Orders of Magnitude (The Genie and the Engineer Series Book 2) Page 10

  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, Dom,” 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 t
o 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.