Genie and Engineer 1: The Engineer Wizard

by Glenn Michaels

  “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 experime
nts, 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 21st 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.

  And it really would be the smart thing to do, to just walk away at this point in time. She didn’t need to be anchored to a Don Quixote, a man who really did have a short life expectancy. Paul couldn’t ask any woman to stand beside him under those conditions, let alone a woman he was coming to admire and care for.

  If only he could cure her of her paralysis first, then he would have no qualms about walking away. At least that way, he would leave her in a better situation than where he had found her. But after learning the specifics of spinal cord injuries, that choice was apparently denied to him.

  So, what would it be? Help this one woman and let the rest of the world remain in slavery? Let World War III happen, including the death of 500 million people? Or do the smart thing and stop seeing her in order to continue with his mission to save mankind?

  Grimly, Paul realized that his situation was similar to what Kirk faced with Edith Keeler in the Star Trek episode “The City on the Edge of Forever.” But of course, that was just a TV show. This was for real.

  Why did he find it so hard to make this choice?

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Northbound, U.S. Highway 12

  Two miles north of Genoa City, Wisconsin

  May

  Saturday, 10:51 a.m. CST

  “You are really going to enjoy Yerkes Observatory,” Capie was babbling to Paul. “I have been there many times, of course, but each time, I learn something new or see something through one of the telescopes that I’ve never seen before. It’s always a lot of fun, don’t you know....”

  Paul tuned her out. Capie was practically blathering as she drove up U.S. Highway 12, heading for Lake Griffin and eventually Yerkes Observatory.

  He was still not quite sure how she had talked him into going on this trip. He had taken her to dinner in a nice restaurant in Chicago two weeks after seeing Foundation. He had just given her a present, too, specifically, the five books of the Deverry series, in hardcover, written by Katherine Kerr. Capie had confessed on their earlier “date” that she was looking for the series and was having difficulty finding it in hardcover format. So, since his magical powers made it childishly easy to find such for her, Paul had surprised her with the five-book set right there in the restaurant.

  And somehow, a minute or two after that, they were planning a trip to the Observatory.

  Ostensibly, the two of them were making this trip so that Paul could tour the facilities and actually lay hands on a 102-cm refracting telescope, the largest of its kind in the world. But he suspected that the ulterior motive up Capie’s sleeve was to introduce him to her father. Or stated in more pertinent terms, maybe it was the other way around. Maybe she wanted her father to meet him.

  Paul turned to study her profile. She was still prattling away at warp speed, still very excited about this little trek of theirs. They had taken her vehicle because neither one of her wheelchairs—not the manual or electric version—would fit in his Camry. It made sense to take the van, and as such, it was equipped only to let her drive.

  Her father, Professor Chris Kingsley, was on the staff of Yerkes Observatory (part of the University of Chicago) as one of the astronomers. According to Capie, he was working on theories about interstellar dark matter, using the telescopes to acquire the relevant data to work with.

  Paul was not looking forward to meeting him.

  If this had been some sort of pleasure trip and he was merely Joe Public touring the observatory and meeting a real-life astronomer—well, that would have been wonderful and great, and Paul would have loved to meet an accomplished scientist under those conditions. But this would be profoundly different. Professor Kingsley was the father of the daughter that he had been spending a great deal of time with lately. Now, Paul had never had a child of his own (Douglas was a stepson and as such didn’t count), but he thought he could predict how Professor Kingsley was going to react to him.

  There would be questions. The professor would be sizing Paul up as a potential suitor for his daughter’s attentions. And Paul flat didn’t think of himself in those terms. True, for reasons he hadn’t fully dealt with, he had not yet been able to just walk away from her. And yes, he was working on that, to develop the courage to perform that very act. But meeting the father in order to subject himself to the man’s evaluation—it made Paul feel uncomfortable, sort of like a wolf in sheep’s clothing must feel wh
en sneaking behind the head sheepherder, the one carrying a fully loaded double-barreled shotgun.

  And the question he dreaded the most—just what were his intentions toward Capie?—was the question that would likely be uppermost in the professor’s mind. If he asked it, Paul didn’t have an answer for him. How could he when he didn’t really know it himself?

  Maybe it was something that Paul didn’t need to worry about. Perhaps if he stuck close to Capie, the good professor would never have the chance to ask him that question.

  Paul glanced at Capie again, feeling uneasy about the whole situation. How did she feel about him? Oh, sure, she liked him well enough. But was she falling for him? Certainly, he could use a spell to give him the answer to that question, but it felt too much like prying, and to be honest, he wasn’t anxious to know the answer. To know about her feelings might force him to do something about his own, and he really didn’t want to know. He wasn’t ready to confront his feelings yet.

  So he squirmed uncomfortably in his seat. He just needed a little more time to sort it all out.

  • • • •

  There was no real parking lot in front of Yerkes Observatory. It was as if the building’s planners knew nothing about cars when the place was designed and constructed. And maybe they didn’t. According to the travelogue that Capie was spouting, the building dated all the way back to 1897.

  Capie parked the van along the edge of the circular driveway and then activated the electric loading ramp. Paul got out and watched as the ramp lowered her and the wheelchair to the ground. Then, at Capie’s direction, he removed a special mechanism from the van and attached it to her wheelchair. Known as a stair-climbing wheelchair, the electrically powered machine allowed Capie to go up and down stairs, an essential mechanism for entering and leaving the Yerkes Observatory building. When the van was secured again, the two of them headed off to the observatory’s front entrance, with Paul pushing.