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

by Glenn Michaels

  “So, is that why you brought that sheet of metal with you?” asked Capie.

  “Yes, exactly,” Paul asserted, with a sly grin. “This is pure iron, mostly isotope iron-36 with thirty neutrons per atom. We can take two neutrons from each atom creating iron-34, which is also a stable isotope of iron.”

  On the holographic display, several atoms of iron appeared, emitting neutrons that bombarded the atoms of beryllium of the emerald.

  “Both processes, ripping the neutrons from the iron and merging them into the beryllium, require enormous amounts of energy. This will take many hours to perform, even using McDougall’s talisman. You will have to tap the energy of the Earth’s magma core for this.”

  With a flick of his wrist, the thin sheet of iron levitated into the air and approached Capie. She levitated the emerald into the air towards the iron. With a snap, the iron wrapped itself firmly around the crystal.

  “Fine,” sighed Capie, taking control and sending the iron encased emerald through the air, to drop into the black water. With a snap of her fingers, a display of her own appeared. On it was a solid matrix of atoms of emerald on the left and the atoms of iron on the right. She frowned, squinting at the display with stern concentration.

  “Piece of cake, Mom,” Daneel bragged loftily. “You can do it.”

  In the display, a small cloud of particles emerged from the atoms of iron, sweeping across the gap and forcing their way into the beryllium.

  “Good, good,” Paul praised his wife. “Now you just need to do that a few quadrillion more times.”

  • • • •

  “I’m still wondering why we are going to a play rehearsal,” Paul complained on Tuesday evening, glancing again at his wife as they approached the front entrance to the college auditorium. This time Daneel elected not to accompany them, disparaging any local production as ‘second-rate.’ Instead, he chose to stay in the hotel room, plugged into a wall outlet and surfing the internet, immersed in his error code research project.

  “I mean, I like the people here in Oz,” Paul went on. “What’s not to like? But there is obviously some sort of misunderstanding going on here. They obviously think we are something that we are not!”

  “Obviously,” grinned Capie, as she held his arm.

  “And yet we’re going anyway,” he said without understanding, as they headed up the steps.

  “Excuse me,” said an unfamiliar matronly voice.

  Both Capie and Paul turned to face a middle aged woman, large in stature and somewhat overweight. Her hair was stringy and desperately needed a minimum of a day’s work by a team of expert beauticians. Her face, sporting an off-center and overly large nose, was friendly enough, despite the two missing front teeth.

  “The Neumanns you be?” the woman asked.

  “Yes,” admitted Paul slowly. “And you are?”

  “Stacey Hamilton,” the woman confided to them, glancing around to see if anyone else in the area was paying any attention to their discussion. “My daughter, Courtney, she be in the play, that one. You’ll see. Real talent. Takes after her da.”

  Paul and Capie glanced at each other. “I’m sure she is talented.”

  “A natural for your movie,” declared the woman defiantly, as if expecting the Neumanns to challenge her assertion.

  “Our movie?” echoed both Capie and Paul together, eyes going wide.

  “Sure. Everyone in town knows,” the woman said with a scoff. “Don’t forget. Courtney. Look for her.” And with that, the woman walked away proudly.

  It was then at that moment that Paul had an epiphany. Suddenly, all the comments, the expectations, the questions, and all the things that the people in town had said and done over the course of the previous week abruptly made sense.

  “They think we are making a movie! That we are movie producers of some sort!” Paul said, his own words making him shake his head in disbelief.

  “But why would they think that?” asked Capie with a nervous laugh, thoroughly perplexed.

  “Maybe the professor can tell us,” Paul suggested with a furrowing brow. “Let’s go ask him.”

  When they stepped into the main seating area, they could see that the entire auditorium was a mad-house. Professor Fergerson, up near the orchestra pit below the stage, was verbally unleashing a stream of orders left and right at a frenzied pace. A dozen people were scurrying in all directions, while three more were at the man’s elbows excitedly attempting to gain the professor’s attention.

  “Ah, Peter!” Fergerson said by way of greeting. “I am so glad that you could be here tonight. And this must be your lovely wife, Catlin! How very nice to meet you in person!”

  “Dear,” Paul said with a pinched expression, “this is Professor Darren Fergerson that I told you about. He teaches here at the Eastern Goldfields College.”

  She calmly shook the professor’s proffered hand and smiled politely. “Nice to meet you, Professor.”

  “I want to extend to you the hospitality not only of our great city but also of the college,” the professor rambled on. “The drama department of the college sponsors a play, an annual event here. We were scheduled to do Pygmalion, but a week ago Dean Gilbert decided on a change of productions. We are delighted to announce instead that this year we will perform a work of science fiction, a play based on the very popular Doctor Who television show, which I understand is even shown in your delightful country. The play is “The Trial of Davros.” The, uh, 2005 version and not the inferior 1993 version, of course. This is truly an extraordinary event in the college’s history. And we have the two of you to thank for it.”

  Both Capie and Paul jerked backward in surprise.

  “You do?” asked Capie, obviously having a hard time believing what she had heard. “Why is that?”

  Darren gave them a big conspiratorial smile and shook his head slightly.

  “Please. You are among friends,” he said. “We know why you are in town and we are delighted to extend our services to help in any regard possible.”

  Paul shook his head in protest. “Look, there’s been a misunderstanding here. And we would like to explain—”

  “Please,” the man protested. “It was not hard to discern. Now, to the business at hand. Please take a seat and let me get this production underway! Oh, Courtney!” he demanded, waving at one of the actresses. “Not over there!” And the man scrambled off, waving both arms as he verbally hurled forth more orders.

  They never got the opportunity to talk to him again that evening. The man was totally immersed in the details of the dress rehearsal. Even when the rehearsal was over, Darren made some excuses and rushed off to attend to a number of ‘other’ details. He managed an extremely abbreviated goodbye and thanked the Neumanns for coming.

  Feeling a little disappointed, overwhelmed, uneasy, and more than a little stunned by events, the ‘Neumanns’ returned to their hotel room and discussed the situation at length. Both Tia and Merlin suggested that they bide their time until and unless the situation grew worse. On that sour note, they retired for the evening.

  • • • •

  Wednesday morning, it was back to the ‘normal’ routine, with Paul returning to the Staging Area to do more work on the ship and Capie, taking Daneel with her, heading back to Bullock Hole for more work on the emerald.

  At least, that was where Paul thought they went.

  • • • •

  The sun had set hours before, the only light at the Staging Area courtesy of several bright magical LED arrays stationed around the foot of the ship. The night was quiet, the only sound the song of the mole crickets chirping. With an impassive expression, Paul pointed at yet another section of the titanium hull held in place against the ship, enclosing it locally in a pure argon atmosphere and starting an arc-weld on a seam.

  Behind him, near the wall of the mine pit, a portal opened, Capie and Daneel floating through.

  Capie landed lightly on her feet, her posture rigid, her mouth drawn in a straight line. Sh
e reached out to touch her husband on the shoulder but hesitated, slowly pulling her hand back instead.

  “Wow, Dad! You’re making good progress!” the young man lauded his father’s efforts.

  “Paul?” Capie asked hesitantly. “Paul? It’s late, dear. Almost eleven p.m. Aren’t you tired? Aren’t you ready to quit for the night?”

  Her husband didn’t answer but instead continued the arc-welding process.

  Capie swallowed nervously. “I read your note, the one you left back in the hotel. Thanks for leaving a nice dinner for me, all wrapped up. I am hungry but I came straight here first. As soon as we get back, I’ll warm it up and eat while you tell me about your day.”

  Paul finished the weld. “Uh-huh” was his only reply as he levered up another section of hull plate off the stack and set it into position against the side of the ship.

  “Wow. Dad’s really ticked,” Daneel noted, with a quick high-pitched laugh.

  “Honey, I know you’re upset with me,” Capie apologized profusely. “I got caught up in a project and I simply lost track of time. I’m sorry.”

  Paul stopped in mid-weld for a few seconds then turned at a deliberate pace, waving a TV sized display into existence in midair a few feet away.

  The display flashed with static for a moment before snapping up a video image of a thin and serious-faced middle-aged woman with blonde hair. She was holding a microphone in one hand and speaking earnestly into the camera, while behind her could be seen a wide charcoal-black column of smoke rising high into the air.

  “…some weird freak of nature here,” her voice shouted above sirens and screaming voices in the background. “Authorities think it’s a volcano of some kind, spewing forth a huge lake of lava! One of the largest, richest, and oldest estates in this prominent section of Damascus has been totally consumed, smothered in a blanket of lava. Many of the other estates in this section of the city have suffered property damages as well, probably totaling in the millions of dollars! The area has been totally evacuated of all residents. The authorities that we have talked to are completely stymied. There has never been any volcanic activity in this area before nor do they have any idea of how to deal with a volcanic eruption. This is Monica O’Donnell, BBC news, Damascus.”

  Paul resumed welding.

  “Our goose is cooked, Mom. We’re in for it now for sure,” Daneel groused.

  “For the record,” Capie stated, in an exasperated tone of voice, “we didn’t go to Damascus or even to the Middle East! We were 350 miles away, on top of Mount Erciyes, at the 12,800 foot elevation, in southeastern Turkey!”

  The comment evoked no discernable response from Paul, who continued to work on the welding.

  Capie grunted then took a deep calming breath. “You know, it’s absolutely amazing how much lava can come out of such a small portal.”

  Daneel chuckled. “I’d have never believed it if I hadn’t seen it!”

  “Ssh, Daneel,” Capie said before turning back to Paul. “It just sort of got out of control. I promise that we didn’t kill anyone. Not even any Oni. As to the damage to the estate—which is…well it was Hamadi’s estate, if you hadn’t guessed it—I’m sorry about that.”

  “Uh huh,” Paul responded, in a tense manner, levitating up another sheet of titanium. “Just one question. Why take Daneel with you? I understand your need for vengeance. But I object to you taking Daneel along. Wrong object lesson for him.”

  Capie froze for a moment then her face contorted through several emotions before settling on one of anger.

  “This was not for vengeance, Paul,” she said, spitting the words out. But then her tone softened. “Well, mostly not for vengeance. There was a specific purpose.”

  Paul stopped welding, turning to face her, waiting impatiently.

  “The lava thing was a cover up,” Capie went on. “We opened a microportal first and scanned all the paper records in the offices on the estate. We pulled copies of all of Hamadi’s financial account information that we could find. And that’s why I needed Daneel. To track the accounts and hack them. Once we had access to most of Hamadi’s assets, we used the lava to cover our tracks.”

  Paul cocked his head to one side, puzzled. “Why his assets? We have money—”

  “Oh, the money is not for us,” Capie declared, with a smile. “It’s for the MBE project, in part. And it’s for the people who live in the Middle East, Hamadi’s victims. It’s for them, their future, for their children. To restore in small measure what he has stolen from them. From our point of view, that’s only fair, don’t you think?”

  Looking at the ground, Paul sighed. “I’m sorry. I, ah, jumped to the wrong conclusion. I should have trusted you more.” But then he looked up. “And you should have trusted me more too. You deliberately didn’t tell me that you were going to do this. And in light of Transylvania, you should have told me.”

  Capie smiled weakly in return. “You’re right. I didn’t tell you. I was afraid that you would say no. But, then again, it was not my idea, this whole trip to Turkey and taking Hamadi’s wealth.”

  Paul blinked and raised an eyebrow. “And if not you, then whose idea was it?”

  “Ariel-Leira,” Daneel pronounced loudly.

  “The mirror woman?” Paul asked incredulously. “But why? What does she get out of it?”

  Capie shrugged and turned her head. “She, uh, got tired of the scenery at the hotel, Warehouse 13, and here at the Staging Area. She wanted to go somewhere new, somewhere that she could meet new people. So, she sort of suggested this idea if we would agree to take her to a certain place.”

  Confining a laugh to a snort, Paul said, “She’s always asking for a new place to go, new things to see. Dare I ask? Where did she want to go this time?”

  “Graylands,” replied Capie with a bemused smile.

  “Wait a minute! Isn’t that the—”

  “It is indeed,” cackled Daneel.

  “A mental health institution? It’s in Perth, right?” Paul asked, sucking in a quick breath. “But why there, of all places? If she wanted to meet people, why not an airport, a train station, or a sports arena? There are lots more people…”

  Capie grinned widely. “Sure, those other places have lots of people. Far more than a mental health facility. But Ariel-Leira couldn’t talk to anybody in those locations. If she tried, it would quickly cause an uproar or worse, a riot. But ah! At a mental health facility?”

  “I’m assuming,” Paul said with a sudden smirk, “that she won’t be showing herself to any of the staff there?”

  “I think not. Just the patients,” Capie agreed with a sly smile. “Just picture it. I left her mirror hanging in a common location, a room that all of the inmates could access. A place where Ariel-Leira could appear, talk to people, and where they could talk back. And in a facility where no one will believe the convalescents if they try to tell the doctors or nurses about a strange woman in a mirror. Funny, no? And she could actually help the patients. She’s pretty knowledgeable. I think that her heart is in the right place and that she cares more about people than Tia and Merlin will admit. So, why not? If she can help them, let her spend a few weeks there.”

  “Why not indeed?” Paul muttered with a crooked grin.

  “Come, Dom, let’s go back to the hotel,” Capie purred, her cheeks glowing. “I’m starved for both food and romantic attention, big boy.” She took him by the hand and pulled him gently away from the ship, snapping open a portal behind her with the other hand.

  Paul produced a timid smile.

  “Dad, a couple of billion dollars will help you feel better about this whole situation!” Daneel proclaimed. “It’s done wonder for my spirits already!”

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Limpet Rock

  Esperance Bay

  Australian South Coast

  Western Australia

  October

  Thursday 9:09 a.m. AWST

  The leaden clouds swept low through a grey sky, a harbinger of worse wea
ther yet to come. There was already a heavy dampness and chill to the air, despite the brisk sea breeze. All around Esperance Bay, the wind was whipping the water into white caps and hacking the tops off into fine sprays that lifted into the air briefly before dropping back into the black water.

  Limpet Rock, a small barren and rocky island that was a tiny part of the Recherché Archipelago, stood near the center of the Bay, just off the coast of South Australia. As such, it was continuously assaulted by a seemingly endless barrage of sea breakers. The spray from each wave was hurled halfway up the side of the bleak granite wall on the seaward side of the rock before the water rained downward into the swirling black trough of the next wave.

  A man sized portal formed on the crown of the island, Capie gingerly emerging from it while bracing herself against the relentless wind.

  “Oh, my!” she said, grinning as she looked around.

  Three miles to the west lay the city of Esperance, a small seaport on Australia’s coastline. To the east, the rising sun could be seen through breaks of the clouds over the beach on that side of the bay.

  The landscape was dreary and austere, the wind wild and savage. Few artists would ever paint such a likeness. It was too gloomy and too depressing.

  And the bleak scene fit her mood perfectly.

  Once again the world had awakened to the news of further atrocities in Israel. Another bombing, this time at a heavily attended funeral in Beersheba. The death toll was at least fifty, though they were still counting the bodies. Israel’s Prime Minister was promising swift justice of the perpetrators.

  Depending on your point of view, even more disturbing was the news that ISIL had declared a ‘working’ truce with Syria and Iran. Among the talking heads of the various networks and news agencies, this now left Syria and Iran free to focus even more attention on Israel, increasing the levels of terrorist acts against the Zionist state. Indeed, even one or two of the braver commentators and analysts predicted that ISIL was willing to agree to such a cease-fire in order to join in on the ‘fun’ in harassing the Jewish nation.