Genie and Engineer 1: The Engineer Wizard (28 page)

“Oh, I know that one, wait, wait, don’t tell me.
Got it
.
That was Londo Mollari in
Babylon 5
, but I can’t remember the episode.”
His smile had transitioned into a big sloppy grin. “Let me try this one on you.
‘My government feels it is very important that we get there first. It’s a
distinction that will look splendid on the front page of Pravda. What other
value it has, I don’t know.’”

She crinkled her nose in thought. “That sounds familiar. It
must be from a movie I didn’t like very much, one of those from the ’70s or ’80s.
Ooh, I remember,
2010
!”

Paul smiled. “You do know your science fiction! Okay, it’s
your turn.”

Her smile turned wicked. “Okay. Try this. ‘Sonny, true love
is the greatest thing in the world-except for a nice MLT—mutton, lettuce, and
tomato sandwich, where the mutton is nice and lean and the tomato is ripe.’”

Paul drew a complete blank. He could not remember ever
having heard those words before.    

“You got me on that one,” he admitted. “What’s that from?”

“Miracle Max in
The Princess Bride
,” she said with a sly
smile.

“Ooh, not fair!” Paul objected playfully. “Fantasy, not
sci-fi.”

“You really must learn to broaden your horizons,” she
instructed him gleefully.

Paul waved an arm around in protest. “One universe at a
time, please. Toss that one, try another.”

“Okay,” she agreed. “‘I wanted to be a psychological
engineer, but we lacked the facilities, so I did the next best thing—I went
into politics. It’s practically the same thing.’”

It was tantalizingly familiar, yet Paul could not quite
place it. He racked his brain but could not make the connection.

“That is sci-fi?” he asked, puzzled.

“Yes,” she assured him smugly. “Give up?”

He nodded with a frown. “You win. What is it from?”

“
Foundation
,” she replied.

Ah, of course, he should have known. In the 1940s, one of
the greatest and most prolific sci-fi writers of all time, Isaac Asimov, wrote
the
Foundation
series, a galaxy-spanning epic that told the stories of
multiple empires of man. It was considered one of the truly outstanding works
of science fiction. Paul had read the three-book series back when he was in
high school but not since.

Six months previously, Hollywood had turned the first book
into a movie. But the movie did not do so well at the box office. It had been Paul’s
intention to see it when it hit the theaters in Lancaster, California, but
there had been another one of those special rush projects at Edwards AFB at the
same time. Since the movie had only been in town for a week, he had missed his chance.
It was on his short list to acquire if and when it was released on Blu-ray, but
so far, it was not available.

“You got me. I missed that one at the theaters,” Paul
unwillingly admitted.

“You have not seen
Foundation
yet?” she asked, almost
shocked by his admission.

“I read the books, of course. But no, I have not yet seen
the movie. Long story,” Paul muttered softly.

Capie conspiratorially leaned closer. “Would you like to?”

“You have a copy of it?” Paul asked, surprised by her
question.

“I know where it will be playing. There’s a small theater in
town that specializes in showing hard-to-get movies,” she explained.

“I would very much like to see that movie,” he conceded to
her, smiling. “I don’t suppose you would want to see it again, maybe?”

She grinned. “Silly, that’s the only way I will tell you
where it is playing, if you agree to take me along. The movie is really pretty
good, in its own way.”

Paul returned her grin, feeling a special something in his
heart that he had not known in a long, long time. He realized with a start that
this girl was someone extraordinary.

“It’s a deal!” he replied happily. “When and where?”

“Give me your e-mail and I’ll send you the details. We can
arrange a place to meet,” she said with a sly smile. “In the meantime, I am
feeling rested. There’s still more that I want to see and do here at the Con.
Are you ready?”

• • • •

Monday morning, on the grassy shoulder of North Collett
Street in Danville, Illinois, Paul stood, his arms crossed as he thoughtfully
observed the intermittent flow of traffic on the new Fairchild Street Bridge.
Started in 2013 and finished in 2014, the steel and concrete structure replaced
an old tunnel and carried traffic over the five sets of railroad tracks of the
CSX railroad.

As far as bridges go, it was a pretty standard edifice. Paul
had selected it because it was new and because of its general location, not for
any other reason. It was highly unlikely that it would be disturbed, at least
not for the next fifty years or so. More than enough time to suit his purpose.
And it was close enough to Chicago to be accessible but not too close.

With a wave of his arm, he fashioned a portal and excavated
a small cavity in the heart of the western embankment of the bridge, scattering
the unearthed dirt along the railroad tracks. Then he pulled forth the small
metal box he had tucked under his left arm and snapped open the lid.

Inside was $20,000 in $100 and $20 bills, as well as a
driver’s license, passport, Social Security card, and two credit cards in the
name of one Wesley Farrell, a missing person from the state of Florida.

Snapping the lid closed, Paul opened another portal to the
cavity in the embankment and pushed the metal box inside.

There. Task completed.

Paul didn’t know what the future might hold for him, but if
he were to be captured and escape again (or his current identity of Henry
Kaufman was blown), then he could return to this location and instantly access
the cash and the new identity. After his experiences in Europe, he was
determined to learn from his past. Indeed, that was why he had created a second
stash of cash and ID and secured it in a small cavity thirty feet below the peak
of Colorado’s highest mountain, Mount Elbert, directly under the Black Cloud
Trail. It was highly unlikely that anyone would find or disturb that stash
either.

For a moment, Paul felt a real twinge of regret, thinking of
his old house and his video collection in California. No doubt his two cousins,
his only direct kin remaining on Earth, were anticipating the chance to inherit
his property. At least, they probably
had
been anticipating such, when
it was first reported to them that he was missing. And Paul was assuming that
the police would have told them about his disappearance back when he had
vanished from Edwards AFB. Then, later, when the authorities had announced
instead that he was a fugitive from justice, Donald and Joyce must have felt
incredibly frustrated, knowing that the Feds would probably get his property
instead of them. Paul grinned briefly. It served them right, since neither one
of them was even remotely like a productive member of society and didn’t
deserve a dime out of his “estate.”

Whatever happened to his property, his life in California
was past history now. And his video collection...well, all those movies and TV
episodes were history now too. Instead, he was currently living the dream—the
adventure. Assuming that he survived long enough to enjoy it.

Chicago, Illinois

South Lawndale

South Kildare Avenue

April

Saturday, 10:47 a.m. CST

A
lmost
a week later, Paul was sitting in the lazy-boy in his living room, studying the
tantalum block in his hand. The conversion process was nearly half-done, half
the tantalum atoms converted to
^180m
Ta. And it was growing
considerably more powerful with each session. Nothing like his first talisman,
no, but already twice as potent as the original tantalum had been.

He sighed, knowing how long this process would take and how
much it would delay making his new talisman. And it was only a small part of
what needed to be done. There was the acquisition of the other materials (the
crystal, the basal rock, and the meteorite) needed for the talisman and their
conversion too, which would take just as long as the tantalum. However, he
could see no other solution, and the end result would help provide him with a
talisman second to none on the planet.

But in truth, he was having trouble keeping his mind on the
conversion of isotopes. Instead, he kept thinking about Capie. And to put it
rather bluntly, he was deeply troubled about her.

“Merlin?”

Paul’s favorite holographic associate popped into existence,
standing on his head, his robe draped around his armpits. Fortunately for Paul,
the old wizard wore a normal pair of pants underneath his robe.

“What are you doing?” he asked, bewildered at Merlin’s
latest antics.

“It’s a form of yoga” came the muffled reply. Merlin
levitated a foot off the floor and spun upright, his robe falling back into
place. “It helps me concentrate. All the ancients did this type of exercise.
You should try it sometime. Of all the people I know, you need it the most.”

“Gee, thanks,” Paul replied sarcastically. Then he sighed
and adopted a more serious demeanor. “Merlin, what does it take to cure
paralysis?”

Paul thought he saw a hint of a smile in Merlin’s
expression. “To misquote one of your favorite characters, I’m a wizard, not a
doctor. Why not whip up a doctor from one of your science-fiction movies and
ask him?”

“I will probably do that too, but I am asking you how a
wizard would do it,” Paul reluctantly admitted.

“Ah.”

“I can’t use the same method I did to improve my own body,” Paul
said, hurrying on. “That took a continuous magical spell, one that induced my body
to heal itself. I don’t have constant contact with Capie, so that approach
won’t work. How would you do it?”

The elderly wizard scratched an ear. “In general terms, if I
wanted to use magic to cure someone of a disease, I would mix up a potion.”

Paul blinked twice in surprise. “A potion? You’re kidding,
right? A witch’s brew of bat’s blood, the eye of a newt, and frog legs? That
kind of potion?”

Merlin looked imploringly at the ceiling. “Heaven help me.
No, not that kind of potion! That sort of thing went out with
Aesop’s Fables
.
The modern approach is much more sophisticated than that. Nature has provided a
virtual cornucopia of compounds and organic materials to work with. And don’t
laugh. Don’t forget where penicillin came from. Pharmaceutical companies are
constantly searching for bioactive substances in the flora and fauna of this
planet in order to synthesize new medicines as cures for a wide variety of
diseases. So, please, watch your lip!”

Oops! Paul had apparently pushed a red button.

“My apologies, Merlin,” he said humbly with a small bow. “I spoke
without thinking. You are right, of course. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

Merlin flapped a hand in dismissal and didn’t reply.

Time to move the conversation forward.

“So is there a potion that cures paralysis?” Paul politely
asked.

“I know of several that
cause
paralysis, but not one
that cures it,” Merlin grudgingly admitted. “But I am sure that with the proper
research, we could come up with a cure that would work on Capie. However, I suggest
that the first thing you do is learn more about her condition. Talk to an
expert. Then you will have a better grasp of the magnitude of her problem.”

That was not what Paul wanted to hear.

“Merlin, I don’t want to get involved in another research
project,” he forlornly stated.

“Why not? Don’t you want to help Capie?”

“Of course I do!” Paul told him in too loud of a voice. He
took a breath to calm himself before continuing slowly, “That’s why I asked
about a healing spell. But let’s face it, Merlin. I’ve been around this block a
few times before. I find myself thinking about her more and more. It’s possible
that I might even fall for her, and that would be bad.”

“I don’t see it that way,” Merlin reasonably disagreed.
“Love makes the world go round, and from what I’ve seen, your love life could
stand some additional spin on its axis.”

Paul stared hard at him, finding it difficult to believe
that the older wizard didn’t understand the nature of the problem he was facing.
“You forget that I have declared war on all the wizards of
Errabêlu
. My life expectancy can probably be
measured in months, perhaps a lot less. I can’t afford to get involved with Capie
right now. It would not be fair to her.”

“I see,” Merlin said, though his tone suggested that he
didn’t agree with Paul at all.

Paul turned the tantalum over in his hands. “I need a quick
and easy solution. I want to cure Capie and then just walk away from her, to
get back on track with The Plan.”

Merlin shrugged, apparently unwilling to argue with Paul or
offer a solution. “Talk with a physician. Perhaps when you know more about her
condition, we can talk about a potion.”

Paul sighed in resignation. “Okay. It does not hurt to know
more, I agree.”

Waving a hand, he intoned his spell, “In the name of all the
dedicated science-fiction doctors, may a highly competent physician be created,
combining all the best talents and experiences of Dr. Janet Fraiser, Dr. Simon
Tam, Dr. Grote Maxwell, and Dr. Carson Beckett.”

Merlin stood aside as a new personage appeared.

The tall, brown-haired, and broad-shouldered man seemed
dignified and composed. Wearing a standard white lab coat, black pants, and
blue open-toed shoes, he looked around the room and then back at Paul.

“How can I help you?” he asked with a gentle smile.

“I am looking for some information on paralysis,
specifically paralysis of the legs caused by injury to the lower spinal cord,” Paul
explained. “Right now, I just want general information, in simple English
words. Later, if you like, you can examine the patient for more detailed
conditions.”

The doctor frowned. “In simple English words? Okay. I assume
that we are discussing a female paraplegic; is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“Very well,” the medical doctor responded, tapping his lips
with one finger, deep in thought. “The spinal cord is housed in a series of
interlocking bones known as vertebrae....”

• • • •

An hour later and with a migraine headache, Paul finally
held up his hand and let the image of the doctor fade from existence. Merlin remained
behind.

Paul stretched out on the easy chair, eyes closed, casting a
spell to deal with his headache while simultaneously trying to make sense of
all the information he had just learned.

It was terribly complicated, as most things with the human
body tended to be. Boiled down to its simplest terms, a spinal cord was an
information highway that transmitted electrical signals back and forth between
the brain and the rest of the body. The individual nerve cells that performed
this function were known as neurons. With a serious injury, the neurons in the
spinal cord were damaged or even destroyed, and the communications link was severed.

The defenses of the human body stepped in at that point.
Over a period of time, the damaged tissue and neurons were isolated from the
rest of the spinal cord and sealed behind a virtually impenetrable barrier
known as a glial scar. The scar not only physically prevented new neurons from
entering the damaged site, but all sorts of chemical inhibitors were generated
that discouraged neuron regeneration anywhere in the immediate vicinity. Inside
the injured area, the dead neurons were dismantled and removed, leaving only
the blood capillaries and spinal fluid behind. This enclosure was known by
physicians as a cyst.

The glial scar was permanent, and as far as the defenses of
the human body were concerned, they had done their job to protect the body from
disease and infection. The fact that the body might be everlastingly paralyzed
as a result was seemingly an immaterial consideration.

Medical researchers had known about the glial scar and cysts
for decades. There were several lines of research being conducted into how to
remove the scar and promote the regeneration of neurons, but to date, the
results were extremely limited. A cure, if one existed, remained to be
discovered.

From all the things Paul had just learned, he didn’t see a
way to cure or repair Capie’s injuries to let her walk again. Oh, with magic, he
could probably remove the scar in fairly short order. But the neurons to bridge
the cyst were no longer there. They would have to be regrown, a process that
could take months, just like it had taken him to regrow his arm. From what he had
learned, a new scar would grow back in place long before a new set of neurons
could be grown. Only a constant magical spell could keep the scar from
reforming and allow the neurons time to regenerate. Paul didn’t see an easy way
to implement that as a cure for Capie’s benefit.

“Okay, Merlin, I’ve listened to the expert. I know far more
about Capie’s injury now, at least in layman’s terms, and I can understand why
a cure would be so hard to develop. So, how do we create a potion to accomplish
this task? Where do we start, and how long would it take to make one?”

Merlin’s expression was particularly enigmatic, and Paul
felt uneasy seeing it.

“I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again; I believe that
a potion to cure Capie could be developed, but it won’t be an easy task,”
Merlin explained to him. “We would have to start—how is it said?—yes, ‘from
scratch.’ The current medical technology not only isn’t up to the task, but it
doesn’t even have the basics from which to start. And thus, it will take time—time
to gather bioactive substances to work with, time for experiments, time for
evaluating the impacts on human subjects, and time to evaluate possible
long-term side effects. After all, you wouldn’t want to give Capie a cure that
might shorten her life or cause cancer, would you, now?”

Paul closed his eyes and pressed his hands against his
temples. “So, it isn’t a practical approach. Not under the current
circumstances. Fine! Can you tell me what would work?!”

Merlin nodded slowly. “Yes. I can. And it’s rather simple.
I’m surprised you haven’t thought of it yourself.”

Paul jerked his head up and stared at the whiskered wizard.
“What is it? What is the simple solution?”

“You cast a constant healing spell on her, the same as you
did for your arm.”

Paul grunted in annoyance. “I can’t do that unless I am
constantly in her presence...oh. Ah, yeah. I think I see. Are you suggesting
that I open a portal linking myself to her? Yeah, that is pretty simple. And
the portal wouldn’t have to be very large, would it?”

Merlin produced a small bow. “Correct. The portal could be
so small that it wouldn’t be seen with the naked eye, just as long as it links
you to her, allowing your magical spell to flow to her.”

Paul climbed out of the easy chair and made his way to the
front window, staring out through the dirty panes. “And how long would such a
spell take to heal her, Merlin?”

“An injury as serious as hers? The longer the spell, the
greater the degree of healing achieved. Two weeks minimum to restore some of
the feeling in her legs and feet. A month to bring back partial motor control.
Two months, perhaps three, for 100% restoration.”

Paul rubbed the back of his neck, trying to work out some of
the kinks. “Merlin, I’m trying to keep a low profile here. My research suggests
that there are no other wizards that live in the Chicago area, but the rather
sullied history of Chicago politics suggests that some of their minions have a
branch office here. If I opened a constant portal linking me to Capie, how
vulnerable would that make me to possible discovery?”

Merlin tugged on his beard while considering a reply. “A
constant spell such as that makes you vulnerable to detection, naturally.” And
then Merlin smiled mysteriously. “Of course, it would help considerably if the
energy level were kept low. However, that would extend the time needed to cure her.
You could spend more time with her. As long as you are together, there would be
no need for a portal. And lastly, you could change residences, move closer to
her to keep the portal’s distance as short as possible.” Merlin’s smile
blossomed. “Of course, since she lives near Wheaton, you would have to give up
this rental and move to a location that—shall we say—might be more hospitable
to comfort, health, peace of mind, safety, and aesthetics? Say something closer
to the 21
^st
century than 1908?”

Paul chuckled. “Okay, I get the feeling you don’t like
living here. And I also suspect that you are delighted with the idea of Capie
and me spending more time together. But like I’ve said before, there’s no
future in this relationship. It wouldn’t be fair to her.”

“So,” Merlin clapped his hands together and smiled broadly,
“when do we move?”

Later that night, after he retired to bed, Paul lay awake
with his eyes open, his mind deeply troubled.

He might soon be forced to make a choice here. On the one
hand, he could invest the time to cure Capie, a course of action that could
potentially take months. The other option was to just walk away from Ms.
Kingsley. If he decided to do that, then the sooner, the better. Their
relationship, if it could even be called that yet, was in its very early stages.
Terminating it now, before it got started, would be much more easily
accomplished than doing so later.