The Horicon Experience (11 page)

“But, sir. My ship is in the repair depot,” George protested. “The dock chief says it will require a full refit. There’s no way I can fly it.”

The trooper-first opened his satchel and took out a package of papers. “I hate to be the one to tell you this, Trooper Citti, but your ship is being routed to the recycling center where it will be turned into paperclips and tabletops.”

“But . . .” George started to say.

“In the meantime,” the trooper-first continued, “you’ll report to hanger 6102 where you’ll take command of your new Galaxy class deep recon scout.” He handed George the sheaf of papers along with a set of operational code keys. George accepted them, noting the registration number embossed on each key.

“My personal effects . . .” George said.

“Are still on your ship,” the trooper-first finished his sentence again. “Go by the repair hanger and collect your personals.”

“Yes, sir,” George answered, fingering the keys.

“When you’re finished there, go to 6102 and sign for your new ship,” the trooper first ordered.

George looked back and forth between Akir and the trooper-first. “Sir?” George asked. “When you say new ship . . .”

“I mean a new ship. Brand new off the production line.”

The trooper-first rose to leave. “Sir?” Akir said.

“Yes?”

“What about me?”

“You?”

“Yes, sir. Me.” Akir answered. “Do you have orders for me too?”

The trooper-first shook his head. “Nope,” he said. “Nothing for you.” He turned again to leave but this time George stopped him.

“Pardon me, sir,” George said. “My orders?”

The trooper-first pointed at the sheaf of papers in George’s hand. “They’re sealed in the safe of your new ship. Your code keys will give you the combination.”

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

“You do that,” the trooper-first answered. He then turned and walked away, not looking back to see the stunned expressions on the faces on the two pilots.

George and Akir sat back down. George leafed through the package of papers assigning a new ship to him. This sudden turn of events had left him in shock. Never in his wildest dreams had he ever considered that he would be the captain of a new production ship, much less one of the Galaxy class deep recon scouts.

Akir reached across the table and laid his hand on George’s arm. “George?”

“Huh?”

“We’ve got orders, George,” Akir said. “At least you do. Don’t you think you better go get your personal effects off the
Starduster
and report to that hanger?”

George shuffled the papers back into order and stood up. Akir stayed seated. “You coming?” he asked his new friend.

“But I don’t have orders,” Akir protested.

“Your orders are that you’re my copilot until you’re relieved by command. Have you been relieved by command?”

“No sir.”

“Then you’re with me,” George said. “Get on your feet, trooper. We’ve got things to do, people to see, places to go, galaxies to conquer!”

“Laundry to pickup?” Akir inserted.

“That too,” agreed George. “You ready?”

“Yes sir, Captain, sir,” Akir answered enthusiastically. “Lead the way, sir.”

The two men turned and walked out of the reception lounge, neither sure where their paths would take them.

∞∞∞

The wall clock read two minutes until eight when Stan and Delmar took their seats. Precisely at eight, Professor Angle entered and started the class.

“Good morning, class!” he said brightly. The response was less than enthusiastic. “I see you’ve all been working on your latest assignment.”

He ignored their groans. Delmar was beginning to think perhaps there was a sadistic side to Professor Angle.

“I hope that now you have a rudimentary grasp on those diagrams,” Professor Angle said. “Are there any questions before I continue?” Stan raised his hand.

“Yes, Mr. Shane?”

“I looked at the diagrams and concluded that it was for some sort of logic circuit,” Stan said. “But I’ve never seen the likes of it.”

“You are correct that it is a logic circuit,” Professor Angle said. “And I’m not surprised that you’ve never seen it before. Neither have I.” A stir swept through the room.

“Where did it come from?” a young Thetan woman asked.

“Its builders are presently unknown to us,” the professor answered. “The computer was discovered a number of months ago in the archaeological ruins on a dead planet called Horicon.”

He had their attention now. All of them had read the articles in the papers and science magazines about the recently discovered remains of a lost civilization close to the galactic core. Nothing in those articles mentioned the level of technology found, although the articles did imply that it was pre-space travel.

“I didn’t know they had computers,” the man next to Delmar offered.

“Neither did anyone else,” the professor responded. “Now, I want you to look at this,” he said as he turned on the large view screen at the front of the room. It immediately showed vid-clips of the outside of the ancient computer apparently still in its original location. Professor Angle forwarded the video through a series of actions, showing it as it was removed from its shipping crates, assembled, and cleaned, followed by detailed photographs of all exterior surfaces and controls. Someone let out a low whistle.

“You will notice that it has been unusually well preserved,” the professor said.

“Is it operational?” Delmar asked as he stared at the image of the artifact.

“Sadly, it is not,” Professor Angle admitted. “We’ve done energy scans and have detected nothing except the usual background radiation.”

“Have they been able to decipher that writing?” someone asked, referring to the strange inscriptions on the control panel.

“Yes,” answered Professor Angle. He flipped the view screen to a picture of the control panel with an overlay of the translations above the original writing. Several of the students made sketches and notes about the control panel.

“Now enough of this slide show,” he said. “Please follow me.” The class rose and followed the professor back into the lab. He led them to the tool room.

“Whenever you work on the inside of any piece of equipment here at the institute, I require you to wear these protective jumpsuits,” he said, indicating the rack of clothing.

“But I don’t worry about getting my clothes dirty,” one young man said.

Professor Angle fixed him with a stare. “These suits aren’t to protect you from any dirt on the computer,” he admonished. “It is to protect the computer from any dirt on you.”

The class surrounded the rack and in a few minutes had managed to get suited. Professor Angle went to a locker and took out his own gear.

“Each of you will be assigned a locker to keep your clean clothes in,” he said. He then inspected the students for proper clean-suit fit. Stan and Delmar did not find the suits that much different from the pressure suits used onboard Axia ships. They were form fitting and reduced to almost any body shape. Stan suspected that when released, the zipper would automatically unseal the suit to allow the wearer to slip out of it easier. He would find out soon.

Satisfied with the inspection, Professor Angle motioned for the students to follow him. Through a door in the back of the lab was a long hallway into the bowels of the building. Thirty or so yards down the hall, the professor turned left and stood at a sealed door. When everyone had caught up, he addressed them.

“This area is a clean room and is kept at a slight positive pressure to keep dust out,” he said. “We’ll enter through an airlock. While inside the lock, you will experience several pressure changes. Any loose material is to be sent through the small pressurized chamber to our left,” he said, indicating the small door. “Please bring your loose gear now.”

They all had notebooks and pens and put these in the small chamber. The professor closed the door and secured the lock. Pushing a button, he activated the machinery and they could hear the whoosh of air as it cycled.

“Okay, let’s go,” said Professor Angle as he entered the airlock. “Since it can only handle eight people at a time, the rest of you come through in a minute. Mr. Shane, you are in charge of the airlock for the second group. You’ll find the controls similar to service airlocks.”

The professor entered the airlock with the first group. Those waiting could hear it cycle. When the indicator light above the door turned green, Stan led the second group, including Delmar, inside.

A simple lever secured the door, after which Stan went to the control panel, clearly a simpler version of service equipment. He activated the equipment and immediately the air rushed through the chamber at a terrific velocity. Dust from minute hidden crevices and invisible foot prints swirled up, then was whisked away out an exhaust port. In a minute, the mini-windstorm died and the light over the inner door of the airlock changed from red to green. Stan locked down the control panel and opened the inner door. The group stepped inside the clean room and joined the rest of the class.

The professor stood before them, but the thing behind him held their attention. There, bathed in the light of a dozen high-intensity lamps was the ancient computer they had seen pictured only minutes ago. No one said a word while they drank in the sight. The professor was positively beaming. After a minute, he cleared his throat and they reluctantly turned their attention toward him.

“This will be our project for the next couple of months,” he said simply. “We’ll be working under the auspices of the Mica Science Museum to prepare this relic for eventual display. I hope we can manage to get its surface lights and controls to give the appearance of operation.” The class let out a collective gasp.

“How will we know we’re doing it right?” someone whispered.

“We won’t,” the professor answered. “All we have is the translations provided by the archaeology department, plus our own intuition regarding the nature of computers. Since the same universal laws of physics apply, we will be able to discern certain things and surmise others. This is the main reason for the major change in your class schedules.” The class was silent again. Everyone’s attention drifted back to the ancient machine.

“Why do they trust such a project to a bunch of students?” a young man asked.

“You are not just a bunch of students!” Professor Angle admonished him. “That you are in my class is no accident of registration. Each of you came highly recommended, and have already proven your innate ability in this field. The decision to entrust you with this opportunity was not made lightly.” The students remained hushed by the responsibility thrust upon them.

“But wouldn’t it have been better to give such a project to fully experienced computer technicians?” Delmar asked.

“Normally, I would agree with you,” the professor answered. “But it was suggested that by using minds that had not already become set in the assumptions of the field, we might both learn something about the past, and perhaps, just perhaps, even discover something for the future.” Several of the students nodded while others simply stared at the massive machine.

“All right! Enough gawking,” the professor stated. “Let’s go back to the classroom.”

Again, they separated into two groups and in turn passed through the airlock. Placing their unused materials back into the airlock, they returned to the regular lab. Professor Angle assigned lockers and showed them how to service and store their protective clothing.

When they returned to the classroom, Delmar looked up at the wall clock and was astonished at how much time had elapsed.

“Since it’s your first week, and we went later than I expected, how about we call it a day?” Professor Angle suggested. An enthusiastic cheer swept through the room. “See you next week. Class dismissed.”

∞∞∞

George Citti and Akir Asmed cleared their gear out of the
Starduster
. It was an emotional time for George. He had spent the last five years on this ship since receiving his captain’s plate and joining the Watcher service, only now to realize that the home he had learned to love and depend upon had run its course in service to the Axia. Soon its components would be salvaged and the rest of the ship recycled. The
Starduster
would be no more. George stroked the back of his control chair, one friend saying goodbye to another for the final time.

Akir stood in the doorway of the control room and watched George say goodbye to his ship. He felt a tear trickle down his cheek.
Why am I crying
? Akir wondered to himself. He had only been onboard a short time but he had also grown fond of the ship. He could not imagine how George must be feeling right now.

“George,” Akir said. “We need to go.”

“I know,” George answered. “It’s just hard to say goodbye.”

Akir did not answer. Instead, he picked up George’s duffle bag and slung it over his shoulder. George picked up a cardboard container he had packed with the few souvenirs he had collected during his travels to alien worlds. A photograph of his parents lay on top of the box, along with his graduation certificate from Flight Training School.

“That’s about it,” George said to Akir. “Let’s head on over to 6102 and check out this new ship.”

After George stroked the command console a final time and gave the control seat a last affectionate pat, they headed out of the hanger into the bright sunlight.

It only took a couple of minutes for the two men to stuff the last of their gear into a base taxi that had awaited them outside of the repair hanger. The trunk of the ground car was full and tied shut with a piece of nylon rope. The back seat was equally full, leaving only enough room for Akir to slide in next to it. George slipped into the front seat with the driver.

“Hanger 6102, please,” George instructed the driver.

The taxi driver slipped the ground car into gear and pulled silently away from the repair hanger, leaving a large portion of George’s life behind him. However, as hanger 6102 loomed into view, an excitement began to fill George. Ahead of them, a Galaxy class deep recon scout rested on a static pad just outside the hanger door. Its silver finish glistened new in the morning sun. Not a scratch or abrasion appeared anywhere on her outer hull. The only thing missing was the name that he would have to choose and have painted on the bow of the ship.