Genie and Engineer 1: The Engineer Wizard

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Genie and Engineer 1: The Engineer Wizard Page 7

by Glenn Michaels


  Narrowing his eyes in concentration, he visualized one of the particles moving, willing it to levitate off his hand and to hover in the air.

  It didn’t so much as twitch, let alone levitate.

  Paul grunted in annoyance. It was no wonder he couldn’t get the more complicated spells to work, not if he couldn’t even make the smallest grain of dirt budge.

  He tried several more times, but all attempts were without result.

  With a huge sigh, Paul lay back on the bed. He was still missing something, a very basic and crucial step in the casting of spells. But what was it?

  Closing his eyes, he lay still, thinking of all the sci-fi movies and TV episodes in his library. He tried to think of anything that touched on magic and how it was used.

  One of the first examples he remembered was Galen of first Babylon 5 and then Crusade. One of the techno-mages. But they used technology, not magic, for their spells.

  Then there was another original Star Trek episode he remembered, “Catspaw,” in which fake witches in a bank of fog had used an incantation to cast a spell for Kirk, Spock, and McCoy. Spock had called it extremely bad poetry, but the spell had called forth both wind and fog.

  Paul rubbed his chin in thought. Yes, it seemed to him that in order to cast a proper spell, there should be an incantation. When he thought about it, the wizard/genie had used an incantation too, when he gave Paul his magical powers, and then he’d concluded by using the phrase, “So it is said; so let it be!” However, that seemed much too quaint to suit Paul’s tastes. What did that character say on his stepson’s favorite cartoon so long ago? “In the name of Greystroke?” No, that wasn’t quite right. But it really didn’t matter; the form was what counted.

  He got off the bed and collected more dirt from the flower bed in the palm of his hand, isolating another grain of sand.

  “In the name of the warp drive, hyperspace, and the Holtzman drive, may this grain of sand in the palm of my hand move and levitate.”

  And just like that, the grain of sand disappeared.

  Paul blinked several times. He studied the palm of his hand closely. No, that particular grain of sand was definitely gone. He studied the air above his hand, looking for a hovering speck of dirt. But no, nothing.

  He tried again, using the same exact spell on another grain of sand. And the same identical result occurred. The speck of dirt disappeared instantly. Where it went, Paul didn’t know. It was very mysterious. But also very encouraging. He began to take heart. So, as it turned out, it took a properly worded spell, as well as a certain degree of mental concentration, to employ his magic. Why words were necessary was a mystery to him. It practically offended his engineering sensibilities. Magic should work without words. Paul distinctly remembered several spells from the wizard/genie without the use of words. Well, without any words that were spoken out loud, at least.

  He tried again, this time using tiny pieces of rock the size of BBs. Employing his spell on one of them produced the same outcome. It simply disappeared from his hand. So did the next three that he tried.

  Then he gathered a few pea-sized pebbles and tried again.

  With the invocation of his spell, there was a sharp crack, and the stone disappeared. The noise startled Paul, and he blinked several times in bewilderment. The mystery of where the targets of his spells were going was really starting....

  Another sharp crack, this time accompanied by a breath of air near his right ear, was enough to make him leap clear off the bed in a single bound. What was that?

  A third crack, more muted, this time to his left.

  Somebody was shooting at him!

  He dove to the ground at the fourth crack, swiftly scrambling under the four-poster bed. Wild-eyed, his eyes darted around the area, looking for his assailant. But he saw no one or nothing unusual.

  A fifth crack, another projectile whizzing past the front of his face, made him wince backward, further under the bed, in shock.

  A thought popped into his mind, causing him to catch his breath.

  Could it possibly be that same pebble?

  There was one quick way to find out.

  Breathlessly, he gasped, “In the name of stop signs, red lights, and traffic cops, let that blasted pebble be stopped dead in its tracks!”

  There was a thud-like noise, and the pea-sized pebble was suddenly hovering in front of his face, aimed roughly between his eyes.

  • • • •

  Once he managed to get himself calmed down again, Paul realized what must have happened. Apparently, he had put way too much energy into the spell, causing first the grains of sand and then the BB-sized pebbles to accelerate to high speeds. That was why they had disappeared and never come back.

  The spell on the pea-sized pebble was somewhat different, however. It too had accelerated away at a high speed, but the pebble, apparently still under his spell, kept returning over and over again, buzzing closely past him on each pass, until he had cast the spell to stop it. Perhaps the grains of sand had done the same thing, but since they were much smaller, he had never noticed their return.

  Much more carefully, double-checking each step of the process, he began again to experiment with moving pebbles around. With grim determination, he cast his next spell.

  • • • •

  After an hour of magically moving gradually larger stones (and gathering an increasing skill in doing so), he took a break to consider his latest discovery in the use of magical powers.

  “The larger the rock, the more power it takes to move it. And it would seem that I don’t have enough oomph to move large masses. Three pounds seems to be my upper limit,” he muttered to himself. “‘We cannot break free, Captain. We only have a fraction of the power necessary,’” he said, quoting Spock from Star Trek: The Motion Picture.

  Apparently, the energy required to move the rocks had to come from somewhere. And it seemed most likely to be coming directly from him. Ergo, he could move small things, but not large ones.

  The wizard/genie had not had that problem, Paul was sure. Again, he was convinced that he was missing something, a vital piece of information concerning the use of magical spells. But what was it?

  The sun was hanging low to the west. This was taking much too much time. And now that he knew his power was limited, he remained stuck where he was. Just where would he go from here with his experiments? And most importantly, where would he get the energy he needed for water and food, and then the energy necessary for a means of escape from this remote location?

  He was exhausted, feeling wrung out as well as discouraged, and out of ideas. Perhaps in the morning, after some sleep, he might come up with some other options. With a yawn, he kicked off his shoes and climbed into bed, falling asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

  SIX

  Unknown location

  December

  Sunday, 7:06 p.m. PST (by Paul’s watch)

  Paul’s dry throat woke him up a couple of times during the night, but both times, he managed to get back to sleep.

  As the sun peeked over the tops of the snow-capped mountains to the east, he awoke again. After putting his shoes back on, he popped one of the pea-sized pebbles in his mouth in an effort to slake his thirst. And he was surprised when it actually did help.

  Once again, it was a beautiful day, the sun shining in the heavens, a minimal number of clouds hanging around the mountaintops. He was fortunate that the weather at least was cooperating. Heaven forbid that a blizzard descend on this place while he was still stuck here!

  Paul knew that this particular day was crucial to his survival. If he didn’t find water to drink today, then his situation would turn nasty by this time tomorrow. Therefore, it was time to try the first option again, namely, finding someone to train him in how to cast more complicated spells, ones that would give him water to drink, food to eat, and a way to leave this place and go home!

  But how to do that when his powers were so limited? He couldn’t bring anyone to his loc
ation...

  Well, not physically, no. An idea stirred in the back of his mind. Perhaps he could do a hologram. After all, light consisted strictly of photons, which were nearly massless. Close enough for now. Perhaps he could create a hologram of a person instead. That should involve very little in the way of energy.

  So far, that was one option he hadn’t tried yet. In theory, it should work. But who to conjure up?

  Someone with magical experience, of course. And who better than a wizard?

  He didn’t know any real wizards other than the one who had bestowed powers on him and stranded him here. However, the hologram didn’t have to be of a real person, did it? A fictional one might do as well. Paul tried to think of some fictional wizards, but once again, his lack of fantasy knowledge was a serious handicap. As a child, he had repeatedly seen The Wizard of Oz (what person his age had not?), but he wasn’t interested in the Wicked Witch of the West or the Wizard of Oz himself. And he didn’t think calling on any of the wizards from a Disney film would be appropriate here, most of whom were animated, anyway. There was a decent wizard in the Lord of the Rings series, but Paul couldn’t remember the name. Gandy or Gundolph or something like that.

  But there was one wizard’s name that everyone knew, one that might be of some help.

  Cautiously planning the phrasing of his next spell, Paul raised his arms high and said, “In the name of Camelot, King Arthur, and the Round Table, let a hologram of the wizard Merlin appear!”

  A tiny ball of gray smoke appeared, swiftly expanding into the form of a human being, an elderly man with a long white beard, dressed in a purple robe fringed in white fur and an oddly shaped purple hat embroidered with several small, yellow five-pointed stars. He looked at Paul in total surprise.

  Paul smiled smugly. He was finally getting the knack of casting successful magical spells!

  Merlin looked Paul over from head to toe shaking his head in stern disapproval. “The world’s newest wizard, I see. For ages, I have had high expectations of meeting a new wizard, so you can understand my disappointment at seeing you instead.” And the old man snorted in disdain. “You did well to call on me, young man. I suppose you are wondering why you can’t make things appear, disappear, or move. Am I right?”

  “That part I already know about,” Paul admitted. “Power. As in, I don’t have enough of it.”

  Merlin snickered briefly. “You have the right of it. Your brain cannot generate the energy needed for the spells. In the language of this age, you only have a few joules to work with, which are a few degrees too low to do the job.”

  Paul nodded in complete understanding. “Of course. I need an energy source and a way to tap into it.”

  “The energy you need is all around you,” explained Merlin, waving an arm. “You can access the sunlight, Earth’s gravity and magnetic fields, the Van Allen belt, cosmic rays, and the heat of Earth’s magma below. There is more than enough power in those sources to supply your needs. It is an amplifier you lack that keeps you from your magic.”

  “An amplifier?” Paul asked, surprised that Merlin, a person from the Middle Ages, would know about the Van Allen belt, joules, and amplifiers.

  “To channel the power of the spell, of course,” Merlin replied, slightly exasperated with Paul. “And you call yourself an engineer! Humph.”

  Startled, Paul realized what the old wizard was referring to. “Oh, a wizard’s amplifier? A—what do wizards call it?—a tally-ho?” Paul asked. No, that didn’t quite seem like the right word.

  “The proper word is ‘talisman.’ You need a talisman,” Merlin explained condescendingly.

  Paul looked around the plateau and sensed that things were still not working in his favor. “I don’t see a talisman here. There’s not one, is there?” he sadly guessed, his earlier feeling of excitement now rapidly fading away.

  “No, there’s not,” Merlin confirmed for him. “No talisman that will let you leave this place or provide you with food or water.” He gave Paul a firm stare. “You do have a problem.”

  Paul nodded in uncomfortable understanding with a sudden desire to sit down on the edge of the bed, which he did. A talisman, huh? Maybe that was what that armband had been, the one that the wizard/genie had been wearing. Or perhaps that odd-looking belt buckle on the overly large belt he had on.

  It now made perfect sense to Paul, this need for a talisman, but it unfortunately still left him stranded. How would he escape this place? He had the ability of a wizard, but without a talisman, he was stuck. He rubbed his sweaty palms on his pant legs. Just how would he deal with this problem?

  Paul waved a hand. “In the name of Jimmy Hoffa, Amelia Earhart, and the Bermuda Triangle, you may disappear now.”

  And Merlin faded away. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Paul spent an hour thinking about his situation and trying to put the pieces into perspective. Slowly, the sun moved through the sky, heading toward high noon.

  Abruptly, he realized that he was making a serious mistake and slapped his knee in annoyance. Here he had sat, for more than a day, too, attempting to solve a complex problem, but only as Paul Armstead, the bumbling, slow, dull-witted, mundane clod that he was.

  “Idiot,” he muttered, deeply irritated with himself.

  Why on Earth should he crawl when he could run? Paul now possessed the power to make himself a great deal smarter. Indeed, he could make Einstein look like a nursery school dropout! For a few moments, he wondered what it would be like to have an IQ of 10,000 or more. If he made himself that intelligent, he could make short work of resolving his current situation. Furthermore, he could solve all his future problems and perhaps all the problems of the world! A sudden confidence filled him with the desire to cast the necessary spell.

  But a small voice internally whispered its doubt, and Paul hesitated. Fortunately, his sanity quickly regained control. With more thought, Paul realized that if he became that intelligent, he would most likely cease to be human as a consequence. Moreover, he would not be Paul Armstead anymore. And he would likely lose interest in the affairs of humanity, too.

  Paul shuddered, his stomach queasy at the recognition of what could be done with his new powers if he were not careful.

  What he needed was a fine balance. He wanted to be smarter, yes, but not so smart that it would change him into something else. Just how smart was that? An IQ of 160? 180? How high should he go?

  He chuckled as he thought of the obvious answer. His brand-new magical powers could tell him. Let’s see. How to make this work?

  Standing, he raised his arms high. “In the name of bipolar disorder, schizophrenia, and leather couches, let a virtual reality copy of Sigmund Freud appear before me.”

  Paul waved both of his arms.

  And again, a small dot of light appeared in front of him, a little over three feet off the ground. It grew and solidified in the image of a man wearing an old-style tweed suit with long coattails, a black vest with a gold chain, and a gray bowtie. The man himself was balding, gray-haired, and sporting a hefty gray beard and mustache. His visage was stern, almost foreboding, and he carried a smoking cigar in his left hand.

  “Yes, what is it that you want?” he asked Paul severely.

  Paul decided not to waste any time with this guy. It was best to get right to the point.

  “I have the power to make myself more intelligent,” Paul explained hurriedly. “On the other hand, I don’t want to go too far. I don’t want to lose my identity. I don’t want to change my personality or lose interest in my hobbies. I need to make myself smart enough to be able to plan my future and use my new powers to help other people. How intelligent do I need to be to do that?”

  Freud cocked his head to one side. “Intelligence consists of many mental capacities.” He took a drag on the cigar, studying Paul critically, and then pointed it in his direction. “Yes, I can see that you need help in that regard. And I agree that the more you improve yourself, the more impact you will experience to your personality. I would rec
ommend a two-fold approach. Modest improvements should be made to the most critical areas of your psyche. Then use your magical powers to create a super intelligence, a magician’s sage, as it were, to act as a consultant during times of need. There are ample literary examples for you to use as a pattern.”

  Paul chuckled in relief. Of course. A simple solution. He didn’t know why he hadn’t thought of it himself. He didn’t need to make himself supersmart, not as long as he could consult with a super-being anytime he needed to. Just like he had already done with Merlin and Freud.

  “What image should I use for this superintelligence?” Paul asked, curious about the literary examples Freud was referring to.

  The old man shrugged. “There are many examples in literature. You could use Sherlock Holmes or that fellow on the starship, the alien with the odd name—Spock. Or, if you prefer, the mirror from Snow White. Or the Wizard of Oz. Or you could continue to depend on Merlin. Or any of dozens of other examples.”

  Freud was right. There were many choices to choose from. Paul planned to think more about the possibilities later.

  “What upgrades do you recommend for me?” Paul asked pensively, interested to know the man’s opinion of his mental capabilities.

  The doctor considered the issue for a moment. “I suggest a 40% increase in both short-term and long-term memory, a 15% increase in heuristic logic and intuitive functions, and a 20% increase in cognitive recognition capability. There is a minor, but noticeable skew in your time synchronization and situational awareness capacities that needs correction. Also, a 30% increase in precognitive functions, a 25% increase in linguistics generation, and a 15% increase in imaginative adaptability.”

  Paul stared at him in near shock, the blood draining from his face. “That’s what you think of as ‘modest improvements?’ Zounds! Okay, okay, that sounds like the complete list.” He raised an arm.

  Freud waved both of his frantically. “No, no, not here, not now, not all at once! Zum Kuckuck noch mal! (For crying out loud!) Are you trying to kill yourself?!”

 

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