Orders of Magnitude (The Genie and the Engineer Series Book 2)

by Glenn Michaels

  Perhaps.

  “What do you want to know?” he asked with another scowl.

  • • • •

  For nearly a week, it became routine. Every day in the early morning, a holographic image of Paul would show up, bringing payment for the information he had received the previous day. Then he would explain what he wanted to know that day and they would negotiate a price for it. Paul would ask his questions and McDougall would talk for a while in answering them. The whole exercise never seemed to take very long, never more than an hour, and frequently only half that long. And McDougall was already building up quite a small mountain of supplies in the exchanges.

  As on previous days, McDougall greeted Paul on the fifth day with the usual insincere smile.

  “Every day you delay accepting my offer,” he said, “makes it all the more likely a lot of Normies are going to die.”

  By this time, Paul was indifferent to the reminder, which he had now heard and ignored several times. He rejected the suggestion without a second thought.

  “Not today,” Paul said. “Instead, I want to ask you a question.”

  McDougall shrugged but remained quiet, his face expectant.

  “You’re Canadian, right? So what were you doing in the States? Wouldn’t the Errabêlu of America have objected? Would he not have killed you, if he found you there?”

  “You mean Clarke? Humph. Hardly. That question shows just how little you know about us,” McDougall waved a hand in disdain. “We’re not trying to kill all of the others. Well, at least most of us aren’t. We have…arrangements. Clarke and I get along, for the most part. Sometimes he’s busy and he asks me to give him a helping hand. Sometimes I ask him. This time, it was mutually beneficial to both of us to track down a rogue wizard traipsing around America.” He paused and grinned at Paul. “Meaning you, of course.”

  “That makes sense,” Paul admitted. “You can’t be at war all the time with all of your neighbors. Earth’s history has been full of…alliances.”

  “Exactly. Anything else?”

  “Yes,” Paul said, tilting his head to one side. “I want to discuss Errabêlu’s hypocrisy.”

  “Our what?” barked McDougall, his eyes blinking in surprise. “Wait, this sounds like a question of philosophy. That will cost you a half dozen steak dinners, one kilogram of beluga caviar—the good stuff mind you—and a large waterproof tent. Oh, and two goose feather stuffed mattresses!”

  After a bit of haggling (and since Paul was feeling generous that day) they agreed on the dinners, the caviar, one mattress and an eight man tent.

  “Fine,” McDougall said, leaning back in his lawn chair and smoking a Havana cigar. “Ask away.”

  “My question is simple,” Paul explained. “I have observed that the wizards of Errabêlu hate technology. Yet I’ve been told that they push for the advancement of technology to happen, to advance the cause of warfare. Indeed I was told that it is Errabêlu’s goal to push man to the stars. Can you explain the hypocrisy involved?”

  For a moment McDougall stared at him, his facial muscles twitching in all sorts of interesting ways. But he suddenly burst forth in a roar of laughter, slapping his knees and accidently dropping the cigar on the ground. He was laughing so hard that the lawn chair fell over sideways and he rolled in the sand. And still he laughed!

  Paul saw nothing particularly funny about his question so he waited patiently for the other wizard to recover his wits.

  “That’s so rich!” McDougall finally managed to blurt out. “I haven’t heard anything that funny in a very long time. Decades maybe. Oh, I know! Not since the assassination of Archduke Ferdinand when it triggered World War I!”

  He got back on his feet and righted the chair, plopping down in it and using a small spell to repel the sand off of his clothes.

  “Okay, okay, I know that was a serious question on your part, but that is one of the reasons I found it so funny,” McDougall told him, still chuckling. “It’s really too bad that jokes can never be explained. So I know for certain that you are never going to see the humor in it, even when I enlighten you. And that’s too bad because you’re going to miss out on a real rib tickler. But that’s life, is it not?”

  He leaned over, recovering his cigar and using another small spell to knock all the sand off of it before sticking it back in his mouth and puffing on it. “Now, this is going to take some explaining and this time, I’m going to enjoy doing it! We’ll start with that smart remark about going to the stars. It’s obvious that you have been talking with Ruggiero, that charlatan, that quack! He’s the only wizard that goes around talking about trips to the stars! What buffoonery! What balderdash and poppycock! Did you know…no, I don’t suppose that you would know. His title of “doctor” is an honorary one that he received from the University of Zurich for making a rather large donation sometime back in the seventeenth or eighteenth century, I forget which. He constantly raves about this really wonderful library that he has…oh; from your nod am I to understand that you’ve seen it? Hah, so it actually exists!” And he slapped his knee again.

  “Anyway, I digress,” McDougall said with even more enthusiasm. “We—and I am speaking for the majority of Errabêlu when I say this—we are in this for the money and for the power. That’s all. Ruggiero just says that stuff about the stars because his wealth embarrasses him and he wants to think of himself in noble, educated terms. Like I said. Balderdash. He’s a true hypocrite, that one.”

  Looking back, Paul remembered that Celeste had told him the same thing; that the wizards of Errabêlu did what they did for the power and for the wealth. He should have listened to her and not to Ruggiero.

  “But you don’t use technology—” Paul started to say.

  McDougall waved a dismissive hand. “What? Your question about our hypocrisy, right? Hah. Hypocrisy is a universal human condition. Everyone is a hypocrite about one thing or another, including Normies.” And then he paused for a moment. “Especially Normies.”

  “Maybe,” admitted Paul slowly. “But you do benefit from technology and you do promote its advancement.”

  “But of course we do. Silly question. Tell me, if power and wealth is the objective, then which is better? Controlling the government of Burundi or the government of the United States?”

  “The United States, of course. It’s far more powerful and wealthy. I’ve never even heard of Burundi,” Paul confessed.

  “There, you see? Technology brings us success in warfare and it brings us wealth. So of course we promote it, even though we avoid using it personally.”

  Paul was still shaking his head in confusion. “But why do you hate technology?”

  “We don’t hate it,” McDougall said, rolling his eyes. “I for one was positively thrilled when indoor plumbing was invented. Even as a wizard, I hated those midnight trips in the dead of winter out to the privy. Really hard on a fellow’s constitution when he’s more than two hundred years old, don’t you know.”

  Eyes widening, Paul was abruptly convinced by the Errabêlu wizard’s sanctimonious grin that he was being teased. He couldn’t conceive of the other wizard using an outhouse at all, let alone in the dead of a cold winter’s night. It was at that moment that he caught a glimmer of what the other man was trying to tell him. With magical powers, there were likely half a dozen ways to avoid the use of that type of facility. And if magic could do that, and almost anything else he could think of, then what did a wizard need with technology? But McDougall was still talking.

  “…And there have been a few other technologies that have come along that we have embraced. But a lot of this new stuff in the last century or so, the gadgets and things—that is stuff that we tolerate but personally want nothing to do with.” Then he paused and studied Paul’s face for a moment. “You still don’t understand, do you? Tell me; don’t you know any old Normies that have had problems with new technology?”

  Paul instantly thought of his mother. He had tried to give her a computer for Christmas ten
years previously. And he had spent hours explaining to her just the basics, like how to turn it on and off and how to use email. She had given it her best shot but the technology was obviously beyond her.

  “Yes,” he unwillingly acknowledged. “I have.”

  McDougall earnestly leaned forward. “If people who are only sixty and seventy years old have trouble with it, can you imagine how hard it is for those of us that are five and six hundred years old?”

  This conversation was sounding remarkably like the one that Paul had participated in with the hologram of Sherlock Holmes more than eight months previously.

  “You could use your magic to assist you,” Paul hesitantly pointed out. “To make the learning easier.”

  But McDougall was vigorously shaking his head. “And still you don’t see! It’s our magical powers that insulate us from technology! Think, man, think! For a thousand years, our magic has given us everything we could ever need! All the necessities of life, near eternal youth, power, wealth! And what does your vaunted technology offer us, hmm? Bah! Nothing that’s the equal of what magic can do! So why should we constantly learn, constantly change our style of life and adapt ourselves to the changing face of technology, year after year, decade by decade, generation after generation after generation?! That would get so old after a hundred years or more. And your overhyped technology is so inferior to magic! Why do any of that when we already have what we need! There is no point in us constantly learning or grappling with the continuous change of technology! We have Normies to do that for us, don’t you see?!”

  Reluctantly, Paul completely understood—now. He didn’t agree with it. Oh, to be sure, he himself was definitely becoming increasingly more dependent on magical spells, not just for special occasions but for everyday and mundane activities as well. However, in his case, Paul had no intention of exorcising science or technology from his life. Far from it. Instead, his intent was to combine the advantages of both wherever possible.

  But now, after hearing McDougall’s explanation, Paul finally did understand more about what motivated the other wizards of the world.

  McDougall waved the hand with the cigar in it. “Oh, and that last steak you brought me was a little overcooked. The next ones should be bigger, please. And rarer.” Leaning back in his chair, he puffed the cigar a few times while grinning like the Cheshire cat.

  • • • •

  After two more days of interviews, McDougall woke up one morning to find himself on a different island. The hologram of Paul was standing nearby.

  “Where are we now?” McDougall asked, more than a little upset that he had not been forewarned of the move.

  Paul was grinning, appearing to be very pleased with himself. “You are on Flint Island, an uninhabited island in the South Pacific Ocean. It is 799.5 miles south of the equator, 99 miles from the next nearest island and a shade over 310 miles from the nearest inhabited land. Moreover, it is well off the beaten track, even for people who like to visit uninhabited islands.”

  He graciously waved an arm around him. “The island is well stocked with coconut trees, its beaches are crawling with turtles and king crabs and there is plenty of fish in the sea. And there are various berries and fruit trees around, more than enough to keep you and eight Oni fed until someone stumbles along and finds you here.”

  “You are putting the Oni here too?” McDougall asked, some of the irritation evaporating from his voice.

  “It’s convenient for me,” Paul replied, steel in his voice. “This island has nothing you can use to create a portal with. No concrete, no large rocks, and no steel, let alone any precious minerals. And palm trees make a very poor raft.”

  McDougall looked around him, noting all the manufactured goods he had been given on Little Sandy Island, now laying along the beach in front of him.

  He turned back to Paul. “Haven’t you figured out yet that you can’t keep me as a prisoner forever? Sooner or later, I will escape and then hunt you down. Perhaps it might take a few years. But I can afford to take the long view.”

  “In a few years,” Paul responded with his fists on his hips, “you’d be welcome to try.”

  TEN

  Rental House

  Magdalena Rd

  Los Altos Hills, CA

  July

  Wednesday 1:54 p.m. PDT

  “It’s just a guess, Dom, but since you look like your best friend just died, I assume that your work is not going real well.”

  Paul swiveled on his workbench stool to face his wife, an impudent expression on his face.

  “Your guess is a good one, dear,” he admitted. “I’m afraid it’s toast,” he added, waving at the desktop computer on the workbench in front of him.

  She nodded sadly, eyeing the computer. “Water damage, right? I lost a cell phone that way once, in a bathtub.”

  Paul stood and slowly started to pace in the nearly empty three car garage. “It sat too long in the water underneath Bauer Street, yes. My magical spells can’t seem to find all the short circuits, not even after I used a portal filter to removal all the water.” He sighed heavily. “And maybe, just maybe, it’s for the best.”

  She glanced at him in surprise, lowering herself onto a second workbench chair. “Oh? Why is that?”

  “I didn’t tell you before, but I was starting to have doubts about my approach in creating the first Scottie. The software seemed to be coming along okay, but the computer! Even the hottest desktop on the market was just too slow and too small.” He waved at the PC on the workbench again. “Too little RAM, for one thing. The bus speeds are too slow, even with solid state hard drives. And the CPU speeds? Nowhere near as fast as it needs to be, even with the multi-core processors.”

  “So, what are you going to do?” Capie asked, tilting her head downward and frowning.

  For a moment, Paul stopped pacing to consider the question. “I need a higher level of tech, even if I have to develop it myself.”

  Capie half smiled. “A higher level, huh? Such as…?”

  “A quantum computer,” Paul responded, rubbing his chin, deep in thought. “It’s all the rage in science fiction, right now. And there are some leading-edge tech companies working on experimental designs. I’ll have to start doing some research, of course, into the methods used. And talk to super intelligences and avatars of the experts in the field. Some of those experts will likely be here in Silicon Valley too.” He looked up sharply at her. “This could take a while. And with your math skills, you can help too, as an assistant.”

  With a grimace, she nodded. “Yes, that is a good idea. But I still need to practice a bit. Especially portals.”

  “Remember to keep the energies low, please,” Paul suggested. “Lest the bad guys find us and ruin our whole day.”

  “I’ll be careful, I promise,” she assured him with a grim smile. “And it if it’s not too complicated, just what is a quantum computer anyway? In words of English, please!”

  Offering a bemused smile, Paul said, “In English, hmm? That definitely raises the bar, but I accept your challenge. So, to start with, classical computers are based on the processing of digital 0’s and 1’s where each binary bit represents only those two possible states. Are you with me so far?”

  “Yes, keep going.”

  “However, a quantum computer uses qubits. Each qubit can be a 1, a 0, or it can be a superposition of both—”

  “Huh? How is that possible?” she asked in an uncertain tone.

  “Ever hear of Schrödinger’s cat?” Paul asked with raised eyebrows.

  “No. What does a cat have to do with computers?” she asked back, crossing her arms.

  “It was a thought experiment Erwin Schrödinger asked Albert Einstein. You see, in the microscopic world of quantum particles such as atoms, electrons, and photons, these particles can exist in multiple simultaneous states. This is not true, of course, in the macroscopic world, the one we live in. Things on our level can only exist in one state. Schrödinger was having trouble accepting
the idea of quantum superpositions—the multiple simultaneous states of photons—so he created the thought experiment of a cat, sealed in a metal box, such that no one could tell what state it was in.”

  “Sounds cruel,” Capie observed, with a disapproving frown.

  “It’s theoretical, dear. ‘No live animals were harmed during the creation of this experiment’—”

  “Funny man,” she muttered. “Does this story have a point?”

  “Yes. Inside of the box, with the cat, was a Geiger counter, a radioactive particle, a relay and a small bottle of poisonous gas. If the particle decayed, the Geiger counter triggered the relay which released the gas. Presto, the cat was dead. But if the particle didn’t decay, then the cat was still alive. Thus, without opening the box and looking in, the cat could be said to exist in multiple states, both alive and dead simultaneously.”

  “That’s absurd,” scoffed Capie with a small laugh.

  “At our level of existence, you are quite right. But at the level of atomic particles, that’s the way things work. For qubits, we can’t know what state it is in until it is measured. Once it is measured, it is either a 1 or a 0 but it can’t be both. Before it is measured, it can be both. Now, for this conversation, there is one other important aspect of quantum mechanics, known as quantum entanglement. That’s where you have two particles that are interconnected in some way. One way to entangle them is to create the pair of them simultaneously, through a single quantum reaction of some sort, such as two photons released by the same atom. You can’t know what state they are in until one of them is measured. If you measure one of them, then the state of the other collapses to a single solution.”

  “That sounds impossible too,” she stated.