Project- Heritage

by Rob Horner

  “So, I’m waiting at that Applebee’s on 17th Street for this Marine chick to show up.” Harding’s mellow voice clashed with his sharp features.

  “Didn’t Davis from 69-Bravo set you up?” Stevens asked.

  “Yeah, it’s his girlfriend’s best friend,” Harding answered.

  “I’ve met her before, right?” Travis asked.

  “How could you forget?” Stevens asked. “She showed up with him at the Christmas party last year, filling out that red dress in all the right places. Even the Chief got slapped on the shoulder by his wife, watching her walk by!”

  Harding chuckled. “Yeah, so when she said she wanted me to go out with her friend, I was like hell yes!”

  “Thank you, ma’am, may I have another,” Stevens said.

  “Exactly,” Harding said. “So, it’s like eight o’clock, and she’s supposed to be there, and I’m standing in that little foyer they have, you know? There’s like five or six people hanging around, waiting for a table, or maybe, like me, waiting for someone, but none of them seem to be this Jessica. The hostess chick calls a name, and one couple leaves, so now there’s like four of us, and I’m starting to wonder if she’s late, or if she’s gonna stand me up.”

  “What do these other people look like?” Stevens asked.

  “Well, two of them are obviously a couple; they’re lovely-dovey in that sick way that makes you embarrassed for them—or feeling like you should pay admission—and there’s this beefcake chick as tall as you, Wilkins, though she could probably bench press you and her girlfriend and not break a sweat.”

  Stevens chuckled into his Pepsi cup.

  “So, the hostess comes back and calls the porn couple away, and now it’s just me and Beefcake, and I’m sneaking little looks at her, trying to remember what Sarah told me about her friend and wondering if it’s this girl. She’s tall, like I said, has this glossy brown hair pulled back in a bun so tight it’s probably making her a cup-size smaller—"

  Travis laughed.

  “--and she’s eyeballing me like she can’t decide if I’m the guy she’s supposed to meet, or if I’m the right cut of Kobe she wants to carve off the bone and eat raw. She starts to raise a hand, and I don’t know if she’s gonna wave or what, but then the door to Applebee’s opens, and in walks another couple. As soon as I see that, I look back at Beefcake, but she’s gone.”

  Travis started, feeling a strange twinge as Harding’s words reminded him of the vanishing message in the logbook.

  “Whaddaya mean, ‘gone?’” Stevens asked.

  “Well, not gone, I mean, she’s still standing there, but now her hair is falling down around her shoulders, and her face looks softer, less like ‘I’m gonna eat you’ and more like ‘It’s nice to meet you.’ So, I go over and say ‘Hi, are you Jessica?’ And she says, ‘No, my name is Amy. I’m waiting for someone my friend set me up with.’”

  “You’re two lost souls,” Stevens said.

  “No, it gets better,” Harding said. “We’re both standing there while more people come in, see the hostess, and get seated, and there’s no Jessica, and there’s nobody coming up to Amy. I find out that Amy is waiting for someone named Rob, and we’re both just getting pissed that we’ve been left here waiting. Finally, around eight-thirty, I say instead of just standing here, does she want to go ahead and get something to eat? She says ‘yeah, why not?’ and steps away from the wall.”

  “Now, I never said what she was wearing because, you know, my initial impression was…”

  “Beefcake!” Travis and Jimmy said together.

  “Exactly. She’s got on this nice sleeveless top and jeans. But the top is a kind of dark material, and it blended in with the wall behind her, making her look thick. But when she steps away, I can see she’s got some nice curves up top, and her jeans fit just right. So now she’s gone from Beefcake to Ba-donk-a-donk!”

  “And now I’m wondering how I can turn this into something better than two complete strangers just having a meal because they’ve both been stood up, and we get led to this small two-person table and start flipping through the menu. We’re both still kind of keyed up, you know, sneaking looks over at the front door just in case our dates show up, and she says, ‘Just wait ‘til I tell Sarah what I think of this Rob standing me up.’”

  “Sarah?” Travis asked.

  “Exactly. So, I say, ‘that’s funny, my boy’s girlfriend Sarah is who set me up.’ And I’m thinking, what are the odds that both of us were set up by a Sarah, and both of our dates didn’t show? Turns out, it’s the same Sarah, but neither one of us can get her on the phone, and we can’t figure out if Sarah is so ditzy that she told the wrong people about the blind date, or just gave the wrong names, or if it’s all just a big joke to her.”

  While Harding spoke, Travis finished his lunch. Stevens asked, “So was it the right chick?”

  “Well, she’s definitely a Marine. Got the Semper Fi tattoo and everything,” Harding replied.

  “You didn’t mention a tattoo before,” Travis observed.

  Harding stage-whispered, “That’s because I couldn’t see it with her clothes on.”

  Stevens laughed, “You dog! I can’t wait to tell Davis about this.”

  Harding immediately interjected, “No, don’t, you can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because we both got texts from Sarah this morning asking how our dates went. Dude, she doesn’t know she messed up!”

  “So, what’s going to happen,” Travis asked.

  “Oh, we got it planned,” Harding replied.

  “And—" Stevens prompted.

  “Right now, Sarah thinks we’re going to triple date this Friday.”

  4

  It was just after lunch that Stevens came to Travis with the news that Bench One had completely shut down and wouldn’t power back up.

  Travis patiently went through his normal list of troubleshooting questions, walking Stevens through the steps that would help him learn to correct these problems on his own. Every technician in 63A had to rotate between shore duty and sea duty. When out to sea, there wouldn’t be a dozen other technicians working on the same equipment; there would be two, each working a twelve-hour shift.

  Stevens had done an admirable job tracing the voltage through several good components. In fact, he’d gotten to the point where the twenty-eight volts required for every DC circuit within the bench left its generator. From there, it spread through a network of over a thousand wire connections to virtually every subcomponent within the test bench. It would be impossible to trace. Luckily, Travis didn’t need to trace it all the way.

  The first thing he needed to accomplish was getting the bench to turn on. Travis disregarded all the full-bench schematics, concentrating instead on the controlling features. Flipping manual breakers to allow the bench to power up in a basic troubleshooting mode, he eliminated many of the sub-modules that might be pulling power to ground, Travis pressed the “Power On” switch, watching for the amber warm-up light on the control face. When the light didn’t appear, he began working backward. Grabbing a Fluke Multimeter, he tested the circuitry surrounding the “Power On” button and discovered the ground side of the switch had lost its connection.

  For any switch to work properly, it needs not only a power source, but also a path to ground on the other side; voltage sitting at one side of a circuit or switch is useless without a place to go.

  Travis traced the path with his finger and made a mental correction; the switch didn’t use a ground, but instead relied on a DC Return Path, which completed a more basic circuit back to the power supply. Flipping a page in the schematic book, Travis continued to trace the path, looking for another point to test. Most likely a relay opened that should normally be closed, denying the path of return the circuit needed in order to power the switch. If the switch couldn’t get power, then it couldn’t activate the other relays that sent voltage through to the various sub-modules.

  “Whatcha got, AT2?” S
tevens asked.

  Travis explained where he thought he would find the fault, and Stevens said he’d call out test points. Grabbing the probes, Travis placed one on the Return side of the switch and looked for the nearest relay in the path back to the power supply, determined to measure the resistance across a relay which should normally be shorted when powered off.

  He didn’t need to do anything else.

  As soon as his second probe completed the circuit, his mind filled with an astonishing image.

  His vision doubled, much as it had with the weird voice earlier, but instead of a warped view down an anonymous hall, he saw the schematic he’d just reviewed superimposed over his sight like someone had injected—or programmed—the schematic into his brain. For a split second, he thought he understood what life was like for John Forbes Nash, Jr. in A Beautiful Mind.

  He saw the myriad lines glowing a brilliant cobalt blue as the path twisted through the bench, unbroken. And there, somewhere off to the right side of his mind’s eye, was one component that remained dark. It occurred in the space of a heartbeat, and then Travis jerked his hands back as if he’d been shocked.

  For a moment he stood there, struggling to understand what had happened. Turning back from the bench to the table where Stevens looked over the schematics, Travis caught sight of the new Petty Officer female, standing with one hand extended to the door of the work center as if she’d been frozen in the process of reaching for the doorknob. Once again, he found his gaze locked onto her clear blue eyes, and he felt a sudden surge, like another electrical shock, race through him, this time drawing a surprised gasp. It wasn’t the shock that scared him, it was the feeling that accompanied it. Not surprise…

  It was more like…recognition.

  A silence stretched the length of the aisle as their eyes remained locked. The buzzing hum returned, like an electrical current, filling his head. Without words this time it had a more familiar quality, like the almost-intelligible hiss of an AM radio that is tuned to a signal just out of range. With the buzzing again came the vivid mental image of the circuits within the bench. Focusing on the image, his mind raced along the path, passing through good relays and diodes, finally arriving at the defunct component.

  Travis blinked twice, rapidly, and the connection was broken. The girl looked away, shaking her head as if ridding herself of a strange dream. The vision faded from Travis’s mind, and he became aware of Stevens’ hand on his arm, asking him if he was all right, if he’d been shocked.

  “No…nothing,” Travis gasped, reluctant to turn away from the girl, but also afraid of continuing to stare at her. “I…just,” he stammered. Then, drawing a shuddering breath, he said, “Try the Timing Card, Stevens. Check out relay K-5. Let me know what you think.”

  “The Timing Card? But that’s behind the power supply at the bottom. We’re nowhere near that far back in the circuit. What makes you think the problem’s down there?”

  “I…just a hunch.”

  As Stevens bent down and pulled out the power supply drawer, Travis turned back to the door.

  The girl was gone.

  Stevens laid the indicated circuit card on the worktable, turning to the correct schematic in the manual to find out what points he should check. “According to this,” he said, drawing Travis’s attention back to the card, “K-5 is used for DC return, and should be shorted from pins two to six when not actuated.” Turning the card over, Stevens placed his ohmmeter leads on the appropriate contact points. Travis looked at the meter and couldn’t begin to explain what he felt when the resistance measurement climbed to infinity. The circuit was open, not allowing current to flow, and not allowing the bench to power on.

  “Whaddaya know?” Stevens commented. “It’s completely open.”

  What the hell? Travis wondered.

  5

  Travis spent the afternoon at the beach, trying not to think about what had happened. He was disappointed when his girlfriend canceled their dinner plans but was able to set a new date for the next day. After a few minutes of standing on the boardwalk, watching families play in the sand, couples strolling at the water’s edge, and gulls flying over everything looking for food, he decided it was best that he be alone, as he’d probably be miserable company.

  Who could he talk to about the strange things he’d seen and heard? Who would believe any of it? Every person he could think of came with risks. His friends would think he’d either gone crazy or was messing with them. His family…well…best leave that lie… He hadn’t spoken to his parents since his last visit to South Carolina what…two years ago? His girlfriend? How could he explain weirdness that only happened when another woman was around?

  The other woman! Of course, he could find…her…and…

  And what?

  He didn’t even know her name.

  He could discover it easily enough; she’d have a recall sheet in the personnel log in the work center. But did he dare call her? What if she was married?

  Still, it was a start. Even if she didn’t believe him, what did he have to lose? He might freak her out, but he could play it off as an initiation joke.

  Sighing, Travis decided the best course would be to wait until Monday and try to find a moment to speak with her at work. He’d just have to get in a little earlier than normal to figure out her name.

  With a plan in place, Travis felt his spirits lift, leaving only the familiar fatigue at the end of a long week of early mornings and hard work. He returned to the base for dinner at the Mess Hall, then went back to his barracks room. It was only 8:00pm, but weird stuff apparently exhausted him. When he lay on the bed, he felt certain that, despite his fatigue, he would toss and turn for hours, reliving the strangeness of the day. To his surprise it wasn’t the odd thoughts or words he’d heard or the weird way he’d envisioned the circuit that kept him awake. It was the vanishing message: You’re being watched.

  But exhaustion eventually overtook him. He was too tired to worry about what must have been a transient visual hallucination any longer. What were three little words in a logbook compared to the other weird crap? Still, just in case there was something behind it, some subconscious observation trying to break through, Travis decided he would conduct a search of his barracks room in the morning. It was enough. Whatever else they might be—small, ugly—the beds in the barracks were comfortable, and Travis fell asleep.

  That’s when the dream began.

  Chapter 4

  Sherry

  1

  Ordinarily, Sherry wouldn’t be bothered by a morning spent pouring over the convoluted schematics of a display system. She loved electronics and electronic theory and was thankful for the opportunities provided by the US Navy. Even the droning voice of AT2 Germany was tolerable, once she got used to his breath. Seriously, did he eat onions for every meal? This had been anything but an ordinary morning, however, and even if her confused mind refused to let her dwell too long on questions regarding her marriage, it had no problem reproducing the voice that didn’t sound anything like her inner monologue. She was more disturbed by the images of Petty Officer Wilkins—could that have been his voice? —that repeatedly flashed into her mind. She felt an immediate attraction for him that clashed with the incessant belief in the perfection of her marriage.

  Man, am I screwed up, she thought.

  Doggedly, she looked through the visual processing circuitry of the display system, seeking out the group of registers which took a digital input and transformed it into a series of voltages that traced images across an LCD screen.

  It wasn’t until her stomach gave a particularly loud and uncomfortable rumble that Sherry realized she’d worked through lunch. Damn, she thought, looking at her watch, it’s almost 2:00.

  “AT2 Germany,” Sherry called to her supervisor, drawing his attention away from another piece of gear. He wouldn’t mind. Despite the onion breath, which he probably renewed at lunch, he really was a nice guy.

  “Yeah, Anders? Whatcha got?” Germany asked a
s he walked to her side, his eyes already scanning the schematics in front of her.

  Did he chew onion gum just to keep it fresh?

  “It’s not the gear,” she said.

  “Oh?” he replied, looking up.

  “I accidentally worked through lunch,” she said.

  Petty Officer Germany laughed.

  “What?” Sherry asked defensively.

  Germany held up his hands, showing he meant no offense. “It’s just…you look like you’ve done something wrong, Anders. And here I was thinking the Navy could use more people like you.”

  Sherry’s stomach growled again. “Believe me, it wasn’t intentional.”

  “I can believe that. You want to go now?” He checked his watch.

  Sherry waited, expecting AT2 Germany to tell her it was too late to leave for lunch. There was only an hour until the shift ended, after all, and she could hold out that long. It just wouldn’t be particularly comfortable.

  “Tell ya what I’m gonna do,” Germany said in a weird accent. It sounded like a cross between an Italian mobster and Apu from The Simpsons. “Since it’s Friday and your first week, I’ll cut you some slack. Get your work area cleaned up and you can go.”

  “But by then it’ll be—"

  “We call it a late chow, when you time your lunch to roll into the end of the day. Don’t worry about it. You clean up, and I’ll go let Petty Officer Harmon know.” He walked away, heading for the production desk.

  She smiled at the prospect of getting off work early, even if it wouldn’t do much for her husband. She could almost taste the greasy lunch she planned to get from the base McDonald’s; her stomach rumbled its anticipation. AT2 Germany returned, gave her workspace a once over, and said, “Good job this week, Anders. I think you’re going to be a great fit here.”