Spring 1965

     "Here it goes!" he said to no one in particular. The billiard ball winding its way through the intrinsically complex maze of tracks and tubes had activated all the blue lights. Falling into the bottom of the small but, to a ten year old, impressive air cannon the heavy sphere cued the final circuit, initiating the blast of air. Racing up the eight foot barrel, it flew in a parabolic path high above the Plexiglas barrier causing oohs and aahs of appreciation. It landed with a resounding bang inside a large funnel, rattling rhythmically as it whirled in ever smaller circles toward the tube leading back to the beginning of the process.
     The woman standing nearby laughed delightedly. "I've been standing here forever, trying to predict it. How did you know?"
     "All the lights turned blue." He pointed out all the junctions with the blue and red lights along the track. "Like a binary code," he added. She gave him a puzzled look. Didn't grown-ups know anything?
     "Not about the binary code," she answered.
     "Wow, neat. Can you read minds?" he gushed.
     "Sometimes, but tell me about this code," she reminded him.
     He remembered his manners and stuck out a hand tacky with the residual traces of the handful of jujubes he'd just finished. "I'm Michael Beiler."
     She solemnly shook his hand, laughing instead of scowling when her hand stuck to his. "Pleased to meet you, Michael Beiler. Call me Rina."
     He frowned and admitted, "My mom says to call grown-ups by their last names. H you know. Miss Eddings, Mr. Todd, Mrs. Zook."
     She glanced around conspiratorially and whispered, "But I'm not really a grown-up - so the rule doesn't apply."
     He looked closely, doubting her words. She looked like a grown-up, mostly. A sweater in a sweater set, a skirt and, what his mom called, sensible shoes. Carrying a bookbag filled with maps and brochures sticking out of its unzippered pockets.
     "I don't know." An idea occurred to him. "How about Miss Rina?" he asked brightly, having solved the problem in his mind.
     "I can live with it. So Mr. Michael," she said, smiling when he giggled at his name. "What are you doing wandering around the Insti­tute by yourself. Drive down the Skuykill for a quick visit?"
     He rolled his eyes. "Nooo! I'm here with Explorer Club. Mr. Todd's okay, he lets us split up as long as we don't leave the building."
     "I see." Rina watched the ball machine. "Now?" she asked.
     Michael glanced through the tangled tubing and tracks. "No, it'll turn the one by the bell red. Okay, start at the top. Here comes a blue striped one. First it'll either go left or right, depending on which way the ball before went. Left, that turned the light red… See? So it won't be get to the air cannon, no matter what else happens. So now the next ball, it turned the first light blue. So it's a maybe." They watched the ball drop level by level. This ball rode a small Ferris wheel at the bottom, before dropping into the loading queue for the return to the top.
     "And that's binary code?" Rina asked.
     "Nah, but kinda. On or off, zero or one. Same thing really. Bi­nary code is how we'll get machines to talk to one another. Each letter and number will be assigned a code, a bunch of plus and minuses. Electrical jolts or whatever, letting machines carry information."
     "Why?" she asked.
     "Say a guy in Alaska wants to send a bill to another guy in Flor­ida. He could call and tell the man, but the guy wants a copy."
     "Why?"
     He sighed. "It doesn't matter why. He wants it."
     "So the Eskimo can send it in the mail." The funny picture of an Eskimo standing on an iceberg entered his head. The fur clad man leaned on a mailbox with the little red flag pointing up. The empty ocean surrounded the patient looking guy, not a mailman in sight. Her smile told him she had shared the joke with him on purpose. He laughed.
     "This is faster - like in a second. The Florida guy can have a copy right away, instead of waiting."
     "The Eskimo still will have to wait for his payment."
     "Nope. If words can transfer, so can money from one bank to another." She regarded him carefully. He could tell she thought he was pulling her leg.
     "Really! All kinds of this stuff can be done. People won't go to the post office to send mail. It'll go by telephone, instead."
     "And you learned this by watching billiard balls fly into the air?" she asked with a sigh.
     "Don't be silly. Come on, I'll show you the electric room." Michael began to turn away. "Wait, here it goes again." And they watched as each of the proper lights shone blue and the air cannon with its distinctive pop fired a purple ball toward the vaulted ceiling.