The True Reason for the Fall of the Roman Empire
And Other Technological Mishaps Along the Road to Utopia
by Gerald Laetz
Part Two
"George?" Harry coughed again, covering his giggle with his hand. "Can I call you George?"
"Why of course, Harry."
"You mentioned that there is this hardware problem with my life."
"Oh yeah...sorry." George sat up, drawing his breath in through his teeth, much as Harry had seen the Japanese do when something wasn't right. "There's been this small glitch in your background."
"What kind of glitch?"
"Well it has become stuck, actually." George looked embarrassed. He played nervously with his drink, spinning it on the seat tray.
"Stuck? How could it become stuck?"
"Well you see, Harry..." George paused, grimacing,
"when you were born, we still hadn't converted totally to the new equipment; a lot of people's backgrounds were still on record. Many still are."
"Record? You mean like our old music records?"
"Exactly!" George brightened. "Primitive, huh? I know. I know. The old analog versus digital argument, but it takes time to convert over--and money. You wouldn't believe the money, and with the budget cut backs, and all this paper work that's now required...well you can imagine the mess. It's just getting worse and worse."
"George!" Harry interrupted, becoming exasperated. How long could this guy keep it up?
"Oh yeah, Harry, well anyway...your background record got stuck. It's been going over and over for about two months."
"Two months!?" Harry exclaimed, then caught himself.
"As near we can figure," George took his eyes off Harry and stared into his drink, spinning it round and round. He rambled on, softly, talking more to himself it seemed, than to Harry. "I don't have to tell you Harry, someone's going to catch hell for this--literally and figuratively. It's not as if we don't have checks for this sort of thing; if the skipper adjustments had been properly made, but then these kids, it's like pulling teeth to get them to work on the old gear. And the simulation projection software should have noticed something wasn't right, but again, it just hasn't been maintained like the new stuff. Well that's not exactly fair; you just can't get the sensitivity out of analog that we have with the new digital disks. You ought to see the latest laser stuff; one little box can replace a whole room full of tape drives. I couldn't even calculate on the old players like yours."
"So my life has been running on this old analog gear?"
"Well it's not all bad Harry." George roused himself. "It was good stuff in its day--top of the line. We never skimp on that. They'll cut my O & M budget to pieces," he raised his voice, gesturing into the air as though talking to someone above him, "but on new equipment, they buy the best. The only problem is, then they try to nurse it forever. But it was good stuff. The purists think it has much better fidelity than the new digital equipment; can't measure it though. Me...I don't take sides."
George leaned across the aisle toward Harry, looked around, and lowered his voice. "Confidentially, I was talking to a guy up in design about this, and he tells me they have a theory that life's just not as real on the new stuff. They think that might be why all these people are turning to drugs--more drug use on the digital equipment statistically. But there's no way we can go back now. Kind of keep that under your hat, if you know what I mean. We wouldn't want that getting out."
"Trust me." Harry winked at him.
"Don't get me wrong; the digital in all other ways is vastly superior. With digital you've got programmatic correction, tape back up, much denser storage. You could never get stuck on digital; it just keeps trucking along-- requires hardly any maintenance at all. Problem is, when one breaks, we've all forgotten what to do. Kind of a trade off there, but so far they just don't break. I don't know, couple thousand years, when they start to age, well...we'll see then."
Harry nodded, thinking. "So I've been stuck here two months?"
"Afraid so." George looked apologetic.
"This flight did seem a bit long. Well...what now?" Harry chuckled inside at the thought. "What are you going to do now, bump the needle over?"
George squirmed a little uncomfortably in his seat, clearing his throat. "I wish it were that simple."
"Why? What's the problem with that?" Harry could hardly wait. This should really be good.
"Well...you see Harry, everyone else has moved on; you've been left behind, and life has sort of passed you by. To attempt to re-insert you now...well...the projection software just can't make an accurate prediction; we don't know what would happen. It would be too dangerous, and after the fall of the Roman Empire fiasco, no one's going to take that kind of chance."
"The Fall of the Roman Empire?"
"Yeah, happened about two thousand years ago. There was this empire and--"
"I know about the fall of the Roman Empire! You mean that was caused by some kind of mistake?"
"Of course. It happened during the initial big push to convert to disk. Software problems galore; hardware was rushed into the field too soon. You know how those marketing guys are--they make big promises and then expect us engineers to keep them."
"Amen to that," Harry nodded in agreement.
"Well, I don't want to bore you with the details, but of course it was a mistake. Do you think something like that would happen on purpose?"
Harry shrugged. "Up until now I hadn't given it much thought."
"It was a pretty messy situation; took us almost six hundred years to straighten that out. We refer to it as the dark ages. Boy, did heads roll." George's face brightened.
"It did get me promoted though; so I guess every cloud has a silver lining. At any rate, my point is that no one is going to stick their neck out on this one. It couldn't have happened at a worse time; right now we're starting to convert to the new laser stuff. I couldn't spring a software type loose for something like this if I wanted to." George was shaking his head resignedly.
"Well maybe..." Harry started, but George, apparently lost in thought, wasn't listening.
"Problems Harry, nothing but problems. I'm not going to let happen to me what happened to those other guys. This is going to go right; I'm putting in seventy hour weeks. Do you think they care? Do you think I ever hear a, 'Nice job George? Way to go George?' No! Never! All they ever want to talk about is their own problems: deadlines, budgets, paper work--always the paper work. It's a treadmill Harry, I tell you, a lousy treadmill. And now this. I should just chuck it; take an early retirement. So it'd be at a lower level. Big deal. All my friends would be there." George laughed and then winked at Harry. "Right?"
"I...uh...don't know." Harry shrugged. Seizing the pause Harry jumped in. "So you can't bring me back to the present."
"No! Of course not!" George sounded irritated. "I thought we'd already covered this--a few hours, a few days, maybe a week, but two months, no way. The prediction software is just not that good; the mathematical permutations are astronomical. Impossible! Two months! I just can't believe it! How this could have gone on for two months! Johnson, I'll bet. Swears he was doing the PMs; signed all the logs, but what does that prove? He probably hasn't made a skipper adjustment in months. As you well know, Harry, it's a fine line we walk between, if it works don't fix it, and letting stuff go until it drops."
George paused, looking at Harry for agreement. Harry just stared back blankly. This was going on quite long for a practical joke. Where did they get this guy?
"Bureaucrats just don't understand that paper is no substitute for quality people. But do you think they'd give me enough money to hire good people? Not on your life! All the money's going into building up these empires of low life paper pushers. Well, they'll finally see when it all comes crashing down. Of course they'll be covered! It will all be blamed on good old George; let George take the fall. The equipment is changing so fast, how do they expect me to keep up? You know we were on records for more than thirty thousand years; then tape for maybe ten; now we're going to start phasing out magnetic disks, and what, they've been around for only a little more than three thousand. What's next?"
"Bubble memory?" Harry suggested.
"Do you think so?"
"Could be. I was reading this article..." Harry stopped. What? I'm getting sucked into this? "Look, George...if I can't be put back into the present, what's going to happen to me?"
"You'll stay here of course; there's no problem with that. The plane's already been reported missing, and they've stopped looking. Fortunately, you were the only real person on this flight."
"You're saying I have to spend the rest of my life on this plane?"
"Sure, what's wrong with that?" George smiled at Harry.
"There's worse things you know: you've got heating, three squares," George pointed toward the front, "an open bar; I've even arranged to have the magazines updated monthly. You'll be okay."
"Spend the rest of my life on this plane! You've got to be crazy."
"Well let's not get personal here, Harry. Is this the thanks I get?" George looked hurt. "Those magazine subscriptions are coming out of my budget, you know."
Harry took a couple of deep breaths; this guy was getting to him. He stared around the cabin. "So none of this is real: these walls, these chairs, the people here. I could get up and go over to that guy," Harry pointed to a man sleeping two rows ahead, "and punch him." "I wouldn't do that Harry," George held out his hand as though to stop him.
"Why not?"
"Well...he looks pretty big for one thing."
"Yeah, but he's not real."
"True. But that wouldn't keep him from pounding you into pulp. You don't look like much of a fighter, Harry." Harry shook his head. "Geez. This is too much. I think this has gone far enough. You tell Morton for me--"
"Morton?"
"Yeah Morton, the guy I work with who put you up to this."
"Morton?" George looked puzzled, and then brightened. "Oh yeah Morton, I thought I recognized that name."
"Yeah Morton. You tell him--"
"He's the guy they promoted into your spot."
"They what? They promoted that weasel into my position!"
"Well, they do think you're dead."
Harry sank back into his chair. Boy...Morton had really gotten him this time.
Beep. Beep. George glanced down at his digital watch. "My time's up. Sure flies by when you're here, doesn't it? Got to run. I wish we had more time, but busy, busy, busy. Consider yourself informed. By the book, you know. Take care and good luck. Have a nice day," George smiled.
Ping.
He was gone. Harry blinked. After a moment he closed his mouth. He looked up and down the aisle; it was empty; still no attendant in sight. Everyone else was silent--asleep. He grabbed his drink and emptied it, then stared at the glass. They warn you, and warn you, not to drink on these long flights. He looked across the aisle and noticed the empty glass sitting on the tray. Whew...boy, oh boy! He looked away, put his head back on the headrest, and closed his eyes. That does it. Time to change my life style right now--get in shape, develop some new interests. The vodka hit bottom and he relaxed; soon his breathing came evenly, slowly. His head rolled to one side. He snored softly.
There was a bump. Harry Iverson's head snapped up and around--straight ahead. He opened his eyes. Whew...what a weird dream! He glanced at his watch. It read 2:03--digital of course.