Slow Fourier Transform

Soundtrack

Rika flew up, always up, as far as the eyes could see, and then more of the same. She only stopped when she was many kilometers above the floor — if the Library really is as tall as it takes to go from Earth to the Moon, she was somewhere at the first Lagrange point, howering there on the stream of jet flame pouring out of the muzzle of her crystal machine gun.

— It should be somewhere here, — she muttered under her breath, and flew over to the bookshelves, scanning them clockwise, reading title after title on the bookends, so different and yet so the same. She didn’t even notice the Hitchhiker standing by the railing and looking curiously at her, even though she had to practically brush her shoes across his face to continue and wash his figure in the hot flames of the jet stream, singing his trenchcoat.

— That one. — he pointed at a shelf well above what he could reach and to the right. Rika didn’t respond, but just flew towards the place pointed out and pulled the book out of the shelf — a heavy, thick hardback with a glossy black cover.

She darted back to the concrete railroad platform howering in the middle of the spiral cylinder, and settled on the bench, tossing aside her machine gun, which promptly folded back into a shiny metal suitcase at her feet.

And as she was leafing through the pages, a thin, sharp frown spread across her face, all the way until she reached a place where a large quantity of pages was torn out, leaving only the tattered ends inside. The Hitchhiker was just leaning on the railing and watching her from a distance with a blank expression so typical of him.

— You’ve got two shadows. — he suddenly pointed out, yelling across the empty space, his expression turning to one of concern.

Rika looked up from the book. She really did have two shadows — one from the streetlight she was sitting next to, and another one, a darker and altogether more sinister one, next to it, as if there was another streetlight on the other side of the bench. But if that were the truth, both shadows would be washed out and grey, with a darker area where the two crossed… There wasn’t one.

She abruptly stood up, sending the torn book flying and jumping across the platform, settling open on the part where the pages were torn out. The shadows followed her closely.

— Just run, huh. — Rika mumbled.

After a long pause, watching the shadows, she added, — Nowhere to run now. — and unbuttoned her sleeves. — It was a trap, wasn’t it. And I stepped right in. — she muttered under her breath, — Well, there is one way I can deal even with Vashta Nerada. — she said, breathing in deeply, puffing her chest up and stretching a hand out.

— Stop! — yelled the Hitchhiker, but it was too late. The shadows swarmed around Rika, small clouds of darkness biting at the white flesh, chipping out big pieces of it, and she didn’t even have a chance to scream, as streams of oily, thick blood splashed out, covering her white skirt in crimson, chunks of her instantly reforming at the bite marks, and disappearing again, the literal lake of blood growing thicker and wider, as Rika snapped her fingers, clicking together what started as fingers and finished as white, bare bones. They slammmed into each other with a hollow, bright drum strike in the silence, sending a white, shiny phalanx bone flying and reforming again.

And there was light. A bright spark of lightning, small, but strong as ever.

The lake of kerosene caught fire instantly, spreading all over in less than a second, white flames dripping down the platform and leaking towards the bookshelves in a thin path of liquid, a burning, narrow, bright road of fire… and the books caught it next.

But the shadows did not give up. They kept chewing at the constantly regenerating girl as she stood there, shaking, turning into a skeleton and back into a complete figure again every few seconds, as the piranhas of the air tried to consume something too big even for their insatiable appetite. Shadows filled the air, as the Hitchhiker pulled out his screwdriver and tried to ward off the encroaching darkness with blue glow, while Rika breathed out weakly, — …there’s more where that came from. There’s still more, you bloody little critters!

An insane grin spread across what was left of her face, the eyes opening wide with the expression of sociopathic madness, disappearing and reforming again in a creepy pulse. And as the lake of fire spread, slowly turning into a sea, as more and more books caught fire, the shadows slowly pulled back, falling into a thin layer of soot on the white concrete. The Hitchhiker, narrowly avoiding the flames, ran towards the girl, who fell back onto the bench among the ocean of fire, that wrapped the entire circumference of the spiral and crept upwards, slowly, shelf by shelf, a perfect enemy to the forest of dead trees, spread by the perpetual, slow upward draft, common to every pipe as tall as the universe.

Far below that, at the bottom of the spiral, Michiko was sitting on the couch next to Dorothy, sipping coffee out of a fine china cup. The hats cleaned up most of the mess, and were now busy removing the cracks in the floor, pulling up the stone tiles and replacing them, prying them up with their brims to reveal the grey nothing beneath and immediately covering it again with fresh stone tiles.

A burning drop, still flaming despite all the time it spent falling, dropped into Michiko’s cup, going out with a splash, and the policewoman looked up, as all the hats suddenly stopped everything they were doing and rushed towards the faint glow above like a murder of black crows.

— She didn’t listen, did she. — Michiko muttered under her breath.

— I think she did. — Dorothy said, looking intently at the cup, and the oily splotch of dark kerosene, that was quickly spreading over the surface. — She just didn’t get what she woke up for.

Michiko sighed, standing up and kneeling beside the couch to pull a sheathed police saber from underneath. — All of you and your childish antics. — she muttered under her breath, drawing the sword and looking at the glittering blade in her hand. A true, shiny sword.

— What are you planning to do? — Dorothy asked curiously.

— Something only I can do. — Michiko smiled to the little android. — Go and call names, and have them heard. Be a mother for everyone. You prayed to someone. Let’s just say it was me who listened. — She looked upwards into the faint glow. — I know every name there is. I was the one who gave them out… and I can take them back. — she added with a sneer.

And all over the library, every single book, every one of them all, from hardbacks to paperbacks to thin comicbooks, every single one… jerked.