BioShock: Rapture

rejoice in it. And to be stuck in Rapture with… well some of the people here, like that Steinman. He kept touching my face, talking about how it was ‘so close, so close and yet’! What did he mean?”

Bill chuckled and tightened his arm around her shoulders. “Steinman’s a prat, all right. But don’t worry. We’ll all be just fine. I’m going to protect you, darlin’. You can trust me to do that. It’ll all come right in the end…”

Atlantis Express, Adonis Station 1949

Stanley Poole had never been this nervous on a reporting assignment. Maybe it was being this close to larger-than-life personalities like Andrew Ryan, Prentice Mill, and Carlson Fiddle—them being all casual-like, almost acting like he was one of them.

The four men were sitting together at the front of the first train car. Poole couldn’t quite make out what Ryan and Mill were saying over the rumble of the Atlantic Express. A pensive, pinch-faced man, Mill seemed worried about something…

They were all on their way to the Adonis Luxury Resort, though it was far from finished—only the Roman- style public baths were ready, steaming for bathers. Ryan wanted The Rapture Tribune to report some progress. To Poole’s right were Mill and Ryan; to his left sat Carlson Fiddle, a bespectacled, nattily dressed, soft-faced man, gently wringing his hands in his lap. Fiddle looked put-upon and preoccupied—and prissily startled as the train lurched into motion. The kind of fussy little man who made you think of an old lady. It was like he’d spent too much time with his mother. They’d just come from the future site of what was to be Ryan Amusements, and now, as the train started for Adonis, Poole sensed that there was a story in Carlson Fiddle’s pensiveness.

“Well, Carlson—” Poole began. “May I call you Carlson?”

“No,” Fiddle said, frowning at the floor.

Poole winced as he took out his pen and notebook. He knew he wasn’t a person who easily commanded respect. As the train passed through a tunnel he could see his reflection in the dark window, beyond Fiddle—the reflection was sickly, the dark glass making him look even more hollow eyed than normal. But, at best, how did anyone take him seriously, with those jutting ears, that skinny neck, and protruding Adam’s apple? The gauntness was worse lately—he had trouble keeping his food down. Maybe it was the binges on booze and drugs he’d gotten into since arriving in Rapture.

Poole cleared his throat and tried again: “Quite a job you’ve got, Mr. Fiddle—designing Ryan Amusements, I mean. Amusement park for the kids, that the ticket?” He smiled encouragingly, hoping Fiddle would get the joke. But not a flicker of amusement came from the guy.

Fiddle adjusted his glasses. “Yes, yes, we’ll have animatronics, some interesting, ah, exhibits planned. I’m a bit baffled about what Mr. Ryan wants exactly.” He glanced sharply at Poole. “Don’t quote that in the paper. About me being baffled.”

Poole winked at Fiddle. “Oh, Mr. Ryan was clear…” He lowered his voice. “… this is going to be a puff piece all the way. All about the swell new constructions coming, the new branch line, the spa. So—what’s this animatronics thing?”

Tired of adjusting his glasses, Fiddle adjusted his tie. “Oh, not everyone calls it that. But—there was that Westinghouse exhibit, in ’39, with Electro the robot and his little pal Sparko. That kind of thing. Animated mannequins, some say. They’ll talk to visitors.”

“Animated mannequins! Do tell!”

Fiddle went back to gently wringing his hands in his lap. “It’ll be about the history of Rapture. I’d like to put in some fairy-tale material too, to keep the kids coming back. Maybe something like the Walt Disney cartoons. But he… well, never mind. Just print that I—that I think it’s a wonderful project, and I’m looking forward to making it a reality.”

“Sure thing!”

The train jolted as it took a turn, rising up to pass into a transparent tunnel through the sea. Coldly magnificent, like some sunken fairyland, Rapture rose about them. A school of big fish zigzagged by, glinting silver. A private bathysphere whipped along below them as they entered another building.

Poole glanced over at Ryan and Mill, when Mill raised his voice. “He does keep implying, Andrew, that I… that eventually—”

“Come, come,” Ryan said equably. “You worry too much, Prentice! Augustus is not some predator of the sea.”

Mill snorted bitterly. “Then what does Sinclair mean when he says, ‘Enjoy the Atlantic Express while you have it’?”

“Oh, that’s just one businessman using a bit of psychology on another! He probably plans to make you an offer and wants you to worry about a takeover. Keep you off-balance. Perfectly normal business tactic.”

“But it’s not a public company…”

“Perhaps it should be! You need not sell out to Sinclair. You could pump up your liquidity by selling shares freely about Rapture. Rapture is still growing! It’s a bubble that will never burst. You will want the capital for investment, Prentice… Ah—here’s our new luxury resort…”

The train slowed as they came into the station near Adonis. Poole, scribbling on his notebook, was somehow aware of Ryan’s scrutiny.

He looked up to see Andrew Ryan frowning at him. Ryan raised an inquiring eyebrow. “You do remember our talk? Nothing unauthorized, Poole.”

Poole swallowed, tempted to point out that Ryan’s heavy hand on Rapture’s newspaper was counter to his talk of freedom. But then Ryan was the major shareholder in the Tribune, and Stanley Poole had never heard of a newspaper that expressed an opinion its owners didn’t like.

“You betcha, Mr. Ryan,” Poole said cheerfully, winking. He rubbed his nose but quickly stopped, knowing it was an irritating mannerism. Man, he’d like to get out from under that hawkish gaze of Ryan’s, get a bottle from Sinclair Spirits and a little sniff-sniff from Le Marquis D’Epoque, that new liquor-and-drug shop over in Fort Frolic. “This branch line, Mr. Ryan—mighty impressive. Quite a view.”

Ryan nodded, his expression becoming neutral. But he kept staring, a look that could be felt like a finger prodding at Poole’s forehead. “I do think I may have some special assignments for you, in time, Poole, if you prove to be discreet. I’ll need someone… very discreet indeed.”

The doors of the train slid open, and Ryan forgot about Poole, turning to clap Prentice on the shoulder, smiling. “The doors were a tad slow to open once we arrived, don’t you think, Prentice? Let’s make them brisker. Let’s keep Rapture moving ahead!”

Medical Pavilion 1949

“Bill, do we have to do this?” Elaine whispered as she lay back on the examining table, awaiting Dr. Suchong. “Why do I have to see these two? I don’t think that Tenenbaum woman is even a doctor. And Suchong —he’s some kind of brain surgeon or something… what does he know about obstetrics?” She smoothed out the hospital gown so it covered a bit more of her pregnancy-swollen belly.

Bill patted her tummy. “The regular doctor was booked up, love. I mentioned to Ryan you were having some unusual cramps, and he insisted that someone here would see to you. Tenenbaum and Suchong were working with Gil Alexander, who’s doing a bit of work for Ryan.” He shrugged.

Elaine licked her lips and said nervously: “I heard someone say she’s got a reputation of being kinda crazy with her experiments…”