably on some mission or another. The quartermaster was standing alone, regarding their fleeing backs with amused satisfaction.

"Problem solved, boss?"

"For the moment."

Given that Gunther had not moved on to something else, Fred mentally translated this as 'there'll be another one in a minute'. Sure enough, one of the cooks hurried in a second later.

"Second shelf, by walnuts," he was informed before he had time to open his mouth.

The cook saluted. "Much obliged, sir."

After a moment's consideration, Gunther turned to Fred.

"Mission details?"

"You mean the one we're going on next?" he asked, slightly thrown by the change of subject. "Why would I have those?"

"Always do."

"OK, fair point. They're pretty highly-classified, though, so I wasn't able to catch everything. What I do know is that it's a tech-retrieval job. We're headed to a Non-Administered World in Bureau space, another alternate Earth, to pick up some gizmo called a Lambda Driver. No idea what that is, but it's clearly something important. Omega-level clearance, boss."

Gunther gave a low whistle. "Impressive."

"Too right." At least it can't help but be better than our maiden voyage. Hope it doesn't take too long, though. I want to get back to my family as soon as possible.

Another thought occurred to him as they wandered off. What was Stella doing with all those datapads? We have assistants for that sort of thing. Maybe I'll ask later.

By the time the day was over, though, he'd forgotten all about it.


Author's Notes: What, you seriously thought something like the Infinite Library wouldn't be conected to L-space?

Yeah, the destruction of the Praxis raised my eyebrows a little - I mean, given that a far more orderly destabilisation took an entire trilogy of not-inconsiderably-sized books to resolve, what sort of hell do you think the Stiletto's intervention unleashed? Oh, and drawing parallels to real-life events? Moi? Surely you jest.

'Hayate's Lesbian Army', for the record, is an actual fan nickname for Section Six, not something I made up myself. Really, after watching StrikerS, can you blame 'em?

On an unrelated topic, I wonder if they do Pan-Galactic Gargle Blasters on Mid-Childa?