After a dozen yards, Gabi stopped to look around. Though the nearest person was only a weak pebble toss away, no one took notice of her. She took a moment to steady herself, letting her eyes wander over the intricate tapestry hanging on the wall in front of her. A depiction of the Gathering In worked in shades of crimson, emerald, and umber showed a population embattled by the Great Strain abandoning the empty promises of Old Science to unite under the Tree of Life. Concentric circles of people joined hands around the monumental tree, forming the Unitas symbol of peace, unity, and protection.
At the edges of the tableau, a poisonous ocean encroached as Tribes succumbed to the toxic waves. Above the Tribesmen was embroidered a passage from Mark 7:7. “In vain do they worship me, teaching for doctrine the commandments of men.” Their emaciated bodies were a stark contrast to the full, shining figures of the Unitas fellows, some of whom were leading the Tribesmen inland toward the sanctuary of the tree. Under the feet of the fellows, the Bible was splayed open on its spine, bearing the words “And I heard another voice from heaven, saying, ‘Come out of her, my people, that ye be not partakers of her sins, and that ye receive not of her plagues. For her sins have reached unto heaven, and God hath remembered her iniquities.’ Revelation 18: 2,4,5.”
Gabi ran her fingers along the glossy tapestry. From a distance, the images had always frightened her, but up close there was only the intricate crosshatching of jewel tones, diving over and under each other like rainbow-hued dolphins. She became aware of the soft kiss of a breeze across her ankles and looked down to see the bottom edge of the tapestry billow outward from the wall. Gabi inched toward the far edge, slipped behind it, and followed the rougher textures of its back until she felt the breeze on her ankles again. Plastering herself against the wall, Gabi smoothed her hands across the concrete and found a crack that traced out the shape of a slender rectangle.
Gabi’s breath came fast as she fought for air under the shroud. She groped outward and down, just inside the periphery of the crack until her right hand encountered a scooped-out section of concrete no bigger than a walnut. Gabi ran her finger along the inside of the cavity, which was smooth but for a small raised bump. Biting her lip, Gabi pressed it and the rectangle of concrete gave an inch along one side. She nudged it with her shoulder, and the rectangle gave with a click. Harsh light hit her in the face as she tumbled into a sterile passageway lined with doors.
Gabi knew that corridors like this one extended out from the central body of the temple like rays from the sun, but she had thought they were only accessible by passcard as a precaution against raids by Tribesmen. It had only been eighty-six years since the Gathering In, when Congress was restructured into an executive council overseeing every branch of the Unitas Fellowship. This was why the Corrections Facility took up at least half of the temple complex. Some branches, like Alder, covered many former states, and that meant a lot of documents to correct. The other corridors were taken up by the translation offices where her dad worked, distribution facilities, and additional space for all the paperwork involved in running Witness missions and getting the Returned settled. That gave Gabi a fifty-fifty chance of being in the right place. She moved forward, matching her silent footfalls to the stilted rhythm of her breath, peering at the placards on each door that indicated what lay behind them.
Her shoulders relaxed as she scanned the first placard, which read “History Archive, 1500–1800, C.F. #82.” C.F. stood for Corrections Facility. She had to suppress the urge to venture beyond every door, but she didn’t have much time, and there was still no guarantee that the archives she sought were in this corridor. The first segment of the passage was dedicated to history, right up until 1 P.G.I.—post–Gathering In. Next came doors dedicated to Civic Life and Government, followed by Domestic Infrastructure, Agriculture and Food Systems, and Security and Defense. Gabi couldn’t see the end of the angled hallway to tell how many doors lay ahead, so she moved to the center of the corridor, picked up her pace, and swiveled her head side to side to assess both rows of doors at once.
Literature—the hall had several of these doors, broken down by genre—Languages, Technology, Education, Sciences. Gabi staggered to a halt. She wiped her moist palms against the wool of her skirt and withdrew her father’s council passcard from her waistband. Sam had never told Gabi not to use his passcard, but it was understood. Thou shalt not steal. With the flexible logic of a thief, she figured the best way to justify what she was about to do was to make good use of the spoils. Her father never used his passcard on Saturdays anyway,
