Shadows Beneath: The Writing Excuses Anthology by Howard Tayler Dan Wells Mary Robinette Kowal Brandon Sanderson Page B
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irrational, uninformed person with a stupid agenda, but who has access to our plans, or there are payoffs missing from the matrix.”
“There aren’t any payoffs missing,” says Lee.
“Let’s come back to that,” says Michel. “I have more video for you to watch.”
He gestures at the screen. “This is the original image, with an overlay of neon-green representing UV frequencies all the way to the edge of the camera’s range.”
On the wall-screen the video begins again, muted. It looks exactly the same as before, except a green shimmer appears in the middle of the room. It brightens, and then flashes as the Intruder appears. It then fades to a low shimmer again, surrounding his form as he speaks. The flash occurs again when he vanishes.
“Michel, what does that mean?”
“It means that the Intruder’s appearance and disappearance were accompanied by UV emissions.”
“Michel,” says Lee, “those speakers in your office, the ones that build the audible cone out of interference patterns? Could somebody make a hologram by doing that with light? Like, ultraviolet lasers bouncing off each other just right to make a picture?”
The hologram thing. That was Mo’s theory. I look at Mo, and he smirks.
“Maybe,” says Michel, “but did you notice how there wasn’t any green in the sky outside the window, or in the sunrise reflections on the buildings across the street? These windows filter UV. Any laser that tried to beam UV through them would have to cut the glass to do so.”
“Then how did the UV get into the room?”
“Obviously it came with the Intruder,” Michel answers. “But what you really want to see is the infrared. Watch this. No UV this time. I’m only going to play the infrared channel.”
The picture returns, and now it’s a monochromatic green.
Several of us gasp when the intruder appears. Including me.
I’ve seen infrared video of people before, and most folks have at least seen it simulated in movies. This is not that.
The form under the cloak is clearly outlined, and asymmetrical. The torso is short, and high. The legs are too long, and appear to bend the wrong way. If there’s a left arm, it’s not showing up. The right arm reaches all the way to the floor, then up to head-height, where it ends in the scythe blade.
But the cloak itself is the freakiest part. Lacy networks of veins are visible throughout it, and they all connect to the torso, the scythe limb, and the legs. It’s not clothing. It’s a layer of skin, like a bat wing, wrapped around the Intruder and hooding his face.
His? I see no male genitalia, but this thing is alien enough that I’m not ready to suggest that means it’s female either.
Kurtzman speaks first.
“Michel, how hard would it be to fake that?”
“Not very hard. If the whole thing was computer animated and hacked into the camera feed, the infrared and ultraviolet elements would simply be another part of the model. It’s the work of a real artist, though.”
“Okay, good,” says Kurtzman, blowing out a sigh of relief. “I’m going to choose to believe that this is a brilliant computer animation modeled by someone with an outstanding attention to anatomical detail.”
“What would motivate that?” Lee asks. “Where is the payoff?”
“I’m going to let you figure that out, because I refuse to believe that an alien teleported into this office.”
The brain trust begins yammering in jargon again.
It’s esoteric jargon, but the gist of things is that somebody is looking at a different set of payoffs than we are, and without more information we have no way to deduce motivations. Lee has graphs that prove this. But even without this information nobody is seriously considering taking the Intruder’s message about the afterlife at face value, and nobody seems willing to believe that the Intruder is an alien, or an angel, or anything other than a very complicated hoax.
Somebody needs to take the not-a-hoax angle. It’s hard to
“There aren’t any payoffs missing,” says Lee.
“Let’s come back to that,” says Michel. “I have more video for you to watch.”
He gestures at the screen. “This is the original image, with an overlay of neon-green representing UV frequencies all the way to the edge of the camera’s range.”
On the wall-screen the video begins again, muted. It looks exactly the same as before, except a green shimmer appears in the middle of the room. It brightens, and then flashes as the Intruder appears. It then fades to a low shimmer again, surrounding his form as he speaks. The flash occurs again when he vanishes.
“Michel, what does that mean?”
“It means that the Intruder’s appearance and disappearance were accompanied by UV emissions.”
“Michel,” says Lee, “those speakers in your office, the ones that build the audible cone out of interference patterns? Could somebody make a hologram by doing that with light? Like, ultraviolet lasers bouncing off each other just right to make a picture?”
The hologram thing. That was Mo’s theory. I look at Mo, and he smirks.
“Maybe,” says Michel, “but did you notice how there wasn’t any green in the sky outside the window, or in the sunrise reflections on the buildings across the street? These windows filter UV. Any laser that tried to beam UV through them would have to cut the glass to do so.”
“Then how did the UV get into the room?”
“Obviously it came with the Intruder,” Michel answers. “But what you really want to see is the infrared. Watch this. No UV this time. I’m only going to play the infrared channel.”
The picture returns, and now it’s a monochromatic green.
Several of us gasp when the intruder appears. Including me.
I’ve seen infrared video of people before, and most folks have at least seen it simulated in movies. This is not that.
The form under the cloak is clearly outlined, and asymmetrical. The torso is short, and high. The legs are too long, and appear to bend the wrong way. If there’s a left arm, it’s not showing up. The right arm reaches all the way to the floor, then up to head-height, where it ends in the scythe blade.
But the cloak itself is the freakiest part. Lacy networks of veins are visible throughout it, and they all connect to the torso, the scythe limb, and the legs. It’s not clothing. It’s a layer of skin, like a bat wing, wrapped around the Intruder and hooding his face.
His? I see no male genitalia, but this thing is alien enough that I’m not ready to suggest that means it’s female either.
Kurtzman speaks first.
“Michel, how hard would it be to fake that?”
“Not very hard. If the whole thing was computer animated and hacked into the camera feed, the infrared and ultraviolet elements would simply be another part of the model. It’s the work of a real artist, though.”
“Okay, good,” says Kurtzman, blowing out a sigh of relief. “I’m going to choose to believe that this is a brilliant computer animation modeled by someone with an outstanding attention to anatomical detail.”
“What would motivate that?” Lee asks. “Where is the payoff?”
“I’m going to let you figure that out, because I refuse to believe that an alien teleported into this office.”
The brain trust begins yammering in jargon again.
It’s esoteric jargon, but the gist of things is that somebody is looking at a different set of payoffs than we are, and without more information we have no way to deduce motivations. Lee has graphs that prove this. But even without this information nobody is seriously considering taking the Intruder’s message about the afterlife at face value, and nobody seems willing to believe that the Intruder is an alien, or an angel, or anything other than a very complicated hoax.
Somebody needs to take the not-a-hoax angle. It’s hard to
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