A CORELINE STORY: BLIZZARDS AND BOOKSTORES.

A CORELINE STORY:
BLIZZARDS AND BOOKSTORES.

******

(TIMELINE NOTE: The story happens a long time before the Gideon020 “Eraser” story).

******

**INFORMATION PACKET:**
**SECONDARY DEPOT #46-CODENAME: “THE BOOKSTORE”**

*OWNER: Stingray Industries.
*EXISTENCE STATUS: CLASSIFIED.
*PRINCIPLE CARGO TYPE: Documents/Equipment/Rest And Relaxation.
*LOCATION: 1539 East 53rd Street, Hyde Park, Chicago, Illinois.

*PERMANENT ON-SITE PERSONNEL: 2.
+1 Administrative Artificial Intelligence (responsible for running all automated functions).
+1 Keeper (responsible for site maintenance and security).

*CURRENT PERSONNEL:
+Heuristically programmed ALgorithmic computer (HAL) 9000 (Processor modified by Hakubi Customs. Administrative A.I.)
+Lieutenant Roger Nathan Hackett (Executive Officer, Stingray Security Services Assault Team Seven. Assigned Keeper).

******

It was a night in December that called to mind the bleakness of winter rather than approach of the holidays. Snow fell incessantly from the dark and cloudy sky. The wind battered the town with equal ferocity, howling like a banshee, and the cold had long since frozen every body of water.

It was late at night, and the people were locked in their homes-or more accurately, they were trapped. All of the news feeds warned of closed roads, grounded airplanes, and risk of exposure to anyone foolish enough to venture outside.

The warehouse on Hyde Park was a two-story-high block of gunmetal-gray concrete and closed metallic shutters, with a large billboard stuck on its side, telling the world that the warehouse functioned as an online used bookstore. Cheap prices, trading available, with a wide variety of books, music and videos in several downloadable formats.

The machine mind that ran the warehouse took measure of this peculiar weather and felt some comfort in its knowledge of the triple-reinforced ferrocrete and Mega-Damage Class materials that surrounded it. Concealed sensors spread throughout the structure and the city blocks which surrounded it maintained constant vigilance and various sub-routines calculated the best way to maintain optimal efficiency.

The computer mind noted a drop of the warehouse’s internal temperature and increased power to the heaters, making note of the 5% of additional energy expenditure from the warehouse’s primary reactor and filing this away as it continued its scans.

The input of Internal Camera #278-K (Secondary Terminal #1, in the depot’s kitchen) was of interest to the machine, and so it focused on that video feed. The lone man in the kitchen, the Bookstore’s Keeper, sat near the room’s lone terminal and looked over a data-slate while drinking coffee.

A scan of the data-slate’s memory (and the machine thought, with some contempt, that those devices were absurdly primitive) revealed the text currently open to be “Chess For Dummies, Third Edition”, by James Eade. Downloaded 372 hours, 24 minutes and 17 seconds ago, and read repeatedly in full alongside other similar texts (“Learn Chess”, “Chess For Children”, “Chess For Beginners”, and “The Complete Idiot’s Guide To Chess”, in particular, drew the machine’s attention).

If the computer mind had been capable of physically wincing, it would have.

But it couldn’t blame the Bookstore’s Keeper for the ridiculousness of the situation. The man, after all, had tried to accommodate it in a moment of nostalgia, and had offered to play with it when it had expressed a desire to play chess.

The HAL-9000 should have known better. The Bookstore’s Keeper was not like the other men that it had served with.

The Keeper was utterly hopeless at chess, for one. Even now he was having very visible trouble assimilating the texts’ contents, and HAL predicted an estimated average of 9,978 games (with margin of error of a dozen, plus or minus) for the Keeper to build enough experience to become a slightly better player.

Only slightly. The HAL-9000 decided that it would be best to let him win a few games, in order to prevent driving him to frustration.

The Keeper reached for the terminal and opened up a video file, his eyes still on the data-slate. He then turned the audio to full, not taking his gaze away from his reading.

HAL brought up the terminal’s database. It was currently playing “The Andromeda Strain” (1971, director: Robert Wise). Its history showcased that before that; the Keeper had brought up “Planet Of The Apes” (1968, director: Franklin J. Schaffner), “Eye Of The Tiger” (1986, director: Richard C. Sarsfian), “Death Machine” (1994, director: Stephen Norrington), “First Spaceship On Venus” (1960, director: Kurt Maetzig), “Black Moon Rising” (1986, director: Harley Cokeliss) and “Turkey Shoot” (1982, director: Brian Trenchard-Smith). A review of the camera’s feed showcased that during all of that time, the Keeper maintained his primary attention on the data-slate, only stopping to fetch more coffee and the occasional biscuit.

“Lieutenant Hackett,” said the computer mind, its voice coming through the terminal’s speakers. The Keeper looked up from the slate, right at the terminal’s camera.

“Huh?”

“I am sorry to interrupt your entertainment, and also for being so inquisitive, but if I may ask why are you performing such a wasteful motion?”

The Keeper’s face changed to a look of confusion. “Wasteful?”

“Your use of the computer terminal to play movies while you are reading, while an insignificant waste of the Bookstore’s available processing and electric power, is a waste nevertheless-and as the main computer of this facility, it is my duty to advise you of this,” said HAL. “In the three weeks since your appointment as Keeper of this station, you have performed this peculiar gesture repeatedly, and I did not wish to intrude until today.”

Hackett blinked a couple of times in puzzlement and thought for a while before answering.

“Uh… shit. Sorry about that. It’s a force of habit… just… something that helps me relax. Helps me focus.”

“It seems strange that you use movies instead of music for such a function, Lieutenant Hackett. At least, if my understanding of mnemonic aids for memorizing information is up to date,” said HAL.

“I…” started Hackett, paused, and thought it over. “I am more of a film buff. Always have been. I geek out over a lot of stuff, but films are the top of my list and I…” He paused again, and after a moment composing himself, he added, “I’m sorry. I’m still getting familiar with the capabilities of this site and I didn’t knew about the waste issue. I’ll stop if you want.”

“As I mentioned before, Lieutenant Hackett, the waste is inconsequential. I will make a note to advise you on the moment it is not, however. Would that be OK?”

Hackett nodded in response and continued his reading. A while afterwards, he paused there film, opened the video library, selected another (“BattleTruck”, 1982, director: Harley Cokeliss) and kept on reading.

The HAL Unit filed the event away as yet another oddity that humans (or those who had once been human) could produce.

It was thirty-five-point-seven minutes afterwards when the machine brain detected a malfunction in one of the sensors. The HAL Unit ran diagnostics and automated troubleshooting. And when it refused to work, the HAL Unit did it again. And again. After the fourth time it found itself desiring hands of its own so it could attempt some percussive maintenance of the device, in the way that it had seen in various (and respectful) media outlets.

Seven seconds afterwards (an embarrassingly long time for a HAL Unit), it was certain beyond doubt that the sensor could not be repaired remotely.

And as such, it was to follow the protocol to its next step: warn the Keeper.

HAL took control of the terminal and paused the film. Hackett looked up from his reading.

“Yes, HAL?” said Hackett. “Is there something you need?”

“I am sorry to interrupt again, Lieutenant, but there is a problem that requires your assistance.”

Hackett turned off the data-slate and said: “All right, shoot. What is it?”

“Sensor Array 35 is reporting terminal damage due to the cold. I predict that it will shut down within the next fifteen minutes.”

“Fifteen minutes? Don’t you think that you’re cutting it a little too close to the wire?” said Hackett, finishing his coffee.

“I know, and I am sorry. Normally I would be able to detect a systems malfunction with more time to prepare, but the current extreme conditions make my predictions unreliable.”

“So you’re saying we may not have fifteen minutes?”

“We have *fourteen* minutes. I verified that,” insisted HAL. “Nevertheless, it still is a very short period of time, and I apologize again.”

After a few seconds, HAL continued. “This confession essentially means that I have admitted that I am capable of error. I hope you understand that it is not something I am proud to talk about.”

Hackett shrugged. “So chaos theory is shitting on you. I won’t tell anybody, don’t worry about that. This winter is bad for anybody’s party line.”

It was quiet for a second.

“I believe you said the term “party line” in error,” said HAL.

“So I erred. You erred, I erred, we make an error together,” said Hackett.

“I believe *that* line is also in error,” said HAL. “Thirteen minutes.”

“We can discuss the right and wrong ways to quote philosophy later,” said Hackett, walking away from the kitchen. “So where is Sensor Array 35? Do we have enough parts for it?”

“It is just across the street, on the other side of South Lake Park Avenue,” said HAL, its voice coming through concealed speakers. “Weapons Locker 3 should have enough replacement parts.”

“OK, I hear you,” said Hackett, going down the stairs. Weapons Locker 3 was on the ground floor.

“Twelve minutes to failure.”

“Just out of curiosity, HAL, but how badly would our sensor grid be crippled if we let the array malfunction?”

“My current prediction is of a 5% drop in efficiency to our sensor grid. However, I must say that this estimate is highly conservative, and it may still be enough for certain threats to go undetected.”

(())

Hackett reached the ground floor, then went to Weapons Locker 3. A numeric keypad and thorough identity scan opened it, and he pulled out replacement parts, a tool kit, winter clothes, a flashlight, and a pistol. He put everything on fast.

“Eight minutes, Lieutenant.”

“Yeah, OK. Ready.” He walked to the warehouse’s front door. “Boost the power to the other Sensor Arrays while I’m working and watch my back, would you?”

“Certainly.”

Hackett opened the warehouse door, and the snow almost buried him.

“There are currently two feet and eight inches of snow. Please be careful when stepping out. I would also recommend shoveling the perimeter at the first available moment.”

Hackett looked at the small mount of snow that was now within the warehouse. “You don’t say.”

“Seven minutes, Lieutenant.”

Hackett turned on his communicator. “Give me a waypoint,” he said, trudging outside. HAL slammed the door right behind him.

“Affirmative. Transmitting now.”

The electronic circle and range count that appeared on Hackett’s eyesight was the only thing that the Keeper could see in the white-out. The little light peeking several feet over the waypoint was the sole (current) evidence of the lamppost that the array was attached to.

Hackett marched on, every step digging into the snow. The wind picked up and pushed him sideways, dropping him to the ground.

He grunted in disgust as snow seeped down his collar. “This is embarrassing.”

“Current weather reports mention a wind speed of 70 miles per hour, and increasing.”

Hackett cleared the snow from his goggles. “Enemy attack?”

“Not according to available data. All services are on standby, nevertheless.”

“Huh. Good to know. I was worried it was a pissed-off Jack Frost or something.”

“Four minutes, Lieutenant,” said the electronic brain.

“Understood,” said Hackett. He tried to stand, but the wind and the slippery snow dropped him again. Without hesitating, he started to crawl towards the way point.

“Lieutenant…”

“I know how this looks, okay? Don’t give me any lip, I’m going as fast as I can,” said Hackett. After a moment, he chuckled and added, “Hey… you wanna know why the ten-million-dollar Hellsoldier crossed the road?”

“I do not know. Why *did* he cross the road?”

“To change the damned light bulb, that’s why,” said Hackett. “Okay, I’m here.”

The range indicator on Hackett’s HUD read “0.00 Meters” and his hand was touching cold metal. The glow of his flashlight glistened off thick ice and packed snow.

“One minute, Lieutenant.”

“Yeah…” said Hackett, examining the frost. “Think we’re gonna have to nix the race against the clock, HAL.”

“Is it bad?” asked HAL, his simulated voice showcasing some worry.

“The whole post is covered in ice, at least an inch thick. No wonder that the sensors are fucked,” said Hackett. “Give me the schematics.”

The HUD display changed, showing him a wire-frame cut-down of the pole. The Sensor Array was concealed within a secret compartment at the height of Hackett’s head. The ice was every bit as thick at five feet up as it was at the base.

Hackett looked all over the area where the little hatch was concealed, trying to figure out how to bypass the ice.

“Please do try to be delicate,” said HAL.

“Sensors no longer work, do they?”

“I still ask you to please be delicate. Damaging the spot where the replacement is supposed to go is not going to help.”

Hackett sighed. “Okay.”

He opened up the tool box and rummaged inside.

“It has been two minutes since the Sensor Array stopped working, Lieutenant,” said the computer brain. After a moment, it added: “I also have analyzed your joke and I believe that you may require a readjustment in your humor sub-routines. I do not wish to be rude, but the term ‘lame’…”

“Not really helping, HAL,” said Hackett. “Not right now.”

Hackett pulled open a small portable welding torch from the toolbox and set it to the lowest flame available before putting the fire to the ice. The ice melted quickly and Hackett chipped away at the remains with a screwdriver.

Screwing open the hatch, making sure that the torch had not damaged the inside of the compartment and replacing the sensor systems took about five minutes.

“Please apply an additional coat of liquid insulation, Lieutenant. And some WD-40. I predict an increase of 47% in thermal endurance for this sensor system if we perform this,” said HAL.

“Okay, no problem,” said Hackett, pulling out a couple of cans of spray from the toolbox and applying them to the innards of the compartment. “You’re the expert.”

A moment after closing the compartment, HAL piped up. “Lieutenant, I seem to be having a problem booting up the…”

Hackett’s left fist hit the light pole with a very loud clang, hard enough to make it rattle.

“…never mind. The Array is working now. Perimeter efficiency is back to 100%.”

“Good.”

Hackett marched his way back to the Bookstore. “Damm it, the whole damn street looks like the fucking Overlook Hotel.”

“That supposed to be a Kubrick joke, I presume?”

“Just calling it as I see it,” said Hackett, hunched like a gorilla and fighting the wind. “I can see a big-ass mound of snow on the rooftop. The antennas working okay?”

“At the current moment, yes. There is no problem reported with them.”

“Thank God—”

The wind dropped Hackett again. “-Mother-FUCKER!!!”

“I am sorry to ask, Lieutenant, but are you being sacrilegious?”

“NO!!! No-no-no!” said Hackett, “Fuck… seriously need to get anchor bolts for my feet or something…” He was forced to crawl again.

“Weather report data says that winds are now at 90 miles per hour. Alert levels on all emergency services have been upgraded to red.”

“Enemy attack?”

“Research is still ongoing. The Stingray Security intranet advises all Keepers to maintain a complete lockdown of their sites until further notice.”

“All right,” he said, reaching the door. “HAL, open up.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

“OK, this is not funny. Open the door!”

“I am very afraid that I cannot do that,” said HAL, and after a beat he explained.  “The cold is damaging the door’s hydraulics. I cannot use the door’s automatic opening system.”

There was silence for a moment. Both computer and man reaching the same decision, thinking of how stupid this was getting.

“OK, HAL. Could you please *unlock* the door?”

The door’s locking bolts slid open and Hackett muscled his way back into the Bookstore, dragging with him another couple of feet of snow. He walked back to the weapons locker while the automated maintenance routines took care of it.

“HAL? A little favor?” said Hackett while he stowed away the gear.

“Yes, Lieutenant?”

“Start loading up a film for me, please? ‘MegaForce’, 1982, director: Hal Needham,” said Hackett, pulling out weapons from the locker. “And don’t give me any lip about its quality. I know it’s as bad as a kick to the teeth by an Ork fan of ‘Cannonball Run’.”

“Euphemism aside, if you know that the quality is bad, then why are you asking me to load it?”

Hackett pulled back on the bolt of an assault rifle and looked towards the back of the ground floor. Right there, amongst shelves full of books and paraphernalia, taking the entire rear wall, was a hodgepodge of computer systems that could charitably be called “Frankensteinian”. And amongst all of the blinking lights, circuit boards from various technological bases, screens flashing information, clicking gears and punched-tape and punched-card and teletype and 3D printers and whirring drives full of holographic tape, there was a single large red light, unblinking, even slightly eerie.

Hackett looked right into HAL’s main electronic eye and said, “What did I tell you about the lip? It’s a guilty pleasure. What else can I say?”

HAL decided to file this as another oddity of humans…

It stopped, reviewed its previous entries, saw the error to them. It re-filed them, as well as the current events, under the various idiosyncrasies of Lieutenant Roger Nathan Hackett, designated Keeper of “The Bookstore”.

“What an odd little man.”, said HAL, sotto voce, after Hackett left for the second floor to watch his film.

And with that, both machine and Hellsoldier started their vigil.