The Genie and the Engineer 3: Ravages of War (30 page)

“Torture is unnecessary,” Paul told the two of them, his
voice quavering from the pain in his arms and back. “I will answer any
question.”

“Humor us, Mr. Armstead. Allow us our fun, please,” came the
haughty response. “Now, the next thing I want to know is where your metal
monsters are.”

“I sent them off into space,” Paul forced through trembling
lips. “As per your instructions.”

“Space? As in ‘outer space?’”

“That’s the one,” Paul muttered, squirming from the pain.

“I see. And what are they doing in outer space?”

“They are waiting to hear from me, I think.”

“And if they don’t hear from you? What then?” Clarke asked.

“I don’t know,” Paul admitted frankly. “I guess they will
wait until they run out of power.”

He heard a smirk. “Yes, they are machines, aren’t they? Very
good, then, Mr. Armstead. Which secret of yours should we start with?”

“Take your pick,” Paul suggested weakly, while still trying
to get a spell to work to reduce the pain but not succeeding. That blasted
manacle on his wrist was apparently very effective. “But not the secret of the
super talisman, please.”

“Why not that one?” Clarke asked suspiciously.

“Because you know nothing of quantum mechanics,” Paul forced
his mouth to utter the words, wincing as a cramp seized his right arm. “My
explanations would make no sense to you.”

“Quantum mechanics, heh? You might have something there. But
I believe I can get an expert here that would understand.” Clarke snapped his
fingers.

A new voice, this time behind Paul, asked, “Yes? What do you
want?”

“You know something of Quantum mechanics,” Clarke’s voice
stated, in a no-nonsense tone of voice.

Paul heard a snort. “Of course.”

He could not tell whose voice it was. Probably a physicist
but definitely not Albert Einstein’s.

“Listen to this man and tell me if he tells the truth.”

“I would think he would, hanging from that rope as he is,” drolly
observed the unknown voice. “Very well, young man. I’m ready. You may start.”

Paul tried to concentrate, to keep his mind on track. It was
so hard! “Very well. It is known that the rarer an element is, the greater it’s
magical potency. It occurred to me that more potent magical materials might be
gathered using rare isotopes.”

“Ah, an interesting idea, that! Please continue.”

Such pain! And this would surely take a while to explain,
even to a magical physicist.

“Very well. To make a super talisman, I started with
tantalum 180m…”

Ω

The next few hours went quickly downhill. At times the pain
in his arms and shoulders reduced him to a quivering blathering idiot. For all
he knew, Paul confessed every indiscretion he had ever committed. He probably
even invented a few—whatever he thought they wanted to hear. He was fairly
certain he told them everything they wanted to know about talismans, isotopes,
Mars, and the ability to move through solid matter. Also too, about how he had
acquired magical powers, how he had given them to Capie and how they were taken
away from Yuan Wu and Hamadi.

He didn’t know when the ordeal ended. Blessedly, at some
point, he lapsed into utter unconsciousness.

Ω

Slowly, Paul regained his wits, the level of pain slowly
pushing him up towards consciousness again.

The surface beneath him was cold and very hard. Every part
of his body screamed with total pain. Very carefully, bit by bit, he
straightened out and rolled on his left side. From there he could see that he
lay on the concrete floor of the auto shop, the manila rope not far away.
Apparently, he had been cut him down and left where he fell. He also noticed
that the disrupter manacle was still secured around his wrist.

A glance around revealed the two motionless Oni still on
guard duty, near the door, as before.

Groaning, Paul pushed himself upward, slowly rising to a sitting
position. It was no more difficult than say building all of the Egyptian
pyramids must have been. Fortunately, Paul only came close to collapsing a half
a dozen times on the way up.

Once that horrendous task was accomplished, he used his left
hand to tug at the manacle. There was no give in the metal and it was secured
tightly to his wrist. Also, the metal appeared to be solid, with no obvious way
to unlatch or remove it.

With another groan, he instead focused his attention on the
distance to the nearest wall. Only ten feet or so. No worse than walking a mile
to school was for his parents each day, in a blinding blizzard, uphill all the
way.

It turned out not to be that easy. Some evil soul had spread
shards of invisible broken glass all over the concrete. Yet somehow he found
the will to move slowly, inch by incredibly painful inch.

Finally, with his back to the cool metal wall, he rested for
several minutes. And activated the transceiver.

“‘Isn’t it interesting that the same people who laugh at science
fiction listen to weather forecasts and economists?—Kelvin Throop III,’” Paul
muttered under his breath.

“Dad! Thank God! Are you okay? We haven’t heard from you in
more than twelve hours!” came Daneel 1’s excited voice.

“I’ve been better,” Paul softly muttered. “Status update.”

“We found three more warheads, Dad. One in Buenos Aires, one
in Sau Paulo and one in Acapulco. Nothing in the last eight hours, sir. We
think that may be everything. Twenty warheads in all! We have teams positioned
to take all of them out, whenever you give the word.”

“Are you still searching?”

“The sun’s over the Pacific right now. We’ve already
searched every sizable city in that part of the globe. There won’t be any new
cities to search until the sun rises over China. A bunch of places there we
haven’t searched yet.”

Inwardly, Paul groaned. “Another six or seven hours?”

“About that,” agreed Daneel 1’s voice. “Dad, you don’t sound
well. Do you want us to get you out yet?”

“No, not yet. Let me think a moment.”

As best he could remember, though the events were pretty
foggy, he thought he had divulged about everything he knew. With the exception
of the transceiver implant. And about the Scotties search for the warheads.
Paul probably would have revealed those secrets too, if Clarke had been
technically savvy enough to ask the right questions. Which, judging by the fact
the transceiver still worked, he wasn’t.

If Clarke thought he knew all Paul could tell him, then he
would likely kill him soon. The Scotties probably didn’t have enough time to
search the Chinese cities. They had found twenty warheads. That seemed like a
nice round number. Frankly, it was more than Paul would have predicted that
Clarke could steal.

“Daneel? Trash ’em all. The warheads. All of ’em.
Understand?”

“Destroy all twenty warheads. I understand. Don’t wait too
long, Dad. We’ll extract you as soon as you give the word.”

Paul shut down the transceiver. And waited.

And he slowly came to the realization that, beyond all the
muscle pain he felt, he was also incredibly thirsty and hungry as well. He
couldn’t remember the last time he drank anything. Carefully looking around the
garage, he noted a small wash sink in the far corner of the building. Ah,
water! But it was on the opposite wall, a whole solar system away. He could
never crawl that distance. He would be a desiccated skeleton before he managed
to crawl halfway there.

But if he could get to his feet…

He needed help. At least something to lean on. Perhaps the
building support post, a yard or so away.

Moving very carefully, Paul made it to the metal post and
with an effort equal to what Hercules used to slay the nine-headed Hydra, he
pulled himself to his feet, wavering unsteadily. Then, using the wall as a
brace, he tottered slowly all the way around the rear half of the building and
eventually to the sink.

The faucet handle was dirty and rusted but Paul managed to
get it open. Using his cupped hands, he greedily drank several times and then
splashed a little of the water on his face and arms.

“Bravo, Mr. Armstead! Bravo!” Clarke said, from the door at
the front of the shop.

Paul slowly turned his head to look at the evil wizard and
noticed that Shirazi was with him.

Clarke shook his head in amusement. “I wish I had a dozen
like you in
Errabêlu
. It’s too bad, really, that you have chosen to
oppose us. Really too bad. We’ve checked out the information that you gave us
and most of it has been confirmed. We really have no further need of you. And
after all the vexation you’ve caused us, I’m afraid I have no choice now. Your
time has run out. Shirazi, please terminate him as painlessly as possible, as a
favor to me, okay? You may dispose of the body out at sea.”

Shirazi grinned from ear to ear. “As you wish.”

“Before you feed me to the fishes, would you consider one
last little favor?” Paul asked with feigned nonchalance.

With obvious misgivings, Clarke studied Paul’s face for a
moment. “If it’s reasonable.”

“You see, there’s this office bet,” Paul explained coolly.
“The Lancaster nuke, the one on West L Avenue buried behind an empty residence.
Was that a Soviet model 15F173? Or a Soviet 15F183? There’s a fiver riding on
your answer—”

Clarke’s face turned bright red. With a snap of his right
hand, he created a microportal at eye level. And he shouted, “Hans! Trigger the
device in Los Angeles! Hans! Right now!”

“Right away,” came a reply Paul could barely hear.

Paul silently activated the transceiver. “Okay, Daneel, Red
Alert! Time’s up!”

“How did you know where the bomb in Lancaster was located?”
hissed Clarke, his nostrils flaring. “And who are you talking to now?”

“Let me kill him!” Shirazi screamed, spittle flying.

“The same way I found out the location of all the other
warheads,” Paul said as casually as he possibly could.

Clarke again went totally red in the face. “Hans!” he roared.
“Activate—”

A sudden sonic boom ripped through the building. Startled,
both Shirazi’s and Clarke’s heads snapped upward.

The distraction was Paul’s only opportunity. He couldn’t let
Clarke run down the entire list of warheads. Paul wasn’t certain the Scotties
had deactivated all of them yet.

Somehow, he managed to draw on his meager internal strength.
He threw himself forward, dodging past a startled Shirazi and leapt, clearing
the ground, sailing right into a shocked Clarke, bowling him over backwards.

“Sir!” Paul heard through the transceiver. “We’ll be there
in three seconds!”

With exceptional strength, Clarke fought back, leveraging
Paul off and onto the concrete floor. Clarke pushed hard, forcing his open hands
to Paul’s throat.

Fighting the other man’s wrists, Paul tried to keep them at
bay but he didn’t have the strength anymore. He was completely tapped out. Gleefully,
the evil wizard closed on Paul’s throat, throttling the life from him. His
vision began to narrow.

“Kill him!” screamed a hysterical Shirazi.

Paul heard but didn’t see several Scotties streak through
the front door, catching Shirazi by surprise.

He felt his hands fall away from Clarke’s wrists, all his
muscles melting like butter in a hot sun. And his vision disappeared completely.
All the loud noises faded away too, merging into a steady hissing noise, like
the sound of surf at a beach. That too died as he finally slid into a black
pool of nothingness.

Hilton Suites

Ocean City, Maryland

Tuesday, 11:22 a.m. EDT

July

P
aul came awake
slowly. The surface on which he lay was soft and warm, the air fresh and clean
and his level of pain was much lower. For a time, his mind rebelled at the idea
of full consciousness. That voice, the one belonging to the small man in the
back of his head, had returned. This time it was telling him to relax, go back
to sleep, that the outside world wasn’t going anywhere. Well, what did it know?
Paul ignored it.

He opened his eyes to see Capie’s bright face smiling down
at him.

“Hello, sleepy head,” she purred at him. “How are we
feeling?”

“‘My mind is so numb and brain-dead, I feel like I’ve just
attended a three-day seminar entitled ‘the future of plumbing’,’” Paul managed
to croak.

“Ah,
Red Dwarf
, I think. Was it Rimmer who said that?
British comedy is so—unique,” Capie observed. “Anyway, if you can quote
Red
Dwarf
, you can’t be too bad off.”

Paul slowly worked the muscles in his neck, gently turning
his head to look around the room. It was upscale with a nice inoffensive color
scheme, such as could be found in half the motels in the United States, but it
otherwise told him nothing. His vision was blurred a bit around the edges.

“Where are we?” he asked. Blinking his eyes, he stared
across the bed. Either he was seeing double or Patches had suddenly acquired a
twin brother.

“The Hilton Suites in Ocean City, Maryland,” Capie answered.
“This is your convalescence room, until you have recovered from your ordeal.”

Paul chuckled softly and concentrated on seeing one of
everything again. “What ordeal? A mere stroll in the park.”

Capie pursed her lips in doubt. “Gee, that was not what all
the doctors said.”

“What doctors?” he asked, suddenly suspicious. He
experimented with trying to raise an arm. No luck. Someone had replaced it with
lead weights when he wasn’t looking.

“You know, the usual suspects. McCoy, Maxwell, Bashir,
Franklin…those guys.”

“Oh. Those doctors.”

“Yep. And they mostly said the same thing. Nerve damage,
strained ligaments, broken collar bone…”

“My collar bone was broken?” Paul asked, startled. Yep, his
legs were refusing his mental commands too. The traitors!

“It was. We used a little magic to knit it back together
again, but all the doctors told me to watch you carefully. You are not to lift
anything at all with your right arm for at least a week and nothing heavier
than five pounds for the week after that. Got it?”

Paul could tell she was serious.

“Got it,” he wisely and softly answered. He glanced at his
right wrist. The disrupter manacle was gone.

Capie noticed his look. “Daneel 1 and Daneel 2 removed that—whatever
it was—when they brought you here. They said it had some magical properties
that they wanted to study. They also took out your transceiver too. So, don’t
worry about it anymore. Right now, I prescribe rest, and lots of it. Maybe
later we might go out and enjoy a ride along the beach in the sunlight. You’ll
be the one in the wheel chair this time.”

“Got it,” he repeated dreamily. “Is it permitted for the
patient to ask a few questions? You know, to sort of catch up on current events
sort of questions?”

“If you promise not to jump out of bed and run off trying to
do anything silly, like maybe saving the Earth from an alien invasion.”

“Got it,” Paul repeated again. She should have asked for
something hard. The way he felt, crawling was totally out of the question, let
alone things like jumping and running. And the world was around a long time
before he showed up. “I so promise. So give, please. What’s going on? Oh, a
better question. What day is today?”

“Tuesday. And yes, you’ve been asleep, almost comatose,
Franklin said, for 28 hours.”

Paul wiggled his head in his pillow, enjoying the softness.
“A new personal record, I think. Though I did come close to that once or twice
after an all-night binge back in my college days.” He paused. “And?”

“Yes, the Scotties did get to the nukes before Clarke issued
his orders to detonate any of them. So, nobody got fried, thank Heavens! And
the Scotties found some wizard named Hans. He was the one who held all the
warhead detonation transmitters. All twenty five of them.”

Paul blanched, feeling the blood drain from his face.
“Twenty five?!” he squeaked. “We missed five warheads?!”

“Yep. It’s a good thing that you charged Clarke and
distracted him before he could order a few more detonations. Otherwise, we
might be missing Austin, Texas right now. Or Kingston. Or Lagos, Nigeria. Or
Chengdu and Jinan in China.”

“So there were two more in China and one in Africa,” Paul
muttered, feeling an overwhelming degree of fatigue descending on him. “Oops.
I’m glad the Scotties found Hans so quickly.”

“They did a superb job. We can be very proud of them.”

“And?” Paul asked.

“The Scotties took Shirazi and Clarke to Azkaban prison.”
Capie looked down at her hands for a moment. “I seriously considered having
them killed but Daneel 1 talked me out of it. Instead, Rommie 451 burned out
their neural links, converting them to Normals.”

“You did the right thing,” Paul said, forcing his two ton
hand to reach out to lie on top of hers. “It’s what should have been done.
Those two would have killed millions of people…come to think of it, they
probably already have killed millions, if you count their involvement in World
Wars I and II plus all the brush wars.”

Capie smiled. “Good. I’m glad you agree. Now, that’s enough
talking. It’s time for your nap before we go for the walk.”

He blinked in relief. “A nap? What a wonderful, fantastic
notion…”

Paul fell asleep in mid-sentence.

Ω

The next morning, he felt a great deal stronger though he
was sore in more places than he knew he possessed. His talisman was back on his
right arm, and he had already used it for a few minor spells to help speed up
his recovery process.

The warm sunshine flooding through the bedroom window significantly
boosted his spirits as well. And the décor of the room was starting to grow on
him.

Capie fed him breakfast in bed, a treat Paul told himself
not to get accustomed to, lest she spoil him too much. After breakfast, Capie
sat with him the rest of the morning, in general catching him up on world
events.

“Daneel 1 is begging to meet with you,” she told him,
sometime during the conversation. “I told him later today, after lunch and an
afternoon nap. I also told him that he couldn’t take up too much of your time,
that you still need lots of rest.” She gave him a firm stare. “And I intend to
make sure you get that rest.”

Paul winced a little but forced a smile. “No problem.”

Ω

The afternoon nap was a short one. Already he was beginning
to develop cabin fever and itched to get out and start working again. His
fertile mind was busy making lists of things to be done, as soon as he could
escape his convalescence.

Daneel 1 showed up at 3 p.m., entering the room through the
door instead of using a portal. Capie kept her seat close to the bed, the
better to monitor their conversation, Paul was sure.

“Daneel 1!” Paul whooped for joy. “It’s so good of you to
come visit me!”

“It’s good to see you looking well, Dad,” the Scottie
replied, a bright smile displayed on his holographic face. “We miss you and
hope you recover soon. Quite frankly, we need your help—”

Capie coughed pointedly.

“—after you are fully rested, of course,” Daneel finished
circumspectly.

“Yes, of course,” Paul said, with a careful smile. “But for
now, let’s just deal with the highlights.”

“Good idea,” Daneel 1 responded.

“Yes, of course. What about those injured at Manassas? How
are they doing?”

“We finished fabricating all the spare parts we needed and then
some. All Scotties are back up to full health now.”

“Good! Excellent work. Thanks.”

“Next topic: the human wizards. We have taken almost all the
wealth that they have stolen and transferred it to where it will do the most
good. I can give you a full break-down on where we put the money—”

Another pointed cough from Capie.

“—at a later date, of course,” the Scottie lamely said. “In
terms of numbers, we have captured and converted two hundred eighty two
wizards. Our best count is that there are twenty-nine
Errabêlu
wizards
unaccounted for and several hundred Oni. For the moment, it appears that all of
them are in hiding or are on the lam.”

“We will eventually track them down, especially if they try
to make trouble for us or for any Normal,” Paul said, still smiling.

“Good. I was hoping that would be the answer,” the Scottie
said.

“Anything else?” Paul asked with an innocent air.

“Ah, I think I’ve already pushed my luck to the limits,”
Daneel 1 observed. “The rest will wait.” He turned to leave.

“One moment, son. There is something I want to tell you.”
Paul said, his throat suddenly dry.

The hologram on the black cube turned back around.

Paul wrung his hands a bit. Why was it so hard to tell the
ones you loved how much you loved them?

His eyes teared up a bit and he quickly rubbed the excess
water away. “I just want to say how grateful and how proud I am of all the work
that you and all the other Scotties have done. I love you all, each and every
one and couldn’t have asked more of you. Thanks for a job very well done.”

Daneel 1 smiled. “I’ll pass that along. You just get well,
Dad. We love you too.”

After the Scottie left, Paul kicked back in bed and thought
about dinner. For some reason, he was craving a nice thick steak, with all the
trimmings.