Cassidy St. Claire and The Fountain of Youth Parts I, II, & III

by A. H. Rousseau

  “Good,” said Roger. “You're awake. I didn't want to have to do it.”

  “What's happening,” asked George as Anna awoke next to him.

  “We're landing,” replied Roger.

  George and Anna both got up, holding on to the handrails attached to the walls. Through the cockpit window ahead, a multitude of lights and structure could be seen, traveling upwards as the ship went down. Beams of light shined down past the pilot and pierced deep into the corridor. Eventually, the entire ship shook markedly before coming to a complete rest. Roger stood up.

  “Thank god. I'm happy to be out of this tin can,” he said, stretching.

  Near the cockpit, Abraham and his counterpart left their compartments and likewise stretched. The sound of metal clanking presaged the lowering of the rear doorway. Chains extended out on either side of the top corners of the doorway, connecting with the door-cum-walkway as it descended down onto the ground.

  Outside, a large group of people, dressed in work attire of various types, awaited on a concrete floor. George and Anna stood at the threshold, looking down at the ground, before being pushed by Roger. They walked down the platform and onto the concrete surface. Stepping out from under the rear of the airship, Anna and George looked around, amazed. They were inside a giant warehouse. Wood and iron. Bright lights beaming down. Walkways and cranes.

  As they stood there, the large ceiling doors that had opened to accept the aircraft were already closing a hundred feet above them. A clang echoed throughout the warehouse as the doors came together. The warehouse was filled with the bustle of activity. Dozens of people wandered around performing an array of tasks: mechanics, drivers, engineers, workers. Boxes and piles of supplies were everywhere. Powered carts of every shape and size puttered about — some moving people, others moving equipment. The sound of machinery and engines roared and clattered. Men yelled. Electricity hummed.

  George and Anna stood in awe, turning slowly as they absorbed everything. The magnitude of the operation utterly enveloped them.

  “This is... unbelievable,” said George, his mouth hanging open. “It's like a shipyard in a building.” The warehouse was one-hundred-and-thirty feet high, one-hundred-and-fifty wide, and over five-hundred feet long. At the end nearest George and Anna was a massive pair of doors that ran the full height of the building and opened by sliding to either side. In the distance, past the din of activity and equipment, at the other end of the warehouse, was a wall of windows and metal walkways — as though the warehouse had been built directly against an office building.

  As the last of the people from the airship disembarked, a crew of mechanics and technicians hustled onto, under, and around the craft. As George and Anna watched this wonderfully choreographed show, the mechanical man appeared behind them. He placed his hand on George's shoulder who turned to look at him. The mechanical man bowed slightly and held out his open hand, motioning for the two to walk toward the the far end of the building.

  As they walked toward the office tower, large cranes moved about above, on rigging, lifting loads of supplies onto a series of large low-lying platforms in the middle of the building. A klaxon sounded, triggering a flurry of activity on the floor. Anna and George looked behind them as they walked, following the mechanical man. The large doors began to open to either side concomitantly with large panels that comprised the floor directly in front of the door. As the trio stopped to let a motorized cart train go past and onto one of the center platforms, Anna and George turned fully around to watch the doors opening. On the other side, outside of the building, was another large building, speckled with lights and emitting a loud hum.

  The panels in the floor fully opened and revealed a large ramp with what appeared to be train tracks extending down underneath the floor on which they all stood. The sound of something rumbling underneath the floor increased in intensity just as George and Anna turned and trotted to keep up with the mechanical man. Before whatever was underground came out, their view was blocked by carts carrying tall crates.

  As they progressed through the warehouse, George and Anna noticed how everyone bowed to the mechanical man, with many wanting to shake his hand.

  “They really seem to be in awe of him,” said George.

  “Yes. I noticed,” replied Anna.

  After a few minutes of slow progress, they reached the end of the warehouse and the mechanical man opened a large metal and wood door at the bottom of the office wall, motioning them both through.

  Inside, incandescent electric lights glowed a mellow, orangish-white, five of them running down a long, thin hallway. Halfway down the hallway, the mechanical man turned left and walked down another hallway, similarly equipped with five dim, incandescent bulbs. Halfway down this hallway, he opened a simple, wooden door and held it. George and Anna dutifully walked into the room, turning when the door was shut behind them. George jostled the handle.

  “This appears to be our room,” he said.

  The room was well-appointed. A table and a simple set of chairs sat in one corner, underneath an austere, iron fixture comprised of four light bulbs. A platter of fresh fruit and bread sat on the table. In another corner sat three, padded, lounge chairs surrounding a table with newspapers and books on it. Jutting out from the walls in the third corner was a small room. George walked over to it and opened the door, finding a washroom with a flushing toilet.

  “A flush toilet,” said George. “That's nice.” A massive clang echoed in the distance. “What the hell are they doing here?” George asked, his head and ears perked up in an attempt to gather more information.

  “I would guess a mining operation. That would explain the openings in the floor, the rail lines, and all of the heavy equipment,” said Anna.

  “Yeah, but why us? We don't know mining. And what the hell is all this? These are damn fine appointments for kidnappers.”

  They were interrupted by the unlocking of the door. It opened and in walked Mr. Martin, his, balding, perfectly-ovoid head set into his fine, perfectly-fitting suit like some kind of opal.

  “Mister and miss Bragin, my name is Mister Martin. I'm glad to make your acquaintance.”

  “Brown,” said Anna. “Our name is Brown.”

  “Ah, yes. I was told there was some misunderstanding involving your names. Mister and Miss Brown, then. Welcome to our facility. I apologize for the method by which we recruited you, but it is necessary for our ends. Here, your genius will be put to the best use possible. That is all that we ask of you. As long as you work, no harm will come to you. You will live in comfort, with access to the best technology and resources the world has.”

  “And what happens when our usefulness is done?” asked George suspiciously.

  “You will be released, with significant compensation, I might add,” replied Mr. Martin matter-of-factly.

  “Unh-huh,” said George, quietly.

  Everyone exchanged glances. “Ok then. I'm sorry to cut our introductions so short, but times are busy. Please make yourselves comfortable. Tomorrow, you will be shown to your work areas and introduced to your associates.”

  “Associates?” asked Anna.

  “Yes. You're not the only ones here, you know,” replied Mr. Martin, who then turned and walked out. The door was shut by what appeared to a guard and then locked.

  “Free to go. Ha! Something tells me that isn't exactly true,” said, George, turning to walk away from the door.

  “I think he was telling the truth,” said Anna.

  “You think everyone is telling the truth.”

  “If they were willing to use violence, I think they would have used it to manipulate us. Don't you?”

  George tapped his foot with his hands on his hips. “They nearly killed Cassidy, wrecked half of San Francisco, kidnapped the professor and us. These are not nice people.”

  Anna didn't respond. She just stood there looking at the lights above the table.

  George sighed as he walked over the fruit and bread. He picked up an apple.
“Speaking of Cassidy, I wonder what she is up to.”

  “Coming here,” said Anna. George looked at her and nodded solemnly.

  “I hope so,” he said, gazing into the vibrant red, speckled skin of the fresh apple.

  ---

  The apple sat on the fence post. Glistening in the morning sun. White clouds painted the sky, the sound of trains and birds filled the air. The sound of a gunshot preceded the destruction of the apple by the blink of an eye.

  “Ha!” Cassidy yelled. “Told you! Want me to shoot one off your head?” She happily and energetically holstered her St. Claire Revolver on her thigh. The two older, well-fed men stood next to her with wide smiles.

  “Haha! No!” yelled the more rotund of the two, wearing a bowler hat and sporting a comically large moustache. “Well missy, I have never been more tickled to be proven wrong! Here you go. One dollar.”

  “You keep it,” Cassidy said with a beaming smile. She put her arm around his shoulder and patted his belly. “You look like you could use some food. I'd never dream of taking money from a starving waif like yourself.”

  The rotund man pointed at Cassidy and looked to his friend, guffawing. “Oh! Oh yes! It will go to a good place, you can rest assured of that!” he bellowed as Cassidy walked away, waving. She walked up to Jebediah and Gideon who were standing by a train track leading to the Los Angeles station a few hundred feet away.

  “Are you done? Or would you like to find someone to wrestle first?” Jebediah said.

  “Why? You want to try?” she asked. Jebediah was unamused. He turned and walked off. Gideon glanced back forth between him and Cassidy, who sighed and walked to catch up. Gideon walked aside Cassidy.

  “Since we are not allowed to use the toilets while in the station, I would recommend finding a nice bistro or cafe to spend some time at then head back to the train. I will only be a few hours,” Jebediah said from ahead of the other two.

  “First,” Cassidy said, “Bistros or cafes? You're in Los Angeles, not Paris. You're lucky that we have gravity out here.”

  “Well, fine then, a restaurant. Perhaps go shopping. You have more money than sense. Go buy main street.”

  “Don't tempt me,” said Cassidy. Jebediah stopped by the train and turned.

  “This is a small city, but there are things to occupy one's time. Please, entertain yourselves for the next few hours. I will meet you back at the car.”

  “Alright, alright. Have fun,” Cassidy said, leaning on the side of the train car. Jebediah walked off. Gideon stood there watching Jebediah for a moment. He then turned to Cassidy.

  “So. What would you like to do?” he asked.

  “Stalk Jebediah.”

  “Cassidy! He asked us to stay here! Can't you respect anyone's wishes?”

  “Yes! Sometimes! Look, this isn't just about him, and yes, maybe this is just about my own curiosity, but I don't care. I let someone else take the reins once, and now my friends are gone. No. I'm not letting that happen again. So you can either follow Jebediah's wishes and stay here, or you can come along and try your best to prevent me from doing any damage. You probably won't succeed but you will at least have the opportunity to try.”

  Cassidy and Gideon just looked at each other for a moment, Cassidy expectant and Gideon nervous. “Ok. I'm going now,” said Cassidy. “Follow if you wish.”

  Gideon shuffled, vacillating between decisions before finally ejaculating an “Annhhh!” and trotting off to catch up to Cassidy.

  ---

  Mr. Caesar sat in the seat of the motorcar, his hands in his lap, his eyes closed. He bobbed about slightly as the vehicle hit bumps and grooves in the road. The motion slowed and engine noise lessened. The car came to a stop and the sounds of gears ratcheting brought it to a full stop.

  “We're here,” a voice said.

  Mr. Caesar inhaled deeply and opened his eyes slightly. The door opened upward, letting bright light into the cabin. Mr. Caesar squinted, rose, and stepped out of the car. They were in a large expanse. The California mountains in the distance, with fields and sparse trees dominating the landscape. Gathered here were five motorcars, all with tracks for rear wheels, and two airships with four engines apiece. Contrasting the technological wonders present, three horse-drawn carriages were parked away from the machines.

  Mr. Caesar stood there, analyzing the arsenal, when the second man in the motorcar got out. He was well-dressed with small, round spectacles, slight, with a poof of black hair. The driver of the car also got out to stretch.

  “Here is your ship, Mr. Caesar,” said the bespectacled man. “These cars will be staying out here. They are destined for trains. The airship will carry you and your men just outside of El Paso. We moved some vehicles up from our Mexican expeditions to support you. After that, just drive to Sierra Blanca.”

  As the two spoke, another motorcar arrived. It came to a stop near the first. The door swung up and out stepped the well-dressed man, holding his cane. He walked over to Mr. Caesar. He first nodded to the slight, bespectacled man. “Mr. Jacobs,” he said with a nod.

  “Mr. Carlyle, I'm glad you were able to make it,” responded the bespectacled man.

  “Mr. Caesar, after we parted ways in Salinas, I was instructed to give you a special thanks. This will, in all likelihood, be the last time we will be in need of your services, and they have been indispensable.” He then handed Mr. Caesar a polished black box with silver etching. Mr. Caesar took it and flicked up a small latch on the front of the box. Inside, he found eight stacks of one-hundred dollar bills and, sitting on top of them, a leather-bound copy of Hamlet.

  “May you find a dream,” said Mr. Carlyle.

  Mr. Caesar closed the box and clicked the latch down. He placed the box under his arm, nodded, turned and walked away. Mr. Jacobs adjusted his spectacles and walked close to Mr. Carlyle.

  “Good lord, that man gives me the willies something fierce.”

  “Indeed.”

  “Why do we work with him, anyways?”

  “Because he is necessary, especially now.”

  “Why?”

  “Because, our plans here are nearly done. We cannot have them ruined by that human rhinoceros, Cassidy St. Claire.”

  “All understood, but why him?”

  “Because.” Mr. Carlyle never took his eyes off of Mr. Caesar as he walked away. “The battle with St. Claire is going to require... conviction.”

  “I find it hard to believe that there could be anyone with conviction greater than ours.”

  “We are not killers, Mr. Jacobs. We are warriors. And sometimes,” his voice lowered in tone as he looked to Mr. Jacobs. “...You need killers.”

  Mr. Caesar walked calmly and slowly toward the airship.

  2

  Cassidy and Gideon walked slowly down the sidewalk on Main Street in Los Angeles. Gas lamp posts with ornate housings were every fifty feet. The roads were dirt and still a bit wet from the night's rains, and the wooden sidewalks creaked a bit as the two walked over them. Canopies from storefronts extended from nearly every building with a thicket of telephone and telegraph wires above them and crowds of people wandered about underneath them, looking in windows, chatting, and otherwise making good use of the street.

  “Look at all these telephone wires,” said Cassidy, walking through the crowd. “I had no idea that they were this developed. I wonder if I can get lines down here. I wonder if I have lines down here. What with my factory outside of the city, it seems like we should. Barney never tells me anything.”

  “How do you know that they are telephone and not telegraph?” asked Gideon, his eyes likewise wandering about.

  “There would never be this many lines just for telegraph,” Cassidy said, pointing to the poles with line after line running over cross beams. “If this was just a telegraph, there would be a few lines at most.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, think about it. Most telegraphs terminate in stations; we only have a small number of them. Telephones terminate in bu
sinesses, homes, anywhere. The wires are needed.”

  “So each one of these wires represents a telephone?”

  “Yep. It gets busy... quickly.” Cassidy and Gideon were forced to stop by a group of people leaving a building and getting into a carriage. At first, Cassidy kept her eyes locked on Jebediah, equally held up in traffic ahead, but eventually glanced down at the ground. As the father loaded the daughter into the cabin, the son, the ugliest child that Cassidy had ever seen and clad as though he just come back from a very small fox hunt, stared up at her, mouth open, gawking. He breathed heavily and audibly while a stream of snot came out of his right nostril and traveled down his pallid face, around his mouth, and to his chin. Cassidy and the boy stared at each other. Cassidy's upper lip uncontrollably rose up and her brow furrowed as she stared wide-eyed at this bizarre Quasimodo of a boy.

  “Ahack!” the boy coughed up a half-dissolved peppermint wheel onto the sidewalk.

  “Jeesus,” Cassidy said, quietly to herself.

  “Come on, Amos,” said the father, a handsome and strapping man. “Into the carriage.”

  With the freakish road block out of the way, Cassidy scurried ahead, chuckling.

  “What's so funny?” asked Gideon.

  “Nothing,” replied Cassidy. “The one-boy freak show that we just passed was named Amos. I can't wait to tell Margie.” Cassidy stood on her toes to look ahead.

  “Did he get away?” asked Gideon.

  “No. The traffic is keeping him close to us. He's glanced back a few times, but he can't see anything.”

  “He has to suspect something. He's eventually going to spot us. We're not exactly being careful.”

  “Perhaps, but he's blind without his specs, and he forgot those in the train.”

  “What? How do you know any of that?”

  “Don't you remember when the horse was delivered to my house. He had to take out his spectacles to see, what was that, twenty five feet? Maybe thirty?”