By Douglas Preston
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Extra resources for Blasphemy
Several hangars stood behind, gleaming in the light. The pilot threw open the door. Ford, carrying only Lockwood’s briefcase, stepped onto the warm tarmac. There was no one there to greet him. With a parting wave, the pilot remounted, and in a moment the small plane was back in the air, a glint of aluminum shrinking in the turquoise sky. Ford watched the plane disappear, and then he ambled over to the terminal. A wooden signboard hung on the door, hand-painted in Wild West–style letters. He gave it a push with his finger, listening to it creak back and forth.
I’m just the engineer,” said Dolby, “but any of you theoretical geniuses got an idea of what that is? Alan, is that . . ” Alan Edelstein glanced up from his workstation distractedly. “It’s just random data,” he said. “What do you mean, random? ” “The computer’s crashed. ” Dolby stared at it. “It’s moving. There’s something there, I swear—it almost looks alive, like it’s trying to get out. ” Hazelius glanced up at the Visualizer and paused, surprise blossoming on his face. He turned. “Rae? ” “No idea.
Dark streaks shot through it. “This is nuts,” said Chen. ” “Not possible,” said Volkonsky. “Data is not vanish. ” “Give me a break. ” Hazelius asked. “Not software problem,” said Volkonsky loudly. ” “Screw you,” Dolby muttered. “Gregory, Isabella might be tearing the ‘brane,” said Mercer. ” The black dot grew, expanded, began swallowing the image on the screen. At its margins, it jittered manically with intense color. “These numbers are wild,” said Chen. “I’m getting extreme space-time curvature right at CZero.
Blasphemy by Douglas Preston