The Awakening

By Gabriel Ionita

New graduate John Barrson’s first field mission ends in tragedy, when he sacrifices himself to save the life of a fellow agent in the Earth’s Planetary Atmospheric Protection Society, only to find he’s been “resurrected” in a new body, with his memories downloaded and intact.

John meets his saviors, the Curators - an alien race controlling the faraway artificial planet called the Library. The Curators created the Library a billion years ago to record and preserve knowledge from all known species in the galaxy, using recruits called Watchers. Upon awakening, John is given the choice between becoming a Library Watcher or death.

John reluctantly begins his training among aliens from various worlds, but when conflict erupts between the Curators and the Departed, a splinter Library faction, he is drawn into the fray as an unwilling pawn.

Torn between what he knows is right and what the Curators’ rigid rules of non-interventionism allow, John takes matters into his own hands and brings together a team that, against all odds, tries to find a way to thwart the Departed’s plan for murder on a planetary scale.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gabriel Ionita
• Release date: Feb 18, 2018
• ISBN: 9780999838020

Gabriel Ionita

Gabriel Ionita was born in Bucharest, Romania, and lived in Vienna, Prague, Riyadh, Montreal and Toronto. He is a business executive by formation, and worked his entire career in marketing and product management divisions of large telecommunication companies. He was always a storyteller, though, and wanted to commit his thoughts to paper. He writes science fiction and has a love-hate relationship with the white pages - he hates them white and loves them brimming with words. Gabriel lives in San Jose, California, with his wife Cristina and their daughter, Anna Sophie, and is a Montreal Canadiens fan.

Book preview

PROLOGUE – DANIEL

THE HOSPITAL WAS SILENT this time of night. The staff dozed off at their stations, and the nurses still awake paid no attention to the tall, athletic figure walking intently along the empty hallways. The blond man, dressed in a white lab coat, turned left toward the maternity ward and stopped in front of the window behind which the newborns slept. He studied the small name labels in front of each crib, then entered the room, treading carefully around a half-asleep nurse slumped in a chair, and approached his intended target. The newborn, not more than two days old, lay fast asleep.

Target identified, thought the man. Uploading the genetic data now. He lightly touched his left index finger to the baby’s left palm. Thoughts coalesced in his head, and if anybody else had been able to listen in, they would have heard them becoming words, and words becoming phrases:

Target confirmed. You are clear to proceed.

The man took a small bottle from his pocket, unscrewed its cap, and let a tiny, clear droplet trickle onto the baby’s closed eyelid. The baby did not stir.

Smiling toward the baby, the man said, It was a pleasure meeting you, John. I look forward to working with you. Whenever that will be. With this, he turned around and left the room.

The baby smiled in his sleep.

CHAPTER 1 – JOHN

IT’S GOING TO BE ONE of those days.

John took one last look at the clock’s pulsating digits before stepping out of the apartment, jam-packed suitcase in hand. He had woken up late, as usual, and it took him a while to get ready, shivering in the darkness thanks to a surprise power outage courtesy of Hydro Québec – Gas & Electric. He locked the door behind him, and then looked gloomily at the banged-up Samsonite weighting heavily in his hand, almost bursting at the seams.

I always bring too much with me.

The blackout made the elevator not an option. Given that the building’s emergency generator had been gutted years ago, John felt his way vigilantly down twenty floors of unlit stairs. He stepped through the emergency exit into the humid Montréal winter air just in time to see the 165 bus driving away, lights blinking, making its way drearily down Chémin Côte-des-Neiges. He ran but gave up after a few steps. The sidewalk was surprisingly crowded at this hour, and he barely avoided hitting some pedestrians with his suitcase.

He caught the next bus and made it to the shuttleport with no time to spare for breakfast or coffee.

At least I caught the shuttle. There’s a silver lining to all this.

The shuttle was empty. It seemed nobody visited his destination, Mont Tremblant, anymore. He chose a window seat and sat down, smiling at the flight attendant, who smiled back and approached him.

"Good morning, sir. Thanks for flying with us. May I bring you anything before we take off?

Good morning. No, thanks. Err... actually, yes, I would love some coffee.

I’m really sorry, sir, we’re all out of coffee. How about some water?

John raised his eyebrows. How come you’re out of coffee so early in the morning?

The flight attendant shrugged. Apparently, the negotiations between Quebec and the Union are not going well. Our coffee shipment is stuck in customs, and due to rationing we could not buy from anywhere else. I am really sorry.

John nodded. Five years ago, shortages were so common Montréalers barely noticed them. Things had got better ever since the negotiation between Quebec and the Canadian Union restarted last year, but Quebecers always felt betrayed by Montréal choosing to remain with the CU during the Separation, so hiccups during the negotiations were to be expected.

That’s okay. Please bring me some water.

John stared out the shuttle’s triple-paned, reinforced window, waiting for takeoff. He felt his chest tightening when his mind drifted to the trip ahead, a two-day field assignment through Northern Quebec and the Canadian Union. Fresh from university, John had joined the Planetary Atmospheric Protection Society, one of the planetary bodies founded to tackle the extreme weather conditions plaguing Earth for the past hundred years. This was his first assignment and he wanted to make a good impression.

His jaw-phone vibrated and the augmented reality screen popped up in front of his eyes, a picture of his grandmother’s stern face staring at him. He answered, smiling.

Hi, Gran.

John, are you there?

Yes, Gran, I am. We’re just getting ready to take off.

Okay. I just wanted to see if everything is in order. Call me when you land.

Sure. How is Grandpa?

Good. He’s in high spirits, considering.

I’ll be back in Montréal tomorrow, John said, and I’ll come to your place the day after tomorrow. I’ll spend the week-end there, and on Monday I’ll drive you both to the hospital. Tell him not to worry. The surgery is routine, and he’ll be better in no time.

You don’t have to do that, John. You just started a new job. You don’t need to take time off for us.

Don’t worry about me, it’s all good. I have to go now. I’ll call you when I land.

Safe flight.

John looked at the AR screen for a few more seconds, watching his grandmother go back to her daily routines, oblivious to the fact that her old video-phone was still on. He disconnected the call, his chest tightening again. With graduation, and then interviews for the new job, the past few months had been hectic, and he didn’t have time to visit them anymore.

I’ll be better from now on – we only have each other, after all.

Below, the tundra and pack ice of Quebec drifted by. Mechanical vestiges of mining outposts, long forgotten, spotted the landscape like overturned beetles. Mont Tremblant and the Laurentian Mountains had been a popular tourist destination in the past, attracting skiers in the winter, and hikers and cyclists in the summer. The weather pattern modifications and frequently occurring natural disasters had made the entire region a perfect example of the changes impacting the world. Now, tornadoes attacked the forests and its inhabitants viciously, and medium-sized earthquakes were common. Mostly deserted, the small village still housed a few locals too old or too stubborn to move, as well as the unlucky workers assigned by the province for mining detail.

Almost half an hour later, wings stretched out, afterburners pointed up and out, the shuttle alighted quietly on the landing pad of the small shuttleport. The almost deserted building now only served for transporting lumber, coal, and anything else of use. Given that no travelers frequented it anymore, there were no restaurants or coffee shops. John looked around, lips tightly pressed, his dim hopes of finding something to eat now wholly quashed.

There were no vehicles outside except for a couple of muddy all-terrain hover vehicles. With no chance of getting a taxi, John sighed heavily, and then made his way toward the ATHV sporting a PAPS logo, hoping its owner could help him find his way to the PAPS offices. He did not feel like hovering through the cold and humid weather, but the alternative was even more unpleasant. The muddy roads were accessible via ATHV but impossible to walk, especially for somebody like him, used to the relative comforts of the city.

As he approached the vehicle, John could not see its operator anywhere. A message blinked on the small screen attached to the handle: John Barrson, upon arrival, please ride this ATHV to our offices. The destination is already in the computer. Nick Storm, Manager, PAPS Quebec. A small map with a highlighted line between the You are here and the PAPS offices points flashed underneath the message.

Eyes narrowed, John looked intently at the screen. He had never used an ATHV. Although, to think about it, they would be welcome in Montréal, where a road was the flat part between potholes.

Thinking about Montréal reminded him he needed to call his grandmother and tell her he had landed. He called but nobody answered, so he left a video mail.

He put on the helmet he found hanging on the handlebar, mounted the vehicle, and pressed the ignition button. Figuring out the controls took him a couple of minutes, but eventually he was able to move forward slowly. Understanding how mechanical devices worked – or any device for that matter – had always been one of his strengths. Soon he was able to increase the ATHV’s speed to an acceptable level – somewhere between a running child and a fast-moving teenager.

What seemed like a reasonably straight path on the screen in front of him turned out to be anything but. The concrete pavement turned quickly into gravel, and then the road became a muddy, winding ditch, going around overturned trees, massive boulders, and broad crevices. After almost an hour, the trench he was hovering over turned back into a gravel road and a building appeared from behind the trees.

The PAPS office was actually an underground concrete bunker built into the mountainside on the outskirts of the town. As John brought the ATHV to a halt, a short, bearded man with dark skin and curly hair came out the door.

So you made it, after all. I am Nick, the manager of PAPS’ Quebec office. Welcome.

Hello, Nick. I am—

I know who you are, John, Nick said, smiling, shaking John’s right hand so violently he almost ripped the arm from his shoulder.

They told me you would be visiting us. I apologize for not meeting you at the shuttleport. I had to prepare us for the trip, and we’ve been a bit shorthanded lately. You had a good trip here?

Before John had time to answer, Nick went on: I see you’ve managed to ride the ATHV. That’s good. We’ll ride together through the forest toward Val-des-Lacs. This is where the last tornado struck the hardest, and this is where two of the last three Quebec earthquakes were centered. Come in and grab a cup of coffee. We’ll be on our way in a couple of minutes.

John blinked rapidly at the flood of words and then smiled at the thought of a freshly brewed cup of coffee. He managed to say Thanks, while dismounting the ATHV before Nick got back to work, strapping some bags on a second vehicle parked on the side.

Entering the small building, John looked around trying to see everything in one glance. PAPS’ Mont Tremblant building comprised two small rooms that were, at the same time, an office, dormitory, rec area, and warehouse. The space looked small and crowded, although John was able to see the pattern of order in the seemingly chaotic room. Things were kept together based on their destination, and the space looked like it could house a couple of people for several weeks if needed, in relative comfort.

These self-sufficient regional offices, built in or next to the areas with the highest environmental problems, were the central nervous system of the entire PAPS information network, John recalled from his induction materials. The most hardened field officers, tougher than Arctic explorer Fridtjof Nansen and more resourceful than Roberto Carranza, the leader of the first Moon colony, manned them. They had to live in relative isolation for long periods at a time, battling extreme weather conditions to collect as much data as possible. Space colonies on Mars, Titan, and Europa targeted them for employment, but few decided to leave Earth. When they did, though, their experience with extreme conditions proved invaluable to the new colonies.

A small stove at the back of the room kept the pot of freshly brewed coffee warm. John helped himself to a large cup and eyed a nice-looking donut on a nearby table.

That’s been there for four days. It’s probably rock solid, Nick said, entering the room. We don’t have time for that anyway. We need to move right away.

John gulped down the coffee, burning his tongue and lips, and followed Nick outside after cursing the day’s luck under his breath.

The ATHVs made slow progress through the forest following the two-track muddy ditch snaking through the fragmented landscape. Every now and then, Nick stopped and pointed out something:

Last month’s storm uprooted those trees over there... That crevice was not there last week... There used to be a lake here not more than six months ago.

The landscape must be changing often around here, John said. Everywhere I look it seems something changed within the last few months or so.

And the changes are accelerating, Nick answered after a pause, as if weighing his words. It seems Mother Earth has had it with us, and we can’t appease her, no matter what.

The shadows lengthened as the day drew to an end.

We’ll camp somewhere next to Lac Supérieur, Nick said. We should be okay there for the night.

The chosen campsite was an old stone house at the base of a hill, reinforced recently with steel bars and concrete pillars.

It’s one of our safe houses in the region, Nick said. "We need to have several of them always available at any given time. Open air camping is virtually suicidal. The weather destroys them, though, almost as fast as we build them. When we have no safe places to stay, we’ll lose Mont Tremblant, and we’ll stop getting any field data.

Let’s unload the ATHVs, Nick said. We need to get everything inside and bring the vehicles in the garage through the back door. There’s not supposed to be any storm coming, but I don’t like the look of those black clouds above the mountain.

Before John finished unloading the two ATHVs, Nick turned on an old fuel cell generator and warmed up two food ration trays on the electric stove. By now, the wind howled, and the clouds covered the night sky.

No storm coming, my foot, Nick said with a tightness in the eyes. That should teach me to trust the suits at the forecast office. We should board the doors and windows and brace for a major storm. I’ll start with the windows, you bring in the ATHVs.

John was almost swept off his feet by the wild wind as he stepped out. He crawled on all fours between the door and the first ATHV, then climbed on and slowly moved the vehicle toward the garage. As he approached, the door swung open. He pushed forward and managed to get in.

Only inside, in the absence of any disturbance, did he realize the sheer force of the outside wind. This storm moved faster than anything he’d seen so far, rapidly evolving into a major hurricane. No one could survive outside during such a storm – no matter the technology, the machines or the devices employed, and John realized that if he didn’t move fast, he wouldn’t be able to bring the second ATHV inside.

As John climbed off the ATHV, he saw Nick struggling to close the garage door. The agent yelled, You need to hurry. In a minute we won’t be able to go out anymore!

John ran toward the front door but slipped and almost fell. He recovered by grabbing the door handle, and as he got ready to step out again, he looked around and saw that Nick had been busy reinforcing all the windows with metal panels and bracing them with steel pipes, and now pushed forward a large plate, designed to be placed at the front door.

John went out, this time expecting the impact of the wind. He crawled toward the second ATHV, and as he reached it felt the skies opening and waves of water crashing through. Everything around him turned pitch black. He turned the engine on and guided the second ATHV toward where he guessed the garage door was. As he moved forward, a powerful light beacon turned on.

Thank you, Nick.

The ATHV’s balance system had trouble compensating for the wind, but luckily it did not tip over, although it felt like it once or twice.

He entered the garage, jumped from the ATHV, and slammed his shoulder in the door, right next to Nick. They pushed together harder and harder, and although the hydraulic system seemed to give up a couple of times, the door finally closed, and the security bolts and metal plate moved into place.

When they finished, they moved into the front room.

You did good out there, kid, Nick said, clapping John on the back. Without you, I would have either lost the ATHV while boarding the windows or lost the house while trying to save the ATHV. This is why it’s always important to have somebody who can watch your back. We have less and less capable field personnel in PAPS and more and more places to be. I’m afraid we’re losing the battle...

John fell exhausted into one of the two chairs. This had shaped up to be an exciting first day at a new job. Not quite how he had imagined it. His eyelids felt heavy, and he almost dozed off while listening to Nick explain something about the tropical and non-tropical cyclones, their increase in size and change in patterns in the past few decades. Without warning, the house began shaking, slowly at first, then faster and faster.

Suddenly alert, John grabbed the chair’s handles. Nick’s eye widened. He jumped up, and then shouted, trying to have his voice heard over the loud rumbling: Earthquake! And a big one. We should—

The deafening noise prevented John from hearing more. He leaped from the chair just in time to see a huge crack appearing through the middle of the room. The roof collapsed as the exterior walls fell outwards and waves over waves of water poured from above. Lights turned out as the generator fell through the floor in a massive explosion.

The crack filled with water, from above or from below, John could not say. They needed to get out fast, but Nick was nowhere to be seen.

Is he out already?

Pushed by the adrenaline flowing freely through his body, John crawled from under the remains of the stone house. He looked around and saw Nick unconscious, pinned by one of the roof’s beams, precariously close to the widening crack in the floor.

Frantically, ignoring his racing heart, he crawled on all fours toward his partner. The ground still shook violently underneath, and stones, wood and metal beams and plaster fell all around. Slowly, bit by bit, he pulled Nick out from under the debris. He felt a faint heartbeat and yelled, Nick! Hey, Nick, we need to get out! But no answer came.

I’m on my own.

Hold on, Nick. I’ll get you out.

He looked around and saw that the garage at the back of the house was still up. It seemed to be the only available option, certainly safer than remaining outside in the middle of the hurricane. He realized instantly, though, that on a night like this, when a so-called safe house crumbled in front of his eyes like a house of cards, safer was a relative term.

He moved slowly toward the garage, pulling the unconscious Nick alongside him. He did not have time for first aid; he hoped to do that while inside. The ground settled and the shaking subsidized, but the wind continued to blow, and rain poured like never before. The flashes, even if perilously close, provided much-needed light for a split second, allowing him to adjust the heading.

The garage connected to the house had no side wall, but the other three walls and the roof were intact. John pulled Nick into a corner and looked for a pulse. He found a faint one and felt relieved. He could see no open wounds, so Nick was not losing blood, but the bruise on his forehead meant he probably had a concussion.

Looking at the wrath outside, John figured the safest thing to do now for both of them was to send a distress signal and wait out the storm. That was easier said than done, he realized, pressing his lips together. The house must have had a GPS system connected to an external antenna, but the storm had probably scattered it all over the woods by now. The ATHVs’ GPS system was the only viable alternative, but it needed either an external antenna or direct line-of-sight to the satellite in order to work.

He figured the best solution was to take one of the ATHVs out, anchor it somehow, and send the signal. The rescuers would not be able to reach them while the storm still raged, but they would be ready to intervene immediately after.

I have to do it. For Nick, every second counts.

Decision made, John climbed the closest ATHV, activated its automated balance system and its GPS emergency beacon, and moved slowly out of the garage. The wind and rain hit the machine full force, but the balance system managed to compensate, so the ATHV did not tip. John stopped it a couple of yards from the garage entrance and pulled some steel cable off the winch at the back. Moving slowly through the storm, he anchored the cable to one of the steel beams still standing.

That should do it.

He crawled slowly, on all fours, back toward the garage, when a familiar sensation made him stop in his tracks.

Another earthquake...

Suddenly the ground underneath him gave way, and he found himself dropping into a widening crack. He yelled, and then, ignoring the coldness rising in his stomach, tried to grab the slippery sides. Waves of mud and water poured relentlessly over him. He struggled against the raging elements – for a few minutes or an eternity, he could not say – trying to get up, to grab something, anything, to breathe a few gulps of air, when suddenly the walls of the crevice collapsed. The darkness and silence embraced him in an instant and the last thing that came to his mind before losing consciousness was, ...one of those days...

CHAPTER 2 – JOHN

SILENCE ENVELOPED HIM like a shroud.

Where am I?

John expected pain or dizziness as consciousness slowly returned, not numbness. There had been water and mud, flashes and darkness. He remembered being wet and tired, but not frightened, remembered the darkness and the cold defeating him.

He opened his eyes, jumped up and yelled, Nick? Are you all right?

When no answer came, he looked around, this time paying attention to his surroundings. He sat naked on a bed, in a bright, white room. The white sheets that covered him were lying on the floor next to the bed. There were no visible windows or doors, and no light source he could see. He was alone, and the room was empty of anything else.

He did not feel anything, except a strong sensation that something was wrong. Disoriented, he looked at the transparent screen floating above his head displaying strange symbols and incomprehensible messages addressed to unknown recipients.

What’s that? Where am I?

Slowly, the events of the previous day – or what felt like the previous day, as he had no way of knowing – came back. He fuzzily remembered the storm and the earthquakes, remembered saving Nick and being overcome by water and mud. He knew he should be dead. Seeing the white surrounding him he thought that maybe this was what the afterlife looked like.

Ignoring the massive headache, and trying to calm down his racing heart, he checked his arms, legs, and chest for wounds. As far as he could tell, he was in one piece; nothing was broken or missing, and he couldn’t see or feel any injuries. He wasn’t even bruised, which was strange, considering the ordeal he went through. He felt sluggish, though, like he’d been immersed in molasses, and slowly moved his arms and legs, and rotated his head left and right, trying to regain full control.

A soft noise made him turn around. He saw a tall blond man dressed in a blue uniform entering the room through a door that had just appeared in one of the walls.

Good morning. How do you feel, John? the man asked, smiling.

John felt cold shivers down his spine. He froze for a moment, and then grabbed one of the pillows, trying to cover himself as quickly as possible. Questions came sputtering out of his dry mouth: What? I’m fine. Who are you? Where am I? What am I doing here? And where on Earth is ‘here?’

You are in a hospital, but not on Earth. We saved you and brought you here a few days ago.

If he was not on Earth, he must be on one of the outer colonies. The room was too high-tech to be on Moon Station and too sterile to belong to a mining colony like Mars. More likely he was on Europa or Titan, but that didn’t make sense. It would have taken more than a few days to travel from Earth to either of the two outer colonies. Plus, the gravity felt wrong, almost too normal.

I should feel a difference if I am not on Earth, no matter where this place is.

John took a deep breath, and then asked, Where exactly is here? And what happened to Nick?

Nick’s fine. Last we checked, he was in a hospital, recuperating. You saved him.

The news that Nick was fine had a positive effect on John. Warmth spread all over his body and, forgetting for a second where he was, he smiled. The blond man smiled in return. That brought back the heavy feeling in John’s stomach, and he frowned.

You still didn’t answer my question. Where am I?

You’re on a planet approximately thirteen thousand light-years from Earth. We brought you here right after the storm.

John felt his pulse quickening again as the words sunk in.

Thirteen thousand light years? That’s impossible. It would take, I don’t know, ages to get here. And who is ‘we?’

This is difficult, and you have a lot of questions, so listen carefully, the blond man said gravely. You are in a hospital on a planet named The Library, which is roughly thirteen thousand light years from Earth. You died in that storm, back on Earth.

This is madness. John shook his head, trying to breathe and control his racing heart. I could not have died. I am here, aren’t I? What, you’re trying to say I came back from the dead?

Not quite. The instant you died, all your knowledge, thoughts, experiences, and emotions – in a nutshell, whatever makes you be ‘you’ – instantly transferred here, into a new body that we created in advance and kept for you right here.

What you’re saying is... is impossible, John said out loud. But...

He had a feeling the stranger told the truth but had no idea where that feeling came from.

Think about it, and you will feel I am right, the blond man continued, this time a little less somber. The more you think about it, the more it makes sense.

Staring at his palms, turning them over and over as if they held the answer, John gave voice to his inner thoughts. So this is not my body?

It is a genetic copy, a clone. An almost identical one, with some improvements.

Although everything the man said sounded impossible, John knew it was real. He could not say why, but ever since he’d opened his eyes in this strange room, he felt he knew more, much more than before. He felt that he, John, died and somehow was resurrected and that he was not on Earth anymore. He even felt there was more to this consciousness transfer, more to the process, but could not say what.

There’s got to be something else, John whispered, frowning.

That’s correct. Things seem a little clearer now, don’t they?

Not clearer, no, John answered, raising his voice a little. I feel you’re telling the truth, but I can’t explain why.

You have been chosen to become a member of an ancient and discreet galactic body. We are the Library, the information registry for all intelligent life in the known galaxy. Our mission is to collect information from all known sentient species across the Milky Way. We have been doing this for over a billion Earth years. We do not interfere, we watch and collect.

Why me?

The Library selected you at birth based on your genetic makeup – only one human in a few hundred million is compatible. The transfer of a persona, or self, if you will, is done instantly via the Linq.

The link?

The Linq, with a ‘q.’ The Long-distance Integrated bio-Neural Quantum field interface.

That’s a mouthful...

It’s basically an organic nanochip discovered a long time ago by a long-extinct civilization, the stranger explained, ignoring the interruption. We have no idea where it comes from, but it is compatible with almost all organic sentient life forms we have encountered. It transmits and receives information instantly over galactic distances. We think it works between galaxies, as well, but we have not tried it. For humans, it works only with specific genetic markers, but we cannot say why. These markers are rare, and generally, humans with these markers die in infancy, so most of the transfers from Earth are children, and let me tell you, the debriefing process is more difficult with children.

John looked back at the stranger, who had no trace of a smile on his face.

If this is a joke, it’s definitely not funny!

There are exceptions, though, from time to time. Such as you, the man added.

Are you from Earth?

Yes. I arrived here as a child, a little after my second birthday. That was 195 years ago. I have been a part of the Library ever since.

John’s eyes widened.

You’re 197 years old? So the body does not age?

It does, but slowly. And we get to change it any time we want.

So you’re... I’m immortal? This is what you’re saying?

Basically, yes.

John felt a sudden need to sit down. He sat back on the bed, pressing his palms on his temples.

This is... wow, I don’t know. Secret galactic organization, instant travel, mind transfer... I need time to process this.

Right. That is exactly what I was about to propose, answered the man. Time for a break.

May I have some water, please?

The man went to one of the walls, where an opening appeared, and then returned with one large glass of water.

There you go. I will come back in a while. By the way, my name is Daniel.

A door appeared, where there was none, and Daniel stepped out of the room.

It can’t be.

The concept of the body as merely a vessel was something new and hard to accept. Not to mention an alien artifact implanted in his head – spying on him?

Hang on, John continued, taking a sip of water. Somebody implanted the Linq in my former body, but now I have a new body. Is the Linq in this body, too?

He knew the answer. This nagging feeling that he knew more was still with him. He knew Daniel was right, he knew the Linq was implanted in his new body as well as in his original body, and he even knew that the Library was an artificial planet.

Daniel never mentioned that. How the hell do I know these things?

John couldn’t help but check his new body. It felt like his. Everything was in the right place, and natural. Except his front upper molar was not chipped. And he could feel no scar on his left thigh, where he had cut himself as a child climbing a fence and required stitches. His left little finger was straight – it had been crooked ever since he’d broken it in a school brawl. And the jaw-phone, the chip he had installed under the skin of his jaw, was missing. These small differences confirmed what he already knew.

His mind raced, attempting to process the overwhelming amount of information he absorbed, but then exhaustion sank in. His eyes grew weary, and the instant he closed them, he slipped into a deep sleep.

John woke up feeling refreshed. That lasted maybe a few seconds until he remembered the conversation with the blond man and the impossible truths he found out. The pain in his stomach was back in an instant, and his pulse quickened.

He opened his eyes, then looked around, and noticed he had been moved. The new room, with no medical equipment in sight, was even more frugal than the previous one. He knew he slept for almost four hours, although he wasn’t sure how he knew that. Did the Linq update him?

There was nothing to do but explore. He was naked under the sheets and wasn’t about to walk around with his parts dangling, so taking the bed sheet, John made himself a toga.

Great, it’s Halloween.

He was about to wrap himself in the homemade toga when he noticed a nightstand next to the bed. On it, he saw a small transparent tab, a thin