Sure.”
“ The fascinating part is the nearly identical bits of data. They are each different in a very particular way. We don’t have enough to make sense out of it yet, but I think it’s a primer, or a lexicon.”
“ You’re kidding? We don’t have enough of the signal, do we?”
“ Each packet is twelve milliseconds; if they are contiguous that means every five second terminator brackets more than four thousand bytes of data. How many bytes would it take to show a comparative of the English language and our base ten numerical system?”
“ Probably about four thousand or so if you went at it straight on.”
“ Our thoughts exactly.”
She sat and stared at her computer for a moment before noticing the pile of work just to the side. “This is fascinating; keep me up to date, okay?”
“ Sure,” was the reply. “Also, I thought you might want to know that WAA is crucifying another member like they did you.”
“ Who this time?”
“ You’ve never heard of her. British amateur visual astronomer named Alicia Benjamin. She calls her place the Worth Hill Observatory, in southern England. Month ago she says she spots a rock, one of the bigger NEO rocks, suddenly accelerate. Problem is she lost some of the data, and no one else saw it happen.”
“ Sounds all too familiar.”
“ Right. She went public, and got a little play with her pictures. Problem was her telescope is just a worked up civilian job so the imagery is not up to association standards. The WAA said she was making it up and now she’s a laughing stock in the media.”
“ I’m beginning to hate them again.”
“ You mean you stopped?”
“ LOL,” she replied, computer shorthand for Laughs out Loud. “So, what rock, and is it really gone?”
“ The rock is LM-245. About twelve miles long and doesn’t get closer than point one five AU for fifty thousand years. There’s no way to confirm her story, as it’s due to be behind the sun for another forty days.”
“ I guess she’ll either be vindicated or screwed in forty days.”
“ Too bad we didn’t have those options.”
“ Yeah, too bad.”
Harper found a lame excuse to enter in his log for swinging by Central Park late in his shift. Removable concrete barriers now permanently blocked the 97th street entrance to Central Park. He could see despondent-looking NYPD and even more despondent-looking FBI agents manning the blockade. He was really curious who called the shots now; it didn't seem to be either NYPD or the FBI. There were no answers to be found here so he drove on.
He ’d hardly gotten any sleep at all last night after leaving Victor in the lockup. Harper spent most of the time working his way through all his contacts trying to get information on what was going on inside the government cordon. He hadn’t found out a damned thing. It wasn’t that they were unwilling to tell him, it turned out no one at NYPD knew what was going on. The desperate truth was that the information Harper had gotten with Victor’s help was probably more than anyone else outside the Feds knew.
A couple hours later, he was parking his car in front of his apartment and wearily climbing the stairs. He waved to his neighbor, Mr. Nebowitz, who was taking out his garbage from the landing above as he worked the locks and went inside. His gun went into the table drawer by the door, coat on the stand, and then he headed straight for the kitchen. A few minutes in the microwave yielded previously frozen and nutritionally adequate sustenance.
Harper carried his meal into the living room and took a seat. While spooning the amorphous chow into his mouth with one hand he used the remote to channel surf with the other. After a day submerged in the filth and scum of New York City he always found the death and carnage around the world almost a refreshing break.
A typhoon was raging in the South Pacific. In Northern Africa, famine was looming due to some communist state’s refusal of
“ The fascinating part is the nearly identical bits of data. They are each different in a very particular way. We don’t have enough to make sense out of it yet, but I think it’s a primer, or a lexicon.”
“ You’re kidding? We don’t have enough of the signal, do we?”
“ Each packet is twelve milliseconds; if they are contiguous that means every five second terminator brackets more than four thousand bytes of data. How many bytes would it take to show a comparative of the English language and our base ten numerical system?”
“ Probably about four thousand or so if you went at it straight on.”
“ Our thoughts exactly.”
She sat and stared at her computer for a moment before noticing the pile of work just to the side. “This is fascinating; keep me up to date, okay?”
“ Sure,” was the reply. “Also, I thought you might want to know that WAA is crucifying another member like they did you.”
“ Who this time?”
“ You’ve never heard of her. British amateur visual astronomer named Alicia Benjamin. She calls her place the Worth Hill Observatory, in southern England. Month ago she says she spots a rock, one of the bigger NEO rocks, suddenly accelerate. Problem is she lost some of the data, and no one else saw it happen.”
“ Sounds all too familiar.”
“ Right. She went public, and got a little play with her pictures. Problem was her telescope is just a worked up civilian job so the imagery is not up to association standards. The WAA said she was making it up and now she’s a laughing stock in the media.”
“ I’m beginning to hate them again.”
“ You mean you stopped?”
“ LOL,” she replied, computer shorthand for Laughs out Loud. “So, what rock, and is it really gone?”
“ The rock is LM-245. About twelve miles long and doesn’t get closer than point one five AU for fifty thousand years. There’s no way to confirm her story, as it’s due to be behind the sun for another forty days.”
“ I guess she’ll either be vindicated or screwed in forty days.”
“ Too bad we didn’t have those options.”
“ Yeah, too bad.”
Harper found a lame excuse to enter in his log for swinging by Central Park late in his shift. Removable concrete barriers now permanently blocked the 97th street entrance to Central Park. He could see despondent-looking NYPD and even more despondent-looking FBI agents manning the blockade. He was really curious who called the shots now; it didn't seem to be either NYPD or the FBI. There were no answers to be found here so he drove on.
He ’d hardly gotten any sleep at all last night after leaving Victor in the lockup. Harper spent most of the time working his way through all his contacts trying to get information on what was going on inside the government cordon. He hadn’t found out a damned thing. It wasn’t that they were unwilling to tell him, it turned out no one at NYPD knew what was going on. The desperate truth was that the information Harper had gotten with Victor’s help was probably more than anyone else outside the Feds knew.
A couple hours later, he was parking his car in front of his apartment and wearily climbing the stairs. He waved to his neighbor, Mr. Nebowitz, who was taking out his garbage from the landing above as he worked the locks and went inside. His gun went into the table drawer by the door, coat on the stand, and then he headed straight for the kitchen. A few minutes in the microwave yielded previously frozen and nutritionally adequate sustenance.
Harper carried his meal into the living room and took a seat. While spooning the amorphous chow into his mouth with one hand he used the remote to channel surf with the other. After a day submerged in the filth and scum of New York City he always found the death and carnage around the world almost a refreshing break.
A typhoon was raging in the South Pacific. In Northern Africa, famine was looming due to some communist state’s refusal of
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