Contest

He looked up at the endless rows of bookshelves that lined Sub-Level Two.

Someone -- something -- is down here.

He lifted his flashlight. And then slowly, cautiously, he ventured out into the aisles.

'Daddy,' Holly said, following her father into the stairwell.

'In a second, honey,' Swain turned to Selexin. 'Are you sure there isn't anything else you should tell me about before we go any further? No more exploding devices?'

'Daddy.'

Selexin said, 'Well, there is one thing--'

'Daddee!'

Swain stopped. 'What is it, honey?'

Holly held up the telephone receiver, giving her most winning smile. 'It's for you.'

Swain bent down and took the dead phone. He spoke into it while looking at Holly. 'Hello? Oh hi, how are you? -- Yeah? -- Is that so? -- Well, I'm kinda busy at the moment. Can I call you back? Great. Bye.' He gave the phone back to Holly. Satisfied, she grabbed Swain's hand and fell back into step with him and the egg man.

Selexin spoke quietly, 'Your daughter is really quite charming.'

'Thanks,' Swain said.

'But she provides far more risks to your safety than you should be willing to accommodate.'

'What?'

'I am merely suggesting that you might be better off without her,' Selexin said. 'It might be wise for her to 'hole up', as you say. Hide for the duration of the Presidian. If you survive, you will be able to come back for her. If, of course, you care for her that much.'

'Which I do.'

'And likewise,' Selexin went on, 'if you are defeated, she will not also be killed. In any case, to what efficiency can you aspire if you are defending her life as well as your own? An act to prevent her from injury might--'

'Might jeopardise my own life,' Swain said, 'and therefore jeopardise yours. This is my daughter. Where I go, she goes. Not negotiable.'

Selexin took a gentle step back.

'And another thing,' Swain said, 'if something does happen and we are separated, I expect you to look after her. Not to hole her up and hope nobody stumbles onto her, but to make sure that nothing -- nothing -- happens to her. Do you understand?'

Selexin bowed. 'I have been at error and I apologise with all my heart. I was unaware of your attachment to your child. In as much as I can, I will do my utmost to serve your wishes should such an eventuality occur.'

'Thank you. I appreciate that,' Swain said, nodding. 'Now, you were saying there was something else. Something I should know about.'

'Yes,' Selexin regathered himself. 'It pertains to combat, or rather, the end of any fighting. Whenever any contestant defeats another -- either in combat or ambush or otherwise -- the conquest must be confirmed.'

'Okay.'

'And that is my purpose,' Selexin said.

'You confirm a kill? Like a witness?' Swain asked.

'Not exactly. I am not the witness. But I do provide the window for the witness.'

'Window?'

Selexin stopped on the steps. He turned to Swain.

'Yes. And only at your command can the window be initialised. If you would be so kind, would you please say the word 'Initialise'.'

Swain cocked his head. 'Initialise? Why--'

And then it happened. A small sphere of brilliant white light -- perhaps a foot in diameter -- burst to life above Selexin's white skull cap, illuminating the entire stairwell around them.

'What is it?' Swain asked.

'It's coming from the egg--' Holly marvelled.

Selexin looked at Holly, somewhat surprised. 'Yes. You are correct. My rather odd-looking hat is the source of this teleport, small as it is. If you will, Mr Swain, please say 'Cancel' lest my superiors believe you actually have killed somebody.'

'Oh, okay. Ah... cancel.'

The light disappeared instantly.

'You say it's a teleport. Like before?' Swain asked.

'Yes,' Selexin said, 'exactly the same as before -- simply a hole in the air. Only much, much smaller, of course. There is merely another official like myself who is watching at the other end of this teleport. He is your witness.'

Swain looked at the white skull cap on Selexin's head. 'And it comes from that?'

'Yes.'

'Uh-huh,' Swain said, continuing down the stairs.

Selexin followed in silence. Finally he said, 'If I may be so bold as to inquire, where are we going?'

'Down,' Holly said, shaking her head. 'Derrr.'

Selexin frowned, puzzled.

Swain shrugged. 'Like the lady said, down.'

He gave Holly a quick wink -- masking his own very real fear -- and she grinned back at him, reassured by the almost conspiratorial nature of the gesture.

They continued down the stairs.

----ooo0ooo------

The switchboard operator stared at the panel before her in stunned disbelief.

When is this going to stop? she thought.

On the switch in front of her, two rows of incessant flashing lights indicated that there were a hell of a lot of phone calls waiting to be answered.

She took a deep breath and pressed the flashing square that read '9', and began:

'Good evening, Con Edison Customer Service Line, my name is Sandy. How may I help you?'

Her headset rattled with the tinny voice of yet another disgruntled New Yorker. When finally it stopped, she punched the code -- 401 -- into her computer console.

That made fourteen in the last hour, on her panel alone. All coming from inside grid two-twelve -- central Manhattan.

A 401 -- power out due to a probable short in the electrical main. The switchboard operator looked at the words on her computer screen: 'Probable short in the electrical main'. Electronically, she didn't know what a short in the main meant nor how it was caused. She simply knew all the symptoms of power cuts and failures and, in much the same way as a doctor identifies an illness, all she did was add up the symptoms and identify the problem. To know how it was caused was someone else's job.

She shrugged, leaned forward and pressed the next flashing square, ready to face the next complaint.

The lowest floor of the New York State Library is called the 'Stack'. It contains no toilets, no offices, no desks, and no computers. In fact, the Stack holds nothing but books, lots and lots of books.

Like other large libraries, the State Library of New York is less a borrowing library than it is an information library -- chiefly computers, Internet, microfilm and CD-ROMs.

As far as actual books are concerned, only the more recent and popular are on display on the Ground Floor. If patrons seek other books, then they are to be found -- by staff only -- in the Stack, Sub-Level Two.

Wherefore, the Stack acts as little more than a holding pen for several million books.

Lots of books. In lots of bookshelves. And these