The Horicon Experience (2 page)

“Can nothing then be done?” Mesiman asked.

“The Jibbah are ever hopeful and are applying their considerable expertise to the problem. As of this moment, however, they admit to being frustrated at the contradictory requirements for us to travel in space.”

The meeting room fell silent as all pondered this final report. Councilor Mesiman felt all eyes on him as he tried to come to a decision in the face of almost certain destruction for his race.

“All departments,” he finally said, “are to continue all efforts to adapt to changes as they occur. Exploratory and History remain after dismissal.”

With that, a junior member of the council struck a gong and all but the representatives of the Exploratory and History departments left the meeting arena. When the others were gone, these few shifted down to the lowest level with the Councilor.

“Time is clearly against us,” Mesiman said. “Exploratory, continue your efforts, especially with the Jibbah. However, do not neglect other cosmic neighbors for solutions to stabilize Acetam. If we can’t stop our sun from dying, maybe we can move our world to a safer place.”

“But that’s impossible!” the head of Exploratory exclaimed.

“No more impossible than moving our entire race to safety,” Mesiman retorted. “What I’m saying is to even look at the unconventional for a possible option. It may take a combination from more than one source to come up with an acceptable answer.”

“History,” Mesiman said, addressing the others. “I want you to make a complete compilation of all our records, accomplishments, and observations. Send it to out to our cosmic neighbors but most especially the Jibbah. Maybe they can find an answer among it that we can’t see.”

“But that would . . .” the History Councilor stammered.

“Yes, I know it means dredging up our not so wonderful past,” Mesiman remarked. “But it is necessary. We can’t change the past, but maybe, we can save our future.”

Chapter Two

Present time

The crack of the heavy hunting rifle echoed in the rocky hollow; the slug kicking up dirt several feet left of the target.

“What’s wrong, Stan?” asked Delmar Eagleman with a grin as he took Stan’s rifle and cycled another round into the chamber. “A bit more kick than you expected?”

“I knew it would have some recoil action, but nowhere near that much!” Stan Shane exclaimed, rubbing his upper arm near his right shoulder.

“I told you to keep the stock pulled firmly into your shoulder,” Robert Hassel said. He finished loading his own rifle and prepared to shoot.

“I know. But I didn’t think a single slug could pack so much wallop.”

“You’re just used to the non-recoil blaster and long weapon the service uses,” his friend Delmar commented with a laugh.

“Take it easy on him, son,” Robert said. “They haven’t had percussion weapons on Stan’s planet for several centuries.”

The conversation stopped while Robert raised his rifle and aimed downrange. In only seconds, there appeared a tight pattern of seven hits slightly below center of the target. Robert cycled the last spent brass out of the lever action and turned to grin at the two young men.

“You’re still dropping just a touch, Dad,” commented Delmar. Robert looked at him with a puzzled expression and then remembered to remove his ear protectors.

“What’d ya say?” Delmar and Stan both laughed. Robert, pretending to ignore the boys, headed down range to retrieve his target. Delmar took the hint and gathered the rest of their gear while Stan collected the spent cartridges for later reloading. When Robert returned, they all hiked back to the farmhouse a half mile away.

Agnes Hassel, Delmar’s adoptive mother, had just set the coffee mugs on the table when the three men came stomping in. Stan was still rubbing his arm but all three wore smiles of satisfaction. In the two weeks since the boys arrived on Erdinata for their after-basic leave, Agnes had grown fond of Delmar’s friend. When Robert suggested the shoot, Agnes tried to discourage it because both young men were still recovering from combat injuries. But she knew she’d lost when she saw that proud, fatherly, determined look her husband so often wore.

After shedding their coats, Robert told the boys to bring the guns into the utility room for cleaning. “Oh! Let it wait until after lunch!” Agnes argued. From the look on the boy’s faces, they agreed.

“All right,” said Robert, lifting up his hands in mock surrender. “I know when I’m outnumbered.”

The men stashed the rifles in the utility room and took turns washing up at the slop sink. By the time Delmar and Stan finished, Robert had retrieved three mugs of hot coffee.

“Sit while I bring things,” she said while she stirred something on the stove. Robert grinned at the young men who took their seats.  In short order, Agnes had the food on the table and took her place on Robert’s left. All bowed their heads while Robert asked the blessing of the Unseen One.

Within minutes, the boys were facing bowls filled with stew. Robert ladled it out instead of passing the heavy pot. To Delmar’s delight, cornbread with butter and honey rounded out the repast. It had been almost a year since he’d tasted anything but the synthesizer’s version of Agnes’ cooking.

Stan rubbed his full belly when he finished his second helping of stew. After going shooting and the hike back in the cold, he could not seem to get enough. Then Agnes got up and brought one of her famous apple pies to the table. Robert and Delmar both grinned. Stan let out a low groan.

“What’s the matter?” Agnes asked, placing a huge slice of steaming pie in front of Stan. “Aren’t you hungry?”

“Oh, give the boy a minute to shake that stew down his leg!” Robert said as he faced his own serving. “You’re putting pounds on these boys that some instructor at the training center will just have to work off.”

Agnes ignored her husband and cut a huge slice for Delmar as well. When they finished their pie, Agnes refilled their coffee mugs. Robert leaned back in his chair, patted his stomach and burped. The agitated look he drew from Agnes was not something on which Delmar cared to comment.

Robert quietly watched the boys interact with each other. He was happy that Delmar had brought Stan along on their leave. The two young men were obviously fast friends and would go far together.
A credit to the service,
he thought, considering how both were showing signs of the men they would become.

After lunch, Agnes allowed the men to help clean up. Delmar and Stan washed and dried while Robert took care to return everything to its rightful place. Agnes had her kitchen organized the way she wanted it, and her husband was not about to rock the boat by misplacing a bowl or serving utensil. With the last of the dishes put away, the men returned to the utility room to clean and service the guns.

“Boy, the powder sure loads up in the rifling,” remarked Delmar as he twisted a third swab down the barrel of his rifle.

“You should see it when we fire a heavier load,” Robert answered. “Then it loads up to where you need to soak it with cleaner before you can use the brush.”

“What if you switched to a hotter powder?” Delmar asked. “It might burn more completely and leave less residue.”

“I might try that on the next set of shells I reload,” Robert said thoughtfully. “I’m just so used to this grade of powder that I hadn’t given a thought to changing.”

“How do you break this thing down?” Stan asked, struggling with the weapon he had been using.

“Here, I’ll show you,” offered Delmar. With a twist of his wrist, the weapon opened and Delmar showed Stan how to clean it with a brush. For a time all three were silent, the only sound being the swish and splash of swabs and cleaning fluid.

“How’s it going?” asked Agnes as she joined them from the kitchen.

“Oh, pretty good,” answered Robert. “I think Stan might catch on one of these days.” Delmar grinned and watched Stan continue his struggle to clean the barrel of the rifle he was working on.

“Here, let me help you,” Agnes said, taking the weapon from him. With what seemed like undue ease, and to the amazement of Stan, she quickly cleaned out the barrel and reassembled the gun.

“Are you surprised that I know how to take care of my own rifle?” she asked when she saw his astonishment. Agnes handed it back to him and then returned to the kitchen. “Boy,” she said over her shoulder, “I’ve been cleaning my own weapon since before you were a twinkle in your daddy’s eye.” Delmar was about to add something when Robert caught his eye.

∞∞∞

Trooper George Citti stood up from the observation equipment in the control room of the
Starduster
. He stretched and reached for another cup of coffee. Actually, he didn’t really need to stand up to reach the pot on the one-man patroller but the physical exercise helped loosen muscles grown stiff by inactivity.

Ever since this morning when he detected the ultra high-frequency waves emanating from the planet below, George had been watching for further activity. His assignment to observe the developments on this closed planet had already gone on for eight months and had proven more interesting than he first expected.

According to Watcher records, this planet was barely industrial, so Trooper Citti expected the most interesting thing he would see would be the smoke from primitive factories. But instead he found a planet well advanced in technology; a planet that had harnessed nuclear power and advanced electrical power plants years ahead of the normal developmental curve. His reports helped determine that this planet was progressing at a pace many times faster than the norm.

Using their new progression rate as a guide, Trooper Citti projected they might develop out-of-atmosphere flight and satellite radio transmission sometime in the next year! Yet compared to Galactic Axia protocols, this planet was still decades from qualifying for entry into the galactic community. Their barbarous attitudes of nation-states and individual governments separated them further from the unified idea that held the Axia together. Still, the signals he intercepted this morning would be as advanced for this race as computers would be for a caveman.

Sitting back down at the console, George resumed his search. He again scanned for the frequency range, and just as he was giving up, he again found the signal that had previously eluded him. Turning on his recording equipment, he managed to gather several minutes of data for later analysis. To find signals of this type on such a backward planet was unexpected and would require further study by people better equipped for the task than him. Later he would compile his report and transmit it to his mothership, along with these recordings.

Historically, such signals indicated a civilization on the verge of serious space travel, for which the Axia always watched. The policy of gently guiding such effort had evolved over time in order to protect budding societies from their own excesses, and to prevent knowledge of the Axia from coming to the attention of the natives too soon, undermining their stability.

The signal began to fade and then ceased altogether. Trooper Citti listened for a couple more minutes and then shut down the recorders.
That
’
s probably it for the night,
he thought. He had managed to find a rough ground location of the source of the signal and noted that a major research installation was located within his triangulations. If the natives were capable of such signals, equipment able to detect Axia watcher ships could not be far behind.

Finishing his coffee, George stood up to put his cup away. Suddenly the sensor alarm sounded. Jumping quickly to his console, George noted that the signal had reappeared at a frequency more than a hundred times its previous strength. Just as he reached for the switch on the recorder, the detector showed a second signal of a different type apparently focused on his ship.

George felt the
Starduster
shudder as his geostatic orbit changed drastically. He glanced at his equipment and saw that his ship was rapidly being drawn toward the planet. He leapt for the control chair and strapped himself in.

The temperature gauges already showed the hull was heating up as he entered the upper fringes of the planet’s atmosphere. As he applied power, the detector showed yet a third signal from below reaching for his ship. Although he was unable to activate the recorder, Trooper Citti recognized it as a type of detector beam.

This is impossible
! his mind screamed as the
Starduster
struggled to break free. A desperate twist of the axis ball allowed the ship to escape and move away from the beam. Safely free, George further accelerated until he and his ship were well out of range of the dangerous beams.

Obviously, the natives had spotted him, so he refrained from calling the mothership lest he disclose its location. Something was definitely amiss so he decided to deliver what little data he had gathered immediately to the analysis labs aboard the larger ship waiting in the adjacent star system. Adjusting his course, George pushed the throttle bar forward. With a flash of light, the
Starduster
leapt forward in response.

∞∞∞

The double-star primary had just peeked over the horizon a short time before the archaeological team met to plan their daily activities. Breakfast in the predawn darkness meant they could use the entire day for working on the dig. Although the dual sun provided nearly seventeen hours of daylight in which to work, the climate was relatively cool and dry, making the tedious work at least bearable.

“All right, here’s the plan for today,” Dr. Alfred Kelly, team leader of the Horicon research team announced when everyone had settled down around the main room of their compound. “The mapping is complete and today we start working downward through the central plaza. I want tractor beam supports set up to stabilize any potential shifting of those rock slabs during lifting. All personnel are to be suited. Any questions?”

“How far down will we go?” Mary Martin, an assistant with the research team asked. Her specialty was technological archeology.