The Genie and the Engineer 3: Ravages of War

by Glenn Michaels

  “Why on Earth did you do that?” Clarke asked, puzzled.

  “To buy time, of course,” Paul stated forthrightly.

  Clarke’s eyes narrowed. “Time for what?”

  “To extend my life,” Paul admitted. “I know that you plan to kill me. Every second I can extend my life, I will.”

  “Humph,” Clarke grunted, in reluctant deference. “I can see where you might do that. Although the end result will be the same. Still, the desire to continue life, even when one knows he is doomed, can be remarkably persistent. However, you haven’t answered Shirazi’s other question. Where are the wizards we demanded you release? Or would you prefer to see Lancaster, California become a blackened crater?”

  Paul reached up to his shirt pocket and extracted the folded piece of paper.

  “This will tell you how to find Hamadi and Yuan Wu,” he explained to them.

  “What is this?” Clarke asked, accepting and unfolding the paper with a puzzled frown. “‘This is your first clue, don’t be lax. Go to Hollywood Boulevard and look for the (blank)?’”

  Shirazi back-handed Paul a third time, again hard enough to knock him off his feet. For a few seconds, Paul lay on the floor and hovered at the edge of unconsciousness, experiencing tunnel vision and a roaring in his ears.

  He heard the other men’s voices, but could not make sense of the words.

  Strong arms grabbed him and pulled him to his feet again, holding him upright.

  “I think you may have hit him a little too hard,” Clarke’s voice finally pierced through the fog in Paul’s brain. “Mr. Armstead? Mr. Armstead?”

  “It sal wright,” Paul muttered, as vision slowly and incompletely returned. He tried to cast a small spell internally, to help clear the effects of the latest blow but nothing happened. With a start he realized that Clarke had not been kidding about the effect of the disrupter on his wrist.

  “Whatss ta quesston agin?” he asked, blinking his eyes.

  “Not so hard next time,” Clarke said, apparently to Shirazi. “We still need some information from him.” A pause. “What does this paper mean?”

  “Skav…Scavenger hunt,” Paul said carefully, focusing through the pain to pronounce the words correctly. “It’s a clue. Hollywood. California. Rhymes with lax. Wax! Look in the wax museum. Find Wu…Hamadi. New clue.”

  Shirazi leaned back to smack Paul again but Clarke held up a hand.

  “Mr. Armstead, that will take time, chasing each one down. Why don’t you simply tell us where they all are?”

  Paul shrugged. “Don’t know. Scotties picked the locations. Morgues, window shop displays, funeral homes, wax museums, hospitals, crash dummies…wherever bodies are found.” He chuckled. “Don’t forget Mythbusters M5 Studios.”

  “This will take time to check out,” Clarke pointed out to Shirazi. “Obviously what he intends. Although the reason why is still unclear to me. However, take a dozen Oni and a couple of other wizards. Be careful of any traps. See if Hamadi and Yuan are in the wax museum.”

  Scowling, Shirazi opened a portal and left.

  “Now, Mr. Armstead, let’s go somewhere we can be more comfortable,” Clarke said, with an evil grin.

  Ω

  Paul was taken to a large country estate, bordering on a river someplace. He couldn’t pin it down any further than that. And he had no idea what happened to Clarke, who, like Shirazi, also disappeared through a portal.

  Four Oni took him to a large metal shed out behind a house. From the oil stains on the concrete floor, Paul had the impression that at one time it was used as an auto repair shop.

  The Oni tied his arms up over his head with a stout manila rope and hung him from the main overhead beam. If Paul stretched a little, he could barely support his weight on tip-toe. It was quite clever, as tortures go.

  Then he was left to his own devices, no doubt to make him more responsive after the pain became bad enough. And since he was still wearing the disrupter manacle on his wrist, he was unable to cast a spell to reduce that pain. Without a doubt, this must have been Clarke’s intention all along.

  Two Oni were left in the building to guard him.

  Paul concentrated on clenching his jaw, activating the implanted transceiver, switching it on.

  “CQ…CQ…CQ…CQ…,” Paul said softly, hoping his words were loud enough to reach the transceiver but not loud enough to attract the attention of the Oni.

  There was a burst of static and he heard a weak voice through the device.

  “Triangulating now,” it said. “North America, east coast.”

  Another burst of static and this time, a cleaner stronger signal.

  “Repeat your transmission, Dad,” one of the Daneels said.

  “‘The Universe is run by the complex interweaving of three elements: energy, matter, and enlightened self-interest,’” Paul whispered painfully as he quoted G-Kar of Babylon 5.

  “Very good, Dad. This is Daneel 1. We have you located. You are in a rather ritzy neighborhood in Maryland, on the bank of the West River. Status report, please.”

  “They’ve been a little rough but not too bad,” Paul quietly lied. “So far, everything is according to plan. What progress, your end?”

  “Warheads found in Jacksonville, Florida; Chicago; Denver; Los Angeles; and Seattle. Still nothing in South America yet. Sir, that’s 17 warheads so far. As best we can tell, they are all Soviet in design. We don’t think he can have many more.”

  “I agree. Have you run an analysis of their locations inside those cities?”

  “Yes. All weapons were placed near the metropolitan centers, obviously to do the maximum amount of damage to city structures and cause the greatest number of deaths,” came Daneel 1’s reply. “We are using that assumption to cut down on the search times for the remaining cities. Heaven help us if we are wrong.”

  “How much longer, Daneel?” Paul asked.

  “About 18 hours, Dad,” he answered. “That’s the best answer I can give you. Can you hold out that long?”

  “I think so. I’ll let you know if anything develops in the meantime.”

  “We will have a team close by, Dad. Just give us the word and we can be there in seconds.”

  “Thanks. Paul, out.”

  Now he just had to somehow find the strength to endure the pain.

  Ω

  It seemed like eons went by, and rather slowly at that, but it was probably more like an hour or so.

  Then two portals opened up. The first one disgorged Clarke. The second one Shirazi and the two unconscious forms of Hamadi and Yuan Wu.

  Shirazi’s face was filled with fury.

  “There’s something wrong with these two!” he screamed at Clarke, waving at the unconscious forms on the cold concrete.

  “What?” Clarke asked, sincerely puzzled. “What are you talking about?”

  “Touch them!” snarled Shirazi “You’ll see!”

  Clarke pulled off a leather glove and reached over, touching Hamadi’s bare arm first, then Yuan’s left hand. After pausing a moment, he rose and turned back to Paul.

  “What did you do to them?” he demanded sternly.

  Paul tried to shrug but with his arms tied over his head, he couldn’t manage it. Besides, his arms hurt too much for him to move them much anyway. So he flashed a grim smile at his two captors instead. “I took away their powers.”

  “That’s not possible!” screamed Shirazi, furiously.

  Paul raised his eyebrows but didn’t argue.

  “Let me get this straight,” Clarke said, frowning. “You somehow took away the magic powers from all the wizards you captured? Is that correct?”

  “Yeah…I mean, yes, that’s right,” Paul verified for him. “Like them,” he said, with a grin, pointing with his chin at the two unconscious wizards on the floor.

  “They’re both Normies now,” Clarke stated in puzzled amazement. “You took their powers from them? How?”

  Paul smiled secretively, “Just a reverse of the pr
ocess where I gained magical powers. Now they aren’t wizards anymore. And they aren’t rich anymore either. We used bunches and bunches of lawyers and stacks of paperwork. All the wizards signed over their money and properties to charity organizations and several churches. All gone…”

  Clarke shook his head with a snarl. “You’re quite the liar, Mr. Armstead.”

  Paul slowly shook his head, even though it made him feel really dizzy. “No-ope, toooootttaallyy true…”

  “Can he really do it? Take away a wizard’s power like that?” Shirazi asked, still not quite accepting the concept that it could be done at all.

  “So it would seem,” Clarke replied grimly. “Quite clever, actually, if it can really be done.” He glanced again at the two bodies on the floor. “And apparently it can be done. On the other hand, perhaps, in the long run, he has done us a favor. Once we learn how this secret works, to make and unmake wizards, we can create a virtually unlimited supply of potential replacements. And, at the same time, he has rid us of some wizards that used to be a great deal of aggravation. I, for one, am not sad to see that Hamadi is gone. Good riddance, I’ll say.”

  Shirazi nodded, but was obviously uncomfortable with the direction of events. “Yes, I guess so. But there are others that I will miss.”

  Clarke shrugged, looking back at him. “If we can find them, we might give a few of them back their powers. But we’ll work on that later.”

  “What should we do about them?” Shirazi asked, nodding at Yuan and Hamadi.

  “They’re Normies now so what does it matter?” Clarke pointed out dryly. “We can dump them anywhere. But I think the bigger priority right now is to start pumping Armstead for those secrets he keeps bragging about. If I still had a truth headband…but I don’t, thanks to last month’s raid on my house by those metal boxes of his. I hope this twit resists. I would love to use some persuasion on him when he does.”

  “Torture is unnecessary,” Paul told the two of them, his voice quavering from the pain in his arms and back. “I will answer any question.”

  “Humor us, Mr. Armstead. Allow us our fun, please,” came the haughty response. “Now, the next thing I want to know is where your metal monsters are.”

  “I sent them off into space,” Paul forced through trembling lips. “As per your instructions.”

  “Space? As in ‘outer space?’”

  “That’s the one,” Paul muttered, squirming from the pain.

  “I see. And what are they doing in outer space?”

  “They are waiting to hear from me, I think.”

  “And if they don’t hear from you? What then?” Clarke asked.

  “I don’t know,” Paul admitted frankly. “I guess they will wait until they run out of power.”

  He heard a smirk. “Yes, they are machines, aren’t they? Very good, then, Mr. Armstead. Which secret of yours should we start with?”

  “Take your pick,” Paul suggested weakly, while still trying to get a spell to work to reduce the pain but not succeeding. That blasted manacle on his wrist was apparently very effective. “But not the secret of the super talisman, please.”

  “Why not that one?” Clarke asked suspiciously.

  “Because you know nothing of quantum mechanics,” Paul forced his mouth to utter the words, wincing as a cramp seized his right arm. “My explanations would make no sense to you.”

  “Quantum mechanics, heh? You might have something there. But I believe I can get an expert here that would understand.” Clarke snapped his fingers.

  A new voice, this time behind Paul, asked, “Yes? What do you want?”

  “You know something of Quantum mechanics,” Clarke’s voice stated, in a no-nonsense tone of voice.

  Paul heard a snort. “Of course.”

  He could not tell whose voice it was. Probably a physicist but definitely not Albert Einstein’s.

  “Listen to this man and tell me if he tells the truth.”

  “I would think he would, hanging from that rope as he is,” drolly observed the unknown voice. “Very well, young man. I’m ready. You may start.”

  Paul tried to concentrate, to keep his mind on track. It was so hard! “Very well. It is known that the rarer an element is, the greater it’s magical potency. It occurred to me that more potent magical materials might be gathered using rare isotopes.”

  “Ah, an interesting idea, that! Please continue.”

  Such pain! And this would surely take a while to explain, even to a magical physicist.

  “Very well. To make a super talisman, I started with tantalum 180m…”

  Ω

  The next few hours went quickly downhill. At times the pain in his arms and shoulders reduced him to a quivering blathering idiot. For all he knew, Paul confessed every indiscretion he had ever committed. He probably even invented a few—whatever he thought they wanted to hear. He was fairly certain he told them everything they wanted to know about talismans, isotopes, Mars, and the ability to move through solid matter. Also too, about how he had acquired magical powers, how he had given them to Capie and how they were taken away from Yuan Wu and Hamadi.

  He didn’t know when the ordeal ended. Blessedly, at some point, he lapsed into utter unconsciousness.

  Ω

  Slowly, Paul regained his wits, the level of pain slowly pushing him up towards consciousness again.

  The surface beneath him was cold and very hard. Every part of his body screamed with total pain. Very carefully, bit by bit, he straightened out and rolled on his left side. From there he could see that he lay on the concrete floor of the auto shop, the manila rope not far away. Apparently, he had been cut him down and left where he fell. He also noticed that the disrupter manacle was still secured around his wrist.

  A glance around revealed the two motionless Oni still on guard duty, near the door, as before.

  Groaning, Paul pushed himself upward, slowly rising to a sitting position. It was no more difficult than say building all of the Egyptian pyramids must have been. Fortunately, Paul only came close to collapsing a half a dozen times on the way up.

  Once that horrendous task was accomplished, he used his left hand to tug at the manacle. There was no give in the metal and it was secured tightly to his wrist. Also, the metal appeared to be solid, with no obvious way to unlatch or remove it.

  With another groan, he instead focused his attention on the distance to the nearest wall. Only ten feet or so. No worse than walking a mile to school was for his parents each day, in a blinding blizzard, uphill all the way.

  It turned out not to be that easy. Some evil soul had spread shards of invisible broken glass all over the concrete. Yet somehow he found the will to move slowly, inch by incredibly painful inch.

  Finally, with his back to the cool metal wall, he rested for several minutes. And activated the transceiver.

  “‘Isn’t it interesting that the same people who laugh at science fiction listen to weather forecasts and economists?—Kelvin Throop III,’” Paul muttered under his breath.

  “Dad! Thank God! Are you okay? We haven’t heard from you in more than twelve hours!” came Daneel 1’s excited voice.

  “I’ve been better,” Paul softly muttered. “Status update.”

  “We found three more warheads, Dad. One in Buenos Aires, one in Sau Paulo and one in Acapulco. Nothing in the last eight hours, sir. We think that may be everything. Twenty warheads in all! We have teams positioned to take all of them out, whenever you give the word.”

  “Are you still searching?”

  “The sun’s over the Pacific right now. We’ve already searched every sizable city in that part of the globe. There won’t be any new cities to search until the sun rises over China. A bunch of places there we haven’t searched yet.”

  Inwardly, Paul groaned. “Another six or seven hours?”

  “About that,” agreed Daneel 1’s voice. “Dad, you don’t sound well. Do you want us to get you out yet?”

  “No, not yet. Let me think a moment.” />
  As best he could remember, though the events were pretty foggy, he thought he had divulged about everything he knew. With the exception of the transceiver implant. And about the Scotties search for the warheads. Paul probably would have revealed those secrets too, if Clarke had been technically savvy enough to ask the right questions. Which, judging by the fact the transceiver still worked, he wasn’t.

  If Clarke thought he knew all Paul could tell him, then he would likely kill him soon. The Scotties probably didn’t have enough time to search the Chinese cities. They had found twenty warheads. That seemed like a nice round number. Frankly, it was more than Paul would have predicted that Clarke could steal.

  “Daneel? Trash ’em all. The warheads. All of ’em. Understand?”

  “Destroy all twenty warheads. I understand. Don’t wait too long, Dad. We’ll extract you as soon as you give the word.”

  Paul shut down the transceiver. And waited.

  And he slowly came to the realization that, beyond all the muscle pain he felt, he was also incredibly thirsty and hungry as well. He couldn’t remember the last time he drank anything. Carefully looking around the garage, he noted a small wash sink in the far corner of the building. Ah, water! But it was on the opposite wall, a whole solar system away. He could never crawl that distance. He would be a desiccated skeleton before he managed to crawl halfway there.

  But if he could get to his feet…

  He needed help. At least something to lean on. Perhaps the building support post, a yard or so away.

  Moving very carefully, Paul made it to the metal post and with an effort equal to what Hercules used to slay the nine-headed Hydra, he pulled himself to his feet, wavering unsteadily. Then, using the wall as a brace, he tottered slowly all the way around the rear half of the building and eventually to the sink.

  The faucet handle was dirty and rusted but Paul managed to get it open. Using his cupped hands, he greedily drank several times and then splashed a little of the water on his face and arms.

  “Bravo, Mr. Armstead! Bravo!” Clarke said, from the door at the front of the shop.