The Genie and the Engineer 3: Ravages of War (16 page)

Indeed, he was quite proud of his design. The jacket was an
Egyptian blue, with an arching white braid from the armpits across the upper
chest and a high stiff collar of black. Shoulder boards of gold held his
command insignia and a large rectangular patch on the left side of his chest
held a variety of small brightly colored squares, resembling, to various
degrees, military metals. The long sleeved jacket flared outward past his hips
and over the top of the charcoal black slacks. On his feet, Paul wore tall
black leather boots.

“Quite,” Capie indifferently replied. “Which Space Navy?”

Paul shrugged, reluctantly admitting that she had a good
question. “That is a problem. I sort of like the Terran Space Navy, in homage
to the early science fictions authors such as Isaac Asimov, Poul Anderson,
Keith Laumer and E.E. Doc Smith.”

“And I suppose you have named the ship too, right?” she
guessed, a knowing smile on her lips.

“Guilty as charged,” he replied. He turned to Daneel 1.
“Daneel 1, I would like to designate this ship, however temporary, as the TNS
Ascendant
,
hull number BC-1618, please.”

“
Ascendant
, uh?” Capie asked with a smile. “From the
StarGate
series, right? But not all that obvious. What is the BC-1618 number from?”

Paul gave her his know-it-all grin. “BC stands for Battle
Cruiser and 1.618 is Phi, the Golden Ratio number. And I like large numbers for
ship hulls. It implies that there are a lot more ships.”

Capie adjusted her position in the command chair and
frowned. “I’m ready to go when you are.”

“All supplies have been properly stowed and all the Scottie
commanders have reported ready for lift off,” Daneel 1 reported as he floated
towards a desk near a wall. A projected human image of the Scottie appeared,
taking the seat at the navigator’s station.

With a nod at him, Paul turned back to Capie. “Ready, my
love?”

“Past ready,” she replied impatiently. “Let’s get this show
on the road.”

With a wave of his hand, Paul created a holographic console
full of switches in front of him, then pressed one.

“Okay, all hands, please listen up. We are ready to leave
Mars now and begin our assault on Earth. If anyone is not ready to leave,
please speak up.”

There was silence on the ship. Paul glanced at the human
image of Daneel 1 and nodded.

“Artificial gravity field turned on. Activating our
engines,” Paul said, tapping out a meaningless pattern on the switches on the
control panel. “Lifting off at one-tenth power!”

At the front of the bridge, a holographic viewscreen
appeared, activating itself, showing an image of swirling dust patterns. As
they watched, the dust faded away, to be replaced by the black of space with a
few stars visible. Then the curving horizon of the planet established itself
below as they moved away from the surface of Mars, heading up into low Martian
orbit.

Paul studied his instruments. “Standard orbit established.
Now calculating a trajectory for Earth.” He punched a few more meaningless
buttons. “Calculations complete. Acceleration compensation field activated.
Leaving Martian orbit. Accelerating at 98.1 meters per second squared.”

The Martian surface dropped from view as they sped away from
the planet.

“Stand by for portal entry,” Paul intoned. “Set end-point
over the night side of Earth, above the eastern seaboard of North America,
altitude of 80,000 miles. Align the vector to put us into orbit,” he said with
a grin.

A tiny circle of white appeared on the viewscreen, growing
swiftly in size as they approached. They shot through the center of the portal,
the view of the stars shifting ever so slightly and Earth appearing off to one
side of the viewscreen.

“Entering Earth orbit. Excellent navigation, too, I might
add,” Paul observed smugly through the side of his mouth to Daneel 1.

They watched the planet on the viewscreen. Paul said,
“Arthur C. Clarke was right, you know.”

“About what?” Capie asked, only mildly curious.

“It was he who said, ‘How inappropriate to call this planet
‘Earth’ when it is clearly ‘Ocean’.”

Capie nodded but didn’t reply.

Then Paul took an excited breath and grinned. “‘An abysmal
place, Earth. A thousand years ago, it had character. Crusades, Spanish
Inquisition, Watergate. Now it’s just mind numbingly dull.’”

Rolling her eyes, Capie said, “That’s Q, from a
Star
Trek: The Next Generation
episode. But I can’t remember which one.”

“
Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
, actually. The episode ‘Q-Less.’”
Paul punched some more buttons.

“Nervous, aren’t you?” his wife asked and then smiled gently
at him. “All the quotes are your way of dealing with the stress. Well, I don’t
mind admitting I’m nervous too.”

With a small nod, Paul turned toward the large monitor
screen at the front of the bridge. The fun part was already over. “You know me
too well. Yes, I am nervous. All of our planning, our strategies and tactics,
everything we’ve done to prepare for this day, is about to be put to the test.
It wouldn’t take much to defeat us. Some magic spell that
Errabêlu
knows
that we don’t. Or something that I have overlooked. So, yes, I am very very
nervous.”

Capie grinned. “‘Hey, if a pair of scruffy hobbits can drop
a ring into the Crack of Doom in defiance of the most awful Evil Overlord in
literary history, then this should be a piece of cake.’”

Paul blinked in surprise. “Who the devil said that? I
love
that quote!”

“A fellow named Chris MacMurtrie,” she answered, chuckling.

Encouraged, Paul smiled back at her.

“Okay, Daneel,” he said, swinging to face Daneel 1, “Notify
Daryl 71,” (from the 1985 movie
D.A.R.Y.L
.) “and II Corps, 2nd Division,
4th Brigade, 4th Battalion that they are free to leave.”

Paul had decided, back on Mars during their planning
sessions that one of their first needs during the coming conflict would be to
establish a prison for their prisoners. Something better than what he had
arranged for Hamadi off the coast of Australia. He had briefly considered
Devil’s Island and Alcatraz, but both were now tourist traps. Furthermore,
neither was escape proof. And Rura Penthe, the prison used in
Star Trek VI:
The Undiscovered Country
, wasn’t an option either, since that fictional
planet was nowhere near Earth.

But his wife had convinced him there was another choice.

Daryl 71 and his company had been given detailed
instructions. They would proceed to the North Sea, east of Scotland,
coordinates 59° N, -0.4° W, to an undersea mount there. Starting with the
mount, they would build a small island, using rock mined from the ocean floor,
and then build a prison on that island. To keep the wizard prisoners from using
the rock as amulets, all the interior spaces of the prison would be coated with
carbon nanotubes woven into a near impenetrable super-fabric. Not only would
the super-fabric prevent the prisoners from actually touching the rock walls,
the carbon fibers themselves held a very low magical quotient, carbon being the
fourth most abundant material in the universe.

Capie smiled wickedly. “So, you decided to take my suggestion
after all. Azkaban from the third Harry Potter. The wizards of
Errabêlu
are just going to
love
it there!”

Daneel 1’s image smiled in return. “Their experiences there
will be memorable ones, I’m sure. Dad, Daryl 71 and his Battalion have left the
ship.”

Paul grinned and looked over at Capie. “‘And so it begins,’”
he said, quoting Kosh of
Babylon 5
. “Let’s go kick some butt.”

Ω

The next item on Paul’s want list was an operational
headquarters they could call their own. It would be a facility that they could
use for storage of the vaccine as well as for staging operations, training,
orientations, and what not.

Capie wanted to buy a large building in a major city with a
preference for a location in Europe. And Paul was tempted, but in reality, no
place in Europe was safe from discovery by a wizard of one country or another.
No, they needed a more isolated corner of the Earth for their operations, where
they could use copious quantities of magic without fear of discovery.

After considerable thought, Paul chose Mount Logan, the
highest mountain in Canada and the second highest in all of North American,
sitting near the border between Canada and the United States. The ship dropped
lower into the atmosphere, taking a northeast route headed toward the Gulf of
Alaska.

“Approaching the southeastern coast of Alaska,” Daneel 1
reported.

“Excellent,” Paul said with a smile. “I’m hoping Jaret will
contact us at some point. Daneel 1, when we are 300 miles from the coastline,
raise shields and reduce radar cross section to zero.”

“Copy that,” Daneel 1 responded. “Raising shields and radar
cloak in fifty-three seconds.”

They flew on, the tension building on the bridge.

“Shields and radar cloak raised,” Daneel 1 informed them.

“Thanks, Daneel,” Capie replied.

“At current velocity, five minutes to the coastline,” Daneel
1 formally added. “Mount Logan is seven minutes beyond that.”

Paul nodded but did not reply. What sort of reception was
awaiting them on Earth? He thought he knew, but it was mostly just guess work.

First, they would build an extensive set of underground
caverns inside Mount Logan. Then they were going to go looking for trouble,
starting at the
Errabêlu
facility in Transylvania.

After that, they were going to start hitting the capital
cities of the world.

“Coastline in sight,” Daneel 1 reported. And yes, there on
the view screen, Paul could see a small strip of white on the horizon and the
haze of large mountains well beyond that.

They sped onward, crossing the beach, going feet dry over
the Alaskan coast.

The Saint Elias Mountains, Canada

Mount Logan

Monday, 8:54 a.m. PDT

May

T
he view
outside the balcony windows was absolutely stunning. In some ways, it reminded
Paul of the view from the Ice Castle in the Disney movie
Frozen
.

There were ice and snow covered mountains in all directions,
as well as mountain valleys and ravines. The countryside was undeniably rugged
and hostile, yet it was also beautiful.

And, for a change, the wind wasn’t howling its siren song.

Capie stood beside him, staring out the window too.

“Mesmerizing, isn’t it?” she asked.

He nodded and smiled at her. “Yes. I’m glad you talked me
into putting our bedroom up here, above ground.” He paused for a moment. “But
enough sight-seeing, for now at least. Daneel 1 is waiting on us downstairs and
it’s time to get to work.”

Holding hands, they walked over to the elevator shaft and
stepped in, their magic dropping them slowly several stories before emerging on
the seventh level down.

Here, their new facilities, hollowed out of the solid
granite rock of the side of Mount Logan, consisted of a number of offices and
conference rooms. Capie and Paul occupied adjoining offices just down the hall
from the shaft.

But they walked past those offices, going all the way to the
end of the hall to the largest conference room on the seventh floor.

A small group of Scotties awaited on their arrival. Daneel 1
held the ‘chair’ at the other end of the long wooden table. He was flanked by
Selma 1 (from the TV series
Time Trax
) on Daneel’s right and Norby 1
(from the Janet Asimov robot series) on his left.

“Hi, Dad,” Daneel 1 said. “Have a seat. We’ll have an update
here in just a couple of minutes.”

Paul pulled out a chair for Capie and then seated himself, making
himself as comfortable as he could.

The previous few days had been busy ones. Not only had the
bulk of the 50,000 Scotties carved out the Mount Logan facility and provided it
with furnishings and PCs, but specialty teams of Scotties had already made the
first
Errabêlu
raid. At 3 a.m. local time, a thousand Scotties had
en-globed the Transylvania castle on Mount Izvorul Călimanului, completely
isolating and sealing the castle off from the outside world. Then the Scotties
had moved in, rendering everyone in the castle unconscious and taking them
prisoner.

Paul had been a bit surprised at the haul. Back in the Mount
Izvorul Călimanului Castle, when Hamadi had held Capie prisoner there, the
castle was virtually deserted. But this time there had been half a dozen
wizards on station and nearly a hundred Oni.

No one was sure yet what that meant. It was one of the many
questions that an interrogation team of Scotties were asking the prisoners. Or
rather, asking the avatars of the prisoners.

In addition to the good news that the raid had been
successfully completed, Daneel 1 had also reported the discovery of written
records of the
Errabêlu
society from a clerk’s office in the castle, the
records apparently containing the names of all the society’s members.

After the raid, the Scotties had gone to the trouble to
remove all evidence of their attack, including repairs of some minor damages to
the castle structure. When they pulled out, there was nothing to suggest that
anything at all unusual had occurred there. In a day or so, when other members
of
Errabêlu
became suspicious of the silence emanating from the castle
and investigated, they would find nothing. Instead, it would simply appear that
the wizards and Oni there had wandered off someplace, perhaps going out for
pizza or Chinese takeout.

Paul and Capie were interested in the intelligence gathered
from both the prisoners and the records that had been found. If anything had
been learned that might impact future operations, they wanted to know.

Daneel 1 (his cube sitting on the tabletop, the image of his
head on top of the cube), cleared his throat. “I’m getting a feed from Rosie 408.
You were right, Dad. The number of wizards and Oni at the castle were because
of beefed up security. A direct result of the disappearance of Hamadi and six
Oni. Oh, and the damage Daneel 1 and Hamadi did to the southeast tower too.
Errabêlu
linked the incident to you but they apparently didn’t get any info from Hamadi
between the time he took Mom prisoner and the time we took him.”

“That’s a relief,” Capie noted with a sigh.

“According to Tejas Rathore, one of the male wizards we
captured in the raid,
Errabêlu
has been involved in an arms buildup the
last three months. Rathore doesn’t know the details, but apparently they have
added thousands of new Oni to their ranks and have upgraded their talismans as
well.”

Paul pursed his lips. “That is not welcome news.”

“And, according to all of the wizards, there are rumors that
at least two wizards of
Errabêlu
are fabricating super-talismans as
well.”

The room was silent as everyone absorbed and pondered this disquieting
revelation.

“I don’t suppose there were any details reported on those
super-talismans,” Capie asked, her face one of disappointment.

“Sorry, no,” Daneel 1 added.

Paul absently stared into space. “Still, the Scotties have
done an excellent job. All mission goals were achieved. Daneel 1, are the interrogations
completed on our new prisoners?”

“They will be soon,” came the quick reply.

“Assign another company of Scotties to escort them to
Azkaban Prison. And let Daryl 71 keep increasing the size of the prison. He can
put all the Oni in stasis if he wants to, but I would like the wizards kept
available for further questioning.”

“I’ll tell him.”

Ω

Paul and Capie walked hand in hand eastward along the north
side of Pennsylvania Avenue, slowly passing the Major General Comte Jean de
Rochambeau bronze statue in Lafayette Square and slowly drawing even with the
White House across the street.

The time was early, nearly 4 a.m. Despite the hour, there
were some lights already on in the executive mansion.

“This is as close as we dare get without the Secret Service
becoming nosy,” Capie observed, with a glance over at the President’s
residence.

“I’m not sensing any magic in use, are you?” Paul asked.

“No, I’m not. But that doesn’t make me any less nervous.
‘It’s the White House, for crying out loud. You can’t just drive up and ring
the bell,’” Capie declared, quoting Julius Levinson from the sci-fi flick
Independence
Day
.

Paul smiled at the appropriateness of the quote. “I’m
nervous too. Remember, no portals unless we are spotted. We want to keep the
energy signatures as low as possible.”

“Right,” Capie remarked with a smirk. “Just levitation and
invisibility spells allowed. Got it.”

With another glance around, Paul waved his arm, invoking one
of those aforementioned invisibility spells. Then, moving quickly, the two of
them walked over to the iron fence in front of the North Lawn, rising quickly
over the top and then settling back down to the grassy turf beyond.

They hurried past the circular drive and levitated up to a
second floor window on the southwest corner of the building. There, using
Paul’s molecular spell, they passed through the window and into the dressing
room for the President of the United States.

The room was pitch dark.

Paul moved without hesitation through the single small door
and out into an anteroom. From there, he waved a hand, slowly leveraging open
the door into the president’s bedroom.

Even before he’d become a wizard, Paul had a very low
opinion of politicians in the country—or of the past century, for that matter. He
had been tired of them all. He thought of them, regardless of political party, as
mealy-mouthed, spineless, greedy, power-hungry, dirt-bags. They promised
anything and everything to get themselves elected but once in power, all they
answered to were lobbyists of special-interests who lined the politician’s
pockets with money, favors, position, and power.

Many a time Paul had quoted Mark Twain on the subject,
telling others “We have the best government that money can buy.” And he meant
the sarcasm inherent in every word of that too.

Of course,
these
days, he knew he had been wrong in
his earlier assessment.
Now
he understood that political figures were
merely puppets—willing and otherwise—of the
Errabêlu
wizards. He
therefore adjusted his appraisal of them even lower, accordingly.

Here, in this very room, lay the President of the United
States, sound asleep, snoring loud enough to wake the dead.

Capie entered the room right behind Paul, making a face at
the racket the president was creating, and shaking her head in amazement. This
was a side of the woman that very few ever got to see.

From a north-western state, the former United States Senator
was well known for her steel-like personality and her no-nonsense form of
governing.

With another wave of his arm, Paul cast another spell,
blocking any light or sound from leaving the room. Then a second spell to hold
President McCluskie in her state of sleep followed by a third spell to create
an avatar of the woman.

The ghostly form of the avatar, wearing decorative pajamas,
materialized near the foot of the bed, its face slack and devoid of emotion or
interest.

Paul stepped closer to the avatar. “Do you know who I am?”
he asked the hologram.

The image of light studied Paul’s face for a moment. “Yes.”

“Who am I?”

“Paul Armstead, a rogue wizard, responsible for murdering
several Oni and at least one wizard,” came the reply.

“So, she also knows about
Errabêlu
too!” observed a
not very surprised Capie.

“So it would seem,” Paul quietly surmised. It raised the
question of how much the American president knew and how involved she was in
the wizard conspiracy. But before he could ask any of those questions, Capie
beat him to the punch.

“What do you know of the murder of Christopher Kingsley?”
his wife asked, murderous fire in her eyes.

The avatar’s reply was quick enough. “His death was a
mistake. Those responsible were unaware of the man’s health issues. They were
instructed to hold Kingsley to use as bait to lure his daughter and son-in-law
into a trap.”

Paul raised an eyebrow, glancing back over his shoulder at
Capie. “So your father did have health issues?”

She squirmed a little under the question. “He might have. If
so, he didn’t tell me about it. I admit that he sometimes did keep things from
me, to protect me. Still, that doesn’t excuse their murder of him.”

With a sigh, Paul agreed with her. “No, it doesn’t.” Then he
returned his attention to the avatar. It was time to gather some pertinent
intel. “How many
Errabêlu
wizards are here in the United States? How
many Oni too? What arrangements do you have with them?”

Emotionlessly, the avatar replied. “I know the name of only one
wizard here in the United States. Oliver Jacob Clarke, who resides in
Georgetown. I have met with the man only a few times. And I have met a hundred
or more Oni over the years. My arrangement with the wizard is simple. I meet
with an Oni representative at least once a week. They tell me what they want me
to do. I do it. In return, they help with financial donations, favorable
publicity, good media coverage, congressional support, and with election
results.”

Capie flinched at the last part. “They change election
results?”

“Yes.”

“It figures,” she muttered grumpily.

Paul asked for and was given Clarke’s home address. Then he
waved the avatar away.

“Wait a minute!” protested Capie vehemently. “I wanted to
tell her what I think of her! I actually voted for her in the last election!
What a sell-out! The—”

Paul chucked and held up a hand to stop his wife’s tirade.
“Remember, that was an avatar we were speaking to. The real President of the
United States won’t remember our little visit because we never really talked to
her
. So anything you told the avatar would have been wasted effort.”

Capie pouted for a few moments as they worked their way back
out through the dressing room and into the outside early morning air. “It
wouldn’t have been wasted. It would have made
me
feel a lot better!” She
studied her husband’s profile for a moment. “At least she isn’t a wizard.”

Paul nodded in agreement as they set foot on the grass.

Their night escapade into the White House was merely the
latest in a series of similar operations, starting eighteen hours previously
with the Prime Ministers of Australia, New Zealand, and Japan, and from there,
moving westward with the motion of the Earth’s rotation. In each case, a few
Scotties had infiltrated the official residences, creating avatars of key
government leaders and questioning them.

The team that had tried to question the General Secretary of
North Korea had gotten more than they had bargained for. That individual was
not a Normal but a wizard of
Errabêlu
. The Scotties involved had barely
managed to extract themselves without compromising the whole operation.
Subsequently, other such teams of Scotties had been more careful.

Working their way west, Paul, Capie, and the Scotties had
interviewed thousands of leaders in the world’s governments. Here in the
States, while Paul and Capie had taken on the most prominent assignment—that of
questioning the president—other teams were interrogating the Speaker of the
House, the Congressional majority and minority leaders, the Chief Justice of
the Supreme Court and the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff.