Martin searches through all the archives relating to the new star, to the obscuring cloud that has even blacked out Struve 1495. He can’t find anything relating to the Hydrogen I line, so, cautiously and reluctantly he decides to go online with a question.
Subject: 2009UMa7
From: Martin Smith
Hi everyone.
I’m looking for some information that hasn’t been posted before on this forum. I am researching the area around R. A. 10h 11 8m, Dec. +58deg 30min. It has been noted before that there is a rather odd emitter of light in this area though nobody seems to have reported anything on it before this June. It has been somewhat difficult to see from here with my limited equipment, but I was hoping that someone has been observing it on the twenty-one centimetre wavelength since, say, the end of March of this year. It is quite near in the sky to F.G.W.Struve 1495 which is of course well documented.
Grateful for any information, either online here or to my private e-mail, MS18547 at HOTMAIL.COM — MS
Martin hopes that his verbosity and obscure references will divert the attention of the spooks, who are no doubt monitoring the forum. What he really meant was:
Has anyone got any observations of the 21 cm line for 2009UMa7 before the Black-Out? Information urgently required as UK Intelligence is watching us!
He carries on looking through the many archives that relate to other stars in Ursa Major, when a message comes in:
Subject: 2009UMa7
From: Tom Hastings (Boise, Idaho)
Hi, Martin.
You’re lucky I was working very late, as I was just about to shut down when your note came thru.
On your e-mail is a file of some observations I made from mid-May. I hope you find it useful.
Keep happy — TH
Martin quickly logs onto his Hotmail account and finds the message and attachment there. He reads it in and deletes the e-mail and then deletes the deleted e-mail — why do they have to make these things so complicated? — so that if the spooks are slow they won’t have found it. Then he quickly sends a note to Tom thanking him and saying he’ll look through the file.
He scans the file and, a little way in, he finds the prime number sequences. Then he backtracks to the start of the previous image, which appears to be image 8. He goes back further, but finds that image 7 is incomplete, Tom’s file having started a few rows of data in. Never mind, he files Tom’s images 7 and 8, and then continues with the whole of the rest. He prints out the entire set, so that he can easily compare them by eye with the images they already have.
Image 7, from where it starts, is indeed the same as their own image 7, as is image 8; they confirm the distance to the brown dwarf star is only 364 light-days.
Then come the two lists of prime numbers and image 9, a repeat of all the other similar ones.
Louisa knocks at Harry’s door.
“Gert has asked me to invite you and Clive to dinner.”
“That’s very kind of her to think of us.”
“I’ve smelled some lovely odours wafting from the kitchen. And she won’t let either of us help at all.”
“Are you happy with that, Clive?”
“Sounds great to me.”
“Six o’clock or thereabouts.”
When Louisa has left, Clive asks Harry: “How far is it to walk to the village?”
“Twenty minutes or so, why?”
“Is there a wine shop there?”
“Oh, I see. No, but the General Store has a small but quite adequate selection of wines.”
“How do I find it?”
“Turn right at the bottom of the lane and it’s a couple of hundred yards along on the right. But why don’t you go by car?”
“You know we said that our project may be of interest to the Security Service, well, we don’t want them to find any of the data yet until we’ve fathomed it out. Also the University is in line for a big payment if we get it into a newspaper as an ‘exclusive’. So far, the spooks only know that Ivan and Martin are working on it, but the fewer chances we give them to find us, the longer we’ve got. So I’d rather walk to the village. We’ll keep our cars out of sight while we can.”
“You’ve thought of everything, haven’t you?”
“We hope so!”
Gert’s culinary expertise is everything anyone could want. Her ‘stew-pot’ tastes delicious.
“What’s the secret,” Louisa wants to know.
“Well I just put all my left-overs into a pot, with some fresh and dried herbs and spices, and whatever comes out after a slow simmering, that’s it! I usually add a few sliced potatoes an hour before it’s ready. So it’s got chicken, beef, some ham and pork, lots of carrots and other root vegetables, cabbages, oh... the list is endless. Oh, dear me. I hope there’s nothing in it that you don’t eat or don’t like.”
They all agree that it smells delicious and probably tastes the same.
“I told you it would be something from out of this world,” Harry joked, which made them all laugh.
The main course was a shoulder of lamb with a rich sauce made of over-ripe plums and other autumn fruits. And the wine Clive had bought at the local store was an ideal accompaniment to it. (Fortunately he just had enough in his pocket for two bottles, but that left him without a sou to his name.)
For dessert Gert has prepared a simple fruit salad with whipped cream.
That night, after a long chat with their hosts, with coffee, and brandy supplied by Harry, they all retire to their respective sleeping quarters and all wake up very late.
By late afternoon on the same day, Martin has confirmed that all the images in Tom’s data are essentially the same as their own, from images 1 to 33, which is as far as Clive has sorted them. Images 21 to 25 are the same as images 1 to 5, so the sequence seems to be of 20 images, of which every fourth is repeated, so there are 16 images that differ. He has also noticed that there are several repeats of the diagram first seen on image 12 that shows an arrow from the Sun to their planet with many photon symbols against it.
They are saying something that is obviously very important, but what?
He has noticed that there are some numbers in images 12 and 14 that are different, so he notes them and converts them to base 10. They are also accompanied by the symbol for ‘time’ so are presumably in ½ FTUs. Tom’s numbers are much, much smaller, and there is a small difference between those on images 12 and 14, the difference in the numbers in Tom’s images 12 and 14 being the same as the difference in their own images 12 and 14.
Martin ponders what these changes could mean. Perhaps they are an indication of their projected lifetime of their system. In which case why should Tom’s be smaller? A recalculation? Whatever they are, Martin supposes that they represent a time or a time difference. So what are these numbers? Whatever they are, he decides to calculate their values in terms that he can understand.
In Tom’s image 12 the number represents just over five weeks, and image 14 is exactly 35.302 minutes less; that difference is precisely the time taken to transmit two images of information plus one double set of prime numbers. Martin’s values for the pair of numbers are huge in comparison: the number in his image 12 is just under eleven thousand years! But the difference between that and the number on image 14 is again 35.302 minutes — two images of information and the primes. He cannot see what this means, so decides to call it a day.
On Friday morning, Martin rechecks all the data on images 12 and 14, both versions, but is still mystified. He sits back in his office chair, which is on wheels, and swivels, so he can play about with it, pushing himself across the room, then swivelling and zooming back. He has often found that this silly game gives his brain time to get out of the rut it’s in, and sometimes the activity gives him a bit more insight, or it used to when he was a sixth-former and an undergraduate. Not often, though.
He goes back to Tom’s e-mail. There’s nothing in it of substance except the words ‘some observations I made from mid-May’. He reads it and rereads it. Nothing at all. Then he checks his own notes and calculations: “Eureka!” he shouts out loud. So loud that he is heard all along the corridor, and two fellow students come along to check that he is OK.
“Mid-May plus five weeks brings us to June — maybe the 21st,” he tells Ivan. “Later versions of Tom’s pages 12 and 14 show the count-down continuing. I’ll check with him on exact timings. Our data comes from after the Black-Out. So Tom’s numbers look like a count-down to the Black-Out. What’s more, if our data is correct, we’re going to be safe from their attention for nearly eleven thousand years, assuming our numbers are a countdown to the next Black-Out. We might expect the same thing to occur then, but by then we’ll have developed our science, our defences enormously, beyond belief. We’ll be well prepared. And if they are only one light-year away, we may well be in communication with them, or even have visited them or have been visited.”
“Sounds convincing,” Ivan concedes. “One thing: is there any way of decoding the words around these numbers? I wish we could put Anna, Louisa and Clive onto this, but I fear not. The only way we have of communicating with them is by a coded phone call to Harry, that essentially says ‘come home, abandon ship’.
“Assuming you’re right in your analysis, I wonder if eleven thousand years is the correct figure, after all there is a question over their claim to be just one light-year from us. Remember, they are orbiting a dying brown dwarf star, as they well know. They could try the same trick again, drawing off energy from our Sun, if their calculations are a bit awry or their energy requirements soar. Can we trust them?”
“Well there are other stars that are fairly close to them, which they could use if necessary. We aren’t their only potential source of energy. What about Proxima Centauri? That seems to be where they originally came from.”
“Could be. But can we commit the future of the human race, and our entire planet, to the goodwill of the inhabitants of a planet that’s dying?”
Ivan spends ages worrying about this matter, but cannot think of anyone to confer with. Nor, for that matter, can Martin. They’d prefer not to talk to Assad quite yet.
Eventually Ivan decides to recall his team from Somerset and to go to London with Martin, to the PA tomorrow. They have accumulated enough information to warrant presenting it to Ewan. By now Assad is in the picture.
He goes to the office of a colleague and requests him to call a certain number and ask if the man who answers is interested in having double-glazing fitted. The number is Harry’s and Ivan is relying on Harry telling Clive what the phone call was about.
“Good afternoon, sir,” says Ivan’s accomplice. “I am calling from ‘Exeter Wonder-Windows’ as we are making a special promotion on double-glazing in your area this month. May I ask if you already have double-glazing throughout your home?”
“No,” says Harry, irritated by the call. “You may not ask. If I want double-glazing fitted, which I don’t, then I would go to a proper establishment, not some fly-by-night telephone caller. Goodbye, sir.” He slams the phone down.
“Who was that?” Clive asks.
“Just some character from Exeter trying to sell double-glazing. Damned nerve!”
Clive continues working for five minutes and then tells Harry that he must go up to Gert’s and speak to Anna and Louisa about something.
Ivan consults the University’s Legal team, who are a little bewildered as to what all the fuss is about. He tells the head of the team that he would like to take a walk with him in the University’s grounds. Once they are outside, he explains that he is certain that his own office, those of several students, and at least one conference room are being bugged by the Secret Service, and therefore he prefers to discuss the matter away from prying ears. He tells him that the information is about the great Black-Out, and is of supreme public interest. He shows him a draft article that he has prepared for The Sunday Herald and Globe, who have agreed to buy the story from the Press Association. The result would be a substantial payment to the funds of the University, with some small royalties to himself and the students who have worked on it with him, and Ivan assures him that his researchers deserve every penny for their efforts.
He suggests — well, almost insists — that they go to London as soon as possible, see the newspaper’s legal staff, who no doubt have faced embargoes on the publication of articles before and who expect an Injunction to be served; they would need to apply as soon as possible to the High Court for the Injunction to be lifted so that the story can be published. He adds that he has taken measures — he is deliberately not specific — to have the story published abroad; if that were to happen, the University would gain some kudos but nothing financial at all.
The legal team can do little but agree.
“Hello, Clive, dear. Have you come to see your fellow students?” asks Gert as she opens the door.
“Yes, please.”
He takes his two colleagues into a corner and tells them: “Harry’s just got the message about double-glazing from someone in Exeter. That’s a coded message from Ivan and means that he wants us back at Uni. How long before you can be ready to leave?”
“Ten or fifteen minutes,” says Anna. “I’d like to say goodbye to Harry. He’s been very kind and interested in our work.”
“I would too,” adds Louisa.
“OK, you two pack up all your stuff, and while you’re doing this, I’ll bid my farewells to Gert.” He finds her in the kitchen. “I hope you aren’t preparing an enormous meal for us all tonight. If so, I’m afraid you’re going to have to share it with Harry.”
Gert looks bemused.
“I haven’t told him yet, but we’ve been summoned back to the University for an emergency meeting. Ivan sent Harry a message which means that he’s off to London tomorrow, and we have to go back to Tiverton immediately.”
“Oh this is such a shame as I was enjoying your company enormously. You can’t put him off and stay at least another night, can you?”
From the bottom of the previous column
“Afraid not. I’ve just told the girls and they are packing everything up.”
“As Clive has told you, we’re off back to our offices,” Louisa says with a tear in her eye. “It has been a real pleasure staying with you for this short time. We hope it won’t be our last.”
“Yes, Gert,” adds Anna. “Even if this project folds up, we’d love to come and see you again.”
All three women are crying now, and Clive is suppressing his regret at the way things have gone. Louisa and Anna load their bags into Louisa’s car, Clive gets in the back and they all depart for Harry’s.
He is as shocked as Gert was, and while Clive is packing his own bags, the two women say goodbye to Harry, an equally tearful farewell. They leave, soon to be followed by Clive, who says that he, too, would like to visit ‘Uncle Harry’ again some time.
Clive, Anna and Louisa get back to Tiverton and rendezvous for a late lunch on the Friday. The University refectory is still open.
“This isn’t a patch on Gert’s food,” says Anna.
Clive prods his lasagna with his fork; “Is that what this is? Food?”
“Let’s go and check with Ivan,” Louisa remembers. “See what he’s called us back for.”
They head for his office. He sees them coming and ushers them quietly into the quadrangle.
“Sorry, the spies have definitely bugged our offices. We’ll have to talk here. I’m sorry I had to call you back from your break at the seaside, but it looks as though there’s likely to be an Injunction issued against the publication of our work. I’ll see you later to see how far you’ve got and what’s happening at this end.”
Ivan returns to his office and calls Martin and Assad. “Meet me in the quadrangle in five minutes for a chat.”
“Martin, we’re going to London for the day tomorrow,” Ivan advises him. “I’m hoping to see Ewan, the man from the Press Association, Assad’s boss. I intend to give him a full account of our discoveries, nothing excluded. I suspect that the spooks may try to intercept the data or the visit, but I don’t know how or when, so we’ll keep it to ourselves for the moment. Their offices are at 292 Vauxhall Bridge Road which is very close to Victoria Station, right, Assad?
“Assad,” Ivan jokes. “I don’t really expect journalists to get all the facts right, so I have prepared an article that they could publish as-is. However, my linguistic skills aren’t that brilliant, so I’d like you to spend today going through it, after all your first degree was in Physics. Make any corrections in facts, grammar, whatever. Your name goes on the by-line — and the others’ too — if I can get the PA to agree. They will probably sell it for as high a fee as they can get from one of the heavy Sunday papers, probably The Sunday Herald and Globe, certainly not a tabloid, so bear that in mind — your reader is a fairly intelligent person who wants the facts, not flimsy tittle-tattle or idle speculation. Can you do the job in time, Assad?”
“I’ll try. When’s your deadline?”
“We’ll settle the details of the fee later; I want quite a bit of it to be invested in the department, so each of our cuts won’t make us millionaires!
“Your rôle tomorrow, Martin, is to watch my back. We’ll travel from Tiverton Parkway on the 06:56 train to Paddington; it gets to London at 09:22. So the answer to your question, Assad, is to get two copies of the DVD to us by 6 a.m. When Martin and I get to London we’ll separate, with you trailing say a hundred yards behind me, looking out for anyone we know, or anyone who appears to be following me. I’ll get a bus — I looked them up and it’s either a 36 or 436, both go to Victoria Station — if it looks OK, you get the next one, they’re every few minutes; if there’s someone following me, get on the same bus as me, but don’t sit near me, and make it downstairs if it’s a double-decker, so that you can see who gets on and off.
“When we get to the PA, I will wait for you to appear and then I’ll go in and ask for Dr Peter Smythe; it’s a pseudonym for Ewan O’Donnell, Head of Science for the PA. Once I’ve gone inside and you’re sure nobody is following me or you for that matter, make your way back to Paddington station, and wait for me somewhere near or inside one of the shops on the concourse, say W.H.Smith’s. It should be less than an hour before I get there; if I’m not there after you’ve waited three hours, return here to Tiverton, watching your back all the time, and send everything on the DVD to Jean le Camp in Paris. Tell him to get it published as soon as possible. Send another copy to Tom Hastings in Idaho and one to Fred Schuster in Canada with the same message. Tell them to get it published. But don’t use any of our e-mails; get a new Hotmail account at an internet café perhaps in Tiverton, or even in London if you’re absolutely certain no-one is tailing you, and use that. Any questions?”
“This is real cloak-and-dagger stuff! No questions right now, but I’m sure I’ll think of some. Oh, there is one thing — I haven’t visited London often, I’m not that sure of my way round.”
“When we get to Paddington station, it’s easier to travel by bus than the tube, I find. You have to buy your bus ticket from a machine by the bus stop; buy an all-day ticket and you can use it many times, on any bus, at any time of that day; make sure you’ve got plenty of pound coins and other silver in your pocket; these machines don’t give change, and in my experience often don’t give tickets either! Just persevere.
“Now, here’s your rail ticket. The seat’s near the front, but get on at the back and walk through, looking for anyone you recognise or who might be interested in us. If you see me on the platform at Tiverton, don’t acknowledge me, OK? See you in the morning. Oh, I nearly forgot, here’s a DVD with your copy of the draft article for the PA for you and Assad to revise as you see fit. Bring the revisions with you on the train, two copies, one for me, one for you.”
“What if you are intercepted before you get to the Press Association?”
“You take over from me. The person to ask for at the PA Reception desk is Dr Peter Smythe, which as I said is Ewan O’Donnell’s alias. I trust you would do your best for us, the University, the country and the world! You’d have a heavy load on your shoulders.”
“Let’s hope I’m not needed, eh? If it is me who sees O’Donnell, what’s the plan for afterwards?”
“If you have a satisfactory meeting with him, but he can’t publish because of GCHQ injunctions, don’t read the injunction as you can then plead ignorance — it will probably apply to all sorts of documents including e-mails — then e-mail Jean, Tom and Fred, possibly from a computer in the Press Association building, if they’ll let you. Otherwise e-mail them as I said before.”
“Tomorrow’s Saturday,” Assad reminds them. “He may not be at work. What do you do then?”
“In that case it looks as if we may need to wait until Monday. There are plenty of reasonable hotels near Paddington station; we’ll check in there for a couple of nights. We may even be able to make some progress on the alien data. Better look smart, Mr Smith — suit and tie, not your usual tatty jeans and ‘hoodie’ top — as we’re meeting some high-up lawyers, Barristers, QCs, who knows, and a High Court judge if we’re lucky or unlucky; I’m not sure which is better for us!”
“That’d be great. Thanks for the invitation.”
“I’m sorry I can’t invite Anna, Clive and Louisa, but we shouldn’t overload the contingent. I’d’ve liked to, but, well...”
“I shall be going to London tomorrow and Martin will accompany me”, Ivan tells the other three students in the quadrangle. “While we’re away, can you check out the numbers on images 12 and 14. Martin has got some data from Tom Hastings from before the Black-Out, and we need to check it out. He has found some surprises, and they need confirming. How far did you get with the images while you were away?”
“To the end of image 16, and I’ve checked out all the pictures up to image 20,” Clive says.
“Good. Carry on trying to understand any more of the pictures, and as much text as you can decipher — use any numbers you find as clues to what they may be about. And use your intuition too, it rarely goes amiss! Meanwhile I’ve got masses to do. You won’t go unrewarded for what you’re doing, I promise! Good luck, and wish Martin and me good luck too. By the way, if we can get a report published in a newspaper, is it OK to put your names to it?”
“Sure,” says Clive for all of them.
“OK, let’s do as he says,” Anna says when Ivan has dashed back to his office.
The post-grads go to the small conference room that they had used before, and after half-an-hour have sorted out all their bits of paper and updated their own computers from Bossington.
Louisa tells the others what she has found. “Ivan asked us to check some numbers on images 12 and 14.” She reports the same findings as Martin, the time intervals are the length of exactly one complete set of their data, and Tom’s almost certainly give a countdown to the Black-Out. Their own post-Black-Out figures are in the ten-thousand-year area. And the diagram on image 12 is repeated, indicating their intention of raiding the Sun’s energy again. “At least we’ll have some warning next time,” she adds.
“Provided we can trust them,” cautions Anna.
“Monty? Ivan Bassinger is going to the Press Association in the morning.”
“Right.”
“He’ll probably have Martin Smith, his leading student, with him.”
“OK. Any more?”
“No. Goodbye.”
It is quite early on Saturday morning. A small contingent of Barristers and Solicitors, led by a prominent QC, go into the Chambers of a High Court judge. Ten minutes later they emerge with a Defence Advisory Notice, an Injunction that prohibits the publication of any of the information obtained from the University of Exmoor regarding the recent Black-Out or the star known as 2009UMa7 in the constellation of Ursa Major. The DA-Notice applies to printed media, electronic media, including the internet, e-mails, and any other form of information transmission.
The Injunction is served to the Press Association by the lawyers to whom it was granted on behalf of the Government.
Information to this effect is immediately notified by Ewan O’Donnell to Dr Ivan Bassinger. “Thank you, Ewan. This was not entirely unexpected. I’ll be in contact with you. Can you notify the client?”
“Of course.”
From a public call box Ivan telephones the legal department of the newspaper, which has already read an early draft of the proposed article, and has just seen the Injunction. The head lawyer agrees to meet Ivan and a team from the University that afternoon, and says he’ll notify Ewan O’Donnell and the Press Association’s legal advisors “by the back door” as he puts it.
They all meet up at the PA’s offices in Victoria, Ivan having collected Martin from Paddington, and after discussing tactics, go for lunch in an expensive restaurant nearby. “Who’s paying for all this?” Martin quietly asks Ivan. “I hope we’re not expected to go Dutch!”
“The newspaper, I think... I hope!” Ivan answers a little uncertainly but correctly. Then they make for the Royal Courts of Justice in The Strand where a High Court judge has been alerted to be present.
“My God!” Ivan exclaims. “That’s Monty over there with that gaggle of lawyers! My suspicions were right! He’s not the dumbo he pretended to be.”
The party troops into the Judge’s Chambers. The newspaper’s QC explains what the previous Injunction was about, and then explains that the basis of the Injunction was false, as the article planned for publication makes it absolutely clear that there is no reason whatever for public panic. A draft of the revised article provided by Ivan, including a mock-up of the front page prepared by Assad is passed to the Judge, who says that he needs time to consider the matter and will reconvene the hearing in an hour. The article covers the whole of the front page of The Sunday Herald and Globe. Nothing else is on that page.
So far as the University’s representatives, the Press Association and the newspaper are concerned, many nails are bitten during that hour. The press and university group go to a nearby café to chat and try to forget the matter of the Injunction for a brief while. Nobody notices what happens to the government’s contingent.
Fifty-five minutes after the adjournment of the session, they all go back to the Judge’s Chambers to wait. It is another fifteen minutes before they are summoned into the room.
“I have read this proposed newspaper article,” the Judge states very formally, “and my considered opinion is that the Injunction to prevent its publication be rescinded and that the newspaper be permitted to publish the item, subject to there being no changes made to it which materially change its meaning and especially the emphasis on there being no need for any public alarm. Indeed, any alterations in that area should enhance the message to readers that there is no foreseeable danger that is not already in the article as it is currently presented.
“The Injunction is hereby rescinded.”
“My Lord,” the QC for the Government stands. “While we accept your Lordship’s decision, we would request leave to refer this matter to the Court of Appeal, as we consider this to be of the utmost concern to the general well-being of the public.”
“Thank you, Mr McGregor. In view of the public importance of this information, and, as I understand it, its urgency for international consideration and decision, your application to appeal against the rescinding of this Injunction is denied.”
“Thank you, My Lord.”
Martin grins to himself at this falsehood; these people are so polite to each other!
They all stand as the Judge leaves, and then go out into the street. There are smiles and cries of “we’ve won!” on one side, while the others form a small group to discuss if there is any further action that they can take.
Almost immediately the printing presses of the newspaper start rolling in earnest.
Take a look at the front page of The Sunday Herald and Globe, 12th December 2010 (PDF file)
“Well,” Ivan says to Martin, “no need for us to play cloak and dagger games any more.”
“No. They can listen to whatever they want in my office from now on. Mind you, if the listener at GCHQ is some poor old biddy, she’ll be mad at some of my blue language. I’ve got a good mind we should invite that Monty to come round with one of his techies and dismantle his bugs!”
Ivan laughs. “Good idea! But we’d better let Louisa, Anna and Clive have the good news, and to find out what they’ve been up to.” But, of course, it being Saturday, they aren’t at Uni, and neither of them has their mobile numbers.
For the following day, the publishers of The Sunday Herald and Globe print twice their normal number of copies, and then some more. The front cover bears the headline shown on the draft to the Judge, and, apart from a few editorial amendments, the material in the main articles is unchanged. The final words of Martin’s principal article are:
‘We are still working on interpreting the information received from the aliens. Watch this space...’
Take a look at the special supplement of The Sunday Herald and Globe, 12th December 2010 (PDF file)