damned_institute | Day 44: Sun Room, Second Shift

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Day 44: Sun Room, Second Shift

[from here]

He really had beat the rush. Suzaku found a chair as close to the corner and as far from the bulletin as he could, and turned it to face the wall before curling up in it. His nurse frowned at him again, but she was still being cooperative, and frankly he didn't care what she had to say in the slightest. He didn't care even if he got sedated. All he cared about was finally having a few moments to himself, to sort out what Euphie's love meant and what the hell Lelouch's problem was.

It felt like he had all the pieces of a puzzle and was just too stupid to figure out how they fit together. What Lelouch had said about Shirley at breakfast and the tone he'd taken with Euphie on the board, Lelouch asking how Suzaku was, Lelouch dying. . . "All we can do is move forward and look out for the ones we care about." Euphie struggling to get out her last words, pain overtaking Suzaku's consciousness while he fought pathetically to carry out Lelouch's order. . . The last couple days, when he'd felt like he was finally figuring this out, seemed so far away now.

There were a couple things that were certain, at least: he hated what Lelouch had done, he always would. But he -- he didn't hate Lelouch, and he hadn't for a while now, and that wasn't going to change. And he didn't have much time, because everyone but Suzaku was terrifyingly mortal. And Lelouch was an idiot, but he still wasn't sure about the how and why of that one yet.

[for the Saucinator]

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"We weren't. We were soldiers of fortune after the Great War." They weren't archaeologists at all, they just needed the artifacts. "Also, I find it relatively unlikely that we are even from dimensions close enough to contain the same artifacts. No one else here seems to be from a dimension near mine." If he had to get into explaining interdimensional travel as well, this could take quite a while.

"Hold on; I think I misunderstood you," Indy cut in sharply, leaning forward. "When you say dimensions, do you mean 'dimensions'?" He said the last word in English, to make sure he was getting the point here before he dismissed Richter as being completely off his rocker. If they were gearing up for another conversation about other worlds and magic and outer space, it might be time to excuse himself in favor of another session with the bulletin board.

"Yes." Recluse sighed. Wonderful. This was going to be so much fun to have to deal with. "And if I won't be taken seriously on the subject, then it would be better to avoid speaking on it. But you might have noticed how many people here are completely convinced that they come from somewhere that can't possibly be the planet Earth that you know. Either that means everyone except for you is delusional, or it might actually have some truth to it." He'd ruled out the idea that this was within his dimension within the first few hours he'd been here. It hadn't been a difficult realization to come to.

"Out of curiosity, what year was it where you were before arriving here?"

Indy leaned back again and folded his arms. "I'm listening. I'm sure you can understand why I might be slightly skeptical, after hearing a claim like that." It wasn't as though he had anything more important to do; he was up to his neck in spare time during the day. Might as well hear out another potential crackpot theory. As much as he hated to admit it, there was some small chance that a multiple-dimension theory, like the time travel, could be part of what was going on here.

"1938," he answered shortly, wondering where this was going.

"Yes, if I did not come from a place and time where such things border on the common, then I would not believe it for a moment." He could admit, it sounded even more outlandish than anything the science fiction dime novels he'd read before his change could have managed.

"Marcus and I found the Fountain in 1930. By 1932, there had been a major battle within an East Coast city involving Marcus and his allies versus an invading army of giant automatons. Their success meant the passage of the Citizen's Crime Fighting Act in 1937, officially allowing superheroes to legally arrest criminals." Recluse's tone was completely even, despite the fact that this was not the most pleasant subject for him personally.

"The last date I remember before arriving here was February 27th, 2007. I'd rather not recount everything that happened during the intervening seventy years, for the sake of brevity."

"Obviously I should pick up the evening paper more often," Indy replied dryly when he'd processed all that. On the face of it, the entire story was ridiculous. Automatons, superheroes, alternate dimensions--hokum, surely, his instincts told him. But the theory of multiple dimensions did fit with stories like Keman's, that insistence on the impossible that had been so out of place in people who sounded so rational otherwise.

Still, it would take a lot more than a few anecdotes from people in a mental hospital to convince Indy that the idea was worthy of any credence. He was willing--provisionally--to accept time travel because there was so much evidence in favor of it here; it was the only way to explain what had happened to him. This was much less tangible. And was this guy really suggesting that he and Marcus had become...

"It sounds like Pandora's Box changed you quite a bit." Not that Indy was any closer to accepting that, either. Still, he uncrossed his arms to show that he was taking a stab at less openly skeptical listening. "Go on."

"What sort of finds have you made? You seemed quite willing to accept the fact that we'd found the box before in your messages," Recluse asked. If Jones had found anything supernatural, then there really was no excuse for not believing what Recluse had to say.

"The changes were mostly gradual. Over time, we became much, much stronger than any human could ever be. Marcus gained the ability to fly, and eventually to bring down lightning if needed in a fight. The changes I experienced were more physically drastic. My eyes changed to the red they are now, and became increasingly photosensitive and eventually taking on an internal glow, which I could display if it were night time now." He frankly wouldn't want it to happen during the day, he would most assuredly be completely blinded by the light if his eyes became any more sensitive.

"The rest of me turned near-black, and eight large spider limbs grew from along my spine." He'd looked quite monstrous, but that had suited him well.

Indy tried to remember what, exactly, he'd said in those messages; he was pretty sure it had been the same extreme doubt tempered by politeness and vague professional curiosity he was expressing now. In any case, his own finds didn't matter; that no one could explain the power of the Ark in 1938 because it was locked up in a warehouse wasn't an argument for the accuracy of absurd claims about becoming Superman. He decided to head that argument off before it could get started.

"What finds do most archaeologists make?" He shrugged. "A statue or two, a bunch of rocks, an old cup. Very interesting if you're into that sort of thing, but nothing to get worked up over for anyone who isn't a scholar. Nothing like Pandora's Box." Some days that seemed to be one of the few mythical artifacts he hadn't run across yet, Indy reflected. Maybe he should get on it. "Of course I was curious to hear the story."

Here was another full list of dubious claims, although Indy figured at least these would probably be easy enough to test. There were only so many tricks you could pull at Landel's, with the limited resources available. "So what happened?" he asked, gesturing to Richter. Indy noticed a distinct lack of large spider limbs about the man.

Recluse made a quiet, derisive snort. "That is far from the best lie I've ever heard. I told you what I found, regardless of whether it could mark me as delusional. It's only polite to give the same in return, is it not?"

"Most of the alterations were gone the moment I awoke here. My senses are still sharper than a human's, but to a lesser extent than before. Apart from that, I have been left with nothing beyond normal human strength and what I know how to make or steal for myself."

Indy didn't like the turn this conversation was taking. "What good would it do you, other than satisfying idle curiosity? I'll be happy to tell you some stories if that's what you want to hear, but neither one of us has any way to back up our assertions in here."

It was pretty convenient that Richter would have magically lost everything that marked him as out of the ordinary--should've seen that line coming. Surely the guy couldn't be leveling with him, which made Indy all the more irritated about being chided for not launching into a full recitation of his finds. He wondered if there was any way to get to that Marcus guy before Richter talked to him; see how their stories compared.

"Possibly that is all it would be, but when someone is hiding the truth for no discernible reason, I become more curious. If you wish to continue to disbelieve what I have said, it does not bother me in the slightest. I know it to be true, and that is really all that matters to me." He still had some proof in the change that his eyes underwent once the night started, but he already had enough to do tonight beyond trying to convince one stubborn archaeologist that what he said was the truth.

"Truth is a very subjective concept, Mr. Richter. I'm more interested in facts," Indy said. Good old 101 opening lecture--amazing how often it came in handy in everyday life. Especially here, where the truth was so nebulous that facts were all you had to try to piece it together. And not many of those, at that.

I don't care if you believe me didn't make for a very convincing argument, and unsurprisingly, Indy didn't find himself very convinced. Moreover, he didn't trust this guy. But he didn't particularly want to make an enemy of him, either. Indy couldn't deny that there was a chance this crazy multiple-dimension theory was right, and if Richter knew something about how it worked, he might be a useful man to know. Aside from the potential for ridicule (which wasn't one Indy was terribly concerned about, after this conversation), there really wasn't much of a reason to conceal his finds, either. It might not hurt to say something, he decided. As a gesture of goodwill.

"That 'old cup' is more commonly known as the Holy Grail," he said, trying not to sound as grudging about it as he felt.

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Day 44: Sun Room, Second Shift

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