The foursome walked over to the front of the boat where Homer poked the alligator with the boat hook. “We're not ending up on your menu, tonight, you goddamned beast!” yelled Cassidy.
“Nope,” replied Homer. “No menu.”
“What?” asked Cassidy.
“No menu,” Homer said again. “Gators don't usually eat people. They're pretty timid. Probably a mama gator. Nest's around here somewhere, I'd wager.”
Cassidy stared at the alligator for a moment then turned to Homer. “Are you sure?”
“As sure as anything. Don't worry about it. Gators die all the time in the Bayou,” Homer said, pushing the alligator out into the water. Cassidy watched it as it slowly floated away, motionless. Homer started up the steam engine again and moved the boat back out into the river, but Cassidy just watched the alligator until it eventually disappeared into the shade of the trees. Her eyes cotninued to gaze into the darkness as Jebediah and Gideon watched her stand there.
As she stood there, a dark cloud slowly covered the moon, blanketing the world in darkness... except for Cassidy, who gave off a faint glow.
“Cassidy,” said Gideon. “You're... You're glowing.”
Cassidy turned to Gideon. “What?” she asked.
“Look at your clothing!” Gideon replied.
Cassidy looked down over her body and, in the darkness, could easily see that everything that was wet was giving off a faint glow. “What the hell?”
“That's not just it,” said Jebediah, looking wide-eyed over the edge of the boat. Plainly visible in the water was a stream of glowing, blue water, just under the surface. Gideon, Jebediah, and Cassidy all stood there, staring out into the haunting glow. They were all silent for a time as they watched ribbons and streams of blue flowing slowly under the surface.
“He said that I was the only one who could do it,” said Cassidy. She turned to Homer. “Think you can handle that?”
“Yes ma'am,” Homer replied.
“Then set a course, captain,” said Cassidy. “And follow the blue water.”
---
Claudette was wearing her large, rubber gloves and boots and moving cables around inside of her electric machine when George walked up.
“Finding any luck with that?” he asked. “Because I just helped them make some significant progress with that walker of theirs and I'm feeling quite useful.”
“That's good, Mister Useful, but I have this well in hand. I figured out what was wrong. A gear that was supposed to be insulated was not, thus grounding the battery. I'll actually be shipping this back down to the battery lab in a bit.”
As Claudette and George talked, Professor Jacobson walked up behind George. “George,” he said.
“Oh, Professor, how are you?”
“Forget the pleasantries. I've got something to show you.”
“What?” asked George.
Jacobson leaned in and spoke quietly. “Follow me,” he said. George and Claudette glanced at each other before walking off, tailing the Professor.
The two followed Jacobson to one of the large storage areas against the side walls of the lab. It was dark and cluttered, with most of the equipment and parts covered in a thick layer of dust.”Here, hold these,” Jacobson said, handing two lanterns to Claudette and George. He then pushed aside a large piece of wood.
“You wanted to show us your napping spot?” asked Claudette.
“No... well, yes, I nap here, but that's not... shut up,” said Jacobson. “This is why I brought you over here.” He took a large screwdriver and placed it in a seam on the wall and gave it a hearty whack with a large, wooden hammer. It caused a panel about three feet square to pop off, revealing an opening in the wood and metal wall.
“A door?” asked George.
“Not quite,” replied Jacobson. “More like a hole that just happens to get into the framework of this entire structure. Let's go.”
“Wait, wait, wait,” said Claudette. “I'm not terribly concerned with getting in trouble, but this is definitely the kind of thing that is likely to make us disappear.”
“Then don't come along,” said Jacobson. “George?”
George stared into the dark, breezy passageway and thought for a moment. “Yes.”
“God dammit,” said Claudette. “Wait... I'm not letting you go off alone with him. He'll get you killed.”
“Good god, I'm not Billy The Kid,” protested Jacobson. “We're just going to go poking around.”
“I'm sure,” grumbled Claudette.
The four then entered the opening in the wall and disappeared into the dark.
In the tunnel, the sounds of work and machinery echoed throughout. Cool air rushed passed the trio as they moved slowly forward. “Ok,” said Jacobson. “We're far enough away where we can light the lanterns.” He struck a match and lit both lanterns. He carried one and Claudette carried the other. “Here we go,” Jacobson said, approaching a metal ladder hammered directly into the bedrock.
“What the hell is this place?” asked George.
“I'd imagine that it's the framework on which this entire complex is built. They had to build something simple before they could build all this.”
George looked down on the ground and saw an old toolbox filled with forgotten tools. He reached down to pick one up and his hand recoiled. “Eww,” George said.
“Yes,” Jacobson said. “Everything back here is caked in muck and dust. No one has been in here for years.”
“Probably just helps with ventilation at this point, I'd imagine,” said Claudette.
“Follow me,” Jacobson said, beginning his descent down the ladder. “Be careful as you come down. The ladder is slippery and it's a long way down.” The trio made their way down the enclosed ladder tube, surrounded by rusty mesh. The ladder deposited them inside a small access tunnel, warm air rushing past them.
Claudette sniffed the air. “We're somewhere near the battery lab. I can smell the acids.”
“We're somewhere near almost everything,” replied Jacobson as the three walked down the small tunnel, hunched over. “Every single one of the passages in here leads to the walls of a major lab. There are at least ten of them.”
“Did you see what they were producing?” asked George.
“More of the same from our lab. Machines and whatnot. I found two weapons labs, and one lab that seems to be working on that airship you're so interested in.”
“One would think they would be a bit more stern with security precautions,” said George.
“I think that these people are indeed that arrogant,” said Jacobson. “They think that they are so damned smart, having built this big thing underground, that no one could possible sneak around them.”
“Is there any way to the surface?” asked George.
“I don't think so,” said Jacobson.
“Maybe it's a choice,” said Claudette.
“Come again?” asked Jacobson.
“A choice. Think about it. People just disappearing? Maybe they didn't disappear. Maybe they were given this difficult path out, and if they are dedicated enough to find it, at the end of the tunnel is a man who says they can either stay or leave, but not both. In essence, you were meant to find that tunnel.”
“That's one hell of a rabbit hole to assume we've gone down,” said Jacobson.
“I'm not assuming it,” said Claudette. “But they've shown themselves capable and willing to manipulate in very subtle ways. I don't think it a leap to say that maybe this is manipulation as well. People who want the choice, get the choice.”
“Well, maybe, but Occam's razor and all that. I think they've just forgotten,” replied Jacobson.
“How many times have you come down here?” asked George.
“Five or six. I wanted to be quiet and careful initially, but after a few trips, I realized it's not necessary. I've been making a racket.”
“I was wondering where you had been the past few days,” George said.
“You're the only one.
No one else to noticed. I tried to get to my room through the various construction and ventilation tunnels, but could only get near the hallway.”
“It's still amazing that this runs that far. Where else can you go?”
“As long as it doesn't go the surface, I can get there in these old tunnels.”
“Can you get out into the cave?”
“Yep. By quite a few ways. You just drop down onto some rocks from the framework above the switch yard. The scope of this complex is awe inspiring. I can't help but be impressed by my prison.”
“Well where are we going today, scoutmaster?” asked Claudette.
“The most interesting room in the complex,” replied Jacobson.
---
“Alright, be careful with this panel,” Jacobson's voice said in the dark. After some grunts, a shunk and the wall panel came down, letting light beam into the tunnel. George and Jacobson were holding onto the wooden wall panel together, moving it slowly to one side. They delicately placed it on the ground and then stepped out from the small access tunnel and into the large room.
SHICKshick SHICKshick SHICKshick SHICKshick SHICKshick.
In the middle of the room was a long series of industrial printers, sixty feet in total, running sheets of paper through and into a final pile. A few men walked around the machine, monitoring progress, and moving paper around the noisy but dimly lit room. The trio hid in the darkness on the edges of the room, surrounded by load-bearing metal pillars and crates of cotton.
“What the hell are they doing, making a newsletter?” asked Claudette.
“Much more exciting,” replied Jacobson, walking quietly over to stack of papers hidden in the shadows and lifting up a heavy piece of wood on top. Underneath was a sheet of fifty-dollar bills, with a portrait of Benjamin Franklin smiling smugly on the left side of the bill, and Lady Liberty on the right, looking like someone she profoundly disliked had just walked in on her using the toilet.
“Money!” George whispered loudly.
“Keep it down,” said Jacobson. “Just because you're whispering when you're loud doesn't mean you're not loud. And yes, money. This is how they're funding everything.”
“Good lord... just stacks of it?” asked George.
“Seems that way,” replied Jacobson. “I've also found British and French money. No wonder they're able to do so much. This is the true foundation to their operation. I would wager that this was the very first thing they did.”
“Seems like a risky thing to do,” said Claudette. “If they were ever found out, they could trace the money back to wherever we are.”
“Oh no,” Jacobson said with a chuckle. He then pulled from his pocket two fifty dollar bills. “One of these is fake, the other is real. I cannot tell the difference. I used every tool we have and couldn't tell. These are perfect copies. I kept wondering how they could possibly pay everyone who they said they would pay. It just didn't make sense. Now it does. This is how they are promising riches to everyone who works here; they will simply make it.”
“Is this a bad thing?” asked George.
“Not necessarily, I suppose” replied Jacobson. “It's the entire country. Whatever they make here would simply be absorbed by the economy.”
“Shh!” Claudette said, ducking down. “I think that guy saw us.” The three ducked behind a large pile of old crates, watching a workman slowly walk toward them. “Shit, shit, shit,” said Claudette.
“He's still coming,” said George, immediately in a panic.
“Just be quiet,” hissed Jacobson.
“He's going to...” began George. He shuffled a bit before getting up and walking out. “Stay down,” he whispered back to Jacobson and Claudette. He walked into the dim light and waved sheepishly at the workman.
“What are you doing here?” asked the man.
“I, uh... I came down on the elevator and came out on the wrong floor. I was curious.”
“How did no one see you?”
George shrugged.
“You are absolutely not allowed here. Come on. I'm going to take you to the supervisor. He'll know what to do with you.”
Jacobson and Claudette sat in hiding and watched as George was taken away, the man leading him by his upper arm.
---
The boat moved quietly through the water. Cassidy and Gideon sat at the front of the boat, both sitting down, Cassidy with her hand dangling into the water, causing the faint glow of the water. Periodically, she would pull her hand up and look at the glowing liquid trickle down off her fingers and palm before putting it back down into the river as it flowed by.
“You know how you said you wanted a prince still?” asked Gideon in a low voice.
“Of course. It was an hour ago.”
“Well, I just want to let you know that even though the dream doesn't want you, you don't want the dream either. As you can imagine, I've known a fair number of men for whom the dream isn't especially compatible, but they still want a part of it. And I've known women who... how can I put this... are married to princes who also want a prince.” Cassidy chuckled. “Oh, believe me, that is common. That is very common. Really... for you... damn it. Don't even wish that you could have the dream. It's a bad dream. See it for what it is. It's all a mess even on the other side of the coin.”
Cassidy sat quietly, thinking about what he had just said. “Besides,” continued Gideon. “The best princes are all fairies anyhow.” Cassidy snorted out a laugh. “I'm serious!” he emphasized quietly. “You know Louis the, um, fifteenth? Fourteenth? No, fourteenth was the Sun King. Whatever! The one who was killed in the revolution?” Cassidy nodded. “Total fairy!”
“No he wasn't,” Cassidy said dismissively.
“Yes, he absolutely was! There were rumors starting at his marriage. He didn't have sex with Marie Antoinette for years.”
“I don't believe that,” Cassidy said, smiling and shaking her head.
“Go look it up. I'm telling the truth! Now, to be fair, we don't want him. He was horrible. So he absolutely wasn't a good prince. But again, it's all a mess. There are no good princes. But he was a prince, and he was a complete mess of a fairy. Oh god, there's this painting of him where his lips are all pursed out, he's got this arch to his back that's just so, and he has this absurd smirk on his face, wearing those stupid wigs that Europeans wear.” Gideon then subtly acted out his description. “Ohhhh, you can tell just from the painting.”
“That may be just because he was French, you know. They do act... rather French.”
Gideon thought on that for a moment. “Maybe. Alright, fine, forget princes. Here's a story. I knew a number of men back in the department, but also in school, who would wipe after crapping a set number of times and no more. Three wipes, and done. The fact that there was crap still up there made no difference to them! I knew other men who didn't wipe at all! No self-respecting fairy on Earth would do that. It tells you something when the fastest way to get labeled a fairy is to dress well and not smell like actual crap. So your eventual prince would be a poorly dressed, stinky boor. Why the hell would you want that?”
“Your ideas are intriguing to me and I would like to subscribe to your newsletter,” said Cassidy.
“Oh, I know these things. I know them. So if you ever find a nice prince, make sure to give him my address.” Cassidy laughed again and smiled easily at Gideon, who smiled back. “Just imagine,” continued Gideon. “A man, clad in fine clothing, muscular, riding a white steed, his hair glistening, royal banners behind him... now, with the information I've given you over the past how-many-weeks, viewing that image through that... that... mode of interpretation... think about what he is going to be.”
Cassidy thought on it with a grin. Gideon gave her a wide-eyed, knowing glance as he nodded his head. “No, No,” she said. “Nope. Not all of them. It can't be all of them.”
“Trust me,” said Gideon. “It's all of them. Maybe not forever, but now, it's all of them.”
“No... No,” Cassidy continue
d. “Most of them were just acting European. You can't blame them for that. They have all of their pomp and circumstance.”
“Alright, but why the hell do you want them?”
“I don't. I don't want real princes. No sane woman wants a real prince. I want... some prince. I want a guy... with a horse... a horse is definitely part of it. An impressive one. He doesn't even have to ride the horse. He just has to stand next to it. With a sword. He should probably go on Crusades or something. He should also have... a really... really... big cock.”
Gideon snorted a quiet laugh. “Lord, what is it with you and cocks?”
“It's uh, it's... it's a thing.”
“So what you want is a knight with no pants who hangs around with horses?”
“What? Why no pants?”
“Because, if he's going to be well hung, he sure as hell won't be able to fit that into armor.”
“No, that's why they have codpieces. Pack all their bulk into a nice, compact space.”
“Oh right... I forgot those existed... It doesn't matter! You want a horse-loving knight with a giant cod-piece. That is an absurd image. No wonder you're unhappy, you idiot.”
“I don't know!” Cassidy replied. “I don't... I suppose. I want something... I want... I want... I want some more goddamned chicken jerky, that's what I want.” Gideon laughed and handed her the bag. “Well take a piece out for me,” said Cassidy, faux annoyed. “I'm busy guiding the way with my magic hands.”
“I know some guys who say I have magic hands,” replied Gideon, handing her a piece of chicken.
“Oh, I bet they do, you randy little thing.”
“Little? No. I'd need a codpiece.”
“Stop it!”
“Gimme' some of that,” Gideon said, taking a piece of chicken and chewing it. “Hmm. This isn't bad.”
“Jerky is the greatest thing ever created,” said Cassidy just as Jebediah walked up.
“What are you two talking about?”
“European royalty and jerky.” said Cassidy.
“Ah,” replied Jebediah. “Are you feeling anything? Even remotely?”
Cassidy St. Claire and The Fountain of Youth Parts I, II, & III Page 59
