Paul thought back and realized that he had done so many times. Douglas did not have a lot of redeeming qualities, but he did know his computers.
“It’s because he grew up with them,” Paul said slowly. “He even played with a PC Junior, back in the 1980s when he barely knew how to talk.”
“It’s what he grew up with,” Holmes said in determined affirmation. “That’s true for everyone in every corner of the earth at every age.”
“It’s all about the level of technology and science that existed when they were children,” Paul stated in dawning understanding. He was deeply gratified that he had created this rendition of Holmes. The detective truly was super-intelligent!
“Exactly! You have a huge advantage over them,” Holmes insisted. “All these great and powerful wizards—all of them—are 400 years out of date, at the very least! They know nothing of modern science or of engineering or of quantum physics. Their magic is limited. And it always will be, too, because of who they are and the level of science they learned in their childhood and on their understanding of the universe way back when. On the other hand, you have been trained in modern science, and ever since you were a child, you have read countless science-fiction books and seen countless movies and television shows.”
Holmes cocked his head back. “It won’t be a fair contest at all, you against all the other wizards in the world. Not fair at all. Once you reach your stride, they’ll never understand what hit them.”
FOURTEEN
Somewhere in southwestern France
December — January
Friday through Thursday
Over the course of the next few days, Paul fell into a routine. Exercise in the morning (to help improve muscle tone), followed by a meal of “gruel” provided by his jailors, then a session of mental improvements, followed by a nap for recovery, after which the jailors would show up again, this time to empty his bucket (thank heavens!). In the afternoons, Paul would consult with various expert super-intelligences about a long list of subjects, including spells to help spur tissue generation in his arm and improve his eyesight (since he no longer had his glasses), how to look for opportunities to escape, how to best deal with his imprisonment, how to utilize his limited powers without a talisman, how to develop his supposedly superior magical powers, and more. He also had a couple of long sessions with Merlin on how to hide his spells (especially portals) from detection by the other wizards and the Oni. In the evenings, he would conjure forth a giant holographic Book of Magical Spells, which he would study for an hour or more before crawling into a corner and falling asleep.
Despite his valiant efforts to keep himself occupied, however, Paul felt moody, verging on depressed. Being held captive in miserable conditions wore on his mental equilibrium. With the passage of each day, he had to work harder to keep a forward momentum, to keep a core faith that events would eventually work in his favor, and that one day, he would regain his freedom.
• • • •
The fifth day of captivity was the worst for Paul. He was becoming convinced that he would never get out of the small prison, that he was trapped forever.
In an attempt to distract himself, he decided to call forth an expert on the Oni. It occurred to him that he needed to know more about these creatures if he was ever going to learn how to deal with them.
So he wedged himself into a corner of the room, and with a wave of his hand, he said, “In the name of Godzilla, Gamera and Mothra, let a holographic Japanese expert on mythical creatures appear to answer a few questions.”
The image of an elderly thin Japanese man, wearing a dark montsuki haori jacket and a striped hakama, materialized in the gloomy light. Sitting in the traditional seiza position, the hologram exuded dignity and quiet confidence. The face was taut, the eyes thin, and there was a three-inch pointed goatee sprouting from the chin. He also wore a tall, thin, black hat known as a kazaori eboshi.
It would be substantially later that Paul would discover that he had accidentally called forth perhaps the most powerful magical personage of all the Orient, the Japanese equivalent to Merlin.
The gray-haired man blinked and slowly produced a small bow.
“I am Abe no Seimei,” he announced in a calm, clear voice. “Who might you be?”
Paul was deeply impressed by the man’s character and bearing. This might be his best holographic creation yet.
“I’m Paul,” he replied. “I, uh, that is, I am the one that...summoned you here.”
The Japanese onmyōji bowed again. “I see. Paul-sama, do you have a request of me?”
And do I! Paul thought. “Yes, I do. What can you tell me about the Oni?”
The hologram looked thoughtful. “You have encountered an Oni?”
“‘Well, it’s not exactly the first contact situation that I’d have envisioned,’” Paul responded, quoting Galen from Crusade, “but yeah, I have had a couple of run-ins with them.”
“If it is no trouble, please describe what you have seen.”
The man needed proof? Okay.
“Tall, monstrous brutes with red skin, horns, and nasty dispositions. Very nasty,” he answered with a quirky smile.
Seimei nodded slowly. “That is quite an accurate description. Forgive me. I wanted to make sure that we spoke of the same youkai. In answer to your request, I know much of these beings and could regale you for many hours speaking of them. But I do not think you want that much information. I sense urgency in your situation. Is there something specific that you wish to know?”
“Yes,” Paul eagerly replied, leaning forward. “I want to know about their weaknesses and how to exploit them.”
“Ah,” Seimei responded. “That hastens the discussion significantly. In my experience, salt and specific chants of Buddhist priests are quite effective.”
Salt? That was easy enough. Buddhist priests, huh? It might be hard to find one of those just hanging around the next time he ran into an Oni. “Anything else?”
“Yes. It was common practice in my time to also use soybeans or garlic or onions to ward them off. They’re also prone to drink much saké and to enjoy wild, loud festivities whenever possible and do so far into the night.”
Soybeans? Onions? Garlic, for crying out loud? Were the Oni related to Count Dracula? “Soybeans? Are you kidding me here? Yeah, okay. So...how do you use all these things to ward them off?” Paul asked.
But the reply he received was not the one he wanted. The onmyōji bowed again and produced a very mysterious smile. “Hmm. That entirely depends on your creativity, Paul-sama.”
And with that, the hologram faded away, leaving a very puzzled Paul deep in thought.
• • • •
On the evening of the sixth day, Paul was still contemplating how he could use his powers without a talisman in order to escape. For a few moments, he speculated on the possibility of a Vulcan nerve pinch working on an Oni but rejected the idea. No, all things considered, it would probably not work any better on an Oni than it had against Khan in Star Trek Into Darkness. Too bad.
And then a much more outlandish idea occurred to him. He turned it over in his mind several times, looking for any fallacies or reasons why it wouldn’t work. He found none. But on the other hand, he wasn’t a physicist. Well, that was no problem; he would simply conjure one up, and while he was at it, he might as well get the best that there was.
So he waved an arm. “In the name of Stephen Hawking, Commander Spock, and Dr. Emmet Brown, let a virtual reality image of Albert Einstein appear before me.”
And it did.
Paul knew it was only a magical representation of the man, but he couldn’t help feeling honored. This was the individual that most of humanity believed was the smartest physicist who had ever lived. Perhaps even the smartest person of all time.
Dressed in an old gray sweater, black slacks, and a black and white checked shirt, Einstein held a small pipe in his right hand. He glanced around Paul’s prison with obvious disapproval but said nothing.
“Hello, Dr. Einstein. Welcome, sir,” Paul said quietly and with deep respect.
The elderly physicist nodded and took a puff on his pipe. “How may I help you?” he asked.
Paul took a breath and considered how to best ask his question. “I have a few questions about the energy levels of subatomic particles. And I was wondering if you might help me do a few calculations.”
With a small twinkle in his eyes, Einstein tilted his head to one side and replied, “I’ll do what I can.”
Paul cast a spell to create a virtual reality chalkboard and a small box of chalk.
“Then let’s get started,” he implored the famous scientist with a smile.
• • • •
The brainstorming session went late into the evening and resumed the next morning, Einstein doing most of the calculations on the chalkboard. After all, nuclear physics was not Paul’s strong suit. But a person couldn’t be an avid science-fiction nut like himself without knowing something about quantum physics. And Einstein confirmed that his initial idea was valid enough, though it needed considerable refinement and a board full of calculations to prove it.
They finished just as Paul’s small bowl of gruel arrived.
“Yes,” Einstein reluctantly admitted as he watched Paul eat his daily meal. “What you propose is possible. But very dangerous. You certainly cannot test it here!”
Paul nodded as he put another finger full of food in his mouth. “No, I would never test it here.”
“Young man, this is incredibly dangerous,” Einstein warned him, pointing his pipe at the blackboard. “If you miscalculate, you could potentially kill yourself. And it wouldn’t take much error, either.”
His words vexed Paul.
“If I don’t use this knowledge, I may very well be killed by these creatures,” Paul said, putting his now-empty bowl on the floor and wiping his fingers off on his grimy pants leg.
Einstein nodded. “You must be very careful.”
On that score, Paul readily agreed. But on the other hand, if the calculations they had made turned out to be correct, Paul now had a new weapon, courtesy of Albert Einstein’s assistance, that he could use against Ruggiero—one that would let him escape from his prison. And against Celeste too, if such became necessary.
“I have a lot to think about,” Paul admitted calmly as he clapped and rubbed his hands together. “And I think that I may be running out of time. In case I don’t see you again, thank you, Herr Doktor, for all you’ve done to help.”
Einstein waved goodbye as he faded out of sight.
FIFTEEN
Somewhere in southwestern France
January
Sunday, 8:17 a.m. CET (guesstimated)
The door crashed open, waking Paul from a sound sleep. An Oni stormed into the room and grasped his right arm, jerking him to his feet and hurling him through the doorway.
His time was up.
Another Oni was waiting outside, and Paul bounced up against its body. It roared and pushed him away. Then the first Oni tied a stout rope around Paul’s waist, and the two Oni hauled him to what looked like a horse stall. One of them held the rope while the other grabbed a hose and twisted a valve.
Paul cringed and half-turned away, knowing what was going to happen next.
A solid torrent of water blasted from the hose, and the Oni holding it grinned as it aimed the water directly at Paul.
The stream was so powerful that it immediately knocked him off his feet. The strength of the deluge stung! He desperately writhed on the ground, the blast causing him to cry out in pain as he tried, to no avail, to get out of its path.
The Oni laughed that funny noise again.
Just when Paul thought the pain was so severe that he could stand it no longer, the Oni thankfully turned it off. Gasping for breath, Paul pathetically hugged the straw on the ground.
Jerked back up to his feet, he was dragged by the rope to a neighboring stall, where a bundle of dry clothes was thrust into his arms. With occasional goading by the two Oni, Paul struggled weakly to shuck off the rope and his old clothes. Wet, naked, and feeling terribly exposed, he managed to put on the “new” clothing: a faded pair of jeans and a T-shirt. He did manage to keep his old shoes.
Then the two Oni grabbed him by the arm again as a portal opened up a few feet away. Ruggiero emerged, looking dapper as well as smug, his shiny black talisman hanging off his belt.
“I was gone a little longer than I originally planned, but you seem to be no worse off. In fact, in my opinion, you look better, trimmer, and I see that you’ve been working on that arm as well. That’s good. I hope you’ve had the opportunity to think about what I said, about being cooperative. Have you?”
Paul wiped some water off the top of his head, and he bravely tried to smile at his captor but failed. Inwardly, he was trembling in fear, scared that he might actually die in the next few minutes, especially if his work with Einstein didn’t pan out. With greater effort, he smiled weakly. “Yes, I have. What would you like to know?”
Ruggiero smiled thinly. “Good, Mr. Armstead. I like your spirit. It really is in your best interest to cooperate. I’m of the opinion that after we discuss a few things here, maybe we could talk about your joining our organization. We could use a new wizard in our ranks. We would have to place you on some type of parole, of course, until you could prove yourself. But that does beat the alternatives, does it not?”
Yeah, right. What a tempting offer. Paul grimly thought that he might prefer a Ceti eel in his ear, as was given to Chekov and Captain Terrell in Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan.
With a nod, Paul tried to reply in a casual manner, “Yes, I agree with you.”
“So, let us get down to business,” the other wizard grinned insincerely. “Tell me, who sent you here to spy on us? What did they want you to learn? And how were you supposed to report back to them?”
Paul shrugged, his right pinky beginning to twitch uncontrollably, his fear growing stronger, his body actually quaking. “I’m sorry. I didn’t catch his name. He left me immediately after our conversation and didn’t say where he was going. Oh, he did say that he was from Saudi Arabia. That’s the first place I would look.”
Ruggiero minutely shook his head. “That’s not very helpful, Mr. Armstead.”
Sadly, Paul knew that he was skating on thin ice. Should he tell the truth and risk being tortured? Or make up a convincing lie?
Well, he knew that he had never been much of a liar. Lying was an art and required true talent, which he didn’t have. So, he reluctantly decided to go with the truth instead.
“The story I told you was true. Up until ten days ago, I was a Normal. A genie-turned-wizard gave me my powers. I made my talisman myself. And I escaped from the Oni as I said. I’m sorry that you find my story to be too fantastic. But it’s the truth.”
Ruggiero scowled again, studying his prisoner intently with narrowed eyes.
“Mr. Armstead, you said that you are an engineer and that you have had a decent education in science and technology. But how much history do you know? Have you studied much history?”
“Some,” Paul replied, wisely keeping his answer short.
“I’ve lived it,” the haughty wizard thundered, startling Paul. “Yes, I was born in the year 1292, and I have seen a great deal of history! I have lived through plagues and droughts, floods, earthquakes, and famines. I have seen many things that you could not begin to dream of, let alone live through!”
Ruggiero stared angrily at Paul, his nostrils flaring. “The human race is infinitely better off now than it was a thousand years ago. Much better off than just a hundred years ago! And where do you think that progress came from? Well? It came from me and Celeste and from other wizards like us! We cast the spells on the Normies to advance science and technology! We gave them the tools and the inspiration to develop cures for plagues and to build steamships! We pushed them to build the railroads that started your country on its way to becoming the migh
tiest nation on Earth! It was wizards that guided England to create the greatest system of trade on the planet! Who did you think was responsible for all of that and a lot more? Who developed the science and engineering that you are blessed with today, Mr. Armstead?”
His questions floored Paul. For a moment, he just blinked and stared back blankly.
“I was told...” Paul tentatively started to stammer.
Ruggiero waved a hand in dismissal. “Yes, of course. Celeste told you that wizards are to blame for all the wars and destruction in the world.” He grinned mischievously. “There is truth in that, I’ll admit. But as they say in your country, you can’t make shakshuka without smashing some eggs. Yes, we stir up trouble, trigger various regional conflicts, and yes, Normies die. Sometimes, we get lucky and create worldwide wars. But where do you think advancements come from? Those two wars propelled your country into becoming a super-power! Think of all the good that has come from that! All the Normies that your country has fed, all the democracy it has spread, all the scientific achievements that have been made! We did that! We pushed and shoved and maneuvered and enticed, and we made it happen!”
The wizard paused, crossed his arms, and stepped closer to Paul. “Sure, the wizards of Errabêlu have received some benefits from it along the way. A little more power and a little more wealth. But those things are a means to an end, not the end-all itself. Don’t you understand? We did it for humanity! Someday, our race will go to the stars! And it will be the wizards of Errabêlu that made it happen!”
Paul’s mind was reeling from the outrageous claims. All the wars, all the millions upon millions of dead—to push scientific development? He had always known that war accelerated the advancement of weaponry—and yes, science, too. The atom bomb was a great example of both. But to sacrifice so many human lives? Was it worth it? He remembered reading about the Black Plague and its devastating effects in a high school history class. That disease alone had killed nearly 100 million people in the 14th century. But World War I had killed 16 million and World War II over 65 million.
Genie and Engineer 1: The Engineer Wizard Page 16