The Horicon Experience (7 page)

Later they retired to their room and tried to settle in. What few belongings they had were organized in short order. Exploring the building, they found the laundry room (already in use) and what appeared to be a small convenience store.

“All the comforts of home,” remarked Delmar when they returned to their room.

“It’s certainly better than I expected,” Stan replied. “It’s rough enough back home to make basic look almost luxurious.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Delmar said. “Most of my secondary schooling was done by correspondence at the Hassel’s farm.”

“You’ll get used to things in an institution,” Stan said, remembering his formative years in an orphanage on his home planet. “It’s really not that much different from basic, except there aren’t any drill instructors.”

“You make it sound pretty good,” Delmar said in reply. “Now, I’m for a shower and hitting the sack.”

“Sounds like a winner,” Stan agreed as he opened a locker and found the linens. “You go ahead while I make the beds.”

“Think you still remember how?” Delmar quipped, and then ducked out of the way of the pillow Stan threw across the room.

Chapter Five

With a start, Delmar’s head came up from the pillow in response to a well-honed internal alarm clock.

“Would ya look who decided to join the rest of us?” Stan quipped from where he was sitting. With practiced ease, he finished the final adjustment of his uniform.

“Huh?” was all Delmar could manage to say as he snuggled back down deeper under the covers.

“Articulate too,” Stan said. He was the epitome of a trooper already dressed and ready for class.

“You’re the eager beaver this morning,” Delmar said, staring out from under his cover at his friend.

“At least I’m up and dressed instead of lounging around in my jammies!” Stan shot back.

“Oh really?” Delmar asked. “So you think you’re the first one ready?” He threw back his covers and sat up. To Stan’s surprise, Delmar was fully dressed and ready. Taking a comb, Delmar raked into place his deliberately mussed up hair that had been part of his attempt to fool his friend. He looked at Stan with a superior eye and then reached back and flipped his bed back into a semblance of order.

“When did you get up?” Stan asked.

“I was showered and dressed half an hour before you stopped snoring, sleepy head!” Delmar gloated. Stan shook his head and grinned.

“All right smarty britches!” he said as he reached for his satchel. “You may have been up first but you’ll be last for breakfast!” In a flash, Stan was out the door and down the hall.

As expected, the first day of classes on any campus is always hectic, and the first day at the Mica Computer Training Institute was compounded by the problem of being organized by computer. Fortunately, Delmar and Stan had most of their classes in the same building, their one odd class being in the afternoon across campus. That they were among the few trooper students was obvious as they moved across the campus plaza on their way to class. Although Delmar and Stan felt somewhat conspicuous in uniform, they had earned the right to wear them, so they wore them with pride.

Arriving for their first class, they found the number to be smaller than expected with only eleven other students. Stan and Delmar took seats near the front and waited for class to begin. A few of the students asked the two troopers about them being at the institute while the rest of the group chatted and got to know each other.

At exactly eight o’clock, the instructor ambled in and faced his class. The classroom fell silent in response to his abrupt arrival. For over a minute, the man simply stared silently at the class. Then he began to pace around and stare at them individually, still without speaking.

Several of the students became nervous but Delmar and Stan had faced much worse in basic training, so they weren’t phased. Finally, the instructor returned to the front of the room, apparently satisfied with his scrutiny of the thirteen students. He waited another minute and then addressed the class.

The instructor, a small, thin man with sharp angular features, was dressed in a white lab coat, faded blue-striped shirt, and brown trousers that hiked two inches over the top of his black shoes. He wore his wire-frame glasses on a chain hanging around his neck, giving him the appearance of a schoolmaster looking for someone to whack with a stick. Delmar noticed right away that the professor wore mismatched socks, one black and one argyle, but he decided it was best not to point out the discrepancy.

“I wonder where they found this character?” someone whispered at the back of the room. Neither Stan nor Delmar cared to look around to see who had made the insolent comment.

“My name is Professor Orilious Angle.”

His voice was high-pitched and just short of being shrill – nasal. He paused as if expecting someone to bolt for the door.

“It is not Odd Angle, and it is not Obtuse Angle. Nor is it Right Angle. It is simply Angle,” the instructor said curtly. “You will address me as Professor Angle.”

The professor glared at the class again. He perched his glasses on the end of his nose and examined his class roster.

“This class is Computer History and Theory,” he said. “I already know who each of you are, and I’ve scrutinized your backgrounds from your student applications.”

There was some nervous shifting in the back of the room.

“I’ve also spoken with the registrar and there will be some changes in your schedules to better facilitate your training.”

The room became very silent. Without asking any individual names, Professor Angle moved among the students and handed each of them a file from the registration office with their names on it. Delmar opened his and found a new schedule and the necessary paperwork all approved by the registrar. There were gasps from some of the students. Delmar looked over at Stan. His friend returned his gaze and raised his eyebrows.

“We know this may be a shock to some of you, but for you to adequately learn the science of computers, it is best if you become immersed in them,” the professor said.

“I know some of you may be wondering why you are in a specialized class that deals with history when you are here for advanced theory. There are two simple explanations,” he said, raising two fingers. “First, in order to understand and apply the advanced theories being developed today, you must be thoroughly grounded in all that has transpired to date.”

The professor paused as if for emphasis.

“The second reason this class is called Computer History and Theory is because we had to call it something when we filled in the blanks on the syllabus form.”

The classroom was silent for a moment and then someone began to titter. It spread quickly until everyone was chuckling. Finally, the professor cracked a smile.

“That’s better,” he said. “Let that be your first lesson under my tutelage. Always laugh at my jokes.”

Everyone relaxed.

“Now if you will review your schedule changes, you’ll see the registrar has combined some of your other classes into this one in its expanded form. Credits will be adjusted accordingly. In fact,” he continued, “you may have surmised that you haven’t chosen us, but instead we have chosen you. This is correct,” he finished to the astonishment and consternation of several students.

Delmar and Stan originally expected to be in three different classes that morning. Instead they spent the entire time with Professor Angle getting acquainted with him and the other students because, as the professor put it, “There are enough variables in working with computers without adding the uncertainty of working with people you don’t know.”

When they broke for lunch, most of the class stuck together and ate in the cafeteria. Since Professor Angle let them out later than originally scheduled, the main dining room was mostly empty. The other students on campus were already back in their afternoon classes.

Taking their chances with the synthesizer, Stan and Delmar found that it did pretty well with simple things like stew and other foods designed to have all the ingredients cooked together. Some of their classmates punched in orders for more complicated selections involving separate items. The results could be politely described as interesting.

Exactly one hour after he dismissed them, Professor Angle reconvened the class. More familiar with each other, the group was already showing signs of the unified team they could become.

“Now that we’ve gotten the social aspects of the class out of the way, I want to address how I run this class,” he said. “This class is both lecture and lab, combined with a heavy emphasis on lab. You will be building, repairing, and trying to operate computers,” the professor stated to several chuckles. “I require each of you to be able to design, build, and operate your own computer by the end of the current term.”

Two or three students stirred uncomfortably in their seats.

“To aid you in the process, you’ll get considerable hands-on experience working with existing machines,” the professor continued. “Each of you will be issued a computer to use in your dorm room to aid in your studies. The institute maintenance division will link your computer directly into the main computer here in the lab. Since you’ll have direct access to this computer, there will be no excuse for late assignments.”

The students shifted nervously.

“You will also find that your starmail account has already been established for you. Your starmail account should be easy to remember. It is the first letter of your first name, followed by the first five letters of your last name, followed by a forward sign, the letters gss, which stand for Galactic Starmail Service, a dot, followed by the letters mcti, which stand for Mica Computer Training Institute, a dot, and finally, the letters mi, which stand for Mica.”

Students around the room made hasty notes of their new starmail account addresses. This sounded all too familiar to Stan and Delmar.

“Now,” the professor concluded, “I want to give you a quick tour of the lab. You will follow me, please.”

The students rose and followed Professor Angle through a door at the front of the classroom into the computer lab. Delmar and Stan were not sure what to expect in the lab, but it certainly was not what they saw. There, rising from the floor to the ceiling twenty feet above them, was the front of an antique computer.

“This,” began the professor, “is one of the oldest solid-state computers on Mica.” He paused while he waited for the groans to die out.

“It’s also still operational, and you will have memorized its workings before the term is over,” he said. Every student groaned.

“Don’t underestimate this fine piece of equipment,” the professor admonished. “It may look cumbersome and crude, but it’s still comparable to most machines today. What you’ll learn on this unit will be fully applicable wherever you go.”

“But aren’t its components obsolete?” asked one of the students.

“Technically speaking, yes,” answered the professor. “But we’re not studying components, we’re studying theory. The process by which it operates is almost identical to anything current today.”

Again, he paused and waited for more questions. Satisfied that there weren’t any, he started back toward the classroom, his students in tow.

“In a few minutes, I will dismiss you to tackle your first assignment,” the professor said, not waiting for everyone to be seated. “Momentarily, we will go down to the supply room where you will each be issued a computer for your personal and school use. You will take it to your room and set it up using the instructions provided,” he said as he hefted a sheaf of paper.

“This is to be completed before class begins at eight tomorrow morning. Since you have all had some exposure to computers, I expect that there will be no problems.”

Delmar did not like the sound of that warning.

“Bring notebooks and several good pens to class tomorrow,” the professor continued. “We will be taking an all day tour of the science museum, so either pack a lunch or bring some money. There are no student food dispensers.

∞∞∞

Retired Galactic Axia Trooper Chaplain Jake Sender glanced up from his book as his wife walked into the living room and sat down at their home office computer. Taking the machine out of standby, she checked the status of several systems.

“The mailbox is full,” Sherry Sender said as the monitor displayed their starmail account. “How long has it been since you’ve checked your starmail?”

Still engrossed in his book, Jake only shrugged his shoulders. “It’s usually just bills and religious junk mail anyway,” he lamented defensively. “Why get excited over that?” He tried to concentrate on the fiction book he was reading.

Sherry scrolled down through the list of starmail and highlighted the ones she would send to the printer.

“Hey!” she said brightly as the screen scrolled to the bottom. “Here’s a letter from Agnes and Robert.”

She printed out her selections, then placed the majority of the mail (mostly bills) into her husband’s outstretched hand and sat down in her chair with the letter from the Hassels. Clearing her throat to garner her husband’s attention, Sherry read aloud while Jake put down his book to listen.

Dear Sherry and Jake,

Greetings from our home to yours! By the time you get this, Delmar and Stan should be settling in at the training institute for their advanced computer training. We haven’t received any word yet (it’s too soon) but Robert says that you should be able to find them via the institute directory. I suppose Delmar has no starmail account yet or he would have written by now.

We enjoyed having both of them here, and we were really impressed with Stan. We had a going-away party for them a couple of days before they left and it went great. I noticed that Stan was reluctant to socialize with the young women, so we didn’t press it when I dragged Delmar along to meet a few of local girls. I suspect that Stan is still grieving over the death of his fiancé. Do you think you might be able to help? Delmar said he doesn’t talk about it much.

Well, have fun when you visit the boys, and Robert says to harass them for him. It will be different for them being among the few troopers at a civilian school.