The Human Blend - Alan Dean Foster [70]
“I agree with you that if we have a valid connection the equipment should at least be able to tell us if there’s anything stored on the medium. That it cannot suggests that it contains proprietary coding as advanced as the composition of the device itself.”
Whispr prided himself on his ability to see the world around him realistically. Among other things that meant being able to admit when you had reached the limit of your personal knowledge. So he was able to confess ignorance without shame.
“Don’t feel bad,” she heard herself saying. “I’m not sure what to do next, either. There are more powerful readers and other instruments that can probably tell what’s inside this thing.”
“Then let’s use them.”
Her hesitation was conspicuous. “I think if this storage device was mine, I’d want to study it some more before I would risk that. For example, subjecting it to scrutinizing radiation could bypass the coding—but it might also destroy or damage whatever is stored on it. Before I’d go deep-probe I’d want to try and get inside using less invasive technology. I propose that—”
Her suggestions were interrupted. Not by her visitor but by a chirp from the console. Leaving Whispr to wonder what was happening, she turned quickly to the readouts.
“We’ve got a response,” she finally informed him. Her eyes flicked over the information that had suddenly and unexpectedly appeared on the main monitor. “It’s putting out a signal. Very weak, bordering on the undetectable. And it’s got to be powered by the tiniest battery I’ve ever encountered.” Looking back at him, she tried to be reassuring. “I doubt it’s summoning the police, if that’s what you’re worrying about. Its strength is much too weak. I imagine that anything capable of picking it up would have to be exceptionally sensitive and specifically attuned to listen for it. Unless this is an example of still another technology that’s new and incomprehensible and previously unencountered.”
Military. More and more that was looking like the most likely explanation for the thread’s impossible composition and cryptic content.
Whispr tried to wrap his mind around something else that made no sense. “How can something that small and thin be putting out any kind of signal? Seems to me the whole thread would have to be devoted to power generation and that wouldn’t leave any room for information storage or anything else.”
She shrugged helplessly. “I have no idea, Whispr. Maybe it can change physical states, from storage to transmitter power. Between this and the encounter I had with the device I removed from that girl’s head I’m starting to think that someone, somewhere, is doing a little real-life rewriting of the physics textbooks.”
“Is it directional? The signal, I mean.”
She eyed him in surprise. “I can’t figure out if you’re knowledge-challenged or just knowledge-specific.”
He smiled diffidently. “Actually, I’m stupid, but I do know a few things.”
She turned back to the console readouts. Nothing to trace there. Her shoulders slumped.
Whispr could see that investigation-wise the doctor was at a dead end. Not one to linger in an atmosphere of unproductive circumstance, he started toward the instrumentation.
“I guess this is as much as I’m going to learn in your office. Thanks again for all your help, medicinal and otherwise. I promised you payment if you deactivated the traktacs. I keep my word, Ms. Doc. As soon as I find someone willing to buy that thing, whatever it is and regardless of whether it can be read or not, I promise that I’ll pay you—something.” He reached for the flex receptacle.
Her palm came down on a contact nearby. A sheet of hard transparency slid down to cover the opening to the receptacle. Grimacing, Whispr put a fingertip on the covering and tried to push it back up. It didn’t budge. She withdrew her hand from the contact and backed up as he reached toward it. No matter how hard or how many times he pressed it, the receptacle’s protective cover remained in place.
Coded, he told himself. Matched to a command