“Are… Are you sure I’m prepared for this?” asked the woman

“Yes,” said a short, elderly man seated atop a much taller chair.

He wasn’t the only short, elderly man atop a tall chair. There were at least a dozen of them all sitting atop their tall chairs, which would have been evenly spaced if it were not for management being unwilling to spend a little extra on a better contractor.

“Everything you need to know for the mission is in your booklet,” said another little man.

“I have a booklet?”

“Yes,” said another squat man. “Check the left pocket of your overcoat.”

She reached in.

“Umm… There’s nothing?”

“Sorry, I meant your right,” corrected the small man. “It's a bit difficult facing you and all…”

The woman tried once more. Without saying a word, she looked back up to the teeny man.

“It— It’s not in there, is it?”

“No?”

Another teeny-weeny man let out a sigh.

“Am I missing something?” she asked.

“No,” answered a wee man, “One of us was supposed to slip it into a pocket of yours before you came in here. It seems we all thought another would do it, so it never happened.”

The other miniscule men nodded in agreement.

“Here,” said the same, stubby man, pulling out a small book. ”Catch.”

He threw the book. It flipped open mid flight, pages fluttering and landed not even halfway between himself and the woman. For what seemed like an eternity, the only sound any of them heard was the echo of the slap as the book hit the ground. They really needed to put some acoustic foam up. Eventually, the woman stepped forward and picked up the book.

“Is it damaged?” questioned one of the brief men.

She flipped it over in her hand a few times, inspecting it.

“Looks fine to me.”

“Good. That will have everything you need to know within its pages.”

“Everything?”

“Everything.”

“It is not like your typical book,” added another momentary man. “Its use is self rather self explanatory, though. Past the five pages of copyright and publisher junk is the index, it will direct you to what you need.”

“Umm… Alright. Is there anything else I need to know?”

“That is all. You know what you need to do.”

The woman gave a nod and turned for the door.

“Agent Pernie?” asked one of the short-term men.

“Y-Yes?”

“Good luck.”

Once again she nodded, finally leaving the room this time.

***

“Agent...” Pernie mumbled to herself.

As she walked down the over-polished hallways of the building it dawned on her—for the third time in the past few minutes, in fact—that she had no idea where she was going.

“I have no idea where I’m going,” she said, lost.

It had been like this since she had been hired. The building was a maze of virtually featureless hallways. Despite her frequent questioning, none of her colleagues could tell her how they could find their way around. The answer always boiled down to “I just know” or the like. What does that even mean? More importantly, how could anyone think that was a suitable answer?

Instead of solving her navigational issues the usual way—by walking aimlessly until she found her destination—Pernie pulled out her brand new booklet that her superiors had failed to sneak into her possession.

“Everything, huh?”

Pages flopped away as she thumbed through them. Five to be exact. She landed on the beginning of the index. Her eyes darted down the page, on to its back, then to the next entirely. She stopped at the forty-second entry titled “Where you need to go.” Ironically, the page it directed her towards was also the forty-second page. On that page, in plain font were the words

“Left, 90 degrees. Book Repair. Scientist.”

“Huh?”

She turned to her left. Lo and behold, there was a sign with “Book Repair” written on it. Below was a door.

“I swear…” she said under her breath.

Pernie pushed through the door and into a much larger room. It was full to the brim with all sorts of things that screamed “science”: tubes, pipes, wires, buttons, knobs, and switches. Many of them even lit up with a whole spectrum of colors such as green. From behind the curtain of sometimes green sciency bits stepped out a man. He had a sciency—but not green—aura about him, further reinforced by his stark white lab coat and not-quite-as-white hair.

“You must be Pernie.”

“I am, and you?”

“I’m Dr. Knute Case, but please, just call me Case. Anyway, did you find the lab ok?”

“I guess? Had a better time than I normally do…”

“You’ll get used to this building's layout soon enough.”

“I’ve been hearing that for months.”

“Then give it a few months more.”

She sighed.

“Anyway, I take it you know why you’re here, Pernie?”

“All I know is that there's some sort of ‘anomaly’ that needs fixing. I gotta go gather some help to do it.”

“Correct. I also assume you know how you’re getting your help, right?”

“Uhh… No?”

“Have you heard of ‘Translative Idea Theory’?”

“Of course I have,” answered Pernie. “I had a whole class on it in undergrad.”

“Well you’ll be using a more tangible version of that.”

Dr. Case led her into a much, much larger and still equally as sciency room. In the room's center was an elevated platform taking up the majority of the square footage. It was a landing pad. Made obvious by the large vehicle upon it.

"What are you guys doing with a navy dropship?"

"It makes for a good test-bed," Dr. Case said. "The military didn't want it anymore—twenty years out of service—so we took it."

He leaned over a nearby console and hit a few buttons and turned on some more lights, better illuminating the aircraft. No doubt it was old; tilt-fan propulsion was phased out decades ago.

“I can not fly that thing,” Pernie sternly stated. “I just want to make that clear.”

“I know, it wasn’t in your job description. Or mine for that matter…”

“There’s a lot of things I’m doing not in my job description…” she mumbled.

“Fortunately,” he continued, “We have someone who can. Fly Boy!”

As Dr. Case yelled, a figure stepped out from behind the aircraft.

“What?” it said, digitally.

“Don’t ‘what?’ me, mister! Get down here and meet your partner.”

“Partner?” asked Pernie.

Her “partner” was a bulky quadruped robot about the size of a very large dog. It wasn’t quite as tall as a human, without its upper body unfolded, anyway. It did, however, decide to unfold itself, to see eye to sensor cluster with its new partner.

“I am Navigator Unit Zero Three, the pilot of the repurposed dropship we share the room with now. Dr. Case calls me “Fly Boy” and I don’t like it so please call me N-3.”

Pernie blinked.

“Uhh… Hi?”

“Don’t mind Fly Boy. He’s a bit… complicated, but I think you’ll like each other.”

N-3 turned to look at Dr. Case. If it could frown, it would have been.

“The ship is ready when you are,” it said.

“Great! I’m just going to run a few things by your partner here before you go.”

It nodded and walked back over to the aircraft. Dr. Case turned his attention back to Pernie.

“This dropship is modified to be capable of physically following the translation pathway of an idea. All you need is one end point to follow to the other end.”

“And we have an end point?”

He reached over to a nearby console and sntached up a messanger bag.

“Got em’ right here.”

Out of the bag he pulled a few books, three to be exact, and separated them.

“These two here are your destinations, you can do them in any order you like,” he placed them back in the bag. “This last one’s our anomaly. This one goes last.”

Dr. Case held up a plain looking book.

“What’s so anomalous about it?” asked Pernie.

“See for yourself.”

He handed her the book.

“Oh? Oh…”

The contents of the book resembled the text equivalent of wood after being put through a chipper but only if every chip that came out the other end was every other chip at once.

“W-What is this?”

“It was a book, but something has corrupted the other end of the pathway.”

“What was it then? Before it was put through aphasia-inator.”

“No clue. No one will know until we fix it.”

Pernie handed the book back to Dr. Case who put it back into the bag.

“I had no idea this is what you guys do,” she said.

“No one knows what they’ll be doing here when they’re hired. You didn’t, I didn’t, Fly Boy didn’t, and neither did the dropship. Welcome to the Book Repair Team, our motto is ‘Someone has to do it.’ Don’t forget it.”

“So you guys are who fix books?”

“We are.”

He handed her the bag.

“Fly Boy’s probably on the ship right now. Get going, he’ll answer any more questions you have and . I’ll be staying here as mission control.”

“O-Ok.”

She made her way up to the platform and round to the back of the dropship. N-3 was waiting at the top of the ramp.

“Finally ready?”

“I think?” Pernie huffed.

The once spacious cargo hold of the dropship had been filled with all sorts of sciency equipment. It almost took up the entire space.

“What's all this?”

“The thing that allows this dropship to do what it does,” called N-3 from the cockpit.

At the center of the sciency-science apparatus was a glass tube. Suspended within—by alligator clips not magic or anything—was a loop of paper. Something was written on it.

“That is a mobius strip and it powers this whole thing.”

She jumped as N-3 had appeared behind her. For as large as it was, it sure moved quietly.

“H-How does that work?”

“I’ll spare you the details, entirely in fact. That can be for another time.”

“Huh…” she scratched her head.

The pilot reached out one of its limbs (not a leg) holding a device.

“Is this a watch? Why do I need a watch?”

“It is not a watch, but it does tell time. This device will keep you in touch with Dr. Case.”

“Sound’s awfully similar to a watch…” she said, taking it and fastening it to her wrist.

N-3 stepped by her and smacked a button on the wall and the loading ramp swung up and closed.

“It is not a watch.”

“Then what is it?”

“Not a watch?”

At that moment the not-watch beeped. Pernie looked down to see a face displayed on the screen of the device.

“Hello? Is this thing on?”

It was Dr. Case.

“It's on,” she replied. “What about me?”

“I hear you loud and clear. That thing’s pretty nifty ain’t it?”

“It's a fair bit more advanced than any watch I’ve ever had.”

“Speaking of. Has Fly Boy tried to convince you it ain’t a watch yet?”

N-3 looked at Pernie, not frowning, because it lacked a face; it was a robot.

“As far as I’m concerned, Dr. Case lost this argument years ago,” it said.

“I heard that!”

“I know.”

Pernie rolled her eyes.

“You two bicker like that old man and woman on the morning bus,” she mumbled.

“I heard that too.”

“Well, it's true.”

Unfazed by her comment, N-3 went back to the front of the ship gesturing in its own, robotic way to follow. Pernie obliged.

The cockpit was the only real space on the dropship capable of accepting passengers. The pilot seat had been modified to accommodate a non-human pilot and provided ample space for a large quadruped robot to stand, or perhaps sit, it wasn’t clear. Just behind the pilot’s space were enough seats to accommodate four humanoid passengers.

“Enough idling,” stated N-3. “Choose our first destination.”

Pernie opened up the bag of books.

“Is there one we should go to first?”

“As long as it’s not the corrupted destination, any is fine.”

She nodded, pulled out a book, and thumbed through it.

“An interesting choice...”

N-3 received the book with an outstretched hand and fitted it into a slot.

“It’s, uhh…” Pernie paused. “It's that simple?”

“Almost.”

As if its words were some sort of cue, the dropship sprung to life with a variety of loud sounds as it lurched forward. The cockpit, while having no glass, had its fair share of screens, each linked to a camera somewhere on the outside.

“There's helmets on the seats. Put one on and strap in.”

Pernie did as requested and gave a thumbs up. Many more loud noises sounded off as sunlight began to seep into the room outside the dropship. The ceiling had opened up revealing a cloudy sky.

“Don’t mind the rattling,” stated N-3, as the dropship began to rattle. “It's just the coolant pumps.”

“S-Should they be making that noise?”

“If they weren’t, that means they aren’t working.”

“And if they keep making that noise won’t they, like, stop working eventually?”

“We can cross that bridge when we come to it.”

“We could be crossing that bridge right now.”

“I would know if we are. We aren’t.”

With the noisey coolant pumps doing their job, the dropship lifted itself off of the landing pad, out of the building, and into the sky, where it finally began to move in a direction other than up.

“This is probably a bad time to ask,” Pernie twiddled her thumbs. “But on the talk of crossing bridges… is this dangerous?”

“The fuel pumps aren’t dangerous,” N-3 stated, softly.

“No, I mean this. Where we’re going, what we’re doing.”

“Physical Translation? Not at all. Anything after could be.”

Pernie groaned.

“So is it?”

“What we’re doing isn’t. Corruptions are abstract, but nothing particularly dangerous. It is conglomerates that you have to worry about, which this isn’t.”

“And if it happens to become dangerous?”

“I am equipped with offensive and defensive precepts each with their own pre-fensive and post-fensive subroutines.”

“W-What?”

“I can defend us.”

Before any further back-and-forth could continue, Dr. Case once again spoke through the not-watch.

“You’re in good hands Pernie, don’t worry. Fly Boy might be 66.6% feet, but he throws hands like he’s 100%... uhh, hands.”

“Well that's reassuring, I guess. Also, how much of our conversation did you hear?”

“All of it. I won’t when you translate though, until you’re on the other side, that is.”

“We’ll be sure to discuss your personal life in detail,” added N-3.

“Fly Boy? Telling a joke?” chuckled Dr. Case. “Color me surprised.”

“It's less of a joke and more of a statement of inevitability.”

“Still enough of a joke. Anyway, you're almost up to translation speed, so I’ll leave you to it. Good luck, not that you need it though.”

The display on the not-watch went black.

“So uhh,” Pernie turned back to N-3. “What was that about being up to speed?”

“We have to reach a certain speed to translate. And no, it’s not 88 miles an hour, if that’s your next question.”

“How’d you know?”

“You aren’t the first, and you won’t be the last.”

The dropship lurched forward and began to pick up speed.

“Spooling translator. Hold on tight.”

The coolant pumps were louder now, so was everything else for that matter. The equipment towards the back of the cargo hold seemed extra sciency now thanks to all the lights. Pernie couldn’t help but smile. It was a nervous smile, but a smile nonetheless.