Page 3 of The Viking in the Vault (Galactic Librarians #2)

ELENA

D r. Kallipso told me not to be late, so today, I’m going in early.

Extra early–before anyone can stop me from visiting the Llaekys Prime cores.

The Eiskammer is eerily silent in the early hours of the morning, the beep of my access card in the door almost jarring.

I pull my coat tighter around me as I step into the vast, icy hall, the chill biting at my cheeks and making me shiver.

I glance around, half-expecting Kallipso’s sharp voice to echo through the space, but I’m alone.

No one else arrives this early–save for a maintenance droid clearing the floors of ice.

Good.

The weight of my satchel presses against my side as I cross the entry hall, the sound of my boots too loud.

It’s still dark outside, but the northern lights glimmer through the vaulted crystalline ceiling, decorating the whole entry hall in otherworldly color.

I force myself to focus on my breathing, each exhale fogging up the air in front of me.

I’ll be careful. I’ve done this a thousand times. You always have to be careful in the Eiskammer’s sublevels, and today is no different.

The lift is just ahead, ringed with white light. I step onboard and key in my destination, then it begins to hover through the layers of ice–down, down, down. It used to scare me, but now it’s all part of my day-to-day.

The further I descend, the colder it gets, the walls of the ice tunnels glittering with elaborate, spiraling patterns. A soft chime signals my arrival, and I step off of the lift a moment later into a narrow corridor lined with storage chambers.

The Llaekis Prime cores are in the lowest floor of the Eiskammer: the deepest part of an already cold and dark archive.

Here goes nothing.

My boots echo against the metal grates as I step into the hallway, but I stop in my tracks when I get a glimpse of the damage.

The earthquake’s impact is immediately visible–several overhead lights flicker, casting uneven shadows across the walls, and a jagged crack runs along the far wall, the ice behind it shimmering faintly.

Pipes overhead hiss with faint bursts of vapor, seals compromised.

I hesitate, my heart pounding. Maybe Dr. Kallisto wasn’t just making up excuses for me to focus on her research.

Maybe this isn’t safe.

But then I think of Marcy’s face on the holopad last night, the chaos of my family’s kitchen…

and their unshakable faith in me. I think of Santa Rosa, the streets where I grew up, the beautiful beach where I spent countless summers with my sisters.

Since I was a kid, I’ve taken care of them.

My mom did her best, but after our father left, we were all we had.

I can’t let them down now.

I grit my teeth and move forward.

The air keeps getting colder, the damage becoming more pronounced with every step.

The cores are unharmed–the most important material here, still safe–but all the life support systems are compromised.

Broken ceiling panels dangle precariously, and I have to duck beneath them, careful not to snag my scarf or satchel.

Frost coats the walls, thick and uneven, and the ground beneath me feels less stable than it probably should, metal plates creaking softly under my weight.

I just need to get those samples, then I can leave. I’ve got everything I need in my bag. I’ll be okay.

When I reach the door to the Llaekis Prime chamber, I stop. The access panel flickers erratically, and the door itself is slightly ajar, a thin crack of light spilling into the corridor. I glance over my shoulder, half-expecting someone to call out and tell me to turn back.

Maybe I want them to…but nobody does.

No–I’m making this stupid decision all on my own.

I take a deep breath and step inside.

The chamber is freezing, the temperature dropping sharply as the door shuts behind me–still with a crack open.

My breath fogs up in front of me and I have to wave the fog away to scan the room, taking in the rows of towering pillars of ice.

Some are easily the size of an entire room, taken from alien oceans and frozen tundras.

These are the Llaekis prime samples: pieces of a planet that some climate scientists theorize was once the subject of terraforming experiments. The cores contain millions of years of planetary history–data that could help me piece together a solution for Earth’s rising sea levels.

I move carefully between the rows, my gloved fingers trailing along labeled metal plates as I search for the section I need.

The chamber is quiet except for the faint hum of the containment units and the occasional crackle of electricity from somewhere up ahead.

The door behind me keeps trying to shut, startling me every time it thuds against debris with a loud pop.

This room seems to have been hit particularly hard by the quake.

The walls are cracked in places, and frost coats the floor in uneven patches, making it treacherously slippery.

One of the cylinders near the back leans slightly, its base no longer fully stable.

I stop in front of it, my stomach tightening as I imagine the damage that could result from a second quake.

Be careful, Elena.

I tell myself it’ll be fine. I just need to collect my data and get out.

When I find the first core I need, I set the scanner against the metal plate at its base and wait as it connects. The display screen flickers to life, showing a stream of data as it begins downloading the information stored within.

I keep one eye on the screen and the other on the room around me, my ears straining for any sign of movement. The cracks in the walls seem to creep closer, and I feel like the room itself is holding its breath, waiting for something to go wrong.

And then it does.

A low rumble vibrates through the floor, faint at first but growing stronger with every passing second. My heart leaps into my throat as I glance around, panic rising.

At first I thought it was just the space settling…but this is another earthquake.

A fine, chilling mist of frozen dust begins to rain down from the ceiling. A sharp crack of splitting ice cuts through the clamor, so loud it feels like the room itself is screaming.

Then comes the groan–a deep, ominous moan from the shifting supports beneath my feet, the kind of sound that makes your stomach lurch and your instincts scream one word.

Run.

The ground beneath me trembles violently, the vibrations making it impossible to keep my balance. I stagger backward, clutching the scanner tightly as the room tilts around me. Another loud crack splits the air, and I look up just in time to see one of the overhead beams give way.

I dive to the side as the beam crashes down where I stood seconds ago, the impact sending a shockwave through the chamber. I hit the ground hard, my head slamming against the icy floor. Stars explode in my vision, and for a moment, I can’t hear anything over the roar of the quake.

When I force myself to move, I can barely stay upright.

The cylinders around me shake violently, and I watch in horror as one of them topples over, crashing to the ground and shattering into a thousand pieces–priceless data, gone.

Shards of ice scatter across the floor, the glow of the core extinguished.

I have to get out of here.

I scramble to my feet, slipping on the frost as I try to make it to the door. My satchel is somewhere behind me, but there’s no time to go back for it. I can hear the groaning of the walls as they start to give way, and the sound sends a fresh wave of panic through me.

I was so stupid. I let my savior complex kick in for the millionth time, and this time, it backfired.

The floor beneath me shifts again, and I lose my footing, falling hard.

My hands scrape against the ice as I try to crawl forward, my breath coming in short, panicked gasps.

The air is filled with the deafening noise of collapsing metal and shattering ice, and I can barely hear my own thoughts over the chaos.

I reach for the door, my fingers brushing against the edge?—

And then the wall to my left caves in completely, a cascade of ice and rubble rushing toward me.

The last thing I see is the pale inner glow of the remaining cores, each one of them tilting as I slide back, back, back…

Then everything goes black.