If only I could have located the hidden cache, then I could've saved you, dear one. Life is but a collection of failed thoughts. If I could not save you nor my brother nor the gods-forged realm itself, then how can I save myself? --58.7 Seconds Post-Integration.
As he waited for SIMP to reply, he held the small box in his hand. It was smooth, silver, with white and gray colors interspacing the silver. On its bottom was a sole System port.
"That, Clark, is something you should not have..." SIMP's words were more mysterious than usual. This time, he did not think so because he was ignorant, either. Their explanation was downright unhelpful.
"Meaning?" his patience was idling.
"It is a Mobile Office Cube. A highly valued item. I gave an explanation of them before. Do you remember?"
Recalling everything he heard about obscure corporate items, the Cube did factor: "Yeah, I think. It was that do-hickey which would allow me to not have to run off to use a corporate computer when I needed to do paperwork and stuff, right?"
"Correct. Since you were listening, I need to also say something more: please, Clark, do not use this item -- not yet."
He thought over SIMP's request. "Why? Wouldn't the cube make everything easier? Plus, it was a gift, so it was free. Why shouldn't I use a free gift?"
"Because these aren't items given away as gifts. Whoever gave you this cube has an agenda of their own. An agenda we know nothing about; hold off on activating it until I have had time to sniff out any malicious code it might be infected with. Can you promise me that much?"
He thought over the request. He didn't understand anything like 'code,' but SIMP was an ally. More than an ally, they were a friend. A friend he had not respected lately when he considered the haste in which he threw around his dungeon champion title. "Okay. I can do that."
"Do you promise?"
"SIMP -- I promise."
With that, SIMP returned to analyzing the dwarven pod they had discovered in the dungeon's interior.
The next few days passed without incident. No monster alerts, no mysterious drop-offs by unknown benefactors. Just he and his work detail roughing it out hour-by-hour.
A day off finally came to put him at ease. His work detail, sharing his schedule, also had the day off. SIMP still needed time to analyze the dwarven pod, the task taking them much longer than originally thought. Wanting to be productive on his day off, he used his free time to go and find a library. SIMP had told him in such a place there might be books on the dwarves and so he should read such tomes to better acquaint himself with the magnitude of the discovery made.
The library -- officially known as 'Sire Augustford Memorial Library' -- contained rows upon rows of books. The interior was closely knitted, with lesser shelving and artistic fixtures that interspaced the primary shelving. Carpet of a thick and fluffy nature padded the floors whereas an atmosphere of silence pervaded along with an odd, but far from unpleasant, smell that had gained the air. The library contained more books, scrolls, and tablets than he had seen in his whole life. Probably several times over, in fact. Because he had no clue how such a place functioned, he had to find an aide. He saw someone with a nametag and approached: "Gooday, sir! I am looking for a book on dwarven manufacture. Or dwarven history. Dwarven 'pods,' especially. Might you be able to help?"
Whoever the clerk was -- their nametag only said their rank, 'Novice Librarian' -- his request befuddled them. "Uh, sorry, I wouldn't know. That sounds like non-corporate material. It would be in the reference section, I think? The basement."
"Wonderful. How might I get to the basement?"
"Go down this path, take a few lefts, after a right, then you'll find some elevators."
He thanked the worker again, despite them not being of much help, and went on his way. 'Might,' 'I think,' 'like...' None of those words meant 'certainty.' He hoped he was not being sent on a wild goose chase.
After some direction, he found the elevators the aide spoke of -- at the far end of the main chamber. "Sorry, sir. I can't let you pass. These are reserved for those already with library cards."
He nearly sighed. "How might I gain a library card?"
"You will need to sign up for one at the front desk. Back there," the elevator guard jerked his finger over his shoulder to point out the desk.
So, he went to the front desk. Which required him to wait in line for a long time. Which was, in turn, why he hadn't gone to the front desk when he first arrived, because there was a line of people.
Waiting in line wasn't hard, clearly, but it was tedious, which was difficult for Clark.
Minutes dragged on until an hour passed. When it was his turn to speak to the receptionist, he was met with a placard that said, 'Gone to lunch.'
"Seriously?" he wasn't amused. He had eaten up over two hours of his day off at the library and had nothing to show for it.
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
But with nothing else he could do, he waited.
And waited. Then waited some more, anger in him building to a crescendo he didn't dare unleash, least he make a fool of himself.
"Thank you for your patience," the receptionist said once she returned from her meal. "How can I help you today?"
Before he spoke, Clark took a deep breath. "I would like to apply for a library card, please."
"Great!" her voice was too cheery. "I will need you to fill out this form! Next!"
Form in hand, he must've missed something. "Wait. I can't just fill it out here?"
"Nope! Receptionist's time is far too valuable to waste on waiting. NEXT!"
Shoved out of the way by the man to his back, the man snarled at him to 'make room.' He took the man's cue but wasn't happy about it. He found a desk, sat down, and filled out the information.
What the form was, was bullshet.
Well, unapplicable to him, which made it bullshet.
Questions like, 'what is your address?' and 'do you have any other library cards?' Questions which he did not understand. Out in the Wastes, no such things -- libraries or otherwise -- existed, so they confused him more than anything. He asked for SIMP's help, which he gave, but every time he asked, they had a shorter and shorter fuse. Thus, he wanted to ask them for help as little as possible. Though, to be fair, it might have just been Sire Augustford's personality that made them short-tempered.
With the form finished, he went back to the front desk and waited in the perpetual line.
Anger built in him again, but he managed to stifle it down by remaining focused on the present. He was making progress. That's all that mattered.
"Thank you for your patience. How can I help you, today?" the receptionist asked, again.
"I would like to apply for a library card," he said, not sure if he should mention he had already been here once before. "Here is my application."
He put the application on the desk and slid it over to her. She smiled, checked it out, and asked him a few clarifying questions.
At first, he took the questions in stride, and gave her the best answers he could be expected to give: "for address, I am a Lifer who lives in the corporate dorms, so I am not sure about that, even SIMP seemed confused by it..."
"I'm sorry but I can't approve your application without a legitimate address. You will just need to come back another day and--"
He exploded -- "I'm not coming back another day! I'm tired of this crap! You make this shet up just to screw with us Waster folk and our ignorance on your convoluted corpo-ways and I am DONE with it! Now, I am the dungeon champion, and I demand a library card!"
"Uh, oh, s-sorry!" His outburst obviously shocked her. He waited for her to recover which was longer than he thought. "I didn't know and -- sorry, what is a dungeon champion?"
All said and done, it took him over five hours to get his library card sorted.
Oddly, when he had his card in hand, he felt even angrier than when he was shouting at the poor receptionist over it. "It's the nerve of them," he snarled and gritted his teeth. "Wasting everyone's time like that. Wasting my time like that! SIMP could contact me at any moment and say they've made headway on the pod or the cube. What am I doing? Playing service-clerk tag with an underpaid girl!"
"Can I see your library card, sir?" asked the elevator guard.
"Here it is, sir," he told the guard while flashing his badge. "Is there a problem?"
The guard looked at him for a moment like he wanted to say something. "No sir, go on through."
"Thank you..."
Once the elevator doors closed, a groan the size of the tower escaped his lips.
"What the heck is with me?" he asked himself as if he expected an answer. "Too stressed? Too... what?"
No answer came to him by the time the doors opened, dislodging him into a musty smelling room. Overhead, pipes ran the gamut of the rafters, signaling a distinct change of atmosphere from the main lobby. Here, the floor was simple concrete. No rug. No happiness.
"And no clerks in sight. Anyone there?" he asked loudly.
No response.
"Wonderful. Just wonderful. How am I going to find a book, now?"
Rage again built inside of him and though it tempted him more than anything to let it out, he held it in. Now wouldn't be the productive time to let his frustrations take hold. He settled on systematically browsing the aisles for anything related to Dwarves. Until he found an actual aid to help him, that is.
The first book he found on dwarves wasn't helpful in the slightest. 'Dwarven Business Acumen: 12-A.13: The Slender Years.' by Jerry F.
He took it anyway.
Next, he managed to find a book even more unhelpful than the first. 'First Curl of the Lips: Dwarven Facial Structure and What it Means.'
He kept that book on the shelf, all mighty in knowing it wouldn't help him as much as lighting his own bum on fire.
Clark kept looking.
He would find a worthy book eventually; he was sure of it...
Or he was sure until he had spent three hours wandering the stacks in vain. Throughout the whole time, he didn't encounter a single library aide. "Perhaps they don't exist down here?"
On his HUD, he checked the time. The time read, 'too late.'
"I'm going to spend all night here if I'm not careful." He sighed. His eyes felt heavy. He should return to his dorm and have some dinner. "I don't want to leave empty handed. What do I do?"
Solving the issue for him was a message from Theo. Because he needed a break from the drudgery of mindlessly scanning the shelves, he listened to the voice recording where he was instead of finding a room.
"Hey, Clark," the message began. "Wanna hang out? I have a bucket full of cold ones with our names on them if you're interested, wink, wink."
'Cold ones?' What was that? Slang, clearly, but about what? He wanted to ask and to accept -- just to have a break -- but he couldn't justify hanging out when he had work to do. He sent back a reply: "Sorry. I am at the library. Trying to search for a book on dwarves without much luck. Another time!"
He expected that was to be the end of the exchange. He returned to his mind-numbing search and put thoughts of spending time with Theo from his mind. He had far too many aisles to check before he could contemplate returning to his dorm.
"Gods, this is hopeless!" he muttered to himself maybe thirty-minutes later, after he had felt as though he had checked every book and its grandfather's spine, too. "I should go back to the upper level and request help. Then again, after the fuss I caused, would they really help?"
Notions of whether the aides upstairs would help were jettisoned when he heard Theo's voice. "There you are bud!"
Turning, he saw his friend and work detail mate coming down the main way. "What are you doing here?"
"When I heard your message, it brought me back. I've spent time in the library, so I thought I would come down to help you out. It can be confusing if you've never been here before. Which I figured you hadn't." Theo had his trademarked smile. It put him at ease after the frustrations of the day.
"You would be right. I am lost -- totally!"
"Oke doke. Tell me what you need help with," Theo asked, making him feel as though he didn't deserve a friend as caring as they.
"Well... with everything, frankly. I can't find anything on dwarf pods, here."
"Have you already consulted the index cards?"
Clark blinked. "Cards?"
Theo grinned. "This way, your highness!"
Libraries: Did Your Workplace Have One?
