The Horicon Experience (Galactic Axia Adventure)

by Jim Laughter

  “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.

  “6102, Captain,” the taxi driver said. “Pretty ship, huh?” he continued. “Sure is different from the old tubs I used fly on.”

  “You were a scout captain, sir,” Akir asked.

  “Not me, sonny,” the driver answered. “Just crew. Gunner’s mate. Cruisers mostly.” The old man looked at the ship, measuring her with his eyes.

  “No sir,” he continued. “The sacred book says ‘Lo, I am with you alway’, so that’s where I figure I’ll stay. Low to the ground. Besides, if I could fly one of those things, you figure I’d be driving this ground taxi?”

  “Well, sir,” Akir continued without answering the driver’s question. “Unless there’s another one of those ships around here, that vessel is Captain Citti’s new command.”

  “Do tell,” answered the taxi driver. “Congratulations, son.”

  “Thank you, sir,” George answered, just a bit embarrassed by his sudden celebrity.

  “Yep,” the old driver continued as he admired the ship. “You should be able to reach for the stars in that baby.”

  Seeing the taxi pull up to the front of the building, a trooper-second in the uniform of a master technician came outside to meet them.

  “You Captain George Citti?” he asked.

  “Yes, sir,” George answered.

  “You got your keys?”

  “Yes, sir,” George answered again, lifting the ring of code keys in his right hand.

  The trooper-second motioned toward the Galaxy class deep scout. “Stow your gear onboard, and then come inside to sign her out. She’s unlocked.”

  George and Akir exchanged excited glances. The taxi driver helped them unload their mountain of packages and personal effects, and then helped carry them onboard. Since he had not helped load the car, George suspected the old-timer wasn’t interested in helping them as much as he was interested in getting a look inside the new scout.

  The old taxi driver let out a low whistle, just as he had done many times when a pretty girl would walk by him. “Would you take a look at this thing?” he said. “I ain’t never seen nothin’ like this in my whole life.”

  George agreed. He had been on a number of scout ships before, but this was something special. Every console and component glistened. Not a fingerprint or smudge shown on the surface of any of the controls. Even the floor sparkled.

  “She’s a beaut,” Akir said. “Almost too pretty to fly.”

  “Almost, but not quite,” a voice said from behind them. George and Akir turned just in time to see the master technician enter the control cabin.

  George reached into his pocket and pulled out a small wad of money so he could tip the taxi driver. “Keep your money, sonny,” the driver said. “Just lettin’ me get a look at this baby is tip enough for me.”

  “Thank you, sir,” George said to the driver who had turned to leave. Akir walked with the driver back out to the taxi to collect the last few items from the back seat of the ground car. He also thanked the driver and watched the old man drive away after taking another sidelong glance at the sparkling ship resting on the pad.

  Akir started back up the ramp of the ship just as George and the trooper-second came back out.

  “Go on inside and start stowing our gear, Akir,” George said. “I’ve got to sign for the ship and take care of the paperwork. We’ll pre-flight her before we leave.”

  “We’re leaving now?” Akir asked.

  “As soon as possible,” George answered. “I left our orders lying on the control seat. Take a look for yourself.”

  George and the trooper-second disappeared into the hanger. Akir stepped into the control room and picked up the single-sheet of orders lying on the control seat. He sat down at the communications console and read the orders.

  Scout X3237652, proceed immediately at best possible speed to sector 21102. Report to commander of mothership on station for assignment to closed planet detail.

  Akir had just finished reading the orders when George appeared back in the control room. “Cryptic, huh?”

  “To say the least,” Akir answered. “I guess we better pre-flight and be on our way.”

  George and Akir finished stowing their gear. The ship had two separate crew cabins, a small galley, control center consoles, a large engine room that housed the massive green box used to power the ship, and a separate bathroom, complete with a tub instead of just a shower. The accommodations were almost luxurious, especially compared to the Starduster. But, George reminded himself, this is not a luxury ship. It’s a deep space scout and we’re on a mission.

  George sat in the control chair and began to call out the different operating systems to Akir while he sat at the main control console. Every item checked out to be in perfect operating condition, and before long, they were ready to take off.

  George keyed his mic and spoke clearly into it. “Scout X3237652 requesting departure clearance. Flight plan on file.”

  A moment later, a voice answered from his headset speaker. “Scout X3237652, you have permission to lift off. Ascend to low orbit vector and await further instructions.”

  “Scout X3237652 acknowledged,” George answered. He placed his left hand on the axis ball and firmly grasped the throttle bar with his right. Then after a sideways glance at Akir, who gave him the thumbs up sign, he nudged the throttle bar forward ever so slightly while caressing the axis ball back barely a turn with his left fin
gertips. The new ship lifted silently off the ground and effortlessly ascended upward through the clouds and into low orbit. Once in their assigned holding pattern, George brought the controls to neutral. From all the traffic on the comm, he knew they would have some time awaiting their turn to set their new vector and begin their mission.

  “What are you going to name her, George?” Akir asked.

  “I don’t know. Nothing jumps out at me.”

  “May I make a suggestion?”

  “Certainly,” George said. “You have something in mind?”

  Akir pushed himself up from the communications console chair and crossed the control room to stand beside George in the control seat. “Just something that old taxi driver said.”

  “What was that?”

  “That you could really reach for the stars in this baby,” Akir answered.

  “You know, he’s right,” George agreed. “How about Reacher? What do you think of that?”

  “It’s exactly the name I was thinking myself,” Akir answered with a smile.

  “Then Reacher it is.”

  A moment later, a call came through from ground control releasing the Reacher to leave low orbit and set their vector to their new assignment. George acknowledged the orders and input the new heading into the navigational computer. “Ok, copilot,” he said to Akir. “Our orders say best speed possible, so hold on to your hat!”

  George spun the axis ball to the new heading and pushed the throttle bar forward. The ship leapt effortlessly toward deep space. The star field around them shimmered for only a moment then disappeared in a flash of light. Shalimar blinked out and fell millions of miles behind them in only a moment. George and Akir cheered and slapped each other on their backs. “We’re on our way!” George exclaimed. “And at this speed, it won’t take us long to get there!”

  ∞∞∞

  Jake helped the hover cab driver carry the last of their suitcases out to the vehicle and place them in the rear luggage hold. He turned back around and watched Sherry close the door of their small home and walk out toward the parking area. “Is this all?” Jake asked, not quite believing they were finished lugging bags.