Nightshift 37: General Storage

[its-the-mileage.livejournal.com]

[from here]

The storage room was nondescript but organized; just a lot of boxes and supply cabinets. If anything in here was planning on killing them, Indy decided, it was just gonna have to get in line.

He dumped everything but the flashlight next to where the door used to be and started hunting.

Comments

[its-the-mileage.livejournal.com]

So Pierson's theories were along the same lines as his own. "They're willing to go pretty far, though," Indy pointed out. "If as many people keep turning up with injuries like this--" he jerked his head in recognition of their battle wounds, "--as you said you saw, sooner or later someone's gotta ask questions. Accident-prone or even suicidal wouldn't cover it. Unless they've got enough clout to buy off any social worker or newspaperman who comes nosing around." Which they might well. Another pet theory came back to him. "Assuming, of course, that they're not in bed with whatever government's in charge here already. The Nazis wouldn't come as a big surprise." Indy still wasn't letting them off the hook as the most probable candidate for all this.

Another jerk separated the IV pole from the base. Indy stood up and hefted his prize. It might be as likely to crack over someone's head as to crack it, but it would probably get him as far as the room with the tools tomorrow night. Guard or no guard, for now they'd better head back and try to get a few hours of sleep before morning. "Almost done?" he asked.

[oldest-man.livejournal.com]

"It's not legally necessary for them to report the injuries. Unless someone's keeping good enough track of their inventory to remark on the amount of medical supplies they go through, no one's likely to come looking." Methos frowned down at his box, then stood and paced back to the first aid kits they'd discovered earlier. They weren't weapons, but they would come in handy, and he held out hope of trading some of the supplies for something a little more useful.

"I doubt it's got anything to do with the Nazis." He paused to inspect a roll of bandages, considering remarking on the decades gone by since the regime had been in power, then dismissing it as an argument for a later day. "I've not heard anything but American accents from the staff. If this is a government-run facility, it's probably under the control of one of the American bureaus. Or the Canadians. They sound nearly the same, and I always did think there was something up with those people."

He shut the restocked kit and stood, eying the broken door. He still couldn't imagine it being repaired by daybreak. Not unless it was the only damage done, and that seemed unlikely in light of how many people were desperate to find anything to help them escape. "Done. You know, there is one other possibility that comes to mind."

[its-the-mileage.livejournal.com]

"There's a theory going around about languages being translated somehow," Indy threw out, not in the mood to give up his own pet theory so easily. He didn't really believe that they were hearing and reading translations either, but you never knew. No sense ruling out possible improbabilities just yet. "If you believe in that kind of thing. If you write more than one language, you might want to contribute to the project on the message board."

Really, he recognized, he just didn't want to believe it was his guys doing this. Sure, the U.S. government wasn't perfect (for one thing, it could stand to start doing actual research on the major, barely-touched archaeological finds it had in its possession), but the idea of an operation like this being run by good old Uncle Sam just strained his credulity. He'd believe it only when he had more substantive evidence than a couple of maybe-Canadian accents.

For now, he picked up his gear and waited for Pierson, ready to offload his own armload into the box or shoulder some of the weight as necessary. "What's that?" he asked.

[oldest-man.livejournal.com]

"I have already," Methos replied. There was no percentage in keeping that particular skill quiet; what sort of translator was incapable of writing in anything but his mother tongue? "I'm not sure I'm willing to think of it as anything other than a theoretical, but there's no harm in contributing. Still, if it was, I'd be asking why, if there's a mechanism able to translate any language into one comprehended by the listener, it would translate some things in a foreign accent?" Slight shifts in stress on the syllables emphasized his own accent, something faintly British. "It's not impossible, but it would be a strange choice."

It took a little reshuffling to distribute the files, kit and flashlight to make sure he could get a hand free quickly. Containers would be another necessity, if a later date brought him scrounging for supplies again. "Paranormal research. Occult dabbling has always been falling into and out of favor with various governments. It might explain why there's so much talk of monsters and other strange phenomena, if they're trying to engineer an environment well-suited to producing the genuine article."

[its-the-mileage.livejournal.com]

Gaging the other man's reaction, Indy decided he might've been a little too pointed in making note of the fact that he hadn't yet seen any proof that this guy could translate so much as the back of a Cracker Jack box. Carping wasn't going to be any more helpful now than it had been earlier in the night. He'd have to look for Pierson's message tomorrow; might shed a little more light on just who this shady roommate of his was.

In the meantime, he posited, "Actually, it makes perfect sense, if you have the technology to do it. You get the advantages of understanding each other without losing the clues you pick up from someone's accent." Something else occurred to him. "Remember the first response? Native languages and secondary languages work differently; at least, that's the idea. If you're speaking English and it's a first language for both of us, your accent wouldn't get translated out." That sounded more ridiculous the longer it was out of his mouth, both because the language thing was a cockeyed theory to begin with and because it struck Indy that, if it were true, he had no idea whether Pierson was actually speaking in English or not. Some experimentation might be in order here.

At least the next idea was a lot easier to swallow than the first. "You do have a point on that one," he admitted. "I know for a fact the Third Reich is obsessed with the occult, but they're not the only ones. Anybody could be trying to catch up; sort of a paranormal arms race." A sobering thought if he'd ever heard one.

[oldest-man.livejournal.com]

"That's rather the point, actually," Methos replied. "Assuming, for the moment, this hypothetical Babel fish actually exists, anyone speaking English to either of us should have their proper accent. I'm assuming you do, and you apparently hear mine, so that's some support for the theory. If the nurses are speaking English, either they've naturally got an American accent, or they've taken the time to learn to imitate one remarkably well. If they're not speaking English, then the default accent for translation into English is American. It's reasonable to assume we're either in America, or someone's gone to a fair amount of trouble to make it seem that way. Of course, I suppose the technology could just be American and they've never changed the defaults, but I certainly hope that's not the case."

He grimaced at the mention of the Third Reich, quashing once again the urge to remark upon its downfall decades earlier. "There are several organizations delving into that sort of study. Several relatively well known ones, that is. Chances are there will always be some sort of covert conspiracy. It's human nature." He eyed Jones thoughtfully. "I suppose it's safe to assume you've got some experience in that area? I do have to wonder how many people here might say the same."

[its-the-mileage.livejournal.com]

Indy turned that one over. If he thought about it like a scientist instead of a jingoist, what Pierson was saying was the only semi-plausible theory they'd come up with so far. Occam's razor threatened to slice any other possibilities he could come up with to ribbons. "What's a little more trouble when you've already kidnapped dozens of people? We're talking about the people who get up early every morning to restock the storage closets and replace the doors," he said, more out of residual petulance than actual conviction.

He nodded at Pierson's mention of organizations, thinking of Donovan. "Or wealthy individuals, even. And yeah, guess you could say I've got some experience in that field. But I'm an archaeologist; my work is tangential to the study of the paranormal at best." Indy was showing his hand; time to see if Pierson would do the same. "Do you have a more direct connection?"