Disclaimer

I don’t own any of the characters herein.

Genesis

Chapter Three

December 21st, 2022

"May I be the first to present," intoned the priest, "Mr. and Ms. Ira Foreman."

The congregation burst into applause, and the sound of Mendelssohn’s Wedding March filled the church as Ira and Amy Foreman (nee Ami Saotome) walked down the aisle.

- - - - -

"The scrapyard’s been in his family for almost a hundred years," said Amy. "It’s not at all a bad thing. I mean, the recycling income is quite high, and a lot of the expenses are covered by the Council."

"I’m not saying anything about the scrapyard," laughed Ranma. "Well, other than the fact that only you could look through a scrapyard and find the diamond in the middle."

Amy grinned. "Well, the scrapyard hardly pays the bills, is what I’m saying. It pays for itself nicely, generates a bit of side income, but the parts importing is where the real money is. And he’s got something like a month and a half of vacation time saved up, and he’s taking it all at once."

"Any idea where you’re taking it?"

"I dunno." Amy shrugged. "Between your job and Mom’s travel itch, there aren’t too many places in the world left for me to see."

"Oh, please. You’re only twenty-one. There’s plenty of the world left to see. You can’t have seen barely any."

"We’re talking about the Isle of Man, actually." She grabbed a suitcase, and opened it. "A nice, quiet, restful place, where maybe half the population speaks English, and no-one understands Japanese at all."

"What about your French?"

"No French on the island, either."

"And your Russian?"

"Dad!" She burst into laughter. "They speak Manx, and some of them speak English. Nothing else!"

"What was the point of you learning all those languages if you’re gonna go somewhere they don’t speak any of them?"

She shrugged. "Where else am I going to learn Manx?"

"You musta got your brains from your mother," muttered Ranma. He sat down on the edge of the bed. "I had a hard enough time learning English. Your mother speaks English, German and Japanese, like a native."

"Of course she speaks Japanese like a native." Amy stuck her tongue out at her father. "And as for getting my brains from Mom...how many doctorates does she have?"

- - - - -

"Doctor Saotome."

Ranma turned at the voice. It came from an older gentleman, perhaps in his fifties. His grey hair was a bit askew, and he was dressed somewhat...outlandishly. Even Ranma, despite having lived in London for the last five years, found it odd. The red shirt and black pants were silk. The necktie was black silk as well, as was the waistcoat. He didn’t bother with a jacket. Overall, he looked like an American film gangster, except a little more flamboyant.

"Good afternoon." Ranma bowed. "How may I assist you?"

"Actually, I’ve hit on a bit of a puzzle, and I was wondering if you can assist me." The man spoke Japanese, like a native of Tokyo.

"Hm." Ranma frowned. "What sort of puzzle?"

"Well, it’s a matter of materials engineering, and I’m told that that is a specialty of yours."

"It is." Ranma’s tone became a bit guarded. "But I operate under a clearance, and--"

"Oh, this is nothing to do with that. Don’t worry." The stranger turned and walked down the street.

Ranma scratched his head. The stranger was distinctly odd, but seemed harmless enough. And Ranma may have reduced the amount of time that he spent practicing the Art, but he was probably still in the top ten for the United Kingdom. He caught up with the stranger.

"So where is this puzzle located?"

"New Scotland Yard." The stranger held up a billfold. "My ID. Detective-Inspector John Smith."

Ranma frowned. "This paper is blank."

The supposed Detective-Inspector paused, and looked at the paper. "Blimey. So it is." He pocketed it, and resumed walking. "No matter, really. I grabbed the wrong one, is all. The Missus bought me the new billfold, but I forgot to move the ID from the old one. Grabbed the new one purely by accident, I suppose."

"You’re not married," pointed out Ranma.

The older man stopped, and looked over at Ranma. "What makes you say that?"

"No ring." Ranma pointed down at the man’s hand. "No sign that you’ve ever worn one, even. And no person named ’John Smith’ should be able to speak Japanese as clearly as you."

The man’s air of careful affability eroded into irritation. "Look, let’s pretend that I’m the Detective-Inspector here, and not you."

"Sure." Ranma shrugged. "Let’s pretend that."

The man turned and unlocked a door, and led the way down into an impound lot beneath the Yard. "Just good luck, really, that I caught you in Westminster. I was prepared to go out to Farnborough to find you."

"You know who I am, where I work, probably where I live. But how did you know I’d be in Westminster today?"

The impound lot was mostly occupied by expensive automobiles, but the stranger ignored them and continued towards the back. "Your daughter just got married, did she not?"

Ranma nodded. "Yesterday, in fact."

"And you went so far as to have the wedding held at Westminster Abbey. The reception at the Arms. No doubt, after that, you wouldn’t want to drive back to Farnborough."

"All right, I’ll admit that you know lots about me." Ranma sighed. "Now why exactly do you need my help?"

The stranger stopped. "This is why." He indicated the tall blue box sitting in the motor bay.

"A phone booth?"

"Not precisely." The stranger shook his head. "This is what used to be called a police call box." He indicated a small door on the front of the box. "You would pull this door open, and a telephone inside would connect right to a local police substation. The rotating light atop could be used to summon a constable to call in." The stranger sighed. "They’ve been completely phased out, of course. Radios are more efficient. By 1976, they were all gone, save for a few kept for nostalgic purposes."

Ranma nodded. "So what’s the problem?"

"We can’t get into it."

Ranma looked at him oddly. "It’s made of wood. How hard can it be to get into?"

"Go ahead and try. Bust in."

Ranma shrugged, and drew back a fist. "You don’t mind if I break it?"

"Do your worst."

He threw a punch...and to his surprise, failed to even dent the surface. He stepped back, surprised. "Damn."

"Yeah." The stranger nodded. "We even tried a blowtorch. Couldn’t cut the lock or anything."

Ranma rubbed his fist. "Did you try a locksmith?"

"He was completely stuck. Couldn’t get the lock open at all." The stranger paused, and said, "He said that it was almost like it was waiting for someone."

"Waiting...?"

"Yeah." The stranger nodded. "If you want, I can get you his notes."

"Sure." Ranma scratched his head. "I gotta admit, ya got me interested in this now."

"I’ll be right back, then." The man turned and walked back up the impound yard. Ranma turned back to the box.

"Yale lock." He fingered the keylatch. "Looks like standard steel, but I’m betting it’s not. The box looks like wood, feels like wood...even has the same resonance as wood when I strike it. But it’s obviously not wood. It’s like this thing is deliberately trying to conceal its origins."

He stepped back, and considered the box.

"A standard Yale lock, though...Kinda weird." He started walking around the box. "Wonder why someone’d make something this small outta such advanced tech, and why they’d disguise it from something way back--"

He paused. "Waitaminute. Phased out in the seventies. Waiting for someone." He stepped up, and touched the lock.

It clicked, and the door opened slightly.

"I don’t believe it," he breathed. He pushed the door open more fully and stepped in.

Into a room at least a dozen times larger than could have fit inside the box.

"I do not believe this!"