******************
"A New Golden Age"
******************
INDIANA JONES AND THE GOLDEN AGE #01
Written and Edited by D. David Lee
The YesterYear Fan Fiction Group acknowledges that names, concepts, and images of characters used here and ALL related characters may be owned by others and that said owners retain complete rights to said characters. These names, concepts, and images are used WITHOUT permission for NO PROFIT, but rather a strong desire to peer into the potential these characters have in a combined setting. This also acknowledges that original concepts presented here are the intellectual property of the author.
***
April, 1938
Only nine years have passed since the stock market crash of 1929 that precipitated the Great Depression, the lowest depths of which struck in 1933. The world is in turmoil. France's Chautemps government has recently fallen, and Leon Blum has just resigned under pressure, leaving Edouard Daladier as the head of a new, Radical Socialist cabinet. Less than a month has passed since Austria was annexed by the Third Reich. The Japanese have taken Qingdao, and London has announced the postponement of Palestine's partition, moving some 25,000 British troops to the area. The economy in the United States now well on the road to recovery thanks to the relief provided by New Deal policies, the United States government has only recently begun examining the world situation more closely.
***
The secretaries typed nervously and tried not to look at each other as the shouting continued, growing louder and louder with each passing second. Occasionally, the harsh voices were accentuated by the sounds of loud thumps as fists were slammed into desks. Eventually, the argument was brought to an end with the sound of a door being slammed shut. Scowling, a man stormed out of the Dean's office, fedora in hand. Some of the secretaries were glad to see him go, but most of them watched him go with longing in their eyes.
"Blasted bureaucrat! Doesn't know a damned thing about anything but rules and regulations! To hell with him! To hell with everything!" he yelled as he stormed off. Stepping into his own office, he slammed that door shut as well with enough force to shake the entire office, knocking several books and oddities to the floor. Pulling out a cardboard box, he started packing his things and clearing his desk. The name on the door of his office read: 'Dr. Henry Jones, Jr., Professor of Archaeology.'
The string of curses soon gave way to mumbled epithets and sighs of resignation. After all, he'd brought this on himself, and the Dean was only doing his job. That's what he got for gallivanting off every year to God-knows-where after artifacts that most people didn't even believe existed: the Ark of the Covenant; the Cross of Coronado; the Holy Grail.
For any other archaeologist, the acquisition of any one of these artifacts would have marked the pinnacle of an entire career, but for Indiana Jones, they were only stepping stones on a path to fortune and glory that had brought him little real happiness. After all, the artifact itself wasn't nearly as important as the process by which it was recovered, not in archaeological terms. Indeed, he sometimes felt that he was more pirate than archaeologist.
As he continued with the packing of his belongings, he heard a soft knocking at his door. "Dr. Jones? I'm sorry to disturb you, but there are some men out here who would like to have a word with you," said his secretary. She knew that it was a bad time for visitors, and she said the words quietly and reservedly.
"Tell them I'm busy," replied Indy irritatedly, wanting nothing more than to be left alone with his own thoughts.
"I'm sorry, sir, but these men refuse to be kept waiting, and I don't think they take no for an answer," continued his secretary with just a hint of urgency. His curiosity peaked, Indy opened his office door to reveal two men in pin-striped suits wearing wingtips, trying to look intimidating. Obviously, they worked for the government.
"Federal agents, huh? What do you want this time?" asked Indy, more irritated than amused.
Looking at each other with confused expressions beggaring an answer to an unasked question: "How the hell did he know we work for the government?"
***
In a few minutes, Indy was back in his office, leaning back in his chair with his feet propped up on his desk, and the two federal agents, Robinson and Gallagher, were seated facing him. Indy had his hands folded behind his head, and his fedora perched over his eyes. Maybe he was pretending they weren't really there.
"Unless you're here to give me back the Ark, we have nothing to discuss," said Indy, his tone indicating clearly that he was going to reply in the negative to whatever they were about to propose.
"The what?" Confused looks on their faces, the two Federal agents had no idea what Indy was talking about. "Before we begin, Dr. Jones, I must advise that what we're about to say should be considered top secret and a matter of national security," said Robinson, who was shorter and older than his partner.
"Yeah, yeah, what else is new," said Jones, not surprised.
"Dr. Jones, we're here on behalf of your government to ask for your assistance," said Robinson. "It's our understanding that you're something of an expert on Nazi activities."
"Nazis? I hate those guys," said Indy, not thinking about what he was saying.
"Then perhaps you'd be willing to assist us in obtaining some covert intelligence. The President is very concerned about events taking place abroad, in particular the German annexation of Austria. Our information indicates that fascist powers in Europe are planning to take over the entire continent, and the President believes that they may be setting their sights on the Americas as well."
"What are you saying? That the Nazis are planning to declare war on all of Europe?" asked Indy, pulling his feet off the desk and sitting up to look the two agents in the eyes.
"No, Dr. Jones. I'm saying that the Nazis are going to declare war on Europe before year's end," said Robinson, his tone matter-of-fact and his bearing completely deadpan.
"If you already know that, then what do you need me for?" asked Indy, slightly confused.
"We need ta know whether the Germans are really gonna try and take over the Stars & Stripes," said Gallagher, speaking for the first time, his thick, urban accent grating on Indy's nerves almost instantly. "And Uncle Sam needs you to finds out and let him know."
Wrinkling his brow, Indy just glared at the two agents. "So what you're saying is that all of Europe's about to erupt in war, and the United States won't get involved unless we're going to become a target, too," said Indy, his ire apparent.
Gallagher just crossed his arms and licked his lips while Robinson coughed uncomfortably into his hand. They looked at each other nervously for the briefest of seconds before responding. "We're saying nothing of the kind, and I suggest that you not repeat such wild hypotheses outside this office. All we're saying is that America needs this information to know how to respond, and you're the perfect man for the job."
"How do you figure that?" asked Indy, his tone indicating suspicion on his part.
"We know about the intelligence work you did on behalf of the Belgian army during the last war, and according to your profile, you're fluent in most European languages, not to mention several non-European languages. You also have contacts all around the world, and you're reputation as an archaeologist provides the perfect cover. Suffice it to say, Dr. Jones, that you are uniquely qualified for this operation."
Taking on a cynical tone, Indy decided to get down to business as well. "You've certainly been doing your homework, but what's in it for me?" he asked.
"The good feeling that comes from doing right by your country," said Gallagher, causing both Indy and Robinson to roll their eyes.
"We will also arrange an emeritus position for you at the University of Chicago," offered Robinson. "You'll need the academic clout to operate effectively. Certain monetary rewards will also be forthcoming, of course."
Indy just stared Robinson hard in the eyes, not saying anything, waiting for the man to break.
"Ahem. I have also been instructed to inform you that a certain artifact will be returned to your possession at the conclusion of this mission or the conclusion of the war, whichever occurs second. I was told that you would know what these words meant," said Robinson, hoping that Jones would oblige him with more information. He hated being kept in the dark.
Indy just sat there, considering the offer for a few minutes before finally responding. "Tell your boss that I'll think about it."
Standing up, Robinson presented his card. "Very well, Dr. Jones, but be sure to contact me before week's end. I trust that the President can look forward to your cooperation." With that, they walked out, finally leaving Indy alone with his thoughts. Five minutes later, Indy walked out of his office as well, deciding that he'd just send for his things later.
He had a plane to catch to New York, and quite a bit to consider.
***
New York City: Airport
Two older gentlemen were sitting at the airport's disembarkation gate, one of them bearded, the other not, but both impeccably-dressed in finely-tailored suits.
"You know, Junior should have been here over half an hour ago," said the bearded man, a mild Scottish accent making itself evident. "If he doesn't get here soon, we may be late for the opening."
"Oh, don't worry, Henry, I'm sure Indy will be here soon. Aeronautics is not quite a precise science yet. They're always a few minutes early or late, but they do say that flying will one day be the safest way to travel," said his companion, checking his watch.
"Marcus, must you refer to Junior by that ridiculous nickname he seems so fond of?" asked Henry. He'd come to accept the fact that his son had adopted the name of the family dog, but he still didn't like it. To his way of thinking, it was a highly disreputable practice for a scholar.
"Well, I'm sorry, Henry, but I've been calling him Indy since he was sixteen years old. I'm afraid it's become something of a habit, and at my age, changing one's older habits can be a very dangerous thing. Once you do, you start forgetting things," said Marcus, turning his head left and right in confusion. "What were we talking about again?" he asked.
"Never mind," said Henry. "It's not important. Look, here comes Junior now."
Suitcase in hand, Indiana Jones stepped through the gate and walked over to the two men he respected most in this world. "Hey, Dad. Marcus. Sorry I'm late, but we ran into some heavy turbulence over New Jersey." Hesitating momentarily, he then stepped forward to give both his father and Marcus a hug.
Slightly uncomfortable with the public display of affection, Dr. Henry Jones awkwardly returned his son's embrace whereas Marcus returned it readily. It pained him that Marcus had a better relationship with his son than he did, but he was glad that the gulf between them was slowly being bridged.
"Well, come along, then. The opening starts in less than an hour. We'll have just enough time to go back to the hotel and change into our tuxedos. The Park awaits."
***
New York City: Tryon Park
Tryon Park stretched across both sides of the Hudson, providing the people of New York with unobstructed views of the river, the beautiful gardens, and the terraces. The land had been graciously donated by John D. Rockefeller prior to his death the previous year, and a gala was being held this evening to commemorate another such donation.
"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. As my father always said, there is nothing more despicable and pathetic than a man who devotes all the hours of the waking day to the making of money for money's sake. While he lived, he devoted half of his wealth to innumerable charitable projects, and I only wish he could have lived long enough to see this particular project completed," said John D. Rockefeller, Jr., stepping towards an elaborate rope, hanging from the side of a velvet drape.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you 'the Cloisters,' a proud addition to the Metropolitan Museum of Art that will serve as a showcase for some of the world's greatest art treasures." With that, he pulled on the rope, releasing the drapes surrounging the banquet area, revealing an exquisite unicorn tapestry and a medieval European nunnery. His words and actions were greeted by resounding applause, including that of Dr. Henry Jones and his party.
"Now there's a man who's proud to be called Junior," said Henry, raising his glass of champagne.
"Dad, would you give it a rest?" said Indy, raising his glass as well.
"Cheers," completed Marcus, and with that, they clinked their glasses together, helping themselves to some of the best champagne that money could buy. Looking around, the three scholars could hardly continence the exquisiteness of the detail or the tranquil beauty of their temporally-misplaced surroundings.
Somewhere in the Park, a piano started playing "Sing Sing Sing," a song that was now all the rage in New York. Seeing that all of society's elite was present, Indy had no doubt that Jess Stacy himself was the unseen pianist. When he finally placed the piano, he saw that his guess was correct and excused himself, wanting to greet the famous musician in person. As he approached, he saw other guests already hovering around the piano, one of them a very beautiful woman.
"Hello, I don't believe I've had the pleasure," said Indy, taking the young lady's hand and kissing it. "I'm sure I'd remember having met such a lovely young lady."
"Why, aren't you the charmer, Dr. Jones," she said. "Are you enjoying this little get-together?"
"I'm sorry, but you seem to have me at a disadvantage," said Indy, smiling.
"Diane Palmer," said the young lady, returning his smile playfully. "The young man behind you, holding the drinks, is my escort for the evening."
Indy turned his head just in time to see a young man walk by and hand a glass of champagne to Miss Palmer, extending his hand in greeting. "It's an honor to meet you, Dr. Jones. I studied some of your papers while I was at University, and I've always wanted to make your acquaintance. My name is Kit Walker."
"Please, call me Indy," he said, taking the young man's hand. "I can't abide formalities."
"Thank you... Indy," said Kit, his vocal chords stumbling over the odd nickname, unusual for a world-reknowned professor. "And please, call me Kit."
"The music is wonderful, isn't it?" asked Diane. "I've always loved Swing, but it's only been considered socially acceptable since Mr. Goodman introduced it at Carnegie Hall this past January. Did you get a chance to see that concert?"
"No, but I wish I had. It's not every day that you get to see Benny Goodman, Count Basie, Duke Ellington, and Jess Stacy play together," said Indy, true regret in his voice. "A friend of mine named Jack Shannon told me all about it, though, the lucky stiff. He had a front row seat."
"That's because talented musicians stick together," said an unfamiliar voice. Indy turned to see that he was being addressed by Jess Stacy himself.
"You, sir, have one of the greatest right hands I've ever heard or seen on a set of ivories," said Indy, shaking the man's hand with vigor. "I assume you already know Miss Palmer and Kit Walker?"
"Yes, they've been kind enough to frequent my concerts. And you must be Indiana Jones. If half the stories that Jack tells about you are true, it's an honor to meet you, too," said Stacy, smiling warmly. "And he says you play a mean baby sax to boot."
"That was a few lifetimes ago, I'm afraid," said Indy, embarassed by the complimentary remarks. "But it's nice to know that Jack still thinks about me. Would you mind walking with me? I'd like to introduce you to my father."
***
The evening was over all too quickly. A magical combination of society, culture, and art, the entire affair had been flawlessly-executed. Indeed, Marcus, Indy, and his father had been almost loathe to retire to their hotel suite, but retire they did. Indeed, Marcus was already fast asleep.
"Dad, can I talk to you about something?" asked Indy, sitting down on one of the beds in the room they shared. "It's important, but it's also top secret."
"Top secret? What do you mean?" asked his father, wanting to know exactly what was going on in the life of his son, especially if danger was indicated. "Do you mean top secret as in something you want to keep just between us?"
"I mean top secret as in national security. The government wants me to do something for them, and I'm not sure whether or not I should," said Indy. "I've kind of been looking forward to spending some time with you, but if I take this assignment, I'm going to have to spend a lot of time overseas. I don't know how long it will take, and I can't say for certain whether I'll make it back. I wish I could give you some details, but I can't."
"You're not certain whether you should do this thing? Or not certain whether you want to do this thing? Junior, there is a difference between the two," said his father, his tone automatically taking on the fatherly quality that had been inherent to every lecture he'd ever given his son.
"Alright, Dad, I don't know if I want to do this," said Indy, trying hard not to fidget. This feeling was all-too-familiar, and he didn't like it any more now than he did as a child living under his father's roof.
"It's something to do with the Nazis, isn't it?" asked his father, his tone now more serious. When Indy didn't answer, he knew his guess to be correct. "Junior... Son... Indiana..., sometimes all it takes for evil to succeed is for good men to do nothing. I've received some very disturbing letters from colleagues in Europe about goings on. German Jews being deported, their synagogues looted and burned."
Extremely agitated by the topic of discussion, Indy's father started pacing. "By all accounts, Austrian Jews have also had their civil rights and livelihoods stripped from them, and Italy has enacted anti-Jewish legislation as well."
Placing his hands on his son's shoulders, Henry continued in a more gentle tone of voice. "Son, the Nazi party isn't just another political faction that will rise and fall. It's an evil force that must be stopped. I don't want to lose you, but I know this is something that must be done. And if you feel the same way, then don't worry about me. Just do what you must."
"Thanks, Dad. I guess I just needed to hear you say that," said Indy, taking his father's left hand in his. "I needed you to know that I'm not running out on you again, that this is something I have to do."
"Don't worry, I know. And try not to look so glum. Dark days are ahead, but great heroes will arise to to defeat the evil that it represents. You can be one of them."
"Me, Dad? I'm no hero. I'm just an archaeologist. Just a man," said Indy, nearly overwhelmed by the responsibilities he'd accepted, the responsibilities that were now weighing down his shoulders.
"A man who completed the legendary Quest for the Holy Grail and saved his father's life, don't forget," said his father, his solemn voice simultaneously both loving and commanding. "Just be careful out there. It's going to be a new Golden Age, Son, and I'm proud that you're going to be a part of it."
Reassured, Indy nonetheless responded with a wisecrack statement, trying to show his father that he wasn't afraid, even though he was.
"Why do I get the feeling that this new Golden Age of yours is going to be the end of me?"
***
End of Indiana Jones and the Golden Age #01
***
Dave's Homepage
http://home.hawaii.rr.com/shaxberd/
"A New Golden Age"
******************
INDIANA JONES AND THE GOLDEN AGE #01
Written and Edited by D. David Lee
The YesterYear Fan Fiction Group acknowledges that names, concepts, and images of characters used here and ALL related characters may be owned by others and that said owners retain complete rights to said characters. These names, concepts, and images are used WITHOUT permission for NO PROFIT, but rather a strong desire to peer into the potential these characters have in a combined setting. This also acknowledges that original concepts presented here are the intellectual property of the author.
***
April, 1938
Only nine years have passed since the stock market crash of 1929 that precipitated the Great Depression, the lowest depths of which struck in 1933. The world is in turmoil. France's Chautemps government has recently fallen, and Leon Blum has just resigned under pressure, leaving Edouard Daladier as the head of a new, Radical Socialist cabinet. Less than a month has passed since Austria was annexed by the Third Reich. The Japanese have taken Qingdao, and London has announced the postponement of Palestine's partition, moving some 25,000 British troops to the area. The economy in the United States now well on the road to recovery thanks to the relief provided by New Deal policies, the United States government has only recently begun examining the world situation more closely.
***
The secretaries typed nervously and tried not to look at each other as the shouting continued, growing louder and louder with each passing second. Occasionally, the harsh voices were accentuated by the sounds of loud thumps as fists were slammed into desks. Eventually, the argument was brought to an end with the sound of a door being slammed shut. Scowling, a man stormed out of the Dean's office, fedora in hand. Some of the secretaries were glad to see him go, but most of them watched him go with longing in their eyes.
"Blasted bureaucrat! Doesn't know a damned thing about anything but rules and regulations! To hell with him! To hell with everything!" he yelled as he stormed off. Stepping into his own office, he slammed that door shut as well with enough force to shake the entire office, knocking several books and oddities to the floor. Pulling out a cardboard box, he started packing his things and clearing his desk. The name on the door of his office read: 'Dr. Henry Jones, Jr., Professor of Archaeology.'
The string of curses soon gave way to mumbled epithets and sighs of resignation. After all, he'd brought this on himself, and the Dean was only doing his job. That's what he got for gallivanting off every year to God-knows-where after artifacts that most people didn't even believe existed: the Ark of the Covenant; the Cross of Coronado; the Holy Grail.
For any other archaeologist, the acquisition of any one of these artifacts would have marked the pinnacle of an entire career, but for Indiana Jones, they were only stepping stones on a path to fortune and glory that had brought him little real happiness. After all, the artifact itself wasn't nearly as important as the process by which it was recovered, not in archaeological terms. Indeed, he sometimes felt that he was more pirate than archaeologist.
As he continued with the packing of his belongings, he heard a soft knocking at his door. "Dr. Jones? I'm sorry to disturb you, but there are some men out here who would like to have a word with you," said his secretary. She knew that it was a bad time for visitors, and she said the words quietly and reservedly.
"Tell them I'm busy," replied Indy irritatedly, wanting nothing more than to be left alone with his own thoughts.
"I'm sorry, sir, but these men refuse to be kept waiting, and I don't think they take no for an answer," continued his secretary with just a hint of urgency. His curiosity peaked, Indy opened his office door to reveal two men in pin-striped suits wearing wingtips, trying to look intimidating. Obviously, they worked for the government.
"Federal agents, huh? What do you want this time?" asked Indy, more irritated than amused.
Looking at each other with confused expressions beggaring an answer to an unasked question: "How the hell did he know we work for the government?"
***
In a few minutes, Indy was back in his office, leaning back in his chair with his feet propped up on his desk, and the two federal agents, Robinson and Gallagher, were seated facing him. Indy had his hands folded behind his head, and his fedora perched over his eyes. Maybe he was pretending they weren't really there.
"Unless you're here to give me back the Ark, we have nothing to discuss," said Indy, his tone indicating clearly that he was going to reply in the negative to whatever they were about to propose.
"The what?" Confused looks on their faces, the two Federal agents had no idea what Indy was talking about. "Before we begin, Dr. Jones, I must advise that what we're about to say should be considered top secret and a matter of national security," said Robinson, who was shorter and older than his partner.
"Yeah, yeah, what else is new," said Jones, not surprised.
"Dr. Jones, we're here on behalf of your government to ask for your assistance," said Robinson. "It's our understanding that you're something of an expert on Nazi activities."
"Nazis? I hate those guys," said Indy, not thinking about what he was saying.
"Then perhaps you'd be willing to assist us in obtaining some covert intelligence. The President is very concerned about events taking place abroad, in particular the German annexation of Austria. Our information indicates that fascist powers in Europe are planning to take over the entire continent, and the President believes that they may be setting their sights on the Americas as well."
"What are you saying? That the Nazis are planning to declare war on all of Europe?" asked Indy, pulling his feet off the desk and sitting up to look the two agents in the eyes.
"No, Dr. Jones. I'm saying that the Nazis are going to declare war on Europe before year's end," said Robinson, his tone matter-of-fact and his bearing completely deadpan.
"If you already know that, then what do you need me for?" asked Indy, slightly confused.
"We need ta know whether the Germans are really gonna try and take over the Stars & Stripes," said Gallagher, speaking for the first time, his thick, urban accent grating on Indy's nerves almost instantly. "And Uncle Sam needs you to finds out and let him know."
Wrinkling his brow, Indy just glared at the two agents. "So what you're saying is that all of Europe's about to erupt in war, and the United States won't get involved unless we're going to become a target, too," said Indy, his ire apparent.
Gallagher just crossed his arms and licked his lips while Robinson coughed uncomfortably into his hand. They looked at each other nervously for the briefest of seconds before responding. "We're saying nothing of the kind, and I suggest that you not repeat such wild hypotheses outside this office. All we're saying is that America needs this information to know how to respond, and you're the perfect man for the job."
"How do you figure that?" asked Indy, his tone indicating suspicion on his part.
"We know about the intelligence work you did on behalf of the Belgian army during the last war, and according to your profile, you're fluent in most European languages, not to mention several non-European languages. You also have contacts all around the world, and you're reputation as an archaeologist provides the perfect cover. Suffice it to say, Dr. Jones, that you are uniquely qualified for this operation."
Taking on a cynical tone, Indy decided to get down to business as well. "You've certainly been doing your homework, but what's in it for me?" he asked.
"The good feeling that comes from doing right by your country," said Gallagher, causing both Indy and Robinson to roll their eyes.
"We will also arrange an emeritus position for you at the University of Chicago," offered Robinson. "You'll need the academic clout to operate effectively. Certain monetary rewards will also be forthcoming, of course."
Indy just stared Robinson hard in the eyes, not saying anything, waiting for the man to break.
"Ahem. I have also been instructed to inform you that a certain artifact will be returned to your possession at the conclusion of this mission or the conclusion of the war, whichever occurs second. I was told that you would know what these words meant," said Robinson, hoping that Jones would oblige him with more information. He hated being kept in the dark.
Indy just sat there, considering the offer for a few minutes before finally responding. "Tell your boss that I'll think about it."
Standing up, Robinson presented his card. "Very well, Dr. Jones, but be sure to contact me before week's end. I trust that the President can look forward to your cooperation." With that, they walked out, finally leaving Indy alone with his thoughts. Five minutes later, Indy walked out of his office as well, deciding that he'd just send for his things later.
He had a plane to catch to New York, and quite a bit to consider.
***
New York City: Airport
Two older gentlemen were sitting at the airport's disembarkation gate, one of them bearded, the other not, but both impeccably-dressed in finely-tailored suits.
"You know, Junior should have been here over half an hour ago," said the bearded man, a mild Scottish accent making itself evident. "If he doesn't get here soon, we may be late for the opening."
"Oh, don't worry, Henry, I'm sure Indy will be here soon. Aeronautics is not quite a precise science yet. They're always a few minutes early or late, but they do say that flying will one day be the safest way to travel," said his companion, checking his watch.
"Marcus, must you refer to Junior by that ridiculous nickname he seems so fond of?" asked Henry. He'd come to accept the fact that his son had adopted the name of the family dog, but he still didn't like it. To his way of thinking, it was a highly disreputable practice for a scholar.
"Well, I'm sorry, Henry, but I've been calling him Indy since he was sixteen years old. I'm afraid it's become something of a habit, and at my age, changing one's older habits can be a very dangerous thing. Once you do, you start forgetting things," said Marcus, turning his head left and right in confusion. "What were we talking about again?" he asked.
"Never mind," said Henry. "It's not important. Look, here comes Junior now."
Suitcase in hand, Indiana Jones stepped through the gate and walked over to the two men he respected most in this world. "Hey, Dad. Marcus. Sorry I'm late, but we ran into some heavy turbulence over New Jersey." Hesitating momentarily, he then stepped forward to give both his father and Marcus a hug.
Slightly uncomfortable with the public display of affection, Dr. Henry Jones awkwardly returned his son's embrace whereas Marcus returned it readily. It pained him that Marcus had a better relationship with his son than he did, but he was glad that the gulf between them was slowly being bridged.
"Well, come along, then. The opening starts in less than an hour. We'll have just enough time to go back to the hotel and change into our tuxedos. The Park awaits."
***
New York City: Tryon Park
Tryon Park stretched across both sides of the Hudson, providing the people of New York with unobstructed views of the river, the beautiful gardens, and the terraces. The land had been graciously donated by John D. Rockefeller prior to his death the previous year, and a gala was being held this evening to commemorate another such donation.
"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. As my father always said, there is nothing more despicable and pathetic than a man who devotes all the hours of the waking day to the making of money for money's sake. While he lived, he devoted half of his wealth to innumerable charitable projects, and I only wish he could have lived long enough to see this particular project completed," said John D. Rockefeller, Jr., stepping towards an elaborate rope, hanging from the side of a velvet drape.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you 'the Cloisters,' a proud addition to the Metropolitan Museum of Art that will serve as a showcase for some of the world's greatest art treasures." With that, he pulled on the rope, releasing the drapes surrounging the banquet area, revealing an exquisite unicorn tapestry and a medieval European nunnery. His words and actions were greeted by resounding applause, including that of Dr. Henry Jones and his party.
"Now there's a man who's proud to be called Junior," said Henry, raising his glass of champagne.
"Dad, would you give it a rest?" said Indy, raising his glass as well.
"Cheers," completed Marcus, and with that, they clinked their glasses together, helping themselves to some of the best champagne that money could buy. Looking around, the three scholars could hardly continence the exquisiteness of the detail or the tranquil beauty of their temporally-misplaced surroundings.
Somewhere in the Park, a piano started playing "Sing Sing Sing," a song that was now all the rage in New York. Seeing that all of society's elite was present, Indy had no doubt that Jess Stacy himself was the unseen pianist. When he finally placed the piano, he saw that his guess was correct and excused himself, wanting to greet the famous musician in person. As he approached, he saw other guests already hovering around the piano, one of them a very beautiful woman.
"Hello, I don't believe I've had the pleasure," said Indy, taking the young lady's hand and kissing it. "I'm sure I'd remember having met such a lovely young lady."
"Why, aren't you the charmer, Dr. Jones," she said. "Are you enjoying this little get-together?"
"I'm sorry, but you seem to have me at a disadvantage," said Indy, smiling.
"Diane Palmer," said the young lady, returning his smile playfully. "The young man behind you, holding the drinks, is my escort for the evening."
Indy turned his head just in time to see a young man walk by and hand a glass of champagne to Miss Palmer, extending his hand in greeting. "It's an honor to meet you, Dr. Jones. I studied some of your papers while I was at University, and I've always wanted to make your acquaintance. My name is Kit Walker."
"Please, call me Indy," he said, taking the young man's hand. "I can't abide formalities."
"Thank you... Indy," said Kit, his vocal chords stumbling over the odd nickname, unusual for a world-reknowned professor. "And please, call me Kit."
"The music is wonderful, isn't it?" asked Diane. "I've always loved Swing, but it's only been considered socially acceptable since Mr. Goodman introduced it at Carnegie Hall this past January. Did you get a chance to see that concert?"
"No, but I wish I had. It's not every day that you get to see Benny Goodman, Count Basie, Duke Ellington, and Jess Stacy play together," said Indy, true regret in his voice. "A friend of mine named Jack Shannon told me all about it, though, the lucky stiff. He had a front row seat."
"That's because talented musicians stick together," said an unfamiliar voice. Indy turned to see that he was being addressed by Jess Stacy himself.
"You, sir, have one of the greatest right hands I've ever heard or seen on a set of ivories," said Indy, shaking the man's hand with vigor. "I assume you already know Miss Palmer and Kit Walker?"
"Yes, they've been kind enough to frequent my concerts. And you must be Indiana Jones. If half the stories that Jack tells about you are true, it's an honor to meet you, too," said Stacy, smiling warmly. "And he says you play a mean baby sax to boot."
"That was a few lifetimes ago, I'm afraid," said Indy, embarassed by the complimentary remarks. "But it's nice to know that Jack still thinks about me. Would you mind walking with me? I'd like to introduce you to my father."
***
The evening was over all too quickly. A magical combination of society, culture, and art, the entire affair had been flawlessly-executed. Indeed, Marcus, Indy, and his father had been almost loathe to retire to their hotel suite, but retire they did. Indeed, Marcus was already fast asleep.
"Dad, can I talk to you about something?" asked Indy, sitting down on one of the beds in the room they shared. "It's important, but it's also top secret."
"Top secret? What do you mean?" asked his father, wanting to know exactly what was going on in the life of his son, especially if danger was indicated. "Do you mean top secret as in something you want to keep just between us?"
"I mean top secret as in national security. The government wants me to do something for them, and I'm not sure whether or not I should," said Indy. "I've kind of been looking forward to spending some time with you, but if I take this assignment, I'm going to have to spend a lot of time overseas. I don't know how long it will take, and I can't say for certain whether I'll make it back. I wish I could give you some details, but I can't."
"You're not certain whether you should do this thing? Or not certain whether you want to do this thing? Junior, there is a difference between the two," said his father, his tone automatically taking on the fatherly quality that had been inherent to every lecture he'd ever given his son.
"Alright, Dad, I don't know if I want to do this," said Indy, trying hard not to fidget. This feeling was all-too-familiar, and he didn't like it any more now than he did as a child living under his father's roof.
"It's something to do with the Nazis, isn't it?" asked his father, his tone now more serious. When Indy didn't answer, he knew his guess to be correct. "Junior... Son... Indiana..., sometimes all it takes for evil to succeed is for good men to do nothing. I've received some very disturbing letters from colleagues in Europe about goings on. German Jews being deported, their synagogues looted and burned."
Extremely agitated by the topic of discussion, Indy's father started pacing. "By all accounts, Austrian Jews have also had their civil rights and livelihoods stripped from them, and Italy has enacted anti-Jewish legislation as well."
Placing his hands on his son's shoulders, Henry continued in a more gentle tone of voice. "Son, the Nazi party isn't just another political faction that will rise and fall. It's an evil force that must be stopped. I don't want to lose you, but I know this is something that must be done. And if you feel the same way, then don't worry about me. Just do what you must."
"Thanks, Dad. I guess I just needed to hear you say that," said Indy, taking his father's left hand in his. "I needed you to know that I'm not running out on you again, that this is something I have to do."
"Don't worry, I know. And try not to look so glum. Dark days are ahead, but great heroes will arise to to defeat the evil that it represents. You can be one of them."
"Me, Dad? I'm no hero. I'm just an archaeologist. Just a man," said Indy, nearly overwhelmed by the responsibilities he'd accepted, the responsibilities that were now weighing down his shoulders.
"A man who completed the legendary Quest for the Holy Grail and saved his father's life, don't forget," said his father, his solemn voice simultaneously both loving and commanding. "Just be careful out there. It's going to be a new Golden Age, Son, and I'm proud that you're going to be a part of it."
Reassured, Indy nonetheless responded with a wisecrack statement, trying to show his father that he wasn't afraid, even though he was.
"Why do I get the feeling that this new Golden Age of yours is going to be the end of me?"
***
End of Indiana Jones and the Golden Age #01
***
Dave's Homepage
http://home.hawaii.rr.com/shaxberd/