Ω
Four of the F/A-18C aircraft flying CAP over the Vinson were nose-diving from 10,000 feet, lining up on the cruise missiles and launching all of their AIM 9X Sidewinder and AIM-120 AMRAAM missiles into the melee. Neither of those two venerable weapons were designed for look-down and lock-in on low flying cruise missiles but they were all that squadron VFA-113, nicknamed the Stingers, could bring to the fight.
From his position in the air several hundred yards from the carrier, Clarke’s jaw dropped in disbelief at the sight of the black cubes in the distance popping through portals from who knew where. With a magnification spell, he stared, mesmerized for several seconds, but the view was quickly distorted by a magical spell in the air. Two attempts with counter spells failed to penetrate the curtain.
Something weird was going on.
However, there could be no doubt that the rogue wizard had shown up after all. Excellent! The black boxes gave Clarke pause but nevertheless, he proceeded to generate the appropriate magical signal to the one hundred Oni in his command, all of them stationed around the carrier group, to gather and launch their attack. As Oni began emerging through portals around him, Clarke accelerated through the air toward the north.
Finally, he would do battle with that accursed meddlesome nefarious cur of a wizard! To be rid of him forever!
Ω
Paul was the first to see Clarke and the Oni barreling straight in his direction, directly through the middle of the distortion screen he had established.
So much for good intentions!
All one hundred of the Scotties with him were frantically busy in the fight with all the missiles. He was pretty much on his own, hanging a thousand feet above the water.
The situation was as desperate as he had ever experienced! A hundred Scotties just to his north were weaving through the air in impossible to follow maneuvers, dodging between missiles, anti-missiles, and tungsten bullets. Portals were snapping open and closed faster than blinks of an eye, columns of water jetting in all directions, bullseyes made of ocean water turned-to-instant-ice flashed into existence in front of some missiles while, in another case, a giant tentacle from some impossibly large sea monster sprang out of the water, snatching one cruise missile out of the air and dragging it down beneath the waves!
More anti-missiles were coming, from the Sterett, the Bunker Hill, and the Vinson, all of them doing more harm than good. And now a virtual army of Oni were attacking!
His Scotties were busy. It was therefore up to him to deal with the Oni, or to at least delay them if he could not defeat them.
And just how was he going to do that?
Gee, what an excellent question!
Gritting his teeth, with an acid burn in his chest, Paul reached out with both arms, closing his eyes in intense concentration.
“In the names of null and energy dampening fields and Klingon disrupters, may each Oni be hit with a bubble of space-time, with ten percent lower values of vacuum permittivity!”
Nervously, Paul cast forth the spell, uncertain if a vacuum permittivity spell was going to work or not. It was the first attempt on his part to do so using a chutzpah and to do it with more than one target!
He found it very difficult to concentrate, to focus on so many different targets! The Oni were advancing fast. They would soon be upon him!
And then, one by one, the nearest Oni started folding up in midflight and dropping like flies, unconscious and tumbling through the air toward the sea below.
Ω
Clarke’s anger and confidence in the attack were rapidly waning.
First, his Oni were being knocked out of the air by some sort of spell that he did not recognize. It wasn’t lightning bolts or by anything physical. That infernal mongrel of a wizard was doing something with space, altering it in some way, which was rendering his Oni unconscious. Clarke was positive that if he had a little time to study the effect, he could easily work around it.
However, the power of the spell being cast was simply astounding! Easily the equal of all the Oni talismans and his own—combined! Why, if that idiot were casting lightning bolts or was using Mjölnir, the hammer of Thor, or even wielding a magical sword such as the Japanese Kusanagi, or the sword of Irish mythology, Fragarach—those acts would be far more effective! Indeed, considering the power being used—or rather squandered—here, all of his Oni would have been killed within seconds!
And then there were those accursed black cubes!
The closer he got to the aeronautical conflict, the more he could see of them and their antics. And it positively sent shivers up and down his spine! The spells that were being used! The power, the skill! Whatever they were, they were very effectively wiping the missiles out of the sky. Never in his life had he seen or heard about anything remotely like it!
Clarke suddenly realized that his personal presence here was a great risk, more than was acceptable. Better to live and fight another day, when the odds were more in his favor. After he had time to investigate these strange black flying cubes.
So he slipped back amongst the Oni, dropping lower and opening a portal back to the carrier. From there, he would return to the States. And do his best to come up with a better plan!
There would be a next time too. He swore by all that was holy that there would be!
Ω
The Oni were still closing in, faster than he could dispatch them!
He grunted, redoubling his efforts, straining every mental faculty. He knew that he could simply blast them out of space with laser beams, fry them with microwaves or even cut them up with a light saber. However, he had no wish to kill them. He had done enough of that already!
As they drew closer to him, he realized that he would have to change tactics. With a wave of one arm, he created a new spell, changing his image to that of Parallax, the supervillain monster of the movie Green Lantern.
All of the Oni froze in place, most of them jerking back in horror, some of them actually turning and fleeing via a portal.
Paul reached out with one ‘monstrous yellow tentacle,’ wrapping it around the nearest Oni and bringing it closer to the ‘monster’s’ viscous mouth.
That did it. The rest of the Oni fled in droves. Paul dropped the image and the Oni too, who raced after his fellows.
“It’s okay, Dad,” a voice by his shoulder said.
Paul glanced to his right, noting the presence of Daneel 101 a foot away.
“Battle’s over. We’ve got all of the missiles,” the Scottie bragged. “And Daneel 1 and his group are showing up too. What do you want us to do next?”
Paul sighed, suddenly tired, hungry, and anxious to get out of the spacesuit.
“First thing, I knocked out a bunch of Oni and they fell into the sea,” he explained, squeezing his eyes shut and suppressing a yawn.
“We’ll snag them before they drown,” Daneel 101 reassured him. “And put them where?”
“In stasis, with Hamadi and his group. You’ll need to send someone to Nepal for the incense,” he mumbled before a yawn.
“No sweat. We’ll take care of it,” Daneel said, moving a bit closer, carefully studying his father’s face through the facemask. “You’re tired, Dad. I recommend a hot shower in a six-star hotel. Then maybe a nice meal and a good night’s sleep.”
“A most fabulous idea,” Paul remarked with whole hearted approval. He stole another glance at the ships in the distance. “I’d suggest that you leave a squad of Daneels here to watch over things. In the morning we’ll go back to Mars. Oh, and I need two Daneels to decontaminate this suit! It’s a good thing that Scotties have no sense of smell!”
FOURTEEN
The planet Mars
Coprates Chasma
The Dusar Workshop (Thuvia, Maid of Mars)
Saturday, 10:00 a.m. LMST
April
Day 166
Graduation Day.
That was what Paul had dubbed it. And there had been no objections to calling it that, not even from
Capie.
They were gathered together in the third underground workshop, the largest indoor space available. Even it felt a bit on the crowded side during this particular event.
The last few weeks had been incredibly busy, with no breaks or holidays. The greatest fear Paul held now was that they couldn’t complete all of their preparations before Errabêlu struck again. It was a race, one that they could not afford to lose, lest millions of people die.
And they still had a ton of work left yet to do, work that would take them at least another month, and likely longer than that to complete.
In the room were forty nine AI’s, all sitting on tables in the large chamber. The twenty-four males and twenty-five females had all been transferred the previous day from PCs into their own personal black cubes, but they were also still connected to monitor screens, webcams, and small speakers. None of them, as of yet, had their magical barriers removed. Paul planned to start that task shortly, within the next hour in fact.
All of them were quietly watching him, ready for him to begin the ceremony.
As he glanced at each of them, he felt an extreme sense of pride. All warm and buttery inside. The faces on their monitors revealed how excited they were, how vibrant, intelligent, anxious, and enthusiastic. These were the seed of his army, the ones that would make a difference in the war to come. They would be the ones to end despotism, terrorism, and savagery on Earth, for the whole of the human race. Theirs was the challenge of all challenges in history. This was their day.
He felt absolutely ancient and obsolete by comparison but still bursting with pride in their potential, all wrapped up in one.
They had developed the maturity, finished their educations, completed their training. From here, each one would be the source of a thousand clones. Each one would work tirelessly to duplicate the Scottie hardware, convert the isotopes needed and construct the chutzpahs required. They would organize themselves into an army and develop the detailed plan of attack on Errabêlu and its minions.
“Your attention, please,” he said with a smile. “This is a great day, today. We have much to be proud of. You have worked hard, yes. But we still have a long way yet to go…”
Ω
“I’m not crazy!” Clarke protested vehemently, gesturing emphatically at the image hanging in midair just in front of the huge fireplace. “That’s what I saw!”
“You should be reasonable, Clarke,” Oleg Nevsky muttered, his rumbling voice enough to vibrate the mug on the table top beside him. He glowered in annoyance while continuing to ignore Clarke’s tirade.
They were back in the Hecate Room, at the Transylvanian Castle, where the Oni had created another magnificent roaring fire in the hearth. Upon Clarke’s (and his remaining Oni survivors) return from the South China Sea to Washington, D.C., he had issued the call for another summit meeting of the Conclave of Magi.
However, only two of the other members of the Conclave had bothered to show up. One was Oleg. The other was Saito Masayo, of Japan.
Most disappointing of all, Wu hadn’t even bothered to acknowledge the call, let alone put in a personal appearance.
Clarke shot up out of his seat and began to pace in front of the fireplace, the picture depicting the black cubes he’d seen in the South China Sea dissolving away like carnival sugar candy in a summer afternoon rain squall.
“I’m telling you I saw what I saw!” he insisted again angrily. “That charlatan wizard has created an army of some sort of magical mutants! There was a bunch of them, flying around—”
“Yes, we saw your images,” Saito interrupted tactfully. “But Oleg is right to be doubtful. No one in history has ever created anything like what you are describing.”
Oleg nodded with a grunt. “That mongrel wizard was playing with you. He’s learned some new magical trick of light and has fooled you—”
“He took out fifty of my Oni!” Clarke bellowed. “Some of my best too! You can’t do that with tricks of light!”
There was silence in the room for several seconds, only the crackle of the fire to be heard.
Finally, Saito stirred in his seat, steepling his hands, his index fingers touching his chin.
“I, for one, am willing to go along with you, Clarke,” he said thoughtfully. “At least for the time being.”
“Finally!” huffed Clarke as he stopped pacing to scowl at Oleg.
But Oleg merely grunted.
Saito, however, had more to say. “Armstead is clearly dangerous, and in possession of unknown spells and abilities. That cannot be denied. Therefore, preparations should be made to deal with him. More Oni, to be sure. Also, more powerful talismans. And too, we should plan to use the Shinigami Spell if necessary.”
Even Oleg gasped at that.
“Shinigami?” he sputtered in surprise. “That’s not been used since the tenth century! Surely you jest!”
“A wise man prepares for the worst, even if it is not needed,” Saito said, chiding the Russian gently. “Better to be prepared and not need it than the other way around.”
“You won’t get the others on the Conclave to agree,” mumbled Oleg. Then he snorted and forced himself up out of his seat. “And I’ve heard all I care to hear on this subject. The Shinigami Spell is too powerful, too tempting for the more deceitful wizards among us if they should discover how it works. Wu comes to mind. And he’s on the Conclave. If you invoke that option, there is no way you can keep it from him. No, I’m against it!”
With that, he grunted again, creating a portal and stepping through it.
Then it snapped closed.
“Well,” Saito remarked wearily. “I guess it is up to the two of us. Shall we get started?”
SECTION II
WAR
FIFTEEN
The planet Mars
Coprates Chasma
Gathol House
Monday, 9:27 a.m. LMST
May
Day 206
Capie, dressed in her spacesuit but with the faceplate open, was busily fussing with the suitcase trying to get it closed, its sides bulging from too many clothes squashed into too little space. Frustrated, she stood back, dramatically waving her right arm and snapping out a spell. With blinding speed, the suitcase audibly sucked in all the protruding bulges and clamped itself shut with a loud click.
“I should have done that to start with,” she grinned victoriously.
Paul, standing nearby in his spacesuit too, struggled to hide his smile. “Or let the Scotties do it for you,” he suggested for the tenth time.
“Nonsense,” Capie declared airily. “They are busy with a lot of other things right now. And speaking of the devil…” she nodded at the doorway.
Daneel 1 floated into the room.
“I am not a devil,” his face above the black cube objected with dignity, then turned toward Paul. “Status report, Dad. All but two of the assembly lines are shut down now and even they will finish operations in the next half hour or so. All data backups have been completed, all equipment spares packed, all cargo ready for loading. You have time to freshen up, perhaps eat some breakfast or pack a few last minute items.” He glanced over at Capie. “Or let us pack a few items for you. Then we will be ready to leave.”
Paul nodded as he faced the Scottie. “All the boxes I marked downstairs? All other supplies ready to go as well?”
“Yes,” the Scottie attested. “Everything is outside on the pad, fully assembled and packed.”
“All the 55 gallon drums too?” challenged Capie, gently tugging with one hand on the diamond necklace around her neck.
“Those as well,” Daneel 1 confirmed.
Paul glanced over at his wife and then her luggage.
“If you don’t mind,” she said with an air of infinite patience as she reached out to grab Patches from the bed, slinging the stuffed puppy under one arm, “I can carry and stow my own luggage.”
He smiled. “Of course you can, my dear. But do you want a little breakfast first, before we go?”
She grimaced. “I am so ready to go to an IHOP or even a Waffle House. Promise me I will never have to drink re-hydrated milk again!”
Paul chuckled in total agreement with her opinion. “True, even with a little magic to help the taste, it doesn’t have quite the right flavor, does it?"
“That’s the understatement of this millennium,” she muttered with conviction.
“Have you made a trip through the house?” Paul asked, to divert the conversation. “Have we missed anything?”
“I’ve checked,” she confirmed for him, then sighed. “We’ve been here nearly seven months. In some ways, I’m glad we are going and in others—well, we have accomplished a lot here. I’ll miss the place and the wonderful views out that window—when there wasn’t a dust storm blocking it.”
Paul turned back to Daneel 1. “I think we are ready to go. Why don’t we assemble everyone on the pad, except for those involved in the assembly of the last Scotties? That will give time to load everything on board and for Capie and I to get comfortable. Then, when the last Scottie reports aboard, I would like to briefly address the troops before departure.”
“Okay, Dad. I am putting out the word now,” Daneel 1 replied.
Paul waited for Capie to close the faceplate on her spacesuit, then closed his own. With a wave of his hand, he opened a portal. They walked through, Capie’s luggage waddling obediently along behind her, all seven suitcases and two large trunks. His luggage, all three suitcases, was already on the pad, courtesy of Talos 987 (Greek mythology, a giant man of bronze) and Brandy 41 (from Starshine, Marvel Comics).
Outside, the latest dust storm was kicking up a fury, the winds clocking at over 60 mph.
A few yards away, two signs on a lone metal signpost shivered slightly in the thin wind. One of them read: “For Sale: Beach Front Property” with an arrow pointing off to the left. The other read “CAUTION! Road slippery when wet!”
“I am NOT going to miss this,” Capie muttered. “Dust, dust, dust! Can we live someplace humid for a few days? Maybe a month or so? I’ve forgotten what rain looks like.”
The Genie and the Engineer 3: Ravages of War Page 14