"To make a long story short, I need you to fix him. I don't care how you do it or how long it takes, but the quicker the better. If you need money, parts, resources, whatever, just let me know and I'll make it happen."
Chell sits in the corner of a black leather upholstered sofa tucked against the southern wall of Cave Johnson's office. Considering the blinding white of the rest of the guildhall, she finds that the collection of old oak bookshelves clustered along the walls and the little stoneworked fireplace in the opposite corner of the room have created a rather cozy space. An ornate sapphire rug with various golden spring and gear designs unfurls from the room's center, ending a few feet short from the walls—homage to the clocktower, she supposes—and ample sunlight pours in from the ceilingward windows on every side. Thaddeus stands at her side by the armrest, still and silent in his attendance, and her wrench rests against the pearl white wall behind him. Cave himself sits in a wonderfully sculpted high-backed cherrywood chair behind a dark pine desk.
"I forgot to mention that you'll get paid for this." His hands are steepled together as he stares at her from across the room, his eyes a pale and stern hazel. "That usually sweetens things. You want money? However much you want. Sixty. One hundred and twenty. Three hundred. One thousand. Two. Ten. Doesn't matter. If you can fix him, you can have it, and you'll walk out of this place a rich woman. You could buy your own guildhall if you wanted. Or construct it from the ground up. Buy some land. Begin your own legacy as a new addition to Vaudeville's guildmasters. That would be something, wouldn't it?"
Chell is going to be honest with herself: the promise of cash would make her life a lot easier. With that kind of money, she could choose a place to settle down and concentrate on creating the things she really wants. She could buy an empty shop somewhere, start a business, build rapport with the community in Vaudeville. She could put her skills to good use instead of playing the role of a wandering mechanic, contracts and constructs for cash and meals. With that kind of money, she wouldn't have to worry about a damn thing.
The idea is tempting, but Chell has been around enough greedy thieves and frauds to know when there's a catch somewhere. No deal is as simple as this one is being offered. Something about this is poisoned, but she doesn't know what.
Folding her arms, she locks eyes with Cave and shakes her head.
"Are you serious?" Cave glances to Thaddeus. "Thaddy-boy, is she serious? Lady, you are turning down your whole future here. Think of all the things you could do. Seriously, think about it. Give it some thought. I can rise you up, give you power and money, make you a guildmaster, make you a prominent figure in Vaudevillian politics—anything you want. And you are turning that down. All of it. You can't be serious."
"I calculate a seriousness percentage of ninety-six point three three nine," says Thaddeus.
"I wasn't actually asking you," says Cave, scowling at the automaton. "And how could you possibly come up with that number? You can't read minds. I didn't make you like that. I don't even think that kind of tech exists."
"That is a fact," agrees Thaddeus, "but body language is a viable data element to incorporate when calculating these totals."
"Oh, shut up." Cave expels a noisy sigh and holds his head in his hands. "Look," he says, "don't go blabbing this everywhere, but I am… desperate. I need this done. Need. I want to put emphasis on that: need. When Cave Johnson needs something, it's serious, one hundred percent. Not ninety-whatever. Understand? Now, I know you're not from around here. That's fine. Plenty of people aren't. Can't help what you know and don't know when you're not a local. But you need—emphasis on need—to understand that this is a dire situation. I wouldn't have sent for you if it weren't. If he doesn't get fixed, bad things will happen to this city. Very bad things. Bad things I can't handle. And if I can't handle them, you can bet your bottom dollar none of the other guilds can handle them, either."
Cave slowly rises from his chair. He rests his hands on the wood of his desk, fingers splayed, one thumb absently drawing circles on the smooth surface. His brow is furrowed, his eyes are shut, and his mouth is a thin, firm line.
"Thaddy-boy tells me you had an incident just before he brought you here," he says. "Is that right?"
The chimera flashes into the forefront her mind. Jaws and teeth and claws and gushing steam and jet black eyes with a ravenous fire, and she remembers the shriek of metal against metal as Thaddeus somehow put an impossible hole through its hull. She remembers its heads lying on the ground, maws unhinged, and she remembers the dark trail of oil trickling down the grooves of the alley's cream colored cobblestone.
Chell nods.
"That thing you saw was a creature from Black Mesa," says Cave. He stares at her from his desk, and she can see the worry lines etched by the sides of his mouth and across his forehead. "Do you know what Black Mesa is?"
The name seems familiar. She can't put her finger on it. Perhaps it's something she's heard during one of her previous visits? Folks of all kinds visit the Cabaret, and she wouldn't be surprised if someone had been talking about it there, especially if it's a prominent rival guild.
Shrugging her shoulders, she shakes her head in reply.
"Ah. That's fine. I didn't expect you to."
Cave folds his hands together behind his back and paces leisurely toward the window behind his chair. As he gazes out at the sky and the various architecture of the guildhall below, Chell watches the golden flecks of dust motes float about him, fluttering through brilliant sunshafts.
"So here," he says. "I'll explain the situation and give you the lowdown. To keep things short, Black Mesa is a rival guild in Tiverton. They're a southern city. They've been on the rise the past several years because of their automatons. While their engineering is passable and obviously unique, they haven't quite cracked the secret to developing artificial intelligence. They can't make machines like Thaddy-boy here. And they want to. Why? Because it's a lucrative trade just waiting to be exploited. Cutthroat markets are cutthroat markets. Automatons like Thaddeus are invaluable. Priceless. I'm not kidding. They are literally priceless—they have no calculable price. They have unsurpassed strength, they have brains that can analyze and solve problems faster than you or I could ever imagine, and they don't have the needs or limits of a normal man, so their stamina is exemplary. And do you know what the most incredible thing is?"
Cave rounds the room with even strides, making his way to Thaddeus. When he reaches the automaton's side, Cave reaches up and strikes him full across the face. Chell flinches; the sound of ringing metal resounds throughout the room. She cranes her neck to look at Thaddeus, expecting some sort of response, but to her surprise, he remains as still as he was before. Completely unfazed.
"The most incredible thing? They don't feel. Not a damn thing. Physically or emotionally." Cave massages the back of his hand, wearing a proud grin as the flesh turns a battered red. "They would make the perfect soldiers—if someone ever wanted to use them for that purpose. Think of the armies. Just imagine it. Anyone with an army of machines like Thaddy-boy would completely dominate the competition. Dominate! And that's what Black Mesa is after. That power. That option. They want to turn their creations into hyper intelligent killing machines, and they want to dominate the competition."
Still nursing his hand, Cave meanders back over to his desk.
"So you see," he says, rubbing his knuckles, "they would pay an awful lot of money for someone to get their hands on a secret like that. An awful lot. We're talking fortunes here. You wouldn't believe how many screenings our applicants go through in order to even step inside this building. It's a lot. I've actually lost count. We've had too many Black Mesa infiltrators intent on stealing it, so we've had to restrict access. I think we've locked some key people out, actually. Should check into that. Either way, my current bunch of scientists and lab boys can barely do their jobs as it is. It's not really Aperture Science and Alchemy if you can't do science and alchemy, right?"
Chell frowns in thought. It's all a giant web of politics, then. Figures. She's too far removed from this place to understand exactly who stands where or who might be right or wrong; all she knows is what Cave is willing to tell her. She's inclined to believe him—why else would she have been plucked from the streets like this?—but something still whispers in the shell of her ear that something is wrong.
"The bottom line," says Cave, releasing a heavy exhale, "is that they want war. They've started releasing their chimeras into the city. You had one after you until Thaddy-boy intervened. Believe me, if he hadn't, you would have been dead. No question. We've kept their presence hushed and cleaned up the mess, but there's only so much we can do. Citizens will start getting killed if they haven't already. Black Mesa is ambitious; I have no doubt in my mind they'll do anything it takes in order to get what they want."
Cave sits down and leans back into his chair, tugging at the silk of his cravat. The window behind him casts shards of light by the armrests and onto the brown fabric of his waistcoat.
"So, this is where you come in. I have an automaton that was built with some new tech my boys from the lab found. This new tech is groundbreaking. We're talking a whole new potential energy source. It can be volatile if things aren't in the right condition, but hey, it's new, right? Why not give it a shot? So we stuck it in him, built him a whole new shiny outer shell and reworked his insides to meet those specific conditions and everything. But that's not the problem."
He laces his fingers, frowning at the surface of his desk. Chell can see the tendons pressing up against the skin on the backs of his hands.
"The problem is… something went wrong. See, every automaton has a uniquely built brain. They're all programmed differently, which makes them seem like they've got different personalities—which in a sense, they kind of do. Real neat stuff. You should check it out. Anyway, we have this information source that we use to upload information during and after the compilation process of their programming. And apparently there was a glitch in the system or… or something. Something happened. I don't know. A fluke in the weather. No idea. But now he doesn't have that feature that makes automatons so incredible. What use is a metal man that feels fear, anxiety, dread? What use is a walking weapon that's too afraid to fire? I'll tell you what: none. None at all. It's wasted potential. Squandered.
"So I want you to fix him. I want you to get that emotionlessness back, no matter what it costs. He was going to be our trump card, our ace in the hole to shut Black Mesa down, but he can't face them as a terrified heap of scrap metal. He'd be smashed to pieces if we ever sent him out—might as well just give them a sample of our tech to salvage—and then god only knows what would happen if they managed to get a hold of the Blue Matter Core. They'd probably come up with exploding chimeras or lasers or something. That's actually a good idea. I should tell the boys to work on something like that."
Cave runs his hands through his hair and takes a deep breath, fingers sliding up his widow's peak. He then sets an elbow on the desk and gives Chell a pointed look.
"Okay, so, enough of my blabbing. I know I'm talking your ear off and you know I'm between a rock and a hard place. I want to hear from you. I'm offering you a whole new life in exchange for a little of your knowhow. I want you to fix my automaton because as much as I wish I could, I can't. So, what do you say? Want to make a little history, fix a broken robot, save a city? Because this is it. This is your chance. This is how it's going down. I need an answer, little lady, and I need it now."
Chell stares at him, noting the sweat collecting at his temples and the fierceness in his hazel eyes. She could say no, she supposes, but after telling her so much about the city and revealing his motives, she doubts he'll let her leave if she refuses. She shifts her gaze to Thaddeus. He's standing stock still beside the sofa, arms at his sides, his copper skin reflecting the afternoon sun from the office windows. From all Cave has told her of the automaton's abilities, the chimera hardly seems a threat in comparison.
Absently, she wonders if Cave would order Thaddeus to kill her.
"Bring him." Chell rises to her feet. She reaches out behind the automaton and grabs a hold of her wrench.
"Ah, that's the spirit," says Cave, clapping his hands together. "Thaddy-boy, would you go fetch your special brother? Little Miss here would like a look."
Thaddeus gives an elegant bow, one arm across his chest. "Understood. I will return in four minutes and thirty-two seconds."
After the automaton leaves the room, greatcoat flowing behind him, Cave pokes out from behind his desk and sits himself down on the opposite end of the sofa from where she was.
"All right," he says, resting one leg across his knee. "Now that he's off to get our problem child, I want to lay a couple things on you. One, sorry if it seemed like I was threatening you. It was necessary. Lots of politics involved in this. I know you're not Vaudevillian, so you don't really know what's riding on this, but trust me, it's important. I wasn't doing it to be mean. I'm not a mean guy. I'd like us to be friends so we can tackle this together and get him fixed.
"Okay, two. Your project? It's going to be hard. Unfortunately. If it were easy, I'd be doing it. So I'll give you access to the Grid, all the notes I've got on him, the engineers that made his shell, and I can tell you about the stuff I changed in his head, but other than that, that's it. You're on your own.
"Three, I want weekly progress reports and I want them on time, on my desk at eleven o'clock every Wednesday morning. I'm not going to deduct your pay or anything for being late, but being late is honestly a pet peeve of mine, and we'll just get along a whole lot better if that report is on my desk. All right? All right.
"Four, we'll give you some nice digs here. We're not unaccommodating. Aperture Science and Alchemy will be your home until further notice, so if you already have a house somewhere else, too bad, you're here. To add onto that, if you leave the premises, Thaddy-boy or Rickard will be joining you as an escort. I don't want another incident like the one from this morning. Chimeras chasing you around the city—or god forbid, killing you—is really not on my agenda. And, honestly, it would be an awful thing for everyone involved, so we're just going to avoid that mess altogether."
Cave cracks his knuckles, staring up at her.
"And finally," he says, "a warning. When he gets here, he's not going to be awake. We had to shut him down because he was still connected to the Grid when that little problem happened. I'm not going to lie, it's possible that shutting him down in the middle of that could have caused some other… issues. So we're not going to wake him up here. I don't know what he's going to be like. I don't know what these glitches might have done to him. Just keep that in mind when the time does come to wake him up. Be prepared."
Cave's brow knits and he thumbs the underside of his chin as he glances out the window.
"Well, I think that's it. Sorry, I know that was a lot. You don't have to keep listening to me talk, you know—you're free to chime in at any time. Any questions?"
Chell leans against her wrench, taking the time to look about the room. With all of the books and the fireplace and the lovely rug, she imagines what her little slice of Aperture would look like. Not as fancy, she assumes, but some flair would be nice. The price is somewhat daunting, if she's honest, but she's never met a challenge she couldn't overcome. It would be a refreshing change.
"You're a lady of few words," says Cave, arching a brow at her from his place on the sofa.
She adjusts the harness over her coat, notching the belts one tick tighter. As she fits her wrench back into its clasp, she glances at him out of the corner of her eye. He wants to feel her out, she knows—he wants to poke and prod to learn her weaknesses and to see what he can do—but she's not going to give him the opportunity. The less she talks, the less ammunition he has against her. It's the same with everyone else: shopkeepers, mechanics, technotinkers, men, women, and guildmasters alike. Everyone wants a piece of you to shove in your spine when you're not looking.
Grinning, Chell gives him only a nod.
Cave looks visibly disgruntled with narrowed eyes and a pinched brow and he opens his mouth to continue, but before he can say a word, Thaddeus strides through the office door. Little Curie follows him, both sharing the weight of a gigantic metallic case over their shoulders. It's rectangular in shape, colored a shiny chrome, and thick handles are fastened on each side. The entire thing is reminiscent of a coffin.
"As you asked, sir," says Thaddeus, lowering the case to the floor.
Curie mimics him, but her orange eyes dart to Chell. "Oh, who's that?"
"Our Maker's guest," says Thaddeus.
"Hello," says Curie, offering a wave. "Welcome to Aperture Science and Alchemy. It is our pleasure to have you with us. Where are you—"
"Curie," interrupts Cave, one hand rubbing his temples, "please wait outside. I'll send for you when we need you again. No, not you Thaddeus. You stay. Need someone to unlock the damn thing."
As Curie steps outside and shuts the door, Thaddeus lowers himself to his knees and begins to tinker with the case. Chell watches as he flicks his wrist, and then his hand opens up, copper skin parting in two, and a slew of curious-looking tools slide up from somewhere within his palm.
"Thaddy-boy is our gatekeeper, so to speak," says Cave, bringing his legs up to rest on the sofa cushions. "The engineering boys gave him a lot of useful things. He's spent the longest in the Grid, so he's also full of useless facts. I don't know why, but he really likes talking about them. At first I thought his memory was getting full, but we've upgraded his hardware several times throughout the years, so we know he's well within his limit."
"A quirk of mine," says Thaddeus, inserting a key into the case's lock. He twists, and a loud click can be heard from within its inner mechanism. After his hand flexes and the tools retract back into the thick of his arm, Thaddeus switches two more latches on the case's side and then pries the lid wide open.
The first thing Chell notices is the vibrant, violent blue. On the automaton's chest, right where a human's heart might be, there is a circular slice of glass that lets her peer inside. Brilliant blue light spills out, nearly blinding; if she stares too long, her eyes start to hurt. As she looks over the rest of his body, she notes that there are pinprick points along the sides of his neck that burn just as brightly, almost like little nodes, and she wonders what purpose those might serve. His skin is titanium, she thinks, an incredibly rare metal, or maybe some kind of chrome-alloy like her wrench. It shimmers under the sunlight from the windows, and it has a sort of intense sheen to it that Thaddeus and Curie lack with their copper shells. His body type is thin and quite tall, a design she supposes must be part of accommodating the Core, and his mop of synthetic hair is just as blue as the light emitting from his chest. From the painfully apparent color scheme the engineers must have followed, she imagines that there are blue-colored irises under his closed eyelids as well.
Overall… sort of gaudy, if she's honest. Definitely not something she would have built.
"So, this is your new playmate for the next indefinite amount of time," says Cave. "You're welcome to poke around if you want. Get to know the hardware. Might be better to do it now than when he's waking up. Of course, Thaddy-boy will help you out if you need it. He knows where all the good stuff is. Don't you, Thad?"
"That is correct," says Thaddeus, rising to his feet. His pink eyes lock on Chell as he adjusts his greatcoat. "I have knowledge of how every automaton in this guildhall has been built and where to find each piece of hardware. Should you need my assistance, you need only ask."
"I just want to make something clear," says Cave, lifting himself from the couch. "None of what I've told you about Aperture, the city, Black Mesa, or my creations will leave this room. I trust you understand all of this has been confidential, and I have the utmost trust you'll keep this hushed." He approaches her, right hand held out. "With how talkative you seem, I hope that won't be a problem."
Chell shakes his hand and gives him a wink. "Not at all."
