Static
By Sam Gafford
Dr. Sybaris looked at his instruments and frowned. This was not the result he had expected at all. Quickly, he double-checked the apparatus and made sure that everything was attached the way it should be. The omni-scope had plenty of power but the screen was still dark. What’s more, the signal he was picking up was completely wrong. He should have been tuning into the afternoon broadcast from New York but this was something else.
An angry frown carved itself into Dr. Sybaris’ forehead. His dark curly hair covered his head like a confused beaver; going in all directions at once. His beard and moustache, normally well-trimmed to the point of obsession, were wild and uneven. Even his clothes were unkempt. His shirt was wrinkled and, though his collar was attached, it was not closed and he was not wearing a tie. The full height of his lean, six feet two inch frame was bent over and clenched. His very demeanor was a testament to the many days and hours he had spent working on his latest invention. Dr. Sybaris’ eyes burned angrily. He had never accepted failure before and wouldn’t begin now.
Out of the speakers came a weird, buzzing sound. It was almost like speech but not quite. Dr. Sybaris adjusted the receptors strength, trying to boost the signal. The frequency was higher than the standard atmospheric band so, technically, he should not have been receiving it at all.
The frustration was incredible. The experiment should have been a success. Everything was perfect theoretically and Dr. Sybaris had spent months on the calculations and construction of his device. He had even modified it to include Tesla’s newest designs of the electrical coil. It gave far more power than mere steam ever had but was also far more dangerous. Dr. Sybaris cursed at the fumbling of his fingers in the thick, insulated gloves. He needed more delicate, refined work but couldn’t risk using his bare hands. “Why isn’t it working?” he cursed.
He adjusted the omni-scope again. The screen should have been showing something. It was designed to convert radio waves to images but all it showed was lines of static. Perhaps it was the signal itself which was the problem. Dr. Sybaris moved to the instrument panel and glared at the settings. The dials reflected in his protective goggles. According to the oscilloscope, he was receiving several radio waves at one time. “It’s some sort of electronic interference,” he muttered. “Have to try and isolate the correct wavelength.” He moved dials and adjusted levels on the console. Slowly, the other waves dropped off the scope until only two remained. One was definitely stronger than the other and had to be the one he wanted but he couldn’t isolate it. Determined, Dr. Sybaris poured more power into the console. The connectors sizzled and crackled as the electricity leaped through the air. Quickly, the system was becoming overloaded and dangerously close to exploding. Dr. Sybaris was reaching for the emergency shut off when something started to come through the omni-scope.
It was blurry at first with no real definition. Straining, Dr. Sybaris was barely able to make out a vague shape but it didn’t look anything close to humanoid. The head looked all wrong and the hands! He could have sworn that they weren’t hands at all but some sort of claws. Suddenly, the speakers roared into life: “ . . . go out among men and find the ways thereof, that He in the Gulf may know. To Nyarlathotep, Mighty Messenger, must all things be told. And He shall put on the semblance of men, the waxen mask and the robe that hides, and come down from the world of Seven Suns to mock. . . .”
Then the power grid exploded.
***
Several days later, Dr. Sybaris discussed the incident with his good friend and colleague, Morgan Rice. They were enjoying drinks at the Autonomic Explorers Club on High Street after a particularly heated lecture called “Artificial Intelligence and Morality” given by Cormac 217. Years ago, the mere appearance of Cormac, a free-floating brain encased in a robotic body, would have inspired fear or at least intrigued interest. But, after the Biogenic Revolution of 1901, such sights were becoming more commonplace. It had become the standard method of prolonging life after the human body failed. But, of course, only for the wealthy. The poor still died as humans.
“That’s extraordinarily interesting,” Morgan Rice remarked as he brushed the ash from his cigar off his waistcoat. Although they had been friends for many years, Rice and Dr. Sybaris were polar opposites. Rice was plump where Dr. Sybaris was lean. Rice was slow moving and calm where Dr. Sybaris was manic and animated. Rice was grounded and content with the world where Dr. Sybaris was a malcontent and gadfly. Despite their differences, Rice had always had a fond spot for his often overly animated friend and sometimes could not resist the urge to tease him even if just a little bit. “Do you mean to say that you picked up something beyond the standard radio waves?”
“Completely.” Dr. Sybaris responded. “Analyzing my data after the explosion, I found that the corresponding wavelength has similarities to that of radio waves but has altogether different qualities.”
Morgan rubbed his walrus whiskers thoughtfully. “Are you sure you didn’t simply latch on to some new video transmission? I’ve heard recently that Gatworth is experimenting on giving video three dimension depth. I believe he’s calling it ‘holography’ or some such thing.”
Dr. Sybaris was insulted. “Do you believe I can be fooled with something so simple? Really, Morgan, you insult me!”
Morgan laughed. “Oh, Anton, do be calm! I was simply pulling your leg! Stop taking yourself so seriously!”
“This is serious! My experiment creates video from a purely audio source. Think of it! Sound creating images! The implications are phenomenal; everything from a new art form to new methods of teaching or even military applications. But none of it will matter if I can’t get it to work properly!”
Dr. Sybaris fumed as he finished his drink. “Look here,” Morgan said, “let us assume then that this is some new sort of wavelength. Perhaps it’s something that’s never been used before? Or, just possibly, something we’ve never known was there before? What about that message you said you intercepted?”
“Yes,” Dr. Sybaris agreed, “that does concern me. It simply doesn’t make any sense. It’s not logical. It was almost like some sort of religious mass. The voice wasn’t right either. The way it buzzed. It was almost as if it were mechanical. It’s just not right. It’s out of place… as if it didn’t belong… just like everything else.”
Morgan’s eyes rolled. He had no wish to be subjected yet again to Dr. Sybaris’ pet theory that something was fundamentally wrong with their world, out of place. Morgan was about to try to divert the conversation off this well-beaten track when the telescreen behind the bar flashed a news bulletin. A calm, decidedly British announcer was seated behind a desk, his rigidly starched collars seeming out of place with the mechanical eye and microphone mounted on the side of his head. “Attention, attention! This is a bulletin from the Ministry of Air Defense. We have just received video of today’s attack by the Royal Airships on the vastly inferior German fleet at Rheinsbach.”
The screen changed to show a division of British Airships steaming through the sky as they opened fire on a formation of German Airships which were still standing on the ground outside their hangers. The guns of the massive zeppelins fired mercilessly on ship and German soldier alike. “Our forces, led by General Kitchener, conducted the early morning raid. The German airfleet suffered significant losses from which they are not expected to recover.”
At the sight of the bombing, loud cheers rang through the barroom as the British victory was celebrated. “God Save the Queen!” was chanted loudly to everyone’s satisfaction except Dr. Sybaris who merely glared at the screen. He knew, unlike most of the men there, that Queen Victoria had died several decades ago and that what passed for the Queen today was nothing more than an intricately designed robot with fake skin. He knew because he had designed the robot’s power system but he could never speak about it…not if he wished to stay alive.
“I need some air,” Dr. Sybaris growled as he pushed through the cheering crowd followed
by Morgan. Outside, the air was hardly better. The choking fog of the various steam powered cars hung in the air. The steam horsed carriages chugged down the street while, above, the richer denizens of London rode their electric bicycles through the air. “No matter what,” Dr. Sybaris grumbled, “status prevails.”
Morgan looked at his friend. It was a song he had heard many times before. “This is 1902 England, Anton. Would you prefer Germany?”
“What I would prefer,” Dr. Sybaris retorted, “is to be able to breathe without coughing.”
Pained, he looked at his friend and patted him on the shoulder. “My apologies, old fellow, I am assailed by a foul mood today. Pay me no mind. Better we speak later, hmm?”
Without waiting for an answer, Dr. Sybaris turned and walked down the street, leaving Morgan to stare after him. “It’s wrong,” Dr. Sybaris muttered, “everything’s all wrong.”
***
For the next week, Morgan’s attention was consumed with the war against Germany. The attack by the British Air Fleet had essentially decimated the German Fleet but the Kaiser was not one to sit idly and allow his Empire to fall. Quickly, he had ordered his force of automatons to march into Poland in a lightning strike that threatened the whole of Europe. The combination of mechanical soldiers (half man, half robot) with the electric cannons and shock tanks had virtually leveled the city of Warsaw and the Kaiser, many felt, would win the war on land if not in the air. The Queen had sent diplomatic communiqués to the American president, Thomas Edison, via his new electric video-phone and, although Edison had pledged to send food and supplies, refused to commit any troops or airships. Although Morgan had heard rumors that Einstein’s electronic brain was hard at work developing a new kind of weapon that would render all others useless. Debate raged over not only if the rumor were true but also what it could mean and what would the country that wielded it do?
So when Morgan entered the Dog and Duck on Tottenham Lane, he was not thinking about Dr. Sybaris. But once he saw his old friend slumped against the bar, he remembered everything. And yet, Dr. Sybaris had never looked worse.
His eyes were sunken and his skin had a hollow, yellow hue. Even across the room, Morgan could see that Dr. Sybaris’ hands were trembling. He had developed the appearance of a man about to shake himself apart.
Most of the people were congregated near the telescreen which was reporting the latest war news. Dr. Sybaris sat at the end of the bar, drinking alone.
“Anton!” Morgan yelled as he playfully slapped his friend on his shoulder. “What are you doing here?”
Dr. Sybaris nearly jumped over the bar in shock. Morgan quickly grabbed his friend and gently placed him back on his stool. “My God, Anton! What’s the matter? Are you all right?”
Now that he had gotten closer, Morgan could see that his friend was in worse shape than he thought. The man’s eyes were glazed and bloodshot with the air of a crazed madman. If Morgan hadn’t known better, he’d swear that the man before him had escaped from Bedlam Asylum.
“Morgan!” Dr. Sybaris sobbed. “Is it really you? Or are you a phantom? Come here, let me test you.” He started grabbing and pulling at Morgan, checking his substance.
“Anton, of course it’s me. What on earth has happened to you?”
Dr. Sybaris looked around them. “Not here. Over in one of the booths. Grab the bottle.”
Morgan followed his friend over to the darkened corner booth and placed the bottle of whiskey between them with two glasses. As he filled them, Dr. Sybaris placed a metallic cylinder on the table and pressed the button. It emitted a low-level hum that varied in pitch and intensity. Morgan stared at the cylinder.
“It blocks the signal but it only works for a little while so we’ll have to speak quickly.”
Dr. Sybaris took a hard, long swig of the whiskey and coughed. His eyes glazed over until Morgan gently nudged his hand.
“Anton, talk to me. What’s happened to you?”
“It’s the signal,” Dr. Sybaris muttered, “the signal. You remember, don’t you, Morgan? How my Visualizer latched onto that signal I couldn’t explain. Remember?”
Morgan nodded his head sympathetically.
“Well, I kept working on it until I discovered what was wrong. It wasn’t an audio signal at all, Morgan, it was something more!”
Dr. Sybaris leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially.
“It was something’s thoughts!”
Morgan sat stunned. His friend had obviously lost his mind. “Overworked, poor chap!” he thought.
“Don’t look at me like that, Morgan. I know it sounds mad but it’s true. That’s why I couldn’t convert it to a video or picture; it wasn’t an audio signal at all. I had managed to find the frequency of thought and there’s more…it was the thoughts of something that wasn’t human!”
Glancing about the room, Morgan could see that no one was paying any attention to them nor were there any policemen in the room. For the first time, Morgan was afraid for and of his friend.
“I couldn’t tell where the signal was coming from but it was somewhere in England. Most of the time, the thoughts weren’t even words. They were buzzes and noises but of different tones and pitches. That was how they communicated between themselves. They only thought in English when they were speaking with a human.”
“Wait,” Morgan said, “you’re saying that you’ve tapped into the thoughts of aliens who are speaking to humans?”
“Not so much speaking as giving them orders. I’ve been listening to them all week, Morgan, and I don’t think I’ve slept at all in five days. They’re here, Morgan, they’re everywhere! They’re on every continent, in every nation. They’ve been here for millennia; watching, plotting, planning, manipulating.”
“Are they here now?”
Dr. Sybaris grimaced and took another gulp of whiskey. “Them . . . and their cults."
“What do you mean?”
Dr. Sybaris looked around the room. “There are those who service them; their acolytes. They work for them and keep them safe and protected. These humans,” he said with a sneer, “have pledged their lives to the cause of these creatures and made their alien goals their own.”
“And where are these aliens from?”
“I know you’re humoring me, Morgan. I know that tone. But it’s true!”
Dr. Sybaris slammed his fist on the table, causing others to look in their direction.
“They came here from beyond space, following the trail of the Old Ones. It’s them that they serve and all their minds are pledged towards that goal. They shall be free again and the earth shall be wiped clean and remade in their image! Ia! Shub-Niggurath!”
Morgan slapped his friend across his face and the light of reason slowly returned to his eyes.
“I’m sorry, Morgan, I’m raving. I’ve already said too much. Their slaves are everywhere. I have to be careful. I think they’re onto me. I don’t know how but I think that they detected my Visualizer and tracked it back to me. That was probably why I was finally able to get a clear picture of them. Oh, God, Morgan! They’re horrible! I can’t even describe them. They look like brains with tentacles stuck on the bodies of huge, misshaped wasps! Their wings allow them to fly through space but they look like nothing on this planet. Myths have known them in the past and called them demons. Beezelbub, Ashtoreth, Belial. The human mind can only comprehend part of them because they are so full of the outside.
“And that’s not the worst. I’ve listened to their thoughts and commands. I know what they’ve done and what they’re going to do. I know why everything is so wrong. Here. Take this.”
Dr. Sybaris pressed a recording disc into Morgan’s hand.
“I recorded what I could. Listen to it and then tell me that I’m insane. I’ve tried to send copies to others but I know my mail is intercepted. They’re trying to isolate me. It won’t be long now. Watch yourself. Trust no one . . . “ Dr. Sybaris got up to leave and pocketed the metal cylinder from the table, “ . . . not ev
en me.”
Faster than Morgan had ever seen Dr. Sybaris move, he was out of the pub and into the street, nearly knocking down several people on the sidewalk. Then he was gone and Morgan was left sitting alone with an empty bottle of whiskey in front of him.
***
Although shaken by the encounter, Morgan tried to dismiss it as stress from overwork. Dr. Sybaris always had a tendency to take his emotions and theories to the extreme so perhaps this was just another incident. Still, his eyes showed that he believed what he said, no matter how insane. The story was nonsense, of course, but Morgan worried that his friend had lost his mind. He put the disc in his pocket just as the crowd began to cheer and shout.
The telescreen showed the British line of cyborgs pushing the Germans back over the Polish border. In their hands were weapons that emitted sonic bursts that blew apart the German troops. The flesh melted off while their metal parts sparked and exploded. It was a complete rout and the Germans had no defense.
As everyone cheered, the announcer went on to exclaim that the victory was due to the American secretly sending over the Tesla Sonic-Disrupter. Hidden among the shipments of food and medical supplies, the Americans had smuggled in the latest weapon designed by Nikola Tesla. Using low-frequency sound, the Disrupter did exactly that: Disrupted machines and flesh. British Forces, the announcer went on to proclaim, were determined to push the Germans back to Berlin and destroy the German Empire once and for all.
The pub exploded with cheers and yells as everyone celebrated. The war would be over within a matter of weeks! The beer and drinks flowed freely and men slapped each other on the back and boldly kissed the women. Celebrations continued into the night and for days after.
Morgan quickly forgot about his friend’s wild tale as he drowned himself in beer, wine and women for the next week. The disc sat forgotten in his coat pocket.
Machina Mortis: Steampunk'd Tales of Terror Page 11
