no interest in any of the worlds save one
.
They move toward the object of their attention
.
They are fully aware that their target will know they are coming. There are likely to be some manner of early warning systems available to them
.
Let them know. Let them be fully aware. It’s not as if there is anything they’ll be able to do about it
.
THE HIMALAYAS
It had been six years for the scientists of the Beacon International Project. Six long years of watching space, of monitoring the equipment, of waiting and seeing whether their messages-in-a-bottle would ever garner some manner of response.
Yet even after all that time, once the moment that they had been waiting for finally arrived, at first they had no clue what it was they were looking at.
One of the main monitor screens was tuned to CNN, as it typically was, since that had become the major lifeline for the scientists to the outside world. No one was paying any attention to it, however. Instead they were glued to their individual monitors, trying to make sense out of the readings they were getting.
“Speed is consistent with meteors. Trajectory?” called out Carlson.
Doctor Abraham Nogrady, wearing the nice sweater of local weave that he’d been given for his birthday the previous week, was standing in front of a monitor, tracking the blue line that represented the incoming object. “Oh my.” He leaned close to the monitor, typing on the keyboard. “Whatever this is, it’s tracking our message path. Bring up Hawaii. Get me Cal on the line.”
He’d never blamed Doctor Calvin Zapata for “abandoning him,” as he had laughingly put it two years earlier. Who could blame the younger man, really? The Hawaii offer was too good for him to pass up. He would actually be in charge of the location, something that wouldn’t happen in the Himalayas, since Nogrady wasn’t planning on going anywhere. That alone had been something of a revelation to Nogrady, discovering how much he preferred the solitude of the mountains.
Who knew that I didn’t actually like civilization all that much?
It took long moments to raise the Hawaii location. A junior technician whose name Nogrady couldn’t recall came on the communications screen. The reception wasn’t the greatest. The general feeling was that for all the money that had been poured into the high-tech system that linked them visually with the other Beacon stations, they’d have done just as well with a couple of PCs and Skype. Still, for all the static on the screen, at least Nogrady could make out the technician on the other end and hear what he was saying. “Doctor Zapata’s in the computer room!” the technician told him. “He’s busy trying to recycle some parts from previous models because the money’s not there for upgrading …”
“Yes, yes, I get that, uhm …” He took a stab at the name. “Rice.”
“Royce, sir.”
Dammit
. “Yes, I meant to say ‘Royce.’ Royce, are you seeing what we’re seeing …?”
“Yes, sir. There’s massive activity on all the screens. I was just about to get Doctor Zapata.”
“I suggest you do so sooner rather than later, son. Tell him I have a moon trail for him.”
“I’m on it. Don’t go anywhere.”
Nogrady exchanged amused looks with the other technicians at Royce’s parting comment. Where the hell was he going to go?
Minutes later Zapata’s face appeared on the screen. He had a bit less hair up top than the last time Nogrady had seen him, but had apparently decided to compensate for it by growing a rather scraggly beard. He was wearing a gaudy Hawaiian shirt, festooned with a print of yellow and green flowers. He looked like Royce had just dragged him from a luau. But he was holding some microtools that he’d obviously forgotten were in his hands when he’d come from the computer room. He was slightly out of breath, indicating he’d been running. “Cal. You’re looking well,” said Nogrady.
“You look terrible,” Zapata
.
They move toward the object of their attention
.
They are fully aware that their target will know they are coming. There are likely to be some manner of early warning systems available to them
.
Let them know. Let them be fully aware. It’s not as if there is anything they’ll be able to do about it
.
THE HIMALAYAS
It had been six years for the scientists of the Beacon International Project. Six long years of watching space, of monitoring the equipment, of waiting and seeing whether their messages-in-a-bottle would ever garner some manner of response.
Yet even after all that time, once the moment that they had been waiting for finally arrived, at first they had no clue what it was they were looking at.
One of the main monitor screens was tuned to CNN, as it typically was, since that had become the major lifeline for the scientists to the outside world. No one was paying any attention to it, however. Instead they were glued to their individual monitors, trying to make sense out of the readings they were getting.
“Speed is consistent with meteors. Trajectory?” called out Carlson.
Doctor Abraham Nogrady, wearing the nice sweater of local weave that he’d been given for his birthday the previous week, was standing in front of a monitor, tracking the blue line that represented the incoming object. “Oh my.” He leaned close to the monitor, typing on the keyboard. “Whatever this is, it’s tracking our message path. Bring up Hawaii. Get me Cal on the line.”
He’d never blamed Doctor Calvin Zapata for “abandoning him,” as he had laughingly put it two years earlier. Who could blame the younger man, really? The Hawaii offer was too good for him to pass up. He would actually be in charge of the location, something that wouldn’t happen in the Himalayas, since Nogrady wasn’t planning on going anywhere. That alone had been something of a revelation to Nogrady, discovering how much he preferred the solitude of the mountains.
Who knew that I didn’t actually like civilization all that much?
It took long moments to raise the Hawaii location. A junior technician whose name Nogrady couldn’t recall came on the communications screen. The reception wasn’t the greatest. The general feeling was that for all the money that had been poured into the high-tech system that linked them visually with the other Beacon stations, they’d have done just as well with a couple of PCs and Skype. Still, for all the static on the screen, at least Nogrady could make out the technician on the other end and hear what he was saying. “Doctor Zapata’s in the computer room!” the technician told him. “He’s busy trying to recycle some parts from previous models because the money’s not there for upgrading …”
“Yes, yes, I get that, uhm …” He took a stab at the name. “Rice.”
“Royce, sir.”
Dammit
. “Yes, I meant to say ‘Royce.’ Royce, are you seeing what we’re seeing …?”
“Yes, sir. There’s massive activity on all the screens. I was just about to get Doctor Zapata.”
“I suggest you do so sooner rather than later, son. Tell him I have a moon trail for him.”
“I’m on it. Don’t go anywhere.”
Nogrady exchanged amused looks with the other technicians at Royce’s parting comment. Where the hell was he going to go?
Minutes later Zapata’s face appeared on the screen. He had a bit less hair up top than the last time Nogrady had seen him, but had apparently decided to compensate for it by growing a rather scraggly beard. He was wearing a gaudy Hawaiian shirt, festooned with a print of yellow and green flowers. He looked like Royce had just dragged him from a luau. But he was holding some microtools that he’d obviously forgotten were in his hands when he’d come from the computer room. He was slightly out of breath, indicating he’d been running. “Cal. You’re looking well,” said Nogrady.
“You look terrible,” Zapata
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