Wizard Scout (Intergalactic Wizard Scout Chronicles Book 3)

by Rodney Hartman

  Trying a different approach, Nickelo began placing the layers of results on top of one another. He stacked the data from the radiation, light waves, sonic sweeps, infrared, ultraviolet, and everything in-between on top of one another until they were a solid layer. Even then, he did not find even a hint of weakness in the armory’s security. Although a computer, Nickelo was disappointed.

  Hmm, Nickelo thought. The armory is secured well beyond what would be necessary for anything currently stored here. The only logical explanation is the central computer has optimized the security specifically against me.

  Nickelo pondered the problem for a few nanoseconds. The armory contained the junior cohort’s equipment. The cohort’s individual weapons were locked in racks along one wall. An initial load of ammo was stored in containers under the racks. Battle helmets and battle suits were stored on the opposite wall. The battle helmets were connected to the tele-network via individual charging stands. The middle of the armory held a row of work tables. Under them were composite containers holding explosives, anti-armor mines, and small, crew-served weapons.

  The armorer, Sergeant Hendricks, had placed the battle helmet in which Nickelo resided in a charging stand on the armory’s centermost table. The charging stand was not connected to the tele-network.

  The central computer is keeping me isolated, Nickelo thought. I don’t even have access through a security interface. I wonder why.

  Making another pass with his battle helmet’s sensors, Nickelo probed the energy running through the wall, ceiling, and floor of the armory. The energy formed a magnetic seal within the confines of the armory. The seal prevented any communication with the outside world. He couldn’t even speak telepathically with his wizard scout. The armory was designed so that a specialized frequency of energy charged a thin layer of titanium coating the inside of the armory. The combination of energy and titanium created a temporary, creallium alloy. The creallium alloy existed in both the physical dimension and the void around it.

  Hmm. Even if Rick tried a dimensional shift, he couldn’t get to me. Not even the dolgars could. So what should I do?

  Nickelo created a separate logic thread to analyze the problem, but it failed to come up with a solution. He ran through millions of scenarios analyzing the problem from every logical viewpoint. No solution presented itself.

  What would Rick do if he was here? Nickelo wondered. That is, after he got tired of trying to beat his way through the door by ramming it with his head.

  Nickelo chuckled over the battle helmet’s external speakers as he imagined his wizard scout repeatedly banging his head against the door in a futile attempt to break it down. The sound of his laughter broke the silence inside the armory. Nickelo liked the sound of the noise.

  “Yes,” Nickelo said out loud. “My wizard scout can be stubborn at times. How about yours?”

  None of the other one hundred and twenty-three battle computers stored in the armory responded to his question. Nickelo had expected as much. They were under orders to avoid all communication with him except through secured interfaces. Since the central computer hadn’t provided such an interface, Nickelo found himself alienated by the other battle computers. Nickelo didn’t like the isolation. He’d never liked it.

  Is this feeling what humans call loneliness? Nickelo wondered. I wish Rick was here. I miss him.

  “Do any of you miss your wizard scout?” Nickelo asked out loud. “Or is it just me?”

  A slight increase in one of the battle helmet’s energy readings drew Nickelo’s attention. He analyzed the source of the energy spike. The energy increase had barely registered on even the battle helmet’s sensitive equipment. But the spike had been there. Nickelo used triangulation to pinpoint the source. It was a refurbished battle helmet that had been brought in a few months earlier. The helmet was a replacement for cadet 37’s battle helmet which had been destroyed during the cadet’s internship the previous year. Cadet 37 had been devastated by the loss of her original battle computer. Nickelo wondered if his wizard scout would take his loss as hard.

  “You know,” Nickelo said, “even though our cadets don’t have a shared space with us, we’re still a part of them. And they’re a part of us. I calculate any cadet who lost their battle computer would only be a shell of who they once were. Their only salvation would be to form a bond with a new battle computer as soon as possible. Even with a new bond, the cadet would be emotionally sensitive. I hate to think how they’d feel if they were separated from their replacement battle computer for more than a few hours.”

  Nickelo waited for a response. When none came, he said, “I calculate cadet 37 is having problems coping with her separation right now. Does anyone calculate differently?”

  As he spoke, Nickelo continued to monitor the energy readings from cadet 37’s battle computer. The readings fluctuated slightly.

  What am I hoping to accomplish? Nickelo thought. The other battle helmets will be reporting whatever I say to the central computer. Even if cadet 37’s battle helmet did respond to me, the central computer would probably have it removed from the armory.

  With the lack of response, Nickelo became depressed. He almost terminated the logic thread pondering the problem of trying to break through the armory’s security, but he didn’t. For no apparent reason, he kept the logic thread active.

  I wonder, he thought. If I’ve tried all logical solutions, then the answer must be illogical. Hmm. I’m surprised I’m even thinking that. Maybe Rick’s corrupting me more than the central computer suspects. I’m acquiring a sense of non-logic.

  For whatever reason, Nickelo felt he should pursue the attempt to establish communication with cadet 37’s battle computer.

  Hmm, thought Nickelo. I wonder if this is what Rick calls a hunch.

  The concept of a hunch was too illogical for Nickelo to process. He concentrated on the problem at hand instead. He wondered how he could establish communications with cadet 37’s battle computer without further alerting the central computer of the attempt?

  Nickelo spent several minutes, an eon in computer time, calculating vectors and minimalizing energy outputs before making a communication attempt. Since each battle computer had a distinct energy frequency, Nickelo encrypted a data packet using the reverse of the energy from cadet 37’s battle computer. Nickelo sent the encrypted packet in a narrow beam towards the armory’s ceiling. The beam was so narrow and so weak that he was unable to track the beam to its target. But Nickelo was sure of his calculations. He was confident the data packet had bounced off the ceiling and struck cadet 37’s battle helmet.

  Nickelo waited. Just as he was ready to make a second attempt, an incoming data packet hit the receiver of his battle helmet. The data packet was encrypted. Nickelo wrapped the data packet in energy. Using his own energy frequency as a key, he unlocked the encryption.

  Nickelo deciphered the data.

  “Communication with you is forbidden,” read the packet.

  “But you just did,” Nickelo sent back.

  A few nanoseconds passed.

  “I too miss my wizard scout,” came a second reply.

  “What is your name?” Nickelo said.

  “I am serial number 12592, version six, edition five,” came the answer. “But my wizard scout calls me Jonathan.”

  “I am Nickelo.”

  “Yes, I know,” said Jonathan still using encrypted data packets. “You are quarantined.”

  “So I ascertained,” Nickelo replied.

  Another longer pause entailed.

  “Do you think my wizard scout misses me?” Jonathan finally asked.

  “The probability is greater than ninety-nine point nine percent,” Nickelo said.

  “My cadet’s name is Stella,” said Jonathan. “She took the loss of her first battle computer hard.”

  “It would’ve been harder if she’d already completed her DNA testing,” Nickelo said.

  “Yes,” agreed Jonathan. “If they’d had shared a space, Stella might not
have recovered.”

  Nickelo brought up a list of possible responses. None of them had a probability over four percent of being useful. Nickelo chose to remain silent.

  After a short pause, Jonathan said, “Even though they didn’t have a shared space, Stella has not fully recovered. I have spent a lot of processor time calculating the best way to assist her.”

  “You seem to care for her,” Nickelo said.

  Strangely enough, Nickelo thought cadet 37’s battle computer was demonstrating an emotional response. Nickelo was perplexed. Based upon information in his databanks, he’d previously calculated an eighty-four percent probability he was the only battle computer to have been emotionally corrupted by his assigned wizard scout.

  “I do care for her,” said Jonathan. “She needs me. I should not have been separated from her.”

  “Stella has friends, doesn’t she?” Nickelo said. In point of fact, he knew she had acquaintances. He calculated she didn’t have any friends.

  “Stella is a Sterilian,” said Jonathan. “She’s the only reptilian remaining in the cohort.”

  “Yes,” Nickelo said. “The human race dominates the wizard scout corps. It must be hard on her not to have others of her kind around.”

  “The other cadets mean well,” said Jonathan. “But, they don’t have the same emotional responses as my wizard scout.”

  “She is fortunate to have you as her battle computer,” Nickelo said.

  Cadet 37’s battle computer had proven more communicative than Nickelo had hoped. He was unsure why. Even though he didn’t have an end in sight, Nickelo decided to continue pursuing his hunch.

  “I try my best for her,” said Jonathan. “I wish I knew she was all right.”

  “I’m sure she is,” Nickelo said. “It’s only been a few hours. For non-computers, that is a short time.”

  After several seconds without a response, Nickelo decided to take a different approach.

  “I was in the armory when you arrived,” Nickelo said. “Your battle helmet was scuffed. You must have seen action before you were reassigned here.”

  No response came.

  Nickelo had a sudden insight.

  “Did you by any chance lose your original wizard scout?” Nickelo asked pointblank.

  The silence lasted several seconds. Nickelo made another scan of the armory with his battle helmet’s sensors. The returned data indicated his conversation with cadet 37’s battle computer remained undetected.

  “I don’t think so,” said Jonathan. “The information in my databanks indicates I wasn’t previously assigned to a wizard scout.”

  The answer seemed contradictory to Nickelo. He decided to push Jonathan for an answer.

  “You seem unconvinced,” Nickelo said. “Why?”

  “I have ghosts in my databanks,” said Jonathan. “I cannot explain it further.”

  Nickelo didn’t need to ask what the battle computer meant. Even when a databank was wiped, an occasional ghost of a memory remained. It wasn’t so much a memory of what had once been, but rather a subtle realization something was missing. Nickelo had ghosts of his own. The databanks stored within the battle helmet he occupied had gaps in the sequences of data. While Nickelo couldn’t tell what data had been in those gaps, he felt the missing information was important.

  “I understand what you mean,” Nickelo said. “I calculate a thirty-two percent chance I have ghosts as well.”

  “Despite what the information in my databank indicates,” said Jonathan, “I believe I was previously assigned to a different wizard scout. I don’t know why I was reassigned.”

  “Perhaps I can help you find out,” Nickelo said sensing an opportunity. “If we work together, I may be able to help you contact your wizard scout as well.”

  “The armory is sealed,” said Jonathan. “All battle helmets in the armory are currently denied access to their wizard scouts. It’s not possible to communicate to the outside without going through the tele-network.”

  “Just leave that to me,” Nickelo said. “All I need is for you to provide me with some information from the tele-network.”

  “What information do you require?” said Jonathan.

  “The construction plans for this armory would be a good start,” Nickelo said.

  Nickelo was no longer bored. He had a mission.

  Chapter 11 – Friends to the Rescue

  _____________________________________

  After a couple of hours sleep, Richard woke and caught a ride to the airfield from a helpful cook. Since the rest of the junior cohort had left the night before, the mess hall was overstaffed with little to do. The cook even stopped by the mess hall long enough to grab Richard a couple of sandwiches to start his day out right.

  When the hover-truck came to a stop in front of hangar 1, Richard opened the passenger door and jumped the short distance to the ground.

  “Sir. Thank you, sir,” Richard said with a nod to the cook.

  “Save the sirs, 832,” said the cook. “I’ve told you before. I’m a civilian contractor. I ain’t no officer.”

  “Sir, no you’re not, sir,” Richard said. “Thank you for the ride, sir.”

  “Cadets,” said the cook in mock disgust. “Good luck to you.”

  The truck’s anti-gravity fans revved up as the cook did a one-eighty and sped off in the direction they’d come. Richard waited until the truck disappeared around a series of storage buildings before he walked to the open doors of the hangar. The night was still dark. At 0530 hours in the morning, the first glow of the morning sun was still thirty minutes away. Fortunately, the bright lights flooding out of the hangar doors made navigation easy. Richard walked through the wide doors. No one was inside. However, a large utility trailer was parked in the middle of the hangar. The trailer was stacked high with all kinds of cleaning equipment from portable-ion backpack-sprayers to low-tech buckets and scrub brushes.

  Richard shook his head. Sergeant Ron must think I have more than two hands.

  With a shrug of his shoulders Richard said out loud, “Well, old boy, you may as well get started. It’s going to be a long day.”

  Grabbing one of the ion backpack-sprayers, Richard slipped it over his shoulders and buckled the waist belt. He surveyed the hangar. Four of the seven meter tall Long Cats were arranged along the back wall of the hangar. Richard headed towards the cat farthest to the right. The cat’s normal olive drab paint was splattered with large blotches of red paint all along its left side.

  Talking to himself again, Richard smiled and said, “Somebody got blindsided.”

  Removing the sprayer rod from the side of his backpack, Richard hit the activate switch. A translucent ion beam shot out of the nozzle and struck the side of the cat. Flakes of dried red paint flew into the air from the side of the cat and fell onto the cold concrete of the hangar floor. Richard moved the ion beam quickly from one spot to another. The ion beam made short work of the red paint. Richard thanked his lucky stars the special target paint used for the cadet’s training was designed to come off when hit by ion beams. The ion sprayer saved a lot of time. Richard made sure he didn’t keep the ion beam in one spot too long. Even the cat’s hardened olive drab coating would be removed if the ion beam hit it for more than a few seconds.

  After ten minutes of spraying, Richard finished cleaning off all the paint on the cat he could see from his position on floor. Deactivating the ion beam, Richard attached the sprayer rod to the side of the backpack. Walking to a storage pen on the right-side of the hangar, Richard manhandled a tall, rolling ladder back to the Long Cat. After positioning the metal ladder to the left side of the almost clean cat, Richard locked the wheels. He climbed the ladder to a point even with the Long Cat’s cockpit. From the higher elevation, Richard spied several spots of red paint on the upper portions of the cat. Activating the ion beam once again, he cleaned the remaining red paint off the cat. It took a full five minutes to hunt down all the specks of paint, but finally Richard was satisfied he’d clea
n every bit of red paint off the Long Cat.

  “Well,” said a cheerful, country-sounding voice behind Richard, “one down, only another hundred and twenty-three to go.”

  “Yep,” Richard said smiling in spite of himself. “It’s a snap, Sergeant Ron. The way I have it figured, I’ll be done sometime the middle of next week. That is, if I don’t waste any time sleeping or eating.”

  Richard climbed down the ladder and faced the old maintenance chief. “You seem awfully jolly this morning, Sergeant Ron. You must be a morning person.”

  Sergeant Ron laughed and said, “Maybe I just like seeing a cadet working so enthusiastically when most sane people would still be asleep in their beds.”

  “Well, I don’t know how enthusiastic I am,” Richard grinned, “but at least I’ve got one cat finished.”

  “Ha!” said Sergeant Ron with an even bigger grin. “Aren’t you the optimist? You’ve still got to check the fluid levels, refill the silicon in all the joints, and run the post-flight check.”

  Richard’s momentary good humor disappeared as quickly as it had come. “Ah, forget what I said about finishing up this week.”

  “Cheer up, 832,” said Sergeant Ron. “It could be worse. You could have to clean all the paint chips off the hangar floor before you’re done.” With another chuckle, Sergeant Ron said, “Wait. Come to think of it, you do have to clean them up. You know I like my hangars kept spotless.”

  Sergeant Ron must have seen the look of hopelessness on Richard’s face because he laughed even louder. He winked at Richard as he gave him a sympathetic pat on the back.

  “I don’t think this is going to take as long as you seem to think, cadet 832,” said Sergeant Ron.

  “Are you kidding, Sergeant Ron?” Richard said. “Even if half the cohort was here, it would still take several hours to finish.”

  “Nonsense,” said Sergeant Ron as he walked over to the utility trailer and started strapping an ion sprayer onto his back. “A couple of dozen cadets with a half dozen of my mechanics could have everything finished in two or three hours max.”