Abu Abdullah Muhammad ibn Musa Al-Khwarizmi (750-850 CE) was a Persian scholar in the House of Wisdom, Baghdad. He was an extraordinary scientist, astronomer and mathematician, who introduced the concept of decimals and is considered the Father of Algebra. The European Latin translation of his name evolved into the term, "algorithm," which in modern day parlance is equivalent to a computer program – a set of instructions carried out by a machine for a definite purpose.
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Algorithm
Chapter 1
Adam lifted the Louisville Slugger to his shoulder and awaited the next pitch, oblivious to the subtle chain of events about to unfold this warm summer afternoon in nineteen seventy-nine … events that were destined to tear apart the core foundations of civilization itself.
"I’m ready when you are."
The pronouncement stilled the mocking banter of his older teammates. His grip tightened about the partially unraveled friction tape wound around the handle. Tossing back a shock of dirty blond hair, he sucked in his breath and eased his body back in eager anticipation.
After a pickup game several of Adam’s buddies were hanging out, tossing the ball around and kicking up the usual bragging and ragging ritual. Despite being only thirteen, and perhaps because of it, Adam found himself declaring with no uncertainty to his teammates not only could he hit a ball out of the park, but it would soar over the trees edging left field, continue over the new twelve foot cyclone fence, and make it over the three-story row houses facing the park across the street. This boast immediately caught everyone’s attention, and that’s how he ended up with bat in hand.
"Here it comes ya lil’squirt," bellowed the pitcher as he wound up.
The ball came straight down the middle and Adam struck it. The crack echoed off the dense wall of trees surrounding the field. Heads turned to watch the ball flying toward the treetops. It was as if the instant was caught on film and the projector slowed down, moving ahead frame by frame, zooming in as the ball scaled the huge chestnut trees and climbed still farther to clear the cyclone fence. For a moment the ball looked like it would continue on into legend. However, the laws of physics, in particular those describing the unyielding effects of gravity, began to kick in. The flight path took a sudden downturn, descending to the street.
Elation shifted to terror. He stared at the cars trundling through the landing zone. A resounding ‘thunk’ announced the ball’s contact with the street surface, however Adam’s relief was short-lived, for the next sound was that of glass breaking, and it came from a house across the street, near his own. Self-preservation kicked in. All on the field scattered in every direction but toward the ball’s unfortunate crash site.
The pitcher ran to Adam and grabbed the bat out of his hands. He slowed long enough to ask, "Wattaya standin’ there for?" and then took off toward the nearest park entrance.
Adam remained rooted to the ground as he watched his teammates being swallowed up by the city streets surrounding the park. Fighting a growing sense of panic, he jogged and then slowed to a walk as he reached a side entrance. He headed out to the fateful meeting of ball with window.
I just bought that ball, and I want it back.
At the corner he glanced up the street. No eye witnesses ready to point the finger and slap the blame. Nothing stirred.
As he neared the ball’s last known whereabouts he began a systematic check of both his house and next door for the telltale signs of a victimized window -- perhaps a large gaping hole framed by jagged shards of glass, perhaps a curtain swaying out of the hole, perhaps even screams of outrage from within. He gave his own house a quick inspection to verify its windows were still intact; and then there was the chief suspect - the house next door. His first pass failed to bring up anything out of place.
Where is the broken window? And, if it wasn’t a window, what was it?
He stood for a moment in front of his neighbor’s house and stared at the first floor, eyeing each window.
Maybe I’m mistaken. Maybe the ball never hit a window.
And then he saw it. To the left of the wooden stairs leading to the first floor entrance, it was the basement window, or where the basement window should have been. A few daggers of glass remained in the opening, framing the darkness within like the gaping mouth of a sharp-toothed ogre. Adam continued his stroll past the gruesome specter. If indeed the incident went unnoticed, he might be able to retrieve the ball. Like his own house, access to the basement took the form of an inside entry next to the building’s backdoor that was usually unlocked. He reached it in seconds, pulled at the handle. It creaked open and revealed a wooden stairway descending into the darkness below. He inched his way downward, careful to step to the side of each rise to avoid the squeal of loose boards.
At the bottom of the stairs he peered down the length of the basement toward the front of the house but was greeted by a grim darkness. The light from the stairs faded as Adam crept forward, groping for a switch or a dangling chain. Bumping into musty storage boxes and objects unknown, he made his way deeper into the gloom. He heard footsteps above, muffled conversation, and the sound of water gurgling through pipes. With his hands stretched out in front he felt a metal post and then craned his head to the side. He refocused on a dim light ahead … the broken window. There was a coal bin to the side of the opening. Most of the buildings along his street had been converted to oil heat before he was born; however, some were left with the vestiges of a former era. He scanned the foot of the window but could not locate the ball. When he neared the coal bin he needed to look no further. The ball was neatly perched atop a mound of the dusty anthracite.
He scaled the blackened wooden walls and landed softly at the base of the coal pile. The mound gave way with each step. Not to be denied, he clambered up, slipping and kicking up sulfurous dust, blackening hands and knees as he scrambled to the top. He lunged for the ball, grasped it with one hand, and glided down the rocky heap in deep satisfaction. The dust settled and the soft glow from the broken window illuminated the scene. Adam found his other hand clutching a few nuggets of coal. He was about to toss them back into the heap when a shimmer of reflected light caught his eye. He opened his fingers, releasing one black nugget at a time, until he was left with a fist-sized chunk. Even in the muted light he saw the oddly-shaped golden glimmer. He rotated his upturned palm, bringing it closer. There was something metallic embedded in the coal.
The sound of steps descending the staircase broke his reverie. There he was, reclining in a dusty coal bin at the far end of an unlit, unfamiliar and cavernous cellar. Ball in one hand and a mystery lump of coal in the other. He was about to be discovered by the vaguely silhouetted figure reaching the foot of the stairs. Tucking away the coal in his dungarees pocket, he rolled off the brimstone mound, careful to avoid dislodging a ‘here-I-am’ mini-avalanche. He slipped over the side of the bin and then felt around for some potential cover. Just as the lights came on, he managed to crawl between a stack of carton boxes and the dank wall. Shuffling feet with loose slippers dragged themselves along the cement floor, slapping their way toward him. As they approached, Adam fought down a strong urge to jump up and run. He was damned sure that he was not entirely hidden from view.
I bet my ass is hanging out for all to see.
The shuffling and slapping drew to a stop.
That’s it, he’s got me.
Just as Adam figured he was about to be nailed…
"What’s this?"
I’m dead.
Adam recognized the voice of his neighbor, Mr. Kurtinaitis. A gravelly, ancient and grinding timbre, which even with such a short phrase, retained its distinct Lithuanian origins. Every neighborhood had its curmudgeon, some old geezer that never got along with anyone younger than thirty, who was given a warlock status by the children unfortunate enough to have encountered him. Definitely to be avoided at all costs. Mr. Kurtinaitis fit the description perfectly, having the required indeterminate advanced age, the bent-over posture, gnarly limbs, the grizzled, unkempt look, an obscure foreign accent and gruff demeanor required for a fully-fledged wizard of the dark world. He was staring at the broken window of his beloved, dreary cellar domain. Adam imagined a deeply furrowed brow framed the evil eye searching him out, maybe already locked in on his exposed posterior. He was about to stand and beg for mercy, when after a few more shuffling sounds, Mr. Kurtinaitis muttered, "Damned kids."
More silence.
He’s seen me for sure. He’s probably sneaking up on me now.
Instead of being hoisted up by the scruff of his neck, Adam heard a deep and profound sigh of disgust, a kind of snort a dragon might issue, and the shuffling sounds slowly headed away to the back stairs.
Fighting an overwhelming urge to sigh out loud, Adam concluded he would not be turned into a toad today. The Dark Lord proceeded to shut off the lights and uttered several nasty sounding phrases in the Lord’s native tongue. Adam heard him ascend the stairs, grumbling at each step, and slam a door. A full five minutes of complete silence went by before he extracted his prostrate form from behind the boxes and quietly made his way out through the same door, all the while certain that Mr. Kurtinaitis was actually hiding just out of sight at the entrance.
He slinked outside, tip-toeing along the back wall of the building, holding his breath lest it give away his position. After reaching the security of his own backyard next door, he parked himself on the wooden stairs and waited for his adrenaline levels to subside along with the noise of his pounding heart. When he resumed normal breathing, he
placed the ball in the recess of his backdoor entry, and with a satisfied exhale, reached into his pocket.
As he held the lump of coal to the waning afternoon sunlight, he beheld an odd metallic gleam, appearing as a golden slash in the side of the black rock.
How could a piece of coal contain such a thing? Maybe it’s really gold!
He was anxious to crack it open. He struck the coal against the slate walk at the base of the stairs a few times, which only resulted in leaving a few black scars along the slate’s surface. He was about to try and crush the lump beneath his
feet when he heard his parents returning from shopping, parking their car in front of the house. He grabbed up the chunk, put it back into his pocket and entered through the backdoor to greet his mom who was carrying groceries.
"Hey, mom. Need some help?"
"Dad’ll need a hand. There’s more in the car…How did you get so filthy?"
"Aw, nothin’…I just fell."
Her eyebrows rose and her head bent downward, giving her the glaring look with which he was all too familiar.
"Help your dad with the bags from the car, get those clothes off, and take a bath. You do remember we have an appointment to see Dr. Wuicjak this afternoon? Hurry up, you have fifteen minutes."
"OK, mom," Adam replied.
He had forgotten about the physical.
Damn.
Summer was nearly over and St. Harold’s Preparatory School required a physical for all new students. Adam was quite excited about the prospect of starting a whole new phase of his life. As he thought about the doctor’s office and his mystery rock, an idea emerged which got him even more excited.
Adam lifted the Louisville Slugger to his shoulder and awaited the next pitch, oblivious to the subtle chain of events about to unfold this warm summer afternoon in nineteen seventy-nine … events that were destined to tear apart the core foundations of civilization itself.
"I’m ready when you are."
The pronouncement stilled the mocking banter of his older teammates. His grip tightened about the partially unraveled friction tape wound around the handle. Tossing back a shock of dirty blond hair, he sucked in his breath and eased his body back in eager anticipation.
After a pickup game several of Adam’s buddies were hanging out, tossing the ball around and kicking up the usual bragging and ragging ritual. Despite being only thirteen, and perhaps because of it, Adam found himself declaring with no uncertainty to his teammates not only could he hit a ball out of the park, but it would soar over the trees edging left field, continue over the new twelve foot cyclone fence, and make it over the three-story row houses facing the park across the street. This boast immediately caught everyone’s attention, and that’s how he ended up with bat in hand.
"Here it comes ya lil’squirt," bellowed the pitcher as he wound up.
The ball came straight down the middle and Adam struck it. The crack echoed off the dense wall of trees surrounding the field. Heads turned to watch the ball flying toward the treetops. It was as if the instant was caught on film and the projector slowed down, moving ahead frame by frame, zooming in as the ball scaled the huge chestnut trees and climbed still farther to clear the cyclone fence. For a moment the ball looked like it would continue on into legend. However, the laws of physics, in particular those describing the unyielding effects of gravity, began to kick in. The flight path took a sudden downturn, descending to the street.
Elation shifted to terror. He stared at the cars trundling through the landing zone. A resounding ‘thunk’ announced the ball’s contact with the street surface, however Adam’s relief was short-lived, for the next sound was that of glass breaking, and it came from a house across the street, near his own. Self-preservation kicked in. All on the field scattered in every direction but toward the ball’s unfortunate crash site.
The pitcher ran to Adam and grabbed the bat out of his hands. He slowed long enough to ask, "Wattaya standin’ there for?" and then took off toward the nearest park entrance.
Adam remained rooted to the ground as he watched his teammates being swallowed up by the city streets surrounding the park. Fighting a growing sense of panic, he jogged and then slowed to a walk as he reached a side entrance. He headed out to the fateful meeting of ball with window.
I just bought that ball, and I want it back.
At the corner he glanced up the street. No eye witnesses ready to point the finger and slap the blame. Nothing stirred.
As he neared the ball’s last known whereabouts he began a systematic check of both his house and next door for the telltale signs of a victimized window -- perhaps a large gaping hole framed by jagged shards of glass, perhaps a curtain swaying out of the hole, perhaps even screams of outrage from within. He gave his own house a quick inspection to verify its windows were still intact; and then there was the chief suspect - the house next door. His first pass failed to bring up anything out of place.
Where is the broken window? And, if it wasn’t a window, what was it?
He stood for a moment in front of his neighbor’s house and stared at the first floor, eyeing each window.
Maybe I’m mistaken. Maybe the ball never hit a window.
And then he saw it. To the left of the wooden stairs leading to the first floor entrance, it was the basement window, or where the basement window should have been. A few daggers of glass remained in the opening, framing the darkness within like the gaping mouth of a sharp-toothed ogre. Adam continued his stroll past the gruesome specter. If indeed the incident went unnoticed, he might be able to retrieve the ball. Like his own house, access to the basement took the form of an inside entry next to the building’s backdoor that was usually unlocked. He reached it in seconds, pulled at the handle. It creaked open and revealed a wooden stairway descending into the darkness below. He inched his way downward, careful to step to the side of each rise to avoid the squeal of loose boards.
At the bottom of the stairs he peered down the length of the basement toward the front of the house but was greeted by a grim darkness. The light from the stairs faded as Adam crept forward, groping for a switch or a dangling chain. Bumping into musty storage boxes and objects unknown, he made his way deeper into the gloom. He heard footsteps above, muffled conversation, and the sound of water gurgling through pipes. With his hands stretched out in front he felt a metal post and then craned his head to the side. He refocused on a dim light ahead … the broken window. There was a coal bin to the side of the opening. Most of the buildings along his street had been converted to oil heat before he was born; however, some were left with the vestiges of a former era. He scanned the foot of the window but could not locate the ball. When he neared the coal bin he needed to look no further. The ball was neatly perched atop a mound of the dusty anthracite.
He scaled the blackened wooden walls and landed softly at the base of the coal pile. The mound gave way with each step. Not to be denied, he clambered up, slipping and kicking up sulfurous dust, blackening hands and knees as he scrambled to the top. He lunged for the ball, grasped it with one hand, and glided down the rocky heap in deep satisfaction. The dust settled and the soft glow from the broken window illuminated the scene. Adam found his other hand clutching a few nuggets of coal. He was about to toss them back into the heap when a shimmer of reflected light caught his eye. He opened his fingers, releasing one black nugget at a time, until he was left with a fist-sized chunk. Even in the muted light he saw the oddly-shaped golden glimmer. He rotated his upturned palm, bringing it closer. There was something metallic embedded in the coal.
The sound of steps descending the staircase broke his reverie. There he was, reclining in a dusty coal bin at the far end of an unlit, unfamiliar and cavernous cellar. Ball in one hand and a mystery lump of coal in the other. He was about to be discovered by the vaguely silhouetted figure reaching the foot of the stairs. Tucking away the coal in his dungarees pocket, he rolled off the brimstone mound, careful to avoid dislodging a ‘here-I-am’ mini-avalanche. He slipped over the side of the bin and then felt around for some potential cover. Just as the lights came on, he managed to crawl between a stack of carton boxes and the dank wall. Shuffling feet with loose slippers dragged themselves along the cement floor, slapping their way toward him. As they approached, Adam fought down a strong urge to jump up and run. He was damned sure that he was not entirely hidden from view.
I bet my ass is hanging out for all to see.
The shuffling and slapping drew to a stop.
That’s it, he’s got me.
Just as Adam figured he was about to be nailed…
"What’s this?"
I’m dead.
Adam recognized the voice of his neighbor, Mr. Kurtinaitis. A gravelly, ancient and grinding timbre, which even with such a short phrase, retained its distinct Lithuanian origins. Every neighborhood had its curmudgeon, some old geezer that never got along with anyone younger than thirty, who was given a warlock status by the children unfortunate enough to have encountered him. Definitely to be avoided at all costs. Mr. Kurtinaitis fit the description perfectly, having the required indeterminate advanced age, the bent-over posture, gnarly limbs, the grizzled, unkempt look, an obscure foreign accent and gruff demeanor required for a fully-fledged wizard of the dark world. He was staring at the broken window of his beloved, dreary cellar domain. Adam imagined a deeply furrowed brow framed the evil eye searching him out, maybe already locked in on his exposed posterior. He was about to stand and beg for mercy, when after a few more shuffling sounds, Mr. Kurtinaitis muttered, "Damned kids."
More silence.
He’s seen me for sure. He’s probably sneaking up on me now.
Instead of being hoisted up by the scruff of his neck, Adam heard a deep and profound sigh of disgust, a kind of snort a dragon might issue, and the shuffling sounds slowly headed away to the back stairs.
Fighting an overwhelming urge to sigh out loud, Adam concluded he would not be turned into a toad today. The Dark Lord proceeded to shut off the lights and uttered several nasty sounding phrases in the Lord’s native tongue. Adam heard him ascend the stairs, grumbling at each step, and slam a door. A full five minutes of complete silence went by before he extracted his prostrate form from behind the boxes and quietly made his way out through the same door, all the while certain that Mr. Kurtinaitis was actually hiding just out of sight at the entrance.
He slinked outside, tip-toeing along the back wall of the building, holding his breath lest it give away his position. After reaching the security of his own backyard next door, he parked himself on the wooden stairs and waited for his adrenaline levels to subside along with the noise of his pounding heart. When he resumed normal breathing, he
placed the ball in the recess of his backdoor entry, and with a satisfied exhale, reached into his pocket.
As he held the lump of coal to the waning afternoon sunlight, he beheld an odd metallic gleam, appearing as a golden slash in the side of the black rock.
How could a piece of coal contain such a thing? Maybe it’s really gold!
He was anxious to crack it open. He struck the coal against the slate walk at the base of the stairs a few times, which only resulted in leaving a few black scars along the slate’s surface. He was about to try and crush the lump beneath his
feet when he heard his parents returning from shopping, parking their car in front of the house. He grabbed up the chunk, put it back into his pocket and entered through the backdoor to greet his mom who was carrying groceries.
"Hey, mom. Need some help?"
"Dad’ll need a hand. There’s more in the car…How did you get so filthy?"
"Aw, nothin’…I just fell."
Her eyebrows rose and her head bent downward, giving her the glaring look with which he was all too familiar.
"Help your dad with the bags from the car, get those clothes off, and take a bath. You do remember we have an appointment to see Dr. Wuicjak this afternoon? Hurry up, you have fifteen minutes."
"OK, mom," Adam replied.
He had forgotten about the physical.
Damn.
Summer was nearly over and St. Harold’s Preparatory School required a physical for all new students. Adam was quite excited about the prospect of starting a whole new phase of his life. As he thought about the doctor’s office and his mystery rock, an idea emerged which got him even more excited.