“Yeah, most women are powerful nosy,” Ryan agreed with a smirk.
“And, alas, her curiosity was unstoppable and she flung open the lid unleashing the terrors and plagues within and filled our world with all that is vile, unclean and dark. Still, good Pandora was able to slam the box closed in time to keep a single bit of good within.”
Ryan scratched his arm and nodded. “Bit of good in everybody, I guess. Even Trader used to believe that, with the added homily that it paid to keep a watch on that bit of good by sleeping with one eye open at all times.”
Doc fixed Ryan with a look. “What was kept in that casket of Pandora’s was hope, Mr. Cawdor. Hope. And to this day hope remains mankind’s sole comfort in misfortune.”
“Is that what keeps your engine running, Doc?” the man with the eye patch asked. “Hope?”
Doc didn’t reply, but Ryan saw his long fingers wrap around one of the two small gray globes and hoist it up.
“Hope, Ryan Cawdor, and a spirited game of catch,” Doc said, his deep voice resonating as he underhanded the metallic orb to Ryan. “Catch.”
Ryan caught and examined the spheroid with his bright blue eye. There was nothing unusual about the ball at least, as far as he could tell. The younger man was unsure why his new friend was so fascinated with the pair, so he decided to ask Doc again what the big deal was over twin hunks of metal.
“Oh, yes, yes, I have ignited your interest, yes,” Doc said, losing the air of pomposity he’d been wearing and replacing it with the vocal inflections and smiling face of a young boy.
“Damn straight. First, I thought your little eggs were some kind of grens, but the way you keep tossing them around cured me of that assumption.”
“These simple little objects, Mr. Cawdor. They were the first,” Doc stated with a twinkle in his eye.
“The first what?” Ryan asked, baffled as usual by the gaunt man’s predilection for understatement and riddles. Ryan’s moods in talking with Doc ranged from amazement at the knowledge the man possessed about predark artifacts and history to sheer unadulterated rage at having to play Doc’s twisted version of his own private guessing game.
“The first to make the trip, there and back again.”
Doc said, waggling his bushy white eyebrows on the last three words.
“You mean to use the gateways?” Ryan asked.
Doc smiled broadly, revealing a frightening array of perfect white teeth.
“Ah, in a manner of speaking, yes. You are correct, sir. Like myself, these little balls were test subjects. Hurled back and forth, in and out. Unlike myself, they made the journey sane, whole, intact. No, uh, no added wrinkles. No moss on these rolling stones, no, sir.”
Ryan glared at the man sitting across from him before getting to his feet and tossing back the metal ball. “There are times, Doc, when I just don’t get you,” he said disgustedly.
Doc shrugged, and idly switched the thrown sphere from one hand to another. “I know. There are times, friend Ryan, when I do not get myself.”
LATER THAT EVENING, Ryan and Krysty headed toward the depths of the massive information storage and retrieval room located within the walls of the Wizard Island Complex for Scientific Advancement.
The leader of Wizard Island had called Doc Tanner by name when he first saw him, despite neither one of them ever having met.
Why this was so, Doc couldn’t-or wouldn’t- say.
So, Ryan had decided to take a trip to the island complex’s library.
And that’s where Doc had come upon them later, as they huddled in front of a computer, ready to view the contents of a disc that came from an envelope with TT/CJ/Ce marked on the front. Now they were staring at a message on the screen: Access denied. Refer to subcode CJ, all sees. Go to mainframe on limit/inject. Enter code now for reading.
“It’s E, then M and finally Y,” Doc said quietly from behind. “Spells ’emy.’ Almost spells Emily, does it not? Ah, yes, the proper codes, I always lacked the proper codes. However, in this case, I can point you on the right path, since fate or a higher hand has decreed that you see a listing of all my fascinating past.”