Beefix #7
Beefic for addster - Seventh Doctor, Chris, Roz.
The Library of Alexandria has been many things. A museum for a Ptolemy, a vast library complex in the Twenty-First Century, an asteroid-proof subterranean archive in the Twenty-Second. Here and now, in the Twenty-Third Century, it's a slowly spinning wheel a kilometre wide at the centre of a flock of vast silver-gold balloons.
'We're in geostationary orbit above the city of Alexandria,' the Doctor tells Roz and Chris, but there's no time to enjoy the view. They're jogging along a corridor of the space station towards the scene of a crime.
Fire or flood or even nuclear war will never claim this collection; even if it lost its calyx of solar collectors, its engines would just wind down into silence and vacuum, perfectly preserved until rescue.
Its inhabitants, sadly, aren't so robust.
The Reference Librarian grew up in the deep atmosphere of Jupiter and worked out every day of her life. She's five foot tall, tanned and muscled, and dead.
She's still sitting at the desk in the Megas Alexandros Collection, the reading screen still locked in place in front of her open eyes, its induction crown still pressed to her forehead.
The Doctor stops, just looking at her. 'Too late,' he breathes.
Roz reaches out to swing the induction crown aside and snatches her fingers away. 'It's hot,' she says. 'It's actually hot.' It's left a wide red mark across the Librarian's forehead.
'Whoah,' says Chris. 'Death by download.'
Roz is appalled. 'How much bandwidth would have to flow through that thing to make it heat up?'
'The safeties were remotely disabled,' says the Doctor. He's examining the reading screen, watching figures still flashing by, too quick for the human eye. 'I'd say the entire contents of the library were written into her skull, at least three times.'
'Like a hacker repeatedly overwriting a hard drive with zeroes,' says Chris. 'Poor lady.' He gently lifts the small, heavy body from the seat and laying it on the floor. He pulls off his Adjudicator's cloak and covers her decently.
'Whatever she knew about the Incarnadine Device,' says Roz, 'it's lost for good.'
The Doctor considers. 'Not if she'd already added that information to the library.' He sits down on the desk and starts pulling the induction crown device towards himself.
'Oh, you're out of your mind,' says Roz.
'I've reactivated the safeties,' says the Doctor.
'Yeah, but what if they get knocked down again?' protests Chris.
The Doctor glances at the Librarian's shape beneath the cloak. 'I'm a very serious reader,' he says.
The Library of Alexandria has been many things. A museum for a Ptolemy, a vast library complex in the Twenty-First Century, an asteroid-proof subterranean archive in the Twenty-Second. Here and now, in the Twenty-Third Century, it's a slowly spinning wheel a kilometre wide at the centre of a flock of vast silver-gold balloons.
'We're in geostationary orbit above the city of Alexandria,' the Doctor tells Roz and Chris, but there's no time to enjoy the view. They're jogging along a corridor of the space station towards the scene of a crime.
Fire or flood or even nuclear war will never claim this collection; even if it lost its calyx of solar collectors, its engines would just wind down into silence and vacuum, perfectly preserved until rescue.
Its inhabitants, sadly, aren't so robust.
The Reference Librarian grew up in the deep atmosphere of Jupiter and worked out every day of her life. She's five foot tall, tanned and muscled, and dead.
She's still sitting at the desk in the Megas Alexandros Collection, the reading screen still locked in place in front of her open eyes, its induction crown still pressed to her forehead.
The Doctor stops, just looking at her. 'Too late,' he breathes.
Roz reaches out to swing the induction crown aside and snatches her fingers away. 'It's hot,' she says. 'It's actually hot.' It's left a wide red mark across the Librarian's forehead.
'Whoah,' says Chris. 'Death by download.'
Roz is appalled. 'How much bandwidth would have to flow through that thing to make it heat up?'
'The safeties were remotely disabled,' says the Doctor. He's examining the reading screen, watching figures still flashing by, too quick for the human eye. 'I'd say the entire contents of the library were written into her skull, at least three times.'
'Like a hacker repeatedly overwriting a hard drive with zeroes,' says Chris. 'Poor lady.' He gently lifts the small, heavy body from the seat and laying it on the floor. He pulls off his Adjudicator's cloak and covers her decently.
'Whatever she knew about the Incarnadine Device,' says Roz, 'it's lost for good.'
The Doctor considers. 'Not if she'd already added that information to the library.' He sits down on the desk and starts pulling the induction crown device towards himself.
'Oh, you're out of your mind,' says Roz.
'I've reactivated the safeties,' says the Doctor.
'Yeah, but what if they get knocked down again?' protests Chris.
The Doctor glances at the Librarian's shape beneath the cloak. 'I'm a very serious reader,' he says.