The Halcyon Dislocation

by Peter Kazmaier

  “If anyone can get us out of this mess,” said Dave, “it’ll be you!” O’Reilly smiled for the first time since the explosion and squeezed Dave’s shoulder affectionately. Dave started out of the car.

  “One more thing, Dave. Please don’t say anything to anyone until I’ve had a chance to make an announcement. I’ll tell everyone tonight anyway. This accident and its implications will stretch the psychological fabric of our people to the limit. It’s almost like telling them that their closest relatives have died. If this leaks out prematurely, we may have a riot on our hands before we can be ready for it.”

  Dave’s mind was reeling as he walked up the stairs to his dorm room, checking his phone again, just in case. Of course, there was nothing. Fear hovered at the edge of his mind like a vampire bat. If he allowed it to settle, it would attach itself and suck the life out of him. I’ve got to keep busy and not think about it.

  When he entered his dorm room, Glenn Thompson, his roommate, was sitting on his bed studying the topography of Miss Arizona.

  “Hi, Dave!” Glenn said. “Hey – is your phone working?”

  “Hi.” Dave said without enthusiasm. “No, it isn’t.”

  “That’s weird. Neither’s mine. Internet’s down too. Must have something to do with the explosion. What’s eating you?”

  Dave evaded the question by asking another question. “What do you think about the explosion?”

  “Well, it got me out of sociology today. Professor Aberhardt was continuing to rail against the twin social evils of religious fundamentalism and the nuclear family. I was glad to get a break. That class is a bore.”

  In an effort to stop thinking about the dislocation, Dave turned his attention to one of his favorite pastimes, baiting Glenn.

  “Glenn, why are you spending so much time studying that skin magazine? Can’t you get a real date?”

  Glenn, who was used to this banter, feigned irritation. “As a matter of fact, I can get a date anytime I want. Sociology students are in great demand by the fairer sex. Women are social creatures, and that gives us a great advantage over social Neanderthals such as you engineers.” He spat out the word engineer as if it were a disease rather than a discipline. “No,” he continued, “Miss Arizona is a work of art, and she’s low maintenance. Why shouldn’t I enjoy her? Life is short, and I ought to get all I can in the time I have. So go for it! That’s my motto.”

  Dave decided to escalate. “Glenn, when you sociologists think that women appreciate your social prowess, you’re overlooking one important fact.”

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s true sociologists are on the whole more sensitive and tenderhearted than engineers are.”

  “Yeah?” said Glenn suspiciously.

  “Women relate well to you because they’re beginning to mistake you for other women. Engineers, on the other hand, could never be mistaken for women, except for those who really are women, and if women are looking for real men with none of that warm wishy-washy milquetoast feeling about them, they turn to us.”

  Glenn’s riposte was laced with expletives. The exchange ended with Dave hitting Glenn in the head with a small pillow he kept handy for just such an attack. After the errant return shot upended several books from the bookshelf next to his bed, Dave thought it was time to turn to something else. “Anything on TV?” he asked, turning on the set in their room. Only the university channel was broadcasting, and there was no programming except for a message saying that an important announcement was coming at 9:00 p.m. and everyone should tune in.

  “I think I’ll go downstairs to the store and buy a sandwich,” said Dave, turning off the TV.

  “Do you know when they’ll let us out on campus again so we can go to the cafeteria to eat?” asked Glenn.

  “No,” said Dave, “that’s why I’m going to get something now rather than wait for them to open the cafeteria.”

  “Always thinking about your stomach,” groaned Glenn.

  “Why don’t you come down with me?” asked Dave.

  “I told some of the guys I’d join them for supper,” said Glenn, returning to his magazine.

  As Dave left the dorm room he felt much better. He went down to the main floor that housed the dormitory store and sandwich outlet. But his mind kept going back to the accident, so he bypassed the store entrance, went outside and looked for the moon. It was a sliver, late in its last quarter and getting ready to set in the west, just as it should. Nothing seemed to have changed! He went back inside. There was only one other person in line ahead of him, a pretty brunette wearing a doctor’s uniform. He caught sight of her nametag; it read “Pamela Lowental.”

  “Hi, Pam,” said Dave as if he knew her.

  “Oh, hi,” said Lowental in a tone of familiarity. She looked at him closely. “Do I know you?”

  “I don’t think so,” said Dave, “since I would have remembered you. Do you live in Socrates?”

  “Yes, on the second floor.”

  “You’re a doctor?”

  “Nope, I’m a premed student.”

  At that moment a woman appeared from the back to give Lowental her order.

  “See yah!” Pam said as she left with her food.

  Dave nodded and smiled. It was his turn to order. He had just purchased two sandwiches, one for himself and one for Glenn, since he had doubts the cafeteria would open that day, when a campus patrol officer came in and asked the employees to close the store so he could talk to them.

  Dave sat in the common area, looking out the large glass windows to the grass commons outside. The campus was deserted except for the occasional patrol car that passed in the street. He noticed that the officer who had closed the dorm store did not leave but stationed himself outside of the dormitory to enforce the curfew. Dave decided to go to the dorm weight room.

  Chapter 3 Mobilization

  At 8:50 p.m. the campus public address system began urging everyone to turn on their televisions. Ten minutes later, Dave and Glenn watched the university station’s broadcast as Chancellor O’Reilly and several other university dignitaries filed into the briefing room to face the cameras. Of particular interest to Dave was the presence of a naval officer, whom he did not recognize. O’Reilly came to the podium and looked squarely into the camera.

  “This afternoon,” he began, “a commissioning test of a new force field generator, carried out on behalf of the Department of Defense in our experimental area, had some serious and unintended consequences. The experiment triggered an electrical storm, which ultimately led to a detonation that damaged the force field equipment. Furthermore, unbelievable as it may seem, this explosion at 14:31 hours has dislocated—that is to say, moved—the whole island of Halcyon from its original location. We have not yet determined our new coordinates, but I can say that Halcyon’s very best minds are working out our location and how to get back home.

  “Let me tell you what we know. The air, the ocean, and even our preliminary astronomical data indicate that we have been dislocated to a part of the earth very close to our original position near North Carolina. It is puzzling that we have so far not been able to communicate with the mainland, but it is likely that the failure of our communication equipment is a consequence of the dislocation process.”

  “If this is a joke, it’s a very bad joke!” sputtered Glenn as he jumped up from his chair.

  “It’s no joke,” said Dave softly.

  O’Reilly continued as a picture of the truncated bridge filled the screen. “The bridge to the mainland has been neatly sliced in two. Fortunately the whole island was dislocated, so all of our resources are intact. The nuclear power plant is still operational, and our self-contained island infrastructure is functioning well. We do not have to worry about running out of electricity, since there is enough nuclear fuel on site for about fifteen years.

  “However, the geography around our island has changed. It is my belief, based on discussions with my advisors, that the island has moved only a few miles from its prev
ious location. The coast is now six miles away. If we cannot reestablish communication with the mainland over the airwaves in the next few hours, then we will send a boat to the mainland.

  “As I have said, our best evidence indicates that we have moved only a few miles. However, until we have confirmed this conjecture by communicating with the mainland, we must take steps to ensure the orderly functioning of our small community.

  “As chancellor, I—together with the senate and Commander Sanderson from the naval station at the south end of the island—have taken it upon ourselves to form an interim government to ensure we continue to conduct our affairs in an orderly manner under the rule of law during this interregnum. It seems prudent under the circumstances to act as if we might be without communication or support for a protracted period of time. We will work to assure our basic necessities. Once we have taken steps to ensure our survival, if we have neither been rescued nor found a way to return home, then we will hold elections and operate as a freely democratic country.

  “For now we will declare martial law. All food will be used to carry our population through the next critical few weeks. There will be no hoarding. I repeat, all food will be shared equally. If we have to go hungry, we will all go hungry together. In addition to the 15,000 students housed in dormitories on campus, we have about 5,000 faculty and support personnel. Many of these support personnel lived on the mainland. They will be housed mostly with the faculty in the faculty district, but some will also have to be placed in your dormitory rooms. If you have a large room and must accept a third person, please do so with goodwill.

  “Finally, you will ask, ‘What are our next steps?’ To that I would respond that our most immediate need is food. We must look first to the sea to support us. Securing our food supply will buy us the time we need to reverse the dislocation or await rescue. To buy us this time, I am suspending all classes, and we will assign everyone to necessary tasks. It is essential that we work together and put our community ahead of our own personal wants and needs. It is only by this kind of unselfishness that we will pull through this crisis. May God have mercy on us!” O’Reilly took a sip of water from a glass and cleared his throat.

  “We are all asking what has happened to us. Dr. Blackmore, the vice-chancellor, and his team of physicists and engineers will take personal responsibility for investigating the accident. I have asked him to keep us informed of his progress on an ongoing basis.

  “I will take personal responsibility for our survival. I have asked Trevor Huxley, who will take responsibility for food procurement, to provide some of the details on logistics. Trevor?”

  Huxley, a short, heavily jowled, overweight man with a red face, took off his glasses to clean them. His voice was unexpectedly thin and reedy, despite his flabby appearance, as he read from a prepared speech. “I am sure that everyone is as shocked as I am at what has happened. I’m sure you will understand me if I say that we must all pull together. What I say may seem high-handed to some, but it is essential to our survival.”

  Dave saw O’Reilly shift uncomfortably at the longwinded preamble. Huxley noticed the motion, cleared his throat, and applied himself to the written text. “It is essential that we keep all the critical departments functioning: engineering, the physical sciences, and medicine. We will also give priority to the support functions that keep our buildings lit and infrastructure operative. This will mean that additional personnel with the right expertise will have to contribute. If you are asked to lend a hand or take a shift, I would ask that you do so.

  “We hope, of course, that we will be rescued soon, but it would be wise and prudent to act as if we might be cut off from home for some time. As the chancellor has pointed out, our critical need is food. We estimate that we have about two weeks worth of food in storage. If we ration it carefully and collect all of the food in the various campus stores, we may have enough for three weeks.

  “Those of you who are not directly seconded to the critical support activities that I have already mentioned will be asked to perform one of three functions, and we will assign these by dorm. First, every available boat will be used to bring fish back to campus. We will convert one of the warehouses at East Harbor into a fish processing plant. The dorms Aristotle, Aquinas, Bacon, Bentham, Descarte, Fuerbach, Hegel, Hobbes, Kant, Locke, Machiavelli, and Mill are on fish procurement duty.

  “Second, dorms Nietsche, Peirce, Plato, Sartre, Spinoza, and Voltaire will lend support to our experimental farms and harvest the food that we have in the ground, planting new crops if necessary.

  “Finally, the dorms Schopenhauer and Socrates have been designated to travel to the mainland.

  “If you are contacted by one of the departments to contribute your particular skill, please do so. Otherwise, please contribute to the assignment given to your dormitory. The senate respectfully asks that you provide your full support.”

  So my dorm is assigned to exploration. I wonder if Uncle Charlie had me in mind when he made that choice.

  O’Reilly approached the microphone and nodded curtly to Huxley. “One more thing,” said O’Reilly. “The naval station at the south end of the island will be considered a critical university department and will be responsible for the defense of the island. Commander Sanderson is now officially in charge of the campus patrol, and he is now also a member of our senate. I believe he would like to say a few words. Commander Sanderson.”

  Sanderson, a broad shouldered man in his mid-forties with short hair graying around his temples, strode briskly to the podium. “In view of the seriousness of our situation,” Sanderson said, “as part of the martial law Chancellor O’Reilly has already announced, a curfew at 21:00 hours—that is 9:00 p.m.—is now in force. Please return to your dormitory rooms by that hour. That’s all that I have to say at this time.”

  The broadcast went off the air, replaced by a message saying that regular programming would resume the next evening at 7:00 p.m.

  Glenn was so angry he stormed out of the room. Dave rose from his chair and began pacing. Ever since the sight of the bridge and the interview with Hoffstetter, he had been trying to explain away the evidence for the dislocation. The official announcement robbed him of the solace of denial, and he was angry.

  Why am I angry? If we have been dislocated, why blame them for telling me?

  One thing had surprised Dave. He had never heard Uncle Charlie refer to God before. At Halcyon, reference to God was regarded as unscholarly, unprofessional, and anachronistic. Certainly, there was more than one side to Uncle Charlie.

  I wonder what other surprises this crisis situation might yet reveal?

  Dave’s thoughts were interrupted when Glenn stormed back into the room. “No way am I going to be ordered around,” snarled Glenn. “I know my rights. I don’t have to do anything.” He picked up the phone, changed his mind, and slammed the receiver back onto the cradle.

  “Look, Glenn,” said Dave, “we don’t really know where we are or how much trouble we’re in. Wouldn’t it make sense to cooperate?”

  “I know how these military guys think,” continued Glenn. “The first hint of an emergency comes along, and they go on a power trip, declare martial law, and begin ordering everyone around. I want no part of it.”

  When he saw the anger in Glenn’s face Dave knew that Uncle Charlie had been right. If there were more like Glenn, then the university stood on the brink of a riot. Oh boy, I don’t think I’ve heard the end of this. I hope this doesn’t lead to trouble!

  The rest of the evening was spent in small groups in the dorm common area. The group seemed evenly split: there were those who, like Glenn, were angry, those who denied the whole thing, explaining it away as a practical joke or a colossal misunderstanding and those whose fear was palpable.

  About midnight, despite the curfew, Dave went out into the dorm courtyard. He realized that even though he had argued for cooperation, the imposition of a curfew rankled him. He looked up and saw the Big Dipper and Polaris. Nothing seemed to hav
e changed. If they had been displaced in time by 50,000 years, he remembered from astronomy class that the Big Dipper handle would be distorted. If it weren’t for the bridge and the mainland, he would think his parents were still only a phone call away. He sat outside looking at the stars until 1:00 a.m. They made him feel as if he were home.

  Chapter 4 Fish Tales

  Al Gleeson had had a sinking feeling something was seriously wrong ever since he’d heard the call to return to his dorm room. Now the television broadcast he was watching confirmed it.

  Lord, what do I do now? What do we all do now?

  Al ran his hand through his hair and turned to his roommate, Brendon Monk. Brendon had the pasty white complexion of a man in shock.

  “Are you all right, Brendon?”

  “I don’t believe it! I don’t believe it! This can’t be happening,” said Brendon, clenching and unclenching his fists. They could hear the buzz of animated conversation as students on the fifth floor of Socrates left their rooms, chattering in the hallway about the news. Al and Brendon were just going to join them when Al’s phone rang.

  “Hello,” said Al as he watched Brendon head out into the hallway.

  “Did you watch the news?” asked a familiar voice.

  It was Tom Chartrand, a close friend. “Can you believe it?” said Al, by way of affirmation.

  “I don’t know what to believe,” continued Tom. “Listen, this isn’t a good time, but I have to ask a favor.”

  “What is it?” asked Al.

  “I just got a phone call from Sturgeon, my biology prof, and he’s asked me and a bunch of the other students from my class to help him with today’s catch. He’s been out in a trawler with his grad students since the classes were cancelled, bringing in whatever fish he could find, and he needs help sorting and classifying the catch. Since you are the fount of all wisdom and a fisherman by hobby, I thought I’d ask you to come along and lend your prodigious talent to this exercise.”