Orders of Magnitude (The Genie and the Engineer Series Book 2) (33 page)

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. She 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!”

Limpet Rock

Esperance Bay

Australian South Coast

Western Australia

October

Thursday 9:09 a.m. AWST

T
he
leaden clouds swept low through a grey sky, a harbinger of worse weather 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.

Capie was bound and determined to finish the chutzpah, as
Paul called it. With its power, they could move in and stop the atrocities in
the Middle East. Without it, they simply couldn’t take the chance. With each
passing day, she felt the mounting pressure on her to complete this task as
quickly as possible. The longer it took, the more people that would die—a fact
that left her feeling conscience stricken and depressed.

Squatting downward, she laid fingertips to the grit of the
damp rock at her feet. And curled her lip up at the nearly one trillion joules
of energy she sensed available and awaiting her command.

“Perfect!” she muttered as she stood back up. This was far
far better than Bullock Hole.

With a wave of her hand, she dried out a section of wet rock
along the top of the cliff and created a virtual cushioned seat for herself.
This far above the pounding surf, she commanded a magnificent view of the vast
empty ocean. For a moment, she considered a spell to shield herself from the
wind but rejected the idea. She was enjoying her exposure to the primordial
forces of nature. She felt more alive and in synch with reality than she had
for a quite a while.

Another wave of her hand and the emerald wrapped in a sheet
of thin steel flew from her grip, spinning like a Frisbee through the air as it
headed out a hundred yards over the open water. It slowed and dropped into the
sea, sinking rapidly downward into its depths.

Capie then created a display on her right in order to
monitor the progress of the emerald’s isotope conversion.

“With the power of Limpet Rock, I can now do the conversions
more than a hundred times faster,” she bragged with a savage grin, laying one
hand on the rock and snapping the fingers of her other hand in earnest. “Let
the games begin!”

At first there was no discernible change in either the
display or in the ocean in front of her. But that soon changed as the image in
her display became a swirl of bubbles and light.

In the sea before her, the surface of the ocean began to
heave and froth, a cauldron of water gushing up and rising into the air. It
grew larger, spreading outward and surging higher. Capie marveled at the raw
power displayed in front of her.

Instead of throttling it back, she snapped her fingers
again, ramping up the spell even further. And laughed gleefully as the ocean
produced a geyser of water two hundred yards wide and nearly two hundred feet
high. The deafening roar of that much moving water was like a Niagara Falls,
and even the island she was sitting on trembled from the release of that much
energy.

She was on the verge of throttling it up even more when she
noticed the heat.

The air around her was growing increasingly warmer, the mist
around her the equivalent of a steamy sauna. And the effect was intensifying,
assisted no doubt, by a shift in the wind, now steaming forth directly from the
geyser blasting away in front of her.

“Oh, my!” she said again, this time with considerable concern
as well as surprise. She had not counted on the release of heat as a byproduct
of the conversion process. And the heat that her spell was producing was
absolutely incredible. Not only was it heating the air around her but it must
also be heating the ocean water even more. Without a doubt it must already be
killing the sea life around Limpet Rock, everything from the plankton up to
whatever fish were native to the bay waters. It was intolerable. It had to be
stopped and immediately too.

With a snap of her arm, the conversion of the emerald’s
atoms stopped. Instantly, the geyser cascaded back into the water, the thunder
of its collapse reverberating around the bay, the island under her feet quaking
from the shockwaves. The wind shifted direction again, slowly returning to its former
pattern. In less than a minute, the ocean was back to its normal self, the
water no longer foaming and churning.

She tapped her finger against her chin, deep in thought.

Why was there so much energy being released as a byproduct
of her spell, she asked herself? The conversion process of the isotopes
required
energy to release neutrons from the nucleus of the atoms of iron and again it
required
additional energy to force the neutrons into the atomic nuclei of the
beryllium, oxygen, and silicon atoms of the emerald. Assuming the process to be
anywhere near a decent level of efficiency, there shouldn’t be any release of
energy to make the ocean water practically boil like a giant tea kettle.

Which meant that the process must not be so efficient. What
Paul had shown her, the way to perform the conversions, must be wasteful,
losing heat and energy into the environment when, by all rights, it needed every
bit of energy to make the process more effective.

The wind was cold now, the humidity making the air almost
bitter. Without a thought, she snapped a protective barrier around herself,
warming her cocoon of air and drying out her damp clothes.

It was time to do a little experimenting, to find a more
efficient way to do these conversions. Perhaps, if she found the right way to
do so, it might even speed up the process. She, for one, would welcome that
result. Spending her days sitting around watching atoms being transmuted from
one isotope to another was not her idea of fun.

“Let’s have Michio Kaku here, please,” she muttered, naming
the popular theoretical physicist from the City College of New York, the one
who had made frequent appearances on television and film, especially on the
Science Channel.

The image of the aging physicist appeared in front her. With
his receding hairline, long white hair and an engaging smile, the specter
extended its arms wide.

“How can I help you?” the figure asked cheerfully.

• • • •

The remainder of the week, Capie continued to split her time
between the conversion of the emerald’s beryllium and the MBE Drug Project. She
was bored with the daily grind of working on the emerald, despite her discovery
of a process that was not only more efficient but far faster as well. But the
work on her special project was taking shape nicely, thanks to some excellent
internet research by Daneel and experimental work by a private pharmaceutical
research firm in Perth.

The highlight of her day was coming back to her husband in
the hotel, to enjoy his company and comfort, to be in his very presence. She still
needed him, every bit as much as before. Indeed, he was her sole reason to
exist.

Her heart was not really in working on the chutzpah. It was
in her husband. She worked on the emerald because she knew it was a necessary
undertaking, however arduous. And because they needed it done. She was still a
little nervous about the day when they had to leave Earth, to go to Mars for
who knew how many months. To live on a totally barren, lifeless and nearly
frozen planet. She was on edge every time she thought of it.

By contrast, Paul seemed to be enjoying his work although it
was physically exhausting him. Nevertheless, he practically beamed with pride
at his daily progress. Judging from his reports, all of the structural pieces
of the
Sirius Effort
were completed now, including all the tanks and the
ship’s hull. He was now working on the interior of the ship, adding the decks
for the cockpit, the living spaces and the cargo storage. He claimed that he
was making some pretty decent progress in that regard.

She was really looking forward to 5 p.m. rolling around so
that she could quit for the day and relax for the evening with her husband. But,
wait a moment, no, this was Saturday. Today was the day of the play.

Well, she was actually looking forward to that too. The
event was mysterious. Who knew what was going to happen there? She strongly
suspected that the people of Kalgoorlie were planning something more than just
putting on a play for the Neumanns.

Capie knew that she personally was a very social type, a
real “people person” as the saying went. The play was a chance to get out, to
meet more people and to enjoy a public social event. Okay, so the people here
in town were under the mistaken impression that she and Paul were film
producers. She didn’t intend to encourage them in that belief, but she saw no
particular harm in it either. Soon enough, she and Paul would be leaving,
taking off in the
Sirius Effort
for the planet Mars. Most likely, they
would never return to Australia again. Without a doubt the people here would be
disappointed, but it was, after all, their own fault for jumping to
conclusions. And since there were no financial losses on their part, there
wasn’t any particular reason for her to feel guilty about it.

Of course, if an opportunity came up where she and Paul
could clear the air, then they would do so. But she strongly suspected that no
one in town would believe their denials.

• • • •

It was their second trip to the auditorium in less than a
week. This time, however, the place was awash in people, the lines backed up more
than a hundred feet at the front doors, crowds of all types in the streets and
on the sidewalks, all seemingly intent on going to see the play.

“This is going to take a while,” Capie muttered to Paul as
they joined the end of one of the lines. “I’m glad that Daneel is back at the
room on his software research project. I don’t think he’d like all this
crowding.”

“There you are!” exclaimed an exasperated female voice.

They turned to find Claire Worthington, adorned in a white
evening dress, scurrying in their direction.

“We can’t have the guests of honor waiting in line!” she
definitively declared. “I sent a vehicle for you, but somebody slipped up. Oh
well, water under the bridge as the saying goes. You’re here now. Come with me,
we have a special booth setup for the two of you. Oh, this is so exciting!
You’re just going to
love
this play production!”

“Why do I feel like the fly that’s been invited into the spider
web?” grumbled Paul in an aside.

Claire babbled like an entire herd of politicians at a fund
raising event, never letting Capie or Paul do more than smile. She personally
escorted them past the lines and into the auditorium, taking them effortlessly
past the crowds and through to a special area reserved for the town’s elite.

There they again met the mayor, the town’s CEO, and several
others of the city’s VIPs, shaking their enthusiastic hands, enduring their
enthralled welcomes and the excited glances.

They had the two best seats in the house, surrounded by the
small city’s upper crust, with a great view of the stage. Paul, twisting and
pulling at his clothes, couldn’t imagine a situation where he would feel more
uncomfortable.

“We are so delighted you are here!” the mayor’s wife told
Capie, reaching out to squeeze her hand. “You’ve come to the right place to
make your movie.”

“You won’t regret it,” said a deep male voice behind her.

Paul was decidedly relieved when the house lights went down
and with it the need to carry on the small talk. Professor Fergerson walked out
from behind the stage curtains, a microphone in hand. A spot light followed him
as he went to center stage.

“Welcome ladies and gents, we are delighted to have you with
us here tonight to see for yourselves a very wonderful and delightful play,
‘The Trial of Davros.’ As you know, until recently, we had planned to do
Pygmalion. But then something unusual and thrilling occurred. Two wonderful and
exciting people arrived as part of an advanced team of film producers who
decided to make a movie in our fair city. Ladies and gents, it is my extreme
pleasure to introduce you to these wonderful people, Peter and Catlin Neumann!”