The Genie and the Engineer 3: Ravages of War

by Glenn Michaels

  Their spacesuits protected them from the dust and the winds but still, Capie had a good point. Paul was similarly tired of all the dust.

  He nonchalantly waved a hand. “If you’d like, there is probably a hurricane in the Atlantic or perhaps a typhoon in the Pacific someplace. We can fly through that on our way to a landing.”

  Capie gave him that stare she was so good at, the one that said Don’t Mess With Me Today, I Am Not In The Mood.

  “Funny man,” she grumbled in a sharp tone of voice.

  Paul glanced at all the 55 gallon drums stacked to one side of the landing field.

  “That’s not going to be enough, is it?” he cheerlessly asked Capie.

  “No, it’s not,” she grudgingly admitted. “But it should be enough to get us started. And hopefully, within a month or two of our arrival, we will have new facilities up and running on Earth to manufacture more.”

  When Capie had taken charge of the plan to bring humanitarian relief to those in need on Earth, she had quickly decided to continue Paul’s earlier efforts in concocting a potion for her, to cure her of her spinal injuries. However, the one she wanted was one that could be administered to the sick and needy and would cure almost anything. Indeed, thanks to some wonderful research by her team of Scotties, they had managed to produce such a miracle drug, one that restored a human body to almost pristine condition. A sufficient portion of it would cure any type of cancer, heart disease, stroke, diabetes, and organ failures, induce limb and organ replacements, and cure many other major medical conditions. Capie and her team of Scotties had manufactured thousands of gallons of the potion, which they’d named the MBE Drug, to be administered to those most in need on Earth. But even stingy use of it would not stretch it out very far. A lot more than what existed in the drums in front of them would be needed. A lot more.

  Daneel 1 floated up beside them. “Just checking, Dad. Will you confirm the configuration please?”

  Paul nodded. “A flying saucer, please. Along the lines of “Earth versus the Flying Saucers, Forbidden Planet, The Invaders, This Island Earth,—”

  Capie raised a hand to stop him. “Not the entire list, dear. I think Daneel 1 gets the idea.”

  Groups of Scotties began to appear, their black cubes floating in from nearby locations, others portaling in from more remote places. As they appeared, they began to link together, reminding Paul of an assembly of Lego building blocks but on a much larger scale.

  Gradually, starting from the center and building outward, they formed the hull of the ship, layer by layer. The supplies stacked around them began to disappear too as other Scotties started loading the ship.

  The ship hung there in front of them, a truly massive—and also truthfully impressive—and formidable vessel.

  Capie raised her eyes to the heavens and shook her head.

  “I would not have thought that cubes could make all the curves necessary in a flying saucer,” she observed. “But it doesn’t look half bad at all.”

  “You’ve never played Minecraft, have you?” Paul asked her.

  “No, I haven’t. Have you?”

  Paul nodded in admission. “A few times. Enough to know it’s not my cup of tea. But there are a couple of engineers I knew at Edwards that live by it.” He waved at the saucer. “For them, this would be child’s play.”

  His wife studied the emerging size of the ship. “Just how big a ship are they going to make?”

  “With fifty thousand Scotties, you can make a pretty decent sized flying saucer,” Paul said. “In this case, about half of them will be used for interior compartments, bulkheads, decks and overheads. The rest are for the hull. The ship will be 100 feet in diameter and 20 feet thick through the center. It will have a crew deck and two cargo holds. Big cargo holds too.”

  He grinned, pleased at how good the ship looked from the ground. “‘All I ask is a tall ship…and a load of contraband to fill her with.’”

  “That has to be Quark from Deep Space Nine who said that,” Capie observed, cocking her head to one side and shaking it. “Okay, I’ll bite, why are we going back on a ship? Why not portal to Earth, like we usually do? And why pick this ship?”

  “In the order you asked, we aren’t using a portal because we have a bunch of stuff to take with us such as the drums of vaccine and other cargo. Rather than man-handle it all, the hold of a ship just makes more sense. And too, I would like to indulge my love of space opera, and this may be my only opportunity to do so. True, I could have selected a different ship design. There are so many to choose from! Such as a Colonial Battlestar, an Imperial Star Destroyer, a Daedalus-class Battlecruiser, a FireFly transport, a Farscape Leviathon, a White Star Cruiser, the NSEA Protector—”

  Capie looked at the sky as if imploring divine help. “I get the idea, dear. Not the whole list, please!”

  He shrugged apologetically. “Anyway, a flying saucer best fits into our planning scenarios.”

  “How so?” she asked, genuinely interested in how a flying saucer design could fulfill anybody’s plan.

  He took a moment more to admire the ship assembly process while organizing his thoughts. “When we go to Earth and start a war with Errabêlu, it’s going to kick up a lot of commotion. A lot of Normals are going to witness a lot of weird stuff. A lot of magical spells. Some people might even see this ship flying around a bit. Now, according to the simulations the Scotties ran, we have three basic options open to us: we could announce the truth, tell the whole planet that we are wizards and that we have come to Earth to free the Normals from wizardly control by Errabêlu—”

  Capie wrinkled her nose in disapproval. “Bad idea, that.”

  “Agreed,” said Paul, with a small nod of his head. “That possibility leads to some very nasty consequences. Option two is to make up some sort of lie. The best one we could come up with is that the Scotties are aliens from another planet—”

  “They are from another planet,” his wife pointed out, with a little annoyance. “Mars, remember? The biggest dust bunny in the galaxy?”

  “Okay, so maybe that story wouldn’t technically be a lie,” Paul said with a nonchalant shrug. “Though I think the people of Earth would disagree. And later, when they found out the truth, and they would eventually, then they would be furious.”

  “And option three?”

  He grinned. “To not say anything at all. Consider: anyone who sees our flying saucer and reports it—”

  “Won’t be believed, will they?” Capie finished with a pained expression. “Just another UFO sighting, no different from thousands of other sightings.”

  Paul gave her a small bow. “Exactly. The same will be true for any other strange thing that people see. Even photos or cell camera videos won’t be widely accepted, especially with the governments controlled by Errabêlu officially scoffing at them. And if we don’t say anything either…?”

  Capie thought of all the stories and rumors of Roswell, Area 51 and the odd goings on in the Devil’s Triangle. “Our war with Errabêlu will still impact people’s lives, Paul. Those that see parts of the war will be affected by it, some of them rather profoundly.”

  He nodded, stealing another glance at the ship. “It’s an imperfect solution, I know. However, it’s the best we could come up with.”

  She looked back up to the ship, now nearly finished, and rolled her eyes. “I understand now just how crazy you are.”

  “Ah, ‘understanding is a three-edged sword’ as Kosh of Babylon 5 described it,” Paul answered flippantly. “I believe that they are ready for us now. Shall we go aboard?” He waved a portal into existence and they stepped through onto the bridge of the ship.

  “I’ll just take my luggage and pack it in our quarters,” Capie said, shaking her head in amusement. “I assume we have do have quarters?”

  “Right this way,” volunteered a female voice from one of the Scotties in a nearby wall. The designation on her side panel identified her as Rosie 408 (from The Jetsons). A green arrow formed on th
e deck in front of Capie’s feet, pointing down the corridor and away from the bridge.

  Capie smiled. “Thanks, Rosie. Come along, luggage!” And she marched off following the green arrows, the large stuffed puppy Patches still tucked under one arm, and the luggage waddling along in her wake.

  Paul turned back to Daneel 1, floating nearby. “Oh, fetch me my new duds, please, while Capie is putting her luggage away.”

  A few minutes later, when Paul had taken off his spacesuit and changed clothes, Daneel 1 told him that the last of the Scotties had joined themselves to the structure of the ship and that all was nearly in readiness for launch. Capie walked in at just that moment and stood at the doorway to the bridge, hands on hips as she took in her husband’s new clothing.

  “‘What is that? Is that a uniform of some kind?’” she quoted from the Star Trek episode “Tomorrow is Yesterday.”

  “‘This little thing?’” Paul responded, feigning complete innocence. “‘Something I slipped on.’”

  “Boys and their toys! Okay, Captain Kirk, if you are quite ready?” And she plopped down in the captain’s chair, crossing her arms and daring him to force her out.

  Paul grinned and sat at the helmsman station. “This is not a Starfleet uniform,” he replied, with a smile. “It is the new uniform for the Space Navy.”

  Indeed, he was quite proud of his design. The jacket was an Egyptian blue, with an arching white braid from the armpits across the upper chest and a high stiff collar of black. Shoulder boards of gold held his command insignia and a large rectangular patch on the left side of his chest held a variety of small brightly colored squares, resembling, to various degrees, military metals. The long sleeved jacket flared outward past his hips and over the top of the charcoal black slacks. On his feet, Paul wore tall black leather boots.

  “Quite,” Capie indifferently replied. “Which Space Navy?”

  Paul shrugged, reluctantly admitting that she had a good question. “That is a problem. I sort of like the Terran Space Navy, in homage to the early science fictions authors such as Isaac Asimov, Poul Anderson, Keith Laumer and E.E. Doc Smith.”

  “And I suppose you have named the ship too, right?” she guessed, a knowing smile on her lips.

  “Guilty as charged,” he replied. He turned to Daneel 1. “Daneel 1, I would like to designate this ship, however temporary, as the TNS Ascendant, hull number BC-1618, please.”

  “Ascendant, uh?” Capie asked with a smile. “From the StarGate series, right? But not all that obvious. What is the BC-1618 number from?”

  Paul gave her his know-it-all grin. “BC stands for Battle Cruiser and 1.618 is Phi, the Golden Ratio number. And I like large numbers for ship hulls. It implies that there are a lot more ships.”

  Capie adjusted her position in the command chair and frowned. “I’m ready to go when you are.”

  “All supplies have been properly stowed and all the Scottie commanders have reported ready for lift off,” Daneel 1 reported as he floated towards a desk near a wall. A projected human image of the Scottie appeared, taking the seat at the navigator’s station.

  With a nod at him, Paul turned back to Capie. “Ready, my love?”

  “Past ready,” she replied impatiently. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

  With a wave of his hand, Paul created a holographic console full of switches in front of him, then pressed one.

  “Okay, all hands, please listen up. We are ready to leave Mars now and begin our assault on Earth. If anyone is not ready to leave, please speak up.”

  There was silence on the ship. Paul glanced at the human image of Daneel 1 and nodded.

  “Artificial gravity field turned on. Activating our engines,” Paul said, tapping out a meaningless pattern on the switches on the control panel. “Lifting off at one-tenth power!”

  At the front of the bridge, a holographic viewscreen appeared, activating itself, showing an image of swirling dust patterns. As they watched, the dust faded away, to be replaced by the black of space with a few stars visible. Then the curving horizon of the planet established itself below as they moved away from the surface of Mars, heading up into low Martian orbit.

  Paul studied his instruments. “Standard orbit established. Now calculating a trajectory for Earth.” He punched a few more meaningless buttons. “Calculations complete. Acceleration compensation field activated. Leaving Martian orbit. Accelerating at 98.1 meters per second squared.”

  The Martian surface dropped from view as they sped away from the planet.

  “Stand by for portal entry,” Paul intoned. “Set end-point over the night side of Earth, above the eastern seaboard of North America, altitude of 80,000 miles. Align the vector to put us into orbit,” he said with a grin.

  A tiny circle of white appeared on the viewscreen, growing swiftly in size as they approached. They shot through the center of the portal, the view of the stars shifting ever so slightly and Earth appearing off to one side of the viewscreen.

  “Entering Earth orbit. Excellent navigation, too, I might add,” Paul observed smugly through the side of his mouth to Daneel 1.

  They watched the planet on the viewscreen. Paul said, “Arthur C. Clarke was right, you know.”

  “About what?” Capie asked, only mildly curious.

  “It was he who said, ‘How inappropriate to call this planet ‘Earth’ when it is clearly ‘Ocean’.”

  Capie nodded but didn’t reply.

  Then Paul took an excited breath and grinned. “‘An abysmal place, Earth. A thousand years ago, it had character. Crusades, Spanish Inquisition, Watergate. Now it’s just mind numbingly dull.’”

  Rolling her eyes, Capie said, “That’s Q, from a Star Trek: The Next Generation episode. But I can’t remember which one.”

  “Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, actually. The episode ‘Q-Less.’” Paul punched some more buttons.

  “Nervous, aren’t you?” his wife asked and then smiled gently at him. “All the quotes are your way of dealing with the stress. Well, I don’t mind admitting I’m nervous too.”

  With a small nod, Paul turned toward the large monitor screen at the front of the bridge. The fun part was already over. “You know me too well. Yes, I am nervous. All of our planning, our strategies and tactics, everything we’ve done to prepare for this day, is about to be put to the test. It wouldn’t take much to defeat us. Some magic spell that Errabêlu knows that we don’t. Or something that I have overlooked. So, yes, I am very very nervous.”

  Capie grinned. “‘Hey, if a pair of scruffy hobbits can drop a ring into the Crack of Doom in defiance of the most awful Evil Overlord in literary history, then this should be a piece of cake.’”

  Paul blinked in surprise. “Who the devil said that? I love that quote!”

  “A fellow named Chris MacMurtrie,” she answered, chuckling.

  Encouraged, Paul smiled back at her.

  “Okay, Daneel,” he said, swinging to face Daneel 1, “Notify Daryl 71,” (from the 1985 movie D.A.R.Y.L.) “and II Corps, 2nd Division, 4th Brigade, 4th Battalion that they are free to leave.”

  Paul had decided, back on Mars during their planning sessions that one of their first needs during the coming conflict would be to establish a prison for their prisoners. Something better than what he had arranged for Hamadi off the coast of Australia. He had briefly considered Devil’s Island and Alcatraz, but both were now tourist traps. Furthermore, neither was escape proof. And Rura Penthe, the prison used in Star Trek VI: The Undiscovered Country, wasn’t an option either, since that fictional planet was nowhere near Earth.

  But his wife had convinced him there was another choice.

  Daryl 71 and his company had been given detailed instructions. They would proceed to the North Sea, east of Scotland, coordinates 59° N, -0.4° W, to an undersea mount there. Starting with the mount, they would build a small island, using rock mined from the ocean floor, and then build a prison on that island. To keep the wizard prisoners from using the rock as amulets, al
l the interior spaces of the prison would be coated with carbon nanotubes woven into a near impenetrable super-fabric. Not only would the super-fabric prevent the prisoners from actually touching the rock walls, the carbon fibers themselves held a very low magical quotient, carbon being the fourth most abundant material in the universe.

  Capie smiled wickedly. “So, you decided to take my suggestion after all. Azkaban from the third Harry Potter. The wizards of Errabêlu are just going to love it there!”

  Daneel 1’s image smiled in return. “Their experiences there will be memorable ones, I’m sure. Dad, Daryl 71 and his Battalion have left the ship.”

  Paul grinned and looked over at Capie. “‘And so it begins,’” he said, quoting Kosh of Babylon 5. “Let’s go kick some butt.”

  Ω

  The next item on Paul’s want list was an operational headquarters they could call their own. It would be a facility that they could use for storage of the vaccine as well as for staging operations, training, orientations, and what not.

  Capie wanted to buy a large building in a major city with a preference for a location in Europe. And Paul was tempted, but in reality, no place in Europe was safe from discovery by a wizard of one country or another. No, they needed a more isolated corner of the Earth for their operations, where they could use copious quantities of magic without fear of discovery.

  After considerable thought, Paul chose Mount Logan, the highest mountain in Canada and the second highest in all of North American, sitting near the border between Canada and the United States. The ship dropped lower into the atmosphere, taking a northeast route headed toward the Gulf of Alaska.

  “Approaching the southeastern coast of Alaska,” Daneel 1 reported.

  “Excellent,” Paul said with a smile. “I’m hoping Jaret will contact us at some point. Daneel 1, when we are 300 miles from the coastline, raise shields and reduce radar cross section to zero.”

  “Copy that,” Daneel 1 responded. “Raising shields and radar cloak in fifty-three seconds.”