The signals came in short bursts from a moving source that seemed to be circling Earth, perhaps six thousand miles away; they came on an unexpected ultrahigh frequency, rather than as shortwave emissions with greater carrying distance. The transmitter appeared to be powerful. One odd point that Moyashka had noted which he could not account for was the fact that the radio signals came only when the source was above Earth’s dark or night side; during the day the signals ceased. Moyashka conjectured that the so-called Heaviside layer might be involved.
The signals, although short in duration, seemed “highly information rich” because of their sophistication and complexity. Curiously, the frequency changed periodically, a phenomenon found in transmissions seeking to avoid jamming, Moyashka stated. Further, his team had discovered, entirely by accident, that animals in their Pulkovo laboratory underwent slight but regular physical changes during the time of signal transmission. Their blood volume altered and their blood pressure readings increased. Provisionally, Moyashka conjectured that radiation accompanying the radio signals might account for it. The Soviets (the article finished) planned to launch a satellite of their own to intercept the orbit of this Earth-rotating transmitter to confirm their theory that it was a satellite not of terrestrial origin. They hoped to photograph it.
From the pay phone in the hall I called Rachel back. “I read it,” I said. “But Phil and I already have a theory.”
Bitingly, Rachel said, “This isn’t a theory; this is a fact. I heard it on the noon news, too. It’s real, even if we deny it, the U.S. denies it. I looked up Dr. Moyashka in your Britannica; there’s an article on him. He discovered volcanic activity on the moon and some kind of thing on Mercury; I didn’t understand it, but every time, people said he was wrong or crazy. Stalin had him in a forced labor camp for years. He’s highly esteemed; he’s a big wheel in the Russian space program, and the radio today says he heads their CETI Project—‘ Contacting Extra-Terrestrial Intelligence.’ They’re using telepathy and everything; they’re really wild.”
“Did the radio say how long they think the satellite’s been transmitting?”
“The Russians just picked it up recently. They don’t know anything about before that. But listen—short intense high-frequency bursts, always at night. Don’t you receive your pictures and words around three a.m.? It fits, Nick! It does! You and Phil were thinking anyhow maybe it’s a satellite orbiting Earth! I remember both of you talking about that!”
“Our new theory—” I began.
“The hell with your new theory,” Rachel said. “This is the biggest news in the history of the world! I’d think you’d be out of your mind with excitement!”
“I am,” I said. “Catch you later.” I hung up and returned to my office, where Sadassa Silvia sat, smoking a cigarette and reading a magazine.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” I said to her.
“The phone rang while you were out of the office,” Sadassa said. “I didn’t think I should answer it.”
“It’ll ring again,” I said.
The phone rang. I picked it up and said hello. It was Phil; he had heard the news on the radio. Like Rachel, he was highly excited.
“I read about it in the Times,” I informed him.
“Did the Times article mention that it broadcasts on the same frequencies our FM and TV sound travels on?” Phil said. “The scientist I heard commenting, from some U.S. space laboratory, says that virtually rules out the possibility that it’s one of our own satellites, since ours don’t broadcast on commercial frequencies. Listen, Nick; he said its signals would interfere with FM and TV reception so we might have to destroy it. But what I was thinking—remember when you heard that weird shit on your radio at night, as if it were talking to you? And we conjectured about a satellite override? Nick, this may be it! This thing when it transmits might very well override. And the scientist said, the one I heard commenting, that it doesn’t broadcast in the strict sense of the word, that it’s narrow tight beams, directed; ‘broadcast’ means in all directions, everywhere equally. This satellite’s signals don’t propagate in all—”
“Phil,” I broke in, “I’ve got somebody with me right now. Can I get back to you tonight?”
“Sure,” Phil said, mollified. “But you know, Nick, this could explain it; it really could. You’re transducing these unusual alien signals.”
“Catch you later, Phil,” I said, and hung up. I did not want to discuss it in front of Sadassa Silvia. Or anyone else, for that matter. Although, I thought, I may be discussing it with Ms. Silvia one of these days, when the time is right; when I’ve sounded her out sufficiently beforehand.
Sadassa said, “Was it the article in the Times about ‘prisons are a source of wealth’? That pitch for slave labor under the guise of psychological rehabilitation? ‘Convicts need not be indoors, wasting years of their lives in idleness, rather, they could—’ Let’s see, how did they put it? ‘Convicts could work out under the warm sun in labor groups rebuilding slums, contributing to urban renewal, and hippies could make their contribution to society, side by side with them and also the youth who can’t get jobs. . . .’ I felt like writing in to say, ‘And when they die of overwork and starvation they can contribute their bodies in giant ovens, and we can melt them down into useful bars of soap.’ ”
“No,” I said, “it wasn’t that article.”
“The alien satellite, then?”
Presently I nodded.
Sadassa said, “It’s a fake. Or rather, it’s one of ours and we won’t admit it. It’s a propaganda satellite we use to beam down subliminal material to the Soviet people. That’s why it broadcasts on commercial FM and TV frequencies and alters its transmission frequency at random intervals. The Soviet people get eighth-of-a-second stills of happy Americans eating all the food they want, shit like
