home. He drove quickly, ran all of the yellows and sailed into his garage a short while later. Leaping out of the car with bag in tow, he entered the house and headed straight for the living room.
Upon entering he found the room unseasonably cold. Though it was winter, the weather out was rather fair. It shouldn't have been nearly so cold as this. Moreover, despite the sunlight coming in from between the curtains, the room was draped in a dense, uncharacteristic shadow. Thoroughly unnerved, he removed the edited tape from his bag and paced around the living room for some time, simply glaring down at it.
When finally he found the courage to throw it into the VCR, he didn't bother taking a seat. He stood in front of the television, bumped up the volume and buried his hands in the pockets of his slacks, waiting for the clip to begin.
Steven had pared the thing down to the scene at the war memorial. Its total duration was just over thirty seconds, and from the very first Reggie could tell it was edited. All of the sounds he'd heard on his previous viewings were completely muted, or at least substantially minimized, and when the pale woman entered into view some seconds later, her speech proved chillingly clear.
Without all of the other noise interference in the way, the impression that this woman was addressing Reggie specifically was effectively redoubled.
Reggie was a man who'd traversed the jungles of Vietnam once upon a time, who'd killed men during his years of service and who'd weathered the flashbacks that his tours had saddled him with. He was neither a man of weak nor impressionable mind, and had known, first-hand, the darkest niches of his species.
So, why then did he shake as he listened to this strange woman speaking on the television? His reaction wasn't something he could control. His legs went weak, his pulse skyrocketed and his chest grew tight.
The message was a simple one, and to anyone other than Reggie, it may well have seemed like nothing more than a pointless mess. She was listing off a series of letters and numbers, and the exact same sequence was repeated a total of three times before she suddenly vanished off the screen and the edited recording ended.
The message had gone thusly: EN17DA43TU85
When the tape was through, Reggie was left stunned, and he didn't move from the spot in front of his television for some time. What he'd just heard, he felt reasonably sure, were coordinates of some kind. He searched in his mind, trying to recall just where he'd heard such codes in the past. It wasn't during his military service... the coordinates used by the US military had been different.
No, it'd been during his days as an amateur radio operator that he'd heard such coordinates with regularity. “The Maidenhead Locator System”, it was called, and amateur HAM radio enthusiasts often used them in their transmissions. Back in the late 80's and early 90's, Reggie had taken up amateur radio. As a child he'd been fascinated with radios, and the chance to connect with other enthusiasts had been exciting for him. This was in the days before the internet, and for years he'd engaged in the hobby as a kind of social experiment, communicating with other operators in far-off places he'd never been. That was where he'd become acquainted with Maidenhead coordinates.
Replaying the video and jotting down the string of characters the woman relayed, he felt certain now that they were, in fact, coordinates.
EN17DA43TU85
But where did they lead?
Shutting off the television, he walked back to his bedroom, moving a number of books off of his desk and unearthing the dusty desktop computer he seldom used. It was about ten years old, ran on a discontinued operating system and rarely saw any action these days. Reggie preferred to see his friends in-person, rather than keeping up with them over the computer. Now and then he still found a use for the thing however, and so kept it in working order. When it'd finally started up,
Upon entering he found the room unseasonably cold. Though it was winter, the weather out was rather fair. It shouldn't have been nearly so cold as this. Moreover, despite the sunlight coming in from between the curtains, the room was draped in a dense, uncharacteristic shadow. Thoroughly unnerved, he removed the edited tape from his bag and paced around the living room for some time, simply glaring down at it.
When finally he found the courage to throw it into the VCR, he didn't bother taking a seat. He stood in front of the television, bumped up the volume and buried his hands in the pockets of his slacks, waiting for the clip to begin.
Steven had pared the thing down to the scene at the war memorial. Its total duration was just over thirty seconds, and from the very first Reggie could tell it was edited. All of the sounds he'd heard on his previous viewings were completely muted, or at least substantially minimized, and when the pale woman entered into view some seconds later, her speech proved chillingly clear.
Without all of the other noise interference in the way, the impression that this woman was addressing Reggie specifically was effectively redoubled.
Reggie was a man who'd traversed the jungles of Vietnam once upon a time, who'd killed men during his years of service and who'd weathered the flashbacks that his tours had saddled him with. He was neither a man of weak nor impressionable mind, and had known, first-hand, the darkest niches of his species.
So, why then did he shake as he listened to this strange woman speaking on the television? His reaction wasn't something he could control. His legs went weak, his pulse skyrocketed and his chest grew tight.
The message was a simple one, and to anyone other than Reggie, it may well have seemed like nothing more than a pointless mess. She was listing off a series of letters and numbers, and the exact same sequence was repeated a total of three times before she suddenly vanished off the screen and the edited recording ended.
The message had gone thusly: EN17DA43TU85
When the tape was through, Reggie was left stunned, and he didn't move from the spot in front of his television for some time. What he'd just heard, he felt reasonably sure, were coordinates of some kind. He searched in his mind, trying to recall just where he'd heard such codes in the past. It wasn't during his military service... the coordinates used by the US military had been different.
No, it'd been during his days as an amateur radio operator that he'd heard such coordinates with regularity. “The Maidenhead Locator System”, it was called, and amateur HAM radio enthusiasts often used them in their transmissions. Back in the late 80's and early 90's, Reggie had taken up amateur radio. As a child he'd been fascinated with radios, and the chance to connect with other enthusiasts had been exciting for him. This was in the days before the internet, and for years he'd engaged in the hobby as a kind of social experiment, communicating with other operators in far-off places he'd never been. That was where he'd become acquainted with Maidenhead coordinates.
Replaying the video and jotting down the string of characters the woman relayed, he felt certain now that they were, in fact, coordinates.
EN17DA43TU85
But where did they lead?
Shutting off the television, he walked back to his bedroom, moving a number of books off of his desk and unearthing the dusty desktop computer he seldom used. It was about ten years old, ran on a discontinued operating system and rarely saw any action these days. Reggie preferred to see his friends in-person, rather than keeping up with them over the computer. Now and then he still found a use for the thing however, and so kept it in working order. When it'd finally started up,
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