“And here’s your group,” said Shostakovich, emphasizing the last word in a deprecating tone.
The man was right. Was this supposed to be the group his father had promised him? The three of them were supposed to divine the secrets contained in the cosmic background radiation?
“It’s not about quantity, it’s about quality, Comrade Shostakovich,” said Yekaterina.
Normally, Sasha would have agreed, but after all this effort he felt a little let down. Was their project so unimportant?
“You’re sure to have things to talk about,” said Shostakovich, “and I have things to take care of, too. Appeasing unsatisfied clients and so on.”
Sasha nodded. “Feel free to go, comrade,” he said. “If we need help, we’ll let you know.”
Yekaterina indicated the sofa. Sasha shook his head. He couldn’t sit next to her right now because he needed a clear head. So Katya and Verkhodanov took the sofa and he pulled up one of the chairs.
“What now?” he asked.
“I’m glad you’re here,” said Yekaterina.
His cheeks felt hot. “Yeah, I’m glad, too... that you’re both here.”
He had to pull himself together. He couldn’t even finish his sentences, and an uncomfortable silence reigned for a few seconds. Even the mainframe computer seemed to hum more quietly.
“Shostakovich doesn’t seem very enthusiastic,” said Verkhodanov. The reason for that was apparent to all of them, but his words broke the ice.
“Have you already made some headway?” asked Sasha.
“Verkhodanov has entered the data into the system,” said Yekaterina. “He was up for two nights doing it.”
“Thank you,” said Sasha. “Something else, before we start. It’s not up to me as the youngest, but shall we call each other by our first names?”
“Sure... I’m Yuri.”
“You can just call me Katya.”
“Sasha or Alexander, I don’t mind which. Glad that’s settled,” said Sasha. “I’d prefer to see us as equal members of a collective. With three people, there’s no sense in having a hierarchy. So, if you have any ideas or suggestions, just come out with them. Why was it so complicated to transfer the data?”
“A courier from the Star City provided us with the data on magnetic tape,” Yuri explained.
“I thought I saw control cabinets earlier with built-in tape recorders.”
“Yes, Sasha, but the format’s wrong. Mission control uses SM-4 machines. They’re copies of the American VAX computers. The BESM-6 was developed independently by the Academy of Sciences, quite modern in its time, but that was about fifteen years ago. This one here has been properly upgraded, but the magnetic tape format isn’t compatible.”
“So you couldn’t just insert the tapes.”
“No. I had to reconfigure an old drive.”
“Did Shostakovich let you do that?”
“I used one from an old machine that’s been sitting around unused for a decade. Shostakovich didn’t have anything against it.”
“And you converted that to take the other tapes?”
“If only it was that simple!” Yuri laughed. “No, that’s impossible. It wouldn’t have changed the format. You can’t simply put Saiga ammunition in an AK-74 magazine. Or swap the magazines.”
“Saiga?”
“A hunting weapon. Five point six millimeter. But it doesn’t matter. I turned the drive into an audio tape deck. If you play the magnetic tape slowly, the machine emits sounds which correspond to the memory location. Then I connected a microphone to an analog interface card on the BESM-6 and digitized the sound.”
“And it was that simple?”
“Not at all. First I had to write a program capable of doing it. But now we have the results on the table.” Yuri pointed to his right, at a rickety metal table with rusty legs. On top of it were three towering stacks of paper.
What did he mean? Sasha’s cluelessness must have been quite apparent, because Yuri started explaining. “These stacks are punch cards. The data’s encoded on them.”
“Doesn’t the BESM-6 have another way of storing it?” asked Sasha.
“Yes, altogether there are a hundred-and-twenty megabytes of hard disk space and a whole lot of tape storage. But accessing it is very slow. We’ll have to store as much data as possible in the main memory. But that’s limited to a hundred-and-twenty-eight kilobytes, and we still have to input the program code into it.”
Sasha stood up, went over to the small table, and looked at the stacks of paper. The punch cards looked sturdy. How long would it take to feed them into the computer? Yuri deserved some praise for his work, in any case.
“You did all that in three days? Well done, Yuri!” he said.
“Yeah, I was feeling really useless,” said Katya. “We can’t do anything until the data is all in the computer. But I researched the literature to figure out how we can make sense of the patterns. There’s an excellent library which also has Western newspapers.”
“That’s good,” said Sasha. “At the institute in Moscow I always needed my boss’s permission to read overseas publications.”
“You don’t have to worry about permission here,” said Katya. “Your father seems to have cleared all the obstacles from our path.”
“That won’t have made us any friends,” said Sasha. “Shostakovich is probably cursing us, and who knows who else is, too.”
“The employees of all fifteen institutes in Akademgorodok,” said Yuri, “who rely on the Computing Center mainframe for their work.”
“Great,” said Katya. “It’s going to be a lonely time.”
“Then at least we’ll be able to concentrate on the work,” said Yuri.
And I’ll be able to concentrate on you, Katya. Sasha stole a glance at her. What must she think of him? In Tyuratam he’d quite obviously rejected her. Hopefully he still had a chance.
“There’s no way we’re working around the clock,” said Katya. “There’s a cultural center and all sorts of scenery, not to mention the reservoir right on our doorstep. It’s not Moscow, but there’s a lot more on offer here than there was in the Kazakh steppe.”
“Don’t worry,” said Sasha. “We’ll have time to explore the city and surroundings. But first we should discuss the work. I’m happy to focus on the necessary algorithms, but I’ve got no idea about computers themselves. If I have to, I’ll get myself up to speed.”
“That won’t be necessary,” said Yuri. “Programming is my domain.”
“And I can assist you,” said Katya. “Although I’ve only learned FORTRAN.”
“No problem,” said Yuri. “We have Algol-60, Pascal, Assembler, and three FORTRAN compilers to choose from. Sasha, a compiler is a program that translates human commands into instructions that the machine can use directly.”
“Does it matter which compiler we use?” asked Sasha.
“Probably not. We should be fine with FORTRAN. The language is understandable even if you’re not an expert, and the compiler can produce rather compact code.”
“Good, then I’ll get hold of a FORTRAN textbook just in case,” said Katya.
“What do you say I spend the rest of the day giving you both an introduction to this programming language?” asked Yuri.
“Sure,” said Sasha. “I’d just like to quickly swing by the library and see if they have anything on algorithms.”
“It’s closed today. It’s Sunday, remember? But I’ve already borrowed everything they had,” said Katya.
“Oh.”
“You can come and get the journals from me at the hostel tonight.”
Sasha felt himself blush. “I will,” he said.
April 16, 1984, Akademgorodok
Sasha smelled his fingers. He wished he didn’t have to wash them—Katya’s smell was still obvious. First, he’d told her everything about the space flight, then he’d run these fingers through her hair. These fingers stroked her. It was incredible. The dezhurnaya on Katya’s floor had given
him a knowing look when he’d taken the stairs up to his level four floors above.
He’d been as elated as if he were on some drug. Sure, oxytocin, chemists had already discovered that ages ago. No wonder he’d forgotten the library journals, which had been his reason for visiting Katya in the first place. They’d have to keep that from Yuri. Otherwise he’d know what had happened. But it didn’t really matter. If the dezhurnaya was even half as chatty as Valya, the whole city would know in two days anyway.
Still in his underwear Sasha, stood in front of the mirror and studied his face. As much as it pained him, he had to shower. A knock at the door startled him. He shared the bathroom with three other residents. How long had he been standing there looking at himself? Time stood still when he thought of Katya. He’d have to be careful this didn’t affect his work.
This. What? They’d had sex. But they hadn’t talked about it. What did that mean? Was it just a fling for Katya? Shouldn’t they have whispered promises to each other? But it had felt so natural. Words would have been superfluous.
There was another knock. Sasha bent down to peer through the keyhole. A hairy belly was waiting behind it. He was holding everyone up, and the other tenants needed to get to work. He stepped into the other side of the bathroom divided by a plastic curtain. A rusty shower head hung from the ceiling and there was a hole in the floor to drain the water away.
He stood in safety against the wall and turned the left-hand faucet. First there was just a trickle, then water gushed from the showerhead. It was scorching. He reached for the right-hand valve, almost scalding his arm, and gave it a half turn. There was another knock. He stepped under the shower. The water beat down on his head and pushed out his thoughts.
“Good morning,” he said.
Katya and Yuri were already sitting at the computer. Katya was operating one of the VT-340 terminals while Yuri worked on the BESM-6 central control unit, which jutted out like an old-fashioned standing desk.
“Good morning,” replied Katya, beaming at him.
“Good morning. Sleep well?” asked Yuri.
What did he mean? Sasha studied his colleague’s face, but it looked entirely guileless.
“Yes, the mattress is nice and firm, just how I like it.”
“Did you have any dreams? You know the first dream in a new home...”
“I slept like a log, once I... once I managed to get to sleep.”
“And you’ve adjusted to the time difference?” Yuri asked sympathetically. “It’s surprising the effect two hours can have on the biorhythm.”
“Time difference? I didn’t even notice. But you’re right, I did have to wind my watch back two hours when I landed. I’d forgotten about that. Then that’s probably the reason for my difficulty getting to sleep.”
Yuri nodded. “I wouldn’t be surprised. Have you had a chance to look at the algorithms?”
“Not yet. I have the journals...” Shit, he’d left the foreign journals in the hostel.
“You have the journals?”
“I was going to say they’re still in my room. I’m obviously not thinking straight.”
“It’s no wonder. A few days ago you were drifting in zero gravity in space. Komikov should have given you a few days off.”
“We don’t have time for that. The Americans are apparently planning a similar experiment for their next shuttle launch. How are you getting on with the machine?”
“It’s a gem. I keep discovering new details. The designers really put a lot of thought into it.”
“So it’s not as outdated as the manufacture date suggests?”
“It was ahead of its time back then. For example, there’s already a command pipeline. You can issue commands while others are still being processed. The machine detects them and performs them sequentially. That’s standard today.”
“Then let’s hope it can solve our problem.”
Yuri pointed at a panel covered in red LEDs. “And take a look at these lights here.”
“Light-emitting diodes. A kind of calculator?”
“Not quite. They’re eight high and forty-eight across. Does that mean anything to you?”
“Shostakovich said something about a forty-eight-bit processor.”
“Exactly. It’s a visual display of the processor’s eight caches. An illuminated diode stands for one, dark stands for zero. This is very useful when debugging the program because I can always see exactly what the processor is doing, even if the program isn’t outputting anything to the console.”
“Great. I hope that’ll speed up our work. So everything’s going well?”
“Not entirely, Sasha. The processer only has direct access to a hundred-and-ninety-two kilobytes of memory. It’s called ‘addressing.’”
“Relikt sent back much more than a hundred-and-ninety-two kilobytes of data.”
“Exactly. And to process and analyze it, we might need to store several copies of it in the memory. Depending on what your algorithms require.”
“So we may as well give up?”
“Not so fast. The BESM-6 can virtually address a lot more memory. Basically, we don’t give it the whole cake all at once, but only as much as it can handle. Then I just have to alter the content of some of the memory storage locations, and the processor will help itself to another piece of the cake. But each piece can’t be more than a hundred-and-ninety-two kilobytes.”
“I understand. Up to how much in total?”
“A hundred-and-twenty megabytes. That’s the total hard drive space. But that would mean we’d have to delete some of the data other research teams have stored there. Shostakovich will—”
“Don’t worry, I’ll clear that with him. We can temporarily store the other stuff on magnetic tape. Nothing will get lost that way, will it?”
“No.”
“Good, Yuri. Any other problems I should know about?”
“It takes a while each time we swap out the cake slices, because we have to transfer them from the hard disk to the main memory. You should keep that in mind when programming.”
“Sure. I think we already discussed that yesterday.”
“True. I wasn’t sure if you remembered. Then I’ll continue. Right now I’m trying to speed up access with a few tricks.”
“Tricks?”
“If we were to reduce the cake slices to sixty-four kilobytes, I could transfer the next one from the hard disk to the memory in advance. Then it would have enough space for two slices of cake.”
“But we’d have to program the algorithms so they can handle sixty-four-kilobyte servings.”
“And you’ll need to know, when processing the slice, which slice you’re going to need next.”
“Okay. Then I’ll work out whether the algorithms in the literature are going to work under those conditions. I’ll go and get the journals.”
Sasha stepped back from the computing station and looked at Katya. She was still concentrating on her work at the terminal. Should he go and say hello to her personally? But wouldn’t that be too obvious? Or would it be more evident if he ignored her? He sighed quietly. Then he turned around and crept away from the computer forest clearing.
“Hey,” Katya called after him. “I was good enough in bed, but now I don’t even get a hello, let alone a kiss?”
Sasha stopped in his tracks as though struck by lightning. He felt heat on his back. That must be Katya’s gaze. He slowly turned around. He was probably as red as a beetroot. She was standing in front of the terminal, laughing.
“Oh, come here. It’s no big deal, right Yuri?”
Yuri gave a dismissive wave. Sasha went over to Katya. He was as nervous as if he was about to take a final exam. How did she do that? How did she stay so relaxed? It was utterly alien to him. But maybe that was why he liked her so much. He stood in front of her, stretched upward a little to match her height, and kissed her on the mouth. Now all that was left was for Yuri to applaud. Don’t you dare, friend! But Yuri stayed out of it.
When Sa
sha left the room, still hot in the face, his colleague was looking excitedly at the 8 x 48 diodes. Out of the corner of his eye, Sasha could see that not a single one of them was illuminated.
Katya stood up. “That’s enough for today,” she said.
Sasha looked at the alarm clock that Yuri had placed on the main console. The small hand was pointing at the seven, so it would already be dark outside. The thought made him shiver. The heating in the building had obviously been turned off when the workday officially ended.
“I just have to—” Yuri began.
“No you don’t,” Katya interrupted him. “We’re going out.”
Whereas everyone else wore work clothes appropriate to their jobs, the three of them were wearing their street clothes. This gave them the advantage of not having to get changed. It would be icy outside. Once they were back in the hostel, they’d hardly feel like going out into the cold again.
“Where are we going?” asked Sasha.
“I asked my dezhurnaya to recommend a place. It’s supposed to be about half-way between the Computing Center and the hostel.”
“Well, I’m curious,” said Yuri.
It was pitch black outside, but not as cold as expected. He took Katya’s hand and she smiled at him.
“The dezhurnaya told me about a shortcut through the forest, but I think in the dark we’re better off going across the Lavrentyev and Morskoy Prospekts, even if it’s a little farther.”
Sasha had nothing against that. The night air was quite aromatic and the smell of ash had almost disappeared.
“Can you feel it, too?” asked Yuri. “It must be spring. About time, don’t you think?”
“The dezhurnaya said it’ll be a while yet, a good two weeks,” said Katya. “And then it won’t be spring, it’ll be summer. There are only two seasons here.”
The Death of the Universe: Rebirth: Hard Science Fiction (Big Rip Book 3) Page 16