Rigel followed the GPS coordinates Preston had given her, deftly navigating the roads of Springfield. "There. Up ahead you can see the cooling towers." Preston pointed to the iconic symbols of the nuclear industry rising off in the distance above the western treeline.
It was mid-afternoon on April sixteenth. The sun still fairly high in the sky. Despite the snowy winter Springfield had, March came in like a lion: eating the snow with voracious southern winds. The result left an unseasonably warm and dry April.
Antoine, sitting in the back seat, rolled his window down and stuck out a hand. "Man, it feels almost tropical compared to home," he remarked as he sniffed the air.
"Tropical… yeah…" agreed Preston as he looked out the window. Rigel drove the most direct route, cutting south from the airport, then west across the river.
"Sir, is everything all right?" she asked, glancing out of the corner of her eye.
Preston eyed her silently for a moment. "We'll have to discuss that in detail later. But yes, Miss Vought, for now I am perfectly fine."
Rigel crossed the river, and followed the GPS directions along the shores. The cooling towers loomed ever closer, a familiar sight to Preston and Antoine both. At the gate house they paused while the guard took their identification and called up to the main office. A few minutes later, she handed their ID cards back and waved them in.
Rigel noted the one-way tire spikes, a system of pop-up bollards, and two sets of fences: an outer that was clearly marked as electrified, and an inner with stands of barbed wire along the top. "They take security seriously here," Rigel remarked as they drove to the executive lot.
"They have guard dogs too," added Antoine from the back seat.
"I see." Rigel parked their rental car and turned off the engine.
Preston nodded. "And those are just the measures we know about." He climbed out of the car and held Antoine's door. "Mister Burns likes his privacy, and dislikes intrusions. I'm sure he's got several other surprises he won't talk about.
Antoine handed Rigel her tablet. "Do we go in, check with security or something? I've never actually been inside," he admitted.
"Preston, Antoine!" A familiar tenor voice called cheerfully across the parking lot. A middle-aged man in an olive suit coat, purple bow tie, and slate grey chinos hurried over to them. He had mouse grey hair gelled into spikes oddly similar to Rigel's, and a friendly face. His brown eyes twinkled behind a pair of round rimmed glasses. Waylon Smithers, co-owner of the Springfield Nuclear Power Plant.
"So good to see you again," he said, extending a hand to Preston. The two men shook hands warmly. "Antoine," Smithers greeted, but before he could even offer a handshake, Antoine wrapped him in a firm bear hug.
"Okay, okay. Easy big boy," Smithers said laughing. He pushed Antoine off him and straightened his tie.
"And you must be Rigel Vought. I've heard so much about you." Smithers took Rigel's hand gracefully. "All good things of course," he added with a grin. "I must admit I was initially surprised you were coming along, but, well, these two both speak well of you and the more the merrier, right?" Smithers gestured to the door. "Come on, I'll show you around. You'll have to pardon our appearance. We're in the middle of a few major upgrades," he explained.
Rigel dropped neatly into step beside Antoine, behind Smithers and Preston. She pulled out her tablet as she walked, and loaded some information about Burns Worldwide Consolidated.
Smithers seemed like an amiable enough fellow. She listened as he explained their plant, the kilowatt output, and took them on a tour of the various spaces. It was true, Rigel had to admit, the Springfield plant didn't have the crisp, cutting-edge feel of the Plateau City plant. She could see signs of intense renovations taking place. An entire section of ductwork was exposed down by the generator rooms, and a work crew swarmed like ants pulling old sections and fitting new ones.
"We've been going round the clock on most of these projects," Smithers explained proudly as he leaned on a railing next to Preston. "I'm looking forward to bringing this plant from 'acceptable' to setting the new standard for nuclear generating in the United States," Smithers said proudly. "Mister Burns, bless his heart, has authorized the replacement of most of the existing infrastructure. A several year changeover to the tune of multiple millions. Well worth it though. Absolutely." Smithers put his foot on the railing and looked out over the main hall proudly.
Preston nodded thoughtfully. "What are you doing with the old parts?"
"Functional or defunct?"
Preston gestured to a perfectly sound looking set of hydro pumps sitting beside some tangled and corroded ducts. "Those, over there. They look in fine working order."
"They are," Smithers admitted with a hint of reluctance, "but why replace only some of the system. Those pumps there are getting shipped out to be retooled and installed elsewhere. But those junk ducts? Those'll get hauled off to the scrap yard."
Rigel watched, her keen eyes taking it all in.
"Mister Smithers," she began tentatively.
"Hmmm?" Smithers replied, turning his attention to her.
"According to the flight plan," she brought up a schedule on her tablet, "we're slated to be here four days. Will all of that be spent at your facility here, or do you have adjacent property."
Smithers' eyes widened as he looked over at Preston and Antoine. "She doesn't know?" he mouthed.
Both the thin CEO of the Plateau City plant and his blue-haired shook their heads.
"Oh." Smithers snorted with mild amusement. "Well done then, Preston. I'm proud of you. I'll have my secretary get another nondisclosure agreement. You all can sign them before we head over." Smithers pulled out a smartphone and sent a quick memo. "He'll meet us in a minute as soon as the lawyer's free," Smithers explained. "In the meantime, come, you can join me my office. Regrettably, the handsome Mister Burns is indisposed at the moment, but Preston I've set up some time with him later tonight."
Rigel followed Smithers and the other men up into the administrative department of the Springfield Plant. She couldn't help but notice the artwork on the walls. Pictures reminisce of classic sculptures and paintings, all in the likeness of Montgomery Burns. Occasionally, an icon of Smithers hung, interspaced between the other pieces. It seemed both pretentious, and more than a little intimidating.
Smithers led them to a set of double doors. The brass plaque outside the door bore two names: C. M. Burns, and W. J. Smithers. Smithers unlocked the office and beckoned them inside.
Rigel gasped in surprise; so too did Antoine and Preston.
"It's a humble space," Smithers said with false modesty. He gestured to a couch and several chairs. "Please, make yourselves at home."
Rigel turned slowly in place, taking everything in. 'Humble' was hardly the word she'd use. Burns' office was larger than her parents' house, and more much refined. The ceiling was arched, and easily twenty feet at the highest point.
The office stretched out before them, ending in a high arched window behind Burns' massive desk. A pair of French doors, set into the window, opened onto a balcony beyond. The wall to Rigel's left boasted floor to ceiling bookshelves, easily ten feet tall. Beyond that, across from the desk, was a bay of surveillance monitors, currently dark. To the right of Burns' desk was a second couch, and a stuffed polar bear reared up on its hind legs. A writing desk, two guest chairs, and a small coffee bar completed the ensemble, to say nothing of the artwork on the walls.
Smithers' phone chirped. He glanced at it, and frowned slightly. "I need to take this. I'll be right back. Help yourself to coffee. Don't touch any buttons." Smithers left, closing the double doors behind him.
Antoine sauntered over to the couch and flopped down. "I need an office like this," he remarked as he stretched his legs out.
Rigel noticed Preston had wandered over to stand next to her. Together they stared up at a larger-than-life oil painting of Montgomery Burns. Done in the style of classical realism the portrait was as detailed as a photograph. Burns sat in deep velvet chair. To his right in the painting was a globe. His right hand rested on the globe, the other was draped confidently over the arm of the chair. To his left sat a table with a gold pocket watch. His painted eyes regarded the viewer with a mixture of sagacity and contempt. The message was clear to viewers: This world, and all the time in in, are mine.
Clearly everything Burns did was designed to intimidate, and impress. After a moment, Preston left and sat in one of the chairs by the desk. Rigel said nothing, merely looked and committed the details to memory.
Waylon Smithers finished up his phone call, and returned to the office, lawyer at his side. The lawyer, a tall, balding man with a grey blazer and red bowtie set the nondisclosure agreements on the desk and laid a pen on each one.
Smithers absentmindedly ran his thumb over the white gold band on his right ring finger while the lawyer explained the purpose of the agreements, and what they essentially meant. Basically, from here on, the little covey of Preston and his employees were bound to secrecy: to not discuss, except with each other, anything they would see or hear regarding Mister Burns' or Smithers' personal affairs.
Everyone signed without complaint, though Rigel looked as if she had an unasked question. Smithers decided to bite.
"Miss Vought, is there something on your mind?" he asked, stepping over to her.
Rigel looked at the form she'd just signed. "One question, if I may, Mister Smithers."
"Go ahead."
"Why are we signing these after touring your plant?"
Smithers smiled. "Well, Miss Vought, I'm glad you asked. There's a two part reason to this visit. I'm glad to see my friends here have managed to be discrete till now." He gestured to Preston and Antoine. "You'll be staying with me, guests at my home: Burns Manor."
Smithers glanced at his watch. "And though I don't wish to rush you, we should probably be on our way over. I'll explain more once we arrive." He gave Rigel a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, this isn't all business. Mister Burns and I are hosting a small gathering. Very few guests, a private affair."
Smithers held the door open for Rigel as they stepped into the hall. "Once we're there," he continued, "I want you to relax and enjoy yourself. Take today and tomorrow to make yourselves at home."
"Thank you, Mister Smithers."
Smithers chuckled. "Please, outside of work, call me Waylon, or even just Smithers. I go by both equally it seems."
Rigel agreed.
As they approached the main entrance, Smithers caught up to Preston and pulled him aside. "I've been able to talk Monty into giving you some time tonight if you're up to it. A one-on-one to discuss things. I don't care if you assistant comes along, but he probably will. If I were you, I'd bring her anyway."
Preston nodded, and agreed.
Smithers put a hand on his shoulder warmly and faced the younger man. "When we first met, I never thought I'd be saying this, but it's good to see you again, Preston."
Preston hung his head shyly. "It's good to see you too, Waylon."
Rhonda sat back in Plateau City. She had a flight scheduled first thing tomorrow morning. She'd tried to get one for the same day Preston and his little toadies left, but wasn't able to manage it. Fortunately, she reasoned, there was still time.
She booted up her computers and logged into the system. She'd seen Rigel with that tablet. Company property. Good old Torus Communications, Rhonda thought, bearing her teeth in a smoke-stained grin. Accessible worldwide. Connectivity anywhere from the heart of the city to Antarctica.
Of course, that meant access both ways. Each company network device could be traced, a security and anti-theft program. It also allowed Rhonda to track last known and current locations of any company web device.
Like, for example, a tablet in the possession of a certain young administrative assistant.
Rhonda selected Rigel's tablet and clicked "locate."
Almost immediately, the map began to fill with red lines, tracers that showed the path the tablet (and Rigel) had taken. There was a gap from LaGuardia to Springfield, but that was to be expected. Airplane mode. Once the tablet landed in Springfield, the line resumed, cutting through the town, over the river and to the nuclear power plant. There, Rigel had stayed for a few hours before heading south and west to an area just east of the Springfield Mountains.
The tablet didn't give an exact location down to the inch, but the one it gave was accurate enough. Rhonda switched views from "map" to "aerial photo" and assessed the tablet's location.
Rigel's tablet had come to rest at a huge estate. It didn't take a genius to figure out where. "Burns Manor," Rhonda hissed, face illuminated hauntingly in the dull glow of the monitors. "I knew it."
She cursed her luck that she wasn't already there, but nothing could be done. Rhonda quickly transferred a copy of the TorusCom location program to her smart phone (also company property), and powered down her computers.
She stood as the darkness enveloped her; grey suit coat fading into the shadows like smoke itself.