Genie and Engineer 1: The Engineer Wizard (27 page)

“Merlin?” Paul whispered inaudibly.

The wizard popped up into his view again, frowning at the
wheelchair.

“Typical design,” he muttered. “An electric motor on each
wheel, each PWM-controlled from the drivers on the logic board in the control
module mounted below the seat. The joystick is the source control of the
signals. Power is derived from the two batteries next to the control module and
under the seat. Hmm, since both of the motors don’t work, the problem is likely
in the control panel or with the control module.”

The woman took the payphone receiver, dropped in two
quarters, and punched in a number.

Paul knelt on the floor and checked the battery connections.
They seemed solid. With a small spell, he checked the voltage. Both of the batteries
were almost fully charged.

“Can you scan the logic board?” Paul whispered. “Is it
getting power?”

Merlin shrugged. “This is more your line, not mine,” he
muttered. “I’ll try,” he added, closing his eyes and reaching out with one
hand.

“I don’t see a problem,” he answered hesitantly.

Paul moved up to the control panel. Hmm, it appeared to be a
bit abused.

The woman clicked the hook on the payphone and tried another
number.

Paul half-turned away from the woman, using his left hand to
hold his windbreaker open, creating a space between it and his chest. In the
space thus created (which he judged to be out of sight of every other person in
the room), he tapped into the gold wristband to open a portal back to his
rental house, the other end of the portal positioned just above his tool bag
that was sitting in one corner of the kitchen. With his right hand, he reached
through the portal and extracted a small screwdriver kit from the tool bag. As
he turned back to the woman in the wheelchair, he closed the portal and
smoothed out the windbreaker. From the kit, he pulled out a miniature Phillips
screwdriver and used it to start opening the panel.

She noticed. “What are you doing?” she asked, a hint of
anger and accusation in her voice.

“Just a quick check. I believe there is a crack in the cover
here.”

With widened eyes, she took a closer look herself.
“It...does look a little cracked. Oh, my goodness, did I do that earlier?”

The third screw fell into his hand, and he lifted the cover.
It definitely was cracked, and the circuit board below it, one of those new
membrane types, was also cracked.

Paul shook his head and couldn’t resist using a Mythbusters
line. “‘There’s your problem!’”

She gave him a startled look but said nothing.

“I don’t think I can fix this after all,” Paul admitted,
putting the cover back in place and screwing in the screws. “I need more tools
than this.”

“I can’t seem to reach anyone right now,” she weakly confessed,
then glanced around the convention center. Paul could see indecision and regret
in her eyes. His heart was touched again.

“Excuse me,” he said, surprising even himself with his
sudden impulse. “I was wondering if you might do me a favor.”

She blinked at him in astonishment. “A favor? For you?”

Paul shrugged, feigning a degree of indifference. “Yes, you
see, I’ve never been to the Chicago Comic and Entertainment Expo before. I haven’t
got a clue where to start, and I don’t know who most of the guests are. I am in
sore need of a guide. Would you be willing to show me around? I’ll pay you $50
if you help me out.”

Staring at him for several seconds, Paul could see the
corners of her mouth begin to turn up a little in a smile.

“You’re pulling my leg,” she said, a trace of accusation in
her voice.

Paul raised his right hand, splitting his fingers into a “V,”
raised one eyebrow, and seriously said, “Vulcans never pull legs.”

She laughed, and the sound of her laughter was pleasant to his
ears.

So he shrugged and smiled. “I just moved in from out west.
And I’ve never attended a convention remotely like this one.” He neglected to
mention that he was from California, where he could have easily attended
conventions in San Diego, Las Vegas, or Los Angeles. But he was truthful in
that he never had attended a science-fiction or comic convention before. There
just never seemed to be time for it.

“I guess a guy who quotes
Superman
,
Mythbusters
,
and
Star Trek
, all in the same half hour, can’t be all bad. Very well,
how about a deal? You push me around, and I’ll play the guide. I’ve been to
every one of these conventions.” She stretched forth a hand. “My name is
Copernicus Kingsley. Everyone calls me Capie.”

Shaking her hand, Paul smiled at her. “And my name is Henry Kaufman.”

“Nice to meet you, Henry,” she replied, smiling back at him.
Paul noted that this time, her smile seemed to be genuine, and it definitely
increased her beauty.

He nodded to a poster on a nearby wall. “Maybe we can start
with him. Who is Geoff Johns?”

Capie offered a bemused smile. “You can quote lines from
science-fiction shows and still not know who Geoff Johns is? Only one of the
most prolific comic book writers of our day. He does
Green Lantern
,
Superman
,
and
The Flash
, among others, and until recently, he was the Chief
Creative Officer at DC Entertainment. If you don’t know who he is, you really
do need a guide here.”

Paul shrugged. “Just think of me as a Beta unit, with a
limited education.”

She laughed. “
The Last Starfighter
, huh? Okay, I give
up. Let’s get our tickets and get started. There is a lot to see and do at
these conventions, and I’ll probably have to explain everything as we go. Let’s
not waste time.”

Then she smiled and added, “‘It’s that devil’s distinction
between being in charge and being in control; I’m in charge, you’re in control.
You can imagine how much this thrills me.’”

Paul chuckled. “Miles Vorkosigan, in the novel
Komarr
,
by Lois McMaster Bujold. Good quote.”

He moved around behind her wheelchair and pushed it toward
the cashier’s window.

A quote came to him.

Paul quipped, “‘Cannot run out of time. Time is infinite.
You
are finite.
Zathras
is finite. This...’” and he held up the miniature
screwdriver. “‘This is wrong tool.’” And he put it back in his shirt pocket.

It was her turn to laugh. “I always liked Zathras. ‘War
Without End,’ part two of
Babylon
5
. You, sir, are going to be
interesting.”

• • • •

For the next three and a half hours, they merrily zoomed
through the great hall, visiting exhibits, attending two panel sessions and a
show, meeting “famous” comic and entertainment stars (that Paul had never heard
of before) and securing their autographs. They also visited the inevitable
souvenir shop and selected a couple of trinkets, including a
Green Lantern
T-shirt in his size.

Capie was amazing in her depth of knowledge, continuously
spouting a stream of relevant data and background on the Guests attending the
convention, the panels and the exhibits. There was an entire universe of
stories, concepts and information here that Paul never knew had existed before.
It rivaled everything he knew about science fiction.

To be honest, the time went by at warp speed and Paul suddenly
realized that the crowds had thinned and that most everyone else had already
left for the evening.

Capie seemed to realize it at the same moment and sighed. “I
hate this part, having to leave. We didn’t get to see it all, you know. There’s
a lot more.”

“I too had a great deal of fun. A lot more with you as my guide
than I ever would have had on my own. Many many thanks,” Paul said, with a half
bow. “The convention will be here for two more nights. Are you planning to come
back?”

She turned and looked at him. “Well, tomorrow I’ll have to
get this silly wheelchair repaired. But Sunday, yes, I plan to be right back
here. Are you suggesting something?”

Paul grinned mischievously. “I’ll gladly pay you $50 if
you’ll be my guide Sunday too.”

She laughed and held up one hand. “You can keep your money.
Shall we say noon in the lobby? I’ll be the one in the repaired wheelchair.”

• • • •

After escorting her to her van and watching her load up
using the van’s electric lift system, Paul left her and found his own car. On
the drive home, he kept thinking about her and all the fun they had that afternoon
and evening.

Merlin dropped into the passenger’s seat. “I warned you
about that toe and now it’s swollen,” he admonished Paul. “I suggest a good
long soak tonight in Epson salts, then an ice pack.”

“Sounds like a good idea,” Paul mumbled, only half paying
attention to him.

The apparition looked at him sharply. “Ah, I see. Well, if
it’s worth anything, I like her too. She’s got a sense of humor that’s just as
quirky as yours.”

Startled, Paul gave him a puzzled look. “What are you talking
about? You’re not suggesting—?”

“Who, me? I didn’t hear me suggest anything. I merely said I
liked her.”

Paul frowned in annoyance. “I just met the woman and she’s
fun to be with, that’s all. Don’t you go suggesting anything beyond that. It’s not
funny.”

Merlin held up a hand. “Of course not. What an absurd idea! I
think I’ll go now. All that comic book stuff gave me a headache.” And he
vanished from sight.

Paul ground his teeth in derision. A guy meets a nice girl
and people instantly start planning wedding ceremonies. Capie was fun to be
with and that was the sum total of it. Considering his situation, his rather
short life expectancy, anything more than that was ludicrous.

Chicago, Illinois

South Lawndale

South Kildare Avenue

April

Saturday, 8:42 a.m. CST

S
aturday
morning, after satisfactorily checking the status of his little toe and eating a
light breakfast, Paul locked up the house. Wearing his gold wristband and with
his tantalum block in the seat next to him, he drove down to the waterfront
again, this time to Cricket Hill. Parking the car, he walked out to Montrose
Point Bird Sanctuary with the tantalum in hand, strolling out to the concrete
pier at the edge of the lake.

This was one of the most isolated sections of the lake front
that Paul could find. No one else was around.

He sat on the edge of the concrete, the water quietly
lapping against the side of the pier a few feet beneath his dangling shoes. The
breeze lightly carried the scent of the lake in his direction, and he breathed in
deeply, enjoying the fragrance.

With a spell, Paul levitated the tantalum block up from his
left hand, directing it outward over the lake, a hundred or so feet from the shore.
With a flick of his right hand, the tantalum dropped into the water, down to a
depth of twenty feet.

Among the potential candidates for the precious metal in a talisman,
tantalum was better than gold, silver, platinum, or palladium. But it also
turned out that in terms of isotopes, tantalum made a nearly perfect choice.

There were only two stable isotopes of tantalum: isotopes
181 and 180m. Isotope 181 constituted 99.99% of all the tantalum in the
universe (including Paul’s block). Only 0.01% of tantalum atoms were of isotope
180m. Therefore, all Paul needed to do was convert his tantalum from isotope
181 to isotope 180m by removing one neutron from each nucleus, and its magical
quotient would increase accordingly.

According to his calculations, the tantalum would become
3.68 times as potent. If he could increase the potency of the other materials
of his new talisman in a similar manner, the result might very well be a
talisman a hundred times more potent than his first one. And that wasn’t even
counting the impact that a beefed-up ceremony might have on it.

As is the case with so many other things, the devil was in
the details. The immediate difficulty here lay in the conversion process
itself. If Paul was not careful, he could potentially release enough energy to
make the combined yield of the entire U.S. nuclear arsenal look like a
miniature firecracker. And since he was at ground zero, he was highly motivated
to avoid making any such mistake.

Releasing a neutron from the nucleus was not a
straightforward task. The masses involved were not equal. The mass of a neutron
was greater than the difference between the masses of the
¹⁸¹
Ta and
¹⁸⁰
Ta
atoms. No one except God knew why it worked out that way, but there was no
denying the mathematics of it. The difference had to come from somewhere, or
the neutrons would never leave the
¹⁸¹
Ta nucleus in the first place.

That was one of the reasons why Paul had put the tantalum
block in the lake. In part, the water would provide a source of heat for the
tantalum to draw on. But also, he needed someplace for the neutrons to go once
they left the
¹⁸¹
Ta nucleus.

Water was H
₂
0, two atoms of hydrogen bonded to
one atom of oxygen, with 99.97% of the oxygen atoms as isotope
¹⁶
O.
It turned out that
¹⁷
O was also a stable isotope. Paul would simply
direct the neutrons leaving the
¹⁸¹
Ta atoms to join with the nuclei of
the
¹⁶
O atoms and then turn them into
¹⁷
O atoms.
Producing
¹⁷
O atoms released about half the energy needed for the
¹⁸¹
Ta
to
¹⁸⁰
Ta conversion, which was a nice side benefit. He now needed to
furnish only half the power for the tantalum conversion, and in addition, he also
didn’t have to worry about neutron radiation flooding the area.

Raising both hands high in the air, Paul closed his eyes and
droned, “In the name of nuclear reactors, particle accelerators, and cold
fusion, may the
¹⁸¹
Ta atoms begin releasing a single neutron from
their nuclei to be absorbed by the
¹⁶
O atoms in the water, and let
the energy needed to assist in this process be drawn from the water of the lake
and from the magma inside the earth below me.”

Out in the water, a frothing began to take place on the
surface. Paul marveled at this since the tantalum was twenty feet down. It
would take quite a disturbance that far down to generate what was now visible
on the lake’s surface.

He intently monitored the reaction, ready to stop it instantly
if something started to get out of control. But due to the mass involved, he
understood that it would take a while to convert the entire block of precious
metal.

A small white sail rounded the curve of the pier, heading in
his direction. Paul could see Merlin furling the sheets as the small boat
approached.

Paul shook his head in mock disapproval. “Are you enjoying
yourself?” he shouted when the other was in range.

“You should try it sometime,” Merlin shouted back. “I do so
prefer your century to mine. There are more things to do for fun!”

“Maybe next time,” Paul yelled back, a little envious that
Merlin was enjoying himself. “It will take some time to complete this
conversion.”

“Too bad you can’t do nuclear physics in your bathtub,” Merlin
pointed out with a chortle. “Next time, why don’t you bring your sunglasses, a
bath towel, and a picnic lunch, and we’ll make a day out of it? You can improve
your tan while you are at it.”

That did seem like a better plan than the one he had right
now.

“Okay,” Paul conceded. “I could bring a sci-fi book, too. I am
way behind on my reading.”

Merlin shrugged and turned the tiller, taking the sailboat
away from the shore. He then unfurled the sail again and started tacking back
out toward the middle of the lake, giving Paul a quick wave before resuming his
seat at the stern of the boat.

Paul sighed in acceptance and made himself as comfortable as
possible. This part of The Plan was tedious, but necessary.

• • • •

The next day, Sunday, Paul spent more time in the bathroom
than usual, getting himself properly groomed and putting on his best clothes. He
was truly looking forward to spending the day in Capie’s company. After getting
ready, he drove to the McCormick Center, arriving twenty minutes early.

He found Capie already waiting in the lobby when he walked
in, and he greeted her with a big smile.

Her clothing impressed him. The pants were of a sleek black
satin material, fashioned to suggest curves where none existed. Those were nice,
but the blouse was the clear winner. Multilayered with sweeps, curves, and
intricate turns, the subtle colors formed a virtual work of art. On her, it
made quite a statement. Even her purse was new, a violent splash of vibrant
colors woven into one large handbag.

“Do you like it?” she asked anxiously, spinning the
wheelchair back and forth.

“Very much,” he candidly replied. “I’ve never seen anything
like it before. It’s both gorgeous and original. My compliments to your
designer.”

She nodded and beamed. “Thank you, kind sir. Are you ready
to continue our explorations? I want to see everything we missed the other day.”

Paul half-bowed with a big grin. “‘It’s the simple things in
life you treasure,’” he said, quoting from
Galaxy Quest
. “After you.”

• • • •

They toured the place in whirlwind fashion, going from one
end of the massive hall to the other and back again. For the second time, Capie
played the tour guide, giving an even more impressive performance of that task
than she had Friday night. Around 4 p.m., Paul could see her starting to droop,
so he called for a break at the McDonald’s concession stand, where he stood in the
long line and bought a salad, a sandwich, and two cold water bottles. Then he
brought them over to her at the small table she had selected.

“Thanks,” she said as she opened and poured out a tiny pouch
of dressing on top of the salad and stabbed at it with a fork.

Paul nodded, sinking his teeth into the chicken sandwich.

“How do you like the convention so far?” she inquired.

“It’s fabulous!” he mumbled merrily as he chewed. After he
gulped the bite down, he continued, “It’s really wonderful. I am so glad I decided
to come, and I’m glad you are giving me such a perfect tour.”

“So you will come again next year?” she asked curiously.

Paul shrugged. “If I am still in Chicago next year, I will.”

She took a sip from her water bottle. “So, what does Henry Kaufman
do for a living? Why is he in Chicago?”

The questions startled him. He had not prepared an answer
for them. For a couple of seconds, he delayed swallowing his food to give
himself time to think of something to say.

But he ran out of time and said the first thing that came to
mind.

“Well, I am self-financed at the moment and doing freelance
research work. Uh, you could call it a study into nuclear transmutation
possibilities.”

She blinked in astonishment. “Wow! That sounds impressive. You’re
a nuclear physicist? But why Chicago?”

“No, I am an electrical engineer, not a physicist. And the
weather is better here than in Alaska,” Paul noted sarcastically.

“
Any
place has better weather than Alaska,” she agreed,
exchanging a knowing look with him.

“And you?” Paul asked, before she could think of more
questions that would be difficult for him to answer.

“I am the lead accountant for Hillshire Brands. You would
know them as Sara Lee.”

Paul raised an eyebrow, impressed. “That carries quite a
responsibility, a company of that size. Have you worked for them long?”

“Eleven years, starting right after I graduated from the
University of Chicago. And I am very good at what I do,” she replied with a smug
smile.

“Can I ask you a personal question?”

“You either want to know about my name or why a nice girl
like me is in a wheelchair, right?” she asked.

“Let’s start with the name first. Any objections?”

She shook her head with a sad smile. “None. Nicolaus
Copernicus was the Polish astronomer of the sixteenth century who first came up
with the heliocentric model of the solar system, with the Sun and not the Earth
in the center. My father chose my name. You see, he is an astronomer himself.
And he wanted a son, not a daughter.”

“And your mother? Did she not object?” Paul politely asked.

“Well, no. She died very shortly after I was born, due to
complications.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said, silently kicking himself. This
woman had enough wounds. He did not want to reopen any of them for her.

She continued to smile sadly and said, “That’s alright. You
don’t have to apologize. I never got a chance to know her. I’ve often wondered
what she was like. But my father has been the center of my life ever since. He
taught me to love science. And from there, I learned to love science fiction
and fantasy.”

“Yet you became an accountant?” Paul asked, puzzled.

“I was always very good with numbers,” she explained with
false modestly. “And I noticed, even back in high school, that there were more
jobs open to accountants than to astronomers.”

“Touché,” Paul commented. “So, you adopted the nickname of
Capie, which I think is more appropriate for you than Copernicus.”

“I think so too,” she said with a broader smile. “So, now,
do you want to know about my accident?”

Paul considered the question. “Not if it causes you pain. My
curiosity is not worth that price.”

“Thank you for that, but it is okay. It was a long time ago,”
she said before taking another sip of water. “It happened right after I got my job
at Sara Lee, before they changed their name to Hillshire Brands. A drunk driver
drove right into me on the interstate. He wasn’t hurt at all, but I ended up in
this wheelchair.”

“The universe is an unfriendly, unfair place,” Paul said sympathetically.

She nodded in total agreement. “It took years, but I learned
to cope with it. In some ways, I am a better person now, but only in some
ways.”

Paul took the last bite of his sandwich.

“Just how good are you at your science fiction?” she asked,
an evil glint in her eye. “‘If we don’t find a way out of this soon, I’m going
to lose it. Lose it, it means go crazy. Nuts. Insane. Bonzo. No longer in
possession of one’s faculties, three fries short of a happy meal, wacko!’”

Paul grinned. “Too easy. That’s Jack O’Neill to Teal’c in
the episode ‘Window of Opportunity,’
Stargate SG-1
. You should try for
something harder, like ‘I know what you’re thinking, ’cause right now I’m
thinking the same thing. Actually, I’ve been thinking it ever since I got here.
Why, oh why didn’t I take
the blue
pill?’”

“Ooh, that’s a good one!” she replied. “That was Cypher in
The
Matrix
. Let me see, how about this one? ‘Good job, guys. Let’s just not
come in tomorrow. Let’s just take a day. Have you ever tried shawarma? There’s
a shawarma joint about two blocks from here. I don’t know what it is, but I wanna
try it.’”

“Tony Stark in
The Avengers
,” Paul said, identifying
the source without hesitation. “I’ve seen that movie about a dozen times. I love
the special effects. Okay, my turn. How about this one? ‘You sold a
reverberating carbonizer with mutate capacity to an unlicensed cephalopoid?’”

She giggled. “
Men in Black
. Such a silly movie, that
one. More challenging, okay. ‘I swear they are evolving right before my eyes.
If you see anything
this
big with eight legs coming your way, let me
know. I have to kill it before it develops language skills.’”