"Robert Doherty - Area 51" - читать интересную книгу автора (Doherty Robert)

Doherty, Robert


AREA 51
Prologue

It came alive into darkness, wondering what had caused it to wake and aware at
the same time that it was much weaker than ever before. The first priority was
time. How long had it been asleep? The weakness gave the answer.
Dividing half-lives of its power source, it calculated that almost fifty
revolutions of this planet around the system star had passed since last it had
been conscious.
The data from sensors was examined and found to be indeterminate. Whatever
signal had tripped the alarms and kicked in the emergency power had to have been
strong and vital but was now gone. Its sleep level had been so deep that all the
recorded data showed was that there had been a signal. The nature of the signal,
the source of the signal, both had been lost.
The Makers had not anticipated such a long time before resupply of the power
source. It knew there was not much time left to its already very long life
before the power supply slipped below the absolute minimum to keep it
functioning even in hibernation.
A decision needed to be made. Should it divert power to sensors in case the
signal were repeated, or should it go back to deep sleep, conserving power for
time? But if the signal had been vital, and the sensor log said it was indeed
so, then there might not be much time left.
The decision was made as quickly as the question had been posed. Power was
allocated. The sensors were given more power to stay at a higher alert status in
order to catch a repeat of the signal. A time limit of one planetary orbit about
the system star was put on the sensors, at which time they would automatically
awaken it and the decision could be reconsidered.
It went back to a lighter sleep, knowing that the decision to divert power to
sensors for an orbit would cost it almost ten orbits of sleep when the power got
lower, but it accepted that. That was its job.


1
NASHVILLE, TENNESSEE
T-147 HOURS

The grocery bag Kelly Reynolds was holding ripped open as she unlocked her
mailbox and a twelve-pack of Diet Coke burst open on impact with the ground,
sending cans everywhere. It had been that kind of day, she reflected as she
gathered in the errant cans. She'd spent it interviewing local bar owners on
Second Avenue for an article she was writing, and two of her five appointments
had failed to show.
She stuffed the mail into the remnants of the bag and made her way to her
apartment, dropping the entire mess on the table in her tiny kitchen. She filled
a mug with water and pushed it into the microwave, setting the timer, then
leaned back against the counter, giving herself the two minutes before the
beeper sounded to relax. She studied her reflection in the kitchen window, which