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Doc sat back, his brow furrowed, staring across the candlelit room at his
host.
"So why am I needed? What knowledge I held of how time trawling was
accomplished has been long lost."
Jamaisvous looked Doc in the eye. "I need a man who's been exposed to trawling
before and lived to tell about it, Dr. Tanner. Lesser intellects have no way
of comprehending what they are exposed to in the temporal annex between past,
present and future. Their puerile brains can't handle it and once the mind
goes, the body quickly follows. You have survived two trips. That's two more
than anybody else. While I have no explanation for what caused your physical
deterioration in the forward trawl other than to say it might have been done
purposely "
"On purpose?" Doc replied, his face pale in the yellow light of the den.
"Yes. That is my theory. You should have arrived here in the future either
intact or not at all. Instead, you made it safely, but with more than thirty
years stolen. I
think an acceleration process was used."
Doc took a deep breath. "Could such a process be reversed?"
"I don't know. To do so would take research that dovetails nicely with my own
plans for trawling. Like yourself, Dr. Tanner, I also want to go back. Unlike
yourself, I have never faced a trawl. I need to know more about the process
before
I can face stepping into that chamber. For I will get only one chance."
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"The matter is settled, then." Doc stood. "I will assist you in any manner I
can."
"Excellent. I make one request of you."
"And that is?"
"Your companions. Most of them would not approve, I think, of some of my
experiments. You may tell them you are assisting me, but I ask you keep the
notion of your personally enduring another time trawl to yourself until we are
closer to the time of the actual event."
"Of course. There is no need to cause them worry for my well-being."
"Goodnight, then."
"Good night," Doc replied, and walked out of the den.
Jamaisvous remained sitting, his left index finger idly stroking the rim of
his glass over and over in a circle. "The time has come," he whispered softly.
"Time enough, at last."
THE MOON ROSE over the walls of El Morro. Far off, in the quiet distance, the
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unique sound of the coqui could be heard, and for each single cry the little
tree frog sent out, a dozen more came singing back in reply from his brothers.
For hundreds of years, the native Puerto Rican tree frog had endured, proving
that perhaps, things didn't always have to change.
A brief spot of flickering illumination flared into being, only to be
extinguished and replaced by a tiny glowing dot of red. J.B. puffed on his
cigar, exhaling aromatic tobacco smoke into the night air of the fortress
garden.
"Good evening, John Barrymore," a familiar resonant voice said from behind.
"Doc," the Armorer replied in greeting. He wasn't surprised, since he'd heard
the
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Axler,_James_-_Deathlands_43_-_Dark_Emblem older man's footsteps coming up
from behind and recognized the sound and pattern of Doc's peculiar gait.
Doc stood silently for a few moments, then turned to his friend. "I wonder,
might I
avail you of a smoke?"
J.B. blew a plume of the pungent smoke through both nostrils. "You sure? This
tobacco has a hell of a kick."
"I am not a lad in short pants, John Barrymore, and I was smoking long before
you were born," Doc retorted. "I think I can handle a twist of tobacco."
"Got a point," J.B. replied, taking out the denim pouch of smokes and handing
it over to the second figure.
"I'm surprised to find you out here alone at such a late hour," Doc remarked
as he rummaged through the pouch and removed one of the sticky black
cigarillos.
"Couldn't sleep." J.B. held out his lit cheroot, allowing Doc to use it to
ignite his own chosen cigar.
"And I can't light up in the room or Millie starts complaining about secondary
smoke."
"I see," Doc replied after exhaling a perfect smoke ring.
"Nice trick," J.B. said, watching the ring elongate and slowly dissipate in
the night air. "I guess you have lit up a few cancer sticks in your time."
"Cancer stick?" Doc asked with a frown. "I do not get your meaning."
The Armorer nodded. "That's what Millie calls them. Old predark slang. Said
they were supposed to cause lung cancer."
Doc pondered this. "I suppose she would know. Still, I confess I suspect there
are
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Axler,_James_-_Deathlands_43_-_Dark_Emblem many more overt dangers presenting
us with cancer-causing radiation on a daily basis than these slender tubes of
tobacco."
"Damn straight."
The conversation between the men trailed off, and the sounds of the night
seemed to grow louder.
"So, what's your excuse?" J.B. finally asked.
"For smoking?" Doc asked.
The Armorer frowned. Doc could be annoyingly obtuse when he chose. "For coming
out here to the top of the fortress so late tonight."
Doc shook his head and his flowing white hair shifted around his skinny
shoulders. "My mind, good fellow. I cannot stop thinking long enough to allow
Morpheus to bring down his soothing, slumbering touch."
"About trying to go back to the 1800s, you mean."
"I beg your pardon?" Doc said, trying to cover his surprise and doing a lousy
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job.
"The year 1896, to be exact. This guy with the fancy name, he might have
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