Genie and Engineer 1: The Engineer Wizard

by Glenn Michaels

  Paul shook his head in mock disapproval. “Are you enjoying yourself?” he shouted when the other was in range.

  “You should try it sometime,” Merlin shouted back. “I do so prefer your century to mine. There are more things to do for fun!”

  “Maybe next time,” Paul yelled back, a little envious that Merlin was enjoying himself. “It will take some time to complete this conversion.”

  “Too bad you can’t do nuclear physics in your bathtub,” Merlin pointed out with a chortle. “Next time, why don’t you bring your sunglasses, a bath towel, and a picnic lunch, and we’ll make a day out of it? You can improve your tan while you are at it.”

  That did seem like a better plan than the one he had right now.

  “Okay,” Paul conceded. “I could bring a sci-fi book, too. I am way behind on my reading.”

  Merlin shrugged and turned the tiller, taking the sailboat away from the shore. He then unfurled the sail again and started tacking back out toward the middle of the lake, giving Paul a quick wave before resuming his seat at the stern of the boat.

  Paul sighed in acceptance and made himself as comfortable as possible. This part of The Plan was tedious, but necessary.

  • • • •

  The next day, Sunday, Paul spent more time in the bathroom than usual, getting himself properly groomed and putting on his best clothes. He was truly looking forward to spending the day in Capie’s company. After getting ready, he drove to the McCormick Center, arriving twenty minutes early.

  He found Capie already waiting in the lobby when he walked in, and he greeted her with a big smile.

  Her clothing impressed him. The pants were of a sleek black satin material, fashioned to suggest curves where none existed. Those were nice, but the blouse was the clear winner. Multilayered with sweeps, curves, and intricate turns, the subtle colors formed a virtual work of art. On her, it made quite a statement. Even her purse was new, a violent splash of vibrant colors woven into one large handbag.

  “Do you like it?” she asked anxiously, spinning the wheelchair back and forth.

  “Very much,” he candidly replied. “I’ve never seen anything like it before. It’s both gorgeous and original. My compliments to your designer.”

  She nodded and beamed. “Thank you, kind sir. Are you ready to continue our explorations? I want to see everything we missed the other day.”

  Paul half-bowed with a big grin. “‘It’s the simple things in life you treasure,’” he said, quoting from Galaxy Quest. “After you.”

  • • • •

  They toured the place in whirlwind fashion, going from one end of the massive hall to the other and back again. For the second time, Capie played the tour guide, giving an even more impressive performance of that task than she had Friday night. Around 4 p.m., Paul could see her starting to droop, so he called for a break at the McDonald’s concession stand, where he stood in the long line and bought a salad, a sandwich, and two cold water bottles. Then he brought them over to her at the small table she had selected.

  “Thanks,” she said as she opened and poured out a tiny pouch of dressing on top of the salad and stabbed at it with a fork.

  Paul nodded, sinking his teeth into the chicken sandwich.

  “How do you like the convention so far?” she inquired.

  “It’s fabulous!” he mumbled merrily as he chewed. After he gulped the bite down, he continued, “It’s really wonderful. I am so glad I decided to come, and I’m glad you are giving me such a perfect tour.”

  “So you will come again next year?” she asked curiously.

  Paul shrugged. “If I am still in Chicago next year, I will.”

  She took a sip from her water bottle. “So, what does Henry Kaufman do for a living? Why is he in Chicago?”

  The questions startled him. He had not prepared an answer for them. For a couple of seconds, he delayed swallowing his food to give himself time to think of something to say.

  But he ran out of time and said the first thing that came to mind.

  “Well, I am self-financed at the moment and doing freelance research work. Uh, you could call it a study into nuclear transmutation possibilities.”

  She blinked in astonishment. “Wow! That sounds impressive. You’re a nuclear physicist? But why Chicago?”

  “No, I am an electrical engineer, not a physicist. And the weather is better here than in Alaska,” Paul noted sarcastically.

  “Any place has better weather than Alaska,” she agreed, exchanging a knowing look with him.

  “And you?” Paul asked, before she could think of more questions that would be difficult for him to answer.

  “I am the lead accountant for Hillshire Brands. You would know them as Sara Lee.”

  Paul raised an eyebrow, impressed. “That carries quite a responsibility, a company of that size. Have you worked for them long?”

  “Eleven years, starting right after I graduated from the University of Chicago. And I am very good at what I do,” she replied with a smug smile.

  “Can I ask you a personal question?”

  “You either want to know about my name or why a nice girl like me is in a wheelchair, right?” she asked.

  “Let’s start with the name first. Any objections?”

  She shook her head with a sad smile. “None. Nicolaus Copernicus was the Polish astronomer of the sixteenth century who first came up with the heliocentric model of the solar system, with the Sun and not the Earth in the center. My father chose my name. You see, he is an astronomer himself. And he wanted a son, not a daughter.”

  “And your mother? Did she not object?” Paul politely asked.

  “Well, no. She died very shortly after I was born, due to complications.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” he said, silently kicking himself. This woman had enough wounds. He did not want to reopen any of them for her.

  She continued to smile sadly and said, “That’s alright. You don’t have to apologize. I never got a chance to know her. I’ve often wondered what she was like. But my father has been the center of my life ever since. He taught me to love science. And from there, I learned to love science fiction and fantasy.”

  “Yet you became an accountant?” Paul asked, puzzled.

  “I was always very good with numbers,” she explained with false modestly. “And I noticed, even back in high school, that there were more jobs open to accountants than to astronomers.”

  “Touché,” Paul commented. “So, you adopted the nickname of Capie, which I think is more appropriate for you than Copernicus.”

  “I think so too,” she said with a broader smile. “So, now, do you want to know about my accident?”

  Paul considered the question. “Not if it causes you pain. My curiosity is not worth that price.”

  “Thank you for that, but it is okay. It was a long time ago,” she said before taking another sip of water. “It happened right after I got my job at Sara Lee, before they changed their name to Hillshire Brands. A drunk driver drove right into me on the interstate. He wasn’t hurt at all, but I ended up in this wheelchair.”

  “The universe is an unfriendly, unfair place,” Paul said sympathetically.

  She nodded in total agreement. “It took years, but I learned to cope with it. In some ways, I am a better person now, but only in some ways.”

  Paul took the last bite of his sandwich.

  “Just how good are you at your science fiction?” she asked, an evil glint in her eye. “‘If we don’t find a way out of this soon, I’m going to lose it. Lose it, it means go crazy. Nuts. Insane. Bonzo. No longer in possession of one’s faculties, three fries short of a happy meal, wacko!’”

  Paul grinned. “Too easy. That’s Jack O’Neill to Teal’c in the episode ‘Window of Opportunity,’ Stargate SG-1. You should try for something harder, like ‘I know what you’re thinking, ’cause right now I’m thinking the same thing. Actually, I’ve been thinking it ever since I got here. Why, oh why didn’t I take the blue pill?’”<
br />
  “Ooh, that’s a good one!” she replied. “That was Cypher in The Matrix. Let me see, how about this one? ‘Good job, guys. Let’s just not come in tomorrow. Let’s just take a day. Have you ever tried shawarma? There’s a shawarma joint about two blocks from here. I don’t know what it is, but I wanna try it.’”

  “Tony Stark in The Avengers,” Paul said, identifying the source without hesitation. “I’ve seen that movie about a dozen times. I love the special effects. Okay, my turn. How about this one? ‘You sold a reverberating carbonizer with mutate capacity to an unlicensed cephalopoid?’”

  She giggled. “Men in Black. Such a silly movie, that one. More challenging, okay. ‘I swear they are evolving right before my eyes. If you see anything this big with eight legs coming your way, let me know. I have to kill it before it develops language skills.’”

  “Oh, I know that one, wait, wait, don’t tell me. Got it. That was Londo Mollari in Babylon 5, but I can’t remember the episode.” His smile had transitioned into a big sloppy grin. “Let me try this one on you. ‘My government feels it is very important that we get there first. It’s a distinction that will look splendid on the front page of Pravda. What other value it has, I don’t know.’”

  She crinkled her nose in thought. “That sounds familiar. It must be from a movie I didn’t like very much, one of those from the ’70s or ’80s. Ooh, I remember, 2010!”

  Paul smiled. “You do know your science fiction! Okay, it’s your turn.”

  Her smile turned wicked. “Okay. Try this. ‘Sonny, true love is the greatest thing in the world-except for a nice MLT—mutton, lettuce, and tomato sandwich, where the mutton is nice and lean and the tomato is ripe.’”

  Paul drew a complete blank. He could not remember ever having heard those words before.

  “You got me on that one,” he admitted. “What’s that from?”

  “Miracle Max in The Princess Bride,” she said with a sly smile.

  “Ooh, not fair!” Paul objected playfully. “Fantasy, not sci-fi.”

  “You really must learn to broaden your horizons,” she instructed him gleefully.

  Paul waved an arm around in protest. “One universe at a time, please. Toss that one, try another.”

  “Okay,” she agreed. “‘I wanted to be a psychological engineer, but we lacked the facilities, so I did the next best thing—I went into politics. It’s practically the same thing.’”

  It was tantalizingly familiar, yet Paul could not quite place it. He racked his brain but could not make the connection.

  “That is sci-fi?” he asked, puzzled.

  “Yes,” she assured him smugly. “Give up?”

  He nodded with a frown. “You win. What is it from?”

  “Foundation,” she replied.

  Ah, of course, he should have known. In the 1940s, one of the greatest and most prolific sci-fi writers of all time, Isaac Asimov, wrote the Foundation series, a galaxy-spanning epic that told the stories of multiple empires of man. It was considered one of the truly outstanding works of science fiction. Paul had read the three-book series back when he was in high school but not since.

  Six months previously, Hollywood had turned the first book into a movie. But the movie did not do so well at the box office. It had been Paul’s intention to see it when it hit the theaters in Lancaster, California, but there had been another one of those special rush projects at Edwards AFB at the same time. Since the movie had only been in town for a week, he had missed his chance. It was on his short list to acquire if and when it was released on Blu-ray, but so far, it was not available.

  “You got me. I missed that one at the theaters,” Paul unwillingly admitted.

  “You have not seen Foundation yet?” she asked, almost shocked by his admission.

  “I read the books, of course. But no, I have not yet seen the movie. Long story,” Paul muttered softly.

  Capie conspiratorially leaned closer. “Would you like to?”

  “You have a copy of it?” Paul asked, surprised by her question.

  “I know where it will be playing. There’s a small theater in town that specializes in showing hard-to-get movies,” she explained.

  “I would very much like to see that movie,” he conceded to her, smiling. “I don’t suppose you would want to see it again, maybe?”

  She grinned. “Silly, that’s the only way I will tell you where it is playing, if you agree to take me along. The movie is really pretty good, in its own way.”

  Paul returned her grin, feeling a special something in his heart that he had not known in a long, long time. He realized with a start that this girl was someone extraordinary.

  “It’s a deal!” he replied happily. “When and where?”

  “Give me your e-mail and I’ll send you the details. We can arrange a place to meet,” she said with a sly smile. “In the meantime, I am feeling rested. There’s still more that I want to see and do here at the Con. Are you ready?”

  • • • •

  Monday morning, on the grassy shoulder of North Collett Street in Danville, Illinois, Paul stood, his arms crossed as he thoughtfully observed the intermittent flow of traffic on the new Fairchild Street Bridge. Started in 2013 and finished in 2014, the steel and concrete structure replaced an old tunnel and carried traffic over the five sets of railroad tracks of the CSX railroad.

  As far as bridges go, it was a pretty standard edifice. Paul had selected it because it was new and because of its general location, not for any other reason. It was highly unlikely that it would be disturbed, at least not for the next fifty years or so. More than enough time to suit his purpose. And it was close enough to Chicago to be accessible but not too close.

  With a wave of his arm, he fashioned a portal and excavated a small cavity in the heart of the western embankment of the bridge, scattering the unearthed dirt along the railroad tracks. Then he pulled forth the small metal box he had tucked under his left arm and snapped open the lid.

  Inside was $20,000 in $100 and $20 bills, as well as a driver’s license, passport, Social Security card, and two credit cards in the name of one Wesley Farrell, a missing person from the state of Florida.

  Snapping the lid closed, Paul opened another portal to the cavity in the embankment and pushed the metal box inside.

  There. Task completed.

  Paul didn’t know what the future might hold for him, but if he were to be captured and escape again (or his current identity of Henry Kaufman was blown), then he could return to this location and instantly access the cash and the new identity. After his experiences in Europe, he was determined to learn from his past. Indeed, that was why he had created a second stash of cash and ID and secured it in a small cavity thirty feet below the peak of Colorado’s highest mountain, Mount Elbert, directly under the Black Cloud Trail. It was highly unlikely that anyone would find or disturb that stash either.

  For a moment, Paul felt a real twinge of regret, thinking of his old house and his video collection in California. No doubt his two cousins, his only direct kin remaining on Earth, were anticipating the chance to inherit his property. At least, they probably had been anticipating such, when it was first reported to them that he was missing. And Paul was assuming that the police would have told them about his disappearance back when he had vanished from Edwards AFB. Then, later, when the authorities had announced instead that he was a fugitive from justice, Donald and Joyce must have felt incredibly frustrated, knowing that the Feds would probably get his property instead of them. Paul grinned briefly. It served them right, since neither one of them was even remotely like a productive member of society and didn’t deserve a dime out of his “estate.”

  Whatever happened to his property, his life in California was past history now. And his video collection...well, all those movies and TV episodes were history now too. Instead, he was currently living the dream—the adventure. Assuming that he survived long enough to enjoy it.

  TWENTY-SIX

  Chicago, Illinois

/>   South Lawndale

  South Kildare Avenue

  April

  Saturday, 10:47 a.m. CST

  Almost a week later, Paul was sitting in the lazy-boy in his living room, studying the tantalum block in his hand. The conversion process was nearly half-done, half the tantalum atoms converted to 180mTa. And it was growing considerably more powerful with each session. Nothing like his first talisman, no, but already twice as potent as the original tantalum had been.

  He sighed, knowing how long this process would take and how much it would delay making his new talisman. And it was only a small part of what needed to be done. There was the acquisition of the other materials (the crystal, the basal rock, and the meteorite) needed for the talisman and their conversion too, which would take just as long as the tantalum. However, he could see no other solution, and the end result would help provide him with a talisman second to none on the planet.

  But in truth, he was having trouble keeping his mind on the conversion of isotopes. Instead, he kept thinking about Capie. And to put it rather bluntly, he was deeply troubled about her.

  “Merlin?”

  Paul’s favorite holographic associate popped into existence, standing on his head, his robe draped around his armpits. Fortunately for Paul, the old wizard wore a normal pair of pants underneath his robe.

  “What are you doing?” he asked, bewildered at Merlin’s latest antics.

  “It’s a form of yoga” came the muffled reply. Merlin levitated a foot off the floor and spun upright, his robe falling back into place. “It helps me concentrate. All the ancients did this type of exercise. You should try it sometime. Of all the people I know, you need it the most.”

  “Gee, thanks,” Paul replied sarcastically. Then he sighed and adopted a more serious demeanor. “Merlin, what does it take to cure paralysis?”

  Paul thought he saw a hint of a smile in Merlin’s expression. “To misquote one of your favorite characters, I’m a wizard, not a doctor. Why not whip up a doctor from one of your science-fiction movies and ask him?”

  “I will probably do that too, but I am asking you how a wizard would do it,” Paul reluctantly admitted.