by ML Banner
“Nuts,” he said disappointed. It was a picture of a duck with the following text:
Whoops.
Just a decoy this way. Looks like you can’t guess how to get the message out.”
“Okay, you don’t fool me that easily. I’m guessing your duck message is a literal clue,” continuing his conversation with the screen’s author.
He opened his trusted OutGuess program, which helped him in cracking many similar encryption codes. With this, he found another hidden message, which linked him to a message board on Reddit:
-----BEGIN PGP SIGNED MESSAGE-----
Hash: SHA1
Welcome again.
Here is a book code. To find the book, break this riddle:
A book whose study is forbidden
Once dictated to a beast;
To be read once and then destroyed
Or you shall have no peace.
I:1:6; I:2:15; I:3:26; I:5:4; I:6:15; I:10:26:; I:14:136; I:15:68; I:16:42; I:18:17; I:19:14; I:20:58; I:21:10; I:22:8; I:23:6; I:25:17; I:26:33; I:27:30; I:46:32; I:47:53; I:49:209; I:50:10; I:51:115; I:52:39; I:53:4; I:62:43; I:63:8; III:19:84; III:20:10; III:21:11; ; III:22:3; III:23:58; 5; I:1:3; I:2:15; I:3:6; I:14:17; I:30:68; I:60:11; II:49:84; II:50:50; II:64:104; II:76:3; II:76:3; 0; I:60:11
Good luck.
3301
Steve remembered hearing this poem once. He searched for a few minutes, using various parts of the poem. By accident, he ran across a similar poem, which pointed to the book, Liber AL vel Legis by Alester Crowley, also known as The Book of Law.
Deducing that the rest of the message pointed to different lines in each chapter of the book, he found a web address for a Dropbox. He entered this and downloaded the 130MB file, some sort of .iso image.
“This is getting interesting,” again, speaking out loud to no one but himself.
When booting from the image, a series of numbers started to appear, one after another on his screen.
2 3 5 7 11 13 17 19…
“Ahhhh. Prime numbers,” he said while watching his screen.
The prime numbers continued to appear in succession on his screen until they ended in “3301.” Then the screen went blank for a moment and flashed, “The key is all around you.” Then the image of the Cicada appeared again.
“What’s with the damned cicada?” He wondered out loud and pondered this next clue. He remembered cicadas from his childhood in Chicago, or what they all called a “17 year locust,” since they appeared every 17 years. He giggled at a long forgotten memory of being outside in his elementary school playground, when the girls would scream at the site of cicadas flying and covering nearly every inch of the ground. So, ubiquitous were these bugs that upon walking home that day, he remembered every step was announced with a crunch, as his sneakers would end the lives of a half dozen or so of those things.
“Steve?” His mother’s voice from down the hall broke his thinking.
He looked up from the screen, and yelled out, “I’m here in Dad’s office.”
A couple of seconds later, his mother’s voice said a little louder, “When you get a chance, could you make a trip to the station and top off the boat? I want to make sure we have enough before they run out during the holiday.”
“Sure, Mom, I need to take a break anyway.”
He snapped a picture of the image on his computer with his iPhone and emailed himself the data he collected. Then he stood up from the plush leather chair, leaving the computer and all five screens on. He loved using his dad’s office since he always had the fastest and most top-of-the-line computer. He also had an X-Box, another shared passion of theirs. He could have used his own laptop, but he was accustomed to using multiple screens, and Dad let him keep many of his programs on this computer for those times when he visited. Mmm, obviously there was method to his madness.
This visit, he would enjoy a whole week of friends, family and events at Clear Lake. It was a great break from his company. Mostly, he was hoping to connect with Darla King, who he heard from Darla’s grandpa, might be visiting. It would be a nice diversion, and who knows, maybe the sparks would fly again.
He closed his dad’s office door and headed to the kitchen for the boat keys to complete his one task of gassing up the boat at the pumps across the lake. His mind wandered to images of a girl he always loved, and of the cicada.
3.
International Space Station
17:30 E.S.T.
Lt. Coronal Randal Thomas Cunningham examined for the third time tonight the Automatic Telemetry and Guidance System or ATAGS on the International Space Station’s USOS or US Orbital Segment. He had been in space six times on the Space Shuttle, before the sequestered budget cuts scuttled that program. So, when the International Space Agency chose him over so many other fine astronauts from NASA, he was really excited. Other than simulations, and the occasional practice in a jet trainer to keep some of their flight skills on edge, there was very little space travel to do as a NASA astronaut. The only opportunity for space flight was the ISS, if you were chosen, or with the Russians, who were not looking for skills as much as large cash payments for the use of their Soyuz-era rockets.
The telemetry was wrong again, but it didn’t make sense. When his computers compared their data to the data from Marshall Space Flight Operating Center in Huntsville, the readings were different. There had to be something wrong with his computers or the orbiting satellites. He would have to reset ISS’s computers, essentially a re-boot.
“Damn,” he exclaimed under his breath, realizing he was going to spend more hours than he wanted, coordinating with Mission Control Center in Houston to reestablish a baseline. This work was the kind that R.T. found tedious, even if it was necessary. Still, it was better than being on Earth.
He looked at his mission clock, amazed at how quickly the time on this mission flew. It was his tenth “evening” in space. He just wished this mission didn’t have all of these insipid technical problems, especially the last couple days. He was going to head home in less than five Earth days, and then, who knew when he would get another opportunity to go into space, maybe never.
He wanted to take in every moment of his normal work, and not deal with computers. He didn’t like dealing with his computer at home, and he certainly didn’t want to mess with one in space. Naturally, this was the one big drawback of the ISS. Each of them did multiple jobs. With NASA, everything was about backup and backing up the backup. At any moment, there were fifteen ground-based technicians tasked with dealing with the shuttle’s computers. Instead, he, a commander of three shuttle missions and this mission as Mission Commander, was doing menial computer testing.
Hearing a soft exhale of frustration, he looked to the left through to the next pod and saw Melanie, deep in her work. His whole demeanor changed.
Dr. Melanie Sinclaire was an astro-microbiologist with PhD’s in astrophysics and microbiology. She was onboard to study the effects of solar radiation on human tissue. She too was chosen over many potential scientific studies submitted to the International Space Agency. Besides being a knock out, she made her field of study interesting. Plus, she also liked working late nights, analyzing her data and setting up the next group of experiments before they were to experience the sixth sunrise of the day. When in orbit, they averaged one every hour and a half. Mostly, he enjoyed working with Dr. Sinclaire.
“Evening R.T.,” Melanie called out down the corridor between her pod and the main pod of the space station.
“Evening, Doc. How bad was the sunburn on Romeo & Juliet?” She named her rat pairs after famous couples, although he couldn’t remember if the two she was looking at were Bogie and Bacall.
“Ha. That’s good. I’m actually not as concerned about Samson & Delilah as I am about the radiation readings.” Melanie rotated 180 degrees in her swivel chair attached to the side of the laboratory module so that she was staring at her computer screen. “Have you seen any of the recent radiation readings?”
“Hang on, all
my computers are being reset, so I’ll come to you,” R.T. said. He pulled himself up and over, sending his fit 185-pound gravity-free frame towards the port exit of the USOS, connecting to Melanie’s laboratory pod. He then pulled himself to the entrance, poking his head through.
“Permission to come aboard?” said R.T., playfully chiding the formality of several of his fellow astronauts, who seriously asked this question each time before entering another’s module.
“Here, look,” she said, pointing to her computer screen, ignoring the levity of his comment.
He pulled himself beside her, enjoying their closeness. He only wished he could take in her fragrance too. The physics of space voided that sense and therefore that possibility.
“See? The readings are way out of the norms. You’d have to be three times as close to the sun to get these kinds of readings. I’m actually a little concerned about us. Have your computers given us any radiation warnings at all?” She asked, looking up at him.
“No. In fact, I’m having problems with my computers. I doubt this is a coincidence. I guess it’s time to wake up MCC. You mind lending a hand?”
“No problem. Always happy to help my Commander,” adding her own playfulness to cut through their pending computer tedium. “Besides, I want to get to the bottom-”
“Whoa, look at that!” He cut her off.
Melanie looked up and saw that he was pointing to her left out the aft porthole window. She turned and they were both witnessing the most beautiful multi-colored aurora either of them had ever seen.
A sinewy river of green, red, & blue undulated and danced on top the Earth’s atmosphere below them. The green part of the river expanded and grew past its invisible banks, like a time-lapse video of a flood, appearing to wash over the whole atmosphere. Most of it appeared over China.
“Wait, that’s not the Aurora Australis, is it? Hold on. What are we looking at? Isn’t that China? How is this possible?” Melanie asked. Her face was contorted in an exaggerated expression of both awe and concern. “That’s nowhere near the poles.”
“I believe we have a bigger problem than you thought.” R.T. expressed what was on both of their minds.
4.
Dr. Carrington Reid
10:00 P.M.
Salt Lake City, Utah
Dr. Carrington Reid was predestined for this work, or at least it seemed this way. Like him, both his father and grandfather were solar astrophysicists, and were fans of Dr. Richard Carrington, an amateur astronomer who recorded the flare event on September 2nd 1859 that bore his name. He was such a devotee that his father even named him Carrington. His father would take him all over the world to exotic locations and observatories to study solar flares, pulses, and coronal mass ejections or CME’s. Carr, as his father often called him, loved the excitement of the travel, but most of all, he loved the science. Exploring science today was as the New World was to explorers Perry and Livingston; full of all the thrill and adventure of making new discoveries.
His interest in the science and the thrill of new discoveries was indeed part of his genetic makeup, but his passion and drive were born from a desire to prepare humanity for a much anticipated cataclysmic event. Reluctantly, he was the biggest cheerleader and promoter of his own discoveries and theories, many of which were not shared by his peers, due to their eschatological bent. His actions earned him a bit of a reputation, most of which was not good. He didn’t care, as long as he achieved his goals of preparing the world and providing ample warning of the next Carrington-sized CME. This was why he had formed the CME Research Institute.
His thinking was that, if he brought in other scientists and students, who shared a common focus of study, coronal mass ejections and solar flares and their deleterious effect on Earth’s inhabitants, they would be able to learn more about the science and continually warn the world so it could prepare for the inevitable. Science was the necessary part of CMERI’s mission, and it included creating new advances in notifications when new solar flare or CME events occurred, as well as simply making new discoveries.
Dr. Reid’s first notable discovery was on April 9, 2008, when he recorded an amazing cartwheel CME. He remembered it as if it was yesterday. A billion-ton cloud of gas launched itself off the surface of the sun and then did a cartwheel. It pirouetted out of the sun’s limb in full view of the Kit Peak National Observatory in Arizona, first doing a cartwheel and then a backflip; a gymnastic routine, which had never been witnessed before in recorded history.
He was the first scientist to show that the magnetic flux tube expelled from the sun began to heal itself, a magnetic reconnection also a new first in recorded science. The data recorded from their Solar Dynamics Observatory or SDO, and from several satellites, along with their twelve scientists and students from the local university formed the basis for his Institute in Salt Lake City, and the many discoveries he had made since.
Each event or discovery created an opportunity to share publicly, with warnings attached through his website, social media, and press relations. The press loved him because of his apocalyptic predictions and his “out there” theories.
Dr. Reid was also the first scientist to hypothesize that the Earth would experience a Carrington sized CME within the next ten years. Many of his peers pilloried his theories and attempted to ruin his reputation, calling him a crackpot and fear monger. Although most had been silenced over the past couple of years, as many of his theories proved correct, few had embraced his dire prognostications.
Then in 2012, it happened. A solar flare was released from the sun which was bigger than the Carrington Flare was, by almost 50%. It was just dumb luck that the enormous CME emitted subsequently missed the Earth entirely. Had it been discharged a couple days sooner or later, the Earth would have been brought back to a new Stone Age. We were lucky then, but it looks like our luck may have run out, he lamented.
He looked at the data from multitudes of sources, and the analysis from his scientists, again and again, but the result was always the same. This time was one that he wished science supported one of his doubting peers and could prove him wrong. The current solar activity appeared to be far more excessive than had been estimated in this expiring solar cycle. He was frankly more than a little worried about the potential CMEs that were going to be launched. They might be even worse than the Carrington Flare which would be devastating to his generation’s world.
5.
Miguel
6:00 P.M.
Rocky Point, Mexico
I make mucho people angry at me, Miguel Fernandez thought to himself, feeling a growing nervousness about being late. This was the second time in a month he caused his band to be tardy for a gig. Miguel was pretty sure Lupita would yell and dock his band’s pay for it. His wife Maria would be disappointed if this happened and so would his band. Worse of all, Señor Max would be disappointed.
Miguel knew he was pushing it by spending that extra time with Maria and their unborn baby, Anna, who would enter this world in the next two weeks. He just couldn’t interrupt his solo. It was his special engagement, at a far more important venue than any his band played, certainly more than Lupita’s bar/restaurant. He was playing “La Consecuencia” to his daughter, whose applause was her happily kicking in Maria’s abdomen and his wife’s tender kisses of appreciation. There could be no better payment for his music.
Then, mindlessly, Miguel left his guitar by Maria’s bedside and was a mile away before realizing it, causing Pedro to turn the car around to retrieve it. Pedro and Juan, his older brothers and part of Los Hermanos Mariachi, picked him up every night for work.
“Lupita is going to kill us for being late,” Juan said, as Miguel got back into the car, this time with his well-worn guitar.
“Com permiso?” Miguel asked plaintively to his brothers.
Although Miguel was related to Lupita, when it came to the business of her restaurant, it meant nothing. Lupita’s closeness to Señor Max was the difference of his losing some pay versus be
ing fired. Miguel could not shoulder the loss of this job. With Maria not working recently because of the pregnancy, they were saving every peso they could get their hands on.
Praise Jesus for Señor Max. He had always taken care of him and Maria, starting with that first day they met many years ago, when he was barely 20, without a job, before Maria.
There had been a gang of cholos from the local cartel. For no reason, other than his being at the wrong place at the wrong time, they started picking on him. Miguel had never run away from a fight, but this was four to one, and they had knives. He instantly grasped the trouble he was in and desperately looked for a way out, but there was none. The rest happened so quickly, it was mostly a blur. He remembered seeing one of the gang advancing on him with what looked like a machete. Then, this stranger, he later learned was Max, came out of nowhere. In less time than it took to recognize what happened, Max removed their knives and reduced these “bad asses,” as Max referred to them, to whimpering children who ran away in fear for their lives.
He later heard a story that Max had made a personal visit to the cartel leader, returning the knives and making a payment of restitution. The cartel leader was so impressed by Max’s cojones that he let him live, even though Max had embarrassed his people, one of whom was the cartel leader’s son.
After this, Max found Miguel and his brothers this gig at Lupita’s restaurant, along with many odd jobs over the last few years. Recently, he and Max had taken trips to Max’s ranch in Chihuahua or worked on his house at Dorado Beach. He never asked any questions, sure that Max was involved in something not quite agreeable with Mexican law, but otherwise, he knew Max was a good man.
Maria was another direct benefactor of Max’s unending kindness by helping her to launch her cleaning business, before they were even married. Max provided the materials to help him remodel their house, even helping him build what he called a “special room,” that they still did not understand. No matter, they were truly blessed to have Señor Max looking out for them.
