"Wait there," he panted, and pointed at a particular stretch of the railing. They had arrived, finally, some great distance beneath the surface of the university, down the never ending blue-lit stairwell, to the bottom-most platform - one that was bordered on one side by railing, and on the other by a brick wall, large windows, and an office-looking door. The lights ended just above this platform, and Claudia couldn't see down through the darkness to determine how tall this building within a building was; whether they had reached the top of some underground skyscraper, or if a floor lied just beneath them. She took the time to lean heavily against the railing, breath rasping, as both parties had long since passed the point of self-consciousness with regard to their physical shortcomings. The man composed himself on the opposite side by the wall, an elbow and forearm braced against it as a support, fingers clutching his glasses, as his other hand dabbed a handkerchief across his forehead and his saturated brows.
They stood apart in this manner, heaving in uncomfortable unison, until the man spoke between deep inhalations.
"What do you go by?"
Claudia turned around, mouth hanging open and teeth gritted, in an unintentional snarl. She half-expected another face to emerge into the blue glow, as the addressee of his question. None did.
"Oh. I'm Claudia," she said quietly, with as much oxygen she could spare.
"And I am Arthur Nielsen, as you already know," the man replaced his glasses, and stood upright, seeming to muster up an air of presentability. He cleared his throat, and rested a hand on a switch that stuck out of the brick wall. Claudia eyed him with skepticism. He returned her apparent lack of faith with a sniff.
"As director and primary overseer of the NU Collection for Items of Historical Significance, I would like to say..."
He threw the switch, rather dramatically so, and the blue lights instantly flicked out, leaving them in a split second of absolute, disorienting darkness. No sooner could Claudia react, when blinding fluorescent lights burst into her vision, lighting in rapid sequence beginning above their platform, and racing away across the ceiling of a gigantic space. As they did, they illuminated the ground floor below, not too far down, and upon it stood rows upon rows of towering, metallic shelves. Bordering these on either side, though with space enough between for a dozen rows, were brick walls of the same make as the one beside their platform. This wall extended down to the floor, in which there was another door that could allow one to walk out among the shelves. These shelves seemed to stretch back to infinity, and the light did appear to blur beyond a certain point, and Claudia could scarcely make out the wall at the farthest side of this room, if it could be called that. The stairwell they had come down was much like the chimney of this strange space, and they had descended at last into its true interior - ceiling barely distinguishable through the ventilation tubes, electrical wires, and massive hanging lights. A few of these swayed precariously from twisted and frayed cables, and the entire place gave off a distinct sense of overwhelming antiquity. It was in appearance, size, and function, some gargantuan, underground warehouse.
"Welcome..." Arthur swept his arm through the air, gesturing out into the veritable chasm of space, "To the Anthropology Exhibit. Created at the request - well, demand of Friedrich Nietzsche, after he heard that a few American followers of his had founded and named this university after him."
Arthur approached the railing beside Claudia, who simply stared in disbelief at the exhibit before her. He continued in his matter-of-fact, tour guide tone. "Nietzsche sent a series of letters to the then-chancellor in 1895, dictating that a storehouse for antiques be constructed on campus."
"Eight-" Claudia's voice cracked, and she hurriedly coughed, before attempting speech again. "1895? But he was crazy then." She ventured.
Arthur nodded. "He was very mad in his final years, yes. Most of the letters were unintelligible, and it took some time to decipher anything meaningful from them. The first attempt resulted in the collection of every teapot on the western coast of the United States, to be categorized and stored away on our shelves."
Claudia raised an eyebrow.
"He was very insistent about the teapots," he continued, "Eventually, the government caught wind of the operation, though they decided that Nietzsche was too big of a name on which to pin grand larceny, and they let him and his followers make off with just a slap on the wrist. Most of the teapots were returned." Arthur leaned in and pointed at a section of the exhibit near the middle. "Those two rows are teapots."
Claudia squinted out across the storeroom floor, scanning what little of the shelves she could see, until her eyes fell across a familiar assortment of interlocked wooden sticks fairly near to where she stood. They were the kind, she recognized, for propping up plants that needed to climb.
"You've got a garden in here?" She asked with interest.
"That is one of Gregor Mendel's trellises, used in his experiments with pea plant genetics," Arthur replied.
"Why's it here? Shouldn't it be in some museum out in - well, on the surface?"
"Ohhh ho ho, no," Arthur chuckled, suddenly amused by her naivete, in a disturbingly ominous fashion, "If a person, you for example, were to come into contact with that trellis, it would have very disastrous consequences."
Contrary to his expectations, Claudia did not instantaneously reject the notion of a pea plant trellis that housed unforeseen danger. In fact, she accepted that assertion without much mental effort, and instead inquired, unperturbed, as to the nature of its danger, "So, what, if I touch it, my skin turns green and wrinkled? Or, bright yellow and smooth?"
"Hah! Now, that would be appropriate," Arthur said, "But no, that would be far too innocuous. If you disturb the pea plants, your genes will switch their dominant and recessive capabilities - that is, the traits that your genetic code is hiding would then become apparent. Certainly not a good thing, if you're a carrier for any unfortunate diseases."
"And that's the chemical alteration part of this tour," Claudia offered.
"Yes. Now, if you'll come into the office area please..." Arthur turned toward the door in the wall, though something stopped him, and instead, he looked back at Claudia with a curious expression.
"It's funny," he began, almost suspiciously, "Usually sometime before this, a person on my tour would have expressed much more incredulity at my statements."
Claudia unconsciously brought her hands behind her back, where she twisted her fingers in apprehension. "You remember what the people on your last tour did? Wasn't that seven or some years ago?"
"It was a very memorable occasion, I can assure you," Arthur said dryly. "Why aren't you invoking rationality and reason to me? Why not, 'Hey Mr. Nielsen, touching a bunch of sticks isn't going to alter your genome.'? What reason do you have to believe me? Are you unwell?" He peered at her from beneath increasingly quivering brows.
Claudia managed, despite the pattering sensation she felt beginning in her chest, to match his gaze with one of quiet collectedness. She brought her hands back in front of her, and folded them in a gesture of nonchalance.
"I'm very good at suspending my disbelief."