Genie and Engineer 1: The Engineer Wizard (22 page)

Still, the idea refused to come out to play.

The first man was watching Paul, grinning, amused no doubt
by the gringo who didn’t seem to know what he wanted.

Leaning against the far wall was a faded yellow airplane
propeller. Airplane items, here? Paul moved closer to the table near the
propeller, noting a number of other aviation items. Among them was a very old
set of aviation goggles and an old aviators’ cap.

Paul picked both of the items up, studying them.

The idea snapped into place, and Paul almost snickered in
delight at the scope and detail of it. Fortunately, he only smiled with a sloppy
grin instead of giggling out loud.

He motioned to the salvage worker.

“Do you have welding equipment here too?” Paul inquired hopefully
in Spanish.

• • • •

For the next half hour, the man (whose name Paul learned was
Rodrigo) helped gather together the necessary material and take it all to the
small machine shop in another building on site. By that time, the gray-haired
owner, Jorge, joined the two of them, curious about the gringo’s purchases. He
watched as Rodrigo cut and formed some of the metal parts.

“You are charging him for labor, are you not?” Jorge asked
his employee, a hint of suspicion in his voice.

“Yes, I am. 200 pesos per hour, the standard charge,”
Rodrigo replied with a sly grin.

Startled, Jorge blinked but said nothing.

Paul was not fooled. The standard charge was probably closer
to twenty pesos per hour. But he simply smiled.

“And did you pay for all this stuff?” Jorge asked him.

“I did,” Paul responded, handing him his copy of the sales
receipt.

Jorge glanced at the paper and returned it. Paul had
seriously overpaid for the material as well.

“Let me also say that I have offered a bonus to Rodrigo and
to you, sir, if the work can be finished quickly and if it meets my
satisfaction.”

Jorge studied Paul for a moment, trying to decide if the
gringo was simply nuts or playing a devious game of some kind. “A bonus?”

“Yes, 1,000 pesos. Each.”

The owner frowned, trying to understand why a gringo would
make such a ridiculous offer. “Why so much?”

“I like to reward good work,” Paul answered, feeling
insufferably pleased with himself, a smug smile on his face.

Jorge had no reply but watched Rodrigo work.

• • • •

The finished device was a bit odd looking, even if Paul did
say so himself.

An eight foot piece of 1 inch conduit was at one end,
threaded into the center of a small one foot square piece of ¼ inch thick steel
plate. On the other side of the plate was welded a one foot section of 8 inch
diameter steel pipe, the opposite end of which was open ended.

A hefty old metal funnel—once used by an engineer to keep a
Liberty ship’s engine properly lubricated—was jammed into the opposite end of
the 1 inch conduit. Halfway down the conduit, midway between the funnel and the
square steel plate, a piece of 2×6 wood was bolted to a section of angle iron which
itself was welded cross-wise across the conduit.

If one squinted real hard, it resembled a broom with wings.
Well, sort of.

Jorge looked at it again and shook his head. Paul closely examined
the welds for the third time and nodded in satisfaction.

Digging out a roll of bills from his pocket, Paul peeled off
2,000 pesos and handed them over. Rodrigo pocketed his half at lightning speed.
Jorge took his reluctantly and held it in his hand.

“Fine work,” Paul said loudly and appreciatively. “Very
fine.”

He slipped on the aviator cap and then the aviator goggles.

Jorge blinked, further confused by the idiocy of the gringo’s
actions. “What are you doing?”

“It’s time to test this and see if it works,” Paul explained,
still feeling pretty smug with his “invention.”

“If what works? It’s just conduit, metal, and a piece of
wood. There are no moving parts,” Jorge protested, scowling.

“It doesn’t need any,” Paul replied confidently.

He grabbed the conduit with one hand and dragged it out the
door of the shop into the open air. The other two men followed him, watching in
curiosity.

Leaning the conduit forward at a forty-five degree angle, Paul
straddled it, placing his rump up against the piece of 2×6.

“Oh, Rodrigo, would you get me a paper cup of water,
please?” Paul politely asked.

Rodrigo shrugged and retreated back into the building,
emerging with a small paper cup brimming with water.

In the meantime, Paul took out his roll of solder and
carefully wrapped some of its length a few times around the conduit about a
foot down from the funnel and tied the roll into place against the conduit.
This task only took a minute. Then he gratefully took the cup of water from
Rodrigo and sipped a little of it.

“Jorge, Rodrigo, it has truly been a great pleasure to know
you,” Paul said. “I have three pieces of advice. First, in an hour or so, the
police will come here. They will ask a lot of stupid questions, and they will
be very rude. If you tell them I was here, they will take you downtown and ask
many more stupid questions. Worse, they will take all your money from you,
every last peso I gave you. If I were you, before they get here, I would hide
the money and I would hide it so carefully that your own mothers couldn’t find
it! Second piece of advice. Don’t tell them I was here at all!”

Jorge frowned at the gringo. “You are wanted by the police?”

Paul nodded and grinned again.

Rodrigo was starting to look a bit nervous. “What is the third
thing?”

Paul beamed and then leaned forward to pour the remaining
contents of the paper cup into the funnel. A small pool of water formed at the back
end, streaming out the eight-inch pipe.

“I suggest you stand back,” the wizard answered, smirking.

Gripping the solder, Paul closed his eyes and concentrated.
His contraption levitated into the air, taking him along with it. Jorge and
Rodrigo scrambled backward in surprise, their eyes wide and jaws dropping.

“‘Thrusters ahead full, Mr. Sulu!’” Paul shouted at the top
of his voice.

Inside, at the end of the conduit, where it was threaded to
the steel plate, there were still a few drops of water left from the cup. Paul triggered
compression on a tiny fraction of one drop of water, squeezing down the deuterium
atoms, forcing their electrons into the nuclei and then squeezing the deuterium
together, just as he had done when he had escaped from Ruggiero. And as the
deuterium fused together to form helium, it released a great deal of energy.

A ball of fire erupted out the end of the eight-inch pipe,
and Paul’s contraption leapt forward, nearly throwing him off, with him barely managing
to hang on for dear life.

“YEE HAW!!”

Humid air flowed down through the mouth of the funnel and
down the length of the conduit, where Paul continued to squeeze the water
molecules into the fusion reaction, the thrust accelerating him forward at an
increasing rate of speed.

The first nuclear fusion powered “broom” in history successfully
roared into the daytime sky, making its maiden flight.

Tampico, Mexico

Airborne

January

Tuesday, 1:24 p.m. CST

L
eveling
off at 150 feet, Paul throttled back to maintain a speed of 60 mph. The air
rushing past him was stinging the skin on his hand and face, forcing him to
keep his speed low.

There were a couple of items of business to be taken care
of.

“In the name of HAL 9000, Robby the Robot, and Jarvis, let a
portion of my mind be compartmentalized to control the spells needed for the
fusion process.”

Instantly, Paul felt his mind freed of that task.

“In the name of Romulan warbirds, F22 fighters, and Minbari
WarCruisers, let my image not reflect radar on any frequency band.”

There! Paul would be harder to detect and follow now.

He grinned like a possum at his new invention. Hmm, by all
rights, it needed a proper name.

“I hereby dub thee the
Broom
.”

He noted with concern that it was harder to maintain proper
balance on the
Broom
than it had been on the flying blanket. The seating
was not nearly as comfortable, either. Nevertheless, he felt a greater sense of
power with the
Broom
.

He needed some distance from Tampico, from any possible
pursuit, so he banked left, to an easterly course, and almost immediately went
“feet wet,” passing the beach beneath him. Ahead, he could see a freighter
sailing away from the city. And people on the ship could see him, too,
apparently. As he passed it, he could hear wild screaming from the figures on board
and see arms waving, bodies jumping up and down. He waved back with the stump
of his left arm.

He realized that he could go faster if the air pressure was
less.

Raising his angle of attack and throttling up the
Broom
’s
thrust to compensate, Paul watched the sea below him fall away.

Throttling a little more, he swung his course gently toward
the north. Hopefully, he was now far enough out at sea that his use of magic
could not be detected. Since there were only a thousand or so joules involved
in all his spells combined (the thrust was provided by fusion power, not magic),
Paul felt confident that he was undetectable. Well, reasonably so.

The
Broom
took him onward.

Paul understood that eventually, the heat of the fusion
drive would prove to be too much for the carbon steel of the eight-inch pipe
and the piece of ship’s plate that formed the thrust chamber. They would melt
or crack apart. So far, the metal was holding, but the thrust temperature was
running pretty hot. The question would be what would happen first? That Paul reached
the United States or that the
Broom
died?

He would have to keep an eye on the steel. If it looked like
it was getting ready to fail, he would head back to the coastline, even if he was
still on the Mexican side of the border.

• • • •

At roughly 20,000 foot altitude, his speed was nearly 200
mph. But he was growing tired, his arm muscles sore, his rear-end aching from
pressing against the 2×6, and he had only been at it for a little over an hour.
He calculated that he would need to stay airborne for at least another hour,
maybe an hour and a half, to reach Texas and even more if he wanted to shoot
for Louisiana or some point farther east.

Merlin’s disembodied head snapped into existence in front of
him, floating effortlessly through the air.

“‘She can’t take it anymore, Captain!’” the old wizard
quipped loudly in a Scottish accent. “‘If we keep this speed, we’ll blow up any
minute now!’”

Paul eased back on the thrust, cutting it a good 25%. Then he
used a spell to “feel” the temperatures of the makeshift thrust chamber. Merlin
was right, it was on the edge of melting.

“Thanks, Merlin,” Paul shouted loud enough for him to hear
over the roar of the wind. Naturally, he recognized—and appreciated—Merlin’s
quote from a
Star Trek
episode. “Nice quote, too.”

Merlin grinned, gave Paul a quick nod, and then disappeared.

Now the flight northward would take longer.

Gently, Paul changed his course a little more to the north.
If the steel failed, he would need to be closer to the shore. Without the
solder, he wouldn’t have the power to make a gentle landing, but he couldn’t
exactly unwrap the solder now, not in midflight!

So he took a deep breath and made a decision. Since he couldn’t
fly fast anymore, it wasn’t necessary for him to fly so high.

Angling down the nose, the
Broom
began a slow, but steady
descent back toward Earth.

At 4,000 feet, Paul leveled off again and flew onward. The
day was slowly marching forward, the sun now in the western quadrant of the sky.
He tried to concentrate on staying alert.

Ahead and a little to the left, on the far horizon, Paul could
see a bit of white. Land! Good! Was it Mexico or Texas? He’d ask Merlin when he
got closer.

He cast a small spell to check the status of the thrust
chamber again. The results worried him. It did not look good. Tiny cracks were
developing in the steel of both the pipe and the plate. The conduit was also
suffering. Paul began to seriously doubt if his makeshift flying machine would
be able to go the distance.

He lowered the throttle setting again, dropping his speed
still further but also lowering the temperature in the thrust chamber. This was
a balancing act now. Lowering the thrust also lowered the stress on the metals,
but in addition, it lengthened the time it would need to operate to get him to
shore.

The shoreline came progressively closer.

“Merlin, where are we? Is that Mexico or Texas?” Paul yelled
above the noise of the wind.

Merlin’s image appeared in front of him.

“Still Mexico, but the border is coming up soon. I suggest
you alter course five degrees to port.”

Paul pursed his lips but made no reply, changing his heading
even further to the left.

Another few minutes and the land slid by on the port side.
Largely, it was sand dunes, brush, small ponds, and marsh. There were no roads
or any other sign of civilization. Up ahead, Paul saw a small river cutting
through the sand dunes.

“That’s the mighty Rio Grande,” Merlin confirmed for him.
“Beyond that is the United States. But there really isn’t much on the other
side either until you get to South Padre Island. If you don’t make it to the
island, you will have to walk quite a long way before you reach civilization.”

Paul nodded. He didn’t have the strength to spend a few
hours walking in the heat of the day. His right pinky started to twitch again.

Past the river, there were more sand dunes. Now he could see
a few roads and an occasional house. He sensed an end to his voyage coming soon
and was much relieved.

Up ahead, there was a jetty thrusting out into the gulf.

“That’s the channel. South Padre Island is on the other
side,” Merlin shouted at him.

Paul was still a mile or so offshore but angling closer. He altered
heading a little more to the left. All he needed was five more minutes to reach
a nice landing spot on the island. Just five minutes.

Then the back end of the
Broom
exploded, metal
spewing forth like shrapnel.

Despite the fact that Paul was halfway expecting it, the
explosion jarred him hard, sending a spike of fear through him. Here he was, 4,000
feet up in the air, and his transport had just become an anchor.

Instantly, Paul shut off the fusion drive.

Great. Just great. He gulped in terror as his speed dropped
and he started arching downward. He had only thought he was prepared for this
situation. Now that it was upon him, he was suddenly a lot less sure of
himself.

His heart racing, Paul attempted to unwrap the solder, fumbling
to get it untied. The
Broom
was gathering downward momentum now.

Paul only got part of the solder off before it snapped, the spool
of it escaping from his flailing fingertips. He watched the roll plunge rapidly
downward toward the water. He groaned in disgust and fear. Now all that he had
a good grip on was a few feet of the solder.

Kicking loose from the
Broom
, which really was an
anchor now, Paul began to free fall, and he held his arms and feet out like a
skydiver.

Would he survive the next couple of minutes or not? He gulped,
trying to keep his heart from bursting out of his chest. He had to try a magical
spell. He had to!

“In the name of Voyager 1, Wright Flyer 1, and a Goa’uld
Death Glider, may I glide through the air toward the island!”

The few feet of solder was a considerable help, and he could
feel the spell kick in. He was now heading toward the far side of the channel,
where another jetty could be seen sticking out from the shore. There wasn’t
enough power in the solder to keep him from falling. The best that he would be able
to manage was a controlled crash-landing. It was going to be close.

Gripping the solder harder, Paul fell through the air,
angling for the water beyond the rocks, the wind whipping his clothes about,
the water coming closer by the second.

Details on the beach were becoming clearer, too. Paul saw
lots of pretty white sand and people strolling about. Farther up the beach,
there appeared to be several motels and a small city.

His flight path carried him over the rocks at the southern
tip of the island by a good one hundred feet, but short of the beach itself.
With another small spell, Paul spun in the air so that he would hit feet first.
As he neared the water, his heartbeat raced like a machine gun.

And then he plowed into the water, hard enough to
momentarily knock the breath out of himself. In the process, he lost his
goggles, the aviator’s cap, and the solder.

Stunned, Paul weakly thrashed around in the water. With
desperate effort, he forced himself to stop thrashing and to start swimming
instead. Despite his frantic exertions, his upward progress seemed incredibly
slow. His chest was on fire, his lungs threatening to burst. Screaming in
anguish, he finally broke the surface and gasped for breath, taking in several
deep droughts of air, the salt water stinging his eyes. With more effort, he
focused his energies on swimming for the beach.

Normally, Paul was a pretty good swimmer, but he was tired
from the flight and it was also hard to swim one-handed. He could barely make
headway. Fortunately, the tide was rolling in, and that helped him a great
deal.

When his feet finally touched the bottom, Paul almost
started crying in relief. Bouncing off the bottom produced better progress. The
push of the surf also helped propel him forward.

From that point onward, Paul waded slowly toward the shore. Drained,
he struggled to stay upright in the surf.

But then he stopped.

On the beach, there were a couple of dozen people, all gathered
together, staring at him. Apparently, they were having some sort of social
outing and had seen him fall from the sky.

A small boy clung to a woman’s leg as he pointed at Paul,
asking her a question.

Paul smiled and bowed, just as he had done in Saint-Jean-de-Luz.
The group on the beach gave no response, so he tried waving and bowing again,
but it was obviously of no use. So with a shrug of defeat, he angled northward,
going around them, the waves plunging past his legs, the only sound being that
of the surf.

• • • •

As Paul walked up the beach, he wandered past a few other
people. Apparently, this was a decent vacation spot, even in January. He didn’t
see anyone swimming, but walking and jogging seemed to be popular enough
activities.

His wet clothes began to chafe him and he was very cold, but
he had nothing to help him cast a spell for drying off or to warm him up. He
patiently and forlornly endured the discomfort.

A mile up the beach, Paul reached the first motel, the sign
announcing it to be the Pearl South Padre. Mind numb with exhaustion, he walked
up the white sidewalk past the very long pool and entered the double wide glass
doors, finding himself in the air-conditioned interior of a large lobby. For
several seconds, he simply stood there, just inside the door, his eyes closed
as he tried to organize his thoughts. He had concentrated so hard on reaching a
place like this that he hadn’t considered what he would do once he actually
arrived.

Opening his eyes again, a part of his brain noted the floor
paved with large ceramic tiles and the white plaster columns lifting high toward
the ceiling. Oh, and toward the center of the room, there were several
off-white, overstuffed chairs. Paul stumbled over to one of them and collapsed
into its soft embrace.

He rested for several minutes, gradually getting some of his
strength back, his mind firing on a few more cylinders. Digging through his
pants pockets, he wearily pulled out the soaked roll of cash. There were also a
few pesos, which he knew contained small amounts of silver, tin, aluminum, and
copper. Touching them and using them as an amulet, he altered his visual appearance
to that of a business executive by the name of Armand Gerow, complete with a
dark suit, white shirt, and briefcase. Then he wearily levered himself out of
the chair and approached the front counter. A very efficient desk clerk smiled
and quickly checked him in.

The elevator took him to room 408. Once the door was locked
behind him, he stripped out of his damp, salty clothing and took a long, hot
shower.

Since he was starving, he ordered a large pepperoni pizza
and a jumbo diet drink from room service, then retreated to the bathroom to
wash his clothes in the tub. He had just finished hanging them up on the shower
rod when there was a knock at the door.

With a towel around him, he cracked the door open and took
the pizza box and drink, thanking the waiter and giving him a twenty dollar tip.