The Genie and the Engineer 3: Ravages of War

by Glenn Michaels

  Paul felt confident that it was only a matter of time before the remaining wizards made their next move. In the meantime, Daneel 1 had positioned a string of Scotties in low Earth orbit, watching ever diligently for the bursts of neutrinos that would mark the use of magical energy emissions. Maybe they would get lucky and catch more of them before they could create any additional mayhem.

  Maybe, but deep inside his soul, Paul doubted it.

  Ω

  On Wednesday morning, Capie and Paul reluctantly finished up their mini-vacation in Paris. She grudgingly left for Africa, returning to her humanitarian efforts, this time taking all of the remaining 55 gallon drums of MBE Drug from the Mount Logan storage and a full Division of Scotties with her. Paul half-heartedly left Paris via portal for Washington DC. His intent was to check up on how repairs were coming on all their injured Scotties. He figured a trip to see the injured might help lift their spirits.

  Of course, Paul took Daneel 1 and Daneel 2 with him. He suspected that they would enjoy the visit as well.

  Before leaving Paris, Rommie 451 dropped by to tell him that all her team’s preparations were made and that they were ready to remove Yuan Wu and Hamadi’s magical powers whenever Paul was ready to have it done.

  However, first things first. The trip to Virginia would come first to the warehouse they had rented in Landmark. Later, he would coordinate with Daneel 3 on strategic efforts to find and apprehend the still missing Errabêlu wizards.

  His Scotties came first.

  It turned out to be a good thing, his visit to the injured Scotties. They cheered him up more than he did them. That had not been Paul’s intent, but it was certainly the end result.

  Many of the injured units would be back in full service before the month was over with. In some cases, a few Scotties would have an extended wait, there being a real shortage of some special parts needed for their complete repair. New fabrication shops were being set up around the globe by teams of Scotties, just to make critical replacement parts, up to and including new CPUs themselves. If the Scotties were going to stay in service for the next few hundred years, they would need a constant source of such components.

  Ω

  At 2 p.m., Daneels 1, 2, 3, and Paul portaled to the Azkaban prison. Rommie 451, Talos 22, and Daryl 71 met them in the warden’s office.

  “Hi, Dad. Welcome to the Rock again,” Daryl 71 said, his face beaming from his holographic face.

  Paul grimaced at the poor pun. “Ha-ha, son.” He glanced around the room. “I understand you’ve made some improvements.”

  “Yep, that we have. We had to—what with all the new prisoners we’ve been sent. The prison has been expanded; most of the new space is underground, of course. We’ve more than tripled our room.” He extruded an arm from the side of his cube and used it to point in several different directions. “There are tunnels leading from this chamber to all of the wings of the prison. We’ve segregated the prisoners into three groups: men, women, and Oni. After the first week, we discovered that the Oni were just too violent as prisoners. They were constantly causing us trouble so we’ve put all of them into stasis fields. It cut down on our food and water needs too. Now the prison population is more manageable. I’d love to give you the fifty cent tour, let you see everything.”

  Paul raised a hand and smiled. “Well, we aren’t really here for that. Perhaps at a later date.” He turned to Rommie 451. “You’re ready?”

  “Yep,” Rommie 451 answered, if anything, with a larger smile than that of Daryl 71. “We’ve created a whole separate wing of rooms for this project.”

  Daryl 71 couldn’t seem to restrain himself. “I’ve got to say, it’s exciting, the work she is doing. Just thrilling. It gives me goosebumps. Well, if I had real skin, it would give me goosebumps. Turning wizards into Normals. What an idea! Brilliant, positively brilliant. Oh, yes, just come this way and I’ll lead you right to the lab.”

  Rommie 451 smiled and her image produced a small shrug. Paul nodded in the direction of the corridor and they fell into step behind Daryl 71.

  He escorted the group to a large unfurnished gray rock room several floors down, guarded by a team of Scotties. Hamadi and Wu were chained to chairs which had been carved from solid rock. Both of the Errabêlu wizards wore tired, pained expressions.

  The Daneels joined the other Scottie cubes but declined to project their human images, preferring instead to observe Paul’s interview of the two prisoners.

  With a quick spell, Paul sat on an invisible cushioned chair in front of the two dejected looking wizards and smiled pleasantly at them.

  “Hello,” he said pleasantly. Yuan refused to meet his gaze. Hamadi produced a small shrug but didn’t reply.

  “Akbar? May I call you Akbar?” Paul politely asked Hamadi. “I would like to talk with you for a few minutes. I can either talk to you or to your avatar. Which would you prefer?”

  At the mention of the word ‘avatar’, both men flinched.

  “I can speak for myself,” Hamadi replied frostily. “What is it you want?”

  Paul considered how best to approach the subject. “Back in Transylvania, you threatened to kill both my wife and I. Were you serious?”

  The Errabêlu wizard wrinkled his nose in distain. “It wasn’t anything personal! Just business. It would have been quick and as painless as possible. It still will be too, once I am rescued, I promise you that, despite all the pain and inconvenience you’ve caused me.”

  Paul chewed on his answer for a moment. “You expect to be rescued?”

  Hamadi stared back at him in astonishment. “Of course I do! Silly question. Do you really think you can win this war? Crazy you are! Nobody can stand up to the wizards of Errabêlu. I admit that your metal monsters here are quite formidable so it should be quite a battle, yes. But the outcome isn’t even in question.”

  It was more or less what Paul expected the other man would say. Even as a prisoner, Hamadi’s arrogance and condescension knew no bounds.

  “And when you’re back in Europe,” Paul went on, “you will continue with your preparations for World War III, correct?”

  Hamadi chuckled softly for a moment. “So you know about that, do you? Well, I guess it isn’t much of a secret. The signs are everywhere; any fool can see that! But it’s for the good of Errabêlu, yes? To be sure, Normies are going to die. Can’t be helped. But their loss isn’t important. It’s the way things are, the way the human race has been for most of Earth’s history. You’ll see. Oh, I forgot, you won’t be there. Well, take my word for it. It will.”

  His words verified Paul’s theory. The only effective ways to stop the wizards from starting World War III would be to imprison them all or kill them…or, thanks to Rommie 451 and Talos 22, strip them of their powers. It was time to test the theory and Hamadi had just proven to Paul that, in his case, it was fully justified.

  Paul turned to Yuan Wu. “And you? Do you agree with him?”

  Wu continued to stare straight ahead, ignoring him.

  Paul signaled to the three Daneels. “I would like your inputs, please. As I see it, there are three choices. Imprisonment, death, or conversion. I vote for conversion. Opinions, please?”

  Hamadi glanced around, puzzled. “What’s this conversion business?”

  Daneel 1 spoke one word firmly. “Conversion.”

  Daneels 2 and 3 said in unison, “We agree.”

  Hamadi was growing increasingly agitated. “What’s this conversion nonsense?!”

  Paul nodded at Rommie 451 and stood up. She grew two arms from her cube and approached Yuan Wu first.

  Turning back to Hamadi, Paul said, “You’ve killed for the last time, Akbar. When you wake up, you won’t be a wizard any more. We’re going to strip you of your powers. For the first time in your murderous life, you are going to know what it’s like to be a Normie. Let’s see if you can take it as well as you dished it out, murderer!”

  “You aren’t serious!” the Errabêlu wizard shouted in growing ho
rror and fear. “No one can turn a wizard into a Normie! It can’t be done!” Frantically, he spun to watch Rommie 451 move closer. “It can’t be done!” he screamed. “Aaaahhhh!”

  She put both him and Yuan Wu into a comatose state.

  “Please keep me informed, okay?” Paul asked her, wearing a wicked grin.

  Rommie 451 smiled back. “Consider it done, Dad. ‘Piece of pie.’”

  Ω

  Thursday morning, Paul took the three Daneels with him to the Panoramic View Oceanfront Resort on Long Island, New York and rented a poolside cabana for a day. The weather was gorgeous so they took the opportunity to sit in deck chairs alongside the pool, shaded by a patio sized umbrella. Their location afforded them an undisturbed view of the beach as well, under a cloudless blue sky. The sound of the surf combined with the ocean breeze was practically paradise on Earth and Paul relaxed for a few hours, basking in the breeze. The three Daneels seemed to enjoy his enjoyment as well, even if they couldn’t feel the warm sun or the breeze themselves.

  Alas, the enjoyment was much too short-lived.

  A microportal formed over their heads, just under the peak of the umbrella.

  “Ah, Dad?” spoke all three Daneels simultaneously.

  Paul glanced at them. “I can tell from the tone in your voices that something is up.”

  “Unfortunately, you are right, Dad,” Daneel 1 said with a sigh. “We are in communication with Eve 32.” (Eve of Destruction, 1991) “As I’m sure you remember, she’s been assigned as ambassador to the Canadian government.”

  The three Scotties were making Paul increasingly apprehensive. “Is something happening in Canada?” he asked.

  The three Daneels glanced at each other. “Perhaps you should talk to her directly.”

  A medium-sized display formed in mid-air. On it, a thirty-something brunette woman dressed in conservative clothing looked directly at him.

  Eve 32 was in human form, a preference for most Scotties who were dealing directly with human governments. Paul could not fault their thinking on that score.

  “Yes, Eve?” he asked uneasily.

  “Dad?” she said, her voice a rich contralto. “This morning, at our offices near Parliament Hill here in Ottawa, a woman knocked on our front door and asked if we could arrange a meeting with you.”

  “And who is this woman?” Paul asked, confused. Other than a few Scotties, he didn’t know anyone in Canada.

  “She says she is a wizard. She claims to be Isadora Eloá Camila Ferreira, a naturalized citizen of Brazil. She also claims to have a message from Oliver Jacob Clarke, a message that she will deliver only to you. She’s here now.”

  Paul rubbed his left temple. Oliver Jacob Clarke, a senior leader in Errabêlu, was one of the missing eighty or so supermen that Daneel 1 had alluded to just a few days before.

  “Dad,” Daneel 1 said. “I can confirm her name on the list of missing Errabêlu wizards.”

  “I see,” Paul said, growing increasingly disturbed by the turn the conversation had taken.

  “Sir,” Daneel 3 interrupted. “We can’t let her into your presence, not with a functional talisman in hand.”

  “Just what I was thinking,” Daneel 2 remarked.

  “Fine,” Paul said, turning back to Eve. “Ask her if she would like to pass along this message of Clarke’s by way of this microportal.”

  “I’ll ask her,” Eve responded.

  The screen went blank for a few minutes. While they waited, Paul talked to the Daneels about the possible content of the message from Clarke. They shared the consensus that it meant trouble. Either Clarke stood ready to negotiate his surrender—on his terms, of course—or he was up to no-good. Daneel 3 even proposed the idea that Clarke might demand Paul’s surrender. Even though the idea seemed ludicrous, Paul did not discount it. The arrogance of the Errabêlu’s wizards was totally beyond question. Even after the loss of most of his organization, Clarke still might find a plan that he thought would give him the stronger hand.

  When the screen lit up again, it was to show the beautiful face of a young woman with black dazzling eyes, strong eyebrows and jet black hair.

  “Señora Isadora Eloá Camila Ferreira, I presume,” Paul said, with a small nod. “Bom dia.”

  “Mr. Paul Armstead,” she returned. “Courteous as well as very handsome, I see.”

  “And you, no doubt, have turned many a man’s eye yourself,” Paul said politely in reply.

  She smiled graciously and acknowledged his compliment with a small nod. “I have been charged with a message to give to you, from someone you may know as Oliver Jacob Clarke.”

  “Can you give that message to me over this link?” Paul asked.

  “I believe I can deliver the principles of it,” she answered, steepling her hands in front of her. “Jacob Clarke wishes you to understand his message should be considered as an ultimatum, as I believe you Norte Americanos would call it. He says that you must first release all the wizards you have kidnapped, you must also stand down your metal machines and, most important, that you, in person, must surrender yourself to him. All these things must be completed before noon, Eastern Daylight Time on the coming Saturday. The location is to be in front of the Theodore Roosevelt Statue on Theodore Roosevelt Island, in the middle of the Potomac River, in Washington DC.”

  The gall of the man was simply unbelievable. It left Paul feeling angry but he did his best to squash the feeling.

  “I see,” he said, though he didn’t see it at all. “And what terms does he offer?”

  She gave a female shrug. “Unconditional, I believe.”

  Paul heard Daneel 3 mutter something softly, under his breath. Paul ignored the Scottie.

  “That doesn’t sound like a very attractive offer, Señora Ferreira,” Paul pointed out. “Please tell me, did Clarke specify any—shall we call them consequences?—if I chose not to take him up on his offer?”

  “Why, yes, he did mention some such, I believe,” she said, with a broad smile. “Let me quote him: ‘For every day beyond the deadline that you don’t comply with these demands, I will atomize a major city somewhere on Earth.’ Yes, I am fairly certain that is an exact quote.” Ferreira raised her left eyebrow. “May I take back your reply to him?”

  Paul sat back in his chair, stunned, his anger returning tenfold.

  “Did he say which cities?” Paul managed to ask through a red haze.

  She frowned in thought. “I believe that he is prepared to target as many cities as it takes, but I remember he did mention two in particular. I think he said he would start with Los Angeles, California. Oh, and also with Lancaster, California. I understand Lancaster is close to where you once lived? Is that correct?”

  “Señora Ferreira, millions of people would die!” Paul said, struggling to maintain his composure.

  “Yes, millions of Normies would die,” she agreed, with a casual wave of her hand, graciously granting the truth of his declaration. “And since you claim to care about Normies so much, you can save all of their lives by complying with Clarke’s demands. One life to save millions, even if they are just Normies, that’s not too bad a trade, is it not? Not for someone who says he cares about them.”

  For a moment, Paul closed his eyes in exasperation and outrage. It was a very good thing for Señora Ferreira that she was not personally present, given his momentary impulse to strangle the living daylights out of her, after which Paul would cheerfully beat her body into a lumpy, pulpy, gooey mess. Fortunately for her, he was successfully able to regain control of his emotions, though just barely.

  “Are there any other parts of Clarke’s message that you care to pass along?” Paul asked her, his voice seething with anger. “That is, before I terminate this nauseating conversation?”

  If anything, Señora Ferreira’s smile grew larger. “A lot of lives are at stake, Mr. Armstead. A lot of Normies will die, including Americans, if you choose not to surrender. And consider this: at least Clarke is not asking your lovely wife to s
urrender as well. He wanted to demand that too, but others in Errabêlu talked him out of it.” She paused a moment before continuing. “There will be no further communication with us after this point. Just release our wizards, shut down your metal monsters, and show up at the Theodore Roosevelt statue, at your convenience. It’s being watched. You have our word that no Normie will be harmed after you turn yourself in. The choice is yours, Mr. Armstead.”

  With a wave of her hand, Paul saw a portal form behind her. She turned and disappeared through it. The microportal and display disappeared as well.

  “The nuclear blackmail option,” Daneel 3 said. “You predicted it was possible, Dad, but never in my wildest dreams did I believe they could be so monstrous, so evil as to consider using it against us.”

  Paul nodded grimly, his stomach in pain from the acid indigestion he had suddenly acquired. “I too considered it to be unlikely, the ultimate act of evil and of desperation too.” He looked up at Daneel 1. “We have, what, 45½ hours before the deadline? You know what needs to be done, but please find Daneel 10 first and see how much progress he has made. Oh, and Daneel 2, please find Capie, bring her up to date. Please ask her to join us in the Situation Room of the Mount Logan facility.”

  TWENTY-FIVE

  The Saint Elias Mountains, Canada

  Mount Logan Facility

  Situation Room

  Thursday, 3:12 p.m. EDT

  July

  Less than an hour later found all of them buried in the depths of headquarters.

  More specifically, the Situation Room.

  Capie and Paul sat near the head of one of the tables. More than a hundred Scotties floated around the room, mostly the corps, division and brigade commanders and members of their staffs. There was a general murmur of background conversations. Present amongst the Scotties, in addition to the commanders and staff, were Rommie 451, Daneel 5, Valerie 42 (1995 TV series, The Outer Limits), and Daneel 10, all tasked with special assignments.

  Valerie 42 served as the commanding officer of MIB (Military Intelligence Bureau), the Scottie intelligence agency. Daneel 10 worked in the same organization but had a more specific assignment.