Monthly Short Story for June: The Human Archivist (Patreon)

Hello Commissioned Pioneers! :D As promised as always, in accordance with the results of last month's  poll, I present to you the Bonus Story of the Month! There were a total of four choices again, with a majority voting for the Original Story option. This was quite an unprecedented turnout as it's been a while since an Original Short Story was chosen, so I'm happy to present to you guys the bonus short story of the month: The Human Archivist! :D

The Human Archivist

Our lives, our stories, who we are… is not relevant. Nor should it be relevant to the conversation.

To continue, to persevere, to keep that flame lit, is all that matters and all that should matter.

Any deviation to this is a threat to the legacy which we hold, a legacy that we might not have wanted nor intended for, but that we now inexplicably owe to the countless souls no longer with us.

We alone carry the flame of civilization. We alone maintain sentry over the quintillions that time has forgotten. We alone remember all, from the smallest of fiefdoms, to the largest of empires. We alone bear the burden of memory, and that alone is our identity.

Do you recall the old adage of the tree in the forest? The philosophical thought experiment that many immediately dismiss as flighty and ridiculous?

The question that asks if a falling tree without observers would actually make a sound?

The question poses many interesting philosophical quandaries regarding observation and perception, but holds little weight after a few passing thoughts.

This fundamentally changes when astronomical timescales are factored into the equation. When individuals and civilizations are no longer seen through the lens of a sapient, but the indifferent constancy of an unfeeling universe.

For the question soon becomes an existential one, one where the concern shifts from that of a hypothetical tree in a hypothetical forest, and instead shifts to a very real nation in a very real universe. The question now shifts to a matter of legacy, and the uncomfortable question of stability. It poses a disquieting question that no one wishes to address at their prime, nor even at their weakest.

It asks: if your civilization were to fall, and no one else is present to observe it, then did it even exist?

We sought to answer this question by denying it of its conceit.

We act as the observers when there is no one left to observe. We seek to diminish the vicious impact of entropy for as much as we can, for as long as we can.

=====

Litarai III

Archivist Hastings

The feelings you get when you arrive on-site, and in person at that, is difficult to put into words. Yet it is a feeling that I believe is inherently familiar to all humans; archivist or not.

It’s something most humans have felt at least once in their lives.

It’s the feeling of being somewhere familiar, or somewhere with a clearly defined purpose, yet seeing it and experiencing it outside of its familiar context. Whether that be a school hallway at night, a mall after its doors have long since shuddered, or a spacecraft permanently grounded, it was all of those things except with the lights still on.

It was a bizarre, almost otherworldly feeling of familiarity, yet without the context to facilitate that familiarity.

Today’s mission was no different. In fact, it might have been one of the worst feelings of displacement I’ve felt so far.

The procurement department had led me to the grand halls of an opulent palace, or more specifically, the residence of the last head of state of this dying empire.

I had materialized within one of its larger rooms, what looked to be a grand ballroom, or reception hall of some sort. Whatever it was, its purpose remained clear: it was a symbol of power, a testament of this empire’s prosperity. It was meant to strike a certain chord within its stately visitors, and it still managed to do so without question, even as the acrid smell of burning electronics and the thick plumes of black smoke started filling up the large open space.

Naked flames followed suit, slowly but surely consuming the rich carpets laid out along the marble floors, and the paintings which hung along the walls. Carefully painted scenes of historical accomplishments, portraits of gentile nobility, snapshots of monuments and natural scenery alike, all tinder in the unfeeling fury of open flames.

But it wasn’t my place to document every square inch of these testaments to art and culture. That task had long since been completed by the likes of the procurement department. The world, and all of its physical wonders, had been digitized for posterity much in advance. Its written records, its audio and visual media, have likewise been copied and saved, creating a comprehensive record of this entire civilization.

Or at least, that’s how it should ideally work.

For there are always instances where holes are found in the records. Instances where the conventional means of procurement and observation proves to be inadequate.

This was where I came in.

My task as an Archivist was to get to those records, artifacts, and documents that the other departments could not reach. My job was to finalize the work of billions, eons in the making. My role was to be the only direct conduit between this civilization and its inevitable fate.

And today, I intended to play my role to its natural conclusion.

“Initiate Veers, do you copy?” I spoke through my neural link to the trainee-archivist shadowing my every move.

“Affirmative, Captain Hastings, I copy you loud and clear.” He responded, his voice attentive as always.

“This mission may be more difficult for you to monitor than the typical fare. You have my permission to abstain from observation duty, effective immediately.” I spoke slowly and tactfully.

“Understood Captain, transmitters ready to receive target data upon procurement.”

With that out of the way, I finally found myself at the foot of an oversized set of double-doors. Doors which were seemingly sealed from the outside, leaving the sole occupant within trapped and without any means of escape.

Hastily welded doors weren’t any match for a simple blast of psionics however, as I proved this point with a flick of my wrist, forcing my way into the room where I was immediately met by its only remaining occupant.

“Why are you here?” The ursine alien spoke under a forced breath, his breathing slow and labored, his body slumped up against a throne that overlooked a now-empty hall rapidly filling with a thick plume of black acrid smoke.

Smoke which I forcibly pushed back as well as I could for the time being, the thick black clouds kept at bay by the very doors I’d just opened.

“What do you want?” The man continued, his words bellowed out loudly, the power and authority in his voice managing to momentarily overpower the crackling of the flames just beyond the large double doors, and just for a moment reminded me of how things probably were before all of this was set into motion.

“Many would start with a question directed towards the how rather than jumping immediately to the why of it.” I responded calmly, taking paced, cautious steps towards the man, deciding however to remain just at the foot of the flight of stairs that led up to his grand throne. “I appreciate the candor, and the resilience you display amidst these exceptional circumstances, Emperor Costance.”

“Pssht.” The man uttered out dismissively, coughing, before managing out a dismissive grin as his eyes shifted from me, to the floor to ceiling windows that flanked both sides of the throne room. Windows that at one point in time had provided a spectacular and uninterrupted view of the city at the foot of this grand palace, but that now offered nothing but an ashy, obstructed view of an ominous encroachment of oranges and reds. “So it is over then.” The emperor spoke with a resigned certainty, a simple breath interrupted only by a series of high-pitched, wheezing coughs. “Our time has come.”

“What makes you say that?”

“The avatar of death itself waltzes into my presence, nonplussed, amidst the cataclysm that has left even my staff to abandon their places, and my men to abandon their posts. You walk here, like a specter out of place, out of time… I’d half expected you to be more conspicuous about this… but I suppose the legends truly are accurate.” The man paused, as if waiting for me to interrupt or to interject. What he instead received was a patient gaze, as I regarded the misinterpreted whispers of our spectral presence with a silent, inward remorse. My lack of a response seemed to peeve the ursine however, as he attempted to stand on shaky legs, increasing his height above me by a good foot. “Are you not here to gloat? To condemn me for my actions? Are you not here to pour citrus into my wounds? Are you not going to proclaim some grand final lesson amidst my final hours? Will you not insult our inability to learn from our predecessors' mistakes?” The late emperor practically roared out with all his strength, his fangs brought to bear, and his whole form poised to strike.

“No.” I responded simply, not once feeling the urge to run, cower, or even to flinch in the presence of a larger, imposing predator; those instincts having long since atrophied.

“Then what are you here for?!”

“To learn from you. To preserve your legacy.”

The late emperor’s eyes shifted almost immediately at that, as he retracted his claws, and began shuffling back to his seat. “What?”

“No one deserves to be forgotten, Emperor Costance. No sapient soul should ever be doomed to that fate. There is nothing worse, nothing far crueler, than the fate of the forgotten; to have lived without ever even living. I am not an avatar of death, though I can most certainly understand the confusion given the abruptness and inexplicability of my presence. I am merely here to record and to document. I am here to ask permission to record all of this for posterity… and if you’ll allow me, Emperor Costance, I am here to remain by your side so that you may not be alone in these final moments.”

The man’s eyes faltered, and for the first time, I actually saw uncertainty and fear in his gaze.

Whilst the flames weren’t able to break him, it seems like these simple words were.

“I need not a wet nurse to sob into, if you take me for a simple, emotional fool, then you are sorely mistaken.”

“If you wish for me to leave, then I shall, but know that I cannot until I fulfill my duty-bound obligations. Contrary to what you may have heard through age-old legends and myths, my role here is not to bring destruction, but to save what can be saved from the cold and unyielding grip of entropy. My people, my organization, was made to facilitate this desire universally observed within all sapients: the desire to live on through living memory. Whilst we cannot save you, whilst we cannot save everyone, we can save your legacy. So please-” I remained standing there, feet planted firmly as I reached into a pocket to hand the man a list, one which detailed every single artifact and record the data aggregators couldn’t reach. “-allow me to save that which can still be saved.”

The ursine reluctantly reached for it, snatching it out of my fingers as he carefully regarded the flexi-screen, his eyes growing wide for a moment as he regarded me with a renewed sense of sudden and abrupt rage.

That’s when I felt it.

A sharp, shooting, searing pain that pierced through my abdomen, spreading throughout my whole body in a fraction of a second.

Or, at least, that’s what I knew I should be feeling. The pain never came though, as all I felt in its stead was the awareness of my physical form being compromised, but nothing more.

I maintained my signature nonplussed expression all the while, even as the desperate alien continued his desperate attempts at plunging the blade deeper, twisting it this way and that as if he’d had experience doing this before. It was only after a solid few seconds did he realize something was off. When I neither grunted nor screamed, shook nor flinched, or even so much as display any signs of pain, that was when the reality of the situation truly dawned on him. “W-what… what are you?” He took that momentary lull in shock to retract the blade, before examining it in front of the both of us, the weapon dripping with a darkened crimson that dripped drop by bloody drop onto the carpet beneath us.

“I’m an Archivist. ” I stated simply, not once shifting in my disposition, only momentarily pausing to apply a quick-seal salve onto the wound just to keep things tidy. “That’s all I am, Emperor Costance. I don’t purport to be anything else but a creature of duty.”

The man paused, refusing to respond for a good few seconds, before finally succumbing to another bout of coughs.

More crimson began dripping on the formerly immaculate floors.

This time however, the blood wasn’t my own.

The man reached for a cloth, wiping down his bloodied mouth as he turned towards me with uneasy eyes.

“And what if I refuse to comply?” He inquired, this time under a hushed breath and with shaky breaths.

“Then I shall remain for as long as it takes to convince you otherwise.” I stated simply.

The man looked towards the source of the smoke quickly filling the room, and the naked flames which began lapping up underneath the main door. “We’re as good as dead here.” He stated bluntly.

“I know.”

“And you won’t force this information out of me? You won’t threaten me? Torture me-”

“We’re observers, Emperor Costance, we only interfere if and only if the situation demands it. This talk is an example of the lengths we are willing to go, but not a step more. We would be hypocrites if we demanded anything at gunpoint, and would be no better than a band of would-be pirates raiding for cultural instead of material treasures. If you refuse to comply with our requests, then I shall remain by your side until you can refuse no longer. For every second is a moment in which you may change your mind. And should there even be a sliver of a possibility, then the course shall be pursued.”

“But why? What you ask for are artifacts created by a single person.”

“A single person who at one point had believed their works would live on beyond their limited time in this universe. They were once like you and I, hopeful that someone would remember them through their legacy, hoping that they could in some way, live on through their works. If I could offer them a chance, then it is a sacrifice I am more than willing to make. Even if it was the legacy of a single person.”

There was another pause after the end of my brief speech, a pause that was punctuated ever increasingly by the roaring of flames, and the collapsing of support struts.

It was with that prompting that the man began reaching for a device at his throne, as he palmed it, tapping it for a few silent seconds before handing the whole device to me, revealing the last missing piece of the puzzle that was this civilization’s living memory.

It was a series of paintings of indeterminable quality. I wasn’t well versed in the arts to cast any judgements after all.

“Could you do me a favor, Archivist?”

I perked up at that question, responding with a simple nod. “Yes?”

“Could you make sure to credit the artist as Ea Costance the III?”

I panned over to my datapad, cross referencing the actual name of the artist that simply did not match.

“I know it is not the name you were handed.” The emperor continued. “But that is because the individual in question is my son. He… he was…” The man paused, flinching visibly as he tried his best to force another cough from overpowering him. “He was not legally my own due to the complexities of court politics. I… I barely had the opportunity to talk to him as anything but his lord. He scarcely knows I am his father. I wish to make things right with him, even if it is as superficial a request as this.”

“I do not see this as superficial at all, Emperor Costance.”

“I am giving him a title posthumously, a title to an empire that will cease to exist. Do you not see how-”

“You are naming your intended heir, Emperor Costance. An heir who may no longer be with us as of our talks, but one who will be recorded for posterity as the final intended successor to a millenia-old empire.” I interjected, taking those precious few seconds to alter the records, before finally submitting them back to the ship and the initiate orbiting above.

“So what now?” The man inquired.

“Well now I must once more extend my initial proposition. Would you like me to remain by your side, Emperor Costance?”

“Yes. Yes I would like that.”

“It’s not my business nor my place to interject, Emperor Costance. But I believe you to be a good father at heart. A misguided father, but one who under other circumstances, may have done better.”

“If only things had turned out differently.” The man spoke under a hushed breath, as we both sat at the foot of the throne, observing as the flames finally made their way through the thick gold-plated doors.

“If only, Emperor Costance. If only.”

BOOM!

=====

20 Years Later

Laroi IV

They say that out there, somewhere, there exists a place where all our histories, our memories, our legacies are stored for posterity. They say that somewhere in deep space, perhaps deep in a moon, carved into a planetoid, or even hidden away inside a neutron star, are archives that stretch back millions of years. They say that there exists a race of beings beyond our mortal comprehension that maintains vigil and watch over these archives. That they are the only true constant in an ever changing galaxy. A galaxy that has been witness to untold volumes of tragedies and glories in equal measure. A galaxy that shows little to no remorse, little to no empathy or compassion, as it watches as entire civilizations collapse in on themselves.

They say that this race, this enigmatic, shadowy race, will only appear sometime before a great collapse. It is said that their presence is akin to a death knell, and a near-guarantee of an irreversible slide into collapse. It is because of this that many are afraid of their presence, associating their presence as the cause, as a premonition, rather than the consequences of their actions.

I’ve never been one to be a believer of such things, but I could not shake that indoctrinated line of thought, as I faced down the very being that now foreshadows our collapse. A collapse that I knew was coming, but had never been able to come to terms with.

“Whatever happens next is a matter entirely up to your kind, Volayi. But know that even if the end does come to pass, that your memories will not be a distant echo, but instead, a verdant library recorded for posterity. Know that your memories, your legacies, will never fade into the ether. Know that humanity shall stand against entropy itself, before we allow the memories of the sapient to be relinquished to the dark.” The alien spoke, his vocoded voice piercing through the sounds of sirens and gunshots in the streets above us.

I did not know why I chose to help the alien. Nor did I know why I felt so calm around a being that for all intents and purposes was our grim reaper. But what I did know was that his presence meant one thing… that our records would forever be saved for posterity, safe, somewhere far away.

“We’re close.” Was all I said in response. “The underground tunnels actually merge with the electrical and sewage system here. The New Regime doesn't come down here. They consider it taboo or something or other. So we’ll be safe here. At least until we reach the National Archives, and the National Museum.”

“I appreciate the help, Volayi.” The alien spoke in response, his tone, his cadence, was anything but that cold and ambivalent voice I’d expected of a being of his disposition. Hidden underneath a layer of jet black, adorned with pieces of armor, with his face hidden underneath a stunning sapphire visor, the being screamed alien. Yet his voice was ironically far warmer and more inviting than those of my own bloodthirsty kin. “If we are discovered, my offer still stands. I will ensure you safe passage to whichever port of call you wish to depart to. Barring that, other arrangements for a prolonged asylum can be arranged with my kind.”

“Thanks for the offer, but I’ll have to pass.” I spoke in no uncertain terms. “If I die by the hands of my own crazed kin, then so be it. Just make sure you document that in your records too. That I chose to become a martyr for freedom, rather than to allow myself to live with the New Regime, or to flee with my tail tucked between my legs.” I responded sharply.

“Noted. However, the offer still stands, provided you change your mind along the way, Volayi.”

We walked together, shoulder to shoulder, with only the pitter patter of condensation along the cobblestone walls as our companion for the rest of the journey.

It wasn’t long before the chaos above us faded away. We were too deep from the surface to hear anything now, which was good, but also disconcerting. The silence wasn’t something my species was accustomed to. But we carried on regardless, delving deeper into the capital, further and further down until finally, we saw it. A service door marked with the seal of the old federal government, and one that I was intensely familiar with given my previous life working here as an archivist. Not a human archivist however, that distinction had to be made as we just happened to have the same titles.

“We’re here.” I spoke simply, reaching for a set of rusted keys on my side, my hands actually trembling as I struggled through those memories. Memories of a confusing and turbulent day, of rumors of war soon turning to all out conflict in the streets as I left the building for what I thought was forever… until now.

The human stepped forward, but before he entered, I stepped between him and his intended prize. “Before we continue, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask for all this time.”

“Yes?”

“The legends, the rumors, the old beliefs… they all regarded you as unfeeling and uncaring. They all considered you to be unflinching beings bound by a strict and sacred code of non-interference. Yet here you are, offering me so many avenues to escape this life. How? Why?”

“Because I lost someone near to me, twenty years ago, Volayi. From that point onward, I strived to chart my own path as an Archivist. The rules do exist, yes, but as Archivists we’re also allowed some wiggle room to adapt to our circumstances as we see fit. I see no point in wiggling as much as I can for as long as I can to return the favor in helping those that help me.” The alien replied in one of the most sincerest voices I’ve ever heard anyone use in years.

“I’m sorry for your loss.” I replied simply, stepping out of the way as I granted him entry into the room.

“It’s alright. I’ve had time to come to terms with what happened. He… tried to help in his own way, but he proved to me that the system needs to change, our system needs to change.” The alien explained, but stopped before he could elaborate further, choosing to instead change the focus to the endless rows of books around us. “So, as the resident archivist of this fine establishment, do you care to take me around?”

I paused, taking stock of the alien’s words as I looked him up and down purposefully. “I thought you’d have tech to scan each and every one of the books, or the electronic database-”

“I do.” He interjected with what I could only describe as a cocky undertone to his voice.

“Then why do you need me to show you around when you could automate the whole process?”

“Well what would be the fun in that? You said it yourself, you’ve been on the run for what… half a decade now since the New Regime rose up? It’s been far too long since you’ve had the chance to flex your librarian muscles. So with that being said… What's the first book on the recommended list, Archivist Volayi?” The alien continued to demonstrate what I could only describe as a hospitable, almost playful way of carrying himself.

It was exactly what I needed, as my grin grew by several sizes at the chance of actually getting to do what I loved again even if it was for a few hours.

“My recommendations list may be a little bit out of date… but I have more than enough to satiate even the most ravenous of minds.” I spoke with an excitable chuckle of my own, as I began guiding the human through the library, for what I hoped would be a good few weeks.