Project Boussh: Ground Zero
by Majick

    Arecibo observatory, Puerto Rico

    Dr Rene Pedros was an old-timer, he freely admitted. For the new crop of
astronomers, physicists and other scientists who each year came out to the
observatory to look at the stars, he had no doubt he was a vision from
another age.
    For Pedros, the observatory had been poorly named on its inception in
the early 1970's, and now, nearly thirty years later, he had long since
given up the attempt t alter the name. Instead, he'd used project money to
set up his own work area. Now he could look at the night sky whenever he
wanted, like now. He leant forward to look into the telescope's eyepiece,
and sighed, as he always did, with contentment.
    As project director for the radio observatory since the early fights for
funding, Pedros' word was law in the facility. When he'd requested the
funding to establish a true, visual telescope on the site, the money had
been found, as his immediate subordinate had commented, down the back of
sofas and in the piggybanks of the workers children.
    Pedros smiled at the memory, some fifteen years past now. Even Alvarez,
his closest friend on the team, had been gone for nearly a decade. Moved on
to oversee the development of new sonar technology, Alvarez had commented.
And Rene could forget he'd ever heard that, as well, the younger man had
said with a smile.
    Dr. Pedros missed Alvarez' smiles a lot. Everyone these days, two or
three generations removed from Pedros, was so serious about the work. He
supposed it came from working with equipment that was always failing. Since
the broadcast of the first transmission in November of '74, the technology
had remained much the same. It was getting harder and harder to fix when it
went wrong. If the message they sent was received by an alien intelligence,
Pedros pessimistically suspected that the receiver would be down for repairs
when they sent their reply.
    Newer radio telescopes had supplanted the Arecibo facility, not long
after it had opened. Nowadays, Pedros knew, the facility was as much an
anachronism as he was. But he still loved to look at the stars, and dream of
someone out there receiving the message. Which was why he spent so much of
his time at his 'own' telescope, here on the North edge of the compound. No
one else seemed to want to come in here, which saddened him slightly. Was he
so far out of date that he was the only one who liked to see the stars?
    He'd given into his curiosity when approached to be the director of this
facility. His whole life, he'd loved the night sky. He'd devoured H. G.
Wells, Isaac Asimov, R. A. Heinlein, even Douglas Adams, he remembered with
a faint smile. Too, he'd been of the right age to afford radios and TVs, so
he'd kept up to date with all the sci-fi programmes, and as for the
movies... Short of aliens landing here, he'd never seen anything so
thrilling as the Star Destroyer soaring overhead when he first saw Star
Wars, or the Enterprise on it's five year mission.
    He suspected it was because of his extensive exposure to so much sci-fi
that the idea of intelligent life on other planets, orbiting other stars,
fascinated him. The chance to try and communicate with it had been too much
to resist.
    But, he thought, stretching his long limbs, taking note of the stiffness
that was increasingly affecting him, his time was nearly done. Past seventy
now, and an anachronism. He squatted down again to look into the telescope
eyepiece, then fiddled with the controls to turn it minutely, so he could
look at another patch of the sky. He never tired of what he saw up there,
the infinite variety could hold him fascinated for hours.
    And yet...
    He sighed again, looking skywards through the gap in the observatory
roof. His naked eye could see the stars as well as any telescope, he
thought, and his minds eye even better. But he liked the finer details the
telescope bought. While it wasn't state of the art, it was good enough for
what he wanted. Right now, he wanted to look at the patch of space where the
Hubble should have been. Maybe he'd see something to help explain why there
was no longer any data coming from it. Having worked for the rulers of his
country this long, he very rarely believed any official statement made by a
government. He bent forward once again.
    And straightened up immediately, rubbing his hands over his eyes. Too
much coffee, he thought. And too little sleep. The late nights were getting
to him, he knew. And he should have left Return of the Jedi until later...
But he loved watching Wedge killing the Death Star.
    He splashed a little water on his face, before turning back to the
telescope. He leant forward again. This time he held the position until his
back started to complain, and his neck started to crimp.
    He sat up, and ran his fingers through what was left of his hair. He
laughed, once. It never occurred to him to contact his colleagues at the
'real' telescope, nor to set the video recorder going. He had a good memory,
and even with the best video equipment -which this wasn't- no one would
believe what he was seeing. Battles in space just are not meant to happen.
    He leant forward again, enjoying the most pleasurable sensation of
having all his dreams come true.