The Horicon Experience

by Laughter, Jim

  A shadow crossed Stan’s face. Jake did not miss his momentary expression. Stan grew uncomfortably silent.

  “I wonder how Delmar is doing?” Jake said, rescuing the conversation.

  “Don’t know,” Sherry said around a mouthful of salad. “But if he’s not taking care of himself, he’ll have to answer to me.”

  ∞∞∞

  Delmar finished reading the historical files on his computer and was lying on his bed when Stan and the Senders returned. He looked up just as Stan unlocked the door. Stan poked his head inside for a moment to see if Delmar was dressed before giving the all clear to the Senders waiting out in the hallway.

  As they came into the room, Delmar noticed the contrast between their two expressions. Sherry was the personification of maternal worry while Jake displayed paternal patient bemusement. Sherry crossed the room and immediately felt Delmar’s forehead. Satisfied, but still concerned, she retreated and pulled up one of the chairs Stan was starting to set out.

  “I don’t think we have time to enjoy their hospitality,” Jake said as he took Sherry by her arm, preventing her from sitting. “We really must be going if we’re going to make it back home tonight.”

  “But . . .,” Sherry started to say and then realized that Jake was right.

  “Well,” she surrendered reluctantly, “at least I know Delmar is feeling better.”

  “You take care of yourself, Delmar,” Jake said with a grin, “or I’ll let Sherry get her hands on you.” Delmar smiled his reply.

  “Thanks again for coming,” said Stan and walked the couple to the door. “And thanks again for all the furniture and stuff.”

  “It was no problem,” Sherry replied. “We remember what school days were like.”

  “We’ll see you two troopers around,” Jake said with a short wave from the hall. Delmar waved back as they disappeared and Stan closed the door. A minute later, they heard the ground car pull away from the building.

  “What trouble did you get into while I was gone?” Stan asked after the ground car disappeared from view. “I noticed your chair pulled up in front of your computer.”

  “Oh, I just accessed the lab computer and scanned through different files,” Delmar said. “Mostly, I read the historical data about the Horicon computer.”

  “What else happened?” Stan asked, sensing something more from Delmar’s answer.

  “Some girl named Thena broke into my computer from some place called Allander City,” Delmar said. “She thought she was accessing the library in her home town.”

  “So you’ve got a little electronic romance going,” Stan quipped with a grin. “Stayed home sick, huh?”

  Delmar realized his trap. No matter how he answered, Stan could tease him. He just shook his head and ignored the bait.

  “Okay. I’ll let you alone,” Stan said as he got up. “As soon as I’m out of uniform, show me what you found in the files.” He walked into their bathroom, pulling his jacket off as went. While the water ran in the shower, Delmar turned on his computer. While it booted through the welcome screens, he wondered if he would ever hear from Thena again.

  ∞∞∞

  Deep within the bowels of the Observation Department, a number of people were burning the midnight oil.

  “So you’ve concluded that these natives have not only procured Red-tail equipment, but somehow understand it enough to modify it?” the department supervisor asked from his chair at the head of the oval table.

  The others around the table shifted nervously in their seats. A trooper colonel was standing at the main viewer that displayed pictures and data gathered about the closed planet in question. It was she to whom the supervisor was directing the question.

  “That’s our best hypothesis at this time, sir,” she answered calmly.

  “Do you have any other evidence to support your position?”

  “Other than the general evidence gathered before this started? No,” she said. The room stayed silent while the supervisor considered the problem.

  “If I may suggest a possible course of action, sir?” a trooper major interjected from the table.

  “Major?”

  “Well, sir,” the major began. “I know that in normal cases we avoid direct contact with the natives of a closed planet so we won’t disrupt the normal growth of their society.”

  “You may have noticed this situation is far from normal,” the boss replied.

  “That’s just my point, sir,” the major said. “An abnormal situation precludes a standard predetermined response.”

  The head of the department stared at the major for a moment.

  “Then what you’re suggesting is that we try an abnormal solution?” he asked. “In effect, throw out the rule book.”

  “Yes, sir. It’s obvious from their attempt to bring down the first scout that they’re aware of us being out here. What I suggest is that we ignore the standard contact schedule and approach them directly.”

  “But that could cause anarchy to their society!” a trooper commander across from him interjected.

  “I wasn’t suggesting that we contact the planet as a whole,” countered the major. “I’m suggesting that we contact only the people at the research facility where the signals are originating.”

  “And trust this isolated group with the secrecy that is a normal part of human governments to protect the native population from knowledge of us,” the department supervisor stated as he followed the major’s thoughts.

  “Exactly!” replied the major enthusiastically.

  The supervisor leaned back in his chair and thought for a moment. Leaning forward again, he addressed the major. “What do you propose to say when you visit them?”

  “Me, sir?” answered the astonished officer.

  “Your plan, you’re the man,” shot back the supervisor, a playful grin crossing his lips.

  “Actually, sir,” said the major, catching the glint in the supervisor’s eye. “I was thinking more of sending that young captain, you know, the one that brought us the information and we ended up giving him a new ship. Citti, wasn’t it?”

  “Ah, yes. Citti,” answered the supervisor. “He’s stationed on the mothership assigned to that sector. Good choice, Major. He’s knows the situation as well as anyone.”

  The other members of the council voiced their agreement. “Transmit his orders to the mothership commander immediately, Major,” the supervisor ordered. “Give him whatever resources he needs.”

  “Yes sir,” answered the major. “I’ll take care of it right away.”

  ∞∞∞

  Across campus from the dormitory, the night supervisor at the power station checked the current readouts for various buildings. The figures were familiar to him and he was pleased to see that they were all within normal ranges for this time of night. He jotted the readings down in the night log and reset the recorders for the new week. Taking the readout records from the preceding week with him, the supervisor locked the door of the monitor room and went upstairs to the office.

  Back in the monitor room, the recorders quietly hummed as the paper drums turned within. Each of the pens inside made a continuous line on the graph paper recording voltage and current readings for each circuit. Slowly, one pen began to record a gradual power increase on one circuit in a research lab across campus.

  Chapter Ten

  A buzzer caught Stan’s attention and he looked up from inside the access panel to the console of the lab computer. The sudden noise caused him to crack his head against the framework. The sound reverberated throughout the lab.

  “You alright over there?” someone called.

  “Yeah,” replied Stan as he rubbed his head. “I was just trying to interface with the computer.” Groans resounded around the room.

  “There’s no need to do it on such a personal level, Mr. Shane,” Professor Angle said, and peeked over the console at his student.

  “That certainly wasn’t my intention,” Stan replied, again sticking his head into
the machine. Stan refocused his attention on the circuit board he was replacing.

  Normally, such a chore was extremely simple. What made this one so difficult was this easy access component, apparently designed for reach by an arm the diameter of that of an 18-month-old child. Add to that a required arm length of at least twice that of a normal human adult and the need for at least two elbows, and Stan’s difficulty was understandable.

  After reaching through the too-narrow opening with an extendible grabber, Stan only managed to jar the circuit board loose. He carefully pulled his head out and took a moment to think.

  “What seems to be the problem?” the Thetan woman, Zorina asked.

  “For one, the circuit board is too big to fit through the hole,” Stan replied with frustration. “For another, it’s virtually inaccessible through the access panel,” he said, emphasizing imaginary quote marks with his fingers when he said access panel.

  “Why not change the rules?” Zorina offered.

  Her suggestion gave Stan pause. He had since learned that she had been the first student to build her school computer and log on that first day in class so long ago. Thus, her opinion carried more weight with the young trooper.

  Sticking his head back inside, he surveyed the battleground of his endeavors. It was then that he noticed another direction of attack.

  Backing out of the access panel, which he preferred to think of it as an inaccessible panel, Stan moved around to the other side of the console. He carefully removed the screws holding the video amplifier in place and lifted out the module. He now found that he had immediate access to the desired board. With extreme care, he retrieved his prize and held it up for Zorina to see, a smile of triumph on his face.

  They had been working on the main lab computer for almost five weeks now. Professor Angle insisted that the class perfect their knowledge of its intricacies before he would even allow them near the Horicon computer. With such a prize to achieve, the students drove themselves relentlessly. More than a few reported dreaming of nothing else except the innards of the lab computer.

  While Stan worked under the console, Delmar and Kelarei Chock were deep in the memory core of the computer.

  “Okay! Here we go,” Delmar said and handed yet another memory cylinder to Chock. Then while Delmar inspected the contacts in the receiver, Kelarei cleaned the corresponding connections on the cylinder. The tasks were fairly easy but tedious. Delmar felt hindered by the clean clothes they had to wear in here, but understood the damage that could ensue from failing to take this precaution.

  One by one, Delmar and Miss Chock removed each of the memory cylinders and cleaned the contacts. A third student, whose name Delmar could never remember, monitored the diagnostic board and reported via intercom the results after testing each newly cleaned connection.

  “It’s ready,” Kelarei said as she held out the delicate cylinder in her gloved hands.

  “Got it,” replied Delmar, and snapped it into place. As soon as Delmar nodded, Chock called on the intercom to the student monitoring outside.

  “Ready to test number fifty-three,” he reported.

  “Clear!” the monitoring student warned over the intercom. Delmar and Chock inside the memory chamber could see the small indicator lights on the cylinder holder light up as the diagnostic test ran.

  “Looks great,” Delmar reported after a minute. “Let’s go to number fifty-four.”

  “Acknowledged,” Kelarei replied with a grin. Of the fifty-three cylinders they’d serviced so far, only two required reworking. The two moved to the next cylinder.

  “How’s it going Mr. Morely?” Professor Angle asked, stepping up behind the student at the diagnostic board.

  Morely, Delmar thought. Why can’t I remember that?

  “Pretty well,” answered Morely. He pointed at the readouts on the diagnostic panel. Professor Angle had been monitoring the progress and nodded his approval. He leaned over and activated the intercom.

  Forty-five minutes later Delmar reinstalled the last cylinder and heard the report of its successful test. He and his companions grinned at each other and then began resealing the area in preparation to leave. After replacing and testing all of the seals, Morely ran the atmospheric test on the memory chamber. All readings were within tolerance.

  Delmar had just finished sealing the access door when Professor Angle announced a break for lunch. A glance at the wall chronometer showed that it was already mid-afternoon. Those students wearing clean clothes went over to the locker area to remove and service them. Stan waited until Delmar was finished and the two left the lab and walked to the cafeteria together.

  With the main lunch rush past, the class found quick access to the food dispensers. By this time, they had all gained experience on what proved to be the most edible of the synthesizer’s selections. When there was a variation between the selection and what came out the dispenser slot, it was quite significant.

  Sitting down with the other students, they all joined in the ritual of guessing the condition of the food before removing each cover, awarding points for color, texture, and flavor.

  “Have you heard what the professor is planning for tomorrow?” Morely asked as he rolled a fork-full of off-colored spaghetti.

  “Not for sure,” Miss Chock answered. “But I heard a rumor that he’s going to let us at the Horicon computer if we finish our servicing by tonight.” A murmur of surprise swept around the table.

  “I’m not going to get my hopes up yet,” Delmar said, and took another bite from a greenish baloney sandwich. “I just don’t trust rumors.”

  “Well, maybe you should trust this one, Mr. Eagleman,” a voice said from behind them. They all turned to see the professor bringing his own tray over to join them.

  After he sat down, Chock spoke up. “Then it’s true? You’re considering it?”

  “Yes, I am considering it,” the professor replied. “If the service work on the lab computer is completed.”

  Everyone paused while they considered a hundred tasks requiring completion. Almost as one, they ceased talking and concentrated on finishing their lunches so they could return to the lab as soon as possible.

  ∞∞∞

  Through careful observation, the unit was able to determine the time intervals for the bipedal creatures to appear. Using this as a rough estimate for time units, it was able to determine an approximate timetable.

  Several time cycles transpired while the unit gathered data from the still undeciphered code signals. The interpretation of these codes was still beyond its grasp and would remain so until it could discover the key. The unit’s programming had never included language interpretation. To compensate, it had to imitate the few available historical references that seemed relevant.

  Surreptitious observation of the creatures that regularly visited it provided few clues. The unit managed to assemble a limited audio vocabulary based strictly on these observations, but had no real way to validate it. A few brief views of the creature’s written material obtained by using external optical sensors to their maximum capability should prove helpful, but again, the unit lacked a key.

  Patiently, methodically, the unit continued to amass observations and records, correlating them by appearance or sound. When it did discover the necessary keys to unlock the mystery, it would be ready.

  ∞∞∞

  The operations officer looked up from the report and frowned at the captain of the mothership. “I don’t like it,” he said flatly, and tossed the report onto the captain’s desk. “There’s just too much risk of creating problems with their development.”

  The captain picked up the report and flipped to the final page. Scanning it again, he found the passage he was looking for. “In the recommendation from Observation, they allow us a certain amount of latitude.”

  “I read that too,” the operations officer answered. “But I still sense they want us to make the final decision for them.”

  “Unfortunately, I concur. We’ll have to make t
he decision to contact these natives eventually. I just want to be sure we pick the best time and means to do it.”

  The operations officer smiled.

  “Understood, sir,” he said. “I’ll inform you of my personal recommendation at the most convenient date.”

  Now it was the captain’s turn.

  “In the meantime, I’ll have the pertinent departments continue with their data gathering.”

  The operations officer saluted and left the office. The captain pondered the opportunity given him by the discretionary statement in the report.

  ∞∞∞

  The sun had set hours earlier but the students were still engrossed with servicing the lab computer. Professor Angle assigned Stan and Delmar to tear down and service the printer system. It took the help of another two students to move the printer into a side shop where they could complete the dirty task without threatening the main processor.

  In quick order, they had the side panels off the machine and started the tedious process of cleaning and service.

  “What are you planning to do on our break next week?” Stan asked as he removed another bearing and dipped it into the small vat of solvent.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” replied Delmar. He retrieved the clean bearings from the vat and used compressed air to dry them. “Probably just lie around and try not to think about computers for a while.”

  “Suit yourself,” Stan said. “I was thinking of getting out to stretch my legs with a hike or something.”

  “That sounds like a good idea,” Delmar answered. He paused to take the clean bearings and repack them with lubricant. “Care for a little company?”

  “Sure,” Stan answered. He took the repacked bearings and began to reinstall them into the printer. “We don’t mind.”

  “We?” asked Delmar, looking up in surprise from his work.

  Before Stan could answer, the professor stuck his head through the open doorway. “As soon as you two are finished, go ahead and close up for the night,” he said. “We can finish tomorrow.”

  “You mean we’re that close to getting the full servicing done?” Delmar asked.

  “That’s right,” the professor replied with a smile. “Besides, you eager beavers are wearing me out!”