everything is in order."
"You don't want to go with him?"
He shook his head. "I want to go with you." Before she could say anything else, he'd called Davaskar, who was happy to return to the space port.
Smiling, he took her arm and guided her toward the door. "I expect you know where this library is?"
***
Like much of Torreno, the library was built in the classical style: simple lines designed to merge with the background. Morgan and Ravindra walked along a meandering path through a garden where grass lapped the bases of groups of deciduous trees. A scattering of golden leaves littered the lawns, the first of the season. Bushes, some still sporting fading flowers, hugged the walls of the building.
"I'm assuming there's more here than what you can find on the information systems?" Ravindra said, his boots crunching on fine gravel.
"I'm hoping they'll let us look at originals—books, yes but mainly pictures."
A flash of russet scrambled up a nearby tree. Morgan played the image back. One of those cute little skerrels, rodents that lived in the trees.
"Still looking for Rosmenyo? There's no point, is there?"
She shook her head. "Not him, no. More the 'menace from the stars' thing. Maybe there's a distant connection back to whoever created the Manesai. It's thin, but frankly, it's all we've got."
An arch of shallow steps led to transparent doors which parted at their approach.
"This place is almost like a cathedral," Ravindra said, turning his head to take in the decorated ceilings ten floors above, and the holographic figures set along the walls of the entrance hall.
"To my knowledge, there are no religious buildings in Torreno city. That way, none of the delegates can get upset that somebody's beliefs are more important than anybody else's."
"Makes sense."
Morgan stopped at the information booth to scan the collection. The Conflagration section was housed in a gallery toward the back of the building, on the top floor.
"Looks like the Conflagration isn't flavor of the month," she said, as they walked across a smooth stone floor to escalators that spiraled up into the shadows high above.
"Because of the location?" Ravindra asked.
"Yes. As far away as it's possible to be in this building."
The Conflagration Hall was appropriately decorated with murals illustrating the devastation resulting from the conflict.
Ravindra gravitated over to the depictions of the war machines, flying disks bristling with weapons. "This is much more practical," he remarked.
"Uh-huh. Artists used the descriptions in the books to try to come up with an idea of what the things would really have looked like, from the ridiculous descriptions in the scriptures." Morgan lifted her hands, wiggling her fingers. "The wheels of death."
Ravindra chuckled, and she left him to peruse the illustrations, turning her attention to the row of covered cases holding examples of books, notes, artifacts from the period, much as they had seen in the museum on Iniciara. A few cases held books, opened at a page, but these weren't the originals, anyway. Fuck it, she needed to talk to a person. Morgan gazed around her. Somebody? Anybody? Was there no-one in this mausoleum?
"You look lost. Can I help you?"
Morgan started. A woman wearing dark blue pants and a pale grey shirt stood beside her.
"I'm Netsa Simmons, curator of this collection."
Morgan beamed. Maybe there was something to this prayer business. She thrust out a hand. "Marion Sefton. I'm so pleased to meet you."
Ravindra ranged up beside her, and stopped a hand's breadth away. "And this is Ashkar Ravindra."
Simmons's hand was cool and dry, the handshake cursory. Once she'd shaken hands with Morgan, the curator put a hand out to Ravindra. With only the slightest hesitation, he followed Morgan's example. Morgan hoped he'd been gentle.
"We don't get too many visitors up here anymore," Simmons said, glancing between them.
"I've studied the collection available online," Morgan explained.
"You don't want to go with him?"
He shook his head. "I want to go with you." Before she could say anything else, he'd called Davaskar, who was happy to return to the space port.
Smiling, he took her arm and guided her toward the door. "I expect you know where this library is?"
***
Like much of Torreno, the library was built in the classical style: simple lines designed to merge with the background. Morgan and Ravindra walked along a meandering path through a garden where grass lapped the bases of groups of deciduous trees. A scattering of golden leaves littered the lawns, the first of the season. Bushes, some still sporting fading flowers, hugged the walls of the building.
"I'm assuming there's more here than what you can find on the information systems?" Ravindra said, his boots crunching on fine gravel.
"I'm hoping they'll let us look at originals—books, yes but mainly pictures."
A flash of russet scrambled up a nearby tree. Morgan played the image back. One of those cute little skerrels, rodents that lived in the trees.
"Still looking for Rosmenyo? There's no point, is there?"
She shook her head. "Not him, no. More the 'menace from the stars' thing. Maybe there's a distant connection back to whoever created the Manesai. It's thin, but frankly, it's all we've got."
An arch of shallow steps led to transparent doors which parted at their approach.
"This place is almost like a cathedral," Ravindra said, turning his head to take in the decorated ceilings ten floors above, and the holographic figures set along the walls of the entrance hall.
"To my knowledge, there are no religious buildings in Torreno city. That way, none of the delegates can get upset that somebody's beliefs are more important than anybody else's."
"Makes sense."
Morgan stopped at the information booth to scan the collection. The Conflagration section was housed in a gallery toward the back of the building, on the top floor.
"Looks like the Conflagration isn't flavor of the month," she said, as they walked across a smooth stone floor to escalators that spiraled up into the shadows high above.
"Because of the location?" Ravindra asked.
"Yes. As far away as it's possible to be in this building."
The Conflagration Hall was appropriately decorated with murals illustrating the devastation resulting from the conflict.
Ravindra gravitated over to the depictions of the war machines, flying disks bristling with weapons. "This is much more practical," he remarked.
"Uh-huh. Artists used the descriptions in the books to try to come up with an idea of what the things would really have looked like, from the ridiculous descriptions in the scriptures." Morgan lifted her hands, wiggling her fingers. "The wheels of death."
Ravindra chuckled, and she left him to peruse the illustrations, turning her attention to the row of covered cases holding examples of books, notes, artifacts from the period, much as they had seen in the museum on Iniciara. A few cases held books, opened at a page, but these weren't the originals, anyway. Fuck it, she needed to talk to a person. Morgan gazed around her. Somebody? Anybody? Was there no-one in this mausoleum?
"You look lost. Can I help you?"
Morgan started. A woman wearing dark blue pants and a pale grey shirt stood beside her.
"I'm Netsa Simmons, curator of this collection."
Morgan beamed. Maybe there was something to this prayer business. She thrust out a hand. "Marion Sefton. I'm so pleased to meet you."
Ravindra ranged up beside her, and stopped a hand's breadth away. "And this is Ashkar Ravindra."
Simmons's hand was cool and dry, the handshake cursory. Once she'd shaken hands with Morgan, the curator put a hand out to Ravindra. With only the slightest hesitation, he followed Morgan's example. Morgan hoped he'd been gentle.
"We don't get too many visitors up here anymore," Simmons said, glancing between them.
"I've studied the collection available online," Morgan explained.
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