Page 1 of The Alien in the Archive (Galactic Librarians #1)

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T he Grand Library of M’mir is just minutes away.

Back on the orbital station, I could barely see the planet through the swirling lavender and gold clouds. But now, as the space elevator glides down through the atmosphere, the library begins to take shape. Pressing my forehead to the glass, I can’t stop staring. Coral spires and ivy-covered monoliths stretch across the planet’s surface. Floating platforms crisscross between soaring towers, their lights glowing like fireflies. Pools of water glitter in the sunlight, connected by cascading aqueducts.

Even here in the sterile, recycled air of the elevator, I can smell it. Old books, ancient ink…

“Stop leaning against the glass like that,” my brother Riley mutters, his arms crossed tight as he stares at the ceiling. “You’re gonna make me puke.”

“Why? It’s incredible,” I say, refusing to tear my gaze away.

Riley groans. “It’s incredible that we’re thousands of feet above the ground in a tin can that could fall at any second. ”

I laugh. “This elevator was made by Skoll engineers. I’d trust it over your wobbly legs any day.”

“You’re cruel.”

“You’re fine,” I shoot back, but there’s no heat to it. I grab his shoulder and shake it lightly. “We’re almost to the bottom. And come on—this isn’t worse than that rickety elevator in Vancouver when we shipped out. I swear it was held together with duct tape and prayers.”

Riley rolls his eyes. “That thing scarred me, Page. It’s called trauma. Look it up.”

The elevator glides to a halt, and Riley flinches as if we’ve crash-landed. I bite back another laugh.

“Big baby,” I tease. “You know…for a guy who claims to want to build spaceships, you don’t seem to like flying very much.”

“Fine, I’m a big baby.” He snorts and slips his arm through mine as the golden doors slide open. “So you’d better hang on. Wouldn’t want to get lost in the crowd.”

“Never,” I reply, smiling back.

Then we step into Mythara, the capital city of M’mir…and we start our new lives.

My eyes go wide. The air itself seems to shimmer.

It’s not just the scale of the place—it’s the impossibility of it. Floating platforms glide overhead, staircases unfurl from nowhere, and glowing vines bloom across stone and coral facades. Through towering windows, I glimpse endless bookshelves lit by golden orbs. The ocean stretches out off to our right, the towers and domes of the Nautilum—the Merati archive—under the waves. My lungs fill with the scent of alien spices, fresh flowers, sizzling oil.

I’ve studied this place obsessively: maps, welcome packets, even calls with my fellowship supervisor. But standing here, soles of my Oxfords on the cold marble pathway, I feel like I’m an insignificant speck in the great, big cosmos.

Like I’ve stepped into something ancient. Something alive.

Like something is waiting.

“You good?” Riley asks, his voice cutting through my awe.

I take a deep breath, grinning. “Better than ever.”

We start off arm-in-arm through the plaza, my messenger bag bouncing against my hip. I fidget with the edge of the gold translator draped over my ear, eager to test it out. More than two thousand languages are spoken in Mythara, and I’ve been uploading new dictionaries for weeks. It’s not the most expensive model, but hopefully it will do the trick.

“Stop messing with it or you’ll break it before you even get to use it—and those cost us a pretty penny,” Riley chides.

“I know, I just…I don’t want to miss a word,” I tell him. “The lag already makes me feel like a tourist.”

“Look around, Page,” he says, gesturing with his free hand. “ Everyone here is a tourist.”

He’s right; I’ve already caught sight of at least ten different species, some that I’ve never even seen before. And besides…

…you don’t necessarily need a translator when you’re in people’s heads.

I wasn’t always psychic—in fact, it’s a very recent development—and for the past year, I’ve been hearing things. Thoughts that don’t belong to me. Even now, I can hear it, the thoughts coming across more clearly than my own language ever could.

Hungry.

Late.

Annoyed.

I press my nails into my palm and try to block it out, but it’s like trying to ignore sunlight .

“Okay,” Riley says, cutting through the noise. “This place is pretty sick.”

“Finally excited?” I ask, glancing up at him.

“Being on solid ground helps.”

“You’ll have to get over it,” I say. “The library has over a hundred floors. Unless you’re planning to live in the basement, elevators are your new best friend.”

Riley mutters something under his breath, but I’m already distracted. Around us, the plaza hums with life: stalls selling rare books, alien street food sizzling on grills, holographic scrolls glowing on display. My stomach growls, but I ignore it. I’m too busy soaking it all in. A floating kiosk drifts past, dispensing steaming cups of spiced mead. Above, elevators zip between towers, leaving trails of light like shooting stars.

It hits me all at once: we’re here. We’re really here.

For years, Riley and I dreamed about leaving Earth, about coming to M’mir. We worked ourselves to exhaustion—me in history, him in engineering—just for the chance to be part of this. And now, we’re standing at the heart of the galaxy’s greatest library, with the galaxy’s collective knowledge at our fingertips.

“Which way to reception?” Riley asks.

I glance at the notes scribbled on my palm. “This way.”

We weave through the crowd, past merchants hawking star charts and students debating ancient constellations. The psychic noise presses in again, like a tide of whispers, and I grit my teeth.

Get it together, I tell myself. You can’t let this ruin everything.

Ahead, the plaza narrows into a walkway flanked by fountains. Water cascades into tunnels below, glittering in the greenish sunlight.

Riley whistles. “This is insane.”

“Wait until you see the archives.” I grin. “This is just the surface. ”

The market’s chaos recedes as we approach the Reception Hall, a towering structure of black stone and glass. Inside, the room buzzes with activity. Students and scholars of all species crowd sleek counters, some clutching glowing ID cards.

A Skoll woman greets us at the desk. Her silver skin glints in the light, her crystalline antlers hung with delicate chains. “Welcome to M’mir,” she says, her voice warm. The words are scrambled for a moment as my translator catches up. “Can I help you?”

“Yes,” I reply. “Patience and Riley McRae. We’re here to check in.”

The Skoll tilts her head, a golden hologram shimmering before her. The text shifts into English, matching the rhythm of my translator. “You’re meeting with Professors Davina Ferhalda and Kaelion Rhyss, correct?”

“That’s us,” I say.

“Your supervisors will be waiting for you,” she says. “Riley, head straight ahead to Engineering. Patience, you’ll need to take the central lift system to the Obscuary.”

“Ah…the Obscuary.” Riley raises an eyebrow. “Isn’t that the spooky place you haven’t shut up about for the past ten years?”

I give him a sidelong glance. “It’s where the best dusty old books are.”

The Skoll hands us translucent ID cards etched with glowing runes. “These will grant you access to your quarters and resources. Don’t lose them.”

“Me? Lose an ID card? Never,” Riley promises with an affable grin.

That’s a lie. He will definitely lose it at least once.

As we leave the desk, the moment feels heavier. This is it—the point where we go our separate ways. We’ll see each other again, yeah…but this is always a big moment. I’m taken ba ck to when we finally got out of the convent—when he went to Berkeley and I went to Harvard.

At least we can see each other outside of work this time around.

“Well,” Riley says, forcing a grin. “Stay out of the haunted sections, okay? One of us should make it back alive to tell the tale.”

“Try not to fall off a platform,” I shoot back.

We bump elbows and start to walk away, but Riley stops.

“Love you, sis,” he says. “Go get ‘em.”

“Love you too.” I smile. “Raise some hell.”

We part ways, and I look down at my ID card for directions. A glowing path is illuminated in front of me, heading east.

Alright. Guess that’s the way.

I walk through the lobby of the Grand Library, slightly wistful over having to miss the library proper…but I keep moving, seeking out the lift. I find it at the end of a quiet hallway, a square stone platform with railings that don’t look nearly high enough. I chance a look up toward the higher floors, and even I get a little queasy.

Here goes nothing.

I step onboard.

The platform rises, making my stomach drop…but the excitement is too great for any fear to quash it. The light changes as I rise toward the Obscuary, shifting from warm gold to cool blue. Vines crawl across the stone walls as the architecture grows older, darker. My heart pounds with every level we pass.

They say this is the oldest place in the library, that many parts of it that remain uncharted by librarians, too labyrinthine to navigate.

I can’t wait to get inside.

At last, the platform stops. I step off into another hallway of dark stone, and I find myself in front of a massive black gate. Glowing runes shimmer across the surface, and hooded statues flank the entrance, their faces obscured.

Standing before the gate is Professor Davina Ferhalda.

Her bronze skin gleams, her antlers adorned with golden chains that catch the flickering lantern light. She’s taller than I expected, blue robes sweeping the ground. Her eyes—sharp and crystalline grey—study me for a moment.

“Professor Ferhalda?” I ask.

“And you must be Patience McRae,” she says, smiling. “Please, call me Davina.”

I exhale, smiling back. “Hi, Davina. I’m Page.”