Apposition 1: Looking Back

#### GREAT LIBRARY, UNIVERSITY OF MA-THESSIDY

The historian’s robe dragged the dust along so that her path sputtered through the endless dark aisles. The stacks of the greatest library in the Nine towered above her, enveloping her in their comforting darkness. The dilapidated shelves were only illuminated by their contents, the countless constellations of little stones glowing a soft purple. Thousands of feet below the city, she heard each and every footstep, each breath she breathed. Her stomach growled again.

*It has been said*, the historian rehearsed in her head, *that looking at history by dividing it into decades or centuries doesn’t really make sense.*

 A good beginning. Promising. Sounds official, too. Approachable. Good!

*History doesn’t work that way,* she thought, *It isn’t all even edges and neatly packaged time periods.*

No, no, that’s not it. Too passive-aggressive, first of all. This was her big assignment of the season, her chance to make a lasting impression. No, the historian thought, no showing any resentment towards the impossibility of the task, nor her utter incapability of fulfilling it. She shuffled along. With each step, the coins and restons in her bag jingled. She reached the middle of the aisle. The shelves to her left were marked 2555.7021, 2555.7022, 2555.7030….

Okay, she thought, scratch that bit. *History doesn’t work that way,* she began again, *But the 2550s did have some incredible moments… moments that shaped the Nine planets for decades.* One final correction: *...decades afterwards.*

 Better. Not perfect, but, better. She could work with this. She had to work with this!

Finally, she found it: nestled among the thousands of other restons, she glided her hand to Reston 2555.7111. It was a small thing, standard size, a solid, jagged sphere that fit in her palm. It glowed purple as all others, with little veins of energy flowing steadily in and through it. Pulsing. It waited for her, barely contained, waiting and waiting to be activated, to unleash its contents into the darkness of the Library. “I’m worth your effort,” it promised to her, and the historian obliged.

With her other hand, she tapped twice against the little purple reston. It flashed bright, and the great playwright Kālidās appeared in front of her. He was shorter than she had expected, even by luminous standards. But he stood proud, dynamic, with one arm outstretched to his invisible audience and the other holding a papyrus scroll. A beautiful figure, really, but his eyes were trained directly upon the reston, which now glowed brighter than all those dormant, proudly displaying its ancient knowledge. The capture cut off at his ankles.

Not the best reston capture, the historian thought, but it’ll have to do. She didn’t dare make this opinion clear to the little thing, of course. *“Thank you,”* she thought towards it, and she tapped it twice once more. The image blipped out of existence.

The historian reached into her robe pocket and grabbed onto another, tinier reston with the diameter of a coin. This was her personal one, the one she’d used and reused since she had bought it from a street vendor on her first day at the University. She tapped twice, revealing an image of her itinerary which she had captured that morning. She spun the capture around, reading it like a globe. Distracting herself, mostly. And at the bottom, all the restons which she had set out to find: 2551.154, 2552.300A, 2554.120, 2555.7111, 2559.911. Sufficiently dizzied by the cacophony of numbers, she tapped twice, and placed the glowing little rock back in her robe pocket.

One left to go. She rubbed her eyes, and her stomach growled again. The bag carrying her packed lunch had hung empty from her pack for some six hours by now.

She needed a break. Right? A little break wouldn’t hurt. Surely not.

She looked behind her, and after checking that no one was around (what was there to check? She was utterly alone), she stretched her arms, then slumped criss-cross onto the cold stone floor. A cloud of dust swelled out, filling her nose with the smell of old, dry chalk. She placed Reston 2555.7111 gently on the ground and slid her pack onto the space next to her and rummaged through it.

Alright. *The 2550s did have moments... the Nine planets for decades,* she reviewed. Reston 2551.154 was crammed somewhere under 2554.120 and 2552.300A. She jammed her hand into the bag. *I, Procopia Caesarensia Thessidia, have accepted the challenge of consolidating the last ten years…*

 She imagined Reston 255.7111 getting jealous at her having so many others. They were all competitive, all vying to be picked from the vast, worn shelves. All vying to be remembered.

She finally grabbed onto what she thought was 2551.154 and pulled out, but her sleeve caught onto some other stone. It was stuck. She pulled harder. And harder. Until the bag suddenly gave, and three restons burst out. They clanked against the floor, echoing over and over into the vast, infinite cosmos. Immediately each illuminated, and an overwhelming discordance of images burst forth into her eyes.

First, the general Belisauria the Great appeared in front of her, standing perfectly still, her hand outstretched. Next to her stood a number of planetary representatives, ambassadors from Maurya, Benevolence, Azaya, each clad in vivid red, purple, green, yellow. One of the ambassadors was cut in half by another image of a brick wall (although she seemed unbothered by this development), and in front several protestors with veils wrote in graffiti letters: DEI SUNT NECATI. Third, an Azayan sacrifice, in all its gore and religiosity, carried frozen in front of all these. The victim’s body was splayed out, but the image plunged into the historian herself and the shelf behind her.

“What in the-” another human voice called from another aisle, the first real one she’d heard in hours. A person? A person! The historian scuffled around, tapping each stone twice to deactivate it, and one by one each capture blipped out of existence: Belisauria, the protestors, and finally that wretched sacrifice. “Asshole,” the voice whispered out to her from across the stacks, followed by footsteps disappearing into the darkness. No!! That final image, the one depicting the sacrifice, had bled past the walls and into the other aisle, treating the voice’s owner to the lovely, perfect rendering of a war captive’s face as they were brutally decapitated and dismembered. Curse you, history! Curse your gore and your lack of any real cohesion from the past decade!

It had been an accident, but the voice’s owner had long since left. The historian sighed and rubbed her eyes again. “Obviously,” the historian composed in her thoughts, “I did not mean to expose you to such an image. My apologies.”

“Of course, my fellow citizen,” she imagined the other human saying. “My apologies as well for calling you an asshole.” Then they shook hands, and the historian felt satisfied that the interaction had turned out okay after all.

Right. She collected her restons, made sure the labels were correct, and tried to concentrate once more on her big presentation. *I have accepted the challenge of consolidating the past ten years... and finding the images…* Hm. This could be better.

*Finding the images,* she repeated. *I have thus selected the major stories which I believe shaped that decade.*

No. No *believe*. The historian had to sound authoritative, like she knew what she was talking about. She’d spent the past five years researching at Ma-Thessidy University for a reason. Of course, she had studied ancient history, and this was a presentation on a relatively modern decade. But in the state’s eyes, she was no different than a reston unless she could make a good presentation. So... get it together!

*Which shaped that decade,* she decided.

Perfect. Let’s review.

*It has been said,* she repeated to herself in thought, *that looking at history by dividing it into decades or centuries doesn’t really make sense. History doesn’t work that way. But the 2550s did have some incredible moments… moments…*

 No, no, NO. She couldn’t describe it as incredible. There were some truly horrible moments as well. Moments of tragedy and sacrifice. What was she thinking? *Saw some changes,* she corrected. *The 2550s did see some changes that shaped the Nine planets for decades afterwards.* Appropriately vague, *some changes.*

She imagined the small crowd in front of her. Bored students forced to attend. But just a few, the new ones who hadn’t been sufficiently crushed by the university yet, who took each and every word she said. In her mind, she spoke to them: *I, Procopia Caesarensia Thessidia, have accepted the challenge of… of… of…* And even in her imagination, she froze. Perfectly still.

The crowd started booing, making rude gestures, throwing stereotypical red fruits at her. Grapes or dates or whatever.

The stacks loomed over her. Slumped in the darkest corner of the largest library below the busiest city of the Nine Planets, the historian closed her eyes and breathed. She started over.