Orders of Magnitude (The Genie and the Engineer Series Book 2) (23 page)

Administration Centre

City of Kalgoorlie-Boulder

Hannan Street

Kalgoorlie, Western Australia

September

Thursday 2:05 p.m. AWST

W
ith
a mug of hot cinnamon tea in his hand, Lachlan Harris stepped through the
doorway of his office in the administrative building of the City of
Kalgoorlie-Boulder and surveyed the occupants therein with mild curiosity.

As the Chief Executive Officer of the city, Lachlan knew
most of the people that lived in the community. Indeed, he was related to quite
a few of them, either by blood or by marriage.

In front of his desk sat three people. First, there was
Claire Worthington, a member of the Kalgoorlie City Council and current senior
member of the Chamber of Commerce. The second person was her sister, Emma
Wilson, who he knew worked at the Balcony and Bar Restaurant. Emma appeared to
be a mite nervous, shifting uncomfortably in her seat. The third person he was
only vaguely familiar with: a taller thin-framed man, a teacher or professor of
some sort at the Eastern Goldfields College in town, though Lachlan could not
remember the man’s name. He was sitting quiet and dignified, with a studied air
of detachment.

“Avro everyone,” the CEO said as he dropped in his worn but
sturdy office chair, setting the mug of tea down in front of himself. “Anyone
who wants tea and crumpets are welcome to them, in the outer office. Help
yourselves. No? Okay, what’s the John Dory?”

“There’s some Americans in town, the Neumanns,” said Claire
with an affirmative air. “They arrived about three weeks ago and are staying in
the York Hotel.”

“So?” Lachlan asked her.

“The Neumanns have been to the Balcony several times—” the
councilor started to say.

“I think Peter really likes my sausage rolls,” interrupted
Emma.

“Emma and half the town has heard them talking,” Claire
firmly stated. “They are from Southern California, Mr. Neumann intends to build
a ship, and they are always quoting lines from movies.”

Lachlan took a sip of his tea and sat back in his seat, now
thoroughly puzzled.

“And?” he asked.

“Oh, it’s obvious,” Claire scoffed. “They’re movie
producers.”

“Movie producers?” Lachlan said dubiously.

“Probably for a science-fiction movie,” Emma said
boisterously. “It’s a spaceship he’s building. Oh, maybe it’s a
Star Wars
flick!”

“This is a typical pattern with them,” said the thin
professor.

“And you are?” the CEO asked, raising one eyebrow at the
man.

“Professor Darren Fergerson, of the drama department of the
Eastern Goldfields College. It’s simple. The Neumanns are an advanced scouting
party for a Hollywood studio. To do what they call ‘on location’ filming. They
arrive first, secure the necessary facilities, line up the food, the local
talent, some of the props and anything else that is needed. Then the film crew
and the main actors arrive. Simple.”

“That’s…ace!” Lachlan said, more than a little skeptical but
willing to consider the possibility. “And have the Neumann’s confirmed this?”

But Darren was waving his hand dismissively. “No, it is too
early for that yet. They will be on a budget. If word got out prematurely,
local prices might go up. They will want to keep this quiet for a while
longer.”

“And as a member of the Chamber of Commerce, I think that it
is time the city of Kalgoorlie officially welcomes the Neumanns,” Claire urged.
“They should see the best this city has to offer and they should start meeting
the local talent we have. You know, to be extras in their film.”

“Yes, I agree,” nodded Darren, whole heartily. “We have some
really good performers in the drama program this year, both men and women.
Perhaps we can invite the Neumanns to the local play.”

“You could invite them to the mayor’s formal dinner too, to
meet the posh in town!” Claire suggested to Lachlan.

“Spring Festival!” volunteered Emma. “We could make them
honored guests!”

“Oh, just think of the world attention we’ll get! A major
motion picture filmed right here in Kalgoorlie!” oozed Claire.

• • • •

Paul breathed a small sigh of relief, reaching up with one
arm to wipe the sweat from his brow.

Another bright and brand new titanium longeron had
successfully been welded into place. The tail assembly was rapidly taking
shape. By ‘quitting time,’ he might have the entire framework in place and
ready to mount to the air frame. Okay, that might be a bit optimistic, but he
would probably be close.

As before, he found it difficult to work when wearing eight
talismans strapped around his arms, waist and neck. McDougall’s talisman medallion
was a lot more efficient as well as comfortable. But that talisman was on its
way with Capie, heading to the Middle East.

He eyed the satellite phone, sitting on a nearby table and
resisted yet again the urge to call her. And heavily sighed. Again.

Capie had left, just after breakfast, as she had said that
she would. Paul had been so miserable about her departure that, at the last
minute, he had offered to go with her.

With a smug smile, she had actually turned him down! Giving
him a quick peck on the cheek, she had charged off through a portal, promising
to be home in a day or so.

A peck on the cheek! Ye, gods! That had certainly cut him to
the quick.

These trips to the Middle East were her way of demonstrating
her independence. He had refused to discuss, let alone compromise on their move
to Australia. So she was charging off on her own, doing her own ‘thing.’

He could sympathize, even agree with her motives. Saving
lives and taking control of her own life while wrestling with the guilt she
obviously still had over the death of her father. After all, Paul had shut her
out of part of his life, afraid to compromise with her on his plans, and this
was the result. His fault.

And he still didn’t know what to do about it, caught as he
was between the devil and the deep blue sea. If he wasn’t very careful, if he
didn’t find a way out of this quandary soon, their marriage might very well
end, the same way his first one had ended. That would be when he and Capie
weren’t a couple anymore, just two people trapped in a dead-end relationship,
afraid to share their lives, working toward separate goals, walking different
paths.

They weren’t there yet, thank God! But it was coming, Paul
could feel it. If he didn’t find a way to solve this problem, then he would
lose her. The thought made him shiver, despite the heat of the desert
Australian afternoon sun.

As if he was reading Paul’s mind, Daneel stopped playing his
latest game of Ninja Rabbit and asked, “Is Mom shopping today?”

Paul turned to the A.I., sitting on the same table as the
phone, and forced a crooked grin on his face. “Ah, no, Daneel. She went to help
some people. She could be gone a couple of days.”

 “Oh,” Daneel said uncertainly, sensing that something was
wrong but not understanding what it might be.

“Daneel,” Paul said, as a sudden realization struck him. “I
think it’s time it’s time to talk about you, son. I think it’s time you know
why you were born and what we want you to do with your life.”

Daneel silently nodded and he weakly smiled. “Okay, Dad. I’ve
been wondering about that the last day or so. I guess I would like to know.”

Paul waved a hand, creating a virtual reality chair, which
he lowered his tired body into. Leaning back against the ‘cushions,’ he
gathered his thoughts together. And then he proceeded to tell the story, from
start to finish, of how he had lived in southern California, how he had
acquired his powers, how and where he had met Capie—stepping through the
details all the way up to their trip to Australia. Daneel listened in rapt attention,
never interrupting or asking a question until Paul was finished.

“Wow, Dad,” the A.I. remarked with a flabbergasted
expression. “I knew parts of that story but not the whole thing. So the world
is controlled by other wizards? There’s nothing like that on the internet or in
the Encyclopedia.”

“Those details have been edited out,” Paul informed him. “For
the most part, the wizards have considered those without magical powers, known
as Normals, to be inferior creatures, to be treated as slaves or worse. Mom and
I want to change that, using modern science and technology as our tools.”

“And me?” Daneel asked.

“Yes, you are central to the Plan,” Paul explained, in a
serious tone. “You will serve as a Von Neumann machine. That is a machine that
can construct copies of itself. And in the case of magical powers, it is my
hope that since your algorithms were modeled after my own mind, then you will
inherently have magical powers too. In theory, all we should need to do is
remove the magical barrier from within your mind and you too will become a
wizard.”

“Can you can do that to me right now?” suggested Daneel. “Then
you would know if I have them.”

Paul shook his head. “You are still young. The risk is too
high, just yet. Later, I promise.”

There was silence for several seconds as Daneel considered the
information.

“And I get a talisman too?” he asked.

“Yes, you will,” Paul replied. “Each Scottie will get a
talisman just like the one I’m planning to make for myself and Mom. Just as
soon as the barriers are removed. That is, if it all works out the way I want
it to.”

“Dad, if it works for me, then we will build more A.I. quantum
computers?” asked Daneel.

Paul nodded in affirmation. “Correct. We will go to Mars and
build a lot more, just like you, and give them all magical powers. I use the
word Scottie to describe what you will be then. A Sentient Computerized Optimal
Theurgical Talismanic Integrated Engineer. Scottie.”

“Then what, Dad?” Daneel asked. “What happens then?”

“We come back to Earth. And we take the governments away
from the wizards and give them back to the Normals,” Paul explained.

“How do we do that?” the Scottie asked. “Won’t the wizards
fight back?”

“They will
try
to stop us,” Paul confirmed his
supposition. “But there will be a lot more of you than there is of them and you
will each have a talisman that is much stronger than anything they have.”

“Will we have to kill them?” Daneel asked.

Paul flinched at his question.

“I hope not,” he answered truthfully, carefully watching Daneel’s
reaction to the answer. “I think, with the proper tactics, we can capture most
of them without anyone getting hurt. But it might be necessary to kill some of
them, yes.”

There was silence for nearly a minute.

“Dad, I am not sure I can do that,” Daneel flatly stated. “Killing
another person is wrong.”

Paul nodded. “I understand your feelings, but consider this.
The wizards on Earth are killing millions of people every year—some in warfare,
but a lot more by withholding food and medicines. I am not saying that you will
have to kill. As I said, we should do all in our power to prevent it. But if it
is the only solution, if it comes down to a choice between killing a few
wizards and/or Oni versus letting them continue to kill millions of Normals
every year, then our choice should be a clear one. It’s a tradeoff, killing a
few to save millions.”

Daneel was silent for several seconds. “Dad, will you teach me
how to capture them without killing them?”

“Yes, I will teach you all I know,” Paul replied. “But I
also want you to make use of the internet. Research all you can on warfare,
tactics and strategy. Be careful of all you find on the internet. Much of it is
the personal opinions of people and is frequently wrong. And some of it is
downright dangerous, in terms of computer viruses, sleaze, terrorist propaganda
and so forth. But there is also a great deal of information you can find that
is useful and true.”

“You said there will be more of us than them,” Daneel
reminded him. “How many of us do we make?”

Paul shrugged. “Oh, I like nice round numbers. I was
thinking 50,000 Scotties. That’s a nice round number.”

Daneel gasped in surprise. “50,000? Wow, that many?! 50,000
of us? Against 311 wizards? Gee, they don’t stand a chance, do they, Dad?”

“That’s the whole idea,” Paul answered, with a big smile. “But
remember, we don’t have a clue how many Oni there are. Perhaps only a thousand
or so. Perhaps—and I think this highly likely—a lot more than that. Consider
this: How many Oni would a handful of wizards need to control all the various
governments, their political leaders, their news agencies, their industrialists
and tycoons, control their financial networks, their judicial systems, their
armies and navies, their legislatures and governors?”

“Ah, I see, Dad,” Daneel admitted. “Tens of thousands of
Oni. Maybe a lot more. I see what you mean.”

“I want you to get started, Daneel,” Paul told the A.I.
“Start researching warfare. There are whole libraries on the subject and it
will take you a long time to work through them.”

“What are you going to do, Dad?” the A.I. asked in return.

“I’m going to check on the news for a minute,” Paul replied
with a grim smile and a nod. “I want to see how things are going in the Middle
East. Maybe there is news on how Mom is doing there.”

“Okay, Dad. Uh, Dad?” he paused, looking a bit embarrassed.
“Thanks. I love you.”

Paul nodded in appreciation and smiled. “And I love you too,
son.”

For several moments, Paul sat unmoving in his chair,
thinking about what Daneel had just told him. The machine was more human than a
great many people he knew. Small surprise then that he seemed to have all the
emotional makeup of any normal human being, including the emotion of love. In
copying his own mental patterns, Paul had achieved a far greater reproduction
than he had ever considered possible. What an outstanding achievement it was, a
tribute to what was now possible with the amalgamation of magical powers and
technology. Who knew what else could be achieved with such tools?