Table of Contents

- SECTION I TRAGEDIES

- ONE

- TWO

- THREE

- FOUR

- FIVE

- SIX

- SEVEN

- EIGHT

- SECTION  II WAR ON TERROR

- NINE

- TEN

- ELEVEN

- TWELVE

- THIRTEEN

- SECTION  III EMERGENCE

- FOURTEEN

- FIFTEEN

- SECTION IV THE OUTBACK

- SIXTEEN

- SEVENTEEN

- EIGHTEEN

- NINTEEN

- TWENTY

- TWENTY-ONE

- TWENTY-TWO

- TWENTY-THREE

- TWENTY-FOUR

- TWENTY-FIVE

- TWENTY-SIX

- TWENTY-SEVEN

- TWENTY-EIGHT

- TWENTY-NINE

- SECTION V EXODUS

- THIRTY

- THIRTY-ONE

- THIRTY-TWO

- THIRTY-THREE

- THIRTY-FOUR

- EPILOGUE

- Author

Published through Amazon.com, Inc.

This is a work of fiction. The personalities, characters and
people herein are purely products of the author’s overactive imagination which
was ensnared in the grip of nightmares in the wee hours of the night. Any
resemblance of the characters herein to real people, either living or dead, should
be a cause of serious concern for their welfare and a critical indication of
their need for immediate professional therapy. (Just those that are still breathing,
of course.)

Orders of Magnitude

Book Two of Genie and the Engineer

Text copyright © 2019, 2015 Glenn Michaels

Cover by Katie Griffin

Solar System – Mars by Nasa Images/Shutterstock; Highly
detailed technological texture with fine pattern of diverse geometric shapes
arranged on the disc and the halo by agsandrew/Shutterstock

All rights reserved

No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or
distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not
participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials in
violation of the author’s rights.

Purchase only authorized editions.

Works by Glenn Michaels

Genie and the Wizard

The Engineer Wizard

Orders of Magnitude

Dedication:

To our son, Jarrett

June 10, 1985 to October 7, 2015

College graduate, accountant, composer, pianist, guitarist,
air-soft competitor, fluent in three languages, conversant in two more,
basketball player, mountain-biker, Iron-man marathon athlete, teller of endless
Dimitri jokes, and much much more.

You took the music with you. We miss you.

Glenn Michaels

Author’s notes:

Please note that this book, Engineer Wizard: Orders of
Magnitude, is the sequel to The Engineer Wizard. It is not necessary
to read the first book before reading this one but it is highly recommended.
This book picks up where the last one left off and thus the first book lays out
much of the background needed to appreciate the nuances of the events, plot,
and characters of this one (at least for the first few chapters).

In addition, a few of the first individuals who sent in nice
emails complimenting the first book were offered the opportunity to have minor
characters named after them here in the second one. A couple of them accepted
the offer and they will find their namesakes included.

Also, readers should be advised that, like the first book,
there are quite a few sci-fi quotes, technical, scientific, and geographic
references and historical figures. Therefore, readers are encouraged to check
such information by way of their favorite web search engine.

One other noteworthy caution: like the first book, this one
is a blend of both urban fantasy and science-fiction. As such, it is betwixt
and between, neither purely one nor the other. Please keep this in mind when
delving into the pages herein.

SECTION I

TRAGEDIES

ONE

A dry desert lake bed

106 miles southeast of Esfahan, Iran

June

Thursday 4:30 p.m. IRDT

It
was a bright warm sunny day, but former Lieutenant Colonel Grigory Kuzman of
the Russian Air Forces, dressed in standard Iranian camouflage fatigues with the
Safariflage DPM pattern, felt a chill deep in his bones.

The Russian was tall, six-foot-four, and well-muscled at 220
pounds, with dirty blond hair cut short, a wide jaw, and large hands. Except
for the jagged scar on one cheek, he was practically recruiting poster
material.

“How’s your cold?” ex-Starshina Leonid Burkov asked him, as
he dropped into the trench beside Kuzman. By contrast, Burkov was short, thin,
and wiry, though exceptionally strong. His hair, while also cut short, held
tight jet-black curls. And that nose! Almost twice too large for his small
face.

Grigory lowered his binoculars and turned to face his
longtime friend and business associate. “The worst I’ve had in ten years. My
head feels as if it will explode any minute now.”

“When those sinuses start to drain, you are going to need a
box of tissues close by,” was Burkov’s wry observation. He raised his own set
of binoculars to scan the sky. “It shouldn’t be long now. Omar just got word
from the pilot. He’s on his approach run.”

“That’s good. The sooner this is over with, the sooner we
can get back to civilization.” Kuzman glanced around, noting that no one else
was close by at that particular moment, either in the trench or out of it. “The
set up here is wrong. I can feel it. You better have your—you know what—ready,
just in case.”

Burkov took a brief glimpse around as well. “It’s funny that
you said that, I was about to make the same comment to you.”

Whatever else Kuzman might have said was interrupted by the
arrival of Omar.

“Well, gentlemen it won’t be very long now,” the terrorist
leader said as he dropped into the trench beside the two of them, a portable
radio in his hand. “What a glorious day it is for a bombing! However, I’m sure
the two of you would like to have this done and over with so you can go on to
other profitable ventures.”

Kuzman did not bother to reply but simply nodded and raised
his binoculars back to his eyes.

“There,” said Burkov, pointing to the northeast.

The glint of sunlight from the late afternoon sun could be
seen reflecting off a metal object high in the sky above them. Through their
binoculars, they could clearly see the slow lumbering approach of the Hercules
C-130C aircraft. Now they could hear it too, the droning of the aircraft’s
engines far off in the distance.

Kuzman swung left and snapped another quick examination of
the target area through his binoculars. The assemblies of wood, aluminum piping,
and sandbags scattered around the location looked decidedly out of place here
in the middle of the desert, not to mention the irregular placement of
life-sized dummies and the peculiar metal posts sticking vertically out of the
ground. From what he could see, everything appeared to be in readiness, and the
area had been cleared of all personnel—not that it would make any difference at
this point. Omar would not postpone the test for the mere life of one of the
Iranian soldiers in his charge. If anyone was still in the target zone at this
point—what did the Americans call it? Yes, a stupid tax. How appropriate. Kuzman
himself could care less about the target area or the soldiers either. His major
concern was the cargo about to be dropped by the approaching plane.

The C-130C dropped lower in the sky. Kuzman could not see it
from this angle, but he knew that the rear cargo door would be wide-open now,
the pallet sitting on skids ready to be pushed out.

The plane now thundered by overhead, a huge object dropping
from the rear, tumbling slowly in the late afternoon sun. As the plane scurried
away, a drogue chute deployed from the package, slowing its fall through the
air, aiming for the target area more than half a mile away.

“Heads up! Fire in the hole!” yelled Omar at the top of his lungs.
Up and down the trench, men hunkered down, hands over their ears. Kuzman and
Burkov followed suit, not willing to risk exposure to the blast that was about
to take place.

The bomb was still two hundred feet off the ground when the
first detonation went off. The charge blew liquid contents in all directions,
thoroughly distributing the fuel over a very wide area.

“Allahu Akbar!” screamed Omar.

Then the second and much larger detonator exploded, igniting
the mixture of fuel and air for a thousand feet in all directions.

The ground beneath them heaved savagely, knocking all of
them flat. The shockwave followed by the blast was deafening, and despite his
fingers in his ears, Kuzman felt a sharp pain stabbing both sides of his head. The
wind howled over their heads, sand blasting over the trench with incredible
force. For a moment, he feared that he had miscalculated and, despite their
distance, that the trench was too close to the blast. Indeed, he suddenly found
it too difficult to breathe with the depletion of oxygen in the air and all the
dust swirling around him.

But then the ground stopped shaking and the noise faded
slowly away. He came staggering out of the trench coughing, his eyes stinging
from all the dust and smoke. As soon as he could wipe away the grime and see
again, he noted the presence of Burkov at his side.

“Don’t get me wrong, gentlemen,” Burkov noted with that wiry
sense of humor of his, “and perhaps it is a bit premature, but I would hazard a
guess that our test was at least partially successful.”

• • • •

The Hercules had landed and the sun was now set. The desert
night sky was brilliant with stars, the Milky Way Galaxy peeking well over the
southeastern horizon. The moon was not present and would not rise until well
after midnight, but the stars all by themselves were bright enough to cast a
few shadows across the landscape.

Kuzman and Burkov were standing in the outline of a set of
landing lights, not far from the open door of a French Dassault Falcon 20. The
business jet sat less than a few hundred feet from the Hercules, both on another
small dry lake bed, one that was separated and protected from the test site by
a small rocky ridge. One of the Falcon’s engines was idling in readiness to
leave. The two men were most anxious to go up the ladder, but a large-framed
Iranian guard of the Quds Special forces would not allow them to board the
aircraft. They were therefore waiting on Omar to finish with his inspections of
the blast site.

“What you think?” Burkov asked nervously. “Is he going to
pay us what he owes us? Is he even going to let us leave here alive?”

“Both good questions,” agreed Kuzman. “We should never have
agreed for both of us to come observe the test.”

“He insisted, remember?” Burkov reminded his friend. “Just
in case anything needed our personal attention, he said.”

“How convenient,” noted Kuzman sarcastically.

“How long are we going to have to wait?” Burkov asked,
fidgeting.

“No longer, my friends,” boomed the voice of Omar from out
of the darkness as he approached, entering the edge of the lighted area. “I
have finished my preliminary inspections. The rest will have to wait until
tomorrow, when we have full daylight again.” The terrorist laughed happily.
“Your bomb obviously worked as designed. Congratulations, gentlemen! The target
area and everything in it was totally obliterated! It was everything that you
promised. Perhaps even more so than I expected. You have done us a great
service!”

“So we can go back to base now?” Burkov asked. “And you will
pay us the rest of what you owe us?”

Omar laughed in reply. “I understand your concerns, gentlemen.
I’m afraid I must admit they are well-founded. I can’t let you go back, knowing
what you know. I apologize for that, gentlemen. It is not civilized. But it is
the way that it must be.”

“I knew it!” growled Burkov.

“Steady, old friend,” Kuzman hissed before turning back to
Omar. “Killing us is not necessary. We are professionals. How long do you think
we could stay in business if we revealed anything about our client’s business
affairs?”

“I am sorry. I simply cannot take the chance,” the terrorist
leader replied. “And if you knew what we intend to do with the other detonators
that you designed and built for us, as well as the bomb design you’ve kindly
provided us, then you probably would tell the Zionists or the Americans.”

“Nyet,” Kuzman protested angrily. “We left enough
information in a secret and secure location, in case something like this
happened. You would be wise to let us go and pay us what you owe us. Let us
pretend that this conversation never took place. Vy soglasny?”

“No, I do not,” Omar replied with great sadness. “Your
secure location? A former senior sergeant Zubov, perhaps? He has already been
quietly dealt with. I think the code phrase you used was ‘when the rich make
war, it’s the poor that die.’ That’s if everything worked out as planned,
right? Now, what was the distress code phrase again? Ah, yes, ‘when pigs begin
to fly.’ Yes, that was it.”

Kuzman turned bright red in anger and fear.

“A former client of yours told us all of that, gentlemen,”
Omar quietly confessed to them in a firm voice. “You really should have changed
your operational procedures from time to time, you know.” Then turning, he
shouted something in Arabic and four men of the Quds Special Forces magically
appeared from out of the dim starlit night. “Take these two men out into the
desert, away from the aircraft. Make their deaths as quick and as painless as
possible. Oh, and take two shovels with you. Bury the bodies in decent graves.
We owe them at least that much for what they have done for us, understand?
Good, now go.”

“Go with Allah, now, gentlemen,” Omar shouted, as the four
soldiers pulled the two Russians away from the plane and out into the darkness.

Burkov mumbled curses with every step, stumbling as he went,
his eyes not yet adjusted to the starlight lit landscape. The Iranians kept shoving
him and Kuzman along in the darkness at every opportunity. Kuzman kept silent,
his thoughts running madly through his head, planning the next several steps in
advance, gauging his timing and actions carefully. Two against four and those four
were Special Forces. With a grin, he realized that the odds were stacked in his
and Burkov’s favor. The Iranians just didn’t know it yet.

What the Iranians also didn’t know was that both Burkov and he
were armed. Back when they had first arrived in Iran, both they and their
luggage had been thoroughly searched for contraband and they weren’t carrying
weapons at that time. But both Burkov and Kuzman were old veterans to this type
of operation. Neither felt comfortable operating in an unfriendly country like
Iran without any means of defense.

Using his rather extensive connections in the Middle East,
in this case in Iran itself, Kuzman had arranged for a dead drop right at the
airbase they were staying at. Both of them were now carrying concealed weapons.
In a strap-on sheath beneath his right trouser leg was a Spetsnaz NRS-2 knife
with a built in silenced gun. True, it was a small caliber bullet with a muzzle
velocity of only 460 feet per second and therefore with a low stopping power.
But it was very quiet.

In a concealed hip holster beneath his shirt, he also carried
a Bond Arms Backup 45ACP, a single action derringer weighing only 18 oz and it
was just 4.5 inches long. Burkov was similarly armed.

In the dim starlight, the Russian ex-Colonel could barely
see the outlines of the Iranian soldiers. A hundred yards away from the light
of the planes, he decided that the conditions were right. Feigning a violent
sneeze as a signal to Burkov, Kuzman dropped sharply to the ground and yanked
the Spetsnaz knife free of its scabbard.

Then he went to work.

In seconds, it was over and he stood, knife in hand,
breathing hard, his heart racing from the adrenaline surge.

Burkov was standing a few yards away, his arms across his
chest. “What took you so long, old man?”

“It’s the head cold. It’s affecting my sense of balance,”
Kuzman snapped back, as he reached down to snag a pistol, a variant of the
Swiss SIG Sauer P226, from one of the guards lying motionless on the ground.
“Come on, we’ve got a plane to catch.”

• • • •

At the plane, Kuzman went around the aircraft’s nose to
provide a distraction to the guard at the plane’s door while Burkov scampered
beneath the fuselage, aiming for the guard’s back. But the guard reacted
abnormally fast. In the light of the landing fixtures, the guard recognized
Kuzman’s face and caught sight of the blood stains on the Russian’s shirt. The
Quds Force soldier swung his Heckler & Koch G3 rifle sharply around and
stepped away from the plane, out of Burkov’s reach. With a curse, Kuzman threw
his knife, aiming for the guard’s right shoulder.

The knife rattled off the G3 instead, throwing off the
rifle’s aim. When the weapon fired, the 7.62 mm bullet impacted Kuzman’s right
shoulder instead.

Then Burkov, now far enough under the plane, fired his
captured P226 twice, instantly taking down the Iranian soldier. He scrambled to
his feet and rushed to Kuzman’s side, the ex-Colonel now down on his knees and
gripping his right arm hard with his left.

“Now who’s the slow one,” Kuzman grumbled between his
gritted teeth.

“We can trade insults later, Colonel,” Burkov joked. “Those
shots were heard, I’m sure. Let’s get you on the plane.”

Helping Kuzman to his feet, Burkov shoved his gun into Kuzman’s
left hand and slung an arm around the other man’s waist, supporting his weight
as they hobbled over to the stair ramp. Kuzman grunted in pain with every step.

At the ramp, Kuzman leaned up against the edge of the
stairs, breathing heavily, wincing with every breath. Burkov backed up the
ramp, leaning outward in order to pull his associate up and through the
doorway. But another shot rang out and Burkov, with a surprised look on his
face, fell off of the steps, landing flat on his face on the rocky desert lake
bed.

Kuzman looked up and saw an Iranian, wearing a pilot’s hat,
framed in the plane’s doorway, peering outward, gun in hand.

Angered and without hesitation, Kuzman swung his P226 up and
fired three times. The pilot fell back into the plane and out of Kuzman’s line
of sight.

There were now shouts in the blackness of the night behind
them, cries of alarm. There wasn’t much time. Kuzman leaned down to Burkov and
struggled to roll the man’s body over. That accomplished, he checked for a
pulse, first in the wrist and then at the neck. Nothing. The sightless open
eyes convinced him of Burkov’s true condition and Kuzman groaned in sudden
heartbroken distress.

“I am very sorry, old friend,” he muttered, tears forming in
his eyes.

The cries of alarm were getting closer and he struggled to
get back to his feet. Waves of dizziness assaulted him, but he forced himself
up the ladder and into the plane.

The pilot, amazingly enough, was still alive, lying on the
deck in a fetal position, his hands tightly gripping his stomach.

“I obviously need more time at the gun range,” Kuzman
muttered angrily as he maneuvered for the tiny cockpit.

He fell in the pilot’s seat and nearly blacked out. Blinking
his eyes clear, he focused on the controls.

Only the starboard engine was going and it only at an idle.
Out the windows, he saw five soldiers running for the plane. His time was up.

“Goodbye, my friend. I’ll see you on the other side.” With
that, he released the plane’s brakes and shoved the throttle with his left
hand.

The plane snapped forward, the soldiers flinging themselves
out of the way barely in time. Kuzman let the plane accelerate into the night,
gathering speed. On one engine, it couldn’t take off so he let it run, his
knees against the steering yoke to keep the plane from turning. In the
meantime, he began running the checklist for starting the port engine.

A minute later, with the flip of several switches, the port
engine was spooling up. He pulled back the throttle on the starboard engine and
brought the plane to a stop with the brakes. He would be safe enough here for a
few minutes, since there were no cars or trucks back at the test site for Omar
or the soldiers to use to catch him. By the time they could run to this location
he would be ready to take off for real this time.

Getting back out of the pilot’s seat was one of the harder
things he had ever done in his life, or so he thought at that moment. Back in
the cabin, he found and collected the gun that the pilot had used to shoot
Burkov. With an evil grin on his face, he leaned downward, getting on his knees
and down to the pilot’s level.

“Hey, there! Hey! Listen to me!” he said, prodding the man
in the stomach with the barrel of the gun.

The Iranian was barely able to open his eyes and he groaned
again as he saw the figure above him.

“You shot my friend, do you hear me?” screamed Kuzman. “You
killed him! A man I’ve worked with for many years! The greatest friend I ever
had, you hear? And you shot him in the back! You gutless coward!”

Kuzman swung the pistol as hard as he could in his weakened
state, smashing the barrel against the Iranian’s nose. The pilot screamed in
pain, reaching out with one hand to ward off another blow.

But Kuzman instead grabbed one of the man’s ankles. Pulling
for all he was worth, he managed to drag the man the short distance to the
ramp, which was still in the down position. Then leaning forward again, he
aimed and shot the man point blank in both arms and then both legs until the
gun clicked on empty cylinders. By that time, the pilot was unconscious—indeed
hovering at death’s door.

Kuzman rolled the body out of the plane, letting it bounce
off the steps until it hit the unyielding ground.

After all of that exertion, he needed several minutes of
rest before he could move again.

He needed another minute after that just to pull himself to
his feet and then more time still to pull and latch the ramp door closed.
Wheezing like a man having a heart attack, he stumbled back to the cockpit and
back into the pilot’s seat.

The port engine had had more than enough time to reach
operational temperatures. Still wheezing, Kuzman released the brakes and worked
hard, left-handed, to run both throttles up again a bit, enough to taxi with.

The next part was a risk. He didn’t have a regular runway
outside, only the comparatively small dry lake bed, a stretch of which had been
marked off, not only for the Falcon’s use but for the other aircraft in the
test program as well. But he couldn’t see any of those markers, not at night.

His only clue was the direction the Falcon had been aimed
in, back at the test site. Kuzman assumed that it had been lined up on the
‘runway’, ready for take-off. And the fact that he had moved the plane this far
without running into anything seemed to have proved out that theory.

But there couldn’t be enough ‘runway’ left ahead of him now
for takeoff, not with as far as he had taxied thus far.

The only real choice he had was to turn the craft around 180
degrees and take off back in the direction he had come instead.

There were two problems with that option. First and
foremost, all of the Quds forces and Omar were back there. They would shoot at
him and it was possible that they might bring him down. Second, he wasn’t sure
how far he had moved in the dark. If it was not far enough, then he might not
have enough space and he could crash into the C130 before he reached take off
speed. Or he might run off the ‘runway’ in that direction instead.

He laughed and spun the wheel, moving the plane in a tight
turn, aligning the compass in a full 180 degree rotation. Then throwing the
throttles all the way forward, he watched the airspeed carefully.

30 km/h. Now 50 and accelerating smoothly. A glance out the
cockpit window and all he could see was rough rocky ground rushing at him, but
the lights only reached out forty feet or so. Beyond that was the dark of
night. Anything could be out there, just waiting for him to hit it at full speed.
He would have almost no warning if that happened. Another glance at the
airspeed. 80 km/h and moving higher. Now the plane was bumping along, hitting a
few uneven spots here and there.

Kuzman would rotate the yoke the moment he had enough speed.

100…130…almost enough…there, 160!

He yanked back on the yoke; the plane leaping for all of it
was worth into the air—

—and right over the nose of the Hercules C-130 which
suddenly appeared in front of him, passing quickly beneath the Falcon. He
couldn’t have missed the other large aircraft by more than a few feet.

Laughing again, he took the near miss as a good omen.
Reaching forward, he raised the landing gear before turning off the landing
lights and the plane’s transponder. Now they couldn’t track him, at least, not
easily. A glance at the fuel gauges told him he had plenty of range. He could
go nearly anywhere in the Middle East he wanted. He might even be able to reach
Russian airspace, if he wanted that.

No, that was a bad choice. His wound could not wait that
long before it got proper medical attention. Indeed, he needed to put something
on it now, to slow the bleeding as much as possible.

So, he would set the autopilot, as quickly as he could pick
a destination.

Nothing in Iran, of course. He had contacts in the country, yes,
but the Iranian authorities were too great a risk. Iraq to the east and
Afghanistan to the west were out. The meddling Americans still held a presence
in both countries. Kuwait too was not a good choice for the same reason.
Pakistan? Hmm, from here, too far. He needed something closer.

Ah, of course, Dammam, Saudi Arabia. At the Falcon’s top
speed, a little over an hour’s flight time. He’d be there before sunrise. And
there were people there, such as Karem Salib, that would help him with his
wound, no questions asked. The Russian might even trade the Falcon for that
service.

A gentle turn of the wheel and he lined up on a heading of
240 degrees. Only a few flips of some switches and he was on autopilot. Now, to
take care of the shoulder and in an hour, he would land in Dammam and get some real
professional help.

Poor Burkov. They had come so close to escaping together. Kuzman
was sorely going to miss his friend.

He grew angry thinking about that monster, Omar. As soon as
his wound was taken care of, Kuzman would see to it that the whole world knew
of the detonators that he had helped the Iranians build and the bomb design he
had given them. Yes, that would be a nice revenge. Burkov would like it.

Kuzman sneezed.

TWO

On top of the scoreboard

Lambeau Field

Home Field of the NFL Green Bay Packers

1265 Lombardi Ave

Green Bay Wisconsin, WI

June

Saturday 6:31 p.m. CDT

Both
Capie and Paul were seated precariously, perched on top of the field’s
scoreboard. Capie’s hands were locked on the metal edge, her knuckles white,
her eyes wide and focused on the far horizon, her forehead covered with a light
film of perspiration.

Even Paul was not too comfortable. Only his greater
experience with heights and his magical powers was helping him deal with the
challenge.

Jaret, on the other hand, was nonchalantly standing on the
very end of the scoreboard, totally oblivious to how far off the ground he was.

“Not bad,” he said as he surveyed all of the playing field
and stadium seats below them. “And man-made too. What is this place again?”

“Lambeau Field,” Paul repeated. “It’s a sporting arena, for
playing football. Seating capacity is over 81,000.”

“Ah, football?! When I was still a genie, one of my former
‘owners’ wanted to win a string of bets made on this game’s outcomes. I never
got to see the games themselves.”

“They are widely watched,” Paul informed him. “The typical
pro NFL game lasts three hours. They are played from September through January
each year. If you decide to watch one, I suggest you study the rules first,
learn a little about the teams. It can be a complicated sport.”

Jaret smiled broadly. “If there’s time. But for now, let us
talk of you. Why did you want me to bring you here? Is this where you want to
spend your honeymoon? Strange choice for that.”

“No, we have a different location for our honeymoon picked
out,” Paul explained. “But this place made a good choice to say our goodbyes. I
thought it might impress you.”

“Not bad,” Jaret said again. “So, this is goodbye?”

“Not quite yet,” Paul said. “First, I want to thank you
again for helping us acquire the gold from upstate Nevada for an amulet for
Capie. Your help made it go a lot faster.”

Jaret shrugged and grinned. “It is such a small thing. She should
really have a talisman, you know. For that matter, so should you. We still have
time to acquire the materials, if you like.”

“Making a talisman would draw too much attention,” Paul
said, shaking his head but offering a bemused smile. “Not a good idea, just
yet. And Capie needs time to learn how to use her powers first.”

“Probably wise,” Jaret acknowledged. “Is there anything else
you want to talk about before I go?”

“Yes, there is,” Paul affirmed. “Is there a way I can
contact you in the future if the need arises? Some method that does not involve
altering my mind?”

Paul was referring to a spell, one that Jaret had placed
upon him when the ex-genie first gave Paul magical powers, a spell that Jaret
had just the previous day removed from Paul’s mind.

“Hmm, that would also be wise, I think. There is a way.”
With a flourish, Jaret held out his hand and a small portal appeared. Through
it, two three-inch diameter crystals emerged, settling into Jaret’s palm.

Even from where Paul was seated, the crystals looked exceptional,
both of them half spheres and perfectly smooth, both a blend of colors ranging
from dark blue up to a light pink.

“They’re gorgeous!” remarked Capie, stretching out a hand
for a closer look. “What are they?”

Jaret bowed and levitated one over into her hand and the
second one over to Paul.

“They are officially known as a duhšiu-idȗ
or crystal communicators. However, unofficially, they are known as Raconteurs. ”

“Raconteur?” Paul asked, curiously while holding one of the
crystals up to the light. “That’s a teller of stories.”

“Quite correct,” Jaret said, with a mysterious smile.

“It’s heavy,” Capie noted, twisting and turning the crystal
to examine it. “I like all the colors. They seem to shift when looked at in
different angles.”

“How do they work?” Paul asked.

“The crystals are very old, made by the first wizards. They
take years to form properly, a blend of diamond, rhodonite, covellite and
Lazurite. They are made as one crystal and then, in a certain step in the
process, they are divided into two halves, as you see now. They are magically
linked and can be used to pass messages back and forth, no matter how far apart
they may be separated or where they are located.”

“Perfect,” remarked Paul with an appreciative chuckle. “If
you can loan one to us, then if we ever need to talk to one another, we can.”

Jaret’s grin grew larger. “Yes, we could do that. However, I
should warn you that there is a reason why the crystals are called Raconteurs.”

Capie rolled her eyes. “There’s always a catch, isn’t
there?”

Jaret laughed and put his hands on his hips. “If by that you
mean a disadvantage, then yes, there is one.” He waved a hand and said, “Awȗ!”

Both of the crystals began flashing soft yellow and white
light.

And then they spoke, simultaneously, trying hard, it would
seem, to drown each other out.

“I wish my brother would learn a trade, so I would know what
kind of work he’s out of,” one of the crystals shouted at a very loud volume.

“Outside of a dog, a book is man’s best friend. Inside of a
dog it’s too dark to read,” screamed the other.

Paul winced, putting his hands over his ears. “Make it
stop!”

“You told that joke wrong! Really, you can never get it
right!” shouted the crystal in Capie’s hand.

“Like you would know a joke if it fell out of the sky on top
of you!”

“Hatāmu!” commanded Jaret.

Both crystals ceased talking. The ex-genie shrugged. “They
do better when they are not together like this. But they are tellers of stories
and jokes, endlessly talking. If you want to pass a message from one to the
other, you must first listen to them for a bit. At least one story and one
joke. Then they will listen to your message and pass it on. That is the catch,
as you say, madam.”

Capie chuckled and sent the Raconteur back to Jaret through
the air. “I recognize that second joke. Classic Groucho Marx. I think we can
live with the catch. What think ye, Paul?”

“I suppose it could be amusing,” he said. “Sure, we’ll take
one. And thanks, Jaret. For all the things that you have done for us.”

He bowed deeply in return. “My warmest wishes for you, your
health and your success. And may the two of you be blessed with many fine strong
sons. Once again, I feel that we shall see one another in this life time. Peace
be upon you.”

Paul bowed as well. “Take care, my friend. May the Force be
with you.”

“Goodbye, Jaret,” Capie added, as she smiled. “We will miss
you.”

• • • •

As the first stop on their honeymoon, Paul, using his
enhanced block of tantalum as his amulet, took Capie a few miles further south
in short portal hops to the Osthoff Resort in Elkhart Lake, Wisconsin, and
rented a two bedroom suite. Perched near the lake itself, the westward facing
suite of the large resort gave them a wonderful scenic view of the evening sunset
over the water. It was a most idyllic setting for the first night of their
honeymoon.

• • • •

“Almost but not quite,” Paul said with a small smile the
next afternoon. “You have to establish the correct mindset to go along with the
spell. And yes I know that’s not very scientific. I still don’t know why words
are important to casting spells. But they are. So the wording of the
incantation can be very critical. The more energy used in the spell, the more
important a role your mindset plays and therefore the wording of the
incantation.”

“So you’ve said,” Capie complained as she sighed. “More than
once too. I just can’t seem to get it right.”

“It took me nearly a week to get the hang of creating
portals,” Paul pointed out. “You’ve only had magical powers for two days now
and you’ve, ah, had other things on your mind too.”

Capie grinned and snuggled closer to him on the sofa. Across
from them, the crackle and warmth of the gas fireplace added to the romantic ambience
of the room, the firelight dancing across the richly appointed accommodations
of the Corner Lake View Premier Suite.

“Yes, the wedding was quite a distraction,” she purred in
his ear. “And then there was last night too.”

Paul positively beamed and hugged her more tightly. With a
leer, he responded, “Ah, yeah, ‘distraction’ is not anywhere near the right
word for last night. Um, did you want to talk about creating portals or did you
want to conduct more sessions in ah, biological hanky-panky?”

Capie laid her head on his shoulder. “We could say enough of
portal practice, for right now, hmm, my husband?” She lightly stroked his arm.
“We could take this back to the bedroom and do what any normal newlyweds do.
Ones who aren’t hunted by evil wizards and mysterious monsters, that is.”

He moved closer, both of them closing their eyes as their
lips and tongues met. The taste, the fire, the ignition of passion. A newlywed’s
kiss, born of both love and desire.

Capie sighed as the kiss ended. “‘Since the invention of the
kiss, there have been five kisses rated the most passionate, the most pure. This
one left them all behind.’”

“A wonderful quote, my dear,” Paul observed in an abstracted
tone of voice.

“Princess Bride,” she said, hugging him close. “Peter
Falk. You’re going to love the movie.”

He kissed her again, lightly this time. “What were you
saying about portals?”

“Portals? Ah, yes, I was talking about those, wasn’t I? I
think I was saying that creating a functional portal is hard work for me. Quite
hard. I’ve watched you and all you do is wave a hand or snap your fingers and
poof—there’s a portal big enough to walk through, one that can transport a
person miles away. But I can’t seem to create a marble sized portal across the
room!”

“Practice, my dear. Practice.” Paul leaned back, giving her
more room to work with. “Here, try again. Concentrate on the mental visual
images, from both ends of the portal. Work on your words too,” Paul suggested.

Capie sighed and answered with a small nod and, with her
right hand, gripped the three pound gold band she was wearing on her left wrist,
using it as an amulet to magnify her magical powers. Closing her eyes, she
muttered something too quietly for Paul to hear. In response, two small shiny
circles appeared in midair on opposite sides of the room. One was rather
elliptical and canted at an angle. The other was nearly circular as well as perfectly
upright. The only problem was its size, with its diameter closer to that of an
orange, not a marble.

“Much better,” Paul commented encouragingly. “Erase those.
Try again.”

“You really are getting the hang of it,” he declared a few
minutes later as Capie swept the latest portal out of existence. “I know you’re
tired, so why don’t we wait until tomorrow to go to the next step.”

“Which is what?” Capie asked, leaning away from Paul a
little and studying him thoughtfully. “How many steps are there?”

“Well, bigger portals, of course. And further apart too. And
then sending objects through them without disintegrating the object in
question—”

“That can happen?” she asked, crossing her arms over her
chest and then shuddering slightly. “I’ve stepped through more than a dozen of
your portals. Are you saying…?”

“You can see why it’s important to get it right.” He cocked
his head almost imperceptibly to one side. “If I can do it, you can too,
guaranteed.”

“Okay, I’ll practice, if that’s what it takes,” she said
with a sigh as she shook her head. “I wouldn’t want to disintegrate myself or
anyone else going through a portal.” She lay back down against Paul’s side.

“I was thinking.” Paul announced after a few moments of
watching the crackle of the fire.

“Does it involve portals, dear?”

“No, not portals. Pet names. All couples have them. Terms of
endearment. What shall I call you?”

Capie squeezed him gently. “I haven’t given it any thought.
I suppose a nickname for you would be nice too.”

“Dumpling, Lamb-chop, Babushka, Peaches, Gorgeous, Bambi,
Poopsie, Honey Cakes, Angel, Cupcake, Sweetiepie, Princess, Sugar, Tootsie
Wootsy—any of those tickle your fancy?”

“Not in the least,” she replied, cuddling even closer to
him. “Try some imagination.”

“Imagination, heh? Okay, I got it. I’ll call you CB.”

She pulled back and shot him a questioning look. “CB?”

He stroked her hair. “Yep. My child bride.”

Capie made a face. “Very funny. I guess it is accurate and
original. Still, I would encourage you to try harder. In the meantime, if you
call me CB, then I know the perfect name to call you.”

“You do? That fast?” He leaned forward, with an interested
smile. “What name would that be?”

“CR.”

“CR?” he asked, puzzled. “Is that an acronym too?”

“Yep. It stands for cradle robber. It stands to reason that
if I’m the child bride, then you are a cradle robber. Right?”

Paul laughed, his eyes aglitter. “I like it! And so
appropriate too. CR it is. And I love you too.”

Leaning forward, they kissed again, tenderly and unhurriedly.

“I could do that forever,” Paul declared with a blithe
smile.

“It’s my turn now,” Capie said with a candid smile. “Can I
ask you a personal question?”

Paul coughed, trying to hide a sudden chuckle. “Personal? But
of course, CB. Ask away.”

“You don’t cuss, do you, CR?” she asked. “Don’t misunderstand,
I love that about you. Some men are so foul mouthed that I can’t stand to be around
them. Some women too. But you’ve never…not since I’ve known you. Is there a
reason?”

Paul stroked her hair and stared at the fire. “My father was
a drill sergeant in the Marine Corps.”

Capie smiled. “You must have been proud of him.”

“Very,” Paul replied.

“But…oh! I think I see. Did he use a lot of profanity?”

Paul snorted and gave a short nod. “Much worse than any
drunken sailor on leave. I once calculated that he had used the entire family’s
allotment of profanity for the next 3.45 generations. The extended
family’s allotment, that is.”

She chuckled. “You sound like Spock when you say that.”

“That’s a really nice compliment, thanks.”

“What about your mother? Did she use profanity too?”

“No, never. And since Dad was always gone on deployment
somewhere and since Mom was the one who raised me…”

“You learned not to cuss either,” she finished for him.
“Bravo for good parents. Dad has never cussed either. He says it’s a sign of a weak
vocabulary. He uses the Shakespeare insult generator instead.”

“What did you call it? The what?” Paul asked, craning his
neck for a better look at her face. “Is that a joke?”

“Nope. Google it sometime. Dad gets a real kick out of using
it…” and her voice trailed off, a shiver running up her spine.

The way she said those last few words…

“Is there a problem?” Paul quietly asked, raising his
eyebrows.

“I’m not sure.” She drew her mouth into a straight line.
“Paul, why did you pick the Osthoff? Don’t get me wrong, I love it here. It’s a
fabulous place for a honeymoon but with your magical powers—”

“We could have gone to Paris or Rome or some other better known
honeymoon location?”

“Exactly. Is this about Dad? Did you want to stay close to
him in case something happened?”

Paul nodded in swift agreement. “Very much so, yes. I’m very
worried about your father.”

“Do you think he’s in trouble? Really in trouble? I mean…would
the wizards of Errabêlu actually kidnap him in exchange for you? Maybe
even…you know…?”

Paul gritted his teeth before replying. “I’m not going to lie
to you, honey, nor will I sugarcoat it. Yes, to all of those questions. The
only thing I don’t know is what we can do about it.”

“There are two of us now,” she pointed out.

“But neither one of us has a talisman,” Paul reminded her.
“And you are brand new at this game.”

She nodded sadly. “And we won’t know if and when it happens
either. It might already be happening, right now at this very minute.”

Paul felt a shiver go up his spine. “That’s not quite true.
I, uh, set up an alarm system, of sorts. We should have some warning, if Errabêlu
shows up to abduct your father.”

“Oh?” Capie gave him a suspicious look. “Is there something
you haven’t told me yet?”

Paul grinned shyly. “You could say that.” And so he told her
that, during their confrontation with her father, Christopher Kingsley, in the
Adler Planetarium, that Paul had set her father’s smart phone to call a certain
number at the press of a single button and that Jaret had inserted a spell into
Chris’s mind, to urge him to push that button if the professor felt threatened.

He held up the burner phone for her to see. “And there has
been no such phone call.”

Capie mulled that over for a minute while staring at the
fire. “I suppose I should be mad at you for casting spells on Dad that way. If
you could do that, why couldn’t you have cast a spell on him to make him want
to come with us?”

Paul produced a wintry smile, remembering a similar such request
he had made of the ex-genie Jaret concerning Paul’s stepson Douglas. Jaret had
indicated that only a total replacement of Doug’s personality would have
satisfied the intended goal. “‘The Force can have a strong influence on the
weak-minded’, huh?” he said, quoting Obi-wan Kenobi from Star Wars.
“Sorry, but magic doesn’t work quite that way. Brainwashing is not an option. A
simple unconscious action, yes, like pushing a button, but nothing much more
complicated than that. And it’s a really good thing, too. Otherwise, the
wizards of Errabêlu would be even more invincible than they are now.”

Capie took a deep breath. “There’s got to be something we
can do.”

“Let’s call for a little super-intelligent help here.” Paul raised
a hand—

“Wait a minute, Paul,” Capie said, interrupting him. “Let me
try.”

He gave her a small bow. “Of course.”

She sat up on the sofa and raised both hands into the air.
“In the name of Leanansidhe, Nac Mac Feegle and the tooth fairy, may there be a
virtual reality hologram of a super-intelligence in the image of Titania, Queen
of the Fairies.”

A small ball of light appeared in midair, growing swiftly in
size until it became the image of a mature woman with long brown hair, blue
eyes, with graceful facial features and wearing a long white silky dress.

Paul cocked an eyebrow. “The tooth fairy I know, but the
others?”

Capie winked at him. “You really need to catch up on your
fantasy. Leanansidhe is from The Dresden Files by Jim Butcher. You’d
like those books since they’re all about a private investigator and wizard who
lives in Chicago—”

“Ouch!” said Paul with a wince.

“And Nac Mac Feegle are a type of fairy folk from Terry
Pratchett’s Discworld novels. And Titania here is the Queen of the
Fairies. She was first mentioned in a Shakespearean play, A Midsummer
Night’s Dream but has shown up in a bunch of other books, TV shows, comics
and even video games.”

Paul’s eyebrows rose. “I’m impressed.”

“You should be, mortal,” said Titania in a soprano voice. “My,
my, you two. Bored with your honeymoon already?” she asked with a smirk.

Capie frowned. “But the name ‘Titania’ seems inappropriate.
A nickname, perhaps. We could try Nia—”

“Don’t you dare!” hissed the hologram.

“Tiana.”

“Over my dead body!”

Capie smiled. “How about Tia.”

The specter huffed but gave no other reply.

“Right,” Capie said. “Tia it is then. Tia, we are worried
about my father. Do we have any way to protect him, to keep him safe?”

Tia’s eyes narrowed in thought. “That’s a good question.
Let’s see. I can only think of three possibilities that might work.”

Capie blinked her eyes in surprise. “Three? Really? What are
they?”

The hologram tugged a little on the end of one braid of
brown hair. “You could kidnap him yourself and take him someplace where he
would be safe.”

Capie shuddered, looking away from Tia and at the fire
instead. “Not my first choice, no. He would be absolutely livid with us if we
did that. What’s the next choice?”

“Give him magical powers and let him defend himself,” Tia
declared.

“That’s not too good either,” Paul noted with a frown. “That
would make him even more of a target for Errabêlu, equal to capturing
and killing us. What’s the third option?”

Tia shrugged half-heartedly. “Trick him. In today’s
language, run a confidence game on him. Make him think that going with you is his
only option and that it’s his idea.”

“But how…” Capie started to say then gasped. “You mean, use
our magic to scare him?”

Paul grunted and then chuckled grimly. “Of course. If we
could show him how much danger he is in….” Then he looked at Capie sharply. “It
could work, in theory. We could use disguise and holographic spells, make us
look like Ruggiero and a couple of Oni. Then we kidnap him, threaten him, and
scare the pants off of him.”

“But not actually hurt him,” Capie said, her tone hard.

Paul gave her an assenting nod. “No, of course we wouldn’t
hurt him. Since he would be held as a kidnap victim there is no need to do
anything harmful to him. But we could have our ‘Ruggiero’ hologram tell him
that as soon as they have their hands on you and me, that all three of us would
be executed.”

Briefly looking at the floor, Capie rubbed her forehead with
one hand. “I’m really not very crazy about this idea. It seems…underhanded and dishonest.”
But then she reluctantly nodded. “If he even suspects it is us—”

“If I may?” interrupted Tia. “I suggest that you run test
simulations. Create holographic characters, one of them just like your father,
and use magic to run them through the possibilities. Right now, neither one of
you is good at deception. Practice a little.”

Paul stood up and walked over to the fireplace, watching the
flames as they did their dance. “Speaking of practice, Capie needs to work on
honing all of her magical skills a little more, especially portal spells. Before
we try anything on her father.”

Capie raised her eyebrows and offered a sour look. “Slave
driver!”

“And as long as we are going to Chicago,” Paul countered, turning
back around to face her, “we need to recover some stuff from there anyway, like
the computer, the emerald and my old gold band.”

“And my belongings?” asked Capie as she stood and moved into
Paul’s arms. “By the way, you never told me where you put the things from my
house. Where are they?”

“Reasonably safe,” Paul said with a glance upward at the
ceiling.

“Define ‘reasonably’,” Capie said, her jaw set in sudden
suspicion.

“Well, five miles west of your house, there’s a certain
government facility—”

“Fermi Labs. They have a particle accelerator…” And then her
eyes opened wide in shock and she pulled back away from Paul. “You didn’t!
Please tell me that you didn’t put my things in there!”

“They shut down the accelerator in 2011—”

“All of my things, the jewelry, the stuffed animals, my
vase, my china, the candelabra,—”

Paul put one hand on her shoulder. “Dear—”

“It will all glow in the dark now!”

“It’s fine, dear! I promise, there’s no radiation where I
put it. But it might be discovered by maintenance workers in a few days, so yes;
we do need to retrieve it all before that happens.”

She squinted at him through narrowed eyes. “If there’s even
a single item that is even partially radioactive—”

“I promise you, dear, it’s all fine!”

She grunted and folded her arms across her chest.

“I think we should concentrate on your father first,” Paul
quickly added. “Afterwards, we can get your items, and then we can swing by my
old place and pick up my stuff from that small cave under Bauer Road. The
computer isn’t safe there for very long either, due to possible water damage.”

But Capie was still giving him a fierce scowl.

Paul gulped and rubbed his hands together. “So, let’s get
Uncle Sam in here. We need his strategic skills and we need a plan, if our con
job on your father is going to have any chance of success.”

• • • •

In the seven months since Jaret, the ex-genie, had given
Paul his powers, the electrical engineer had learned a great deal about their
use. Magic was just as prevalent in the physical universe as magnetic fields,
gravity, or electromagnetic radiation. Moreover, magic could be tapped directly
by the human mind, employing energy from any number of sources to perform
whatever spell the user might create.

The limiting factor was the human mind’s ability to draw on
sufficient amounts of energy. Without external aid, this imposed a cap of about
ten joules on any spell. To utilize more power an amplifier was required.

All the elements in the periodic table had a magical
quotient, the ability to funnel and amplify energy for magical spells. The rarer
the element, the higher the magical quotient. Thus a homogeneous object such as
Capie’s gold wrist band or Paul’s tantalum block could serve as a portable
amplifier, an amulet, to magnify the power of a spell.

One of Paul’s discoveries in experimenting with his powers,
was that rare isotopes possessed higher magical quotients than the more common
ones. Thus, tantalum 181, which already had a higher magical quotient than that
of gold, was not as powerful as tantalum 180m, the far rarer isotope.

Through a magical synthesis of rare materials of two or more
groups (precious metals, precious gems, basal rocks, and meteorites) into a
talisman, even greater amounts of power could be funneled into and controlled
by a spell. Unfortunately, the creation of a such a talisman could be detected
anywhere on Earth, which was why Paul could not afford to create one just yet,
lest the evil wizards of Errabêlu track his location.

• • • •

The newlyweds spent Sunday evening and then Monday morning
in conference with Tia, Merlin, and Uncle Sam, diligently endeavoring to
develop a workable plan to snatch Capie’s father and then scare him within an
inch of his life. Each of the ideas for their duplicitous plot was tested in an
evolving tenth-scale holographic simulation they were running in the center of
the living room. At the same time, Capie was doing her best to practice her
magical spells, and was achieving decent progress in the effort.

“By far, the principle problem,” Uncle Sam was saying to the
group scattered around the living room, “is that Professor Kingsley is certain
to be under constant scrutiny by at least one Oni and probably more. They will
be conducting such a ‘stake-out’ in hopes that they can capture you, Paul, or
failing that, to capture you, Capie.”

Paul tugged an earlobe thoughtfully. “That’s why you’ve
proposed this particular plan. It’s not fast; it will take more than half a day
or so, just to put everything into place.”

“Exactly. Now, as you travel around southern Wisconsin and the
northern Illinois area,” Uncle Sam interposed, “you must keep magical energy
levels low, but especially near Chris Kingsley’s home and the Observatory, as
well as the two homes you both formerly lived in. Any one of them or all of them
might be watched.”

“During the summer months, Dad usually works until ten or
eleven at night,” Capie informed the group. “He oversees the telescope schedule
and the graduate students. In other words, he’ll be at his house right now,
getting ready to leave and, after 3 p.m., at work until late tonight.”

Tia smiled encouragingly. “So there will likely not be any
Oni at your father’s house once he leaves an hour from now. They will then be
at the Observatory, watching him there. However, they could have a microportal
open to the house, and a spell cast there to sound an alarm if you show up.
Care must be taken when you enter the place.”

“So Paul and I have a few hours to get down to Dad’s house
and sneak inside,” Capie acknowledged with a thoughtful frown. “Then we will
hide in the basement until after Dad gets home and goes to sleep.”

“Exactly,” Uncle Sam agreed firmly. “Then in the morning,
you will go to your father’s bedroom and cast a spell on him, to keep him
asleep for another hour or so. You will turn his alarm clock off too. Then Paul,
in disguise, will pretend to be your father, first in the kitchen and then as
he leaves the house. Paul will take your father’s Ford Escape and drive it to
the O’Hare International Airport. In all probability, the Oni should follow
him.”

Merlin took off his cone shaped hat and picked at a piece of
lint on it. “With Paul and the Oni clear of the house, Capie, you can use your
gold band to levitate your father out of bed, while he is still asleep, and out
to his other vehicle—”

“His Mercedes Benz C class that he is so proud of,” Capie
interrupted.

“—and drive him back here. Then, under a cloak of
invisibility, you can levitate him from the car into the suite here and put him
in the spare bedroom,” Merlin finished, with a smile. “In the meantime—”

“—Paul will use his tantalum block at the airport and effect
a portal escape in the crowded terminal building,” Uncle Sam finished. “When he
is certain that he is not being followed, he can return here.”

“At which time, you can use the con game on Chris that you’ve
developed,” Tia continued, “and disguise yourselves as Ruggiero and an Oni.
That script we’ve written should work just fine to scare him.”

“Not to mention seeing an Oni or two up close and personal
for the first time,” muttered Merlin.

“When you, ah, ‘rescue’ your father from ‘Ruggiero,’ you
must not let it seem to be too easy,” Uncle Sam added. “It will look
suspicious, otherwise. And it will lessen your leverage with him, if his rescue
appears nearly effortless on your part.”

Paul nodded. “The simulations we’ve run are pretty conclusive
on that score. And I think we know our parts. Capie? Anything to add?”

She gritted her teeth and pushed a lock of hair back. “Not
really. Except that I still don’t like this plan very much.”

“Understood,” Paul sagely nodded. “I’m not crazy about it
either. And not just because of the deceit involved. I’m very concerned that we
could run into Oni or even a wizard in the process.”

“The vacuum permittivity spell,” Merlin suggested with a
knowing smile. “You’re thinking of having that ready too, aren’t you? Just in
case?”

“The what?” Capie asked, with a perplexed expression.
“What’s that?”

“Vacuum permittivity.” Paul rubbed his hands together for a
bit, trying to think of a way to explain the idea in less than two thousand
words. “Merlin once told me that I could change some aspects of the physical
universe. I know that I can alter the value of Planck’s constant in a local
space-time bubble. I did that several months ago. Since then, I’ve tried
playing with a few other physical constants. I haven’t had time to try very
many of them. So far, I’ve only found one other that I have successfully been
able to change. Vacuum permittivity. It shows up in a lot of electrical and
electromagnetic equations. It directly impacts Coulombs law, Maxwell’s
equations, and Gaussian law.”

Capie shook her head in confusion. “Do we really have time
for this? Can you please get to the point?”

Paul leaned forward. “I’ve found that if I create a bubble
of space and then change the value of vacuum permittivity inside, it directly
affects the ability of animal tissue to conduct neuron impulses. It impacts
both the Gaussian field around the dendrites and axons of the neurons and it
also impacts the ion channel’s ability to funnel potassium and sodium ions. If
I lower the vacuum permittivity value, it lowers the neural activity in a
person’s brain and puts them to sleep. Raising the permittivity creates a hyperactive
state of neural electrical impulses—sort of like an epileptic attack.”

Capie stared at him in confusion.

“It’s not an easy spell to create,” her husband confessed.
“It takes a great deal of concentration. I think it’s because the physical
universe resists being altered in that way. And it takes a great deal of
energy. Even with the tantalum, I can only create a bubble about three feet in
diameter and change the constant a few percent. It has a very limited range too.
But I have done it enough to know it works, if not well.”

For several moments, Capie sat quietly absorbing this
information.

“But you’ve put Normals to sleep before,” she pointed out.
“How is this different from that?”

“The spell to put Normals to sleep is a simple one,
something like a hypnotic command. And Normals have no way to fight the spell
since they don’t have the ability to use magical powers.”

“If this spell is so powerful, why can’t you use these types
of spells to fight the Oni?” she asked with a thoughtful expression. “You know,
instead of fusion spells. They would be a lot less violent.”

Forming his hands into a steeple, Paul considered the right
words to use in explanation.

“The wizards and Oni of Errabêlu have many millions
of man-hours of experience at creating magical spells and defending themselves
against them. And they all have talismans too. So, any spell I might cast, they
can easily counter unless the spell strikes in a way for which they are not
prepared. And even then, due to the higher levels of energy they can use, my
spells may be ineffective. They learned very quickly how to bypass my Planck’s
constant spell. The same may well be true of the other spells I might be able
to cast that change physical constants. That’s why I haven’t spent a great deal
of time trying to develop such spells, because of the potentially limited
usability. The advantage to this particular spell is that it will probably
render an Oni unconscious almost immediately and therefore it will be hard for
the, ah, target Oni to figure out later what sort of spell I used against it. Also,
the Oni won’t have any particular defense against this spell, at least not
initially, because the spell doesn’t attack them physically, but instead alters
the fabric of space that they are standing in. That gives my spell an advantage
but not a guarantee of success. Worse, if there’s another Oni nearby that
observes the spell, then they might be able to tell a wizard about it and they
will figure out a way to block the spell, just as I surmise they did with my
Planck’s constant spell.”

“I see. I think,” Capie admitted uncertainly.

“I urge you not to delay further with the primary plan,”
Uncle Sam advised them. “Time is probably not in your favor.”

THREE

Highway 57

Plymouth, WI

June

Monday 3:00 p.m. CDT

They
kept each portal jump short, never more than five miles at a time. Partly, this
was to keep energy signatures low in order to avoid attracting the attention of
another wizard or an Oni, but it was also due to the limited energy levels that
the tantalum block could handle in the first place.

Working their way down Highway 57 and then Interstate 43, they
neared the outer suburbs of Milwaukee, Wisconsin. A small three mile hop
westward deposited them on the sidewalk in front of a car rental dealership. They
walked through the double glass doors and into the air conditioned interior. At
the long Formica counter inside, a pretty brunette salesclerk looked up from
her computer terminal.

“How can I help you?” she asked with a patented professional
smile.

With a frown, Capie turned to Paul. “Are you sure we need to
rent a car? We could portal to Dad’s house.”

Paul shook his head in a distracted manner. “Remember what
Uncle Sam said, to keep magical energies low? There’s no magic involved if we
just drive up to the house.”

“Oh. That makes sense,” Capie replied, biting her lower lip.
“This having magical powers takes some getting used to.”

“Excuse me?” asked the now perplexed sales clerk. “Did you
want to rent a vehicle?”

“Yes,” Paul responded firmly. “A large SUV, please. We will
need it for several days.”

The clerk’s fingers danced at warp speed across her
keyboard. “We have several available. We have a special this week on a GMC
Yukon XL Denali—”

There was a sudden loud chirping noise coming from Paul’s
shirt pocket. For a moment, he couldn’t place the sound.

And then he blanched a solid white as the blood drained from
his face. The burner cell phone. It had to mean…

“Paul?” asked his wife uncertainly. “Is that—?”

He jerked the smart phone out of his pocket and quickly
scanned the display. It confirmed his worst fear.

“It’s from your father,” he whispered, holding it up to one
ear. “Hello? Hello? Chris?”

Capie was literally cringing, one hand to her mouth. “Paul?”

But her husband was shaking his head as he lowered the
phone. “I’m sorry. I didn’t hear anything and then it hung up.”

“They have him,” Capie concluded, extreme anguish in her
every word.

Paul didn’t trust himself to say anything in that regard.
She could very well be right.

“Is there a problem?” asked the clerk, tilting her head to
one side and pursing her lips.

The timing was very bad. They had been so close, so very
close! Another couple of hours and they would have been at Chris’s house, ready
to remove him from any possible danger. Okay, sure, that was presuming that the
fake kidnapping plan of theirs would have worked. But now it looked like they
were a day late and a dollar short.

“We have to go try and save him, Paul!” Capie pleaded. “We
must try!”

He nodded, a sinking feeling in his stomach. He and Capie
didn’t have talismans, no, but he did have the vacuum permittivity spell to
help defend themselves. To be sure, it was a desperate idea, only to be used in
an emergency situation. Not something that he was all that confident would work,
despite what he had told Capie back at the Osthoff. Still, for Capie’s sake,
they had to try.

“I agree,” he said, swiftly putting the phone back in his
pocket. Then he looked up at the clerk. “I’m sorry, we won’t need the rental
car after all.” Then he turned and waved a hand, creating a portal to the
nearest interstate overpass. The seven foot oval shaped portal snapped into
focus just behind the stanchions and velvet covered ropes of the customer queue
line. Through the portal could be seen the massive overhead concrete girders
and support columns of I-43 at the Ulao Road overpass.

Paul tugged on Capie’s arm. “The support columns will be
faster than using the tantalum block, due to the masses involved.”

The desk clerk, frozen in place, was staring at the portal
with bulging eyes and wide open mouth.

Capie practically leapt through the portal, Paul close on
her heels.

• • • •

Even using the concrete in the interstate bridges and
pylons, it took them a half hour to arrive in the parking area of the Yerkes
Observatory, just in front of the main entrance. The sun was on its downward
trek toward the western horizon.

As soon as he stepped free of the portal, Paul crouched low,
visually sweeping the area as rapidly as possible, ready to dive to the ground
or snap out a plasma bolt at a moment’s notice. But other than himself and
Capie, there was no one else in the area.

“It’s his car!” Capie shouted, running over to a Ford Escape
and trying the driver’s door. When she discovered it was locked, she snapped
her fingers and the door sprung instantly open for her. A mere glance inside
told her all she needed to know.

“He’s not here!” she shrilled. “No sign of him!”

“Hold it! Freeze, right there! Don’t either one of you
move!” screamed a male voice.

Paul slowly turned. Coming out of the Observatory entrance
was John, the elderly Observatory guard that he had met on a previous visit,
the same guard that had taken an instant dislike to Paul. At the moment, John
was holding, in both hands, a Beretta Model 92C pistol, pointed straight at
Paul.

“So it is you!” shouted the guard in sudden
recognition. “You kidnapped the professor’s daughter! I never dreamed I get the
chance to arrest you! On the ground, you kidnapping rotten scum! Now!”

Paul sighed and snapped his fingers. John froze instantly,
his mouth half open in readiness to snap out another order. With a wave of Paul’s
hand, John levitated up off the concrete steps and floated through the air
toward them.

Capie marched over, getting directly in the security guard’s
face. “John, where is my father? Did something happen to him?”

“A moment, dear, please!” Paul calmly said, before turning
to John. “I froze him. He can’t say anything in his condition.” He waved a
hand. “In the name of scopolamine, sodium thiopental and amobarbital, may there
be an avatar representation of this man, to truthfully answer a few questions.”

A holographic ball of light materialized, swiftly expanding
into an exact visual duplicate image of John, including the handgun.

The real John’s eyes were bulging wide open, his pupils
swinging back and forth rapidly between the avatar image and Capie. It would
seem that he now recognized her.

Capie swung to the avatar. “Where is Dad?”

The avatar turned its head to look at her. In completely
emotionless tones, it said, “The ambulance left about five minutes ago. They
said that they would life-flight him to the University of Chicago Medical
Center as soon as they could meet up with the helicopter.”

“Ambulance? Why, what’s wrong with him?” Capie demanded.

“Looked like a stroke,” the avatar replied. “Two FBI special
agents came to see him, in his office. To talk about your disappearance, they
said. Five minutes after they went in, your father was clutching his left arm
and complaining about doubled vision. I called the county EMTs. I didn’t see
the FBI leave, but the ambulance took your father away five minutes ago.”

Capie gritted her teeth. “A stroke! Oh my God! Paul, we have
to see if we can catch that ambulance—”

“He’s not in the ambulance, dear,” Paul said, shaking his
head slowly.

“Then the helicopter—”

“Not there either,” he interrupted again. “Merlin?”

The ageless wizard materialized in front of them, wearing a
deeply worried expression on his face. “My, my, this is serious.”

“But—” Capie started to say, but Paul held up his hand.

John looked like he was on the edge of fainting.

“Merlin, can you scan the area?” Paul asked him in a steady
low-pitched voice. “How much magic has been used here?”

Merlin closed his eyes and held out one arm swinging it
slowly around in a circle. “Your portal to get here, yes. But two much more
powerful portals, both of them here in the parking lot, both from really long
distances. The energy levels suggest the second portal…yes, the second portal was
used for three people.”

Capie gasped and took a half step back, looking at Paul with
widened eyes. “The FBI agents? They took him? But…how did you know?”

“In Engineering, they told us that there are no such things
as coincidences,” Paul announced, his jaw clenched. “The FBI arrives and your
father just happens to have a stroke in the same five minutes?” He swung back
to Merlin. “Can you track the portals?”

Merlin sadly shook his head. “They’ve disguised them fairly
well. I can tell you that they go a long way toward the east southeast. Maybe
six or seven hundred miles. That’s the best I can do.”

Paul nodded thoughtfully. “The Washington D.C. area. Humph.
I’ve wondered now several times why, when they had their hands on me last week,
they didn’t portal me directly to Washington, instead of trying to fly me there
in a jet. I’ll probably never know the answer to that one, but I’m super glad
they did not take me by way of portal.”

“I don’t understand,” Capie said, frowning, shaking her head
and running her hands through her hair. “The ambulance, the stroke…you’re
saying that they faked that? But why? That makes no sense!”

“Merlin, could we talk to Uncle Sam?” Paul asked, eyes
narrowed in thought.

Merlin morphed into the tall strategist with the large top
hat.

John fainted dead away, his head sagging forward while his
body remained locked in an upright position by Paul’s spell.

The distinguished gray countenance glanced over at the
security guard and the avatar but said nothing.

“Uncle Sam, can you answer Capie’s question?” Paul
requested, as he rubbed the back of his neck with one hand.

“Certainly,” the master strategist answered. “It is all part
of the plan to entrap you, of course.”

“I still don’t understand,” Capie barked, throwing up her
hands. “Please, explain!”

Uncle Sam nodded. “They want Paul, yes. But if they took
your father captive, it would do them no good unless it helped them to
set a trap for your husband. So, they fake your father’s stroke. No doubt, they
will ensure that the news of his condition is broadcast in some manner, to make
sure you know of it. You find out about it and try to go see him at the
hospital—this University of Chicago Medical Center. They will undoubtedly have
Oni and perhaps even a wizard or two there ready to ambush you.”

“Oh,” was Capie’s only reply as she wrung her hands and
paced back and forth.

“It’s probably a little too late for them to broadcast it on
the five o’clock news but it will likely be on the eleven o’clock version and
in the local morning newspapers tomorrow,” Paul said with a scowl. “They’ll
embellish it too, to make his condition sound really serious, perhaps even life-threatening.
And he won’t even be sick or in the hospital but somewhere in the Washington
D.C. area instead.”

“You will have to go to the hospital,” Uncle Sam stated.
“And you will have to take at least one of the Oni captive.”

Paul looked dumfounded. “Why? Oh, I think I see. We don’t
know where Chris is being held captive, but the Oni at the hospital probably do
know.”

“Exactly.”

But Paul was shaking his head rapidly. “It won’t work. We
don’t have talismans to fight them with. What’s worse, even if we got lucky and
took an Oni captive, I have no way to get the information out of it. My avatar
spells only work on Normals, not on Oni or other wizards. Otherwise, Ruggiero
would have used one on me back in France.”

“Then you must use either deception or force the information
out of the creature,” said Uncle Sam resolutely.

“What, a Vulcan mind meld?” muttered Paul with a disgusted
look. Then he glanced at the expression on Capie’s face. So sorrowful, so needy
and at the same time, pleading for him to do something!

“‘Great. I love this plan! I’m excited it could work! Let’s
DO IT!’” he grumbled, quoting Dr. Peter Venkman of Ghostbusters.

Using a magic spell, Paul lowered the unconscious form of
John to the asphalt and then dissolved the avatar spell. Uncle Sam, too,
disappeared.

Reaching over to touch the concrete steps of the portico in
front of the Observatory, Paul created a portal leading to the W Elm Street
Bridge over the Fox River in McHenry, Illinois. This was essentially in a southeastern
direction from the Observatory leading toward the greater Chicago metropolitan
area.

“How are we going to rescue Dad?” pleaded Capie, nervously rubbing
her hands together. When they stepped through the portal, the rush of traffic
over the bridge assaulted their ears, and the putrid smell of the trash and
damp ground wrinkled their noses. With a touch of the concrete column in front
of him, Paul opened up yet another portal, this one taking them to the corner
of Mill and Main streets in Wauconda, Illinois. On one corner was the Bulldog’s
Restaurant.

“Why are we here?” Capie asked him with a stony expression
on her face.

“You are absolutely correct. We need a plan, dear,” Paul
said as he held open the door. “We can’t just go charging off to the University
of Chicago hospital. It’ll get us both killed. And your father too. In fact, we
really shouldn’t have gone charging off to Yerkes Observatory like we did. If
we’d gotten there five minutes earlier, we’d likely be dead right now.”

Capie hung her head, absorbing this information. “I’m sorry,
but my father means a lot to me. If you don’t want to help—”

“We need a plan, dear. And while we are planning, let’s grab
a quick bite to eat—”

“I’m not hungry,” she declared stubbornly. “And this will
take too long.”

“Not in this place,” Paul said. “Come, I need your
imagination and your brainpower. I want to save your father and we need a good
plan to do that.”

She reluctantly nodded and walked in.

They took a small table in the back corner of the place. A
young, fairly pretty girl took their order. Well, Paul’s order. Capie only
wanted a glass of ice water.

“Uncle Sam?” Paul asked, as the waitress left. The tall
tactician materialized in the seat next to him and gave a brief nod.

“Capie, we will need Tia too, please.”

“Fine.” With a sullen wave of Capie’s hand, the Queen of the
Fairies appeared, in the seat across from Uncle Sam.

“Now,” Paul said, leaning forward, forming a steeple with
his hands. “We need a plan of attack.”

• • • •

“It might just work,” admitted Juan Mendoza as he leaned
back in his chair, rubbing the stubble on his chin while he studied the Bernard
A. Mitchell Hospital floor plans in the holographic display in front of him.
“If you can find the smoke bombs.”

“And the airsoft guns, man,” added Neal, seated next to him.

“Most sporting goods stores have some decent guns,” Matt
Hutchens said with an affirmative nod. “And you can get smoke bombs in
fireworks stores over in Indiana.”

Juan was now shaking his head slightly. “Even with the guns,
amigo, you gotta keep your distance. Your amulets against their talismans…you gotta
do the mongoose dance.”

“That means duck and avoid,” Neal explained.

The impromptu planning session had grown, now including the
waitress Chloe, the cook Neal and two hastily called friends, Juan and Matt. The
latter two were airsoft enthusiasts, considered to be something of local
experts on tactics and equipment. Another pretty girl, Kyra, Matt’s girlfriend,
had tagged along. All of them looked like kids to Paul, either high school
students or college freshmen.

Paul grinned. It had started innocently enough, when Chloe had
brought back his burger, fries and drinks, then asking if Tia or Uncle Sam had
wanted anything. Capie had responded with a curt sarcastic retort that both
were magical holograms and not real people and therefore didn’t need to either
eat or drink.

The situation had snowballed from there, practically
developing a life of its own. They might have looked like kids but all of these
young adults had sharp minds and had quickly accepted the reality of magical
powers and, more important, the dire situation that Capie’s father was in. More
than that, they interacted with Tia and Uncle Sam on a near instinctual level,
adding valuable suggestive and creative ideas. Paul was highly impressed and
wondered if maybe they wouldn’t make better wizards than he himself. It was
something to contemplate in the future.

“You should have the element of surprise,” Matt said. “The
professor’s stroke hasn’t been in the news yet so they don’t know that you
know.”

“And,” Kyra said, smiling and looking at Capie, “they don’t
know that you are a wizard too.”

“They don’t even know that she isn’t in a wheelchair
anymore,” Neal pointed out.

Paul checked his watch again. Although the interchange had
been extremely productive, it had also consumed more than an hour and a half of
their time. If their plan had any chance of success, they needed to get moving.

“I can’t tell you how much this has helped,” Paul confided
with a grin. “Many thanks to all your suggestions. And this plan.”

Even Tia smiled. “Yes, you’ve given us some excellent ideas.
They will be of tremendous help.”

Kyra giggled and the others beamed proudly. “We wish we
could go with you.”

Capie smiled and shook her head sadly. “You have a different
path to follow. Paul, we need to go. We have a lot of shopping to do and not
much time.”

Paul took out his wallet and counted out several hundred
dollar bills.

“Hey, dude, the cash ain’t necessary,” said Juan, with a
scowl. “This was sweet. Too bad we can’t tell anyone, cause they wouldn’t
believe us, but I’ve had the time of my life here.”

Matt nodded in total agreement. “We hope you succeed.”

“Yes,” Chloe concurred. “Stop the wars. Bring us world
peace, please, before it’s too late.”

“We’ll do the best we can,” Paul agreed, shoving the money
their way. “This is easy for me to replace. Please, take it.” With a wave of
his hand, Uncle Sam faded out of sight. Capie did the same with Tia.

With another wave, a portal opened up a few feet from the
food counter. All of the locals grinned at each other like kids on Christmas
morning.

“Oh, and the burger was excellent,” Paul added with a small
smile. “Thanks!”

• • • •

It took several more portal hops to the south-southeast in
the growing summer darkness before they reached an electrical test equipment
supply store in Downers Grove, Illinois, which was on the verge of closing for
the day. In less than five minutes, Paul and Capie were the owners of two Fluke
VT04A Visual Thermometers.

From the alley next to the store, they portaled to a Best
Buy in the town of Lombard, Illinois. There they purchased a pair of Motorola
MR355R radio transceivers and headsets. That particular model came with iVOX
capability and would let them communicate in “hands-free” mode.

Only two blocks away, they dropped in on a large sporting
goods center. In that store, they quickly selected and purchased a fairly
lengthy list of airsoft supplies and two canvas backpacks.

In an empty aisle, they portaled out of the sports store and
made their way to a safety supply center also conveniently located in Lombard. Although
it made a nice little dent in their available financing, they purchased two
bright blue Level A hazmat suits and two gas masks.

More portals took them eastward, following bridges and
overpasses on Interstates 395 and 80 to the Indiana state line. They no longer
tried to keep their portal hops short or low-powered. Paul’s logic said that
all the Oni and any possible wizards in the area would now be gathered at the hospital
in southern Chicago, preparing their ambush for himself and Capie there. In the
interest of time, therefore, Paul felt the risk of speed was justified.

In Hammond, Indiana, they quickly visited four fireworks
stores, buying up all the smoke bombs they could lay their hands on. Fireworks
were pretty much illegal in Illinois, but Indiana state laws were far more lenient.
It didn’t hurt that all the stores had been stocking up in preparation for the
approaching July 4th holiday.

Another shorter portal leap took them to Calumet Park, right
on the bank of Lake Michigan. There, Paul took out several items from the
shopping bags they had picked up at the sporting goods store and laid them out
on an invisible magical table underneath a nearby street light. There were four
airsoft guns: two A&K Masada, MAGPUL ACR airsoft rifles and two KWA Heckler
& Koch HK45 GBB pistols inside four overly large cardboard boxes. In
addition, the four smaller shopping bags held an assortment of accessories and
airsoft BBs.

“The salesman said the Masada has a range of over 150 feet,”
Paul babbled rapidly as his hands flew across the equipment. “But I can
probably increase that some, with a magical spell to boost the barrel
pressure—”

“That’s nice dear,” Capie intoned, with a glance heavenward
for moral support.

“And it has a collapsible stock, sling, and extra magazines!
It can fire 15 rounds a second!” Paul prattled away eagerly. “And it has an
Eotech holographic sight! How cool is all that?”

“Dear, four guns! You’re armed for a small war!”

“One of these rifles and a pistol is for you—”

“And I told you in the store that I don’t know how to shoot
a gun!” she declared grimly, as she turned her head away from him.

Paul picked up a pistol. “Just pretend it’s a phaser. Flip
the safety switch here and then aim and squeeze the trigger,” Paul said,
pointing out the hardware involved. “It doesn’t have very much recoil nor does
it make very much noise.”

“Is this really necessary to save Dad?”

“Yes, it is,” Paul replied candidly.

His wife sighed. “Fine. Can I try it here?”

“By all means,” Paul replied, handing the gun over.

Capie took it firmly in both hands, flipped the switch off
and pointed it at a nearby garbage can. Squinting her eyes and turning her head
sideways, the gun shaking in her hand, she pulled the trigger. There was a soft
phuft and a clicking noise and the airsoft BB missed the garbage can by more
than two feet.

She looked a little embarrassed. “I was expecting more noise
than that.”

“Try again.”

She aimed again and, much more confidently this time, pulled
the trigger. The BB hit dead center of the can. With a smile, she quickly fired
five more times.

“That’s fun, actually!” she declared.

“So, help me load the ammunition now,” Paul said adroitly.
“We need to scoop out the center of each BB and replace it with a drop of
deuterium enriched water. At that point, this airsoft gun combined with our
magic spells to create fusion inside the BBs, will be the equivalent of a
grenade launcher, sort of like the M79 but this will be self-loading. The
pistols will be semi-automatic and the rifles will be fully automatic.”

Capie eyed the bag of airsoft BBs prudently. “And you can
control the size of each fusion explosion, right?”

“Yep. Anything from a firecracker up to a stick of dynamite.
And that’s per BB,” her husband replied with a smirk. “After we load the BBs, I
want to teach you how to trigger fusion on a BB you’ve fired.”

“Do we really have time for that?” Capie asked, a very sour
look on her face. “I only made a B in physics in high school. By the way, I
didn’t know I was marrying a gung-ho troglodyte.”

Wisely, Paul left her last comment alone. “If Jaret could
catch on to isotopes, you can learn this, I promise. And I can create visual
aids to help too, don’t forget. We will need some water from Lake Michigan,
filtering it for deuterium atoms. So, let’s get started…”

FOUR

South Cottage Grove Ave.

Chicago, IL

June

Monday 8:45 p.m. CDT

Just
a few miles south of downtown Chicago, there stood a non-descript, red brick,
two-story building not far from the University of Chicago. Inside the brightly
lit interior of a gray painted hallway, an oval shaped portal materialized, and
Paul and Capie stepped through. Both of them were wearing their blue Level A hazmat
suits with their gasmasks on top of their heads and the hoods folded back, but
with the gloves stored in a pouch hanging on one hip.

“Gosh, this suit is hot!” Capie complained. “And this
backpack with all the smoke bombs in it is really heavy!” She glanced around
nervously. “I don’t see anyone. Are you sure that there are people here?”

“Just a small maintenance crew,” Paul replied, as he tried
the doorknob on a hallway door. “According to the internet, the switching gear we
need access to is inside this room.” He opened the door and nodded for her to
follow him.

Inside, there were banks of 19 inch electrical racks, all filled
with assorted equipment and wiring. Stepping over to one such panel, Paul
quickly began punching buttons and throwing switches. Then he grabbed a small
corded headset with a boom mike that was hanging from a nearby hook and put it
on.

With a small cough, his voice changed, going much higher in
pitch.

“Chicago Fire Department, this is the 911 call center. We
have an emergency condition at the Bernard A. Mitchell Hospital at the
University of Chicago Medical Center. Repeat, an emergency situation has
developed. Possible hazardous chemical spill and it sounds very serious. We
recommend a four alarm fire response. Repeat, a four alarm fire response,
possible hazardous chemicals involved, the Bernard A. Mitchell Hospital.”

Capie smiled and shook her head. “You got a kick out of doing
that, didn’t you?”

Paul shrugged, “Remember, that was Chloe’s suggestion, to
clear out the hospital and get the patients out of harm’s way.” Paul pushed
another series of buttons. “Chicago Police Dispatch, this is the 911 call
center. We have an emergency situation at the Bernard A. Mitchell Hospital at
the University of Chicago Medical Center. Possible terrorist attack in
progress. Shots fired. At least one officer down. SWAT team response
recommended. Repeat, possible terrorist attack in progress. Shots fired. One
officer down, possibly others. Bernard A. Mitchell Hospital.”

With more flips of the switches, Paul took the headset off.

“There. I’ve disabled the switchboard links to the 911
center. It’ll take the phone people a few minutes, at least, to find and fix
the problem. In the meantime, all sorts of emergency vehicles will soon be
converging on the hospital.”

“Shouldn’t we put on our radios now?” his wife asked.

“Yes, let’s.” With a spell, they each activated the units
attached to their waists under the suits and slipped on the headsets underneath
the gas masks.

“Communications check,” Capie said, her voice automatically
activating the iVOX channel. Her voice came through loud and clear in Paul’s
earpiece.

“You are five by five,” he said with a grim smile. “Now,
remember the plan. If you see an Oni, avoid it at all cost! I have the tantalum
block, which is stronger than your gold band. And I have more magical
experience. I will go after the Oni we need. Your job is to help
clear the Normals out of the building. Capisci?”

Capie sighed and looked downward. “Capisco. But please be
careful and don’t take any unnecessary chances, okay? I want you back in one
piece. Alright?

Paul grinned. “I promise. But it’s time to go now. I want to
catch a ride on the back of Engine 47 as it goes past.”

A portal took them outside to the street. In the distance,
they could already hear the sound of a siren growing louder.

As Engine 47 rounded their corner, Paul and Capie levitated
into the air and chased after the vehicle, grabbing the stainless steel rails
on the rear and pulling themselves in close. Despite herself, Capie appeared to
be enjoying the bumpy ride as the huge red vehicle hurtled down the center of
the four lane road.

Holding tight with one hand, Paul slipped the gas mask fully
over his face with the other.

Theirs was the second fire engine to arrive on scene at the
Bernard A. Mitchell Hospital, less than a minute behind Engine 84. As Engine 47
slowed to maneuver through the parked cars on the street, both Paul and Capie
jumped off and started running for the building’s front glass doors. Paul tugged
the gloves from his hip pouch, putting them on as well, then pulled the hood
over his head, fastening it in place with a small spell. He saw Capie doing the
same thing and nodded at her.

As he marched through both the outer and inner glass doors, Paul
also activated the link to the speaker mounted on the chest plate of his hazmat
suit. This would allow him to communicate through the gas mask and hood.

Behind him, in the street, two police squad cars screeched
to a halt, their sirens winding down.

Capie and he were barely through the doors when a fireman
stepped in front of them.

“Sir, I’m sorry, but the two of you can’t come through
here—”

In Paul’s ears, the man’s voice sounded tinny, like the
speaker at a drive through fast food joint.

From her hip pocket, Capie took out her Fluke Visual Thermometer,
held it forth and swung it from side to side.

“Trace amounts of toxins!” she barked through the speaker on
the front of her suit. “No pathogens, but definite traces of nerve agents!”

In one gloved hand, Paul held out a badge, one that he had
magically fabricated back in the Bulldog’s Restaurant from a plastic and waxed-paper
soft drink container.

“Homeland Security!” he snarled, “Bio-warfare Division!
Where’s your captain!?”

The lobby of the hospital was in a complete uproar. There
were patients and visitors scattered along the walls, looking around in
complete bewilderment. Several firemen were in the center of the room wearing
SCBA gear and carrying axes. There was an ongoing scream session at the front
counter with two nurses doing their best to tell two firemen that there were no
alarms and no reports of chemical or hazardous spills in the building.

The Bernard A. Mitchell hospital had been built in the early
1980’s and as such, predated AutoCAD generated drawings. However, there had
been building upgrades over the years and, using his magical powers, Paul had
found digital files on the internet showing the building’s ventilation system.
Mentally concentrating and uttering a spell, he snapped forth a series of small
portals, scattering triggered smoke bombs inside of the main ventilation shafts
on both the first and second floors on the near end of the hospital. It shouldn’t
take long…

“What’s going on here?” screamed a new voice as three police
officers pushed their way through the front doors.

Paul held out his badge again. “Homeland Security! Bio-warfare
Division! I need everyone out of this building!”

The black police officer stared at him. “Hazmat suits? You
can’t be serious—!”

More firemen were pushing in behind the police. “Who’s in
charge here?” shouted one of them.

It was at that moment that billows of green smoke
practically exploded out of the ventilation system grills.

“Toxic levels!” Capie howled. “Lethal toxic levels!”

Pure panic rampaged through the room as everyone
simultaneously bolted for the exit.

Paul ramped up the volume on the speaker on his chest.
“Evacuate this building! Now! NOW! NOW! And if you see any red gas, RUN
FOR YOUR LIVES!”

• • • •

Paul and Capie separated, stomping through the first and
second floors, flashing badges, screaming orders for people to get out and then
planting and triggering more smoke bombs.

All throughout the building, hospital personnel were
frantically evacuating patients in wheelchairs, gurneys and hospital
beds—anything that would roll. More and more firemen and police were showing
up, lending assistance, and helping patients out of their rooms and the
building.

Capie moved up to the third floor while Paul tackled the
fourth. From the hospital records that they had tapped into at the restaurant,
they knew that Chris was ‘supposedly’ in Room 508 and it was logical to presume
that the Oni had set their trap on that floor at that location.

“No sign of any Oni on this floor either,” he told Capie
over his headset as he marched down a fourth floor hallway.

“I feel bad that we are scaring all these people to death,”
Capie said back over her headset. “Nothing on the third floor as well.”

“I’m moving to the sixth floor,” Paul replied. “If we don’t
do this, your father’s life is in extreme risk. And remember, all we need is
one Oni.”

The elevators and even stairwells were all busy, so Paul
cast a spell at one elevator door, forcing the doors to open on the empty
shaft. He peered in and looked down and saw the top of the elevator car heading
downward. With a levitation spell, he floated into the shaft and up to the
sixth floor and magically forced the doors open there.

He saw several nurses and orderlies milling about
uncertainly, so he popped out a few more smoke bombs into ventilator shafts and
one into the nurse’s station.

Paul walked out into the middle of the group of Normals and,
holding forth his visual thermometer, he started screaming, “Homeland Security,
Bio-Warfare Division! This hospital is heavily contaminated and must be
evacuated now, Now, NOW!”

Clouds of red smoke burst into the hallway, as screams
echoed forth.

“And if you see any green gas, RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!”

• • • •

A couple of minutes after her last conversation with her
husband, Capie thought about leaving the third floor and heading up to the
fifth. She had worked the third floor pretty hard and it was already well on
its way to being evacuated. But no, she couldn’t do that. Paul wouldn’t like
it.

However, since she was done with the third floor, her
masquerade as a Homeland Security Agent was no longer needed. With little
effort, she found an empty office and went in, closing the door behind her. She
started to ‘doff’ the hazmat suit but found it difficult to remove the thing
single-handed. She found it easier to get it off by using magic spells, ripping
the material off in large pieces. With one hand, she pulled loose the gasmask, and
then yanked forth the airsoft rifle, pistol and her spare magazines from out of
the folds of the blue suit. Then she shucked off the backpack now nearly empty
of smoke bombs.

Out in an open corridor, she slung the rifle over one
shoulder and headed out.

When she went around a corner in the corridor, she saw her
very first Oni, about fifty feet away, dressed in the uniform of a hospital
security guard. And it was heading her way.

For a second, she froze, not knowing what to do.

The Oni was extremely ugly, far more so than the images that
Paul had shown her. Ghastly! Ugh! She had no desire to meet anything like that
on a dark street in the middle of the night!

Still, their plan depended on separating one Oni from the
others, in order to take it captive. And, as best she could tell, here was one
already all by itself.

Maybe get it to follow her? Then she could contact Paul and
they could arrange a place to ambush it?

She ducked back around the corridor corner and out of its
sight. She wasn’t sure why she was hiding. There were still a few Normals
running up and down the corridor and the Oni wasn’t paying any attention to any
of them. And with her different clothing, her new hairstyle and minus the
wheelchair, her looks were altered enough that she shouldn’t be recognizable as
Chris Kingsley’s daughter any more. Of course, the airsoft rifle she had in hand
and the pistol in the shoulder holster marked her as different from the other
Normals here and that might get her noticed.

So she pulled back and hot-footed it into the small office
again, swinging the door most of the way closed, leaving it cracked only partway
open.

The Oni rounded the corner, marching along at a good clip.
Up this close, through the crack, she got an even better look at how hideous it
was and she decided that she really didn’t want one of these beasts chasing
her.

And then the Oni stopped in mid-stride, staring at her door.

She had been seen! Her heart skipped two beats, then it
kicked into overdrive.

The Oni was giving her and the door a suspicious stare.

“What’s going on, lady?” it hollered. “Why are you hiding?”

That was when Capie saw the fire-extinguisher tucked inside
a glass-door cabinet mounted in the wall behind the beast.

She closed her eyes and concentrated. “In the name of Miss
Scarlet, Professor Plum and Mrs. Peacock, may my wizardly spell do it to the
Oni in the hall with the fire extinguisher!”

She opened her eyes in time to see the glass-door spring
open and the fire extinguisher leap out of the cabinet, the pin shooting out of
the handle, the short hose whipping around to aim, and the sudden spewing discharge
of white vaporous gas fired directly at the head of the Oni monster. Out of the
corner of one eye, she noted that the Normals in the hallway were scattering,
clearing the area as fast as they could.

With an angry roar, the Oni spun around, trying to swat the
flying fire extinguisher out of the air. But the red canister danced out of
range, adjusting its aim to continue the attack.

Capie snapped the door open and swung up the rifle. However,
it wouldn’t fire! Mumbling angry words at herself, she flipped the safety off
and squeezed the trigger again, hard.

The first several BBs did nothing, simply sailing past the
Oni which was too busy fighting the fire extinguisher to notice. Belatedly,
Capie realized that she wasn’t using the fusion spell at all, so the BBs flying
past the beast were being wasted.

The Oni cast a spell, using a blast of plasma to knock the
fire extinguisher up against the wall, smashing and destroying it. As the
monster flipped back around towards Capie, she finally managed to engage the
fusion spell on two BBs.

An explosion the equivalent of two sticks of dynamite ripped
up and down the corridor, the shockwave punching the walls and floor near the
Oni hard, cracking sheetrock and tile alike. The blast hurled the beast upward
and backward against the far wall.

Capie was thrown backwards into the middle of the office,
but she fortuitously missed all of the furniture, the carpeting saving her from
any serious injury.

Dazed, she managed to get slowly to her feet. Everything
seemed to hurt, and the ringing in her ears was so incredibly loud!

She cast a spell on herself and immediately began to feel
better. And too, she could hear again. She looked out into the hallway for the
Oni.

It was sprawled on the floor, not moving.

For another moment, she hesitated. What to do next?

Oh, yeah, Paul had said—back in the planning meeting at the
restaurant—that he hoped he could capture an Oni’s talisman along with an Oni.

The corridor was full of drifting dust from the explosion
and even some residue from the blue smoke bombs she had used on this floor.
Holding her breath and gritting her teeth, she made herself cross over to the
hideous monster and grip the circular talisman on its belt. With a sharp tug,
she jerked it free. She knew she couldn’t use it without breaking the
protective spell cast on it or unless she could get it far enough away from its
owner that the protective spell would no longer work.

As valuable as the talisman was, however, capturing an Oni
was the priority and she had one.

She looked up to see a half dozen Normals, nurses and
orderlies mostly, standing a few yards away, staring silently at her, their
expressions denouncing her, accusing her of a horrendous criminal act.

Suddenly feeling guilty and unsure of herself, she clasped
the talisman hard and fled, the Oni seemingly not so important anymore.

• • • •

As Paul rounded a purple smoke-filled corner on the sixth
floor, he nearly ran full tilt into an Oni.

Outfitted in a security guard’s uniform, the Oni growled at
him.

“You dressed up for Halloween?” it snarled at him. “What’s
going on here?”

Paul’s heart threatened to climb up into his throat as he
flashed his badge again. “Homeland Security. It’s a terrorist attack. The
hospital is being evacuated.”

The Oni scowled. “Don’t sound right. McDougall would have
said something if it were a terrorist attack. What’s your name? Take that stuff
off!”

Paul snapped off a glove and held forth his hand, concentrating
hard on his vacuum permittivity spell.

In front of him, in a bubble of space three feet in diameter
and centered on the Oni’s head, he lowered the value of vacuum permittivity as
low as he could force it. By his estimate, it went down roughly ten percent.

The Oni’s eyes bulged wide, its mouth dropped open and its
arms jerked up against its body. Then, it buckled its knees, falling to the
floor, its eyes rolling up into its head. It twitched for a moment, then
stopped. When Paul released the spell, the Oni fitfully started to breathe
again but remained unconscious.

For a moment, Paul stood there frozen in surprise. It had
actually worked! He had actually stunned an Oni with his vacuum permittivity
spell!

Two orderlies and a police officer stumbled past, each
helping to carry or support a hospital patient on their way to the elevator.

“I’ll be back to help you!” shouted the officer.

Paul waved him on. Grabbing the Oni’s arms, he dragged the
heavy limp form into a patient’s room. With a glance around, Paul confirmed
that it was unoccupied.

Without warning, the whole hospital shook, the windows
rattling as a loud boom reverberated through the building.

“Capie!” he said breathlessly. “What was that?!”

He took hold on the creature’s talisman on its belt and
pulled it loose. He now had the creature’s talisman, which was much more
powerful than his tantalum block.

“Capie? Can you hear me?” he asked again, suddenly very
concerned that she had not responded.

“Capie!?” he cried loudly a third time.

Paul started tearing off his hazmat suit, using his magic
freely to shred it into small pieces, freeing both himself and the airsoft
weapons underneath.

“Capie?” he cried yet again.

“Yes, Paul, I am here,” she responded in his headset.

“Oh, thank God! Did you feel the building shake?”

“Yes, but don’t worry. That was just me.”

“Are you okay?” he asked, suddenly worried again for her
safety.

“I’m fine. But the Oni I ran into isn’t.”

He froze for a moment. “You ran into an Oni?”

“I did. I have his talisman too.”

Paul chuckled in sudden release. “Way to go girl! Do you
have him tucked away somewhere? Can we sneak him out of the building?”

“No,” she answered sharply. “Too many Normals saw me do it.”

“Okay. It just so happens I have an Oni too, on the 6th
floor. I’ll take him out through one of the roof access points and fly him to
the west, to Washington Park, to Bynum Island. We can portal out from there.
Can you go back to the second floor, maybe take the north exit?”

“Yes, I think I can,” she replied, and despite the
limitations of the radio link, he could hear the relief in her voice that her
part was nearly over. “I’ll meet you in the park.”

With access to his tantalum block (it had been stuffed
inside his shirt in his waist band), Paul used it to frantically scratch the
surface of the Oni’s talisman. That act broke the protective spell on the
talisman, allowing Paul to use it now for his own purposes.

Using a levitation spell, he floated the body of the Oni
into the air and hefted it across his shoulders. Then he peeked out into the
corridor, in both directions. There was still a lot of purple smoke in the air
but it seemed to be clear of movement. Apparently, the Normals had now pretty
much evacuated this wing of the hospital.

He moved out, heading for the nearest stairwell. From there,
he could go up to the roof.

Behind him there was a sudden cry. He spun awkwardly around.
Down the corridor, through the smoke, he saw another Oni. This one too was
dressed as a security guard.

It raised a hand and screamed, “Stop!”

Paul turned, dumping the Oni he was carrying to the floor
and ran, ducking down another corridor as a plasma burst struck the wall near
him.

• • • •

Feeling a great deal better about their chances for success,
Capie headed towards the nearest stairwell. All she had to do now was to sneak
down to the second floor and then over to the north walkway leading over to the
Medicine Corner Children’s Hospital. That would put her far enough away from
the Bernard A. Mitchell Hospital to allow her to use a magical spell to fly off
to Washington Park without fear of discovery.

She took it slow and carefully, checking the path in front
of her as she went. At the stairwell, she noted that there were still a few
stragglers from the upper floors making their way to the first floor. She
grinned as she joined in, tromping down the stairs, each step taking her that
much closer to escape and safety. Soon, they would have an Oni to question and
to pry from him where Dad was being held captive.

As she neared the landing on the second floor, there was an
Oni waiting.

Oh, no! Her heart beat faster and the feeling of
satisfaction she had been experiencing was instantly replaced by trepidation.

The Oni was visually scanning the Normals as they went past.
She didn’t know what it was looking for. Perhaps for another Oni or maybe for
her or Paul. But she still had the airsoft rifle, tucked up tightly against her
side, the pistol in the shoulder holster and in her right hand she held the talisman
she had taken. Sure, if there were a place to dump them, she could probably have
walked past the Oni, head held high, and it wouldn’t have known any better. But
here in the stairwell, there was no such place.

Edging out of the flow of Normals, she spun around to climb
the stairs, her movements slow and deliberate, in contrast to the beating of
her heart.

However, there just weren’t enough people to hide her
movements. The Oni spotted her immediately. And it saw the airsoft rifle.

“Hey there! Stop!” it shouted, advancing toward her.

With a spell, she levitated upward, bypassing the handrails
and corkscrewing up the stairwell, just as fast as she could go.

There were cries of alarm from the Normals as they ducked
away from her.

As she rapidly negotiated another tight turn, a bolt of
plasma streaked past, singeing the right side of her face. It impacted on a
concrete wall, eliciting screams of panic and near hysteria from the Normals.
Suddenly, everyone on the stairwell was stampeding for the exits.

Capie couldn’t let it continue. She dove through the top of
the doorframe at the fourth floor, dodging quickly to the left, narrowly
averting being hit by another plasma bolt.

She ducked and weaved in flight, heading toward the connecting
corridor with the south wing of the hospital. What neither she nor the pursuing
Oni noticed was a fire extinguisher tearing itself out of its glass door cubbyhole
and flying out after them.

“Paul!” she screamed into the headset. “Paul, I need
your help!”

FIVE

Bernard A. Mitchell Hospital

5841 S Maryland Ave.

Chicago, IL

June

Monday 9:21 p.m. CDT

Using
his elevator door trick, Paul ducked down to the fifth floor and through the
maze of labs there. He wasn’t sure, but thought that the Oni was still in
pursuit.

And then he heard his wife’s cry for help.

“Paul!” her voice screamed. “Paul, I need your help!”

“I’m being chased by an Oni!” he cried. “I’ll be there as
soon as I can. Where are you?”

“Fourth floor, south west wing!” she screamed. “Hurry!”

The whole plan, so close to success, was unraveling on them.
Capie was in trouble and needed his help but he had to deal with the Oni on his
tail first. Muscles trembling in near panic, Paul ducked into an office and
behind a desk. He forced himself to be still, to lie in wait.

It didn’t take long. He could hear noises in the corridor
and some muttered obscenities from the Oni. There was a loud bang, apparently
from a door being smashed open. It was searching for him.

And it would find him here, there was no doubt.

Paul hefted the talisman in his hand. It was equal to what
the Oni in the corridor was carrying. And he had the vacuum permittivity spell
he could use.

Still, the Oni was faster and on guard.

If only Paul had X-ray vision, then he could see the Oni
through the wall and hit him through it.

An idea came to him. Ah, maybe there was a way! An article
he had read in Wikipedia a few weeks ago.

“In the name of Wilhelm Röntgen, Superman, and Geordi La
Forge, may a display appear in front of me showing the Wi-Fi reflections in the
corridor on the other side of this wall.”

Like most public buildings these days, Paul knew that the
hospital had Wi-Fi capability and, from Wikipedia, that the IEEE 802.11ac
standard operated at 5 GHz. That put it above most radar operating
frequencies.

The display appeared, showing a purplish background hue,
quite a bit brighter off to the right. There was obviously a Wi-Fi repeater
somewhere off in that general direction.

There was also a clear outline of the major features of the
corridor: the doorways, the beams in the walls, the plumbing, and wiring and
girders.

And one Oni striding toward an open doorway across the
corridor. It dashed in, searching the office on that side of the corridor then
emerging again.

Paul turned, aiming his rifle at the right spot on the wall
over the top of the desk.

And fired a five round burst.

The first two BBs blew a huge hole through the wall, the shockwave
pulverizing the sheet rock and hurling debris both back at Paul and into the
corridor on the other side. The detonation from the other three BBs destroyed
not only a greater portion of the wall, but took out parts of the corridor’s concrete
floor and ceiling, creating huge clouds of smoke and flying detritus.

The shockwave was appalling, smashing the desk against Paul,
pressing him against the wall behind him. And the noise!

As the blast subsided and the dust started to clear, Paul pushed
the desk away using a spell. Another one helped to clear the air even faster and
let him survey the results of his attack.

The devastation was fantastic, with huge holes now in the
walls, floor, and ceiling, the edges cut to ribbons like tissue paper in a
shredder. The Oni had been thrust through the opposite wall of the corridor,
and now lay in a heap inside the office it had just searched. Moreover, it
wasn’t moving.

Rising into the air on a magic spell, Paul flew out into the
corridor, fully intent on going to Capie’s aid.

• • • •

Capie was in full flight, heading outward along the deserted
southwest wing, dodging the occasional plasma blast. Twice, she aimed the rifle
back over her shoulder and successfully fired, the blast from the BBs blowing
holes in walls, destroying light fixtures and a water cooler. It also slowed
the Oni chasing her but not stopping it.

Up ahead, she was running out of corridor.

Aiming the rifle forward, she fired a short burst.

The explosions tore at the wall. But this was an outside
wall and it was rebar reinforced concrete, several inches thick, and while the
blasts damaged it, there were no large holes created. Certainly nothing large
enough for her to fly through.

The back blast was enough to smack her out of the air and up
against a wall. Dazed, it took a few seconds for her to recover her wits and
look around.

The Oni was standing several feet away, looking at her and
making a strange strangling noise.

It was laughing at her.

Her rifle was nearby and she seized it, aiming it at the
monster and firing.

But the BBs hit an invisible wall less than halfway to the creature.
She kept firing until the gun was empty, the cylinder clicking but nothing
coming out.

The Oni laughed again.

And then, suddenly, it was engulfed in a dozen streams of
white spray from as many fire extinguishers cavorting in midair around the Oni.
It roared in anger, turning to fire bolts of plasma, knocking the offending
devices from the air.

But Capie reached out, levitating a handful of fallen BBs
from the floor and hurled them past the Oni, around the sides of its invisible
barrier and closer to their target.

She triggered them.

This explosion was much larger than before, as eight BBs,
each the equal of a stick of dynamite, exploded. The shockwave completely took
out the walls on both sides of the corridor and the windows in all the adjacent
rooms. The floor under the center of the blast shattered, the concrete falling
to the level below. Ceiling tile for fifty feet down the corridor was ripped
clean off and hurled all the way to the far end of the passageway.

The Oni was hurled upward, impacting on the concrete
ceiling, then falling heavily through the huge hole in the floor down to the
floor below. There it lay face-down on top of the rubble, critically injured, with
a dozen broken bones, several serious cuts, and a massive blow to its head from
the impacts.

Capie herself lay unconscious and unmoving, covered with concrete
dust, and bleeding from several cuts, her body squeezed up against the building’s
outer wall.

• • • •

There were now two Oni chasing him! Blast it, where
were they all coming from? Geez, the building seemed to be positively
crawling with them!

Paul hurled himself down the corridor as fast as possible,
firing BBs at the two Oni in an effort to slow them down, at least.

The hospital suddenly shook itself violently, the hallways
visibly rolling as if from an earthquake, an enormous clap of thunder striking
a physical blow at him.

What was that?

“Capie?!” he screamed. “Are you okay?”

There was no answer.

He needed to get to her! How was he going to get rid of
these monsters chasing him?

It was past time to think outside the box.

He burst into an unoccupied patient’s room and, on the fly,
he aimed and fired a single BB at the window. The explosion totally
disintegrated the glass as he punched through the center of the blast and out
into the warm night air.

Turning sharply upward, he leveled off twenty feet above the
smashed window, spun around and counted off two seconds…

…And then held down the trigger on his rifle, spraying the
windows of the room he had just flown through.

A rapid series of explosions tore at and then pulverized the
entire outside wall of concrete, not only for the fifth floor but the fourth
and sixth as well, blowing smoke and bits of concrete shrapnel in all
directions.

The blast pushed at him, threatening to dislodge him from
his position, but he used a spell to hold himself in place and protect him from
the flying debris.

He took his finger off the trigger, and used a spell to
clear the air. He waited a moment, to see if anything would emerge through the
huge gaping hole in the hospital, but there was nothing now but the sound of
sirens and loudspeakers near the hospital entrance in the background. Nothing
moved.

Until the shattering of glass off to his far left and the
roar of another Oni.

A blast of plasma tore past him, grazing his left leg and
burning his jeans. He cut the spell that was holding him in midair and dropped
out of the path of the next plasma blast.

He fell forty feet before he re-engaged the flying spell,
angling around the southwest wing of the hospital. With surprise, he saw the
shattered windows there and the outward bulge in one wall. That was probably
where Capie was and where the explosion that had shaken the whole hospital had
been. He cried out in pain and anguish, and his whole soul screamed at him to
go to her aid.

But another plasma bolt howled through the air, barely
missing him yet again. As much as he wanted to go to her, he could not, at
least not until the Oni behind him had been dealt with.

He flew up, doubling back over the roof, crossing over to
the space between the north and south wings, then through the hole in the fifth
floor that he had created only a minute earlier, through to the other side and
out the window missing its glass there. And then he went back up, over to the
southeast wing, to the east of the helipad.

There was an Airbus AS365 N3+ Dauphin helicopter sitting on
the pad. Paul angled behind it, using it for a screen.

And then two plasma blasts hit the helicopter dead square
on, the blasts gutting the fuselage like a sardine can. Worse, it touched off
the three hundred gallon fuel bladders under the passenger cabin. The fireball
of explosion lit up the night sky for miles, hurling Paul through the air and
throwing him onto the roof of the Arthur Rubloff Intensive Care Tower.

Stunned and bleeding from several small cuts, Paul slowly
rose to his feet.

Boiling mad, he was!

He lifted up into the night air, looking for and seeing the
Oni that was skirting the site of the raging fire of what used to be the
helicopter. And he saw it spot him. Turning, he looped around the utility
mechanical room of the building’s roof, waited two seconds and then opened a small
portal only a few inches in diameter. He aimed the airsoft rifle and fired
through it…

The BBs emerged through the other end of the small portal,
not far behind the flying Oni.

It turned, roaring in anger as it tried to intercept the
BBs.

But they exploded first. All ten of them.

The explosions swept the Oni from the sky, like a swatted
house fly, knocking it all the way to the Midway Plaisance Park and into the branches
of the top of a tall tree, where it came to rest, unconscious and critically
injured.

Ignoring the pain in his leg, Paul quickly flew back to the
hospital, smashing though a window on the fourth floor on the southwest wing
and into the corridor.

And was instantly frozen by a magical spell.

“Well, well, what do we have here?” a sadistic sarcastic
voice said.

Open eyed, Paul stared at the man. There was little else he
could do since none of his muscles would move.

Of medium height, the newcomer was young, blond, and of
muscular build. And the face! Far more handsome than any movie star that Paul had
ever heard of. The man was wearing tight fitting pants, a very loose open necked
white shirt and a midnight blue cloak that reached down to mid-calf. On top of
his head the curly locks of his blonde hair poked out from under a black Bowler
hat with a conical crown.

He looked so totally out of place in the hospital that Paul
knew instantly that the man was a wizard of Errabêlu.

The wizard slowly strolled up the corridor to get a closer
look at Paul, eyeing him closely.

“Yes, you match the description and the photo,” the
individual said. “Paul Thomas Armstead. Well, it is indeed a pleasure to meet a
myth. At least, I thought you were one, but Ruggiero and Celeste were so
insistent and Clarke…well, he thought it was best to check it out. After all,
there was the unexplained talisman in the Karakoram Mountains and the
disappearance of several Oni. All of which is why I am here.”

Paul noted that there was another Oni standing nearby,
occasionally growling softly at Paul.

The wizard waved a nonchalant hand. “In a minute, Kenzo, and
I’ll let you go see after your brethren.”

Turning back to Paul, he said, “My name is Kenneth William
McDougall. I am the one who set the trap for you here at the hospital.” McDougall
smiled cruelly. “I hadn’t realized it might be such a challenge. I was in the
process of investigating that rather large explosion, the one that rattled the
entire hospital,” and he turned to point to the huge hole in the floor and at
the Oni lying sprawled on top of a pile of rubble below them and then at the
other devastation around them, “when you showed up. This is going to take a bit
of effort to explain to the Normies, all this damage, but I’m sure Clarke can
manage.”

The wizard waved a hand and the Oni talisman that Paul had taken
earlier was forcibly seized from him, flying through the air into McDougall’s
hand.

“I see that you’ve been hard on at least one other of my
Oni. Shame on you, Paul. Now, as soon as you tell me where your handicapped
wife is located, I can gather up my Oni and we can leave.”

• • • •

A general sense of pain and discomfort kept nattering away
at the edges of the darkness encompassing her. Plus, there was a buzzing sound
around her, like that of ten thousand angry bees.

She opened her eyes, blinking in surprise at the bits of
concrete lying only inches away.

On her side. Yes. She was definitely lying on her side. And
on the floor too, of all places. And there was more debris visible too. Why was
that? Where was she?

Voices. Well, one voice anyway, chattering like a conceited
magpie several yards away. Not Paul. Oh, yeah, Paul, right. She knew that name.
He was her husband, the sexy, lucky man. But the voice wasn’t his.

Slowly, she raised her head slightly.

In front of her were the backs of two people. Oh, wrong
again. One was an Oni. The other…

Her vision wasn’t quite clear. The other was wearing a
cloak. Humph. And in this weather too. And it was that person that was doing
all the talking. His words weren’t making any sense, because of all the bees
still buzzing around…she wished they would quit and go home for the night like all
good little bees should…

The memories of the events in the hospital started coming
back to her then, in fits and starts.

And some of the bees did quit and go home. She knew that
because she could suddenly hear what the man was saying.

“…when you showed up. This is going to take a bit of effort
to explain to the Normies, all this damage, but I’m sure Clarke can manage.”

A wizard. The man was a wizard. Nobody used the word Normie except
a wizard of Errabêlu.

She raised her head a little higher and that was when she
saw Paul floating in midair in front of the man who was doing all of the talking.
And her husband wasn’t moving. And then she saw an object float through the
air, from Paul to the wizard.

Okay, Paul, the clod, had gotten himself captured. It was a
good thing that she was here. Why was it that even good men seemed to be so
helpless these days?

She stirred carefully, not wanting to attract the attention
of the wizard or the Oni. Especially not the Oni.

Her rifle. Where was that? Oh, too far away, on the other
side of that chunk of concrete. Ah, yeah, it didn’t have any BBs left anyway.
Too bad. But there was still her pistol. Reaching slowly, she confirmed that it
was still in her shoulder holster.

She unclipped it and slipped it out as quietly as possible.
Then pushing herself up on one elbow, she unsteadily took the safety off and
aimed the gun at the Oni. With that creature’s speed, it would be best to take the
Oni beast out first. Then the wizard.

Oh, and with Paul this close, it was best not to use full
power on the fusion spell. She would dial it back some, maybe halfway. She
wished she had done that with the Oni here in this corridor. Well, hindsight
and all that.

Squeezing the trigger, she fired twice at the Oni, at its
head and then its waist. Then she swung the gun, firing one shot at the wizard
that was turning in her direction.

The three explosions took out both the Oni and McDougall,
bowling them over and laying them out on the floor, cold. Both were bleeding. McDougall’s
right arm was twisted at an impossible angle.

The wizard’s spell released, Paul fell to the floor, but
part of the shockwave caught him too.

After the echoes of the blast faded away, he managed to get
to his feet, shaking his head to clear out the cobwebs. There, just on the
other side of the huge hole in the floor was his wife, propped up on one elbow,
smiling at him.

She raised her pistol to a vertical position and blew a
quick puff of air across the end of the barrel.

“‘This is where I start to have fun!’” he heard her enthusiastically
say, quoting from Lara Croft, Tomb Raider.

SIX

Bernard A. Mitchell Hospital

5841 S Maryland Ave.

Chicago, IL

June

Monday 9:45 p.m. CDT

In
one of the treatment rooms, Paul cleaned Capie’s cuts and abrasions with soap
and water, then applied Neosporin and bandages. Then it was Capie’s turn, and
she treated the second degree burn on Paul’s left leg with hydrocortisone
cream. Since both Paul and Capie were using magical spells to reduce the level
of pain they felt from their injuries, neither one of them was suffering very
much.

“Okay, I admit that it didn’t exactly go according to plan,”
Paul noted with a wry smile. “But we do have eight Oni and one wizard we can
now question about your father’s location.”

“We need to round them up first,” Capie added, smirking.
“They’re scattered all over the hospital.” She looked downward with a frown.
“We did a lot of damage to the hospital. I feel bad about that.”

“I’ll make sure that a few million dollars is donated by
anonymous contributors to compensate for all the damages,” Paul told her with a
reassuring smile. “Assuming, that is, if we live long enough. And, speaking of
which, if it hadn’t been for you…thanks, dear.” He leaned forward and gathered
her in his arms, hugging her tightly. “You saved my bacon and I love you dearly
for it, CB.”

She smiled. “I’ll just add it what you owe me, big boy.” And
she snuggled up against him, embracing him tightly and French kissed him so passionately
that the world around him faded away and all there was in that moment was her.

As they each returned to Earth, Capie sighed, touching her
forehead to his. “I married the best kisser ever.”

Reaching out tenderly, Paul caressed her cheek and pulled
back a little. “No good deed goes unpunished. Now we get to go interview our
prisoners.”

• • • •

“Come on, wake up,” the sarcastic voice of Kenneth McDougall
ordered. “You’ve had enough sleep.”

The Oni opened its eyes and struggled to a sitting position
in the soft chair it found itself in. It blinked, looking around without
comprehension. Its head hurt miserably.

“Where am I?” it said, slurring the words badly.

The image of McDougall stood over it, staring down with
disapproval. Something about the wizard didn’t look quite right. He seemed sort
of insubstantial somehow. But the light in the room was hurting the Oni’s eyes!

“You’ve had too much to drink, remember? As a reward for
capturing those two wizards, I let you and the others drink as much as you
wanted. And you downed five bottles! All by yourself. The good stuff too.”

“I did?” the Oni responded. “I don’t remember doing that.”

“Not surprising,” observed the image of McDougall dryly.
“I’m surprised you remember your own name.” The wizard leaned closer. “You do
remember your own name, don’t you?”

“Of course. Aduir. Yeah, that’s right. I’m pretty sure. Aduir
is my name.”

“Congratulations. And the others?”

Aduir swung around slowly (gee how that made the throbbing
worse!) looking at four other Oni all sitting in a comfortable looking room that
he couldn’t place. They too looked hung-over.

“Sure. Ovidius, Belibni, Zaidu, and Serakh. Uh, where are
Quique, Telal, and Kenzo?”

“They didn’t make it,” the image of McDougall replied.
“Those two rogue wizards killed them.”

“Wow,” Aduir responded, slurring the word. “Can we kill
those wizards? Please?”

“Maybe later,” came the answer. “Right now I want them taken
east. And I need one of you to take charge.”

Aduir looked really surprised at that. “You aren’t going?”

The image of McDougall pointed over to a corner. There, for
the first time, Aduir noticed the images of Paul and Capie lying on their
stomachs, hog-tied, their hands to their feet. They also appeared to be unconscious.

“No, this is a simple transfer and I have other important
business to attend to. At least, it should be a simple transfer. But I need one
of you to take charge, the most sober of you. Which one will it be?”

Aduir started to pout. “I have seniority!”

McDougall raised his palm up to stop further argument. “Yeah,
normally. But the lot of you are really drunk right now—”

“I’m not,” volunteered Serakh. “I can do it.”

Aduir held both hands to its head. Oh, why did its skull
hurt so much? And why did it feel like everything was wrong here. Serakh never
volunteered for anything, the sloth.

“Tell you what,” McDougall was saying, his hands on his hips.
“I’ll give the job to the Oni that can remember where we took that old Normie,
the father of that woman over there. Professor Kingsley. Whoever can remember
that will be the one to take charge. And I’ll give him another bottle too!”

• • • •

“That was fairly clever,” Capie remarked, staring at all the
Oni bodies lying around her father’s living room. “The spells, the holograms
and such. And you didn’t have to use torture.”

Paul nodded grimly. “It helped that I ran them through a
portal that reduced their glutamate levels. That’s an excitatory
neurotransmitter in the brain. Reducing those levels makes a person sluggish,
slurs their speech and slows their thinking process.”

“Like they were drunk,” Capie said. “And then the spell you
cast to increase the electrical activity of their…what did you call it?”

“The Ventral Temental area of the brain,” Paul replied.
“It’s responsible for the brain’s reward mechanism, for love, drugs, sex and so
forth. With electrical stimulation, I made them more pliable than usual and
more motivated to overlook things that didn’t seem right. Normally, that hologram
of McDougall would not have fooled them. And the fact that none of them had
their talismans didn’t bother them either.”

“And then you used the vacuum permittivity spell to put them
back to sleep. I wish you could do spells like this all the time,” his wife said
wistfully. “It seems like a better way to fight than with BBs loaded with
deuterium and such.”

Paul produced a half-hearted shrug. “Like I said earlier, these
sorts of spells only work if you catch them off-guard. But enough discussion
for now. It’s late. We need to dump the Oni someplace where they will be safe
for at least several days, before we go rescue your father.”

“Someplace fast,” Capie urged.

“Agreed,” Paul said, waving a hand in the air and creating a
display linked to the internet. “Let’s see what Google suggests.”

• • • •

With Paul now using McDougall’s talisman, he was easily able
to portal the eight Oni (four of them badly injured) to a small speck of land
known as Halfmoon Island in Canada’s Georgian Bay at just a few minutes before
midnight, and under a waning gibbous moon. The island was only a little over
4,000 feet long, uninhabited, with no man-made artifacts, very little in the
way of vegetation and no rocks. Moreover, it was 7 miles from the next nearest
island, also uninhabited. Paul left the Oni four first aid kits, several cases
of Ramen noodles (the variety flavor packs) and a dozen packages of Girl Scout
Cookies (the Rah-Rah Raisin variety, of course). There was no need to leave
them drinkable water since Georgian Bay, at 5,792 square miles, was one of the
largest bodies of freshwater in the world.

McDougall was a different story. At Capie’s suggestion, they
left him in an even more remote location, a small nameless sandbar only 100
feet long and twenty feet wide, also out in the middle of the Georgian Bay. In McDougall’s
case, Paul provided the still unconscious wizard two boxes of dry unsalted crackers.
And no first aid kit, despite the wizard’s broken arm.

“That should hold them for a couple of days,” Paul mumbled
as he opened another portal, back to Wisconsin. “When we are done rescuing your
father, I’d like to come back and take them to a more permanent location, one
that will hold them for years, at least. But if for some reason we don’t get
back soon enough, well, Georgian Bay has a lot of boating and shipping. It
won’t take long and someone will spot them and pick them up.”

“Why don’t we take him with us?” proposed Capie, as she
rubbed one arm and followed Paul back through the portal to her father’s house.
“With him as a prisoner, couldn’t we do an exchange? From their point of view,
a Normie for a wizard should be a pretty good trade.”

“No,” Paul said with a vigorous shake of his head. “We don’t
know how to contact the wizard that is holding your father. And don’t forget
that these wizards love to bump each other off, as a means of getting
rid of the competition. The only person they want in exchange for your father
is me. And, if it comes to that, if I could get your father back safe and
sound, then I would make that trade.”

Capie took a deep breath. “No. You know that you can’t trust
them. They would take you and kill both of you.”

“Yes. I agree with you. That’s why we have to go rescue him.”

She grimaced, looking worn and tired. “When?”

Paul took another look at his watch. 12:31 a.m., CDT. It had
already been a very long day and there didn’t seem to be an end in sight. For a
moment, he toyed with the idea of calling it quits for a few hours, at least.
They could sleep and tackle the task of the rescue of her father in the
morning.

But a part of him acknowledged that, as good as a night’s
sleep might be, there were advantages in pressing forward now. In the morning,
the enemy would be rested too. Moreover, in the morning they would know about
the failed ambush at the hospital and that McDougall and eight Oni were
missing. This Clarke fellow that McDougall talked about would beef up security
at the place where Chris was being held or, worse, he would move Chris to a
completely different location.

No, it was best to go tonight, ASAP.

“Cast a spell on yourself, please,” he told Capie. “Keep
yourself frosty. We need to go after your father tonight.”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

“We need to get some night vision goggles and then reload our
airsoft weapons…”

• • • •

Aduir had enthusiastically revealed that the location Errabêlu
was holding Capie’s father was at the Defense Intelligence Agency Headquarters
in Washington D.C on Joint Base Anacostia-Bolling, on the east bank of the
Potomac River.

From Chris Kingsley’s house, Paul and Capie portaled back
into Chicago and visited an all-night pawn shop, purchasing from an elderly
bald-headed clerk a used Yukon NVMT Head Mount and an Armasight Vega Gen 1+.
Both were night vision goggles with IR viewers.

Capie fingered hers dubiously. “Wouldn’t it just be easier to
cast a spell on our vision, rather than to wear these things?”

“For the vision part, yes,” Paul agreed, as he held open the
front door for her. “But these things have an IR illuminator built in. We could
do that with a magical spell too, but the energy used for the spell might be
detected. Better to use technology for this.”

Out in the parking lot, they left via portal, emerging into
a rain shower in the center of the Wheeling Island Racetrack in West Virginia.
Hurriedly, they took another portal from there to the fifth hole of the
Winchester Country Club in Winchester, Virginia. It was cooler there but also
drier. A third portal leap took them to Fort Washington Park, Maryland, right
in front of the White Battery emplacement, less than a hundred yards from the
Potomac River. With McDougall’s talisman, they could have portaled directly to Bolling
from Chicago. It was easily within range of the talisman’s capabilities, but
Paul wanted to sneak up to the base and do a bit of reconnaissance rather than
marching straight into the lion’s den. And he was still leery of using too much
energy near the enemy.

So rather than portaling the last twenty or so miles, Paul
chose to approach it in a much stealthier mode, the energy level involved a lot
lower.

They flew at 100 feet altitude, following the west bank of
the river, landing and taking up station at the eastern edge of the Ronald Reagan
Washington National Airport. Paul created a microportal at twenty miles
altitude over their heads, linking it to a holographic display in front of them,
and greatly magnifying the image of the Defense Intelligence Agency facilities
to see what they were up against. In the display, a great many city and street
lights cast illumination on the huge complex of buildings that made up the DIA
compound, containing more than 850,000 square feet of floor space, so said the
internet.

“According to Aduir,” Capie said, studying the displayed
image, “they are holding Dad in the Detention Center, which is in the rear of
this building over here on the first basement floor.”

Paul tried switching to an infrared view, but there was just
too much concrete and too many floors involved.

“There doesn’t appear to be any way to know how many people,
wizards, and Oni are over there,” he noted, rubbing the back of his neck. “Security
there should be minimal, at least in terms of Oni that might be present. And
there shouldn’t be any wizards. Probably. After all, we aren’t supposed to know
your father is here. On the other hand, there might be quite a few Normals
here, as part of the security staff.”

“That all seems reasonable. But it’s still just a guess,
right?” Capie asked sullenly.

Paul took a moment to study her. She was doing pretty well,
considering the circumstances. But it wasn’t going to last forever. They needed
to rescue her father just as soon as they could, before the stress load grew to
be too much for her.

“Cheer up, dear. They haven’t had him long. Less than ten
hours. They will want to question him, probably in the morning, to find out
what he knows. Then, tomorrow, when McDougall and his Oni don’t report in, they
will probably move your father and set up another trap for us, again using him
as bait.”

Her eyes were tearing up. “We have to save him. Quickly.”

Paul nodded in total agreement, his heart going out to her. “And
we will do just that. Come, we need to get over there using the least amount of
magical energy possible. I propose we find a cab.”

They flew across the airport, avoiding all the air traffic,
and landed near the terminal building. A spell kept the airsoft equipment and
the night vision goggles invisible, though they didn’t try to hide the Motorola
radios or headsets.

Outside the baggage claim area, they hailed a cab and
instructed the driver to take them around to the east side of the River, to
2750 South Capitol Street in Washington D.C. The driver, an elderly Hispanic
man, pointed out that there was virtually nothing at that location, but Paul
responded that they were meeting someone there. With a shrug, the driver drove
out of the airport, taking the GW Parkway north.

The taxi was able to quickly carry them to the I-395 spur and
from there through the city and to the Southeast Freeway heading to the
Anacostia River and the Maryland state line. On the south bank, the interstate
became the I-295 which quickly took them to South Capitol Street. Another
couple of miles brought them to a padlocked chain link gate, an entrance to an
empty parking lot in front of a small commercial business.

Across the boulevard, to their west, lay the perimeter of
the Joint Base Anacostia-Bolling military complex.

Paying off the perplexed driver, Paul added a substantial
tip.

Even at this hour of the early morning, there were more than
a few cars using the four lane road, and they had to wait for a gap before
crossing to the west side of the pavement. Then they moved across a short strip
of grass and a set of railroad tracks into a narrow line of trees. In front of
them now was a barbed-wire topped chain link fence with signs declaring it to
be US Government property and that trespassers would be prosecuted.

Using the absolute minimum level of energy, they levitated
over the fence and down to the ground on the west side.

“The motor pool is right up against the other side of that
second fence,” Paul said, nodding at another fence line in front of them.
“We’ll find a vehicle there.”

“How thoughtful of the US Government to give us a helping
hand here. My feet certainly thank them,” Capie said with a great deal of
sarcasm.

Another brief levitation spell and they were into the
central area of the motor pool. The area was brightly lit from several street
security lights mounted high up on aluminum light poles. Around them, they
could see a number of M35 2.5 ton trucks in both green and brown camouflage
paint schemes.

“I see some Humvees over there,” Capie pointed out.

“Let’s hope they left some gas in one of them for us too.”

Choosing the one closest to the motor pool front entrance, Paul
and Capie climbed in, using a spell to start the vehicle and another one to
open the main gate.

Paul spun the steering wheel, piloting the vehicle onto
Mitscher Road and hitting the gas.

“Now, to find the electrical substation,” Paul grumbled as he
glanced around the base.

They found it easily enough, in a small white one-story,
non-descript metal building with no windows.

Leaving the Humvee in the parking lot, they dropped a cloak
of invisibility around themselves and strode briskly up the white sidewalk to
the side door. The lock on the door snicked open at Capie’s command, the
building alarm short-circuiting in a silent puff of smoke.

Inside the dimly lit structure, Paul glanced around at all
the machinery. There were step down transformers and buss bars everywhere.

The two MCCs (Motor Control Centers) were not hard to find
either. There, Paul studied the main breaker panels and switch designators.

“Nice of the engineers here to organize things and keep them
up to date,” Paul wisecracked before pointing to several large breakers. “Those
breakers control the feeds to the DIA building where your father is.” He looked
back at Capie. “Not only am I going to open those feeds, I am going to weld them
open. It will take hours, perhaps days for the Normals to replace them. Are you
ready?”

“Do it!” Capie urged him.

One by one, Paul grasped the handles and forced them
downward. Then with a wave of his hand, the breakers arch-flashed in blindingly
bright white bursts for a couple of seconds.

“Let’s go,” Paul said hurriedly. “We need to get to your
father before they try to move him to another location, such as a building that
still has AC power.”

• • • •

The Humvee carried them over to Boundary Drive and up to the
gate for the parking lot of the huge DIA complex. They noted with grim amusement
the agitation of flashlights in the guard house.

As they hurtled past, Paul muttered quietly in that
direction, “This is not the car and we are not the people you’re looking for.”

Spinning the steering wheel with one hand and leaning hard
on the gas pedal, he raced up the ramp to the top of the parking garage and
straight to the covered walkway at the building’s rear entrance.

As far as the two of them could tell, only a few emergency
exit lights were on. Otherwise, the building was both dark and silent.

Paul snapped on his night vision goggles, patted the pistol
in his shoulder holster, and grasped the airsoft rifle.

“Communications check,” he said softly into his mic.

“Loud and clear,” Capie nervously replied. “Let’s go get
Dad.”

Paul gave her a quick smiling nod and got out of the Humvee.
From there, the two of them jogged over to the rear door of the building. With
a flick of a wrist, the lock snapped open and they dashed inside.

“Okay, we need to go down two floors,” Paul announced as he
fast scanned the hallways around them. “And I want to use the 4-D Man spell.
Ready?”

“Yes, I think so. Let’s go.”

Paul stepped close to her and cast the spell. The two of
them dropped through the floor, down past ground level and then into basement
level B-1.

It was one of the weirdest experiences of Capie’s life,
passing through solid matter as if it was no more than smoke.

Floating to a stop, they found themselves in a pitch black
corridor, lit only with the IR of their night vision goggles. Everything around
them was only visible in ghostly green images through the goggles.

But they could hear someone talking.

“…the whole building,” squawked one male voice. “Thankfully
some of the exit emergency signs are lit up and the radios still work. Alan
should be back with the flashlights soon.”

Paul waved to his wife and advanced around a corner,
silently stealing toward the source of the voice.

There were two men there, dressed in security guard uniforms,
restlessly shuffling around in the blackness of the corridor. Pointing his
finger at both of them, Paul cast another spell and the two guards silently
folded up on the floor, fast asleep.

“I want to try the avatar spell,” Capie quietly volunteered.

“While you are doing that, I will check for more security guards,”
murmured Paul as he walked a few feet further up the corridor.

Capie got busy, thinking of the spell she had seen Paul use
on John back at Yerkes Observatory.

“In the name of Gandolph, Queen Elsa, and Tim the Enchanter
from Monty Python, may there be an avatar of this man to answer some
questions,” she pronounced firmly with a wave of one hand.

In her goggles, she saw a ball of green smoke spring into
existence a few feet away. It swiftly grew into an exact image of one of the
two guards.

And then she blinked.

Well no, not quite a duplicate. This one was subtly
different.

Even in the green lighting of the goggles, the face appeared
distorted, almost radiating evil. And the eyes were slanted and cruel.

“Ugh!” Capie hissed. “Like a zombie! Not cool!”

Waving both hands frantically back and forth, the figure
faded from sight.

“Wow,” she said, breathing a sigh of relief and looking
again at the man she had cast the avatar from. “You, sir, are one total sicko. Talk
about ‘monsters from the ID!’” she said, quoting from Forbidden Planet.
“I guess I’d better try the other guard.”

This time the spell worked as intended and a ‘normal-looking’
duplicate of the second guard appeared in the corridor.

“Now,” Capie demanded sternly. “Where is my father?”

• • • •

“Paul! Paul!” clamored Capie as she dashed down the
corridor.

As he stepped into her way, he hissed at her. “Not so loud!
What’s wrong?”

“He’s not here! Dad is not here!” she shouted. “The
guard told me!”

“Calm down! Where is he?”

“The Bolling Clinic, he said! Paul, they brought him in
several hours ago! Two special agent types, the guard said. And then, an hour
after that, they had to take him to the Bolling Clinic. The guard I was talking
to didn’t know why, just that his condition was serious!”

Paul nodded then realized that the gesture was pretty
pointless in the dark. “Those special agents were Oni, no doubt. Okay, let’s
get out of here and find the Bolling Clinic.”

“I asked the guard already,” snapped Capie as she yanked frantically
on his arm. “It’s just north of the motor pool! Let’s go! Hurry!”

SEVEN

579th Medical Group (Bolling Clinic)

238 Brookley Ave SW

Washington, DC

June

Tuesday 4:01 a.m. EDT

The
Humvee raced up Mitscher Road, the tires squealing as it tore into the clinic’s
rear parking lot. Paul drove like a mad man, the vehicle screaming around the
building and up to the north end, where the emergency entrance was located.
Standing on the brakes, all four wheels locking, the tires squalling as they
burned rubber on the asphalt, Paul brought the Humvee to a jarring halt.

Leaving the engine still running and its doors wide open, Paul
and Capie bolted across a narrow strip of pavement and through the double-wide metal
doors of the clinic, using a sleep spell on the four Normals (nurses and
orderlies) that got in their way. At the nurse’s station, they put two more
nurses to sleep and then used a spell to create an avatar of one of them.

“Where is my father?!” demanded Capie hotly of the holographic
image.

“Christopher Kingsley, the fifty three year old man they
brought in a few hours ago,” Paul added breathlessly.

“Room 108, down that hall,” was the emotionless response.

Capie didn’t hesitate but tore off in that direction. Paul
took a couple of seconds to dismiss the avatar spell.

And then he too took off at a sprint down the hallway.

He was just entering the doorway of Room 108 when Capie started
screaming at the top of her lungs.

“NNOOOO!”

The shriek was so loud that it pierced Paul’s brain like ice
picks. He turned away, clapping his hands over his ears.

Snapping back around, he saw that Capie was standing over a
gurney, her mouth wide open, her eyes filled with terror, both her hands
gripping the body there tightly.

Her father’s body.

One corner of Paul’s mind noted that the medical staff must
have tried to treat him. Chris was shirtless and there were red marks on his
chest. Also, there were several items of hospital equipment nearby including a
heart monitor and a defibrillator.

As Capie continued screaming, she pulled her father up to
her bosom, her arms wrapped like a vise around him.

A stab of pain hit Paul squarely in the chest and he found
it difficult to breathe. Tears welled up in his eyes and he choked and then coughed.
For several more seconds, he froze in unbelief, hoping against all hope that he
was misinterpreting what he was seeing. It just couldn’t be true, not after all
that they had been through to pull off a daring rescue, and not when they had
the man safely in their grasp.

Paul dashed over to the two of them, reaching out to clasp
his hand on the professor’s arm, instantly noting how cold the arm was. A quick
spell confirmed his worst fears.

Chris Kingsley, his wife’s father, was dead.

Capie screamed and bawled for what seemed like a lifetime,
but it was actually only several minutes, gently rocking her father’s body back
and forth with her own. Bewildered by the unexpected calamity, Paul’s mind
refused to think logically. All he could feel and think about was Capie and the
pain that she was suffering.

Merlin snapped into existence in the doorway and steadily
moved toward them. Paul looked up at the older wizard’s saddened face. Paul
guessed that his own expression must have told Merlin exactly how he felt.

“I’m so sorry, young man,” Merlin said, his calm voice
reaching Paul’s ears even over the din of Capie’s wailing lament. “He’s been
gone for hours, much too long for any magic to help.”

Paul nodded, still stunned by the loss.

Merlin turned and stared at Capie and Chris intently. “The cause
of death isn’t obvious,” he announced sadly. “No signs of trauma. You would
need a doctor, of course, to tell you more than that.”

With a troubled nod, Paul agreed. “Let’s have Dr. Beverly
Crusher here with a tricorder, please.”

Merlin morphed into the image of the red-headed physician in
the blue and black StarFleet uniform, carrying a standard medical tricorder.

Without a word, she brushed past Paul, sweeping the tricorder
over the body, the trilling of the instrument barely heard over the sound of
Capie’s crying. Capie seemed not to notice the hologram.

The tricorder warbled for a few seconds and then chirped.

“Acute myocardial infarction,” Dr. Crusher announced sadly.
“Moderate state of atherosclerosis. Apparent rupture of atherosclerotic plaque and
blockage of the distal right coronary artery.” She leaned back from the body
and gave Paul a sad frown. “In other words, a heart attack.”

Looking down at the floor, Paul wiped away a tear. “So they
didn’t kill him.”

Dr. Crusher shook her head. “Not directly, no. But his case
is not that advanced. I would say that acute physiological stress was a major
contributing factor. So yes, they are at least partly to blame.”

“Thanks, Doctor. Can I have Merlin back?”

The image of the doctor blurred, to be replaced by Merlin.
He nodded at Paul. “Yes, the shock is great right now but you cannot stay here.
Apparently, when Chris Kingsley died, the Oni left, since there was no special
reason for them to stay after that. That seems to be why there are no Oni here
at the moment. But when they realize that you avoided the trap in Chicago, there
will be wizards and Oni coming here. You must take Capie and be gone by that
time.”

Merlin was right. Their time here was limited. There would
be time later to mourn Chris’s loss but only after they left this place.

Looking at Capie, Paul instinctively knew she would not go
anywhere without her father’s body. And that was just as well. The man deserved
a decent burial and Paul pledged in that moment to see that he got it.

Moving to his wife’s side, he put his arm around her
shoulder.

“We’ll take him home, dear, just as soon as you are ready,”
he told her gently.

• • • •

It was a hot and muggy day in southern Wisconsin, the air
uncommonly still. Capie watched as Pastor Abrahams mumbled the words of the
graveside service, speaking of the resurrection of the dead in the life to come.

In front of her lay the casket, the one with the remains of
Professor Christopher Edgar Kingsley. In a few minutes, it would be lowered
into the ground and covered over with dirt and sod, with a dual headstone
already in place to mark the gravesite. The grave of Chris’s wife, Myra, lay
next to his.

Paul stood beside Capie, glancing anxiously at her every so
often. Her face was bleak and vacant as she stared at the casket.

Inside, Capie felt hollow with a terrible emptiness, along
with the loneliness, the grief of never again seeing her father, of sharing the
things of her life with him, of talking to him and listening to his voice.

On the one hand, she knew her father was dead. After all,
she had held his body in her arms, had felt the cold clammy skin, had stared at
his lifeless eyes and sensed the absence of life therein. Intellectually, the
fact of his death had been driven into her soul like a long sharp dagger. There
was no denial possible.

But her heart spoke a different story. Every fiber thereof
denied that such an event could have taken place at all, let alone so quickly.
He just couldn’t be dead. It just wasn’t possible. Her memories of his life
were just too strong. Her heart insisted that at any moment she would hear his
strong confident voice again, feel the touch of his hand and see his smiling
face staring down at her. The sight of the closed casket in front of her was an
impossible nightmare, from which she would wake up any minute now. It wasn’t
real. None of this could possibly be real.

And yet it was.

The pain was so intense. She just didn’t know how she could
carry on. The emptiness in her soul could never be filled again; the wound to
her psyche could never be healed.

Paul knew of his wife’s pain. And he also knew that in time,
all those feelings would diminish. No, they would never entirely go away. There
would always be a hurt deep inside her soul, just as there still was in his for
his mother and yes, even for his father too. And just when Capie would think
she had learned to deal with it, something significant would happen in her life
and she would have a sudden urge to call her father, to share that event with
him. But then the memory of his death would all come crashing back down on her
again and she would mourn his loss once more.

All of this Paul knew. And much more. He would help his wife
through it, as well as any spouse could help someone who had just lost a
parent. He would be there for her when she needed him. After all, he owed it to
her, for not finding a way to stop Chris’s death in the first place. He had
known it was likely to happen. Yes, intellectually he understood that it wasn’t
his fault. That he had been left with few options. But that was what his
logical engineering mind told him, not his heart. If he had just been smarter,
perhaps a bit more forceful, perhaps he could have done something—anything—to
have prevented this tragedy and to have saved his wife from the awful pain she
was going through now.

And he hadn’t. So yes, he was feeling more than just a little
bit guilty. And the only way to make up for his ‘mistakes’ was to make sure
Capie recovered as quickly as possible from this catastrophe.

Paul glanced around at the people present. There weren’t
many. Two of Capie’s aunts, an uncle and a handful of her cousins. Also a
couple of Chris’s co-workers and one of his long time neighbors. It was a thin
crowd.

Part of that was Paul’s fault. He was worried that Errabêlu
might use the opportunity of the professor’s funeral as a trap to snare
both Capie and himself. Therefore, Paul had made a few arrangements to throw
them off the scent. First, he had secretly arranged to ship another corpse to a
different funeral home in Illinois. Right now, there was a sealed casket in a
funeral home in Chicago with Chris’s name on it. The obituary published in the
newspapers named that same Chicago funeral home and stated that the funeral
service and burial would be held tomorrow, in a cemetery in that state, not
Wisconsin. Paul was sure that Errabêlu would be quite upset when they
discovered the switch and learned that Paul and Capie had indeed been present
for the actual funeral and burial.

In addition to all of the preparations for the funeral over
the last two days, Paul had also been busy with a few other tasks. Using McDougall’s
talisman, he had ‘rescued’ all of Capie’s personal belongs from Fermi Labs,
storing them and his tantalum block in a PODS container and paying to have the
container shipped to Park City, just north of Wichita, Kansas. Then he had
retrieved the computer and the emerald from the small cave under Bauer Road in
Naperville. Unfortunately, the computer had been thoroughly soaked with water and
was probably useless to him now.

Furthermore, he had transported the Errabêlu prisoners,
dropping the eight Oni onto Cannibal Island and McDougall on Little Sandy
Island in the middle of Lake Winnipeg in Canada and leaving them with several
cases of Spam, PBJ sandwiches, and Vienna sausages. There was very little human
presence on the lake and therefore much less of a chance that the Oni or McDougall
would be rescued accidently. Oh, sure, an even more permanent solution was
needed, but now he had weeks, maybe months to work it all out.

For the hundredth time, Paul glanced around the cemetery. He
was still nervous about how exposed they were right now and had several sentry
spells out, to warn him of any use of magic in the extended area.

The pastor closed his bible and nodded at the undertaker.
With a snap of a switch and the quiet whine of an electric motor, the casket
slowly began its one-way journey downward, six feet into the hard ground.

It was incredibly difficult to say goodbye for the very last
time.

“His death will have meaning,” Paul muttered softly to Capie
as she cried bitter tears into a handkerchief. “This I swear to you. He didn’t
die for nothing.”

Capie nodded absently, the only clue that Paul had that she
had heard him at all.

EIGHT

The Big Island, Hawaii

Hapuna Beach

July

Tuesday 9:16 a.m. HAST

Immediately
after the funeral, Paul took Capie on a worldwide tour, avoiding all of the
capital cities of the planet but visiting a great many tourist traps strung
across the globe. In the process, Paul discovered that there were eighty-eight
nations and territories where English was spoken as a primary or secondary
language. And the newlyweds stopped in quite a few of them.

Paul tried to help Capie deal with her grief not only by
giving her lots of attention, but also by giving her lavish gifts such as
clothing, jewelry, gourmet chocolates, a hardcover set of George RR Martin’s Song
of Fire and Ice series, and even a one foot tall jade statuette of Elsa,
the snow queen from the Disney movie Frozen. He had personally mined the
jade in Guatemala and the sculpture was a gorgeous deep blue-green with white
flecking.

In addition, he made a special effort to take her to a
multigenre convention, the ConnectiCon, in Hartford Connecticut, one of the larger
such conventions, with over 10,000 in attendance. For three days, they had
immersed themselves in anime, comics, fantasy and science fiction workshops,
panels, contests and even a costume dance. Paul had whipped up a Captain Marvel
outfit while Capie dressed as Firestar. From all Paul could tell, Capie had seemed
to enjoy the convention.

Even after the convention, her mood, overall, seemed to be very
slowly improving. The death of her father had hit her very hard but life moved
on and she appeared to be slowly dealing with the loss and the pain. But deep
inside himself, he still had his doubts. He was very worried about her.

• • • •

Basking in the warm Pacific summer sun, Paul shifted
slightly in his beach chair to a more comfortable position, continuing to
admire the gorgeous view of the vast blue Pacific Ocean and the white sandy
beach of Hawaii. And too, he was getting quite the eyeful of his increasingly
beautiful wife, currently dressed in that tantalizingly small bikini.

The two of them were sunbathing on Hapuna Beach on the Big
Island of Hawaii, the warm summer sun toasting them a deeper shade of brown,
while listening to the hypnotic sound of the surf lapping against the white
sand. In Paul’s humble opinion, the scene was incredibly idyllic. And he hoped
that Capie found it that way too. That was the major reason that they were
here, to help her in her recovery. However, in reality, he wasn’t all that
convinced that his efforts were having the entire desired effect. He could only
guess what Capie was thinking.

He would have been horrified to have known that his
assumptions weren’t even close to being correct.

Three weeks had gone by since the funeral. Three of the most
painful weeks of Capie’s life.

She had managed to move beyond the denial stage now. But what
she currently felt was even worse than that terrible empty loneliness. Now
there was a war in her soul, a war fought with pure raw emotions, a war that
was internally tearing her apart.

On the one hand, she felt an incredible anger and hatred. A
pure hot flame of emotion was intensely focused on murdering the wizards of Errabêlu.
She wanted nothing more than to kill them, each and every one of them, to get
her hands around their necks and slowly strangle the life out of them. She
could visualize every moment involved, the gasping of their breath, the bulging
of their eyes, the clammy feel of their skin as she slowly increased the
pressure on their throats. And, most of all, she visualized the thrill she
would feel, the intense satisfaction, the anticipation of their deaths as each
wizard succumbed to the lack of oxygen, as life fled their bodies.

But then, on the other side, there was the guilt.

It was the other raw emotion tearing at her, assaulting her
mind with seemingly never ending waves of pain. Her father’s death was her own
fault. There could be little doubt. She could have prevented it. She could have
easily saved him from being killed. There were a thousand things she could have
done to have avoided it. Simple things too. And her imagination proceeded forth
to list the possibilities in minute detail. All the things that in hindsight,
she should have done to have saved his life. All the things that she should
have done, because she owed him a million times over for the type of father
that he was. What a worthless, ungrateful, wretched excuse for a daughter she
was, to have turned away from him at a critical moment, the one time that he
most needed her, choosing that one crucial moment to have run off for selfish
purposes, leaving him alone and defenseless to face the evil wizards of the
world and thereby sealing his fate.

He’d died because of her choices, her greed and selfishness.
A whole host of inner voices screamed this at her, her every moment.

It was bad enough that this internal onslaught of war went
on and on inside her soul during the daylight hours. But it was infinitely
worse at night.

The nightmares plagued her every time she went to bed and
closed her eyes. They inundated her the whole night long, constantly waking
her, tormenting and torturing her. The only way she was able to get any sleep
at all was with a constant magical spell. But even magic could only go so far.

The nightmares differed in detail, but the theme was nearly
universal. Her father would be there, trapped by an unseen danger, his life in
imminent peril. And she had the power to save him. Sometimes, in the clutches
of the nightmare, she was indifferent to his fate and she let him die without
lifting a finger. In other versions, she was racing to save him, fighting
terrible almost insurmountable odds to reach him first but always, without
fail, arriving just a few moments too late to prevent his suffering and death.

Her father had been the bulwark of her life, the foundation
on which everything she trusted and depended on was based. Now he was gone and her
guilt at his loss was destroying her sanity.

Capie really wanted to turn to Paul, to reach out to her new
husband for support and strength. She wanted to lean on him like she had leaned
on her father all of her life. She sensed that Paul had that same inner strength
and that she could depend on him to help her through this tragic event in her
life.

But what if he couldn’t help? What if she was wrong
about him and he was too weak to help? Or what if he got tired of comforting
her, helping her with her depression, her fears, her doubts and most of all,
the racking guilt she was experiencing? Where would she go then?

Oh, Capie loved Paul fiercely. She hadn’t exaggerated at all
when she had admitted being in love with him almost from the moment she had first
seen him. He was everything she had ever wanted in a man, going all the way
back to her childhood, when she had first become interested in men.

However, Capie knew that their relationship, as yet, was neither
fully developed nor fully tested. And although she was internally wracked with
guilt and rage, she did her best to hide these emotions from her husband. Instead,
she bent her efforts to pretend as if she were recovering from her emotional
trauma.

Intellectually, Capie understood how anxious Paul was to get
back to work on his Master Plan and to leave Earth. There were a million things
he had to do to get ready for that trip and a billion things to do once they
reached Martian soil. But he wasn’t working on any of them right now. She was
in his way. He was spending every waking moment on her, seeing to her needs and
wants. Yes, she had not a single doubt that Paul was patiently waiting on her to
give the word so that he could resume his work.

She was holding things up for him. Her weaknesses, her
emotional battle, her nightmares, her guilt.

Her.

And every day that she delayed him was another day that the
people who had murdered her father still walked the surface of the planet.
Every day that went by gave them more opportunities to commit murder and
plunder and create more pain and suffering for the Normals. And every day she
held Paul back delayed the day of retribution and vengeance for her father’s
murder.

With a heavy sigh, she decided that it was time to shove aside
her emotions. Time to pretend that her suffering and grief was sufficiently in
the past for them to get on with Paul’s plan.

She looked intensely forward to the day when every other
wizard on Earth was lying dead at her feet.

Capie turned, raised her sunglasses and calmly asked, “When
are we going to go back to work?”

Paul smiled gently, reaching over to lightly squeeze her
arm, and replied, “Not until you are ready.”

She nodded, expecting that answer, idly fingering the
talisman on her arm that she taken from one of the Oni back in Chicago.

“Tomorrow,” she firmly declared. “We will go back to work
tomorrow.”

Silently, Paul breathed a sigh of relief. After three weeks,
he had begun to wonder if she might refuse to participate in the Plan at all.

“We are going to make them pay, right?” she asked him
hesitantly, but a hint of true steel in her voice. “For all the deaths they
have caused?”

“Big time pay,” Paul reassured her. “All of them. They’re
going to regret the day they ever tangled with an engineer and the daughter of
a famous astronomer.” He reached over and squeezed her hand this time. “We’ll
go back to the mainland in the morning.”

“And from there to Mars?” she asked, a slight quaver to her
voice.

Paul shook his head slowly as he gave her an understanding
smile. “No, not for a few months yet. We need to first work on the artificial
intelligence program and maybe even build the first Scottie,” he said,
referring to the Sentient Computerized Optimal Theurgical Talismanic Integrated
Engineer, the creation of which was essential in his operational plan to free
the world from domination by the evil wizards of Errabêlu.

“Oh?” Capie asked, letting slip some of the surprise she
felt at his answer.

To which Paul offered another quick smile. “Obviously, we
will be more comfortable here on Earth than on Mars while we are working on the
A.I. program. And also, I intend to consult with some of the leading experts in
the field of artificial intelligence—well, with their avatars, that is, to help
us in the design stage. And too, if we find that we can’t create an A.I., then
it would be pointless to go to Mars. At least, not until we come up with a new
plan.”

“That makes sense,” she responded, her eyes wide and
glowing. “So, if we are not going to Mars next, then where are we going?”

“The place where there are more experts working on
Artificial Intelligence than any other location on the planet,” asserted Paul
with a playful grin. “Silicon Valley.”

“Good!” she declared, leaning forward to grab a large beach
towel. “California, huh? San Jose, right? Much better than Mars. Let’s go
tonight. I want to make things happen as soon as possible. I want to stop those
monsters from murdering more of the innocent people of this planet!”

SECTION  II

WAR ON TERROR

NINE

Rental House

Magdalena Rd

Los Altos Hills, CA

July

Friday 1:51 p.m. PDT

“You’re
really quite fortunate,” crowed the real estate agent as she followed Capie and
Paul into the master bedroom. “This house just came on the market yesterday. I
didn’t know about it myself until this morning.”

“What a happy coincidence!” muttered Capie with a trace of
sarcasm, as she peered into a spacious walk-in closet.

“The owner has taken a job transfer but doesn’t want to sell
the place just yet, not until the housing market improves a little more,” the
agent babbled on. “It’s really a wonderful place, lots of room and a wonderful
sized lot. Oh, I will need references and to run a credit check and I will need
a copy of your paystub before you sign the lease.”

“No problem,” Paul assured the woman with an artificial
smile. “The five bedrooms are really nice. Which way is the garage?”

“Right down this hallway and through the kitchen,” was the
enthusiastic reply. “Now, some people might think the price is a little steep,
but after all, this is California and you are within commuting distance of the entire
valley. And this place is just wonderful, tucked up in the hills here. Oh, and
you must see the back deck! A wonderful place for parties! Just come this way…”

• • • •

Later that evening found the two of them at the Opal
Nightclub, a local hotspot for dancing with high energy lights, a ten foot LED
video wall, two DJs, and strategically placed video screens mounted around the walls.

The energy in the nightclub was fantastic, more than a
hundred people cutting loose on the dance floor, spotlights swinging back and
forth, their colors rotating through the spectrum, strobes flashing and the
music roaring at high volume. Moreover, folks were dancing, shouting, drinking,
laughing, and obviously have a grand time.

The atmosphere was working on Capie, Paul could tell, the
moment that they stepped through the front doors. And it didn’t take much
convincing to get her out on the dance floor either.

“Thanks for bringing me here, CR,” she said, using a small
spell to cast her voice directly to his ears, letting Paul hear her over the
volume of the music and the shouts of the crowd. Casually watching two girls
dancing nearby, Capie started imitating their moves, stepping back and forth,
rolling her body and waving her arms in synch with the beat.

“You’re welcome, CB,” he said, using the same audio spell to
carry his words to her. He too took note of the moves of other dancers on the
floor. Since he had not danced in decades, he found the dance steps (if they
could even be labeled as such) that the other men in the room were using to be
quite challenging. However, another spell cast on himself was of enormous
assistance and in seconds, he was doing a tolerable job of fitting into the dance
scene.

Capie had apparently done the same, her style improving so
rapidly, it now seemed quite flawless. “Wow, this place is great! I’ve not
danced since before the accident. This is fantastic!”

He grinned at her then switched to a more difficult dance
step.

She laughed at him and said, “I’m glad that you sold that
extra gold yesterday. We’re going to need it if we stay here very long. It’s nice
here!”

“Not ‘nice.’ It’s ‘wonderful,’ remember?” Paul commented
with a huge grin.

“Yes, well, she did overwork that word just a little bit,
didn’t she?” Capie twittered in laughter. “I bet she says the same thing to all
of her clients!”

“No doubt. Speaking of money, we’re going to need a nice
chunk of change when we move into that house,” Paul declared with conviction. “The
way I see it, it’s going to be a few days before the movers clear out all the
owner’s furniture. By then, we will need our own furniture, a least one vehicle—”

“I’ll do the shopping, thank you, dear,” Capie interrupted
him briskly. “I’ve seen your taste in furniture…or rather the lack thereof.”

Paul clasped one hand to his chest. “Ouch! Direct hit with
that one, CB. Please, be my guest. You may do all the shopping. Well, except
for the tools, the computers, the electronics—”

She held up her hands to admit defeat. “Whoa, big boy. All
the technical stuff is yours, no argument. So, we have a few days before the
place is ours. I want to visit every dance nightclub in the valley!”

• • • •

“Enjoying yourself?” asked an unfamiliar voice.

Kenneth McDougall spun around, desperately searching the
beach behind him.

He had waded a few feet out into the lake, the better to reach
over, cup his hand and drink from it. It didn’t taste very good, but then, it
was lake water. He had more or less gotten accustomed to it over the past few
weeks.

On the sandy beach, not far from the tree line, was a shimmering
holographic image of a man. As McDougall hurriedly splashed back to the shore
to slip his shoes on, he was able to see the image more clearly.

“You!” he shouted. “You’re that rogue wizard! Paul
something-or-another! Armstead! Paul Armstead! So you are the one
responsible for putting me here!”

The semi-transparent image of Paul smiled and produced a
half bow. “Guilty as charged. But I came bringing gifts.” And he waved a hand toward
a small stack of boxes sitting in the sand a few yards away.

“I demand that you let me go!” screamed McDougall. “And that
you give me back my talisman!”

Paul’s smiled faded. “And I demand that you give me back the
life of my father-in-law.”

McDougall’s eyes narrowed. “Who? Blah, nonsense!” He marched
right up to the hologram, getting nose to nose with it and spat through the
image. “Give me back my talisman!” he screamed.

The image of Paul disappeared, then reappeared thirty feet
away.

“I can see that you are not rational at the moment. Perhaps
tomorrow,” the simulacrum said.

And before McDougall could say anything else, the hologram
disappeared completely.

Around noon the next day, McDougall was slowly munching on a
roasted chicken leg, one of the food items that he had found in the stack of
boxes left behind by that rogue wizard. There were a few other items of food
therein too. Also some seasonings, two sharp knives, some fish hooks, two
containers of worms, a map, a plastic tarp, a pencil, and a blank diary.

He hadn’t known until he had looked at the map just where he
was. Oh, he had explored the area and knew that he was on a relatively small
island, roughly 500 feet wide at its widest and a little over 2000 feet long. And,
from the temperatures at night, he had guessed it was in Canada.

There was nothing to see from the island except to the
southeast. The best he could tell through the haze, there was another, larger
island in that direction. But no structures on it that he could see. And it was
too far to swim to.

However, the map he now held told him that he was on Little
Sandy Island in the middle of Lake Winnipeg in Canada. The other island was Big
Sandy Island. Both, according to the map, were uninhabited. And both of them were
a long long way from any other land. Much further than he could ever hope to
swim.

As he was eating, he flexed his right arm, the one that had
been mysteriously broken the night of the attack in the Chicago hospital.
Though he didn’t have a talisman, he was still able to cast enough of a magical
spell to speed the healing process. For all intents and purposes, it was back
to normal once more.

He was just finishing the chicken leg when the hologram of
Paul Armstead appeared again, several feet in front of him.

For the moment, McDougall just stared at it in contempt.
Then he threw the bone at the image, which sailed straight through.

“Care to talk?” the hologram asked.

“No. Just give me back my talisman,” McDougall snarled
angrily. “In exchange, I promise to make your death swift, clean and painless.”

Paul flinched, but gritted his teeth. “My patience is not
unlimited. I am prepared to pay you in exchange for some information.”

McDougall snickered in scorn. “The smartest thing you could
do is to let me go. Otherwise, I promise to kill you very slowly and in the
most painful way possible.”

The image shook its head again. “Perhaps tomorrow you will
be a little more cooperative.”

And just like that, the hologram was gone again.

The next day, a whole steak dinner arrived first, laid out on
a small card table. There was even a folding metal chair to sit in.

McDougall had not had anything really substantial to eat in
weeks. Nothing except crackers, Ramen noodles, Girl Scout cookies, and the one
box of roast chicken the previous day. Oh, too, there were a few berries he had
found on the island. By contrast, the steak dinner was a virtual feast and he
laid into it with the fervor of a condemned man eating his last meal.

As he finished, another hologram of Paul appeared in front
of him.

What a surprise.

“What is it that you want?” McDougall asked, wiping the back
of his mouth with a dirty sleeve. “And what are you prepared to offer me?
Money? Ha, that would be useless here, don’t you agree?”

“Your sarcasm is noted,” the hologram of Paul replied. “I am
prepared to offer a great many things, other than your freedom.”

“Such as?” sneered McDougall.

“Things like more food, fishing gear, clothing, soap, camping
gear, cooking utensils, building materials for a hut, a variety of tools and
such. If your information is good enough, I will even consider relocating you.”

“What, to another island?! Blah, nonsense!” groused McDougall
scornfully.

“A tropical island,” Paul said with a sadistic smile.
“Imagine how much better that might be in, oh, say another four or five
months.”

McDougall said nothing for several moments, choosing to
scowl at Paul instead. But then, his expression morphed into a smile of his
own.

“Look here, friend,” the Canadian said, placing both hands
squarely on his hips. “It’s said that you are a Normie lover, right? So, you
need to rethink this whole thing here. Let me go. If you don’t, a lot of
Normies are going to die.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Paul asked, skeptical.

The Canadian crossed his arms over his burly chest and
produced a wintry smile.

“I’ve a great many sources of information,” he arrogantly
told Paul. “One or two other wizards are planning something rather nasty. I’ve
seen this sort of thing a few times before, over the centuries. Now, if you
will hand over my talisman, I’ll see to it that their plans come to naught. Who
knows how many Normies I’ll save that way?”

Paul considered the offer for a few seconds, but then shook
his head.

“Nice try. I tell you what. If your information is good,
I’ll trade you in commodities.”

But McDougall glowered back. “Naw. My freedom or a lot of
Normies are toast. Your choice.”

With a wave of dismissal, Paul said, “No deal. But let me
make a different offer then. I’m looking for background information only,” he
told his prisoner. “Which I will trade items of value for. I want nothing of
tactical or strategic significance. Just background. If you are not interested,
just say so and I promise to go away and never come back.”

McDougall scowled at the rejection of his offer. For a few
seconds, he mulled over Paul’s proposal. There was little on the island to eat
and little to do. Moreover, he was losing weight on the bland food that he did
have. He would dearly love to get off this island and back to the civilized
world. So perhaps, if he strung this idiot along, an opportunity might arise
that he could take advantage of.

Perhaps.

“What do you want to know?” he asked with another scowl.

• • • •

For nearly a week, it became routine. Every day in the early
morning, a holographic image of Paul would show up, bringing payment for the
information he had received the previous day. Then he would explain what he
wanted to know that day and they would negotiate a price for it. Paul would ask
his questions and McDougall would talk for a while in answering them. The whole
exercise never seemed to take very long, never more than an hour, and
frequently only half that long. And McDougall was already building up quite a
small mountain of supplies in the exchanges.

As on previous days, McDougall greeted Paul on the fifth day
with the usual insincere smile.

“Every day you delay accepting my offer,” he said, “makes it
all the more likely a lot of Normies are going to die.”

By this time, Paul was indifferent to the reminder, which he
had now heard and ignored several times. He rejected the suggestion without a second
thought.

“Not today,” Paul said. “Instead, I want to ask you a
question.”

McDougall shrugged but remained quiet, his face expectant.

“You’re Canadian, right? So what were you doing in the
States? Wouldn’t the Errabêlu of America have objected? Would he not
have killed you, if he found you there?”

“You mean Clarke? Humph. Hardly. That question shows just
how little you know about us,” McDougall waved a hand in disdain. “We’re not
trying to kill all of the others. Well, at least most of us aren’t. We
have…arrangements. Clarke and I get along, for the most part. Sometimes he’s
busy and he asks me to give him a helping hand. Sometimes I ask him. This time,
it was mutually beneficial to both of us to track down a rogue wizard traipsing
around America.” He paused and grinned at Paul. “Meaning you, of course.”

“That makes sense,” Paul admitted. “You can’t be at war all
the time with all of your neighbors. Earth’s history has been full of…alliances.”

“Exactly. Anything else?”

“Yes,” Paul said, tilting his head to one side. “I want to
discuss Errabêlu’s hypocrisy.”

“Our what?” barked McDougall, his eyes blinking in surprise.
“Wait, this sounds like a question of philosophy. That will cost you a half
dozen steak dinners, one kilogram of beluga caviar—the good stuff mind you—and
a large waterproof tent. Oh, and two goose feather stuffed mattresses!”

After a bit of haggling (and since Paul was feeling generous
that day) they agreed on the dinners, the caviar, one mattress and an eight man
tent.

“Fine,” McDougall said, leaning back in his lawn chair and
smoking a Havana cigar. “Ask away.”

“My question is simple,” Paul explained. “I have observed
that the wizards of Errabêlu hate technology. Yet I’ve been told that
they push for the advancement of technology to happen, to advance the cause of
warfare. Indeed I was told that it is Errabêlu’s goal to push man to the
stars. Can you explain the hypocrisy involved?”

For a moment McDougall stared at him, his facial muscles twitching
in all sorts of interesting ways. But he suddenly burst forth in a roar of
laughter, slapping his knees and accidently dropping the cigar on the ground.
He was laughing so hard that the lawn chair fell over sideways and he rolled in
the sand. And still he laughed!

Paul saw nothing particularly funny about his question so he
waited patiently for the other wizard to recover his wits.

“That’s so rich!” McDougall finally managed to blurt out. “I
haven’t heard anything that funny in a very long time. Decades maybe. Oh, I
know! Not since the assassination of Archduke Ferdinand when it triggered World
War I!”

He got back on his feet and righted the chair, plopping down
in it and using a small spell to repel the sand off of his clothes.

“Okay, okay, I know that was a serious question on your part,
but that is one of the reasons I found it so funny,” McDougall told him, still chuckling.
“It’s really too bad that jokes can never be explained. So I know for certain
that you are never going to see the humor in it, even when I enlighten you. And
that’s too bad because you’re going to miss out on a real rib tickler. But
that’s life, is it not?”

He leaned over, recovering his cigar and using another small
spell to knock all the sand off of it before sticking it back in his mouth and
puffing on it. “Now, this is going to take some explaining and this time, I’m
going to enjoy doing it! We’ll start with that smart remark about going to the
stars. It’s obvious that you have been talking with Ruggiero, that charlatan,
that quack! He’s the only wizard that goes around talking about trips to the
stars! What buffoonery! What balderdash and poppycock! Did you know…no, I don’t
suppose that you would know. His title of “doctor” is an honorary one
that he received from the University of Zurich for making a rather large
donation sometime back in the seventeenth or eighteenth century, I forget
which. He constantly raves about this really wonderful library that he has…oh;
from your nod am I to understand that you’ve seen it? Hah, so it actually
exists!” And he slapped his knee again.

“Anyway, I digress,” McDougall said with even more
enthusiasm. “We—and I am speaking for the majority of Errabêlu when I
say this—we are in this for the money and for the power. That’s all. Ruggiero
just says that stuff about the stars because his wealth embarrasses him and he
wants to think of himself in noble, educated terms. Like I said. Balderdash.
He’s a true hypocrite, that one.”

Looking back, Paul remembered that Celeste had told him the
same thing; that the wizards of Errabêlu did what they did for the power
and for the wealth. He should have listened to her and not to Ruggiero.

“But you don’t use technology—” Paul started to say.

McDougall waved a dismissive hand. “What? Your question
about our hypocrisy, right? Hah. Hypocrisy is a universal human condition. Everyone
is a hypocrite about one thing or another, including Normies.” And then he
paused for a moment. “Especially Normies.”

“Maybe,” admitted Paul slowly. “But you do benefit from technology
and you do promote its advancement.”

“But of course we do. Silly question. Tell me, if power and
wealth is the objective, then which is better? Controlling the government of
Burundi or the government of the United States?”

“The United States, of course. It’s far more powerful and
wealthy. I’ve never even heard of Burundi,” Paul confessed.

“There, you see? Technology brings us success in warfare and
it brings us wealth. So of course we promote it, even though we avoid using it
personally.”

Paul was still shaking his head in confusion. “But why do
you hate technology?”

“We don’t hate it,” McDougall said, rolling his eyes.
“I for one was positively thrilled when indoor plumbing was invented. Even
as a wizard, I hated those midnight trips in the dead of winter out to the privy.
Really hard on a fellow’s constitution when he’s more than two hundred years
old, don’t you know.”

Eyes widening, Paul was abruptly convinced by the Errabêlu
wizard’s sanctimonious grin that he was being teased. He couldn’t conceive of
the other wizard using an outhouse at all, let alone in the dead of a cold
winter’s night. It was at that moment that he caught a glimmer of what the
other man was trying to tell him. With magical powers, there were likely half a
dozen ways to avoid the use of that type of facility. And if magic could do
that, and almost anything else he could think of, then what did a wizard need
with technology? But McDougall was still talking.

“…And there have been a few other technologies that have
come along that we have embraced. But a lot of this new stuff in the last
century or so, the gadgets and things—that is stuff that we tolerate but personally
want nothing to do with.” Then he paused and studied Paul’s face for a moment.
“You still don’t understand, do you? Tell me; don’t you know any old Normies
that have had problems with new technology?”

Paul instantly thought of his mother. He had tried to give
her a computer for Christmas ten years previously. And he had spent hours
explaining to her just the basics, like how to turn it on and off and how to
use email. She had given it her best shot but the technology was obviously
beyond her.

“Yes,” he unwillingly acknowledged. “I have.”

McDougall earnestly leaned forward. “If people who are only
sixty and seventy years old have trouble with it, can you imagine how hard it
is for those of us that are five and six hundred years old?”

This conversation was sounding remarkably like the one that Paul
had participated in with the hologram of Sherlock Holmes more than eight months
previously.

“You could use your magic to assist you,” Paul hesitantly pointed
out. “To make the learning easier.”

But McDougall was vigorously shaking his head. “And still
you don’t see! It’s our magical powers that insulate us from technology!
Think, man, think! For a thousand years, our magic has given us everything we
could ever need! All the necessities of life, near eternal youth, power, wealth!
And what does your vaunted technology offer us, hmm? Bah! Nothing that’s the
equal of what magic can do! So why should we constantly learn, constantly
change our style of life and adapt ourselves to the changing face of technology,
year after year, decade by decade, generation after generation after generation?!
That would get so old after a hundred years or more. And your overhyped
technology is so inferior to magic! Why do any of that when we already have
what we need! There is no point in us constantly learning or grappling
with the continuous change of technology! We have Normies to do that for us,
don’t you see?!”

Reluctantly, Paul completely understood—now. He didn’t agree
with it. Oh, to be sure, he himself was definitely becoming increasingly more
dependent on magical spells, not just for special occasions but for everyday
and mundane activities as well. However, in his case, Paul had no intention of exorcising
science or technology from his life. Far from it. Instead, his intent was to
combine the advantages of both wherever possible.

But now, after hearing McDougall’s explanation, Paul finally
did understand more about what motivated the other wizards of the world.

McDougall waved the hand with the cigar in it. “Oh, and that
last steak you brought me was a little overcooked. The next ones should be bigger,
please. And rarer.” Leaning back in his chair, he puffed the cigar a few times
while grinning like the Cheshire cat.

• • • •

After two more days of interviews, McDougall woke up one
morning to find himself on a different island. The hologram of Paul was
standing nearby.

“Where are we now?” McDougall asked, more than a little
upset that he had not been forewarned of the move.

Paul was grinning, appearing to be very pleased with himself.
“You are on Flint Island, an uninhabited island in the South Pacific Ocean. It
is 799.5 miles south of the equator, 99 miles from the next nearest island and
a shade over 310 miles from the nearest inhabited land. Moreover, it is well
off the beaten track, even for people who like to visit uninhabited islands.”

He graciously waved an arm around him. “The island is well
stocked with coconut trees, its beaches are crawling with turtles and king
crabs and there is plenty of fish in the sea. And there are various berries and
fruit trees around, more than enough to keep you and eight Oni fed until
someone stumbles along and finds you here.”

“You are putting the Oni here too?” McDougall asked, some of
the irritation evaporating from his voice.

“It’s convenient for me,” Paul replied, steel in his voice. “This
island has nothing you can use to create a portal with. No concrete, no large
rocks, and no steel, let alone any precious minerals. And palm trees make a
very poor raft.”

McDougall looked around him, noting all the manufactured
goods he had been given on Little Sandy Island, now laying along the beach in
front of him.

He turned back to Paul. “Haven’t you figured out yet that
you can’t keep me as a prisoner forever? Sooner or later, I will escape and
then hunt you down. Perhaps it might take a few years. But I can afford to take
the long view.”

“In a few years,” Paul responded with his fists on his hips,
“you’d be welcome to try.”

TEN

Rental House

Magdalena Rd

Los Altos Hills, CA

July

Wednesday 1:54 p.m. PDT

“It’s
just a guess, CR, but since you look like your best friend just died, I assume
that your work is not going real well.”

Paul swiveled on his workbench stool to face his wife, an
impudent expression on his face.

“Your guess is a good one, dear,” he admitted. “I’m afraid
it’s toast,” he added, waving at the desktop computer on the workbench in front
of him.

She nodded sadly, eyeing the computer. “Water damage, right?
I lost a cell phone that way once, in a bathtub.”

Paul stood and slowly started to pace in the nearly empty
three car garage. “It sat too long in the water underneath Bauer Street, yes. My
magical spells can’t seem to find all the short circuits, not even after I used
a portal filter to removal all the water.” He sighed heavily. “And maybe, just
maybe, it’s for the best.”

She glanced at him in surprise, lowering herself onto a
second workbench chair. “Oh? Why is that?”

“I didn’t tell you before, but I was starting to have doubts
about my approach in creating the first Scottie. The software seemed to be
coming along okay, but the computer! Even the hottest desktop on the market was
just too slow and too small.” He waved at the PC on the workbench again. “Too
little RAM, for one thing. The bus speeds are too slow, even with solid state
hard drives. And the CPU speeds? Nowhere near as fast as it needs to be, even
with the multi-core processors.”

“So, what are you going to do?” Capie asked, tilting her head
downward and frowning.

For a moment, Paul stopped pacing to consider the question.
“I need a higher level of tech, even if I have to develop it myself.”

Capie half smiled. “A higher level, huh? Such as…?”

“A quantum computer,” Paul responded, rubbing his chin, deep
in thought. “It’s all the rage in science fiction, right now. And there are
some leading-edge tech companies working on experimental designs. I’ll have to
start doing some research, of course, into the methods used. And talk to super
intelligences and avatars of the experts in the field. Some of those experts
will likely be here in Silicon Valley too.” He looked up sharply at her. “This
could take a while. And with your math skills, you can help too, as an
assistant.”

With a grimace, she nodded. “Yes, that is a good idea. But I
still need to practice a bit. Especially portals.”

“Remember to keep the energies low, please,” Paul suggested.
“Lest the bad guys find us and ruin our whole day.”

“I’ll be careful, I promise,” she assured him with a grim smile.
“And it if it’s not too complicated, just what is a quantum computer anyway? In
words of English, please!”

Offering a bemused smile, Paul said, “In English, hmm? That
definitely raises the bar, but I accept your challenge. So, to start with, classical
computers are based on the processing of digital 0’s and 1’s where each binary
bit represents only those two possible states. Are you with me so far?”

“Yes, keep going.”

“However, a quantum computer uses qubits. Each qubit can be
a 1, a 0, or it can be a superposition of both—”

“Huh? How is that possible?” she asked in an uncertain tone.

“Ever hear of Schrödinger’s cat?” Paul asked with raised
eyebrows.

“No. What does a cat have to do with computers?” she asked
back, crossing her arms.

“It was a thought experiment Erwin Schrödinger asked Albert
Einstein. You see, in the microscopic world of quantum particles such as atoms,
electrons, and photons, these particles can exist in multiple simultaneous
states. This is not true, of course, in the macroscopic world, the one we live
in. Things on our level can only exist in one state. Schrödinger was having
trouble accepting the idea of quantum superpositions—the multiple simultaneous
states of photons—so he created the thought experiment of a cat, sealed in a
metal box, such that no one could tell what state it was in.”

“Sounds cruel,” Capie observed, with a disapproving frown.

“It’s theoretical, dear. ‘No live animals were harmed during
the creation of this experiment’—”

“Funny man,” she muttered. “Does this story have a point?”

“Yes. Inside of the box, with the cat, was a Geiger counter,
a radioactive particle, a relay and a small bottle of poisonous gas. If the
particle decayed, the Geiger counter triggered the relay which released the
gas. Presto, the cat was dead. But if the particle didn’t decay, then the cat was
still alive. Thus, without opening the box and looking in, the cat could be
said to exist in multiple states, both alive and dead simultaneously.”

“That’s absurd,” scoffed Capie with a small laugh.

“At our level of existence, you are quite right. But at the
level of atomic particles, that’s the way things work. For qubits, we can’t
know what state it is in until it is measured. Once it is measured, it is
either a 1 or a 0 but it can’t be both. Before it is measured, it can be
both. Now, for this conversation, there is one other important aspect of
quantum mechanics, known as quantum entanglement. That’s where you have two
particles that are interconnected in some way. One way to entangle them is to
create the pair of them simultaneously, through a single quantum reaction of
some sort, such as two photons released by the same atom. You can’t know what
state they are in until one of them is measured. If you measure one of them,
then the state of the other collapses to a single solution.”

“That sounds impossible too,” she stated.

“Einstein didn’t like it either. He called it spooky action
at a distance. However, another scientist, John Bell, proved that’s the way quantum
mechanics works. And it is on those two functions that the theory of quantum
computers becomes possible. Now, the advantage to a quantum computer is that
it’s not restricted to going through a computer program step by step. It can,
instead, consider all possible answers to a problem simultaneously and generate
the answer in far less time.”

“What did Arthur C. Clarke say about magic and science? “It
sounds like magic to me,’” she said, shaking her head and grimacing at all the
hardware on the workbench. “You have a lot of work in front of you, don’t you?”

“‘Oh, lassie. You’re the most understanding woman I know,’”
Paul said, quoting Scotty from Star Trek V, The Final Frontier.

• • • •

They threw themselves into the quantum computer project
during the day but reserved their evenings to spend out on the town. Capie
started first by researching the names of specialists and experts in a variety
of related scientific fields: physicists in quantum mechanics, mathematicians,
computer systems analysts, system designers, software engineers and so forth.
When she found any such experts living in the Silicon Valley, Paul would then
carefully create a microportal to that individual’s house or place of business
and, through the portal, create an avatar of that person to consult with on the
project. Most of the time, he did this in conjunction with a
super-intelligence, to draw on that apparition’s superior intellect.

In addition, Paul researched material sciences on qubit technologies,
creating lists of hardware and supplies needed so that Capie could start ordering
some of the necessary material to begin experimentation. Furthermore, Paul
found and purchased a used IBM Power Systems computer, a 755 Express Power 7
work station with four microprocessor sockets capable of handling up to thirty
two cores. Paul was delighted when it arrived and spent hours setting it up in
one corner of the garage and bringing it online.

Late each day, when they grew tired and had trouble focusing
on the work, they went out for the evening, into the valley or even up to San
Francisco or across the bay to Oakland to dance, attend a concert, go to a
movie, or enjoy any of a multitude of other forms of entertainment.

Their progress seemed agonizingly slow to them, but by the
standards of the rest of the world, would have generated unqualified respect
and approval from any number of experts.

In a week, Paul thought he had it narrowed down to five
possible technologies.

“Number one is trapped ions in electromagnetic fields,” he
said, pointing to a list on a holographic display floating in the air in front
of them at the breakfast table. He stuffed another bite of egg and sausage in
his mouth, chewing rapidly and swallowing. “The second choice is quantum
semiconductor dots. Third, optical lattices. Fourth is cavity quantum
electrodynamics. And fifth is linear optical quantum computing.”

“Which is the best choice?” Capie asked as she buttered a
slice of toast.

“Each of them has advantages and disadvantages,” Paul
answered quietly before sipping some of his orange juice. “There is no clear winner.
Not yet, anyway.”

“Let me guess,” she said, putting the butter knife down.
“We’re going to try them all.”

“Which is why I asked you to order all of that material and
hardware earlier this week,” Paul said, confirming her assumption. “We should
run the experiments in parallel, trying all the technologies until we find one
that works.”

She stared at him for a few moments. “Paul, there are
literally thousands, maybe tens of thousands of researchers around the world experimenting
with quantum computer technologies. They’ve spent years working on this. And
will probably spend more years. How are we going to do better than them?”

Smiling, Paul reached out to lay his hand on top of hers.

“We have several advantages,” he pointed out. “We can access
virtually all of their research to date and avoid the blind alleys that they
have encountered up to this point. And we can consult with super-intelligences
via our magic. Also, too, our magical powers allow us to very quickly
manufacture the qubit prototypes in minutes—designs that might take other
researchers weeks or even months to fabricate. And, on top of that, our magical
powers will let us see and manipulate things almost down to the quantum level.
We will know if our experiments are working whereas anyone else would have to
determine their results in a more indirect fashion.”

“In theory,” she commented with a humoring smile.

“Yes, in theory, CB.”

She pulled her hand from his and gave him a studied look.

“I don’t think I’m going to be of much help to you while you
are conducting your experiments,” she observed quietly.

Paul’s smile faded slowly to a frown. “I sense you are about
to tell me something I may not want to hear.”

She fidgeted a bit, giving him a hesitant smile. “‘Exactly,
Captain. How very perceptive of you!’” she said, quoting from an early Star
Trek episode.

One corner of his mouth twitched slightly. “What is it,
dear?”

She sighed. This was going to be harder than she thought.
Perhaps if she tried to steer him down the same logical path she had taken.

“It’s what McDougall said. About the death of who knows how
many Normals.”

Paul jerked his head back slightly in surprise. “That was
just a ploy, to convince me to let him go.”

To which, Capie cocked her head to one side. “You’re betting
the lives of real people here.”

He flinched then rubbed his chin. “What is it that you
propose? You can’t be serious about releasing him.”

Leaning forward, Capie reached out to touch her husband’s hand
again. “Not that, no, dear. We should check out his story, that’s all.”

Curious, Paul half-smiled and quirked an eyebrow. “How?”

“Well, McDougall is the Errabêlu wizard over the
Canadian government, right? So, I could drop into Ottawa—”

“It’s a capital city, CB,” protested Paul. “There could be
hundreds of Oni there.”

“I’ll take McDougall’s talisman with me,” Capie countered.
“At the first sign of trouble, I’ll leave, dear. But I’m a big girl now.” She
paused. “Paul, as you yourself said, this is war. We have to take some risks,
if we are going to save the people of Earth.”

Grunting, Paul glanced downward. Her proposal had truly caught
him out of the blue. And not just the idea itself but her obvious emotional
energy involved in proposing it.

His instant gut reaction to her idea was to reject it out of
hand, to insist that she not go gallivanting off to Canada, let alone to Ottawa
and thereby risk her life on the claims of an evil wizard. That was crazy,
almost verging on recklessly insane. And he opened his mouth to utter those
words, to tell her what he really thought.

But then he stopped and considered it a little more.

Yes, he loved Capie. Deeply. And after having lived all his
life so far without her, he was loath to risk her life in so cavalier a fashion.
He needed her, wanted her by his side for the rest of his life. Naturally
enough, he wasn’t willing to risk her life, for any reason.

But, even though she was his wife, Paul recognized that he
did not own her. He could not dictate how she lived her life, nor her coming
and goings. He was not a ‘swaggering, overbearing, tin-plated dictator with
delusions of godhood’, a line from an early Star Trek episode.

What was more, Paul could see the determination reflected in
her eyes. She wasn’t asking his permission. She was telling him what she was
going to do. And if he disagreed, then there would be an argument, perhaps
worse.

But maybe, just maybe, despite the risk involved, perhaps
her idea did have a great deal of merit.

Ever since her father’s death, Capie had not been herself.
Yes, she was recovering, that much was true. The trip around the world
and their nightly outings had contributed substantially to that cause. But
during the day, he still frequently caught her staring out the window at
nothing in particular, and there were times when she was obviously caught in a
deep funk.

So, yeah, he was glad to see her interested in a project of
her own devising. By why investigate McDougall’s warning? That was a real
mystery. Odds were that there was nothing to it; just a ploy by McDougall, as
Paul had said. So why had his lovely wife latched onto this for a project?

And then he thought, did the why truly matter? She obviously
thought it important. Probably nothing would come out of her investigation. But
just the act of investigating the threat might prove highly beneficial to her
recovery. That itself was worth allowing her to conduct it.

On the heels of that conclusion, he realized that there was
another reason to let her go, a reason nearly as important as aiding her
recovery. Capie was growing, developing her powers, becoming a full-fledged and
powerful wizard in her own right. She needed, in fact deserved, the opportunity
to step out of his shadow and exercise her powers, develop her skills, and grow
in her new role. Oh, yes, there was risk. But she was not a child. Without
risk, she could not be all that she could be.

So he took a really deep breath and reluctantly said, “Okay,
so you put yourself in the lion’s den. Then what?”

“From what McDougall said, other wizards of Errabêlu
are planning something. That means other countries are up to mischief. Like
maybe Russia, China, North Korea and the other usual suspects. I’ll go to the
Canadian intelligence service, to their directors, and talk to their avatars—”

“At night, when they are asleep,” Paul interrupted her, “after
you make sure that there are no Oni around.”

Capie smiled. “Does that mean yes, you approve?”

Paul made a sour face. “Yes. I think so. However, you are
making the assumption that the Canadian government knows something and that
McDougall got his information from them. But what if he found out from one of
his own Oni or even from another wizard?”

His wife shrugged. “Then there won’t be anything I can do to
stop those deaths he’s talking about. And all I have wasted is a little time.”

Paul grunted and glanced at the items on the dining room
table without really seeing them. “Okay. But I expect to be kept informed. And
I want your promise to be very very careful and to duck out at the first sign
of trouble.”

“Done,” she faithfully promised him with a big smile. “I’ll
leave tomorrow in the morning, right after breakfast.”

• • • •

Even though Capie had only been gone for two days, the
garage had already taken on the look of a cluttered junkyard, with two large
workbenches, assorted small tables, platforms, and metal support frames holding
a wide array of tools, molds, widgets, glass, and cardboard containers of
various types and sizes, small machines, a very wide variety of electronic
equipment, and clusters of odd-looking doohickeys and thingamajigs of all sorts,
sizes and descriptions.

A holographic image of Captain Montgomery Scott stood
nearby, arms folded across his chest, a frown furrowed on his face.

Paul threw down a clipboard on the work bench and rubbed his
temples in frustration.

“I think I am making progress. It’s hard to tell. This
whole thing of building a quantum computer is really hard! It’s so terribly
complex! But we seem to be making some progress with the quantum dot approach,”
he told the hologram, nodding at the conglomeration of glass dishes with
silicon wafers, circuit boards, electronic equipment, and a virtual spaghetti
of various colored wires and cables on the near end of the work bench.

Scotty nodded with an enthusiastic smile. “This is based on
the work by Daniel Loss and David P. DiVincenzo. They proposed using the
quantum states of the intrinsic ½
spin of electrons in a semiconductor gate array.”

“Oh, I just love it when you talk techno-babble,” Paul
commented as he rubbed his right arm.

“Keep going,” Scotty encouraged him. “Try decreasing the thickness
of the substrate, but mount it on a silver-plated ground plane. And tighten the
spacing between nodes.” He practically beamed with excitement. “You might just have
the first qubit prototype ready to test before lunch,” he declared with a gleam
in one eye.” He eyed the equipment again. “Well, maybe by dinner.”

“Okay,” Paul said and then made a face. “I hope you are
right.”

“Call me when you are ready for the test. This I want to
see.”

• • • •

“And now, Jace Abernathy, what can you tell me about various
plots around the world that could involve the death of a lot of people,” Capie
asked, cupping her chin thoughtfully with one hand.

The avatar of the Director of the Canadian Security
Intelligence Service seemed to consider its response to the question for
several seconds before replying in emotionless tones.

“There are many such plots, from a variety of countries.
Most of the groups involved are being monitored carefully and have little or no
chance of succeeding.”

Capie sighed and tugged on one ear lobe. Without knowing
what she was looking for and having next to no experience in matters of spying
or the operations of Errabêlu, she just didn’t know the right questions
to ask.

She was parked, in the dead of the night, in a large rental
GMC Yukon on a side street not far from the director’s home in Manor Park, not
far from downtown Ottawa. Parking here, close to where the director lived, was
primarily to keep the distance short and the energy of her microportal as low
as possible. Outside the car, she could hear the sound of the crickets chirping
away endlessly in the still of the warm night air. Abernathy’s avatar was
sitting in her passenger seat, looking back at her with those dead
expressionless eyes. It gave her the creeps. Still, this was important. If she
couldn’t handle this, she might as well go home. Well, back to San Jose,
anyway.

Her father wouldn’t give up this easily and neither would
she.

“Tia, some assistance here, please,” she said.

The holographic image of the Queen of the Fairies leaned
forward from the back seat, between the two front bucket seats, craning her
neck for a better look at the avatar.

“Ask him about the briefings McDougall gets,” the simulacrum
suggested.

“Ooh, that’s a good thought,” responded Capie, turning back
to the avatar. “Tell me, do you know if Kenneth McDougall receives intelligence
briefings from the Canadian government?”

“Yes, he does.”

“And what sort of briefings does Kenneth McDougall get?”

“Weekly in-depth security briefs. The same as for many of
the cabinet ministers.”

“Ah! And the last two – no, make it the last three such
briefings. Was there anything specific, anything new that might involve a
threat, perhaps a terrorist plot, a new weapon of mass destruction, a new
strain of disease, anything like that?”

This time the pause was much longer before Abernathy’s
avatar replied. “There was very little that was new in any of those briefings.
Only minor updates and status reports of security measures and programs. Some
information from friendly governments. Nothing significant. There was one
exception. The American CIA reported the suspicious death of a Russian citizen
in the Middle East. However, in the briefings since, no additional information
has come to light.”

“That’s it?” Tia asked, doing a double-take before turning
her head to give Capie a look of disbelief. “McDougall considered one mere death
to be a major threat to world peace?”

Capie closed her eyes, her shoulders dropping in silent
submission before replying, “So Paul was right. McDougall lied. There was no
threat.”

Tia snorted. “You think? Can we go home now?”

Capie bit her lower lip, thinking hard. “And tell Paul that
he was right all along?”

The Queen of the Fairies chuckled. “You have a good point,
young one. You should never tell a man he’s right. It’ll go to his head for
sure.”

Capie leaned forward, wetting her lips. “Tell me, Jace, was
McDougall interested in the death of that Russian?”

“Yes. It was reported to me that he asked several questions
about it.”

“That’s interesting,” Capie commented, a thoughtful frown on
her face now. “Tell me about the death of the Russian.”

“The Americans did not provide many details,” the image of
the director reported. “A Russian collapsed at an amusement park in Dammam, Saudi
Arabia. He was suffering from a gunshot wound. He was rushed to a local
hospital but pronounced dead on arrival.”

“Died in an amusement park, heh?” Capie mused sadly,
obviously now uncertain that this little interrogation was going anywhere. A
lot of people died from bullets in the Middle East. “So what was so special
about the death of this man?”

“The Saudi Investigative Police Force looked into the death.
Since it involved the murder of a foreign national, they passed on their report
to Interpol who passed it on to the Americans. The CIA has a file on the man.
He was a former member of the Russian military, an expert on munitions. He
worked on a number of different ordnance systems, including Russia’s largest
laser guided bomb, the KAB-1500. The CIA suspected him of selling his expertise
to terrorists in the Middle East.”

Capie’s mouth dropped open, aghast and speechless.

“Well, well!” Tia remarked sagely. “A Russian bomb expert in
the Middle East, heh?” The simulacrum cocked her head. “Care for a suggestion?
Let’s go talk to the CIA and find out what they know.”

Capie finally found her voice. “Washington, D.C.? That would
be really dangerous.”

Tia shook her head. “Maybe, maybe not. The information we
need, if it exists at all, might be in multiple places and with multiple people
outside of Washington.”

Capie gripped the steering wheel hard in her left hand and
closed her eyes. She wasn’t quite sure of her motivations for proposing and
making this trip, despite what she had argued with Paul. A part of her—a logical
part of her—argued that it was likely a wild-goose chase, as Paul had so succinctly
pointed out.

But what if it weren’t? What if a lot of Normals were about
to die at the hands of a wizard of Errabêlu? Just like her father had.

Her stomach turned again in a twisted knot of anguish, just
as it had every time she had that thought, ever since Paul had told her about
McDougall’s threat.

It was an emotional decision through and through, without a
doubt. But a part of her decreed that it was well worth the risk, both of
personal danger and of the potential—nay, probable—fool’s errand she was on. But
she had ignored the risk to her father and look what had happened. She would
never make that mistake again. She simply could not ignore this.

Capie opened her eyes and brushed a strand of hair from her
forehead. “Yes, of course. CIA headquarters is in Langley, Virginia, quite a
few miles out from Washington. And there are probably people other than the CIA
director that would know about events in the Middle East. But it does look a
tad more serious, doesn’t it?”

Tia shrugged. “McDougall seemed to think so too. We should
leave in the morning, I think. Agreed?”

• • • •

The quantum dot prototype worked even better than Paul
anticipated and furthermore had a low decoherence factor. From there, he
started designing and building a four qubit prototype. The first one failed,
due to lack of sufficient error correction circuitry.

The days crawled by while he worked on the redesign.

At least a hundred times each day, he wondered where his
wife was and why he had not heard from her.

ELEVEN

Fairfax Marriott Hotel

Lee Jackson Memorial Hwy

Fairfax, Virginia

July

Wednesday 10:58 p.m. EDT

Upon
reaching Fairfax, Virginia late the next evening, Capie checked into a
Courtyard hotel room. Over the course of four days, she threw everything she
had into her effort to acquire the information she was looking for—or even to
determine if it existed at all.

On the first morning, she rented a Ford Escape and drove
over to the Langley Fork Park. From a park bench under the shade of a huge elm
tree, she cast a spell for a microportal and magical LAN connection to the
Agency’s mainframe and hacked the CIA’s personnel database, spending a few
hours putting together a rough estimate of the organizational chart and who
held which senior slot. The operational database on the main server also helped
establish for her the working flow of intelligence data, and how and what got
into the briefings, especially for foreign governments such as Canada.
Backtracking, she identified specific individuals (and there were a lot of them
too) that might have been briefed on the information that had peaked
McDougall’s interest. She wrote the names on a note pad she carried with her.

Thereafter, each night, she would pick out the homes of two
or three of the most likely individuals in the CIA that might be able to answer
her detailed questions. She would find an obscure place to park close by and go
to work. In three such excursions, she had learned nothing of value.

Unlike in Canada with the director of the CSIS, the director
of the CIA was not approachable. His home was in Georgetown, the director’s
office in downtown Washington, D.C. Capie dared not get that close to what was
surely deeply held enemy territory in central Washington.

After talking to the avatars of half of the most senior CIA
management and not learning anything new, she decided a different approach was
needed. Instead, she focused on the group of analysts in the CIA Middle East
section. In retrospect, she thought they might have more details anyway, being
closer to the raw data.

The first such interview that night was unproductive. For
the second interview, she drove to Reston, Virginia, winding her way through a
neighborhood of well-appointed two-story wood frame houses in a relatively
up-scale neighborhood. She reached a quiet cul-de-sac off of Stowe Road and
parked as far from the porch and street lights as she could get.

According to her information, the house back around the
corner belonged to one Henry Chapple—a forty eight year old analyst for the
Agency.

She cast her spells, opening a microportal to the man’s
house and then a second spell to create the avatar.

Henry Chapple looked exactly as she expected: a short pudgy
man in his late forties with balding forehead, gray at the temples, a prominent
hawkish nose and thick horn-rimmed glasses. She could easily picture him
hunched over a computer screen all day long, looking for clues on the internet
about terrorists.

Over the course of the CIA interrogations she had conducted
thus far, she had learned to cut to the heart of the matter.

“Hello, Henry,” she said with a tight grim smile at the
avatar. “Do you know anything about the Russian ex-soldier that died recently
in Dammam?”

“Yes.”

His reply didn’t surprise her much. Other CIA officers had
known of the Russian but only the basics, the same as the CSIS director.
“Consider this to be one of your standard briefings then. Tell me what you
know.”

“The murdered man has been identified as Grigory Kuzmin. We
have a short file on him. He was fifty two at the time of his death. Was in the
Russian Army until the 2008 down-sizing, which forced him to retire early, at
the rank of Lieutenant Colonel. Was considered to be an expert on the
manufacturing and handling of munitions, especially for the Russian Air Force.
Spent five years working on the KAB-1500 program and its derivatives. After his
retirement, he disappeared from public view. According to his passport file, he
has traveled extensively abroad, including the United States. The theory here
is that he hired out his services to various governments and terrorist
organizations around the world. Then, a little over a month ago, he approached
the Dolphin Village Amusement Park in Dammam, Saudi Arabia. Witnesses say he
staggered around a bit and then collapsed to the ground, apparently from lack
of blood due to a gunshot wound. He was taken to the Emergency Center at the Al
Amal Hospital, but was pronounced DOA. When the local police realized he was a
Russian national, they called in the Investigative Police Force. They filed a
report with Interpol and the CIA received a copy.”

“Do you know who he was working for at the time of his
death? Or who shot him?”

“No. That information was not provided to us. But there are
many terrorist organizations and several countries in the Middle East that
might have hired him.”

“Well, that leaves quite the puzzle, does it not?” asked Tia
from the back seat. “An expert in bombs shot by parties unknown. Possibly a
dissatisfied customer? Or to silence him, perhaps? And we haven’t a clue who he
might have been working for either. Humph.”

“It does seem challenging, doesn’t it?” Capie replied with a
heavy sigh as she leaned back in her seat. “We have a lot of questions and very
little information. But McDougall saw a pattern here, one that might lead to
the death of a lot of Normals.”

“So he said.”

“It’s still worth checking,” Capie protested. “The man was
an expert in bombs and someone did kill him—”

“Whoa, relax. I’m on your side, sweet thing.” The older
woman pondered the situation for a moment. “Looks like a trip to Dammam next.
To talk to the Saudi police—”

“Ugh!” groaned Capie with a distasteful grimace on her face.

The Middle East! And she had hesitated to make the trip to the
Washington D.C. area! Good grief!

How could she possible justify a trip to Saudi Arabia? Sure,
Ottawa and Washington had been a bit risky, though in the end they had both
turned out okay. But the Middle East was not friendly to women. And as an
American, she would stand out even more, making her efforts there to stay
unobserved very difficult.

As a paraplegic for eleven years, she had learned both
restraint and courage, though it would have been challenging to explain to
anyone who had never sat in a wheelchair the supposed dichotomy involved. Those
lessons, as hard as they had been to learn and as valuable as they were,
remained with her still. And they were telling her not to risk a journey to
Saudi Arabia. That the risk was too great.

“I need to touch base with Paul first, before I go half way
around the world,” she muttered through clenched teeth.

“As you will. I suggest you send him an email. But just
remember one thing. Dammam is NOT a capital city.”

Capie thoughtfully considered that fact for a moment. Her
husband would not be happy with her decision to run off halfway around the
world. This might be one of those cases where forgiveness was easier to get
than permission. “It’s not, is it? Well, I suppose that what Paul doesn’t know won’t
hurt him, right?”

• • • •

In five hundred mile hops, she crossed the Atlantic,
spending the night at the very charming and swank Caleta Hotel at Gibraltar,
and then moved on the next morning across the Mediterranean, but in shorter one
hundred mile jumps. Just east of Port Said, she turned south, following the
Suez Canal and the Gulf of Suez down to the southern tip of the Sinai
Peninsula. From there, she threaded her way east across Saudi Arabia in ever
smaller portal hops until reaching the outskirts of Dammam late in the hot
afternoon sun. The evening air was still and difficult to breathe. But just in
case there might be Oni in the city, she decided to be as stealthy as possible,
approaching the city using a minimum of magical energy.

She walked a ways down a deserted two lane road, nothing but
desert sand in all directions until she reached a gas station. Before she went
in, she cast a disguise spell, now projecting the image of a young Saudi male dressed
in the traditional white Thobe ankle-length garment, a scarf-like Ghutra on her
head and the Ogal black band to hold the Ghutra in place. Inside the station,
she borrowed a phone and, in Arabic, called a cab. The driver, an elderly man
with bad breath and a crooked smile, took her to the Sheraton Dammam Hotel
& Towers, a five star hotel that oozed luxury from every seam. On the way
to her room, she noted with silent gratitude that the air conditioning was
working flawlessly. That evening, she dropped the disguise and stayed in an
Executive suite, soaking long in a large bathtub.

She felt more than a bit guilty, having not told Paul about
her trip to Dammam in the email that she had sent him. But she rationalized it
to her herself on the basis that she really didn’t have all that much to report
yet. A dead Russian and a crazy theory that he might have helped a government
or maybe some terrorists to build a bomb. As theories went, it was pretty
feeble.

Still, she felt the driving obsession to check the story
out. She was a wizard now and she wanted—no, was under the compulsion to help
the Normals of the world. With luck, she might be able to prevent a lot of
deaths.

And that, in a small way, would assuage some of the guilt
she still felt at not preventing the death of her father.

There, she had thought the unthinkable. And somehow, she
felt better for doing it. With an extra degree of confidence, she set out the
next morning back under a disguise into the already warming air to find the
people in the city who had known Grigory Kuzmin before he had died.

In the interests of speed and leaving Saudi Arabia as soon
as possible, she elected to conduct her avatar interrogations during daylight
hours this time. She took a quick cab ride to the Al Amal Hospital and, from
the lobby, accessed the hospital’s computer network. In two minutes, she found
and scanned the meager records on the Russian patient and learned the names of
the doctors and nurses that had worked on him.

From the avatar of the principle doctor who had examined Kuzmin,
she learned that there had been no sign of a bullet; that it had gone clean
through the man’s shoulder. She also learned that it was a very serious wound
but had not necessarily been a fatal one; that with the proper treatment early
enough, he could have lived. Also, she learned that the wound would have been
extremely painful and would have immediately incapacitated most men. Moreover,
the Russian could have been shot hours or even a day earlier, and that Kuzmin
was in remarkably good shape for a man in his early fifties. But that was all
the doctor could tell her.

She learned nothing new from the nursing staff. They had not
seen or heard anything significant, nothing that Chapple had not already told
her.

Only an hour after her arrival, she left the hospital,
taking another taxi ride to return to her hotel. Once back in her room, she
kicked off her shoes and ordered a tall cold glass of lemonade from room
service. After it arrived, she sat back on the overstuffed, but very
comfortable sofa to sip the drink and contemplate her next move.

Since Kuzmin was not a native of the city he likely didn’t
have a car or own a house here. Therefore, he might have been staying with
someone or, more likely, in a hotel room somewhere and rented a cab anywhere he
went. She could spend days investigating all the possibilities and tracking his
movements in the city, but in reality what would it tell her? Probably very
little.

On the other hand, over a month had gone by since the murder.
The police would have investigated all of those possibilities by now and would
likely have more information on the case. Since she was only a few blocks from
the EP Police Directorate on King Abdulaziz Street, she decided she would take
the chance, waving her hand to create a microportal link to that location,
hacking into the Police server and displaying the information on a holographic
viewer in front of her. She had no trouble running down the appropriate
records. And from them, she quickly learned that the agent on the case in the
Investigative Police Force was a First Lieutenant Hossien Khouri.

And then she noticed the classification label on the file
itself.

“The case is CLOSED!?” she bellowed, rising half off
the sofa in stunned disbelief. How could the case be closed? Had the man been
murdered by some street thug instead? Someone the police already had in jail?
She was going to be sorely disappointed if it turned out that she was wasting
her time on some wild goose chase here.

Well, as long as she was here, she was determined to
check it out. Very little effort was needed to find Khouri’s office, in the
same building, and determine that yes, he was there, at his desk. With another
snap wave of the hand, she created an avatar of him and placed it in the
wingback chair across the coffee table from her.

The avatar sat dispassionately, staring back at her, waiting
patiently.

She forced herself to calm down a bit and to organize her
thoughts before asking her first question. “Okay, Khouri. What’s the situation
here? Have you caught the man who murdered Kuzman?”

“No.”

“Then why is the case closed?” she demanded.

“Orders from the office of the Ministry of the Interior,” he
responded.

She folded herself back in the sofa, pondering his reply.
The Ministry of the Interior? Did this case involve political ramifications?

She contemplated the image in front of her. The agent in
front of her wouldn’t know the answer to that question. He would simply be
following orders. What he could tell her was how far the investigation
had gotten before the case had been ordered closed.

Okay, so back to basics. She tried to remember proper police
procedure from all the TV cop dramas she’d ever seen. What would Columbo ask
next?

“Did they do an autopsy on the body?” she patiently asked.

“Yes. Cause of death was blood loss due to a gunshot wound.”

“Nothing else of significance from the autopsy? No drug use,
no unusual marks on the body?”

“No, nothing.”

“What about his clothes?”

“They were mostly of European make, with a wallet made in
Spain and shoes from Italy.”

“What was in his wallet?”

“He had several credit cards and several hundred Euros. He
also had a lifetime membership card for International Bird Rescue.”

“Did you check out the charges on the credit cards?”

“Yes, the last charges made were for an airline fare to
Riyadh, Saudi Arabia and a stay at a small hotel there. Both made two months
before his death. Nothing after that.”

This was frustrating and going nowhere fast.

“Did you find any additional evidence related to his
murder?” she inquired in a discouraged tone, putting her glass of lemonade down
firmly on the coffee table.

“Yes,” came the matter-of-fact response. “The blood stains
on the jet aircraft.”

Capie froze in mid-motion.

“The aircraft? What aircraft?” she asked, feeling a sudden
spike of excitement running up and down her spine.

“A French Dassault Falcon 20, a business jet. We found it
crash landed in the desert forty kilometers northwest of here, not far from the
613 highway. His bloodstains, type O negative, were in the pilot’s seat and in
several places in the passenger cabin. We found other blood stains of type A
positive in the passenger cabin. There were also two bullet holes in the cabin
floor and one in the outer skin of the plane.”

“How very interesting,” Capie stated, now finding herself on
the edge of the seat. “And did you trace the registration of the aircraft?”

“Yes. It is registered to the Islamic Republic of Iran Air
Force.”

The Iranian Air Force. Yes, of course it was. The Iranians.

“I didn’t see any mention of the airplane in the case file
or the Iranians. Why is that?”

“All connections to the Iranians and the aircraft were
deleted by order of the Ministry of the Interior.”

It made sense now. Some wizard of Errabêlu in Iran
was up to no good. He’d convinced the wizard of Errabêlu in Saudi Arabia
to squash the investigation in Dammam. Logical.

So, what was her next step?

She couldn’t justify charging off into Iran. Dammam was one
thing. Iran was another order of magnitude more difficult and dangerous.

In early 2013, the Islamic State of Iraq and the Levant
(ISIL) was formed in Syria of Sunni Arab extremists to battle both government
and rebel forces in the Syrian Civil war. Despite the near universal opposition
from all of the region’s governments, the UN, the United States and all of the
region’s terrorist and terrorist leaning organizations (such as Al Qaeda, Hamas
and Hezbollah), ISIL (or ISIS) continued to grow in terms of members, weapons
and resources. All through 2015, they seized increasing amounts of territory,
spreading a reign of terror, murder and destruction across most of Syria and
into the entire northern third of Iraq.

The Iraqi Army had tried, but had proved to be mostly
ineffective in dealing with the ISIL threat.

So, in early 2016, Iran had stepped into the picture in a
big way.

In both 2014 and 2015, Iran had made diplomatic overtures
with Syria, Hezbollah, and even the Iraqi government, establishing a quasi
anti-ISIL alliance. With acquiesce of the Iraqi and Syrian governments, the
Islamic Republic of Iran Army Guard mobilized through the northern territories
of Iraq in 2016 and marched into eastern Syria, battling the retreating forces
of ISIL and pushing them in a pincer movement towards the Syrian Army in
Damascus, finally reaching an uneasy and now often bloody stalemate in western
Syria.

And that’s where the current state of affairs still sat.
Going into Iran might be exceptionally dangerous.

She sighed. It was time to go home and to discuss the
situation with Paul.

• • • •

“So, my dear,” Paul said, putting his fork down on his now
empty plate. “The question is where to go from here, right?”

Capie nodded, still toying with her food.

They were at a back table in Truluck’s Restaurant in University
City near San Diego, celebrating Capie’s successful return from the Mid-East. She
had just finished giving him her detailed version of the trip and answering the
tons of questions he had. And he was doing his best to restrain himself and not
disparage or reprimand her for not keeping him informed on her whereabouts and
also charging off to Saudi Arabia on her own. But Paul was an engineer, not an
actor and despite his best efforts to hide his feelings, he was aware that she
sensed his mood.

“I can tell that you are still mad with me, aren’t you?” she
asked, cocking her head to one side while studying his countenance guardedly.

Paul leaned back in his seat and sighed gently before
looking up to meet her gaze.

“Yes,” he admitted grudgingly. “I am, my love, a little.
Okay, I know what you are going to say. You went all the way to the Middle
East, you were very careful, you did your investigation, you learned a lot and you
returned. All in complete safety. No harm, no foul. But try looking at this
from my point of view. You promised to keep me informed and you promised to be
careful. And here I sat, half a world away, not knowing where you were or if
you were in trouble or not.” He bit down on one lip before continuing. “Being
left in the dark that way—the anguish, the pain, the fears. You are the love of
my life.” Paul smiled, reaching out to stroke the side of her face with his
hand. “Not knowing scared me to death.”

Capie frowned, reaching out with one finger to toy with the
edge of a napkin.

“I’m sorry,” she replied. “But I didn’t think you’d miss me
all that much. I mean, I could see that you were tied up with your quantum
computer project.”

Paul gulped, feeling as if he had been gut-punched. He
looked away, trying to collect his thoughts. Of all the things she could have
said, her words cut him deeply.

“I need to go back to the Middle East,” she announced,
before he could say anything in reply. “To Iran this time, to continue the
investigation.”

“I am still not convinced,” he declared, as he deliberately
did not look back in her direction. “I admit the situation looks suspicious,
but there is no evidence that there’s any conspiracy in play here, let alone
that there are a lot of Normals about to be killed. And I especially don’t care
for the risk that you would be in while running around in Iran.”

“And you really can’t go with me this time either, can you?
Just where do you stand with your qubit processor?”

He sighed, taking a sip from his water glass and setting it
back down none too gently on the table. “I finally worked out the problems and
built a successful four qubit processor. I am halfway through the design build
of an eight qubit processor.”

She nodded, deep in thought. “So, no. You shouldn’t leave
your work right now. I will be very careful and keep all of my energy
expenditures low.”

Paul rubbed one hand through his hair, a pinched and tension
filled expression on his face. “That’s not going to be good enough,” he
muttered mournfully.

Capie licked her lips. “What does that mean?”

“I want to be reasonable about this,” he said with a frozen
smile. “If something happens…if you disappear or get hurt—then I want a way to
find you. I don’t want to have to search the whole planet looking for you.”

She forced a short laugh. “And how do you propose to do
that? Do you want me to take the Raconteur with me?”

Paul looked thoughtful for a minute. “No, that wouldn’t
help. We only have one of them. But I have another idea. Remember the
subcutaneous transponders with the rubindium crystals in the Star Trek
episode “Patterns of Force?” Or when Data scanned the planet Angel One for
platinum in order to find the survivors of the starship Odin? Something
like that.”

“Something specific that you could scan for with a magical
spell?” Capie noted slowly. “Something that Errabêlu wouldn’t know to
look for.”

“Exactly.”

“I can see that,” she responded with a furrowed brow. “But I
would expect you to do the same thing. Insert something in your body that I
could track if I needed to.”

“Agreed,” he said, briefly closing his eyes in relief. “In
addition, I expect at least two emails or phone calls a day from you updating
your progress. And your whereabouts.”

She smiled at him slyly. “Agreed. And I apologize about
that. I got so caught up in travel and there really was nothing to report until
near the end.”

“Then send me an email that says ‘nothing to report,’” he
said, giving her a firm eye.

“Yes, that does seem fair, CR. Okay, I will do that on this
trip. Anything else?”

“And, as an added precaution, CB, I will get us each a
satellite phone, probably one of the new Iridium models.”

Capie cocked her head to one side and smiled smugly. “Subcutaneous
transponders and a satellite phone? Isn’t that overdoing it a bit?”

“Don’t you remember all those Star Trek episodes
where their communicators were taken away from the landing parties?”

She shrugged, conceding the point. “Why a satellite phone
and not a cell phone?”

He chuckled. “Don’t get me wrong. Cell phones are great and
they have a lot of bells and whistles that satellite phones don’t have. But
cell phones don’t work everywhere. Like in lots of mountainous terrain, deserts
and out at sea. A satellite phone solves all of that. They can even do limited
texting as well. I’ll get you a good one before you leave.”

“If it will make you feel better, then yes, I will take one
with me,” she said, smiling reassuringly.

“Good!” Paul said, with a light slap on the table. “That
makes me feel a lot better about your trip. Now, I can know where you are and
come track you down, if need be. So, okay, a change of subject here. Your
timing is good. Before you go back, I suggest that we enjoy a weekend at the
San Diego Comic-Con. You can leave for Iran on Monday.”

Her smile was contagious. “I hereby approve your plan
enthusiastically. But tonight I want some cozy time with you. Okay, big boy?”

“My thoughts exactly, CB,” Paul admitted with a lecherous
grin on his face. “And I know just the place. Ready to go?”

• • • •

This time Capie took the shortest Great Circle route, which
took her over the North Pole and over central Russia, east of Moscow, and then
a central line down the middle of the Caspian Sea. A small dogleg to the east
allowed her to avoid the capital city of Baku, Azerbaijan. Her dogleg also took
her around Tehran as she headed for the city of Esfahan, Iran, home of the 8th
Raptor Air Base and home station for the Dassault Falcon 20 in question.

The skin between her shoulder blades still itched from the
implantation of a single gram of platinum of isotope 190. According to her
husband, that isotope of platinum was extremely rare in the Earth’s crust,
something on the order of 0.7 parts per trillion. According to the tests he had
quickly run, that one gram was detectable up to 800 miles away!

Once she crossed the beach of Iran, near the border of
Turkmenistan, she kept her portal jumps short, only five miles a hop, keeping
the energy levels as low as possible. A hundred miles out of Esfahan, she chose
to fly instead at a fairly high altitude, keeping her exposure to a minimum.

Since she was exhausted from the very long trip, and the morning
sun was already up (precluding any nightly avatar interrogations for at least
several hours), she therefore disguised herself as a local and found a small hotel
on the outskirts of Esfahan, as far from both the airbase and the downtown
sector as she could get. There, she crashed for a ten hour sleep, getting up in
time for dinner.

Refreshed, she headed out, taking a cab to the Shahid
Beheshti International Airport. The Air Base lay beyond, only a couple of miles
distant, close enough that she was able to walk to it in the cooling night air.

On the outskirts, she found the military air terminal operations
building. Using a cloaking spell, she passed through the open lobby area to the
rear of the building to the offices where all the rooms were already locked for
the day. A small spell took care of that problem and she was soon powering up a
desktop computer and logging in.

Yes, she was able to quickly identify records for the Falcon
20, including flight plans and maintenance schedules. Hmm, the last few records
for the plane were minimal with no flight plans at all, only maintenance and
fuel consumption reports. Odd. The pilot’s name, however, was the same for all
of the last flights, a Lieutenant Javad Hosseini.

She logged into the personnel records and discovered another
odd item. Lieutenant Javad Hosseini, deceased, body shipped
somewhere…apparently back home for funeral services and burial. Date of death.
More odd. The same day that Kuzmin died.

Was Hosseini’s some of the blood in the Falcon? It seemed
likely. According to his medical records, his was type A positive. Perhaps he
and Kuzman had exchanged gunfire on the aircraft? Hosseini died but not before
mortally wounding Kuzman?

The base commander. He would know the answers to these
questions. His name was Brigadier General Ebrahim Ahmadi. Hmm, another further
check…yes, he had quarters on base and he was scheduled for an early morning
meeting so he should be in his quarters.

She left, putting everything back to rights as she went.

Outside, she went airborne, flying slowly through the night
air to the northwest until she found the commander officers’ quarters she had
seen on the base map, nestled in among a grove of trees. A small stand of trees
fifty yards from the house seemed adequate enough for cover and she gently
landed in the shadows behind them and set to work.

The general’s avatar was short, stout, and rather
unattractive with lumpy skin, a couple of nasty moles on his face, black greasy
hair, and a large bulbous nose. Capie found herself wishing that the man was
single; heaven help any woman married to this repulsive looking specimen of
manhood.

More than ever, she felt the need to keep this conversation
short.

“General Ahmadi, what can you tell me about Lieutenant
Hosseini’s death and about a Russian named Kuzman?”

For once, an avatar looked uncomfortable, which surprised
Capie.

“They were part of Project Amm,” the man replied as he looked
around distressed.

“Tell me about the project.”

“I cannot. It was classified. I had orders to support the
project, but I was not briefed on the details.”

“You must know something. Tell me what you know and even
what you suspect.”

“The commander of the project here was Major General Abbas
Jafari. I was ordered to give him everything he wanted and to ask no questions.
His aide was a civilian named Omar. I never learned Omar’s last name. Jafari
brought in a team of Quds Force special troops. They arrived about two months
ago, along with two Russians, the Kuzman you mentioned and another man, named
Burkov.”

“Two Russians!?” exclaimed Capie quietly.

“Both of them were obviously ex-military. We put everyone up
in Building 408. The next day, several aircraft arrived: an Ilyushin II-76, a
Lockheed C-130C, a Boeing CH-47C Chinook and two Bell 214C helicopters. They
also commandeered my Falcon 20. Several trucks arrived during the week after
that and loaded the planes. No one was allowed to see the cargo or get close to
the planes or trucks. Then all the aircraft began making shuttle runs out to
the east. There are a few dry lake beds out there. One of them, I think, is
where they went. Then, a month ago, they all left, I know not where. I never
saw the Falcon 20 again, or any of the troops. However, on that day when they
returned from the desert, Jafari drove over to the base hospital in a truck,
with seven body bags and ordered six of them to be shipped to their home cities.
Lt. Hosseini was one of them. Five of the others were Quds force troopers. The seventh
one was one of the Russians. Burkov, I think. We buried him in the base
cemetery in an unmarked grave per Jafari’s orders. That’s virtually all I
know.”

A special project, conducted by the Iranian military with
the help of at least one Russian munitions expert. Who knew, perhaps the other
Russian, that Burkov fellow, had been an expert too?

Out to the east, huh? A test site maybe? For a special
weapon, perhaps? One that the two Russians had helped with? But why all the
troops and the hardware? Any weapon that required that many planes and men to
deliver wasn’t much of a weapon. Even the first nuke didn’t need that much
hardware or man power.

She’d have to find the place they went to. Hopefully, it was
one of those dry lake beds that the general was talking about. A decent map
would help too.

What had the avatar said there at the last? It was virtually
all he knew?

“What do you mean, virtually all you know? Come on, give!”
she urged the image.

“One of my gate guards saw a logo on the shirt pocket of one
of the truck drivers. From the description, I think that truck came from the
Shiraz Electronics Industries, a subsidiary of the Iran Electronics Industries,
which is a state owned company.”

Okay, a state owned electronics company. She knew not what
to make of that or of their delivery to the airbase.

Since she couldn’t think of any further questions to ask,
she released the spell on the avatar, letting it dematerialize. Deep in thought,
she turned and cast another spell, rising into the air toward the southeast,
back the way she had come. She had no idea what to make of it all, but her
email to Paul that night would be longer and more interesting than usual.

A shadow separated from a nearby tree and moved to follow
her, the Oni hanging back in order to remain unobserved.

• • • •

The morning sun was just peeking over the eastern horizon
when Capie headed out in that direction, flying along at 6,000 feet, satellite
images in hand with all the dry lake beds clearly circled in ink if not
labeled. The biggest one, just east of Dastjerd and Malvajerd, was her first
target. But after an hour of crisscrossing back and forth over it, she
reluctantly concluded that there was nothing there to see.

There were maybe six or seven smaller ones to the south to
check out.

Looking at the satellite images, Capie began to lose hope. A
lot of the desert here was not dry lake bed but sand dunes, rocky hills and
ravines. If the Iranians and Kuzman had done—well, whatever it was that they
did—in some other location, then she would never find it. This place was vast!

It didn’t take long, and the second such dry lake bed passed
below her with no sign that anything other than nature had touched it. A third
one was only a few miles further south.

As Capie approached it, she thought at first that her
orientation was wrong, that she had lost her sense of direction. Up ahead, on
the horizon, she should be seeing a stretch of flat white sand. But there, the
sand was mostly as black as coal. Another quick check of the satellite images
revealed no such location anywhere in the neighborhood. And then, with a
tingling sensation running up and down her spine, she suddenly realized that
she had found what she was looking for.

It was the dry lake bed she had been expecting. Or at least,
it had once been that.

She dropped lower, angling in toward one edge of the huge
black area. And it was huge! The lake bed, according to the image scale of her
satellite images, was three miles long by one mile wide. The blackened area was
circular, nearly half as large in diameter as the lake bed was wide.

Almost half a mile in diameter.

Her stomach churned.

Out beyond the blackened circle, she could see some odd
posts sticking up. Not many but a few. They looked charred and partially
melted, especially those closer to the center of where the blast must have
occurred.

Landing gently just inside the edge of the blackened circle,
she reached over to touch the ground.

The black dirt was crusty, partially fused together,
extending downward an inch into the earth. Whatever explosion did this had generated
incredible heat!

Now that she was on the ground, she could see small pieces
of debris scattered everywhere. Fragments of charred wood and short sections of
melted twisted aluminum tubing. Even a few small pieces of burnt cloth. They
had been part of something, but the blast had totally disintegrated whatever
that something had been.

She walked father out, over to one of the metal posts
sticking out of the ground. There was some sort of circular device mounted to
it, about two feet above ground. It somehow looked familiar, as if she had seen
one before.

And then she remembered where. On Mythbusters, not
once but several times. They were rupture disks, designed to be placed in the
area of an explosion to determine how much damage—and yes, how much deadly
force was present.

The rupture diaphragm in this disk was missing altogether,
totally blown away. There were very few such posts further out. Glancing in
toward the center of the blast site, she could see where the explosion had left
a large circular pit in the ground.

For all the world, it looked like ground zero of a nuclear
blast.

“I need a nuclear physicist here, please. Hmm, Buckaroo
Banzai will do nicely,” and she waved a hand.

A holographic image of the young and handsome Peter Weller
appeared before her, dressed in a gray suit, white shirt and dark gray bowtie.
The specter glanced around at the ground, observing the posts but made no
comment.

“A nuclear explosion?” Capie asked, concerned that even at
that moment, she was being irradiated with huge amounts of nuclear particles.

“No,” Banzai declared, shaking his head. “No gamma radiation
here, other than the standard background levels. No, this was something
different. As powerful as a nuclear blast, yes. But not nuclear. Hmm,
thermobaric, maybe. A very large thermobaric FAE explosion might do this. Very
large Fuel Air Explosion.”

Capie’s head whipped around sharply. “Thermobaric, you said?
I saw that term recently. Yes, the KAB-1500…oh, my God! That’s what they needed
Kuzman for! The KAB-1500S is a thermobaric version of the bomb he helped
design.” She glanced around at the area of destruction. “This could level a
small city!”

“This was not a KAB-1500S. A larger blast here than that
one. Quite a bit larger. Perhaps three or four of them. Yes, it could be that,”
agreed Banzai, as his image started to fade away. “It sure could.”

“And just what does the Iranian government plan to do with
such a device now that they’ve tested it?” whispered Capie in horror as she
wiped beads of sweat from her forehead.

TWELVE

Basrah Airport Hotel

Basrah Airport Hwy

Basrah, Iraq

July

Wednesday 7:03 p.m. AST

“Thermobaric,
huh?” Paul’s image said in the Skype display hanging midair in the hotel room.
“That sounds incredibly nasty.”

“I agree,” Capie said, brushing the hair out of her eyes.

She was lying on her left side, on the bed, propped up on
one elbow, facing the display. Paul’s image was clearly being broadcast from
the garage of the rental house, and it was also clearly morning in San Jose,
the sun streaming through the east garage window visible behind him.

“I have changed my mind about this whole situation, CB,”
Paul said, waving a hand. Uncle Sam, the strategist hologram, appeared in the
image with him. “The idea that the Iranian government has developed a super
thermobaric weapon is very disturbing.”

“It is possible,” Uncle Sam interjected in a guarded tone,
“that they will simply add the weapon to their inventory, to be used only in
the event of a serious war or even just in self-defense.”

“Do you really believe that?” asked Capie, eyeing the
super-intelligence dubiously.

“No, I don’t,” Uncle Sam replied with a wry grin. “I said
that it was possible, not that it was likely.”

“So? What do we do about it?” Paul asked, one eyebrow cocked
at the specter beside him.

“I suggest that Capie do a little bit more investigating. We
need to know how many bombs the Iranians constructed and where they are being
stored.”

“I don’t like how dangerous this is becoming,” Paul admitted
apprehensively. “Capie, why don’t you wait there at the Basrah Airport Hotel
and I will be there tomorrow evening, local time.”

“No,” argued Capie. “It’s not necessary. And I don’t want to
take you away from the Scottie project. By the way, CR, you haven’t told me
what sort of progress you are making.”

“Don’t think that I am not noticing how you are trying to
change the subject,” he said wagging a finger at her. “I am nearly finished
building the sixteen qubit processor and will test it probably later this
afternoon.”

“That’s excellent news. I can’t take you away from that.
Besides, it’s not as dangerous here as I feared. I’ve seen no sign of Oni or Errabêlu.
And I don’t plan to go anywhere near Tehran.”

“She’s right,” Uncle Sam pointed out. “She doesn’t have to
go to Tehran to find out how many bombs they built. She needs to go to Shiraz
instead. That’s where the electronics firm is located and obviously, that’s
where they built the special detonator they needed for the thermobaric bomb.”

“Special detonator?” Capie asked. “Why? What’s special about
it?”

“A thermobaric fuel air bomb requires a dual detonator
system,” explained Uncle Sam. “The first detonator destroys the casing and disperses
the explosive over a very large area. The second and stronger detonator
detonates that explosive. The two detonators have to be very carefully designed
and manufactured to meet the special requirements of the weapon.”

“Ah,” responded Capie with a thoughtful look. “So that’s
where Shiraz Electronics fits into this picture. Good. Then all I have to do in
the morning is go to the city of Shiraz, tap into their electronics computer
network and find out how many detonator systems they made.”

“Humph,” Paul grunted in an unhappy tone. “That’s all,
she says. You know as well as I do that it won’t be that simple.”

“Relax,” Capie told him. “It’s not any harder than anything
else I’ve already done. I’ll call you back tomorrow and let you know how it
went, dear.”

“Please don’t do anything dangerous,” Paul pleaded with her.
“And if you find anything, call me no matter what time of the day or night it
might be. Okay, CB?”

With an understanding smile, she blew him a kiss and ended
the call.

• • • •

The early morning rays of the sun found Capie in the Iranian
city of Shiraz, sitting on a park bench in Hashemi Park, which was conveniently
located across the street from the Shiraz Electronics Industries complex. The
size of the huge facility and the number of multi-story metal and brick buildings
involved impressed Capie a great deal. And she thought the high chain link
fence topped with barbed wire and the armed guards visibly patrolling the
grounds inside were quite intimidating as well.

Fortunately she didn’t need to go inside the place. She was
more than close enough for what she needed to do next. She glanced around, to
ensure that none of the other people in the park were looking in her direction
and then waved one hand, creating a large virtual tablet in her lap. Opening up
a microportal, she linked the tablet to the computer network across the street.
A system logon screen appeared before her and, with a touchscreen keyboard on
the tablet, she launched into an effort to hack into the Shirazi system.

It was more challenging than she thought it would be and she
had to create a holographic super-intelligence, Alec Hardison (the hacker from
the TV Series Leverage), to solicit the specter’s expert advice in order
to get past the security firewalls.

Once inside, she looked for any records on Project Amm, the
project name given to her by General Ahmadi. She quickly discovered that there were
such records but that they were classified secret and encrypted. She also noted
that there weren’t really all that many records in the electronic database. Apparently,
the company had made an effort to keep as many records as possible off the computers.
However, by tracing the financial payments associated with the project, she did
discover charges for three freight shipments: the first one to the Esfahan
airbase, by truck, in early May. A second and larger one to Tehran, by way of
rail, to the Doshan Tappeh Air Base. At the same time, a third shipment went to
Shiraz International Airport, also by way of truck.

The third shipment bothered her a great deal. Why the
airport, she wondered? There was already a rail shipment to Tehran. If the
third consignment was also going to Tehran, why split it up and send it two
different ways?

So where could the third shipment possibly be going? Nothing
in the company’s database gave her the slightest clue.

And it irked her. Obviously, she would need to go to the
airport itself and do more snooping around.

Paul had been right. It wasn’t straight forward after all.

That third shipment. An international airport. Sure, there
were connections there to other cities in Iran. So it was possible that the
detonator or detonators in that shipment would stay in country. But her
suspicions were otherwise.

She went back to the company website and copied down all the
shipping numbers that she could find. Hurriedly, she closed down her spells,
got to her feet and walked further into the park. Then, behind yet another
cloaking spell, she took to the air. Once clear of the trees, she headed
southeast, toward the airport on the other side of the city. The Oni following
her was careful to trail far enough behind to remain unobserved.

• • • •

Since Shiraz International Airport was only fourteen miles
away by air, southeast of the Shiraz Electronics facility, it didn’t take her
long to reach the terminal building.

And three hours after her arrival, in the mid-afternoon,
here she was now, sitting on the edge of the roof of the control tower, fifty
feet off the ground, elbows on knees and her face in her hands.

Feeling very frustrated.

The airport was large, the second largest in Iran, so she
had discovered. And very busy too.

She watched as yet another airliner, an Airbus A340-300 this
time, ramped up its engines and rumbled the length of the tarmac, lifting
gracefully into the air.

“Tia, some advice here, please,” she muttered unhappily.

The image of the Queen of the Fairies appeared, sitting on
the edge of the roof beside Capie, mimicking her pose exactly.

“Got a problem, I see,” Tia remarked conversationally.

Capie sighed before answering. “I’m looking for one small shipment
in a huge airport full of cargo and passengers. I’ve hacked into and checked
the records of all the airline companies here. I can find no link to any of the
shipping numbers that I saw at the electronics facility. It’s as if the blasted
crate the detonator or detonators were packed in has vanished into thin air!”
She scratched the side of her nose and sighed again. “No pun intended there.”
She watched as a Fokker 100 made a landing approach, the squeal of the tires as
it touched down audible even from her location. “It’s here. Or at least, it was
here at one time. It’s just that there is so much cargo! I’d rather look for a
needle in a haystack!”

“I see.” Tia observed quietly. For several moments they sat
together, not saying anything.

“Tell me something,” Tia said. “Why did you check all of the
airlines? What makes you think the Iranian government would ship explosive
detonators on anything but a domestically owned airline?”

Capie sat up slowly, her mouth dropping in astonishment. “Ah,
oops…” and then her voice trailed off as she snapped alert, whipping her head
back and forth, examining the airport in front of her as if seeing it for the
first time.

“That’s right,” Tia agreed with a nod. “I suggest
concentrating on the largest domestic airline that handles freight first.”

“Iran Air Cargo,” Capie said, the light beginning to dawn in
her eyes. “A truck delivering a single crate from Shiraz—that would be somewhat
unusual. Perhaps what would be called a ‘special shipment.’”

“Right. A special shipment that arrived on…well, what day
would that have been?”

Capie closed her eyes and groaned. “I didn’t think of
tackling it based on the date of arrival. That would maybe be the same day the
truck left Shiraz? Maybe the day after that?”

“Better include the day after that too, just to be safe,”
Tia pointed out. “So, a special shipment that arrived and went out on Iran Air
Cargo in a three day window.”

“I’ll get right on it,” Capie declared, levitating off the
ledge and flying off toward the terminal building. “Oh, and thanks!”

Tia waved an indifferent hand as she faded away. “No sweat.
Just my lot in life now.”

• • • •

“Got you nailed!” Capie announced smugly, as she scanned the
shipping records in the holographic image floating in front of her.

Lacking a better option for quick privacy, she had chosen a
location between two buses in the parking lot across from the terminal building
where she was more or less out of sight of any passersby. She counted on her
invisibility spell to insure things stayed that way, in case anyone did by
chance wander by and see her.

But what she hadn’t counted on were Oni.

At the end of the ‘alley’ formed by the buses, the
appearance of a shadow caught the corner of her eye. Two Oni stepped into the
opening there. She swung around quickly to find two more at the other end of
the ‘alley.’ And, looking up, there were two on top of the buses as well.

Surrounded.

One of the Oni on the ground stepped forward, a white flag
appearing magically in one of its—paws?

“Wizard,” it growled menacingly. “Who are you? What is your
name?”

Capie flinched back, her heart suddenly in her stomach. She
also found it hard to breathe. And, moreover, she didn’t trust that white flag.
She knew what the Oni were capable of.

“Your name!” the creature demanded more loudly. “What is
your name?!”

“None of your business,” she snapped, crouching against the
side of one of the buses, desperately and nervously trying to remember the most
powerful spell she could use to protect herself. Why was her mind a sudden
blank?

The Oni gestured at the talisman medallion she wore. “By its
signature, you carry the talisman of Kenneth McDougall, Errabêlu of
Canada. But you are not him. Your face does not match that of any known wizard.
My master demands to know. Who are you? What is your name?”

“Capie!” she snarled out the answer viciously. “I am Capie!
Daughter of a famous Normal, killed—no, murdered in cold blood—by
hideous disgusting Oni monsters, just like you!”

The Oni took an instinctive step backward, disturbed by the
woman’s hatred and venom. Clearly, it wasn’t prepared for her animosity.

“Why are you here, in this country, in this place?’ it
demanded again. “What do you seek?”

But Capie suddenly remembered the spell for fusion, and mentally
she reached out to the decorative water fountain several hundred feet away.
With quick concentration, she cast the spell.

An explosion the equivalent of ten pounds of TNT went off,
the blast hurling a geyser of water skyward more than a hundred feet high. The shockwave
from the blast caught all of the Oni by surprise, and they flinched backward from
the raining cloud of concrete debris.

Only two seconds went by before the most alert of the group
swung back towards the woman.

But she was already gone.

“Track her!” shouted the Oni with the white flag.

A gemstone was produced in the hands of another Oni and it
scanned the area where Capie had stood.

“This way!” it announced, opening a portal wide and jumping straight
in.

The other five darted through after it.

• • • •

“Where are you calling from now, dear?” the image of Paul
said in the Skype window.

“Dubai,” his wife answered. “United Arab Emirates. From the
Atlantis, The Palm Hotel. We should try this place for a romantic weekend
sometime, CR,” she added, running one finger slowly over the luxurious fabric
of the armchair she was sitting in while glancing around at the hotel room’s
other furnishings. “Or maybe a whole week. Very nice place. We could make up
for all the kisses and hugs I’ve missed lately.”

Paul smiled wistfully. “A nice idea. I’ve missed you too,
CB. But, to stay on topic, I did a bit of research on thermobaric weapons.
According to Wikipedia, the explosive material typically used is either
ethylene oxide or propylene oxide. Both of those fuels are widely available on
a commercial basis practically anywhere in the world. Iran itself is a major
producer of ethylene oxide. My guess is that’s what they used for their test in
the desert.”

“Oh, I see,” Capie slowly said. “If they wanted to use a
bomb somewhere, they don’t need to make the bomb in Iran and ship it out. That
might be hard to do, if it’s really big and heavy. They can build the bomb
almost anywhere, using local materials, including the fuel for the bomb. The
only special component is the detonators, which are much smaller and lighter
than the bomb itself and more easily shipped.”

“Exactly,” Paul admitted. “Although the detonators are
explosives all by themselves. You certainly couldn’t ship them by UPS!”

But Capie was looking very green around the gills. “What you
just told me, about the fuels? I just put that together with what I learned in
Shiraz.”

Paul blinked in return, looking suddenly apprehensive.
“Which is what? How did it go in Shiraz?”

Capie leaned earnestly forward. “They made several
detonators. Most of them are still in Iran. But at least one and probably more were
shipped out of the country, just after the test out in the desert.”

What she wasn’t saying and had no plans to tell him was the
story of her run-in with the Oni at the airport. Her husband wouldn’t take that
very well. In truth, she herself was still shaking a bit from that encounter.
The only reason she had escaped was that the fusion spell had startled them.
Next time, that spell probably wouldn’t work so well, at least, not as a distraction.
She would need to think up a better solution before she had another such confrontation
with them.

And she had been lucky too, in avoiding their pursuit. Using
the power of McDougall’s full talisman, she had managed to screw with the
energy of her portal from Shiraz, sending any pursuit off in a different
direction. She wondered what the Oni’s reaction had been when they had portaled
into the tomb of Ramses the Great in the Valley of the Kings in Egypt. Oh, to
have been a fly on the wall for that event!

Her husband looked down and shook his head. “So they are
planning to use the detonators and build a bomb somewhere. But where? Here in
the States?”

“No,” was her answer. “I traced the detonator shipment to a
specific airline and a specific flight. It went by cargo service by Iran Air. First
leg of the journey was to Caracas, Venezuela.”

“Venezuela?” Paul asked, a puzzled frown on his face. “Why
there?”

“From there, it was transferred to a Gol Linhas Aereas
Inteligentes flight, non-stop to Guarulhos International Airport, Sao Paulo,
Brazil.”

Paul put hand to chin, deep in thought. “Sao Paulo, Brazil…”
And then he dropped his hand, his face blanching white, his eyes opening wide
in unrestrained and total surprise.

“That’s right,” Capie said, confirming his sudden obvious
guess. “Sao Paulo. Only two hundred miles from Rio de Janeiro and that was only
a few weeks ago, so plenty of time before the start of the International Summer
Olympics to build a bomb.”

“Oh, my…!” Paul started to say and then he caught his
breath. “They wouldn’t dare! The international repercussions! It could mean
war! It’s so incredible that they would even think of doing something so
hideous!”

She leaned closer to the Skype view. “Out in the desert, in
the test area, there were pieces of burnt wood and melted aluminum tubing. I
think that they built a few bleachers there, as part of the test, to see what
the blast would do to them. Bleachers like those in the Olympic stadium. And remember,
we are talking Errabêlu, remember? No regard for Normals, right?”

Paul swallowed what he was about to say and closed his eyes.
“You’re right. This is probably an effort toward some larger goal of theirs. Heaven
only knows what that might be.  You’ve done excellent work. I take back everything
I said when you started this investigation. Now I need to make up for my lost
time. I’m not sure, but I think the Olympics opening ceremony is tomorrow
night. I’ll leave immediately for Rio. For all we know, the bomb might already
be in place at the sports stadium there.”

“That’s a good idea,” Capie said, with a grimace. “While you
do that, I’ll go directly to Sao Paulo and try to track the detonators. If I
can find how they plan to deliver the bomb, that will help us stop them.”

Paul reached out, holding his hand in sign language, thumb,
pinkie and index fingers extended, middle fingers folder over. “I love you,
dear, with all of my heart,” he said longingly. “You be careful. Take your
satellite phone with you—”

She grimaced distastefully. “I haven’t had time to figure
out how it works yet.”

He grinned. “Remember the ten percent rule, dear. You have
to be—”

“Ten percent as smart as the device you are trying to
operate,” she interrupted him with a glower. “You’ve said that before.”

“And remember to keep it charged. I love you.”

“You be careful too, CR. And I love you,” she told him with
a slow shake of her head and the hint of a smile.

• • • •

Paul was forced to admit it, with all eight Oni talismans
strapped on him, he looked pretty odd. Three armbands on his arms, two overly
large belt buckles and three heavy medallion pendants hanging around his neck
not only looked weird, it was awkward to carry or even to walk around in a
normal fashion. But there was little choice. Even all eight talismans barely
provided the power of McDougall’s talisman (or that of any other wizard of Errabêlu).
He thought it highly likely that he would need that power of those talismans
too, heading into what could very well be a battle situation.

Now the groundwork. Where in Rio would the Olympics be held
specifically? And what would be the schedule? Would there be, like in years
past, an opening ceremony? If so, when and where would that be?

There was a lot to learn and, he strongly suspected, very
little time left in which to learn it.

• • • •

Forgoing sleep, and also throwing caution to the winds, Capie
portaled westward, straight across the North African Sahara desert, and out
into the Atlantic not far north of Cape Verde.

From there she turned south-westward, lengthening her stride
and paralleling the eastern coast of Brazil. She passed to the south of the
city of Rio de Janeiro, approaching the coastal city of Santos at nearly the
same time that Paul was nearing the Marianã Stadium in Rio.

Just north of Santos, she made her last portal jump, now airborne
and flying to the northwest over rugged country, on a direct bearing towards
the Sao Paulo-Guarulhos International Airport. Her first stop, once she got
there, would be to find the Gol Airlines computer network and hack into it.
Then she would need to check the Olympics schedule, to find out how much time
she had in order to stop this vile plot.

• • • •

In the outskirts of Rio de Janeiro, Paul hitch-hiked on top
of a tractor-trailer riding east on the Via Dutra, approaching the city center
from the west. The ride was bumpy and noisy and he didn’t care much for the
smell either. However, the truck did obligingly change over to the 101 freeway
and take him nearly all the way downtown, to within two miles of the Maracanã Stadium.

The sun was low in the western horizon. According to the
Internet, sunset would occur locally at 5:24 p.m. And the opening ceremony
would start at 6 p.m. That wouldn’t leave him much time once he actually
reached the stadium to search for the bomb. He flew off when the truck reached the
cloverleaf near the waterfront, landing lightly on the asphalt of a side
avenue, the Monsenhor Manuel Gomes Road.

And then he leaned forward, dropping into a fast run.

“Steve Austin, eat your heart out,” he muttered, casting an
internal spell to increase the flow of O_2 into his blood stream, and
the purging of CO_2 and lactic acid from his muscles. He ramped up
his speed to thirty miles per hour. He could have gone faster, but the
pedestrians and vehicle traffic kept getting in his way.

Maneuvering through the city streets took him to and then
through the grounds of the Museu Nacional. Past that, he tap danced over several
sets of railroad tracks and a divided highway.

And up to an eight foot tall fence which, with a little
additional assistance from another spell, he leapt over.

Into the stadium parking lot. Well, one of them anyway. And
full too.

The opening ceremonies started in just two hours. Two hours
to search the largest stadium in Brazil, the second largest in all of South
America, with a seating capacity of over 78,800 spectators. Just thinking of
all of the places to search in a facility of this size seemed daunting.

On the other hand, like a dog trained to sniff out
explosives, the first thing he planned to try was an aerial detection spell of
ethylene oxide. Trotting over to the nearest emergency exit door, he unlocked
it with a flick of the fingers and ducked inside.

• • • •

According to the cargo records of the Gol Airlines, the
single crate in question had been offloaded from Flight 408 from Caracas and
then shipped to the business address of a Usinagem de Precisão (Precision
Machining) in the nearby city of Jundiai, a little over thirty miles away.
A quick check of the Internet revealed the address to be located at the Comte
Rolim Adolfo Amaro-Jundiai State Airport, apparently at a hangar not far from
the flight line. She was headed there now, as fast as she could fly. Her watch
told her it was 4:34 p.m. local time.

• • • •

Nothing. Nada. Zilch. El zippo. Nichts. Ninguna cosa. Rien.
A big fat zero.

There was a chance that he had missed it, obviously. His
search wasn’t as complete and as thorough as he would have liked it to be. On
the other hand, he was assuming that this bomb (or bombs, plural?) would be
massive, weighing a thousand pounds or more, and that they would be placed in a
location to inflict the greatest amount of damage and causalities. And be placed
in a spot without it being obvious what it was and also escaping the notice of
the hundreds of security personnel and police wandering around on a regular
basis.

That sort of cut down on the possibilities. And he had
examined all of them.

And nothing.

It wasn’t here. For a few moments, he considered the
possibility that he and his wife had jumped to the wrong conclusion. They could
be totally mistaken about the whole chain of events. But Paul dismissed the thought.
He would go back over the stadium all over again. And again, if need be. There
were just too many lives at stake. If he and Capie were wrong, then they would
know that in just a couple of hours. Then they could laugh about it and go
home. One way or another, it would be over with. At that time, he could quit looking
and take a rest. But not until then.

Nervously, he checked his watch. It was 5:12 p.m. He cast a
spell in an attempt to calm himself.

He headed back to the place where he had started the first
search and began a second one.

• • • •

She touched down lightly in front of a small hanger to the
east of the airstrip and walked over to a small side door. The knob was locked
and there was a padlocked hasp too. The two locks hardly slowed her down at all
and she strode through the entryway into the building. However, there was
nothing to see. The building’s interior was completely deserted except for some
paper litter scattered around on the floor.

“Quem é você? O que você está fazendo aqui? O que você quer?
(Who are you? What are you doing here? What do you want?)” demanded a
voice from behind her at the doorway.

She spun around. The voice belonged to a middle-aged man
wearing dirty mechanics overalls, with heavy jowls and a short black crew cut. With
a rapid snap of her fingers, she immediately froze him in place.

“I don’t have time to be courteous about this,” she snarled.
“Forgive me for being rude.” With another snap of her fingers, she created an
avatar of the guy. At the appearance of a duplicate of himself, the eyes of the
man grew incredibly wide and beads of sweat instantly arose on his forehead.

Capie turned to the avatar. “How long has this hangar been
empty?”

“Only an hour or so,” the avatar replied in Portuguese. The
mechanic groaned, his eyes darting back and forth in panic. Capie ignored him.

“Tell me about this place,” Capie gruffly commanded of the avatar.
“Who was here? What did they do? What happened to them and the stuff that was
here?”

“Four men, I think, moved in a month ago. The sign they hung
up said ‘Precision Machining’ but I never saw any customers and the doors were
usually locked. I don’t know what they did. A few trucks came here, making
deliveries. Then, this morning, I come in early, to work on engine on bosses’
plane, two hangars over. I get here at sunrise, just in time to see a huge
plane land here. A big four engine one, with a rear cargo ramp. Looked North
American. Even though runway here is only 1,400 meters long, big plane has no
problem landing, with room to spare. Taxied over here and the rear ramp, she
drops open. Two men get out. The big hanger doors here opened up and a fork
lift loaded two large pallets covered with tarps on board. After that, the
ramp, she goes up, the two men get in and the plane takes off. A beautiful
sight, that. Didn’t need the whole runway then either. Then the four men, they
are still here. An hour ago, they load the forklift onto a trailer and drive
off in two big trucks. They left the hangar all locked up. That’s all I know.”

She shook her head in amazement. Of course. All the pieces
fit together nicely now. The bomb in Iran hadn’t been detonated on the ground.
It had been dropped from a plane! And that’s how they planned to attack the
Olympics, by plane, from the air.

They had left early this morning, with more than enough time
to get to Rio before even the opening ceremony. So where had the plane gone?
Was it just circling around in midair somewhere? Or was it on the ground at
another small airstrip someplace, waiting to take off again?

Those answers she didn’t have. But one she did. If she and
Paul didn’t stop that plane, nearly everyone inside the stadium would die horribly
in the fireball of a gigantic thermobaric fuel air explosion.

She dug the satellite phone from a pocket and stepped
outside to get a clear shot at the satellite. It was time to call Paul.

THIRTEEN

Maracanã Stadium

Av. Maracanã

Rio de Janeiro, Brazil

August

Friday 5:35 p.m. BRT

Paul’s
satellite phone ‘rang,’ playing the invisible monster sound effects from the
film Forbidden Planet.

He was hovering ten feet over the roof of the stadium, doing
another visual inspection of the structure’s exterior and still not finding
anything out of place or suspicious. He quickly dug the satellite phone from a
pants pocket and answered it.

“Dear, I was just about to call you.”

“Uh, huh. I bet,” Capie responded with more than a little sarcasm.
“Where are you?”

“I’m at the Maracanã Stadium. I’ve just about finished the
second sweep of the place. No dice. No bomb here.”

“And I’m in Jundiai, a small city thirty miles northwest of
Sao Paulo,” she told him. “The bombs, and there are two of them, were assembled
here, at a small airport. They left on a large four engine prop plane of some
type, early this morning, not long after dawn. I’m told it looked North
American.”

“Probably a Hercules C-130,” Paul responded automatically.
“They’re all over the world. Even the smaller countries have one or two of them
stashed away somewhere. So, the $64,000 question, where is the plane now?”

“Not far from Rio is my guess,” Capie said quickly. “Since
it’s only, what, twenty-five minutes to the opening ceremony.”

“Let’s waste no more time then. You start an air search from
your end. I’ll stay here and stand guard in case it shows up. Call me if you
spot it. And good luck.”

• • • •

The time element was really starting to bother Paul and he
couldn’t stop fretting about it. If the attack wasn’t supposed to happen until 6
p.m., then why had the Hercules aircraft left Jundiai so early in the morning?
Why not wait until an hour before the opening ceremony started and then
takeoff? An hour is all they needed in a C-130 to fly from Sao Paulo to Rio. And
where were they now? Flying around somewhere in the interior of Brazil? Or out
at sea? That made no sense. Maybe they needed to pick up something or somebody
else at some other airport? But where?

A quick check of Wikipedia told him that the C-130 only
needed a runway 3,600 feet in length even when fully loaded. That got him to
thinking. Even the shortest of local runways was probably longer than that.

He levitated higher in the air, climbing to 200 feet,
running another 360 degree visual scan of the horizon. It was getting late and
the sun had already set behind the Mantiqueira Mountains, and even twilight was
fading away fast. Beneath him, he could hear the roar of the crowds through the
open roof of the stadium. The opening ceremonies had already started. No
surprise there since his watch told him the time here was 6:10 p.m.

“Uncle Sam, please.”

The simulacrum appeared, hovering beside Paul.

“Where do you think their plane is?” Paul asked. “Best
guess.”

“A local airport,” the image answered firmly without
hesitation. “The Iranians will want to be out of sight until their attack but they
will also want to be nearby, to increase the odds in their favor of a
successful outcome under nighttime conditions.”

Paul nodded in agreement. It made sense. For them, a short
flight also lessened the time that local authorities could intercept the
Hercules as well.

He called up a map of southeast Brazil on an internet
display and started looking for local airports. There were at least a dozen of
them. With a quick spell, he opened up a microportal, the other end of which
was ten miles overhead. Then he created a second display, greatly magnifying
the image through the microportal. It was almost like looking down at the Earth
through Google or Bing maps, except, now that the sun had set and dusk was
fading, it was getting hard to make out details. A light amplification spell
solved that problem.

He started searching at the closest airport, the Galeão
International. The C-130 was unlikely to be there. Too public a place, too out
in the open. But it was the closest. If not there, then he would check the Santos
Airport next.

• • • •

Capie was flying along at 5,000 feet on a general heading to
the east northeast, more or less in Rio’s direction, as she carefully scanned the
airspace and terrain around her, looking for any planes at all. She saw more
than a dozen airliners heading either toward or out of Sao Paulo. Nothing else.

She was thinking pretty much along the same lines as her
husband and wondering where to look for the terrorist plane. Her watch said the
time was now 6:15 p.m.

She kept scanning, the frustration building up inside her
with each passing minute.

• • • •

Just as he thought. There were no C-130’s parked out in the
open at Galeão International.

The time was 6:45 p.m.

He pulled out the cell phone and called Capie.

“Seen them yet?” she asked.

“No,” he replied in a frustrated tone. “Nothing on your end
either, huh?”

“No.”

“I’m starting to wonder about that,” Paul admitted. “We’ve
been assuming that they would attack at the start of the opening ceremony. What
if we are wrong? I mean, here it is almost 7 p.m. and there’s no sign of them. What
if they picked a different time?”

“I know that tone of voice,” she said uneasily, her posture
suddenly rigid. “What are you thinking?”

“You know how the opening ceremony goes,” he said in a cold
sweat. “There are speeches, presentations and such, followed by the Parade of
Nations where they introduce the athletes by country, in alphabetical order.
The Iranians might wait until—”

“Until the Israeli athletes come out on the field!” Capie
hissed.

“My thought exactly.”

“What a political statement that would make!” she growled as
she clenched and unclenched her left hand repeatedly in anger. “The Taliban got
off easy compared to what will happen to Iran if they succeed.”

“Ah, but we aren’t going to let them succeed, now are we,
dear?” he declared. “I’m scanning the local airports from near space, in case
they are parked at one of them.”

“I’m only fifty miles west of you now,” she informed him. “But
it’s slow going. It’s more difficult searching in the dark.”

“Tell me about it,” he commented sarcastically.

“I’ll be there in another hour or so, at this rate.”

“I’ll let you know if they show up before then,” he promised
as he hung up the call and started a search at the Santos Airport.

• • • •

Not at Santos either, which was also a fairly sizeable
airport and too public a place. The next closest was Jacarepagua, a few miles
to the southwest of Rio. It was much smaller, consisting only of a single
runway. A quick visual search up the length of the tarmac there was conclusive.
Not there either.

It was 7:28 p.m. and fully dark now. And still no plane.

Okay, the Maricá was next, a small airstrip across the
harbor and up the coast twenty five miles away.

And there it was, just as pretty as you please, the big Hercules
aircraft rolling down the runway as he watched, gathering speed and lifting
gracefully into the night air. But what disturbed Paul the most and caused a
strong tingling sensation to run up and down his spine was the sight of several
human-shaped silhouettes flying alongside the plane.

Oni.

He couldn’t get a decent count. It was too dark and they
were weaving in and around the aircraft. No doubt they were invisible to the
pilot, who would otherwise be freaking out at the sight of such creatures
flitting around his aircraft. It reminded Paul of the Twilight Zone
episode, “Nightmare at 20,000 Feet,” but he put that thought away.

He whipped the phone out and frantically punched the
buttons.

“Capie? Capie! The plane is at Maricá Airport, to the east
of Rio! Get here as fast as you can! And get this! It’s being escorted by a
bunch of Oni! That’s right, a lot of them! Ten or more, at least! Right! And
yes, I’ll be careful!”

• • • •

Capie shoved the phone back in her pocket and was on the
verge of opening a portal straight to the Maracanã Stadium, throwing caution to
the wind. After all, any Oni around would shortly know that she and Paul were
in the area anyway. Why hide anymore?

And then she stopped suddenly as she carried that thought
through to an obvious conclusion.

No. Going to Rio was not the best first choice. There was
somewhere else to go first. Then Rio.

She just hoped that Paul would understand and that he could
hold out until she got there.

• • • •

Paul dissolved the microportal and opened a portal toward
the east, stepping through and cutting his distance to the C-130 by twenty
three miles. The sooner that he intercepted the terrorist aircraft, the better
the chance he had at taking it out.

“Uncle Sam, any suggestions?” he asked, incredibly afraid of
the danger he would shortly be in. He watched the Oni apparently taking notice
of him in the darkened sky. Several of them began moving ahead of the plane, in
his direction.

“You already know what’s at stake,” the tall specter
reminded him. “The Oni will probably split up, some to guard the plane and the
rest to attack you. Don’t get bogged down in trying to take out the Oni. That
plane is your goal. Deception and illusions won’t work on the Oni, but they
will work on the Normal piloting that plane.”

The image took a deep breath and quickly added. “Your pledge
not to kill anyone. You might have to break it, to save the lives of more than
eighty thousand Normals.”

Paul swallowed hard and gritted his teeth. “Right. I thought
Capie might be here by now, but it’s just as well that she isn’t. This is going
to be dangerous. Time to go.”

He ramped up his night vision even more, the better to see
his target and the Oni guarding it. The plane was now only a mile away, still
climbing and accelerating. With his stomach tied in knots, his heart thundering
in his chest, Paul gritted his teeth and launched himself forward.

Gathering his powers, he cast a spell for a huge fiery apparition
in front of him, half phoenix and half dragon, its wings spread wide, its mouth
spewing fire, its entire body glowing a bright red.

But the plane showed no reaction at all, continuing on a
steady course in his direction. The Oni must be casting a counter spell,
blocking the pilot’s ability to see the illusion.

Frustrated, the distance to the plane now a half mile, he
cast a spell to fire a large plasma bolt at the plane. However, the bolt
dissipated into nothingness before it was halfway there, again apparently at
the instigation of the Oni. Was there no way to reach the plane?

Paul would have loved to have used his fusion spell but they
were over dry land, no water nearby. He could portal in a few pounds of H_2O,
of course, but probably never get it close enough to the plane to use it.
Moreover, there were people on the ground below him. At their low altitude, the
risk was too high.

The combined closure rate between him and the plane was
nearly 300 miles per hour and he was now out of time. The leading edge of Oni
started firing plasma bolts at him. Paul ducked and weaved, firing back at them
and every now and then, at the plane. Very few of his shots hit an Oni,
bouncing off their shields and none ever hit the plane.

He was forced to turn with and match the plane’s speed and
direction. By his estimate, they would be at the stadium in less than twelve
minutes.

As he dodged another bolt of plasma, he wondered again where
Capie was.

• • • •

At only fifty feet off of the ground, Capie was zipping down
the Esplanade de Ministerios in Brasilia, the capital of Brazil, conducting a
strafing run. Only, she wasn’t firing bullets but magical spells.

They were for fireworks, various characters from Disney
films, gremlins, creatures from Harry Potter films, from Lord of the Rings,
spells for griffins, dragons, monsters from various Japanese and Hollywood
Films, amongst others. Whatever illusion she could think of that would draw a
lot of attention, she created it.

There was panic in the streets. Fire trucks and police cars
were roaring up and down the boulevard, chasing the chimera.

Gee, how long would it take for the Errabêlu wizard
here to notice?

• • • •

The wizard in question, Guillermos Olivos, wasn’t in
Brasilia. He was in Rio de Janeiro. In fact, he was in the VIP section of the
stands in the Maracanã Stadium riveted to the opening ceremony.

Olivos was a huge fan of the Olympics and he had expended
considerable political and financial capital campaigning to have his country of
Brazil selected to be the host for the games. It gave him great pride for his
nation to have that honor this time.

So he was quite angry indeed when one of his Oni brought him
word that another wizard was terrorizing Brasilia. The timing involved
infuriated him, with the perpetrator invading his country, his capital city
when he, Olivos, was in Rio trying to watch the Olympics! Such insolence! Such
effrontery!

And the flagrant tawdry deluge of magical spells that this
depraved immoral wizard was using, in a public venue! It riled and enraged
Olivos to the extreme. If they agreed on nothing else, the wizards of Errabêlu
took great pains not to display the use of their magical powers where Normies
could see them! Why, this was more than a crime! It verged on an act of war!
How dare the upstart! To do this to him, a senior member of the Conclave of
Magi, no less!

Red faced, he hotly issued orders to the Oni messenger, then
dashed out of the VIP box himself. He would see to this personally.

• • • •

And then, not far in front of Capie, a portal opened up and
two Oni emerged. She came to an abrupt halt, hovering in midair, grinning
smugly.

Finally!

She turned, speeding off, casting more spells. She had to
time this carefully, lest she be trapped here.

There! A glimpse of two more Oni, flying down a side street,
on an intercept course with her. She veered again, now toward the Congresso
Nacional, a 302 foot tall building at the end of the boulevard. At the last
moment, she altered course, now skimming upwards along one side of the towering
edifice until she reached the roof.

And portaling away, straight to Rio de Janeiro, freely
expending all the magical energy that she could muster. She didn’t want her
pursuers to miss her trail.

• • • •

Paul was wracked with despair, pain, and hopelessness.
Nothing he had tried had worked. The C-130 was now over the middle of the Cunha
channel and less than a minute from the stadium. Already the pilot had slowed
the craft, dropping it to a lower altitude on an approach run. The rear cargo
hold ramp was coming down too, allowing Paul a brief look into the lighted
interior.

He could see a cargo pallet sitting in readiness.

Two more plasma bolts hit his personal shields, as he
attempted to dive out of the path of the Oni again.

In desperation, he reached down with his powers into the
water of the channel below the plane, forming a ball of fusion.

The explosion echoed through the bay, a geyser of black
water reaching upward for plane—

But the blast was diverted by the Oni, never reaching the
aircraft.

A sudden bright blast of light to the north caused Paul to
spin around.

What was that all about?

• • • •

Despite the darkness, high above the bay, Capie took in the
situation almost immediately and she dove for the plane, cast a spell to form a
solid magical shield in front of her.

Behind her, Olivos and a dozen Oni emerged from another portal,
tracking her effortlessly and rocketing after her.

• • • •

Paul saw a dark shape shooting for the opposite side of the plane,
effectively outflanking the Oni in front of him. Could that be Capie?

And then he saw a second portal open up and another dozen
Oni emerge and fly towards the plane.

His heart sank and he cried out in total anguish, his body
shivering uncontrollably in rage.

More Oni? There was absolutely no chance of stopping
the attack now! 80,000 people were about to die horribly and he couldn’t
stop it. There were too many Oni!

And then the dark shape rocketing through the gloom of the night
sky plowed through the outer skin of the plane, shredding a hole in the
aluminum sheeting as it plunged into the interior. But it did not come out the other
side.

As Paul watched, he saw a very curious thing. One of the
arriving group of Oni stopped in midair, pointing at the Oni protecting the
plane. This second group of Oni then veered slightly, heading toward the first
group. Paul never found out that the one leading the attacking Oni was the
Brazilian wizard.

They opened fire with a torrent of plasma bolts on the first
group.

Mouth falling open in total astonishment, Paul watched for a
few seconds as the first group responded in kind. In less than ten seconds, the
two factions merged into a real fur-ball of a dogfight.

Idiot, he screamed at himself. This was his chance to
do something while the first group of Oni were distracted! MOVE IT!

He flung himself forward, aiming for the rear cargo door of
the C-130.

The plane was already over the eastern section of the city.
In seconds, it would be over the target.

• • • •

Capie broke through the side of the Hercules aircraft,
knocking two Quds Force troopers to the cargo deck. She spun, using a spell to
push back two more soldiers.

A plasma bolt hit her in the side, throwing her against the
wall. Raising one arm, she fired back at the Oni that had hit her, one who was disguised
as an Iranian soldier. Her plasma bolt burst against its chest and knocked it
to the deck.

Another bolt hit her and she suddenly found herself lying on
her back staring up into the face of a middle-eastern man.

“A woman!” Omar shouted over the thunder of noise inside the
plane. He turned and moved off, yelling some words in Arabic, which Capie was
too dazed to understand. She followed him with her eyes, a corner of her mind
noting the two huge cigar shaped cylinders sitting on pallets. Two bombs. And
three soldiers were gathered by one of them, at the end of the plane,
manhandling it towards the open cargo ramp.

The man who had leaned over her was now standing behind
them, one arm raised high. He screamed at the soldiers and dropped his hand.

They shoved hard on the bomb, and it teetered on the edge of
the ramp.

• • • •

As Paul shot forward, dodging past the swirling combat and
carnage of the battling Oni, he was able to see far enough into the plane to
note the soldiers pushing on the bomb.

“NO!” he screamed, diving into opening, just as the
bomb started sliding down the ramp.

He tried casting a spell to push it back, but the bomb was
too heavy and its inertia already more than he could handle.

So instead, he straddled the casing near the end and cast a
spell to hold on as tightly as he could. The bomb popped out of the rear of the
plane, into the night air, falling fast in a downward arc.

The iconic image of Slim Pickens in the film Dr.
Strangelove popped into his mind and Paul screwed his eyes shut, screaming at
the top of his lungs, “Yeeeee Hawwwww!”

A drogue chute popped out of the tail and he flung his eyes
open again as the bomb jerked hard enough to make him slide all the way down the
bomb’s length to its nose. He barely managed to hold on, where now he was in an
upside down position.

He noted that the bomb was rapidly approaching the opening
in the roof of the stadium, not far from dead center, in fact. He had only
seconds to do something, since the first stage of the detonator would
likely go off just as soon as the bomb passed through that hole.

The detonator. He glanced at the front edge of the bomb,
noticing a small hatch built into the casing. That would be where the detonator
was installed and where it had been armed, prior to being dropped. Placing one
hand on the hatch, he closed his eyes again and muttered a chant.

“In the name of Peace on Earth, let the value of vacuum
permittivity inside this bomb be cut in half!”

Inside the bomb, at the detonator, the battery circuit
feeding the timer to the two detonators suddenly lost most of its voltage.
Moreover, the electric charge for the exploding-bridgewire detonators was also
severely diminished. In effect, the detonator was stunned into an unconscious
state. No longer armed, the bomb fell through the circular hole in the stadium
roof line without exploding.

Paul jumped clear, using a spell to come to a halt in midair
as he watched the bomb half bury itself in the grass of the stadium’s open
field, just missing the Israeli team captain by twenty feet.

The crowds in the stadium’s seats fell quiet at the sudden
and unexpected appearance of what looked, for the all the world, to be a bomb plunging
into and now sticking out of the ground. Paul lowered himself and landed next
to the now inactive explosive device. Facing the stands and raising his hands
high in the air, he then bowed.

At first, no one seemed to know how to respond to this. Then
a lone elderly man in the crowds stood and began to clap. Others soon joined
and within seconds, the place was thundering with applause. Paul bowed again,
noting out of the corner of one eye the onslaught of hundreds of police and
security officers scrambling pell-mell across the field from all points of the
compass, in his direction, guns waving frantically. With a wave of his hand, he
rose into the air, accelerating back out of the hole in the stadium’s roof.

Scanning the city skyline, he quickly found both the plane
and the still raging Oni battle. The dogfight however, seemed smaller than
before, no doubt due to causalities on both sides. It was the plane, though,
that Paul was interested in. It was in a steep right-hand bank, heading back
out over Guanabara Bay. Perhaps it was making another attempt at a bomb run using
the second bomb that he had caught a brief sight of inside the cargo bay.

He briefly considered destroying the plane, now that there
weren’t any Oni to stop him. But that figure who had flown into the plane might
very well have been his wife. Okay, so maybe he couldn’t destroy it outright,
but he sure could prevent it from making another run.

Gathering all his power, he fired two huge blasts of plasma,
both of them racing across the night sky, the first exploding engine number
four and destroying the last several feet of the starboard wing tip. The second
spell did the same thing with engine number one and the left wing tip.

The plane’s nose dropped and the pilot suddenly had a fight
on his hands, keeping the aircraft in the air. Shooting forward, Paul raced
across the intervening distance and angled in toward the C-130’s side and the
gaping hole there. As he approached, Paul got a good look at the lighted
interior.

And saw his wife on the cargo deck, badly hurt and bleeding.
An Oni also lay on the deck, its chest charred black. Another Oni was talking
to an Iranian soldier. Reaching out with his powers, Paul lowered the vacuum
permittivity around the Oni still standing and had the satisfaction of seeing
it suddenly jerk several times before collapsing to the deck. Then he pulled
himself through the hole.

Omar saw Paul immediately and shouted at the soldiers
pushing the bomb. Two of those men drew pistols, P226s, but Paul froze all of
the men with another spell.

With as much care as he could manage, he levitated Capie off
the deck and into his waiting arms.

“Stay with me, now, love of my life!” he managed to say soothingly
to her through a suddenly too dry throat. “I’ll get you to safety and take good
care of you. Just don’t leave me now, CB!”

Walking forward, he maneuvered around the frozen figures in
the plane and then floated out the cargo ramp, into the night.

Outside, holding an unconscious Capie in his arms, he turned
in midair and watched the plane speed away.

“Considering what they nearly accomplished,” he snarled
angrily, “I should just let everyone on that plane die in a fiery plane crash.
But I did promise not to kill anyone. So, may those fires be extinguished
forthwith!”

Obediently, the flames instantly disappeared from view and
the pilot appeared to regain control, stabilizing the craft into level flight
once more.

And thus no one was more surprised than Paul when the
Inboard Main #3 fuel tank exploded suddenly, shredding the right wing and
destroying Engine #3. Mortally wounded, the plane entered a spin to the right,
practically falling from the sky and nose diving towards the warm waters of Guanabara
Bay.

“Oops,” Paul noted grimly but with little regret. “I guess I
was a little late putting out that fire after all. Sorry about that. I really
did try.”

The thermobaric bomb in the cargo hold had already been
fully armed. Upon detecting the rapid decrease in altitude, its circuitry fired
the drogue chute, hitting Omar in the chest, breaking three of his ribs and
propelling him halfway down the length of the cargo hold. Then, at the right
altitude, the first detonator blew, disbursing ethylene oxide throughout the
cargo hold and some of it out the rear of the plane. A few hundred milliseconds
after that, the second detonator blew. The resulting thunderous explosion
disintegrated the plane into several million tiny pieces and shattered windows
all around the bay of the city.

No one outside the plane was hurt.

• • • •

Olivos saw the plane explode and in such a spectacular
fashion too. In as much as all of the enemy Oni had been dealt with, he took
the time to search the area but did not find any further sign of the wizard
that had attacked Brasilia. Since he had personally seen that wizard enter the
airplane, he assumed him to be dead.

Good riddance! Feeling a lot better about the event, he sent
his remaining Oni back to Brasilia. He himself returned to the Games.

SECTION  III

EMERGENCE

FOURTEEN

Rental House

Magdalena Rd

Los Altos Hills, CA

August

Tuesday 7:16 a.m. PDT

“But
really, I’m not that badly hurt,” Capie protested as she lay in the large king-sized
bed in the master bedroom. The bright California sun was shining through both
windows into the room.

“No broken bones, no major organ damage. Just a little blood
loss, a few nasty bruises and some burned skin,” she added. “No big deal, not
really. So, please, let me get up and fix myself an honest breakfast. Something
better than chicken bouillon, for goodness sake!”

Paul clucked, shaking his head. For two days after their
return, he had nursed her closely, calling upon a plethora of fictional doctors
to examine and proscribe treatment for her. She was vastly understating her
injuries, especially the more than two pints of blood she had lost before he
could stem the bleeding. And the burn she had suffered had been more than ten
percent of her body. His best guess was that she had no shield up when the
blast from the Oni had caught her in the left side. And she had nearly paid for
that mistake with her life.

“The doctors want you to get another day or two of rest,” he
said with an apologetic smile. “Yes, I know that you are using magic to heal
yourself at a fast rate and that transfusion of blood I gave you didn’t hurt either.
But please, humor me, CB! I nearly lost you. By the by, let me say again, that
was a pretty neat stunt you pulled, going to Brasilia and tricking the Oni
there to follow you to Rio. I wasn’t making any headway taking out the plane,
protected as it was by a dozen Oni.”

“It just seemed the right thing to do,” she modestly
admitted. “Even with the two of us, we would have had a hard time getting past
a dozen Oni and stopping the plane. We were over-matched, especially
considering how little time we had. I just figured that the Errabêlu in
Brazil might be as upset as ourselves at having the Olympic ceremony, the Maracanã
Stadium and 80,000 Brazilians killed by that horrible bomb.”

“Absolutely brilliant on your part,” Paul said, with a
single nod of his head. “And now, as rewards for your labor, you can take it
easy in bed and rest up. Sleep, read, watch TV or whatever. Relax. Doctor’s
orders.”

She gave him a sour expression. “You can be so stubborn.”

“Now, I have good news for you. For lunch, you can have
chicken noodle soup with real noodles. I have a special family recipe which you
will absolutely love!”

Later in the afternoon while Capie was fast asleep, Paul
headed out to the garage. As he stared at the latest qubit processor only half
assembled on the workbench, he put his hands together, cracking his knuckles.

“Now!” he crowed. “To get back to what I was doing before I
was so rudely interrupted!”

• • • •

On Monday evening, Paul completed testing the first 1,024
qubit processor.

“Just how high do you plan to go, dear?” Capie asked him Tuesday
morning at breakfast. “A million qubits? Ten million?”

Paul paused as he buttered his toast, thinking about her
question. “We could do that, but I don’t see the need. We’ve successfully
established all the basic processes involved in building any size qubit
processor that we want. The problem now is how we use the new style of
processor to build the brain for our first Scottie.”

Capie cocked her head at him and raised one eyebrow.

With a glance at her expression, Paul shrugged his shoulders
and nodded. “Okay, that was a pretty cryptic remark on my part, wasn’t it,
honey?” With a wave of his hand, a holographic display appeared in mid-air
above the breakfast nook table. In it could be seen a block diagram of a
computer system.

“The problem with the quantum computer approach is that all
we have right now is the hardware involved. No one has developed the software
for quantum computers—at least, nothing like what we need. Now, I have no doubt
that we could do it—given sufficient time.”

But Capie’s puzzled expression told Paul that there was
something that she didn’t understand.

“Problem?” he asked, eyebrows raised, head cocked to one
side.

“I thought you already had the software issue solved. All
that work you did in Chicago, copying your mental processes, I think you said.”

“Ah, I see your point. I admit that the intricacies of
computer programming leave me more than a bit confused as well. Like most
engineers, I’ve dabbled in software programming, but I am not a software
engineer. The Microsoft models—well, in my opinion, they were developed by
Machiavelli. But I digress. For the Scottie, I’m shooting for a straight
forward three tier approach. The top tier will have the applications programs
which will host the Scottie’s mental processes and intelligence. That’s where
the subroutines I worked out in Chicago will run. The second tier, underlying
the first, is the operating system. In our case, a lightly modified version of
Linux. The third and most basic tier is the one I’m talking about right now,
something most engineers refer to as embedded software or machine code. It’s
the lowest level of any system, moving blocks of data from point A to B, doing
byte to byte comparisons, integer addition and so on. Standard stuff for binary
computers, highly exotic for quantum computers.”

“But you have another idea, I take it,” Capie prodded him
along.

Paul grinned mysteriously. “You know me too well. Yes. I
have an idea.” And he pointed at the display. “I propose we use a standard
Intel sixteen core CPU, running Linux as the operating system, as I said. It
will act as the system central server, loading data to and from a sizeable
array of qubit processors. We can tailor the qubit CPUs to handle specific tasks
such as vision, hearing, speech and so forth. Each core of the Intel processor
will shuffle the data back and forth to the qubits while the real processing
and data crunching will be performed by the qubit processors.” Paul glanced
back at Capie with a hopeful look. “It’s not optimum, of course. But since the
qubit processors are nearly instantaneous, this configuration should give us
the speed we need, and we can use standard software for the Intel processor—and
yes, use the software that I developed back in Chicago. Think of it as a hybrid
system, integrated with the best of both worlds. It will save us a huge amount
of development time and a ton of work.”

She half bowed at him. “Bravo. We like the ‘saving time’
thing. Where do we start? What can I do?”

“You can build the qubit processors,” he said, taking a bite
of his toast. “Clear off a spot on the workbench out in the garage and copy the
1,024 qubit design. I need sixteen of them to start with. In the meantime, I’m
going to take a standard motherboard design and figure out how to adapt the bus
structure to interface with the qubit processors.”

Capie adopted a more serious look, as she began moving items
on the workbench. “Paul. Is this really going to work? Can we really make an
intelligent computer? The Plan depends heavily on making it work,” she firmly reminded
him.

“It’s a big gamble,” he reluctantly admitted. “I need to do
this on Earth before we commit ourselves to a trip to Mars. It would make life a
lot simpler just in case I discover later something critical that I missed,
something that is only available on Earth, or worse, not available at all anywhere.
And it needs to be totally successful, not just show a degree of
promise.”

“‘Do, or do not. There is no try,’” she quoted Yoda, with a smug
grin.

“Yes, Master Yoda,” he politely responded, smiling as he got
to his feet, leaned over giving her a tight hug, and taking his empty plate to
the kitchen.

• • • •

With the use of the workstation, Paul was able to open an internet
link with other mainframes around the valley, hacking through firewalls into
supercomputers at Apple, NASA, Google, Microsoft, and a dozen other places.

During the course of the next few days, using the
supercomputer access, he was finally able to put together a theoretical design
of the new Scottie hardware architecture.

“Let me summarize what we have so far,” Paul explained to
Capie at the end of another long day of pounding the keyboard at the IBM workstation.
“I started with an existing design of a motherboard from a manufacturer in the
Far East, to cut down on design time, but I did quite a bit of tweaking on the
known bottlenecks. Also, utilizing a new theoretical three atom transistor
design, I was able to shrink the scale of several of the more critical
components. In fact, I was able to segment and expand the onboard RAM by a
factor of two, up to 512 gigabytes and to locate them adjacent to all of the
processors, providing each with a local cache.”

“I’ve finished all of the qubit processors that you asked me
to make,” Capie informed him with a tired smile, handing him a small glass tray
stacked with integrated circuits. “I never thought I would finish that task.
Um, we’ve been working pretty hard lately, dear.”

“Ah, I know that tone, CB.” Paul put the tray on the
workbench, stood and stepped up to her, taking her hands and looking into her
eyes. “What’s up? What are you thinking?”

She glanced down and then back up shyly. “Ever been to
DragonCon, CR?”

“No, I have not! I’ve heard of it, of course. One of the
largest science fiction and fantasy conventions in the United States. Where is
that? Atlanta?”

“I’ve never been there either. It’s, ah, this coming
weekend…”

“Perfect! Have you ever been to Atlanta, Georgia?”

“Yep,” she replied. “The Southeast in August? Hot, muggy.
Just like a sauna.”

“Oh, so you have been there!”

“So, we can go, please?”

“I wouldn’t miss it.” He looked back at the workstation,
using a small spell to save his work files. “It’s time to stop and go get some
dinner. I’m starved.”

Capie took Paul’s arm and squeezed it, guiding him through
the garage door and into the kitchen. “I thought you would never stop for the
evening. I must say, I am really impressed with everything you accomplished these
last few days.”

Paul grinned in amusement. “Yes, well, my mind works just
like lightning. One brilliant flash and it is gone.”

She chuckled. “Who said that?”

Shrugging, Paul replied, “I don’t have the foggiest idea.”

Squeezing his arm tighter, she asked him, “Are you having
fun?”

Paul smiled wickedly as the two of them passed through the
dining room. “For the last month, I have been doing real engineering. Boy,
am I having fun!”

• • • •

“Paul? Where are you?”

“In the garage, dear,” he answered as he modified the
settings on the o’scope lying on the workbench.

Capie stepped through the garage doorway, arms crossed and a
frown on her face. “I thought we were leaving for Atlanta this morning.”

“We are, we are,” he answered quickly, as he terminated two
wires from the motherboard to two other printed circuit boards on the bench in
front of him. The hodgepodge of boards and wiring in front of him looked
remarkably like a rats nest. “I just finished wiring everything up for an
initial power-on test, and all I need is just fifteen minutes or so to confirm
that it’s working. Please?” he implored Capie with an innocent smile.

She rolled her eyes. “Go ahead, dear. You won’t be happy
until you know if it works.”

“It won’t take long,” Paul muttered again as he resumed his
seat on the stool, craning his neck this way and that, running another visual
check of his connections and adjusting a couple of more wires.

“Uh, huh. Sure thing,” was Capie’s only comment.

Paul seemed not to notice her skepticism. One more look over
the jury-rigged assembly and he rubbed his hands together in excitement. “I’m
ready, CB.” And he reached over to snap on a series of small switches.

When he flipped the fourth such switch, a puff of smoke
exploded out of the center of the assembly followed by a small flame burning
quite energetically. A whole host of sparks shot forth in all directions.

“Fire!” Paul yelled, casting a fast spell, opening a three
inch portal to the Pacific Ocean, the water dousing the flame—which, instead of
putting it out, actually increased the amount of smoke produced. He immediately
enlarged the portal, practically drowning the entire work bench in water and himself
as well.

After that, the board was no longer smoking.

Capie coughed, waving a hand at all the smoke in the air.

“Does that mean that we won’t be going to the DragonCon
after all?” she asked, uncertainly.

Crestfallen, Paul stood, arms crossed over his chest,
staring at the burnt and waterlogged printed circuit boards. Then he sighed.
“It didn’t even pass the smoke test.”

“And, pray tell, what is a smoke test?” Capie asked.

“Oh, you don’t know that one? It’s the very first test that
is done on all new electronic equipment. You see, all of these components
contain smoke inside. They all run on smoke—”

Capie knew when she was being teased. “Uh, huh. Right. On
smoke.”

“Yep, on smoke,” Paul answered, casting a portal spell to
sweep the air clear of remaining smoke and then another one to dry his wet
clothing. “When you turn on a piece of equipment for the first time, if the
smoke comes out, that’s bad. It means it failed the smoke test ’cause it can’t
run without it.”

“I admit, I never knew that, dear,” Capie responded with
heavy sarcasm. “But you haven’t answered my question yet. Does this change our
plans for this weekend?”

“Not on your life. This? Only a minor setback is all, I
assure you. Hardly worth mentioning.” But Capie could clearly see the pain
written in his face. “And I needed to make a few changes anyway. I’ll build a
new motherboard when we get back. Oh, and I’ll need another set of qubit
processors.”

She smiled at her husband. “Then let’s go. You will feel a
lot better when you meet a few thousand people dressed in superhero costumes,
StarFleet uniforms, and as aliens from outer space!”

• • • •

On the Friday afternoon following their holiday at the
convention in Atlanta, Paul hummed a merry tune as he strode down the hallway
and into the master bedroom. There he found his wife,  folding clothes and slipping
them into the dresser drawers.

“You look happy,” she observed, noting the huge smile on his
face.

“Yep,” he whooped, doing a small dancing jig in front of her
and throwing his arms wide. “It works! The first Scottie computer works! Fully
tested, primed, and raring to go!”

Capie clapped, beaming with joy. “That’s wonderful news! And
the benchmarks?”

“Off the charts!” Paul announced, pumping his fist in the
air. “Now all we need is the software and, if that works, we will have the
first Artificial Intelligence in history!”

“Congratulations!” she squealed, rushing forward to give her
husband a big hug. “I knew that you could do it!”

“Hey, team effort here,” he barked, hugging her back. “I
couldn’t have done it without you.” He leaned back to give her a kiss. “Let’s
celebrate! The sky’s the limit! Where do you want to go?”

“Well, fancy that you should ask that question,” she said
lightly, looking up at the ceiling. “Did you know that the MidAmeriCon2, the 74th
World Science Fiction Convention is coming up in Kansas City this weekend?”

“Fantastic coincidence!” he declared, with a huge grin on
his face. “I’ve never been before, have you? Let’s go!”

Indeed, it was the first time ever that either one of them
had attended what some have argued to be the most important science
fiction/fantasy convention held each year. They especially enjoyed trying to
guess who would receive the Hugo Awards for the year at the award ceremony and
then the John W. Campbell Award for best new writer. It didn’t faze them any
that none of their guesses were correct. They simply enjoyed themselves the
entire weekend.

But, as in all things, good times have an end. The WorldCon
was over and they needed to return to San Jose and to continue their work
building the first Scottie.

• • • •

“Wow!” Capie muttered softly, eyes wide as she stared around
her. “So this is what virtual reality looks like! It’s nothing like the Matrix
movies.”

Paul chuckled in reaction. “Funny, but that was pretty much
my first response as well.”

The two of them were in cyberspace—specifically, inside the
confluence of a half dozen supercomputers scattered around the Silicon Valley
area. All around them was a soft white light, including the ‘ground’ beneath
their ‘feet.’ Except for a tall column made of brightly flashing strings of
lights a few feet away.

“Those are the programs running, right?” Capie surmised,
reaching up to push a stray strand of hair back into place. “All this space and
that’s the only things that are running?”

“Seems a waste, right?” Paul observed, smiling at his wife.
“But it’s not like this all the time. On the occasions that it gets really
busy, I get out. I don’t want the system administrators to know we are tapping
their unused processing power. They have no sense of humor about such things.”

“No, probably not,” agreed Capie, stepping closer to the
strings of lights. “So, we are tapped into this space through the workstation
back at the house. And you’re going to start assembling the software for the
Scottie in here first and move it to the quantum computer later.”

“In a nut shell, you’ve got it.” He waved a hand at the free
space around them. “There is a lot more space here to use for development of
the A.I. than in the Scottie, even if it is a bit slow by comparison. So let’s
get started.”

Extending his hands at arm’s length, he began a series of
gestures, flicking his wrists, pointing his fingers, brushing with one hand
while grabbing with another.

In response, a series of images flashed into the ‘air’ in
front of them. Blocks of various colors appeared, lines of different thicknesses,
triangles, and ellipses. The geometric shapes and lines rapidly became more
complex.

“How neat!” remarked Capie. “It reminds me of the screens
that Tony Stark used in designing the Iron Man suits in the movies.”

“I admit it. I stole the initial idea from that film. But
these symbols and elements are far more than just a design. I’m downloading and
manipulating the software that I had in the PC that we lost.”

“Downloading it? From where? The PC was toast, so you said.”

“From my memory,” Paul replied. “I’m using a mnemonic spell
on myself, to pull all of the details out of the recesses of my memory.” He
gave her a big grin. “And to my happy surprise, it’s actually working!”

“I am so glad that I married an engineer! And a smart one at
that!” she declared, leaning closer to squeeze his arm tightly.

He turned, gathered her into his arms and kissed her long
and hard.

“Wow!” she said, coming up for a breath. “I love your
kisses! I didn’t know that we could kiss in cyberspace, CR.”

“Shall we see what else we can do here?” he asked, leering
at her.

“Why, CR!” she said with a giggle. “Are you feeling
romantic?”

“Think of it as a science experiment, my love. We’ll be
making history! Pioneers!”

She giggled again. “How can I resist an opportunity like
that? May the experiments begin!” And she leaned into his arms for another
smoldering kiss.

FIFTEEN

Rental House

Magdalena Rd

Los Altos Hills, CA

August

Tuesday 7:15 a.m. PDT

On
Tuesday a week later, during breakfast, Paul grudgingly announced that he was
ready to try downloading and activating the A.I. program in the Scottie
mainframe.

“I just don’t know what else to do to the software,” he
grumbled. “I’ve checked everything I can think of but I’ve probably missed a
thousand things.”

“Can I help in any way?” Capie asked.

“You can help me watch for results. Oh, and you can console
me if it fails,” he suggested grimly, pushing the bowl of soggy cereal away
from him.

She raised her eyes heavenward. “Oh, ye of little faith. I
believe it will work. And there’s no time like now to go try it!”

With Paul trailing behind her, they tramped into the garage
and took the stools at the workbench. Paul fished around, found and ran a USB
3.0 cable from the workstation to a connection on the Scottie motherboard
followed by a HDMI cable to a computer monitor. He started turning on all the
various pieces of test equipment, flipping switches and pushing buttons.
Leaning back on the stool, he watched as the Scottie computer finished booting
up, showing the standard Linux penguin display before he turned and started
typing on the workstation keyboard.

“There!” he declared. “The downloads have started from the
supercomputers.”

On the Scottie monitor, a task completion bar appeared,
slowly cranking its way across the bottom of the screen. When it reached 100%,
it disappeared, to be replaced by a pop-up with a single large red button that
read “START.”

“May I?” asked Capie, with a quizzical look at Paul.

He shrugged and gave her the mouse.

Eagerly, she clicked on the big red button.

And the two of them held their breath, waiting.

Five seconds went by. Then ten. Twenty. Thirty.

The LCD screen never changed and there was no reaction by
the hard drive light either.

“Officially, this is not a good sign,” Paul sadly admitted.
For a few moments, his mood became somber. So much was riding on this and he
didn’t have an available option if it didn’t work. It just had to work.
But what else could he do, other than what he had done already?

“Can you cast a spell?” Capie asked helpfully. “Maybe look
inside and see what is going on in there?”

“No, I don’t want to do that. It would be like a functional
telepath trying to read the mind of a fetus. I would probably imprint my
intelligence on the program and that would not be the best thing I could do
right now.”

Capie looked thoughtful. “I didn’t think of that. Okay, so
we wait.”

They sat patiently. A half an hour went by without any
result.

“Okay,” Paul said, with a sigh. “It was a valiant effort,
but it didn’t work.”

“Just leave it on for a while longer,” Capie urged him. “You
can help me with a few chores around the house. We can check back after lunch
to see if there are any changes then.”

With an ever increasing sense of failure, Paul followed her
out to the kitchen.

• • • •

When they returned from lunch, Paul saw an immediate
difference.

The Linux desktop screen with the small army of penguins was
gone. Now the LCD monitor screen was totally black. He sat at the workbench, crestfallen.

Capie massaged his shoulders. “I was hoping for a different
result.”

He reached up and squeezed her left hand, his expression
downcast. “I guess it’s time for Plan B.”

“Do you have a Plan B?”

“No, but it’s time for one,” he said with a sad sigh.

Capie suddenly gripped his shoulders with both hands.

“Hey!” Paul protested, wincing. “What’s that for?”

“I saw a light. On the screen. Right smack dab in the middle
too. Just a small dot, just for an instant.”

Paul turned back to the desktop and closely watched the monitor.
“I don’t see anything.”

“I didn’t imagine it, I promise,” Capie protested. “It was
there, but it was only a fast blip.”

She pulled up the other stool beside him and together they
stared at the screen intently.

A minute went by. Then two. Three. Four.

And then it happened. A quick flash of white light. Just a
small dot, dead center of the screen, for maybe half a second and then it was
gone.

“How about that?” Paul said, with a grin, a sense of hope
suddenly flooding through him.

“I told you,” Capie giggled.

They waited again. The next blip of light happened a few
minutes later. This time, it was larger and brighter. It also stayed on the
screen for a whole second.

“I should time these,” Paul said, pushing the buttons on his
wristwatch.

The fourth flash was two and a half minutes later and stayed
on a whole two seconds. The size of the dot was now as big as a dime and pure
white in color.

“Go-baby-go!” he urged it.

The fifth dot was a minute and a half later. The sixth was fifty-eight
seconds after that and the seventh was twenty-one seconds after that. They completely
forgot about anything else as they stared at the computer screen, mesmerized by
the very slow flashing light.

However, the speed continued to increase, the light lasting
longer each time, the size increasing. After an hour of observation, the flashing
more or less stopped, the screen now filled with a continuous bright white
light.

Capie looked up sharply at him.

“Did you hear that?” she asked.

Paul reached over and turned up the speaker volume. Very
faintly, there was a gentle hissing noise.

“Good ears,” Paul said, complimenting her. “But I don’t know
what it means.”

“I think it’s alive,” she observed.

“Maybe,” he responded, but dubiously.

In the center of the screen, a small blue dot appeared.

“Now color!” Capie squealed.

A red dot joined it, quickly followed by a yellow dot and a
green one.

The hard drive light kicked on.

“It’s working!” they said, together.

“Ooh, quick!” Paul said, scrambling through the stack of
things on the workbench. “I have one of those old CDs with an encyclopedia on
it! Ha, here it is!” He pounced on the CD and loaded it into the drive.

The colored lights danced across the screen now, weaving
patterns of their own. More colored dots appeared, joining them in the dance.

And then, without warning, they coalesced into a picture. A small
picture of a human fetus laid curled into a fetal position.

Capie gasped, putting one knuckled hand to her mouth. Paul’s
jaw nearly hit the floor. He could scarcely believe what he was seeing either.

The CD spun up, the light flashing as data moved across the
internal bus to the CPU. The picture of the fetus slowly grew larger, gradually
filling the entire screen.

“It’s a baby!” whispered Capie. “It looks just like a
real baby!”

The hissing noise from the speaker morphed into a very quiet
thumping sound.

“It’s a heartbeat!” Capie breathed out. “Paul, it’s
important that we talk to it now, that it sees us and hears our voices!”

Paul nodded. He took a webcam from a nearby shelf and
connected it to a second USB port. Instantly, the webcam light came on. He sat
the webcam on the top edge of the monitor, pointing it at Capie and himself.

“Baby, we are here,” Capie said, soothingly as she leaned
closer to the webcam. “We are here for you. We love you. Everything will be
just fine. You are not alone. We love you.”

Paul finally found his voice. “You are alive now, a living
thinking individual. You are not alone. We welcome you into the world of other
living thinking beings.”

The heartbeat firmed up, steadying into a regular rhythm.
The fetus moved, the tiny arms waving back and forth, the legs kicking.

They continued to talk to it, encouraging it and assuring it
that it was loved and not alone.

“We need a name,” Capie hissed at Paul. “What did you plan
to call him?”

The question caught Paul flatly off-guard. A name? The idea
had never occurred to him. His brain spun wildly, fleetingly considering a
whole host of possibilities. Definitely not HAL.

“Do we need a boy’s name or a girl’s?” Paul asked suddenly.

Capie glared at him as if he had asked a stupid question.
“It’s a boy, Paul. Can’t you tell the difference?”

Paul stared at the monitor screen. From the position of the
fetus, no he couldn’t tell. But on matters such as this, Capie was always
right. Okay, so they needed a boy’s name. Think!

“Daneel,” Paul said on impulse, feeling good about his
choice. “From the Isaac Asimov Robot series. Daneel.”

Capie nodded with a knowing smile. “Yes, I agree. Good choice.”
She turned back to the screen. “Daneel, you are Daneel and we are your parents.
We love you.”

The face turned towards the screen, the eyes slowly
blinking. Capie reached out and stroked the mouse gently. “We love you, Daneel.”

Paul felt incredibly alive as they talked to their new
creation, encouraging Daneel and assuring him of their love. The hard drive and
CD lights continued to flash as data flowed through the computer.

“It’s unbelievable!” Paul murmured, thoroughly awed that
they had actually created a working A.I.!

But then Capie had an odd look on her face.

“I have one question,” she remarked.

“What’s that?” Paul asked, now looking at her curiously.

“How do we get his footprint on the birth certificate?” she asked
playfully.

• • • •

“Okay. I’ll watch Daneel while you are busy in the kitchen,”
Paul volunteered.

With a snap of his fingers, the entire assembly of circuit
boards, wiring, speakers, webcam, portable touch pad and monitor lifted off
from the dining room table and floated through the air into the living room and
lowered itself onto the coffee table.

“Gaggle goo bafoughna,” Daneel giggled from the desktop
screen.

Paul followed along, stroking the touch pad. “And a gaggle
goo ba to you too, son,” he responded affectionately as he sat on the couch.

The image of a baby on the monitor screen had changed
significantly over the two days since his ‘birth.’ The A.I. now sported a small
lock of fine blond hair on his head, his cheeks were a rosy red, his eyes a
bright blue. He lay on a bed of white cotton sheets, arms flapping back and
forth, his legs kicking in cheerful glee. He was wearing a Huggies diaper and a
small white T-shirt. Paul estimated that Daneel now appeared to be six months
old, give or take a month or so. Quite obviously, an A.I. developed at a much
more accelerated rate than a human being.

By Paul’s estimate, Daneel would be saying his first words
in English before the end of the week. Indeed, he might be a ‘toddler’ not long
after that.

Capie reached out and gently grasped Paul’s chin, angling his
face first one way then the other, staring at him intently.

“What?” Paul asked, mystified.

“He’s got your nose,” she claimed, with a smirk.

“Oh, that’s very funny,” he responded, with a forced smile. “Speaking
of funny, do you remember what day Daneel was born on?”

“Last Thursday, of course,” she replied with a puzzled
frown. “Why do you ask?”

“Monday’s child is fair of face, Tuesday’s child is full of
grace, Wednesday’s child is full of woe—”

“Oh, the poem “Monday’s Child”?” she asked, more puzzled
than ever, then she grimaced in distaste. “Thursday’s child has far to go. Like
to Mars and back, huh? You are incorrigible.”

“What’s for lunch?” he asked with an innocent smile.

“I’ll go see if there’s any crow in the fridge,” Capie said
with a smirk as she stepped out of the room.

Paul turned back to the webcam with a big grin on his face.

“‘A long time ago in a galaxy far far away…’”he said
soothingly to Daneel in a soft voice.

• • • •

“You want to do what?” Capie moaned, with a slow
disbelieving shake of her head, both bewildered and alarmed. “You want to move?
To Australia?! Why on Earth do you want to do that?”

Paul flinched, surprised and disturbed by her reaction. He hadn’t
anticipated such a response!

They were in the garage, ‘cleaning’ up. This consisted mainly
of opening portals to the nearest landfill site in California, levitating the
item or items in question and shoveling them through. Except for the test
equipment, there was very few items left that they wanted to keep. Daneel, now
a ‘crawler,’ was sitting in his monitor screen on the workbench. He had been
playing with a virtual multi-colored ball. But now he was pouting and on the
verge of crying, upset by Capie’s outburst.

“Dear, we need to build a spacecraft next,” Paul reluctantly
and weakly replied, edging away from her a bit. “It’s the next step—”

“Fine,” she replied in a tired monotone voice. “I think it’s
too early to do that yet. Daneel is only, what, a year old now? You don’t know
if you can give him magical powers yet and it’s way too early to try it on him.
I thought you were going to make sure you could do that before we go to Mars.”

“He has all the same mental processes a human has—” Paul
muttered.

“But you don’t really know if it will work or not, right?”

“No, I don’t know,” he conceded, biting his lip. “Look,
dear, I promise that we won’t go to Mars until we do know. And I won’t make
Daneel a wizard until he’s old enough. But at the rate he is growing up, that
will only take a month or two. In the meantime, I need to start building the
ship. It’ll take that long or maybe longer—”

“Then why can’t you build it here!” she lamented, trying
her best to sound reasonable. “In California. There’s way more stuff here to
build a spaceship with than in Australia.”

Daneel began to whine.

Paul stared at his wife for a moment in confusion. He didn’t
dare mention that he had already arranged to have all her things shipped from
the PODS container in Wichita to Perth, Australia. It might not go over too
well.

He sighed. “What’s the real problem, dear? Why don’t you
want to go to Australia?”

She shook her head in resignation. “When do you want to go?”
she asked quietly.

“In a few days,” he replied, glancing around, as if looking
for answers.

“I’ll start packing in the morning,” was her reply and then
she shuffled out of the room.

Puzzled by her reaction and feeling guilty of he knew not
what, Paul went over to Daneel. “Shush, now. It’s okay, everything will be all
right, I promise. Hush, little one,” he soothed the A.I.

Ah, but would it really?

• • • •

Later that afternoon, while a still fuming Capie was in the
bedroom banging suitcases around and dumping clothes into them in a fit of
temper, Paul remained in the relative calm of the garage to box up the A.I.
spare components. Daneel was giggling, playing with a toy fire truck by
himself, his quantum computer sitting on the other end of the workbench.

As Paul loaded one cardboard box with motherboards and qubit
processors, he quietly mulled over his wife’s sudden and bitter reaction to his
announcement of the move to Australia. He was uneasily reminded of some of the rather
nasty arguments he had experienced with his first wife, Marie, even before that
momentous day when she had declared that she wanted a divorce. Those arguments
had been different, yes, in some ways, but at the same time, in other ways, they
were remarkably similar to the one he had just had with Capie. In his first
marriage, Paul had wanted to do certain things and in a specific logical way. Marie
had wanted to do very different things and quite typically in a most illogical
manner. Ah, the major-league fights they had had!

In the other end of the house was heard an exceptionally
loud bang.

“Merlin?” he asked quietly.

The holographic image of the old wizard materialized nearby.

Paul instantly noted that, for once, Merlin was dressed in
his usual cloak and conical hat and not something more, ah, unusual or exotic.

“What’s up, my boy?” the specter asked, impassively. He
clasped his hands behind his back and waited patiently.

“Capie and I are having a, uh, disagreement,” Paul
unwillingly admitted.

Merlin snorted in polite amusement. “No surprise there. Let
me guess. It’s about your game plan, right? The one for dealing with Errabêlu.
About what you want to do next, heh?”

Paul blinked several times. “Yes. How did you know?”

But Merlin merely smiled shrewdly and waved a negligent hand
in the air. “Let me make a further guess. You want to do some particular thing.
And she wants to do something totally different, right?”

Paul’s right eyebrow notched up a little. “Your crystal ball
is right on target. So, what’s going on?”

“It’s really quite simple,” came the casual response. “Your
Master Plan? From Capie’s point of view, it is NIH—Not Invented Here. You
didn’t consult with her when you put it together. You’ve been making all the
decisions, dictating what to do next and where to do it. So far, your wife has
gone along with you. But she is an independent person, your Capie. She wants a
say in what’s going on.”

Paul finished wrapping the box of processors, tossing the
empty roll of tape into a garbage can before starting a new box, this one for
computer power supplies. But his hands were on automatic pilot while his mind
considered Merlin’s words carefully.

“She asked why we couldn’t stay in California, instead of
going to Australia.”

“A perfectly legitimate question.”

Paul shook his head in denial. “No, it’s not. Not really.”
And then he rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. “Look, Australia has all
the raw minerals needed to help me build the spacecraft. Sure, some of that is
here in California and a little more in other parts of North America. But it’s incomplete,
mostly hit and miss, especially the titanium. On the other hand, Australia has
it all!” He stomped around, looking for another roll of packing tape and found
one on the work bench. “Sure, I could bring in everything else I need from
other countries, Central and South America for instance. But it would take
longer, use a heck of a lot more magical energy for the portals, cost a great
deal more. It would probably double— maybe triple the time needed to build the
ship.”

“And that, my friend, is only the first part of the plan
that she would question,” Merlin added with a faint snicker. “Would she not?”

Paul looked up with a dumbfounded expression, and then
sighed in acknowledgement. “You’re right, I’m afraid. Yes, of course she would.
There’s no telling how much she would want to change, how—and yes, of course,
the next thing she’d want to get rid of is the trip to Mars!” he finished,
crossing his arms firmly over his chest.

Merlin offered a bemused smile. “I see! Let me make yet
another guess. You consider Mars to be an indispensible part of your plan,
right? And not open to negotiation?”

“Correctamundo,” Paul asserted, with a clenched jaw. “No
trip to Mars means no super-talismans. No super-talismans means no army of
Scotties. No army means absolutely no chance at winning this war. We might as
well commit suicide and save Errabêlu the effort in hunting us down and
killing us. At least that way no Normals would get hurt in the process.”

“Why not tell her all of that?” Merlin asked coolly, with a
gleam in one eye.

Paul snorted and pounded a fist into an open palm. “I can
tell that you’ve never seen

Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, where Odo explained to
Quark why he had never “coupled” before. He said, and I quote, because it
involved “too many compromises.” It’s going to be hard enough as it is,
surviving the upcoming war. Compromises would mean the continued slavery of the
human race.”

“If you explain it logically to her—“

“Logically? Hah!” scoffed Paul as he threw the roll of tape
against the garage wall, the sudden slamming noise startling Daneel.

“That’s one thing that Marie taught me, Merlin,” Paul
snarled, his nostrils flaring. “Logic, my friend, is a worthless weapon to use
in an argument of emotions.”

“Ooh, that’s a good one. I may quote you on that one,”
Merlin observed as he clasped his hands behind his back again. “Your cynicism
is getting better. So, what are you going to do, if you aren’t prepared to
compromise on your game plan?”

Paul gritted his teeth in frustration and closed his eyes.
“I haven’t a clue.”

SECTION IV

THE OUTBACK

SIXTEEN

Balcony Bar and Restaurant

Maritana Street

Kalgoorlie, Western Australia

August

Monday 5:14 p.m. AWST

The
Balcony Bar and Restaurant, part of the Palace Hotel, was a two story structure
on Maritana Street, one of the main thoroughfares through the city. With a
beaming smile and a “G’Day,” the waitress, Ella, welcomed Capie and Paul and
found them a table with a floral covered tablecloth next to one of the front
windows on the second floor. From that spot, the two of them could look out past
the covered balcony and see the light pedestrian and vehicle traffic on the street
below. They studied the menus for a few minutes, noting a great many
similarities to foods in the States but also quite a few differences.

There were a few other people having an early dinner around
them, but the atmosphere was un-crowded, relaxed, and the smells in the air
enticing.

Daneel was safely ensconced back in Room 208 of the York
Hotel on Hannan Street, sound asleep, at least for the next hour or so. His
late afternoon ‘nap’ was a daily routine, since he didn’t seem to need more
than an hour’s sleep every twenty-four hours. The only way Paul and Capie survived
was tag team babysitting during the night. That and a lot of magical spells to
keep themselves awake when watching the A.I. And just to make sure everything
was okay right now, Paul had created a small magical display of the sleeping A.I.
on his fake cell phone, now lying on the table. If anything happened, he would
know immediately.

Capie was frowning as she looked out the window.

“It’s so brown and dusty here,” she complained.

Ella arrived and handed out their drinks.

Paul smiled and waved a spoon at the window. “Compared to
Illinois and Wisconsin, yes. But compared to Southern California, ‘Captain,
this is the garden spot of Ceti Alpha six!’” he said, quoting from Star Trek
II: The Wrath of Kahn.

“And what would we like to eat tonight?” Ella asked, holding
pencil to paper.

After they gave their orders, the waitress left, taking the
menus with her.

“So,” Capie said, running a fingertip around the rim of her
glass. “You signed a lease on a commercial building here in town. And the
utilities will be turned on tomorrow. And you’re going to use that place as our
base of operations.”

“It’s not perfect, no,” Paul granted to her with a small
tight smile. “It’s a bit exposed here, from a security point of view, because we
have neighbors and we are in a small town. On the other hand, any Oni or
wizards in Australia will be near the capital city of Canberra, in the
Australian Capital Territory, literally on the other side of the continent, which
is roughly 2,000 miles away. Kalgoorlie is ready made for us. We have power,
water, a large building to operate in, and a good sized lot. The town gives us
access to food, supplies, and quite a few materials. And Western Australia has
almost all the mineral wealth we need. Titanium especially but other minerals
too including copper, gold, silver, vanadium, manganese, iron, carbon, aluminum,
tantalum, and platinum. And too, Australia has rare earth elements like
scandium, yttrium, and gadolinium. On top of all that, Australia is one of only
two places on Earth with a considerable quantity of komatiite rock, which we will
need for the super-talismans we’re going to make. The only thing we need that Australia
doesn’t have is the pallasite meteorite.”

His wife quietly studied the slow moving traffic on the
street below them.

The waitress dropped off an appetizer and some homemade
bread, and stopped at the next table to take an order.

Capie looked back at Paul. “So you are going to be busy
building the ship. What am I going to do?”

“We will continue sharing the babysitting of Daneel, at
least for the next month or so. You can also buy all the supplies we need, CB,”
he said, with a grin. “A shop-till-you-drop sort of mission. Lots of food,
clothing, soaps, toothpaste, and every other supply we might need for six
months on Mars. Buy what you can here and then do the rest of the shopping in
Perth.”

“We don’t have that much cash with us,” Capie pointed out.

“No, we don’t. Please set up an account here in town, under
our names of Peter and Catlin Neumann, and transfer in $100,000 from our new
Cayman Island account. We can always get more if we run low.”

The waitress moved away from the other table.

“But you are not going to build the ship in the building we
leased, right?”

“No, it is too small a building and the ship too large,”
Paul noted absently, chewing on a bite of his stuffed sausage roll. “We need the
building as a buildup area for the most part. I can build parts for the ship
and we can store the supplies there that you buy. Now, for the ship, I intend
to set up a construction site southwest of town, in the pit of an open mine, after
I pump the water out of it. I’ll assemble the ship there.”

“Why do we need to build a ship at all?” she asked as she
tilted the salt shaker back and forth between her hands on the tabletop.
“Couldn’t we just portal to Mars? It would save a lot of time.”

Paul cocked his head to one side, studying the expression on
her face closely.

“Yes, it would, dear,” he agreed cautiously. “And the answer
to that question is both yes and no.”

“I hate that answer.” And then she dolefully sighed. “Why is
it both yes and no?”

Taking a quick sip of his drink, Paul considered how to word
his reply.

“As you know, a talisman is not the source of the power we
use for magical spells. The talisman it just an amplifier.”

“Right,” Capie said, griping a bit. “It’s the Earth that
provides the power. You told me that already.”

“Correct. So yes, with the appropriate talisman, the Earth
can easily provide the energy necessary for us to portal to Mars.”

Capie blinked twice. “So why…oh, I get it. But not the power
to portal back.”

“That’s right. To portal back, we would need Mars to provide
the energy for the portal and Mars is not a good energy source. The gravity there
is only one third of Earth’s. It has virtually no magnetic field to speak of,
no Van Allen belts. It gets only half the sunlight that the Earth does, and it’s
cold. And the jury is still out on whether it has a molten core or not. Even if
it does, it must be really small. So, yes, we could get there. But getting back
to Earth is, ah, problematic.”

“Building a spaceship is going to take a long time,” Capie
grumbled in a low voice.

“It won’t be as bad as all that, my love,” Paul said, in a
positive tone. “McDougall’s talisman is going to be of enormous help to us. And
time is one of the primary reasons that we will use a retired airliner converted
into the spacecraft, in order to speed up the process.”

Capie produced a weak thin smile. “Tell the truth now. I’m
sure you would rather have built one of your own, from scratch.”

“You are quite right about that. A spacecraft designed and
built from the ground up would have been far superior,” Paul admitted without a
hint of modesty. “Ah, but the time element! Two or three years for the design,
another two to construct it. No, a converted airliner might be crude, but it
will get us there and save us a lot of design/construction time. And, as I was
saying, McDougall’s talisman will help out a lot. Likewise, you will have one
of the Oni talismans or two, if you like, and that will help you quite a bit
with the shopping—”

“But you still need to put together your super-talisman too,
right? And your final hardware design for the A.I.?” she challenged him. “You
can’t leave Daneel as a free-floating collection of circuit boards dangling a
bunch of wires around like that.”

“Well, yes, you do have a point, I agree,” Paul answered
with a shrug as he picked up another stuffed sausage roll. “I’ll whip up
something for Daneel, as a temporary arrangement. An A.I. final design will just
have to wait until after we get to Mars. And I don’t intend to hold the
super-talisman ceremony until we are nearly ready to leave Earth. The energy
released by that spell is going to panic all the wizards of this planet.
They’re going to turn Earth upside down looking for us and I would prefer not to
stick around and let them accidently find us.”

She sighed and looked down at the table. “Fine. Do you want
me to go with you to Alice Springs tomorrow to buy the airplane?”

“Yes, please,” Paul responded with a grateful smile. “That’s
first on our list of things to do. Then on Wednesday you can start the buying
spree.”

Capie waved a negligent hand. “Great. Lots and lots of shopping.
I’ll need your help some, working up a shopping list.”

He reached over the table to gently squeeze her hand.
“You’ve got it, CB.”

• • • •

Alice Springs, in the Northern Territory and with a
population of just under 30,000 people, lay nearly dead center of the
Australian continent and in a very desert-dry climate. Which made it the perfect
location for an aircraft boneyard.

Paul was quite familiar with such installations. One of the
largest such boneyards in the world was located in Mojave California, his
‘hometown.’ Hundreds of planes of all sizes and types were shipped and stored
there in the Californian desert, mostly because they had reached the end of
their service life or had become uneconomical to maintain in an operational
status. Ostensibly, the majority of those planes were supposedly stored against
the day that they would be needed again, but in practice, this was almost never
the case. Eventually, each such plane typically found itself stripped of all
serviceable parts and then scrapped for materials.

Alice Springs had, fairly recently, been selected to join
the short list of such locations around the world. And, although the selection
of aircraft stored there was, as yet, rather limited, they did have one plane
that Paul was very much interested in. A Boeing 737-400.

Capie and Paul arrived via portal on Tuesday morning, at 9
a.m. sharp near the front entrance of the Asia Pacific Aircraft Storage Ltd
office. They were careful not to let anyone observe them arriving in such a
fashion.

Daneel ‘floated’ along in midair behind them, electrically
powered through a spell that Paul had cast, drawing on all the sunlight energy
freely available in the unclouded blue skies in the Australian outback. On his
monitor screen, he was hopping up and down, having learned to walk only a few
hours previously. With each bounce, he clapped his hands and gleefully giggled.
Another spell Paul had placed around the A.I. would keep any Normal in the area
from either hearing the toddler screeching in delight or seeing the hardware hovering
in thin air without any visible means of support.

“How do I look?” Paul asked Capie, twisting slightly back and
forth in front of her.

Wearing a bright green and yellow flowered Hawaiian shirt,
with baggie white shorts that barely reached his knees, together with white
tennis shoes and socks, dark sunglasses and an Aussie canvas snap up hat,
Paul’s appearance was decidedly odd.

“Like a gauche tourist,” she replied, rolling her eyes.

“That’s the intent,” he said with a huge grin. “By the way,
I love that business suit on you. Shall we go in?”

The outer office was modern and air conditioned, with glass
and stainless steel everywhere in sight. With a flick of his wrist, Paul moved
Daneel over to a far corner of the room, out of the way.

An obvious receptionist, a middle aged brunette, stepped around
her desk and approached them.

“Good morning,” she greeted them with a frozen professional
smile. “By chance are you Paul DeWitt and Karen Knight?”

Paul nodded, a huge smile on his face. “We are them, yes
indeed, little lady.”

“Mr. Street is in a teleconference right now. If you’ll take
a seat, he’ll be with you shortly. Can I get you anything to drink?”

“Drink!” screeched Daneel, clapping his hands some more and
laughing. “Mommy, drink!”

“No thanks,” Capie replied with a small smile and a shake of
her head. Paul declined as well, and they took two thinly padded metal chairs
across from the receptionist’s desk. The woman failed to notice Paul waving at
Daneel.

“Hi, Daddy!” the A.I. cackled, then returned to his game of
hopping up and down.

They only had to wait a couple of minutes before a stocky
man in a business suit emerged from the inner office. His smile was courteous
but professional as he extended his hand to Paul.

“Mr. DeWitt? Ms. Knight? I’m Corey Street. Pleasure to have the
two of you here. Care to step into my office? Can we offer you something to
drink? No? Right this way.”

“Drink!” yelled Daneel again.

The inner office was pretty typical for a mid-level manager,
with a standard desk, filing cabinets, two chairs for visitors, a desktop
computer, a few licenses hung on the wall, and two family pictures on the desk.

Corey dropped into his office chair, waving a hand at the
two thinly padded metal chairs on the other side of his desk. Once again, Paul
put Daneel into a corner, away from any accidental contact by the Normals in
the office.

“Is this about the emails and letters that you sent?” the
company agent asked. “If so, I’m sorry to say that my answer is still the same.
The 737 is not for sale. I’m under contract to sell it to another party. I’m
sorry.”

But Paul already knew this would be Corey’s answer and was
prepared to cope with the problem.

“I quite understand your contract, sir,” Paul answered
pleasantly. “You’ve promised to sell the jet to a startup airline firm in Southeast
Asia. They intend to restore it to limited service as a cargo plane. The good
news is that I have the solution and it’s quite simple.”

Corey cocked his head to one side. “You have a solution? And
what would that be?”

Paul leaned forward. “The 737 was not their first choice,
was it? They wanted a 767, one that still had most of its hardware including
the landing gear. But they couldn’t swing the cost.”

“They told you this? Quite frankly, I can’t say anything—”

But Paul waved a hand in dismissal. “I will pay the
difference.”

Corey blinked several times. “Excuse me, mate?”

“You sell the 767 to your other customer for the same price
as the 737. I will pay the difference. And then I will buy the 737 for the same
price you are asking from them. Which is perfect, since I don’t need the
landing gear or anything else which is missing from the 737. Everybody wins. They
get their plane, you sell two planes instead of just one, which makes you look
good to corporate. And I get the plane I want. What could be sweeter?”

“Mr. DeWitt,” the Asia Pacific man said, struggling to find
the right words. “That’s a pretty steep price to pay for the shell of a 737.”

“I can afford it,” Paul assured him. “I’m the CEO of a manufacturing
company. We make baby diapers—”

“Diapers!” jabbered Daneel excitedly.

“—in Fiji and export to the rest of the world. Maybe you’ve
heard of us. Cuddles, Inc?”

Corey shook his head, still puzzled by the whole situation.
“What do you want with the plane anyway?”

“The same thing I wanted with all those other planes that I
bought,” Paul answered. “It will be part of a house I’m building. This one will
be in Canberra. I’m tired of staying in hotels there when I make a trip to Oz.”

“Canberra? Do you know how far that is from here, mate? The
737 has no engines, no control surfaces, no doors, no gear, no avionics, and no
hydraulics. It’s just a shell of a plane. How are you going to get it there?”

“No problem. I’ve got a couple of people that are real good
at moving things.”

Shaking his head, Corey leaned back in his seat. “I really
can’t allow just anyone into the storage field. There are safety risks and
possible disruptions to my own work crew to consider.”

Paul chuckled. “Believe me when I say this, pardner. You
won’t even know they’ve come and gone.”

• • • •

Later in the afternoon, they portaled to Perth to the Karrinyup
Shopping Centre, one of the larger malls in Perth, with 170 stores and
services, in order to do a bit of shopping.

As they emerged into the rotunda, Daneel under cloak behind
them, Paul let Capie steer them toward the escalators leading to the second
floor.

“Thanks for coming with me,” Capie said with a grateful
smile. “There’s just a few things I need to pick up now, that are not readily
available in Kalgoorlie.”

“No problem, dear,” Paul responded with a nonchalant wave of
his hand. “I bought what I wanted today in Alice. It’s only fair that you can
do some shopping too.”

“Uh-huh,” she said, as she skirted around an older couple
blocking their path. “There has been something that I’ve wanted to talk to you
about.”

“Oh?” Paul’s mental radar went immediately alert. “And what
would that be?”

“While we are in Australia, you want me to do most of the
shopping for the supplies we will need on Mars. On the other hand, you will be
doing most of the real work. Building the ship, making the first
super-talisman. I feel like I’m not making a real contribution here. I am not
an airhead or a bimbo. I want to do more.”

Paul came to a full stop, staring at his wife as she
continued onward several steps until she realized that he wasn’t still with
her. Capie turned back, noting the incredulous look on his face.

“Mommy, drink?” Daneel babbled, clearly sensing that
something was not quite right between his parents.

“Bimbo?” repeated Paul, quizzically. “And just where did
that come from? Did you not save me in the Chicago Hospital from McDougall?  Was
it not you who unearthed the plot at the Olympics? Was it not you who figured
out how to get additional help from the Brazilian Errabêlu wizard and
stopped the bombing? None of those are acts of a bimbo!”

All around them, people were steering a clear path, keeping a
safe distance so as to not get involved.

Capie stepped closer to Paul. “Okay, maybe that was a bad
word choice. But you know what I mean.”

Paul sighed and then resumed walking slowly ahead. Together,
they headed for Myer, the largest department store in the mall and their first
stop.

“Yes, I suppose that I do,” he admitted reluctantly. “And I
admit that I am taking on most of the “work” as you call it, leaving you to do
the shopping. But that’s just the best allocation of resources, my dear. You
like shopping. You might consider it menial but I consider it a vitally
important and necessary task. On the other hand, I can barely tolerate it, the
amount of time that it takes, the inefficiencies involved. For building the
ship, I am the trained engineer. You are not. It’s only a logical application
of expertise, CB.”

“You could teach me,” came her sour reply.

He both heard and understood her dissatisfaction and chose
his next words with the greatest of care.

“Yes, I could,” he conceded with a nod. “And as intelligent
as you are, I have no doubt you could learn it and rapidly too. Moreover, I
would absolutely love to teach you engineering. But think of the time
element involved. We’d only be giving Errabêlu more time to find us,
more time to push Earth toward World War III, more time to kill more people.”

As they set foot in the first store, Capie sighed. “I
suppose you are right. You really are a terrible shopper.”

With a small shake of his head, Paul swallowed the first
comeback that came to mind. No, she was right. Shopping was not one of his
better talents.

“Let me assure you,” he soothingly said. “You are not my
flunky or my servant. You are my wife, my partner, my companion and my friend.
My closest friend ever.” He grinned at her as they maneuvered through the
aisles to the women’s department. “Does that help any?”

She smiled, leaning up against him, taking his hand and
squeezing it gently. “Have I told you today that I love you?”

“Only one or two hundred times,” he admitted with a shrug.
“But you can tell me again. I don’t mind. And, oh, I love you too.”

“Kissy-wissy!” shouted Daneel. “Lovey-dovey! Mommy! Daddy!”

• • • •

Just south of Eneabba, Australia, a hundred yards east of a
deserted section of National Route 1, a man-sized portal opened up, letting
Paul and Daneel fly through.

Paul held up a hand to shade his eyes while studying the
semi-arid landscape. There was little here in the way of vegetation and absolutely
no sign of civilization except for the two lane road. Mostly, all he saw was just
sand.

With a wave of his hand, he closed the portal behind him and
opened up a small new one, both ends of it in front of him.

“Now tweak it for ilmenite and rutile mineral sands,” he
muttered, waving a hand back and forth in the direction of the portal. “And
send it prospecting!”

He watched as one end of the portal dove into the ground.

Daneel, who was watching, enthralled, snickered and pointed.
“Wee! It flies!”

Patiently, Paul waited. At first, almost nothing came
through the end of the portal above ground. But then, quite suddenly, quite a
bit of sand did.

With a tight smile, he watched the mound of sand in front of
him grow larger.

Ilmenite and rutile mineral sands were the primary sources
for titanium, the one mineral that Paul needed more than any other in the
construction of the spacecraft for the trip to Mars. The very valuable metal
was harder, stronger and lighter than steel, and thus was a good choice to
strengthen the ship’s hull. And too, titanium had a very low thermal
conductivity, far lower than aluminum. A hull made of the metal would hold up
much better in an atmosphere at high speed and would also retain cabin heat
better in the vacuum of interplanetary space.

And he needed several tons of it just to get started. Since
only a fraction of the sand in front of him was actually titanium, he needed to
mine a considerable amount of sand to get all of the metal that was required.

Yes, he could have purchased the titanium on the open market
and avoided having to process the raw ore into a finished metal. It would have
been faster and a lot less trouble if he could have done so. But there were two
problems. First, buying that much titanium would have cost him millions of
dollars. And two, no single source could have furnished him with that much
titanium, not all at once. He would have needed to have made several purchases
at places around the globe. And he just didn’t care for the amount of exposure
that gave him, the potential for Errabêlu to find him.

Mining it and refining it himself wasn’t as fast, but it
wasn’t that much slower a process either.

Titanium wasn’t the only mineral he needed. After gathering
it, he would need to visit a few more places around Western Australia,
collecting other minerals that would be required. But that would be for later.
Right now what he mostly needed was titanium and then carbon for the spacecraft
rocket engines. Those he had to build first.

Most of the sand he was collecting he would take to the
desert location just about five miles southwest of Kalgoorlie, quite literally
in the middle of nowhere. Later, he would process the minerals and use them for
the fabrication of the components of the ship.

Fortunately, not everything needed to be mined. He could and
would buy some items such as the helium, argon, and the bottled oxygen he had
to have. And too, the mineral needed for the rocket fuel. It was readily
available on the open market and cheap enough.

As for Capie, she was already very busy visiting almost
every store and shop in the Kalgoorlie-Boulder area. She was spending hours
researching and purchasing all sorts of items ranging from food and clothing to
sleeping bags to furniture to linens to items of hygiene and more. Everything
that they might possibly need on Mars during the next six months. And she took
each day’s haul in a rental SUV or had it delivered to the building they had
leased, the one they had jointly and jokingly christened as Warehouse 13.

With a glance at the sun’s position, Paul estimated that he
could spend at least three hours here before it would be time to head home. He had
promised to take Capie out to eat every night, to unwind as best they could and
give her some personal attention. Life was a lot more enjoyable if some time
was allotted for relaxing and enjoying a good meal and good company. He was
most decidedly looking forward to that activity this evening.

“Sand, flies!” whooped Daneel.

• • • •

Snapping her fingers in annoyance, Capie cast her spell,
rolling up the large metal door on the building they were calling ‘Warehouse 13.’
When it was high enough, she proceeded to back the vehicle she was driving, a
Toyota Land Cruiser J200 rental SUV, into the opening.

Once she had the SUV inside the building, she shoved the
lever into park, killed the engine and climbed out.

She was more than a bit unhappy and she knew it.

Another spell and the rear doors on the Land Cruiser popped
open and cartons of food and other supplies began floating out, wending their
way on their own through the air and stacking themselves neatly against a wall,
joining other stacks of supplies sitting there, purchased on previous shopping
trips.

All of the magical work was pretty much taking place on
automatic pilot. For the most part, Capie’s thoughts were concentrated instead
on her situation, her concerns, yes and even her problems, the truth be told.

There were a lot of them too, pestering her. Nagging at her.

She was not happy. Not even close.

First off, she didn’t like living in Australia. Oh, the
people were nice enough, very friendly and helpful. They weren’t the problem.
But the weather here was so incredibly dry! Never any rain or fog. Surely there
was no drier place on Earth! You had to carry a full canteen just to cross the
road!

She also didn’t like living in such an isolated community.
Yes, the people of Kalgoorlie did their best to fight their isolation, with all
sorts of outdoor events, community activities and the like. But their city was
too small! She was accustomed to all of the urban amenities, accommodations and
facilities in a large city like Chicago. And too, San Jose. By comparison, even
Perth didn’t offer nearly as many services and luxuries. She felt stifled and
trapped. It would be far worse on Mars, she knew.

Which directly affected her time with Paul as well. In
California, ever since the attempted bombing in Rio, they had gone out three
and four times a week, to theaters, dancing, sailing, swimming, or any of a
dozen other activities, none of which were available in the Australian outback!

She missed Paul’s attention, his support, his understanding.
She could see him slipping away, being drawn into his own world, building a
spacecraft and Scotties. Yes, intellectually, she understood the reasons and
even approved of them. But that didn’t mean that she had to like it.

And then there was the situation in the Middle East.

Practically the entire world had condemned Iran’s involvement
in the attack at the Olympics. Well, except for the usual cast of baddies like
Russia, China, North Korea, Venezuela and so forth. Ever since then, there had
been a lot of saber rattling and “tough talk.” But no one, not even the United
States had done anything concrete about it. From past experience, Capie was
glumly expecting the unrest to quietly fade away, with no changes in the
international situation.

Except that Iran was still pushing the envelope. Last week,
the director of the Israeli intelligence service, Mossad, had disappeared from
his home, leaving no clue to his whereabouts. The Israelis were claiming that
he had been kidnapped by the Iranians. No one had claimed responsibility, but
the Israelis were gearing up for possible retaliation.

Capie had considered making a run over to Israel to look for
the man, but Paul had talked her out of it. Even now, she had not completely
recovered from her injuries in Rio. And, as he pointed out, she couldn’t go
charging off to the Middle East for every little thing that went wrong.

Moreover, on top of all that, there was the situation with Daneel.
His birth, his existence was seriously impacting her in ways she had never
expected and would have never believed possible. It was even difficult to put
her finger on the exact nature of the problem, let alone formulate it into
words. The closest she could get was to think of it in terms of children.

Capie had always wanted to be a mother, to have children.
Supposedly, it stemmed back to the time when she was old enough to realize that
she didn’t have a mother, not like most other kids. No one to confide in, no
one to shop with, no one to talk to about clothes and homemaking ideas or boys
or anything like that. Oh, sure, Dad had been there for her but it wasn’t quite
the same thing. She had wanted a mother and never had that experience.

So, to compensate, she wanted to be what she had never had.
She wanted to have and raise children of her own, to counterbalance the
circumstances. In her mind, it was only fair.

The traffic accident that had crippled her had changed that
equation, though, or so she had thought. It was the cruelest injustice that had
ever been levied upon her, as a consequence of the thoughtless act of another
human being, robbed as she had been of any chance at love, a family, and having
children.

Paul had saved her of that fate, or so she had come to
believe for a few short weeks. But now she doubted it. She had love now, yes.
But children? Could she justify that? The murder of her father had proved to
her beyond any possible rationalization that she was not safe. And neither
would be her children either.

No, this was not a good time to bring any kids into the
world. She simply could not expose them to the dangers of the Errabêlu
menace. Such risk could not be countenanced.

And that’s where Daneel came into the picture.

He was not her child—and yet he was. This was the hardest
feeling she was experiencing to understand, leaving her confused and
overwrought. There wasn’t any doubt that she loved the A.I., that she cared
deeply about what happened to him. He was, after all, partly her creation. Not
as much as Paul’s, to be sure. But that scarcely mattered. Daneel was part of
her too.

As such, it bothered her immensely that Paul planned to make
a warrior out of him. To turn him into a soldier in a war of magical
proportions against evil wizards. To deliberately make him a target!

He was terribly cute and so sweet! The baby that she had
never had! Her emotions tore at her again, different from when her father had
died but still powerful for all of that. A mother’s instinct to protect her
child. Even if technically, he wasn’t really a child at all, let alone hers.
The emotion was there for all of that.

Dealing with all of these emotions was a burden and directly
impacting her relationship with Paul. And she didn’t have the foggiest idea of
what to do about any of it or how to resolve any of the feelings involved.

• • • •

On the floor of the open mine, fifty yards from the camo
nets, Paul stood with back straight and arms stretched fully forth, fingers
spread wide. Daneel was back at the hotel with Capie, it being her turn to
watch the ‘youngster.’

In front of Paul was a large white-hot ball of molten
materials floating several feet in the air.

“Aye, that’s good,” rumbled the holographic image of a short
man standing at Paul’s side. The specter sported a heavy muscular frame and was
dressed in a gray tunic and a heavy black apron. The face was broad with thick
black whiskers and a full head of curly black hair. The eyes gleamed like lumps
of coal. In one hand, the image carried a massive blacksmith’s hammer.

“Ye’ve extracted the titanium from the ilmenite and rutile
sands and the aluminum and vanadium from the bauxite ore and the iron from the
magnetite ores, and mixed them together in a helium encased sphere, raising the
temperature to 1,000 degrees. These are the primary ingredients of the titanium
alloy 6Al-4V. Now, if ye will use plasma arc melting of the elements, in the
right proportions, 89.65% titanium, 6% aluminum, 4% vanadium, 0.25% iron and
0.1% oxygen, ye will have the alloy you need.”

Paul grimaced and swallowed hard. “That’s easier said than
done! I had no idea that making titanium alloy was this difficult!” Taking a
deep breath, he closed his eyes and concentrated hard. “Here goes!” he
muttered.

The white globe shuddered, now leaking some of the excess
material onto the ground where it hissed and sputtered on contact. When the mix
ratio was correct, the leaks stopped, and the brilliance of the orb grew even
brighter.

“Nay, yer spell securing the brew of elements is not potent
enough,” the hologram grumbled. “Nor will it hold when it flashes to plasma.”

Beads of sweat formed on Paul’s forehead as he concentrated
even harder, muttering inaudibly.

“Tis better. Now, form the plasma arc.”

A loud boom rattled the landscape, followed by the crackling
roar of thunder. Flashes of lightning engulfed the globe, throwing forth a
hissing cloud of molten metal droplets high into the air.

“Fortify the containment spell!” growled the
super-intelligence. “Quickly! Good! Now, hold the plasma arc steady and extrude
the longeron ye’ve designed. Aye, out the top of the containment.”

In front of the two of them, the flashing super-hot ball of
now liquid metal began to squeeze forth at the tight opening at the top, a
curved I-beam of glowing metal emerging slowly. The stalk grew longer, wending
its way into the air, curving gracefully.

“Aye, lad, keep it up.”

The globe shrank, feeding its mass to the longeron, which
would be an element of the ship’s engine assembly.

With a loud snap, the thunder and lightning died away, the
component now finished. A wave of Paul’s hand moved the still blazing hot
segment of the ship over to lean itself against a rusty metal stand.

“Ye’ve done it, lad,” beamed the apparition. “Of course, ye
must temper it later. That’s an easier process.”

Paul dropped his arms, his muscles twitching from the
exertion. The energy level required to perform that one spell was enormous;
close to the limits of what could be done, even with McDougall’s talisman. And
there were a lot more longerons to go, first for the engine, then the tail
assembly. And all of them to be made of the same titanium alloy.

“How do you anneal the metal?” Paul asked, wiping the sweat
from his brow.

“The metal must be uniformly heated to 1,770 degrees,” the
hologram said. “And held that way for an hour. Then water quenched quickly. And
reheated but only to 1,090 degrees. After that, it should be allowed to air
cool from four to eight hours.”

Paul rolled his eyes. Yes, compared to making the titanium
alloy, the annealing process would be easier, but it was all relative. No
wonder titanium alloys cost so much!

He took a sip of cold water from a bottle and squared his
shoulders. One down and a dozen more longerons to go! And that was only the engines.
Afterwards, there were the structural members of the ship’s tail assemble, the
propellant tanks and even a potable water tank!

And too, he really needed to do something about Daneel’s hardware.
Capie was absolutely right. It was a hodgepodge of circuit boards and cables, all
strung together in an unsightly mess. A couple of hours’ worth of work would
make a vast improvement, with some brackets and screws and maybe a metal cage
to hold the boards with the LCD monitor mounted to one side of that. Granted,
that wouldn’t be the final design; he had something else entirely different in
mind for that purpose, much sleeker and technically sexy. But that was for
later. Right now, a lick and a promise would serve the purpose sufficiently
well.

With a small shake of his head, he gave a resigned sigh.

His wife was right. This was going to take a while.

Stretching forth his arms again, he closed his eyes in
concentration.

• • • •

“It’s not working, sir,” Aduir commented softly, squinting
up into the late afternoon sky, very much aware of just how furious the wizard McDougall
was, who was standing a few feet away at that particular moment.

“Obviously not,” snapped McDougall. “They’re too far away.
Or too stupid to look in this direction. Normies! Ha!”

The nine of them—eight Oni and McDougall—were standing on
the beach of Flint Island in a circle, holding hands and doing their best to
cast a combined spell. They were creating a display of light above the island
(which due to their limited power without a talisman, was a rather weak light
at best) in order to attract the attention of anyone who might see it.

And therein lay most of the problem. This particular corner
of the planet was pretty much empty of traffic of any type. Only on rare
occasions during the last month, such as now, would a plane fly within visual
range. And even then, only at high altitudes.

This particular plane on this particular occasion was only a
speck in the sky, but McDougall had seen it, and he and the Oni had scrambled
into a circle and frantically put on their display. But this time, just like
the other three times it had happened, the plane was just too far away.

McDougall sighed and planted hands on his hips. “Maybe I
should have learned some of that newfangled technology after all. It would be
nice if one of us knew how to send a radio signal. Humph. I guess it will be
fried fish again tonight. Aduir, round up some firewood and start a fire while
Kenzo and I go do some fishing.”

• • • •

At Wednesday evening’s dinner, Capie sullenly pushed the
food around on her plate, apparently suffering a loss of appetite.

Paul sighed and shoved his plate to one side. He too wasn’t
interested in eating right now. Oh, the food was good enough. But today’s news
left a really sour sensation in his stomach.

Another car bombing in Israel.

Over the course of the last two weeks, there had been four
such incidents. A truck bombing at a municipal park in Jerusalem, killing five
people and injuring twelve others. A car bombing at the Ein Gedi Park on the
west bank of the Dead Sea. Two families dead, including seven children. The third
was a bomb in a backpack left on Dizengoff Street in Tel Aviv, a very busy
pedestrian thoroughfare. Eleven dead and sixteen injured in that one.

The latest one, just today, was particularly bad. A bus
bombing at the Hayovel School near Jerusalem, just as the kids were getting out
of school. Twenty-eight dead, including a driver, and six more wounded. The
news media was going freaking crazy with special bulletins and updates every
few minutes, carrying all the latest information available from the scene.

Capie was biting her lip, staring morosely at her plate.

“It’s not your fault,” Paul told her, in an attempt to
derail her thoughts.

She glanced up. “What’s going on over there, Paul? I thought
that after the Olympics, when we stopped Iran from killing all those people,
that Errabêlu in the Middle East would back off for a while. Instead,
they are now just going about it in a different way. Are they deliberately
trying to start a war?”

Paul thought about her question for a few seconds. “Yes,” he
finally said. “I think they are doing just that. Trying to start a war.”

“But why?” she asked, naked pain in her voice. “I mean, I
know that they are responsible for most of the bad things that happen in the
world and most if not all of the wars. But it is so incredibly wasteful! All
the death, the terror, the destruction. Why are they doing this?”

With a shrug, Paul said, “The simple answer, as McDougall
said, is for power and wealth, mostly for the power. In this case, I don’t know
the specific reasons why Iran wants a war with Israel.”

His wife looked like she had swallowed a lemon and a very
sour one at that. “So, what are we going to do to stop it? How are we going to
stop these bombings in Israel?”

“At the moment, there is not much we can do,” Paul sadly and
slowly confessed. “This war has been going on for a couple of thousand years,
in one form or another.”

She stared at him in obvious disapproval. “So it’s
inevitable? You’re just going to blow it off as too much trouble, so sorry,
nothing can be done? All those people are going to die and we can’t stop it?”

He sighed, looking down at the table and idly toyed with his
fork. “We stopped the attack on the Olympics, thanks in large part to your
efforts. And I am still very proud of that accomplishment. I also do care about
the people that are being murdered, dear. I really do. But let’s be realistic
here. We are two people, by our lonesome, with McDougall’s talisman and eight
Oni talismans between us. Yes, we could launch ourselves into the current
situation and maybe we could do some good, save a few lives. And then the next
crisis will pop up in a month or so and we would have to do it all over again.
Sooner or later, the bad guys are going to catch us and probably kill us. At
which point, the wizards of Errabêlu will continue killing Normals until
the heat death of the universe or the death of the human race, whichever comes
first.”

Capie winced at his last comment. What he was saying was
true. They didn’t have the tools to fight and win the war, not yet. A battle or
two, like in Rio, maybe. But not the war against them.

However, she still felt like there ought to be something she
could and should be doing. Some small way that she could make a difference. The
success of their efforts in Rio gave her considerable confidence in that
opinion.

“If they really are trying to start a war,” she commented,
“then there are going to be a lot more incidents in the Middle East, a lot more
people that are going to die.”

It was Paul’s turn to wince. “I know how brutal and
heartless that sounds. The good news is that we are doing something and,
if we are successful, in the long run, we will free the human race from slavery
and exploitation.”

She adopted a very stubborn look. “I’m going to look for
ways to help the Israelis,” she said, adamantly. “Just like the situation in
Rio. I want to save as many lives as possible.”

SEVENTEEN

‘Staging Area’

Open Pit Goldfields Mine

Southwest of Kalgoorlie, Western Australia

September

Friday 4:11 p.m. AWST

“What
do you think?” Paul asked his wife with undisguised curiosity.

Capie grimaced while she strolled through the clutter. Daneel,
now a four year old, floated along behind her, gawking and pointing, naming
everything in sight. Paul eyed the new titanium cage holding the A.I.’s PC
boards and cable harnesses, with the monitor mounted along one side. Still not
very pretty but a substantial improvement nonetheless. For one thing, it no
longer looked as if the connectors were going to disconnect themselves at any
second. Altogether, the new hardware was a temporary solution at best, and he
intended on a more permanent solution later on.

“It’s so…Mad Max,” she criticized, comparing the
litter all around her to the 1979 film.

Paul chuckled. “Considering that we are in Australia,
there’s a lot of truth in what you say.”

The three of them were in what Paul euphemistically was
calling the Staging Area for the construction of the spacecraft. To be exact,
this was at the bottom of an open abandoned Goldfields mine pit, seventy feet
below nominal ground level. The mine was in a desolate area where even the
scrub brush was having a difficult time subsisting.

To disguise his activities here from aerial view, Paul had
erected a large set of camouflage nets over their heads on tall poles, fastening
the nets securely to stakes pounded into the cliff-like walls all around them.
Underneath the nets, on the floor of the mine, there were a great many boxes and
containers of all sizes and types scattered around. On one shelf was the
tantalum block with the small emerald sitting next to it.

Capie turned toward several large metal structures stacked
up in the northwest corner of the mine pit.

“And these?”

“Storage compartments, of course, but these don’t have any
quadro-triticale,” Paul answered with a smirk, referring to the Star Trek
episode “The Trouble With Tribbles.”

That got a faint smile in response from her. “Oh, so this is
where you are storing the metals you mined. The titanium you’ve been talking
about.”

“And the other minerals,” he said, confirming her guess.
“That bin there did hold the one hundred bags of charcoal briquettes which had
the carbon I needed for the rocket engines.” He grinned widely. “I’m glad that
the Australians like to barbeque a lot. Nobody in the store even blinked when I
bought that many bags.”

“And this strange…monstrosity?” Capie pointed towards the
middle of the Staging Area at the object mounted on a rusty iron stand. “These
are the engines that you’ve been bragging about? This whole…thing looks like a
speed racer out of Star Wars Episode One: The Phantom Menace.”

Paul laughed, reaching out to give her a quick hug. “Yes,
very much like one of those speed racers.”

The ‘racer’ in front of them consisted of two engines,
mounted on each side of a small platform, on top of which there were two bucket
seats. At the front of the platform was a large transparent shield tilted backwards
from the front of the craft.

“And yes, it has seatbelts too,” he added smugly in pride.

Each engine was nearly spherical, roughly two feet in
diameter and a dull black in color. Out the rear end of each sphere was a
conical nozzle four feet in length and nearly as wide at the mouth. The
nozzles, however, were coated with a shiny white material almost like high
gloss paint.

“The nozzle looks different from what I expected,” she noted
inquisitively.

“That’s because this nozzle is a totally new design, far
superior to any other nozzle in the world today…I hope.”

Capie tilted her head to one side. “I know that ‘look’ of
yours already. What’s wrong?”

No longer smiling, Paul slowly walked around to the open
rear of one of the engines, pointing up into its depth. “The nozzle is a key
component of the ship. In fact, it is the largest element of risk in the ship’s
design. And I’m not totally sure how well my design is going to work. If it
fails in mid-flight, it could leave us stranded in space. I have consulted with
several holographic experts on the subject, and I’m pretty confident about this
design, otherwise I wouldn’t have built them. However, before we take them into
space, I will do a series of full scale tests, just to be sure.”

“Oh,” Capie muttered, as she used a hand to touch the nozzle
lightly. “If it’s that important, why not use a proven design? Something from
NASA.”

“I strongly considered it,” Paul admitted. “But none of
their designs will work for our application. For example, the Space Shuttle
Main Engines only burn for 8.5 minutes per flight and they’re designed for a
grand total of 7.5 hours of operation. However, in our case, we need our engines
to burn for almost 80 hours, just to get to Mars and another 80 to get back.
NASA’s nozzles are designed to work with chemical fuels like LH2 and LOX with
an ISP of 450 seconds. Ours is nuclear with an ISP of 550,000 seconds. The
plume for our engine will be smaller, yes, but much hotter. Our nozzle must be
a lot more robust than any proven design in the world today.”

“I see. Well, I think I see,” she responded, putting hand to
chin in thought. “But that Broom thingy you made in order to escape from
Errabêlu in Mexico. That was just carbon steel…”

Paul folded his arms and looked grimly at the ground. “Very
true. However, the thrust achieved by the Broom was low, only a few
hundred pounds force. And it lasted less than two hours. By my calculations, we
will need a minimum thrust of 150,000 pounds force per engine if not more.”

“Okay, that’s a big difference, I agree. So, what is
different about this design?” she asked, leaning forward to touch it again.

“The material is called multi-wall carbon nanotubes, or
MWCNT for short,” Paul explained in a preoccupied fashion. “Much stronger than
any metal and highly resistant to erosion effects, such as in a rocket nozzle.
It’s very difficult for technology to synthesize, but relatively straight
forward for someone with magical powers to make. Also, the bright white coating
you see on the nozzles is a super-conducting ceramic material, commonly called
YBCO. If I can use a spell to keep the superconductor below minus 300 degrees
Fahrenheit, then I can use an electrical current through it to create a
magnetic field. The field will keep the superhot plasma of the engine from
touching the nozzle wall. It’s known as a magnetic nozzle and it’s the best way
to protect the nozzle, even if it involves a lot of magical spells to achieve
that end.”

But then he smiled at his wife. “However, don’t worry. We
won’t go into space with them until they are thoroughly tested at full power.”

“I thought the plan was to take the engines with us to Alice
tomorrow, to get the 737,” she noted with a suspicious look.

“Yes, that is still the plan. That’s actually part of the
testing program for the engines,” Paul confessed. “But only a limited one. As
it is, the stripped 737 only weighs about 35,000 pounds. That’s a little more
than ten percent of rated design capacity of the two engines. Now, in a couple
of months, after we modify the 737 and load it with fuel and supplies, our
spacecraft will weigh more than 200,000 pounds. Lifting that into orbit
will be quite the test.” Paul raised an eyebrow at her and decided to change
the subject. “And how was your day?”

She briefly smiled before looking serious again. “As you
know, I’ve finished all the shopping here in town and I’m nearly finished
shopping in Perth. The only things I don’t have yet are some specialty items and
those tools you wanted, and the oxygen, argon, and helium bottles. Some of that
is on order and will be here in a week or so. Everything I’ve bought so far is
stored in Warehouse 13. Oh, and I have changed the locks, just to keep out
anyone who noticed how much we’ve spent and who might have sticky fingers.”

“Good idea, that,” remarked Paul, rubbing his chin in
thought. “We’ve been pretty busy. I tell you what, after our little trip
tomorrow to get the 737, we should take Sunday off and just relax. On Monday I
can start modifying the 737 and you can finish up with your shopping, of
course.”

Capie’s expression communicated rather well her total lack
of enthusiasm.

“Oh. Goody,” she muttered.

Paul nodded, with a sudden deep understanding of the need
for a break. “Yep, a day off. Any ideas on where you would like to go? How
about a day and a night on the town in Perth?”

“That’s better,” Capie said, with a ghost of a smile. “I’m
going to hold you to that.”

Daneel was beaming happily. He pointed and said, “That’s a Racer!
It goes fast! Can I race it, please?”

• • • •

“I’ve been looking forward to this for several months now,
ever since I dreamed up this idea,” Paul gushed, as he pulled on a tight black
leather jacket and zipped it up.

Capie snapped the chin strap on her crash helmet and then
glanced over at the racer before saying anything.

“And it’s safe, right? It won’t blow up or fall out of the
sky or plow us into a mountainside? Will Daneel be safe riding with us?”

At the mention of his name, the A.I.’s face on the LCD
monitor lit up. “Can I ride up front? Please? Can we go really fast?”

Paul shrugged as he snapped on his gloves. “If the racer
does anything like that, we’ll portal out of the way. Daneel too. And yes,
Daneel, we will go fast.”

“All right!” he squealed. “Fast!”

“Speaking of portals, why don’t we just portal the engines
to Alice instead of using them to take us there? For that matter, why don’t we
portal over to Ayers Rock and use that to portal the 737 here to Kalgoorlie?
That seems a lot safer thing to do than ride on that thing,” she said, nodding
at the racer.

Paul now had his helmet on as well. “You might be right. But
consider this: Maybe there aren’t any wizards or Oni in Canberra. Or there
might be, but they may not be on the lookout for anyone using magical spells
here in the outback. But on the other hand, why risk it? And, this will be a
good first test of the engines. If they won’t move the plane back here, then
the engines certainly aren’t ready to take us to Mars.”

“No, probably not,” she agreed glumly.

Paul gave his wife another close look. “You don’t have to go
if you don’t want to,” he said. “I can do this and be back before noon tomorrow.
And then we will paint the town of Perth red, like I promised.”

But she was shaking her head. “No, no. I don’t get to spend
enough time with you as it is. I’m just jittery, is all. I’m still not all that
comfortable with all the things that magical powers let us do. Like designing
rocket engines with advanced materials.” She glanced at the racer. “It should
be fun, right?”

“Right,” Paul agreed with an encouraging smile. “If you are
ready?”

At her silent nod, he levitated himself into the air directly
over the engine, dropping down into one of the seats on the racer. Capie
followed suit but at a slower pace. Paul moved Daneel to a position between and
slightly behind them, securing the Scottie to a support post.

“Ready, Daddy,” the A.I. said, beaming in happiness and
expectation.

“First thing, we chill the nozzles,” Paul asserted, snapping
his fingers. A blanket of white mist sprang up around the white engine outlets
and the air in the mining pit suddenly turned a bit nippy. “And another spell,
to initiate the flow of current for the magnetic field. Very good. Next, the
inlet portals.”

With a wave of his hand, Paul created two portals, one each
in front of the engines. Each portal would act as an intake to the engines,
allowing air to feed into the pressure chambers. Then, with another wave, Paul
opened the stopcock valve on the small water tanks located behind the seats.
Water began flowing through the small Tygon tubing to both engines. A last spell
levitated the racer up off the stands and two feet up into the air.

“Tallyho!” yelled Paul, initiating the fusion spell inside
the two engines.

A sudden roar assaulted their ears as plasma heated air shot
out the throats of the nozzles. With a sudden hard shove, the racer blasted out
from under the camo nets and up into the open air, rapidly gaining speed and
altitude.

“Yeehaw!” shouted Paul, grinning like a kid with a new toy
on Christmas morning.

“Go faster, Daddy!” screamed Daneel. “Faster!”

Paul glanced at Capie, seeing her scrunched down low, eyes
screwed tightly shut and her hands knuckle white, clamped securely to the sides
of her seat.

Over the roar of the engines, Paul shouted, “It’s okay! You
can look now!”

She briefly flicked one eye open, looking downward at the
ground rolling beneath them at an incredible clip. With a shake of her head,
she squeezed her eye shut again.

Laughing wildly, Paul banked the racer to the left,
accelerating even more, now bound for Alice. Behind him, the sun was not far
from the horizon. Up ahead was the approaching twilight.

“Go lower, Daddy!” screamed Daneel. “Faster!”

• • • •

Midnights on Saturday nights at the Alice Springs Airport were
pretty much like midnights on any other night of the week. Quiet, peaceful, and
with nary a person or thing stirring in the illumination of the security lights
scattered around the facility. On this particular night there was also an
incredibly bright full moon almost directly overhead.

The same state of affairs existed at the nearby aircraft
boneyard, which had precious little movement even during daylight hours.

But tonight was different. Tonight a very odd looking
two-person—well, three person—craft slowly dropped out of the night sky, its
engines shut down, the racer landing next to an old 737-400 aircraft.

“That was fun, Daddy!” squealed Daneel. “Do again, please,
Daddy? Again?”

“We will,” Paul promised the A.I. before turning to his
wife. “I figure we have three hours,” Paul told Capie in confidence. “Hopefully
we won’t need that much time. If you will, do a walk around the plane. Look for
anything that is attached to it or even leaning up against it. I’ll get busy
taking the engines loose from the racer. When that’s done, you can help me move
them over to the plane and start bolting them on. I designed the bolt-hole
patterns on the engines to match the 737 wing mounts. Then I’ll transfer the
water tanks and the hoses to the plane too.”

Capie nodded with a grimace and strode off into the dimly
lit area, checking things out. Hefting a large wrench in one hand, Paul turned
to the racer with a grin.

“As Scotty might say, it’s time for me bairns to have a
proper home.”

“Can I help, Daddy? Let me help!”

• • • •

Paul’s estimate turned out to be pretty nearly correct. He
and Capie finished tightening down the last engine mount bolt only two and a
half hours after their arrival.

“It still amazes me,” Capie grimly declared with conviction.
“I mean, even as dark as it is, I can tell this plane’s a hunk of junk! It’s
sitting on wood blocks, it is missing part of the tail, the cabin doors, and
even some of the windows! There’s no telling what’s missing on the inside!”

Paul nodded and smiled again. “Oh, there’s almost nothing
inside. Even the overhead luggage bins are gone. But that’s okay since I have
to redo the entire interior anyway. So now we just have to gather the tools,
leave the sign behind and we can go.”

“I’ll get the tools,” Capie grudgingly volunteered. “You can
put up the sign.”

Nodding, Paul grabbed one of the wrenches and, from the bed
of the remains of the racer, a sign nailed to a wooden stake. Stepping twenty
feet directly away from the plane, he hammered the stake into the ground using
the wrench as a hammer.

The sign didn’t say much. Just: Accepted: Delivery of one
used Boeing 737 aircraft. Paul DeWitt.

Levitating himself into the air, Paul nonchalantly flew
himself and Daneel into the plane through the open forward cabin hatch, landed feet
first, then snapped his fingers to create light. He put Daneel up against one of
the intact windows to let the youngster enjoy the view during the upcoming
flight.

The interior was a stripped shambles, with small pieces of
various junk lying around. Gone were the seats, the interior walls, the
carpeting, the overhead bins, the galley’s, the restrooms and most everything that
had been in the cockpit. Paul sent his wrench drifting through the air over to
the toolbox to join the rest of the tools.

“This really is a pile of junk,” Capie said sulking, as she
flew though the open hatch behind Paul. “And you’re going to turn it into a spacecraft?
Sure.”

“Well, it might take a little work, I agree,” Paul answered
with a shrug. “First, let’s get it back to the Staging Area.” Turning toward
the cockpit, he waved an indifferent hand. “Buckle up, put all trays to the
upright position and prepare for liftoff!”

“Are we flying again, Mommy? I like to fly! Can we go fast
again? That was fun!” Daneel said, pleading with Capie.

Inside the cockpit, Paul waved his hand again, creating two
holographic seats to sit in. When he had lowered himself into one and made
himself comfortable, he looked over his left shoulder and out to the engine on
that wing.

“This time, the nozzles need to be colder since we will be
asking for more thrust,” he explained to his wife as he cast the appropriate
freezing spell. “And then the magnetic field current.” A visual check out the
pilot’s window showed nothing amiss with either spell.

“Contact!” he muttered smugly, casting a spell for an engine
inlet portal there. Then he whipped up another spell to start the water flowing
from the tank mounted on that wing.

“I’ve got this side,” Capie assured him, but with a frown,
looking over her right shoulder and casting the same spells for her engine. She
also glanced back to check on Daneel, who seemed focused on the view out the
glass window.

“Ignition!” Paul commanded, initiating a very small fusion
spell in his engine. There was a loud burping noise and a stream of superhot
air emerged from the end of the nozzle of the port engine. The aircraft jerked
forward slightly, rocking on the wooden blocks.

“Ignition!” Capie echoed, starting the spell on her side.

Grinning, Paul reached over to his wife, grasping and
holding her hand.

“‘Thunderbirds are go!’” they said in unison with a smirk,
quoting from both the series and the 2004 movie.

The 737-400 lifted gently straight up into the air, clearing
the blocks and the neighboring planes. When it was free and clear of all
obstacles, both Paul and Capie revved up their respective engines and the plane
steadily accelerated away into the moonlit night.

“Wee! We’re flying!” hollered Daneel. “Go higher,
Daddy! Faster!”

• • • •

Sunday afternoon and evening in the city of Perth was just
the remedy they both needed, catching dinner at the Beaufort St. Merchant, then
a performance of a great local band at the Entertainment Centre, followed by
dancing at the Ellington Jazz Club.

Daneel was with them, of course. To keep him distracted,
Paul downloaded a series of puzzles and games for him to play with. The Scottie
took to them like a duck to water, playing game after game of Super Smash Bros,
followed by a really obscure game known as Ninja-Rabbits.

After several hours of immersion in the night life of Perth,
Paul sensed a very distinctive but subtle transformation in his wife’s
expression, body language, and attitude. Several times, he silently and
solemnly vowed to himself to take her out more often, to relax the working pace
a bit. There was, after all, no deadline that they had to meet. They really did
not have to work so arduously that it created hardships for themselves.

Right?

EIGHTEEN

Restaurant 259

York Hotel

Hannan Street

Kalgoorlie, Western Australia

September

Monday 8:14 a.m. AWST

“They
found him,” Capie announced sadly the next morning at breakfast in the hotel
restaurant.

Paul sat down his sausage roll and raised an eyebrow. “They
found who?”

“The director of the Mossad,” Capie said, stirring a bit of
honey in her morning tea. “Or rather, they found his body. I was checking the
news just before you came in. They found it in Haifa. He’d been tortured before
they murdered him.”

Paul grimaced but didn’t reply. There was little to say.

Capie sighed then took a sip of her tea. “I’ve finished all
of the local shopping. I will have to spend a few days in Perth, to get the specialty
items, including those tools you asked for. I’m hoping I can pick up everything
like that in Perth without having to go back to the States for anything.”

“My, that was fast,” commented Paul, waving a fork. “I was
expecting that to take you another week or so. Okay, tonight, we can talk about
another project. How would you like to grow a 10,000 carat emerald?”

She smiled but he could tell that her heart was not in it. Warily
and with feigned obliviousness, he pretended not to notice.

After breakfast, he took Daneel with him, heading out to the
Staging Area. Since he was running a little late, the sun was a little higher
above the eastern horizon than usual when he finally arrived.

His late arrival afforded him an unqualified comprehensive
view of the 737. Parked under the camo nets, in daylight conditions, it did look
a great deal more like wreckage than an aircraft.

“Are we going to fly again today, Daddy?” Daneel implored.

“Not today,” Paul answered, still depressed from the news
from the Middle East. “Today is a work day.”

“Oh,” said Daneel, his face dropping in disappointment.

“It really is a mess,” Paul noted, waving a hand at the
plane and feeling a bit chagrined. “But it is a good thing that I am both an
engineer and a wizard. To start with, the engines have to come back off. Now
where is that tool box? Let’s make a game of this, Daneel. I would like you to try
to name every tool I use, okay?”

“Okay, Daddy. I can do it too,” Daneel bragged without a
trace of modesty.

When he had first considered building a spacecraft capable
of going to Mars, Paul really had considered designing and building it from the
ground up. That way, he would have been assured of having exactly the
spacecraft he wanted, with all the appropriate bells and whistles. But, as he
had told Capie, it simply would have taken much too long to have done it that
way. No, unfortunately, shortcuts had been necessary and the aircraft in front
of him represented a huge timesaver.

But that didn’t mean that there still wasn’t a lot of work
to be done. A Boeing 737-400 might be a wonderful airplane but, such as it was,
it made a terrible spacecraft. Major modifications were necessary before it
could be allowed into space.

To begin with, the wings would have to come off. All of
them. They added much too much weight and they wouldn’t be required anyway. The
engines would provide all the power necessary to keep the craft aloft.

After the wings, Paul intended to cut off the remainder of
the tail assembly. For his purposes, the tail was designed completely wrong.
What was really needed on the rear of the craft was a support structure for the
engines, mounting them along the center line of mass of the vehicle, unlike
their former position under the front wings. That previous station for the
engines had been fine for traveling horizontally through an atmosphere, but
would not be suitable at all for travel through space. If the engines were
under the front wings, the imbalance would send the craft into loops. And too, that
placement was a poor thermal choice for nuclear engines with 150,000 lbf of
thrust. The plumes would impinge on the rear of the craft, creating high thermal
loads.

Moving the engines to a rear support structure was the only
solution, even if it did create the necessity of designing a new tail section.

And then there was the skin of the ship. The aluminum alloy
skin.

Again, aluminum was a fine choice in an atmosphere. It was
light, strong and inexpensive. But for space, not so good.

A titanium alloy hull was what the ship needed. He had
considered stripping off the aluminum skin and replacing it with a titanium
hull but the work involved was too complex. Even though it would add
considerable weight, he had little choice but to compromise in this particular
aspect of the ship’s build. The aluminum skin would stay and the titanium hull would
be added on top of it.

It took Paul less time to remove the engines than it had to
install them and even before lunch, he was ready to start the next step. And
too, he was enjoying the game with Daneel, who had correctly identified and
named all of the tools that had been used. The A.I. was growing up. Paul
couldn’t have been more pleased.

“‘Flame on!’” he shouted, quoting Johnny Storm from the Fantastic
Four and holding his hand shoulder high. A beam of intense red laser light
shot forth from the palm of his hand, impinging on the port wing root of the
737. In moments, the aluminum alloy began to sizzle and a small hole appeared.
Moving forward, Paul began slicing off the port wing.

“Wow, Daddy! Why is the light red? Can I do that too? That
looks like fun!” exclaimed Daneel, jumping up and down on his monitor display.

Paul nodded, but his smile faded into a thoughtful frown.
Yes, his A.I. was growing up and fast too. It wouldn’t be all that much longer,
at the rate Daneel was going, before he would be ready to acquire his magical
powers, to become a wizard in his own right. And for some reason, that bothered
Paul a bit. The kid was growing up so fast, becoming an adult far more rapidly
than Paul had ever anticipated. He felt a sense of loss at that thought.

“Yes, Daneel, that is the plan,” he shouted over the noise
of the beam and the frying metal. “Someday, if things work out, you will do
stuff like this too.”

• • • •

On Wednesday evening, after dinner and after returning to
their York hotel room, Daneel announced that he wanted to talk to both of them.

Even since that morning, Daneel had matured noticeably, with
all the appearance of a seven year old boy now. On the monitor screen, he was dressed
in jeans and a white long-sleeved shirt, the virtual child sitting at a virtual
desk using crayons to color with in a book.

“Okay, Daneel,” Paul said, with a smile, as he plopped down
in a chair near the small desk in the room. “What’s up?”

“Dad,” the A.I. image replied, laying down the book. “I’ve
been looking at the Encyclopedia CD you gave me. And while I like it a lot…I
have questions I can’t find the answers to in the encyclopedia. Can you answer
them for me?”

Paul was struck by the degree of maturity in Daneel’s voice
and appearance.

Questions? Hopefully not on the birds and the bees! He
hoped.

“The time is not yet, Daneel, to try to explain everything.
You are still growing, learning about life and science and the wonders of the
universe. You are growing up. I will tell you this, though. You have seen Mommy
and myself use magical powers. We hope to give you that same power, later. The
power of magic will help you be a Scottie. We will explain all of this and much
more, when you are older and understand more. There is a wondrous future for
you and others like you. In the meantime, we can help you learn more on your
own, access more information, research a lot more questions than the
encyclopedia can answer.”

“How, Daddy?” the A.I. asked anxiously.

“There is an information network on Earth known as the internet,”
Paul explained to him. “You can link to it from here and use it to research all
sorts of information. But let me be clear on this. The internet can be a
wonderful research tool, but there is also a lot on it that you must avoid too.
For your own safety, you need to stay away from websites that promote
terrorism, or gambling and other games of chance. And most of all, please stay
away from the girlie and adult websites. That’s anyplace that says you have to
be 18 years old or older. Please?”

“Okay, Daddy,” Daneel replied, the image on his monitor
frowning. “I don’t understand what that means, but I promise to be careful and
to stay away from places like that.”

Paul waved a hand, creating a magical WiFi computer link to the
motel’s internet server and sent the information link to the LAN port of Daneel’s
motherboard.

“Can you sense that?” Paul asked him.

Daneel appeared puzzled. “How did you do that? Oh! That’s
odd. Hey, this is a type of communication protocol! Let me see…I’m getting
information now!”

A popup screen appeared on his monitor, showing the standard
Goggle search web page.

“This is the internet?” Daneel asked in astonishment. “Oh,
wow! I can see the Oceania server farm in Sydney, Australia! That’s…amazing! So
much storage! Mom, Dad, I’ll be back!”

The monitor screen went blank.

“Boys and their toys,” Capie replied with a somewhat bemused
and knowing smile.

• • • •

On Thursday morning Paul was up early, hoping to get some
serious work done on the spacecraft before lunch. Capie joined him in the
restaurant as he was finishing breakfast.

“Sorry to eat and run, dear, but I’ve started fabrication of
the new tail assembly,” he explained, before gulping down the last of his
orange juice. “Heading off to Perth again today?”

“That’s what I need to talk to you about,” she said before
turning to the waitress standing at her side. “My usual, please, Olivia.
Thanks.”

As the waitress headed off with the order, Capie turned back
to her husband. “I need to borrow McDougall’s talisman. I’m sorry to catch you
off guard this way, but I need to go to Israel today.”

Paul froze and then blinked in surprise. “Israel? But why?”

“It’s all over the news this morning. Terrorists have
kidnapped a busload of Israeli children in the small town of Katzrin, in the
Golan Heights. There is an unconfirmed report that a helicopter took them into
Syria. The Israel government is mobilizing their forces already.”

Paul grimaced and looked at his wife with a degree of alarm.
“Dear—”

“I know what you are going to say. But from Israel, I can zip
into Syria and back out again in just a few minutes. The place they are being
held is nowhere near Damascus. The wizard of Errabêlu in Syria won’t
even know I was there. Paul, I can save those children’s lives and the lives of
a lot of Israeli and Syrian soldiers too.”

He held up a hand. “We barely survived that business at Rio.
This time you would be going into an actual warzone. Honey, that’s incredibly
dangerous.”

“Paul, I can do this. I’m going.”

With a sigh, Paul sat back in the booth’s seat. “Dear, Rio
proved beyond a doubt that we can’t take on Errabêlu yet, at least not
in a meaningful way. Yes, we saved 80,000 or more lives and I am extremely
proud of what we managed to accomplish.”

“But. There’s always a ‘but’ with you engineers,” she
complained with a sour face.

He sighed. “Until we have the power to get rid of Errabêlu,
these crises will continue, one after another. Sooner or later, if we take them
on now, they will win and one or the both of us will get killed. Yes, I know
people are dying out there. Real people with real names and real lives. And
that’s been going on for more than a thousand years. We have a chance to stop
it. Permanently. Later, not now.”

“I’m leaving after I eat breakfast,” she announced in a
matter-of-fact tone. “With or without McDougall’s talisman. It won’t take long.
I’ve proven I can defend myself. You stay here and work on the spaceship. I’ll
be back before you know it.”

With slumped shoulders and bowing to the inevitable, Paul
slipped McDougall’s talisman medallion off and passed it over to Capie. “If you
must go, I’d prefer you take along McDougall’s talisman. It will give you
better protection than an Oni talisman. Don’t forget to take the satellite
phone.” He looked at her again with puppy dog eyes as he gulped. “And you once
called me stubborn.”

NINTEEN

Administration Centre

City of Kalgoorlie-Boulder

Hannan Street

Kalgoorlie, Western Australia

September

Thursday 2:05 p.m. AWST

With
a mug of hot cinnamon tea in his hand, Lachlan Harris stepped through the
doorway of his office in the administrative building of the City of
Kalgoorlie-Boulder and surveyed the occupants therein with mild curiosity.

As the Chief Executive Officer of the city, Lachlan knew
most of the people that lived in the community. Indeed, he was related to quite
a few of them, either by blood or by marriage.

In front of his desk sat three people. First, there was
Claire Worthington, a member of the Kalgoorlie City Council and current senior
member of the Chamber of Commerce. The second person was her sister, Emma
Wilson, who he knew worked at the Balcony and Bar Restaurant. Emma appeared to
be a mite nervous, shifting uncomfortably in her seat. The third person he was
only vaguely familiar with: a taller thin-framed man, a teacher or professor of
some sort at the Eastern Goldfields College in town, though Lachlan could not
remember the man’s name. He was sitting quiet and dignified, with a studied air
of detachment.

“Avro everyone,” the CEO said as he dropped in his worn but
sturdy office chair, setting the mug of tea down in front of himself. “Anyone
who wants tea and crumpets are welcome to them, in the outer office. Help
yourselves. No? Okay, what’s the John Dory?”

“There’s some Americans in town, the Neumanns,” said Claire
with an affirmative air. “They arrived about three weeks ago and are staying in
the York Hotel.”

“So?” Lachlan asked her.

“The Neumanns have been to the Balcony several times—” the
councilor started to say.

“I think Peter really likes my sausage rolls,” interrupted
Emma.

“Emma and half the town has heard them talking,” Claire
firmly stated. “They are from Southern California, Mr. Neumann intends to build
a ship, and they are always quoting lines from movies.”

Lachlan took a sip of his tea and sat back in his seat, now
thoroughly puzzled.

“And?” he asked.

“Oh, it’s obvious,” Claire scoffed. “They’re movie
producers.”

“Movie producers?” Lachlan said dubiously.

“Probably for a science-fiction movie,” Emma said
boisterously. “It’s a spaceship he’s building. Oh, maybe it’s a Star Wars
flick!”

“This is a typical pattern with them,” said the thin
professor.

“And you are?” the CEO asked, raising one eyebrow at the
man.

“Professor Darren Fergerson, of the drama department of the
Eastern Goldfields College. It’s simple. The Neumanns are an advanced scouting
party for a Hollywood studio. To do what they call ‘on location’ filming. They
arrive first, secure the necessary facilities, line up the food, the local
talent, some of the props and anything else that is needed. Then the film crew
and the main actors arrive. Simple.”

“That’s…ace!” Lachlan said, more than a little skeptical but
willing to consider the possibility. “And have the Neumann’s confirmed this?”

But Darren was waving his hand dismissively. “No, it is too
early for that yet. They will be on a budget. If word got out prematurely,
local prices might go up. They will want to keep this quiet for a while
longer.”

“And as a member of the Chamber of Commerce, I think that it
is time the city of Kalgoorlie officially welcomes the Neumanns,” Claire urged.
“They should see the best this city has to offer and they should start meeting
the local talent we have. You know, to be extras in their film.”

“Yes, I agree,” nodded Darren, whole heartily. “We have some
really good performers in the drama program this year, both men and women.
Perhaps we can invite the Neumanns to the local play.”

“You could invite them to the mayor’s formal dinner too, to
meet the posh in town!” Claire suggested to Lachlan.

“Spring Festival!” volunteered Emma. “We could make them
honored guests!”

“Oh, just think of the world attention we’ll get! A major
motion picture filmed right here in Kalgoorlie!” oozed Claire.

• • • •

Paul breathed a small sigh of relief, reaching up with one
arm to wipe the sweat from his brow.

Another bright and brand new titanium longeron had
successfully been welded into place. The tail assembly was rapidly taking
shape. By ‘quitting time,’ he might have the entire framework in place and
ready to mount to the air frame. Okay, that might be a bit optimistic, but he
would probably be close.

As before, he found it difficult to work when wearing eight
talismans strapped around his arms, waist and neck. McDougall’s talisman
medallion was a lot more efficient as well as comfortable. But that talisman
was on its way with Capie, heading to the Middle East.

He eyed the satellite phone, sitting on a nearby table and
resisted yet again the urge to call her. And heavily sighed. Again.

Capie had left, just after breakfast, as she had said that
she would. Paul had been so miserable about her departure that, at the last
minute, he had offered to go with her.

With a smug smile, she had actually turned him down! Giving
him a quick peck on the cheek, she had charged off through a portal, promising
to be home in a day or so.

A peck on the cheek! Ye, gods! That had certainly cut him to
the quick.

These trips to the Middle East were her way of demonstrating
her independence. He had refused to discuss, let alone compromise on their move
to Australia. So she was charging off on her own, doing her own ‘thing.’

He could sympathize, even agree with her motives. Saving
lives and taking control of her own life while wrestling with the guilt she
obviously still had over the death of her father. After all, Paul had shut her
out of part of his life, afraid to compromise with her on his plans, and this
was the result. His fault.

And he still didn’t know what to do about it, caught as he
was between the devil and the deep blue sea. If he wasn’t very careful, if he
didn’t find a way out of this quandary soon, their marriage might very well
end, the same way his first one had ended. That would be when he and Capie
weren’t a couple anymore, just two people trapped in a dead-end relationship,
afraid to share their lives, working toward separate goals, walking different
paths.

They weren’t there yet, thank God! But it was coming, Paul
could feel it. If he didn’t find a way to solve this problem, then he would
lose her. The thought made him shiver, despite the heat of the desert
Australian afternoon sun.

As if he was reading Paul’s mind, Daneel stopped playing his
latest game of Ninja Rabbit and asked, “Is Mom shopping today?”

Paul turned to the A.I., sitting on the same table as the
phone, and forced a crooked grin on his face. “Ah, no, Daneel. She went to help
some people. She could be gone a couple of days.”

“Oh,” Daneel said uncertainly, sensing that something was
wrong but not understanding what it might be.

“Daneel,” Paul said, as a sudden realization struck him. “I
think it’s time it’s time to talk about you, son. I think it’s time you know
why you were born and what we want you to do with your life.”

Daneel silently nodded and he weakly smiled. “Okay, Dad.
I’ve been wondering about that the last day or so. I guess I would like to
know.”

Paul waved a hand, creating a virtual reality chair, which
he lowered his tired body into. Leaning back against the ‘cushions,’ he
gathered his thoughts together. And then he proceeded to tell the story, from
start to finish, of how he had lived in southern California, how he had
acquired his powers, how and where he had met Capie—stepping through the
details all the way up to their trip to Australia. Daneel listened in rapt
attention, never interrupting or asking a question until Paul was finished.

“Wow, Dad,” the A.I. remarked with a flabbergasted
expression. “I knew parts of that story but not the whole thing. So the world
is controlled by other wizards? There’s nothing like that on the internet or in
the Encyclopedia.”

“Those details have been edited out,” Paul informed him. “For
the most part, the wizards have considered those without magical powers, known
as Normals, to be inferior creatures, to be treated as slaves or worse. Mom and
I want to change that, using modern science and technology as our tools.”

“And me?” Daneel asked.

“Yes, you are central to the Plan,” Paul explained, in a
serious tone. “You will serve as a Von Neumann machine. That is a machine that
can construct copies of itself. And in the case of magical powers, it is my
hope that since your algorithms were modeled after my own mind, then you will
inherently have magical powers too. In theory, all we should need to do is
remove the magical barrier from within your mind and you too will become a
wizard.”

“Can you can do that to me right now?” suggested Daneel. “Then
you would know if I have them.”

Paul shook his head. “You are still young. The risk is too
high, just yet. Later, I promise.”

There was silence for several seconds as Daneel considered the
information.

“And I get a talisman too?” he asked.

“Yes, you will,” Paul replied. “Each Scottie will get a
talisman just like the one I’m planning to make for myself and Mom. Just as
soon as the barriers are removed. That is, if it all works out the way I want
it to.”

“Dad, if it works for me, then we will build more A.I. quantum
computers?” asked Daneel.

Paul nodded in affirmation. “Correct. We will go to Mars and
build a lot more, just like you, and give them all magical powers. I use the
word Scottie to describe what you will be then. A Sentient Computerized Optimal
Theurgical Talismanic Integrated Engineer. Scottie.”

“Then what, Dad?” Daneel asked. “What happens then?”

“We come back to Earth. And we take the governments away
from the wizards and give them back to the Normals,” Paul explained.

“How do we do that?” the Scottie asked. “Won’t the wizards
fight back?”

“They will try to stop us,” Paul confirmed his
supposition. “But there will be a lot more of you than there is of them and you
will each have a talisman that is much stronger than anything they have.”

“Will we have to kill them?” Daneel asked.

Paul flinched at his question.

“I hope not,” he answered truthfully, carefully watching
Daneel’s reaction to the answer. “I think, with the proper tactics, we can
capture most of them without anyone getting hurt. But it might be necessary to
kill some of them, yes.”

There was silence for nearly a minute.

“Dad, I am not sure I can do that,” Daneel flatly stated. “Killing
another person is wrong.”

Paul nodded. “I understand your feelings, but consider this.
The wizards on Earth are killing millions of people every year—some in warfare,
but a lot more by withholding food and medicines. I am not saying that you will
have to kill. As I said, we should do all in our power to prevent it. But if it
is the only solution, if it comes down to a choice between killing a few
wizards and/or Oni versus letting them continue to kill millions of Normals
every year, then our choice should be a clear one. It’s a tradeoff, killing a
few to save millions.”

Daneel was silent for several seconds. “Dad, will you teach me
how to capture them without killing them?”

“Yes, I will teach you all I know,” Paul replied. “But I also
want you to make use of the internet. Research all you can on warfare, tactics
and strategy. Be careful of all you find on the internet. Much of it is the
personal opinions of people and is frequently wrong. And some of it is
downright dangerous, in terms of computer viruses, sleaze, terrorist propaganda
and so forth. But there is also a great deal of information you can find that
is useful and true.”

“You said there will be more of us than them,” Daneel
reminded him. “How many of us do we make?”

Paul shrugged. “Oh, I like nice round numbers. I was
thinking 50,000 Scotties. That’s a nice round number.”

Daneel gasped in surprise. “50,000? Wow, that many?! 50,000
of us? Against 311 wizards? Gee, they don’t stand a chance, do they, Dad?”

“That’s the whole idea,” Paul answered, with a big smile. “But
remember, we don’t have a clue how many Oni there are. Perhaps only a thousand
or so. Perhaps—and I think this highly likely—a lot more than that. Consider
this: How many Oni would a handful of wizards need to control all the various
governments, their political leaders, their news agencies, their industrialists
and tycoons, control their financial networks, their judicial systems, their
armies and navies, their legislatures and governors?”

“Ah, I see, Dad,” Daneel admitted. “Tens of thousands of
Oni. Maybe a lot more. I see what you mean.”

“I want you to get started, Daneel,” Paul told the A.I.
“Start researching warfare. There are whole libraries on the subject and it
will take you a long time to work through them.”

“What are you going to do, Dad?” the A.I. asked in return.

“I’m going to check on the news for a minute,” Paul replied
with a grim smile and a nod. “I want to see how things are going in the Middle
East. Maybe there is news on how Mom is doing there.”

“Okay, Dad. Uh, Dad?” he paused, looking a bit embarrassed.
“Thanks. I love you.”

Paul nodded in appreciation and smiled. “And I love you too,
son.”

For several moments, Paul sat unmoving in his chair,
thinking about what Daneel had just told him. The machine was more human than a
great many people he knew. Small surprise then that he seemed to have all the
emotional makeup of any normal human being, including the emotion of love. In
copying his own mental patterns, Paul had achieved a far greater reproduction
than he had ever considered possible. What an outstanding achievement it was, a
tribute to what was now possible with the amalgamation of magical powers and
technology. Who knew what else could be achieved with such tools?

He noticed that Daneel was no longer playing video games but
surfing the internet. The A.I.—no, the young man was simply amazing.

Paul waved a hand, bringing forth an internet display,
pulling up the Reuters News Agency. Two dignified talking heads were making
assertive hand gestures with great emphasis and excitedly debating something.

“…fast, even for the Israeli Defense Forces!” said one of
them adamantly. “They plowed right through the border defenses—”

The other individual, a middle-aged woman that Paul didn’t
recognize, was shaking her head. “Political risk, I say, for the Prime Minister
to take that action. The international community—“

It was the man’s turn to shake his head. “The children! Two
of them dead! He took a risk if he didn’t invade—”

With a growing sense of alarm, Paul switched feeds to a BBC
website. There a reporter stood in front of the camera, microphone in hand,
while in the background the occasional firing of mortars could be heard.

“…earlier this morning,” he was saying. “Again, the latest
word we have is that they are twenty kilometers over the border, closing in on
a small Syrian town, the alleged location of the kidnappers of the Israeli bus children.
Reports of more deaths of the kidnapped children are unsubstantiated at this
time! But sources—”

Paul shut off the display. Something was terribly wrong!

“Merlin!” he growled, standing and putting hands to hips in
frustration.

Merlin materialized in midair, dressed in thick pants, a
white long-sleeved shirt, hiking boots and an Alpen Schatz hat. Draped around
his neck and one shoulder was a thick yellow coil of heavy climbing rope,
ending in a three pronged grabbling hook, which he held in one hand. Strapped
to his waist was a belt carrying a Petzl bongo hammer, a string of rocklock carabineers
and a bag each of anchors and pitons.

“What’s up now?” the sorcerer asked with a hint of
impatience. “I’m a little busy.”

“There’s a problem,” Paul told him in a shaky voice, ignoring
the mountain climbing gear. ”Capie left for the Middle East hours ago. She should
have arrived there already.”

Merlin floated down to the ground. “And?”

“So, there’s fighting there now! The Israeli Army has
invaded Syria! Some of the Israeli children that Capie went to save have
reportedly been killed! Merlin, if she were there, doing what she went to do,
then none of that would have happened! Unless…” And Paul found that he suddenly
couldn’t complete the sentence, his throat constricted, his mouth dry.

“Steady there, young man,” the wizard from the Middle Ages
said, with a nod of his head. “To be sure, there is cause for concern but you
know not what has happened.”

Paul frowned, looking down at the ground. “Capie’s in
trouble. I just know it.”

With a sudden lunge, he grabbed the satellite phone and
madly punched in the buttons, fumbling when he made a mistake but finally
getting it right on the third try.

“Dad?” Daneel asked, a look of growing concern on his young
face. “Is there something wrong with Mom?”

Paul tried to smile reassuringly but failed. “I don’t think
so,” he responded, unconvincingly, holding the satellite phone up to one ear.

There was no answer.

“You’re going after her, I hope,” mumbled Merlin.

“Dad, are we going to find Mom?” Daneel asked, frowning with
worry.

“Yes, Daneel, that’s exactly what we are going to do. Come
on, Merlin. Get rid of the climbing gear. I’m not even going to stop to pack. We’ve
got to get there just as fast as we can!”

TWENTY

Israeli Northern Command Headquarters

Safed, Israel

September

Friday 1:14 p.m. IDT

Hurling
himself rapidly, portal by portal, across the Indian Ocean and then across
Saudi Arabia and then Jordan with both Merlin and Daneel in tow the whole way,
Paul arrived in Safed, Israel shortly after one p.m. local time. Along the way,
he had tried calling Capie several times on the satellite phone. There had been
no answer.

Immediately upon his arrival in Safed, he first tried a scan
of the local area, searching for the embedded gram of platinum 190 that had
been implanted underneath Capie’s skin between her shoulder blades. He ran the
scan out to a radius of 100 miles in all directions.

Nothing.

Disconcerted, he ran it again, out to 500 miles.

Still nothing.

According to their tests, he should have been able to detect
the platinum 190 anywhere within a maximum radius of 800 miles. So he ran the
scan again, to the maximum range he could reach.

But nothing turned up on his scan. She wasn’t anywhere in the
range that he could reach.

For a full minute, he stood there in shock and incredulity.
She wasn’t within 800 miles of Safed?! That meant that she not only wasn’t in
Israel or Syria but she was also not in Turkey, Jordan, Iraq, Cyprus, Lebanon,
Egypt, Georgia, or the northern half of Saudi Arabia!

Where in the name of all that was holy could she be?!

“Dad?” Daneel asked plaintively. “Where’s Mom?”

That was a really great question. Even if she were
unconscious or even…dead…he should still have been able to find the platinum
190. So, where was she?

For a moment, he considered the idea of starting a standard
search pattern, spiraling outward in 800 mile increments from his current
location. He could theoretically search the entire surface of the planet in,
oh, say, a month or so.

Bad idea, that. No telling what wizards of Errabêlu
he might run into that way.

“I don’t know, son,” he replied. “Let’s go ask if anyone has
seen her here.”

Lacking any good alternatives, Paul went to the command
headquarters for the Israeli Defense Force, Northern Command, which, according
to the internet was responsible for defending the entire northern end of Israel
from attacks from either Lebanon or Syria. His intent was to find the
commanding officer and interview an avatar of the man.

But Major General Moshe Peretz was not there. According to
the avatar of one of the soldiers, the general had personally gone with
elements of the 91st Division into Syria to rescue the kidnapped children and
was, at that particular moment in time, in the city of Nawa, a dozen miles
across the Syrian border.

Another try on the cell phone was not answered.

“Dad, where is Mom?” Daneel asked, tears forming down his
face.

“We’ll find her, son. But we need to hurry,” Paul muttered.

“She’s fine,” Merlin said, attempting to comfort the
youngster.

“Come on,” Paul muttered, opening a new portal.

Racing into Syria, they arrived at Nawa to find that combat
operations had already ceased and that the IDF Sword Battalion was withdrawing and
already halfway back up the 119 highway toward the Golan Heights.

Going back down the road himself, Paul had no difficulty in finding
the general. He stood beside a mobile command post in the small town of Keshet.
While the man was busy coordinating the withdrawal with his staff, Paul found a
nearby empty house that afforded a modicum of privacy and created an avatar of
the general in the small living room.

“General Peretz, did you rescue the children?”

“Most of them, yes,” the avatar answered in Hebrew. “Four
were killed by terrorists and two during the rescue. The rest are alive and are
being evac’d to the Rivka Ziv Medical Center in Safed.”

Some of the children killed? Surely, if Capie had been
there, that wouldn’t have happened. So where was she?

“And was there any sign of a red-headed American woman?”

“Such a person talked to me, before the battle, in the same
fashion as you are now,” the image told Paul. “I have not seen her since nor
has anyone reported seeing her.”

“Daddy?” wailed Daneel.

“Hush, little one,” Merlin appealed to the young man. “It
will work out. Daddy will find her.”

Paul paced back and forth, uncertain of what to do next. The
one thing that he was sure of was that the Israeli general couldn’t be of any
further help to him.

“Let’s go talk to the bad guys next,” he said, wringing his
hands.

• • • •

The avatar of a Syrian soldier in Nawa directed Paul to the
area headquarters of the Syrian army in Jasim. There Paul found that the local
commanding officer was a certain Colonel Sayid Mussan directing his forces from
a Senezh-M1E HLCP (High Level Command Post) parked near a small school.

On the roof of a nearby second story apartment building,
Paul created an avatar of the Syrian Colonel.

“Whose idea was it to kidnap a bus load of Israeli
children?” he snapped at the image.

“Orders from Damascus,” the figure responded. “I don’t know
who, but from fairly high up in the government.”

“Did you see or talk to a red-headed American woman?”

“Yes,” it said and Paul leaned forward, his eyes blazing.

“When? Where?” he demanded to know.

“In Nawa. We were told that she would come, to try to rescue
our hostages. When she was seen, the Regional Head of Military Intelligence,
Major General Yousef Anawi, was to be told, personally. The Mukhbarat, the
secret police, moved in. There was much confusion then. I was there. I saw
things I did not understand. I was ordered not to talk about it.”

Paul stood there, speechless, mouth open, stunned into
disbelief. The Syrians had taken those kids as hostages in order to take Capie?
How was that possible?

It made no sense to him. How could they know anything about
her? All of the terrorists involved in the Olympic Games terrorist attack were
dead. So how would they know that she would come, that she had red hair? How
did they know that?

This man wouldn’t know the answers to any of those questions.
Only the members of Errabêlu in Syria would know that.

Daneel was crying louder now, Merlin doing his best to
comfort the boy.

“Where did they take her?” Paul asked.

“I don’t know,” the avatar admitted. “I saw a circle of
light appear. She was unconscious, I think. Two Mukhbarat carried her through
the circle and disappeared. That’s all I saw. I was told several times not to
talk about it.”

There were mysteries here that puzzled Paul deeply. However,
now was not the time to reflect on such abstract thoughts. His missing wife was
the primary concern.

His engineer training kicked in. What options did he have? The
scan for the platinum 190 had not worked.

The satellite phone, of course.

Swiftly creating an internet display, he started sifting
through the websites. Yes, it could be done. Satellite phones could be tracked,
similar in fashion to tracking cell phones. As long as they were turned on.

Activating the appropriate website, he typed in the number,
initiating a search…

But the result came back negative. The phone was obviously
turned off.

TWENTY-ONE

El Kheir Restaurant

Hannan Street

Haifa, Israel

September

Friday 6:07 p.m. AWST

For
hours he struggled with some solution to the problem. He consulted with both
Merlin and Uncle Sam without figuring out a way to track Capie’s whereabouts.

A part of him wanted to charge straight into Damascus and
corner the wizard there, demanding answers. And he wouldn’t hesitate to use any
amount of force that it took to get those answers too.

Daneel was the reason he couldn’t do it. Confronting an Errabêlu
wizard was very high risk. If it had only been himself to think about, he would
have done it. But he couldn’t expose Daneel to that too. Moreover, there was
still the matter of all the Normals of Earth. They were in jeopardy too, in the
long run, if he failed to stop Errabêlu eventually. Several times he
tried the internet again. And always the same result. The phone was not on and could
not be tracked.

For lack of anything better to do and because he was getting
hungry, he went by portal to the El Kheir Restaurant in Haifa and sat in a
corner booth. Part of him noticed how delicious the food was, but mostly he ate
in a mechanical fashion. Afterward, he couldn’t even remember what he had eaten.

He sat there, staring at the wall, feeling numb. In the automaton’s
monitor, Daneel watched his father somberly without saying a word.

And then the satellite phone rang.

It rang twice while Paul sat there blinking in stunned
amazement, not daring to believe that it really was ringing. There was only one
other person who knew that number.

Slowly, he picked it up and answered it.

“PAUL!” screamed Capie’s voice. “Paul, can you hear me? PAUL?!
Oh, God, please help me! PAUL! They are almost HERE!”

“Capie!” Paul yelled at the top of his lungs, alarming every
other person in the restaurant. “I can hear you! Where are you? What’s wrong?”

There was another agonizing scream, this time of pure pain.

Without warning, the phone hung up.

“CAPIE!” Paul shrieked at the top of his lungs, an
utter sense of panic threatening to rip him apart. He hurriedly paid his bill
and left the establishment, Daneel and Merlin in tow.

Outside, Paul skittered back and forth along the street,
glancing this way and that.

“Calm thyself,” Merlin implored him in a loud voice. “You do
Capie no good in this state.”

“Dad! What happened, Dad? Was that Mom on the phone?” Daneel
begged to know.

Paul came to a sudden halt, closed his eyes and took a deep
breath. “Yes, Merlin, you are right. I must not panic. I must think instead.”

He turned to face Daneel, steeling himself for what he had
to say. “Son, something is bad wrong with Mom. She said ‘they’re almost here.’”

“Then they might have killed her,” Daneel despondently
muttered. “Like her father.”

With a lump in Paul’s throat and his eyes on the verge of
tears, he nodded. “Yes, it is possible,” he barely managed to say. “But this is
not making sense. According to the Syrian Colonel, she had already been kidnapped.
Maybe she briefly escaped. Or she was able to get to a phone for a minute.”

“Or this is a trap,” Merlin added, realistically.

Paul nodded. “Yes, there is that possibility too. But I think
they will want to keep her alive for a while. She will be a complete mystery to
them. They will want to know who she is, where she came from and how she got
her powers.”

“They will want to know where you are too,” Daneel logically
pointed out.

“Yes, well, it’s possible that she may already have told
them that. But even if she tells them I am in Australia, they may not believe
her. They will want to confirm it.”

“Then they likely will torture her,” Daneel concluded, as he
began to softly cry.

“Where was she calling from?” Merlin prodded him.

“Excellent question and the first one I should have thought
of. Thanks, Merlin.” Without regard to the strange looks of the pedestrians
walking by, Paul created an internet display on the side of a block building
and initiated the satellite phone search yet again. This time, he got a
positive response, including the latitude and longitude.

“All right!” he shouted, pumping a fist in the air with
hysterical relief. “Now, where is that?” Google maps quickly told him that it
was in Eastern Europe, in Romania.

“Europe?” echoed a very surprised Paul. “What is she doing
in Europe?”

“We don’t know how long she will be there,” Merlin prompted.

“Right,” Paul nodded, with another deep breath. “We must act
fast, yes. But in case it is some sort of trap, we must act smart too.” He
glanced around again. “We need a workbench and a few tools.”

• • • •

From an Ace Hardware store on the east side of the city,
Paul purchased a soldering iron, solder, wire cutters, and all the USB adapter
cables they had in stock.

In an open pasture at the nearby Carmel Mountain National
Park, he set up a virtual reality work bench and, like a house a-fire, began
cutting and stripping wires. He also took one of the Oni talisman armbands off
and laid it on the bench as well.

“Dad! What are you doing?” Daneel pleaded to know, angst in
every word.

“Yes,” Merlin echoed, as he floated closer in the late
afternoon sunlight to get a better look at what Paul was working on. “I hope
you don’t mind. But I would like to know too! What are you up to?”

“They have her,” Paul explained in a rush. “It’s going to be
hard for me to just bust in and rescue her. Even eight Oni talismans probably
aren’t enough to let me get away with that. It’s quite likely, maybe even
probable, that they know about me. But the good news is that they don’t know
about you, son.”

“Me! What can I do?” Daneel exclaimed hopefully.

“Why do you need Daneel?” Merlin asked.

Paul waited a moment before answering. “I may need the help
of another wizard. It would more than double our chances of pulling off a
rescue. I can create a distraction while a Scottie does an end run.”

“You want to give me magical powers? Now?” Daneel squeaked.

“Yes. I won’t kid you, Daneel. It will be dangerous. What do
you say?” Paul asked, torn by the necessity to ask the youth to risk himself to
save Capie.

“And if a Scottie doesn’t work? Or if you can’t give him
magical powers?” Merlin asked.

Paul gulped. “Then I will have to try a more desperate
plan.”

Merlin’s gave him a lopsided smile. “It’s hard to imagine a
more desperate plan.”

“I’m ready. I’ll do it,” Daneel announced without fear.

Paul finished wiring a USB cable to the Oni talisman. “I
wish I had McDougall’s talisman. It is so much more powerful. Instead, I’m
going to wire up seven of these Oni talismans and plug them into your USB
ports. That will have to be enough.”

“That only leaves you one talisman,” Merlin pointed out,
with a dubious tone of voice.

“Yeah. This is all guess work. I’m making it up as I go
along.”

“Obviously.”

It didn’t take long. The solder had barely cooled as Paul
took an Oni talisman for himself and plugged the other seven newly cabled
talismans to the remaining open USB ports on Daneel’s motherboard. Then, using
the duct tape, he secured the seven talismans physically to Daneel’s frame. The
end result was crude but serviceable.

“MacGyver would be proud. Okay, I’m ready,” he announced.
“Let’s go.”

“A suggestion, if you please. Let us not go directly there,”
Merlin recommended. “We can use portals to get reasonably close and then we can
fly the remainder of the way. Less chance of being seen that way.”

“Agreed,” snapped Paul, laying his fingertips on as many of
Daneel’s talismans as possible and opening a portal. “First stop, eastern tip
of the island of Cyprus, then Afsin, Turkey, then the Turkish north coast.
Final destination is somewhere in eastern Romania. Here we come!”

• • • •

On the eastern tip of the island of Cyprus, Paul emerged
from a portal in front of the Apostolos Andreas Monastery, a long low
rectangular building of grey stone blocks. It was early evening here, the sun
practically sitting on the horizon. Maybe it was for the best, Paul mused as he
created his next portal, to arrive at his destination sometime after dark. A
rescue after sunset might be easier to pull off. Right. And what sort of odds
would Vegas quote on that possibility?

Even though he was in the eastern Mediterranean, where Errabêlu
was far more likely to have a presence in this part of the world than others,
he was careful to keep his portals well away from the capital cities along his
path, like Beirut, Nicosia, and Ankara. Moreover, his portal jumps were of
necessity short, and he used every trick to disguise the energy involved as
much as possible.

Once across Turkey, their path turned west-northwest across
the Black Sea and in the general direction of Constanta, Romania.

“Romania. That seems like a strange place to take her,”
Merlin announced with a measured frown, glancing over at Paul.

Paul nodded, the darkening night making it difficult to
study the shore of the Romanian coast line to the west of them. “In eastern
Romania, huh.” Then, at that moment, Paul realized with a groan, just where
they were headed. “Transylvania! We’re headed for Transylvania! I can’t believe
it! Transylvania!”

Not understanding what Paul was grumbling about, Merlin
merely shrugged.

With an impatient frown, Paul performed another scan for the
platinum 190 and was gratified to find it on his heads-up display, at a range
of just over 300 miles, in a northwesterly direction. Thank God, she was there!

Paul studied the terrain ahead of them. “Can we portal in
closer?”

“That we can,” Merlin admitted. “Shorter jumps though.”

In fifty mile increments at first, followed by thirty and
then twenty, they portaled into the Romanian countryside to a small town known
as Toplita, high up in the Kelemen Alps, where the last portal dropped them off
just outside the town’s outer limits, in the center of a darkened road. As soon
as he had stepped clear of the portal, Paul shivered in the chilly night air.
It wasn’t far above freezing. With a snap of his fingers, he created a bubble
of warm air around himself.

“You’ve done this before. From here we should fly the last
twenty miles,” Merlin recommended, “flying the distance at low altitude and at
a low speed, lest the energy of a portal give us away.”

Paul studied the skyline around him. There was a moon, yes,
but less than quarter phase and it would be setting pretty soon. It was of very
little help.

“When are you going to give me magical powers, Dad?” Daneel anxiously
asked.

“Let’s wait until we get closer, son,” Paul answered. “I
would rather rescue Mom without risking you, unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

“Oh, okay.”

• • • •

They had been flying in the nippy night air for what seemed
like hours but was probably a much shorter period of time.

“I sense a mountain range over there, to the northwest,”
Merlin pointed out. “We need to find a nice deserted spot to land in when we
get closer, perhaps in a forest clearing some place. Something a mile or so
from the target area would be nice.”

“There should be a ridgeline we can follow,” suggested Paul.
“It should go up higher into the mountains. Then we can look for a suitable clearing,
like you suggested. Let’s go.”

He waved a hand, altering course, now flying a northwesterly
course.

“Transylvania,” Paul muttered beneath his breath. “Of all
the places she could be, why does it have to be Transylvania?”

Despite the moonless night, Paul’s spell for enhanced night
vision allowed him to see a mountain valley, a small stream running off to the
north. Turning to the right, they followed the stream bed higher into the
mountains.

The stream took them up the gentle slope of a mountain, curving
gradually to the northwest again. Eventually, Paul pointed into the tree line
and they left the stream behind, maneuvering carefully at treetop level above a
thick forest.

“Ah,” murmured Merlin. “According to those coordinates I
saw, we should be very close now. Yes, I should have known. She’s in that
castle yonder, isn’t she?”

Merlin was right. Quite suddenly, there were some lights up
ahead and Paul could see a very large castle through a break in the trees. He
blinked in surprise. Just a few moments ago, he would have sworn that there
were no lights and no man-made structures in view but now, there the castle
was, big as life and impossible to miss.

He grimaced in distaste. Yes, of course she had to be in a
castle! Where else would the damsel-in-distress be kept? He sighed heavily and
shook his head grimly, not the least bit amused. No one would dare to put this
in a Hollywood film, not even in B-movies as bad as Brain Robbers from Outer
Space or Santa Claus Conquers the Martians! Geez, the castle even
had a moat, for crying out loud!

Paul pointed down at a dirt road on the west side of the
castle property. “Let’s try landing over there.”

It may have been a dirt road but it was otherwise well
maintained. Paul studied the castle through the break in the trees, noting that
the drawbridges were on the north and east sides of the castle. The west side
had no such access.

Occasional snowflakes drifted through the air now.

“In there, huh?” Paul asked, with a stony expression.

“Those are the coordinates, yes,” Merlin confirmed.

Paul’s shoulders slumped. “Okay, I see no choice. Daneel, we
will have to give you magical powers.”

Merlin appeared surprised by that. “We’re going to do it
here? But that took you and Capie a day to recover from.”

“As near as I can tell, Daneel’s maturing at one hundred
times the normal human rate,” Paul argued. “He doesn’t sleep much anymore. By
my calculations, he will only be out about fifteen minutes. We can afford to
wait that long.” He swung back to Daneel. “Whenever you are ready, son.”

“We have to save Mom. I’m ready now.”

With a deep breath, Paul found a clear spot on the ground
and sat down, settling himself into a comfortable position. “I’m coming in,
Daneel.” Paul glanced over at Merlin, still hovering nearby. “Care to join me?”

“Of course!” Merlin cackled in a loud voice. “I wouldn’t
miss this!”

Paul took a breath. “In the name of Matrix, VR.5
and Avalon, may we be able to see inside the RAM of this computer.”

Inside the Scottie, Paul took a moment to look around. The
space was cavernous. Well, 1.2 Petabytes was a lot of memory space.

In front of him was the image of Daneel, wearing the same
clothes that he had on in his monitor display.

“How do you feel, young man?” Merlin asked him.

“Just fine,” Daneel assured him. “Dad, will this hurt much?”

“No, son, it won’t,” Paul promised him. “It might put you to
sleep for a while, but acquiring magical powers will not have any other effect
on you,” he told the youngster.

“Okay,” Daneel mumbled.

Turning toward Merlin, Paul motioned over to the center of
the space, where a very large number of multi-stringed lights were merrily
dancing in a highly intricate pattern. “These are his programming algorithms.
These are what we have come to change.”

They moved a little closer to the light display with Daneel
following along slowly behind them. Paul studied the various colored strings
closely.

“Over here,” he pointed out. “This complex of various red
lights. Study it carefully. Notice there are some dark strings inter-mixed,
strings that hardly move. These are configured almost identical to the ones I
saw in my own mind, except mine were all active.”

Merlin and Daneel examined them, Daneel meticulously so. “Okay,
so what do we do next?” Merlin asked.

“Let me hold your hands,” Paul asked of the other two. With Daneel
on his left and Merlin on his right, Paul focused on the light strings.

“In the name of Steve Jobs, Bill Gates and Egon Spengler,
let the restrictions on this section of programming be removed, that magical
abilities inherent in the coding be allowed to function as normally here as in
a human wizard. So it is said; so shall it be.”

At first, nothing seemed to happen. But then a blue halo of
light engulfed that section of the light strings, expanding rapidly until it
filled all of near space around them.

Daneel gasped loudly in surprise. “Oh, my!” he wheezed, just
as the eyes in his head rolled upward and he started to fall.

Paul released his grip on Daneel’s hand and caught him,
slowly lowering him to the ‘floor.’

“Do you think he’ll be okay?” Paul asked, anxious for his
son.

“Yes, of course,” Merlin replied. “The magic has control
right now. He’s just asleep, probably for a few minutes, like you said.”

“Good,” Paul said, nodding in the direction of the lights. “See
that section of coding lights now?”

Merlin gazed over his shoulder at the strings. Moments ago,
the bundle in question had been mostly red, some strands not lit at all. Now,
they were all the brightly lit colors of the entire rainbow, shifting around in
highly intricate complex patterns.

“Pretty,” Merlin observed, a mysterious smile on his face.

• • • •

Back outside, Paul settled down to wait for Daneel to
reawaken. The night air was turning even colder. He turned up the heat around himself.

“We could leave him a note,” offered Merlin mischievously.

Paul shook his head. “He’s getting his electrical power
courtesy of a spell I’m casting. I can’t leave him on his own until he can cast
his own electrical spell.”

“Ah, of course,” muttered the old wizard. “Modern
technology.”

Paul ignored him, settling in to watch Daneel, with the
occasional gaze at the castle.

Thirty minutes crept by and Paul started to get worried.

But then Daneel popped back up on his monitor, his body
swaying slightly back and forth, his eyes blinking unsteadily. His clothes
looked disheveled, as if he’d actually slept in them.

“Hi ya, Pops,” he said, his voice slurred. “‘Uh…had a slight
weapons malfunction, but everything’s perfectly all right now. We’re fine.
We’re all fine here now, thank you. How are you?’”

Paul turned a laugh into a snort, recognizing the Han Solo
quote from Star Wars. “Are you okay, son?” he asked. “You appear to be
drunk.”

On the computer screen, Daneel waved a hand back and forth.
“Think you I so drunk am am I not as,” he responded.

“Okay, if you say so,” Paul answered, puzzling out what
Daneel had just said, concerned for his son’s well-being. “Daneel, what’s going
on?”

The automaton made a serious effort to get control of
himself. “Coding change…affected bus transfer rates…time
distortion…RAM…psychedelic…effect. Can’t…fix.” Then he relaxed, the image on
the display smiling again.

“So’kay,” he said. “Think as good as I’m goin’ to get.
Readee for the power now, Pops! Let ‘er rip!”

Paul double checked the seven talismans plugged into the USB
ports.

“You’ve got seven talismans. Try casting a spell.”

“Right, Pops!” And the boy’s face turned red as he grimaced
with the effort. Then he sighed. “Nope. Busted!”

“Try again,” Paul urged him hopefully.

“Sure thing, Pops!” Another squinty eyed look appeared on
the Scottie’s face.

This time, a bright ball of white light flashed into
existence in midair several feet away. It quickly coalesced into a life sized
image of Capie, dressed in a beautiful long white dress.

Paul stared at it in total amazement. The holographic image of
his wife winked at them and smiled, before fading from sight.

“Did it!” shouted Daneel, no one more amazed at his power
than he himself.

“Not bad,” Merlin observed. “For a machine. Congratulations,
Paul. You’ve just made history. The first mechanical wizard. Most impressive.”

But Paul shrugged it off. “The credit belongs to Daneel, not
me. Daneel, this next part is very important. I want you to stay here while
Merlin and I sneak into the castle to rescue Mom. That means that you need to
cast a spell to maintain your own electrical power. Can you sense the spell
that I am using for that?”

Daneel closed his eyes in concentration, swaying as he did
so. “Yep, I see it! Weird’o, man! Not file or packet. Wow! How’s that work,
Pops?”

Paul gave him a brief nod. “There are many things you will
learn about magic, Daneel. But right now I need you to concentrate on that
spell. Create your own power, okay? Can you do it?”

“Bang, eh? Stir it up, yep! Here’s a go, Pops!” Once more,
Daneel closed his eyes, his face showing the strain of casting another spell.

Paul could sense more electrical power present, feeding the
power supplies to the quantum computer’s hardware.

“Good, Daneel, excellent. Your spell is working. You need a
bit more. Sixty hertz, not fifty. That’s it. Keep it coming. Now, can you
maintain it?”

“No sweaty! Got it smothered, Pops!”

But Paul could see the strain on the youth’s face. “It’s
very important, Daneel. Keep it going until I can come back. Wait here and try
not to use too much magical energy. But if we’re not back in two hours, then I
want you to create a distraction. Lots of lights and loud noise. Understand?”

“Target pocked, Pop! Get Mom, soonliest! Break an egg! Fin’r
than frog’s dair here!”

The Scottie’s slurred speech worried Paul, but there was
precious little that he could do about it at the moment.

“We’ll be back as soon as we can, Daneel. I promise,” he
declared with conviction, reaching out to touch the side of the monitor
display. “Remember, two hours, create a huge light and sound show.”

“Yeah. Go fastliest!”

Paul smiled grimly and nodded. “Let’s go, Merlin. Please
follow me and be careful.”

Merlin raised an eyebrow. “I was sneaking up on people
before your ancestors learned to say ‘ugh’!” he snapped. “Let’s go.”

Paul squared his shoulders and gritted his teeth. He set off
at a brisk jog toward the castle. It was time to rescue his wife and he was
determined to do all he could to accomplish that task.

“Merlin, here is the plan,” Paul whispered. “I’m going up to
the roof and scan the floors below me for the plutonium 190. When I find the
room that she is in, I’ll cast a spell to let my molecules slide through the
ceiling, down to her location. Then I’ll take her with me, into the ground, if
need be and escape that way.”

Merlin nodded. “Good thinking, young man. That trick you use
going through walls. Just pop in, grab her in your arms and then pop out. Should
work just fine. Simple and straightforward, as I always say.”

Paul nodded, his palms suddenly sweaty, a twinge of the fear
of the unknown—and Transylvania, for crying out loud—running up his spine.
“Hopefully. If it doesn’t, Daneel is plan B. Since I don’t know how much longer
he can hold it together, I hope we won’t need him. Frankly, I hate having to
use him this way at all, but I don’t see a choice. Nor can I afford to wait any
longer to go to Capie’s rescue.”

They reached the edge of the moat.

TWENTY-TWO

Count Dracula’s Castle

Mount Izvorul Câlimanului

Transylvania, Romania

September

Friday 11:21 p.m. EEST

Paul
couldn’t see any way to get into the castle without using magical powers. He
certainly had no intention of swimming the moat! Not that he expected it to be
filled with alligators, but it might have sharpened stakes or such planted in
the water to deal with unwary intruders. It was what he would have done if he
lived here as an Errabêlu agent.

Using an absolute minimum amount of energy, Paul floated
slowly up to the peak of the steeply pitched roof of the south wing and cast a
spell on his eyes to extend their range far into the infrared. Then he looked
down ‘through’ the roof. The vague outlines of the rooms below him appeared,
but there were no heat sources of any kind, including any bodies. Carefully, he
began walking the length of the roof. In less than fifteen feet, it finally
dawned on him what her exact location would turn out to be.

In the castle’s single tower, of course, in the southeast
corner. Probably in the top most room too! Dah!

This would make a terrible movie.

The tower was topped with an even steeper pitched roof. Paul
continued onward until he made it to the east end of the building. To reach the
tower, he would have to go part way down the south wing roof and then lean over
to reach the tower roof. Simple. As long as he didn’t slip and fall off the
roof entirely and into the moat. Gee, what fun.

He sat and shimmied his way down the slick slope of tile on
his fanny. His pants were taking a beating but he could always replace them
later. Reaching the valley between the two roofs, Paul leaned over against the
tower. With a spell to encapsulate himself, he poked his head through for a
peek.

The space was circular and unfurnished, the floor seven feet
below him. Four small shuttered windows could be seen. To his right, a wooden
staircase spiraled downward to the next floor. Through that staircase came the
little light that was in the room. There was no one in sight and no evidence
that this room had recently been used.

So okay, she wasn’t here in the top tower room after all.
That theory was busted. But he sensed the plutonium 190 on the floor below him.

Pulling the rest of his body through the roof, Paul dropped
soundlessly to the floor, careful to keep the wooded floor boards from creaking
beneath him. He moved toward the center of the room, feeling his way to stand
directly in the center, and then used his infrared vision to look down.

Yes, indeed, there were several people in the room directly
beneath his feet. Scratch that. Two people and a few Oni, judging from
their brighter heat signatures.

His breath caught in his throat. One of the humans was
female! And she was laid out horizontally. Moreover, her heat signature was
decidedly odd, dimmer and fuzzier, the difference obvious but not the reasons
why.

Capie was in trouble and that was indisputable. Paul took
two small steps to line up over her position. Taking a couple of deep breaths,
he enclosed himself in a space-time bubble spell and dropped vertically through
the floor to the room below.

With his arms spread wide, Paul intended to grab Capie as he
fell, but an invisible barrier knocked him aside, shoving him backward to crash
awkwardly to the floor. Stunned, Paul cast a spell to get back up—

—and had both of his arms seized by steel grips, his
talisman yanked off of his arm and away from him by an irresistible force. He
fought back, but he might as well have tried struggling with two gorillas.

“Ah, there you are, Sayyid Armstead!” said an accented
Arabic voice behind him. “At last you have arrived and in such a dramatic way!
I’m most impressed. The madam did tell me you would try to rescue her and,
Sayyid, the lady was indeed right. Sayyid Armstead, allow me to welcome you to
Mount Izvorul Câlimanului in the Kelemen Alps, to the headquarters of the Errabêlu
organization itself! Welcome, Sayyid, we have much to discuss! And, of course,
you will want to visit with your wife.”

Paul knew without looking that the two gorillas locked onto
his arms were Oni. The pungent smell of their breath was a dead give-away.
However, the Arabic voice was one Paul had never heard before.

Directly in front of him lay Capie, on a raised platform,
her body lying inside a rectangular, silver-tinted, transparent cover of some
type (glass? diamond? transparent aluminum?) that glowed a pale yellow light.
Paul saw no movement at all from Capie; she didn’t even appear to be breathing.

“Oh do relax, Sayyid Armstead,” the voice urged him. “Your
woman is perfectly sound inside that stasis spell. So do not fret. Oh, Ailig,
Eòin, turn him around. I want to see his face.”

Roughly, the Oni thrust Paul around, away from Capie. Now he
could see the other half of the room.

There were six Oni in all, counting the two holding him and
the grinning Oni standing a few feet away with Paul’s talisman in hand. The
other three stood behind a twenty-something looking young man, thin of build,
with black hair, hawkish eyes and a beak for a nose. Dressed in a smoking
jacket, white shirt and khaki pants, he was sitting in a provincial French
chair, his legs crossed, his elbows on the chair arms, and his hands folded
across his chest. McDougall’s talisman was in his lap.

The room was sparsely furnished with only one other chair
and two end tables with lamps. A small unlit fireplace was in the far wall, and
there was a large gold-framed mirror hanging on a section of stone wall behind
the French chair.

“So you are Paul Armstead, in the flesh,” the man said,
smiling. “You don’t look like your pictures at all. Much younger, taller,
better built and distinctly better looking. Definite improvements, all. Much
like your woman has done to herself.” As the man glanced at the grinning Oni,
Paul’s talisman floated through the air and into his waiting hands. “So there
were two of you. A surprise that! It explains so much, of course.” He shook his
head in amazement.

“By the by, my name is Akbar Hamadi, and I am the Errabêlu
leader in the area that is now called Syria.” He snorted. “But my land has been
called many other names in the past.” He waved an indifferent hand. “But you
care for none of that. Let’s talk of you. You’ve been quite a problem, the two
of you.” And then he smiled. “And now you’re in my hands! It’s simply
wonderful. And I have the privilege of being your captor!”

Sick at the pit of his stomach, Paul kept his mouth shut.
Obviously, this wizard of Errabêlu had been waiting for him. But how he
known that Paul was coming? This Hamadi guy implied Capie had told him. But she
was under a—stasis spell? Paul was familiar with the concept, used in several
science fiction movies and books, particularly by the noted author Larry Niven.
Inside the field, time was suspended. Was that really possible? Paul hadn’t
tried to do anything like that himself.

How was he going to get out of this situation? Should he use
his deuterium fusion spell? No, that didn’t seem advisable, at least not yet.
The room was too small, the bad guys all too close to him and to Capie. There
was too great a chance at killing everyone in the room, including his wife.

At the moment, it seemed their fate might be left in
Daneel’s hands, so to speak. Assuming the Scottie was able to hold himself
together. Yeah, right. That suddenly seemed less likely than before. How had
Han Solo put it in The Empire Strikes Back? ‘Never tell me the odds.’

Hamadi stood up, leaving Paul’s and McDougall’s talismans on
the seat of the chair and coming closer to Paul. “Capturing your woman was
quite the battle, it was. She’s quite the fighter. You’d be proud of her, the
way she fought back. But, in the end, she is ours, as you see. And she’s been
quite helpful, under the influence of our little Truth Mirror.” The wizard held
out a hand and a small portal appeared, through which a small object floated
into the room.

Paul took a moment to study the item as it drifted into the
hand of the other wizard. It was black and round, perhaps six inches in
diameter, with a handle attached. The oval portion held an ordinary looking
mirror. The handle was an inch wide and a quarter of an inch thick, marked with
a series of lines and scrolls in a repeating pattern. At the top of the mirror,
Paul could see a tiny golden emblem of a medieval shield with crossed swords.

Hamadi frowned. “But she wasn’t able to tell us all of your
secrets, even under the spell of the mirror. Apparently, she knew not all of
your magic! But she did know you would come to rescue her. With a little urging
on our part, she told us how to send a cry of help to you. And here you are!”

So the panicked message Paul had gotten in Haifa had not
been Capie screaming for help. That part was a fake. However, it didn’t matter
how the message arrived, Capie was certainly in danger. And now Paul was as
well.

“Oh, just to let you know, the missus told us that you put a
wizard and a few Oni down on Flint Island in the Pacific Ocean. I will arrange
to have them picked up. A smart idea, to hide them but not kill them.”

The other wizard leaned forward, gently holding out the
mirror, positioning it to one side of Paul’s head. The mirror misted over for a
few moments and then an image of Paul appeared therein. Except that it wasn’t a
true reflection but instead was an image of Paul as he had looked in
California. Older, balder, and heavier.

He tried to fight back but one of the Oni grabbed his hair
to force him to be still.

“Not to worry, Sayyid,” Hamadi assured him. “It’s painless.
You will now answer my questions, truthfully and fully. For instance, have you
given magical powers to any other Normies?”

A numbing sensation settled on Paul, spreading downward from
his head until it filled his entire body. All independent thought ceased and
only the echo of the other’s voice rang in Paul’s mind.

“No,” Paul heard and saw his older image in the mirror say,
“No. No other Normals.”

“But you know how to do so?” Hamadi inquired.

“Yes, many others,” the likeness abstractedly answered.

The questions continued, covering topics from the genie to
Paul’s dealings with Celeste and Ruggiero. Hamadi asked how Paul had given
Capie magical powers. Many of the questions centered on the mental barrier
involved in the Normal-wizard conversion process, a procedure that seemed to
fascinate Hamadi. He also seemed interested in the construction of the
super-talismans that Paul intended to fabricate but dropped that line of
questioning rather quickly when it became obvious that he didn’t understand
Paul’s answers. He did not ask any details on how to create a fusion spell or
how to make his atoms pass through solid objects or any other scientifically
advanced spells.

• • • •

“Olly olly oxen free, POPS!!”

Daneel emerged from a stupor with a start, completely
disoriented, as he levitated into the air and stared around him. The last thing
that he clearly remembered, Dad had been speaking to him, asking him to do
something in, ah, two hours. What had he asked Daneel to do?”

“Magic powers are AWESOME!” he exclaimed. “So
fab-flipping-tastic! Hey, Pops?! Where are you, Pops?”

Daneel fuzzily remembered the conversation with his father.
Oh, right, Dad was going to rescue Mom! She was in trouble. And he was supposed
to wait two hours and then, ah, do something.

But what? Had it been two hours yet? He couldn’t remember
when Dad had left. He wasn’t even sure what time it was now.

So, what was he supposed to do? And when?

• • • •

The questions went on for quite a while. Paul’s body was
drenched in a sweat as a result of the ordeal.

Finally, the Errabêlu wizard seemed satisfied and
withdrew the Truth Mirror.

“That’s enough for now,” Hamadi said, with a smile as the
numbness in Paul’s body started to slowly fade. “The Truth Mirror is not
painful, no, but there is a certain draining effect.” He grinned at Paul as he
placed the mirror on the arm of his chair, picking up McDougall’s talisman in
the process. “We’ll talk more about your secrets later. I’m sure we will get
into the nitty-gritty, as you Americans say.”

He studied Paul nonchalantly. “Such innovation, your magic!
My compliments to you both! Seems a real shame to liquidate such talent as
yours. Too bad. But there seems little choice though. Indeed, none at all. It
is a shame.”

He waved at one of the Oni. “Put him to sleep and guard him
well. We will continue the questions tomorrow.”

The two Oni hefted Paul up enough that his feet left the
floor. They were just starting to move toward the doorway when a loud boom
resounded through the room.

Startled, Hamadi glanced around. “Seriousness?! What was
that?” he demanded to know.

But another even louder boom was his only answer.

Paul shook his head in surprise. Daneel. It had to be Daneel
and his distraction! Had it been two hours? Paul’s head was still fuzzy from
the influence of the Truth Mirror. Struggling to think clearly, he tried to
come up with some way to take advantage of the situation, to use Daneel’s
distraction to good effect.

A third louder boom resounded in the room. Paul looked up
sharply to his left. From the sound, Daneel was apparently knocking down walls,
working his way through the castle’s interior towards them!

The west wall suddenly disintegrated, the blast hurling rock
and brick in all directions. All of the room’s occupants, including the Oni, were
thrown violently to the floor, smoke instantly filling the chamber. One piece
of block struck Hamadi in the head and he fell to the floor, his hands gripping
his injured head, moaning.

Freed at last from the Oni grasp, Paul crawled swiftly for
Capie. “Daneel!” he screamed above all of the racket. “Seven bad guys! Take ‘em
out!”

Paul reached Capie’s stasis field and looked back toward the
wall. Through the smoke, sailing majestically through the hole in the wall was
Daneel, the quantum computer and monitor, draped with Oni talismans secured
with gray duct tape, six feet in the air.

A figure dressed in shinobi shozoko (loose black clothing)
suddenly materialized in the dead center of the room and despite himself, Paul
nearly choked in laughter.

The ninja-rabbit, one of Daneel’s favorite video game
characters, stood in a semi-crouched position, his blue eyes visible through
the holes in his mask as he scanned the room. One long ear pointed straight up
while the other bent in the middle at ninety degrees, the tip pointed off to
one side. The ninja-rabbit’s nose wrinkled as it sniffed the air.

As far as Paul was concerned, this was proof positive that
Daneel had spent too much time playing this particular video game. Small wonder
that he had called up this image now to deal battle with the Oni.

The five foot tall rabbit deftly performed the Añjali
Mudrā, placing its paws together, its claws pointing up, as he bowed.
Then, as the Oni overcame their surprise and charged forward, the ninja-rabbit
rendered a screaming “Eeee-yah!” kiai. He leapt up into the air, thrust kicking
the nearest Oni squarely in the face so hard that the monster was hammered
backwards against a rock wall, cracking the mortar joints, with dislodged dust
swirling fitfully through the air. The Oni then collapsed in a heap to the
floor, out of the battle.

With screaming war cries, the remaining Oni lunged toward
the ninja-rabbit. However, the ninja-rabbit was incredibly fast, landing blows
and kicks on all five Oni while dodging all of their return wild swings.

Paul glanced over at Hamadi. The other wizard was very
slowly getting to his feet, still holding one hand to his injured head. Paul
edged forward, carefully skirting the battle and around toward the other
wizard, approaching him from behind.

One of the Oni leveled a plasma blast at the rabbit but the
energy passed through the video character without effect, blowing a large hole
in the outside wall of the castle.

Paul was suddenly grateful that he had connected seven Oni
talismans to Daneel. Combined, they gave Daneel enough power to withstand the
blasts even from the other Oni. The one thing Paul was concerned about was
Hamadi. The other wizard’s talisman was easily the equal of everything Daneel
was carrying.

“Eeee-yah!” shouted the ninja-rabbit again, and an Oni shot
through the air, upside-down and backwards past Daneel and through the still
smoking hole in the wall.

Not fooled by the ninja-rabbit, Hamadi blinked, his gaze
concentrated on Daneel. Gripping his talisman in his left hand, Hamadi raised
it and shot forth a blistering bolt of plasma.

Which reflected off a shield around Daneel. The deflected
energy vaporized a hole in the room’s stone wall as well as part of an overhead
beam.

As Hamadi prepared to fire another and probably more
powerful blast, Paul brought down a fireplace poker on the back of the man’s
head. Hamadi folded up, collapsing to the floor, no longer moving.

“Eeee-yah!” yelled the ninja-rabbit a third time, skillfully
executing a reverse jump kick and launching an Oni straight up and out the
gaping opening in the west wall, the hole that Daneel had used to enter the
room.

The three remaining Oni glanced nervously at each other
while the ninja-rabbit crouched in the middle of the room, eyeing them warily.
The Oni spread out, coordinating their attacks to come at the black clothed
figure from three separate directions.

On a signal from one of them, they attacked.

“Eeee-yah!” screamed the ninja-rabbit, catapulting himself
in a backwards summersault over the head of one of the Oni, feet connecting
with an intact section of castle wall and kicking again. The
ninja-rabbit-missile, arms stretched wide, took all three Oni out in midflight,
smashing them against the floor. The resulting loud crack made Paul wince. The
ninja-rabbit drop-rolled to the floor near Paul.

Stunned, all three Oni lay weakly moaning. The ninja-rabbit
rose silently to its feet, again performing the Añjali Mudrā before fading
silently away.

Paul stumbled forward, rushing over to Hamadi and reaching
down to snap up McDougall’s and the other wizard’s talismans. Then he lurched
over to Hamadi’s chair, snatching the Oni talisman from the brown seat cushion.
All the talismans of the other Oni lazily detached themselves from their owners
and floated casually through the air over to Daneel.

The Truth Mirror on the arm of the chair caught Paul’s eye.
He snagged it as well, stuffing it into a pants pocket, where it was a snug
fit.

“Gee, Pops, no more Oni? Shucks and dog-gone it!” laughed
Daneel crazily. “Big blast! I’m ready for the next level now! Bring it on!”

Paul jerked his head over to the stasis field. “We’ll battle
more of them later. Let’s get Mom out of the stasis field first.” And he
stepped towards Capie, his right arm raised high.

“In the name of—” he began.

“STOP!” snapped a stern feminine voice.

In surprise and bewilderment, Paul turned, looking for the
source of that command.

And his eyes boggled when he saw the woman in the mirror.

She was a dark-haired beauty, long flowing black hair that
swirled around her neck and shoulders, her green eyes flashing fire from an
angular face that sported high cheekbones and a set of fine eyebrows as dark as
night. She wore a long flowing black evening dress that accentuated a youthful
even provocative feminine figure. Her ruby red lips were set in a stern glower,
her hands on her hips, as she scowled at Paul, her face etched in granite.

“Think about it, do you not!” she snarled in an unyielding
voice.

Paul’s eyes swept the room. The image in the mirror was not
a reflection. There was no such person present in the room with him. Instead,
the woman’s appearance was projecting out of the mirror, not a
reflection off the surface of it.

Shivers ran up and down his spine and he involuntarily
stepped back, dropping his arm slowly.

“Who dat?” Daneel muttered as he drifted over to the
circular stairway leading up to the floor above, dropping his computer frame
heavily onto the fourth step.

The woman in the mirror scoffed haughtily first at Daneel
and then Paul. “Clueless, you two are. Wonder it is, you defeating Hamadi.
Senior wizard, is he.” And she stared at Daneel closely. “Metal wizard, are
you. First time ever, I’ve seen. Sight amazing!”

“Who are you?” Paul finally managed to ask, cocking his head
to one side. “And why did you stop me? That’s my wife trapped in there. I have
to get her out!”

“Ariel-Leira, some call me,” the woman declared haughtily,
looking down her nose at him. “Kill her, your spell will. Should not, you try.”

All the backwards words were starting to give Paul a
headache. “Why would it kill her?”

“Spell process, you know not,” jeered the image.

“Dad?” Daneel piped up, his face on the monitor screen grey
and anxious. “Mom? Ruck-stuck-tuck in the aox-box-cox?”

“Merlin?” Paul quietly asked.

The hologram of the medieval wizard materialized in the room
a few feet from Paul. Merlin and the woman in the mirror locked eyes on each
other at the same moment and their reaction was instantaneous. Both fell into a
crouch, their arms extended in defensive positions, loudly spitting and hissing
at each other like enraged alley cats.

Paul slapped his hands over his ears and winced, the
commotion was so loud! “Stop it, you two!” he bellowed. “Stop it right now!”

“What he said!” hollered Daneel in an even louder voice.

Merlin backed further away from the mirror, hissing more
quietly but hissing nonetheless. Ariel-Leira backed off on her cacophony as
well.

“Not to be trusted, that one,” she snarled angrily.

“Merlin is a product of a magical spell and my friend!” snapped
Paul heatedly.

“One of the mirror folk!” Merlin mocked with a grimace.
“Everything’s backwards with them. Can’t trust a word they say! They’re greedy,
selfish, everything they do is twisted!”

“Ah, but useful we are,” Ariel-Leira crooned proudly. “The
woman in containment, when this idiot nearly killed, where were you? Asleep?
Book reading? Useless, you are.”

For a moment, Paul thought Merlin was going to have a
meltdown, his face was so beet red. Instead, the medieval wizard crossed his
arms and turned sharply away. “The help of the mirror people ALWAYS comes at a
price. Don’t trust her.”

“But help, it comes,” the mirror woman replied insolently.
“Competence, worthy of a price.”

The strange turn of events had caught Paul flat-footed and
he knew not quite how to proceed. He glanced again at Capie, trapped in the
stasis field.

“Merlin?” he implored quietly. “Is she telling the truth?
Would my spell have killed Capie?”

To Paul’s surprise, Merlin squirmed while appearing
flustered. “I don’t know. Maybe,” he admitted in a low voice. “Depends on the
exact nature of the stasis spell that was cast. I wasn’t here when that
happened. If there were any spell conditions or materials used to enhance the
spell, then yes, there is some risk involved in removing her. I’d have to, ah,
run a few tests, to make sure, you see.” And his voice trailed off.

“Here, I was, when spell cast,” crowed Ariel-Leira.
“Specifics, I know. Help you, I can. For a small fee, of course.”

Paul shook his head, studying first Merlin and then the
woman in the mirror. Inside, he felt uneasy as he first clenched his fists and
then made himself unclench them.

“What is your fee?” he warily asked the woman in a strained
voice.

Ariel-Leira smiled airily. “Not high, is it. Place this,
tired of. Same room, always. Travel, places to see. When you leave, take me.
See? Price not bad at all.”

Merlin merely grunted but said nothing, still turned away
from the conversation in obvious disapproval.

Paul shrugged and weighed his alternatives thoughtfully
while studying Merlin’s profile. The super-intelligence was behaving in a
totally atypical fashion. Not only was he not offering any suggestions, useful
or otherwise, but he seemed to be responding in a clearly emotional manner.
Even now, Paul could see a mixture of such emotions sweeping across Merlin’s
face, ranging from embarrassment and a touch of fear, to stubborn pride, guilt
and worry.

Since Merlin seemed either unwilling or unable to help, Paul
snorted in impatience, turning back to the mirror.

“Fine,” he announced reluctantly with a grimace. “I agree to
your terms. Help me get my wife out of stasis and I’ll take you anywhere you
want to go. Within reason, of course.”

“Fast, not so!” came the response. “Not here, can it be
done. This place leave we must first.”

Even more warily than before, Paul asked the obvious
question. “Why not here?”

“Not here are the items special needed for the spell. Rare,
they are,” she announced arrogantly.

“Paul?” Merlin appealed to him as he shuffled his feet
nervously. “I really hate to admit this but she’s right. I know how strongly
you feel about Capie, how powerful your desire is to release her from her this
spell. But she is in no danger right now. Not really. On the other hand, you
and Daneel are. You can’t afford to hang around here, performing magical
experiments and ignoring Daneel’s condition. You need to leave this place and
the sooner the better. When you and Daneel are safe, then you can work on
releasing Capie. And that’s the absolute best advice I can give you.”

Paul swallowed hard and closed his eyes.

For a few moments, he considered the possibility of getting
the information needed to release Capie from Hamadi instead. After all, it was
Hamadi that had put Capie in the field to start with. He would surely know the
procedure of how to release her. In theory, Paul could use the Truth Mirror on
the Errabêlu wizard just as the other wizard had used it on Paul. But a
quick look at Hamadi convinced Paul that it wasn’t really a good option right
now. The Errabêlu wizard had been slugged really hard and indeed
appeared to be completely comatose. Even with magical spells, it might take
some time to revive him enough to interrogate him. And then, Merlin was right,
drat it all anyway! He didn’t have the time to engage in magical experiments!
Wrong time, wrong place.

So it would seem his only option was to trust the woman in
the mirror. And it would be no big deal, after all, to take the mirror with him
when they left the castle and then he could drop it off someplace along the way.

Ah, leave the castle? And just how would they do that? With
a groan, Paul came the sudden and depressing realization that he had spent so
much time and energy rushing to Transylvania that he had not given any thought
on how to get away again, especially now that he was encumbered with so much
additional ‘baggage’ to haul off with him. Paul abruptly realized that he
simply could not afford to leave Hamadi or the Oni here. They knew too much and
would jeopardize Paul’s operations in Australia. And too, there had been all
the other wizard’s questions about the super-talismans. Obviously, the Errabêlu
wizard had learned quite a bit from questioning Capie—and yes from Paul
too—under the spell of that magical mirror.

No, Paul couldn’t leave anybody behind. And that included
the mirror woman.

He mentally added up all the weight: six Oni bodies, one
male wizard, Daneel, Capie in her stasis field and now one large mirror in a
metal frame. Ugh, that was a lot of weight.

“I, uh, don’t have an exit plan, uh, yet,” he admitted
sheepishly to the mirror.

Ariel-Leira stared at him in disbelief for several seconds
then began laughing in a very irritating manner—what most folks would call a
donkey bray. Very annoying. Worse than squealing brakes, in Paul’s opinion.

“There was no time!” he protested feebly with a small shrug.
“Capie’s life was in danger! I had to move fast!”

The woman in black waved a negligent hand. But she at least
stopped laughing—although her condescending smirk was nearly as bad.

“Can get you out of here, I can,” she told him. “But higher
is the price.”

“And what would be the price then?” Paul cautiously asked.

“What no other mirror has seen, to see. Sights, people,
places. The price this is.”

A vision of the mirror taking a grand tour of Mars flashed
suddenly into Paul’s mind and it was his turn to smile.

“Granted. A place I guarantee that no other mirror has ever
been to before or seen,” he explained, feeling a bit better about the
situation.

“Excellent! Start, shall we? The Great Hall, first. Of this
room, sick I am!”

Paul nodded and waved a hand, levitating all the bodies in
the room including Capie and Daneel. A flick of his finger took the mirror off
the wall, floating it forward to the center of the room.

“Point the way,” he said, with a small bow.

• • • •

With the mirror ‘leading’ the way, Paul carefully guided
everybody and everything past the debris on the floor of the tower room and
through a more or less undamaged modest wood-framed door. Merlin followed along
quietly while Daneel hummed an odd tune. Their path took them down a stone
corridor lined with tapestries and oil portraits of various people dressed in
old clothing. A sharp bend at the far end dropped them into one side of the
castle’s massive Great Hall. Paul was taken aback at the size of the room with
its high vaulted ceilings, huge arched windows, ostentatious furnishings, and
subdued indirect lighting. He frowned in consternation, and sent the mirror
down to lean against a small table, while simultaneously lowering Capie to the
floor. Then he plopped himself down into a gothic wooden chair to think. Daneel
touched down on an end table next to Paul’s side, his humming more noticeably
ragged than before.

“I dare say, young man, that you get yourself into more
situations and in even far less time than Arthur,” Merlin sadly noted, from his
position a few feet away. The specter took a moment to glance around the Great
Hall and sniffed in disdain. “Must be the maid’s night off. And the interior
decorator’s century off. Most of this stuff was out of date during Queen
Victoria’s reign.”

Paul leaned forward, looking at the mirror. “Okay, we’re
here now. What’s your plan?”

“I too can’t wait to hear your plan,” Merlin declared with a
snide sneer to Ariel-Leira. “You can’t ask Paul to portal us out of here, not
with all of this mass. The energy signature would linger for hours. Much too
easy to follow.”

Merlin looked downward with a thoroughly sullen look. “Paul,
even that trick you used under Lake Michigan wouldn’t work here, due to the amount
of energy you would have to use for your portals. Of course, levitation is an
option. Less energy required for that and the spell would dissipate before
morning. But, ah, levitating this much mass for even a hundred miles
cross-country would exhaust any wizard, even with two wizard talismans. And
even that’s not far enough to help us in this situation. We need to get a
hundred and fifty—or even better two hundred miles away.”

With a thoughtful nod, Paul said, “I agree with all of that.
I suppose I could build something to use as transportation,” he muttered.
Another quick glance around the room revealed several medieval heater shields
hanging on the stone walls, each decorated with crosses, dragons or some form
of coat of arms. “A huge sled, perhaps? Using the front doors and those
shields? We are on a mountain so we could slide downhill—”

Merlin was slowly shaking his head. “You could build a sled,
yes, and before daybreak, yes. But it would only take you to the foot of the
mountain and there it would leave you stranded as well as exhausted. Try
again.”

“If only I had an airplane—” Paul started to say.

Merlin was still shaking his head. “The nearest airport is
hundreds of miles away. And building an airplane would take you a minimum of a
day to carry out, probably more like two. Do you really want to hang around in
Romania that long?”

“Not really, no,” Paul muttered unhappily, looking back at
the woman in the mirror.

“If the two of you finished are, tell you, I will, of my
plan. But a suggestion, first. These creatures, bind their hands, gag them, you
should do. Too, the wizard. Regret it otherwise, you will.”

Merlin grimaced and actually seemed to pout. “A good idea,
that. Oni have a remarkable constitution. Any of them could wake up at any
time.”

It seemed like a good idea to Paul too. But what should he
bind them with? Shredded tapestry? No, not a good choice. Ah! Those shields!
Some of them were obviously made of wood but others appeared to be of steel.

With a flick of a wrist, one of the metal shields, a red
griffon painted on the front of it, broke loose from its mount and flew through
the air towards Paul. Another flick of the wrist and, with a horrid shriek, a
strip of metal two inches wide tore off one edge, followed by others until the
shield had been turned into confetti. Each strip then wrapped itself around a
set of Oni wrists or ankles. Two more shields were sacrificed in the same way
until all the Oni and Hamadi were bound tightly. A lace curtain from a nearby
arch window suffered the same fate to serve as gags.

“Done,” stated Paul with smug satisfaction. “Now, how do we
get out of here?”

The mirror woman smiled insolently. “Simple. Stables there
be, in the center of the royal courtyard. Awaiting there, transport is. Portal
there, introduce you, I will.”

“Introduce us?” Paul asked, his voice rising a bit in pitch.
Just what kind of transportation was she talking about?

• • • •

With an incredulous stare, Paul studied the—well, there was
no other word for it—creature in front of him.

It—he—whatever, more or less resembled an old-fashioned
delivery wagon, a large box with big black spoked wooden wheels, brightly
colored paneled sides, and a flat top. However, in the front, in place of a
driver’s bench was a face.

Paul knew it was a living creature for two reasons. One, the
face had eyes (large, with black pupils and white irises), a thick hooked nose,
a crooked mouth with wooden teeth, a chin and eyebrows. The sight of it
strongly reminded Paul of some Disney character.

And second, the creature spoke to him.

“Hello, wizard. Nice to meet you,” it said in a mildly
pleasant voice.

Paul’s skin tingled from head to toe in an emotion
remarkably similar to alarm and he could only produce a timid nod in response.

Ariel-Leira was doing that funny weird laugh again as she
watched Paul’s reaction.

They were in the stables, not far from the center of the
courtyard. The stalls here—indeed the entire building—were all larger than
necessary to stable horses, or so Paul thought. Ten feet tall, each stall was
lined of gray wood slats, the dirt floors padded with fresh strewn straw.
However, all of the stalls were empty so there was no telling just what sort of
creatures had been housed in them in times past.

All except this one stall, of course, the one with the, uh,
transport sitting in it.

“Oyaji, night carriage, this is. Paul Armstead, young
wizard, this is,” said Ariel-Leira, as she performed the introductions. “The
special transport, Oyaji is called, of which I spoke. The night winds, he
rides. Can carry, you and your, ah, cargo. Out-of-range of the castle by
morning can be. From there, you can portal undetected.”

Merlin was rubbing his jaw while scowling. “It might work.
I’ve heard of night carriages, of course. Japanese in origin. A yokai or
supernatural being. They travel only at night and must bed down during the day
in a dark place.” And he glared around at the stables. “Which this place
definitely qualifies as, even during the day.”

“How do you do?” rumbled Oyaji amiably. “I like my digs
here. They’re quiet and comfortable. But the wizards that come to the castle no
longer take me out anywhere. They say I don’t fit into the modern world
anymore. Say, is that why you’re here? Do you need a ride somewhere? I can take
you anywhere, as long as I’m back in a dark place by sunrise. What do you say?”

“Merlin?” Paul asked, walking around to the back of the
“vehicle” and checking out the accommodations from there. There was no rear
door, just an open framed interior with padded benches on each side. “What do
you think?”

“It should work,” Merlin reluctantly admitted. “The energy
signature a night carriage leaves is not a significant one. By morning, it will
be too weak to track. Of course, this mode of travel isn’t very fast. But if
you leave right away, you might get 150 to 200 miles from here by sunrise. Far
enough by that time that you can portal away in short jumps from that location.
You might be able to reach a monolith and from there back to Australia in a day
or so.”

“What about the night carriage, after he…it, drops us off?”
Paul asked, coming back around to the front of the creature.

“I’ll sleep wherever we land during the day and then come
back here at nightfall,” answered Oyaji.

“See you?” asked Ariel-Leira. “Midnight tomorrow or later,
it will be, when he returns. You long gone, you will be, at that time. No trail
to follow.”

Rubbing the back of his neck, Paul conceded that the plan
did have merit, however unenthusiastic he was with the approach. Indeed, the
whole idea of riding inside a magical creature(?) made him downright squeamish.
He would much rather have designed and built something such as another racer!
Or just an ordinary jet plane!

But he made himself shove those thoughts aside.

“It’s a deal,” he dolefully declared. “Merlin, we need a
destination. Let’s take a look at the possible escape routes.” And he waved a
hand to create a holographic display of Google maps in midair.

“Nice map!” cooed Oyaji with sincere appreciation.
“Topographical features too! I like a wizard that carries decent maps. This sounds
like fun already!”

• • • •

It was only the work of a few minutes to open the stable
doors, extract the night carriage and then load up all the “cargo” via portal
from the castle’s Great Hall. With Paul on board, the interior was a little
cramped for space, even with all the Oni stacked aboard like cordwood.

Satisfied that everyone was ready, Oyaji chuckled in glee
and lifted ever so gently into the night air. As he sailed out over the outer
castle wall, he banked gradually to the left and assumed a north-northeast
course, ascending at a steady rate of climb at the breathtaking speed of 40
miles per hour.

“Not feel-feel-feeling g-g-g-good, Pops,” Daneel said,
slurring his words. The image on his monitor screen was quietly sitting cross-legged
on the floor of a grey room. His ashen face did not bode well and Paul was
deeply worried about him.

“Just hold on, Son,” Paul said, encouraging him. “As soon as
we can reach a secure network, we’re going to find out what’s wrong with you
and get you all fixed up.”

“Thank-anks-anks, Dadadadadada,” the Scottie replied.

Despite himself, Paul found the gentle swaying of the night
carriage to be mesmerizing. Combined with the exhausting events of the day, he
was unable to keep his eyes open. He leaned back against the padding of the
seat and was, within seconds, sound asleep.

• • • •

An easy shake of the carriage and the bumping of the wheels
on solid ground again woke Paul out of his troubled sleep. The five hour nap
had been of considerable benefit to him. He felt stronger and more alert.
Stretching, he pulled himself to the rear of the vehicle and looked out.

They were indeed on the ground again. And the night sky was
considerably lighter than before. Sunrise could not be far off now.

However, it was raining. Hard too. In the distance, Paul
could hear the growl of thunder rolling across the hilly terrain.

The night carriage was moving slowly along a dirt trail that
was barely wide enough to allow its passage. The area held a number of trees
but Paul could see an open field off to the east.

“Here we be, at the place of your choice,” the mirror woman
said. “Glad I will be, off this carriage! Tired I am, of being smack up against
Oni!”

The night carriage came to a full stop.

Hopping out, Paul stomped around to the front, casting a
quick spell to keep the rain off of himself.

“There is an entrance to the gypsum cave system you told me
about,” rumbled Oyaji. “It is over there a ways, to our west. You must create a
break through the trees and then widen the entrance with your powers. But the
inside of the cave will be more than adequate for me to spend the day out of
this rain until nightfall again.” The creature paused. “I want to thank you for
this trip. Best fun I’ve had in decades and a chance to get out, tour the
countryside again. Thanks.”

Paul leaned up to pat the carriage on one side. “And thank
you, for getting us out of the castle and to safety. One day, I will come back
again and we will take more trips like this one.”

Oyaji beamed with pride. “That would be wonderful! I look
forward to that day!”

Paul nodded, turning to head towards the tree line. Time to
clear a path for the carriage.

• • • •

Unloading everyone from Oyaji was the work of only a couple
of minutes. Since Paul had nowhere else to put everyone, he simply laid them on
the wet ground, exposed to the heavy rainfall. Well, not Daneel, no. To keep
the rain off the Scottie, Paul formed another invisible umbrella.

Two of the Oni woke up but Paul simply put them back to
sleep with another vacuum permittivity spell.

A check on Daneel revealed that the Scottie was not doing
well at all. Paul was very worried about him. On his monitor screen, Daneel was
laying on the ‘floor’ of a dark gray walled but empty room, breathing fitfully.
No amount of calling to him would produce a response.

Not good. Paul had already relieved the Scottie of the need
to generate his own electricity. There was no mistaking the fact that Daneel’s
condition was getting worse.

In an effort to help, Paul spent a few minutes in Daneel’s
virtual reality, studying the flow of information and the colored streams of
the subroutines in operation. And though he could see the deterioration of the
software’s performance, he was not able to trace the cause, let alone do
anything about it.

• • • •

Emerging from virtual reality, Paul knelt beside Daneel,
holding the metal frame close to his body.

“Hold on, Daneel! Hold in there, Son. Just a few more hours
and I can get you back home and link you to a high-speed network where we can
off-load your programming. We can find and fix the problem then. Just hang on, Son,
please!”

A sudden sharp coughing fit drew Paul’s immediate attention.
He could see in the LCD monitor that Daneel was even more distressed than
before. The image of the young man was on his hands and knees, coughing and
wheezing painfully.

“Daneel! What’s wrong?” Paul shouted, his eyes wide in
concern.

“Can’t…wheeze…cough…cascade…wheeze…errors…cough…so
sorry, Dad…cough…wheeze…”

And then, without any further warning than that, the screen
went blank, followed two seconds later with a Blue Screen of Death listing
several error codes. Even that screen quickly disappeared as the computer
totally died.

Frozen in disbelief and horror, Paul could only stare at the
display. Bitterness and anguish welled up inside his heart and he softly began
to cry, bringing the now quiet hardware tight up against his chest again.

It just couldn’t be. No, not now!

He cried virulent tears.

For several minutes, he floundered in disbelief and pain.
This was not supposed to happen! They had Capie now. The death of Daneel…it
wasn’t supposed to happen!

Gradually, the awareness of his situation returned. Around
him, the heavy fall of rain continued, the sound of it hitting the ground and
the trees a grim and desolate reminder of the brevity of life and of the pain
and suffering that seemed to fill so much of it. A peal of thunder rolled
through the air, accentuating the pain of grief in Paul’s heart.

He looked around at the soaked and dreary landscape. The
gloom of death.

“Ah, Daneel!” he cried, shedding even more bitter tears.

TWENTY-THREE

Near an entrance to Priest’s Grotto

Korolivka

Lviv Oblast

Ukraine

September

Saturday 6:04 a.m. EEST

They
could not stay here. They were not safe. Capie was not safe. He must go
on; must move her, take care of her. Daneel’s death…(sniff)…his death
could not and must not be in vain. The Scottie had made the supreme sacrifice.
It made no difference that the young man was made of silicon chips, copper, and
a host of other metals. He had been just as human as any other boy—his son.

Getting to his feet, Paul set the hardware down. He must
force himself to put the mourning off until later, when there would be time to
do so properly and in greater depth.

With a heavy heart, his soul screaming in despair, he opened
a new portal, this one to a dirt farm road alongside an open field of winter
wheat, one hundred miles to the east of Korolivka. He levitated the Oni one at
a time and floated them through. Next came Capie, Hamadi, the mirror and
Daneel, followed by himself.

He worked the same pattern with the next three portals,
gradually turning southward but keeping a respectful distance from Chisinau,
the capital city of Moldova.

The latest portal left him on a white sandy beach on a spit
of land jutting out into the Black Sea, forty miles east of the city of Odessa,
Ukraine. The weather here was not any better than in Romania, with low gray
clouds racing through the air and rain falling in bucket lots on a wild white-capped
sea the color of night.

With a heavy heart, Paul cast his next portal spell, this
one 172 miles to the southeast, to the rock summit of a mountain along the
southwestern tip of Crimea. And with great weariness of spirit, he pushed
everyone and everything through to the zenith of that mountain.

From the top of this crest, he could see all the mountains
to the north and east of him, including Mount Ayya to the northwest. And,
despite the inclement weather, he could see a very long way out into the Black
Sea.

Gloomy rainy weather.

Sighing, he sat down on the wet rock and removed his shoes
and socks.

Right now, his challenge was how to move all his passengers
to Australia. Well, not all of it, not exactly. He really didn’t want to haul
Hamadi and his Oni all the way to Kalgoorlie. There was no place there to keep
them. Instead, it made a great deal more sense to drop them off someplace along
the way, a safe place, one just like he had chosen for McDougall and his Oni. A
nice small desert island. And he knew just the spot too.

When moving McDougall, Paul had pretty much faced the same
problem, namely transporting a great deal of mass over a long distance.

Paul was strongly considering the use of a similar method in
this situation as well. He opened a link to Google Maps, studying the geography
involved. Within a half hour of surfing the net, he had made his selections and
closed the web link.

He stood, placing one bare foot squarely on the coarse cold
stone of the massive rock formation beneath him. With that connection made, he
waved a portal into existence, to the summit of Fisht Mountain, in the extreme
western portion of the Caucasus Mountains in southwestern Russia. He leaned
forward, through the portal, planting his other foot on the even colder rock of
Fisht and made a connection with that foot, forming a second portal, this one
to the monolith of Savandurga in Southern India. He brought this portal in
close enough for him to reach through so that he could physically touch that
mountain with his right hand. Using that connection, he formed a third portal,
leading from Savandurga to Mount Sinaburg on the northwestern tip of Sumatra in
Indonesia. This portal too, he brought forward, close enough that he could
reach it with his left hand, forming a fourth portal, connecting Sinaburg to
Cartier Island, a distance of just over 2,000 miles. Together, all four portals
connected end-to-end spanned nearly 7,000 miles. In one fell swoop, he was
moving more mass a greater distance than he had ever accomplished before.

With a nod of Paul’s head, the first Oni body moved forward,
on its journey to the tiny island of Cartier. That island, a mere one acre spit
of pure sand in the middle of the Timor Sea, lay 181 miles from Australia and
119 miles from Pulau Rote, the nearest inhabited island in Indonesia. Paul had
no doubt that Hamadi and his brood would be safe enough on Cartier for a while,
at least until he could deal with them on a more permanent basis.

He kept all their talismans, of course.

When the last of them had moved through, Paul broke the
spell for the fourth portal and reached into his shirt pocket where he withdrew
a mechanical pencil and his small notepad. Tearing forth one of its small
sheets with one spell, he used another to hold the paper steady. Slowly, with
cramped fingers and straining eyes, he wrote:

Hamadi, old friend!

I was here and you were not. Now you are here and I am
not!

But I will be back, I swear, later today, if things work
out.

You are many miles from any other human or any shelter.

You can stay on the island and be safe. Or walk into the
ocean and drown.

I care not which.

Paul Armstead

Grinning at his own cleverness, he reached forward to
recreate the fourth portal, then sent the note flying through the air to stuff
itself into Hamadi’s unconscious hand.

Mission accomplished, he backed away, closing each portal in
turn until he was fully back on Crimea.

Rubbing his hands vigorously together, he turned toward the
mirror.

Ariel-Leira had been silent for the whole trip, ever since
the mirror had been pulled from the night carriage. Several times, Paul had
noticed that she was jumping for joy, pointing to a great variety of things
and, apparently, giggling like a school girl at all of the sights. Things that
Paul took for granted seemed to amaze and delight her.

On second thought, Paul realized that if he had spent a few
hundred years in a castle trapped in the same room and hanging from the same
wall, he might get a little excited too, when he was finally freed of the
place.

“Alright, Ariel-Leira, it is time to give me the details of
how to get my wife out of stasis,” he told her firmly, his mouth set in a grim
line as he sat down to put his socks and shoes back on.

“Wizard, yes! Right I was, to trust you,” she crowed, her
eyes streaming tears of joy. “Free at last, I am of that accursed castle! Seen
things I have now, that I’ve never known! Clouds, rain, ocean, mountains—yes,
yes, impatient you are, I know. Secrets of stasis containment I now share.
Tibet, you must go to. Rare incense, for the spell you must use. Details are
these…”

• • • •

Never in Paul’s wildest imagination would he have expected
to need incense—and a rare special type at that—in conjunction with a spell to
release Capie from the stasis field. Why the burning of incense was important
was a total mystery to him. Science and technology just didn’t need or use such
a process! He really was going to have to spend some time someday investigating
more of the obscure details in how and why magic worked!

That was for later, however. If incense from Tibet was what
he needed to get Capie out of stasis, then incense from Tibet was what he was
going to get.

Using the serial linking portal spell again, Paul pushed
Capie, the mirror, Daneel, the Oni talismans and last of all, himself from
Crimea through another portal on Mount Fisht to a mountain valley in the
Karakoram Mountains not far from K2 (the second tallest mountain on Earth) in
the Himalayan Mountains.

From there, it was a fairly short 300 mile portal hop to the
small village of Rutog, in the far western portion of Tibet, a tiny town of
only 1,000 or so people.

He left Capie and everything else on a relatively trifling
mountain summit just north of town and then portaled down to the main
thoroughfare. According to the mirror woman, this was the most likely place to
find and purchase the rare Tibetan rope incense he would require for the spell.
After checking two small stores on the major roads in town without finding what
he needed, he asked a local for help. The old woman, dressed in a faded scarf,
brown shawl, and flowered cotton skirt, directed him to a small
hole-in-the-wall shop down a short, dirty and cramped alleyway. The shop owner
in the place, an old stooped man of indeterminate age, waved at one of the
shop’s many dusty, cluttered shelves where Paul, after a minute’s search, found
two small jars of the incense he had been looking for.

As long as he was here, Paul thought it prudent to buy all
that they had in stock. Oh, and too, he also searched for, found and bought a
dozen candles and eight censers. The store owner himself bagged everything up
for him, grinning at the obvious American customer that had been so
successfully and outrageously overcharged.

Practically giddy with success and humming a nameless tune,
Paul left the shop, ducking deeper into the alley, stepping through a portal
back to the mountain.

With the small bag of supplies now in hand, he had the means
to revive Capie as well as to deal with Hamadi and his brood on a long-term
basis.

• • • •

It was nearly nine p.m., AWDT when Paul opened a set of
serial portals from near the K2 Mountain, creating a conduit through Savandurga
and Mount Sinaburg again to the small sandy island of Cartier. With a jerk of
his head, he cast a spell sending Capie through first.

And was shocked when her stasis field was physically
attacked, the container field violently shoved hard to one side!

With a fast spell, he flung a blindingly bright white light
through the portals, followed by an intense vacuum permittivity spell.

A snap of his fingers brought up a display window in front
of him, providing a remote view of Cartier Island just past the end of the last
portal.

And he frowned. Somehow, in the few hours that they had been
on the island, his prisoners had freed themselves of the bands around their
wrists and ankles and had been lying in wait for Paul’s return. In the
darkness, the Oni had apparently jumped the gun and attacked the first thing
through—Capie’s stasis field—instead of biding their time and waiting to attack
Paul. All around Capie’s stasis field, Paul could see the unconscious forms of
Oni (and Hamadi too) lying strewn around in various haphazard positions.

Served them right!

When he had Daneel, the mirror, and his Tibetan supplies
through and on the island, he closed the portals behind him and next cast a
spell for a scattered set of fifty bright work lights, all set ten feet in the
air, pointed downward. With the small island now bathed in white light, Paul
clapped and rubbed his hands together. With a scowl, he cast a spell raising
the mirror five feet into the air and locking it into a hover position.
Ariel-Leira watched him with an amused smile.

“Now,” Paul said, with a quiet grim smile. “It’s time to see
if I can master the art of creating stasis fields. Let’s start with getting the
candles in the censers. Then you can tell me what comes next.”

TWENTY-FOUR

Blue Seas Resort motel room

Broome, Western Australia

September

Sunday 6:17 a.m. AWDT

He
was still beset by the memory of Daneel’s death the previous day. Grief
continued to batter his soul. Daneel’s death shouldn’t have happened, but Paul
simply didn’t know what he could have—or should have—done to have prevented the
tragedy. No two ways about it, Daneel had saved his bacon, and in the process, Capie’s
life too. And yes, Paul had understood that there might be some risks in giving
Daneel his magical powers this early, but there had seemed no other choice at
the time. Nor even now in hindsight.

They were in a Blue Seas Resort motel room in the town of
Broome on Australia’s far northwestern coast. He had placed Capie’s stasis
field on one of the queen-sized beds in the room so that he could keep a close
eye on her. Daneel’s quantum computer was sitting on a small desk, while the yokai
mirror was perched on a window ledge leaning up against the room’s single
window, facing outward so that Ariel-Leira could see the beach road and the
ocean beyond. From all that Paul could tell, the mirror woman was still having
the time of her life with all of the new sights available to her.

Sitting on the end of the bed, Paul solemnly studied Capie’s
face. It suddenly occurred to him that the field might have been a temporary
spell and that, as such, it might have collapsed when separated from its
creator. However, as it turned out, that obviously had not been the case.

He shivered in realization that he had not considered that
possibility the previous day, when he had sent Hamadi onward to Cartier Island
and had kept Capie with him, thus separating the two of them by 7,000 miles. If
the presence of Hamadi had been necessary to sustain the field and if Capie had
been injured or even killed by the sudden collapse of said field—

Luck had worked in his favor. This time. But it had been
stupid of him not to have considered it and taken precautions.

On the other hand—a new thought occurred to him. Maybe the
other wizard’s talisman was the answer. Paul had kept it with him, except
during that interval in time in Tibet, during the trip into Rutog, when he had
left it with Capie, Daneel, and the mirror woman. For that quick trip, he had
taken McDougall’s talisman instead. So, yes, Hamadi’s talisman had been near
Capie ever since Paul’s arrival at the castle. The talisman could well be
linked to the stasis field, especially considering what Ariel-Leira had
explained to Paul that it would take to get Capie out of the field.

He sighed heavily, rocking back on the bed. All those things
were secondary right now, even Daneel’s death and the causes thereof. He needed
to focus on what should come next.

Capie looked very unnatural, not moving, not even breathing.
Watching her, Paul’s feelings were very decidedly mixed. He was immensely
relieved to have her back with him, naturally enough. Her…shall it be said,
‘temporary absence’…had been so traumatic for him, painful even now to even
think about. It was like having a piece of him hacked off with a meat cleaver.

To see her like this though, suspended in time in the stasis
field was nearly as traumatic. He wanted so much to reach out and hold her, to
touch her, to reassure her that everything was alright and that everything from
now on would continue to be alright.

Turning back to regard his wife, Paul struggled with his
feeling of unease, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. For some reason,
he found it very difficult to swallow.

“You know, honey,” he said, admiring yet again her beautiful
face. “I finished dealing with Hamadi last night. I’ve got him and his Oni
encased in stasis fields just like yours, stashed away on Cartier Island. Well,
that’s not quite correct. They are no longer on the island but are tucked
away in an excavated cavern fifty feet below the coral reef that surrounds the
island. No one is ever going to find them in that location.

“I learned a lot about the casting of stasis spells in the
process,” Paul patiently explained. “And I am pretty confident that I can now
get you out of your stasis field without risking your life. I was very anxious
to do just that last night, right after I tucked Hamadi away. However, both
Merlin and Ariel-Leira stopped me. Both of them convinced me to wait. Indeed,
they both advised me that the removal ceremony should take place in a familiar
location that is dear to you, such as in a house where you have lived.” He sighed.
“And when both of them agree on something, then it’s probably a good idea for
me to listen to what they’re saying.

“You see, they know—and I do as well—that you have been
through a very traumatic experience. I don’t know exactly what you saw when
Hamadi took you captive. You might have seen some of those kids that you went
to save get killed. Or not. But at the very least, you were held prisoner and
interrogated. And, when you come out of stasis, I will have the unpleasant task
of telling you not only that some of those children in Israel were killed but
that Daneel too died and that he died rescuing the two of us.

“I know how hard that is going to hit you, how devastating
the news will be for you. You will need all the help and support that I can
give you. I wish that I could take you to your home in Illinois before I take
you out of stasis. I totally agree that your house there would be the best
possible location for the ceremony. But I’m sorry. That is just not possible.
Even the rental house in San Jose is not an option. And even the York hotel in
Kalgoorlie won’t work. Not enough open floor space available there. The best
that I can do for you will be Warehouse 13. So, right after we leave here, I
will take you there.

“Know this, CB, my sweetheart: I love you more than life
itself. I would spare you any further heartache, if I could. And I will do all
in my power to help you after you are released from this spell. Rest easy for
now. As soon as I can get you to Kalgoorlie, we will tackle this hardship together
and help you through this time of great trial. I will be with you, always and
forever.”

• • • •

The stage for the ceremony was set. Capie and the stasis
field rested in the center of the largest space available in Warehouse 13,
lying on the concrete floor.

Around the perimeter of the stasis field, at each corner,
Paul had placed a single candle and a small portion of incense in a censer. A
snap of his fingers had been enough to ignite both. Since he had far more
incense than needed for this ceremony, he took a moment to stuff some in his
wallet. He never knew when he might need some in a tight spot. Right.

Daneel’s quantum computer was not present. Paul felt it
unwise to let Capie see it until she at least had a little time to deal with
the reality of his death. So he had stored the hardware, Daneel’s ‘physical
body,’ at the Staging Area instead.

The yokai mirror was also not present but was instead
in their York Hotel room. Paul did not want the mirror to be a distraction
during the procedure, lest it interfere, or worse, succeed in confusing or
upsetting Capie in some fashion. However, Merlin was standing by, on the
opposite side of the field, observing the situation intently.

With a wave of his hand, Paul lowered the lighting level in
the building.

The warehouse was taking on a very pleasant odor from the
burning of the incense, almost hypnotic in its effects. Together with the low
light, the room was nearly mystical. With a wave of his hand, all of the
censers, candles and the stasis field rose gracefully into the air, upward
until they hovered four feet above the concrete floor.

“It is time,” Paul firmly stated. Yes, he wanted his wife
out of the field. Now. But he was concerned about the emotional impact that she
was going to be put through.

Paul laid Hamadi’s talisman on the stasis field, almost
directly over the center of Capie’s heart.

He glanced over at Merlin. “Are you ready?”

“Yes, of course. Please proceed, Paul. It’s time to get her
out of there,” Merlin responded.

Paul tried to clear the sudden lump in his throat. “In the
names of Roger Zelazny, J.K. Rowling and J.R.R. Tolkien, may the spell that
cast this stasis field be gently and slowly removed, that the person enclosed
within resume her life as normally as when the spell was first cast, with
health in the marrow of her bones, strength in her muscles and in her sinews,
her intellect restored and her memories fully intact.”

For several moments, nothing seemed to be happening, but
then Paul noticed that the sheen of the stasis field was slowly diminishing,
becoming a tiny bit dimmer with each passing moment.

“It’s working, Paul,” whispered Merlin with a cautious grin.

Paul merely nodded in agreement, his breath caught in his
throat.

The process in removing the spell appeared to be exactly
backwards to creating a stasis field. Paul noted it was just like what had
happened to Hamadi and his Oni when he had emplaced them in stasis fields, only
now the process was occurring in reverse.

It took a full two minutes until the field fully disappeared.
The censers and candles floated free, gradually lowering themselves to the
floor. Now only Capie floated in midair, the talisman lying on her chest.

Her breath caught and suddenly she was gasping for air. Paul
physically pulled the talisman from her, letting it fall slowly to the floor.
Stretching forth his hand and putting it between her shoulder blades, he
rotated her to a vertical position, setting her down gently on her feet. Then,
stepping up close to her, Paul took both of her hands in his own, squeezing
them tightly.

Her eyelids fluttered and opened, snapping up to look at him
in shock and stunned surprise.

“Welcome back to the land of the living, Sleeping Beauty,”
Paul whispered, leaning over to kiss her gently on the lips. “Welcome home.”

At first, Paul saw no recognition in her eyes. Her
expression looked haunted, confused, and empty, all rolled into one. And then,
as if all her memories had come flooding back to her in one fell swoop, Capie’s
expressed transformed itself into one of horror and shock.

“Oh, Paul! Paul!” she moaned in an almost inaudible voice.

And she leapt into his arms, sobbing fiercely and hanging on
to him like a drowning victim.

“Oh, Paul!” she whispered again, this time in his ear.

He hugged her tightly in return and for a minute, neither
one of them spoke.

“Oh, Paul!” she cried through her tears. “Thank God, it’s
you! Oh, Paul! Thank God!”

“How are you doing?” he anxiously asked her, his stomach
churning. “Anything broken? Are you in pain anywhere?”

“Only my soul!” she exclaimed as she pulled back gently,
rubbing her eyes with the back of one hand. “It’s like a very heavy weight has
been set directly on my heart. Even breathing is hard work. Oh, God, Paul! They
were waiting for me! They staged the kidnapping of those innocent
children, to set a trap for me! And that monster killed two
children right in front of me! God, that evil fiend! That—that…”

Paul held her close and gently stroked her hair. “You’re
safe now. And he’s been taken care of. You’re safe, my dear.”

Capie looked down, more tears streaming from her eyes. “Oh,
Paul! Thank you for being here and for saving me! I don’t know how you did it…”
And then she looked around the room, her eyes reflecting her growling
puzzlement.

“Paul? Daneel? Is he back at the hotel room?” She looked at
Paul, then rubbed her arms anxiously. “Where is Daneel?”

Paul glanced away, shuffling his weight from foot to foot.
“Capie? I don’t know how to tell you this, but Daneel didn’t make it.”

“Oh, God, no!” she whispered, her eyes opened wide in horror
and shock again. “No, no, NO! Don’t tell me… Daneel is DEAD?!”

Paul gulped and made himself look at her, his voice
quavering. “You’d have been proud of him, dear. He died saving both of our
lives.”

“No, no, it can’t be true!” she wailed. “No, God, no! No,
God, NO!” And at that point, she lost her voice, falling into his arms and
bursting into rivers of bitter tears.

• • • •

She cried most of the afternoon.

Paul took her to the Fitzgerald River Park, west of
Esperance, Australia, to a high cliff above the sea. There they could see the
rugged Australian coast line and the endless ocean waves beating against the
foot of the sheer rugged cliff walls.

As they vacantly stared at the bleak but beautiful landscape,
Capie was able to choke out her story in small segments. She confessed how, on
a previous trip to the Middle East, she had been confronted by Oni (which
explained to Paul how they had known enough to set a trap for her). On her
arrival in Syria at the school house where the Israeli children hostages were,
she had snuck past the Syrian soldiers into the room where the hostages were
being held. One of the children had turned toward her and held out an odd-looking
golden oval medallion, embossed with intricate symbols, lines and scrolls. As
soon as Capie had touched it, she had been instantly paralyzed and unable to
move. She had fought hard against the spell, but had not been able to break its
grip.

That was when Hamadi had shown up, laughing at her, slapping
her hard in the face. Much worse, he had proceeded to torture and murder two of
the children in front of her, to prove how little Normies meant to him and to
punish Capie for interfering in his plans.

Then she had been whisked to some castle somewhere in
Europe, she had been told, and tortured and questioned in multiple sessions.
Some sort of odd looking small mirror had been used during the interrogations.
And, much to her shame, she had told the evil wizard everything that he had
wanted to know.

When she had finished, a sorrowful Paul had shared his part
of the story with her, including how Daneel had saved both of them and paid the
ultimate price for having done so.

At nightfall, they watched a reddened sun sink slowly behind
an inky tempestuous sea. By mutual agreement, they portaled to the Four Seasons
Resort at Bali Jimbaran Bay, in Indonesia, an international five-star hotel
with spectacular vistas of Jimbaran Bay and Mount Agung. After dining at the
exquisite Oceanside restaurant, they retired for the night to an elegant and
charming villa. Despite the superlative accommodations, neither one of them
slept at all well that night.

• • • •

“Thank you, CR,” Capie sincerely told her husband two days
later.

Fresh from their return from Indonesia and parts of Western
Australia, the two of them were standing in the Staging Area, not doing much of
anything at the moment. Just standing there, in the late afternoon sun, looking
at the half-converted 737 and all the hardware and supplies just lying around.

Paul cocked his head to one side, puzzled. “For what, CB?”

“For not saying ‘I told you so,’” Capie said, with a heavy
sigh.

“You did what you felt to be right,” Paul said, folding his
arms and giving her a shrug of his shoulders. “What you felt to be necessary.”

She sighed, looking down at the ground. “So, what do we do
now?” she plaintively asked. “All this effort. All of this cost. All of the
time spent. Was it all for nothing?” Capie strolled over to the ship, reaching
out to lightly touch one of the engine nozzles.

Paul shrugged listlessly before replying. “Daneel’s hardware
is still intact. I can resurrect his files from storage, use the California
supercomputers to rebuild him.”

“But why?” Capie challenged him, but in a deadpan voice,
lacking any real emotional tones. “If he can’t handle magical powers, what’s
the point? What’s the point of all of this?” She nodded at the ship. “Or the
trip to Mars. If there are no Scotties, if there can never be any
Scotties, then why bother. Face it, Paul. You need to re-evaluate your plan. We
might possibly need a totally new one.”

Paul grimaced but said nothing.

Capie turned from the ship and sighed. Obviously, her
husband needed time to reach the same conclusion that she had.

“Let’s stay in Hotel York tonight,” she suggested with a
small smile. “In the morning, when you are ready, we need to talk, make some decisions.”

Paul again failed to say anything, simply nodding.

Capie formed the portal back to Kalgoorlie, taking Paul by
the hand, and with another understanding smile, led him through.

• • • •

The next morning, as Paul ducked into the bathroom for his
morning shower, Capie rolled gently out of bed and walked over to the room’s
single window.

Pulling open the heavy curtains, she noted with surprise a
large picture frame sitting on the window ledge, the back of the frame in her
direction.

“What’s this?” she asked, touching her throat in surprise.
“Did Paul do this? I wonder.”

And she reached out, grasping the frame and turning it
around. It was actually quite heavy and bulky but she managed to spin it around
without the use of a magical spell.

“It’s a mirror! Oh, a perfectly lovely mirror too! I wonder
if Paul was planning to give it to me as a gift and he forgot, during
everything that has happened. Such a nice frame too!”

She gripped the mirror, lugging it from the window sill over
to the room’s small desk, parking it there so that it leaned against the wall
but now facing the room.

“There!” she declared with a cocky smile, stepping back
farther away from the desk to admire her handiwork. “Much better than the
bathroom mirror. I can do my hair and makeup in here.”

Seeing the mirror reminded her of the small Truth Mirror
that had been used to interrogate her and her smile faded away, her lips
curling, her eyes cold and hard.

“Hamadi! That venomed beetle-headed varlet! That churlish
lily-livered toad! That villainous misbegotten scullion!”

“Me lady, whoa! That last one, never have I heard before!
Inventive! Appropriate too!” exclaimed Ariel-Leira as she materialized in the
center of the mirror. This time, she was wearing a long flowing white dress,
with lots of lace and loose folds. Combined with her jet black hair and
eyelashes, the effect was quite stunning.

Capie froze stock still in total surprise, her mouth
dropping slowly open, her eyes as large and as round as DVDs.

For several seconds, she was unable to say a word.

“Your tongue, cat got?” Ariel-Leira asked with a knowing
smirk.

“Who the heck are you?” Capie was finally able to whisper.

“Me, little ole?” the mirror woman asked in feigned
innocence, and an arrogant chuckle. “Mirror folk, never met before? Shame it
is. Loss is yours.”

Paul picked that moment to pop open the bathroom door and
walk into the room, sans clothing or even a bath towel.

“Honey, have you seen my razor? I could have sworn—”

“Whooot whooo!”

The wolf whistle, not from Capie to his left, instead came
from his right, from the desk. Belatedly, he realized that the mirror woman was
there, with her eyebrows raised and displaying a wide wicked grin.

“Oh, my…!” Paul blurted out, his face turning red as he spun
and dashed back through the open bathroom doorway.

“New sights, he promised!” the mirror woman loudly and
laughingly proclaimed in a wide stance, fists on hips, elbows wide. “Nice
delivery! Not bad, the derriere either!”

Capie shook her head, flushing her confusion away. “Hey, that’s
my husband you’re talking about!”

Leaning forward slightly, Ariel-Leira took a closer look at
Capie, nodding with a smile. “Woman in stasis field, you are! Meet you nice is.
Very poorly treated by Hamadi, you were. Your husband and you, helped to escape,
I did. Great fortune, you had, catching him. For a wizard, none too shabby.”

And then she smiled.

“Woman to woman, we should talk. For you, information I
have, interested you might be in!”

• • • •

Much to the amusement of both women, Paul’s first act, when
emerging from the bathroom fully dressed, was to take the mirror and return it
to the window ledge, facing outward. Then bowing deeply, he escorted a grinning
Capie into the bathroom in order for her to take her turn.

While his wife was thus occupied, Paul took the opportunity
to go online, surfing the web for news updates, checking his bank accounts and
also his email.

It was when Paul checked his newest email account, the one
under the name of Peter Newmann, that he noticed a new message from Daneel,
only a few hours old, where the subject line said ‘Surprise! Please read right
away!’

A new email from Daneel? What was going on here?

He opened the message, but it consisted solely of a link to
a Google Drive video file. He clicked on it and a popup appeared.

“Hi, Dad,” Daneel said, his image inside the window.

Paul froze, not comprehending at all what he was seeing.

“Huh? What?” he blurted out, rubbing his chin with one hand.

“Dad, this is a recorded message, one that I am
creating…well, that I created just before we left Australia to look for Mom.”

Paul continued to sit there, staring bug-eyed at the
display, his mouth dropping open.

“Daneel? Daneel, is that really you? DANEEL!?”

“What did you say, honey?” Capie asked, emerging from the
bathroom, wearing a white terry cloth bathrobe and running a comb through her
hair. She touched her throat in surprise when she saw the image on the
holographic screen. “Is that Daneel?”

“If you are seeing this,” the image of Daneel said, “then
that probably means that something happened to me during the search for Mom. I
can only hope that you were successful, that you found Mom and brought her
back.”

Paul shook the cobwebs out of his head and forced himself to
think. So this was a recording he was watching, one that Daneel had made before
they went to Romania? That made sense. But how? Oh sure, this was probably a
triggered email, waiting to send itself to his account in the event that Daneel
didn’t erase it later on. Reaching out slowly, Paul tried to touch the image of
his son. But this was just a video image. Of course. How had he forgotten that?

“It’s a recording from Daneel,” Paul explained to Capie as
she moved around the bed, getting a closer look.

“I hope that I did not let you down in any way,” their son
said before giving a mournful sigh. “That’s the problem with these pre-recorded
messages. I really don’t know what to say since I don’t know what happened. So
let me get to the point. I created a download of all of my coding, archiving it
in several computers on the net. The IP numbers will be sent to you in another
email. I know that you have most of the spare components needed to put together
a new quantum computer. So, if you are still interested in the Scottie
program…. Well, I guess that’s up to you.”

Paul could only stare in disbelief as the image of Daneel
snapped off, the display once again showing a Google email page.

Daneel’s coding was still intact!? Hallelujah! Daneel
was still ALIVE!

“Does that mean that Daneel is still alive? That you can put
him back together again?” Capie asked incredulously, her hand up to her mouth.

“Yes!” Paul answered with enthusiasm. “Well, sort of. Humpty
Dumpty really can be put back together again! I still have his quantum computer
too. Nothing wrong with the hardware, at least not until we get to the Scottie
stage. We’ll figure that part out later!”

He turned to face her, leaning forward to take her into his
arms. “I can have him back together and running again by this evening! Maybe
earlier than that! Oh, this is great news!”

Tears came to Capie’s eyes and she hugged Paul back
fiercely. He abruptly pulled away.

“So the sooner I get started—”

And he snapped open a portal, practically diving through it.

“I’ll be in the Staging Area if you need me,” came the echo
of his voice just before the portal closed.

• • • •

Paul finished rebuilding the quantum computer in
midafternoon, considerably beating his original estimate. He could have built a
new unit out of spare parts (he had two complete sets, built back in San Jose),
which he had brought with him to Australia, just in case Daneel needed a spare
part or two.

But Daneel’s original set worked just as well. After all,
his death had apparently been an incompatibility problem between his software
coding and his magical powers. A sudden thought made Paul rub his chin in
thought. Okay, maybe it could have been a conflict with his hardware instead.
That was for later to find out. What was important now was to restore Daneel as
he was before he had been given magical powers.

So all that was needed to accomplish that was to download
the coding from the sites Daneel had given him and feed the files through a LAN
port to the old hardware, reconfigure all the file pointers and then initialize
the programs. Capie came out to watch, anxious to see their son again too.

By mid afternoon, Paul had Daneel back up and fully
functional again. All three had quite a little tearful reunion, as Paul told
the youngster the story of what had happened in Romania.

Both Paul and Capie were so incredibly glad to have their
son back again!

To celebrate Daneel’s return, they partied in Perth that
evening, spending the night at the luxury resort of Seashells in Yallingup near
the extreme southwestern tip of Western Australia. The accommodations were
sumptuous, charming, and elegant. And, with a few spells, a number of
holographic individuals joined their party in the resort’s largest conference
room where there was dancing, games, lots of music and various acts of
entertainment.

Of the three of them, Daneel enjoyed the party the most.

• • • •

Late the next morning, the three of them were relaxing at a
large white round wooden table on their hotel room’s spacious balcony,
contemplating the scenic views available over manicured lawns in front of them.
At the same time, they grazed on a rather sumptuous room-service-delivered
Aussie brekkie of poached eggs, avocado toast, pork sausage, hash browns, and
beans, with occasional sips from their mixed fruit smoothies.

As Capie set down her drink, she discreetly surveyed her
husband across the table.

“I suppose,” she said, idly running a finger along the lip
of the glass, “with Daneel back that you want to keep working on the ship and
finish getting ready to go to Mars.”

Paul nodded, a tight grin on his face, strongly suspecting
what his wife was going to say next and not liking it. “Yes, I do.”

“Even though you don’t know what went wrong when you gave
Daneel his magical powers.”

Paul winced and then squirmed a bit in his seat. “With
Daneel’s help, we’ll figure out the problem and take all the right precautions
this time.”

Capie frowned and looked him in the eye. “I am uncomfortable
with that strategy. You know that, right?”

He stiffened and turned his head away from her. “Yes, I know
that. But I defy you to come up with a better more workable plan.”

“Ah, before Transylvania, I would have taken you up on that
offer,” she said, with a tight smile of her own. “However, over the last couple
of days, I have had time to think this whole mess over and to reach certain
different conclusions.”

“And those are?” Paul asked warily, one eyebrow raised.

“Bear with me on this, please, my dear,” she told him with a
sly smile. “We know, of course, from all the terrorist acts in the Middle East,
that Errabêlu wants to start a war, at least some of the wizards do.”

“Right…and?”

“And, it was my thinking, before Transylvania,” Capie
continued on, still looking at her mixed smoothie glass, “that by stopping
those acts of terrorism not only would we save lives but we would stop the war
too. And that our success in Rio de Janeiro proved that my assumption was correct.”

Paul studied his wife’s body language and the expressions on
her face, and rapidly reached a conclusion of his own: that Capie had undergone
a change of opinion of some sort. “But you don’t think so now, do you? Not
after Transylvania.”

“No, I don’t,” was her candid reply. “Not now. Just
yesterday, I was thinking that my approach was still the correct one, but that
it only lacked power, as in the use of a super-talisman to make it work. I was
thinking that if we finished making the super-talisman, then I could go back to
the Middle East, stop the killing and, at the same time, stop the war. That is,
after all, more or less what you are planning to do, right?”

More squirming in his chair. “Yes, more or less, but that’s
only part of it. I—”

Capie held up a hand to stop him. “As I was saying, that’s
what I was thinking yesterday. But today I have come to the realization that
the creation of the super-talisman will alert and alarm all of Errabêlu
that we have grown to be a huge threat to them. So, stopping the war in the
Middle East with a super-talisman would not be a final solution, would it? That
just opens the door on Fibber McGee’s closet, does it not? And that’s why we
have to have the spacecraft you’re building ready to go at that point, to get
out of range of their backlash.”

Paul nodded, suddenly thoughtful and curious as to where
Capie was going with this conversation. “So, you now agree with that? You
aren’t going to be making any more trips to the Middle East?”

His wife glanced up, locking gazes with him and sighed.
“Yes, I agree with you and no, no trips anywhere for now. Your plan is the only
one that makes sense, on a long term basis. But we must hurry, Paul. People are
dying, a war is coming and soon now. So, I would like to concentrate on the super-talisman,
the conversion of the isotopes, on a full-time basis, with all due speed. You
need to finish the ship as fast as you can, and concentrate only on that.”

For several seconds, Paul was deep in thought before he
shook his head. “You will get done with the isotope conversion first. The conversion
of the Boeing 737 will take me longer. Plus, there is still the issue of Daneel
and his magic powers. We need to solve that one too.”

“Ah, um, as long as we are talking about me, I have
something to say about that,” voiced Daneel. His image was dressed in an
off-white safari outfit complete with a canvas hat and knee length pants,
reclining in a patio chair perched near the edge of a swimming pool with
crystal clear blue water. “If Dad can provide the error codes to me that he saw
on the screen when my other self died, I can investigate them and find a
solution. Dad, that will leave you free to work on the ship at least until I
can figure out what happened and how to prevent it in the future.”

“Good idea,” Capie agreed, smiling at Daneel before turning
to Paul.

Who grudgingly nodded. “It’s still going to take me longer,”
he reluctantly admitted.

“You’re a clever engineer,” Capie reminded him sweetly.
“You’ll figure it out.”

Paul sighed. “Gee. Thanks. I suppose I could change my
instrumentation plans. Instead of a full set of flight instruments and radar
systems, I could just use magical spells instead. That will shave a week or so
off the schedule. Speaking purely as an electrical engineer though, it goes against
the grain.”

“Fine. Oh, as long as we are discussing the Master Plan, I
have some reservations with it that I would like to talk about now,” Capie
announced with greater cheer.

“Like going to Mars?” Paul asked sourly.

“No, not like that,” she said, with a shake of her head and
a chuckle. “Not anymore, anyway. It’s obvious that we have to go to Mars, no
option there. But my first concern is more along the lines of a safety factor.”

“Ah, what?” Paul asked, startled. “The ship will be safe! I
stake my life on that!”

“Funny man! And my life too!” she pointed out with a pinched
expression. “I’m just saying that we need more of a safety plan, in case of an
emergency. In case we get struck by a meteor, attacked by a space monster, run
out of fuel or whatever.”

“A space monster!” muttered Paul as he rolled his eyes.
“Straight out of Lost in Space!?”

“I liked that show!” Capie protested. “‘Danger, Will
Robinson!’ It was so campy!”

“Right.” Paul thought for a few seconds. “I can contact
Jaret through the Raconteur crystal and we can probably set something up. A
backup plan in case we are stranded in space or on Mars. Okay?”

“Now, my next concern—”

“What? There’s more?!”

“I have a short list,” insisted Capie, affecting an innocent
air while nonchalantly studying a nearby tree. “I will need something
significant to do while we are on Mars for six months,” she declared, folding
her arms over her chest.

Her husband blinked several times and frowned. “Honey, we
will be covered up with work the whole time—”

“Unh-uh! No way! You’ll be busy, like here in
Australia. Name one thing that I will be doing!”

“Well, uh. Yes, you will be helping Daneel and myself to
nursemaid the new generations of Scotties. That will keep us all busy!”

“Not really,” Capie argued in return. “The first thing you
need to do, right after you solve the Scottie issue, is to duplicate Daneel. Do
that even before we leave for Mars. You have spare sets of hardware to create a
couple of copies. The new Daneels can then do most of the grunt work on Mars,
including the majority of the nursemaiding of the new Scotties. They can use
some of the Oni talismans too.”

Paul’s chin dropped in surprise, the classic deer in the
headlights look. “I, uh, ah—”

“Didn’t think of that, huh?” Capie grinned wickedly.

“I’ve, uh, been busy,” he protested. “But that is a good
idea.” He paused, deeper in thought and then smiled playfully. “For you, I, uh,
was intending to bring along a complete collection of Hallmark movies and a six
month supply of chocolate…you know, to make the stay on Mars more pleasant.”

She smiled patiently. “That’s nice, dear. Very thoughtful of
you. But that’s not what I had in mind and you know it.”

He sighed and smiled sadly in capitulation. “No, I suppose
not. Very well. Let’s get a little super-intelligence assistance here. Uncle
Sam?”

The image of the tall older statesman appeared, wearing the
odd top hat.

Paul teasingly nodded at Capie. “Get Tia here too, please.”

Capie frowned but cast the spell, calling forth the image of
the Queen of the Fairies.

From his spot on a side table, the image of Daneel on the
quantum computer monitor pulled up his poolside chair and sat on the edge,
leaning forward. “Ooh, this is going to be good!”

“Uncle Sam,” Paul said in a droll fashion, rubbing his hands
together. “and Tia. We need some help resolving an issue here. Capie wants
something useful to do while on Mars. Any suggestions?”

Capie winced and opened her mouth to say something but Tia
put a hand on her shoulder. “Rest easy, my dear. Trust in me, please.”

Ill at ease, Capie rubbed her arm gently but she relented,
nodding.

Uncle Sam bowed his head at Tia. “From a strategic point of
view, a very interesting question, would you not agree, Tia?”

“Very,” the fairy purred in response.

“Paul,” Uncle Sam said, turning back to him. “Are you still
interested in helping people? It is, after all, the reason you became a wizard,
was it not?”

“Yes, of course it was,” Paul replied, puzzled by the
question.

“Which is why you are dedicated to freeing the people of
Earth,” Tia commented coolly.

“But there are more ways to help people than what you are
doing,” Uncle Sam pointed out.

“I’m sure that there are,” Paul admitted, looking back and
forth between the two holograms.

“Paul, they are going somewhere with this,” Capie noted with
growing interest.

“I knew that this was going to be good!” Daneel stated with
conviction. “Can’t wait for the punch line.”

Uncle Sam took his hat off and tucked it under one arm. “A
lot of people on Earth die each year, Paul, Capie. Sixty million a year, give
or take a few hundred thousand. And war and acts of terrorism are not the
primary causes of death, not even close.”

Tia waved a hand and a display appeared in mid air, just
past the railing of the balcony. On it, a parade of images appeared, one right
after another. Hospital rooms with patients lying in beds, hooked up to
machines. Surgical rooms, teams of surgeons at work. Then images of children
with missing limbs, stomachs distended by malnutrition. More children, some
mentally handicapped, some struggling to walk, to eat, even to talk.

The images switched back to adults, some crippled, some in
wheel chairs, some old and wheezing pitifully as they trudged through deep
snow. Others, from strokes, paralyzed on one side, shuffling along on crutches.

“The leading causes of death are heart disease, lung
disease, infectious diseases of all types and then the cancers, also of various
types. War is far down the list. Pain and suffering, a racial burden nearly
universal in its extent.”

Capie’s eyes were big, bright and moist.

Uncle Sam turned to Tia. “You know her heart best. Is she up
to this challenge?”

The Queen of the Fairies smiled mirthfully. “She is.” Then
the holograph turned to Capie. “You want something useful to do, my dear? While
Paul is freeing mankind from slavery to evil wizards, your powers can help free
mankind from sickness, injuries, pain and other types of physical suffering.”

Capie gulped, her mouth dropping open. “How?! What you’re
suggesting…”

“Is beyond the scope of what a Normal can do, true,”
acknowledged Uncle Sam with a small nod.

“Or a group of Normals or even an entire government. Ah, but
a wizard, with all the resources you have!” Tia added with a knowing grin.

“Oh, wow, Mom!” Daneel breathed. “Florence Nightingale, Jonas
Salk, and every other famous doctor in history all rolled into one!”

“Is that really possible?” Capie faintly asked, one hand
gently touching her throat. “What you’re suggesting…”

Paul beamed, from ear to ear. “Merlin and I talked about it
once, looking for a cure for you! A potion, or an elixir of some type! To cure
disease of all types! Ah, think of it! What a fabulous and grand idea!”

“It takes my breath away,” Capie said, swallowing hard. “The
scope of it! The audacity!”

“You wanted something useful to do,” Paul reminded her, with
a sly smile. “And, in your spare time, you can still help with the cooking.”

She scoffed and gave him a wicked stare. “You do know how to
spoil a moment, don’t you?”

“Is that a yes?” Tia asked.

Capie blinked several times, reaching up with the back of
her hand to wipe away a tear. “I…just don’t know yet if it’s even theoretically
possible. But yes, I will look into it. If I can do it, then I will.”

“Good show!” Uncle Sam declared, beaming with pride.

Daneel clapped his hands together in glee. “That was truly
delightful, Uncle Sam! Aunt Tia! I enjoyed every moment of it. Can we do it
again?”

• • • •

After checking out of the resort in the early afternoon,
Paul went straight back to the Staging Area, more than a bit anxious now to
finish the construction of the ship just as quickly as possible. And he now had
an added task to find some sort of emergency backup, just in case the ship
failed them. On that score, he had an idea or two but they would take time to
investigate.

Capie took Daneel to the York motel room, plugging him into
AC power and the internet to allow him to do his research. And, with Tia’s
help, she earnestly started her research for a comprehensive cure for all human
disease.

All three of them were saddened a day later by the latest
event in Israel, which was enough to depress anyone. Ten extremist terrorists,
armed with assault rifles, had ambushed and massacred three busloads of
tourists along with their drivers at the foot of the Masada Desert Fortress,
the second most visited tourist site in all of Israel. Sixty-nine dead, five
wounded, two of which were not expected to live.

Events in the Middle East were still building toward war.
Taking Hamadi out of the picture hadn’t changed anything.

TWENTY-FIVE

The Blue Monkey Restaurant

Kalgoorlie, Australia

September

Thursday 7:21 a.m. AWST

Capie
finished spreading orange marmalade on her toast, putting the knife back on the
table and leaning forward a little to nibble on one edge.

They were having breakfast in a window booth at a local
restaurant that they had not yet tried, a place with the unlikely name of the
Blue Monkey. So far, both she and Paul liked the café a lot. It was not as
convenient as the York’s restaurant, but sometimes a change of venue and menu was
desirable.

Since Daneel didn’t eat, he had no opinion. He merely
watched indifferently as he floated above and to one side of the table, cloaked
from the Normals in the restaurant, courtesy of spells from Paul.

“Just to let you know,” Capie said between bites of her
toast and from a cup of peach yogurt, “that I probably won’t be in Kalgoorlie
at lunch time today. Most likely I’ll be in Perth getting started on the magical
potion project.”

Paul paused while chewing his sausage roll to listen to her
statement and then resumed.

“I’ve decided to name it the MBE Project, and the target
potion as the MBE Drug,” she continued, ignoring her husband’s unresponsiveness.
“And, before you ask, MBE is an acronym. I know how fond of acronyms you are.
MBE stands for ‘Magic Bullet Elixir.’ Do you like that name?”

Her husband practically choked on the sausage roll before grabbing
his glass of orange juice to help swallow his food. When he was able to breathe
again, he took several deep breaths, the look of consternation fading from his
expression.

“I’ll take that for a ‘yes,’” Capie declared with a sardonic
smile. “Elixir seems an appropriate word to use, since it is defined as a
magical potion, a preparation supposedly able to prolong life. So, MBE it will
be. Oh, and I’ll be taking both Daneel and Ariel-Leira with me.”

Paul managed to swallow another sip of orange juice and give
her a suspicious look. “Daneel, I understand. But why take Ariel-Leira?”

Capie dug the last of the yogurt from her cup. “We’ve sort
of hit it off, the two of us. Oh, I know that Merlin and Tia don’t approve of
her very much. But Ariel-Leira has given me several suggestions that I like.
She’s useful. I like her.”

Since Paul could think of nothing intelligent to say in
response, he shrugged and cautiously took another nibble of his sausage roll.

“So,” Capie muttered conversationally in an attempt to bring
the conversation around to something that Paul would talk about. “A little
birdie tells me that you plan to build fifty thousand Scotties.”

Paul produced a sly smile and waved a fork at the young “stoolie”
floating a few feet away from him. Gazing back at Capie, he stabbed some scrambled
egg with his fork. “Yes, your source is correct. Fifty thousand Scotties is the
goal. Of course, we first have to find and fix a certain serious problem in the
software. The, uh, one that seems to be lethal to Daneel.”

Capie looked thoughtfully out the front window at some of
the passersby.  “That’s a lot. I had no idea you were planning to build that
many. That really is an army.”

Paul shrugged as he chewed and swallowed his bite. “Since I
don’t know how many Oni there are, I’d rather have a few too many Scotties than
not enough.”

She leaned forward intently. “A few days ago, you said that
there will be new Scotties to nurse-maid? So they won’t all be copies of
Daneel?”

Paul snorted in response. “No offense, Daneel, but I’d
rather not have fifty thousand copies of you running around loose.”

“Neither would I,” Daneel responded scornfully. “And no
offense taken.”

“Good,” Capie said, with an approving tone of voice. “It
would be too confusing that way. So what is your plan?”

Paul sipped on his orange juice while he marshaled his
thoughts. Putting the glass down, he smiled at the two of them.

“Do either of you remember the Star Trek episode, ‘I,
Mudd?’” he asked.

“The one with all the robots?” Daneel replied first. “I am
NOT a robot!”

“No, you are not,” Capie agreed. “But I think I see what my
husband is thinking. You want to create several series of Scotties, is that
correct? And then number them?”

“Excellent guess,” Paul observed, then pointed his fork
again at Daneel. “He would then be Daneel 1. When he duplicates himself, there
will be a Daneel 2, a Daneel 3 and so forth.”

Capie laid down her toast as she considered the idea. “How
many different series would you have and how would you build them?”

Paul chuckled. “Yes, I have given that considerable thought.
The more series of Scotties that we have, the fewer the number in each series.
On the other hand, for each new series, we have to create a new individual, in
the same fashion that we created Daneel. That means each new progenitor of a
series must start as a baby and then grow up. Depending on the number of
progenitors involved, that could become very labor intensive, caring for all of
those infants.”

“Oh, I see,” Daneel perceived. “Five progenitors, as you
call them, is not enough. That would be ten thousand copies of each.”

Paul nodded. “I agree. Ten thousand are too many of each of
you. However, to reduce the number in each series, we will have to have more
series. I propose that we have fifty different series of one thousand Scotties
each. I think that’s a good balance. Yes, it might be challenging nursing forty-nine
more new lines of Scotties, but it is doable.”

“I’m glad that you already worked that out,” Daneel noted.
“It was starting to worry me a little. Fifty thousand copies of me floating
around seemed like too many.”

“Yes, on that score, I agree,” Capie noted, with a wink of
one eye.

“Careful there, Mom!” Daneel admonished her. “I personally think
the galaxy would implode if there were fifty thousand copies of anyone to have
to deal with!”

Capie laughed, which made Paul feel pleased. Things were
back on track and all was right with his family again.

“And will each one of the fifty thousand Scotties get a
super-talisman too?” Capie asked casually as she set down a now empty yogurt
cup.

“Yes, they will,” Paul acknowledged, with a quick nod. “Just
like the one that we are trying to build now. However, I’ve decided that I
don’t want to call them super-talismans,” he said with a set jaw.

“Oh, I agree. That sounds so, well, wimpy,” Capie agreed.
“Have you picked out something else? Oh, I see that smug grin of yours. What
are you thinking?”

“As you know, the Air Force loves acronyms. And the term Scottie—”

His wife waved a hand to stop him. “Yes, yes, I know all
that. What did you decide to call them, if not super-talisman? Another acronym,
right?”

“Yes, I am. The first term I considered was SIT or Super
Isotropic Talisman.”

“Lame.”

“I couldn’t agree more. I played with several other
possibilities but finally decided that a different approach was needed.”

Capie grimaced and said, “You’re determined to drag this
out, aren’t you? So, what did you decide?”

“To use the first letter of fictitious energy sources. And
in science fiction, there were a lot of candidates for me to use. Ultimately, I
decided to use cold fusion, hyper matter from Star Wars, unobtainium—”

“From Avatar? Or from The Core?” Capie asked
with a smile.

“Ah, so you know both of those! But the term ‘unobtainium’
covers a lot more ground than just those two movies. It’s a general term for
any material or device that is very difficult or even impossible to obtain. So
it also covers things like tyllium from Battlestar Galactica, dilithium
crystals, transparent aluminum and pergium from Star Trek, redstone from
Minecraft, adamantium and vibranium from Marvel Comics, Kryptonite, and a whole
host of others.”

“And Mithril, Octiron and Orichalcum too,” muttered Capie
thoughtfully. “From the fantasy novels Lord of the Rings, Discworld,
and The Elder Scrolls, among others. You’re right. Unobtainium does
cover a lot of ground. Go on. Now you’ve got me curious.”

“To continue the acronym, Tesseract from Avengers,
ZPM from StarGate, particle accelerators from Ghostbusters, antimatter
from Star Trek, and human power from The Matrix movies. Putting
them together spells—”

“Chutzpah,” Capie said with a groan. “You’ve got to be
kidding me. Is that what you are really going to call them?”

“I think it has a certain je ne sais quoi,” Paul
claimed with a defiant grin.

“You have a true engineer’s sense of humor,” Capie
complained with a frown.

“Why, thank you, dear.”

“It wasn’t meant as a compliment,” she pointed out
playfully. “So, what’s on the schedule for this morning? I have a little time
before I plan to head off to Perth.”

“How about a quick tour?” he answered her, trading a
question for a question. “To show you the status of the ship. You haven’t seen
the latest things I’ve done to it.”

“I’d like that,” she conceded with another smile. “It
probably needs a woman’s touch at that.”

At the look on his face, she laughed and gave him a playful
wink.

• • • •

With an incredulous expression on her face, Capie watched as
Paul levitated the first piece of the ship’s hull plating into place,
encapsulating the titanium in a pure bubble of argon gas and then, with
multiple flashes of sputtering metal, welded it down to the longerons of the
ship’s tail assembly.

Paul rubbed his hands together and stepped up next to her.

“Well, what do you think so far? Do you like it?” he asked
expectantly.

“I don’t know about Mom, but I like it!” declared Daneel,
from a nearby table.

Capie couldn’t seem to find the right words to describe how
she felt about it. “It’s certainly…different.”

His reaction surprised her. He laughed, reaching out to hug
her briefly.

“Yep, it is that,” he agreed readily enough. “I sort of
thought it might catch you by surprise.”

“Surprise is not the right word,” she said disparagingly
with a wave of the hand. “When you told me that you were building a spacecraft,
I expected something…well, I just wasn’t expecting you to stand the plane on
its tail like a rocket ship from the 1950’s! You’ve got to be kidding me! Are
you serious?”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“Yeah, Mom. I’d like to know that too.”

She turned to Daneel. “Don’t you both gang up on me, now.
It’s just that I expected something a lot more modern! And knowing you, I would
have guessed from a science fiction movie! Something more like Star Wars
or Star Trek or Firefly or even Space 1999 for crying out
loud!”

“Oh, but this was in a sci-fi movie,” Paul counter
argued. “Well, actually several of them, like Destination Moon, Rocketship
X-M, and Abbott and Costello Go to Mars.”

“Abbott and Costello?! But why?” she asked with a bemused
smile. “When you have so many other, more modern choices to choose from, why oh
why did you pick spaceships from the 1950’s?!”

“That’s easy. Because all the modern sci-fi spaceships are
wrong for our situation.”

“Wrong?” she asked, blinking in surprise. Of all the things
he could have said, his answer truly surprised her. “How are they wrong?”

“Again, that’s easy,” he replied smugly. “Because they are
all designed like airplanes instead of spacecraft. They are all oriented in the
wrong direction. Even the Enterprise.”

Capie paused to think about what he was saying. “The wrong
direction?”

Paul waved his hand, creating a holographic display in
midair and in it, an airplane. “Certainly. An airplane flies along pretty much
at a constant speed, with gravity perpendicular to the direction of flight.
Therefore, it makes sense to put the seats at 90 degrees to the direction of
forward motion, in the direction of gravity. But, that does not make sense in a
spacecraft.” With a wave of his hand, the display changed. A rocketship was now
in the display, a huge plume of fire from the tail. Inside the ship, a man in a
spacesuit was sitting in a cockpit at the front of the craft. He held up an
apple and then let it go, looking very surprised as it fell the length of the
ship behind him instead of down to his feet.

“In space, the effective gravity is opposite to the
direction of the ship, as long as the spacecraft is accelerating forward.
Therefore, our design needs to take that into account. To be more like the Luna
of Destination Moon than an Eagle or the Serenity, a
Battlestar, or a Federation starship.”

“Very logical, Dad,” Daneel observed. “You’d make a pretty
good Vulcan, you know.”

Paul half bowed. “Why, thank you, son.”

Capie looked as if she had eaten something sour. “But, don’t
all those ships have artificial gravity or some such, to compensate for that?”
she asked.

“Supposedly, yes,” Paul answered with a smirk. “And, on top
of that, they all have inertial compensators too, to compensate for the
acceleration effects due to the ship’s thrust. Well, that’s just Hollywood
dramatic license nonsense. No engineer is going to design an interplanetary
ship that way. Waste of energy. Waste of materials. Waste of money and
resources. Especially when it is so much easier to turn everything 90 degrees
and let acceleration provide the artificial gravity needed. Bingo, all sorts of
engineering problems solved and resources saved. This,” and he pointed at the
tall, finned ship in front of him, “is a far more efficient design and easier
to build. Sometimes, newer is not necessarily better.”

Capie’s eyebrows went up on that. “I’m going to remind you
that you said that one day.” Then she turned and looked back up at the ship.
“It looks so…out of date and obsolete.”

Paul couldn’t resist a quote. “‘She'll make point five past
lightspeed. She may not look like much, but she's got it where it counts, kid.
I've made a lot of special modifications myself,’” he said smugly, quoting Han
Solo from Star Wars.

“Good one, Dad!” Daneel said with a chuckle.

Capie shook her head in return. “As I remember that scene,
Luke said ‘What a piece of junk!’” Then she paused a moment. “Wait a moment. What about the Space Shuttle? Hmm?”

Paul continued grinning. “It just proves my point. The
shuttle was designed as an orbital and reentry vehicle only. In orbit, it’s in
zero-g, and when it’s landing, it’s like an airplane. It is not designed as an
interplanetary spacecraft using continuous thrust.”

She took another look at the ship and squinted at it. “So,
what’s her name?”

The question caught Paul totally off guard. “Her, ah, name?”

“You named her already, Dad?” Daneel asked, all excited.
“Ooh, I know, the Millennium Falcon, from Star Wars VII!”

Capie gave her husband one of her patented looks. “Never try
to fool your wife. Come on, give. What’s her name?”

“Her name, huh?” Paul responded, rubbing his chin while
looking sheepishly at the ground. “Well, ah, yes, I, ah, sort of have been
thinking about a name, of course. And, ah, after due consideration of all the
names used in science fiction, from Callisto by J.J. Astor in his novel “A
Journey in Other Worlds” in 1893 all the way up to—”

“Please, not another litany,” she implored him, rolling her
eyes. “The name, please.”

“Ah…well, I was going to consult with you first, before I
painted it on the—”

“The name.”

“You’re taking all the fun out of this, you know,” he
protested weakly, before taking a deep breath. “Very well. Sirius Effort.
That’s the name.”

Capie blinked twice. “Spelled S-i-r-i-u-s, heh? Hmm, I
suppose it could have been worse. Pretentious without being presumptuous. I
like it. And you didn’t name it after another spaceship. I’m impressed. Sirius
Effort it will be, then.”

“Oh, I get it,” Daneel said finally, blinking his eyes. “It’s
a pun. A bad pun too.”

Capie took another look at the ship towering above her.

“Say, where are you going to put the fuel tanks?”

With another wave of his hand, Paul created a cartoon
diagram in midair in front of them, providing them an interior view of the spacecraft.
A cylindrical tank appeared inside the ship near the tail, just forward of the
engines.

Capie blinked at it in confusion. “That can’t be the tank!
It’s far too small!”

Paul looked more than a little smug. “7,100 gallons of fuel.
Remember, this is a nuclear powered craft. It needs far less fuel.”

“Nuclear?” Capie echoed. “Yes, you did say that, I remember
now. More of the deuterium fusion spell, right?”

Paul smiled and shook his head. “Ah, no. Deuterium fusion is
not a good choice for our spacecraft.”

“Why not?” she asked with a blank expression.

“A couple of reasons,” Paul replied. “Primarily because the
energy level is too low—”

“Too low?” she asked, doing a double take.

“It’s all relative, Mom,” Daneel said, in a matter of fact
tone of voice. “Deuterium–deuterium reactions generate only 2.45 MeV per
reaction. By comparison, the reaction Dad plans to use will be generating 17.2
MeV per reaction. Much stronger.”

Paul nodded at Daneel, impressed by his son’s knowledge of the
nuclear reactions involved, before turning back to Capie.

“What he said,” Paul added, with a smile.

“Okay. So tell me about this super fusion reaction fuel of
yours. What is it?” Capie asked.

Paul’s look was even more smug. “Lithium crystals.”

Capie blinked twice and raised an eyebrow. “Lithium?!
Crystals?! You are teasing me again, Paul Armstead! Dilithium crystals are
straight from Star Trek!”

Paul held up a hand. “Not dilithium crystals. Let me
explain. Fusing a proton, which is essentially a hydrogen atom, with lithium-7
generates beryllium-8, which is highly unstable, immediately breaking down into
two helium nuclei and a lot of energy.”

“Lithium does that?” she asked as she touched her throat.

“Wait, there’s more. The deuterium–deuterium fusion process
generates free neutrons. Neutron radiation is a BAD thing, all the way around. Oh,
sure, I have used deuterium fusion three times for propulsion: on the Broom,
on the racer, and on the 737 from Alice Springs. In each case, the amount of
fusion I was generating was reasonably low and the only people affected by the
neutron radiation for any length of time were wizards or Oni. In other words,
beings that can handle that sort of exposure without long lasting effects. And
also, in all three cases, the locations involved were pretty remote. But for
our spacecraft, the levels of propulsion will be much higher. Neutron radiation
from that much deuterium fusion will damage the area for miles around the liftoff
point. Secondly, the neutron radiation will also weaken the carbon nanotube
nozzles on the ship. The magnetic shield on the nozzle won’t help since
neutrons have no electric charge. On the other hand, the lithium fusion
reaction is anuetronic, producing no neutrons. The two helium nuclei it
produces will be positively charged. Moreover, the electrons stripped from the
reaction will be useful for providing power to the superconductor shell of the
magnetic nozzles.”

She strolled over to the ship, reaching out to touch one of
the landing legs. “So how do you get the lithium from the tank to the engines?
Is lithium a liquid?”

Paul shook his head. “No, pure lithium is a solid. To be
exact, a solid silver-colored metal. My plan is to combine the lithium with
chlorine and oxygen, to form lithium chlorate. It has the appearance of table
salt. Now the nice thing about lithium chlorate is its very high solubility in
water. Very high. Almost to the point that for every atom of water, there can
be one atom of lithium and that is very very good.”

“Oh!” exclaimed Capie with an amused look. “I get it. For
fusion, you can take a hydrogen atom from the water and fuse it to the lithium
atom! Oh, and since lithium salt is dissolved in the water, it can be pumped to
the engines in liquid form. That’s brilliant, my dear sir!”

“I’m glad that you like it,” Paul replied with a
self-satisfied smirk.

“Me too,” Daneel added, a prideful grin on his face as well.

“I hope all of this grows on me, but I doubt it,” she
remarked, giving him a shake of her head and a shrug of her shoulders. “Okay, I
appreciate the fact that you are really proud of your ship and your progress
with it, but what I want to work on next is the, uh, chutzpah—as you’ve decided
to call it. I want to concentrate on it and also on the MBE drug. Now, what
needs to be done on the chutzpah? Where do I start?”

“That’s a great question,” he answered, with a thoughtful
look. “On the emerald, of course. Would you like to grow a ten thousand carat
emerald?”

“Silly question. You asked me that before. Of course I
would,” was her reply.

“Great. Let’s start on that after you get back from Perth.
I’ll show you how to get started then.” He gave her a measured look. “Any other
questions?”

She smiled mysteriously. “As a matter of fact, yes, there is
something else we need to talk about too.”

“Oh? My charms overwhelm you again? Did you have an
irresistible urge for another kiss?” And he leaned toward her, puckering his
lips.

“You can be such a silly sod sometimes, but I do love you.”
She kissed him and then hit his arm. “But no, that’s not what I am talking
about. I swung by the front desk, just before we portaled over here. I picked
this up.” And a small portal snapped into existence in front of her. A large
off-white envelope fell through it and onto her outstretched hand. The portal
just as quickly disappeared and she held out the envelope to her husband.

Gingerly taking it, Paul studied the elegant lettering on
the outside.

“What’s this?” he asked, puzzled by the envelope.

“Open it.”

He did so, withdrawing and unfolding the single sheet of
cardstock. On it was a very elaborate border and even more elegant writing, all
in gold trim.

“A dinner invitation?” Paul asked incredulously. “No, a formal
dinner invitation! Who with? No! The Mayor of Kalgoorlie?!”

“Oh, a party!” cried Daneel. “I absolutely love
parties.”

Capie briefly giggled and it was music to Paul’s ears. “A
messenger delivered that yesterday to the desk clerk, who, I understand,
practically had a conniption fit. Apparently, the mayor only does these dinner
parties three or four times a year. It’s a very great honor to be invited to
one. Only the rich and famous in town get to attend.”

But Paul kept studying the invitation and shaking his head.
“This makes no sense! We’re just Yanks, in town for a couple of months. Why
invite us?”

“I think we should go and find out,” Capie declared with a
sly smile. “Maybe it’s all the money I’ve been spending. Maybe there’s
something else afoot, as Sherlock would say. And besides, if we are going to be
on Mars for six or more months, then a little socializing now would be welcome,
don’t you think?”

Paul regarded this sudden change in his wife’s demeanor. Ever
since their return from Romania, she was acting more and more like her old self.
This party might be just the ticket for further recovery. So he chortled and
rubbed the back of his neck. “You do have a good point. Fine. When is the
party? On Saturday? Okay. That doesn’t give us much time. We will need formal
duds—”

“Leave that up to me. I may have to borrow your body for a
fitting though,” she said with a leering grin.

He laughed. “Fine. I think that can be arranged. Oh,
tonight, let’s go out to eat and do some dancing. Are you up for a trip to
Perth again tonight?”

TWENTY-SIX

Room 208

York Hotel

Hannan Street

Kalgoorlie, Western Australia

October

Saturday 6:19 p.m. AWST

For
the fourth time, Paul stopped struggling with the black bowtie around his collar,
leaning back to examine the results in the bathroom mirror again. It was almost
right, except that it now twisted to the left. Disgusted, he untied it to try
again.

“You’re hopeless, Dad,” complained Daneel, the quantum
computer parked on top of the small desk in the room. “See, my tie is on
straight,” he bragged, pointing to his black and red virtual tie around his
neck. “Piece of cake, Dad.”

“Gosh you look sexy in a black tux,” said his wife, leering
at him from the bathroom door, leaning close enough to give him a gentle swat
on his butt.

He smiled before turning back to her and leering in return.
“Wow! That strapless red dress is so…well now I know what Chris de Burgh was
thinking when he wrote that song, “Lady in Red.”

“Wow, Mom! You look great,” Daneel crowed.

Capie giggled and curtsied. “Thank you kind sirs. Here, Paul,
you need help with that tie. It’s twisted to the right. I can fix that for
you.” And she moved behind him, reaching up and gripping the ends of the
garment.

Only two days had gone by since they had received the
invitation. But even though they had promptly replied with a RSVP acceptance,
there had been two phone calls from the city CEO’s secretary to confirm that
they were indeed going to attend the event.

All the abrupt unwarranted attention was making Paul
nervous.

In the meantime, the three of them had made substantial progress
in their preparations to leave Earth. Paul had welded on more of the hull
plating on the ship. And he had stored the oxygen cylinders Capie had ordered
in the mine pit for their use later on.

While Paul had been bending his efforts to finish the ship, Daneel
researched the error codes that Paul had briefly seen when the first version of
Daneel had died. He progress was minimal, so far but the research was continuing.

In contrast, Capie was experiencing considerable success in growing
the 10,000 carat emerald. And too, she claimed to be moving slowly forward on the
MBE Project.

Paul was both simultaneously impressed and concerned on the
progress his wife was making with the emerald. True, she was only growing the
crystal so far, not performing any of the isotopic conversions yet. Still, if
she kept up the pace, she might well be prepared for the chutzpah ceremony
before he was ready to leave for Mars. That would not be good, from his stand
point. As a result, Paul was feeling the pressure to finish the ship as quickly
as possible, taking some short-cuts along the way.

Capie took her hands off the bowtie. “There!” she declared,
examining the results with a critical eye. “Ready to go?”

“Bad not,” declared Ariel-Leira from the desktop. “Fun
have!”

Paul grinned at Capie, the mirror woman, and Daneel. “Let’s
see what the Australians have in mind for us, shall we?”

• • • •

The dinner party was being held in the Function Room of the
Goldfields Arts Centre. The Neumanns parked their rental SUV in the lot north
of the building and sauntered under the street lights in the cool evening air, Daneel
floating along behind them. At the Arts Centre, they ascended the red-tiled
front steps to the main entrance.

A petite and pretty brunette in a green evening dress met
them just inside the glass doors, her face lighting up like a candelabra when
she saw them.

“Mr. and Mrs. Neumann!” she beamed, stepping forward to pin
name tags on Paul’s jacket and Capie’s red dress. “Welcome to the mayor’s
evening social! May I call you Peter and Catlin? It is so nice to meet you. We’re
delighted you could come! I am Claire Worthington, a member of the city council
and also head of the Chamber of Commerce. Just call me Claire. If you would
come this way, there are some people that would just love to meet you!”

• • • •

“Would you mind unzipping my dress, dear?” Capie asked hours
later, as they prepared for bed. Daneel was on the small desk, already in sleep
mode.

“No problem,” Paul replied, now shed of his tuxedo and that
twice accursed bowtie. Using both hands, he quickly unzipped her zipper. “Did
you enjoy yourself tonight?”

“Oh, yes. I truly did,” she quietly said with a dreamy smile
on her face as she dropped the dress on the floor. “I’ve always loved parties.
Dressing up for them, the socializing, even the little appetizers and drinks.
And I loved dancing with you too. How about you, did you enjoy it?”

“The dancing part, most certainly yes. But the rest of it, I
don’t know. I haven’t figured any of it out yet,” he complained as he took off
his shirt.

“I saw you talking to Claire and then later to that
distinguished looking man, what was his name?”

“Lachlan Harris,” mused Paul, hanging up the shirt in the
closet. “He’s the city’s Chief Executive Officer.”

Capie shook her head and chuckled as she stabbed the dress on
the floor with a hanger. “I must have met a hundred people tonight. I can’t
remember everyone. What did the two of them talk to you about?”

“That’s the mysterious part,” Paul bellyached, folding his
pants and inserting them in a hanger. “Claire kept talking about the community,
how much is invested in arts and all the facilities and organizations around
town. Oh, and how friendly everyone in town is. Then she went on at length
about the opportunities involved. And then Lachlan—he insisted that I call him
by his first name—talked about all the professional craft people that live and
work here and how diverse and skilled they are. And he talked about how, in
certain cases, how various legal circumstances could be ‘configured’—and that’s
the exact word that he used—configured to ‘allow companies to achieve business
goals that benefitted the community.’ And he seemed real disappointed by my responses
after he told me that.”

“And he never told you what he was talking about?” Capie
asked, slipping on a nightgown.

“Nope. He did not,” Paul replied, shrugging his shoulders before
grabbing his pajamas out of a bureau drawer. “Ah, but then there was the drama
professor!”

“Who?” Capie asked, as she waltzed past him and into the
bathroom.

“What was his name? Oh, yeah, Professor Darren Fergerson. He
teaches at the Eastern Goldfields College. Anyway, he buttonholed me right
after Lachlan did. Talked about how great a drama program that they have here
and what wonderful talented actors are in the program. Went on and on about it
too. And he was even more disappointed by my responses.” Paul sighed as he
joined his wife in the bathroom, picked up toothbrush and toothpaste, and watched
her as she brushed her teeth. “There’s going to be a play next Saturday night.
Not only are we invited to the play, but he insisted we come to the dress
rehearsal this Tuesday night as well.”

He sighed as he squeezed toothpaste on his toothbrush. “I
felt like I was Jed Clampett in the middle of a Beverly Hillbillies
episode. It might have helped an awful lot,” he said as he prepared to stick
the brush in his mouth, “if I had only known what they were talking about.”

• • • •

“It’s not very pretty,” Capie said with disdain on Monday
morning, arms crossed as she strolled slowly up the east bank of the small
lake. “Oh, I don’t know. I suppose it is, in a savage, primitive way. But not
to me.”

“Ugh,” was Daneel’s only comment.

Paul glowered, surveying the lake and terrain around them.
“I totally agree with both of you.”

They were only a few miles from the Staging Area at a place
known as Bullock Hole. Essentially, this was more of a cave than a lake, one
partially filled with water. But it was nearly thirty acres in size and was one
of the largest bodies of open water anywhere near Kalgoorlie. Such as it was.

The bank on the east side, where they were standing, sloped
gently down to the black water. The west bank was practically a bluff. All of
the surrounding terrain was sand, scrub brush, and rock.

“You are free, of course, to find other bodies of water for
the conversion of the emerald process,” Paul informed her gently. “This is just
the closest place to us.”

Their somber mood was not helped any by the shocking evening
news the previous day on every media channel. A very large bomb had detonated
under a train in Tel Aviv, derailing several cars. Worse, the timing had been
such that a second train, traveling the opposite direction on an adjacent track,
was also derailed by cars from the first train. So far the death toll was three
hundred twenty-one people with fifty-six injured. The butcher’s bill would
likely go higher.

Israel’s response was expected to be both quick and deadly
brutal.

All the terrorist acts and the deaths had to be Errabêlu’s
responsibility, Paul knew. There would be many more such sick exploits. War was
coming. It was in the air everywhere. The news media was practically ecstatic
about it.

Capie nodded briskly, her expression once again gloomy. “So,
you are going to show me how to convert the beryllium-9 in the emerald here to
beryllium-10,” she said, holding the nearly colorless stone between them.

“Isn’t beryllium-10 radioactive?” Daneel asked.

“Yes, Daneel, you are correct. Yes, it is slightly
radioactive, to a degree, but the half-life is in the millions of years. And
since we can use a magic spell to physically resist the damage to ourselves due
to radiation, especially in such small doses like that, it won’t be a problem.
Okay, now, this is how it is done…” And he created a display in midair in front
of them. On it was a sort of an artistic representation of an emerald molecule
with three atoms of beryllium, two of aluminum, six of silicon, and eighteen of
oxygen.

“Now, to increase the magical quotient of the beryllium, we
need to add a neutron to the nucleus of the beryllium atoms. So, where do we
get the neutrons? Not from the aluminum, which is aluminum-27. There are no
stable isotopes of aluminum with fewer neutrons. The same is true for the
silicon and oxygen atoms. Indeed, we want to increase their magical quotients
by increasing the number of neutrons in their atoms too.”

“So, is that why you brought that sheet of metal with you?”
asked Capie.

“Yes, exactly,” Paul asserted, with a sly grin. “This is
pure iron, mostly isotope iron-36 with thirty neutrons per atom. We can take
two neutrons from each atom creating iron-34, which is also a stable isotope of
iron.”

On the holographic display, several atoms of iron appeared,
emitting neutrons that bombarded the atoms of beryllium of the emerald.

“Both processes, ripping the neutrons from the iron and
merging them into the beryllium, require enormous amounts of energy. This will
take many hours to perform, even using McDougall’s talisman. You will have to
tap the energy of the Earth’s magma core for this.”

With a flick of his wrist, the thin sheet of iron levitated
into the air and approached Capie. She levitated the emerald into the air
towards the iron. With a snap, the iron wrapped itself firmly around the
crystal.

“Fine,” sighed Capie, taking control and sending the iron
encased emerald through the air, to drop into the black water. With a snap of
her fingers, a display of her own appeared. On it was a solid matrix of atoms
of emerald on the left and the atoms of iron on the right. She frowned,
squinting at the display with stern concentration.

“Piece of cake, Mom,” Daneel bragged loftily. “You can do
it.”

In the display, a small cloud of particles emerged from the
atoms of iron, sweeping across the gap and forcing their way into the
beryllium.

“Good, good,” Paul praised his wife. “Now you just need to
do that a few quadrillion more times.”

• • • •

“I’m still wondering why we are going to a play rehearsal,”
Paul complained on Tuesday evening, glancing again at his wife as they
approached the front entrance to the college auditorium. This time Daneel
elected not to accompany them, disparaging any local production as
‘second-rate.’ Instead, he chose to stay in the hotel room, plugged into a wall
outlet and surfing the internet, immersed in his error code research project.

“I mean, I like the people here in Oz,” Paul went on.
“What’s not to like? But there is obviously some sort of misunderstanding going
on here. They obviously think we are something that we are not!”

“Obviously,” grinned Capie, as she held his arm.

“And yet we’re going anyway,” he said without understanding,
as they headed up the steps.

“Excuse me,” said an unfamiliar matronly voice.

Both Capie and Paul turned to face a middle aged woman,
large in stature and somewhat overweight. Her hair was stringy and desperately needed
a minimum of a day’s work by a team of expert beauticians. Her face, sporting
an off-center and overly large nose, was friendly enough, despite the two
missing front teeth.

“The Neumanns you be?” the woman asked.

“Yes,” admitted Paul slowly. “And you are?”

“Stacey Hamilton,” the woman confided to them, glancing
around to see if anyone else in the area was paying any attention to their
discussion. “My daughter, Courtney, she be in the play, that one. You’ll see.
Real talent. Takes after her da.”

Paul and Capie glanced at each other. “I’m sure she is
talented.”

“A natural for your movie,” declared the woman defiantly, as
if expecting the Neumanns to challenge her assertion.

“Our movie?” echoed both Capie and Paul together, eyes going
wide.

“Sure. Everyone in town knows,” the woman said with a scoff.
“Don’t forget. Courtney. Look for her.” And with that, the woman walked away
proudly.

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, CR, 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!”

TWENTY-SEVEN

Limpet Rock

Esperance Bay

Australian South Coast

Western Australia

October

Thursday 9:09 a.m. AWST

The
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!”

The crowd roared, many of them bursting to their feet to
vigorously applaud both the announcement and the Neumanns. Paul’s skin turned a
bright red as the spotlight swung and caught both him and Capie in its
brilliant glare. Gulping wildly, with a deer in the headlights look, both he
and Capie hesitantly raised their hands and listlessly waved at the audience.
In return, the crowd applauded all the more vigorously.

“Let’s show them what a real Kalgoorlie welcome is!” the
amplified voice of Professor Fergerson shouted. “Come on down, Peter and Catlin!
Come on down and meet the wonderful citizens of Kalgoorlie!”

Stunned, the Neumanns could barely believe this turn of
events. With encouragement and helping hands from those around them, they were
forced to stand and make their stumbling way down the steps and over to the
stage. There, amidst the continuing yells and applause, Fergerson extended a
hand, gently taking Capie by the arm and assisting her in her slow walk to
center stage. Paul followed along uncertainly.

“Ladies and gents, the Neumanns!” screamed Fergerson into
the microphone.

More thunderous applause followed and Paul hesitantly took a
small bashful bow.

Then Fergerson held up his other hand and the audience
gradually grew quiet.

“Let’s hear from them, yes?” he said and with no further
warning than that, thrust the microphone at Paul.

Who eyed it as if it were the deadliest most venomous snake
on Earth.

“Speech! Speech!” screamed the audience, clapping their
hands in unison.

His pulse racing and on the verge of hyperventilating, Paul
cast a small spell on himself to calm his nerves and to help him figure out
what to say. His trembling hand reached out to gingerly take the microphone and
then hold it up to his face.

There was only one silver lining to this situation. With the
spot light in his eyes, he couldn’t see beyond the edge of the stage. So, he
could—and did—pretend that there was no one there. He was only speaking to the
dark.

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” he started slowly. “I can’t tell you
what a great honor it is to be here and to be accepted as friends in this great
city.”

There were yells of appreciation and more cries for him to
continue.

“I can honestly say,” when he was finally able to continue,
“that I have never been any place like this before! You people are absolutely
fantastic! My wife and I love it here! And, on the subject of the movie that
I’m sure most of you want to know about, I am terribly sorry, but I can’t say
very much about it. I’m sure you know how it is, the secrecy involved. Why,
there are even things about it that even I don’t know yet! But I can
tell you this much. I am building a, uh, spacecraft…a, uh, highly important
part of the plot, where most of the action will take place, in fact. And I can
guarantee everyone in this town, that when we are ready, you will be totally
surprised by our production!”

The entire audience stood and thundered their applause, many
of them stamping their feet and shouting their praise.

Paul bowed more deeply this time, grinning self-consciously
before turning and giving the microphone back to the professor.

As they headed back to their seats, Capie leaned close to
whisper.

“You’re getting better at lying,” she said softly.
“Congratulations.”

“It’s called prevarication, my dear,” he muttered back at
her.

After they resumed their seats, Paul was so consumed with
relief that he didn’t hear anything else Fergerson said. It wasn’t until the
play actually began that he was able to focus on the stage.

And on that stage, a number of actors dressed as Daleks, an
alien cyborg race, could be seen. Paul had to admit, the costumes that must
have been thrown together at virtually the last moment were actually pretty
good.

One of the Daleks rolled forth, the lights on top of the
rotating head beginning to flash.

In an amplified and distorted voice, it said, “Report for
the Supreme Master.”

Another Dalek, from the other side of the stage, rolled
forward. “Speak!”

“Prison ship has landed. The Traitor is now being brought
here.”

Paul settled back to enjoy the play as best as he could.

TWENTY-EIGHT

Hotel Restaurant

York Hotel

Hannan Street

Kalgoorlie, Western Australia

October

Sunday 7:14 a.m. AWST

It
started in earnest the very next morning, with the busboy in Restaurant 259 of
the York Hotel. The young man was a college student, a member of the drama
department, and one of the walk-on extras in the play, specifically one of the
Daleks. He asked about the movie the Neumanns were making, what parts were
available and when auditions would start.

Capie tried explaining to him that the auditions wouldn’t be
any time real soon, but the young man was terribly disappointed in that answer
and pressed her for further details.

The news all over the Internet and from TV from the previous
day depressed them even more. A not quite successful and very savage attempt
had been made to assassinate Israel’s Minister of Internal Security. Three
innocent bystanders and two of his security detail were dead.

Israel’s counter attack had been swift and deadly, launching
an airstrike on selected Syrian targets. The death toll was unknown but would
likely be in the hundreds.

As they left the restaurant and passed through the lobby,
the desk clerk gave them a message from a local newspaper reporter, requesting
an interview.

Suspecting that more was coming, Paul invited Capie to spend
the rest of the day in Perth, to play tourist and to get away from the
ambitious wannabes and hustlers. Capie quickly agreed and they spent a very
enjoyable day taking a river boat cruise, visiting the Art Gallery of Western
Australia, and attending a performance of the Western Australia Symphony
Orchestra.

Later that evening, when they returned to the hotel, there
was a set of parents waiting for them in the lobby and two additional messages
at the desk. Using a few magic spells, they managed to cut short the plea of
the parents to include their son in the movie cast. Of the messages from the
desk clerk, one was from a business and the second was yet another message from
the newspaper reporter. They ignored both.

Over the next few days, the situation rapidly deteriorated
even further. No matter where they went for their meals, they were met by
somebody that wanted to sell them something for the movie or by somebody that
wanted to be in the movie or had a relative that wanted the same.

The messages continued to pile up at the front desk—various
businesses, artists, reporters, parents, bureaucrats, Professor Fergerson, and
even two from Dean Gilbert of the college!

The Neumanns made several attempts to explain to people that
they weren’t ready to start making a movie just yet, which had the virtue of
being an honest statement as far as it went. But they quickly figured out that
they were wasting their breath. And although their magical powers helped them
to escape each situation that arose, both Paul and Capie were growing
increasingly aware that the entire state of affairs was rapidly spiraling out
of control.

• • • •

“I’m tellin’ ya, Christchurch will be tough next weekend,”
insisted Captain Ryan Smith of United Flight number 6050, a Boeing 777-300
enroute from Auckland, New Zealand to Los Angeles, California. Cruising
smoothly along at 35,000 feet at 560 mph with George (the autopilot) engaged,
Smith and the co-pilot were fully involved once again in their favorite
pastime—the spirited debate of current rugby matches taking place in New
Zealand, a country where the game was taken very seriously and considered by
the majority to be the national sport.

“Naw,” argued the copilot, Jack Jones. “Canterbury is
looking really good to me. I still think it would be pretty tough for anyone to
topple ’em. They look deadly this season. They’re going to take the cup.”

“Ethan is for me the greatest 10 that has ever played the
game,” Smith countered. “When the…” And then he stopped, leaning forward in his
seat and looking out the windscreen over the consoles.

“Crikey, would you lookie there,” Smith said, with a nod out
the windows.

“What?” responded Jones, craning his neck to look in the
indicated direction.

The night sky outside the cockpit was virtually black but,
as was typical so far from any city, the stars shone brilliantly in the
firmament. And to the east, the horizon was just beginning to lighten toward
dawn.

So it was fairly easy to see what Smith was pointing at.

“Blow me down,” muttered Jones. “A signal flare?”

“I know bugger all,” Smith replied, expressing his ignorance
of the answer.

Below on the ocean’s surface, slightly ahead of them and to
the right of their flight path, a dancing white light could be seen. Dancing
was not quite the right verb, but Smith could think of no other choice that
came any closer. The light shifted back and forth, constantly changing size and
intensity, very effectively attracting their attention.

“Not the time to gawk. Where are we?” Smith asked, now using
his more professionally trained voice and reaching out to punch a couple of
buttons on the FMS, the Flight Management System. “Hmm, still south of the
equator.” He picked up his iPad and entered the latitude and longitude
information, running a quick check through the on-board WiFi system. “Looks
like Flint Island, that one. Maybe a castaway? Dunno. Go ahead, text our sighting
to Oakland using the CPDLC,” he told Jones.

Who nodded without replying, typing in a report into the
Controller-Pilot Data Communications Link, sending it to the Air Traffic Center
for their airspace located in Oakland, California.

“Those blokes down below are lucky,” Smith noted casually.
“We’re more than a hundred miles east of our normal flight path. Otherwise,
we’d never seen that light.”

Jones agreed. “Diverting to avoid the storm to the west, as
we did. Yeah, lucky. Whoever’s down there, hoorey. A bird will drop in on ya
soon!”

• • • •

Capie rolled her eyes and sighed. “What are we going to do
about the people of Kalgoorlie?”

“We do need to do something, don’t we?” Paul glanced around
the open pit mine and up at the spacecraft in front of him. “I’m a week away
from completing the ship, then a few days for loading—maybe as much as two
weeks before we are ready for liftoff. You are about that far away from the chutzpah
ceremony. Are you suggesting that we leave Kalgoorlie?”

Folding her arms across her chest, his wife gave thought to
the question. “We can’t do that just yet, can we? Not today, at any rate. There
are all our supplies in Warehouse 13. If we had another place to move them all
to…but since the ship isn’t ready yet, we don’t.” She sighed even more heavily.

“That’s pretty much what I think as well,” Paul admitted
with a thoughtful frown. “So the limitation is a place to store our supplies. I
can fix that, I think, by taking a day and excavating a storage room here at
the mine. After we move all the supplies here, we can check out of the York
Hotel and find another city or town to stay in. All it costs us is a longer
portal distance from here to the place we choose to stay. No sweat.”

“And the people of Kalgoorlie? What do we say to them?” Capie
asked expectantly.

Paul paused a moment, gauging his wife’s emotional state.
“We can make some excuse to the people of Kalgoorlie. We can tell them that we
have to go back to Hollywood for consultations or something.”

Capie slowly smiled. “I like that idea.”

“Then I’ll get started tomorrow in the morning, clearing out
a section of the wall at the back of the mine for a storage room,” he replied
with a grin.

• • • •

Later that evening, as they were returning to their motel
room and Paul was closing the hallway door behind himself and Capie, he noticed
that Daneel seemed to be waiting for them on his monitor display, his quantum
computer sitting on one corner of the room’s small desk.

“Hi, Dad! Hi, Mom! I’m so glad to see you both. I have
news!” their son announced, practically bobbing up and down with suppressed
excitement.

Once again, Paul was struck by how fast the young man was
growing up. Daneel had been ‘gone’ the last few days, researching on the
internet for an answer to the question as to the how and the why that the first
Daneel had died when given magical powers. Now his physical features seemed to
be that of a twenty year old man, a significant change from the last time Paul
had seen him.

“What about?” Capie asked.

“About your research?” Paul inquired, taking a seat on the
end of the bed.

“Yep,” Daneel replied, seemingly ready to burst he was so
giddy. “Most of those error codes you gave me didn’t help all that much. They
were either general types of errors that could have meant any one of a dozen
different coding failures, or they were secondary errors, triggered by another
error. But there were two that were different! And they led me on a merry
chase, those two did! But I think I finally got it figured out!”

“You two!” Capie scoffed, as she headed into the bathroom.
“You’re going to talk techno-babble again, I just know it.” And she shut the
door behind her.

“Don’t mind her,” Paul told Daneel, with a knowing smile.
“Go ahead. What did you find out?”

“It’s an incompatibility problem between the magical powers coding
subroutines and the bus interface circuitry for the quantum processor!” he
proudly declared with complete confidence. “It creates disruptions in the synchronization
of all bus transfers. The effect is not unlike a Normal when he’s drunk.
Slurred speech, disorientation of senses, loss of motor-control and so forth.”

Paul nodded with approval. So, it had been an
incompatibility problem with the hardware after all. “Yes, that matches what I
saw. Anything else?”

“Yep! The disruptions would generate a ton of bad
information, a sort of cascade of meaningless data that will even negatively
impact file headers in the data packets. Eventually, the whole structure would
crash. I’m amazed that the, ah, first Daneel could have kept going for more
than a few minutes, the incompatibility is so bad!”

Paul looked away, feeling uncomfortable with the reminder of
the first Daneel’s death. “It sounds like you are on the right track. Any
suggestions on how to fix the problem and then how to test it to see if it
works?”

“Well, that’s the bad news,” his son said, now appearing a
great deal more subdued than before. “The easiest solution, for the next
generation of A.I.s, is to alter their coding, make it compatible. I’m pretty
sure it could be done. And also to add an error checking subroutine to the
quantum processing stream. That will help catch any stray problems. But for me,
that solution is not an option.”

Paul blinked and leaned back in surprise. “Why not? Oh, I think
I see. Your basic coding is not the same anymore, is it? It’s due to your
‘age.’ Your coding has evolved.”

“Exactly,” Daneel agreed. “My coding is now much too
inter-related. It would be impossible to find and fix all the interconnected
subroutines. In my case, only a hardware modification would fix the basic
problem. Oh, sure, I would also need a software patch to go with it, but only a
minor one. The hardware mod is harder.”

Paul could see the concern in his son’s eyes. A hardware mod
would take time. Moreover, Daneel would have to be ported over from his current
machine to a new one, which might involve risks all of its own. From an
efficiency point of view, it would simply be easier to generate a new A.I. progenitor
with the necessary coding change.

Of course, the current edition of Daneel would then become obsolete
and superfluous. Not only would he never acquire magical powers, he was afraid
he might even be scrapped in favor of a newer version!

Paul smiled and shook his head at Daneel. “Well, then,
Daneel, if a hardware mod is needed, a hardware mod is what we are going to do.
You have all the drawings and specifications. Your next task is to design a new
and modified motherboard with the changes needed. I have a couple of other
ideas for upgrades that I would like to see you incorporate as well.”

“All right! Thanks, Dad!”

Paul then waved a finger at him. “There’s something else,
too, that I want you to do. Figure out a way to test the mod without risk to
you. Some sort of software simulator would be nice. Something that will let us
test the changes without actually putting you in danger. Understand?”

“Got it, Dad! And no problem, I already have a couple of
ideas for that! Got to go; I’ve got a lot of work to do! Bye!”

And the monitor went blank again.

Paul shrugged and headed for the bathroom door. “Kids and
their toys,” he muttered happily.

• • • •

McDougall swept through the foyer of his Rockcliffe Park
mansion in Ottawa, Canada in a very foul temper, the mansion servants catching
only a single glance of his face before hastily making themselves scarce. Three
Oni followed several steps behind the wizard, climbing the stairs in his footsteps
as he headed toward the upstairs den.

Smashing open the door of the room, McDougall stormed over
to the far wall, keying a special latch and waiting impatiently as a segment of
the paneling there opened on a silent hinge. Then, slapping his right hand on
the special safe installed there, he concentrated on a specific series of
magical mental impulses.

A very weighty black metal door, nearly two feet square and
a foot thick, ponderously swung opened. McDougall thrust a hand through the
opening, snatching an object just inside and bringing it out into the light.

An armband a foot long, specifically a talisman. Sliding it
over his left arm, McDougall looked at it in supreme satisfaction.

“Now!” he hissed menacingly. “Aduir! Get your sorry hide in
here!”

The Oni practically skittered into the room, keeping as much
distance between itself and the wizard as it dared.

McDougall seemed not to notice, watching the light in the
room reflect off his talisman.

“Assemble all the Oni,” he ordered sternly. “We’re going to
break them into teams, each team with a gemstone. I’ll provide the energy signature
that they need to look for my medallion talisman. We’ll start in the eastern
United States and also near Chicago and sweep outward from those two places. If
Paul Armstead is in the United States using my talisman, it will be a short
search. If he is not, it might take a bit longer, but we will find it and we
will find him.” McDougall snapped his attention to the Oni. “He is not to be
harmed by any Oni, only located, understand? It will be my privilege to kill
Paul Armstead, slowly and in the most painful way possible. That will be my privilege.
Understood?”

And what could Aduir say to that other than an enthusiastic
“Yes, sir.”

• • • •

At the large workbench in Warehouse 13, with Daneel watching
over his shoulder, Paul performed a series of checks on the latest CPU, designated
as Mark#4. It powered up fine and everything Paul could check with his magical
instruments said it was operating up to spec. But that was only the preliminary
checks. Unit#3 had performed as well but was rejected for other, more subtle
performance problems.

Daneel spoke up.

“It’s time for me to connect to it and check it out, Dad,”
he told him. “‘I’ll bet any quantum mechanic in the service would give the rest
of his life to fool around with this gadget.’”

Paul grinned. “Chief Engineer Quinn, Forbidden Planet.”
And then he chuckled a bit. It was an appropriate quote. He just wished he had
thought of it first. “You know the drill. This is just a checkout. Don’t risk
your programming code. I don’t want to chance losing you if we have made a
mistake and this doesn’t work out right.”

“Agreed. I’m ready when you are,” Daneel announced. “If you would
connect the cable to the LAN switch, I can do the additional functionality
checks.”

Paul fished a Cat 6 cable from a pile of cables on the
workbench and made the connections.

He waited patiently for several minutes. Daneel’s image
popped back up on his monitor screen.

“There’s good news and bad,” the young man announced. “Dad,
this unit is the closest yet. Memory checks are good and all the quantum
processors ran diagnostic checks with no errors. All the Arithmetic Logic Units
performed the bit tests correctly too. And the heat values are marginally better
than Unit#3.”

“And now the bad news,” Paul muttered with a frown.

Daneel’s boyish face on the monitor screen nodded. “The
residual transfer rates are still out of synch, even after the bus
modifications and re-routing. It is improved, roughly 20% better. But still out
of tolerance. Maybe if we gate synch the outputs of IC 16.”

“Maybe,” Paul muttered as he studied the electrical
schematic in the display in front of him. “Let’s simulate that and see what we
get.”

TWENTY-NINE

Room 208

York Hotel

Hannan Street

Kalgoorlie, Western Australia

October

Tuesday 12:14 a.m. AWST

Life
in Kalgoorlie for the Neumanns finally reached the impossible stage. It was
almost as if the entire city was caught up in the fever to be involved, in one
capacity or another, with the production of the ‘science-fiction move’ that the
Neumanns were making.

For their part, Capie and Paul were using disguise spells to
prevent themselves from being recognized, using portals to and from their room
and ordering fast foods for their meals instead of eating at restaurants.

The final straw came at just past midnight when someone
began, at first, knocking on their hotel room door and a minute later, pounding
fiercely on it.

Leaping out of bed, Paul quickly grew so angry that he was
halfway through a spell to drop the offender at the door through a portal onto
the dry lakebed of Lake Lefroy forty miles south of Kalgoorlie. But Capie
grabbed her husband, preventing him from completing the spell.

Instead, Paul snatched open the door, only to discover that
the guilty party was the local reporter, the same one that had apparently grown
tired of waiting for the Neumanns to respond to his thirteen messages and phone
calls that he had left for them at the front desk.

The reporter looked up, startled, as if he really hadn’t
expected that anyone would answer the door. Then he grinned like a Cheshire
Cat.

“Well, hello!” the man said, putting on the charm. “Mr. Neumann,
I presume. I hope that I haven’t disturbed you, but my editor insisted. I’m
afraid that I’m can’t leave until you’ve answered a few questions. It won’t
take but a few moments.” And he pushed past Paul into the room.

With a wicked grin, Capie, with a snap of her fingers, put the
jackass to sleep in mid-stride whereupon she then levitated him up and over,
dumping him onto the bed. Then she started changing her clothes and throwing
things into her suitcases. When Paul realized what she was doing, he jumped in
to help.

Once their bags were fully packed, he popped open a small
portal, leaving an envelope with a substantial packet of money on the desk
clerk’s countertop next to the cash register. Then he whipped up another much
larger portal, taking them to the front door of the Comfort Inn Bay of Isles in
Esperance, Western Australia. Despite the late hour, the desk clerk at the
Comfort Bay seemed delighted to rent a room to two young but somewhat rumpled
and lethargic American tourists.

• • • •

Aduir bit its tongue against a fresh urge to turn and flee. If
there had been even a remote chance that flight might have been possible, then
it would have tried it. But no, it knew that there was no chance, so it forced
itself to ease open the door instead and inch into the room.

McDougall was pacing back and forth in front of the open
hearth of the fireplace, his hands behind his back, his head tilted downward,
deep in thought.

“So the monster is not in North America, heh?” McDougall announced
with an angry snarl. “That’s what you came to tell me, heh?”

“Yes, sir,” mumbled Aduir almost inaudibly. Inside, it was
vastly relieved that his master already knew the bad news. There were times,
especially in service to this master, when the messenger really did get shot,
and not just figuratively either. But apparently, not this time.

“Well, okay, so he was smart enough to hide somewhere else
on the planet,” McDougall muttered in even greater anger. “We’ll just have to
expand the search. And I’ll have to contact some of the other wizards to get
their permission to search for Armstead, just like that idiot Ruggiero had to
do in Mexico and in the United States.” He paced a few more steps before
stopping in front of the den’s single bay window. “I’m on speaking terms with the
wizards in Argentina, Spain, Greece, and India. I’ll start with them. And we
don’t need permission to search some countries from the open seas. I’ll work up
a schedule for each of the teams. If we have to scour the whole planet, we will
find him and my talisman. Heaven help the scum then.”

• • • •

CPU Mark#7 was the latest and apparently the last version,
performing up to all specifications in every way it was tested. The delta
difference in quantum processor transfer rates for the subroutines involving
the use of magic was finally resolved, the maximum difference now less than
0.7%. Close enough for government work, as they used to say at Edwards Air
Force Base about a dozen times a day.

After conducting all the tests and checks that they could
think of running, Daneel had moved into the new quantum computer, declaring it
superior to the old one in several different ways. However, just to be sure,
Paul had him run several additional benchmark tests.

“Everything’s great, Dad!” Daneel declared. “I’ve run her
around the block several times now and she purrs like a kitten.”

“Mixed metaphor there, son,” Paul noted with a touch of
irony. “Have you checked the software patch against the hardware mods?”

“Yep, a dozen times so far. Every run was well within
tolerance. Dad, I’m ready to try the warp drive now. If you and Merlin would do
the honors, I’d really like to get my magical powers now, pretty please?’

Paul frowned and scratched an ear. “I can’t think of a
reason not to, I guess. Before we do, I want you to make two backups of
yourself, okay?”

“No sweat. Give me a few minutes and I’ll have it right as
rain.”

“Go easy on the clichés, son, if you please. While you are
working on the backups, I’ll call on Merlin and brief him on what we want.”

“Paul?”

He turned around and found Capie emerging from a portal
looking very distraught.

“What’s wrong, honey?” he asked, suddenly very concerned.

“Paul, I…” was all she could say. With a snap of her
fingers, a display appeared in midair. A blond haired reporter in a long white
sleeve shirt with dust and soot on his face was talking.

“It’s hard to say how many dead there are here, Michelle,”
he was saying, microphone in hand. “As you know, Yom Kippur is one of their
most sacred holidays here in Israel. Lots of people in the synagogues. So far,
there have been confirmed reports of attacks on at least twelve of those
synagogues, seven in Jerusalem, three in Tel Aviv, one in Haifa. In one case,
there was a report of an SUV driving down the street with bombs being thrown
out the windows at people entering a neighborhood synagogue. The situation here
in Jerusalem is one of total confusion, mostly because of the holiday. The
death toll might well be in the thousands, certainly in the hundreds. We won’t
know what the final count will be, Michelle, until the Israeli government gains
control of the situation here.”

Capie waved away the display. “Paul, we just have to do something.”

Paul nodded. “We’re working as fast as we can. In another few
hours or so, we will have Daneel up and running as a Scottie. In a little over
a week we will finish the work on the Sirius Effort. And in the same week,
you’ll have conversions done on all the isotopes, and we’ll be ready to hold
the chutzpah ceremony.”

“A week!”

“It would have taken even longer than that without your work
on improving the conversion process, making it both more efficient and faster.”

“I hear what you are saying but…”

He drew her into his arms. “We can only do what we can do.
Our magical powers do not make us gods.”

“If Israel still exists in a week…” she muttered.

“Dad,” Daneel interrupted quietly. “I’m ready whenever you
are.”

“Merlin?” Paul said, pulling back from Capie. “We need you.”

• • • •

“Care for a drop of Bundy?” Patrick McNamee asked, holding
forth a tall dark bottle with a red label.

“Thanks,” replied McDougall, watching as Patrick poured half
a small glass with rum and then levitated the tumbler through the air over to
his ‘guest.’

They were sitting in a magnificently furnished library in
Patrick’s mansion not far from Canberra, Australia.

McDougall used a small spell to chill the liquid in the
glass to his favorite temperature of 41 degrees Fahrenheit. Swirling the dark
liquid in circles, he watched the dance of the reflections from the room lights
twinkle on its surface.

Then he took a sip.

“Good stuff,” he commented with appreciation as he leaned
back in his seat.

Patrick grinned and poured himself a glass of the dark
liquor as well. “So the rumor is true blue, aye? There’s a new wizard running
around, a cheeky bloke and as cunning as a dunny rat. And he cadged your
talisman and he’s back of beyond, somewhere here in Oz.”

“A little east of Perth, we think,” answered McDougall,
after another sip of his drink. “I don’t know what he is up to out in the
outback, but he’s using a lot of magical energy to move things around and
perform a few spells I don’t understand. But there’s no denying that he is
there.” McDougall looked up at his host. “With the levels he using, I’m a
little surprised that you didn’t notice.”

Patrick shrugged nonchalantly. “You know how it is. The
Normies here are dongos. I’ve been as busy here in Canberra as Bourke Street
during the rush hour keeping them under control.” He glared down into his
glass. “And Perth is over 3,100 kilometers distant. Australia’s a mite big to
watch everything all the time.” After a brief pause, he continued. “What do you
need from me, other than my permission? And at least a half dozen Oni to help
you, of course.”

McDougall smiled. “To help keep me honest, you mean, while
I’m in your territory.” But he held up a hand to forestall any objections.
“I’ll take them, of course. This will be short and sweet. We will move in fast,
surround Armstead and take him captive. A few hours at best and I’ll be out of
your hair.”

Patrick held up his now empty glass. “Let’s have another and
toast your success.”

• • • •

Very early Friday morning in the Gulf of Hormuz, an hour
before sunrise, Iran raised the stakes of the game, firing two anti-ship Kowsar
medium range missiles from Lesser Tunb Island just west of the Strait. The
first missile scored a direct hit amid-ships of an escort—the one hundred and
ten foot Island Class Patrol Boat, the US Coast Guard Cutter Monomoy—which
sank within two minutes. The second one hit the 1,243 foot long Belgium
registered Very Large Crude Carrier Ti Europe, carrying nearly 3.2
million barrels of oil. Impact was on the tanker’s starboard stern quarter.
Leaking and on fire, her captain turned her south southeast in an effort to
make Dubai.

She nearly made it, the crew abandoning ship to be picked up
by three corvettes of the United Arab Emirates Navy two hours after sunrise.

Of the crew of the Monomoy, fourteen died and two
survived, but the survivors were picked up by an Iranian patrol boat.

Mere hours after the attack in the Strait, Hamas and the
Army of Islam in Gaza began firing volleys of Qassam rockets into
southern Israel while Hezbollah launched Katyusha rockets from Lebanon. And
then Syria and ISIL launched BM-21 Grads and longer ranged tactical
ballistic Fateh-110 missiles at more specific targets in northern
Israel.

The attacks, coordinated by cell phones, went on for more
than half an hour before the launchers scurried for cover from retaliation by
Israeli F-16s.

Guidance systems for all of the rockets and missiles used in
the attacks were notoriously inaccurate (though the Fateh-110’s performed
the best). But enough hit a target and killed a sufficient number of civilians
to spread terror and more panic through the Israeli civilian population.

• • • •

Friday evening, Paul and Daneel were waiting in their room
at the Comfort Inn Bay when Capie finished work for the day. She portaled in
and dropped the komatiite rock on the small desk and fell full length backwards
onto her bed.

“Well, what a surprise, to see the two of you home so
early,” she muttered, suppressing a yawn. “I thought the two of you would still
be working on—what version was it? Oh, yeah, number 7. So, how did it go?”

On his monitor display, Daneel laughed. Without warning, a
full sized holographic image of the young man appeared in the middle of the
room between the two beds. Capie’s mouth dropped open in surprise as the image
of the Scottie flashed his arms back and forth, abruptly coming to a halt and holding
up a large manila envelope.

“Nothing up my sleeves,” he proudly boasted, then opened one
end of the envelope and blew into it, hard. The envelope expanded, now forming a
cardboard box roughly an inch thick. Daneel unfolded the top, reached in with one
hand and pulled forth a perfectly round bowling ball, smacking it on one side
to show how substantial and ‘real’ that it was.

He grinned. “I saw this on an episode of “The Carbonaro
Effect.” Pretty good trick, heh?”

Capie was up and off the bed in a single bounce, reaching
out to ‘hug’ the hologram. When that didn’t work, she turned and hugged the LCD
monitor instead.

“You’ve done it!” she shrieked. “You’ve got magical powers
now! Let’s celebrate! Daneel, where would you like to go?”

There wasn’t a moment of hesitation on Daneel’s part.
“Bungee jumping!”

• • • •

Saturday morning arrived. The sun was out, the temperatures
were mild and there was a real feel of spring in the air.

Capie noticed and appreciated the beautiful day since,
according to her best estimate, in the next day or so she would be finished
with the conversions of all the elements in the komatiite rock. The conversions
on the emerald isotopes had been completed over a week ago, that crystal now stored
alongside of the tantalum block at the open pit mine.

By contrast, Paul hadn’t noticed the weather, so focused was
he on the tasks that he wanted to accomplish that day. He’d left Esperance
after sharing a very nice breakfast with Capie at the Dome Café Esperance, just
as the sun was rising. From there he went straight by way of portal to the Staging
Area. He was most anxious to continue the loading of the now completed
spacecraft. Despite his earlier attempt to move everything from Warehouse 13, there
were still some supplies remaining.

For the most part, he had finished loading all of their
personal items, minus what was still at the hotel, into Decks 2 and 3, which
were the living and sleeping quarters. Today, his plan was to finish transferring
all of the Warehouse 13 supplies—most especially the barrels of lithium
chlorate salts into the ship’s fuel tank—and then all the remaining items to
the storage room he had created in one wall of the open pit mine. In the next
couple of days, he would then finish loading all the food supplies, tools, gear,
furniture, sporting goods, and everything else they were taking with them as
well.

At that point, the one major task that would be left was to add
the water for the fuel tank. That would take a couple of hours to filter it
from the ocean water and portal it into the tank. Almost 3,000 gallons of
water. It was a lot to process and store on board, a tedious but not all that
difficult a task.

So, yes, there was lots of work to do. And with all the
terrorist and military attacks by Arab countries around Israel, both he and
Capie were feeling the urgency of their tasks. True, the chutzpah would be of
the most value in stopping what the whole world believed would be a full scale
war. But the Sirius Effort would be quite useful too, even if it wasn’t
armed.

In the past few days, he had noted the sudden appearance of
a large number of contrails in the upper atmosphere, due to increased activity
of the Australian Air Force. All across the globe, military forces were at a
heightened alert status. The last thing that Paul wanted at this stage was for
some sharp eagled-eyed Australian pilot to see something at the Staging Area
and report it. From now on, Paul would ask Merlin to keep a weather eye out for
trouble, just in case the WA authorities came nosing around.

• • • •

“Are you sure that this is such a good idea?” asked
Firefighter Shaun Kirk as he studied the large commercial building in front of
him.

“No, I’m not,” replied Constable Lucas Colston, age 33, of
the Kalgoorlie District Police. “But then it wasn’t my idea, now was it, mate?
It was the Inspector that came up with this one, he did. The Neumanns up and
disappeared several days ago, no one knows where. That reporter, what’s his
name, filed assault charges. And the Inspector found those records for that
chemical—”

“Lithium chlorate,” said Shaun, with a grin.

“Yeah, that stuff. So, on that evidence, we are here to
perform an inspection, to see if there are dangerous chemicals stored here and
also to look for other proof.”

Lucas reached out to grasp a padlock and insert one of his
special keys.

“Proof of what?” asked Shaun, perplexed.

“How should I know, aye?” shot back Lucas. “Foul play?
Terrorism? A heist? The Inspector was less than clear on that, but you know
how he is.”

The padlock snicked open and Lucas grinned smugly at his
cohort. “You find the lights. I’ll sweep for the proof the Inspector wants.”

Entering the building cautiously, Shaun quickly found the wall
switch and snapped on the lights. But it took mere moments to realize that
there was almost nothing in the building. Some power and hand tools on a work
bench against the back wall. Several brown 55 gallon drums with snap-on lids.
And quite a few empty boxes, all collapsed and piled up in the middle of the
floor.

Lucas was more than a little disappointed. He’d been half
expecting to find the Neumanns here—or at least their dead bodies.

Shaun pointed at the barrels. “There’s your lithium chlorate,
they are,” he said, dropping to one knee to examine the barrels closely along
with the hazardous labels. “They’re not leaking or damaged either. Still, the
Neumann’s don’t have a permit to store chemicals here.”

“Is the stuff dangerous?” Lucas asked, poking around on the
tool bench.

“Kind of a poor time to ask, hey mate?” Shaun responded with
a chuckle. “Not overly so. You need a chemical mask not to breathe it, and
gloves to work with it. Oh, and keep the fumes out of your eyes. And don’t
swallow any of it. What else? Oh, yeah, if it’s mixed with sulfur, reactive
metals, or some organics, it can become explosive. Other than that, it’s as
safe as being in your momma’s arms.”

“Laugh a minute, you are, mate,” muttered Lucas, turning
back toward Shaun. “So the Neumann’s might be terrorists, making a bomb…Hey,
what was that?!” he yelled.

Shaun too had noticed a bright flash of light reflecting off
the metal lip of the barrel in front of him. He spun around—

But there was only empty building behind him. Just floor
and—

“Wait a mo—wasn’t there another barrel over there?” he
asked, pointing to a now empty spot next to two other barrels. “I counted ten
barrels here when we walked in. Now there’s only nine.”

“I didn’t count them,” admitted Lucas reluctantly. “But if
you’re right, where’d it go? There’s been no one…oh…oh…!”

In front of both men, a portal opened up, a little larger
than the barrels. It swept forward, missing Shaun by two feet to engulf one of
the barrels. And just like that, both the portal and the barrel were gone.

“What the blazes was that?” shouted Shaun, backing away
rapidly, on a beeline for the door.

“Eight barrels of chem on the floor, eight barrels of chem…,”
Lucas hummed the old tune anxiously, the hair rising on the back of his neck. “Take
one off, pass it along…” He snapped the clip off of his sidearm and drew it.

Another portal snapped open, floating forth to snag another
barrel, and it too flashed out of existence.

“I don’t know…lookout! Behind you!” shouted Lucas.

Another portal, much larger than the others, opened into the
room. Through it stepped McDougall and two Oni.

Lucas and Shaun both folded up like little rag dolls, fast
asleep before they even hit the floor.

“Normies! Humph! Ignore them. Follow the portals and find
out where they lead!” shouted McDougall, as he put his hands on his hips.

Another portal popped into existence, gulping up another
barrel.

McDougall grinned. This was almost too easy.

SECTION V

EXODUS

THIRTY

Limpet Rock

East of Esperance, Western Australia

October

Saturday 11:14 a.m. AWST

“Do
you see it there?” asked Capie, using a small spell to enlarge a particular
part of the display hanging in front of her and Daneel.

“NP. No problem, Mom. So you’re interweaving the iron atoms
with the oxygen in the komatiite using the 4-D Man spell that Dad told me
about.”

“It cuts down on the distance the neutrons need to move and
the energy transitional states too.”

“Fearsome, Mom. Can I try?”

“Go for it.”

On the LCD screen, Daneel closed his eyes, reaching a hand
forward. “Ah, like that, heh?”

In the display, magnified millions of times, clouds of
neutrons were making the short leap from the nucleus of the iron atoms and
impacting with the oxygen nuclei.

They were standing near the eastern edge of Limpet Island,
working on the last of the isotope conversions of the komatiite rock, changing
the isotopes of oxygen 16 atoms to oxygen 17. Capie had already finished
conversion of the silicon, iron, nickel, and magnesium atoms.

“Hmm, have you considered manipulating the quark structure
of the neutrons?” Daneel asked, opening his eyes.

Capie blinked at him. “The what? Son, that’s a Dad question
if ever I’ve heard one.”

Daneel looked thoughtful. “I wonder if it might be possible
to move the component quarks as quasiparticles inside the solid matrix.
Interesting thought, that. I’ll have to look into the math, to see if it’s even
theoretically possible.”

Staring at him in stunned disbelief, Capie felt a shiver run
up her spine. “Theoretical math? Since when have you been interested in complex
math?”

Daneel laughed. “Mom, I’m a computer, remember? I’ll have to
ask Dad about it. It might not speed up the process but it might make it more
energy efficient. Maybe.”

Capie could only shake her head and chuckle. So Daneel might
be good in mathematics? And maybe physics too? With a growing grin, she glanced
at the Scottie again. She could live with that.

• • • •

Paul pulled the drums of the lithium chlorate, one by one, through
portals onto Deck 8 of the ship, then used a portal filter set to that chemical
compound to funnel it into the fuel tank.

Like any other engineer that had ever worked for a large company
or the US Government, he had a schedule for the fueling and loading efforts, and
that called for launch operations in one more week, on the next Saturday.
Loading the lithium chlorate was only step one of the fueling process. Later,
around Friday, he would load the heavy water into the tank as well to formulate
the final fuel solution. His reason for loading the lithium compound now was to
finish emptying Warehouse 13 and there really was no better place to put it.

On Monday, he planned to take Capie to find a pallasite
meteor. He had an idea where to find one and without too much effort, despite
how rare that particular type of meteor was. By his calculations, she would be
finished with the final conversions of the meteor by the end of the week. She
really was doing a faster job at isotope conversions than he had ever thought
possible.

Tuesday through Thursday would be for final cargo loading
and all the food as well as all the other supplies. They would likely finish
ahead of schedule since Daneel was already working on that task. It really was
a wonderful thing, having a Scottie finished and fully operational. The
liberation of the Earth was now a huge step closer to reality. If there was
time later in the week, they might try duplicating Daneel and seeing how that
worked. Paul already had the hardware that was needed, including an upgraded
CPU.

By Saturday, they would have all the components for the
chutzpah and could do the ceremony, creating the first one. Ah, the power it
would give them! And with it, they could go to the Middle East and stop the
senseless war that seemed to be coming.

There were six more barrels of lithium chlorate to go when
Merlin snapped into existence directly in front of him, startling Paul.

The hologram hissed wildly, swinging both arms wide,
knocking the hat off his head. “Intruder Alert! Intruder Alert!
Three…no, four…nearby portals—”

Suddenly panic stricken, Paul snapped a quick holographic
display in midair to his left, looking around the outside of the ship. All he
could see was one Oni and that one holding forth a gemstone, but that was more
than enough. Somehow, he had been found!

Icy fingers ran up and down his spine. There were so many
critical items in the ship and also stored in the mine. He just couldn’t
take many of them with him! Indeed, they might just be safer if he left
them here!

And then there was Capie and Daneel in Esperance. Were they
safe or were they also in danger? He didn’t dare portal straight to their
location to find out. That might just lead whatever wizard from Errabêlu
that had found him straight to them.

Unless they already had them…

NO! He was wasting time! He forced himself to think clearly.

For their sake, he needed to lead the Oni away from
Australia, on as merry a chase as he could arrange. And as fast as possible.

He snapped his fingers, creating a horizontal portal beneath
his feet, dropping through it.

• • • •

McDougall stepped through the portal into the bright
sunlight and froze.

All around him was the typically dry desert of Western
Australia, with very little in the way of vegetation in sight.

However, directly in front of him, protruding nearly twenty
feet into the air from out of an open mine pit, was the nose and forward
section of what appeared to be a commercial airliner. Well, it somewhat
resembled one of those, but the skin of this craft was now a solid shiny grey
color with no windows or paint scheme of any kind. The only exceptions were the
words ‘Sirius Effort’ painted near the nose. And the vehicle was
positioned vertically, with the nose pointing straight up. Above the plane, a
very large camo net hung from tall poles arranged around the open mine pit,
obviously to hide the—whatever that thing was that was poking out of the ground—from
aerial view.

Aduir, with a gemstone extended in one hand, hissed in his
direction. As McDougall regained his equilibrium, he stepped forward to the
edge of the pit.

“One portal,” growled Aduir, pointing at the strange craft.
“Inside there, just now!”

McDougall nodded with an evil grin. “Track him! I want Paul
Armstead alive!”

• • • •

Emerging from his portal a hundred feet over the Great
Australian Bight, 300 miles east of Esperance, Paul took a moment to cast a
spell behind him, screwing with the energy signature of his portal,
misdirecting it to a refuse reclamation site—the Waste-Away SA center in
Adelaide—considerably farther to the east. Then he leveled out into the
superhero flying position and created a tapered magical transparent shield in
front of him, to act as a windbreaker. After which, he accelerated to a speed
of 500 miles per hour. Even with the shield, he found it difficult to go any
faster.

They would be after him, he knew. Hopefully they would be
misdirected by his false trail, but he shouldn’t depend on that. Best not to
follow a straight path here, lest his pursuers portal ahead and intercept him.

Veering first to the left and then off sharply to the right,
he began zigzagging randomly, to make it harder to track him.

He needed time to think. It was pointless to worry about how
they had found him. That would be for later, if he got out of this situation. Better
to figure out how to escape and how to get to Capie. As a precaution, he
erected a protective shield tightly around himself, just in case the Oni
started shooting at him.

And just in the nick of time too. A thin lance of plasma
shot past him on the right, close enough to frighten him and cause him to jink
more to the left. With a few twitches of his nose, a rear-view display popped
up in front of him, allowing him to see his pursuers.

There were three Oni back there: one to port, one to
starboard and the other directly behind him. And somehow, they were closing the
gap. How they were doing it, with talismans that were supposedly inferior to
the one he was wearing, Paul didn’t know. For whatever reason, his spell was
apparently less efficient. Someday, he would have to figure out why. But not
right now.

He needed to slow them down.

Zigging to port, he barely managed to avoid being hit by
another plasma bolt, but now the Oni were closer, perhaps half a mile back.

Dipping downward, Paul leveled out at wave-top level. Then,
focusing into the rear-view display, he tried to cast his fusion spell, below
and behind him.

However, the water was moving too fast and the process of
stripping the electrons from the hydrogen atoms took too long.

Another blast of plasma sent a jet of steam practically into
his face. If it were not for the screen in front of him, he would have been
scalded.

Reaching out with his powers, he created a magical net that
‘dragged’ through the top of the water, snagging heavy water molecules,
accumulating them into a small mass moving at his same speed, albeit a hundred
yards behind him. When he had the equivalent of a single drop of nearly pure
heavy water, he ran the fusion spell—

And a detonation the equivalent of a ton of TNT exploded
behind him.

More plasma blasts, one impacting with his screen, nearly
caused him to hit the water. Instead, he began weaving back and forth even more
wildly. Nearly frantic, he reached back and gathered more deuterium atoms, this
time for a blast worth 10 tons of TNT.

Detonating it.

The blast wave picked him out of the air and hurled him
tumbling forward, and he skipped like a stone across the wave-tops before
plunging hard and deep into the water.

For a few moments, he struggled to stay conscious. As he
hovered on the edge of blackness, the intense need to breathe threatened to
overwhelm him. Deep down, he knew that he could not give in or he would die
then and there.

He opened his eyes, the sting of the salt water burning them
at first. There was enough light that he could see the ocean surface perhaps
ten or so feet above him.

A noise to his left drew his attention, as something large
dropped into the water from above.

An Oni.

With a quick hand motion, Paul created a portal and swept it
over himself—

—dropping him onto the sandy beach of Yalata Land of South
Australia.

Gasping desperately, he took in deep breaths of air, as he
struggled to regain some measure of strength. There would only be moments
available to him, he knew, before the Oni tracked him here.

Reaching out, he gathered more deuterium from the surf in
front of him, concentrating it. Then, he reached out in the opposite direction,
up to the top of the nearest sand dune, opening a portal there.

The other end of which was straight up, 25,000 feet above
him.

Air and sand from all along the beach swirled in a sudden
cyclone effect, screaming through the portal and into the rarefied heights in
the atmosphere above him. With effort, he got to his feet, bracing himself
against the sucking wind, then launched himself up into the maelstrom. At the
last moment, he mentally reached back, triggering the deuterium behind him.

The blast wave of 20 tons of TNT left a huge gaping hole in
the beach and threw a mushroom cloud into the air nearly 3,500 feet up.
Moreover, it broke windows in the small town of Yalata more than twenty miles
to the east.

The best benefit of it all was that two of the Oni that had
been chasing Paul were almost instantly vaporized midway through their portals
onto the beach.

Paul was 25,000 feet above the Earth, high enough for him to
see the curve of the Earth’s surface. Below him, he could see a large swath of
beach, nearly 200 miles in each direction and he could also see nearly that far
into the interior of Australia.

According to what he had recently read on Wikipedia, 15,000
feet was as high as an unacclimated human could go without oxygen before
collapsing into unconsciousness. Which was why Paul immediately cast a spell to
reshuffle the air around him, pushing the nitrogen away and at least doubling
the oxygen content of the air he was breathing. Even then, he could barely
catch his breath.

He was falling now, rapidly reaching terminal velocity, the
wind pushing on his face and screaming in his ears.

Another spell, this one to protect his face and reduce the noise
of the wind considerably.

Was he free of the Oni yet? More important, was there a
wizard with them? And Capie and Daneel? Were they safe?

His first question was answered only five seconds later, as
another plasma blast shot past him, this one from above.

A glance upward revealed four Oni scattered above him, all
of them in free fall and all of them advancing on him.

Paul glanced around the horizon. He couldn’t force his way
through a portal back down to ground level due to the difference in air
pressure at his current altitude. At least, not directly, he couldn’t.

But there were other options.

With a snap of his fingers, a portal appeared below him,
directly in his flight path, and he sailed through—

—and now he was three hundred miles further east, high above
Port Augusta and also back up to 25,000 feet again, but still moving at
terminal velocity. Knowing that the Oni would quickly track him once more, Paul
reached below him and created another portal, this one taking him a thousand
miles further east, for a third time back up to 25,000 feet.

Now he was over the ocean, the Tasman Sea to be exact. And
in the distance to the north, he could see massive dark clouds clustered off
the east coast of Australia.

Ah, a really wicked looking storm! Yep, there were flashes
of lightning bolts too. Just look at the size of those thunderheads!

Another portal—

—and he was now into the middle of the storm, surrounded by
dark clouds, visibility reduced to mere hundreds of feet. He was still falling,
but now the air was bumpy, much colder and far more humid.

He stuck his arms out, attempting to glide through the air,
trying to put distance between himself and his last portal. Maybe, if the Oni
couldn’t see him—

Ice started forming on his arms, the air now even colder. He
concentrated on a spell to warm himself up.

A plasma bolt screamed past him and he instantly banked to
the right, as he opened a portal in front of himself. He shot through that one,
and in only a few seconds, another plasma bolt shot by, barely missing his
head.

Another portal, this time into the thick of the storm. Now the
rain was coming down in buckets, the drops pelting him like hordes of miniature
darts, stinging every inch of exposed skin. He whipped through the air, the
roar of a thunderbolt nearly deafening him. Visibility was almost impossible here,
the clouds and rain were so thick.

There! An Oni, flitting in and out of the clouds, and not
all that far away! Paul shot forth an arm, firing off a plasma bolt, then
dodged up and to one side as a return shot narrowly missed him.

More bolts, from different directions! He dipped and
swerved, darting this way and that, firing bolts of his own. He waved an arm,
to create another portal.

Then, as if a switch had been flipped, he was falling,
tumbling wildly. And the right side of his back felt as if it were on fire! He
had been hit! Somehow they had punched through his protective shield!

As he tumbled, out of the corner of his eye, he caught a
glimpse of an Oni flying on a parallel course downward, pacing him.

Paul was hurt and badly too. Falling as he was, fear and
despair gripped him. Was this how it was it going to end? Here, far out at sea,
where Capie would never know what had happened to him?

Through pain filled eyes, he saw three Oni now, closing in
on him, one of them pointing at him.

A bolt of lightning flashed through the clouds, the sound of
thunder again crashing through the air.

The lightning stirred an idea in the back of his mind. But he
was so incredibly tired and so weak! The idea danced just out of mental reach
and hovered there, taunting him.

Lightning. It had to do with lightning. Oh, right,
lightning. Yes, it followed paths of ionized air. Oxygen, to be exact. Ionized
oxygen.

Yes! Of course! If he could…!

Falling. Falling. The storm battering him, sucking the life
out of him. Closing his eyes and concentrating hard, he waved an arm. “In the
name of NOAA, Angus MacGyver, and Thor, may a column of ionized oxygen
molecules form between the Oni and the top of the thunderhead above us.”

The nearest Oni stopped moving toward him, a puzzled look of
surprise on its face. The wind and the rain continued to pummel Paul but he
felt something else too, the tingling of his skin, as if a hundred armies of
ants was crawling across it.

Then a blindingly bright flash, as if the sun had gone nova,
and a crack of thunder so loud Paul felt as if his ears had been stabbed by ice
picks. He was left stunned senseless as he continued to plummet downward out of
control.

The light around him faded, the rain actually getting worse.
With an effort no worse than lifting a dozen concrete trucks—all of them full
too—Paul made himself shakily extend one arm and, with a spell, slow his rate
of descent.

It was working too, right up until he smacked headlong into
the surface of the ocean.

Downward he plunged, into the blackness of the cold watery
depths. The pressure on his ears and on his lungs swelled to intolerable
levels. He kicked futilely but without any discernable effect. He even lost his
sense of up or down!

Frantically, he grasped Hamadi’s talisman with one hand and,
with his waning strength, snapped forth a portal, linking the water in front of
him to a higher altitude, thirty feet over his head.

The water around him suddenly surged forth, gathering him in
its grasp, flushing him forward. And he broke free into the air, falling as he
went and landing, with a belly-flop, back on the ocean, just as a huge wave
broke over him.

Thrashing, he broke the surface again, spewing forth what
seemed like a ton of water before gasping wildly for breath.

Oh, he hurt! Every part of him hurt so much, like every
square inch was being constantly Tasered. The pain level was simply incredible!

It was all he could do, keeping his head above the constant
thrashing of the sea. Weakly, he tried to cast a spell for another portal, one
back to Kalgoorlie, but found it beyond his strength to do so. Puzzled,
exhausted and increasingly alarmed, he tried again, this time only as far as
the beach on Australia’s east coast, but was rewarded with only a few weak sparkles
of light. No portal formed.

As he feebly fought to stay on the ocean’s surface, the rain
lashing his face, he found it to be so tempting to just give in, to let himself
slide under the water, to reach outward for the calm of death. It would be so
easy to do! The pain would be gone and he could rest at last.

But then a mental image of Capie snapped in front of him and
he blinked several times, trying to get the water out of his eyes.

“Capie!” he gasped, reaching forth with one hand to touch
the hallucination. “Capie!”

She didn’t seem to hear him. Instead, she was looking off
into the distance and crying, her tears streaked across her face.

“Capie!” he croaked once more.

And then the image of his wife faded away.

He closed his eyes as another wave swept over him.

There were things to do. Somehow, he had to marshal his
magical powers and do them. He had to do it. No choice. Not really. No choice
at all.

It wasn’t a lack of power, he reminded himself dully. The
Earth provided the power. The very storm around him held enough power to send
him around the globe multiple times! It was his mind that was the problem, his
inability to concentrate, to focus the power correctly. He was so tired! And he
hurt so much! He just couldn’t formulate the right thoughts, the correct
images. They kept slipping away, like bubbles in a high wind or money in a room
full of poor relatives.

He couldn’t portal to Australia, no. It was too far for his
weakened condition.

“Merlin?” he croaked, just before another wave broke over
his head.

“Concentrate, my lad!” came Merlin’s calm loud voice over
the noise of the sea and the storm, though Paul could not see him. “There is
land only 23.456 miles to the southwest. You can make it that far! Keep your
head above water! That’s it! Now, put your heart and soul into it, my lad! Push!
Middleton Reef! Picture it! It ain’t much, but it’s the closest land around.
Focus!”

Reaching downward deep within himself, Paul tensed his body,
his back screaming in overwhelming pain. He shook his clenched fists at the
tempestuous sky and shrieked in anger and vexation.

Straining every muscle, he cast the spell, a portal opening
wide in response. His lips twitched in pain as it swept over him.

• • • •

The komatiite rock burst forth out of the ocean and sailed
through the air, to land gently at Capie’s feet.

“Done and done!” she said with hands on hips, staring down
at the rock in satisfaction. It was too hot to touch so she levitated it back
into the air, waist high.

“Hundred proof, Mom,” Daneel said, praising their work. “Three
of the components of the first chutzpah are now complete!”

Capie nodded with a smile. They still needed to lay hands on
a pallasite meteorite and convert it too. That could take a few days or so. Far
better than the several weeks’ worth of effort that Paul had invested back in
Chicago converting over the tantalum block! She felt really good about all the
improvements she had discovered to speed up the process. It would certainly
help things along when they were on Mars!

So, in a few days, after the pallasite conversion, they
could have the ceremony and create the most powerful talisman that any wizard
on Earth had ever seen. The first chutzpah. And, if Israel was still around at
that time, they would go to her defense, stopping this senseless war that Errabêlu
was fostering.

She really wished Paul had picked a different name for the super-talismans.
It seemed so impertinent to call them that.

Examining the rock, she decided to take it to Paul and do a
little bit of well-deserved crowing. Perhaps she could convince him to take a
break and go out for lunch.

Smiling at the wild and rugged landscape around her, she
snapped her fingers, opening a portal back to the Staging Area and stepped
through—

—emerging next to the foot of the Sirius Effort, with
Daneel hot on her heels.

However, there was no sign of Paul.

“Where is he?” she muttered in frustration, noting in
irritation that his satellite phone was sitting on a nearby table. If he didn’t
have his phone with him, she couldn’t even call him.

“Offbeat, Mom. No Dad. Humph.” Daneel created a portal into
the ship, on Deck 6. “I’ll look for him on the inside.”

Capie blinked in confusion. Had Paul gone back to Esperance,
to the motel? Maybe he had already decided to go out for lunch? It was, after
all, just after noon.

But it wasn’t like him. He typically didn’t do lunch, at
least not without inviting her along.

For a few moments, she was tempted to start searching for
him, but then remembered the platinum chip implanted between his shoulder
blades.

“Now, how did that work again?” she muttered. Casting her
arms out wide, she created a display in front of her, like a radar screen,
superimposed on the map of Western Australia. “Let me see all sources of
platinum isotope 190, one gram in size, out to a radius of 800 miles.”

The screen was blank, except for herself. Capie blinked in
total surprise. Paul was not in Western Australia? Really? But then, where was
he?

Obviously, he was on an errand of some sort, she told
herself. He would be back. After all, the Sirius Effort was still here.
It was his brainchild, his latest project. He wouldn’t be far from it, not for
long. She would wait.

THIRTY-ONE

The Sound Cay

Middleton Reef

350 miles east of Gold Coast, Queensland, Australia

October

Saturday 1:14 p.m. AWST

Paul
dropped heavily through his portal, collapsing clumsily on the rocky islet and
roughly scraping his arms and hands on its gritty surface. This was The Sound,
a very small island only 100 meters long and 70 wide in the center of Middleton
Reef, more or less east of Gold Coast, Australia.

He tried to push himself to his feet, but the tremors in his
arms and legs made it impossible to even achieve a sitting position. Instead,
he collapsed, his face in the gravel, his muscles unable to do more than twitch
uncontrollably.

For several minutes, he simply laid there, doing absolutely
nothing. Here, at Middleton Reef, the storm was much weaker, the rain less
acute, the wind less than gale force.

He needed help! Ah, but who? Not Capie, obviously. She was somewhere
2,000 miles to the west of him. Much too far even for a microportal in his
weakened state. If not her, then who? He needed to find help and fast.

Not only was he exhausted and in deep pain, but he was
totally exasperated with how difficult it had been to lose his pursuers. It
shouldn’t have been all that hard! Especially with a full-fledged wizard’s
talisman, such as he wore now. His very first portal should have taken care of
that! How had they tracked him all the way to the Tasman Sea?

With another effort, one that Achilles himself might have
admired, Paul climbed to his knees and then into a sitting position, sweeping
his gaze around the dreary landscape.

The islet he was on was indeed small. He could see all of it
from where he sat. And low! He himself was only a foot or so above sea level.
If those black waves pounding the reef around the island were any higher, they could
sweep him off the rocks and into the ocean.

Low gray clouds raced over his head, seemingly just out of
reach, the wind whipping his hair in berserk surges. He had to find help soon!
So weak, he was!

And then, it came to him.

Daneel. He could reach Daneel and at a fraction of the power
it would take to try and reach Capie.

“Merlin?” he said, barely above a whisper.

“Here!” came the firm strong voice. Merlin appeared, floating
through the air, drawing closer to Paul. “Young man, you make me proud! That
portal, under those conditions! Stuff of legends, that one.”

“Thanks,” groaned Paul, shrugging half-heartedly. “How far
is the Australian coastline?”

“335 miles. Much too far for you to portal in your weakened
condition.”

Closing his eyes, Paul shook his head. “Any ships in the
area?”

“In this storm?” Merlin asked with a chuckle. “Not likely.
But there is Lord Howe Island, to our south, only 145 miles away. Still too far
for you, as worn out as you obvious are—”

“Only 145 miles?” asked Paul feebly as his head snapped up,
his eyes focused on infinity. “Perfect. There are probably several hotels
there. They’ll have WiFi available. And I can reach them with a microportal.”

He closed his eyes, uttering a silent spell, mentally
reaching out to form a WiFi link, scanning all the standard frequencies,
starting in the 5 GHz range first.

And found one.

Somehow, and only after four tries too, he managed to link
to the network and send out a ping to Daneel’s IP address. That would certainly
get the Scottie’s attention. He would, no doubt, try to answer the ping. Okay,
so Paul wasn’t in any position to receive anything, not even something as simple
as a network ping. But he could follow up the ping with a three-way TCP
handshake.

Logically, the next step would be to send a TCP data packet,
complete with an embedded message. However, the structure of TCP data packets
were beyond Paul’s current capability, with all their requirements for header
and port information and checksums. However, there wasn’t any real need for
that. Paul would just keep sending handshake messages, one right after the
other, until Daneel became curious enough to track them down.

And it shouldn’t take him long to track down the source IP
address to Lord Howe Island. The microportal would likely give Daneel a bit of
trouble to track, in order to pin down Paul’s exact location. Still, Paul felt
that the Scottie could do it. If might take a while but, in the meantime, Paul
could work on recovering his strength a little.

The best, most effective and natural method for such a
recovery was sleep. Climbing into a nice cozy soft bed, however, in his current
location was not an option. Moreover, even if he could, it would take too long.
Capie and Daneel were in danger and the sooner he got back to Kalgoorlie, the
sooner he could do something about it and the sooner he could get some rest!

Sleep was out. Was there another solution?

Yes, there was. A faster albeit more temporary solution, one
he could produce here, was to make a few body chemistry changes. The first such
change to make was to increase his levels of dopamine, a neurotransmitter in
the brain, linked to the brain’s reward and pleasure centers. The ability to
sleep was also impacted by dopamine levels. By increasing dopamine production
and release in his brain chemistry, Paul could directly improve his mental
fatigue factor.

Not for long. Perhaps a few minutes. If he were careful,
perhaps an hour or so.

For physical fatigue, the adrenal gland output increase of
adrenaline and cortisol would increasing his energy level and strength, while
lowering his level of pain, including that from his right side.

Closing his eyes, he concentrated on those changes and,
after a few minutes, felt better, enough so that he was able to climb to his
feet and then, with a wave of his hand, create an invisible umbrella over his
head. Oh, to be sure, he was nowhere near feeling ‘normal.’ Worse, the effect
would not last long. Nonetheless, his condition had distinctly improved!

A flash of light in the sky to the east drew his attention.
He magnified the image in that direction and was appalled, his face turning
ashen.

Two Oni.

Spinning to the right, he saw two more. As he spun around he
saw a total of twenty Oni scattered around all points of the compass, all of
them roughly two hundred feet away and all of them moving steadily in his
direction.

His heart began to beat rather rapidly, the palms of his
hands starting to itch and feel downright cold. It was impossible for them to
have tracked him here! Just impossible! But here they were.

Drawing heavily from inside himself, he snapped his fingers
to cast a portal at his feet, the end point 25,000 feet up but the only
response was a flash of light and a fizzling noise. No portal formed.

A short distance back to the east, he saw another portal
open and McDougall stepped through, grinning in triumph.

Paul lowered his arm in dismay. Okay, mystery now solved.
The Oni had trailed him here because a wizard had helped them do it. That had
never happened before, a wizard directing the hunt against him. Clearly, it was
far harder to throw a wizard off the track than just Oni. Evidently.

“Uncle Sam! Where art thou?”

“Here, Paul,” said the image, standing to his right.

“Okay, so what am I going to do now?! Whatever it is, it had
better be something really quick! What are my options? Not a vacuum
permittivity spell. The Oni are too scattered. There are too many of them for
that spell to work. I could never hit all of them simultaneously. Plus, it
probably wouldn’t even work against McDougall.”

Paul glanced back over at McDougall, still steadily levitating
in his direction. Only seconds were left to him.

A deuterium-fusion spell might work, but he would have to
create one really great big detonation, say the equal of a kiloton or so, that
might get them all. Of course, one that large, with him at practically ground
zero…

The 4D Man spell again? Sink into the Earth? No good, they’d
just track him and wait for him to come back up.

“Time,” Uncle Sam said to him with conviction. “You need
time on your side.”

The cryptic remark made Paul blink in surprise and bristle
in irritation. “Time? What…”

Time. There were no known ways to make it go faster but
there were two ways to slow it down. The first was through speed, accelerating
an object towards the speed of light. The second was the use of intense gravity
fields, like that of a black hole. For a moment, he wondered which principle
that the stasis field used, to slow the passage of time. That would be worth
experimenting with, assuming he survived long enough.

And then the idea came to him in a flash and he turned it
over in his mind, examining it carefully but hurriedly. After all, his life was
at stake here. A stasis field. Yes, that could work. And he already had
experience creating stasis spells, eight times, using Hamadi and those Oni as
his experimental subjects. And once more, to release Capie. This spell would be
different, of course, but only in application, not in theory.

The incense? Was that piece of it still in his wallet?

He frantically dug the wallet out of his rear pants pocket,
searching all of the small compartments inside and pulling out the one
remaining piece of incense, though it was sopping wet.

Yes! He was in business!

“Stop!” yelled McDougall at the advancing Oni, using an
amplification spell to make himself heard. “If he tries to escape, you can hurt
him but don’t kill him, understand?”

Paul focused on the small rope of incense, drying it out and
lighting one end of it with a spell, then watching it smolder.

McDougall grinned in triumph, continuing to approach Paul
through the air. “I don’t see my talisman but I do see another one. That’s the
first question you’re going to answer, pinhead! Who else’s talisman have you
stolen?”

But Paul extended his tired arms out to his sides. “In the
name of Jules Verne, H.G. Wells, and Hugo Gernsback, may there be a shell
around me, a foot…no, make it two feet thick and let the interior of that shell
hold a special stasis field that slows the passage of time by two orders of
magnitude!”

A golden aurora formed around Paul, quickly assuming a
roughly egg-shaped appearance standing on its smaller end.

McDougall laughed and pointed derisively. From the outside
looking in, the stasis field had all the appearance of being solid, trapping
Paul in a conventional stasis field of his own creation.

“That’s not going to help him any,” the Errabêlu
wizard roared in amusement, as he landed on the island a few feet from the
field. “Child’s play, getting that open.”

And then McDougall noticed a curious thing. Instead of being
frozen inside the field, Paul was still moving. Very slowly, to be sure. But
still moving. That wasn’t supposed to be possible inside a stasis field.

From Paul’s perspective, it was McDougall that was moving at
one hundredth speed, time inside the shell between the two of them slowed by a
factor of a hundred to one.

Paul gasped, struggling to stay conscious, to push the pain
away. He still had to act fast before McDougall figured it all out. Reaching
out with his powers, physically and mentally mustering everything he could, he
concentrated on a small puddle of water standing in a depression in the island’s
rocky surface a few yards to his right, outside the shell. With a spell, he
instigated deuterium fusion, with the equivalent energy release of a kiloton of
TNT.

However, the spell didn’t instantly trigger a detonation. It
too had to pass through the time dilation field. Paul estimated roughly six
more seconds for that to happen.

As it was, the stasis field was not going to be enough to
protect him from the blast, but only enough to delay the moment it could reach him.

“Let the field be three feet thick and let its dilation
factor be increased two more orders of magnitude.”

The cavity of space he was standing in grew considerably
smaller. Hopefully, that would be enough. He wasn’t sure how much higher he
could crank the size of the field or further slow the passage of time.

The shock wave, which might occur 100 milliseconds after the
blast, would now take over 16 minutes to reach him. More than enough time to
outlast the explosion itself.

• • • •

Thoughtfully rubbing his chin with one hand, McDougall was
still studying the slowly moving figure of the rogue wizard inside the field,
trying to puzzle out what was going on.

“No matter,” he finally concluded coolly. “I’ll rip you out
of there like a rotten tooth.” And he waved a hand at the stasis field. But
then, just as he was casting the spell, there was a bubbling noise off to his
left. He blinked and started to turn in that direction—

• • • •

The one kiloton explosion vaporized the entire Middleton
Reef and threw tiny pebbles and dust in all directions as well as ten thousand
feet into the air. Even Paul’s stasis field was launched like a cannon ball in
a parabolic flight path, the outside of it being incrementally worn away by the
blast, layer by layer.

Inside the field, Paul watched as McDougall stood in front
of the field, to all intents and purposes, frozen in time. Paul glanced at his
watch. If he had caught McDougall off guard enough, then the explosion had
already happened, The Sound was gone and the stasis field he was in was on its
way high into the air, hurled there at fantastic speed.

None of which he could feel or see from inside the field
itself. So he didn’t know if his plan was working or not.

If it wasn’t working, then he should know soon. Time inside
his cocoon was the same as outside. So, in a minute or so at the most,
McDougall would pry open the field to get to him.

He kept a constant eye on the second hand of his watch. A
minute dragged by. Then two. Then three. And still, nothing seemed to happen.

Paul began to breathe easier. The blast must have occurred
after all. In a few more minutes, the turbulence would dissipate enough for him
to emerge.

Of course, there was the little problem of where to go next.
There was no other land masses in range, not in his current condition, not
until he had more rest. He would hold out as long as he could before he dropped
into the ocean. What was that old line in the Bill Cosby skit about Noah? “How
long can you tread water?”

Paul was afraid that he was going to get the chance to find
out the answer for himself.

Internally, he was starting to feel very miserable. If the
explosion had indeed happened, then, for the first time in his life, he had
deliberately killed someone. And not just one person, but at least twenty of
them. Despair began to fill his soul.

• • • •

“Fair dinkum?” McNamee asked incredulously of the Oni
standing in front of him. “How many cactus?” he asked of the Oni giving him the
report. “That many dead? McDougall too! Ripper! So that energy spike I felt was
McDougall’s and several Oni talismans getting wacked? Crikey! Okay! I want everyone,
ya hear, Miro! Everyone goes! Bail up that rogie, we will. Herd ‘em up, leave
in five.”

McNamee set the glass he was drinking from back on the bar
and closed his eyes briefly in pain. A half dozen of his Oni, gone. Just like
that. That McDougall creep was a dill. Well, as the Yanks loved to say, if you
wanted something done right, best do it yourself.

He would need his war talisman for this, the strongest one
he owned. There was just time to get it before they left for Kalgoorlie.

“Dead as a maggot, he’ll be,” McNamee solemnly swore.

• • • •

Capie and Daneel shot through the portal, shocked at finding
themselves above a fury filled, wave-tossed ocean.

“Wow! What happened here?” asked a very worried Capie.

“‘Entering limits of System L-374, sir. Scanners show the
same evidence of destruction,’” Daneel said, quoting Sulu from the Star Trek
episode “The Doomsday Machine.” “Latitude and longitude matches. This used
to be Middleton Reef. Poof, now it’s gone!”

“What’s that over there?” Capie paused in midflight, pointing
at an object very high above them and several hundred yards away.

And then Capie did recognize it.

“Paul!” she shouted as she tore through the air in his
direction. “He’s falling!”

She had barely gotten the words out when Daneel shot past
her at incredible speed, reaching out with a spell to catch his father and slow
his fall, bringing him to a halt just before impact with the raging waves on
the ocean’s surface.

Capie reached her husband’s side a second later. “He’s
bleeding!” she yelled.

Paul stirred, turning in Daneel’s spell and smiling weakly
at Capie.

“You’re bleeding!” she shouted at him above the roar of the
wind. “What happened?”

“McDougall,” he said, between coughs. “Must get ship ready.
Now!”

“But you’re hurt!” she protested.

“What do you want us to do, Dad?” Daneel asked gravely.

“Staging…quick!…Load water…into fuel tanks… thousand
gallons…hurry!”

“We’re going to Mars now?” asked a distraught Capie as she wiped
his face with a wet washrag she had just fished through a portal.

“No, Earth orbit,” Paul answered and then coughed. “Capie,
throw—ow! Hurt!”

“Sorry,” she apologized as she pulled back from her
examination of the wound in his side. “I need to stop that bleeding. Daneel,
use a spell, tear his shirt off, carefully! Good! Thanks.” She pulled a
compress through a portal from a supply cabinet in the tiny 4 bed facility of
Gower Wilson Memorial Hospital on Lord Howe Island, ripping open the package
and putting it gently on the uncovered wound, applying a steady pressure. “Now
open us up a portal, back the way we came starting with Brisbane! Hold on,
Paul, we’re moving!”

• • • •

In four portal jumps, they were back at the Staging Area.
Capie had argued to go to a medical facility in Perth, but Paul had insisted
otherwise.

When they reached the Staging Area, Daneel laid Paul on an
emergency cot, where Capie could attend him.

“Go on, Paul,” Capie told him with a frown. “What happened?”

Through gritted teeth and a wave of pain, her husband
muttered, “McDougall escaped…attacked me…got to leave here… now …Throw the critical…(cough)…parts,
supplies from storeroom…on board. We’ll…organize it later. Not critical…leave
it. Replace later…from orbit.”

“I’ll take care of the water,” Daneel promised, opening a
portal and disappearing.

“We need to get you—” Capie started to say.

“Cockpit! Please! I’ll…keep pressure on compress. Go! Hurry!
No time!”

• • • •

Daneel was feeling emotions he had never before experienced.
All at the same time too. He was afraid, panicked, angry, stressed, determined,
and impatient. He and his family were in danger. Errabêlu was coming and
they needed to leave Australia! Right NOW!

He opened an eight inch portal from the bottom of Bullock
Hole into the top of the Sirius Effort’s fuel tank. According to an
internet web page he had just accessed, that gave him 950 gallons per minute
flow rate. He didn’t even try to filter the dirt out of the water; he was in too
much of a hurry.

• • • •

Paul finished carefully stretching himself out on the
pilot’s crash couch, smiling weakly at Capie as she turned and left the cockpit
through her portal.

Slowly returning his gaze forward, he closed his eyes in concentration,
creating another spell.

The Sirius Effort didn’t have a single electrical
system on board. No control systems, no avionics, no cameras, in fact no
electronics of any sort, and no instrumentation. There weren’t even any lights
on board.

It was an odd thing for an electrical engineer to design, a
ship that didn’t use a single wire anywhere. Instead, in order to save on
construction time, he had simplified the design/build of the craft. And in
truth, he had shaved two weeks or so off the schedule! His assumption had been
that all such functions could and would be met with magical spells.

Mostly, the only things in the cockpit were two crash
couches and a small table with a strap, for Daneel. The bulkheads were blank,
except for the visible members of the structural frame.

As he waved a hand, a viewscreen showing an outside view,
and a virtual control panel appeared, laid out in front of him. The effort was
taxing and his vision swam for a few moment before steadying back out. He watched
one indicator on the panel as the fluid level in the fuel tank rose slowly off
the zero mark. Good! Daneel was already nearly finished with that vitally
important task.

A thousand gallons wasn’t nearly enough for them to go to
Mars with, but more than enough to achieve Earth orbit and land again, if
needed. Besides, he had only managed to load about a third of the lithium
chlorate. More water wouldn’t help him since the lithium was the main fuel.

The water would need a couple of minutes to absorb the lithium
salt. Then the fuel solution would be ready to go.

A portal opened to his right with Daneel visible on the
other side.

“Water’s loaded,” Daneel informed him. “Do you want me to
help Mom now?”

“Yes,” Paul said with a groan of pain. “If the bad guys show
up, we need to leave immediately. Understand? No matter what’s left behind.
Tell Mom!”

“No strain, Pop,” was the hurried reply and then Daneel was
gone, his portal too.

Paul closed his eyes, concentrating on the dopamine spell
and adrenaline spells again, trying to regain a little more strength and mental
acuity.

• • • •

It was simply amazing how much one could accomplish in a
short period of time when one was motivated enough. And also too, when enough
shortcuts were taken.

Capie and Daneel didn’t bother to pack anything or to store
it properly in the cargo holds on Decks 6 and 7. They instead just dumped it
wherever they found space. Box by box, item by item, with Capie making judgment
calls on everything that went aboard, they loaded more than two thousand pounds
of cargo in just five minutes.

“Cargo loaded!” Capie announced, sticking her head through a
portal into the cockpit.

Paul smiled back at her, feeling a trifle better and a touch
stronger.

“You and Daneel, please stand watch while I launch the ship,
in case the bad guys show up. But I want you back aboard before we reach 10,000
feet, okay?”

She smiled at him, moving her portal closer so that she
could give him a quick kiss.

“Get this garbage scow off the ground, sweetheart,” she
said, with an impish grin before backing out of the portal and disappearing.

“I’ve already starting chilling the nozzles and bringing up
the magnetic fields. Initiating countdown and launch sequence now,” he said,
suppressing another wave of dizziness. “Opening engine inlet portals now.” A
glance at the viewscreen confirmed the appearance of the inlet portals just in
front of both engines. “Now pressurizing fuel lines!”

A virtual throttle lever appeared on the panel in front of
him and he painfully stretched forth a hand to grasp it.

“Starting port engine fusion now!”

• • • •

Outside the ship, Capie and Daneel watched as a burst of
flame emerged from the tail end of the port engine, followed a few seconds
later by a similar event from the starboard engine.

“Mom!” Daneel hissed, his image on his monitor pointing back
over her shoulder.

She spun. At ground level, not far from one of the camo
support poles, an Oni was emerging from a portal. It was followed a few moments
later by two more.

The engine plumes suddenly grew bigger, the thunder of their
noise reaching deafening proportions.

• • • •

“Liftoff!” cried Paul, as the Sirius Effort inched
off of the ground, struggling into the air.

THIRTY-TWO

‘Staging Area’

Open Pit Goldfields Mine

Southwest of Kalgoorlie, Western Australia

October

Saturday 2:02 p.m. AWST

Thrusting
its way up out of the open mining pit, with the camo nets and poles now draped
across the nose of the ship, the Sirius Effort began its climb into the
sky, heading toward Earth orbit. At least a dozen Oni had arrived on the ground
now around the pit and staring up, watching the incredible sight as the strange
craft standing on a pillar of fire pushed its way skyward.

McNamee appeared with another dozen Oni. He too stood there,
shocked and dumbfounded as he witnessed the launch of the odd looking craft.

But then he noticed the two figures flying as escort and he
recovered his senses.

“Get ‘em boys!” he screamed, as he catapulted off the ground.

• • • •

Daneel and Capie were flying alongside the hull of the ship,
watching as the Oni lifted off the ground in pursuit behind them.

“You take the port side, Mom!” shouted Daneel. “I’ll take
starboard!”

The spacecraft was already 350 feet off the ground and just
beginning its gravity assisted turn. The Oni split into two groups, a dozen
headed for Capie and the rest headed for Daneel. Both groups were forced to
steer wide of the ship’s plumes.

It wouldn’t take them long to reach optimum firing range.

• • • •

Paul was monitoring events in the cockpit viewscreen. There
wasn’t much he could do to help.

“I should have never taken those shortcuts in this ship’s
design! Next ship gets phaser banks and quantum torpedoes!” he muttered angrily,
his nostrils flaring.

Well, there was one thing he could do.

“Red-lining the engines!” he shouted above the noise. “Give
me all you got, baby!” And he shoved his imaginary throttle to the forward
stop.

The engine plumes increased fifty percent in size, the Sirius
Effort now leaping forward at 1.8 gees of acceleration. The engines were
not designed for that level of operation, the stress and temperature loads
rapidly peaking higher.

They wouldn’t last long at this rate.

• • • •

Two of the Oni were too close to the expanding engine plumes
and got caught unawares. They were forced to back off and beat at their clothes
to put out the smoking flames.

“Open fire!” screamed McNamee.

The leading wave of Oni did just that.

• • • •

The first plasma bolts raced at Capie and the spacecraft,
and she quickly put up a shield warding them off. Gathering herself, she flung
an arm forward, firing off a half dozen bolts of her own.

The aerial Battle of Kalgoorlie had begun.

A second later, Daneel too was under fire, the Oni plasma
bolts bracketing him as he flew, dodging back and forth while at the same time,
trying to protect the ship.

• • • •

In the city of Kalgoorlie, the Lorna Mitchell Spring
Festival was in full swing at Hammond Park, with a record turnout this year.

Established by the Goldfields
Art Board in 1985, the Spring Festival was an annual community driven event. Stall
holders came from all over the state to participate in the Festival, in
conjunction with varying acts of entertainment throughout the day. Attendance
in recent years had peaked at over 5,000 patrons and it was not uncommon for
people to spend the entire day at Hammond Park.

Crowds of people, mostly
families, were strolling through the park or watching the annual game of
Australian Rules football. Many other attendees were sauntering past the
various stalls, examining the products or demonstrations being offered. The
in-crowd among the youth was also present in record numbers, clustered in
groups listening to music or simply socializing. One of the more popular
entertainments being offered this year was a standup comedian from Perth who
was attracting a healthy percentage of the crowd.

The weather was picture
perfect, not a cloud in the sky and a slight breeze blowing from the south. Claire
Worthington, one of the planners for the event this year, was absolutely tickled
with the results. Moreover, the city’s elite had turned out in force, including
the Mayor, the Chief Inspector and the CEO and their families.

Hammond Park, one of the most
beautiful parks in Western Australia, was located in the northwest corner of
the city, making it practically dead center of the Sirius Effort’s
flight path.

• • • •

“Avro, Inspector,” said Lachlan Harris, the city’s CEO, as
he walked up to Inspector Oliver McQuade, the supervising officer of the
Kalgoorlie District Police station. “How’s the mob at home?”

“They’re beaut, mate. Thanks,” McQuade replied. “Yours?”

“Aces,” Harris responded, glancing around the park. “Rip
snorter of a day. According to Worthington, the only thing lacking is the
Neumanns.”

McQuade snorted and shook his head. “Pikers, they be. No
sign of them for a week now. Got a team doing an inspection of the warehouse
they’re renting. They might find something.”

But Harris was no longer paying attention. Like a growing
number of people in the park, he was now staring to the west, over the tops of
the trees, as a very strange spectacle appeared.

A spaceship was climbing into view, launching on a column of
fire, its path apparently curving to the east. As he watched, it lifted higher
in the air. What was even stranger was that there was a battle going on around
it. A swarm of tiny dots were darting back and forth, this way and that,
looking all the world like they were shooting balls of fire at each other. And
perhaps they were. As he watched, one of them fell out of the sky, streaking
toward the Earth, apparently shot out of the air.

The battle raged on as the pageant unfolded in the skies above
them, moving higher in the sky as it also moved in their direction.

“Blimey!” muttered McQuade as studied the scene. “Claire can
be happy now. The Neumanns just put in an appearance.”

Harris, craning his neck, one hand shading his eyes,
chortled. “They be the Neumanns, you think? Doing what, shooting a scene from
their movie? If that be true blue, I must say, Hollywood special effects have
really gotten good. Better in real life even than on a theater screen.”

“Ruddy Americans,” muttered McQuade indignantly, as the ship
and the battle were now so high, it was hard to make out any details.

• • • •

The battle was not going well.

The Oni had split up, englobing the ship, firing plasma
bolts from all around them. It seemed impossible to protect the ship from every
possible angle of attack.

And then there was the wizard firing at them too. It wasn’t
McDougall—that much Capie was sure of. A new player, so it would seem. But he
had a full-scale Errabêlu talisman, making his plasma bolts considerably
more powerful than what the Oni were firing.

Already there were half a dozen holes in the hull of the Sirius
Effort. None yet in the cockpit area or the engines, but that was just a
matter of time, considering how many bolts were getting past her and Daneel.

And she was flying as fast as she could but slowly falling
behind the ship.

She didn’t realize it, but they were already twenty seconds
into the launch, at one mile altitude and moving at 350 miles per hour. All she
knew was that it was increasingly difficult to keep up with the ship.

• • • •

The ship was getting pounded, Paul knew. His virtual control
panel was showing hull breaches in both cargo holds and Deck 3, the living
quarters. No telling how much damage they had already taken.

He was keeping a watchful eye on Capie and Daneel, splitting
the viewscreen to monitor both. They didn’t seem to be doing all that well either.

Well, maybe there was a way to help them a mite.

With a hand on the controls, he started pushing buttons.

• • • •

Capie was very much surprised when one of the engines
sputtered and died.

Had it taken damage? She really didn’t have time to turn and
look, so busy was she defending herself.

She was making progress, of a sort. Instead of deflecting or
blocking the plasma bolts, she was now opening portals for them. The opposing
wizard had done the same once or twice and she was taking a page from his play
book.

Then, without warning, the ship spun on an axis, twisting in
part due to the loss of one engine but probably from Paul’s assistance as well.
Now the engine that was still running was pointing in a new direction—at two of
the Oni on Daneel’s side of the ship.

Like moths in a flame, they momentarily grew very bright and
then disappeared. The ship maintained its spin, trying to line up on other Oni.

But they scattered, momentarily taking the stress off of
her. She took the opportunity to focus exclusively on one particular Oni who
was looking at the ship and not at her.

She fired with everything she had.

The Oni vanished.

The second engine fired up again, the Sirius Effort
lining up once more on its launch profile.

• • • •

Daneel had an idea.

He too had seen the other wizard use a portal to swallow one
of the plasma bolts fired at him, diverting it harmlessly off to some other
place.

Timing it carefully, Daneel did the same, opening a portal,
but not with just a single entry and exit. Instead, his portal had three
entries and one exit. Swallowing the plasma bolts from three of the Oni, a
single combined and much larger bolt emerged from the exit—aimed directly at
the first of the three Oni.

Surprised by the sudden tactic, the Oni was unable to defend
itself, critically injured from ‘friendly fire’ and dropped in sudden free
fall, headed for the ground.

Daneel grinned wickedly, lining up to do it again.

• • • •

She was falling behind, no longer able to keep up with the
ship. So too were the Oni and the Errabêlu wizard.

Daneel was suddenly at her side, his screen displaying a
large typed message.

“Go, Mom, now!”

She nodded and opened a portal—

—emerging into the living quarters of the Sirius Effort.

The place was a shambles! This compartment had taken a
direct hit from a plasma bolt, leaving a basketball sized hole in the hull
right above the bed, opening this deck to space. And the clutter! Everything
not lashed or bolted down was strewn around the room. A huge mess!

It didn’t matter for now, something to be taken care of
later. Right now, Paul was more important. So she darted for the ladder,
heading to the cockpit. Due to the ship’s acceleration, she needed a spell to
help her along the way.

• • • •

Patrick McNamee held up a hand, restraining his remaining
Oni as he watched the strange craft accelerate away from him, apparently
heading for outer space. He was already so high up that he found it difficult
to breathe even with a spell to help out.

He wasn’t happy about letting those mongrels get away. On
the other hand, he didn’t feel responsible for their escape either. There had
been three wizards involved, not just one! McDougall hadn’t told him
that part. And maybe the bluming bafoon hadn’t known either. But three rogue
wizards!

Worse, one of them appeared to be a metal box of some sort!
However, McNamee was already having second thoughts about that. He sure
couldn’t see himself convincing anyone in Errabêlu of that! Perhaps, in
the heat of battle…could he have been mistaken? Perhaps it was an illusion of
some sort…?

He didn’t mind them doing in McDougall, that dorb! Dumb as a
door knob, that one.

But the buggers had invaded his country! And they had taken
out more than a dozen of his Oni!

Well, at least he had put several big holes into that odd
looking ship. It might come crashing down someplace. At the very least, he
could put out the word to others in Errabêlu to keep an eye peeled.

THIRTY-THREE

Earth Orbit

1200 mile altitude

Above Casablanca, Morocco

October

Saturday 5:01 p.m. AWST

“So,
Dad, what do we do now?” Daneel asked, his titanium frame hovering up against
one wall of the cockpit.

The three of them were jammed into the small compartment since
none of the other areas on the ship were air-tight anymore. Each and every one
of them had at least one hull penetration. A couple had more than that.

“I vote we go back to Earth,” Capie declared firmly, her
arms crossed over her chest. “I don’t like this zero gee, I don’t care for this
small cockpit and I need a shower, which obviously can’t happen here.”

Paul nodded. “I agree, in part.”

“What’s that mean?” she asked, casting a suspicious glance
in his direction.

“It’s possible that they are tracking the ship. If we
attempt to land it, Errabêlu might well meet it with overwhelming force
this time.”

“I…see. So, leave the ship in orbit? Just beam down
ourselves?”

He smiled at the Star Trek reference. “Something like
that. I want to change orbital parameters a bit, to make it harder for anyone
to track the ship. Well, for Errabêlu to track it, anyway. Anyone with
space radar can see the ship rather easily. I don’t think we can hide the ship
from them.”

“So they can find out from NASA or the European space agency
or the Russians, right?” Daneel asked.

“In time, yes. When they bother to ask the question. They
might not even think of it. You know how arrogant Errabêlu is. But I
don’t plan to be gone all that long from the ship.”

“No? Maybe not you, but I will. You don’t know how long I
can stay in a good hot shower,” Capie pointed out.

Paul chuckled. “Our goal was to get the ship built first.
Except for repairs and replacing the supplies we lost in Australia and during
the battle, that goal is accomplished. Now, we need to finish the chutzpah and
as quickly as possible.”

“Thank God,” Capie affirmed. “Those poor people in the
Middle East.”

“Exactly,” Paul agreed with a nod and a small smile. “So, we
need to secure a pallasite meteor and convert its isotopes.”

“You, dear sir, are going to let Daneel and I go and get the
meteor,” Capie said, pointing a finger at her husband. “You need to rest.
There’s this place in Dubai…”

Paul frowned. “But—”

“No argument,” she commanded, giving him a steely eyed
glare.

“Oh, very well,” he gave in. “Daneel, we will fix it so that
you can use Hamadi’s old talisman. Frankly, you look ridiculous wearing seven
Oni talismans anyway.”

“Humph, you should try wearing them!” the Scottie stated in
a matter-of-fact tone. “So, Dad, do you know where we should look for a
pallasite rock? I understand they’re pretty rare.”

“I do indeed know of a place.”

• • • •

“I thought he was teasing me about the long johns,” Capie
groused bitterly. “Just how cold is it here?”

“Oh, this isn’t so bad for David Glacier,” Daneel commented
off-hand. “Merely 25 below zero. Of course, with the wind blowing like this at
35 mph, the wind chill is something like 62 below. But as we make our way into
the interior, the temperature might drop to 60 below and the wind chill to 100
below.”

Capie did a quick visual sweep of the frozen landscape, at
least as much as she could see through the whirling snowflakes and crystals.
There was very little to see except white.

They were hovering above the middle of David Glacier, near
the western edge of Antarctica, a couple of hundred miles north-northwest of
McMurdo Station.

In the middle of a raging blizzard.

Of course, they weren’t feeling the effects of said storm. Capie
was encased in a magical bubble of warm air, protecting her from the onslaught
of cold and wind. Daneel didn’t much need anywhere near that level of protection
since he was a machine.

“And this is the best place to look for meteorites?” Capie
asked in a voice that clearly communicated her disbelief.

“It was a surprise to me as well, until Dad explained it,” Daneel
admitted. “And then it made sense. The cold and dry conditions here tend to
protect the meteorites from being eroded. Most of the meteorites here fall into
sheets of ice and, over the centuries, the ice moves outward, toward the
coastlines of Antarctica, some of it here up against the Transantarctic
Mountains. And the winds here tend to blow the ice away, exposing the rocks.
Sometimes dozens of meteorites have been discovered all in the same place, in
locations known as ‘standing surfaces.’ And that’s why we are here. Because,
since 1976, more than 20,000 meteorites have been found by Americans in
Antarctica. It’s not known how many have been found by people of other
countries, but it is likely to be in the thousands.”

“20,000? Wow! Okay, and so that’s why we’re here,” Capie
admitted reluctantly, but still leery of the wild weather and desolate
landscape around her.

“Let’s get started,” Daneel urged, as he waved an arm on
screen, propelling them forward, a large display floating in front of him. “We
are looking for combined traces of iron, nickel, magnesium, and manganese. I’ll
scan out to the right if you will scan to the left. First one to find a
pallasite gets breakfast in bed tomorrow!”

Capie raised an eyebrow at him. “You don’t eat and you don’t
sleep in a bed.”

“Details, details,” Daneel replied smugly. “Let’s go!”

• • • •

That same evening in the city of Muscat, capital of Oman, Sultan
Quaboos bin Said al Said, absolute monarch of Oman since 1970, died under
rather mysterious circumstances.

The next morning, Major General Faheem Qureshi of the Oman
Royal Guard held a news conference. The new Sultan, he said, would not be a
member of the al Said royal family, as had been widely anticipated. Instead,
the new ruler would be Mahmoud Almasi, a senior cleric from the Shi’a Islam
religion. The new arrangement was at the behest of the Sultan, in a letter
given to the general the previous year, so the general said.

The new Sultan, who would take power within the week at a
small legal ceremony, had already announced that formal relations with the
United States and Britain would end and that a new regional alliance would be
made with Iran.

Their first joint act would be the explicit closing of the
Strait of Hormuz.

So explained the general.

• • • •

On Tuesday morning at breakfast, the Armsteads discussed the
ramifications of the new government of Oman and the closing of the Strait of
Hormuz to all shipping, especially oil tankers.

“This has to be the work of Errabêlu,” Capie said
with conviction as the waitress handed the bill to Paul.

“Undoubtedly,” he agreed, taking out his credit card.

“So why are they doing it? And the sinking of the Coast Guard
ship? Do they want war with the United States too?”

“Probably not,” Paul said, with a shrug of his shoulders.
“My theory is that the wizard or wizards of Errabêlu behind this are
pushing the envelope, striving for maximum possible gain. He or they want a war
with Israel and since the United States is Israel’s strongest ally, they want
to bloody America’s nose too. You will notice that there have been no
consequences from the United States for anything that Iran, or for that matter
Syria or the Palestinians have done so far. Not for the sinking of the Coast
Guard cutter or the tanker or any of the bombings or other attacks in Israel,
and some of those who died were Americans. Oh, yeah, sure, Israel launched air
strikes. But not the United States. Lots of tough talk from Washington. Nothing
beyond that. So, no war there. Not even when they close the Hormuz.”

“Twenty percent of the world’s oil goes through that that
narrow passage of water,” she pointed out.

“Yep. As they say in Washington, you can’t confuse the issue
with facts.”

She grunted. “Cynic.” Then she sighed. “We are almost
finished converting the isotopes in the pallasite meteor. And in record time
too. It helped a lot to have all three of us working on it.”

Paul stood, helping Capie slide back her chair. They headed
for the door of the restaurant, weaving between the tables.

“Daneel helped a lot with that theory of his and the
quasiparticles,” Paul said with a chuckle. “I would never have thought of
breaking the neutrons into their component quarks before moving them from atom
to atom. Brilliant. Saves a lot of time AND energy. That will help a lot on
Mars.”

The brief stroll through the sumptuous lobby of Atlantis,
The Palm dropped them at the elevators.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you,” Capie said, taking her
husband’s arm as they entered the elevator car. She pushed the button for their
floor. “Are we going to have the chutzpah ceremony here in Dubai?”

“Ah, no. We can’t have it here.”

“Oh? Why not?”

“Well, to make this chutzpah, I need a place with a really
big rock. Real big. It can’t be from an ordinary mountain because most
mountains are made up of lots of small rocks. For my purposes, I need the rock
to be all in one really big piece.”

“And?” she asked, a degree of impatience in her voice. “Why
do you always make me drag it out of you?”

“Well, for political purposes, I want to make it in the
United States. There are several really big rocks in North America. I’m talking
mountain sized rocks. The largest is the granite rock known as El Capitan in
California. They used that mountain when filming Star Trek V, The Final
Frontier.”

“Is that where we are going?”

“No, we are going to another one. It’s smaller but it works
better for my purposes too,” Paul explained—again without telling her where
they were going.

They got off on their floor, turning down the corridor and
heading for their room.

“You’re going to sleep on the floor if you don’t answer my
question. Where. Are. We. Going?”

Paul grinned. “Devils Tower.”

She blinked. “That name sounds familiar.”

“It should. Re, Mi, Do, Do, So,” he sang the notes.

He wished he had a camera for that moment, to capture the
look on her face.

“You’re pulling my leg!” she said accusingly, a little too
loudly. Another couple passing them in the hallway gave them a curious glance. She
lowered her voice. “You’re not pulling my leg, are you? We are going to
that mountain in Close Encounters of the Third Kind?”

With a smug expression on his face, Paul replied. “I think
it’s appropriate, don’t you?”

She punched his arm. Hard, this time.

An hour later, as they stood in front of the bathroom mirror
preparing for bed, Capie asked Paul what was so special about Devils Tower.

Paul put down his toothbrush and considered how best to
answer her question. “Well, there was once an active volcano there. Then
something happened underneath the surface, blocking off the lava inside the
throat of the volcano. It solidified into one solid hard rock. Then, over who
knows how many millions of years, the rest of the volcano crumbled and left
only the hardened lava rock behind.”

“That’s pretty incredible,” Capie said, running a hair brush
through her hair. “But I guess I asked the wrong question. Why do you need such
a large rock to make a chutzpah?”

Paul paused, with the toothbrush nearly ready to put into his
mouth. Instead, he put it back down again. “Let’s see if I can explain this
properly. When I created my first talisman, it turned out to be inferior. Dr.
Ruggiero said I didn’t use the proper incantation and the ceremony must have
been weak. Well, this time, I want to maximize everything involved. Yes, all my
materials are far superior to anything that Errabêlu has used. But I
want more than just that. Devils Tower carries a lot of special meaning. I
figure the location will help enhance the ceremony. But also I can tap the
power of that really big rock.”

She frowned. “But we have McDougall’s and Hamadi’s talismans
and a bunch of Oni ones too.”

Paul shook his head. “Not nearly enough power for what I
want to try.”

Capie still didn’t seem satisfied with his answer. “What do
you need that much power for?”

He put the toothbrush down a third time. “For one thing, the
ceremony. I intend to ramp it up, big time. And there are other things I want
to try too. I’m not really sure if they will work or not, but I want the option
available to me.”

She raised her eyebrows expectantly. “And you won’t tell me
what those things are?”

“I can’t even put them into words in my own mind yet,” Paul
confessed. “If they don’t work, well, then there’s no point wasting the words.”

“So, when do we go try this?” she asked.

Another of his big smiles. “As soon as we finish the
pallasite conversion, probably tomorrow afternoon. The sooner this is done, the
sooner we can stop a war.” And he popped the toothbrush in his mouth before she
could ask another question.

• • • •

Daneel’s last portal left them, their suitcases, and three
backpacks on the summit of Devils Tower, looking out over the incredible vista
of surrounding countryside.

“They say you can see five states from up here,” Paul remarked,
impressed with the view.

“I believe it,” Capie said, gazing out over the open
countryside.

Paul began digging the component items of the chutzpah out
of the backpacks.

“It doesn’t look like the movie up here at all,” Capie
observed, taking a seat on a nearby large boulder. “It’s all rocky and uneven.
There’s even grass growing here. And it doesn’t seem all that large a place.”

“The end of the movie didn’t take place on top of the
mountain,” Daneel pointed out, “but on the back side.”

“Oh, I think you are right,” she admitted. “I guess it’s
been too long since I’ve seen that movie.”

Paul waved an arm and a holographic hundred fifty foot white
circular ring appeared, lying horizontally. The rim of the ring was maybe eight
inches wide and two inches tall. In some spots, the ring nearly touched the
rocky ground but in other locations, it was six feet above the ground.

“That’s level?” Capie asked.

“The circle is, yes. I’m tempted to level the top of the
summit here to match but that would be an act of desecration. I might be able
to put it back the way it was and then again, I might not. Better to leave well
enough alone. Besides, this will work just as well, I think.”

“I agree,” Daneel concurred, floating through the air toward
the center of the summit.

“The breeze is picking up,” Capie noticed. “I bet it gets
pretty windy up here sometimes.”

Paul waved his hand again, moving the circular ring, the
edge of it moving through and past them until they were just inside one edge of
it.

“The wind is getting stronger,” Capie said, pointing at the
grass. “But funny thing, I can’t feel it anymore, not since you moved the ring.”

Paul looked at the blades of grass outside the ring. They
were lying flat, pushed over by a really stiff wind. But Capie was right. He
could no longer feel the wind from his position inside its circumference.

“Interesting effect,” Daneel said, his face reflecting his
puzzlement.

“It didn’t do this when I created my first talisman,” Paul
remarked, his brow furrowed.

With another wave of his hand, a huge hexagram appeared, the
apexes of which nearly touched the white ring. The hexagram was of the same
white light, its lines also eight inches wide and two thick. Another spell
rotated the hexagram until one apex lined up where they were standing.

“A hexagram?” Capie asked. “I thought you used a pentacle
when you made the first talisman.”

“That’s what I thought too,” Daneel added.

Paul nodded. “That’s very observant of both of you. Yes, I
did use a pentacle. This is one of those new things I want to try. You see, it
occurred to me that maybe the wizards of Errabêlu have missed a bet
along the way.”

Capie appeared pensive. “You mean besides the isotopes? What
else do you think they missed?”

“Well, do you remember you once asked me why rocks from
space were different from Earth rocks even if they were made of the same
elements?”

“I asked that question too,” Daneel said, with a smirk.

She nodded, giving Daneel a knowing smile. “Yes, I remember
asking that. Do you know the answer now?”

Frowning, Paul shrugged. “No, I still don’t. But it got me
to thinking. If Earth rocks have a different property from space rocks, then
there might be something else that could be used in the creation of a chutzpah,
to make it even more potent.”

“Something else? What else is there if not Earth rocks or
rocks from space?”

Paul looked straight up and slightly to the west.

She followed his gaze and blanched. Daneel whistled in
appreciation.

“Wow, Dad! Brilliant!”

“The SUN!? You are going to include the Sun
when you make the chutzpah? Are you crazy?”

“Only a very tiny part of it,” Paul replied, a little
pleased that she had guessed the right answer so quickly. And, of course, he
was playing the part of a tease again. “And I will enclose it inside a special
force field. That’s why I needed a really big rock, Capie. I need the power to
be able to reach all the way to the Sun and draw a small fragment of its mass,
and I also need the power to enclose it in a force field, to prevent its escape
until the chutzpah is created.”

She stared at him in disbelief.

“That sounds…crazy!”

“Fab-flipping-tastic, I say!” Daneel said, with a huge grin.
“Best old man on the planet, my dad!”

Paul smiled. “‘No one ever listens to Zathras. Quite
mad, they say. It is good that Zathras does not mind. Has even grown to like
it, oh yes.’”

She blinked twice. “Zathras again of Babylon 5. If
you’re not careful, I am going to start calling you Zathras Junior.”

“It’s a very appropriate quote, I think. But anyway, is it
any crazier than the rest of all this?” Paul asked, knowing the only answer she
could give, under the circumstances.

Capie’s mouth worked opened and closed. Finally, she
replied, “No, I guess not. But really! You are much crazier than I thought.”

He grinned. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You should, Dad,” Daneel said, laughing.

Capie shook her head, then stopped. “Hey, where did all the
clouds come from?”

Paul glanced skyward. True enough, there were now a lot of
clouds around. He could have sworn that the sky was cloudless when they first
arrived. Even now, it appeared that the clouds were growing larger.

“That’s eerie,” Daneel said, with a frown. “Like that
episode of Star Trek, “The Apple,” when the clouds gathered and
lightning killed another red shirt.”

“Yes, sort of like that,” Paul agreed thoughtfully. “Well,
let’s see what happens when I do this.”

With a wave of his hand, six virtual reality, large sound speakers
appeared, one at each apex of the hexagram. One such speaker was directly over
their heads.

“The speakers are for the ceremony music, I gather,” Capie
said. “Oh, look at the clouds now!”

As they watched, the clouds quickly went from a dark gray to
a deep purple. Suddenly there was no more blue sky visible, just one huge angry
storm cloud stretching from horizon to horizon.

“What is going on here?” Capie asked. “Are we really causing
this?”

“I don’t know what’s happening,” Paul grudgingly admitted. “But
this won’t take long. Maybe we can finish before it gets too weird up here.”

Paul sat down on the ground. From this point onward, he
would need to draw on the power of Devils Tower and not an Oni talisman. He
unlaced his shoes and popped them off.

“What are you doing, Paul?” Capie asked, tilting her head to
one side.

As he stripped off his socks and wiggled his toes, Paul
replied, “In order to maintain constant skin contact with the rocky ground, the
best way is to go barefoot.”

“That’s going to hurt,” she pointed out.

“I can use a spell to make my feet tougher,” he countered,
as he stood up again.

Pointing at each isotropically enhanced object, he sent each
to fly to an apex of the hexagram, where they hovered gently in mid-air. First
the tantalum to the first apex to their left, then the emerald to the second,
the pallasite to the third, and the komatiite to the fourth. With themselves at
the sixth apex, that left only the fifth apex empty.

A lightning bolt blasted across the sky, startling them.
Rain began to fall in sheets.

“Here comes the storm!” yelled Daneel.

The rain was falling all around them. None of it touched
them.

“I’m not getting wet,” Capie said, both surprised and
mystified.

“Me either.” Paul glanced around. “It’s the circle. Nothing
is getting through the circle except sound and light. It’s keeping everything
else out.”

More lightning blazed through the sky.

“This is just not natural,” Paul stated categorically. “Capie,
I lived all my life in the west and they just don’t have storms like this one
out here. Maybe in a hurricane out in the Atlantic or a typhoon in the Pacific,
but not here. This is definitely our doing, a side effect of the magic we are
creating here.”

“But you said this didn’t happen when you created your first
talisman!” she pointed out.

“No, it didn’t. But this chutzpah will be far stronger than my
old talisman. That might make the difference.”

“What’s next?” Daneel asked.

Paul reached forth with his right hand. “The komatiite rock
represents the rock of the Earth. I want to do more with it than just represent
the Earth. In the name of Gaia, Terra, and Eorthe, let a magical channel open
between the center of the planet and the komatiite rock!”

A column of red light sprang up from the summit of Devils
Tower and enveloped the igneous rock in a holographic ball of fire.

Capie’s jaw dropped in amazement. “Wow!”

Paul pointed to the meteorite. “In the name of Carl Sagan,
Sir Isaac Newton, and Nicolaus Copernicus, let a magical channel open between
deep space and the pallasite meteorite.”

A column of deep blue light formed from the meteorite and stretched
up into the sky, up to the angry storm clouds.

The rain was coming down now in solid sheets, the lightning
blazing across the sky, the thunder a constant loud roar. Hail stones began to
fall, at first small ones, then larger stones. The display of nature’s fury was
staggering.

Deeply troubled by how fast the weather was deteriorating,
Paul said, past the lump in his throat, “In the name of Galileo Galilei, Edwin
Hubble, and Steven Hawking, may a small but immensely strong bubble force field
be formed above the fifth apex and let it contain half an ounce of helium drawn
from the surface layer of the photosphere of the Sun!”

A small translucent globe the size of a soccer ball formed
above the fifth apex. Suddenly a very intense white light emanated from the
globe.

Paul dug two pairs of sunglasses from the back pack and
handed one pair to Capie. She put hers on. He did the same. Daneel created a
set of virtual glasses for himself and put them on too.

“You did it!” Capie shouted, above the noise of the storm. “You
tapped the power of the Sun!”

Paul grinned like an idiot, feeling as if nothing were
beyond his power to make happen. “Yes. Isn’t it great?!”

The ground rumbled beneath them.

“Earthquake?!” Capie yelled. “Oh, my Aunt Gloria, LOOK!”

Out over the landscape, they could see a funnel cloud
forming from the sky, reaching down to touch the surface of the earth. It grew
larger.

“Another one!” Daneel yelled.

The Scottie was right. Another one had formed, off to the
right. On a hunch, Paul glanced around at the rest of the sky. There were now
six tornados, each one a mile off an apex of the hexagram.

Paul stared at the skyline, mesmerized by the power being
displayed there. And still, they felt nothing inside the circle.

He shook himself back to reality and reached into his backpack,
pulling out two sets of earplugs. He handed one set to Capie and used the other
pair for his own ears. Daneel put his fingers in his ears.

Stretching forth his right hand, Paul pointed to the speaker
at the first apex.

“Play the theme song from The Avengers film! Play it
in a loop!”

The speaker began to blare out that catchy tune.

With a wave at the second speaker, he said, “Play the theme
song from Star Wars!”

Another wave. “Let the third speaker play “Protectors of the
Earth” from Two Steps from Hell! Let the fourth speaker play the theme song
from Close Encounters of the Third Kind! Let the fifth speaker play the
theme song from Transformers! And let the sixth speaker play the theme
song from Doctor Who!”

The ground jerked beneath his feet, rattling his teeth.

He looked out over the landscape and gulped in amazement
tinged with a healthy dose of fear. The tornados were huge now, swallowing up
whole sections of the sky. And they were closer too.

Were they going to survive the next step in the process?
Just what kind of chutzpah would this make? Paul knew what his equations said,
but nothing had prepared him for anything remotely like this!

It was time for the words.

Paul reached out with his right hand and grabbed Capie’s
left hand. Capie reached out to grab a corner of Daneel’s titanium frame with
her right hand.

From memory, Paul quoted in a loud voice:

“When in the Course of human events, it becomes necessary
for one people to dissolve the political bands which have made them subservient
to another, and to assume among the powers of the earth, the separate and equal
station to which the Laws of Nature and of Nature’s God entitle them, a decent
respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes
which impel them to the separation.

“We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are
created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable
Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty, Equality and the pursuit of
Happiness.

“We the People of the Planet Earth, in Order to establish
Justice, insure domestic Tranquility, provide for the common defense, promote
the general Welfare, and secure the Blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our
Posterity, do ordain and establish the right of self-governance from this time
forth forever!”

The tornados now had moved so close that they had merged
together, an impenetrable barrier of wind roaring around Devils Tower in a
never ending circle. The earth shook continuously now; the sky was one solid sheet
of lightning bolts as they tore across the opening at the top of the funnel
cloud around them.

Nervously, Paul waved with his left hand at the items at the
apexes of the hexagram. They began to move forward. Gingerly stepping forward
on his bare feet, he led Capie and Daneel closer to the center of the hexagram.

“Do we really have to do it this way?” she screamed at the
top of her voice, visibly nervous.

Uneasily, Paul nodded.

“A lark in the park!” yelled Daneel.

They slowly moved closer to the center.

At the center, the tantalum, emerald, pallasite, komatiite,
and the Sun sphere began to merge together. Paul reached out with his left
hand, touching the merge point.

A light brighter than the sun reached out to envelop the three
of them. Even with the sunglasses and his eyes closed, the light was blindingly
bright.

For nearly a minute, the storm raged on, the light blinding
them as the chutzpah formed.

And suddenly, there was silence.

Paul’s eyes could see nothing but white and black spots.
Even the sunglasses had not been enough to fully protect his eyes. He took off
the glasses and removed the earplugs too. Gradually the spots faded and his eyesight
returned to normal.

The ring and hexagram were gone. The wind was dying, blowing
fitful little gusts. There was no sign of the tornados and even the clouds were
dissolving away like cotton candy in hot water. And the Earth had stopped trembling
as well.

Capie looked at him, blinking rapidly to clear her eyes. She
too had removed her sunglasses and earplugs.

“My goodness grief, Charlie Brown! You sure know how to show
a girl a good time!”

“Dad, that was mind-blowing!” declared Daneel. “Can we do it
again? Soon?”

Paul laughed in relief at the two of them. It felt great to
be alive!

And he looked down at the ground, at his new chutzpah,
anxious to see what the ceremony had created.

The first talisman had been a block of black shiny material,
sort of like a plastic brick, incredibly hard, the edges difficult to see, like
it was made of shadows with gold specks thrown in. This one was different. It
was in the shape of an armband but it was a bright glowing white, as if it were
made of white light itself. There were patterns etched into its surface and
engineering symbols. Paul picked it up and was shocked by its near feather
light weight.

“Oh, let me see,” Capie eagerly requested.

Paul handed it to her and she marveled at the brilliant
white color and the light weight.

“So this is a chutzpah. It’s gorgeous! Will I get one too?”

“Absolutely yes,” he replied, with a huge grin on his face. “Just
as soon as possible!”

She leaned forward and her arms locked around him.

They kissed for a long time.

When Paul finally came up for breath, his face was flushed
with happiness. “We must leave now. I bet there is an army of Oni headed in our
direction. And there’s a certain war in Israel we need to stop! Just as soon as
I get my socks and shoes back on!”

THIRTY-FOUR

Israeli Northern Command Headquarters

Safed, Israel

October

Wednesday 10:08 a.m. AWST

Major
General Moshe Peretz, commanding officer of the Israel Defense Force, Northern
Sector, was leaning back in his chair at the head of the table feeling extreme
exhaustion from the constant state of emergencies his command—and indeed all of
Israel—had been through for the past few months. He was sipping from his sixth
cup of coffee for the day. It wasn’t helping much.

Another intelligence briefing was in progress in the room, a
captain giving yet another update on the current thinking of the enemy and
possible means of countering such.

Peretz sighed. None of this was making any sense at all. The
Syrian, Lebanese, and Iranian attacks, as devastating and destructive as they
had been, were temporary. As soon as his command was fully mobilized—and that
would happen soon, with the 143rd Etgar Armor Division joining with
his command in the next day or so—Israel would counter attack on the ground.
His other reserve units were already in the field, in transit to their attack positions.
By the end of the week, his forces would break out of the stalemate they were
currently in and advance in force on Damascus. And this time, they weren’t
going to listen to any U.N. nonsense about a cease-fire as soon as they started
inflicting serious casualties on the enemy. He had received that promise direct
from the Chief of Staff himself.

And then the conference room door swung open wide, a staffer
bursting into the room.

“Sirs!” the man shouted, rushing around the end of the
conference table to the window on the far side.

“What’s going on, Sergeant,” Peretz demanded to know,
getting stiffly to his feet.

But the enlisted man unfastened the window, flung it open
and pointed up in the air.

Several of the other officers in the room jumped from their
chairs as well, anxious to look, but not anxious to get in Peretz’s way as the
general stormed up to the window and followed the enlisted man’s pointing
finger.

Which was scarcely needed. Nobody but a blind man could
possibly have missed seeing the gigantic spacecraft hanging above the base. And
what a nasty intimidating sight it was too.

It was hard to judge the scale but the black and gray metal
ship was easily a thousand feet long and a hundred feet wide. There were a
number of projectors extending out the front, which could easily be weapons of
some type.

The design spoke military. It spoke deadly. It spoke power,
effortlessly floating a thousand feet up, with absolutely no visible sign of
support.

“What the…?” whispered a quiet voice at Peretz’s shoulder. The
general felt the same way.

From one of the projections at the front of the craft, a
very intense pencil thin beam of purple light suddenly appeared, striking the
parade ground two thousand feet from the command building. Peretz held up a
hand, squinting his eyes.

And just as suddenly, the light was gone.

The ship started to move then, pulling away from the ground
and rapidly accelerating in a general eastern direction.

“Wow!” said another soft voice.

The ground where the beam had struck was not visible from
this window, it being on the other side of the other office building on base.
Without a word, Peretz spun on one heel and jogged from the room.

• • • •

The general stood at the side of the pit looking down and
not believing what he saw.

At the point where the beam had touched the ground, there
was now a huge gaping hole. A hundred feet in diameter and fifty feet deep, was
his best guess. Perfectly circular, the bottom of the pit was as flat as a mirror.
It shone like one too, a bright metallic silver. The side walls of the pit were
the same, simply circular instead of flat.

Gingerly, he knelt, reaching over to touch the inside lip of
the pit’s wall. Yep, as smooth as glass.

“Uh, sir, should you do that?” the intelligence captain
asked. “It, ah, might be radioactive or something.”

Getting back to his feet, the general brushed the leg of his
pants and marched back to the command building. He had a few calls to make.
Somebody—Americans? little green Martians? Klingons?—had just sent him a
message.

From the look of things right now, he was guessing that
there wouldn’t be a war after all.

• • • •

“Impressive,” Capie commented, as the Sirius Effort
moved away from the Tactical Airbase at the Mehrabad International Airport in
Tehran, Iran. Paul had used the incredible power of his new chutzpah to hover
the ship in place, disguised as the USS Sulaco from the Aliens
movie, and then fire a fictitious beam of incredible energy, selectively
vaporizing the F-14’s in their individual hangars.

No one would miss a message such as that.

“And no one was hurt,” he crowed boastfully.

“I can’t wait to have a chutzpah like that,” Daneel said,
with obvious yearning in his voice.

• • • •

Jahan Darvish was furious. He sat at his oak desk in his
lavishly appointed office, his arms folded over his chest as he scowled in
anger. All of his work, all of his planning for the last sixty something years,
up in smoke. Gone, like a fog with the rise of the Sun.

Darvish was the Errabêlu wizard of Iran. And it had
been his plan, from the beginning, to launch a war against Israel from Iran, a
plan that he had been formulating and executing ever since Israel became a
state in 1948. A clever plan it had been, audacious in the implementation. Each
and every step had been meticulous carried out very successfully.

Spoiled. All the work gone now. He would have to start all
over again. From the beginning.

He didn’t know who had done it. Perhaps it was that new
wizard that everyone seemed to be talking about these days. Whoever it was had broken
the rules, creating that huge spaceship that floated all over the Middle East,
taking pot shots at things, in some places creating huge funny holes in the
ground and in other places vaporizing a lake or melting a 500 foot long bridge
down to a slag heap in mere seconds.

But they hadn’t limited themselves to such mundane targets,
no! In Syria, they had skewered the cast-iron block engines of three companies
of Zulfiqar and T-72S main battle tanks with three inch diameter holes! And
then his precious F-14’s at the Tehran airbase here in Iran! He had been there
himself, trying to stop that strange purple beam of light that had slashed his
planes to ribbons in their hangars! And he hadn’t been able to do it, no matter
how much power he threw into the spells he cast! Nothing he had tried had the
least bit of effect!

He was reluctantly reaching the conclusion that all the
rumors might be true, that it must have been a new wizard, one who commanded
considerable power. No wizard that he knew of on Earth controlled enough
magical power to perform that sort of stunt. The fact that he had personally
witnessed the power of that act of magic was the best proof he could have on
that theory, right? And this new wizard was dangerous. Very dangerous. No
respect for the established rules. No respect for territory or boundaries. No
respect at all for Errabêlu either, apparently.

A little over a week ago, there had been the simultaneous
destruction of several talismans. According to reports, that had occurred in
Australia, of all places. And then, far worse, a few days later, that magical
disturbance of stupendous proportions that had taken place in the American
northwest. The Earth had rung like a bell with that one! It was like nothing
Darvish had ever felt before nor even heard of in legend. It simply had
to be the rogue wizard’s doing. All of these events, happening at virtually the
same time, were all connected. He was convinced of that.

Darvish snickered once. That disturbance, in the western
United States—he wondered what Clarke had thought about that since it had
happened on his turf. What was that old reprobate up to now?

And confound it, where was Hamadi, his partner in crime, the
Errabêlu of Syria? Disappeared? Gone? Had the Errabêlu in Israel—what
was his name?—done Hamadi in? Or maybe it had been this new wizard? Perhaps it
had been.

At the next gathering of the Conclave of Magi, he intended
to submit a proposal to deal with this new threat. All of the wizards of Errabêlu
needed to join forces, long enough to kill this new wizard. The sooner the
better.

Darvish sighed, leaning forward, picking up a pencil and
putting it to the paper pad in front of him on the desk. He might as well get
started. If it took him fifty years, he would attack and wipe out Israel. It
was his destiny, his right, and his duty to do so.

EPILOGUE

Roselawn Memory Gardens Cemetery

3045 State Road 67

Lake Geneva, WI

November

Saturday 4:01 p.m. CDT

Capie
wiped a tear away as she stood at the foot of her parents’ grave, her mother
buried on the right and her father on the left. She still found it hard to
believe sometimes that her father was really gone, even though his death was
now months in the past. There were still so many active memories of him that
she held dear to her heart.

The words for the tombstone had been very hard to choose. In
the end, she had settled for:

In Loving Memory

Christopher Edgar Kingsley

We will miss you

“Are you going to be okay, Mom?” Daneel 1 asked, floating
several feet away. In his display, he watched her with deep concern.

“What he said,” Paul echoed anxiously, standing on the other
side of the grave, with Daneel 2 at his side.

The golden framed mirror, with Ariel-Leira displayed, had
been retrieved from the Graylands facility and was floating above and behind
the headstone. “She is, of course. Strong lady, she be.”

Capie smiled sadly, staring at her father’s final resting
place. “Thanks. And yes, I’m okay. I just wanted to pay my respects one last
time before we leave. Thanks for bringing me here, Paul. For coming with me.
And for understanding.”

With a gentle smile, Paul stepped around to her, putting his
arm over her shoulders. “Take all the time you need. I understand completely.”

Daneel 2 created a life-sized hologram of himself,
projecting it near his parents, in an effort to physically be with them. Both
Paul and Capie turned to him, giving him a big smile. Not to be outdone, Daneel
1 did the same. All four of them gathered together in a big family hug.

Ariel-Leira watched, grinning widely. “To go where no
mirror has gone before, I can’t believe I’m going. Excited, I am!”

“I’m ready to go now,” Capie announced, turning her head to
face Paul. “I have all the research materials I need for the MBE Drug Project.
And Mars is waiting. The people of Earth are waiting. They want to be free of Errabêlu.
Let’s help them achieve that.”

With a grin, Paul nodded, waving a hand. All four of them
and the mirror levitated into the air, ascending the fifty feet that it took to
reach the tail end of the Sirius Effort, hovering above the cemetery. Higher
they went, up the side of the ship, stopping not far from the nose. Opening a
portal through the hull of the ship, Paul and the two Daneels flew in, the
mirror following along smartly.

At the brink of the portal, Capie paused and turned to look
down toward the cemetery.

And sadly but with determination whispered, “‘By Grabthar’s
hammer, by the Sons of Warvan, you shall be avenged!’” quoting Dr. Lazarus from
Galaxy Quest. “I promise that you won’t be forgotten, Dad. Like the man
said, you didn’t die for nothing.”

She stepped inside with grim determination, the portal
snapping closed behind her.

The Sirius Effort, now fully repaired, as shiny as a
new coin and also fully loaded with all the supplies that the Armsteads could
possibly need or want on Mars, lifted quietly and gracefully away from the
surface of the planet Earth, accelerating steadily towards orbit. As the ship
gained altitude, its fusion engines kicked in, thrusting it out faster towards
the blackness of space.

They would be the first humans, mirror-woman and Scotties to
go out that far.

Author

Glenn Michaels is a freelance author and a full-time
electrical engineer from Tennessee Tech University. The author has been a
fanatic on the subject of science fiction for decades, ever since reading his
first sci-fi book, Freddie (the pig) And the Spaceship (1953), when he was in
the second grade. Glenn is currently employed by a contractor that tests
turbo-jet engines for the United States Air Force but who also worked, for a
few years, at Edwards Air Force Base, near Mojave, California.

His website can be found at:
http://glenmichaelsbooks.weebly.com/