The Archivist Read Free Page A

deep tone is worn from a hard life. But his grip conveys a strength that belies the frailty of his build, and he looks me square in the eye.
    I immediately feel respect for Doc, and my instincts are usually right. Then again, a Retrieval Archivist with bad instincts does not last long. “First, your daughter said Walecki is dead. I’m sure you understand that I need to know what happened.”
    The old man sighs and looks down. “We went to see the Intellinet tech that I am offering to trade, which is hidden deep in the hills. On our way back he stepped away for a few minutes, and that was when he got hurt. I’m sorry, but by the time I got to him there was nothing I could do.”
    He looks back up at me with genuine regret in his eyes; only a true psychopath could feign the anguish distorting the man’s face. I start to inquire further, but Doc shakes his head ever so slightly while his eyes dart toward Danae. Whatever happened, he does not want to discuss it in front of his daughter. No matter; I already know what probably happened, and it could not have been pretty.
    I release a deep sigh. “Wally always knew there was some risk, but he felt what he did for the Archives was worth it. Yes, I bear gifts, but they have strings which reach across half a world.” Even if I only crossed a river to get here, the Archives would still be ‘half a world away,’ because the only thing a non-Archivist can know about our location is that it is on an island somewhere. In this case, the distance I say I have travelled happens to be true.
    “We are not so different, you and I.” The old man smiles. “We both seek what fools despise: knowledge and wisdom. So, did the Archives have the knowledge I seek?”
    “Wrong question. It’s not whether we have the knowledge. Rather, it’s whether we can find it and you can understand it. You can read, right? Wally said that wouldn’t be a problem.”
    “Of course I can,” he responds impatiently, glancing at my backpack.
    Doc is ready to get right down to business, and I know what he wants. Unslinging my pack, I remove the small package that I carried all this way, place the bundle on the small dining table and reverently unfold the carefully wrapped items to reveal a palm-sized e-reader, a power cell and a solar charger.
    These things are old, painstakingly preserved, and exceptionally precious. I am not sure how many functional ones are left in the world, but it is going to be a long time before anyone makes something like this again. I slip the power cell into the device and power the reader up.
    “Wally told us you needed to treat your people for toxin and environmental poisoning. So what we have for you is Casarett & Doull’s Toxicology, as well as a complete library of other medical texts. We’ve made no promises to teach you anything, just to provide the knowledge.”
    Doc darts forward to examine my offering, his hands shaking with anticipation. He is old enough to remember how to use the reader; he scrolls through page after page and punctuates his reading with “ohhs”, “ahhs” and an occasional “of course!”
    “You didn’t ask for anything else,” I add, “but since the reader had plenty of storage, we also included the complete works of Shakespeare, the Mahabharata and the final version of Wikipedia before the net got wiped out.”
    Disseminating classic literature is an Archives mission, second only to recovering knowledge. If we are lucky, some of it will survive the coming Dark Age.
    Eventually, Doc sets the reader down gingerly and, after giving his daughter a knowing glance, nods his head.
    “I’ll never comprehend all of this, but I can understand enough to see that what I need is here.” He slowly, somewhat reluctantly re-wraps the reader and hands it back to me. “The object you want in exchange is hidden in the hills, half a day’s journey away. We’ll leave at dawn.”
    Doc reaches under the workbench and pulls out a cloth-slung folding cot. As