Now let us talk about our multiverse. The Ubiquitatuum people called it by a rather inconvenient term for us, "jeedhahinsab," but we refer to it as "Allesert." It is the infinite everything around us, including ourselves, and it is termed the "multiverse" because it encompasses multiple universes. What fundamentally distinguishes the multiverse from a universe—we will explore later. For now, let us delve into how the multiverse began and, most importantly, how long ago that might have been.
Currently, science suggests that the multiverse did not have a distinct "beginning of time" prior to which it did not exist. Back in 4285, theoretical physicist Jakob Becker (4260–4355) proposed that time within the multiverse is an infinite quantity. He compared it to a geometric straight line, which has neither a beginning nor an end but nonetheless exists. To this day, the majority of scientists consider this theory, known as the "Straight Line Theory," the most plausible explanation of Allesert's structure. Although it faces challenges in terms of experimental evidence, certain Ubiquitatuum records lend credence to it. These same records provide us with nearly all the data regarding how the multiverse transitioned from its original phase—its former, unknown state—into the second phase: the Ubiquitatuum phase.
This transition occurred during the emergence of a living being that called itself God, adopting the name "Az." Unfortunately, due to the colossal loss of information, we are unable to gather objective details about who or what Az truly was. However, it seems that Az was the first living entity in history to possess intelligence, consciousness, and unbridled abilities to alter its environment. Az also proclaimed itself the creator of the first world within the multiverse's space and, later, the author of an attempt to "create itself," which led to the birth of a second entity with identical power. This legend is perhaps known to every child today: how the second entity, having drawn part of Az's power, gradually became less like Az, decided to follow its own path, and took the name "Omega." Az was powerless to stop it. It is also well-known that for billions of years, Az experimented with relatively simple concepts, while Omega explored more complex ones. As a result, we owe most of the current laws of physics and chemistry to the former and ourselves—living beings, deprived of such immense power but endowed with emotions and unique ways of thinking—to the latter. According to Chaosism (a philosophical and religious doctrine of the Church of Chaos Adepts), Omega's will was that only through creating difficulties and overcoming them could one find life's meaning (fulfilling Omega's goal) and understand oneself (fulfilling Az's goal).
The turning point came when the two beings—later known as the "Elder Gods"—decided to unite. One of the historical Ubiquitatuum documents, penned by an unknown chronicler, allegedly preserves their dialogue verbatim:
"And Omega said: I have achieved that which is incomprehensible to your understanding. I have created those who lack our power but possess our reason… You do not think of what I think, but I think of what you think. And I know that you have already created beings like us, yet you have not endowed them with an essence like ours…
And Az replied: I agree with you, we must unite our efforts so that time itself gives us all the answers. Here is my condition. Our dominion must extend only to what lies within THIS world; henceforth, it shall be called Ubiquitatuum. Everything we create to fulfill our mission we must release into another world, beyond which our influence shall not reach. Do you agree to this?
Omega pondered for a long time but eventually gave his consent."
If we assume that such a dialogue truly occurred and that it indeed unfolded as described—an assumption shared by most historians — it follows that Allesert, in its current form, represents an experiment by the two beings later called the "Elder Gods." They created a universe where they and their close companions resided and another universe that would help answer their pressing questions. This would have likely marked the end of the purpose of all existence, were it not for the Great Ubiquitatuum Catastrophe, partly caused by Omega's lingering doubt before making his decisive move
The fact that the manuscript tore at this point prompted Martina to glance sharply to her left in response to another gaze that had been fixed on her for the past few minutes. As expected, a balding agent clad in leather armor, who had been observing her with genuine interest, abruptly shifted not only his point of focus but also the very position of his head. Smirking faintly, she was about to continue reading but remembered that it was impossible. She paused to think. In principle, there was nothing surprising about the fact that only two pages remained from what had once been a fairly large book (about three hundred and sixty pages, according to the table of contents). Certain clues noted by Guber — including the author's writing style, which was utterly unlike modern academic publishing standards — indicated that the book was at least a thousand years old.
She was preoccupied with something else entirely, which she decided to clarify with the agent observing her:
— May I ask for clarification, honorable Mister Schenk? Is there a section in this Archive where loose sheets of paper, detached from books, are stored?
— Uh… — Georg Schenk stammered, startled, shifting his gaze back to Martina, who was standing by the bookshelf. — As far as I understand, yes.
— As far as you understand? — Guber pressed further. — Why the uncertainty?
— Well, aren't you aware of how many sections there are in this place? — Schenk dared to respond with a question of his own.
— Of course, I am. The Archive's map displayed on the wall in the lobby listed around a hundred sections, about seventy of which are designated for books and documents categorized by all currently recognized scientific fields. The remaining thirty are allocated for auxiliary needs, but surely you realize those were of little interest to me? — Martina replied, sliding the half-book back onto the shelf and glancing over the nearby volumes.
— Naturally, I understand. — Georg replied, now in a noticeably more confident tone. — Around a hundred sections, plus the building's layout is quite convoluted. I was only assigned here about a week ago, so I haven't had a chance to properly familiarize myself yet…
Schenk's words were abruptly cut off by Guber's loud sigh as she directed her gaze upward to the ceiling, which was almost six and a half meters high. For reasons incomprehensible to Georg, Martina studied that stone ceiling for a full seven seconds before her eyes shifted back to him. It was hard to discern the emotions they conveyed—half-lidded, paired with a faint, one-sided smirk, her expression seemed to simultaneously communicate exhaustion and disdain.
— May I inquire, Agent? — Martina addressed Schenk by his title, which only served to increase his unease. — What position did you hold prior to your assignment to the Ancient Archive?
— Oh… — Georg faltered, his face turning pale. — Security for the Second State Chemical Laboratory…
— In the Province of Rain. — Martina finished for him. — Just as I thought. Well… — she continued slowly, turning away and proceeding at a measured pace between the towering bookshelves in search of the information she needed.
To the already unpleasant bouquet of emotions swirling within the Archive's watchful Agent, a fresh one was now added—genuine puzzlement at Guber's last remark. He was about to ask how Martina had deduced his former place of service when she spoke again:
— And whom do you prefer to blame for such an unfortunate assignment? — she asked without turning her head, extracting not a book but rather a small notebook from the shelf. Its dark brown cover bore a gold-embossed title: "Pessium-End. Analysis of the Ubiquitatuum's Greatest Tragedy After the Catastrophe."
— I beg your pardon? — Georg stammered, seemingly thrown into a state of complete bewilderment.
— Didn't you hear me? That's strange. In theory, the silence of these vast halls should enhance one's hearing. — Guber opened the notebook somewhere in the latter half, as though searching for specific information. — I asked: whom do you prefer to blame for your unfortunate assignment?
— I heard you; I just didn't quite understand the question. — Georg took a few small, hesitant steps toward Guber, as he had been standing still for almost ten minutes and his legs were starting to cramp. — Why do you consider my assignment here unfortunate, and why, moreover, should I blame anyone for it?
— Genal Prime forbid, what does my opinion have to do with this? — Martina asked, not looking at her conversational partner but still feigning surprise by placing a hand over her heart. — These are just facts. After all, in the Province of Rain, you were providing direct benefit to the nation, as the strength of your sword was at least moderately useful against the near-constant lightning strikes there, which could cause significant harm to both ordinary similars and their works…
— Sorry, but I absolutely don't understand what you're talking about, — Georg dared to interrupt Guber, feeling deeply stung by such incomprehensible remarks about himself. He even shifted to a slightly humorous tone. — If you think that my sword's ability was protecting the helpless laboratory from celestial electric discharges, you're mistaken. I stood on patrol just like anyone else, except outside the building rather than inside, guarding the entrance in constant rain and doing nothing more. The lightning rods and protective spells nearby handle lightning strikes perfectly well. For me, being assigned to this warm, peaceful, and most importantly, completely dry archive is practically a reward from my superiors.
Guber, apparently having found what she was looking for, snapped the notebook shut with a lightning-fast motion and returned it to its place with a far smoother gesture. She then stepped back, crossed her arms over her chest, and turned her head toward Georg, her expression unchanged from when he had confessed about the building's overly complex layout.
— So, you've been of no use to anyone at all?
Schenk froze in place as if rooted to the spot. He simply didn't know what to say. Though her words seemed like a casual comment meant to poke at him, they sounded with the weight of a judge delivering a death sentence. Georg simultaneously didn't understand the ultimate goal of all these questions, couldn't decide on a response, and felt as though the entire conversation had been cobbled together from fragments of two unrelated dialogues. Noticing Georg's confusion, Guber, slightly softening her tone, decided to answer the question herself:
— That's why your statement is incorrect. As much as I'd like to trust in our energetic technologies, it would simply be impractical. It was entirely logical to assign you, an agent whose sword ability neutralizes electrical energy, to guard a critical research facility in a zone with more of that energy than water in the ocean. One could say you were perfectly placed there. So what, then, was the meaning of your transfer here to the Ancient Archive? We're practically in the capital region; the weather conditions are almost always good here, and after seven whole days, you still can't memorize the Archive's layout. — Martina spread her hands. — So, I'll ask again: what was the point? This gesture by our command strikes me as a failure because it offers no practical benefit to anyone. Except you, of course, — she clarified at the end, glancing at Georg sidelong.
— It's not like I assigned myself here, now is it? How am I to blame? — Georg shrugged, offering a weak smile.
— Without a doubt, not yourself, — the woman scoffed. — You were dragged here by a similar who inspires in me such profound doubts about the quality of their work that I'm no longer certain of their intellectual capabilities or their loyalty to our nation. However, that's irrelevant. Better enlighten me: who did Daniel Ferber assign to that post in your place? — she finally asked, slipping her hands into the pockets of her trousers.
— Who's there now, I honestly don't know, my apologies, — Georg preemptively tried to shield himself from potential reproaches, though it was unlikely that the Defense Forces command had made multiple replacements in just a couple of weeks. — But when I left, it was Number 99.
The girl's face comically transformed at his response: her mouth flew open, then twisted into a grimace, her eyes squinted, and her head tilted downward.
— Ninety-Ninth? — Guber demanded confirmation in a hushed voice.
— Yes, no surprise that you know him. I even talked to him before handing over my post and heading to Celestial City, — Schenk affirmed. — By the way, he's not such a bad guy… Uh?...
Guber, with lightning speed, pulled a metallic half-kilogram flask from the inner pocket of her cloak, opened it just as swiftly, and emptied it entirely in about a second and a half. Georg, who happened to know what liquid was inside that flask, felt a strange mix of embarrassment and awe. There was even a hint of admiration on his face, as he couldn't imagine forcing himself to down that particular drink in one go under any circumstances. When the flask left her lips, her trembling hand nearly dropped it to the floor. Martina, slightly coughing, wore an expression that suggested she was far from pleased with her impulsive action.
— Perhaps I overdid it, after all… — she commented on her sharp, emotional move.
— No arguments here, — Georg agreed without argument.
— Well, this gives me even more grounds to believe that Ferber is an agent of Orbius or Pessium, planted to completely disrupt the Defense Forces. — She leaned back against the bookshelf, sliding down slightly as she stared once again at the ceiling. The hilt of her sword, hanging at her waist, knocked against the shelf with a dull thud. — To assign a similar capable of wielding large-scale fire to guard a chemical laboratory in the Province of Rain. — Martina placed a splayed hand over her face and mumbled into it. — Just… what the hell?..
Schenk had little to say in response. For a while, he simply watched Guber, who had frozen in place like a Renaissance-era sculpture, bringing absolute silence to the hall. Undoubtedly, Schenk would have continued observing her, as he found the scene oddly captivating, but he suddenly remembered what had prompted this whole interrogation in the first place.
— Apologies for the silly question — but what exactly are you so persistently searching for in the Ancient Archive?
Guber, still covering her face, mumbled directly into her hand:
— Detailed information about the most significant event in Allesert's history, the one that shaped the multiverse as we know it today.
— The Great Ubiquitatuum Catastrophe? — Schenk clarified.
— Are there any other events that fit that description? — Guber straightened to her full height, once again slipping her hands into her pockets. — Everyone knows the multiverse's history has been recorded for an incredibly long time. Some suggest that Az's birth as a being occurred nearly a googol years ago, if not earlier. So when did the Catastrophe take place?
— Eight thousand six hundred and three years ago? Since there are no other dates tied to the creation of Altimus Viewere. — Schenk mimicked Martina, even copying her posture.
— Absolutely correct, — Martina affirmed, though she noticed her companion's parody of her mannerisms, she chose to completely ignore it. — But personally, I can't bring myself to say that we know much more about this event—let me repeat, the event that essentially shaped the world we live in—than we do about the appearance of the first being in Allesert. Fragmentary, superficial knowledge that tells us barely more than nothing. My current task is to create the most accurate picture of the last day of Ubiquitatuum's existence. — She explained, once again scanning the thousands of book spines with her eyes.
— Hmm, — Schenk murmured so quietly that it was more to himself than to Guber. — Curious, why would you…
His curiosity stemmed not from a place of, "Why, hasn't anyone tried to do this in the past eight thousand years?" but rather, "Why is a Defense Forces agent bothering with such an odd task?" It was irrelevant, though, because she would likely respond to both questions the same way:
— Once I've put it together, even you will understand everything. — Guber replied, unprompted. — Although who knows when this "once I've put it together" will happen, seeing as I've spent an entire day here and so far only figured out where to look. Perhaps you, with your work ethic, missed some relevant items? — Martina cast another sidelong glance at Schenk, but he had anticipated such a jab and quickly responded.
— Look, let's say you don't trust my professional capabilities. But I'd like to remind you that I'm not the only one on duty here. I've been at this post for barely a week, but Miss Erna Barms has been managing the Ancient Archive for several decades at least.
At that, Georg Schenk fell silent, though Martina's expression suggested she expected him to continue. When no further explanation followed, Guber shrugged, rolled her eyes, straightened her head, and asked:
— So, what's your point? Are you trying to shift all the responsibility onto her or something?
— Of course not, — Georg said, rolling his eyes toward the ceiling. — I'm trying to convince you that under the supervision of such a similar, nothing could have gone missing. — Schenk said this with a tone of absolute confidence.
— I don't even know what's more foolish here: the fact that you're seriously drawing this conclusion after a week of guarding the Archive, or the idea that the custodian of an archive couldn't possibly be the one stealing from it. Then again…
— What do you mean, only a week?! — Schenk openly protested now, even interrupting Guber, something he certainly wouldn't have dared to do just minutes earlier. — You're accusing me of incompetence after knowing me for just a couple of hours, so why…
It's unclear how this argument might have ended, as at that very moment, the door swung open. Hearing the sound, Georg immediately shifted his attention away from the verbal skirmish with Martina, took a few quick steps back, and looked toward the aisle between the bookshelves. Spotting exactly what he expected, he turned back to face the girl, his expression a mixture of mild fear and directed frustration. Guber responded with a shrug and an exaggeratedly surprised look, which quickly gave way to a sarcastic smirk as she slid her hands back into her trouser pockets.
The person who entered the hall was a woman who appeared to be around thirty-five years old. She had long black hair tied into a single braid, gray eyes that she kept so half-lidded they were barely visible, and a rather welcoming and friendly face. She wore a fitted white blouse under a gray blazer and a long black skirt. She entered the hall, closing the door behind her quietly. Her movements were quick but oddly languid, almost noiseless, as if she were gliding like a ghost, her feet never touching the ground.
— Esteemed agents, — began Erna Barms, who, as Schenk had already mentioned, had been the curator of the Ancient Archive for the past few decades—twenty-five years, to be exact. — I would like to kindly request that you refrain from raising your voices within the Archive. It demands a special level of care—even overly strong sound waves can cause certain delicate items irreparable damage.
Georg Schenk was about to reply, but Guber, who darted into the aisle to meet Barms head-on, beat him to it:
— I don't entirely agree. Most likely, items that suffer damage from ordinary sound waves aren't items at all, but rather dust that hasn't yet crumbled completely. However, — Guber drew the word out slightly, — even so, we did indeed violate the rules for handling this critical object of the highest state importance. For this—that is, for allowing such a breach—I sincerely ask for your forgiveness.
Martina leaned slightly forward, closed her eyes, and placed a hand over her heart, while Schenk still couldn't quite grasp what he was even doing here at this moment.
— I wouldn't say this is your fault, — Erna responded in a calming tone. — Of course, I'm not deeply involved with the Defense Forces, but aren't Prism agents of the same rank as regular ones?
— No, Miss Barms, but I believe that doesn't absolve me of responsibility for the misconduct of my colleagues. Firstly, because if not Prism, who else should steer the entire Defense Forces in the right direction? Secondly, the matter of assigning a separate rank to Prism agents is currently under review by the Defense Administration. And thirdly…
— I understand, — Barms interrupted, once again attempting to calm Guber. She raised her hands, which had been perpetually crossed, with her palms facing outward. — To be honest, I'm not particularly eager to delve into the nature of your dispute, if that's what's going on here. But I feel obliged to defend Mr. Schenk, as over the past week, I've had no complaints about his performance.
— How many visitors have you had during that time? — Martina inquired casually, as if in passing.
— Admitted visitors, you mean? Well, you, The Duke's Heiress, are certainly the first in that period…
— The Duke's Heiress?.. — Martina repeated, her face twisting in a grimace. — Um, could you not call me that?
After a few seconds of silence, Erna relented:
— Yes, of course, if that's more comfortable for you. — Barms inclined her head slightly. — In any case, as you can imagine, even a job like managing the Ancient Archive, where almost nothing happens, requires experience, which Mr. Schenk lacks.
— Hehe… — Guber chuckled through her nose without even opening her mouth. She then turned her head to Georg over her shoulder. — Mr. Schenk, you do realize that one of a Defense Forces agent's responsibilities is to perform their duties immediately, even without prior experience?
— Oh, so you've decided to ask me after all, Madam… — Schenk began in a deep voice but quickly lowered it to a whisper when he caught a glimpse of Barms's half-lidded gaze directed at him. — Madam Guber! I understand, and I'm even trying to do just that! Again, thank you for finally giving me a chance to get a word in!
The bewilderment and confusion of Georg Schenk, an agent who had been calmly serving as the Archive's Watcher for seven days and was clearly unprepared for this unannounced, unofficial inspection, showed no signs of dissipating.
— Was someone stopping you or something? — Guber asked with veiled irony.
— And you don't find anything wrong with discussing my supposedly terrible performance with my temporary superior? — Schenk protested openly, his tone rising slightly.
— "Temporary superior," you say? I like the sound of that. Mr. Schenk is practically telling us he doesn't plan on staying in the Ancient Archive for long. — Guber smirked, not even looking at Georg, her gaze fixed instead on his "temporary superior."
— I think the ways of the Defense Forces command are inscrutable, especially for a similar like me, — Barms remarked, her tone mild and neutral compared to the rest of the conversation.
— And for someone like me… — Guber drawled, shaking her head. — But let's get back to business. What exactly is your job here, if you don't mind me asking?
— I suppose it's patrolling and inspecting the Archive to ensure that items are in their proper places, escorting visitors as necessary. — Georg recited as if reading from a script.
— And if… — Martina paused momentarily. — …we assume you don't know the Archive's layout, how do you plan to perform your job?
— I assure you, it's very simple, — Schenk spread his arms. — What's stopping me from doing something as basic as checking the layout when needed?
— Ah, "when needed"… — Martina shrugged. — I can just picture the scene: some spies from Pessium burst into the Archive in the dead of night, sneaking into one of the halls to steal valuable items. But Georg Schenk doesn't rush to stop them—oh no, he has to consult the layout first so he doesn't get lost on the way. By the time he figures it out, if he's lucky enough to orient himself, they'll have taken the entire building, foundation included. And mind you, according to the latest intelligence, that's far from a figure of speech.
— I think you're exaggerating, — Barms attempted to wedge herself into the conversation, though her effort was as mismatched as a cartridge forced into the wrong magazine. — The layout here isn't nearly complex enough for someone to get lost just trying to locate a sound.
— That's exactly the point! — Schenk shot back at Guber. — The Archive layout might only be needed for search tasks, but it's completely irrelevant to guarding it against intruders. That's why my familiarity with that damned plan is absolutely… Absolutely…
— Non-essential? — Guber interrupted, now suddenly so close that she hissed the word directly into Schenk's ear. Her abruptness left him stunned, and the word echoed in his mind while his mouth could only stammer out another "Absolutely." — Did I understand you correctly? — she whispered, pressing her weight against him and pinning him sideways against the shelf. — I can't stand you people. Every last one of you can't just do your job the way it needs to be done. You always slack off or skip parts of it, letting things slide and leaving everything up to chance, forgetting that luck runs out. One day, that gamble with fate will end in failure. And I swear to God, if I ever gain control over the Defense Forces command structure, then…
— Madam Guber, — Erna Barms's voice cut through the tension. She had been observing the scene with an expression of mild interest rather than alarm. — I don't mean to interfere in your very personal conversation, but I can't help but ask—why are you gripping your sword hilt so tightly?
Turning around, Martina first glanced briefly and questioningly at the Archive curator, then lowered her gaze to her right hand and paused in thought. She had indeed instinctively grasped the hilt of her sword, drawing the glowing light-blue blade a few centimeters from its sheath. What surprised her most was that she hadn't noticed herself doing it. A moment later, Schenk, moving slowly and hesitantly, turned his twitching head to his left to assess the situation, instantly regretting it.
— Hmm... — Martina murmured, lowering her gaze and relaxing her expression. — It seems I criticize others too much and myself too little. — She let go of the hilt, allowing the sword, which looked exactly like a katana, to slide back into its sheath. Stepping away from the now pale Georg, she addressed Erna Barms. — May I ask you something, Miss Barms? How often do you take breaks?
— Every time I go to sleep. More often isn't feasible—it so happens that there's always something here that I need to do and love doing.
— So you're just lucky with your job?
— It's certainly no comparison to serving as a Prism agent, — Erna quipped.
— It's just that today happens to be one of my rare days off, and I'm spending it entirely here, with people like this. — Guber gestured vaguely toward Schenk and tried to pat his shoulder blindly but missed, brushing him with just two fingers. — I suppose that's the reason for the nervous tension…
— Oh, right, about that. — Erna suddenly remembered and playfully smacked her forehead. — I wasn't in a rush because the directive from your command doesn't have immediate status.
— Yes, I already gathered that your arrival here wasn't solely prompted by the volume of certain voices. — Guber grinned. — So, would you mind telling me the essence of the message sent to me?
— Me? Tell you? — Barms countered with two questions of her own, her gray eyes finally wide open, her expression suddenly alarmed. — What makes you think that?
— Think what?
— That I read other people's letters, of course. Especially Defense Force orders. — Barms placed deliberate emphasis on the phrase "especially Defense Force orders."
— But it's not an order, — Martina replied nonchalantly.
— Once again, what makes you think that? — Barms continued her sarcastic interrogation.
— Because the Communications Department, responsible for the "Eon" system installed at your workstation, doesn't handle direct Defense Force orders, as far as I understand? And if there were something that needed to be delivered to me personally and without intermediaries, considering the communication-jamming systems in this Archive, they would've sent a courier instead. And I can't imagine you being unaware of such elementary matters.
— Hmm, that task seemed simple for you, didn't it? — Barms asked, her friendly and welcoming expression returning.
— Was that a task, may I clarify?
— I take it to mean "as simple as it gets," — Erna remarked, somewhat grimly.
— I'd ask where you're going with this, but I'd rather request that we get back to the matter at hand, namely…
— Ah yes, I keep getting sidetracked, forgive me, The Duke's He... Ahem. — Guber instantly recognized that another "forgetfulness" like this was a subtle jab at her, but she chose not to comment—it wasn't worth it at this point. — Anyway, the author of that message was Captain Lukas Rathbauer of Prism. He was rather brief and simply requested that you arrive at Amber Park before sunset.
This statement brought a look to Martina's face that wasn't quite embarrassment but carried a faint shock, veiled by deep thoughtfulness—her mouth slightly ajar, her eyes cast sideways, and her body frozen in place.
— I take it...
— It's strange, — Martina confirmed the archivist's yet-unspoken thought, cutting her off mid-sentence. — Definitely very strange. Such a vague time frame, "before sunset," and the location, which happens to be one of the busiest places in Celestial City…
— What's so unusual about busy places? Don't Prism agents usually work there? — Barms inquired.
— That's exactly the point: usually, no. It's not like we've been around since the creation of the universe—quite the opposite, just over a year—but even in that time, everything has fallen into place. The valence swords wielded by Prism agents have immense, often uncontrollable combat potential, making it unsafe to use them fully in any major city, let alone in Celestial City. Our role as a unit specializing in covert strikes and espionage is still under development. Perhaps that's part of the captain's intent? Yet he sent me this message in a way that anyone could see it…
— Ha, sounds plausible, — Erna said. — But you don't rule out the possibility that it's just a casual friendly meeting?
— Of course, I rule it out. And frankly, I'm too tired to explain why, — Martina concluded.
— Well, I'm left to speculate, then, — the curator shrugged. — By the way, it's now twenty-five and a half hours. Until sunset, — Erna glanced out the window, — there's still quite some time, though the sun is already racing toward the horizon. Curious, isn't it, that we can even see it at all right now…
— Our so-called "The One Above All" has let weather conditions in Altimus Viewere run so wild that even in the slightest overcast, the sun shines like it's the Twentieth Nobility, — Martina commented gloomily, her gaze at the bright orb tinged with sadness and displeasure.
— Indeed, but what can you do, as they say, — Barms replied. Guber smirked darkly at this remark, though what followed wiped the smirk away. — Considering that Amber Park is practically on the other side of Celestial City, will you head there immediately?
— Immediately? Don't make me laugh. I could fly there on my own in under two minutes. The real issue is that I probably do need to set aside my principles for a moment and reflect on life.
— I see. In that case, it's not for me to judge, Madam Guber, so until next time…
— Oh, and one more thing, — Guber suddenly stepped closer to Schenk, who had been standing beside the shelf in a daze for the past minute, unable to shake off his state of shock despite the prolonged exchange between Guber and Barms. — Naturally, at this moment, we're on almost equal footing, and I'm unlikely to have any immediate influence over your fate. But rest assured, the moment I gain the necessary authority—or should a miracle occur and I manage to convey to our degenerate command just how degenerate its current policies are—you won't have to wait long. So I strongly advise you to shape up before that happens.
— Um! — Barms exclaimed unexpectedly, her gray eyes widening as she raised her index finger, interrupting the tension between Guber and Schenk for the second time. — Could you perhaps provide some recommendations to guide him onto the right path?
— Recommendations? — Martina repeated in a hoarse voice, adopting a rare expression of surprise as she stared at the ceiling with her dark blue eyes. It was evident that the question both struck a nerve and impressed her with its brilliance. — Well… that… that's a good idea, — she finally said, her tone softening as she offered the faintest trace of a smile. — Alright. I recommend you start by… finding me all the available information in this Archive about the Ubiquitatuum goddess of life.
— Davita? — Barms clarified, not because she genuinely needed to confirm, but simply because her companion had made an awkward pause at that moment.
— Davita, yes, — the Prism agent curtly affirmed her request.
— Thank you so much for your kindness. One more thing—when might we expect the honor of your presence again? — Barms continued with such excessive flattery that even someone less perceptive than Guber could have detected the insincerity in her tone.
— Alas, I have no idea, — Martina spread her hands in her usual nonchalant manner, making no mention of the subtext she had caught. — One of the biggest downsides of my current role is that my days off are issued quite spontaneously—after all, our unit is still being formed. But the important thing is that I do get days off. So maybe I'll visit you tomorrow, or perhaps fate will bring me here again in a couple of decades.
— In that case, I promise we'll do everything within our power as soon as possible.
— I very much hope so. Well then, Mr. Schenk, Miss Barms, until we meet again. — With that, Martina finally bid farewell.
— And to yo... — Barms began to reply, but before she could finish, Martina, with her extraordinary speed—practically unimaginable for ordinary similars—shot out of the Archive, leaving behind only the memory of her presence. — Interesting. Didn't she say she wasn't in a hurry? — Barms asked, ostensibly directed at Schenk, though seeing his unchanged reluctance to engage, she realized the question was more rhetorical. — Well. If she ever truly gains real power, it won't be easy for any of us, huh?
— Especially not for you, — Schenk muttered under his breath, finally stepping out of the aisle and glancing at the open door.
— Oh, so you haven't completely lost your voice? — Barms chuckled, her perpetual friendly demeanor unchanged as she sized up the agent. — Well, yes, perhaps it would be easier for me. I don't mean to brag, but I've noticed I have a certain knack for recognizing the particular weaknesses of powerful and prominent individuals who come through here—since only such similars have access to this archive. It makes it easy to negotiate with them and resolve any conflicts. — She concluded her observation with a satisfied look at the door.
— Did you play on her sense of self-importance by suggesting that she's best suited to offer advice for improvement… well…
— Exactly what I aimed to do, — Barms nodded. — But most likely, I'm neither the first nor the last to try approaching her in that manner. Fortunately for us—and especially for you—she's merciful enough not to dismiss me outright with a snarky remark about handling my own problems. Instead, she humored me and gave the task of researching Davita.
— Merciful indeed… — Schenk muttered.
— Of course, because otherwise, you'd be stuck working overtime just to keep your position. This way, all you need to do is carry out her request, and you're free to go about your life peacefully. Speaking of which, you'd better get started right away—she may have said "tomorrow," but given her speed, she could very well be back here in ten minutes. And let's not forget, the Ancient Archive is anything but small.
— And where would you suggest I start, then?