Of Martians and Magic

Like every city in the United States, and perhaps the world, Boston was a wasteland.

Unlike every city in the United States, and perhaps the world, Boston was a warzone.

Tom Mason knew the first statement to be true. He knew the second was true as well, but there was always that faint sense of doubt that he was wrong. Because he, along with 7 billion other humans, had seen the invaders come. Had seen them knock out any high end technology, and lay waste to the monuments and militaries of mankind. So that Boston, and every other city had been attacked, was a given. But for all he knew, the Second Mass might, at this point in time, be the only resistance group left in the country, or heck, the world. Knew, as he made his way down the streets, that there was a chance, however slight, that he was the last human on Earth.

He couldn't believe that of course. That would mean Hal was dead. Matthew was dead. That Ben was either dead, or as good as dead, doomed to live and die as a slave, like so many other children. And, with the sounds of distant gunfire echoing throughout the city, he knew he had good reason to believe that the 2nd Mass was still fighting the good fight, even if it was a fight that was becoming more futile by the day. But still, doubt was like a pebble in your shoe. It might not slow you down, it might not cause too much pain, but you could never forget it was there.

Damn it.

He came to a halt, panting. Even in the cool night air, sweat drenched his forehead, his neck, and the rest of his body. Better that then blood, he reflected – blood had drenched the men he'd been with when the skitters and mech had got the drop on them. If he ever got back to Weaver, he knew the captain would want a word about that. Daniel would beg him not to fight, Hal would insist on tagging along, and…he looked up at the stars. Without any light pollution, he could see hundreds. Not nearly enough to cover the names of every man, woman, and child that had fallen to the invaders, but just about right in number to remember those whom he'd known before this had all happened.

Still catching his breath, he pulled out his rifle's magazine, counting the rounds. Thirteen. Maybe enough to down a single skitter. Course, right now, his mobility was his greatest asset (along with discretion), and-

Huh?

There was the sound of a trash can falling to the ground. In one of the side alleys from the street he was standing in.

Skitters?

He crouched behind the wreck of a car, trying not to eye the skeleton in the driver's seat too much. He rested his rifle on its bonnet, squinting through the gloom.

"Hello? Is anyone there?"

It was a risk to reveal himself like this, but he figured he had no choice. If it was a skitter, he might survive, but any more than that, he was dead. If it were members of the 2nd Mass…well, Weaver might chew him out for getting separated, but at least he'd survive the experience...theoretically.

"Hello?" he called out again.

There was still no answer. Frowning, and still clutching his rifle, he began to move down the street, keeping as close to cover as possible. Skitter or 2nd Mass, there was no reason for the mystery man to keep quiet. He activated his torch, shining it down the sights into the alley.

"Hello?"

Mystery man indeed. In the gloom, reading a book. Right until the light shone on him and he met Tom's gaze.

"Hey, I'm-"

The mystery man took the book under his arm and began to run.

"Hey, hold up!"

Tom ran after him. Across the street, down the alley, between rubbish, around bins, over a skitter corpse or two. Fast as he was though, the mystery man was able to keep up.

"Listen, I just want to talk!"

In truth, he wanted a lot more than that – answers for one thing. Like, why was he running? And if he wasn't 2nd Mass (and at this point, Tom doubted the mystery man was), how he'd managed to survive in Boston all this time? The 2nd Mass was bleeding hard, but they'd managed to keep alive by making the skitters bleed in turn. That, and sticking together.

Which mystery man wasn't doing. The mystery man who ran to a giant pair of doors and stopped, grasping the handles.

"Alright, hold it!" Tom yelled, raising his rifle as he kept running.

Mystery man did 'hold it,' but only in the sense that he stopped running. He threw open the doors and-

What the hell?

Disappeared.

How did he-

Disappeared in the sense that he walked into the shining white light on the other side of the doors. Except, Tom could see that the building was unlit. And through the white, he could see nothing on the other side.

Am I dead?

Was this some kind of doorway to Heaven? If so, it was closing.

Shit.

Either he was dead, and was about to be stuck in limbo, or he was missing his chance to catch his mystery man. Either way, Tom picked up the pace.

Shit shit shit!

The doors were closing. His window was closing. The sound of an explosion rocked the air.

Damn it!

He made it through, just before the doors closed. Staggering into the building, he realized that this wasn't Heaven. Heaven might have made sense.

The interior was ornate. Wooden desks were arranged in a semi-circle, each with some kind of artifact on them. Some he recognised, some he didn't – a background in history had some overlap with anthropology, but it wasn't a 1:1 fit. Above them was a giant chandelier, casting a warm glow over the room's interior. Which begged the question as to how this building was even getting power? Or whether he was even in the same building at all?

"Hey."

Those questions could wait though. Because on the other side of the room, heading for the door that led deeper into the building (or so Tom presumed) was his mystery man. Still with his back turned, still with a book tucked under his arm. He'd stopped in his tracks, still – like when one of his boys were caught trying to sneak something out of the cupboard.

"Didn't think you'd manage to get in here," the mystery man said.

Tom raised his rifle. "Turn around."

"Really don't think that's necessary."

"I'm the one with the gun, I decide what's necessary."

"That's an…interesting philosophy." The man put the book on one of the tables. "But alright. I'll play."

He slowly turned around, and Tom stared. Only through sheer willpower did he not gasp.

The man looked like him. No, was him. A different dressed, much more clean shaven him, but "him" all the same. Him, as he might have appeared before the invasion – with less beard, less dirt, and more fashion sense.

"The hell are you?" he asked.

"Could ask the same thing."

"I'm the one with the gun, remember?"

"Couldn't forget. But I'm as dumbfounded as you are." The mystery man looked up at the ceiling. "This why he got in? Because he looks like me?"

"Who you talking to?" Tom asked.

The mystery man met Tom's gaze again. "The Library. Though it doesn't say much these days. I mean, not that it really says anything at all, but, well, ever since they turned up…" He walked forward and stuck out a hand. "Flynn Carsen. The Librarian."

Tom, still keeping his rifle raised with his right hand, shook the man's hand with his left. "Tom Mason."

"Mason huh?" He unclasped Tom's hand. "Y'know, I'd make a joke about masonry, since the world probably needs it right now."

"I guess." Tom lowered his rifle slightly. "You're a librarian?"

"Not a librarian, the Librarian," Flynn said, now walking around the room in any direction that didn't involve making eye contact. "Course, I had a team of librarians with me, but…" He sighed. "Times have changed."

Tom lowered his rifle and slung it over his shoulder. "Guess they have."

Flynn, assuming that was his real name, didn't say anything. He just kept moving around the lobby, adjusting the desk furnishings, doing everything he could to avoid making eye contact. It was the kind of thing Tom had done back at the university to keep himself busy, in between lectures or meetings. Watching Flynn now though…

You're not me.

Course that was impossible, even in a world where aliens were proven to exist, and proven to be capable of wiping out billions in moments. Flynn looked like him, but he wasn't him. Everyone had a tell, and it was telling Tom that "this man isn't you."

Then who are you then?

"So…" Tom began. "This is a library?"

"The foyer, yes."

"Huh. Didn't look like it from the outside."

"Well, that's the thing, y'see?" Flynn asked, finally making eye contact for a moment before lowering his gaze. "You're not actually in Boston."

"The hell I am."

"No, you're not. You're in the Library."

"Which library?"

"The Library," said Flynn. "The one that's currently located under the New York Metropolitan Library."

"Bullshit."

The look on Flynn's face told Tom that he wasn't expecting that response. "Excuse me?"

"Bullshit," Tom said. "That's bullshit."

"That's a bit narrow minded of you."

"First of all, I know the difference between Boston and New York. Second of all, New York got it even worse than Boston, so the Metropolitan Library wouldn't even be left standing."

"Said we were under it, not in it."

"Third of all, one doesn't walk through one door and end up hundreds of miles away the next instant."

"And why not?" Flynn asked.

Tom frowned. "Because…that's impossible."

"Impossible?" Flynn clapped his hands together. "Well, if that's impossible, then what else is impossible? One month ago faster than light travel was considered impossible. One-hundred years ago, travelling through space was considered impossible. Two-hundred years ago, electricity was considered impossible."

"Your point being?"

"My point, Mister Mason, is that we redefine what's possible all the time."

Tom didn't have an answer for that. It was tempting to say that Flynn, currently sitting on a desk like a petulant school child, was insane. But he could tell he wasn't. A little mad perhaps, but not insane. He'd seen the insane. The ones who'd lost everything. The ones who'd given into madness and despair. Flynn wasn't one of them. But then, exactly what Flynn Carsen was, or why he looked like him, was something that he couldn't answer. Outside a "librarian" of course. And in his experience, librarians were miserable people that made him late for lectures when they insisted on ID verification when he forgot his library card.

"You mentioned you led a team," Tom said. "Where are they?"

"Oh, my team?" A shadow fell over Flynn's face. "Well, I don't know if team is the word."

"Then what is the word?"

"Oh…acquaintances, maybe?" He shrugged, and began moving around the room again, and like before, avoiding eye contact. "They saw what I did. Only they didn't stay, you see? I told them that the Library needed them. That the artifacts needed to be protected. But they didn't listen, you understand? Ezekiel, Stone, Cassandra…" He swallowed. "Jenkins…Eve…they didn't listen. Spent my years not listening to them, then they didn't listen to me. And they…they…"

"Are they dead?" Tom asked.

"Hmm?" Flynn looked at him, and Tom saw it. 'The look.' The point of total loss and total sorrow. "Oh, yes, most likely. They can deal with magic, but aliens?" He clapped his hands together. "Told them that Martians and magic weren't the same thing, but did they listen? No."

In spite of himself, Tom couldn't help but smirk. "Magic?"

"Yes, Mister Mason, magic." Flynn looked at him, 'the look' replaced by a different one – frustration and rage. "The magic that was once part of this world, but died off. The magic that the Library seeks to contain. The magic that must never fall into the hands of these invaders."

"Yeah, okay…" Tom walked over to Flynn and patted him on the shoulder. "Listen, Flynn, I get it. I've lost people too. But I need to get back to my unit and-"

"You don't believe me?" Flynn drew back. "Course you don't." He looked at the door that led further into the building. "Cal, come here."

"Cal?"

"Cal," Flynn said. "My dog."

"Oh…"

"Well, he's not really a dog, he's actually the sword Excalibur. But he acts like a dog and sounds like a dog, so if we use the dog test, he'd kinda like a dog."

"I…" Tom cleared his throat. "Okay, first of all, it's called the duck test-"

"You sure? Couldn't sworn it was dog."

"And second of all…" He trailed off, raising his hands in exasperation. "Y'know what? Fine. When the aliens are gone maybe we'll need librarians, but right now, we need fighters, and you don't strike me as holy shit!"

He raised his rifle. Seeing a flying sword had that effect on people. Or, so he supposed – he'd never seen a flying sword before. Let alone one that growled.

"Hey Cal," Flynn said, patting the hilt. He looked at Tom. "Isn't he a beaut?"

"You…" Tom gripped his rifle tighter. "You…that thing…"

The thing growled at him.

"Is…is…?"

"The sword of King Arthur? Pulled from the stone by a young boy at the direction of a wizard who, between you and me, was a cranky sourpuss?" Flynn laughed. "Yep. Pretty much."

That's it. I'm dead. I was killed in Boston, and this is the afterlife, because God help me the world isn't fucked up enough already.

"Cal's my friend," Flynn said. "Aren't you Cal?"

The woof the sword made indicated that that was the case. Flynn looked back at Tom.

"See, Mister Mason? Magic. The magic that this library keeps safe."

Tom lowered the rifle slightly. Swords were dangerous, but this sword (if it even was a sword, and not something out of Harry Potter) didn't seem to mean him any harm…he supposed. But there was something else.

"Magic," Tom began. "Can it be used?"

"Huh?"

"Can it be used?" Tom asked again.

Flynn looked away. "Mister Mason, I'm not sure-"

"Let's say I believe you. Let's say that I'm not dead, that this is still the real world, and in this world, there's a secret library below New York-"

"Fun fact, the Library can actually move."

"…and that it's filled with stuff like magic barking swords." Tom took a step forward. "Is there anything else? Like…"

"A weapon?" Flynn asked.

Tom nodded.

"No." He made a 'shoo' motion at Cal, who woofed and flew off. "And I think you should go." He headed for the doors that Tom came out of. "Jenkins always did the door, but I think I can get you as close to friendly company as possible."

"Yeah, sure," said Tom. "That's assuming I believe you."

Flynn glanced at him.

"There is, isn't there? Something we can use."

"Something you can use…is not the same as saying you should use it."

"And what gives you that right?" Tom asked. He walked over to the door, standing in front of Flynn. "Well?"

"It's the task of all the Librarians. To keep magic out of the wrong hands. Whether they be men, or…" He cleared his throat. "Martians."

"Flynn…."

"The atomic bomb, Mister Mason? Remember that? In an instant, the world changes, and mankind discovers it has the ability to end itself?"

"I know history Flynn."

"Good. Then you can get maybe a fraction of understanding of how dangerous magic is, and-"

"People are dying!" Tom grabbed Flynn and shoved him against the door. "Don't you understand that?"

"I do," he whispered. "This door…it leads to all doors across the world. And it's always the same. The same destruction. The same death." He moved loose from Tom's grip. "If it helps, Mister Mason, you should know that you're not alone. That across the world, there's people like you. Fighting them. Killing them."

"Then help them."

"No," Flynn said. "I can't."

"Why?"

"Because if we lose, if they find the Library…then imagine it, Mister Mason. This, across worlds. Technology that we can scarce understand, mixed with the most powerful force in the universe." He looked down. "They can't have it Tom. Never."

"And if mankind dies as the price for that?"

"If it comes to that…yes," Flynn said. He met Tom's gaze. "I've made hard decisions, Tom Mason. Faced things you can scarce believe. Hate me. Despise me. But you have no idea what's at stake." He opened the doors, and looking through them, Tom could see an alleyway. A different one. "Now go."

"Yeah," Tom said. "Guess I will."

He stepped out into the gloom. Looking back, he saw Flynn. The man who looked like him, but wasn't him. As if they were both characters on a stage, written by different hands, portrayed by the same actor, in some cruel trick of the universe.

"Don't tell anyone about this, okay?" Flynn asked. "I mean, the aliens harness people, and-"

"I won't," Tom said. "Besides, who would believe me?"

Smiling sadly, Flynn nodded. Then closed the door.

And Tom was left alone.

A/N

So, somewhere along the line of watching both The Librarians and Falling Skies, I realized that Noah Wyle played both Tom Mason and Flynn Carsen. A realization that made me go "huh?" because it's not just that one has a beard and one doesn't, but they're such radically different characters. I'm assuming that this was made possible due to both being produced by TNT, but either way, I'll give him props by being able to portray such different characters as well as he does (or did, technically).

Anyway, drabbled this up.