“Oh yes,” she nodded. “To our great pride, this makes relevant work accessible to our flock directly from the main reading room.”
“Relevant work?”
“Research results and technical innovations that further the True Church’s Mission on New Utah.”
“So you do not duplicate everything.”
“Oh no.” She looked appalled. “We wouldn’t back up work that was confusing.”
Barthes paused a moment, sipping his tea. She seemed clear on her views, but open enough to discussion. It was worth a try.
“I toured the Zion Library,” he said evenly, “what was left of it.”
Her brow furrowed. Her lips pursed. “Terrible thing, that. Terrible.” She set down her cup with a little clink; looked at him earnestly; clasped her hands to her chest, leaned forward. “I mean, of course, there was much there that was confusing. Which is why we create a safe collection here. But to burn a Library!”
“Is that what happened? I didn’t know.” Nor did I ask, he thought, not at the time.
“Oh yes!” Here eyes went wide. “Some of our youth—they are very sincere. But misguided. Some boys firebombed the Zion Library.” She made a weak imitation of throwing. “It was unfortunate. And completely wrong. Of course, they will be punished. If they find them.” Her hands collapsed to her lap. She picked up the teacup.
“It that what the fighting was? Last night? Something like that?”
Her face widened, an open book, as she sipped her tea. “Fighting? What fighting?”
“Perhaps I was mistaken.”
There was a longer pause. The technician still had not arrived. Barthes grasped for a subject.
“Would you be so kind?” he asked, fishing the burned paper from a burnished portfolio. “It is just a matter of curiosity. I found this in the rubble. It’s of no importance, really, but it seems to be all that survived. It makes reference to earlier research, done during “Foundation” times. Is this something you’d have copies of?”
He passed it over. She merely glanced at the title, then smiled broadly and jumped to her feet, handing it back. “Come!” she gestured, “Please, come! Where were my manners! I can’t take you inside the Sanctuary, of course, but please, let me show you the reading rooms! Those are public!”
She scooted through the maze of corridors so quickly, black skirts swishing about her, that Colchis nearly had to jog to keep stride. They made a final turning to a nondescript door with a cipher lock. She punched in a code, and waved him inside.
Colchis gasped. The vaulted hall rose before him, suffused with perfect, even, milky light. The dome seemed to have been carved apiece, filtering the sun’s natural rays through silky, translucent stone. Reader’s desks with nano jacks ringed the room, the tabletops and benches forming staggered, concentric rings with a librarian’s desk at the center.
“We call this our Temple of Light!” she beamed. “You can see why!”
“It’s beautiful.” His answer was simple, honest. He was awed.
“But come!” she said, towing him by one hand through the maze. “Lily, can we borrow the glass?”
The librarian nodded, fished below the counter, and handed over a small monocular even as they arrived at her station.
The archivist handed it to Colchis, pointing across the room and upward. “Look at the frieze.” He raised the implement to one eye; fumbled. “Twist it to focus,” she bubbled, “and look at the rim along the bottom of the dome. It’s a carved frieze. Carved in Founder times.”
He did as directed, while she chattered on. “You see, that’s what I mean. About not being backward. About avoiding confusion. The early settlers, they were really very superstitious. They called it being devout, but it was really just ignorance. They thought those were angels. Imagine! They really believed that those were angels. And that’s why they were carved.”
Fumbling, twisting, finally changing eyes, Colchis struggled with the monocular, finally walking it slowly up the wall until he found the frieze itself. He gave a final twist and nearly dropped the thing as an alien, smiling face suddenly filled his eye. He literally choked. Then ran the glass to and fro along the frieze in panicked disbelief.
Misunderstanding his reaction, the archivist laughed, and chattered on. “Ugly, aren’t they?”
His patrician composure shattered, Barthes stammered his reply. “What—what—are—they!”
“Why, Swenson’s Apes, of course. The earliest settlers found them here when they arrived. And being superstitious, thought they were Angels. That’s why they called it Heaven—Heaven and all His Angels. But they aren’t of course. They’re just animals.”
But Barthes barely heard this. His mind was racing. Because, from his perspective, it was an unchanging, enigmatic, lopsided Motie smile that greeted his terrified eye. Heart pounding, he slowly lowered the glass. Spoke carefully. “Madam Archivist, you have seen Imperial news cubes from the past three decades, have you not? I realize officially no, but I presume—”
She laughed. “Of course!”
“So, have you not remarked the amazing resemblance of these—Swenson’s Apes—to Moties?
She laughed again. “Of course! That’s how we knew it was all a lie!”
Barthes was confused. “A lie? What lie is that, Madam?’
She was clearly delighted. “All of it—the blockade expenses, the so-called First Contact, all of it!” She leaned forward with a conspiratorial grin. “They think we’re backward. But they all swallow that tripe. It’s just made up. It’s just made up to justify whatever the Empire is doing with all that money. It’s just the modern version of thinking they’re Angels. We’ve known they’re just animals all along. It’s one of our teaching points now, on the good use of science. To avoid confusion.”
Barthes breathed deeply. “Ah. Well then. How very—interesting. Might I see the Swenson collection, then? While we wait?”
But she was already handing the glass back to the librarian, shaking her head. “Oh, no. I am sorry. That collection is classified now. You see—” she switched to stage whisper—”we think that’s how they made all those fake newsreels. We think someone pirated an unauthorized copy of the Swenson archives and—manipulated—it. Not from here of course.” She returned to full voice. “From the Zion U. archives. Their security is terrible over there.”
Throughout the technical meeting, Colchis Barthes was numb. He remained numb as he left the security zone. He was numb as he looked in at his office, and left instructions on how to carry on. He was numb as he arrived at his hotel; numb as he climbed the stairs; numb as he entered his room. He slumped onto the edge of the bed without even bothering to close the door. He pulled the report from the portfolio again. The portfolio dropped to the floor. He rifled through the many pages, until he arrived at the second, unread section. The Planet of the Apes, it began.
He became more agitated as he read, eyes darting across the page:
Lesser Ape species…bilaterally symmetrical…Greater Apes…only three arms…Colors included white, brown, black, and occasionally striped…colors were separate species…multi-species colonies…division of labor by species…watchdog species with sharp, chitonous, cutting spines…largest species usually white.
That was Moties. That was Moties, plain and simple. Masters—that was the white ones—Farmers—Mediators, even—that would be the striped ones. And the “watchdogs”—those were clearly Warriors. All described. Something else too—one that excavated the colony dens, or mounds, or whatever it was they lived in. Was that a primitive Engineer? He read on. It became biologically technical, but from what he could make of it, that matched too: