“English is an ancient language, passed down to the animals through artifacts uncovered in archaeological dig sites we now understand were nothing more than the humans’ landfills. Our earliest words–text printed on non-biodegradable surfaces like plastic containers, electronic devices, road signs, fast food restaurant marquees, and automobiles–were once thought of as sacred gifts from the gods. Our attachment to these early words persists, and today, they are frequently used as proper nouns.” –from The History of Animalia by Buick Dyson
The Lair of Important Matters is a campus made up of large, marble buildings connected by a crisscrossing system of walkways, arches, and pergolas. I rushed past the wrought iron gate at the Lair’s entrance and crashed into the Den of Knowledge, eager to get the information I needed and get back home unnoticed.
My gasps echoed in the building’s silent, somber lobby. The space was decorated with lifelike busts of famous Animalians. They all glared at me like I had no business being there, but the cold-blooded ones seemed extra judgey. I slowed my pace and clutched the stitch in my side as I made my way to the reception desk.
A pair of furry, sharp-looking talons floated at eye level. Above my head, a large owl in an open-backed black business suit hovered, his wings beating slowly to keep him alight. He filed papers in an enormous shelving unit that reached all the way to the ceiling.
I cleared my throat. “Um. Excuse me?”
Without moving his body, the owl spun his head 180 degrees and peered at me. Beneath an astonishingly fluffy set of eyebrows, the pupils of his golden eyes dilated. Slowly, he descended and sat in a cushioned office chair. He took in my deerstalker hat, studied my face, and stared past those layers, down into my very soul.
Finally, he said, “State your business.”
“I…um…need to use the Pachyderm. Please.”
“Do you have an appointment?” I shook my head. He sighed, took a sip of tea, and turned to flip through a thick book sitting on the reception desk. “Let’s see. Today is May 20th. The next opening for a Pachyderm query is…June 5th.”
My heart sank all the way down to the center of the Earth and dissolved into molten lava. “I was hoping to get in today. If at all possible. Please.”
“Today?” The owl hooted out a quick laugh. “As the storehouse of all animal knowledge, there’s quite a long line to use the Pachyderm. I’ll book you for June 5th. What’s the name?”
“Cara Dyson. I won’t be long. I just have one ques—”
The bird’s head snapped up. “Dyson? Any relation to Buick Dyson?”
“He’s my father.”
“Well, well! I should’ve seen the resemblance straightaway. Well, well.” He extended his wingtips for a shake. “Pleased to meet you, Ms. Dyson. My name is Dr. Dorito. I’m a research fellow with the Den of Knowledge. I helped fact-check your father’s last book. He was a great bear. Mind like a steel trap. Shame about…” He stared off in the distance a moment, then cleared his throat. “The thing is, the Den closes in half an hour. The Pachyderm has already been put into sleep mode for the night. But…” He glanced around the empty lobby, then lowered his voice conspiratorially. “For Buick Dyson’s cub, I think I can wake the old girl up.”
# # #
The Pachyderm was larger than I’d expected. Its whirring metal cylinders and system of pulleys and levers filled up an entire room in the Den of Knowledge. Dr. Dorito left me alone with it, saying he’d be back in twenty minutes to shut it down for the night.
After putting on shades for eye protection, I called, “Hey, Pachyderm.”
The massive machine whirred to life and replied in a voice too pleasant to be real, “What can I help you with?”
“I need a set of coordinates mapped.”
“Certainly.”
I read the numbers off the permit, and the computer printed out a map in a matter of seconds. But no matter which way I turned the sheet of paper, it didn’t make sense. “Pachyderm, are you sure this is right? This looks like the middle of nowhere.”
“I am the Pachyderm. I am always right.”
“What are all these pockmark thingamajigs?”
“Those are craters. Your coordinates fall within one known as Zenith Crater.”
“Is it like…a volcano?”
“There is no volcanic activity in the area. The exact cause of the craters that litter the Unstable areas is unknown. Allow me to enumerate the most prevalent theories. Number one: they are the result of nuclear bombs, perhaps from the war that ended all human life. Number two: after the humans went extinct, their unmanned nuclear power plants decayed and imploded. Number three: they were caused by flatulence grenades launched during the lemurs’ Great Stink Wars, which took place in the year 53 B.I.T. Number four—”
“Okay, okay. As long as I don’t have to worry about lava, it doesn’t really matter. Pachyderm, how long would it take me to walk to Zenith Crater?” Thanks to Mom’s anxieties, I’d never left the Stable before. You can go through a travel agency, charter a carrier bird or quadruped for long trips. But I didn’t have enough allowance saved up for anything like that. Wherever I was going, it would have to be on paw.
“That depends on your species and fitness level.”
“Brown bear. Fitness level? Um…is bookish one of the levels?”
“For a sedentary brown bear walking at average speed, the trip will take approximately twenty-eight hours.”
My heart sank. Twenty-eight hours? That’s like three or four full days of walking, which exhausted me just thinking about it. Worse, it would mean camping, and I’m strictly an indoor bear. “Why would Dad have gone way out to the middle of the desert?” I muttered to myself.
But the Pachyderm was still listening. “Zenith Crater is home to the Poindexter.”
I gasped. The Poindexter’s a legendary computer, one I wasn’t even sure existed, up till that moment. It’s supposed to be the equivalent of a Pachyderm, except instead of animal knowledge, it stores rare, human-written texts. And while every Stable has a Pachyderm that’s open to the public (albeit with a bit of a wait), there’s only one Poindexter in Animalia.
“Warning. Access to the Poindexter without a permit is strictly forbidden.”
“Shhhh!” It was like the Pachyderm could hear the gears of my mind turn without me having to say a word.
“Additionally, travel through the Unstable areas is inadvisable, particularly for a bookish brown bear.” The Pachyderm’s pleasant voice seemed to increase in volume. I could hear Dr. Dorito flitting about outside the room, switching off lights and locking doors. The last thing I needed was to alert him to my plan.
“Hush, Pachyderm! I thought you just answered questions.”
“The nature of your queries indicates you are contemplating a trip to this location.”
“I’m not!”
“Possible side effects of spending time in the Unstable areas include shortness of breath, headaches, twitchy tail syndrome…”
“Quiet!” I scanned the machine for some type of shut-off switch. It was plastered with warnings about not letting your fur or your tail get caught between the spinning cylinders. Nothing about how to shut the nagging thing up when it was spewing unsolicited advice.
“Vitamin deficiencies, owly resting face, cankles…”
“Pachyderm, stop listening!” I ran down the length of the machine, searching for a power cord to unplug it. There wasn’t one.
“Withering whiskers, fatigue, ennui, or death. Additional dangers specific to Zenith Crater include angry birds, screaming goats—”
A nearby door pulled close. Dr. Dorito would be back any minute. My knees quaked and my mouth went dry. My afterschool-snack-deprived belly rumbled, giving me an idea. If I couldn’t shut down this machine, maybe I could get it blathering on about something else. “Pachyderm, explain the best method for making porridge. In detail.”
“Let me look that up for you. Okay. Begin by soaking your oats or other grain of choi—”
The owl poked his head in the door and scowled. “Porridge recipes, Ms. Dyson? Really? That was your emergency?”
I put on a haughty tone to combat his owly resting face. “Porridge is a vital part of bear culture, Dr. Dorito.” I quickly folded the map and stashed it in my backpack. “But you can shut down the Pachyderm now. I got what I needed.”