Genie and Engineer 1: The Engineer Wizard

by Glenn Michaels

  Astonished, Paul sat there, frozen in place, staring at the web page without really seeing it.

  There were times when his level of stupidity dumbfounded him.

  ISOTOPES!! Of course! How could he be so dense?!

  “‘Only two things are infinite, the universe and human stupidity, and I’m not sure about the former.’ Albert Einstein,” Paul muttered, deeply annoyed with himself.

  He had already made use of an isotope when he employed the deuterium-fusion spell to escape from Ruggiero. Like a dimwitted idiot, he had not even considered the idea of using isotopes for enhancing his magic. Not until now.

  In a semi-daze, he nodded and got out of his chair, wandering into the kitchen for a cup of hot chocolate, his mind ablaze with the possible implications of his discovery.

  Isotopes!

  • • • •

  An isotope could be thought of as a sort of a “flavor” of an element. And every element had at least three “flavors,” in most cases, a great many more.

  By way of example, hydrogen had three naturally occurring isotopes. By far, the most common of these was 1H (sometimes referred to as protium), which meant that it had one proton in the atom’s nucleus and one electron in an orbital shell around that nucleus. 99.985% of all hydrogen atoms were 1H.

  2H was otherwise known as deuterium, and it had one proton and one neutron in the nucleus, with the obligatory electron in an orbital shell around it. Only 0.015% of all hydrogen atoms on Earth were deuterium.

  3H was known as tritium, with one proton and two neutrons in the nucleus, and it differed from the other two isotopes in that it was not stable. It was radioactive and had a half-life. For every 1000 atoms of tritium, half (500) would decompose spontaneously over a 12.32-year period into atoms of 3He (helium). Only the tiniest trace of tritium existed in nature.

  The other elements of the periodic table followed the same general pattern. Some of them had one stable isotope and a couple of radioactive isotopes. Others had lots of isotopes, some of them stable, some semi-stable (with half-lives measured in the thousands or millions of years), and others that were radioactive with very short half-lives. In general, the more protons that were in the nucleus (i.e., the greater the atomic number), the more isotopes the element had, though there were lots of exceptions.

  • • • •

  When Paul returned to the living room, he absent-mindedly sipped on his hot chocolate and eased himself into the big easy chair, still lost in deep thought. And he decided that he needed a little superintelligence assistance from a physicist.

  “In the name of Albert Einstein, Niels Bohr, and Leonard Hofstadter, may a virtual image of a competent nuclear physicist appear.”

  A middle-aged man, wearing a traditional white lab coat, materialized in the middle of the room. Balding, with thick horn-rimmed glasses, a weak chin, and a thin frame, he frowned at Paul and then looked around.

  “I was in the middle of something,” he muttered irritably. “What do you want?”

  “I want to know something about rare isotopes,” Paul stated, a little annoyed that the conjured physicist was irritated with him. After all, the physicist was just a hologram. “Do they have a higher magical quotient than the more common isotopes?”

  The apparition sniffed. “I don’t have a clue what you are talking about.”

  Maybe Merlin would have been more helpful with this question. Or maybe Paul was plowing new ground and the Middle Ages wizard wouldn’t know either.

  Still miffed at the current specter’s attitude, Paul decided on a new tactic. “Let’s suppose that there is a theory stating that all matter has magical potency, but that the rarer the element, the more potency it has. Let’s hypothesize that the rarer the isotope, the more potency it has too. How do I test that hypothesis?”

  The hologram stared at Paul as if he were crazy.

  “Ah, the kooks you meet these days,” he mumbled, shaking his head. “I suppose you are creating some sort of video game, aren’t you? Okay, you want to test if isotopes have more...magical power? Right? That’s simple. Take two isotropic samples of the same element: one common, one rare. Make sure that the samples have the same mass. Then use each one to heat up a beaker of water. If they heat the water to the same temperature, then there is no magical difference. But if the rare isotope heats the water to a higher temperature, then the theory is proven. And if you measure the temperature differential, you can quantify the difference in magic between the two isotopes. There, are we done yet?”

  But of course, it was so easy! Why didn’t Paul think of it himself? He chuckled in mirth.

  “Not yet,” he replied, holding up a hand to stop the hologram from disappearing prematurely. “What element would you use to test the theory? It must be cheap and easy to get hold of. Oh, and safe to work with too.”

  “Humph, now, that’s a challenge. Let’s see. You could use carbon. That’s a good choice. 98.9% of carbon is isotope 12C, and 1.1% is isotope 13C. And you can buy charcoal to get the carbon. Are there others? Let’s see. Too many others are toxic and dangerous as pure elements. Mercury would not be too bad. It has seven stable isotopes, with 30% as isotope 202Hg down to 0.15% as isotope 196Hg. It’s a little expensive, and it is bad for the environment, of course. Let’s see. Oh, there is one other choice. Tin. That has ten stable isotopes, with 32.6% as isotope 120Sn down to 0.34% as isotope 115Sn. I’d recommend using isotope 120Sn and isotope 116Sn. Isotope 116Sn is only half as abundant as 120Sn. And tin is commonly available in solder.”

  The physicist lowered his glasses with one hand, peering over the top of them.

  “Do you have any experience in working with solder?” he asked Paul.

  • • • •

  The next morning, after a brief breakfast at a local fast-food place, Paul took a short portal trip to RadioShack and picked up the roll of solder with the highest concentration of tin that was available. Then he took another portal trip over to West Humboldt Park, to a laboratory supply house there, to buy three heat-resistant crucibles and a small glass thermometer.

  By the time he returned home, it was nearly lunchtime.

  Hurriedly, he cleared off the dining-room table to set up his little experiment. He placed the thermometer in an eight-ounce glass of water and then set the glass near one edge of the table. Then he set up the three crucibles in a line and undid three feet of the solder, rolling it into a tight ball and placing it in the first crucible.

  “In the name of Robert Oppenheimer, Edward Teller, and Victor Bergman, let the solder melt in the first crucible and then let a very small portal form, connecting the first crucible to the second one. Let only 120Sn atoms flow through the portal.”

  The solder melted, forming a silver pool in the first crucible. Paul saw the small portal open in the melted solder, and gradually, another pool formed in the second crucible.

  He waved a hand. “Now close the first portal and create a second one, connecting the first crucible to the third one. Let only atoms of isotope 116Sn flow through it.”

  He let this process continue for a few minutes, until the amount of tin in the third crucible seemed to stabilize.

  With a wave of the hand, Paul stopped the spell. Now to make the amounts equal.

  Paul took the 120Sn crucible and poured half of it back into the first one. Now there appeared to be equal amounts of tin in the second and third crucibles.

  “In the name of penguins, polar bears, and a Chicago winter, may the three crucibles and their contents be chilled until they are once again at room temperature.”

  The liquid metals solidified right before his eyes.

  Removing the gold wristband from his right wrist, Paul laid it on the tabletop. Then, with one finger touching the 120Sn, he looked over at the glass and concentrated on heating it up, using solely the magical quotient of the tin at his fingertip. He saw the temperature quickly rise from 68 degrees F to 145 degrees F, taking only a few seconds to make the transition. Then he stopped, an anticip
atory grin on his face. So far, so good.

  Using the gold wristband, Paul cast another spell on the water to return it to room temperature. Then he put a finger on the 116Sn and concentrated on reheating the water using the magical quotient of the tin that was now at his fingertip.

  The temperature shot up, the water roiling into a boil, the glass shattering all over the table and spilling out onto the floor.

  Paul jumped back in surprise and then started laughing uncontrollably, insufferably pleased with himself.

  Okay, so, they hadn’t approved of his first talisman but just wait until they got a look at his second one!

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Chicago, Illinois

  South Lawndale

  South Kildare Avenue

  April

  Friday, 2:36 p.m. CST

  The green front door of his rental home clicked closed behind him, and he twisted the doorknob to verify that it was securely latched. Satisfied, he then checked to make sure that the sleeve of his windbreaker sufficiently covered the three-pound gold amulet on his left wrist. Smiling, he sauntered over to the curb, to the “new” red 2007 Toyota Camry LE that was parked there. With only 125,000 miles on the odometer, it was, to a certain extent, in better shape than his old Toyota Corolla had been in. And it certainly provided a much more comfortable ride as well.

  Also on the plus side, it had not cost very much, and it was cheap on gas. Paul was loath to spend too much money on transportation, especially when he didn’t know just how long he was going to be in Chicago. In addition, he didn’t know if he would be able to take the car with him when he finally did leave the area. He might have to abandon it, like he did his Corolla in California. Or for all he knew, he might have no further need of any transportation at all—beyond that of a set of angel wings.

  The engine started smoothly, and he pulled away from the curb. Heading south on South Kildare Avenue, toward the on-ramp for I-55, Paul switched the radio on and over to his favorite easy-listening station. His destination was downtown Chicago, to Chicago’s largest convention center, McCormick Place.

  Over the course of the last month, he had thrown himself into his work with a vengeance, often working late into the evening. He had consulted with Uncle Sam (among other experts) and immersed himself in endless hours of Internet research, all in the development of his grand overall plan, most of which was now formulated and on paper. Sure, there were still plenty of details to be worked out, but Paul was confident that it was a workable strategy, giving him the best option of going up against the wizards of Errabêlu. No, he wasn’t fool enough to believe that the odds were very good. But they weren’t near zero anymore, either.

  And during the month, he had continued to work on improving his health. Physically, he was now in wonderful shape, the best shape of his life, in fact. His arm was completely restored now, with decent muscle tone and all the small details done, right down to the hairs on the back of his hand. His stomach wound was now totally healed too, without even a trace of a scar remaining. And his magic was continuing to work on his age; most people would now assume him to be in his late thirties.

  In addition to repairing his injuries and faults, Paul had also focused on enhancing his body as well. Hearing, muscle tone and strength, reflexes, coordination, and speed had all been fine-tuned and considerably improved.

  Admittedly, Paul had included time to alter his facial structure too, partly to prevent him from being recognized by anyone, but also to make himself a bit more attractive. Oh, he had no wish to be as good-looking as some movie star. Vanity was not one of his vices. But anything was an improvement over his old face. These days, when Paul was shaving, he no longer felt the need to close his eyes in order to avoid seeing his own reflection in the mirror.

  Feeling confident about his plans for creating his new talisman, Paul had ordered and received two kilograms of powdered tantalum and four kilograms of bertrandite ore (containing beryllium, one of the chief components of emeralds). Getting the other minerals for his talisman would require some field trips. The rare type of meteorite and the basal rocks that the talisman required just weren’t sold on the open market. But Paul already had a general idea of where he might be able to find what he needed.

  In contrast, the progress on learning about Errabêlu had been slow. They had been quite successful in covering their tracks, and Paul had needed a lot of expert help just to make a few deductive conclusions about how they operated and where they might be located. There was still a lot to do in that department.

  In fact, Paul had been working so hard that he finally decided it was time to take a small break, hence his current trip downtown.

  There was a convention in Chicago this week. The Chicago Comic and Entertainment Expo. Of course, science fiction was more in his line of interest, but comic books were kissing cousins. Indeed, when Paul was much younger, he had been quite a fan of comic book superheroes.

  And since he had not had a break in a month—not even to see a movie!—this would be a welcome distraction. He was also looking forward to later in the year, when another convention, the Chicago Comic Con, would be held in the first week of August—assuming, that is, that he was still alive and living in the area at that time.

  His Camry took him downtown, all the way to the waterfront, to McCormick Place, a facility consisting of three huge buildings. The C2E2 was to be hosted in the West Hall.

  The entrance to the facility was well marked, and Paul parked on the ground floor in Lot C, a 1,900-slot parking garage right on the lakefront. There was already a sea of cars parked there, with more arriving every second. He could see quite a flow of people heading toward the stairs and elevator. This building was connected to the convention center itself by a covered walkway that crossed over the street between the parking garage and the West Hall.

  Joining in with a knot of other people, Paul casually followed along but watched his step in the semi-lit facility, the echoing sounds of more cars idling in the lanes, their drivers searching for an empty slot to park in.

  Not far up ahead, there was a woman in an electric wheelchair between two vehicles in the handicap parking spaces. The van next to hers wasn’t fairly parked inside the lines, and she was trying to squeeze between their respective vehicles. And there just didn’t seem to be quite enough space to allow her passage. She wasn’t happy about it, either, fussing under her breath and banging away at the joystick on her control panel.

  Just as the crowd that Paul was in walked behind her, she threw the wheelchair violently in reverse, the chair whipping around backward, colliding with Paul as the left wheel ran over his right foot.

  “Ow!” he yelled, pulling the offended limb out of the path of further danger. Everyone around him quickly skittered several steps away.

  Paul’s reaction was immediate, the anger welling up within his chest, and he felt his face flush red. His foot was already starting to throb. The level of pain suggested that a toe might even have been broken. It didn’t seem like his year to avoid injuries!

  “Oh, I’m sorry!” the woman apologized loudly. “Please, forgive me!”

  Paul hopped on his other foot and swung around to face her, fully prepared to yell at her and to tell her that her apologies weren’t wanted. But then he got a better look at her.

  Curly auburn hair, pencil-thin eyebrows, a pert nose, thin red lips, blue eyes, and a well-formed chin sporting a thin face. Age, mid-thirties. She was dressed in a light pink pantsuit and had a very large handbag in her lap. She stared at Paul in concern, looking anxious and a bit fearful that he might shout obscenities at her.

  Which he couldn’t do, of course. Not to a woman who might have weighed 110 pounds soaking wet and with a brick in each hand. And even though her dress pants were somewhat baggy, they didn’t hide the emaciated condition of her legs. This woman had obviously not walked in years. Paul certainly could not be cruel to anyone in her condition. Life had definitely not been fair to her. Who was he to add insult to injury?


  So he thrust aside his anger and made himself smile at her instead. “It’s okay, Miss. No harm done,” he muttered through gritted teeth.

  “Are you sure?” she asked, looking a bit relieved that Paul wasn’t going to curse at her.

  “Yes, it’s no problem, the shoe took most of the weight,” he mumbled with even less conviction, still convinced that a toe might be broken.

  “Well, I am so sorry. I couldn’t get through the space here, and...well, sometimes this wheelchair makes me so mad!”

  Paul held up a hand. “I understand. My apologies, but I guess you will have to go around,” he said with forced patience, his words synched to the beat of his throbbing toe.

  She nodded reluctantly. “I guess so. Again, I’m sorry.”

  Paul smiled insincerely and hobbled off toward the stairs.

  The elevator looked really busy, so the stairs seemed to be the better choice. However, the pain in his toe was excruciating, made worse with each step. So he took the time to sit at the curb, twenty feet from the stairway door. Taking his shoe and sock off, he examined his foot, casting a small spell to help block the pain.

  Merlin’s face appeared. Paul knew from previous experience that under these conditions, only he could see him, that the image of the bearded wizard was fed directly to his optic nerves and the voice to his auditory nerves. Paul also knew that he would have to whisper back to keep anyone nearby from giving him funny looks.

  “Hmm, it’s not your year to avoid injury, I see,” Merlin noted with dry humor, echoing Paul’s earlier thought. “That heavy battery-powered wheelchair has indeed cracked your small toe. Would you care to see an x-ray of it?” he offered helpfully.

  “No, that won’t be necessary,” Paul replied, still feeling an echo of his earlier anger and irritation. “I just wanted to make sure it wasn’t bleeding, and I see that it isn’t.” He put his sock and shoe back on and then cast another small spell to keep it from swelling.

  “You should be careful with those spells,” Merlin admonished him. “Pain is the body’s warning system. You can do further harm to that foot if you don’t take care.”