everything streamlined
"These stairs aren't supposed to be this slick," Great-Uncle Ford says.
Dipper stands at the edge of the sunken stairwell to the bunker, its segmented steps descending into the dank earth. It's a decidedly soggier sight than it had been last time; the frequent rains have soaked the soil and the stairs.
Ford tosses a small rock down the stairwell and is rewarded with a tinny splash. "Looks like the hermetic layer is no longer impermeable," he notes. "I can see the water coming in at the seam. Something else we can thank Greg for, I suspect."
"Gosh, Greg…" Mabel sighs, shaking her head with vast disappointment.
"Ugh. That guy," Pacifica mutters.
Dipper, Mabel, and Pacifica are accompanying Ford as he takes stock of the bunker. He's been so busy setting up his renovated subbasement laboratory that this is the first time he's visited his secondary facility. Dipper and Mabel eagerly volunteered for the job; Pacifica did not. However, she had also been quite unenthused at the prospect of an afternoon alone.
"Didn't McGucket design most of this?" Dipper says. "Maybe we should call him."
"I've spoken with him already," Ford says. "He wished me all the best, but he wasn't interested in revisiting this particular project. I can't say I blame him. He had a very traumatic experience down here; I'm not sure how much of it he remembers, but he's better off remembering it somewhere else."
Dipper frowns, concerned. "Is he still…?"
Ford sighs, a sudden sadness passing over his features. "I can't say for certain how much is left of the man I knew. But then, how much is left of me? We've both had a hard thirty years. I just count myself lucky to be his friend again."
Once more, Dipper finds himself tiptoeing around the weight of decades. What can he say in the face of it? He wants a fun outing, not for Great-Uncle Ford to keep tripping over old pain.
"Well, I think— WHOOPS." Mabel's feet go out from under her and she slides down the wooden steps, hitting her bottom on each one successively while letting out a steady stream of noise. "Uh-uh-uh-uh-uh-uh-uh-uh-uh-uh— WOO that's cold! This water is cold, guys! Super cold on my butt!"
"Careful, Mabel!" Ford hurries down the steps, his troubled past instantly forgotten. "How cold? Are you at risk of hypothermia?"
"Nah, but I am at risk of hypo-wormia. Look at all these dead worms!"
Dipper ducks his head to hide his smile; he knows a deliberate pratfall from his sister when he sees it.
He puts his foot out to take the first step and is stopped dead when Pacifica catches him by the arm. "Slowly," she instructs him. "You've fallen enough already."
"I fell once," he objects.
"Yeah, and that's enough."
He rolls his eyes and starts the descent. He quickly realizes his nonchalance is far from warranted; the wood is saturated beneath his shoes, slick and almost soapy. He puts one hand on the wall and takes his time, unwilling to utilize the Mabel method.
"Poor little worms," Mabel is saying mournfully when Dipper reaches the flooded floor. "A whole generation lost at sea."
When they enter the base of the hollow tree and descend into the spiral cavity below, the situation isn't much improved. A steady stream of water follows them down, streaking the central column as tiny rivulets dance along the steps.
"The seal on the upper door isn't fully intact," Ford explains. "Not surprising, given that it's exposed to surface weather."
Fortunately, the water at the bottom isn't deep. There's only about an inch or so. Much less fortunately, this is because the circular stairwell leads directly into the first room of the bunker, so most of the water has gathered there. The drain in the center of the room did its work, but it's clogged with leaf particles. There's a wide path of water leading to the drain and a big wet circle around it. The room smells extremely musty.
Ford surveys the damage philosophically. "Well, it was bound to happen eventually. After thirty years without maintenance, we're lucky to have access at all."
Most of the objects in the room are either sealed or on legs high enough to avoid water damage. The bed is dry, as are all the objects on the high shelves. The cabinet of weaponry looks a little rustier around its lower portions, but it's hard to tell. The shelf of supplies is intact, save for the bottommost boxes, which are crumpled and wet.
Dipper reexamines the room with a new perspective. Its mystery has been largely dispelled through the revelations of last summer. Before, every object and detail had seemed a tantalizing clue. It's embarrassing to remember how obsessively he had read into even the most mundane and simple things.
Of course, a lot of what he'd been obsessed with had turned out to be pretty darn important.
His primary past obsession is currently digging a towel for Mabel out of a cabinet. "A little dusty, but still dry," Ford says, handing it to her.
Pacifica is poking around with mild interest. "What are all these boxes?" she asks, pointing at the shelf with the date-marked supplies.
Ford turns his attention to her. "Rations, primarily. After I discovered Bill's true intentions, I panicked. I stocked this room with supplies in the event Weirdmageddon came to pass. Of course, most of the precautionary features were in fact added by Fiddleford; I wanted another lab, and he built a bunker. He was far more prescient than I."
Pacifica counts the boxes. "Supplies for sixty years?"
"Yes, that may have been… rather optimistic."
Dipper finds himself slightly piqued when considering how close he had been to revealing everything down here. If there had just been a single document with Ford's name on it, maybe mixed in with more of his research, or some clue connecting the bunker to the Shack's hidden lab… Instead, the only clue he found led him to McGucket, a man incapable of revealing a truth he had erased from his own mind.
"I was so close," Dipper sighs.
"What's that?" Ford asks.
"When I found this place, I thought for sure I'd figure out who you were." Dipper shakes his head. "But all I ended up with was McGucket's laptop. Those government agents beat me to the truth, and I'd been working on it all summer!"
Ford smiles ruefully. "I don't think this will make you feel better, but you were even closer than you know."
He goes over to a back corner of the room, a section hidden in shadow behind several large pipes. There's another metal cabinet mounted there; Dipper remembers checking inside of it and finding nothing but spare parts for the bunker's water and ventilation systems. Ford reaches up to the top of the cabinet and interacts with something that Dipper can't see; there's a loud click, the sound of a latch springing open. Ford pulls on one of the opened cabinet doors and the cabinet swings away from the wall on hidden hinges. Behind it is a flat steel shutter.
Dipper's mouth drops open. "Are you serious?!"
"Isolating the bunker was necessary, given its intended purpose of containing specimens. But getting power and other utilities out here proved difficult to do in secret even with Fiddleford erasing the memories of the workers, which I was unaware of at the time. I also wanted a way to control the bunker remotely if necessary, and to have emergency access if the surface was inaccessible. That last point became even more important later on, for obvious reasons," Ford says.
The steel shutter is protected by a flat combination lock. Ford spins the dial with a finger until another click is heard. He reaches down and slides the shutter up, revealing a circular entrance. He extracts a flashlight from a coat pocket and shines it within.
"See for yourself," he says to Dipper.
Dipper approaches and looks inside. The tunnel is extremely small and lined with cables that snake off into complete darkness. Someone could crawl through, but it would be a very claustrophobic trip.
"This runs all the way back to the lab," Ford tells him. "It comes out below the subbasement in the maintenance area and drainage system. It's well-hidden behind some false piping."
Dipper wants to break something. "I can't believe I missed this. I was so close."
Ford pats him on the shoulder. "Don't be too hard on yourself. When I finally discovered the truth about the portal, I went to great lengths to obscure this tunnel; I even had plans to wire it with explosives so I could collapse it if necessary."
Dipper supposes if the Shape Shifter never found it in however much time it had been roaming free, then Dipper probably isn't too much of an idiot for not finding it in one day. Still, it is frustrating. All his efforts—all those sleepless nights—and in the end he'd stumbled into the truth through circumstances he hadn't remotely imagined.
Mabel and Pacifica have busied themselves taking selfies and other assorted pictures which are no doubt destined for the scrapbook. Ford returns to the center of the room and surveys it with his hands clasped at his back.
"Still structurally sound," he says, pleased. "This won't be as much work as I feared."
Dipper stands beside his great-uncle. "What's next?"
"It's high time I joined the twenty-first century," Ford says decisively. "No more vacuum tubes and floppy disks. If we're going to plumb the secrets of this valley, we're going to need all the technological edge we can get. We need to upgrade, Dipper. A full overhaul."
Dipper is way onboard. "Yeah! I can teach you to use Linux, if you'd like."
"I'd appreciate it. However, we'll be limited in our renovations until we can secure funding." Ford grimaces.
That brings Dipper up short. "Uh… Well, since Grunkle Stan is running the Mystery Shack, isn't that the business side of things? I mean, it's your house, too…"
"Stanley is doing surprisingly well—which never fails to baffle me, given the nature of the enterprise." Obviously, Ford still has some issues with the cheap, kitschy, and morally questionable nature of Stan's business. "Regardless, Stan could furnish us with some new computer hardware; perhaps some of the do-it-yourself circuit kits Soos was showing me on the internet. But specialized scientific equipment would be beyond his budget. Or at least beyond whatever we could pry out of him." He flashes a quick smile in Dipper's direction. "I won't bankrupt Stanley's venture for only a portion of what I need, especially now that we've… well. I can't put a price on what we've rebuilt over the last year, not to mention everything else that I…"
After a pause, he reaches out and squeezes Dipper's shoulder, the gesture saying everything his words imply. Dipper leans into it, his heart swelling.
Ford clears his throat awkwardly, clearly uncomfortable with his own emotions. "Very good. So, I say let the Shack pay for our meals and other comforts while we seek funding elsewhere for our scientific pursuits."
An idea occurs to Dipper, like a lightbulb over his head—appropriate, given its nature. "What about the lightbulb you made for the kitchen, the one that makes your skin softer and lasts for a thousand years? I bet you could patent that and sell it!" In fact, Dipper thinks it would probably make Ford quite rich.
"I'd need to design a way to mass produce it. If something isn't cost effective, it's destined to remain a novelty." Ford gazes pensively at nothing in particular. "In order to patent or begin marketing my work, I would have to reveal my existence to the government. It's this point I've been the most ambivalent about. On one hand, I might secure a government grant. On the other, they're going to have a lot of questions I'm not prepared to answer. The last thing we need is some careless agency researching Bill or trying to build a portal themselves."
"Don't they still think you're Stan?"
"Yes, but increased scrutiny could dispel that quickly enough. To be clear, it's not my identity that matters. What matters is keeping outside forces away from Gravity Falls. Most of the inventions I handed over while I still had my grant money were side projects intended to ensure I wouldn't be cut loose. I never shared any of my research."
"I guess the world probably isn't ready for that," Dipper concurs.
"Not just the world—we aren't ready. We need more data, more evidence; not merely a collection of supernatural odds and ends, but a theoretical framework in which to fit them. We know what Gravity Falls is, Dipper. We must determine how it is, and why it is."
Dipper isn't any more eager to have a swarm of government agents and scientists descend on the valley than his great-uncle is. Government funding would definitely be nice, but the cost could easily prove too much to bear. There's always something in the fine print. And what if other interested parties aren't as careful as Ford is?
Maybe this impulse is selfish. Maybe it's just that Dipper and Great-Uncle Ford aren't willing to share. But haven't they earned it? No one knows more about Weirdness than Ford. No one is in a better position, with better experience, than Dipper and Ford. Is it wrong to think of it as their work, and theirs alone?
Dipper isn't sure. All he knows is that there's nowhere else in the world like Gravity Falls, and the valley needs to be protected.
Well, okay, maybe it doesn't need to be protected; after all, it has protected itself quite well for the entirety of human history. Dipper is so used to thinking of Weirdmageddon as having been contained that it's easy to forget the outside world had in turn been kept out. But the extent and limitations of the valley's ability to hold off the wider world has yet to be established. Powers, Trigger, and all their lackeys represent a worrying anomaly.
"That is why upgrading is so vital," Ford continues. "The last thirty years have provided the technology needed to move forward. Even if I hadn't fallen through the portal, I would have remained stymied in the 80s, and quite possibly even through the 90s. Only now can I replicate, or at least build an equivalent to, some of the devices I came across in my travels." Ford's eyes grow distant. "Fiddleford once collected my work and urged me to publish it instead of pressing on with the portal. I should have heeded him regarding the portal; however, publishing the work would have been premature. I suppose my absence has a silver lining of sorts. …Still. I find it difficult to embrace the bright side of the affair." Ford shakes himself slightly, his eyes clearing. His voice regains its usual briskness. "We'll inventory the equipment here and see if there's anything worth salvaging. Based on what I've seen of today's personal computers, several rooms' worth of consoles can be discarded in favor of a single laptop. Efficiency, Dipper! That's our goal for now. We have space, power, and ingenuity. The funding can come later."
At times like these, it's all Dipper can do to contain his excitement. Here he is, just a thirteen-year-old, and he gets to be part of the cutting edge! He has a role in a real scientific endeavor, in something absolutely monumental. How is this his life?
Mabel and Pacifica must have finished documenting the room for the scrapbook, because they reconvene nearby. "Are we going through the room with the crazy wall things?" Mabel asks.
"Ah, yes, Fiddleford's overly elaborate security trap," Ford says. "I didn't have the heart to tell him no, though at the time I felt it was a bit much. Onward!"
They pass through the strange room with its deadly constricting columns, making sure to point out the trigger tile for Pacifica's sake. On the other side is the observation area, its monitors now powered, Dipper presumes, by the Quantum Destabilizer generator. As Mabel gives Pacifica an impromptu tour, Dipper follows Ford over to the consoles.
"Tapedrives," Ford says, pointing out the reel-to-reel equipment. "Obsolete even when we were building this place, but we made do with whatever we could get our hands on. Not worth saving; we'll have better options for keeping records. Now, the surveillance system we may want to leave, if only because I doubt we can afford to replace it."
"Um, before we just toss everything, there's actually a market for old computer tech. Like, collectors and stuff, people who refurbish these things for a hobby or for museums," Dipper informs him.
"Good heavens. I really have been gone for a long time," Ford mutters, looking briefly discombobulated. "Very well, we'll keep that in mind. We should keep Fiddleford in the loop as well; he custom built a fair portion of this equipment and he may wish to hold on to some of it."
"Hey, Pacifica, check out this robo-shower!" Mabel calls to the other girl.
"Just because you're already soaked doesn't mean I want to get wet," Pacifica says.
"There's a switch inside that can disable the decontamination procedure; upper left, I believe," Ford tells them absentmindedly as he unscrews a panel.
Ford's apparent lack of concern is not shared by Dipper, who vividly remembers exactly what lies on the other side of that 'closet.' "I think you should wait until we can all go together," he says to the girls.
Pacifica seems willing to take his advice, though she does stick her head inside the chamber. "Where does this go?"
"A bunch of creepy old tunnels!" Mabel says happily.
Pacifica withdraws, her expression unenthusiastic. "I don't know. We've seen a lot of creepy tunnels already."
"Yeah, but these tunnels have a popsicle monster!"
Pacifica squints, probably trying to imagine such a thing.
Mabel helpfully adds, "It's not a monster made of popsicles, it's a monster frozen like a popsicle."
"Oh. Okay, that makes a lot more sense."
Ford slots the panel back into the console and makes a note in his journal. "Since we can't replace the whole observation system, we'll have to replace these bulbs. I may have some back at the lab."
With inventory taken of the observation room, they all crowd into the decontamination chamber, which is just large enough for them to squeeze into, though Pacifica ends up smushed against Dipper, which he's cool with. The door opens to reveal the branching tunnels, unchanged since last summer. The group click on their flashlights, illuminating the dusty floor and uneven walls.
"Did the Shape Shifter dig all these?" Dipper asks Ford.
"I assume so. This main path was excavated by us, but I'm not familiar with the rest," Ford says, using the beam of his flashlight to indicate the side tunnels forking off into the darkness. He raises his light to examine some of the nearby pipes. "Looks like our shifting friend made quite a mess. I wish I knew how he got out in the first place."
Dipper notices that Mabel and Pacifica have already gone ahead, close to disappearing around the next corner. "You said the Shape Shifter is the only specimen, right?"
"Yes, and the cryogenic tube is still active and occupied. We're alone down here. I know the earth looks permeable, but that's true only up to a point. This whole cavern is surrounded by bedrock, and what little of it isn't bedrock is steel and reinforced concrete," Ford assures him.
Dipper nods, relaxing a bit. The Shape Shifter had been the only threat down here (give or take some constricting walls), and as long as it's still frozen the area should be safe.
A second later, a scream echoes through the tunnels, and that comforting thought goes out the window.
Dipper charges towards the sound, Great-Uncle Ford hot on his heels. He rounds the corner and finds Pacifica and Mabel standing in front of the cryogenic tubes. For a moment, he fears the worst; however, it appears that the tube containing the Shape Shifter is still active.
Pacifica stands before the chamber, so still it's as if she herself is frozen; her eyes are huge, and her hands are fisted in the bottom of her shirt.
Mabel is just behind her, speaking quickly. "I'm sorry, I forgot. It's okay, it's the blob monster, it's not him. Pacifica, I'm sorry."
"Wha— what…" Pacifica gasps.
"Oh, crap," Dipper says, understanding, entirely too late, what's just happened.
The fog behind the glass is a little difficult to see through, but the outline of the shape within is unmistakable, as is the gleaming hat of ice perched on its head. Dipper thinks the freakiest thing about his frozen double is the smooth, pupilless expanse of its eyeballs. It seems to be staring at everything and nothing.
Ford approaches the cryogenic tube, eyebrows raised. "Now this is unexpected."
"I know. I kind of put it out of my head because—" Halfway through his sentence, Dipper realizes he needs to straighten out his apologizing priority. He turns to Pacifica and gently wraps his hands around her wrists; she is still staring at the tube in horror. "It's not me. The Shape Shifter was messing with me and got frozen that way. I'm sorry. I should have said something."
Pacifica does not look away from the tube. "Why does it look exactly like you did when the ghost turned you to wood?" she says in a tone which is riding the edge of hysteria.
"It does?" Dipper doesn't know what to make of that. "Uh… Great-Uncle Ford, does the Shape Shifter have any kind of precognition?"
"Not that I'm aware," Ford says. He's sketching in his journal, clearly fascinated by the Shape Shifter's final choice of form. "Granted, it would be a difficult thing to know unless he chose to tell me."
Mabel's eyes meet Dipper's, her expression broadcasting a loud and clear 'we goofed.' Dipper winces in silent agreement. Pacifica is tough and prideful, but she carries more than her share of trauma, and Dipper knows watching everyone else be turned to wood is something that's stuck with her. It probably would have stuck with him, too, had he not been rendered insensate.
He takes Pacifica by the shoulders and turns her away from the tube. "I know it's weird and I know we should have said something, but it's just the Shape Shifter. He was trying to mess with me after we trapped him in there."
To his shock, she slips free of his grasp and backs away from him, those startlingly blue eyes narrowed in distrust. "Tell me something only the real Dipper would know," she demands.
He opens his mouth with the intention to argue, then rethinks the impulse. It's not like Pacifica is wrong to be paranoid. Heck, this is something he should probably encourage, given the trouble they get into on a weekly basis.
"The second time you came to see me, I went out to get you at the curb. You made fun of me for not wearing any socks," Dipper says. He meets her gaze directly, with honesty and affection. "I didn't put any on because I was in a hurry to get out there. It was cold, and you looked like you were in bad shape. You were like, 'you can't even afford socks?' But I felt better just to hear you say anything normal, like maybe things weren't as bad as it seemed."
The tension leaves her shoulders. "He's not a Shape Shifter," she informs the others.
Mabel chortles on the sidelines. "Dipper can afford socks—he just never washes them!"
Ford snaps his journal shut. "For future reference, I regularly scan all occupants of the Shack for biological variations, and I'd be aware if there was a doppelganger on the loose. But it's good to see you have your own methods of verification, should they be required." He checks his watch. "Stanley made me promise to have you back in time for that low budget duck show. We should probably head for the surface."
Mabel eagerly follows Great-Uncle Ford back towards the exit, quacking loudly in anticipation. Dipper moves to do the same but stops when he sees Pacifica staring at the cryogenic tube again with haunted eyes.
Dipper sighs quietly. He really dropped the ball on this one. In his defense, last summer he had tried pretty hard not to think about the Shape Shifter's final form; and the moment had eventually been blotted out beneath even greater terrors. He doesn't know what to think about the Shape Shifter accurately capturing his eventual petrification. How is that possible? It seems too specific to be coincidence, but maybe it is. Maybe it's just one of those seemingly impossible things.
Or maybe it's telling him something that he isn't understanding.
"I don't even remember being wood," Dipper tells Pacifica, hoping that might help. "Besides, you saved me, remember?"
It takes a second, but she looks away from Dipper's icy false-twin and seems to regain something approaching her usual attitude. She snatches his hand and walks quickly for the exit, pulling him after her.
"Let's get out of here before I have to save you again," she says grimly.
Dipper goes with her gamely enough, though he isn't quite placated. "Are you sure you're okay?" he says, sort of expecting her to snap at him.
"I'm fine," she replies curtly.
Dipper isn't sure if he believes her. Maybe he should; maybe she's more than earned the benefit of the doubt, after all she's weathered. But that whole thing with Mabel is still fresh in his mind, and he can't quite let himself trust that Pacifica really is fine.
He thinks he's going to have to talk to her about it. Yeah, he's sure of that, even if he isn't sure of anything else.
When the party emerges on the surface once more, the humid warmth of the forest settles over Dipper like an earthy blanket. He's struck by how immediate and alive the woods seem after the cool and quiet underneath. Squirrels skitter across low branches as birds sing somewhere overhead. He tramps over moss, rock, and root, knowing it isn't far to the Shack.
In his head he's setting out a conversation, designing the right time and place, hoping the right words will follow.
Everything Streamlined by Corm (Contrast, 1999)