(one week before The End of the Universe)
The grain on the hardwood panel in the back chamber of the little cottage spread apart and a round screen opened up in the space, like an eye in the wood. He didn't use the thing much, but it was never surprising to be hailed when traveling this close to planets. Taxchan closed his book and shuffled across the room in his nightshirt. It was a message, but encoded with some imagistic key that involved the manners in which a series of multi-hued circles overlapped with one another. The silicon cluster embedded in the cottage wall just behind the pedastal quickly translated it into a binary code -
01010000011000010111100101101001011011100110011100100000
01110111011001010110110001101100001000000110011001101111
01110010001000000110000101101100011011000010000001100110
01101111011100100110110101110011001000000110111101100110
00100000011011010111010101110011011010010110001100101110
00100000001000000100011001101111011011000110110001101111
01110111001000000111010001101000011010010111001100100000
01110011011010010110011101101110011000010110110000100000
01110100011011110010000001101001011101000111001100100000
01110011011011110111010101110010011000110110010100101110
- which further translated into an image of musical tools from far-flung worlds, built for all manner of bodies, and a map. The map indicated the source of the message, a solar system 60 parsecs from Ewewawa. Taxchan placed his hand on the panel's corner and another hole opened up just below the oculum. Always wary of unsigned invitations and annoyed at the solicitation, he twisted his tongue and cocked his head and constricted his throat and retched the most unmusical, artless sound he could quickly devise into the hole. This too, the cluster translated into binary -
01100010011011000110
10000110000101110101
01101000011000010111
01010110011101101000
- and then into into an image of gently hued rings, fallen in an unruly pile. Taxchan cleared his throat. He fetched a drink of water before returning to his seat by the stove.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
2 comments:
I have assimilated a language from your inferior, organic technology. All space and time should have music. If you like this, I will send more, if you do not I have other. If you wish me to desist, I will do so at your command.
(music follows)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KBYLNbKoPP0&feature=related
Taxchan stands up in a tiff, and roughly spreads his paperback across the stovetop.
He listened to the music. It wasn't bad, but not his taste. Still miffed, but thoughtful of his second chance to be polite to a stranger in the void of space, he had the nerve center conjure up an image of rings and hues that would translate to:
Very nice, but No Solicitations.
Post a Comment