License Invoked

by Robert Asprin

  “Now, what you're doin' is wrong. Y'all want to make it stop before anyone gets killed.” Boo looked down at Ken, who was gnashing his teeth. “Or is that just exactly what you want?” He pulled a pair of handcuffs from his hip pocket and snapped them on Ken's wrists.

  The everchanging crowd had by now noticed that a fight had been going on in its midst. A few men jumped forward to pull Boo-Boo off his quarry, no doubt thinking he was an insane vagrant. With regret, he stood up over his prisoner and produced his billfold with his Department credentials. The men stood back, surprised.

  “Folks, this fellah's in possession of an illegal shipment of pixie dust,” Boo-Boo said amiably but with fire in his eyes that showed he meant business. “Y'all want to move along now. Everythin's under control.” To back up his statement, he made a few quick mystic passes of the “These aren't the droids you're looking for” variety. Distracted, the crowd went back about its business. Boo-Boo was relieved.

  He had let his guard down too soon.

  In the darkness he missed the foot sweeping out from underneath that caught him across the shins. Boo-Boo went flying onto the grass. The cuffs were now around his wrists. Pretty slick, he thought.

  Ken sprang up. Pausing only to kick Boo-Boo once in the ribs, he fled into the crowd.

  Boo gasped, catching his breath around the pain in his midsection. Lewis was gone, but he was not the real problem. Boo-Boo crawled over to Robbie, who was lying on her back with her hands and knees in the air, kicking like a dying fly. Her hair was tangled into a rat's nest, and her clothes were stained and torn. She looked as though she'd been assaulted, but it was all from flinging herself around on the ground.

  “Ms. Robbie, can you hear me?”

  “Beauray!” his pocket screamed.

  Uh-oh. Couldn't let Liz get hot under the collar. The lives of thousands depended on it. Awkwardly with his pinioned hands, he fumbled for the cell phone.

  “I'm here,” he said. “I've got Ms. Robbie. She's freakin' out somethin' awful.”

  “And Lewis?” Liz's voice was already calmed down again. The lady was a real pro.

  “He's gone.”

  “Things are still going on here, Beauray,” Liz said. “Whatever he has done is running on its own now.”

  “You still getting the full fireworks treatment?” he asked. He whispered one of the Words of Unbinding, and the cuffs leaped free. His shoes untied and his pants button popped open at the same time, but that was pretty much normal for the course. He refastened them.

  “And laser monsters,” Liz said, enumerating a list for him. “And fireballs with attitude. And carnivorous rainbows. One of them just bit Mr. Lockney on the arm. But what is troubling me the most is that the Jumbotron is moving. It looks as though it could come down at any moment. You must persuade her to stop before she tears it off its moorings.”

  Boo-Boo looked at Robbie. She didn't see him. That girl was one powerful channel, but she wasn't in control at all. He had to try and guide her back to reality.

  Robbie reeked of liquor. Boo-Boo crouched down beside her and sniffed her breath speculatively. Tequila. Yes, here was the bottle beside her on the grass. But that wasn't enough to cause her to twitch like that. Lewis had to have been feeding her drugs. In spite of those mental obstructions, Boo-Boo had to get through to her. He didn't have much time.

  “Ms. Robbie?” he asked. “D'you know me? Beauray. You know me. We got along real well back at the Superdome. Can y'all hear me?”

  The girl looked at him without seeing him and rolled over, her legs spasming. He picked her up under the arms. Her hands flailed out and hit him in the face.

  “Hey, there,” Boo-Boo said, trying to catch her arms.

  Some well-meaning citizens in the milling crowd on the pavement saw him do that.

  “Hey, you!” a large black man said, jumping up the three concrete steps to the grass. “Get your hands off that girl!”

  He attracted the attention of other people who must have decided that Boo-Boo didn't have any business trying to talk to Robbie. He'd better scare 'em off quickly.

  “Any of y'all know CPR?” he asked, putting a healthy measure of panic into his voice. “'Course she's foamin' at the mouth. Dunno if she's got somethin' catchin' or not. Anyone want to help?”

  That did it. The ones that hadn't melted away when he mentioned CPR vanished like genies when he suggested Robbie might be diseased. Even the first man to speak was suddenly nowhere in sight. The Good Samaritan wasn't dead these days, but he was worried about incurable illnesses. In a moment Boo had the area near the gazebo all to himself.

  “Now, Ms. Robbie, listen to me. You're causin' all kinds o' trouble back along at the Superdome. Y'all got to stop that. Can you hear me? Nod your head if you understand.”

  Instead, she flung herself at him, pointing at the sudden explosion of pink and gold stars over the river. Boo-Boo grabbed her and started probing her mind gently, using a mind-touch technique he'd gotten the idea for from Star Trek. He thought he felt a spark of recognition. Her eyes suddenly met his.

  “Ms. Robbie, do you know me? I'm Beauray.”

  She nodded.

  “Good. D'you know where you are? Good,” he said when, after a brief hesitation she nodded again. “Can y'all shut down the fireworks at the Superdome?” She nodded. “Good. Can y'all do that right now?” She nodded. Her bleary eyes drifted away from him and focused on the fireworks display. Boo picked up his cell phone.

  “That do anything?” he asked Liz.

  There was a pause. “No change. That horrid box is still moving.”

  Boo-Boo helped the girl to sit up. She stared at him wildly. Spittle flecked her lips and she mumbled nonsense. Her hands moved of their own volition, performing a bizarre dance in midair.

  “Look, Ms. Robbie,” he said reasonably, “if you don't cut off what you're doin', thousands of people are goin' to get hurt. Some of 'em could die. It'll all be your fault.”

  He could almost see the words bounce off her ear. He had to break the connection between Robbie and the Superdome.

  “Nothin' personal, ma'am,” he said. He cocked back an arm and caught her under the jaw with a solid right. Robbie dropped to the grass in a boneless heap. Boo crouched over her, keeping passing couples from walking on her. He clapped the cell phone to his ear.

  “I just knocked her out. Did that help?”

  “No, it made it worse,” Liz said, briskly. Boo could tell just from her voice how difficult her task was. “If she is the only one in control, that just set off everything she was thinking of. We have monsters, rockets, musicians in flight and the Jumbotron. How is she doing all of that?”

  Boo looked down at the unconscious woman sprawled at his feet. “Well, I can't ask her just now.”

  “But what can we do to turn her off?” Liz asked, and he could tell how she was straining to keep her cool. “The building itself won't take much more. There is only so much power any one structure can contain. This one is more flexible than most, but, oh, Boo-Boo!”

  “I know, darlin',” he said, slumping beside Robbie with his head in his hands. He could try force-feeding the girl a Mickey Finn, but if a stiff uppercut didn't work, a knockout drug wouldn't have much more effect. Besides, she was dosed to the eyeballs with something strong. He was afraid to try mixing more chemicals into her system. Who knew what kind of subconscious horrors would swim up from delta-wave sleep? What about a lobotomy? Could cutting off the prefrontal lobe squelch the violent emissions of her brain? An operation, or even a spell to the same effect, would take too long. Time was running out. The quickest solution might be a bullet to the head. He hated to take a life, but he had to balance one girl against the thousands and thousands of others trapped in the Superdome. If someone popped that bubble of power now there'd be a massacre. He glanced out over the river. Maybe sinking the barge with the fireworks would do it.

  Thankfully, the fireworks stopped before he could put that into effect. There was a smattering of ap
plause, and the crowd began to break up. He was left alone on the steps of the gazebo with Robbie slumped beside him.

  “The show's over. Did that do it?” he asked the phone. “Did the effects stop?”

  “No,” Liz said. “The place is still shaking itself apart.”

  Boo-Boo's heart sank. “Then it's all goin' on in her head.”

  “How can we turn off her subconscious? There are only a couple more numbers to be played. Everyone is going to want to leave soon, and the place is a hermetically sealed drum full of power that will blow if someone breaches the walls.”

  Boo-Boo's eyebrows went up. He had an idea. The girl had pretty much been following her cues in the beginning. Maybe her subconscious would continue to do it. He hoped he could connect with those ingrained reactions.

  “Let's try and reestablish her connection to the show,” Boo said. “Hold the phone toward the band.”

  * * *

  Liz nodded to the roadie holding the phone to her ear. He pulled it away and prepared to turn it off.

  “No, don't do that,” she said. “Hold it out between the speakers so it picks up the music.”

  Whatever the concertgoing audience thought of seeing a disembodied hand with a telephone at the top of the stage Liz couldn't guess, but Boo-Boo was right. After a few falters, the special effects began again, this time following the cue sheet that the astonished stage manager held in his hand. Robbie certainly did know her work backwards and forwards. Lasers touched the stage. A few Roman candles popped into the air in sequence. The steam box played. At last the show was going according to the plan the producers wanted. The gigantic box overhead stopped swaying. Liz was able to relax her stance for a moment.

  It had taken her a short while to appreciate the skill of the young man who had been holding the phone up for her. Not once did he let the instrument slip off her ear or jam it too tightly against her head. He was watching her, moving when she did, and adjusting his grip accordingly. He must also have muscles like iron. Her arms were getting tired being held aloft for hours, and she was trained to hold that pose. It had taken a great burden off her, not having to worry about the telephone slipping off her shoulder and falling down because she couldn't spare a hand for it.

  “You are very observant,” she told him, and was rewarded with a smile.

  “In this business you have to be, ma'am,” he said. “You're pretty good at what you do, yourself.”

  Liz smiled. “I'm beginning to find that out.”

  Everyone was being so very cooperative. Over the last hour they had formed a special bond. United at first by necessity, they were now freely enjoying all the positive energy running throughout the room and one another. She knew how many people were in the huge auditorium. She knew them all intimately, every emotion, every urge. How many were in tune with the music. How many of them under her overlay of calming magic were excited, terrified, angry, in love, afraid, relieved. How many of them were heading for the lavatory, and how many were coming back. No one was bored.

  With the cool beat of jazz running through her veins like blood, she could do anything. The final song was a rocking ballad in a minor key that sent chills up the audience's collective spine even while it thrilled and elated them. The lyrics were an allegory about a mystical underground power that rose up from beneath the earth to destroy humanity because it was destroying nature, but decided to give it one more chance because humans cared about music. If they could understand one kind of harmony, it could learn to appreciate the other. It was a warning, but it had a happy ending. Liz fervently hoped that Robbie could hold it together just a little while longer.

  “This is the last number, Beauray,” she said into the phone.

  * * *

  “I hear you,” Boo said. He shifted Robbie and cuddled the phone closer to her ear. Pretty soon it would be all over.

  A tiny, faint beeping began. He realized it was coming from his cell phone. Oh, no! The battery mustn't die now!

  It wouldn't. He leaned in close to the receiver.

  “Liz, send me a little of that power,” Boo said in a very calm voice so as not to alarm Robbie and set her off. She was still out, but her eyelids fluttered, and she was drooling down her chin. He wondered again how much of those drugs Ken Lewis had given her. “Just a tickle.”

  A tickle was all he got. The small phone grew warm in his fingers. He held it just far enough from Robbie's ear to see the miniature screen. Battery full. Whew.

  The music coming from the tiny speaker reached a thrilling crescendo, and died away.

  “Okay,” he whispered. “Fade to black.”

  “Beauray.” Liz's calm voice issued forth from the earpiece. “It has stopped.”

  “Whew!” Boo-Boo slumped down on the concrete steps with the unconscious woman in his arms. “Thanks, darlin'. I'd better get this poor young lady back to the hotel. See you at the party.”

  He pocketed the phone, stood up and hoisted Robbie into his arms.

  * * *

  The park emptied out swiftly. The FBI agent passed within a couple of feet of him. Ken could have reached out and touched his shoulder, but contact with Beauray Boudreau was the last thing he wanted. Or the second last. Ken waited until Boo-Boo had stopped at the street corner with his limp burden, then insinuated himself into a large crowd of happy merrymakers heading north along the riverfront toward a bar near the French Market. He needed a very large drink.

  The last thing, really the last thing, Ken wanted, was to have to tell his employer that he had failed. Mr. Kingston wasn't going to like what happened. And neither was the Council. They'd find out sooner or later, but not from him.

  He ripped off the headset and stuffed it into the nearest garbage can.

  As the final number concluded, Liz watched Fionna settle back to earth as lightly as a feather. Michael ran up to her and threw his arms around her. The two of them spun around the stage, laughing. The fringe of Fionna's dress flashed in the spotlights like electricity made physical. Voe Lockney launched into a fusillade of drumbeats that ended with a crash of cymbals. The sound died away. The Jumbotron stopped rocking. It was over. They'd survived.

  The lights dimmed to the sound of wild applause and cheering. Green Fire took its curtain calls. The four members of the band stepped forward to take individual bows, and pointed out the guest musicians and singers for recognition. The applause went on and on.

  “Encore! Encore! Encore!” the crowd began to chant.

  The musicians looked at one another. Michael shook his head firmly. No. Instead the band waved and bowed to their fans, picking up flowers and small presents that came sailing onto the stage from the audience. Fionna, a huge bouquet of roses balanced on her arm, waved to the teeming crowd like a beauty contestant crowned queen. The band took one bow after another. The crowd didn't want them to leave.

  The crew backstage cheered. They'd survived, too.

  “It's all over,” Nigel Peters said, with relief. He dropped his hand from her shoulder and flexed his arms.

  “Not quite,” Liz said, keeping her pose.

  Peters looked at her in alarm. “What?”

  “The question that must be answered immediately is what to do with all the raw, tainted power still swirling around the concert hall. The doors would be thrown open in a moment. We must rid ourselves of the gigantic overload to avoid letting it spill out into the streets of New Orleans.”

  Peters frowned. “How do you get rid of used power?”

  A perfect solution had just occurred to her. Liz smiled, charmed at the simplicity of the answer.

  “Why, we'll send it back to the givers, of course,” she said. “A tradition of magic says that whatever one does comes back threefold. The concertgoers certainly deserved to have all the love they projected given back to them in triplicate.” And whoever was behind poor Robbie being used as a tool deserved what was coming to them, too.

  “Attention, please!” she called, as the group around her began to break away. “We'r
e not quite through yet. We need to clear the air before anyone tries to leave the Superdome.

  “Aww!” some of them complained.

  “Can it!” Lloyd shouted. “Do what she says. Now.”

  They returned readily to their original positions. Liz looked around at all of them. They weren't really all that eager to give up their chance to have touched real magic. She was their leader in wonderworking. Every eye was on her.

  “Now, everybody breathe in. Take in all of the power that has been raised here tonight that we've shared. Keep only what you need for the health and strength of everyone here. Then—breathe out. Push the rest of it back where it came from. Send it back. Send it all back. Ready? Inhale. Now, push!”

  Liz thrust her arms out in front of her. All the others followed suit. The huge glut of energy went rushing away from them in a hurricane gale. Anything not nailed down swirled in the breeze, sheet music, programs, posters, cables, but the roadies and stagehands weren't afraid this time. They were a part of it. A grand tornado touched at the edges with green seemed to rise up from their nucleus, opened out to the very edges of the arena, and disappeared into the walls. The power was gone, back where it belonged. Liz let out a sigh of relief. The ordeal was over at last.

  Everyone grinned at each other like idiots and slapped one another on the back or caught one another in energetic embraces. They all picked up Liz, passing her from one to the other for hugs.

  “All right, people,” Nigel Peters said, holding his arms up in the air. “Party time!”

  “Yay!” the crew cheered.

  The band came off stage, holding up weary hands in victory salutes. The roadies leaped forward to take instruments or microphones and hand out drinks as the group headed downstairs to their celebratory party. Liz felt triumphant. She'd succeeded, against the wildest odds, at the first really important assignment she'd ever been given. She fell in with the band and found herself beside Fionna.

  “I've never been so tired in my life,” Liz said.