Genie and Engineer 1: The Engineer Wizard

by Glenn Michaels

  THE ENGINEER WIZARD

  By

  Glenn Michaels

  Raconteur House

  44 Brooke Ct. Manchester, TN 37355

  Copyright © 2015 Glenn Michaels

  All Rights Reserved.

  Cover Illustration by Honor Raconteur

  Printed in the USA through Createspace.

  This is a work of fiction. All incidents and dialogue, and all characters with the exception of some well-known historical and public figures, are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Where real-life, historical or public figures appear, the situations, incidents, and dialogues concerning those person are fiction and are not intended to depict actual events or to change the fictional nature of the work. In all other respects, any resemblance to persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

  “The Rules of War: The laws that make it illegal to hit below the toes.”

  ― Leo Rosten (1908-1997)

  “A visitor from Mars could easily pick out the civilized nations. They have the best implements of war.”

  ― Herbert V. Prochnow (1897-1998)

  “The surest sign that intelligent life exists elsewhere in the universe is that it has never tried to contact us.”

  ― Calvin and Hobbes (Bill Watterson)

  Dedication

  First, to my wife, Jane, for her silent and vocal support (whichever was appropriate at the right moment). Her help and assistance with suggestions, brain storming sessions and even lending a hand with the book edits was instrumental in many ways. In addition, to my children Alisha, Jarrett and Chris who helped in lots of ways as well. (Ah, Dad, are you really sure this book is such a good idea?) And also to my parents, Glenn and Evelyn, for tolerating a geek in the family who, practically from the cradle, loved all things science fiction. I am forever in their debt for their love and support.

  For many others unspecified, I thank them for their encouragement and assistance. And a special thanks too to each and every reader, for giving this book a chance.

  Glenn Michaels

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  Caution: This book should be read within easy reach of the Internet, in order for the reader to check science-fiction quotes as well as technical, geographical, historical, and name references.

  Contents

  Dedication

  Author's Note

  SECTION I THE WISH ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  SECTION II TRUE LOVE TWENTY-ONE

  TWENTY-TWO

  TWENTY-THREE

  TWENTY-FOUR

  TWENTY-FIVE

  TWENTY-SIX

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  TWENTY-NINE

  THIRTY

  THIRTY-ONE

  THIRTY TWO

  THIRTY THREE

  THIRTY FOUR

  THIRTY FIVE

  THIRTY SIX

  THIRTY SEVEN

  THIRTY EIGHT

  SECTION I

  THE WISH

  ONE

  Edwards Air Force Base, CA

  California State Route 58

  December

  Saturday, 11:47 p.m. PST

  The howl of a fierce wind. A driven snow. And a bitter, biting cold. Pitch blackness along a deserted section of four-lane highway. Other than the snowfall, nothing stirred in the area, neither on the road nor in the desert sand amid the sagebrush.

  From the east, a set of headlights approached, the diluted beams thrusting weakly through the dull-gray clouds of swirling snowflakes to dimly reveal the ice-encrusted roadway. Wiper blades flashed back and forth across the windshield in a frenzied effort to keep the blowing snow at bay.

  Inside the cramped interior of the aging Toyota, a scowling, bald-headed, heavyset man wearing black-framed glasses leaned forward, peering intently over the steering wheel. With a grimace, he edged his foot still further off the gas pedal, slowing the vehicle to barely more than a crawl.

  “‘Captain’s log, stardate 1672.9. On the planet’s surface, temperatures are beginning to drop, our landing party there in growing jeopardy,’” the driver groused, quoting Captain Kirk from an original Star Trek episode.

  Rubbing his tired eyes, the man strained to make out the details of the road ahead in the blackness of the storm. Then he squirmed gently in his seat, trying in vain to ease the weariness of bone and muscle that encompassed and beset him.

  Normally a very busy thoroughfare, SR 58 carried the east and westbound traffic between Barstow and Bakersfield. However, on this particularly stormy night, there wasn’t another car or truck in sight in either direction. Nothing except the snow and his lone vehicle moved on the roadway.

  “This has got to be the worst storm in Southern California’s history!” the man muttered, but he stayed focused on keeping the Corolla on the asphalt.

  Needing a distraction to help keep him awake and alert, he momentarily reached down to turn on the radio. But then, out of the corner of one eye and through an unexpected break in the gusting snow, he caught sight of a blinking light up ahead. He jerked up in disbelief. In the next instant, the light was gone, swallowed up in the blizzard. From the very brief glimpse he had, it appeared that the light was not on the roadway itself but off to the north somewhat.

  “But I’ve already passed the California City turnoff,” he mumbled with a puzzled scowl. “There’s nothing over there but sand and sagebrush!”

  Then the curtains of snow broke a second time, giving him a much better view of the flashing light. The source was obviously a set of hazard lights, possibly on a truck or another large vehicle of some sort. And as best as he could judge, it was a good twenty yards off the road and into the desert. Moreover, at his current speed, he would pass it by in only a few more seconds.

  Then without warning, directly in his path, a dark silhouette materialized out of the storm! The figure standing in the middle of his lane was desperately and wildly waving its arms! The driver’s alarmed reaction was instinctive, slamming on the brakes, causing the tires to lose their precarious grip on the road. The car swerved crazily for a moment, throwing its occupant into a surging panic as he fought to regain control. Slinging the wheel back and forth and with frantic use of the brake pedal, he barely managed to recover, after which he swung the car around the shadowy figure and into the other lane. For a moment, his foot reached for the accelerator....

  ...But he instead planted it firmly back on the brake, slowing the car to a slithering stop.

  I am so tired, the man thought to himself. I worked seventy hours last week and eighty hours this week, seventeen of them just today! I really don’t want to get involved in someone else’s problems right now! I need a break!

  But if I don’t stop and try to help, this person might be stranded out here for hours! They might even die of exposure! I just couldn’t live with that.

  As he reached for the door handle, there was a tap on the window. Startled, he instead gently rolled it down. The wi
nd immediately and violently shoveled freezing air and churning snowflakes through the opening, sending an icy shiver down his spine.

  The stranded stranger standing next to the car was revealed as a taller and older man, his wrinkled face dotted with snowflakes. He was wearing gunmetal-framed glasses and a black Navy cap with ear muffs, brandishing a red nose and a set of twinkling brown eyes. He was positively beaming at the driver through the open frame of the window.

  “Mister, I can’t tell you how glad I am that you stopped!” the tall fellow shouted over the howl of the wind. “My car is off the road, and I guess I got myself good and stuck.” He seemed to be practically gushing with relief.

  The driver of the Corolla smiled unenthusiastically, reassured that this stranger seemed to be whole and unscathed, but also a little uncomfortable to be face-to-face with someone in so desolate a location in the middle of the night in a blinding blizzard. But on the other hand, this fellow seemed friendly enough and obviously needed help.

  So, the driver thought, forget how tired you are! Help the man, Obi-wan, you’re his only hope!

  “What happened?” he shouted over the wailing wind.

  The guy standing at the window swayed for a moment from a particularly violent gust, and then he frowned in irritation at the question. “Road’s as slick as a skating rink, and my tires are worth zilch on ice or snow. I spun out, and now my SUV is buried axle-deep in the sand.”

  The driver grimaced in sympathy. “I’m afraid I don’t have anything to pull you out with. But I could drive you into Mojave,” he offered obligingly.

  The man with the Navy cap laughed, obviously relieved. “I’ll take the ride, thank you. I just need a few things from my SUV. Do you mind?”

  “No, not at all” was the gracious answer, but inwardly, the Toyota driver had mixed emotions. On the one hand, he was helping a fellow in need, but on the other, this was an added complication to his drive home. Hopefully, this little mission of mercy wouldn’t take too long, and also hopefully, the tall stranger wouldn’t have too much that he wanted to take with him.

  “Just be a minute!” the chap yelled as he turned and scurried for his vehicle.

  The heavyset driver rolled up the window, wearily opened his door, and emerged from the Corolla. As he went, he grabbed his windbreaker, struggling to quickly pull on the meager material against the gale.

  “This blasted windbreaker is almost as good as mosquito netting is against a fully charged phaser bank!” he muttered, clutching the thin jacket tightly about himself. He watched the black shadow of the tall man pick its way across the snow toward his large SUV, though in the dark, the make and model couldn’t be made out properly. Its front bumper was pointing out into the desert, a sagebrush framed in the dim headlights. The rear wheels appeared to be deeply mired in the soft sand.

  “‘Your Taun Taun will freeze before you reach the first marker,’” the motorist whispered as he shivered, quoting from Star Wars: The Empire Strikes Back.

  True to his word, in short order, the SUV owner dug out two black duffel bags from the back seat of his vehicle, turned all his lights off, and locked the doors. Moving slowly, the driver of the Corolla reached back into his car and pulled the trunk release lever. Then, sluggishly, as though he were dragging a huge heavy weight, he carefully made his way along the icy asphalt toward the rear of his vehicle and pulled the trunk lid up against yet another blast of wind. There he waited for the stranger’s luggage. With rasping breath, the taller man made his way back to the highway and heaved the two bags inside. With the baggage secured and the trunk lid closed, the two men scampered into the car and out of the tempest. The driver absent-mindedly turned the heat up before putting the car in gear again and accelerating back up to a cautious speed on the snow-covered freeway.

  Patiently, the man behind the wheel endured the other fellow’s appraising look in the illumination from the car’s instrument panel, knowing that his passenger wouldn’t be impressed by what the dim light revealed. The driver himself well understood that he wasn’t what most people would consider a sterling example of manhood. Five-foot-nine inches tall, almost 250 pounds, bald, wearing large horn-rimmed glasses and worn, rumpled clothing, he would be everyone’s last choice as a male modeling contestant. And to add insult to injury, with high blood pressure and type 2 diabetes, his health wasn’t in any better shape than his wardrobe.

  The stranded man took off his cap and then a glove, offering his hand to the driver. “Name’s Michaels. Glenn Michaels.”

  The Toyota owner carefully shook the hand without taking his eyes off the road. “Nice to meet you. I’m Paul Armstead.”

  “How far is it to Mojave from here?” Michaels asked, a big smile highlighting the laugh lines on his face.

  Paul gave him a weak smile in return before answering, “About five miles—say, ten minutes.”

  The passenger frowned briefly and looked out the window and up at the sky. “When it snowed like this back home, there wouldn’t be a loaf of white bread—”

  Paul chuckled in instant mirth. “Or a gallon of whole milk.”

  “—on a grocery shelf for a hundred miles,” Michaels finished with a huge grin.

  “It’s the same way here,” Paul admitted with a smile.

  Michaels waved a slow hand at the scenery. “Won’t be light for hours yet. A couple of hours after that before I can get back here with a tow truck. Do you know of any decent places to stay in Mojave?”

  “Nothing four-star,” Paul replied with a regretful shrug. “A Best Western, a couple of cut-rate places, and two or three fleabags.”

  “The Best Western will do nicely, thank you,” the other man responded cheerfully. “I really can’t tell you how much I appreciate your help. I have one of those silly smartphones,” he said, whipping a small rectangular object out of his shirt pocket. “But I can’t seem to get a signal. Probably too far from a tower.”

  Paul gave a small nod in understanding but dared not to take his eyes off the road. “First trip to California?” he asked politely, secretly hopeful that the other man would soon run out of small talk.

  The stranger shook his head briskly. “Naw, I’ve been here a couple of times before. I’m from Tennessee myself. Yes, sir, it sure is lucky you came along,” Michaels repeated gratefully. “I really do appreciate your stopping to help.”

  “Well, it really isn’t much,” Paul half-heartedly pointed out in his typically modest fashion. “I’m headed that way anyway. I’m just sorry I couldn’t help you pull your vehicle out of the ditch.”

  “That’s okay,” Michaels responded a bit too sharply. “I haven’t been real happy with that car anyway. Spends a lot of time in the shop. Sorry piece of junk.”

  Michaels unhappily brushed some of the snow from the arms of his jacket and leaned back in his seat before taking an even more serious look at Paul.

  “If you don’t mind my saying so, you look a little familiar to me,” he asserted.

  Paul raised an eyebrow. “Funny, but I was just thinking the same thing about you.”

  “Ever been to Middle Tennessee? The Grand Ole Opry, Lookout Mountain, the Country Music Hall of Fame, Rock City—any of that sound familiar?”

  “No, I’m afraid not,” Paul replied with an emotionless shrug.

  “Ah, but I bet you’ve heard of Lynchburg,” the other man suggested with a half-smile.

  Paul blinked and pursed his lips. “Yes, something about a distillery. Jack something or other. Is that in Tennessee?”

  Michaels chuckled. “It never fails. Nashville, Chattanooga, with populations in the hundreds of thousands. Nobody knows those. But Lynchburg, with 6,300 souls in all of Moore County—everybody’s heard of Lynchburg.”

  They rode in silence for a minute while Michaels studied the road ahead. “Say, are you on a trip?”

  Paul shook his head, adding a small negative grunt. “No, just coming home from work. Edwards Air Force Base.”

  Out of the corner of Paul’s eye, h
e could see that Michaels was impressed and that the other man’s estimate of Paul had gone up a couple of notches. “Really? You work there? Are you a scientist?” Michaels asked as his eyebrows rose appreciatively.

  “An engineer, not a scientist,” Paul responded, gently amending the other man’s guess.

  “That sounds like interesting work,” Michaels observed with a note of approval. “I used to do some engineering, but that was a long time ago. You like that sort of work?”

  Paul stoically sighed. “I wish I could.”

  This time, Michaels cocked his head to one side in surprise. “Problems?”

  “Yeah. I’m working on a project that the Air Force wants finished before Christmas. Too much work to do and too little time,” Paul wearily complained.

  Michaels grunted. “Sounds familiar. My sympathies. Is that why you’re going home at midnight on a Saturday in a storm like this?”

  Again, Paul unenthusiastically shrugged. “Yeah. It’s a job, and it puts food on the table. I just wish they would be more reasonable about the schedule.”

  “Got a family?” Michaels asked, changing the subject.

  Paul smiled again, though it was still halfhearted. “A stepson. And an ex-wife.”

  “Oh. What happened?” Michaels pried shamelessly.

  “Well, my ex-wife, Marie, divorced me four years ago and married another man. She said I was boring her to death. And my stepson, Douglas, is quite frankly a loser. He got mixed up with a gang and drugs.” Paul reached down to adjust the fan heater to a lower setting. “His legal fees took half my life savings, and my ex-wife got the other half at the property settlement.”

  Michaels nodded slowly, as if he had heard that song before. “Yeah, that’s rough. So, that’s going to affect your retirement? If you don’t mind my asking.”

  On another occasion, Paul would have found the other man’s questions annoying, even intrusive. But replying just seemed like a polite way to pass the time. Paul silently reminded himself that as soon as he dropped this stranger off in Mojave, he’d never see the other man again anyway. So why not answer a few harmless questions?