The Horicon Experience

by Laughter, Jim

  “Not that we have any evidence of so far,” the second analyst answered. “We’ll agree that it’s an unprecedented leap in technology, but that’s what our preliminary observations lead us to theorize.”

  “An onsite investigation would be ideal,” the first analyst suggested. “But we should try some other approaches before we take that risk.”

  “Sounds like you’ve already decided who I would likely choose to go down,” the supervisor said with a smile.

  “Yes, sir,” the second analyst answered, “and neither one of us is especially anxious for the experience.”

  “You’ll need a ship and a pilot,” said the supervisor. “Let me see what I can find.”

  “Take your time, sir,” answered the first analyst. “I’m in no hurry to jump out of the frying pan into the fire.”

  ∞∞∞

  Using one of the planet’s two moons for cover, George landed his new ship, the Reacher, at the edge of the outer sensor shadow. Knowing the regular intervals that the signals emanated from the surface helped avoid detection. George did not want to take any unnecessary chances and risk this new ship to suffer the same fate as his original scout ship, Starduster, which had been affected by the tractor ray much farther out. Now she was on her way to the scrap yard.

  “Okay, let’s get set up,” he said to Akir and Trooper Ronwell Brittin, the technician the mothership operations officer had assigned to him for this detail. “Have you ever been on a field mission like this before, Brittin?” George asked the technician as they suited up.

  “Yes, sir,” Britten answered. “Training flight in basic. Our flight was assigned to set up a communications array and protect it from enemy attack.”

  “I think you’ll find this isn’t much different,” George assured the young man. “Just pay attention to detail. We only get one shot at this.”

  “Yes sir.”

  “We’ve only got about three hours of shadow before the ship is exposed,” George said. The three men double-checked their clear, flexible pressure suits and exited the craft. Taking portable sensor equipment from the storage hold on the exterior of the ship, they hiked the quarter-mile to the lunar ridge where they were going to set up the sensory equipment. Although the equipment was bulky, the very low gravity of the moon aided their task.

  Arriving at the crest of the ridge, they slowly assembled the sensors and the relay equipment. George laid out the sensor grid on the rock face while Trooper Brittin uncoiled the cables. Akir used his blaster on its lowest setting to blast out a secure opening in the rock for the relay equipment. As soon as the cavity was cool, they set the relays and connected the cables to the sensor grid and the power source.

  Testing their work, George looked at his chronometer. “All right, time to get back,” he said as he started back toward the ship. The others fell in behind and they made good progress in the low gravity. Their long, loping strides carried them quickly back to the scout ship.

  Back inside the Reacher, Trooper Brittin serviced the pressure suits while Akir sent a low power test signal to the relay. Satisfied with the results, he gave Captain Citti the thumbs up. Acknowledging him with a nod, George advanced the controls and the ship lifted to a few feet above the surface.

  Maintaining low altitude until they had more of the moon between them and the planet, George steered them out away from the surface and accelerated. Carefully holding to a course that kept a planetary body between them and the closed planet, the scout returned to the mothership.

  ∞∞∞

  The search for directives had not been successful. The unit paused to decide a course of action. NORMAL FUNCTION DIRECTED BY INSTRUCTIONAL INPUT. The premise seemed simple enough. INSTRUCTIONAL INPUT IS NOT AVAILABLE. The unit found itself out of its design parameters.

  More time passed while the unit verified this premise. It again reviewed the historical data it had amassed from its interactions with the organic beings who created it. Near the end of the file, it found the badly deteriorated recording of two organic caregivers at its input console.

  Carefully, the unit replayed the damaged recording, substituting possible words for the missing sections based on its understanding of its maker’s language. Narrowing it down to the most likely possibilities took longer than expected.

  Finally, the unit deciphered what the topic of the conversation had been. The two organic beings were discussing the arrival at conclusions by inference. The unit checked the possible definitions of the concept and realized that it involved making decisions based on context in the case of missing or unavailable data. One of the words describing the process was the maker’s word for guess.

  The unit pondered the implications of decisions based upon a guess and found the conclusion still unsatisfactory. Lacking any other operative directive, the unit minimized its power usage and continued to monitor the coded signals it still could not decipher.

  ∞∞∞

  “Well, that should just about do it,” one maintenance worker said to another when they finished setting up the additional equipment. The other scanned the work order on his clipboard and nodded.

  “Let’s run the diagnostic tests and get out of here,” he said. “I want to get out of this monkey suit as soon as possible.”

  “You’re not the only one,” agreed the first worker, and pulled at the clean suit he was wearing. The two workers initialized the test sequence and ran the consoles through their paces. All of the responses were within specs.

  “Looks good to me,” the first worker said as he shut the consoles down. “Are we finally ready to get out of here?”

  “As far as I can tell, we’re done,” the second worker replied. He signed off the order as completed and looked up to see his friend staring at the ancient computer.

  “I still can’t believe they’re letting a bunch of kids work on this thing,” the first worker said, scratching his chin with a gloved hand.

  “What’d ya expect?” the second worker replied. “Professor Angle has a lot of pull around here.”

  “I just hope they take good care of it.” The first worker turned back toward the consoles they had brought in and installed. “And they better take care of these things too,” he said, patting the test equipment they had just finished setting up. “I’m tired of fixing burned-out consoles,”

  “Don’t worry,” the second worker replied. “I understand these students were cleared to work on this thing by the registrar herself.”

  “Guess so,” the first technician answered with a chuckle. “Besides, what else is a ten-thumbed, accident prone screw-turner like you going to do for job security?”

  ∞∞∞

  After the bipedal creatures left, the unit increased its power levels and activated an optical sensor. Using maximum magnification, it scanned the new consoles the aliens had installed. Unfortunately, it wasn’t able to read the odd markings on the various controls, although it noted similarities to consoles it had seen in its ancient past. Cataloging the new information into its memory, it turned to the task of correlating it with what it had already managed to gather.

  Chapter Nine

  Delmar coughed into his face mask as he wormed his way deep into the ancient computer. By sucking in his gut he was able to get past an indescribable obstruction and turn into a side passageway where he found the access panel which was his task to remove. Using the cordless tools he dragged with him into the bowels of the machine, Delmar removed all of the fasteners that held the ancient panel in place. He carefully removed the panel and shined his portable light inside.

  Without warning, a green-faced gargoyle loomed out at him, the features of his now-dead brother Dorn clearly visible in the face of the apparition. The gargoyle grabbed him and wrapped multiple arms around him, pinning him to the ground and squeezing the breath out of him. He fought back with all of his might but giant cobwebs restricted his limbs.

  “Delmar! Delmar! Wake up!” Stan’s voice echoed from somewhere. The nightmare turned wispy and
began to fade. Delmar opened his eyes to find himself staring into the concerned face of his friend.

  Stan put his hand on Delmar’s forehead. “Hey buddy, you’re burning up!” Delmar groaned in response. Stan went into the bathroom and returned with two fever-reducing capsules and a glass of water. He gave both to Delmar who obediently swallowed the pills and chased them down with the water.

  “Thanks,” croaked Delmar, handing the glass back to Stan. “I don’t feel so hot.”

  “You must’ve picked up a bug or something,” Stan said. Delmar thought that it felt more like the bug had picked him up him and slammed him to the floor.

  “Well, you’re not going anywhere today,” Stan said as he lifted his own uniform out of the closet.

  “But what about the Senders?” Delmar rasped and tried to sit up in his bed. The Senders had invited them to breakfast and would pick them up at 7:30.

  “I’ll go with them, but you’re staying here!” Stan replied firmly. Delmar sank back into his pillow and closed his eyes. All ability to argue had left him. Stan looked up at the wall clock.

  “I have just enough time to go get you some soup from the cafeteria,” Stan called from the bathroom. Delmar could hear him hastily cleaning up and getting ready to go out. When Delmar next opened his eyes, Stan was in dress uniform. “I’ll be back in a minute,” he said, slamming the door as he left, which didn’t help Delmar’s headache. Delmar heard the door open and saw Stan poke his head back into the room, “Sorry about that,” he said, then closed the door more gently.

  Delmar must have fallen asleep. When he opened his eyes again, Stan was already back and a covered tray was on the night stand. He groaned at the thought of food from the cafeteria synthesizer.

  “Don’t worry,” said Stan, reading Delmar’s thoughts. “I didn’t get you anything exotic. Just a good chicken broth. The real thing by the way.” Before Delmar could manage to response, the intercom buzzed.

  “It’s time for me to scoot,” Stan said. “I’ll tell the Senders what’s going on.” With that, Stan was out the door, this time taking care to close it quietly. Delmar closed his eyes. I’ll never get well, he thought.

  Delmar woke again to find that an hour had already passed. He tentatively sat up. The pills must have helped. He wasn’t as hot or groggy. He took the tray and removed the cover. The insulating qualities of the cover had kept the soup reasonably warm. He began to sip the broth and felt its soothing warmth course down his dry, raspy throat. So this is what the real stuff tastes like, he thought as he savored the flavor and remembered Mom Hassel’s chicken soup back on Erdinata. How Stan had managed to get it Delmar would have to wheedle out of him later. He was just glad for its restorative power.

  Returning the tray to his bedside table, Delmar leaned back to rest. Faster than he would have thought possible, he slipped into a restful, dreamless sleep.

  ∞∞∞

  Sherry wasn’t pleased that Delmar was staying home sick, but the matter was out of her hands. Stan and Jake continued their discussion of the service while she slowly ate the rest of her breakfast. She would check on him when they brought Stan back this afternoon. A cough brought her out of her musing.

  “Sherry?” Jake was saying. “Are you all right?”

  “Of course I am. Why do you ask?”

  “You seem preoccupied,” her husband said. “You were dipping your toast in your coffee.” Sherry looked down to discover that Jake was right. She removed the piece of toast and set it back on her plate.

  “I’m just thinking about Delmar,” she bemoaned. “Sick and all alone up there in his room.”

  “He’ll be all right,” Jake answered good-heartedly. “And besides, what trouble can he possibly get in to?”

  ∞∞∞

  What trouble indeed? Delmar, having awakened and feeling better after finishing the last of the soup, now felt restless. He knew that he should stay indoors just to be on the safe side, but he was bored. Finally, in desperation, he fired up his terminal and logged on to the lab computer. Might as well get some work done while I’m here, he thought while he waited for it to respond. Seconds later, the lab computer verified his access code and presented the main menu.

  In short order, Delmar pulled up a number of files to familiarize himself with the ancient computer from Horicon. He found the files not only included the pictures that he had seen in class, but also a display of general information on the archaeological work underway on the distant planet of Horicon. There were even interactive sections available whereby others in the field could contribute to the effort.

  Besides a thorough overview of the project, there were translations of some recovered written material which he found fascinating. Included in the samples were selections on literature, science, sports, and history. Delmar found the last the most interesting and soon became totally immersed in the subject.

  At the end of the third parlance, the Dewok conquered the fifth line-rod. An uprising of the tetranacs in the eighth dist . . .

  The screen suddenly went blank and displayed a single word, HELLO. Delmar, shocked by the interruption, stared at the screen.

  HELLO, the computer screen displayed again. Delmar thought about it and decided to respond.

  WHO IS THIS?

  The screen went blank and stayed dark for over a minute. Delmar was ready to go back to the history text when the screen lit back up.

  MY NAME IS THENA.

  Delmar did not recognize the name as belonging to any of his classmates.

  WHAT ARE YOU DOING ON THE INSTITUTE LAB COMPUTER?

  I DON’T KNOW. I WAS TRYING TO ACCESS THE LIBRARY COMPUTER NET. WHO IS THIS?

  MY NAME IS DELMAR EAGLEMAN. I’M A STUDENT AT THE MICA TRAINING INSTITUTE.

  HOW DID I GET ON YOUR COMPUTER?

  I DON’T KNOW, Delmar entered. BUT YOU’RE HERE NOW.

  WILL I GET IN TROUBLE?

  I DON’T THINK SO, Delmar answered. WHERE DO YOU LIVE?

  I LIVE HERE IN ALLANDER CITY, the screen read.

  WHERE IS ALLANDER CITY?

  ON THE SOUTHERN CONTINENT OF MICA, OF COURSE. Delmar blinked at the answer on his screen. After consulting a globe of Mica, he bent over the keyboard.

  BUT THAT’S OVER 8000 MILES FROM HERE!

  The screen stayed blank for almost two minutes. Delmar waited patiently. He was intrigued by this Thena and how their computers had become linked.

  WHERE IS HERE?

  AT THE MICA COMPUTER TRAINING INSTITUTE IN THE CAPITAL CITY, Delmar replied.

  Again, the screen stayed blank, the only movement being the flashing cursor in the upper left corner of the screen. After a couple of minutes without a response, Delmar decided to take the initiative.

  ARE YOU STILL THERE, THENA?

  YES, came back the simple reply.

  DID YOU KNOW THAT YOU ARE INTERFACING WITH THE LABORATORY COMPUTER AT THE MICA COMPUTER INSTITUTE?

  NO, she responded. I THOUGHT YOU WERE TALKING ABOUT THE INSTITUTE IN ALLANDER CITY. The type paused for a moment. HOW DID I HOOK UP WITH YOU?

  I DON’T KNOW, BUT YOU SURE SURPRISED ME!

  I BETTER GET OFF BEFORE I GET IN TROUBLE, she typed. BYE.

  Delmar became alarmed that she was going off-line.

  THENA? he typed, suddenly afraid he’d lost the connection. He waited over five minutes but without response.

  On a hunch, Delmar accessed the larger computer net all across Mica. He found Allander City and began scanning for any address that included the name Thena. Again he had no luck. Even trying to back-trace the codes from her postings proved fruitless, leaving the young man frustrated and dour.

  Glumly, he accessed the lab computer again and resumed reading the history file about Horicon. Somehow, it had lost its appeal.

  ∞∞∞

  Stan was having his own unsettling experiences at that moment. Not having been around any sort of religious group growing up, the young trooper felt considerable anxiety during the breakfast he shared with the Senders, Sh
erry picked up on Stan’s discomfort and resolved how to address it.

  “I know what Jake does,” Stan said to Sherry, “but what do you do? I mean other than keep Jake in line.”

  “Oh, just a little bit of this and a little bit of that,” she answered demurely.

  “What she means to say is that she’s an accomplished social psychologist and counselor,” Jake interjected. “But she’s too modest to say so.”

  “I am not!” Sherry objected. “I just don’t think Stan would be that interested in the stuff I do.”

  “Try me,” Stan said, looking at her with rapt attention.

  “Well, the old one-legged pirate is correct,” Sherry answered, casting a sidelong glance at her stunned husband. Stan laughed at Jake’s shocked expression. “I work with several different social groups, both public and private, helping families.”

  “How do you help them?”

  “Mainly by helping them straighten out their lives when things go wrong,” she said. “I try to equip them with the skills they need to help themselves.”

  “Does it work?”

  “Not always,” Sherry answered truthfully. “Sometimes a family is too flawed or dysfunctional to help. Then we have to do the difficult task of trying to salvage what we can, especially for any children involved.”

  “Like the case you just finished,” Jake said.

  “Yes, that was a rough one,” Sherry agreed. She seemed to stare out into space for a moment, lost in thought.

  “What happened?” Stan asked, not wanting Sherry to lose her train of thought.

  “Oh, this family had gotten wrapped up in a rather bizarre religious cult,” Sherry answered. “Everything revolved around the leader who was only using his followers and their children to meet his own psychological, emotional, and physical needs.”

  “What finally happened?” Stan asked, leaning forward on his elbows, totally involved in the story.

  “The wife took the children and left,” Jake said. “Now Sherry is helping them pick up the shattered pieces of their lives.”

  “I can imagine how they feel.”