There has got to be a centre to this damn place somewhere...
You move in. Corners turn and twist; you don;'t even attempt to try and move upwards, not only because it doesn't look at all safe, but also because you would become very lost, very fast.
These look like treaties you are walking past; turn a corridor, and now, some sort of historical record; the names are of planets that you do not think exist.
Another corner- scientific ideas in here, you think. Diagrams of strange devices; you cannot make sense of the writing.
Another corner- black scrolls, in an ancient dialect of Ithorian that you can make some hazy sense out of a few words with; something to do with great death in the past.
Another corner, and another, and another and another. All manually kept records, nothing on computer here. Wars, events, people; all long forgotten, kept secret from the Galaxy outside.
A chill passes you as you turn the next corner. And then you see...
Impossible!
In these shelves, stacked high up all around you... row, after row, after row... of grey stone tablets.