“You’re being baroque again. I wouldn’t hire anyone willing to go backwards. Time moves forward quickly in twenty-four hour segments. So does life, unfortunately for the aged. We’ll start with a one year contract. Strictly cash. I think absolute secrecy should be our central working point.”

“I agree, sir.”

“Sir is not necessary. Call me Doctor Rabun.”

“Fine by me, Doctor Rabun.”

They toured the laboratory which was somewhat of a disappointment to Warlock who owned a horror and science fiction notion of science. The door had been thrilling, opening at the wave of a ring on Rabun’s hand, affixed tightly below a knuckle and which could not be removed without cutting off a finger. But inside there was virtually nothing in the large, white, windowless room. All the paraphernalia was evidently locked in a wall of stainless steel cabinets. There was a long table with drawers and another examining table with stirrups, with a tall stool beside it.

“Diana has probably told you what I’m known for. Mainly kidney pumps, surgical equipment, shoes, prosthetic devices of various sorts. When I need complicated equipment I use Vergil’s lab in East Lansing.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Doctor Rabun. Let’s just make it Rabun.”

“Rabun.”

The doctor then offered a bit of a shock, though Warlock kept his composure as Rabun waved his ring before a drawer revealing a tray of what certainly looked like dildos. They were a livid though realistic pink and came in a half a dozen sizes.

“We need a little levity. Pick one of them up.”

“This is embarrassing.” Warlock picked one out of the middle rather diplomatically. It began vibrating and turning warm—too utterly lifelike—and he dropped it to the floor in alarm.

“Don’t drop it, you oaf. It’s priceless:” Rabun shrieked with laughter. Warlock picked it up, but it pulsed and he held it shyly. Rabun, still laughing, took a small black bar from his pocket resembling a remote TV tuner or a pocket computer. “I’ve imitated here the shimmying of a porpoise’s skin as it moves through the water. The physiologically impotent stick their penises in and they are grasped. Then they punch the controls for the desired effect.”

“Marvelous.” Warlock replaced the object with distaste.

“They’ll be marketed this fall at five grand a shot. I deserve the Nobel but it’s never given to a pragmatic genius.”

Chapter 21