“Yes. They survived. Neither of them have any useful information. The outside guard, Frederick, doesn't remember anything because someone punched him.” Jebediah gave Cassidy a look as he said this. Cassidy made an exaggerated expression of ignorance with her face. “All we know is that a bomb went off near the bar. I remember a large, cello case near the bar, which seems like the likely source of the explosion, but I don't remember who had it.”
Cassidy's gaze dashed off in thought. “The man at the door,” she said quietly.
“What?” asked Jebediah.
“The man at the door,” Cassidy said more loudly, the anger gone from her face. “As I was walking toward the door, a man — tall, thin, large round glasses, moustache, he looked rather like a rodent actually — came walking quickly out the door and bumped into me as he hurried away. The bomb would have gone off no more than four minutes after that.”
Jebediah dropped his gaze as he thought. “No. I don't remember him. I don't remember anyone at the bar. Just some other people at tables. Granted, I forgot my spectacles in the train, so I couldn't see much.” Gideon and Cassidy glanced at each other. “Do you remember anything else about him?”
Cassidy put her hand to her mouth and sighed, her eyes moving about. “No... He was unremarkable save for looking like a rat with a moustache. He was about my height, so maybe five-foot-ten, five-foot-eleven... That's it.”
Jebediah sighed deeply. “Well. I'll telegram that information back to the people running the investigation, for whatever good it may do.”
“Who did this?” asked Gideon, as he sat in a chair across from the couch.
Jebediah grumbled. “Like with so many things in this series of disasters, we're not sure. It's going to take some serious work to keep this out of the papers.”
“Yeah. Come to think of it, we were never questioned by reporters or even really by the police,” said Cassidy.
“Yes. That was no accident. Neither was your train car not being able to leave until today.”
Cassidy glared at Jebediah, freshly annoyed. He looked back flatly. “So why were you so special?” asked Cassidy, an undisguised tone of anger in her voice.
“It's not that I was specifically special, it's that my injuries were too great for that hospital to handle. I could have been unconscious for days, weeks. I may have even died. The resources available to my associates was necessary for my well-being. If not for my state, I would have stayed in the hospital with both of you.”
“But, Mr. Secretary, why was I not kept abreast of these things? I'm the point man out here. I'm supposed to be kept informed of such things. It's my job. It's all I do! I know you said this isn't a condemnation of my abilities, but I don't know how else to take it.”
Jebediah nodded sympathetically. “I understand, I do. Again, I ask you, not as your superior, but as someone who has never betrayed you or failed you, to trust me on this.”
Gideon breathed and grunted in a frustrated manner. “I have no choice.”
“If you think that you do... then you think that you do. I have no control over that. All I can say is that what is done is done for good reasons.”
Gideon refused to make eye contact with Jebediah. “I need some air,” he said, rising from his chair. Cassidy motioned with a slightly outstretched palm. “No. I'm good,” replied Gideon. As Gideon walked past, free of his cane, Cassidy sat in the chair he had occupied. Jebediah adjusted himself on the couch into a more upright position.
“What are those reasons?” asked Cassidy.
“Cassidy, please.”
“You either tell me those reasons, or I'm kicking you off the train.”
Jebediah didn't respond.
“You told Gideon enough. I don't need you. You tag along on my whim.”
Jebediah looked at Cassidy, who gazed back with glaring, unblinking eyes. They fenced with their gazes for a moment before Jebediah looked down, acquiescing. He sighed. “Our knowledge of these events began long before the first reports of kidnapping. At first it was stray reports. Nothing much. We more or less ignored them. They seemed connected on a cursory inspection, but many seemingly connected events turn out to be coincidences. Happens all the time. It became apparent early last year that events were growing in significance. Agents were killed or disappeared. Operations failed. You get the picture. The situation became highly dangerous, meaning that many skilled agents were suddenly no longer qualified to handle what might happen. Gideon is among those. His skills of investigation and deduction are peerless, indeed, young as he may be, he is also likely the most intelligent person currently in the department. But he is no fighter. He has never killed someone. He is a youthful man in a world still filled with men hardened by the war. He would hesitate. They wouldn't. Our initial plan for him was to use his abilities to ferret out some information, then send in more... seasoned... agents. Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, you became involved, and now here we are.”
“Well where are these more seasoned agents? We could use them,” said Cassidy in a somewhat less-confrontational tone.
Jebediah looked away. “... In the restaurant.”
Cassidy's muscles loosened and she sat back in the chair a bit. “Oh...”
“I had them come in intending to bring two of them along. I had known them since the war.” Jebediah spoke quietly, sadly, with a tone of almost loneliness in his voice. “You and Gideon are all that I have at my disposal now. There is no one left out here.”
“No one?”
“The ones who remain are beyond contact. I have no hint as to where they may be. It's us, and only us.”
Cassidy looked about the car, thinking. She then rose from her seat. “I need to take a shit.”
“What wonderful news,” Jebediah said. Cassidy chuckled.
“Are you scared?” she asked.
“No,” Jebediah replied. “Not yet.”
Cassidy nodded and walked out of the car.
---
George was hunched over a work table, parts, crates, lights, and tools all around him. On his table was a three-foot-tall, articulating, arm-like apparatus with gears and cables exposed. George ratcheted a bolt into place, then activated a small motor which caused the arm to lift a polished, metal weight about the size of tin can. George then flipped a switch which caused the arm to suddenly drop the weight. He proceeded to write a note on a yellow, paper pad. As he wrote, Professor Jacobson walked up behind him.
“How are you settling in?” he asked.
George put his pen down, sat up, and rotated his stool around. “Uh, pretty well. Everything here was almost exactly what I was working on back home, so I was able to acclimate quickly.”
“What's this? Your third day?”
“Yeah. They put me on a project earlier today.”
The Professor nodded and sighed. “Well, get used to this. You're doomed to do it for as long as they want you to.”
“Do you know how they knew what I was working on?”
“No idea. They may have taken photographs of your lab. More likely they had been spying on you for some time.” Jacobson breathed deeply and patted his belly. “Any family back home? A sweetheart perchance?”
“Me? No. No sweethearts. Just my sister, Anna, and she's here.”
“Bring them with you — almost as good as my strategy of not having anyone at all. My secretary might miss me. I doubt it. I don't like her. So, you a fairy or something?”
“What? No. You immediately go there?”
“Well you're a good looking man. No interest in women usually means one thing.”
“Well I have an interest in women. I'm just too busy to do anything about it.”
“I think you and I are going to get along well,” Jacobson said, plopping down on a stool.
“I hope you don't feel odd about this, but I hope that is true. I've been... um... I'm uncomfortable around many of the people here. They've all got this... I don't even know how to describe it.”
“No need. I kno
w exactly what you're talking about. It drives me batty. I think that most of the people who act that way are doing it to try to ignore the fact that they are prisoners. We are animals of will, and even if we are paid handsomely for our imprisonment, we don't want it. Dealing with the conflict makes some of the people here just become... strange. I have no conflict. These bastards can go fuck a pig.”
“I saw you working awhile ago,” said Gideon.
“Oh. Yes. I tinker to pass the time. Nothing useful, and certainly not what they would like me to be working on. I've met very few people here who specialize in biology and medicine. I'm sure they would have something special for me if I cooperated. And truth be told, there's a part of me that would like to see it. But, again, they can go fuck a pig.”
Gideon sighed and looked out over the large work floor. A large, bipedal machine, cables and tubes connected to a swing arm coming down from the ceiling, and with a pilot in the abdomen lumbered slowly in a line, its feet crashing down on the concrete ground, as researchers ran around it yelling. The sounds of metal and gears clanked and ground in the distance.
“Idiots,” mumbled Jacobson.
“Do you have any idea what they plan on doing with Anna? None of this stuff is her specialty. She knows hydraulics and micro-mechanics.”
“I'm sure they will find something for her. This is one brutally efficient machine. No one is wasted.”
“Machine for what is the question,” added George. “Something that hit me a few hours ago is a complete lack of overarching theme to the work. It just seems that everyone is working on everything all at once.”
“I suspect that's the point,” said The Professor. “I don't think there is supposed to be a unifying goal. They actually want everything all at once. And when you think about it, that makes perfect sense. They have dozens of people here. Maybe hundreds. There would be no way to organize that many people on a single project.”
“I don't know. I think it could be done. If there were some way to organize all of the information.”
“Even if there were a way, it doesn't matter. Organized work isn't happening here.”
“But it is happening?”
“I suspect so. Some people suddenly go missing and no one will say anything about them. I think they're being sequestered off to a special building.”
“They just disappear?” asked George, looking up.
The Professor nodded. “Yes. Whatever they were working on is either abandoned or handed off to someone else, no explanations given.”
“You don't think that they are being killed?”
“Oh no, not a chance at all. The people that disappear are some of the best they have. It can't be a coincidence that the most brilliant are the ones that turn up gone.”
George looked up and across the room at Anna. At another table with an older woman of about Cassidy's age wearing bloomers, Anna worked on a small machine. It was flat and square, with a complex series of gears inside and tiny, metal hooks extended along all for sides. As she pulled a hook, two other hooks retracted on another side of the square.
“I want to thank you for all of your help, Claudette,” Anna said to the woman.
“It's no trouble at all. It's always nice to have another woman around here. There are so few.”
“Yes. I noticed that. Rather usual, though,” Anna said, concentrating on her device.
“I noticed you talking to Andre, the rather adorable young mechanic.”
Anna displayed a flash of concern. “What? Oh. Him? Yes. He was asking me about my knowledge of large scale hydraulics.”
“He was also flirting with you very openly,” replied Claudette.
“No, no. There's nothing there. Nothing at all,” Anna said, uncomfortable.
“Oh. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to press where I wasn't wanted. I just thought it would be girl talk. You know, harmless banter about men and all.”
“Oh. Yes.”
Claudette chuckled and leaned in to Anna. “It's alright if you don't want to talk about it. You don't have to apologize to me. You don't owe me anything.
“No. I'm sorry. I don't mean to make you feel bad.”
“Well, have you had bad experiences with men?”
“Yes. In a sense.”
“Oh! Me too! Yes, I'm a prisoner here, and none too happy about that, but it has almost been a vacation from the constant hollers I get on the street. If you don't mind talking about it, what's your sob story?”
“Uh, I don't really have a sob story. I've never been with a man in any significant way.”
“Really?” Claudette chuckled. “I'm sorry, I just realized that makes it sound like I'm shocked and appalled by what you said, as though you're some sort of freak. I'm just rather surprised because, well, you're very pretty. You look rather like a doll covered in grease. How has no one courted you? Because if I were a man, I'd be all over you.”
“They have,” Anna said, holding onto her tools but not moving them. “But we keep them away.”
“We?”
“My brother and I. We know what they want. They want my body and they want my money.”
“Ohh. You have money,” said Claudette in a tone of agreement. “That I understand very well. I don't blame you for that. Men have a tendency to find out when a woman has money to her name and try to wheedle their way into her affections. Still, have you never considered, you know...” Claudette leaned in. “Having some fun?”
“Ew, no. Never. And I have no interest in it.”
Claudette looked at Anna quizically. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-five. Why?”
“Just curious. You look very young, so I wasn't sure, and young women sometimes are afraid of it.”
“I'm not... afraid of it, I just know that it is the primary goal for men. I don't want to give them what they want.”
“I can't very much blame you there. Men are awful,” said Claudette, leaning back in her chair in agreement.
“Wait. What? You were just talking about having fun with them.”
“Yeah. And after we've had fun, I get as far away from them as possible. It's a wonderful system.”
“Why are you willing to give them that? Don't you feel... degraded?” Anna asked.
“No!” Claudette replied, surprised. “No, no, no. Not at all! I'm getting something out of the deal. I'm getting what I want. If they want it too, well, that's really not my concern. Most of the men are married, so it's thrilling that they would rather be with me than their wives. And because of that, they are always limited in how much time they spend with me. Also, since all we do is have fun, they make sure to be very good at having fun.”
“But... Don't you feel bad that you're giving them exactly what they want from you?”
“No.”
Anna looked at Claudette with a look of extreme confusion.
“Reverse it. Do you think they should feel bad that I'm getting what I want from them?” asked Claudette.
“Of course not. Because that's what men want. That's all they want.”
“Yes, yes. First, that's not all that men want. In fact, men want a lot more than that. They want someone to talk to, someone to comfort them, someone to love them. Men are giant messes. They're like children desperate for a mother. Trust me, the danger of sex is not men getting what they want. It's in men deciding that they want a lot more after sex. It gets... messy.”
Anna was lost in thought. “...All men are like this?”
Claudette breathed as she readied to speak only to stop and rethink. “Actually, I just realized that this is a rather unique perspective. How should I go about this?... Ok. There are many men out there who are total scum. You never want to go near them. Not because they will get what they want, but because they're dangerous. Now I can spot them a mile away. They may as well be wearing signs. For someone like you, they may be able to remain hidden. But even then, why have you not at least tried. Don't you have friends? Friends are usually safe.”
“Yes. I ha
ve friends. I have a lot of friends... But most of them are older.”
“And I can't believe I didn't ask this sooner, but what made you so afraid?”
“Well, as I said, I'm not afraid. I'm... cautious. And my reasons are nothing specific. I just know how men are.”
Claudette looked incredulous. “Oh, do you now? How do you know that?”
“It's obvious. It's in newspapers and books. I can see it on the street.”
Claudette stared at Anna, analyzing her. “Did your mother hate your father?”
“No! Of course not... I mean... I don't know, actually. My parents died when my brother and I were eleven.”
“You're twins?”
“Yeah. He's a few minutes older than me.”
“Did you like your dad?”
“Yes. I remember that he would read to me. He loved Charles Dickens. He would read that to us all the time. I liked Great Expectations.”
“It's rather interesting that you would mention that book in this conversation, don't you think?”
Anna thought on it. “Oh yeah. I didn't even think of that,” Anna said, furrowing her brow. Anna visibly pondered as Claudette looked at her, patiently waiting for Anna to continue talking. “It's not that I haven't thought it about. I have. But George has never been wrong before.”
“George? What does he have to do with this?”
“Well, he's a man. He knows men. He acts something like a shield for me. He deflects men who would come for me.”
“So, what? George spends all his time speaking ill of men? What about him? What about your dad?”
“George is nice. But he says that nice men never go out seeking women. They know enough to leave women alone because they would... well.... they would rather be left alone. And my dad was married to my mother by their families. It wasn't much their choice.”
“Wow. No wonder you have strange ideas about men. Now I feel odd. As though I should be defending men... They're not... bad. Some are. And without making you any more uncomfortable, maybe you should try to experience some men without your brother hanging over you.”
Cassidy St. Claire and The Fountain of Youth Parts I, II, & III Page 32
