No Facilities

As I promised David last week, I will be sharing one last story today for the Thursday Doors Writing Challenge. The story, grew in a Stream of Consciousness manner because so many people said they wanted to know more about Bessie O’Hara, but I’m afraid it required much more editing than Linda would likely approve. Trying to slide this in as SoCS would be a recipe for disaster. Oh wait, did you see that?

Your Friday prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday is “recipe.” Use it any way you’d like. Enjoy!

Stream of Consciousness Saturday—Linda G. Hill

If we were having a beer, I’d be telling you a story. With some help from Resa, S.W. Berg (Maureen) and Kerfe.

Toccata and Fugue in D Minor

Damian, Trisha, Phillipe and Celeste gathered for an herbal brew before their departure. Winther Justin joined them with a last-minute checklist.

“First off, have you divided the Tarkan Responder?”

They all replied in the affirmative.

“Who has the photodegradable element?”

“I do,” Phillipe answered. “And, yes, it’s in its protective case.”

Winther nodded. “Any questions about the mission?”

“No questions,” Damian responded, “but I hope we can convince these people to avoid the mistakes the other worlds have made.”

Winther shook his head. “That’s unlikely. Once again, technology is growing too fast on this planet. On some planets, the inhabitants tire of the struggle and the network never blooms. On others, like this one, a few breakthroughs drive commercial interests to take over and we lose the opportunity to connect.”

“Where exactly are you sending us?” Trisha asked. “I mean, I know it’s Earth, but where on Earth?”

Winther checked his notes. “The primary target is a university run by one of the regional governments—they call them states—in a country called the United States. This state is West Virginia. As far as we can tell, the node is accessible to anyone with credentials. Credentials you should be able to easily replicate.”

“Are there backup sites?”

“Yes, Celeste. If something goes wrong with the collective control, independent scanners will send you each to a backup location. Phillipe, you know what to do if one or more of you are apprehended, right?”

“Expose my segment to sunlight or a bright artificial light source.”

“Okay. The transport controllers have been synchronized to Earth’s temporal measurement. Alignment will occur in twenty minutes.”

The four scientists gathered their packs and walked toward the transporter.

“You sure we won’t look out of place when we arrive?” Trisha asked nervously.

“As far as we can tell from our observations, you will look like typical students. Remember, in the narrow-zippered pocket of your pack is a picture of the building that houses the node at the primary site and all the backup sites.”

“And they’re still referring to the network as ‘ARPAnet’?”

“Yes, Damian, but other terms are emerging. You may hear them talk about ‘Bitnet,’ ‘USENET,’ and ‘Telenet,’ but those are services running on ARPAnet.” Winther checked the controls. “Step on the platform, and good luck.”

Celeste always got nauseous during transport. She took a calming pill just before the cycle started and began her breathing exercises. About one third of the way to Earth, radiation from a solar flare passed through the transport portal. They all thought they would be recalled, but they were too far into the cycle. Collective control became untenable, and they landed at their preprogrammed backup sites.

Damian quickly realized that he was at the site in West Virginia. Realizing that they were on their own, his focus changed to establishing communication with the others and arranging a recovery site where they could easily meet. Transportation on Earth in 1983 was robust, and security was minimal. They all had enough replicated currency to handle such an emergency, and the network they were trying to save would provide the means for communication.

“Not only do I have to find someone willing to listen, I actually have to gain access to the network.”

Thinking about the situation was frightening. Damian wasn’t even sure his team had survived. Would they find help? Would they remember emergency protocols? Would they be able to converge on a recovery site while a transport portal could still be opened?

“Our next opportunity to visit, or return from, this planet is in thirty of our years. I think that translates to forty-five years here on earth.”

─●─●─●─

Trisha found a bench alongside a large green and began rifling through her pack for the information and material she needed. If the transport system recovered well enough to put them in their backup locations, she was in a state called California on the campus of the University of California at Santa Barbara. Trisha was the least organized member of the team. She had read about transport failures, but she never thought one would occur. She grabbed the image of the door she was supposed to find. She shook her head as she studied it. It seemed like an odd way to designate a scientific facility. A young man approached.

“Would you mind if I sat here?”

“No, not at all.” Trisha smiled.

The young man noticed the photo as Trisha was putting it back into her pack.

“The ARPAnet lab. Are you a student or a spook?”

“Spook? I don’t recall learning that word.”

She decided to put the conversation on terms she understood.

“My name is Trisha Morgan. I’m a student. Well, I’m supposed to be. I just transferred here from West Virginia. I’m afraid I’m lost.”

“I’m John O’Hara. Do you go by Trisha or Trish, or…”

“It’s nice to meet you, John. Trish is fine. Do you know where the ARPAnet lab is?”

“That door leads to the basement of that building over there.” John pointed to a large featureless concrete structure across the green. “I’d be happy to walk with you.”

Trisha was immediately reminded of the potion of her training she did remember.

“Personal contact with native inhabitants should be kept to a minimum and anything approaching intimate contact is strictly prohibited.”

However, her mind was racing through scenarios with John that would break all the rules.

“Thanks. That’s kind of you.”

─●─●─●─

Celeste quickly realized that something more than being separated from the team had gone awry. There was something wrong with her location. The atmosphere inside the structure wasn’t that of a carefree university campus. The passageway matched the image—that was impossible to miss—but this facility was under a strict form of control. The people in the facility seemed more like well-trained workers than students. Their clothing was more formal, and they walked at a pace suggesting a collective purpose.

She walked over to the entrance. A large bronze plaque answered her questions.

“Ford Center for Advance Technology. This research center, built by the University of Michigan and now run by the Ford Motor Company, is dedicated to incubating and nourishing scientific breakthroughs with the goal of encouraging their commercial viability.”

“Damn, that’s exactly what we are hoping to prevent.”

Celeste was no longer certain she would be able to gain access to the network.

“Excuse me, ma’am.” Celeste ignored the sound. “Excuse me, are you here for the tour?”

Celeste turned hesitantly toward the guard.

“Yes, I’m a little lost. I’m sorry.”

“Well, the tour starts in an hour. You’re free to wander around the public space, but you should have signed in. Come with me. I’ll get you a Visitor’s badge.”

─●─●─●─

Damian looked in the narrow windows of the basement level of Stewart Hall as he descended the steep hill. Within ten meters, the street had dropped to the point of an entrance. He waited and followed a student in. He surveyed the room. It was full of crude cathode ray monitors and large cumbersome keyboards. He walked down one row and up the next, hoping to spot someone’s ID or access card. He found one and scanned it with his replicator. When the signal light turned green, he walked to an unoccupied terminal, produced the access card and logged in.

The interface was clunky. Even after successfully logging in, it wasn’t clear where he should go to send a message.

“Can I help you?”

Damian turned to face the young woman who had walked up behind him.

“No, I was just trying to remember the steps for sending a message…it’s been a while.”

“Uh huh.” The woman carefully looked around. She sat next to Damian. “Would you care to tell me where you’re from?”

“From? Um, I live off-campus, if that’s what you mean.”

The woman laughed. “No, that’s not what I meant.” She pointed to his pack. “I caught your little magic act.” She flipped over his ID card. “Funny, you don’t look Chinese, Mr. Wan.”

“Well, we’re supposed to make contact with someone we can trust. I hope I just have.”

“Look, Ms.…”

“MacGuire. Bessie MacGuire.”

“Thanks. Ms. MacGuire. You’re right, I’m not from around here. I can explain, but I do need to send a message. It’s urgent. Would you be willing to help me?”

“Will you explain everything if I do?”

“Yes.” Damian nodded. “I will.”

“Okay. Who’s this message going to? Do they a have user ID where they are, or are they in situations like yours?”

“The latter. We became separated. There are three others. We mean you no harm. We need to meet somewhere. The others are painfully aware of the fact that we have to meet within.” He studied his watch, doing the temporal system conversion in his head, “the next thirteen hours.”

“Where are they?”

“One is at a place called UC Santa Barbara. One is at Columbia University, and one is at a research complex operated by the University of Michigan.”

“The Ford Center?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“That’s a problem. How old is your information?”

“I don’t know, exactly. We can only observe during certain windows.”

“Well, the Ford Center is now privately run, and the group is a pretty stiff bunch. What is it you need to tell these people?”

Damian rubbed his face and sighed. “I don’t know.”

Bessie gave him a pleading look that had a clear “what the hell?” air about it.

Damian sighed. “I have to tell them where we’re going to meet. It has to be a place we can all get to within that time frame, where we won’t be detained upon arrival, and where we won’t look…”

“Like aliens?” Bessie thought for a few seconds. “Washington, D.C. They can all get transportation there in time. Two will have to fly. The person at Columbia can take a train. Have them all meet at Union Station. They won’t have any trouble finding that, and every weirdo in America goes there.”

“That sounds great. Now, can you help me send a message?”

Bessie flipped over Damian’s ID card again. “I’m sorry Zhāng, I don’t think that will work.”

“My name is Damian.”

“You’d have to be Zhāng to send a message. Scoot over. I’ll send the messages.

“You? They don’t know you.” Damian blurted out. “How will they know the message is for them.”

“Anyone at any of those nodes can look up my ID. I’ll simply ask them to tell—whoever, that ‘The meeting is at Union Station—Washington, D.C.’ Now, who’s at UCSB? He or she needs to get their ass in gear.”

Damian double-checked the transport instructions. “Trisha Morgan.”

Bessie looked up a few parameters then sent a message to Sysop—Node-3. She asked him to address the message about Union Station to “Trisha” and post it publicly so anyone visiting the center would see it.

She repeated the process with the Sysop at Columbia, tagging the message to “Phillipe.”

“Okay, who’s at the Ford Center?”

“Celeste Tremont.”

“Is she dressed like you?”

“Yes.” Damian looked around the room. “Is that another thing we got wrong?”

Bessie laughed. “No. You’re fine for WVU and Phillipe and Trish will be fine on their end, but Celeste is standing out like a sore thumb at FCAT. That may help us. We should call.”

“Call?”

“Telephone.” Bessie rolled her eyes. “Primitive by your standards, I’m sure, but an effective means of communication in this case.”

Bessie called the university operator. “I need to place a call to the Ford Center for Advanced Technology. It’s in Ann Arbor, Michigan. It might be listed with the university.”

After a long wait, the phone was ringing.

“Hello, I need to speak with the receptionist, or guard, or whoever is monitoring the entrance.”

After another wait, she was connected to the guard who had signed Celeste in. After a brief conversation in which Bessie fabricated a story of being Celeste’s sister and having an urgent message for her. The guard promised to deliver the message.

Bessie turned to Damian. “Okay, all the messages have been sent. Your team should all make it to D.C.”

“Thank you. But, how do I get to Washington, D.C.?”

“I’m going to take you there. It’s about a five-hour drive. Plenty of time for you to buy me dinner and tell me your story.”

─●─●─●─

Phillipe, having studied the mission briefing material extensively, realized he was on the campus of Columbia University in the state and city called New York. He recognized the computer lab, far in the distance, and began walking toward it. It was a bright sunny day. He took his time, making sure that his pack was fully closed.

There was no marked entrance to the building. He watched as some men entered and exited doors that were blacked out. He followed one group inside and kept following them down a wide set of steps to a lower level. On that level, he saw a sign with an arrow pointing to the ‘Student Lab’. He turned in that direction. The men turned back and watched him as he walked. He stopped abruptly after entering the lab. He saw the notice the Sysop had posted.

Brian Rattar bumped into him. Phillipe apologized.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to stop so fast. It’s just that that message is for me.”

“That’s OK.” Brian chuckled. “I guess you better get to Penn Station, huh?”

“Yes.” Phillipe struggled with his thoughts. “Can you tell me how to get there? I’m not familiar with this city.”

“The fastest way is the Number One subway. The signs on the southbound track will include Penn Station.”

Phillipe turned and exited the lab. He thought the best route would be to backtrack the way he came in. Within fifty feet, two of the men he had followed in grabbed him.

─●─●─●─

By the time they had traversed the green, John O’Hara had taken Trisha’s hand in his. She didn’t resist. “The entrance in your photo is behind the building.”

“What did you mean before when you asked if I was a ‘spook’?”

John laughed. “Well, other than computer science students, chemistry, math or physics majors, the only people working with ARPAnet are with the DIA.”

Trish sighed. “I still don’t get it. I’m sorry.”

“Maybe it’s a California thing. DIA, Defense Intelligence Agency. Students here are worried that since ARPAnet was designed with military money, it will eventually be pulled back into that world.”

“I worry about that, too.”

They entered the lab through the ‘hookah door’ as John called it, they both noticed a large message printed in ASCII characters across the full width of a line printer page. It was the message Bessie had sent.

John turned sharply to Trisha. “Is that message for you?”

Trish nodded. “I’m afraid it is.” She squeezed his hand a little harder. “John, I have to go. I have to get to that meeting. Can you help me?”

“Sure. I’ll drive you to LAX. You can get a flight to DC from there.” John held her close and kissed her. “Will you be coming back?”

Trisha began to sob. “No, I’m afraid not. I wish I could explain. I don’t want to leave, but others are depending on me.”

“Okay. We have to go to my apartment to get my car. We can book a flight from there.”

─●─●─●─

Brian Rattar decided to make sure Phillipe found the right subway entrance. As he stepped into the hallway, he saw Phillpe struggling with two men in black suits who were ushering him away. Brian ran. He tackled one of the men. Phillipe broke free of the other and Brian shoved him back toward the lab.

“The exit is over here. We can get to a subway station on the other side of campus. Hurry!”

─●─●─●─

Bessie and Damian stopped at a small restaurant before starting their drive.

“This place has an eclectic mix of pedestrian food. I love their beef stroganoff. Unless you prefer Chinese.”

Damian laughed. “I just scanned the first ID I saw. I didn’t think anyone would notice.”

“You can explain your technology while we drive. Where are you from? Are you time travelers?”

“No, we’re not time travelers. There’s a group of stars—I think you refer to them as the Scorpius constellation.”

Bessie nodded. “Yes, I’m familiar with that. The Butterfly Nebula—Caldwell 69—a bipolar planetary nebula is near that system.”

“Yes. Our scientists have learned how to channel the energy from the nebula to create tunnels, for lack of a better word, through which we can travel at speeds faster than light.”

“So, what brings you here? I mean, why Earth?”

“We can’t control the direction of the tunnel formation; we can only control our direction within it. When we studied this planet, we saw that you are beginning to form a collective communications system. We came here, hoping to convince you to restrict that system to scientific use.”

“Why? ARPAnet has potential applications across broad industries.”

“Yes. We’ve seen this before. The commercial aspects become too appealing, addicting in a way. Security problems arise from that. Scientists will revert to isolated small protected networks, and you’ll never achieve the breakthroughs that will lead you to us.”

“You’re suggesting that such breakthroughs require a team effort.”

“Exactly!”

“Well, you’re too late. Even if you had all landed together. Too many people are working to bring the network to the public. There’s too much money at stake.”

“I was afraid of that. Maybe someday, someone will figure it out independently.”

─●─●─●─

John O’Hara hung up the phone.

“I called the university travel office and reserved two seats on a flight from LAX to National airport in DC. We can get a train to Union Station from the airport. The plane leaves in three and a half hours.”

“Two seats?”

“Yes, I’m going with you.”

Trisha smiled. “How long will it take to get to the airport?”

“We should allow for traffic—two and a half hours.”

Trisha giggled. “That leaves us an hour to get to know each other better.

─●─●─●─

Brian and Phillipe exited the Number-1 train at Penn Station.

“AMTRAK is on the upper level.” Brian said as he led Phillipe up a grungy set of well-worn stairs. He pointed to the big board. “There’s a train to DC leaving in fifty-five minutes. You can get a ticket over there.” Pointing to the ticket counter. “Maybe, while you wait, you can tell me why those men took you into custody.”

─●─●─●─

Bessie pulled into a commuter lot in Arlington, Virginia. “We should take a train from here to avoid traffic.”

Bessie and Damian waited in Union Station’s Grand Concourse. Celeste arrived first. She had taken a cab from Dulles Airport. Phillipe was the next to arrive. Trisha and John arrived last, with little time to spare. John and Bessie accompanied the group to a secluded corner outside the retail wing off the Main Concourse. There, behind a small garden, they said their goodbyes. Thrisha and John shared a long embrace despite her not wanting to reveal any details to Damian.

Each member of the group took out their piece of the Tarkan Responder, Once assembled, the responder emitted a shrill sound like the sound of the modems used by remote terminals. That was followed by a familiar sound. Soon, a muted blue light surrounded the group. In an instant, they were gone.

John O’Hara turned to Bessie. “That sounded like organ music.”

“Bach’s Toccata and Fugue in D Minor. At least it’s close to that.”

“You must have studied classical music. I wonder why I know it?”

“It’s used in almost every horror movie ever made. Now I wonder if Bach really wrote it?”

John asked Bessie how much she knew. They quickly discovered that they each knew the full story, and they each expressed a desire to pursue the research that the group had hoped to encourage.

“But without the collective community, what do we have, Bessie?”

“Me, thee, and Bach, John.”

Lot’s of critters. Most of these photos were taken by my wife.

In case you’re wondering about that music, you only need listen to the first few seconds of the following.