The Genie and the Engineer 3: Ravages of War (14 page)

Ω

Forty-eight Chinese YJ-100 sea-skimming cruise missiles sped
through the air just a hundred feet above the surface of the water at Mach 0.9,
jinking slightly left and right, up and down, but otherwise maintaining an
overall course to the southeast.

SM-2 Block IIIB missiles fired from the USS
Sterett
had time to intercept five of them, before the YJ-100s shot passed the
destroyer, ignoring the small ship, intent on a much bigger target. The CG-52 USS
Bunker Hill
, the
Ticonderoga
class missile cruiser in the carrier
group, was at flank speed, moving in from the southwest, making a valiant
attempt to intercept the cruise missiles. She launched a flock of both long
range RIM-174 ERAM and shorter range RIM-162A ESSM missiles, both types of
missiles screaming through the air towards their targets at over Mach 3.5.

The remaining forty-three Chinese cruise missiles were now making
far more radical evasive maneuvers as they entered the terminal phase of their
flight.

The USS
Carl Vinson
loomed in front of them, sailors
racing along the carrier’s deck in an effort to put a little distance between
themselves and the missiles’ point of impact.

The carrier’s first point-defense weapon, a RIM-116 missile,
left its boxy mount, arching up slightly and jerking directly toward the first
enemy cruise missile. A series of additional missiles rapidly followed. Two of
the three Phalanx CIWS units (the only ones that could bear on the targets)
spun in place, lining up and spewing forth streams of tungsten penetrator
rounds from their six barrels.

It wasn’t going to be enough, not against forty-three
incoming targets. Not nearly enough.

One lone figure stood motionless on the carrier’s flight
deck, hands on hips, eyeing all the commotion in the air to the northwest,
shaking his head in disapproval. Disheartened, Clarke lifted into the air, maneuvering
away from the ship and the destruction that was coming. Airborne, he would wait
nearby to see how the battle faired and to see if that pesky low-life Armstead
was going to show up or not.

Ω

A hundred portals sprang open, scattered across the sea
between the missiles and their target.

“Banzai!” screamed all one hundred of the Scotties as they
shot through, swinging northward in order to defend the American carrier.

Paul was the last one on the scene, his first act to use the
power of the chutzpah to blur the light spectrum in the air to the south, blocking
anyone on the carrier from seeing what was happening. He didn’t care what the
Normals might see, but he suspected there were Oni, perhaps even a wizard on
the
Vinson
, and he wanted them in the dark as long as possible.

Daneel 200 led a dozen other black cubes racing forward,
head-on toward the cruise missiles. As Daneel 200 drew near, he opened a three
foot diameter portal, the other end reaching down two thousand feet into the
ocean. A column of water at nine hundred pounds per square inch roared out of the
portal—

—smashing squarely into the first oncoming missile,
detonating it.

The detonation of 500 kilograms of explosives had a pint-sized
effect against the incredibly powerful pressurized column of water, the missile
and the explosion instantly vanishing with very little effect.

As Daneel 200 and the others shot forward, he closed the
portal. There were more pigeons to fricassee here.

Ω

Four of the F/A-18C aircraft flying CAP over the
Vinson
were nose-diving from 10,000 feet, lining up on the cruise missiles and
launching all of their AIM 9X Sidewinder and AIM-120 AMRAAM missiles into the
melee. Neither of those two venerable weapons were designed for look-down and lock-in
on low flying cruise missiles but they were all that squadron VFA-113,
nicknamed the Stingers, could bring to the fight.

From his position in the air several hundred yards from the
carrier, Clarke’s jaw dropped in disbelief at the sight of the black cubes in
the distance popping through portals from who knew where. With a magnification
spell, he stared, mesmerized for several seconds, but the view was quickly
distorted by a magical spell in the air. Two attempts with counter spells
failed to penetrate the curtain.

Something weird was going on.

However, there could be no doubt that the rogue wizard had
shown up after all. Excellent! The black boxes gave Clarke pause but
nevertheless, he proceeded to generate the appropriate magical signal to the
one hundred Oni in his command, all of them stationed around the carrier group,
to gather and launch their attack. As Oni began emerging through portals around
him, Clarke accelerated through the air toward the north.

Finally, he would do battle with that accursed meddlesome
nefarious cur of a wizard! To be rid of him forever!

Ω

Paul was the first to see Clarke and the Oni barreling
straight in his direction, directly through the middle of the distortion screen
he had established.

So much for good intentions!

All one hundred of the Scotties with him were frantically
busy in the fight with all the missiles. He was pretty much on his own, hanging
a thousand feet above the water.

The situation was as desperate as he had ever experienced! A
hundred Scotties just to his north were weaving through the air in impossible to
follow maneuvers, dodging between missiles, anti-missiles, and tungsten
bullets. Portals were snapping open and closed faster than blinks of an eye,
columns of water jetting in all directions, bullseyes made of ocean water
turned-to-instant-ice flashed into existence in front of some missiles while,
in another case, a giant tentacle from some impossibly large sea monster sprang
out of the water, snatching one cruise missile out of the air and dragging it down
beneath the waves!

More anti-missiles were coming, from the
Sterett
, the
Bunker Hill
, and the
Vinson
, all of them doing more harm than
good. And now a virtual army of Oni were attacking!

His Scotties were busy. It was therefore up to him to deal
with the Oni, or to at least delay them if he could not defeat them.

And just how was he going to do that?

Gee, what an
excellent
question!

Gritting his teeth, with an acid burn in his chest, Paul reached
out with both arms, closing his eyes in intense concentration.

“In the names of null and energy dampening fields and
Klingon disrupters, may each Oni be hit with a bubble of space-time, with ten
percent lower values of vacuum permittivity!”

Nervously, Paul cast forth the spell, uncertain if a vacuum permittivity
spell was going to work or not. It was the first attempt on his part to do so using
a chutzpah and to do it with more than one target!

He found it very difficult to concentrate, to focus on so
many different targets! The Oni were advancing fast. They would soon be upon
him!

And then, one by one, the nearest Oni started folding up in
midflight and dropping like flies, unconscious and tumbling through the air
toward the sea below.

Ω

Clarke’s anger and confidence in the attack were rapidly
waning.

First, his Oni were being knocked out of the air by some
sort of spell that he did not recognize. It wasn’t lightning bolts or by
anything physical. That infernal mongrel of a wizard was doing something with
space, altering it in some way, which was rendering his Oni unconscious. Clarke
was positive that if he had a little time to study the effect, he could easily
work around it.

However, the power of the spell being cast was simply
astounding! Easily the equal of all the Oni talismans and his own—combined!
Why, if that idiot were casting lightning bolts or was using Mjölnir, the
hammer of Thor, or even wielding a magical sword such as the Japanese
Kusanagi
,
or the sword of Irish mythology,
Fragarach
—those acts would be far more
effective! Indeed, considering the power being used—or rather squandered—here,
all of his Oni would have been killed within seconds!

And then there were those accursed black cubes!

The closer he got to the aeronautical conflict, the more he
could see of them and their antics. And it positively sent shivers up and down
his spine! The spells that were being used! The power, the skill! Whatever they
were, they were very effectively wiping the missiles out of the sky. Never in
his life had he seen or heard about anything remotely like it!

Clarke suddenly realized that his personal presence here was
a great risk, more than was acceptable. Better to live and fight another day,
when the odds were more in his favor. After he had time to investigate these
strange black flying cubes.

So he slipped back amongst the Oni, dropping lower and
opening a portal back to the carrier. From there, he would return to the
States. And do his best to come up with a better plan!

There would be a next time too. He swore by all that was
holy that there would be!

Ω

The Oni were still closing in, faster than he could dispatch
them!

He grunted, redoubling his efforts, straining every mental
faculty. He knew that he could simply blast them out of space with laser beams,
fry them with microwaves or even cut them up with a light saber. However, he
had no wish to kill them. He had done enough of that already!

As they drew closer to him, he realized that he would have
to change tactics. With a wave of one arm, he created a new spell, changing his
image to that of Parallax, the supervillain monster of the movie
Green
Lantern
.

All of the Oni froze in place, most of them jerking back in
horror, some of them actually turning and fleeing via a portal.

Paul reached out with one ‘monstrous yellow tentacle,’
wrapping it around the nearest Oni and bringing it closer to the ‘monster’s’
viscous mouth.

That did it. The rest of the Oni fled in droves. Paul
dropped the image and the Oni too, who raced after his fellows.

“It’s okay, Dad,” a voice by his shoulder said.

Paul glanced to his right, noting the presence of Daneel 101
a foot away.

“Battle’s over. We’ve got all of the missiles,” the Scottie
bragged. “And Daneel 1 and his group are showing up too. What do you want us to
do next?”

Paul sighed, suddenly tired, hungry, and anxious to get out
of the spacesuit.

“First thing, I knocked out a bunch of Oni and they fell
into the sea,” he explained, squeezing his eyes shut and suppressing a yawn.

“We’ll snag them before they drown,” Daneel 101 reassured
him. “And put them where?”

“In stasis, with Hamadi and his group. You’ll need to send
someone to Nepal for the incense,” he mumbled before a yawn.

“No sweat. We’ll take care of it,” Daneel said, moving a bit
closer, carefully studying his father’s face through the facemask. “You’re
tired, Dad. I recommend a hot shower in a six-star hotel. Then maybe a nice
meal and a good night’s sleep.”

“A most fabulous idea,” Paul remarked with whole hearted
approval. He stole another glance at the ships in the distance. “I’d suggest
that you leave a squad of Daneels here to watch over things. In the morning
we’ll go back to Mars. Oh, and I need two Daneels to decontaminate this suit!
It’s a good thing that Scotties have no sense of smell!”

The planet Mars

Coprates Chasma

The Dusar Workshop (
Thuvia, Maid of Mars
)

Saturday, 10:00 a.m. LMST

April

Day 166

G
raduation Day.

That was what Paul had dubbed it. And there had been no
objections to calling it that, not even from Capie.

They were gathered together in the third underground
workshop, the largest indoor space available. Even it felt a bit on the crowded
side during this particular event.

The last few weeks had been incredibly busy, with no breaks
or holidays. The greatest fear Paul held now was that they couldn’t complete
all of their preparations before
Errabêlu
struck again. It was a race,
one that they could not afford to lose, lest millions of people die.

And they still had a ton of work left yet to do, work that
would take them at least another month, and likely longer than that to complete.

In the room were forty nine AI’s, all sitting on tables in
the large chamber. The twenty-four males and twenty-five females had all been transferred
the previous day from PCs into their own personal black cubes, but they were
also still connected to monitor screens, webcams, and small speakers. None of
them, as of yet, had their magical barriers removed. Paul planned to start that
task shortly, within the next hour in fact.

All of them were quietly watching him, ready for him to
begin the ceremony.

As he glanced at each of them, he felt an extreme sense of
pride. All warm and buttery inside. The faces on their monitors revealed how
excited they were, how vibrant, intelligent, anxious, and enthusiastic. These
were the seed of his army, the ones that would make a difference in the war to
come. They would be the ones to end despotism, terrorism, and savagery on Earth,
for the whole of the human race. Theirs was the challenge of all challenges in
history. This was their day.

He felt absolutely ancient and obsolete by comparison but
still bursting with pride in their potential, all wrapped up in one.

They had developed the maturity, finished their educations,
completed their training. From here, each one would be the source of a thousand
clones. Each one would work tirelessly to duplicate the Scottie hardware,
convert the isotopes needed and construct the chutzpahs required. They would
organize themselves into an army and develop the detailed plan of attack on
Errabêlu
and its minions.

“Your attention, please,” he said with a smile. “This is a
great day, today. We have much to be proud of. You have worked hard, yes. But
we still have a long way yet to go…”

Ω

“I’m
not
crazy!” Clarke protested vehemently, gesturing
emphatically at the image hanging in midair just in front of the huge
fireplace. “That’s what I saw!”

“You should be reasonable, Clarke,” Oleg Nevsky muttered,
his rumbling voice enough to vibrate the mug on the table top beside him. He glowered
in annoyance while continuing to ignore Clarke’s tirade.

They were back in the Hecate Room, at the Transylvanian
Castle, where the Oni had created another magnificent roaring fire in the
hearth. Upon Clarke’s (and his remaining Oni survivors) return from the South
China Sea to Washington, D.C., he had issued the call for another summit
meeting of the Conclave of Magi.

However, only two of the other members of the Conclave had
bothered to show up. One was Oleg. The other was Saito Masayo, of Japan.

Most disappointing of all, Wu hadn’t even bothered to
acknowledge the call, let alone put in a personal appearance.

Clarke shot up out of his seat and began to pace in front of
the fireplace, the picture depicting the black cubes he’d seen in the South
China Sea dissolving away like carnival sugar candy in a summer afternoon rain
squall.

“I’m telling you I saw what I saw!” he insisted again angrily.
“That charlatan wizard has created an army of some sort of magical mutants!
There was a bunch of them, flying around—”

“Yes, we saw your images,” Saito interrupted tactfully. “But
Oleg is right to be doubtful. No one in history has ever created anything like
what you are describing.”

Oleg nodded with a grunt. “That mongrel wizard was playing
with you. He’s learned some new magical trick of light and has fooled you—”

“He took out fifty of my Oni!” Clarke bellowed. “Some of my
best too! You can’t do that with tricks of light!”

There was silence in the room for several seconds, only the
crackle of the fire to be heard.

Finally, Saito stirred in his seat, steepling his hands, his
index fingers touching his chin.

“I, for one, am willing to go along with you, Clarke,” he
said thoughtfully. “At least for the time being.”

“Finally!” huffed Clarke as he stopped pacing to scowl at
Oleg.

But Oleg merely grunted.

Saito, however, had more to say. “Armstead is clearly
dangerous, and in possession of unknown spells and abilities. That cannot be
denied. Therefore, preparations should be made to deal with him. More Oni, to
be sure. Also, more powerful talismans. And too, we should plan to use the
Shinigami Spell if necessary.”

Even Oleg gasped at that.

“Shinigami?” he sputtered in surprise. “That’s not been used
since the tenth century! Surely you jest!”

“A wise man prepares for the worst, even if it is not
needed,” Saito said, chiding the Russian gently. “Better to be prepared and not
need it than the other way around.”

“You won’t get the others on the Conclave to agree,” mumbled
Oleg. Then he snorted and forced himself up out of his seat. “And I’ve heard
all I care to hear on this subject. The Shinigami Spell is too powerful, too tempting
for the more deceitful wizards among us if they should discover how it works.
Wu comes to mind. And he’s on the Conclave. If you invoke that option, there is
no way you can keep it from him. No, I’m against it!”

With that, he grunted again, creating a portal and stepping
through it.

Then it snapped closed.

“Well,” Saito remarked wearily. “I guess it is up to the two
of us. Shall we get started?”