into the matter.”
Markov tried to pull himself together. Too much was happening, too quickly.
“Do you still believe,” Maria asked, “that the signals are not a language?”
He took a deep breath, then, “They are not a language. At least, they are not any kind of language that I can understand.”
She reached out and took the letter from his limp hand. Placing it carefully back in her bag, she said, “A few moments ago you expressed a desire to see Academician Bulacheff. Well, he wants to see you, too. Immediately. We go back to Moscow tonight.”
----
…at the end of November ’67 I got it [a pulsating radio source] on the fast recording. As the chart flowed under the pen I could see that the signal was a series of pulses…They were 11/3 seconds apart…
Then Scott and Collins observed the pulsations with another [radio] telescope…which eliminated instrumental effects. John Pilkington measured the dispersion of the signal which established that the source was well outside the solar system but inside the galaxy. So were these pulsations man-made, but made by men from another civilization?…
We did not really believe that we had picked up signals from another civilization, but obviously the idea had crossed our minds and we had no proof that it was an entirely natural radio emission. It is an interesting problem—if one thinks one may have detected life elsewhere in the universe how does one announce the results responsibly?
S. JOCELYN BELL BURNELL
Speaking at the Eighth Texas Symposium
on Relativistic Astrophysics, 1977,
about her discovery of the pulsars
----
CHAPTER 12
“It’s just too fantastic to be believed!”
“I assure you, Mr. President, it’s quite true.”
The President got up from the polished mahogany table and walked toward the fireplace. The regular Cabinet meeting had ended in its usual bitter wrangling, and he had gladly left the cold formality of the Cabinet Room for the smaller intimacy of the Roosevelt Room.
Standing by the small bronze bust of Teddy Roosevelt on the mantel above the fireplace, the President looked haggard: tie loosened, collar opened, hair tousled, fists jammed into the pockets of his jacket.
The press secretary watched him worriedly. An old friend and adviser, he knew that the pressures were inexorably grinding the President into despair.
The President looked wistfully at the painting of Teddy the Rough Rider that hung above the sofa. “Things were a lot simpler in his day, weren’t they?”
The Defense Secretary shook his gray-maned head. “It only seems so from this distance in time, sir.”
“You work so hard to get this job,” the President murmured, more to himself than to the others in the room, “and once you’ve got it, you wonder why you ever tried.”
“Somebody’s got to do it,” the press secretary joked. “They hold an election every four years.”
The President smiled weakly at him. Turning to his science adviser, he asked again, “Intelligent life on Jupiter? You’re sure of that?”
“No, sir,” she answered firmly. “Not totally sure. But it’s a strong enough possibility that we should be prepared to face up to it.”
With a sigh, the President muttered, “Why does everything have to happen during my Administration?”
The Secretary of Defense, a former industrialist, cleared his throat as he always did before delivering an opinion. “Mr. President,” he said in his flat Oklahoma twang, “Sally and I don’t always see eye to eye on things…”
The science adviser glared at him from her seat across the small room. “You can say that again! Joey.”
He grinned at her. “All right, I’m a male chauvinist pig …Ms. Ellington.”
“ Dr . Ellington.” She did not grin back.
The President looked pained, but said nothing. So his press secretary chided, “Hey look, there’s only the four of us in here, so let’s drop the squabbling for a while, huh? This is too important for cheap shots.”
“I
Markov tried to pull himself together. Too much was happening, too quickly.
“Do you still believe,” Maria asked, “that the signals are not a language?”
He took a deep breath, then, “They are not a language. At least, they are not any kind of language that I can understand.”
She reached out and took the letter from his limp hand. Placing it carefully back in her bag, she said, “A few moments ago you expressed a desire to see Academician Bulacheff. Well, he wants to see you, too. Immediately. We go back to Moscow tonight.”
----
…at the end of November ’67 I got it [a pulsating radio source] on the fast recording. As the chart flowed under the pen I could see that the signal was a series of pulses…They were 11/3 seconds apart…
Then Scott and Collins observed the pulsations with another [radio] telescope…which eliminated instrumental effects. John Pilkington measured the dispersion of the signal which established that the source was well outside the solar system but inside the galaxy. So were these pulsations man-made, but made by men from another civilization?…
We did not really believe that we had picked up signals from another civilization, but obviously the idea had crossed our minds and we had no proof that it was an entirely natural radio emission. It is an interesting problem—if one thinks one may have detected life elsewhere in the universe how does one announce the results responsibly?
S. JOCELYN BELL BURNELL
Speaking at the Eighth Texas Symposium
on Relativistic Astrophysics, 1977,
about her discovery of the pulsars
----
CHAPTER 12
“It’s just too fantastic to be believed!”
“I assure you, Mr. President, it’s quite true.”
The President got up from the polished mahogany table and walked toward the fireplace. The regular Cabinet meeting had ended in its usual bitter wrangling, and he had gladly left the cold formality of the Cabinet Room for the smaller intimacy of the Roosevelt Room.
Standing by the small bronze bust of Teddy Roosevelt on the mantel above the fireplace, the President looked haggard: tie loosened, collar opened, hair tousled, fists jammed into the pockets of his jacket.
The press secretary watched him worriedly. An old friend and adviser, he knew that the pressures were inexorably grinding the President into despair.
The President looked wistfully at the painting of Teddy the Rough Rider that hung above the sofa. “Things were a lot simpler in his day, weren’t they?”
The Defense Secretary shook his gray-maned head. “It only seems so from this distance in time, sir.”
“You work so hard to get this job,” the President murmured, more to himself than to the others in the room, “and once you’ve got it, you wonder why you ever tried.”
“Somebody’s got to do it,” the press secretary joked. “They hold an election every four years.”
The President smiled weakly at him. Turning to his science adviser, he asked again, “Intelligent life on Jupiter? You’re sure of that?”
“No, sir,” she answered firmly. “Not totally sure. But it’s a strong enough possibility that we should be prepared to face up to it.”
With a sigh, the President muttered, “Why does everything have to happen during my Administration?”
The Secretary of Defense, a former industrialist, cleared his throat as he always did before delivering an opinion. “Mr. President,” he said in his flat Oklahoma twang, “Sally and I don’t always see eye to eye on things…”
The science adviser glared at him from her seat across the small room. “You can say that again! Joey.”
He grinned at her. “All right, I’m a male chauvinist pig …Ms. Ellington.”
“ Dr . Ellington.” She did not grin back.
The President looked pained, but said nothing. So his press secretary chided, “Hey look, there’s only the four of us in here, so let’s drop the squabbling for a while, huh? This is too important for cheap shots.”
“I
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