Mobius

by Garon Whited

  …thirty years late. Hmm. Maybe that’s reasonable. Maybe there are other factors. Maybe I’m not a social scientist and wouldn’t have enough data even if I were.

  Sadly, there were no ATMs. There were bars and the like, however, so I hustled pool and avoided fights. I’m not a great pool player, but I can give a convincing simulation of one by using my psychic powers. It multiplied my ready cash from five dollars and change to nearly fifty. People stopped wanting to play me pretty quickly and a few were enough into their drinks to be irate, but I managed to keep from violence with a conciliatory tone, kind words, and buying the occasional drink. The real money was in taking bets on impossible “trick” shots, which went on until midnight. Best of all, no one so much as commented on my black kilt, so I knew I was dressed in a non-weird fashion.

  Afterward, we found an all-night gas station and fed Bronze. She needed feeding. Her car was now black and lacked any fender damage.

  “Stop that. This is temporary! Save your energies,” I told her, still pumping gas.

  She pointed out how a stolen green car with bent fenders attracts more attention than an intact black one.

  “Fine, you have more horse sense than I do. Wait here. I’m going inside to buy a map.”

  I bought the map and we parked near a phone booth. I stole the phone book and sat in the front seat to listen to the radio and flip through the yellow pages. Library, check… Electronics stores, check… Scientific supply houses, no, but there was a university. They might have iridium, ruthenium, and osmium. Not much, perhaps, but they would also know where to obtain it. The tricky part would be to get the proper metalworking equipment to make orichalcum wire…

  Bronze honked her horn. Orichalcum wire wasn’t an issue as long as I could feed her. After all, what were her mane and tail made of, again?

  “I know that,” I told her. “I didn’t want to presume.”

  It’s just another body to her. One she likes, yes, but a favorite suit of clothes is still only a suit of clothes. Feed it and she’ll grow more of it.

  “All right. I’ll keep it in mind.”

  The radio played a lot of music I didn’t recognize. Not surprising, since the world was so different. I recognized some of the artists, though. ELO, the Eagles, the Steve Miller Band, Stevie Wonder, Elvis…

  Is there a market, I wonder, for songs artists never wrote, never performed? I mean, what is a recording of the 1977 hit, “The Night is Hot,” as performed by Elvis, actually worth? Probably quite a lot, but how would I turn it from a reel of tape into physical cash? I’d need to know who to sell it to and I don’t. There’s a lot of money to be had, I’m sure, but it’s trouble I don’t need. I’ll stick to more liquid commodities.

  I’m going to have to put together a gemstone-making setup again. The phone book has pawnshops advertising “Gold, Silver, and Jewelry.” I really should have thought to bring some along. My pet rock could have provided a couple of pounds of gold, silver, and precious stones.

  So, electric motors, orichalcum wire, rare-earth elements, a power outlet, and some private place to work…

  Maybe not the private place to work. Some of the news bulletins on the radio were less than comforting. While the summit was going on, troops were moving along the border of Great Russia and Great Germany, which told me they shared a border. Tensions were high. The Chancellor of Great Germany said any attempt by troops of His Imperial Majesty the Emperor of Great Russia to cross the border would be met with overwhelming force. The spokesman for Great Russia replied with rhetoric about how the territories illegally annexed in eastern Europe were, by right, by tradition, by language, and by culture inherently Russian, and continued obstinacy could only lead to “unfortunate outcomes.”

  I’m not sure I want to stay here. I need to do some shopping, possibly some stealing. At minimum, I’d like at least two more big crystals. Interuniversal gates are a pain.

  Jewelry shops, check. I wonder if they have any large, cheap rocks? Cut quartz, perhaps? Maybe some of the larger semi-precious stones? I don’t need jewels for this. Simple, regular crystal lattices will do perfectly well. I should probably carry around a wire loop and enough charged crystals for an emergency evacuation. If a civil defense alert sounds off about incoming bombers—Take shelter! Take shelter!—I want to be able to bail.

  Bronze rumbled away from the pumps while I consulted the map.

  There were several places with jewelry, but, contrary to what they’ll tell you, size matters. Diamonds, rubies, emeralds, and so on are all pretty stones, and all rather small. They’re fine for data storage, such as a spell, but for power to funnel through it, you need something big. Clear quartz can be pretty darn sizable, but it’s not usually kept with the jewels. It took a while to find something I could use. It turns out topaz can be moderately large, making it a good storage medium.

  We made our getaway before the cops arrived. Mary wouldn’t have tripped the alarm, but Mary wouldn’t have stopped looking for them after she found the first one.

  For the rest of the night, we lurked in a downtown parking lot. I treated my new acquisitions, jiggering their crystalline matrices to remove impurities and irregularities before enchanting them into batteries.

  Seattle, Friday, September 9th, 1977

  In the small hours of the morning, I got a room in a motel. I started by trying a hotel, but they wanted some form of identification. They didn’t need a credit card, though. Perhaps their computers and computer networks aren’t far enough along.

  The motel was willing to accept cash without asking too many questions.

  All my crystals are charging, albeit slowly. I took a shower and did my sunrise routine. Since the room had a radio—no television—I left it on, listening to the news. It’s not that I expect an all-out conflict to erupt without warning. In the event the locals decide to have it out, I’m sure the major devastation will start in Europe and spread from there. It should give me time to run like hell back to where we’ve stashed Bronze’s primary body and make our exit from this world. I do want as much warning as I can get, especially since I’m not sure I have enough charge to open a Bronze-sized gate for more than a second or two.

  Even so, it’ll probably be okay. I’m reasonably certain they’re not about to go for a massive, first-strike launch. The radio and newspapers say there’s diplomacy happening. Nobody’s going home in a huff, so it should be fine for a while, at least. Other things on the radio were helpful for getting a generalized flavor of the place, although I can’t think of a specific example at the moment.

  I didn’t like leaving my crystal collection in the motel room, so I went to the effort of hanging a “Do Not Disturb” on the doorknob and casting a Somebody Else’s Problem spell on the room. With a little luck, the maid service won’t notice it, much less thieves.

  Bronze and I drove to Seattle University to talk to their College of Arts and Sciences.

  I did not know Seattle University was affiliated with the Catholics. This one was, anyway. I discovered this while we were puttering along looking for a parking space.

  Mental note: Do not drop in after dark. The campus itself is probably not considered “holy ground,” but standing on lava crust is not the safest way to see if it’ll support you or swallow you.

  Our first stop was the University Services Building. I picked up some literature, skimmed through a course guide, and picked out the professors most likely to have a use for rare-earth metals. Then it was off to the Casey Building and the sciences. It was in the middle of some sort of construction, possibly a renovation. It wasn’t closed, but it was definitely inconvenient for classes. Still, nobody challenged me. I walked right in, consulted an information board, and wandered off to find the academic offices.

  Naturally, the professors I wanted were all out. Office hours are a myth, by the way. I’ve never known a tenured professor who was in his office. Graduate students? Yes. Undergrads currying favor? Yes. Hopeful freshmen? Yes. Nobody else.

  Ma
ybe it’s unique to the world I grew up in, but I doubt it.

  On the other hand, I did find some teaching assistants. They weren’t especially helpful. I wasn’t a student, so they didn’t have a responsibility to me. They felt much more responsible to Alexander Hamilton and far more helpful. While they didn’t have access to ingots of highly-valuable rare-earth metals, they did consult some catalogs. It turns out there were two places in Seattle where I might purchase my materials.

  At last, something goes right.

  I wrote down phone numbers and addresses, thanked my benefactors, and returned to the parking lot.

  There was a ticket on Bronze’s windshield. Campus police. No student ID on the dashboard. I put it in the glove box. I didn’t plan to be here long enough for it to matter. Besides, I’m pretty sure we can take on every campus cop they have.

  In this world, they sell rare-earth elements by the troy ounce, same as gold. The prices were even higher, though. Gold was easy to refine. At their present state of the art, the ones I wanted were harder. Still, this wasn’t unexpected. Iridium, ruthenium, and osmium aren’t cheap on any version of Earth. The suppliers, between them, had access to all three, but not much in stock. They wouldn’t order any, either, unless I paid in advance.

  I understood their position. No identification, no deposit, not even a checkbook, and I wanted them to order thousands of dollars of precious metals? Let’s see folding money, friend, and a lot of it!

  My first impulse was to hit a casino and skim some profits off. Unfortunately, in this world, in this time, formal gambling was illegal. My inquiries led me to a casino just north of the border, in Canada, but I was hesitant about crossing international borders when insufficiently documented. No doubt I could run the border, but it was potential trouble and I was trying not to draw attention.

  A bank job? I could knock over a bank. My methods would be more smash-and-grab than Mary’s, but if I don’t want the entire vault, just a medium-sized stack of cash, it could be done. I held the idea as a reserve.

  Later tonight I would prowl alleys. Street-level thugs don’t usually have much in the way of readily-liquidated valuables on them—it’s why they’re robbing other people, after all—but if they were amenable to discussion, it was possible I might find a less-than-legal gambling operation. If not, I could still eat them.

  I couldn’t skim money off such an operation without being noticed, though. Those tend to be alert to winners, especially strangers, and extensive winners may lose more than money. On the other hand, my usual technique of smash-and-grab should be even more effective. What would they do? Call the cops? At worst, they would shoot me repeatedly, and I’m kinda used to that.

  We fueled Bronze up again—low magic worlds are hard on her mileage—picked up a newspaper, and cruised back to the motel.

  The more time I spend here, the less I feel like staying. The economy is going well in the forty-eight states—Hawaii is a kingdom and Alaska is a Canadian province—but international tensions, especially in eastern Europe, are on the rise. The paper mentioned submarine attacks in the Baltic Sea and Gulf of Bothnia. Russia—excuse me; Great Russia—has a major port in there and they don’t like being restricted by German U-boats. So far, the United States and Great Britain are acting as referees, as neutral parties, trying to calm things down. I don’t think either side is going to prioritize this continent for a sneak attack, but you never know.

  Another submarine problem, and one closer to my immediate interests, is the possible threat of submarine-launched missiles. I get the impression the sub has to surface to launch them, but I’m not sure. They’re also not long-range missiles. The projected danger is limited to coastal areas, cities within a hundred miles or so of the ocean. I gather rocket science is still not up to ICBMs, although there is a “space program.” I don’t have the details, since it doesn’t get a lot of air time on the radio.

  Sadly, Seattle is on the list of potential targets. I am not comforted by this fact. I truly hope the Seattle Times-Herald is fearmongering to sell more papers.

  The radio was no comfort. The music was okay, but the news bulletins were nerve-wracking. Maybe I’m oversensitive, having used nuclear weapons. The rhetoric, posturing, and saber-rattling on both sides of the German-Russian border—The Great Border?—are, to say the least, inflammatory. I don’t know who’s right, if anyone. All I know is what I read or hear on the radio. I’m no politician. It seems to me both sides have a claim on the region in question. And, from my point of view, going to war over it, risking the lives of everyone in the region and, ultimately, the lives of everyone on the planet seems a tad excessive.

  But I’m a blood-drinking monster. Nobody asked my opinion.

  We went out on a food run, spending most of the rest of my cash on take-out. At least McDonald’s exists. Bronze had a fuel stop, I had dinner. I hopped in the shower for sunset and we went out again.

  Eight hours, three muggers, and two floating craps games later, I was well-fed, well-funded, and much more relaxed. Tomorrow, during normal business hours, I should be able to clean out the ready supply of my three main elements, buy a couple of small electric motors, and get busy making power converters.

  Going to Toshi Station would almost be easier.

  Seattle, Saturday, September 10th, 1977

  Okay, maybe not today. Wire was no problem, since there were any number of hardware stores open on Saturday, but everything else I needed was closed.

  It’s so tempting to break in tonight and grab what I need. I won’t, though. I don’t know where they keep it, how it’s catalogued, what sort of safe or other secure storage is involved, any of it. Mary taught me a lot about casing a place before robbing it. I can be taught, with patience and a mallet.

  I did get some work done, though. Orichalcum wire from Bronze’s favorite tail made a good start on an electromagical transformer. True, it was a rather poor transformer without the ruthenium core, but any extra power production was an improvement. I spent some of the accumulation on a series of conversion panels, as well, surrounding various fixtures in the motel room. They were thickest around the steam-works radiator, obviously. The local technology still used incandescent bulbs, so it was worthwhile to put a few conversion layers around the lights, as well, soaking up the heat.

  There ought to be a way to construct a spell to directly convert electricity—not electromagnetic radiation, but straight-from-the-wall electricity—into magical energy without going through a transformer gadget. The gadget is more efficient, I grant you, but sometimes difficult to construct!

  I’ve got a weekend I’m not using. There isn’t much of a power budget for experimentation, what with four crystals still charging, but working out the principles will keep me occupied.

  Seattle, Sunday, September 11th, 1977

  I may be wrong about the feasibility of a direct electrical converter.

  My spell for absorbing electromagnetic radiation—light, radio, microwaves, ultraviolet, whatever—has about a four percent efficiency. Which is to say the most it can absorb and convert of whatever is passing through its field is no greater than four percent. Nesting these spells, or layering them, can eventually approach a total absorption, but it’s generally not worth the effort. Each layer has four percent less to work with than the preceding layer, so the effective efficiency drops off as each layer produces less power. The point of diminishing returns rears its ugly head rather quickly.

  Of course, if your objective is to shield a radiation source, you want as many of these things as you can get, as with the heart of the mountain. The more intense the source, the more practical it is to have more layers, as well as safer.

  What I want to do is develop a spell like a light bulb. The idea is to screw the spell-bulb into a socket, turn on the power, and have it radiate magical energy.

  The electromagical transformers already do this. Electricity goes in, magic radiates out from it. My goal is to eliminate the transformer. If I can cast a spell to do
it, I can bypass the requirements for ruthenium and orichalcum.

  It can be done. It’s not what I’d call a work of Art, though.

  Part of the problem—at least, so far—is the spell has to act as an electrical conductor. Electricity has to flow from the live wire to the ground wire. Simple enough. But during the course of the conduction, it has to be made to do work, giving up some of its energy to produce a different form of energy. Light bulbs do the same thing—electricity turns to light. Electric heaters? Thermal energy. Electric motors? Movement.

  But to get my spell to work, I have to invest a sizable amount of power into it. It has to be built to stand the load. The “wiring” has to be thick enough to not break down as the current flows through it.

  Then there’s the problem of the conversion. It’s based on my original conversion-panel spell. Imagine a laser beam. That’s the wire. I put a tiny panel in the path of the beam, no larger than it needs to be. Not much of a power investment, there, but there’s still a whole sub-spell system involved. If I stack lots of them together along the path of the beam, they all take out a fraction. Those are wired in series.

  That’s the best I can hope for. If I split the beam into a thousand smaller beams to wire them in parallel, they each produce the same amount of power, but the overall efficiency of the system goes to hell.

  I’ve got a workaround, I think.

  If I spend enough power to build the basic spell—step one—and spend enough time and effort to build a self-replicating power panel—step two—I can, in essence, plug the spell into a power source and get four percent of the available power converted into magic.