“Parameters set . . . Interpolator running . . . run complete,”
Gray recited. “Integrating into scan program now.” Again the
picture altered subtly. There was a noticeable improvement.
“Still not right around the edge,” Hunt said. “Try weighting the
quarter and three-quarter points by plus ten. If that doesn’t work,
we’ll have to break it down into isodepth bands.”
“Plus ten on point two five zero and point seven five zero,” Gray
repeated as he operated the keys. “Integrated. How’s it look?”
On the element of surface displayed on Hunt’s monitor, the
fragments of characters had magically assembled themselves into
recognizable shapes. Hunt nodded with satisfaction.
“That’ll do. Freeze it in. Okay-that clears that one. There’s
another messy patch up near the top right. Let’s have a go at that
next.”
* * *
Life had been reduced to much this kind of pattern ever since the
day the installation of the scope was completed. They had spent the
first week obtaining a series of cross-sectional views of the body
itself. This exercise had proved memorable on account of the mild
discomfort and not so mild inconvenience of having to work in
electrically heated suits, following the medical authority’s
insistence that Charlie be kept in a refrigerated environment. It
had proved something of an anticlimax. The net results were that,
inside as well as out, Charlie was surprisingly-or not so
surprisingly, depending on one’s point of view-human. During the
second week they began examining the articles found on the body,
especially the pieces of “paper” and the pocket books. This
investigation had proved more interesting.
Of the symbols contained in the documents, numerals were the first
to be identified. A team of cryptographers, assembled at Naycomms
HO, soon worked out the counting system, which turned out to be
based on twelve digits rather than ten and employed a positional
notation with the least significant digit to the left. Deciphering
the nonnumeric symbols was proving more difficult. Linguists from
institutions and universities in several countries had linked into
Houston and, with the aid of batteries of computers, were
attempting to make some sense of the language of the Lunarians, as
Charlie’s race had come to be called in commemoration of his place
of discovery. So far their efforts had yielded little more than
that the Lunarian alphabet comprised thirty-seven characters, was
written horizontally from right to left, and contained the
equivalent of upper-case characters.
Progress, however, was not considered to be bad for so short a
time. Most of the people involved were aware that even this much
could never have been achieved without the scope, and already the
names of the two Englishmen were well-known around the division.
The scope attracted a lot of interest among the UNSA technical
personnel, and most evenings saw a stream of visitors arriving at
the Ocean Hotel, all curious to meet the coinventors of the
instrument and to learn more about its principles of operation.
Before long, the Ocean became the scene of a regular debating
society where anybody who cared to could give free rein to his
wildest speculations concerning the Charlie mystery, free from the
constraints of professional caution and skepticism that applied
during business hours.
Caldwell, of course, knew everything that was said by anybody at
the Ocean and what everybody else thought about it, since Lyn
Garland was present on most nights and represented the next best
thing to a hot line back to the HQ building. Nobody minded that
much-after all, it was only part of her job. They minded even less
when she began turning up with some of the other girls from
Naycomms in tow, adding a refreshing party atmosphere to the whole
proceedings. This development met with the full approval of the
visitors from out-of-town; however, it had led to somewhat strained
relationships on the domestic front for one or two of the locals.
Hunt jabbed at the keyboard for the last time and sat back to
inspect the image of the completed page.
“Not bad at all,” he said. “That one won’t need much enhancement.”
“Good,” Gray agreed. He lit a cigarette and tossed the pack across
to Hunt without being asked. “Optical encoding’s finished,” he