Wednesday, 8:15 p.m. EDT
June
“But sir! You can’t go!” adamantly shouted Daneel 1.
“I agree!” Gort 737 yelled, adding his two cents.
“‘The avalanche has started! It is too late for the pebbles to vote!’” Paul screamed back at them madly, quoting Kosh of Babylon 5. “This time I am needed there! Drill that hole, Daneel. We’re buying time with the lives of Scotties here!” Paul turned to Arcee 77. “Move it, Commander or I’ll find a Scottie that will!”
3rd Brigade of 1st Division did indeed follow him through several portals, emerging onto the narrow blacktop of Featherbed Lane, east southeast of Stony Ridge. Even here, the wind was blowing at gale force strength, the rain moving horizontally like bullets from an army of machine guns, the earth quivering like Jell-O.
Why had Paul brought 3rd Brigade here? The answer was that this section of road was north of the unfinished railroad, the one that Lisa was making such decent progress advancing down. It was his belief that Errabêlu had taken a page from history and positioned defensive troops all along the railroad, hoping that the Scotties would move in from Washington DC and attack along the same path as General John Pope, specifically from Lee’s Highway towards the northwest, across the open fields on the south side of the railroad bed. If true, there were Oni just to the south of Paul’s location now but facing in the other direction.
By coming here, it was his hope to bypass the Errabêlu defenses on the railroad and approach Stony Ridge from an undefended quarter. Lisa 486 and 1st Division could deal with the Oni on the railroad.
Paul spun in place, turning toward the west-northwest, toward what they could see was the worst of the storm. The scope and violence of it gave even him pause. But only for a moment. His Scotties were in there, fighting for their lives. Paul could not let them down. They needed him!
“This way, everybody!” he screamed above the roar of the wind.
For 300 yards, their progress was unimpeded by Errabêlu but contested every step of the way by the increasingly violent weather. Paul had trouble envisioning how his Scotties were coping up there on Stony Ridge, in the thick of the fighting.
The small voice in the back of his mind screamed at him in total hysteria. Had he made yet another mistake? Perhaps he should have pulled everybody out of the area? Errabêlu could not have followed, not if Paul were correct about the tap deep through the Earth’s lithosphere down to the upper mantle. They could hardly drag that with them in order to chase the Scotties. Paul could have withdrawn to a safe distance, drilled his own tap to the lower mantle, negated their advantage and then attacked at the time of his own choosing.
Logically, that would have been the correct course to have taken. But in his heart, Paul knew it would have been the wrong decision. Even during a withdrawal, more Scotties would have been snatched up before they could have gotten clear. And then, after a withdrawal, all the Scotties that had been taken might never be recovered. It was a gamble on his part, the largest gamble he had ever made in his entire life. He was risking that by staying in the fight, he and the remaining Scotties could buy enough time for Daneel 1 to negate Errabêlu’s power and, at the same time, allow Paul the chance to find and rescue the missing Scotties. Sure, the engineer in him said that those Scotties were probably gone forever, destroyed by the evil powers of Errabêlu. But his heart said no, that he had to hold on to hope, that he needed to take the chance for their sake, even if it endangered more Scotties in the process. Paul had to try to rescue the missing ones—or at least know for sure what had happened to them. He owed them that, as their creator and father. They deserved not to be left behind. More, they deserved his very best effort to save them, if it was even remotely possible.
And, most important, Paul knew that his place was here, in the center of this battle. Oh, no doubt, Capie would have demanded that he not go, that he keep himself safe behind the lines, directing the battle as its commander-in-chief. Yet, somehow Paul instinctively knew that if he had stayed at the Manassas Regional Airport, the cost of success would have been much greater. Again, this decision made no sense in the light of reason or logic. He only knew, in his heart that it was true. It was a matter of life or death that he be here, now, in the thick of the battle. There were decisions to be made, actions to take, and the only way to make absolutely certain that everything humanly possible had been tried was to go himself.
It was the ultimate in commitment, to himself, to his Scotties and to the Normals of Earth. They were going to win this battle or he was going to die trying.
Ω
With shields raised, Paul led 3rd Brigade through the woods and up the east side of Stony Ridge.
Except for flashes provided by the lightning, the light was non-existent. With the torrential rain, huge hailstones, and winds exceeding most category five hurricanes, Paul knew that no unprotected Normal could survive such conditions for more than a few seconds.
Boosting the shields around him, Paul launched himself forward into the battle.
Arcee 77 stayed with him, guarding his right side. As Paul cast a spell to enhance his ability to see, he immediately saw two Oni almost directly in front of him, battling three Scotties.
The sight of that confrontation made him gasp. Three Scotties should have quickly made mincemeat out of two Oni yet these two were easily standing their ground. Somehow they were tapping into the energy of the Earth’s upper mantle, though how they were doing so mystified Paul to no end. But that problem was for later. Act now, analyze later!
Raising his arm, Paul screamed the Rebel Yell at the top of his lungs and cast a spell to render the two Oni unconscious. He saw them stagger then turn to face him. He repeated the spell again and was gratified to see the Oni on the right buckle to his knees. The wind caught that Oni, throwing him through the air. Then Arcee 77 launched her spell, simultaneously with the other three Scotties. The other Oni too succumbed, the wind lifting him off the ground and tossing him through the air like a rag-doll.
Dodging the hail and plasma bursts, they quickly moved on to the next set of targets.
Thus began Paul’s nightmare in the Third Battle of Manassas. For what seemed like hours, he and the Scotties waged a seemingly hopeless battle against impossible odds. And as they did, Paul’s anger grew. Each Scottie was a living person to him, one that he had helped bring into the universe. How dare the evil of Errabêlu attack them or damage them in any way!
It may have seemed like hours but was in reality only minutes, as they fought the Oni tenaciously and, at the same time, fighting the weather. There was little chance for a concerted coordinated action, the sheer chaos and speed of the battle just didn’t permit it. Instead, it was pretty much each individual on his own, defending himself while doing his best to attack the enemy.
Paul saw hundreds of Scotties on the ground and hundreds more struck from the skies, sometimes by hailstones but more often from flying plasma bolts. And each time Paul saw an injured Scottie, a deep sense of loss and pain stabbed him in the heart. With every step, he questioned his judgment. Had he made the right decision? Even now, should he cut their losses and withdraw, before they lost even more Scotties?
The utter pandemonium of the battle, the rapid casting of high energy spells to both defend and attack worked to exhaust him. With growing weariness, he savagely fought on.
And then, without the least degree of warning, a huge black portal opened up in front of him and snapped up everyone in the vicinity.
TWENTY-THREE
Unknown location
Unknown time
Floating weightlessly. Darkness everywhere. Those were the first things that commanded his attention. And an overwhelming sense of disorientation, of being lost in a vast nothingness.
The roar of the wind was gone. Paul noticed that as well. No more rain either.
But there was the scream of an Oni.
With a twinge of fear, Paul raised his shields with one spell, asserted a gravity field with another, and then
enhanced his vision, the better to see things around him. Even then, it was difficult to see anything, mostly just shadows and vague shapes against a deeper darkness. Paul didn’t dare create any light, lest he become an instant target of the Oni that was somewhere in his vicinity.
There to his left, a shape spinning helplessly, another spine-tingling roar of anger, fear, and aggression. Concentrating hard, Paul cast another spell to render the Oni unconscious. And surprisingly, this time it worked instantly, the form of the Oni ceasing to struggle against its weightlessness, slowly cart-wheeling away.
And, without warning, there was light all around him.
“Dad? Are you okay?” Arcee 77 asked anxiously, a small ball of intense light parked next to her.
Paul wiggled his arms, legs, fingers and toes. “Yes, I think so,” he replied but inwardly suppressing his feelings of disorientation and loss. “What is this place?” he asked indignantly.
More light appeared in different directions, allowing him to see the strangest sight he had ever laid eyes on.
Hundreds of Scotties, all floating weightlessly—in a vast space of nothingness.
Paul looked around, in several directions, his level of confusion actually becoming even more acute. The background was the same everywhere. A darkness that the light seemingly didn’t penetrate. With a spell, Paul created a strong beam of light in his right hand to aim into the distance. And saw nothing. It was as if there was nothing there to be seen, nothing at all in this whole area of existence that could be seen, nothing except himself and the Scotties around him. And nothing to give reference to the distances involved.
It was like being in a vast cave where the walls were too far away and could not even be glimpsed. For that matter, neither could the floor or the ceiling. Indeed, it felt creepy that his personal spell of gravity gave him an “up” and a “down”, but his feet were still searching for solid ground beneath him.
“Dad, where are we?” Arcee 77 moaned.
That was an extremely good question.
“I wish I knew,” Paul replied honestly but with a wince. “There is air here to breath. The temperature seems a little cool but otherwise pleasant. But there is no gravity. How very strange.”
“This can’t be anywhere on Earth,” Arcee 77 concluded, fear evident in her voice. “Not without gravity. Nor can we be in deep space since there is air here.”
“Perhaps another dimension?” Andy 444 (from the TV series Eureka) asked warily, floating a little closer to Paul.
“I don’t know,” Paul replied to the Scottie. “What was the last thing you saw before you arrived here—wherever here is? Show me.”
A six foot wide by three foot tall display appeared in the air in front of Paul. Scenes of the battle flashed across the screen, followed by the sight of a huge portal snapping open, a total blackness visible through its breach.
Then, nothing.
“That is what I saw too,” Paul admitted candidly. “Arcee 77, please perform a roll call of everyone here. Find out if there are any injured Scotties and see to their needs. After that, ask everyone what they saw just before they came here. See if they can add any details to what you and I saw.”
“Okay, Dad,” the Scottie acknowledged briskly and then moved off.
The vast nothingness beyond their group continued to disturb him. So the wizards of Errabêlu had used a portal to transport them someplace. But where? No place that Paul had ever heard of.
He reached out with both hands and attempted to create a small portal, one leading back to the Manassas Regional Airport. The air in front of him sputtered, the silver ring of a portal trying to form. But the entire portal broke into a thousand tiny pieces and vaporized. He tried again, with more power behind it, but the result wasn’t any different.
So. Wherever they were, they could not portal back to Virginia.
Paul tried again, this time to different locations around Earth. Potsdam, Moscow, Algiers, California, and Flint Island. Paul even tried a portal to the Moon and one to Mars. The results were all the same. The portals refused to form.
The panic threatened to return. They were trapped. He thought of the other groups of Scotties, such as Jarvis 186 and I Corps that had gone missing. And yes, even Bishop 911 and his platoon. Had they all been portaled to someplace like this? Perhaps even this same place, just a little farther out there somewhere, beyond their immediate vicinity?
Memories of various science fiction stories, films, and TV programs came back to him. Were they in subspace? Hyperspace? Or some sort of parallel universe? Or maybe some new dimension of space-time in their own universe? How had the wizards of Errabêlu transported them here and, more importantly, how could Paul and his Scotties escape?
The words of the wizard in Moscow, Dusha, came back to him.
Well, you wouldn’t believe me if I told you how bad it could be. Trust me; you don’t want to find out. Surrendering now is your best option…
Paul felt like screaming in rage. Yes, perhaps this was what she had meant. This place certainly fit that description.
“Dad,” Arcee 77 came floating back. “There are 567 Scotties here. And you are right, some of them are injured, seventeen of them badly so. And there are a few others that are unconscious. I’ve set up teams to help them as much as possible, but without supplies or special tooling, we will probably lose some of them.”
Paul took a deep breath. “Please do what you can.”
“Sir, several of the Scotties tell me that they have tried to portal out of here. They can’t get a stable portal to form.”
“Neither could I,” Paul openly admitted. “Arcee, ask for a few volunteers. Send them out in various directions. Let’s see what is out there around us. Perhaps we will find other groups of Scotties that were snapped up by portals.”
“Good idea,” Arcee 77 said approvingly. “Six volunteers then, one in each direction. How far out should I send them?”
“Tell them to take no chances. If they see anything, they are to report back immediately. Anything that looks dangerous and they are to come right back here immediately.”
“Yes, Dad.”
“Merlin?” Paul said, in a half whisper. “Are you here?”
The familiar form of Merlin appeared, this time dressed in his purple robe and his purple pointy wizard hat, the one adorned with yellow stars.
“Merlin, we’ve got a problem,” Paul explained to him.
“But of course!” the hologram replied, glancing around. “My, my, my! You are in a pickle this time, are you not?”
“I don’t suppose you could tell us where we are?” Paul asked optimistically.
“Hmm, sorry, but I don’t recognize the place. Having said that, hmm, it does seem vaguely familiar. Something I once read or maybe something someone told me about once.” The ancient wizard shook his head. “Sorry, but I can’t put my finger on it.”
Arcee 77 returned. “Just about everybody volunteered, Dad, even some of the injured. I selected six uninjured volunteers and sent them out, each in a different direction.”
“Please keep me informed,” Paul asked of her. Where the devil were they? Paul turned back to Merlin.
“It’s not Earth or any other planet,” he logically pointed out to the sage. “And it isn’t outer space. Are there any magical places like this? Some place in the mythology of magic or fantasy that fits the description?”
Merlin shook his head. “Sorry. Nothing that comes to mind.”
“Sir!” Arcee 77 exclaimed in alarm. “I’ve just heard from Tima 333,” (the anime film Metropolis, 2001) “and Leela 555,” (TV series Futurama) “two of our volunteers! They can see each other in the distance, sir! And they started out in opposite directions!”
Paul flinched in surprise. “You mean…?”
“I’m getting reports from Robby 747 and Andy 444 as well,” Gort continued. “They can see each other too! And they went off in opposite directions as well!”
“Ah! A closed space!” Merlin cackle
d. “What do you call it in this century? Yes, a pocket universe! That’s it! Yes, that makes complete sense now! A pocket universe!”
Paul was too stunned to say anything, too taken off guard to know even what to think let alone to say.
“But how…?” Arcee 77 asked, bewildered.
Merlin slapped a knee, a huge grin on his face. “By George, they did it! They honestly did it!”
“Did what?” Paul finally was able to ask.
“You came through a portal, didn’t you?” asked Merlin, his face all lit up.
“Yes, we did,” a puzzled Paul confirmed.
“There’s your answer!” the old wizard boomed, throwing his arms wide as if to imply that the whole situation was self-explanatory.
“Merlin!” Paul said, in exasperation.
“Okay, okay, I’ll explain,” the other said, chuckling. “It’s one of those magical questions that we young wizards used to debate, back in our heyday. Like how many angels can you get to dance on the head of a pin? Well, this question was a little more intricate. Suppose you open a portal from Point A to Point B. Then you open a second portal, from very close to Point B—say a tenth of an inch from Point B—to Point C. Now, open a third portal, from a tiny distance from Point C back to a tenth of an inch from Point A. Now, what do you have?”
Paul blinked in surprise, the idea having never occurred to him before. “A ring of portals?” he asked. “Could that be done?”
“Why not?” asked Merlin, grinning broadly. “I myself tried doing it a time or two. Unfortunately, it takes a lot of magical energy to convolute space in that fashion. It sort of resists being twisted that way. And, to make a pocket universe, it must be self-sustaining, at least for an hour or more. That takes a great deal more energy. In my day, we couldn’t get it to work, not even with small portals. But these wizards of Errabêlu seem to have it figured out! And on a large scale too! Large enough to capture several hundred of your Scotties!”
Paul’s head roared with the concept. A ring of portals? All positioned tightly together? His confusion factor went up yet again.
The Genie and the Engineer 3: Ravages of War Page 25