“And imprisoned in a world that never changes,” replied Cassidy.
“Perhaps freedom is an illusion,” added Jebediah “There can be no freedom because the exit of every prison is the entrance to another.”
“To be or not to be,” said Cassidy.
Jebediah sat there, silent, looking over the edge of the boat to the water. He gazed under the water, beneath the easy wake left behind by the craft, to the ribbons of blue undulating below the surface. He reached out to the touch the water but stopped short. He pulled his arm back and rested it on the edge of the boat.
“We exist because we must,” said Jebediah. “I would rather exist in a prison of choices than have the freedom of non-existence. I would rather be than not be... simply because. Or maybe because, on the off chance that this story is carrying me someplace important, I want to be there for it. Because if I don't, then I do a dishonor to those who have suffered and died before me in service of this story. And I cannot do that. I will not do that. I will carry the torch of those before me. I will live the story that they lived. I will do it... because the thought of not doing it is intolerable to me. They exist forever on the page, and so shall I.”
Cassidy sat there, tired and glum, looking out over the glowing water, her hands on the steering wheels.
“You two are overtired,” said Gideon.
Cassidy got up, dipped her hand in the water, and continued following the eerie glow ever deeper into the dark. “Yes, we are,” she said as she flopped back down int the pilot's seat. “Yes we are.”
---
“Professor Hoffman?” asked Anna.
Hoffman looked up from his desk to see Anna standing in the threshold to his office, between two glowing tanks. “Yes?” he replied.
“I'm having some trouble with some experimental results,” she said.
“How so?” Hoffman asked.
“Well, the results in the books are not lining up. And I believe that they are being changed.”
Hoffman placed his pen on his desk and sat up straight, a look of suspicion on his face. “How do you mean changing?”
“Well, I will make entries, and other people will make entries, but the numbers don't add up. It's hard for me to explain fully without going into needless detail. And importantly, entries that I make, when I see them in the group sheets, aren't the numbers I put in. They're off. Not by a lot, but they are frequently off.”
Hoffman's eyes went off briefly in thought. “Is it only your data?” he asked.
“No. I'm somewhat sure that I've seen variations between group sheets.”
Hoffman again went silent in thought. “Why do you think no one else has noticed this?” he eventually asked.
“Well,” Anna began. “The numbers are all very close. And there are so many pieces of data, I don't think most people would be aware of it. I just... saw it.”
“What effects might this have?” asked Hoffman.
“I don't know. I'm not the one trying to implement these measurements. I just take them. If enough of them were off, something may go wrong.”
“Is there a pattern that you could detect?”
Anna paused before answering, becoming suspicious. “No. None. It was random. At least as far as I could see.”
Hoffman nodded in thought. After a moment, he rose from his seat. “Thank you,” he said. He then walked out from behind his desk and past Anna. Anna followed him, curious, out into the main lab. He walked across the lab to a far wall with a cluster of people and walked up to a short, middle-aged man bent over a chemistry table. The man looked up at Hoffman who just stared back. The two stared at one another for a time, with Anna and all of the other researchers watching uncomfortably.
“Yes?” the man finally asked.
Hoffman didn't respond. He just stared. A few others from around the lab started to gather. “Why?” asked Hoffman, breaking his silence.
“Why what?” asked the man.
“Don't give me that,” replied Hoffman. “I ask again. Why?” The man didn't respond. The look on his face revealing his guilt. Hoffman dug into the man with his gaze.
“Why? You ask why? Then you know nothing,” the man finally responded. Hoffman stepped back, the carnival of colored lights from the various stations casting him as a towering, gaunt, ghoul, his eyes glaring out from deep shadows under his brow. “Blinded as you are by your own aimless ambition.”
“My ambition is pure aim. I have my ambition because of my aim.”
“You've only convinced yourself of that. Your ambition stems from the same place as so many of us. You are a terrified little child, who is afraid of death. You may define death differently, but you started off afraid of the same strange, nebulous thing as the rest of us. You've just layered your fears with so much argument and thought — with so many words — that you have successfully obfuscated the truth even from yourself. But not from me. I will not let a fearful little boy trapped in a man's body drive us toward oblivion.”
Hoffman didn't respond at first. Then when he did, he spoke in a menacing growl. “I am the explorer. I am the one who looks forward.”
“You charge forward only because you think there is something out there to be conquered, something dangerous. You do not relish the future. You fear it.”
“What we work on here is inevitable. It will be discovered. You cannot stop that, no matter what you do.”
“You're right,” said the other man, standing up straight. “It is inevitable. But while I do not know if those in the future who will wield these terrible things will be unworthy of them or not, I know that you are unworthy. Discoveries are inevitable, but who makes them is not.”
“Everything is inevitable,” replied Hoffman.
The two stared at each other for a moment. “So be it,” replied the other man. Hoffman then pulled a small revolver from his pocket and fired two shots into the man's stomach. The man fell back, knocking some glassware from the table, sending it smashing to the ground. He crumpled into a heap, rolling over onto his back, gasping for air as his white clothing grew red with blood.
“No one touch him!” commanded Hoffman. “No one help him. No one is allowed to touch him for at least an hour. Anyone who does so, will answer to me. Go to lunch.” With Hoffman's last command, the entire group of people around the wounded man disbanded and hurried out of the lab.
Anna looked past Hoffman, who pocketed his gun, to the man on the ground. Her face was taken with a fierce sadness and eyes that wanted to tear, but couldn't. She ignored Hoffman's command and walked over to the man. “Miss Brown,” Hoffman said. Anna still ignored him. She stood above the wounded man, wanting to cry but being so overwhelmed that she couldn't.
“I'm... I'm... sorry,” she said slowly, quietly, as though she had to force the words out. “I... told him about the numbers... I told him... I didn't know... I swear...”
The man on the ground, pallid and fading, smiled and shook his head. “No... I was like him... I learned things... this is the only way... it could have ended... it needed to end this way... it needed to...” His eyes went distant, his face relaxed, and his mouth hung open just enough to hear his final breath pass by his lips. His head tilted ever so slightly to the side, and he lay motionless. Anna stood above him, staring into his eyes. A single tear finally forced itself from her right eye and streamed down her cheek. Hoffman continued to loom behind her, standing in the ominous light of the lab like an angel of death. Anna turned with a look of anger on her face. “You said that no one had died,” she accused.
“I said that they had killed no one,” replied Hoffman arrogantly. “I never spoke of myself.”
“So now you hide behind word games? You're a monster.”
“I'm a pioneer.”
“Call yourself whatever you want.”
Hoffman breathed deeply, obviously working to restrain anger. “Do you remember when I mentioned that Britain was once verdant with forests?” he asked. “All of those people, those sad, cold, little peo
ple, chopped down every tree to keep warm and fuel the fires of war. And they are all dead. Dust. Just like every other human. They destroyed something for all time in service of their pathetic, simpering, ephemeral existence. I spit on those people. I spit on the little people. All our little lives are rounded with a sleep. We all die. Our deaths are insignificant. We are insignificant. But what is significant is what we achieve here. What discoveries we will pass down. That is what matters. I will not let some pathetic, small-minded idiot like him put that in peril.”
“But those little people are the ones who will use what you have here,” replied Anna. “And if it destroys us, then what is discovered here will also be for nothing.”
Hoffman stared coldly at Anna. “If that is what they are to do, then they will. I cannot change that. Our end will be well deserved. It will be a release from the prison of our own damnation.” Hoffman then sunk back into the shadows, away from the lights of the work station, before turning and walking out of the lab.
Anna stood there, over the body of the scientist, scared and alone.
7
Cassidy's amphibious craft continued to quietly move through the Bayou, following the pulsating ribbons of light under the water. Cassidy's eyes sat heavily, with large bags under her eyes. Her head bobbed up and down as she tried to stay awake. Jebediah came up behind her and put his hand on her shoulder. “Let me drive,” he said.
“What?” asked Cassidy.
“Let me drive. I've been watching. I know how.” Cassidy's head wobbled slightly as she thought for a moment, then, without saying anything further, she got up from the seat and traded places with Jebediah. As Jebediah slid down into the control seat, Cassidy flopped heavily onto one of the side seats.
“What time is it?” she asked.
“About 4:30,” he replied.
“How are you so awake?” she asked. “For Pete's sake. Gideon's dead,” she said, motioning toward Gideon who was collapsed across multiple seats, drooling.
“I don't know,” replied Jebediah. “I grew accustomed to staying awake for long periods of time. I had to. I become... short, when tired, but I can function.”
“What forced you to become accustomed to it?” she asked.
Jebediah paused. “The war,” he finally said.
“I wouldn't have thought you a front lines sort of man,” Cassidy replied.
Jebediah smiled. “I performed many duties. It was a difficult time for everyone. We did what we had to do.”
“Did you lose anyone in the war?”
“Of course. Everyone did. Didn't you?”
“No...” replied Cassidy. 'No, I didn't. My dad starting moving everything out to San Francisco more or less on a lark in 1850. He actually thought that a new country would be formed, or something along those lines. He had some funny ideas. Being so far out there shielded me from the war. Very little of it made its way out to California. I was in school when the war broke out, and there were some boys in my school who went off. I don't know if any of them died or not. I don't care. I would assume that at least a few of them died.” Cassidy's head hung low for a moment. “I do remember some girls at Vassar. I was there for their second year. I was older than most of the girls there because I had spent some time out gallivantin' about Mexico. I remember sitting outside of the dormitories when word got to one of the girls there. I just remember... the wailing... It took me a moment to figure out where it was coming from. You'd think that being so far outside of New York, so far removed from things, it wouldn't... touch. But the wailing, that became a... not uncommon sound. It got to the point where I dreaded being on campus. There were woods out back where I spent more and more time. I skipped classes after news came to a girl in class. It just made the girls on campus find me even stranger — the odd, pants-wearing girl who spends all of her time in the woods.” Cassidy chuckled heartily. “A girl there was... What word do I use?... Tribadist? Sapphic? Are those?...”
Jebediah shrugged. “I don't know. What are you trying to say?”
“She wanted to fuck other women,” said Cassidy bluntly.
Jebediah rolled his eyes. “Yes. You put it so elegantly.”
“Well I don't know! You invent a word for it. She thought I was like her because of the way that I acted. She came out to the woods once and we talked for hours. It was nice to have friendly conversation. They were tough times. She leaned over and kissed me.” Cassidy's face fell slowly in sadness. “I felt so bad for her,” Cassidy choked out with a spontaneous sob. “I thought about it. I did. But it wasn't there. I thought yes, this explains why I'm so strange. But no. I wasn't like her. I was like every other woman... living in the same prison. Lord knows what prison she's living in, now. Far worse than my own, I'm sure.”
“Best not to think about it,” said Jebediah. The two were quiet for a time before Jebediah spoke again. “I remember similar sounds in the camps. The painful wailing. The quiet crying, late at night, by those who thought no one would hear. It's... something that shakes you. The strength of men crumbles so quickly. We all like to think ourselves the heroes of our own stories. We always make it to the end, standing triumphantly on a cliff side, looking over the horizon upon a conquered world. I never paid it too much mind, and I sometimes thought people who did were foolish. But to see men sobbing, broken... Dead heroes. The history of mankind is a graveyard of fallen heroes. It's an arrogant belief that begs a terrible lesson.” Cassidy didn't respond. “How long were you at Vassar?” Still no answer. He turned around to see Cassidy sound asleep across a couple of the seats, her arm dangling over the edge of the vehicle, her fingers flicking the surface of the water. He smiled and turned back, concentrating on the glowing water ahead.
---
George sat on the floor of his cell, looking up at a fly buzzing around the ceiling light. He wearily followed the bug as it went around and around.
“You there, lad?” asked the voice.
“Yes,” George said, his head perking up. “Where are you?”
“Around,” replied the voice.
“Fair enough,” replied George. “Why the secrecy?”
“It suits my needs, nothing more. I am not trying to keep anything hidden from you, if that's what you are wondering.”
“No. I wasn't suspicious. Only curious.”
“How are you holding up?”
“Well, I think. Well.”
“Good. Good. I wanted to say goodbye. They are coming to move you now.”
“They are? Where?”
“I don't know. Possibly back to one of the labs... I also wanted to apologize. You are here partially because of me. I am sorry for that.”
“How do you mean?”
“Much of this operation would not have been possible without my help. My fingerprints are on everything. All I can hope is that, once this is all done, you will all be sent home, and... well... They are almost here. Remember, my friend, their truth is a terrible one. Be careful.”
The clank and thunk of the metal door at the end of the cells signaled the arrival of the guard. His heavy boots clomped down the metal and wood flooring before the ursine man stopped in front of George's cell. “Brown?” he asked gruffly.
“Yes,” replied George.
The guard then took out a key and unlocked the door, opening it. “Come on,” he said.
“Are we going back to the lab?” George asked.
“No. Come on,” the guard replied. George looked at him, a faint hint of concern on his face, before getting up and leaving the cell. The guard shut the door behind him and they tromped out of the room and down a long hallway. George's gaze lingered on the empty cell next to him as they passed. After a few turns and twists, they stopped by an elevator with another guard. “Heading down,” said the first guard. The second nodded and opened the door. “Get on,” the guard said to George, who complied. They were on the elevator for only a short time before it stopped with a thunk and the guard opened the door. George stepped out into the money printing room tha
t he had previously invaded. A supervisor-type man walked over and nodded at the guard.
“I've got it,” he said. The guard walked off and the supervisor turned to George. “So you're the guy who snuck in here,” the supervisor said with a faint British accent. “Well, apparently, you are now an employee. I hear that you're good with large machines, and this large machine needs constant work. Most of the guys who are good with machines are kept in the labs, but since you happen to be a jackass, you get to work in here. It's lonely, it's loud, and it's boring. You alright with that?”
George looked around, unsure, before nodding meekly.
“Good,” said the supervisor. “Come on, then. I'll show you around and what we need done. Time is tight, so keep up or get the hell out.” George again nodded meekly and followed the supervisor over to the humming, whirring, thunking machine. “This machine is made of about a dozen different print plates and rollers. Everything needs to be kept aligned. The money coming out of this must be perfect. There is no room for error. Perfect. Do you understand?” George nodded again. “You were able to dawdle around and not do shit while down in the lab, but keeping this machinery humming is no game. You either keep it running or we throw you back in the fucking cage. I'm tired of you weakling, arrogant scientists, sitting around preening like you own the fucking world. When this is all done, I take my money back home and live the life with my wife, and I'm not going to let little shits like you put that at risk.”
“I, I, I never meant—”
“Shut up. I don't care. You're new so you get the late-night shift. You're free to go up and outside at certain times. Make use of them. Play ball.”
“Will I get to visit the labs again?” asked George.
“No. Forget about the fuckers. You will never go down there again. This is your world. Savvy?”
George stared back, confused.
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