In An Endless Sea

Participants:

conroy_icon.gif gatter_icon.gif julie_icon.gif sera_icon.gif

Scene Title In An Endless Sea
Synopsis Doctor Gatter receives a Post-It note.
Date July 7, 2021

Summer sun hangs lot and fiery across western Kansas, spilling burning orange and deep blues and blacks over gentle rolling hills and hazy, humid air. Fireflies glint and glitter in the tall grass around the dirt parking lot of the of a squat, concrete-block structure with an array of radio antennas extending from its flat single-story roof.

The dirt parking lot is empty, no one has needed to come out to this old building in years aside from annual maintenance. Old cigarette butts are pressed into the dirt, memories of a time since past when security guards kept a close watch on the building.

Everything is green out here, where it isn’t bathed in shades of gold. The western hills are steep and grassy, the small scrub trees that grow up along the hillside don’t block the picturesque sunset or the golden hour of day. It is quiet, save for birdsong, the sound of wind, and the droning buzz of a broadcast antenna.

A brief flight of starlings burst from the nearby trees, moving in an amoeba-like formation through the air, winding around one of the antenna on the roof. They settle, briefly, on the solar panels. The sky is nearly cloudless, save for a whorl of purple and blue near the sun, where wispy cirrus threatens cloudy days ahead.

One week ago it was the first day of summer, and while tonight won’t be the longest night of the year by any measure of time…

…it will be a long night, regardless.


WRAY Broadcasting
3501 N Seth Child Road
Manhattan, Kansas

June 28

6:12 pm Local Time


The ground floor of the WRAY building is a single concrete-block walled room. Old radio equipment from the 1980s and a few components from the 1990s spill over the wall opposite the door, with a long table lined with dials and sound mixing equipment. A single microphone sits in front of an old, duct-tape patched chair that saw much use during the Civil War, when Raquelle Cambria broadcast messages of hope and inspiration from this very building. The hatch down to the bunker isn’t open right now, there’s no need to revisit that bolt-hole left by Edward Ray for his estranged, adopted son.

There haven’t been active signals to monitor at WRAY in three years. The radio station now sits as a Raytech pet project, playing a mix of Richard personal favorite tracks on a broadcast band available only to the local township. Typically the station is run automatically, and the only time anyone visits the structure is when the magnetometer on the roof detects a spike of electromagnetic interference.

A little red light flashes on the broadcast console.

Magnetometer Alert.

Magnetometer Alert.

Magnetometer Alert.


Nine Days Later

Raytech Industries NYCSZ Office
Jackson Heights

July 7th

8:19 pm


Gatter’s office was about as far as it could get from the warehouse that was destroyed, but the after-effects of the fire and the invasion by anti-expressive insurgents are still being felt.
Security is tight at Raytech, has been since the attack. It takes fifteen minutes for Gatter to get through security after returning from his meeting with Yamagato Industries, only to find the door to his office is slightly ajar.

Inside, he sees someone waiting for him. A Raytech employee, but not one he’s met more so than passed in the halls. She might be new. The young blonde woman turns from leaving a Post-It note on Gatter’s monitor that reads INCOMING SIGNAL! :O only to find the man she’d expected to not be back today standing behind her.

“Doctor Gatter.” She says with a sheepish smile, offering out a hand. “Juliette Fournier-Raith.” Her lapel nametag says as much, along with MEDICAL and a caduceus symbol next to her name.

Gatter pauses at finding someone unexpected in his office, but her smile sees him muster one in turn; for all that the bags under his eyes show how tired he is, his gaze is sharp and clear. "Pleased," Gatter says, taking the offered hand and giving it a firm shake. His gaze flickers to the Post-It, and a flicker of genuine mirth adds itself to his smile; something about the :O is charming.

"Albert Gatter," he says — she knows that, of course, but quid pro quo is quid pro quo. "What can I do for you, Ms. Fournier-Raith?"

Julie turns and plucks the Post-It note off of one of Gatter’s monitors and holds it out on the end of a finger. “I was forwarded a message for you from an intern at our… Manhattan, Kansas office?” She seems surprised it exists. “He says that there was—is—an ongoing broadcast reception at some sort of listening station Raytech has there.”

Julie waggles the Post-It note on the end of her finger. “I… didn’t know we had one of those, and nobody here seems to be able to tell me anything about it.”

Gatter blinks; after a moment, he reaches out to take the Post-It note, scrutinizing it for any further clues. Unsurprisingly, none present themselves. He looks back to Julie. "Manhattan… Kansas?"

He frowns, eyes narrowing. "Raytech office in Kansas… hm," he murmurs, his eyes slipping off into the distance for a moment longer as he thinks. He looks back to Julie after a moment, his frown remaining. "Do you have any further details?"

“Not much more than that,” Julie admits, focused on the bright Post-It note. “The intern said that the receiver at the Kansas facility picked up an ongoing broadcast that’s still playing, and even he didn’t seem to understand what that means. He left a phone number with Sera, but I’m not sure how much more help he’ll be.”

Julia crosses her arms, shifting her weight to one foot. “Oh the—reason we routed this to you. It was supposed to go to a Dana Carrington, but I couldn’t find her in the employee registry and Sera said to forward all of Dana’s stuff to you?” Her brows rise, wondering if this is just another Sera thing. She is beginning to learn Sera Things are their own strange ecosystem of weird.

"Ah," Gatter says after a moment of silence. "Yes. Of course." The emote on the Post-It makes sense now — Gatter's impression of Sera is that she can be quite enthusiastic. An admirable trait, to be certain, especially in trying times like these.

"Agent Carrington is our SESA liaison; she was… incapacitated when the ferry to Fort Jay sank." Gatter looks downward for a moment as he speaks; while technically accurate, the words seem a dry and bloodless description for that horrible nightmare… which is for the best, honestly.

Gatter looks up, nodding and mustering an attempt at a smile that probably looks as forced as it feels. "I'll call Sera and get in touch with the Kansas office post-haste, see if I can figure out what to do with this. Thank you for bringing the message; I appreciate it," he says, his smile becoming a bit more genuine.

“No problem, Doctor Gatter,” Julie says with a fond smile. “It was nice to actually meet you, too.”


A Short Time Later


“…so they were all just laying there on the floor. I figured they were dead, so I did what anybody would do, I got a can of gasoline and was gonna torch the place, but then they—you know they woke up.”

Sera Lang has held Doctor Gatter prisoner in his own mind for the better part of twenty minutes, explaining a story about the time she nearly burned Richard, Kaylee, and Odessa alive in the conference room they’re now sitting in.

“Way I see it, get out when the getting is good when bodies are involved.” Sera says, lifting a mocha frappuccino up to her lips. “So anyway that’s the story, thanks for coming, meeting adjourned!”

Gatter stares into space, eyes slightly glassy; the expression on his face is one of a man uncertain as to what, exactly, has happened to his life. "That. That… makes… sense…" he is forced to concede, nodding jerkily, as though the movement pains him.

"I… guess it's a good thing they woke up when they did? Otherwise I'd still be working in Prague; it's Richard who hired me." He shakes his head. "Czech is a tough language…"

Then he shakes his head. As much as this entire discussion has had qualities Gatter usually only associates with some very interesting psychotropic compounds, he's here for a reason. "Oh, uh. Point of order, actually — still business on the table. I was looking for you for a reason. I was told you had the number for the Kansas office; I need to get in touch with them about a transmission, apparently — something for Agent Carrington. Could I ask you to get me their number?"

“Oh yeah, yeah,” Sera says, “it’s four.”

Gatter is silent for a moment. "Four," he repeats. "Just… dialing four will get me in touch with them?"

“Oh phone number,” Sera says with a lopsided smile. “Why didn’t you say so?” She asks, pushing up out of her chair and beckoning Gatter to follow. “I got it at the front desk,” she says, leading a heel-clicking path out of the ground-floor conference room and down the hall to the lobby.

At her desk, Sera throws away her empty cappuccino and grabs a note from beside her phone which is ringing and she is ignoring. “Here y’go.” She says with a chipper smile, holding out the note to Gatter that has a phone number and address for WRAY Kansas written on it. Below that it says Let Michelle Know! Don’t forget, Sera!!

Gatter nods, taking the note, and musters a smile in turn. "Thank you, Sera," he says. "Your help is appreciated." He hesitates for a moment, then decides to get out while the getting's good, retreating back towards the safety of his office.

As Gatter heads back to his office, note in hand, he passes by a group of construction workers installing a secondary layer of ballistic glass on the ground floor windows. It’s not a pretty retrofit, they’re drilling right into the frame and installing three-inch thick plates with bracket mounts. There’s construction noise all over the building. The attack at the end of last month showed how vulnerable Raytech still was. How much of a target it had become.

Sliding into his office, Gatter finds himself alone. No biotech employees giving him strange Post-It notes, no unknowable receptionists giving him p̵͎̏o̵̼͘s̶̟͂ť̷̯-̸̼̂i̶͍͒t̵̜̂ ̵̯̏n̵͓͊o̶͇̽t̴̟̚e̴̾͜ș̵̚, just the peace and serenity of his own, private space. That, and the lingering heft of a tiny, colorful square of paper that feels so much heavier than it should, with the weight of possibility.

Gatter shuts the door behind him and crosses the distance between himself and his office chair, flopping bonelessly back into it. He sighs, one hand coming up to the bridge of his nose, and he allows himself a moment of stillness.

But only one.

Else one will lead to another, which will lead to two, three, five, eight, thirteen, twenty one, and time is a thing no one's making any more of these days. So he straightens, brushes the Post-It note off onto the frame of his monitor (right below the other one), and reaches for his phone.

There is yet work to do.


Meanwhile

WRAY Broadcasting
3501 N Seth Child Road
Manhattan, Kansas


In the broadcast room of WRAY there is a red phone mounted to the concrete-block wall. A plaque below it reads NYCSZ Branch Office, Direct Line. It almost never rings. Today, however, it does.

But in the moment, no one hears it.

Yeah!

A young man in a hoodie and leather jacket shuffle-dances around the WRAY broadcast equipment, earbuds in and music that only he can hear blasting. He drums with his bare hands in the air, makes embarrassing guitar noises with his mouth, and bounces around the room with a frantic bobbing of his head.

Yeeeeah!” He sings in a shrill, off-key wail, swinging his head around and performing the most enthusiastic air-guitar performance another human being has ever performed. “Whoa, oh, oh, oooooh sweet child of miiiiiine, oooh yeah-ha!

As he spins around on the toe of his sneaker, “Ooo—” the young man catches glimpse of the red light flashing on the ringing phone “Ooo—h shit.” Yanking his earbuds out, he rushes over to the phone and yanks it off the wall after the fifteenth ring.

Hello?” He exhales breathlessly into the phone. “Hello!?


Meanwhile

Raytech Industries NYCSZ Office
Jackson Heights


«Hello!?»

It took fifteen rings.

"Hi yes hello," Gatter says briskly, working to restrain his annoyance. Fifteen rings. "This is Doctor Albert Gatter at the New York Office, calling for the Raytech Office in Manhattan, Kansas. I'm told there's been a transmission." He pauses, taking in the breathless quality of the voice on the phone. "Everything… alright out there?"

«Uh. That’s… uhh…»


Meanwhile

WRAY Broadcasting


“Uhhh…” The young man on the phone glances at the broadcast station and the red light that has been flashing for the last nine days. “Yes?” That might as well be a no.

“Oh uh, this is uh, this is Nester Conroy?” He sounds unsure of his own name. “Uh, Raytech communications intern at WRAY in Manhattan, Kansas and uh…” He trails off, creeping toward the console, the phone cord tethering to the wall mount pulled taut. “So, ok h-hold on there’s a book.”

Tucking the phone between shoulder and jaw, Conroy picks up a dusty bnder from below the console, brushing it off. The cover reads WRAY COMMUNICATIONS PROTOCOLS in block print. He flips through it, murmuring to himself as he scans a table of contents. “Okay yeah, call New York, got it…” Then tracks down to the next line, followed by silence as he checks some dials on the console, then shifts the phone back to his mouth.

“We’re receiving a broadcast on an ultra-high auroral frequency?” Conroy says, unsure of what the fuck that even means. “I’ve listened to it a few times and it’s looping. Just music?” He hesitates, flipping through a few pages. “I only have protocols for if we hear La Mer broadcast? But I don’t think that’s what this is?”


Meanwhile

Raytech Industries NYCSZ Office


«It says I’m supposed to contact Dr. Michelle Cranston?»

Michelle, who is out in Kansas City handling matters pertaining to the impending apocalypse.

«What uh, what’m I supposed to do?»

Gatter blinks, frowning, then rubs at his forehead tiredly. It makes sense now — Doctor Cranston has been the one who was supposed to hear about it, but she had to go to Kansas City and presumably had passed that off to Dana… right up until the Hudson River had caught fire while they were on it.

"Doctor Cranston's out of office at the moment. I don't have her number, but I can probably ask Sera to look it up." He deeply does not want to be saying those words, but he does anyway. Then he frowns, curiosity hitting him. "What song is it?"

«I dunno, classical music?» Conroy says with a helpless shrug. «Here, hold on, I’ll put the speakers on and hold you up.»


Meanwhile

WRAY Broadcasting


Tethered to the wall by the land-line cord, Conroy moves to the broadcast equipment and flips two switches, then turns a dial until it gives a click. Immediately, music begins to pump out of the external speakers in the room.

«—do. Crumbles to the ground though we refuse to see.»

Conroy squints at how loud it is, holding the phone out to the speakers.

«Dust in the wind.»

«All we are is dust in the wind.»


Meanwhile

Raytech Industries NYCSZ Office


Conroy calling Kansas’ Dust in the Wind classical music makes Gatter’s bones ache. That Conroy didn’t even know the song makes Gatter feel tired and sluggish. As an instrumental portion of the song kick in, Conroy comes over the phone again.

«Weird, right? It’s coming in loud and clear too. Little static, but not too bad!»

Gatter raises a hand to the center of his forehead and deeply regrets everything. "That's. Classic rock. Not classical," he states, enunciating every word with careful precision.

Right. Moving on. "The signal… does seem fairly clear though. How long have you been receiving this signal, Mr. Conroy? Has it always been so clear? And have there been any variations?"

«Few days now, started on the…» Conroy trails off, reading something. «The 28th last month. I think it’s a looping message, because there’s a woman who talks when the—Oh oh, hold on it’s getting to that part.» He says, followed by some muffled shuffling sound as he points the receiver at the speakers again.


Meanwhile

WRAY Broadcasting


Conroy leans as close to the speaker as he can, because as Dust in the Wind trails off, there’s a young woman’s voice that carries after the song. Thoughtful and sad, as if puzzling out her own feelings as she talks. The voice isn’t familiar.

«The gravitational impact is an electrical field that drags spacetime called Frame Dragging.»

Conroy furrows his brows as he listens, he’s heard it so many times, and yet he’s hoping it makes even a little more sense now.

«But if time can be revisited then it's never really passed, has it?»


Meanwhile

Raytech Industries NYCSZ Office


Gatter hears the voice coming over the phone, loud and clear.

«If love is a collision between time and space… can love exist beyond the moment?»

Somber, heartfelt, yearning.

«Can the space not exist?»

Ponderous.

«Forever?»

And then, with a hint of surprise and embarrassment.

«This ah, this is Doctor Juliette Luis, SETI Institute, UCLA Berkley. Sending a message into the stars.»

Then silence, followed by a little muffled shuffling as Conroy turns off the devices and gets back on the phone. «Been repeating like that on a loop. I dunno what any of that stuff is, uh, Mr. Gatter. Do you?»

"Doctor," Gatter corrects, but it's absent-minded, pencil in one hand as he furiously scribbles on a notepad. Juliette Luis. SETI. Berkeley? "SETI, though…?" he muses aloud. SETI had broadcasted out. Why is the signal coming back in?

His curiosity is piqued, his mind absorbed in this apparent contradiction; it takes him a moment to process the question he's been asked. "I know Berkeley was a nice place; great college, top-notch facilities and equipment, good faculty, lots of excellent takeout places within delivery range. Expensive, too. Never partied there, more's the pity; pretty sure it got blown up. Like, deeply, incontrovertibly blown up. I know that SETI was the Search for Extraterrestrial Intelligence; a transmission from there most likely would've been exactly what Dr. Luis said — a message to the stars."

"Beyond that, no. I can safely say I have no clue what any of that stuff is. Dr. Cranston might know; I'd definitely be interested to hear what the explanation might be."

«So, the uh,» Conroy starts, riffling through the binder he’d set aside. «The uh, the next step on the protocol says to establish contact? Should—we do that? Or should we wait for Miss—uh—Doctor Cranston to be back? There’s a highlighted part here about time being important because of uh, uh, auroral alignment of the timeline?» Conroy misunderstands. Not timeline, but—

Timeline.

«I’m not sure what the timeline is because there’s no dates or uh, numbers for any of these steps?»

Timeline.

Gatter hesitates for a moment, considering.

The signal has been broadcasting for nine days.

Time sensitive.

The phone had been ringing at the front desk and Sera had not answered. The definition of insanity is repeating an experiment with the same verified parameters and expecting a different result.

"If it's time sensitive and it's already been broadcasting for nine days, I don't think we can afford to wait." Gatter turns a page on his notepad. "If it's highlighted, that means it's important." Unless Sera's doing the highlighting, possibly, then it's anyone's guess.

«S-So—So what uh, am I supposed to use the microphone here? There’s no instructions on what I’m supposed to say.» Conroy fumbles over his own words, clearly reading and talking at the same time. «Am I authorized to—am I even supposed to—there’s a Post-It note here that says Do Not Touch Anything with a very large frownie face below it.»

Conroy is young, he’s panicking. And he doesn’t even understand a fraction of what he’s actually looming on the precipice of.

Gatter takes a deep breath. "The protocols, Conroy. Take a breath. You're the one with the protocols, and you're the one who's there. You know the equipment, correct? As to what to say…"

Here Gatter pauses, lips curling into a wry smile. "Why not start the same way you answered the phone, with 'hello'? See if anyone answers."

«Yeah—Yeah, ok. Okay.»


Meanwhile

WRAY Broadcasting


“How hard could it be, Nester,” Conroy mumbles to himself as he tucks the phone under his chin and sits down at the console, “just talk to some space alien lady.” He flips through one of the manuals, refreshing himself on the console. “Okay, okay.”

Flipping a few switches, Conroy changes the light in the broadcast booth from Off-Air to On-Air. He slides the mic closer to himself, and Gatter can still hear him as he leans into the mic and presses the call button before saying, “Hello?”

Silence hangs for a while, and Conroy starts to say into the receiver, “It might take a while to respond because of the time-zone difference with Calif—”

«Hello?» A woman’s voice crackles over the radio. «Is—who is this?»

unknown-juliette_icon.gif

F—”


Meanwhile

Raytech Industries NYCSZ Office


«—uck!» Conroy hisses into the receiver. «What do I say? Doc what do I say?» He whisper-shouts.

"Say, 'this is Nester Conroy, transmitting from WRAY in beautiful downtown Manhattan, Kansas,'" Gatter says flatly. "Then… I dunno, ask how you can help them? Is there anything in that protocol book saying what you're supposed to ask?"

«N-No it’s all about who to contact to actually do this, how to make some adjustments if the signal isn’t—»

«Hello?» Conroy is cut off by the woman’s voice again and he just. Goes for it.

«HELLO. THIS IS CONSTER NESROY TRANSMITTING FROM WRAY IN DOWNTOWN BEAUTIFUL KANSAS.» Conroy yells into the microphone. «Manhattan! Manhattan Kansas. I know it’s confusing it’s—H-how can—Do you need something ma’am?»


Meanwhile

WRAY Broadcasting


Oh my god,” Conroy whispers into his hand. “Oh my god I fucked that up.”

«I’m sorry I—could you repeat that?» Doctor Luis asks.

“I—Can I help?” Conroy stumbles through even the simplest of questions.

«Ah, you say you’re broadcasting from Kansas?»

“Yes. Manhattan Kansas.” He confirms.

«What equipment are you using?»

Conroy hesitates, looking at the manual. It says nothing about this. It is unhelpful. It has betrayed him and he throws it on the floor. “Radio equipment?” Good answer.

The flutter of amused laughter from the other end of the call has Conroy sinking into his seat in dread embarrassment. «That’s fifteen hundred miles. What radio station did you say you were with?»

“WRAY?” Conroy can’t help but make that sound like a question. He hates that. He hates the binder for having betrayed him.

«Monsieur» there’s a practiced French in the way she says that, «May I ask you a strange question?»

Sure?” Conroy says, suddenly scrambling for the manual. Can they ask questions? Is he allowed to answer them? He regrets casting aspersions on the binder in his time of need.


Meanwhile

Raytech Industries NYCSZ Office


«Can you tell me the date?» Juliette asks.

«Uh.» Conroy replies. «July seventh?»

Juliette laughs softly on the other end of the line. «And the year?»

«Oh, uh, twenty twenty-one.» He says plainly.

The other end of the line goes silent.

«Could you repeat?» She asks, voice smaller now.

«Twenty twenty-one.»

Once again, silence.

Gatter has his head in his hands, but that sudden silence prompts him to sit up, draw the deepest breath he has taken today, and speak clearly into the phone. "Nester. Say, 'are you still there?'"

«Oh—A-are you still there, ma’am?»


Meanwhile

WRAY Broadcasting


«Doctor.» Juliette corrects, but it’s absent-minded. «I cannot believe it worked,» is the next whispered thing she says, her accent slipping deeper into French as she does.

“C-Cant believe what worked, Mmmdoctor?” Conroy closes his eyes and opens his mouth in a silent scream at his ineptitude.

«You are—you would not believe me. It is—I don’t believe me.» Juliette replies with a chirp of laughter. «I am—I am speaking to you from the year 1997.»

Conroy stares at the console.


Meanwhile

Raytech Industries NYCSZ Office


«What?»

Well, looks like the Nester Conroy theory of time zone differentials has been soundly debunked — Daylight Savings Time strikes again. For a long moment Gatter sits still and silent at his desk. "That's wild," he says. "Congratulate her. Ask her if it's July 7th on her end, too."

With that said, he reaches for his cell phone and mashes in the button for Raytech's front desk, and prays to god that Sera's actually going to pick up.

«Hey uh, is—is it July 7th for you too?» Conroy asks. In the meanwhile, Gatter can hear his own phone ringing.

«Oui, July 7th.» Juliette replies. «This is—this is marvelous. I—I did not believe it possible. I must ask you a pressing question, Monsieur Nesroy, was it?» She sounds uncertain. The name sounds made up.

Meanwhile, Gatter is still waiting for Sera to pick up.

«Sure yeah how uh, how can I help?» Conroy chirps.

«How did you stop the asteroid?» Juliette asks.

In one ear, Gatter hears a tinnitus ring from a sudden spike in blood pressure. In the other, the damning ring of his cell phone.

"The. What," Gatter grates out, feeling his pulse in his temples. Meanwhile, his phone still rings, calling out for help and hearing no answer. He takes a long breath. "Ask her for clarification. What's the asteroid's designation, and what is the projected impact date."


Meanwhile

WRAY Broadcasting


“Uhh uh—ah—designation” Conroy splutters. “The asteroid uh, what—what is it’s designation and projected impact date?”

«4581 Asclepius,» Juliette replies immediately. «Last year we projected it has a near 100 percent chance of striking Earth on January 12th, 2019. There are many people who believe we will be able to shoot it from the sky, but I—I had other theories. Private research. This is my life’s work, to see if—if a message could be sent through time.»

Private research, under the cover of a SETI broadcast.

“I uh, we—we never got hit by an asteroid but I—none of this sounds uh, f-familiar?”


Meanwhile

Raytech Industries NYCSZ Office


Asclepius. It’s right there on the internet. Big, bold letters. NEAR MISS DAY, March 23rd… 1989. It’s not due to circle back to Earth until 2051.

«Gatter?» Conroy whispers into the phone. «Doc what—what’s going on?»

"The… the orbital data doesn't match up. I'm showing a near miss on March 23rd of 1989, but it's not due back until 2051," Gatter says shakily. "See if that matches up with her orbital data. If it doesn't… ask if she's got any further orbital data she can share. Maybe we can… compare data, figure out when the trajectory changed."

«Oh man, uh. Okay. Okay. Uh—»


Meanwhile

WRAY Broadcasting


“O-okay so, we—that orbital data doesn’t match what we have? I—I’m on the phone with someone at our home office, and he said it was supposed to be a near miss on uh—on—in March. March of 89. It’s not supposed to be back for like, decades.” Once Conroy has fumbled all that out, he waits for a reply. Little pops and hisses of static start to intrude on the conversation.

«That’s—that does not make any sense. I don’t have any of my data on hand, but…»

“You’re in, uh, you said you’re in California, right? Berkeley?” Conroy asks. “Can you go—”

«No, no. SETI’s offices are there. I’m at our broadcasting station in R—fi—l To—ip, Ut-h.» Juliette replies, her voice flooding with static.

R-repeat?” Conroy stresses. “Where are you?”

«Raffill Township. Utah.» Juliette emphasizes. «Hello? You’re breaking up, can—»

The little light on the console goes out. There is no more magnetometer alert.

“Hello?” Conroy whispers as the radio goes dead silent.


Meanwhile

Raytech Industries NYCSZ Office


«Hello?» Conroy repeats. «Doc I—it just cut out. The light by the magno-mometer? Magnetometer? Thing? It’s dark now.»

Gatter’s phone is still ringing in his hand. And Sera walks into his office, just opening the door while the front desk rings loudly. She’s carrying a box of donuts, smiling cheerfully. “Hey! I just got back from Rings of Juniper, got some Maple Frosteds, you want one?”

«Gatter? Doc?»

Gatter's expression is positively forlorn; he presses the button on his cellphone, to kill the call to the front desk. "…yeah. Yeah, actually, I'll take one," he says leadenly. "Thank you, Sera, I appreciate it. When you get a chance, if you could you get me Dr. Cranston's number, I'd really appreciate that, too," he says, mustering a tired smile.

Then he turns back to the other phone, the one with the call from WRAY. "Well. We did the best we could. Dunno what kind of NDAs they have you under, but I'd recommend not telling anyone about this for awhile, okay?" Gatter says. "Good work. I'll… talk to you when I know more."

Conroy is silent on the other end of the line while Sera cheerfully passes off a donut. Only then, after a few fretful moments of silence does he ask:

«WHAT THE FUCK JUST H


Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License