“Did I say something wrong?” asked Claire quietly to Gideon. Gideon shrugged.
---
Cassidy and the old man walked through the dark tunnels, only the faintest hint of light available. “Do you have any lanterns?” asked Cassidy.
“Nope! Don't need 'em!” said the old man.
“You can see in the dark?”
“Don't be daft, girl... I have lamps.” The sound of a valve squeaking open and gas rushing preceded lamps brightening. Cassidy looked around at the odd, catacomb in which she found herself. Worn, crumbling stonework formed aged stairs and shelves, and the entire chamber was filled with cruddy old furniture, shiny things, and other odd possessions. “Welcome to my humble home,” said the old man.
“Humble indeed,” replied Cassidy. “Where is this place?”
“It's the sub-basement of one of New Orleans' oldest buildings. They've long forgotten about it up there, but someone ran a gas line down here at some point in the last twenty years.” The old man flopped onto a tattered old sofa. “It makes it quite livable.”
“I'm sure... Why did you bring me here?”
He motioned to an equally tattered chair across from the sofa. Cassidy sat. “To tell you a story,” said the old man. “And to hopefully light your way.” He leaned in and began to weave his tale.
“Three hundred and seventy years ago, the Americas were new. An unexplored territory filled with wonders the likes of which civilized man had never seen. Bold adventurers came by the thousands—”
“And idiots,” interrupted Cassidy.
“Yes, and idiots... came by the thousands to make their fortunes. Some found wealth in the sugar fields. Others found it in slaves. And some... found it in legendary treasures. Most sought out the city of gold, but one man knew that wealth could not be carried beyond the grave. Juan Ponce de Leon.
“Not long after first arriving in the new world, Ponce De Leon would come across an old man who had been old when the trees were young. After some plying with wine, the old man divulged his secret. Hundreds of years earlier, while on a raft with friends, he had become lost in a storm. The four of them drifted on the tides for many days, washing ashore on a land they had never seen. They wanted to take back to the sea in search of home, but they were starving and thirsty. One of his friends was wounded by a monster and died soon after. A second died in the night. A third simply disappeared.
“Just as the man was on the verge of death, he was found by people native to the land. Long-lived and peaceful, they brought him to a secret fountain that was said to heal the sick and provide long life. He drank of the water and fell into a deep sleep. Awakening, he found himself revived, his body stronger than it had ever been. He lived with these people for many years, but always yearned to return home. So, with supplies, a new boat, and new knowledge, he began his odyssey home.
“Now, Ponce De Leon was no fool. He knew the value of such a fountain. For all of the treasures brought back by others, if he could bring back the ability to rule everlasting, his king would give him the world. So from Hispaniola, he set sail. Over ten years, he tried twice, in vain, to find the fountain. He discovered much of Florida and more. On his last known journey, he and his men were attacked by natives. He was struck, struck by an arrow poisoned with the sap of the death apple tree. They sailed him back to Cuba, where he died.
“Or so it is said. But he did not die. Others had discovered his quest and grew jealous. They wanted the fountain for themselves so they conspired to keep him in Cuba. Ponce De Leon knew that he had lost the favor of the king and would have to act quickly. With his death faked, and under the cover of night, he amassed those loyal to him and set out on a stolen ship. For years, he sought the fountain, discovering in anonymity much of the continent. It's even said that he took a local bride and loved her as he would have loved a Spaniard. Eventually, the sightings ceased, the chase ended, and the legend of Ponce De Leon would fade into rumor, then into myth, and finally, into nothing.
“Years passed, and later explorers would find Ponce De Leon's ship, the Fénix, wrecked deep in the Bayou. How it got there, no one knows, and of its crew, no one was ever found. But that is because they didn't want to be found. Ponce De Leon had done it. He had found the fountain. But his journey had changed him. He no longer worried about the favor of the king. He no longer worried about worldly prizes. Somewhere in the rivers and swamps, he had found youth in a bottle... but he also found wisdom.”
Cassidy paid rapt attention, waiting for him to continue. “What does this have to do with me or my friends?” asked Cassidy.
“Ponce De Leon found wisdom on his journey, and those who seek the fountain today do so in a world where that wisdom is in short supply. They will be just as stupid when they find the fountain as they are now. That cannot be allowed to happen. You have touched the water, just as I have. That is how we connect. We both partake of the everflow. It courses through us. It is part of us and we are part of it. Only one who has touched the water can find the fountain before it is too late.”
“But I haven't ever touched the water. I've never even been here. I've never been near here.”
“I don't claim to know everything and I certainly don't know the answer to that, but you have undoubtedly touched the fountain. And I believe that the fountain has called you back, now, in its time of need.”
“The fountain... thinks?”
“Yes. I hear its voice sometimes, when I can find peace. Like a million voices, singing in harmony. It sings me to sleep. And now, I believe that it is afraid. It called out for a champion, and here you are.”
“Yes, but why am I looking for this?”
“Because you are here! You must seek it out, now. It calls to you.”
“No it doesn't. You called to me.”
“As I alluded to, others have been here. I have seen into their souls and I do not trust them. They are driven by something different. Something dangerous. The fountain is an immense power, one that cannot be wielded by the likes of man. I knew that our savior would come, and so you did. Only you can find your way. And when you do, your friends will undoubtedly be there.”
Cassidy stared back at him. “How?” she asked.
“Go south. Into the Bayou. Go south, and follow the blue water.”
---
“Anna?” Hoffman called.
Anna looked up from her work table and lifted the magnifying goggles from her face. “Yes?” she replied.
“If you would, I would very much like you to see this. We only do this once every few weeks.”
“Of course,” Anna replied, rising from her desk and walking through the glowing, bubbling, fizzing lab. She followed Hoffman to the rear part of the lab behind large, wooden dividers to a brightly lit room. She walked around the corner, stopping with a frightened gasp. Before her, glaringly lit from above, lay a naked man, pallid and ill, with his left left leg gone from mid-thigh down. Two doctors, using tiny, delicate instruments, were connecting small cables, wires, and tubes from a metal, mechanical leg into the exposed insides of his thigh. The table was hung from the ceiling by four chains and stabilized by posts. Beneath the table was a large vat of brightly-glowing liquid, thicker and more viscous than the water in the other tanks. Anna stopped, wide-eyed, unable to move.
Hoffman turned around. “You may stand there if you like, but I recommend coming in closer. You will see the ultimate manifestation of our work thus far,” Hoffman said with a smile.
Anna inched slowly, cautiously, toward the table. A gas mask with a large tube ran from over his mouth to a machine beside the table. She looked at his eyes, closed and sunken. “Is he dead?” she asked.
“No,” replied Hoffman. “He is sedated. We must keep them unconscious for the operations. They would be quite painful.”
“What are you doing?”
“Isn't it obvious?” replied Hoffman. “You've been doing the work for two weeks. We are melding man and machine.” Anna leaned in closer, watching the men in sur
gical suits carefully attach the very things on which she had been working to muscles, nerves, and tendons. “And what perfect harmony it is. Man and machine as one. Because that is what we are, isn't it? We are nothing more than a machine. Instead of gears and pistons, we have nerves and muscles. Instead of steam, we have chemical reactions. This union was inevitable. We are now a machine that knows how to build itself.”
Anna watched the laborious process intently.
“We're almost done, Professor,” said one of the two men.
“Excellent,” said Hoffman, looming over the work. “Soon, we won't even need those blasted drops.”
“Why are we doing this?” asked Anna.
“Doing what?”
“This entire process? Why attach this to him?”
“Because, we can,” replied Hoffman. “Because we must. We must take control of our own destiny in every way possible, even in such a way as to give birth to a new creature, one that no longer calls itself human.”
“Yes, but everything here is to some end. What end are these experiments serving?”
“Ah, I see now what you are asking,” replied Hoffman. “We — you — do this because I tell you to do this. Why they want this I do not know. I do not care.”
“But think of the possible applications. What if they will use this to build an army?”
“Then there will be war.”
“A war that they would win.”
“Most likely, yes. But again, why does this matter?”
“Because, people will die.”
“People die all of the time. Their ineffective fires snuffed out. Why should I care about the lives of ants when we now walk as gods?”
“They would conquer the world!”
“Perhaps. Or, more likely, the other nations of the world would develop these weapons themselves and we would end up right back here, in this lab, tinkering away in service of whatever dictator thinks he deserves to rule the world.”
“What of your talk of preventing the perfect weapon? You said that everything here is for the salvation of mankind. How do you know that?”
“This is far from a perfect weapon, my girl. The perfect weapon of which I spoke is one that never needs to be used because it terrifies even the one who wields it. This, here, is not even necessarily a weapon. It could be used to help the injured live a normal life. It could be used to build great things. It could be used to explore. Will it be used as a weapon at some point? Of course. But whatever empire rises on its strength will fall to something else later. He who lives by the sword, dies by the sword. We as a society focus on the warrior, but it is the sword smith who truly lives on.”
“The sword smith must still accept some responsibility for the deaths that their creation causes.”
Hoffman nodded slowly, contemplating. “I agree... I agree. But, as I said, those who were killed would have died regardless. When we strive for immortality, we cannot allow the ocean — the churning mass of mankind to drown us.”
“And how do you know this all to be our salvation? You make weapons. You talk about the destruction of societies. That's not salvation!”
“You think in very human terms. I think in sociological terms. The death of a person, or a people, or even an entire nation is not the death of mankind's journey through space and time. That is what must be protected from the the ultimate weapon. We must save all of mankind. If a million people, or a billion people, die along the way, then so be it.”
“Why work for the benefit of a world that you seem to hate?”
“Because it is in them that our immortality exists. They are children, and like the gods of old, we must nudge them down the correct path. When I said that the perfect weapon is one that never needs to be used, I misspoke. It is a weapon that can never be used, because its use would destroy everything. In that, the victory goes not to the conquerors, but to the weapon,” Hoffman said, leaning down to inspect the work.
“So you do this for yourself, not for them.”
Hoffman looked up from the work table, the bright light from above and the blue glow from below casting his face in a freakish contrast. “Of course. People exist in service of the gods. The gods exist to service themselves.”
“It is convenient that you are a god,” said Anna.
“Soon,” replied Hoffman. “We will all be gods.”
“We're ready,” said one of the men.
Hoffman nodded. Another man emerged from the shadows on the edges of the room wheeling a cart. A curved plate with a series of glowing, glass vials attached to it was then attached to the man's leg as the muscles and skin began to twist and curl, as though they were a worm exploring its environment. One of the men connected two large tubes to the now-attached plate as a pump started started to hum. The mechanical leg was then pushed hard into the open flesh of the leg, making a sickly squishing sound, and the entire man was lowered into the glowing tank beneath.
“And... three... two... one,” said one of the men.
A shock. A surge. The man's body jolted around under the water, his body held down by restraints on his thighs and arms.
“Three... two... one,” said the man again.
And again, a violent jolt. “Any growth?” asked Hoffman.
“Yes,” replied one of the men, looking into the tank. “The muscle growth is exactly as we wanted.”
“Come, miss Brown,” said Hoffman, motioning to Anna. “Come see what wonders we have wrought.”
Anna walked toward the tank and looked closely. Flaps of skin, tendon, muscle, and tissue had stretched down seemingly of their own accord to connect with the thicket of wires, tubes, and metal.
“It's grotesque,” said Anna.
“It is inelegant, I will admit,” replied Hoffman. “But he has survived the process. That is what is important.”
“How many have not survived?” asked Anna.
Hoffman looked at her but didn't respond. “We should get lunch,” he finally said.
---
Cassidy burst into the office building, startling Claire and Gideon who were both sitting quietly in the warm lamp light. “We're going!” Cassidy yelled.
“What? Where?!” yelled Gideon.
Jebediah, David, and Walter all thundered up from the basement. “What's going on?” asked Jebediah as Cassidy ran around the room, gathering her things.
“We're leaving. We have a new target.”
“We do? How? Where? Explain!” demanded Jebediah, alarmed.
“Let's just say that I had an interesting exchange with a guy in the sewer.”
Jebediah stopped as he watched Cassidy toss everything into her bag. “No, I'm sorry, there's no way that you can leave your explanation at that.”
“You want the full story? Alright. When walking in the park I heard a voice in my head tell me to follow some people, so I did. I was then pulled into a trap door in an alleyway that lead me to a secret sewer hide-out of a creepy old man who could read my mind and told me to go into the Bayou to follow blue water in search of the fountain of youth.”
Jebediah just looked at Cassidy blankly. “Oh,” he replied.
“Don't bother telling me that it sounds crazier than shit, I know it. But I believed the old fucker. He said that we will find George and Anna when we find the fountain. So as bizarre as it sounds, I'm going. It's better than sitting here for days waiting for your friends to arrive.” Cassidy tossed her bag over her shoulder. “So... you coming?”
Jebediah didn't initially respond. He just stared blankly at Cassidy. “I'm coming,” said Gideon. Jebediah looked over at him, surprised. “What? If she's telling the truth, I'm not passing up the opportunity to seek out magical fountains in a swamp.”
“Wait, wait, wait,” said Jebediah. “Slow down for one damn moment. You're telling us that some crazy old man told you that the fountain of youth is in the Bayou... and you just believed him?”
“Well, considering that he was able to read my mind, uhhhh, yeah, that makes his case rather c
onvincing.”
“Are you sure it wasn't just some trick? A sleight of hand, perhaps?” asked Jebediah, trying to remain calm.
“Oh no, I thought about that. If he had finished up his story with a request for money, then yes, he was just a huckster. But he didn't. He spent the entire time pleading with me to go rescue the fountain from evil men. And, again, I would like to point out, HE WAS IN MY HEAD! That's not an ability you come across every day.”
Jebediah grunted.
“You're thinking about coming, I can tell,” said Cassidy with a smirk.
“Grrr.... alright! Yes. I will come. Lord help me, if this turns into something significant, I want to be there. And lord help you if you just drank some bad liquor and dreamed this whole damned thing. Because I will leave you down there to make friends with the alligators.” Jebediah turned to David and Walter. “You two boys stay here. Just keep looking. If anything looks interesting, set it aside. We'll be back within the next couple of days.”
“Wait,” said Claire. “You can't just go into the Bayou. It's a giant labyrinth. You'd just get lost.”
Cassidy glanced out the window. “You're right. It would be best to have a guide of some sort.”
“Wait for a moment,” Claire said, opening a cabinet. “I can find you one. Jobs for dealing with foreigners is big business in New Orleans. We've handled jobs for them for years. Let's see now, you'll need someone who lives and breaths the Bayou... and I... have got... just the man,” she said, whipping out a folder. “We call him The Colonel,” she said with a smile.
---
Cassidy, Jebediah, and Gideon stood on the ratty old dock. The sounds and lights of New Orleans far behind them. “What the hell am I doing?” asked Jebediah.
“Something,” replied Cassidy. “It's better than sitting in that damned basement looking through files.”
Jebediah sighed. “At least we have a fair amount of moonlight. That will help.”
“Help with what, though?” asked Gideon.
“I don't know,” said Cassidy. “He just said go south. Follow the blue water to the fountain.”
Cassidy St. Claire and The Fountain of Youth Parts I, II, & III Page 57
