Genie and Engineer 1: The Engineer Wizard (17 page)

Holmes nodded vigorously. “
Yes
! How many times have
you bragged about your stepson, Douglas, and his ability with computers?”

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years out of date, at the very least!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.”

Somewhere in southwestern France

December — January

Friday through Thursday

O
ver
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.

Somewhere in southwestern France

January

Sunday, 8:17 a.m. CET (guesstimated)

T
he
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 mightiest 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 14
^th
century. But World War
I had killed 16 million and World War II over 65 million.

Paul was greatly upset by Ruggiero’s argument. It sounded
like something out of a James Bond flick. The megalomaniac genius claiming to
save Earth by destroying it.

“We’re not finished yet,” the wizard continued, waving his
arms heavenward, unfazed by Paul’s horrified expression. “There is more to do.
In the last 150 years, we have made so much progress. Join us, Mr. Armstead.
Join us and be a part of the future! Join us, and you can make humanity even more
powerful.”

Unbidden, a quote came to Paul’s mind. “‘Improve a
mechanical device and you may double productivity. But improve man, you gain a thousand-fold,’”
Paul murmured sadly, quoting Khan Noonien Singh from
Star Trek
.

“Heh?” his captor asked, turning back to face him with a
puzzled look. “What did you say?”

As his heart skipped a beat in trepidation, Paul made
himself focus on the water hose, the one with which the Oni had sluiced him
down. They had coiled it up next to the faucet, which was mounted a foot off
the ground in a nearby wall, a dozen or so feet away. The hose was still wet,
especially near the nozzle.

It was time to end this discussion, time to try his very
desperate plan.

Puzzled, Ruggiero looked at Paul, then at the hose. “Are you
thirsty, Mr. Armstead?” Then the evil wizard watched, startled, as the end of
the hose began to glow.

Paul dropped to the ground. Both of the Oni observed him, blinking
in surprise.

Ruggiero stared without comprehension at the hose. “What the...?”

• • • •

There was more than enough water on the outside of the hose
to serve Paul’s purposes. Good ole di-hydrogen oxide, otherwise known as H
₂
O.

Without his talisman (or the one held by Ruggiero, which
would be blocked from his usage by one of the
Errabêlu
wizard’s spells),
Paul had very little power to work with. But according to Einstein’s calculations,
he had just enough power for this task even without a talisman.

With his spell, the molecules in four drops of water on the
hose were locked into a sphere of force. Those four drops contained six
sextillion molecules of H
₂
O, which in turn contained two quintillion
atoms of deuterium (a rare isotope of hydrogen; of the hydrogen atoms on Earth,
only one in 6,410 were deuterium). With a burst of additional magical energy,
the covalent bonds between the oxygen and deuterium atoms were shattered, thrusting
the oxygen away and shoving the deuterium atoms into a tighter grouping.

Then there was a third tiny burst of magical energy, and the
electrons of the deuterium atoms were knocked out of their “orbits” and
temporarily forced within the boundaries of their respective nuclei and held
there by Paul’s spell—a necessary step in order to make the deuterium nuclei
neutral in terms of an electrical charge. Under normal circumstances, Coulombs
law would have kept the deuterium atoms apart, the electrostatic interaction
between similar positive charges acting as a repulsive force. Not this time,
however, with the neutralization of charges, there was nothing to keep the
deuterium nuclei apart and yet another small spell from Paul began squeezing
the nuclei closer together in pairs.

Until each pair were within only a few diameters from each
other. Then the strong nuclear force took over, pulling the nuclei together in
groups of two, a cascade of fusion that turned the two protons and two neutrons
of each pair of deuterium nuclei into a single helium nucleus—minus a tiny 0.64%
of their original mass.

By Einstein’s law, that tiny loss of mass became energy, a considerable
quantity of energy, far more than Paul had used to force the deuterium nuclei
together. And with all the deuterium nuclei involved from those four drops of
water, the energy produced was enough to equal two sticks of dynamite.

• • • •

The explosion instantly vaporized the hose and its contents,
the shock wave blasting past Ruggiero and the two Oni, the detonation knocking
them off their feet and hurling them to the ground.

Frantically, Paul rolled over on the dirt floor. It wouldn’t
take long for the Oni to recover their senses. Even if they were wounded, they
were still dangerous.

He scrambled closer to Ruggiero, grabbed the man’s talisman,
and yanked on it hard, ripping it from his belt. Then he flung it through the
air, where it landed next to the mangled remains of the hose and the now-spewing
water geyser shooting forth from the missing faucet.

Ruggiero struggled to get to his feet.
“My talisman!”
he screamed hysterically.

In a mere second, Paul mentally gathered together some of
the water molecules on the wet surface of the talisman, squeezing them
together, setting up a repeat of his earlier spells.

The Oni were jumping to their feet, roaring in anger. With a
mental stab, Paul pushed the deuterium nuclei together.

Another explosion ripped through the air, shattering the
talisman, sending pieces of it flying like shrapnel, shredding everything in
its path. The two Oni fell again, this time both seriously wounded.

A piece of the talisman ricocheted off the wall of the
nearest stall and came to rest in the dirt less than two feet away from Paul,
smoking hot. He scurried madly over to it, grasping it with his right hand, and
it immediately began to burn his palm.

Ah, but now, the spell that had protected the talisman from Paul
was no longer effective since the talisman was in pieces. In an instant, he cast
a spell that reduced the temperature of the fragment to normal.

And a split second after that, he opened a portal and rolled
through it. And because he had learned a lot about magical powers as a prisoner,
this time, he didn’t even have to use an incantation to create the spell.

• • • •

The portal took Paul to Capbreton, France, specifically to
the green of the second hole of the Golf d’Hossegor, a large golf course just
northeast of the city. He merrily rolled out into the middle of the soft green
grass, free at last from his captors. As soon as the portal snapped closed, he
gleefully created another one in the exact same spot and rolled right through
it—