Authors: William Hutchison
Burt stared at the sphere which looked to him like a metal bowling
ball
except for the series of bundles of wires which protruded from its surface in multiple places and which then terminated with a series of multi-pin plugs. Huxley took four of the wire bundles and sequentially plugged them into the side of a black box which was about nine inches on a side and which stood vertically by the pedestal on which the sphere was resting. He had no idea what it was Huxley was doing and watched with intent curiosity as Pat plugged the solitary electric cord emanating from the box into the wall socket. When he did, Burt heard an almost inaudible hum come from the box and sphere as it apparently activated. Aside from the low pitched sound which emulated the whirring of a small fan, the box gave no indication at all that it was on. There were no lights, no moving parts.
Nothing.
Huxley then came around to the front of the screens and positioned a large metal lab stool which had a bright copper wire running from one leg to the first screen until it was centered directly opposite the screens and was directly in line with the pedestal on which the sphere sat. He then knelt down and carefully adjusted the chair moving the legs just so that each touched the two red strips of tape on the floor which heretofore Burt hadn't noticed but on which his gaze was now locked.
"There," Pat said standing up after the chair was in its apparent proper place. "I believe we can begin now," he continued as he turned to Burt and motioned for him to sit down.
Burt looked at the chair for evidence of straps or seatbelts, but found none which quelled his fears of being seated in a "home-made 'lectric chair." While he moved cautiously to take his seat, the three scientist-stooges took their places in front of three computer monitors which he could see were connected to one another and to the screens and sphere as well.
Burt then moved toward the chair and sat down as directed and then looked up at Pat for instructions. As he did, the music in his head began again, low at first and then increasing in intensity until it became a dull roar "Oh yeah, the change is gonna do you good " repeated over and over again as Burt readied himself for the test.
Pat moved over to Burt and put his hand on his shoulder and then pointed through the screen toward the bowling ball and began to describe its function. "Okay, Mr. Grayson, here's the test. That sphere over there is a ship-board navigational computer like the kind that would guide a supertanker like the Valdez." (He was lying. It was an MX-missile guidance Inertial Navigation System, the sphere containing the reference gyros? the box, the nav computer.)
"As I was saying, the missile. I mean the ship computer," Pat stumbled over his words to cover up his mistake and quickly looked back at Burt for a reaction. Receiving none, he continued first clearing his throat as an added precaution against discovery. "Uhhhhh, hhhh, the computer (emphasis) has a series of gyros and accelerometers in it which measure minute changes in the orientation of body to which they are mounted. The accelerometers produce an output signal which tells the guidance computer how much the ship is being accelerated and in which direction. Do you have that?" Pat asked wondering if Burt caught his slip up.
Burt stared blankly ahead. His eyes were comparable to someone who had just been waked from a deep sleep, somewhat glassy and uninterested. His underarms were dripping sweat profusely making two dark rings which were slowly growing down the sides of his shirt. If he heard Pat, he didn't let on. Instead he continued staring.
Pat moved in front of him and looked at his face for any sign that Burt had noticed. When he saw Burt's empty eyes he wasn't sure how to continue. Had Mr. Grayson heard? Was he just playing dumb? Why was he staring like he was?
Finally Burt answered, "Uh, huh--ship computer. I --got it." His speech was slow and slurred, but certainly not accusative.
Pat continued, still unsure of the nonplussed answer given him, but confident he was in the clear. "Okay, Mr. Grayson, here's what I want you to do. Inside the black box is a PROM--a programmable read only memory-which has a program stored in it. Inside the program is a series of forty-eight binary numbers. The program name is THRSTR which stands for thruster control. That should help you locate it. Are you following me?" Pat looked into his eyes which were still glazed over.
In the same slurred speech, Burt answered, unblinking,"Uh, Uh....thruster control..in the black box.... forty eight.
Pat didn't know what to make of him. If he didn't know any better, he would have sworn Grayson had been on a bender and was smashed, but the change had come on so suddenly. Inside his head a little voice spoke, "better cancel this test now, Pat. Subject ain't cooperative. Pick it up again tomorrow. Tomorrow'll be a better day." But Pat ignored his conscience and continued anyway. "Burt, here's what I want you to do," he said pointing in the direction of the screens. I want you to locate the PROM and read me the numbers, all forty-eight of them. That's step one." Pat figured that this would be a preliminary test of his skills, and just reading the numbers would be a good indication of how well-versed Mr. Grayson was with linking. He continued again, "have you got that?"
Burt replied. "You want me to read the numbers." His voice was slightly hesitant.
Pat moved on to step two, the harder part. "What I want you to do next is to add three to each of the numbers and reprogram the prom with the new numbers. My scientists' terminals are connected to the navigation computer and they'll verify your results. Do you think you can do it?"
Burt paused. This wasn't like reprogramming a simple PC where he physically could picture in his mind the location of each chip with which he had to interact. His palms began to sweat as he began to question his own abilities. His throat then became very dry as if he had swallowed a cup of chalk dust. He coughed to clear it before he spoke. "I'm not sure, Mr. Huxley. If I knew where the prom was maybe I'll be able to do it, but without knowing that, I'm not sure."
Pat hadn't considered that. Of course Burt would have to know where the devices were in order to concentrate his energies on the computer chip and reprogram it. Quickly he summoned Dr. Jerome. "Get me the schematic of the computer," he ordered. "And bring it here."
Burt watched as Jerome scuttled away to the Diebold safe on which he quickly spun the dial. He then rummaged through the top drawer and came back to Huxley with what looked to be a blueprint. The tightly rolled cylinder of paper was about twenty inches long and was sealed tightly with a red band marked TOP SECRET. Pat quickly took the roll from Jerome and tried to cover the seal with his hand to keep Burt from seeing it before he opened it. He then unrolled the document and furtively folded the top and bottom two inches of the schematic underneath to hide the title indicating the drawing was that of the MX nav computer before holding it in front of Burt to study. As Burt stared at the paper, Pat spoke and pointed to the lower left hand corner. "The prom is right here," he said pointing to the line drawing of a box marked Cr-1498. "It's located on this board." he then added, "will this be enough information for you?"
Burt studied the drawing, forgetting momentarily that he may be seeing something he shouldn't be. He noted the position of the PROM he was to reprogram and then looked across the room through the screen to the box and sphere on the table to get a mental image of where the prom was located. When he had it, he answered. "Sure! I think I know where it is."
"You don't need the drawing any more?" Pat queried as he began to re-roll the schematic.
"No. I've got it," Burt answered and then added confidently, "I'm sure." And he was. Before Pat finished getting the schematic completely rolled up, Burt had located the PROM and was beginning to read the numbers. As he was doing this, his heart began to pound and he began to feel the power surge associated with the chemical reaction that was taking place in his brain.
Pat backed away and then the three scientists who were now seated at their consoles quietly monitoring their screens began to alternately look at the box on the table and then at Burt and back again. It looked like they were watching a slow motion tennis match as their heads turned in unison.
Burt saw none of this, for as soon as Pat stepped away, he squinted his eyes shut and in a mere twenty seconds, began to quickly reel off a series of numbers. With each correct one, Dr. Jerome held up his hand in the ok sign for Huxley to see.
When he was finished with the forty-eight number, Burt looked up. Sweat was streaming down his flushed face. He then turned his attention to Huxley and asked, "how'd I do?"
Pat looked over at Dr. Jerome for the answer. Jerome, wide-eyed, slack-jawed, but obviously happy, uttered a single word. "All!" He then caught his breath and continued. "He got all of them. All of them! O'Shaunnesey only succeeded in getting twenty. Mr. Huxley, he got all forty-eight numbers!" Jerome exclaimed. His two assistants nodded their heads up and down emphasizing their superior's last statement. They looked like typical yes men as they did.
Pat couldn't believe it. All forty-eight. The young kid read all forty-eight guidance commands through screens that electrically emulated an eleven thousand nautical mile separation between Burt and the computer. It was phenomenal. It was stupendous! It meant they were nearly there and that his dream for a nuclear-free world might just not be a dream any more. He tried to hide his excitement, but didn't do very well. He was beaming as he spoke. "Very good indeed, Mr. Grayson! Very very good indeed!"
Pat then got a dour look on his face and regained his composure as the reality that Grayson hadn't completed the entire test sunk in. He'd only read the numbers. Reading a program from a distance was one thing. O'Shaunnesey could read people's minds. Uri Geller could read people's minds from great distances. But Uri Geller could reportedly bend spoons too! The question was could Burt harness enough thought energy to electrically alter a chip and bend the data it contained like Geller bent spoons? And could he do this from half a world away? That was the real issue. If he couldn't do that his nuclear-free world would remain what it currently was, a dream and nothing more. Pat cursed himself. He should have postponed the test until the next day. He still didn't think it possible this kid could succeed where ten years of his own research had failed. Before he could act on that thought, Burt interrupted him.
"It's done! I've reprogrammed it!" Burt was smiling smugly as he announced his success.
Pat looked over to his scientists who were huddled over their screens. After a moment or two Jerome looked up. He was pale and silent. All he could do was nod his head up and down indicating complete and utter success. Pat couldn't believe it and had to see for himself. He walked over to the computer monitors and looked as Jerome ran his finger down the screen showing two columns of numbers, the second incremented by three from the first.
Pat rolled his eyes high into the back of his head and then raised his head toward the ceiling as he uttered a prayer of thanks but the moment he did, his reverie was shattered by a loud crash as Burt kicked the stool aside and got up jerkily. When Pat brought his head back down and looked over toward Burt, Pat could see his whole body was shaking. He looked like a marionette whose puppet master had had an epileptic fit in mid performance. Pat moved closer to see what was wrong, but before he closed the distance between them, Burt stopped shaking and focused on him. Then in a very deep, strong un-Grayson-like voice he spoke, "Pretty fuckin'-A good, huh Huxley! Pretty fuckin' a right on good, wouldn't you say!" He was sneering at Pat and the tone of voice he used wasn't so much one of pride in what he had accomplished, rather it was sinister.
Pat was stunned by Burt's metamorphosis. Grayson looked different. His eyes no longer looked kind and innocent like they had just moments earlier when he had been asked if he thought he could complete the test and he answered tentatively that he could giving Pat the feeling he was unsure of himself. His eyes no longer looked like the eyes of a college student who, locked in concentration, might stare straight ahead from his chair in class to gather his thoughts before speaking aloud. Instead, Burt's eyes looked mean and cold. No not just cold. His eyes were ruthless and dangerous, like Charles Manson's. Behind those eyes there were no kind thoughts, Pat knew it! And Pat was scared.
While Pat was absorbed in the transformation that had taken place and was standing transfixed, Burt leapt forward, catlike and instantly reached out and grabbed him by the forearm. Then, in one quick jerk, Burt spun him around like a rag doll being whipped about by an errant child. Instantly, Pat's arm was pinned high up between his shoulder blades causing a sparing pain from the stretched ligaments and torn cartilage in his elbow to burn a flaming highway up his arm to his brain. The pain was so intense it took his breath away choking off his scream and causing his eyes to water.