The Horicon Experience (Galactic Axia Adventure)

by Jim Laughter

  “Mica,” Stan said to Delmar. “I never thought I’d ever get here. It’s so much different from my home world.”

  Delmar could see by his friend’s expression that a new era in his life was going to open soon. He was glad he was here to share it with Stan. After all, Stan and he were close in basic, and after their shared experience where they were both injured on their final training cruise, they had become more like brothers than friends. This was a relationship Delmar didn’t mind having, especially since Stan was closer to him than his own brother, Dorn, had ever been.

  The great ship landed at the spaceport. Before too long, the passengers disgorged into the terminal. The boys joined the throng of passengers making their way to the baggage-claim. Delmar looked the crowd over to see if he could spot the giant Mican guard that had chased him those many months ago his first night on Mica. He didn’t see the guard, and wasn’t particularly disappointed in the fact. And the one person he certainly did not want to see was Zeke, the old spacer that had tried to shanghai him that same night. If he never saw that old man again, it would be too soon. Then Delmar remembered that this was a different spaceport. He had landed at Port Mulvey, not Mica City the first time.

  After claiming their bags, Stan and Delmar found the service duty counter to report in. A trooper-second checked their vouchers and gave them transport passes and instructions to get to the Mica Training Institute. Since the institute was a civilian facility, the boys would have to use public transportation to get there.

  Delmar led them to the transit station where they waited for their ride. Delmar knew that Stan had never been on a transit system like this before. His friend was in for a treat. After a short time, their tube car arrived.

  “Come on, Stan,” Delmar said, leading the way. “You’re going to enjoy this!”

  They boarded the tube and Delmar made sure to get them good seats near the exit. The doors shut and the car levitated. Stan fidgeted as the car accelerated.

  “How’s this thing work?” he asked.

  “Basically, it’s like the drive system of the ships, except it’s contained within the tube,” Delmar answered.

  “What prevents the car from piercing the side walls of the tube when it goes into a curve?” Stan asked.

  “The repulsion field that’s a by-product of the drive keeps the cars from rubbing the side or piercing it,” Delmar answered. “They did discover that they’re limited to only about 800 miles an hour tops.” Stan’s eyes grew large at the last comment.

  “Back home we only have surface transportation,” he said. “Mostly railed vehicles and hover cars.”

  A tone and the announcement of an upcoming stop interrupted their conversation. Soon the commotion of passengers getting on and off was completed and the journey resumed.

  “Who are these people you want me to meet?” Stan asked as the car settled back into a gentle rocking motion.

  “Some friends I made last time I was here,” Delmar answered. “Jake and Sherry Sender.”

  “What do they do?”

  “He’s a disabled retired trooper chaplain. Now he’s a minister pastoring a temple congregation near Port Mulvey about half a day from here,” Delmar answered. “Sherry is a former Lady of the Fleet and did her training with Mom Hassel.”

  “You mean Mrs. Hassel was in the service?” Stan said in surprise.

  “I didn’t think you knew that, especially with your reaction to her having her own rifle,” Delmar said with a laugh. “She’s a pretty good shot too. Probably even better than Dad. She was a fleet pilot before she retired to be with dad.”

  “I’m just not used to women being in the service,” Stan said, shaking his head. “Back home people don’t think women should be subjected to combat roles.”

  “Don’t feel too bad,” said Delmar. “Most of the people in the Axia felt the same way for a long time. Women were in the service but they were relegated to minor clerical roles and were mainly decorative.”

  “What changed things?” Stan asked. “It wasn’t covered in the classes we had back at basic.”

  “If I understand it right, the change came after a base out on the rim came under attack by a force of Red-tails,” Delmar said. “There were mostly severely wounded troopers and a contingent of ladies. The women took up the weapons that they had only minimal exposure to and put up quite a fight. When reinforcements arrived, the ladies had beaten back several Red-tail assaults in spite of suffering heavy losses. The troopers who broke the siege were impressed with their valor, and from then on things began to change.”

  “What? Was there an official edict or something?” Stan asked.

  “No. The change came from within the ranks,” Delmar answered. “The troopers gave the women the respect they deserved, and finally the Axia recognized it. Since that time, the ladies have served right alongside the troopers. You see very few of them because they make up such a small contingent of the service.”

  “Is their training any different from ours?”

  “Not from what Mom Hassel and Sherry say,” Delmar replied with a chuckle. “It sounds like their drill instructors were just as tough as Buckner and Stoddard back at Freewater.”

  “Wow!” was all Stan could think to say.

  “I met Mom Hassel’s drill instructor on Erdinata just before I left for basic,” Delmar commented. “I can’t remember her real name, but Mom and Sherry Sender referred to her as Bulldozer Betty. And boy what a bruiser!”

  Another tone sounded, followed by the announcement of their station. Delmar looked at his old pocket watch, the same one Mr. Hassel had given him so long ago, and saw that the ride across the city had only taken eight minutes, including stops.

  Once the car came to rest at their platform, the boys got up and took their bags. Following the crowd, they walked onto the station concourse and out into the Mican sunlight. A short ride on a shuttle bus took them directly to the computer institute itself. A volunteer at the entrance pointed them in the right direction for all incoming students.

  An hour later, the boys were standing in yet another line at the Registrar Office of the institute. Delmar figured it was just their luck to arrive right in the middle of registration for the new school year. Although the school was civilian, Stan and Delmar did notice an occasional student in uniform, but mostly in the dark blue uniform of the Mican Service. The boys found they had plenty of time to talk while waiting in line.

  “For a planet that prides itself on its advancements in computers, this registration process seems to be inefficient,” Delmar remarked to Stan.

  “That’s where you don’t understand computers,” Stan replied. “They don’t make things more efficient, because they still depend on humans to operate them.”

  “But aren’t computers smarter and faster?” Delmar asked.

  “Yes and no,” Stan answered. “They’re no smarter than your average tapeworm but they are extremely fast. Mainly at making mistakes.”

  “Well, I guess we’ll just have to abide by that old service maxim,” Delmar said with resignation.

  “Which one’s that?” Stan asked, rising to the bait.

  “Hurry up and wait!” Delmar said as he turned to stare again at the back of the student in front him. Stan smiled and shook his head.

  Eventually, they completed registration for their classes. Next, they had to get a room assignment in the men’s dormitory. Looking at the line, they decided to skip lunch to improve their chances of getting a room together. After forty-five minutes, they finally reached the counter.

  “May I help you?” asked the harried clerk. Delmar looked at her obvious fatigue and realized that the students were not the only ones who dreaded registration day.

  “Yes, ma’am,” answered Delmar politely. “We’d like a room together, if possible.” The clerk brightened at the courtesy.

  “Let me check the files,” she said and turned to her vacancy records. “I have some doubles left,” she said. “Where on campus will your classes b
e?”

  “Mainly in the Computer Research Department,” Stan answered for them as they both showed her their schedule forms. Again, the clerk consulted her listings.

  “Here’s just the perfect room for you,” she said as she pulled out a card. “Since you’ll be in Professor Angle’s class, I assume you’d like one with the extra power and ground comm lines for computers,” she added.

  “Thank you!” both men answered. They filled out the necessary paperwork and handed over their service vouchers to cover their room and board. Delmar looked wistfully at his remaining funds. It’s a good thing we’re able to eat at the cafeteria by keying our food pass codes into the food synthesizers, he thought.

  After receiving their room assignment, Delmar and Stan again thanked the woman and rode a shuttle to their new home for the term; a massive brownstone building that appeared to be at least five hundred years old.

  “Not much to look at, is it?” Stan remarked as they walked inside.

  “It’s better than an open barracks,” Delmar offered.

  After consulting the directory in the lobby, the two found their way upstairs to their new room. Opening the door, Stan and Delmar discovered a small but comfortable room for two. There was a bathroom with a shower off to one side, and adequate space for storage and books.

  “Things are starting to look better and better,” Stan said. He threw his bags into one of the lockers.

  “I think I’m going to like it here,” agreed Delmar as he also unloaded.

  “I don’t know about you, but I’m starved,” called Stan. He put away the last of his gear and headed out the door. “Last one to the cafeteria buys!”

  “Hey!” yelled Delmar. He locked the door and raced after his friend.

  It didn’t take much effort to find the cafeteria on campus. All they had to do was follow their noses. Inside, they found it similar to the chow hall back on Freewater Training Base where they had received their basic training. The major differences were that civilians populated it, and they had a choice of menu. To get food from the synthetic food dispensers required the insertion of ID cards and punching a selection. To get real cooked food cost real money.

  “Well, maybe the quality of the food is different,” Stan remarked as they eyed the food dispensers. Hesitantly, they inserted their student ID cards and punched in their selections. The dispensers clunked and they pulled out the covered trays. Picking their way among the tables, they found one near the windows.

  “What’d you get?” Delmar asked, watching Stan lift the cover on his tray.

  “It’s supposed to be pot roast, but it looks more like old meatloaf,” Stan replied, eyeing his food suspiciously. “How about you?” Delmar lifted the cover on his tray.

  “I ordered a hot roast beef sandwich with mashed potatoes.” He looked at his food dubiously. Taking a bite of the slightly blue potatoes, he looked up at Stan in surprise. “At least it tastes right,” he said, taking a second bite.

  After their meal, Stan and Delmar put their debris into the disposal chute and decided to explore the campus just to be sure where their classes met. The buildings had that distinctive institutional look that has been a universal standard of schools for centuries. Although the layout of the school made sense, they discovered they had one class that was on the opposite side of the campus, which meant they would have to hurry between their classes to make it.

  Later they retired to their room and tried to settle in. What few belongings they had were organized in short order. Exploring the building, they found the laundry room (already in use) and what appeared to be a small convenience store.

  “All the comforts of home,” remarked Delmar when they returned to their room.

  “It’s certainly better than I expected,” Stan replied. “It’s rough enough back home to make basic look almost luxurious.”

  “I wouldn’t know,” Delmar said. “Most of my secondary schooling was done by correspondence at the Hassel’s farm.”

  “You’ll get used to things in an institution,” Stan said, remembering his formative years in an orphanage on his home planet. “It’s really not that much different from basic, except there aren’t any drill instructors.”

  “You make it sound pretty good,” Delmar said in reply. “Now, I’m for a shower and hitting the sack.”

  “Sounds like a winner,” Stan agreed as he opened a locker and found the linens. “You go ahead while I make the beds.”

  “Think you still remember how?” Delmar quipped, and then ducked out of the way of the pillow Stan threw across the room.

  Chapter Five

  With a start, Delmar’s head came up from the pillow in response to a well-honed internal alarm clock.

  “Would ya look who decided to join the rest of us?” Stan quipped from where he was sitting. With practiced ease, he finished the final adjustment of his uniform.

  “Huh?” was all Delmar could manage to say as he snuggled back down deeper under the covers.

  “Articulate too,” Stan said. He was the epitome of a trooper already dressed and ready for class.

  “You’re the eager beaver this morning,” Delmar said, staring out from under his cover at his friend.

  “At least I’m up and dressed instead of lounging around in my jammies!” Stan shot back.

  “Oh really?” Delmar asked. “So you think you’re the first one ready?” He threw back his covers and sat up. To Stan’s surprise, Delmar was fully dressed and ready. Taking a comb, Delmar raked into place his deliberately mussed up hair that had been part of his attempt to fool his friend. He looked at Stan with a superior eye and then reached back and flipped his bed back into a semblance of order.

  “When did you get up?” Stan asked.

  “I was showered and dressed half an hour before you stopped snoring, sleepy head!” Delmar gloated. Stan shook his head and grinned.

  “All right smarty britches!” he said as he reached for his satchel. “You may have been up first but you’ll be last for breakfast!” In a flash, Stan was out the door and down the hall.

  As expected, the first day of classes on any campus is always hectic, and the first day at the Mica Computer Training Institute was compounded by the problem of being organized by computer. Fortunately, Delmar and Stan had most of their classes in the same building, their one odd class being in the afternoon across campus. That they were among the few trooper students was obvious as they moved across the campus plaza on their way to class. Although Delmar and Stan felt somewhat conspicuous in uniform, they had earned the right to wear them, so they wore them with pride.

  Arriving for their first class, they found the number to be smaller than expected with only eleven other students. Stan and Delmar took seats near the front and waited for class to begin. A few of the students asked the two troopers about them being at the institute while the rest of the group chatted and got to know each other.

  At exactly eight o’clock, the instructor ambled in and faced his class. The classroom fell silent in response to his abrupt arrival. For over a minute, the man simply stared silently at the class. Then he began to pace around and stare at them individually, still without speaking.

  Several of the students became nervous but Delmar and Stan had faced much worse in basic training, so they weren’t phased. Finally, the instructor returned to the front of the room, apparently satisfied with his scrutiny of the thirteen students. He waited another minute and then addressed the class.

  The instructor, a small, thin man with sharp angular features, was dressed in a white lab coat, faded blue-striped shirt, and brown trousers that hiked two inches over the top of his black shoes. He wore his wire-frame glasses on a chain hanging around his neck, giving him the appearance of a schoolmaster looking for someone to whack with a stick. Delmar noticed right away that the professor wore mismatched socks, one black and one argyle, but he decided it was best not to point out the discrepancy.

  “I wonder where they found this character?” someone whispered at t
he back of the room. Neither Stan nor Delmar cared to look around to see who had made the insolent comment.

  “My name is Professor Orilious Angle.”

  His voice was high-pitched and just short of being shrill – nasal. He paused as if expecting someone to bolt for the door.

  “It is not Odd Angle, and it is not Obtuse Angle. Nor is it Right Angle. It is simply Angle,” the instructor said curtly. “You will address me as Professor Angle.”

  The professor glared at the class again. He perched his glasses on the end of his nose and examined his class roster.

  “This class is Computer History and Theory,” he said. “I already know who each of you are, and I’ve scrutinized your backgrounds from your student applications.”

  There was some nervous shifting in the back of the room.

  “I’ve also spoken with the registrar and there will be some changes in your schedules to better facilitate your training.”

  The room became very silent. Without asking any individual names, Professor Angle moved among the students and handed each of them a file from the registration office with their names on it. Delmar opened his and found a new schedule and the necessary paperwork all approved by the registrar. There were gasps from some of the students. Delmar looked over at Stan. His friend returned his gaze and raised his eyebrows.

  “We know this may be a shock to some of you, but for you to adequately learn the science of computers, it is best if you become immersed in them,” the professor said.

  “I know some of you may be wondering why you are in a specialized class that deals with history when you are here for advanced theory. There are two simple explanations,” he said, raising two fingers. “First, in order to understand and apply the advanced theories being developed today, you must be thoroughly grounded in all that has transpired to date.”

  The professor paused as if for emphasis.

  “The second reason this class is called Computer History and Theory is because we had to call it something when we filled in the blanks on the syllabus form.”