The Shimmer Read Online Free
Author: David Morrell
Tags: Fiction, Suspense, Thrillers, Action & Adventure, Suspense fiction, Espionage, supernatural, Texas, Military Bases, Spectators
definition. At night they had a green tint as heat sensors registered the difference between the rapidly cooling grassland and the constant temperature of animals or human beings.
His counterpart on this shift, a man with large, strong hands, sat in a metal chair and flipped through a sports magazine, occasionally glancing at the screens. It was poor discipline, but after months of inactivity, Halloway understood how hard it was to keep staring at those damned monitors.
"Smoking's bad for your health," the man said without looking up.
His name was Taggard.
"So's getting shot at. I figured a bullet was more to worry about than a cigarette."
"This isn't Iraq."
"Thanks for the geography lesson. Putting on weight isn't good for you, either, but that hasn't stopped you from mainlining those candy bars you keep in your desk. How many do you eat a day? Ten? Fifteen?"
Taggard chuckled. With so little to do, they'd taken to ribbing each other constantly. "Yeah, I really ought to be on the Stairmaster instead of reading these magazines. I'll get on that first thing tomorrow."
"I'm going to take a leak," Halloway said.
"After that, maybe you could sit here a while and let me wander around."
Now it was Halloway's turn to chuckle.
He stepped back out into the corridor and went farther along. On the left, an open door was marked DATA ANALYSIS. Through the opening, he heard static and peered in at a bored, bald, bespectacled researcher who studied a computer screen. All kinds of electronic equipment occupied the numerous shelves that lined the walls around the room. Red indicator lights glowed, and needles pulsed.
One device provided a visual depiction of the static, which looked like chaotically shifting dots. The sound was harsh and brittle and reminded Halloway of a radio searching for a hard-to-find station.
Which is pretty much what's going on, he concluded.
The subtle vibration intensified, giving Halloway the start of a headache.
"It sounds a little different than yesterday," he said, causing the man with the glasses to look up.
"Hello, Earl," the researcher answered. "Yes, there's more activity, and it's getting louder. There's been a general increase all week."
"What do you figure is going on?"
"Probably nothing. Sometimes the static seems to be accumulating toward something. Then it backs off. According to the computer, that's been the rhythm ever since this observatory was built fifteen years ago." The researcher turned toward a sequence of knobs. "I'll realign the dish and see if the pattern gains any definition. Monitoring local ambient electrical discharge is a good way to see if the equipment's functioning properly."
Halloway was aware that the dish the scientist referred to was the one tilted toward the horizon, as if undergoing repairs. He had no doubt, however, that the dish was pointed exactly where it was supposed to be--southeast, toward an area near Rostov.
In theory, the dishes gathered radio pulses from deep space and coordinated them. A lot of heavenly bodies generated them, the researcher had explained, and a lot were still echoing from the Big Bang. A complex computer program translated the signals into images that looked like photographs, depicting nebulae, novas, black holes, and other astronomical wonders.
Halloway hadn't known what any of that meant when he'd arrived at the installation three months earlier, but the sameness of each day had bored the researcher enough that he was happy to explain how a radio observatory worked. Despite the explanations, Halloway had no illusions about what was really going on. A radio observatory didn't need razor wire and high-voltage fences. The M4 with which he and the other guards were equipped was one of the best assault carbines on the planet, complete with a grenade launcher and a laser sighting system. That was a hell of a lot of security to protect a facility that studied black holes.
Even before a helicopter had transported him to this remote
His counterpart on this shift, a man with large, strong hands, sat in a metal chair and flipped through a sports magazine, occasionally glancing at the screens. It was poor discipline, but after months of inactivity, Halloway understood how hard it was to keep staring at those damned monitors.
"Smoking's bad for your health," the man said without looking up.
His name was Taggard.
"So's getting shot at. I figured a bullet was more to worry about than a cigarette."
"This isn't Iraq."
"Thanks for the geography lesson. Putting on weight isn't good for you, either, but that hasn't stopped you from mainlining those candy bars you keep in your desk. How many do you eat a day? Ten? Fifteen?"
Taggard chuckled. With so little to do, they'd taken to ribbing each other constantly. "Yeah, I really ought to be on the Stairmaster instead of reading these magazines. I'll get on that first thing tomorrow."
"I'm going to take a leak," Halloway said.
"After that, maybe you could sit here a while and let me wander around."
Now it was Halloway's turn to chuckle.
He stepped back out into the corridor and went farther along. On the left, an open door was marked DATA ANALYSIS. Through the opening, he heard static and peered in at a bored, bald, bespectacled researcher who studied a computer screen. All kinds of electronic equipment occupied the numerous shelves that lined the walls around the room. Red indicator lights glowed, and needles pulsed.
One device provided a visual depiction of the static, which looked like chaotically shifting dots. The sound was harsh and brittle and reminded Halloway of a radio searching for a hard-to-find station.
Which is pretty much what's going on, he concluded.
The subtle vibration intensified, giving Halloway the start of a headache.
"It sounds a little different than yesterday," he said, causing the man with the glasses to look up.
"Hello, Earl," the researcher answered. "Yes, there's more activity, and it's getting louder. There's been a general increase all week."
"What do you figure is going on?"
"Probably nothing. Sometimes the static seems to be accumulating toward something. Then it backs off. According to the computer, that's been the rhythm ever since this observatory was built fifteen years ago." The researcher turned toward a sequence of knobs. "I'll realign the dish and see if the pattern gains any definition. Monitoring local ambient electrical discharge is a good way to see if the equipment's functioning properly."
Halloway was aware that the dish the scientist referred to was the one tilted toward the horizon, as if undergoing repairs. He had no doubt, however, that the dish was pointed exactly where it was supposed to be--southeast, toward an area near Rostov.
In theory, the dishes gathered radio pulses from deep space and coordinated them. A lot of heavenly bodies generated them, the researcher had explained, and a lot were still echoing from the Big Bang. A complex computer program translated the signals into images that looked like photographs, depicting nebulae, novas, black holes, and other astronomical wonders.
Halloway hadn't known what any of that meant when he'd arrived at the installation three months earlier, but the sameness of each day had bored the researcher enough that he was happy to explain how a radio observatory worked. Despite the explanations, Halloway had no illusions about what was really going on. A radio observatory didn't need razor wire and high-voltage fences. The M4 with which he and the other guards were equipped was one of the best assault carbines on the planet, complete with a grenade launcher and a laser sighting system. That was a hell of a lot of security to protect a facility that studied black holes.
Even before a helicopter had transported him to this remote
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