Zero Point

Ella in the hallway

Chapter 1 - Before the Library

     Ella Zero woke up three minutes before her alarm went off. She did this almost every morning. She opened her eyes but did not move. Her bedroom was still dark, except for a thin line of orange light coming through the blinds. Outside her apartment window, the future city was already waking up. Delivery drones moved between the buildings. Transit rails hummed several levels below. Somewhere inside the wall, the ventilation system made a deep breathing sound. Ella listened carefully. She counted the sounds around her apartment. One drone. Two clicks from the heating pipes. A soft scrape from the apartment above her. Then another scrape. Ella frowned. The person upstairs had been dragging something across the floor every morning for the past week. Yesterday, the sound came every fourteen seconds. Today, it happened every eleven. She reached toward the small notebook beside her bed. Her hand hit a glass of water instead tipping it over. Water spilled across the table toward three library books and one of her journals. Ella moved too quickly. She grabbed the books against her chest, knocked the lamp sideways with her elbow and got one leg tangled inside the blanket. Her body slid halfway off the mattress. She caught herself with one hand while holding the books tightly with the other. For several seconds, she remained in that awkward position. Her long dark hair covered most of her face.

“This is already going badly,” she whispered.

     Her alarm started ringing. It played soft electronic bells that were supposed to make waking up more peaceful. Ella hated them. The sound made her feel as if a tiny machine was celebrating her discomfort.

“Stop alarm.”

The bells continued.

“Turn off.”

They grew louder. Ella reached across the bed and slapped the clock. The glass display cracked. The alarm stopped. Ella stared at the broken screen.

“I did not hit you that hard.”

     She carefully placed the books on the dry side of the table. Then she sat on the edge of the bed and looked down at the floor. Her apartment was crowded with books, notebooks, folded maps and small objects she had collected during long walks. Smooth rocks sat in neat rows along one shelf. Dried leaves were pressed between pieces of paper. A bird feather stood inside a clear tube beside her desk. Ella liked natural objects because they did not ask questions. She stood up and wrapped the blanket around her shoulders. At thirty-one years old, Ella had the kind of body people noticed even though she did everything possible to hide it. She had a narrow waist, a full chest and large rounded hips that looked as though she spent hours training in a gym. She did not. Most of her exercise came from walking and hiking alone outside the city. Her oversized sleep shirt hung loosely over her body, but the thin fabric still followed her curves when she moved. Ella disliked fitting clothing. She felt that tight clothing gave strangers too much information. She stepped over a stack of books and walked toward the bathroom. Her smallest toe struck the doorframe. Ella froze as pain shot through her foot. She slowly looked down at the frame beyond her breasts.

“You were not that far out yesterday.”

The bathroom mirror turned on when she entered. A small health report appeared beside her reflection.

SLEEP QUALITY: 82%

HYDRATION: LOW

STRESS LEVEL: ELEVATED

SOCIAL ACTIVITY RECOMMENDED

Ella leaned toward the mirror.

“Delete the last recommendation.”

RECOMMENDATION CANNOT BE DELETED.

“I own this mirror.”

DEVICE REMAINS PROPERTY OF VITA-HOME SYSTEMS UNDER USER LICENSE AGREEMENT.

Ella stared at the message.

“This is why people should keep regular mirrors.”

     She looked at herself. Her face did not match the way she behaved. Ella had smooth tanned skin, high cheekbones, full lips and large dark eyes that made people assume she was confident. Her features were soft, balanced and unusually attractive. When she started talking then confusion crept in. Her hair was thick and slightly wavy. She pulled it behind her head and tried to tie it into a loose knot and several strands fell out. She tried again allowing more hair to escape. After four attempts, she wrapped the entire knot in a wide black band.

“Contained,” she said.

A waterproof card was taped beside the bathroom mirror. It read:

1. Brush teeth

2. Wash face

3. Drink water

4. Get dressed

5. Eat

6. Write in journal

7. Leave apartment

     Ella had made the list after she arrived at the library wearing one brown shoe, one black shoe and no employee badge. She brushed her teeth while reading a news article projected across the mirror. The article discussed the city’s plan to replace more human librarians with predictive archive systems. The new systems could supposedly determine what a person wanted to read before they asked. Ella stopped brushing.

“That is not the same as choosing.”

The mirror asked whether she wanted to submit a comment.

“No.”

COMMENT SUBMITTED: NO.

     Ella closed her eyes. She finished brushing her teeth and turned off the mirror. In the bedroom, she opened her closet. Most of her clothing looked the same. Loose sweaters, wide pants, long coats and soft shirts in dark or neutral colors. She chose a gray sweater that was two sizes too large, loose black trousers and flat walking shoes. The sweater covered most of her hips and hung low over her hands. She stood in front of the full-length mirror. The sweater hid her shape well from the front (standing still). She turned sideways and not enough coverage. The soft material still rested against the full curve of her chest before falling over her stomach. When she turned again, the back of the sweater pulled slightly across her rounded hips. Ella tried on a long brown coat that was too heavy for the weather. She walked to the kitchen as the apartment lights illuminated in sections as she walked. Her kitchen was small and clean, although books had taken over half of the table. She filled a metal bottle with cold water and took six long drags. She placed a piece of bread into the toaster with a warning.

BREAD DENSITY EXCEEDS RECOMMENDED LEVEL.

“It is bread.”

TOASTING MAY BE UNEVEN.

“I accept the danger.”

     The bread came out slightly burned on one side. Ella ate half of it while standing beside the counter. She became distracted by a small crack near the ceiling. She studied it for almost a minute. When she looked back down, the remaining half of her toast was gone. She searched the counter, the table, the floor and finally finding it inside the refrigerator beside the butter. Ella stared at it.

“I must have had a reason.”

     She ate it cold. At 6:41, she sat at the table and opened her journal. The date appeared automatically on the page. Ella crossed it out and wrote the same date again by hand. She preferred her own handwriting. It proved that she had been present. She wrote: Tuesday. The scraping upstairs is faster today. Eleven seconds between movements. Possibly furniture. Possible structural problem. Possible person with no respect for morning silence. She paused and tapped the pen against her lips. Then she wrote about the dream she had during the night. Dream: A hallway without walls. One door standing by itself. Something breathing behind it. I didn’t open the door. Ella looked at the sentence. The dream didn’t feel normal. It didn’t feel like something her sleeping mind had created. It felt like a real place she had briefly entered. She added: Possible meaning: anxiety about archive replacement. Then beneath it: Alternative meaning: creepy door. She closed the journal. Ella packed it inside her shoulder bag with two pens, a small flashlight, three protein bars, emergency socks and a folded rain covering. The weather forecast showed no rain. Ella did not trust weather forecasts. She checked the time at 6:48. She was one minute behind schedule. Ella hurried toward the apartment door, caught her coat pocket on the kitchen chair and nearly pulled the chair over. She stopped and carefully freed herself. At the door, she checked her belongings. Employee badge in left pocket, transit card in right pocket, library key inside compartment of bag, apartment key.. Ella looked at her empty hand. The key was still in the lock on the inside of the door. She removed it, stepped into the hallway and closed the door. Three seconds later, she remembered the metal water bottle sitting on the kitchen counter. Ella slowly lowered her head in frustration. She opened the door again. By the time she reached the elevator, she was four minutes behind. A man from another floor was already standing inside. He wore a dark blue business suit and smelled like synthetic cedar. Ella had seen him before but had never learned his name.

“Good morning,” he said.

Ella stepped into the elevator. She nodded. The doors closed. The man looked at her.

“You work at the Central Library, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“I see you carrying books sometimes.”

Ella considered his statement.

“It would be strange if you saw me carrying fish.”

The man laughed. Ella did not. The elevator continued downward.

“What section do you work in?” he asked.

“Restricted historical media and obsolete knowledge systems.”

“That sounds interesting.”

“It is mostly dust, legal complaints and dead people.”

     The man looked at the floor numbers. Ella could tell he was trying to decide whether she had made a joke. The elevator reached the lobby an the doors opened. Ella stepped forward at the same time as the man. They bumped shoulders and Ella quickly withdrew, but the strap of her bag caught on the edge of the elevator door. The pull turned her halfway around and the man reached toward her.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes.”

“You sure?”

“No.”

     Ella pulled the strap free and walked away. The lobby doors opened automatically. Cold morning air touched her face. The city outside was bright, silver and busy. Tall glass buildings rose around the plaza. Silent taxis moved along the street. Delivery machines rolled between pedestrians. Above them, trains crossed the sky on suspended rails. Most people wore contact displays that projected information directly into their eyes. They walked while reading messages, watching videos or speaking to invisible assistants. Ella stood near the edge of the crowd. She waited for enough space to pass without touching anyone. Her sweater hung loosely around her body. A gust of wind pressed the fabric against her for a moment, revealing the shape she worked hard to conceal. Two men standing near a coffee kiosk looked at her. Ella noticed and pulled the sweater bottom down from its tail and lowered her head. She walked directly into a public information post. The metal structure made a loud hollow sound causing Ella to step back. One of the men laughed as she placed her hand against the post.

“You should be easier to see.”

The post lit up.

STRUCTURE MEETS MUNICIPAL VISIBILITY STANDARD.

Ella narrowed her eyes.

“You are involved in your own investigation.”

     She continued toward the transit station. Once she moved away from the crowded plaza, her body relaxed. Ella walked quickly and smoothly when no one was close to her. Her legs were strong from years of long hikes. She liked the steady rhythm of her shoes against the pavement. She liked breathing cold air. She liked movement when it did not involve other people. The Central Library stood several blocks ahead. The building looked different from everything around it. Most of the city was made of glass, metal and moving light. The library was built from dark stone, reinforced wood and thick windows. Its broad steps had been worn down by thousands of people over the years. Ella always felt calmer when she saw it. Books did not stare. Books did not interrupt. Books waited until they were opened. She reached the bottom of the library steps. Across the street, a man stood completely still. He wore a charcoal long-sleeve shirt. People moved around him, but he did not move with them. His face was turned toward the library or toward Ella. She watched him. The man seemed too still for the city around him. A large transit vehicle crossed the street between them. When it passed, he was gone. Ella tilted her head. She thought about taking out her journal and writing down what she had seen. Then she checked the time. Doing that would make her late by almost a minute. She climbed the library steps instead. At the top, she pressed her employee badge against the security scanner. The light turned red. She tried again. Red. Ella removed the card and looked at it. It was her grocery membership card. Behind the glass door, the security officer stared at her. Ella held up the card.

“I selected the wrong rectangle.”

     The officer sighed and unlocked the door. Ella entered the library. The heavy door closed behind her. Deep below the public floors, inside a restricted storage room that had not been opened in thirty-seven years, a black book rested inside a sealed case. Silver letters were pressed into its cover.

ZERO POINT

As Ella crossed the lobby, the lights inside the sealed room turned on. The book had recognized her.