Fight and Flight (Magic 2.0 Book 4)

  The following is intended to be a fun, comedic sci-fi/fantasy novel. Any similarity between the events described and how reality actually works is purely coincidental.

  1.

  “The eight of us have been killed a combined total of sixty-seven times,” Jeff said. “This strikes me as a problem.”

  A youngish man in a silver sequined robe raised his hand.

  “I’m not a school teacher, Martin. If you have a question, you can just ask.”

  Martin glanced around at his friends, wearing their wizard robes and hats, seated in a cluster of chairs in Jeff’s home: a small, unassuming blue hut that, thanks to a magical portal he’d created and a much larger hut out in the woods, appeared to be bigger on the inside than it was on the outside. Jeff stood at the front of the room, addressing them.

  Martin said, “Sorry. The whole thing just kinda gave me a Hogwarts vibe.”

  “That’s fine.”

  “Anyway, I don’t have a question so much as a statement. None of us is dead.”

  “Yes, well, when I say we were killed sixty-seven times, what I mean is that we were nearly killed sixty-seven times, and were only saved by the use of magic or dumb luck.”

  “Then why not say that?”

  “I wanted an opening line that was a real grabber. Something to get your attention before I show you the chart.”

  Gary raised his hand. The loose sleeve of his black robe slid down to reveal a thin bare arm, as the Dokken T-shirt he wore beneath it had short sleeves. The pale skin of his arm almost matched the bleached white bone that made up his skeletal artificial leg. “I have two questions. One is: Aren’t we all here for movie night? The other is: What chart?”

  Jeff sighed. “Yes. We are here for movie night. After we discuss the boring business of all of us nearly dying a whole bunch of times, we’ll move on to the vital task of watching an old movie.”

  A black man in a purple robe asked, “What are we watching?”

  Jeff said, “Thanks for not raising your hand, Tyler. We’re watching Mad Max: Fury Road.”

  Gary said, “Mad Max! Good! Mel Gibson’s the coolest!”

  Martin said, “Yeah, you’re from 1992, aren’t you?”

  “Yes. So?”

  “So, enjoy enjoying Mel Gibson while you can.”

  Jeff said, “As for your second question: What chart? The chart I haven’t shown you yet because I only just got my first sentence out before I got sidetracked.”

  Jeff waved his magic wand and said, “Montri la diagram.” An easel holding a large chart appeared next to him. The left side of the chart had a list of the names of the wizards present. Along the top Jeff had listed every event in which one or more of the wizards had nearly been killed, using shorthand titles like “Orcs,” “Giant Squid,” and “Mud Elemental.” A grid full of check marks illustrated which wizards had nearly been killed by each danger. The wizards were silent for a moment while they read and absorbed the information.

  Jeff said, “I only included peril that we’ve faced after finding the file, discovering that the world is a computer program, and coming back here to Medieval England to pose as wizards. Whatever trouble some of you might have gotten into to make you decide to come here is your own business.”

  Brit the Younger adjusted her glasses, peering across the room at the chart. “Huh. That’s funny. I would have assumed that Martin had nearly been killed the most, but Phillip just edges him out.”

  “Yes,” Phillip said, stroking his beard. “But I’d have you know that all of the attempts on my life have happened since I met Martin.”

  Martin said, “Jeff, I have to object. You say that Phillip nearly killed me in our first duel. That’s just not true.”

  Gwen shook her head, then brushed her light brown bangs out of her eyes and said, “No, Martin, but the villagers thought he killed you, and let’s face it, he could have if he’d wanted to.”

  “Easily,” Phillip said.

  Tyler said, “I see what you’re getting at, Jeff. That’s not a great safety record. But, I mean, we are time-traveling wizards. Shouldn’t we expect a certain amount of danger?”

  “Yes, That’s my point. We should expect danger, but we don’t. That’s why we keep getting caught with our pants down.”

  “We wear robes,” Gary said.

  “Yes, Gary. Now shut up. My point is that we need to be more prepared. We need to develop real means of defending ourselves and make sure that we have practice using them.”

  Gary said, “Well, yeah, obviously. That’s why I created the Kato Protocol.”

  “Yes,” Jeff said, “But I’m afraid that while having wizards just randomly attack each other without warning has been good for a few laughs, it hasn’t really added to our tactical readiness.”

  “Tactical readiness. You’ve been hanging around with Roy too much.”

  “No, the rest of you haven’t been hanging around with me enough.” Roy was an older man from an earlier time, with a crew cut so precise and severe it had become a way of life.

  Gary asked, “You wanna hang out with me sometime?”

  Roy said, “I do not.”

  Gary shook his head and waved his hands. “Whatever. Look, the point is, the Kato Protocol is in place so that we’ll be ready for attacks and develop offensive weapons, and I think it’s succeeded.”

  Roy said, “That’s because you’ve mistaken jumpiness for vigilance, and you’re using the wrong meaning of the word offensive. We want offensive as in the opposite of defensive. Not offensive as in it offends people. Like your inventions: the fart bomb, the helium-voice spell, and the commando ray.”

  Martin said, “I’ve been meaning to ask you: How did you make a ray that caused people’s underwear to disappear?”

  Gary smiled. “It was a happy accident. I was working on a wedgie ray and it malfunctioned.”

  Brit said, “Look, Jeff, you’re right to be concerned. But if you’re this worried about it, why not do what we women did with Atlantis? Create a new place for yourselves somewhere far away that will be safe, instead of living among all these primitive villagers.”

  Jeff said, “Two reasons. One: if you look at the chart, you’ll see that the vast majority of the things that have threatened our lives have come from other magic users, not the locals. Two: if you look closely at your own row on the chart, you’ll see that more than half the times you’ve nearly been killed took place in Atlantis.”

  Roy nodded. “It’s impossible to create a safe place for people to go, because it becomes unsafe when people go there.”

  Jeff said, “I don’t understand why you aren’t taking this more seriously. We’ve all nearly been killed multiple times. Gary lost a leg. I had my powers stripped away, then got dropped off of a cliff! You almost weren’t able to hop back in time and save me. This is serious. Our lives are at stake.”

  “Yeah,” Martin said, “But while you point out that we’ve nearly died sixty-seven times, I’d remind you that we figured out a way to save ourselves sixty-seven times. We always think of something.”

  Phillip said, “Yes, but Jeff has a point. It would be smart of us to try to think of something in advance, instead of waiting for things to go wrong. What do you have in mind, Jeff?”

  “I propose that we each develop a weaponized macro, a spell that will be a useful weapon. Something that has real teeth. Then, when they’re done, we’ll share them with each other.”

  “And who do we test them on?” Tyler asked. “The locals? Each other?”

/>   “We’ll test them and practice using them in regularly scheduled organized skirmishes against some sort of artificial opposing army that we’ll create. That way we won’t have to pull our punches.”

  Gary said, “That actually sounds like fun.”

  Phillip said, “All right. Let’s put it to a vote. All in favor of enacting Jeff’s plan, raise your hand.”

  Everybody raised a hand.

  “And everybody in favor of having Jeff create the opposition army, raise your hand.”

  Everybody raised their hands but Jeff.

  Jeff said, “Wait one minute! This was my idea! Why do I get the hardest job?”

  Roy said, “Because you suggested it. You never worked in a corporate environment, did you?”

  “But why do I have to do it alone? I won’t have time to work on a weapon of my own.”

  Martin said, “Are you kidding? Jeff, if you do this right, you’ll have the best weapon of any of us. You’ll have an entire army you can summon and command any time you need it, and it can be any kind of army you want.”

  Jeff said, “Oh, that’s . . .” He paused, thinking, then continued. “A really good point. Any suggestions?”

  Gary said, “Yeah! You should—”

  “Does anyone but Gary have any suggestions?”

  “Oh, come on! That’s not nice. I’m going to be fighting whatever you come up with, too, and of all of us, I’m the one who’s been hurt the worst. If anything, my opinions should count double.”

  Tyler said, “I have a suggestion, Jeff.”

  “Yes, Tyler?”

  Gary said, “Man, what a rip-off!”

  Tyler said, “I suggest we hear Gary’s suggestion.”

  The other wizards groaned.

  Gary said, “Thanks Ty.”

  “Thank me by making a good suggestion that isn’t a waste of our time.”

  “Right. Jeff, I think you should make an army of women.”

  The wizards groaned again, louder.

  Tyler shook his head. “You just couldn’t do it, could you? It just wasn’t in you.”

  “Why?” Brit the Younger demanded. “Why would Jeff make an army of artificial women?”

  Gary said, “Why wouldn’t he?”

  Brit asked, “Did you miss the part where he said we’re going to be fighting whatever it is he makes?”

  Gary said, “No, I didn’t miss that. That’s what I have in mind. He could make, what do you call them, Valkyries. The big, tough women with the spears and helmets with wings on them. They’d be a challenge to fight. Brit, you have to admit that women are just as capable of fighting as men.”

  Gwen said, “He’s right, Brit. You, specifically, do have to admit that.”

  Brit narrowed her eyes to slits. “Yeah, I suppose I do. So you’re suggesting that Jeff make an army of tough female warriors for us to train against.”

  Gary said, “Yeah.”

  “And they’ll be strong?”

  “There’s no point in doing it if they aren’t”

  “And fierce?”

  “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  “I suppose I can get behind that.”

  Phillip leaned over, put his hand on Brit’s shoulder, and said, “I’d hold off on endorsing his plan just yet. Gary, what would these female warriors look like?”

  “Like tough female fighters.”

  Everyone sat silently, waiting for Gary to say more.

  “They’d have great big swords, and battle-axes. And they’d be wearing armor.”

  Still, nobody spoke.

  “Like shiny metal bikinis.”

  Brit let out a frustrated grunt. Phillip said, “There it is.”

  Martin said, “You’re picturing them riding on giant tigers and wolves, aren’t you?”

  Gary pointed at Martin. “Totally! See Martin gets it.”

  Gwen said, “You want us to train against an army that looks like it was airbrushed on the side of a van.”

  Phillip said, “Gary’s a necromancer. His entire life looks like it’s airbrushed on the side of a van.”

  Gary said, “All right, fine! So you don’t want the army of Valkyries. Whatever. I don’t hear any of you making any suggestions.”

  Tyler said, “It should be period appropriate. No jet fighters or anything. It needs to blend in with this time.”

  “Valkyries. They’d fit this time perfectly,” Gary muttered.

  Gwen said, “And it should look formidable. Whatever it is, just looking at it should scare you.”

  “Valkyries look formidable,” Gary grumbled.

  Roy added, “And the enemy should be resourceful and adaptable. It should change its tactics in reaction to ours.”

  “Valkyries are adaptable,” Gary insisted.

  “Really?” Brit asked. “How so? In what way, Gary, would you say that Valkyries adaptable?”

  “Well, it seems to me that I’ve seen pictures where they’re in a snowy setting and they’re wearing a fur bikini instead of metal. That’s something.”

  “Yeah, that’s something all right,” Brit scowled.

  Jeff said, “Okay, this isn’t getting us anywhere. I’ll give it some thought, and I’ll try to come up with something that addresses all of your requests.”

  Phillip said, “Very good.”

  Jeff said, “Except Gary’s, of course.”

  Phillip said, “Very good indeed!”

  Two months later...

  2.

  Martin glanced back over his shoulder. The dragon was still gaining.

  “That’s right,” Martin muttered. “Come to papa.”

  He heard Phillip’s disembodied voice in his ear. “Martin, a dragon’s closing in on you. It’s a follower. Martin, do you read?”

  Martin touched the tips of his left thumb and ring finger, the wizard equivalent of the push-to-talk button on a walkie-talkie.

  “I read,” he replied, and instantly regretted it. He wore goggles that made seeing while flying at speed easier, but they did nothing to help talking while flying at speed. His cheeks puffed full of air like a small, fleshy parachute. He felt a tendril of drool flow across his jawline and down the side of his neck.

  “I read you,” Martin repeated, more clearly. “It’s only gaining because I’m letting it. I can fly much faster than this, thanks to my brilliant innovation.”

  Phillip said, “Martin, wearing goggles to keep the wind out of your eyes doesn’t qualify as a brilliant innovation.”

  “You didn’t think of it.”

  “I didn’t have to, Martin. I thought of using long-range homing missiles. That’s why I was able to take my dragon out at a range of two nautical miles. Now I’m free to act as a spotter and warn you that a dragon is closing on you!”

  “I’m trying out a move,” Martin said, hoping it would get Phillip off his back.

  “Well unless that move is called getting bitten in half by a dragon, you might want to—oop!” Phillip interrupted himself, sputtered for half a second, then shouted, “Martin, hard left! Now!”

  Martin tilted his staff violently to the left and executed a sharp, diving turn. He looked down past his feet and saw a dark shape arcing through the empty space where he would have been, had he not been warned. Martin allowed himself to fall into a dive, still watching the fast-moving object. It was Gary. He could tell by the black hair, robe, and hat, and the fact that his left leg beneath the knee appeared to be that of a skeleton.

  Gary held his own staff with one hand and grasped a loose, tangled rope with the other. The rope led to another dragon, which turned and spun in an effort to figure out where its quarry had gone. Gary swung about in the dragon’s wake like a water-skier who had fallen but hadn’t yet reali
zed that he should let go of the towrope.

  Martin heard Gwen ask, “Again with the Spider-Man web?”

  “We were told to come up with a power we could use in a fight,” Gary shouted, more from the exertion of maintaining his grip than from anger or fear. “I’ve got something new, too, but I still say the webs are a legitimate power that I can use in battle. I don’t see why everyone gives me a hard time about it.”

  Martin leveled off, zipping along about fifty feet above the forest canopy. He heard Tyler say, “Because it lacks any originality. You just copied from Spider-Man.”

  “No wizard’s ever copied Spider-Man before,” Gary shouted. “That’s original-ish!”

  “It makes no sense for a wizard to shoot webs,” Tyler yelled.

  “So nobody’ll expect it,” Gary said. “Besides, I’m a necromancer! I’m all about spooky and creepy. Spiders are spooky and creepy. It fits.”

  Brit the Younger said, “He’s got a point, actually,” but Martin had stopped paying attention to the voices in his ear. His evasive maneuvers had left him below and in front of his dragon. Martin slowed, looked up and to the rear, and saw exactly what he hoped he’d see: the dragon, with its wings folded down against its body, diving directly toward him.

  Martin watched the dragon approach, its gaping mouth looking like an open garbage can, only painted red and surrounded by a ring of assorted kitchen knives. Martin judged the dragon’s speed, predicted its trajectory, and when he thought the moment was right, he triggered his macro.

  As the dragon closed in on his position, Martin’s silver robe and hat glowed with a grid pattern of silver light. Then Martin exploded into a cloud of swirling silver boxes, which multiplied as the dragon flew through them. The boxes converged and re-formed into a thirty-foot tall copy of Martin constructed from floating silver blocks, like living, glowing LEGOs.

  Maneuvering the giant silver body was like trying to move in five ski suits plus boxing gloves, but he managed to grab the dragon by the shoulders and hang on to the beast’s back.

  The dragons were all the same size, roughly forty feet from tooth to tail if they stretched out straight, but of course they seldom did. The whole point of having a whiplike tail and a snakelike neck is to bend them, and the dragons did so constantly as they flew. Heads the size of barrels weaved through the wind, leading bodies the size of hatchback cars, armed with two powerful rear legs that ended in claws that could grasp a full-grown man, all supported by immense leathery wings. They were large enough to seem terrifyingly strong, yet thin and graceful enough to look utterly incapable of carrying a thirty-foot-tall man made of silver bricks.