Read Online Analog SFF, June 2011 by Dell Magazine Authors - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Dell Magazine Authors
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parking lot, and she glanced out her window whenever she heard a car. First-time visitors tended to arrive very early or very late. No one's intuition about the drive was any good until they had made the trip once. Twice cars came, and both times technicians she knew got out. A third car brought one of her grad students.
Rapt in her work she must have missed a car, because the next time she checked outside a man wearing a suit and tie was striding toward the building. Looking down from the second floor, she could not see his face, but it had to be Judson. No one but govvies dressed so formally, and then only on a first visit.
Scientists dressed casually. Today she wore jeans, a random T-shirt, and a plaid flannel overshirt. When the Nobel Committee called, she would shop for a dress. Maybe.
Shutting her office door behind her, Valerie bounded down the stairs. The man with the charcoal suit was in Reception, signing for a visitor badge. “Marcus?” she called out.
The man turned, and she recognized the face from last week's conversation. Judson, all right.
He had clear blue eyes, wavy black hair (at the moment wind-stirred) gone gray at the temples, a strong jaw, and, despite the early hour, hints of a five o'clock shadow. A bit guarded in his expression, perhaps, but fair enough: She had been less than forthcoming. Forty or so, she estimated. Not Hollywood handsome, but handsome enough. Not that that mattered. He was about six-two and broad-shouldered. Maybe a few pounds over his ideal weight, but he carried it well. Other than overdressed, he seemed, all in all, like an everyday sort of guy.
"I'm Marcus,” he agreed, extending his hand. “Hello, Valerie."
"Thanks for coming.” She hesitated. This was a person in front of her, not some bureaucratic abstraction.
But neither were powersats abstractions.
"Valerie?” he prompted.
"Right.” She took his hand, casting off her doubts. “Welcome to the National Radio Astronomy Observatory, NRAO. We'll start with a tour. The things we need to discuss will make more sense with some background."
"What else have you planned?"
"The weekly technical lunch discussion among the professional staff, always fascinating, and we'll wrap up with a quiet conversation in my office.” A long and pointed conversation.
"Okay. Lead on."
Following her outside, he seemed surprised at her beat-up old Volkswagen Jetta.
"Because it's a diesel model,” she explained. “We only take bikes and diesels near the dishes. Anything else would mean RF from spark plugs or electric motors. And the older the car, the better. New cars have electrical everything, from locks to clocks to seat positioners. Makes them noisy."
"The instruments are that sensitive?"
Wait till you see the dishes up close, she thought. A short drive brought them to the internal gate. She got out of the car to swipe her ID badge through the reader. Just past the gate, she pulled onto the shoulder. “That's one of our smaller telescopes. Forty-five feet across."
"I know. I walked around for a bit."
"How far did you get?"
"Half past Saturn before I turned around. Any farther and I would have been late."
She pulled the Jetta onto the shoulder near each telescope to share some of its background. Near one dish, bikes leaned against a trailer: the mark of grad students at work. She took Marcus inside the cramped maintenance trailer for a peek at the equipment—and at the quarter-inch steel walls shielding the dish from the electronics.
Back in her car, as she started to describe the first eighty-five-footer, the Science Center's white diesel tour bus lumbered past. “This is part of a three-telescope interferometer. An interferometer—"
"Synthesizes data from multiple instruments into one image. The composite has the resolution of an instrument the size of the separation between instruments. Same principle as synthetic aperture radar.” He grinned. “I'm an engineer, and I come prepared."
Valerie knew the former.
Rapt in her work she must have missed a car, because the next time she checked outside a man wearing a suit and tie was striding toward the building. Looking down from the second floor, she could not see his face, but it had to be Judson. No one but govvies dressed so formally, and then only on a first visit.
Scientists dressed casually. Today she wore jeans, a random T-shirt, and a plaid flannel overshirt. When the Nobel Committee called, she would shop for a dress. Maybe.
Shutting her office door behind her, Valerie bounded down the stairs. The man with the charcoal suit was in Reception, signing for a visitor badge. “Marcus?” she called out.
The man turned, and she recognized the face from last week's conversation. Judson, all right.
He had clear blue eyes, wavy black hair (at the moment wind-stirred) gone gray at the temples, a strong jaw, and, despite the early hour, hints of a five o'clock shadow. A bit guarded in his expression, perhaps, but fair enough: She had been less than forthcoming. Forty or so, she estimated. Not Hollywood handsome, but handsome enough. Not that that mattered. He was about six-two and broad-shouldered. Maybe a few pounds over his ideal weight, but he carried it well. Other than overdressed, he seemed, all in all, like an everyday sort of guy.
"I'm Marcus,” he agreed, extending his hand. “Hello, Valerie."
"Thanks for coming.” She hesitated. This was a person in front of her, not some bureaucratic abstraction.
But neither were powersats abstractions.
"Valerie?” he prompted.
"Right.” She took his hand, casting off her doubts. “Welcome to the National Radio Astronomy Observatory, NRAO. We'll start with a tour. The things we need to discuss will make more sense with some background."
"What else have you planned?"
"The weekly technical lunch discussion among the professional staff, always fascinating, and we'll wrap up with a quiet conversation in my office.” A long and pointed conversation.
"Okay. Lead on."
Following her outside, he seemed surprised at her beat-up old Volkswagen Jetta.
"Because it's a diesel model,” she explained. “We only take bikes and diesels near the dishes. Anything else would mean RF from spark plugs or electric motors. And the older the car, the better. New cars have electrical everything, from locks to clocks to seat positioners. Makes them noisy."
"The instruments are that sensitive?"
Wait till you see the dishes up close, she thought. A short drive brought them to the internal gate. She got out of the car to swipe her ID badge through the reader. Just past the gate, she pulled onto the shoulder. “That's one of our smaller telescopes. Forty-five feet across."
"I know. I walked around for a bit."
"How far did you get?"
"Half past Saturn before I turned around. Any farther and I would have been late."
She pulled the Jetta onto the shoulder near each telescope to share some of its background. Near one dish, bikes leaned against a trailer: the mark of grad students at work. She took Marcus inside the cramped maintenance trailer for a peek at the equipment—and at the quarter-inch steel walls shielding the dish from the electronics.
Back in her car, as she started to describe the first eighty-five-footer, the Science Center's white diesel tour bus lumbered past. “This is part of a three-telescope interferometer. An interferometer—"
"Synthesizes data from multiple instruments into one image. The composite has the resolution of an instrument the size of the separation between instruments. Same principle as synthetic aperture radar.” He grinned. “I'm an engineer, and I come prepared."
Valerie knew the former.
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