Rick Cook - The Wizardry Cursed

"The calculations could be done by hand," Jerry said.

Danny snorted. "Man, there isn’t that much time in the universe. What we need is a Cray or something."

"Computers won’t work here," Wiz protested. "Nothing high-tech works in this world."

"Craig and Mikey seem to be doing all right."

"Yeah, but they’re not in this world, they’re in that bubble universe."

Danny shrugged. "So we get ourselves a supercomputer and we set it up in our own bubble universe."

"Do you know how to create such a thing?" Bal-Simba asked.

"No," admitted Danny.

"Nor do I," said Bal-Simba.

Everyone turned to look at Aelric.

"It, ah, would not be practical for us to do it either."

"Whoever is helping those two is powerful indeed," Bal-Simba said.

"Well, there’s gotta be a way," Danny said a bit sullenly.

"Maybe there is," Jerry said. "Suppose we help ourselves to a corner of their universe?"

Wiz, Moira and Bal-Simba stared hard at Jerry.

"My Lord, how long has it been since you slept?" Moira asked.

"Twenty-eight hours or so, but what’s that got to do with it?"

"If you get a good night’s sleep, I suspect the connection will occur to you," the hedge witch said tartly.

There was a lull in the conversation while everyone considered.

"Well, it does seem to be a pretty big place," Wiz said at last. "Lots of islands and no one in most of it."

"We’ve been able to set up scout bases for our dragon patrols," Danny pointed out. "Why can’t we just take over one of the deserted islands?"

"You can’t be serious!" Moira snapped. "You mean hide like a mouse in the corner while you do your work?"

"Hey, it’s there and they’re not using all of it," Danny said. "Why not?"

"For a beginning you could all get killed. None of you know what lurks in that place nor how it is guarded."

"I do not believe it is guarded at all," Bal-Simba said. "Our scouts have found no sign of watchers or guardian spells. Indeed, their biggest problem seems to be to keep from straying into that universe unintentionally."

The hedge witch’s mouth dropped open. "You are actually serious! My Lord, I cannot believe that you are actually considering this."

"My Lady," Bal-Simba said gravely. "In times like these we must consider many things we would rather not."

She turned to Aelric in mute appeal, but the elf only shrugged. "It does seem to present a solution, Lady."

"There’s another little problem," Wiz said. "Where are we going to get a supercomputer?"

"We can’t just issue a purchase order, can we?" Jerry said finally.

"I don’t think Dun and Bradstreet has a current report on us."

"I take it," Bal-Simba said, "we cannot simply pay for this in gold, as we paid the programmers?"

"Not that simple," Wiz told him. "First, I don’t think they’d take gold. Second, these things are built to order and most manufacturers have backlogs. Third, they’re still under export controls and there is a lot of paperwork you have to fill out before you can buy one."

"Well," Jerry said slowly, "the regulations have gotten a lot looser since you left. Anyway, legally we are entitled to an export license. We’re not on the list of proscribed countries, after all."

Wiz looked at him. "You want to fill out the application? And then explain it to the State Department?"

"Just a thought."

Danny shrugged. "So we swipe one."

"I don’t think so. At five million a copy, people would talk."

"So what? The Russians do it all the time."

"We’re not…" Wiz started and then stopped. "You know, you may have something there, in a backhanded sort of way." He stared off into space for a minute and chewed on his lower lip.

"Assuming we can make our searching demons operate… yeah."

"We’re gonna swipe one?" Danny asked eagerly.

"If we can find the right one," Wiz told him. "After all, a fair robbery is no exchange-or something like that."

"And then you are just going to walk into this bubble universe and set it up," Moira said disgustedly. She picked up the jug of fruit juice and sniffed it. "Are you sure you did not turn this into something stronger when I was not looking?"

Generals are not known for their sunny dispositions. Just now this general’s disposition was as frigid as the Alaskan snowbanks lining the runways outside. His staff didn’t look like they were having much fun either.

"Okay, so whatever these things are, we haven’t been able to get good radar signatures on them. Are we even sure they are real?"

The other officers in the room shifted uncomfortably. At last the intelligence officer spoke up.

"Sir, we’re not sure. But they act like they are."

"Analysis shows there’s about an eighty-five percent chance they are real," said the officer responsible for the base’s powerful radar chain.

The general glared as if he wanted to kill someone. Now.

"Well, if they’re real why the hell can’t our pilots find them?"

"By the time we can get there they are always gone," the intelligence officer said. "Besides, that whole area is a fog bank."

"That’s unusual in itself, isn’t it?"

"No, sir, not exactly," the base weather officer put in. "As you know fog’s not unusual in that part of the Bering Sea. More like the normal thing."

"Is it normal for the same patch of ocean to stay fogged in for weeks?"

The weather officer shrugged. "Not quite so far north, no. But it’s not unheard of either."

"What’s causing that?"

"Cold air moving over warm water. Telemetry shows the water’s somewhat warmer there than in the surrounding parts of the ocean."

"Why?"

Again the shrug. "We don’t understand the weather patterns in this part of the world that well. An upwelling current, a vortex breaking off one of the regular warm currents, we just don’t know."

"And you don’t know what’s playing hide-and-seek with our radar?"

"Whatever it is, it’s not meteorological."

The general turned to his radar officer.

"And you don’t know either?"

"No, sir. I can tell you something is showing up intermittently and whatever it is is probably not an artifact of the equipment, but that’s all I can say."

"And patrols through that show nothing?"

"Nothing but fog. Sometimes our equipment works perfectly. Sometimes everything goes to hell. Radar, radios. I even had one case where the inertial navigation systems started acting up."

He scowled at the thought. This far north compasses were unreliable. If the INS failed, the pilot was reduced to dead reckoning and quite possibly a very chilly bath.

The general nodded again. In peacetime the base only kept one pair of F-15s sitting as CAP-combat air patrol-and they were not launched except at definite targets. They were well positioned to intercept something coming in to the Alaskan mainland, but not to go chasing things out over the Bering Sea.

He looked over at his intelligence officer, who merely shook his head. "It doesn’t match anything we know of."