The Library


“Truly, knowledge is the seat of all self-knowledge!” you declare, lifting your perfectly shaped chin and darting into the smiling mouth of the library door.

Inside, you find the expected holo-catalogue of galactic titles and several small green couches upholstered in well-worn spayswurm leather. It appears that the inhabitants of this space station enjoy the fruits of learning as much as you suspect you do!

“May I help you?” a quiet, yet sweet voice asks.

You whirl, and discover yourself facing a man of about your age and height. His skin is as smooth as the extremely smooth bark of the frello tree, and the same delightful shade of darkish brown. He has sparkling hazel eyes and a gentle, yet full-lipped, mouth.

His holo-name tag reads “LIBRARIAN: Byron Keates.”

“Can you tell me who I am?” you ask tentatively, hoping that he will not jest with you cruelly, for such might ravish your possibly maiden heart!

No breath of laughter passes his lips. “Fair stranger, no!” he proclaims, shaking his shaven head in melancholy fashion. “Though I wish I did, if only to bring a smile to your exquisite face.” He sighs heavily, and you notice the sheaf of ancient parchment in his hand.

“Oh, this?” he asks, following your gaze like a karaoke bounce ball follows the words you have to sing in a karaoke bar. “This is a text written in the ancient Rialkin script. Alas! I cannot read it!”

And yet, the term “Rialkin” stirs something in your memory, as hazy as a nebula with a lot of dark matter in it! It seems that though Byron does not, you might understand the text!

What will you do?

1) You offer to translate the text for Byron! He has been kind to you, and anything else would be churlish! Besides, you like the dark glimmer of light in his sparkling eyes.

2) Byron is terribly good-looking, and yet totally unhelpful. You thank him for his time and go back to the corridor, to choose another door.

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