Data Search Report:
Project Name: Star Bright
Requested By: Phil Howell
Search Begun: 17:46:24
Search Ended: 22:06:58
Analysis Begun: 22:06:58
Analysis Ended: 10:37:13
Report Generated: 10:37:14
See Starbrit.rtf
Tapping at the keyboard, he brought up the report the computer had generated. A list of the files the computer had copied from all over the world scrolled down the screen, followed by another list, nearly as long, of the files upon which the report was based.
Each file was annotated as to its size, the date it had been created, the computer on which it had been stored, and the source of the raw data contained within the files.
Phil felt the first flush of excitement as he noted that the second list of files contained only data gathered from radio telescopes.
Next came the results of the computer’s attempt to put the files together in a cohesive string.
His heart began to race as he saw that the signal appeared to have been coming in steadily for a period of months, starting more than two years ago. But then, 79 days after it had begun, it abruptly ended. After a silence of 142 days, it reappeared, and was picked up by one or another of dozens of radio telescopes for a period of 209 days. Then there had been another 142 days of silence. It had been detected again for a period of 132 days, ending last Saturday at noon, GMT.
Phil Howell gazed at the screen in something near disbelief: If the signal had been received for as long as the computer claimed, and by as many telescopes as the computer claimed, why had there been almost nothing written about it?
But then, as he studied the data further, he began to understand.
The signal had been picked up in so many bits and pieces that they simply went unnoticed in the sea of data being received from the universe every day.
Then he noticed something else, and he felt his skin go clammy with excitement.
The signal had not been consistently picked up on a single frequency. Instead, it was picked up on hundreds of frequencies, as if it had been blasted out by some kind of cosmic shotgun.
A normal radio signal emitted by a star or a quasar was carried on a single frequency.
Stars, obviously, had no technology that would allow them to change the frequency of a broadcast.
Nothing did, as far as Phil Howell knew, with a single exception.
And that exception was mankind.
“A planet,” Phil breathed, almost inaudibly. “My God.”
Katharine frowned. “A planet? What are you talking about?”
Howell’s eyes never left the computer screen as he spoke. “It’s this transmission,” he said, his fingers touching the numbers on the screen almost as if he would be able to feel the signal they represented. “It stopped coming in twice, each time for a period of 142 days. That pause is very significant. And one explanation for it is if the signal was being broadcast from a planet rather than pulsating out from a star. If the planet’s orbit was in the right plane, then the signal would be blocked from our telescopes whenever the planet was in the shadow of its own sun.”
Katharine gazed at him, trying to absorb the full implication of the report on the screen. “But that means —”
She stopped, leaving it to the astronomer to finish her thought.
“If I’m right,” Howell finally said, “it means there was someone out there.”
“If you’re right?” Katharine echoed. “You just said the only explanation—”
“I said, it’s one explanation,” Howell interrupted. “And certainly my favorite,” he went on, a wry smile twisting his lips, “since finding someone out there would make me the most famous astronomer on the planet. But unfortunately I have a feeling there are about a hundred other explanations, all of them far more probable than what I just told you.” His eyes returned to the computer monitor. “Look, don’t say anything about this to anyone else, okay? There’s not much chance I’m right, and the opposite of being known as the most famous astronomer on the planet is being known as the stupidest. Okay?”
“But if you’re right—” Katharine began, and again the astronomer interrupted her.
“If I’m right, you can testify that you were here when the discovery was made. But I’d just as soon prove it first before talking about it.” He looked up at her. “Deal?”
“Deal,” Katharine agreed.
Another soft electronic signal sounded, and both of them looked back at the monitor to see that another window had opened in the lower right quadrant of the screen Howell had been studying.
“Well, look at that,” he said. “This morning we both get results.”
Katharine studied the two file names that appeared in the box, both of them stark in their simplicity.
Skull.jpg
Video.avi.
Both of them were annotated with their domain of origin, which was listed as mishimoto.com.
“I’m almost sure the file names were a lot longer than these,” Katharine said. “It’s as though the computer looked for names that matched what I saw, instead of content.”
Phil Howell shook his head. “You said there was a link on the page with the skull that took you to the video. The file name you saw was probably the one for the page that contained the graphic of the skull, and the link. These would be the files themselves.”
“But how do I find the files themselves?”
“Go back to Rob Silver’s office,” the astronomer told her. “Mishimoto is the name of Takeo Yoshihara’s company, which should mean that mishimoto dot com is the name of his private domain for e-mail purposes. Which means that those files are somewhere on one of Takeo Yoshihara’s own computers.”
“Can you find them from here?”
Howell shrugged. “Maybe, if I were an expert hacker. But it shouldn’t be too hard to find them from Rob’s office, since he’s already inside Yoshihara’s network. As for me, I’m going back to work on my signal. And remember,” he added, nodding toward the computer screen that was still displaying the results of his own search. “Not a word about this. Please?”
“Not even a hint,” Katharine promised. “And thanks for helping me out. If I find anything, believe me, I’ll let you know.”
“Great,” Howell replied. But by the time Katharine was back in her car less than a minute later, the astronomer had already dismissed the two files from his mind. To him, the strange radio signal from a star fifteen million light-years away was far more interesting than any image of an earthbound skull could ever be.
CHAPTER 19
He was back in the cane field.
The fire was crackling around him, and though he could see no flames, its glow suffused the darkness with a reddish tinge.
He could feel it, creeping toward him from every direction. It was as if he were encircled by hunters so sure of their kill that they no longer felt any need to conceal their presence with silence.
Despite the approaching hunters, he was unafraid.
He could smell the first tendrils of smoke as they slithered into his nostrils and down his throat to his lungs.
