Cody III, Chapter 4 Cody's gaze swept over the endless spines of ancient knowledge, each book a sentinel of history's silent vigil. The library of the World Ship Aurora dwarfed any terrestrial counterpart he could conceive, its aisles stretching into a vanishing point that whispered of eternity. The air held the musty scent of aged paper and the subtle hum of life-support systems—a symphony for scholars. He had traversed this chronicle of civilization, his fingers grazing leather-bound volumes that chronicled epochs long before his birth. Tara's advice had led him here, to an overview of humanity's past that stretched beyond the brink of their near annihilation. As he absorbed the tales of two distinct lineages of humans, Cody felt the weight of forgotten legacies on his shoulders. The draconian hint in his luminescent eyes reflected the golden light filtering through the high windows, casting a dance of shadows across his iridescent skin. He reached the end of the book—the revelation of Captain Archer's millennia-long gambit—and closed the tome with a gentle thud. It was an act of reverence, a nod to the sacrifices inked upon its pages. Across the room, Tara lay ensconced in the embrace of a reading couch, her slender fingers turning the delicate pages of a text older than recorded time. Her attention lifted from the cryptic script at the sound of the closing book, her otherworldly eyes locking onto Cody's. "Done already?" Her voice carried a melodic quality that resonated in the vast space, vibrating with wisdom far beyond her apparent age. "Finished," Cody confirmed, placing the book on a nearby pedestal. His mind churned with newfound knowledge, yet it yearned for more—the raw experience that no page could replicate. Cody's hands trembled as he laid the ancient volume down on the cool, metallic surface of the library table. His gaze drifted across the endless rows of archives, where history whispered secrets from before time itself seemed to remember. “I don’t know what to say,” he murmured, the echo of his voice barely rising above a whisper in the colossal chamber. “Everything I know about everything is a lie.” Tara’s eyes met his, her expression serene amidst the storm of revelations. “Not a lie,” she corrected gently. Her fingers paused on the edge of the timeworn page she had been about to turn. “Just incomplete. Here, in this World Ship, we have maintained the entirety of the history of humanity.” She sat up, legs unfolding with the grace of one who knew the dance of galaxies. The book in her lap remained open, its pages aglow with the soft light of knowledge long hidden. "Many people know; historians, academia's, world leaders," she continued, her tone even, matter-of-fact. "But it’s not pushed on anyone." Cody chewed on the inside of his cheek, digesting her words. He could almost feel the weight of the untold histories pressing against the walls around him, begging to be acknowledged. "You can go to college and learn all the ancient history," Tara said, standing now, her silhouette framed by the vastness of the library. "But for the average person, they only know the basics of it." She shrugged slightly, a small gesture that held centuries of understanding. Cody looked down at the ancient text once more, the symbols on the cover cryptic yet oddly familiar, like a distant memory. "They don’t want to know the details," she added, walking towards him. "It’s too disturbing, shakes up their conception of reality too much." He watched her approach, her footsteps silent on the polished floor. The air was thick with the scent of old paper and the subtle ozone tang of advanced technology. "We have two World Ships left," she said, stopping beside him, her gaze piercing into the future only she could see. "And another forty-million people in cryo to seed somewhere." Cody's jaw set firm, a resolve knitting between his brows. The universe sprawled out before them, ripe with possibilities and fraught with the complexities of their shared heritage. There, in the hallowed quiet of the library, the young First Son of Ara faced the crossroads of destiny. Cody shifted in his seat, the leather creaking softly beneath him. He traced the spine of the book beside him with a finger, feeling each embossed letter as though they were etched into his very skin. "Where were you supposed to go?" he asked, eyes flicking up to Tara's face. Tara tilted her head, strands of hair catching the light from the overhead glow panels. "I was to be seeded on Pyra Major," she replied. Her voice held a note of wistfulness, like a song carried across the cosmos yet unheard. She moved closer, her presence a calming force in the vast library. "I was going to be a professor and invent the next level of hyperspace communication in my spare time." Cody nodded, absorbing the weight of her words. The air around them seemed charged with potential, with the promise of what could have been. He leaned back, the ancient chair groaning. His eyes, glimmering with inner light, locked onto Tara's serene face. "The Third Light told me to rework the hyperspace equation," Cody said, voice tinged with hesitation. "Do you already have that solved?" Tara's nod was slight but certain. "Not me," she said. Her eyes, reflecting an old soul's wisdom, met his. "I might be two-million years old in cryo time, but in real time I’m fourteen, the same as you." A ghost of a smile played on her lips. "I would have learned it if I would stay here on the Aurora until it was time for me to go to Pyra." The silence between them stretched, punctuated only by the distant echo of footsteps somewhere in the colossal chamber. Cody's fingers drummed lightly on the wooden table, the sound a soft tap in the quiet. He exhaled slowly, his breath a quiet whisper amid the sacred stillness surrounding them. “And then what? You never get to see your Uncle again?” “I was to invent the device on my 27th Birthday, then the overwhelming attention I’d get would drive me into seclusion, where I’d never be seen again, because I would be back here on the Aurora training someone else for their mission.” Cody's gaze lingered on the sea of bound knowledge around them, each spine a silent sentinel of history. The weight of centuries seemed to rest between its pages, and yet, she handled it with ease. “But, you’re staying on Ara, so what will you do now?” Cody’s question broke the silence like a stone disturbing the surface of still water. Tara smiled, a lock of hair falling across her brow. Her expression was inscrutable, but a hint of something—resolve, perhaps—flickered in her depths. “I’ll tell you,” she began. “If you promise not to weird out on me.” Cody shook his head, though his heart raced with the uncertainty of what revelation might follow. He didn’t really want to know? Cody's affirmation hung in the air, a solemn vow given amidst an ocean of chronicles. The hush of the library embraced the gravity of his words. “Never mind, I don’t think I like this thing where your life is all planned out by someone else, and you’re going to fake invent something that was already invented before what I thought was the dawn of civilization.” "Okay, then I’ll only tell you what I’ve already told you," she began, her voice steady and clear, "I'm going to marry you someday, Cody Branson, because I love you. And, we’ll build a life together, and we’ll have babies, and I’ll be happy." A blush crept up Cody's neck at the mention of babies, a tide of warmth that didn't go unnoticed in the vast quiet of the library. Books loomed around them like sentinels of forgotten lore, indifferent to the boy's discomfort. He shifted on the cushioned seat, his gaze flickering from the ancient tome before him to Tara's expectant face. "Do I have any say in this grand plan?" His voice was barely more than a whisper, yet it seemed to echo off the high shelves, seeking an answer among the dust of ages. Tara's expression softened, a twinge of pain briefly crinkling her otherwise serene features. She winced at his words, her delicate hands folding over the book in her hands as if seeking solace from the leather-bound wisdom beneath her fingertips. "Ouch," she murmured, her eyes downcast. "Uncle Max said you would ask that." Her voice quivered just enough to betray the hurt beneath her composed exterior. She looked up, her luminescent eyes meeting his squarely, their otherworldly glow a stark contrast to the dim light of the library. "Yes, you have free-will," she continued, a strength returning to her voice. "You can push me away, I'll be sad, I'll cry for weeks—" She paused, swallowing the lump that had formed in her throat. A heavy silence hovered between them. Cody watched a lone tear threaten at the corner of Tara's eye, defying gravity as it lingered. "Eventually," she said, with a breath that spoke volumes, "I'll probably find a nice Ara boy to settle down with." The words hung in the air, filled with a resignation that belied her young age. "Uncle Max's rule is we are never to try to force anyone to accept what they don’t want. If you don’t want me, I’ll go away and never bother you again." Her hand reached out, hesitating inches from Cody's arm before retreating. In that moment, the library, a cathedral of knowledge, bore witness to two souls intertwined by fate and choice. The vast silence returned, seemingly holding its breath, waiting for Cody's next words. Cody's fingers twitched, betraying his frustration. His gaze locked onto the ancient tome before him, its pages brimming with secrets and silent histories. It felt as if the very weight of millennia pressed against his chest, squeezing the breath from his lungs. "I'll be honest," he said, voice tinged with a sour note of irritation. "You're my best friend, and maybe all that will happen, and maybe it won’t." He paused, his eyes trailing over the intricate bindings and the dust motes dancing in a beam of light. "But it’s making me a little mad that someone has planned my whole future without my say in it." With a controlled push, he sent the book skittering across the table. Its journey ended with a soft thud against a stack of equally foreboding volumes. "You know what, I don’t want this library." The words spilled out raw and unfiltered. He looked around at the endless shelves, their shadows looming like silent judges. He crossed his arms defiantly. "Sure, I could learn everything I ever wanted to know, all handed to me on a silver platter." There was a spark in his eye, the kind that ignites when convictions are set ablaze. "But, I want to do it on my own." Across from him, Tara's features softened into an enigmatic smile. It was a look that spoke of secrets and shared confidences. Her lips curled upwards, the edges crinkling with delight, the image of serenity amidst Cody's turmoil. Her grin broadened, eyes shimmering with mischief and pride. "I told you he would say that," she murmured, her voice a whisper that carried through the hush of the library. Her gaze lifted, locking with something unseen, a silent communication passing between her and the void. "Do you believe me now he’s the one?" Her statement hung in the air, laced with triumph and a knowing certainty that only those who truly understood Cody could claim. Cody's frown deepened as he pivoted on the chair to see a figure materializing from the shadows of the towering bookcases. Captain Archer stood there, an imposing presence among the ancient tomes. "Was this some kind of test?" Cody's voice carried a mix of confusion and accusation through the silent expanse of the library. The Captain's gaze bore into him, unwavering and piercing. "Those that want the knowledge in this library are the very ones that should have it the least." His words were measured, heavy with an authority forged over centuries. Cody's breath caught, a faint chill creeping up his spine. The air seemed to thicken as it pressed unseen upon his shoulders. Captain Archer continued, "I'm not going to live forever, and I don’t have my own children to leave this ship, this legacy." He gestured vaguely to the vastness around them. "What I do have is a niece, and she is the daughter of my heart." Tara watched silently, her expression unreadable, a statue of anticipation. "Whomever she chooses to be with will inherit this ship with her," Archer declared. The shadows seemed to lean in closer, listening, as if the library itself was paying homage to its future caretaker. Cody swallowed hard, his mind racing to keep pace with the revelations unfolding before him. Captain Archer's next words landed with the force of a comet's impact. "I needed to know that you understand this library, this ship, isn’t a means to advance you, or put you in power." The silence returned, thicker than before, as if the very cosmos held its breath for Cody's reaction. "I need to know that who Tara chooses, will use this ship to protect humanity, not rule over it." The statement resonated through the library, an echo of destiny that lingered long after spoken. "I won’t say any more on this matter." With those final words, the Captain's presence receded, leaving a lingering impression of solemnity and the ghost of futures yet unwritten. Captain Archer's silhouette merged with the shadows, his steps silent among the towering shelves. Cody's heart pulsed in his ears, drowning out the hushed reverence of the endless library. "Sir," Cody's voice cracked the stillness, "what if I would have said I wanted all the secrets in this library?" The Captain paused mid-stride, his back a bastion against the weight of knowledge housed within these walls. He spoke without facing the boy, voice steady as the stars outside the ship's hull. "I would have thrown you out an airlock." Cody's breath caught. The stark simplicity of the statement hung between them, a cold comet tail of consequence. He imagined the void, the silent expanse that might have been his end, had his curiosity turned to greed.