Degeneracy Pressure (Chapter 1)
#1 of Degeneracy Pressure
A nervous human space geek makes an unlikely friend over HAM radio, and learns the Universe is just as wonderful and just as intimidating as it looks in the Hubble images.
- Degeneracy Pressure
2.
- >Chapter 1, Midnight in Sandusky
4.
>You don't care for coffee, which is unfortunate, because the energy drinks probably aren't doing your health any favors.
>They generally don't send you to space unless you're pretty goddamn healthy.
>You down the rest of the slender can anyway, then crush it against the table and toss it. The ball twinkles like gold foil as it sails, sparkling in the amber glow of a single light that dangles from a wooden beam just low enough to hit your head on.
>The former strikes the latter with a satisfying tap and drops like a dead bug into the can below. The light, now swinging in lazy circles, flashes the basement with a macabre ballet of disjointed shadows. You can't help being a little proud of yourself.
>"Nice shot."
>Kim, who had been born in Seoul but emigrated before he could remember it, still has every ounce of the accent one would expect. He's also a god at rhythm games, a resourceful mathematician, and would be a perfect model of the stereotype if he'd been born a bit more conscientious.
>But you'd met him in detention on the third week of your Freshman year of High School. Kim had been late every single day of those three weeks, and then was late to detention too.
>You had been there because you'd fought with the principal when he accused you of lying about the liquor found in your locker being for the rocket project in your physics class. Your parents had cleared it up, but not before you called him an asshole.
>In retrospect you should probably have made a water rocket like everybody else, or at least used kerosene, but you'd wanted to make a good impression.
>Kim had sat down beside you because of the SETI logo on your shirt. He'd wanted to talk about Roswell and Levelland; you had never been the conspiracy type, and had hoped to talk astronomy.
>By the second hour you had found himself admitting that flying saucers probably were aerodynamically sound, and by time the four hour period ended your differences seemed all but reconciled. You'd walked home together, and it turned out the two of you lived just a mile apart. Easy biking distance.
>You had a few acres of property under dark skies, and parents who would overlook moderate explosions and small fires if it meant their son finally had a friend.
>Kim had a badass telescope, a Commodore 64, and a pretty generous allowance.
>That had been four years ago.
19.
>"So, you hear from that girl yet?"
>You sigh and spin your chair a quarter turn to face him, flipping the right ear cuff of your headset aside and pinning the left with your off hand.
>"She'll be here."
>You're not sure you actually believe that. Kim snorts disapprovingly. Evidently he doesn't either.
>"Come on man, you know there's no girls on radio. It's all just old guys and greasy nerds like us."
>He leans back in his chair and flips a Hot Pocket into his mouth to drive the point home.
>Yeah, he's probably right. But you'd spent your life thinking that kind of thing, and where had it gotten you? A basement with a big-ass HAM radio, an SNES, and an Amiga when Kim brought it around.
>Okay, maybe you hadn't done so bad for yourself after all, but your imagination, while pretty good, only gets you so far. Playboy helps, but certainly the real thing is better, right?
>You're legitimately not sure.
>Definitely kind of lonely though, and you're about through with that.
>You crack your knuckles and turn back to your radio equipment, double checking the frequency and opening up the filter a little.
>You clear your throat and prepare your best radio voice, which sounds as much like Gene Kranz as you can manage without aging a few decades and chain smoking a shitload of cigarettes.
>You think it's pretty good, but Kim gives you shit for it.
33.
>"QST, this is S5KSC, QSX 7000 to 7300 kHz."
>You've had your license for a few years, and you're pretty used to the terminology now. You'd called out into the static, and told anyone who might be listening that you were monitoring the frequency band between 7.0 and 7.3 megahertz.
>S5KSC was your callsign. Your first vanity callsign. It stood for "Saturn V, Kennedy Space Center." You were pretty proud of that.
>But static. Nothing replies save a few interference squeals.
>You let a minute go by, tapping the rhythm of Toto's "Africa" into your desk with an index finger.
>"QST, this is S5KSC, QSX 7000 to 7300 kHz. Is anyone out there?"
>Fucking nothing.
>You flip an ear cuff off again and kick your chair back around face to Kim, who shakes his head in half-mocked pity and turns his own radio back up.
42.
- ...John only became interested in the subject himself seven years ago, after talking with an airforce pilot who was stationed at Bentwaters Air Force Base near London, England, where three small aliens were photographed by the Air Force --actually photographed by the Air Force-- walking up to Wing Commander General Gordon Williams. Lear's extensive worldwide civilian, military, and intelligence contacts have made it easier for him to penetrate the secrecy surrounding the subject of UFO's. Then, in 1988 John became acquainted with a government scientist who worked at area S-4, part of the super secret Area 51...
44.
>The signal fades out and into a protracted squeal that howls over static and broken sentences. Kim curses under his breath, and rubs at an eye with the back of his right hand while his left fiddles with dials. You mimic his earlier bullshit head shake.
>"No Art tonight, huh? Reckon it's the aliens interfering? I'd be pissed if I were them."
>Kim had listened to Art Bell obsessively ever since he came on the air. It didn't help you lived most of the country away from Coast to Coast Radio's station, and he'd always ask to use your equipment.
>"It's too fucking cloudy," Kim mutters, not bothering to hide the disappointment in his voice, "Fuck, they were going to talk about Area 51 too. And from John Lear too. You heard 'em, he's a defense guy or something. Knows what he's talking about. There could be crazy shit going on there; they might actually blow it wide open. Could you imagine?"
>You pretend you don't like the idea as much as you kind of do.
>"It's nothing, man. It's always nothing. When we finally make contact with someone, it'll be a radio array that does it. If we were already workin' with 'em, the Wall would have come down ages ago."
>"Maybe Russia was part of it. Without the USSR we might finally get some real information, now that they don't have anyone to hide it from. Hell, that could be tonight. I could miss it. Fucking weather."
>"It's winter at night. You can't listen out 1200 miles when there's a little weather?"
>Kim hauls himself up onto a couch under an open window and fiddles with the antenna he'd routed through it. An icy draft falls in and washes across across the floor, carrying a few snowflakes in its wake.
>He shuts the door again, being particularly delicate with the wires he fed through the snow seal.
>"Not with this piece of shit."
>He looks your radio stack up and down like a Playboy centerfold. You squint disapprovingly.
>"Yeah, well maybe you shouldn't have spent all your money on that big-ass computer. You don't even do video production."
>"Amiga 3000," Kim corrects, "you drooled over it as much as I did, remember?"
>"Yeah, then I bought an SNES for a tenth the price. And a car."
>Your left ear cup crackles suddenly. You whirl back to the controls.
>"Hold up, I might have something."
>Kim groans.
>"Don't buy John Lear telling you about the shit that goes on at Area 51, but you think you're going to get laid over that thing."
>Laid? You hadn't even thought that far yet.
>"I 'dunno, man. Shut up. I've got to listen."
>You shift the other ear cup back on and wait. Nothing but hiss and quiet squeals.
>"QST, this is S5KSC, QSX 7000 to 7300 kHz. G7XRI, you out there?"
>Your Gene Kranz voice gets a little transparent toward the end. You clear your throat again. Static.
>"Someone was fucking with you. Like that blonde chick who said she wanted to date me sophomore year. Remember her?"
>You did, and would have been lying to claim you hadn't been thinking the same. You elect to do that anyway.
>"She's not like that. You'll see."
>"Dude, you barely talked to her. Said you couldn't keep the signal, remember? Only got a few words across about when you were going to try to meet again? You didn't even have a good reason for getting that far. I'm telling you, someone's fucking with you."
>Kim props his feet up on the desk and toys with his radio dial some more. Art Bell's voice leaks through the static again.
74.
- ...toward Las Vegas, I have now seen three different times, what I--, I'm not sure what it was, John. It looked on the one hand a little bit like a falling star. Been seeing falling stars all night. And this was not, uh, typical of a falling star. It was more like... --I'd have described as a green fireball, trailing fire behind it. In a trajectory, uh, across the sky. It wasn't small. It wasn't like a typical falling star that we've all seen for years, it was-- And I'll tell you why I'm mentioning this, John....
76.
>Your headphones murmur, and you whirl again and speak with slow deliberation.
>"QST, this is S5KSC QSX 7000 to 7300 kHz. Is anyone out there? Have you any news of G7XRI?" MSG to QSP G7XRI."
>Maybe you can at least get someone to relay a message for you.
>Static. Then a squeal, a pop, and a chirp of electrical waver. Your heart skips a beat or two.
>"This is, uh, G7XRI. QRZ? QRU? "
>Who are you? Do you have something for me?
>A man's voice. Gruff, at that; maybe annoyed. You can't help flinching.
>This can't be right. Maybe it hadn't been quite like you said it had, but you had talked to her. A girl. At least you'd heard her voice.
>"S5KSC. Last QSO 12/2, 0200 hours."
>We last conversed on December second at 2 in the morning.
>"S5KSC, you have the wrong station."
>The transmission pops back into static. Kim chuckles, still trying to clean his signal up a little more.
>"I told you. Maybe you dreamed it."
>He tosses up another hot pocket and catches it like a dolphin.
>You hadn't fucking dreamed it. It had been 2:00 AM on the second of December. You'd been drinking a Mountain Dew. You tell him as much.
>In his defense, you had less than you were letting on. You hadn't actually spoken with anyone. Talked, yes, but not spoken. You'd heard her voice, but only gibberish. Technically you hadn't arranged tonight's meeting either, rather she'd given you a puzzle, and you'd solved it.
>But she wasn't bullshitting you. She couldn't have been. There was too much work behind all of it. You don't put together numerical ciphers to fuck with a kid in his basement. There had to be something to this, but all that seemed to come was static.
>You flip an ear cuff off again and lean back, propping your feet up on the desk and crossing them. Your stomach complains a little.
>"Toss me a hot pocket, will 'ya?"
>"Thought you said we didn't need that third box. Told you it was going to be a long night."
>"Yeah, yeah; I'll toss you a five, okay?"
>The turnover, still steaming from the microwave, sails breezily through the air and breaks in half across your index finger as you go to catch it. You swallow the halves in sequence, and lick your fingers. You turn to Kim, trying your best to not to agonize over the radio.
>"So, have they told us when the invasion starts?"
>"Just about Area 51. They reverse engineer propulsion systems there apparently. A bunch of people say they saw it. Interesting shit; might explain the black triangle last Summer."
>You could definitely have done with an explanation for the black triangle last Summer. The two of you had been smoking on a hill overlooking town, backed up against a stand of trees. It had drifted past you as silent as the clouds did, seams in its skin pulsing blue and purple. You tried to tell yourself it was something in the smoke. That it had been laced or some shit. But really, you knew that wasn't so.
>"Think that could really be what it was?"
>"What, you don't think the government is hiding shit from us? They still claim Area 51 doesn't exist; we've got all the pictures of that you could want."
>"Oh, I figure they're hiding plenty of shit. Just don't have enough faith in them to bet it's anything that cool."
>Frankly you're not sure if you'd rather it be a black project or outright alien.
>"What do you figure they hide then?"
>"Same as any group of people. Shady dealings, backroom reciprocity, and a lot more sex than anyone cares to consider. I like your shadow government better though; they have much better taste. If that triangle really was something, I bet it would have been pretty sexy up close."
>"What do you mean if? You saw it same as I did."
>You shrug.
>"I don't fucking know what to make of it. If they're here, why don't they talk?"
111.
>The radio buzzes again, and a voice emerges from a whine of interference. You recognize it this time.
>"G-7-X-R-I."
>It's slow and jagged speech, and would have sounded nearly robotic if it weren't for the tinge of embarrassment that seemed to cling to the syllables as they crackled over the speakers. It's dense but intelligible, and unmistakably female. Just like before. Your blood ices. You motion to Kim frantically.
>"I fucking told you. Check this out."
>Kim pushes off his desk with a scuffed tennis shoe and rolls lazily over.
>"Is she hot?"
>That question probably shouldn't have taken you off guard.
>"I don't know!"
>You definitely hope so.
>"Does she sound hot?"
>"What does that even mean?"
>The radio crackles again.
>"G-7-X-R-I Q-S-T, is anyone on the air tonight? M-S-G to QS... P to S-5-K-S-C."
>It's as if she's reading off cue cards, but you don't give a fuck. Your composure shatters instantly. You slapped the transmit key.
>"Yeah! yeah, I'm here."
>Gene Kranz is nowhere to be found. You probably sounded like a twelve-year-old, but it would have to do.
>"G-7-X-R-I, QR...X? Z! I, uh, I, I, uh, QRZ?"
>You hadn't identified yourself. What an idiot! You panic a second but claw a little composure back. At least she's having trouble with the codes. Hell, she seems to struggle even more with the words in between.
>Maybe she's as in over her head as you are.
>You clear your throat a third time.
>"This is S5KSC. QSO 12/2 at 0200 hours. You have a QSP for me?"
>Last conversation, yadda yadda, and did she have a message for you?
>You'd sounded pretty cool saying it too.
> "S-5-K-S-C!"
>It's slow, but you swear she sounds excited. Must not be a native speaker, but you could get past that, right? Maybe she's Japanese.
>Accent isn't quite right, but it's okay to hope, right?
>"Q - R - K?"
> "I read you loud and clear G7X, solid 5."
>That you'd sounded good saying. Somehow, across whatever space and time, you can almost feel her grin. Kim elbows you.
>"I'll be damned; she sounds pretty cute."
>You stare him down in response and make sure you hadn't been transmitting for that. You hadn't.
>It's quiet awhile; the more you think about it the more right he seems to be.
>You drum your fingers some more, picking up "Smells like Teen Spirit" this time.
>The headphones pop again, and you refocus.
> "Hello, childr-- --of Earth."
>It's a different voice. A male child. It sounds like she's cut it to hell, but you've seen far too much Cosmos not to recognize it immediately. The English greeting from the Golden Record.
>Your mental image of her jumps from a cautiously optimistic 7 to a full retard 11/10. This is a playboy tier asian exchange student space geek. You're totally sure of it. Your little slice of anime is about to become real.
> "Uh, hi," you say, suddenly very thankful that Gene Kranz is alive, and thus not rolling in his grave at your cringy abuse of his radio voice. But shit, you've got to do better than "hi."
>You've got to show her you know what she's on about.
> "Track 1, dumbass. Quote track 1."
>For the first time that night you're glad Kim is there.
>"I send greetings on behalf of the people of our planet."
>He gives you a thumbs up and pushes himself back across the room.
> The signal goes dead, then pops back to life, sounding flatter and duller.
> "M - S - G".
>Another pop in the signal. You reach for a notepad but find it missing. Somehow, in that second of panic, you still catch it when Kim throws it to you.
>Then comes a flurry of beeps
>.-..-.--..--------------
>Shit, if it's morse, it doesn't say anything. You must have fucked it up; that or she's testing you somehow. Or what if this is some kind of secret spy shit, and you just happened to get the challenge question? Your blood runs cold.
>She doesn't give you time to ponder the question.
>.----
>-------------------.--..----..--.
>.----.-..----------------------------------
>Holy fuck, your heart is racing.
>Kim has pushed himself back over and is staring at the notepad, face flushed.
> "Dude. Do you think this might be, like, some--"
>You aren't transmitting, but hide the microphone in your hands just in case.
> "Secret Squirrel shit, yeah," you agree hurriedly.
>"Think it might have something to do with what Lear's talking about? Like they're 'gunna try to cover it up or something?"
>The thought sends a chill down your spine.
> "I don't fucking know! I doubt it."
>You're not sure you actually doubt it.
>"You going to keep talking to her?"
>For what may have been the first time in your life, you'd been too wrapt to consider the risks. You still can't quite make sense of them. The words you find yourself saying don't seem to reflect the feeling in your gut.
> "We've got the message either way. We're a loose end whether we keep going or not. I want to get to get to the bottom of it."
>Holy shit, you'd never thought you'd say something that cool, like, ever. Kim's face lights up.
> "Keep her on the air, Anon. This could be big."
>You turn back just in time.
> "Q - T - H?"
>Location. Shit, should you tell her? Should you lie? You look to Kim but he's focused on the code. You ignore the pit in your stomach and do your best to reason through it.
>You can still feign ignorance. Be honest. Play it cool. You're just a high school senior talking to some asian chick.
>Hell, that's probably still what's really going on, right? Your imagination is getting the better of you, that's all.
>Right?
> "Sandusky, in a basement under five feet of snow. You?"
>Static for a second.
> "Q - T - H?"
> "Sandusky. How do you read G7X?"
> "5, S - 5 - K. Q - T - H?"
>Your stomach churns, adrenaline tickling the lining. You're pretty sure you know what she wants, and you're pretty sure you shouldn't give it to her. Somehow you find yourself starting anyway.
> "1.4489° North, 82.7080° West. You?"
>You put a little more emphasis on the question at the end this time.
>The transmission hiccups again and comes back in the other, somewhat nicer quality.
> "Earth," it rings plaintively, in the voice of the boy from the record.
>It pops back over again.
>-..---.. / --.----- / -...-.-. / --.----- / -...--.. / -..-.... / -..-...-
>You're really starting to have some doubts about the geeky-asian-chick-trolling-you theory.