Here and Now. John Russell Fearn
Association to find out which station it was sending that transmission at that time. Frankly, boys,” Chris added with an uncomfortable smile, “I’d like to know more about that girl.”
“Shame on you as a research scientist!” Dave said sternly. “How is long-range television to prosper if you go cuckoo over a girl and forget your investigations?”
“No girl’s worth it,” Bruce said flatly. “Concentrate on the commercial side: that’s what matters.”
Chris did not answer for a moment. Another side of the matter seemed to have occurred to him, and presently he put it into words.
“If it came from thousands of miles away the storm would not have any effect on it—only on my receiver. And it isn’t the receiver that gets the boost; it’s the transmitter. Solar activity could do it, yes, because that involves the whole world—but an electrical storm is only a local affair…. I’m none too satisfied with your theory, Bruce.”
He shrugged. “That’s too bad. It’s the only one I’ve got—and I still maintain that a mystery girl who can’t read English is no excuse for holding up our experiments. Get on with your modifications, man, and forget her!”
Chris shook his head. “It’s not as simple as that. What I will do, though, is contact the Association right away.”
Quickly he tuned in the wavelength required, and the genial face of the Amateur Receivers’ Association announcer presently appeared on the screen. This organisation existed solely for the use of television ‘hams’, operating a twenty-four hour service and manned by professional statisticians who were also television maniacs. Their self-inflicted, non-profit making objective was solely to log all known amateur transmissions and make linkups where necessary.
“Hello there,” Chris acknowledged with a friendly salute. “Information required, if you please. Station MBK, London Environ, speaking.”
“Glad to help,” the announcer responded. “What’s the trouble?”
“An unexpected reception at the height of last night’s storm. Can you trace for me where the following transmission came from? A girl with copper-coloured hair and unusually good looks came on my screen without sound at approximately ten o’clock last night when the storm was at its zenith. She did not understand a card written in English which I held up for her to read.”
A puzzled look came over the Amateur Announcer’s face.
“And what was she dressed in? Any idea?”
“A shell pink dress with elbow-length sleeves. It wasn’t evening dress, come to think of it. No jewellery that I noticed. Her background was of a sort of neutral watermark pattern, and there were ribbed pillars. It almost looked like some kind of palace. That’s all I can tell you. My aerial was destroyed temporarily by lightning and I lost contact.... Think you can do anything for me?”
“I’ll try. We have all the details of last night’s transmissions by the ‘hams’ in all parts of the world, and the pros too, come to that. I’ll signal you back in about twenty minutes.”
With that, Chris switched off and relaxed.
“Doesn’t sound too hopeful, does he?” Dave asked at last, to which Chris was forced to give a grudging assent.
“He’ll find something,” Bruce decided. “If any amateur or professional station sent out that transmission, the Association will know all about it. And come to think of it, it may have been a film which was transmitted, hence the ornate background.”
“Then why did the girl study my note and then start to write one for herself?” Chris asked pointedly. “She wouldn’t do that in a film. And another thing—assuming the storm caused me to receive that image over thousands of miles, what kind of electric jiggery pokery was it that caused my image to show up on her televisor? It was a both-way performance, remember.”
Silence, with suggestions and ideas at absolute zero. Not even the inventive Bruce with his analytical mind seemed capable of thinking any further. So for the moment there was nothing to do but keep an eye on the clock and hope the Association might have something to offer.
It was thirty minutes later before the Association came through again, and it was almost immediately obvious from the expression on the announcer’s face that he had nothing of importance to relate.
“Sorry, MBK,” he said, shaking his head. “We’ve no trace of any such transmission from anywhere in the world. In fact, fifty percent of the television stations, ‘ham’ and professional, were off the air last night due to the heavy storms. What you saw I don’t know, but it’s pretty obvious that nobody else saw it. More water with it next time, eh?”
“Very funny,” Chris responded sourly. “Thanks, all the same.” With that he switched off and glanced at Dave and Bruce. The latter said, with studied calm:
“That man is a moron with sub-zero intelligence. He ought to know that no ‘ham’ sees things that don’t exist. Dammit, he has enough struggle seeing the things that do. You saw something all right, Chris, though whether it was of profound importance or not I can’t say. One thing is obvious, though: that fathead at the Association obviously thinks it was a delusion and therefore will forget all about it. All the better, just in case we finally satisfy ourselves that the vision was important, after all.”
Dave grinned. “Good old Bruce! Always look to the future!”
“And to the financial possibilities thereof….” Bruce hunched forward on his stool and added seriously: “Just suppose, for instance, that you contacted Mars by accident? Or even Venus? That the storm track happened to bring in a television wave from outer space!”
Chris hesitated, obviously startled, but Dave as an amateur astronomer remained unmoved.
“All due respect, Bruce, but it’s bunk,” he said politely. “I don’t know enough about television signal strengths to say whether or not this apparatus could pick up a transmission over forty to sixty million miles of space, but I do know that the Martians or Venusians, granting their unlikely existence, would hardly take the form of a beautiful girl of Earth, and dressed in the conventional way too. No, I could better believe the transmission came from fabled Atlantis or somewhere.”
“That’s a possibility, I suppose,” Chris reflected, and Bruce turned himself to fresh speculations.
“For my part,” Dave said after a long interval, “I suggest one more turn round the dial and see if the chance of yesterday happens to repeat itself. Have another go at it.”
Chris nodded and switched on the power, but though he searched with toothcomb thoroughness for the next hour there was no trace whatever of the mystery transmission. Finally he gave a grim glance and snapped off the controls.
“Gone but not forgotten, I’m afraid,” he said. “Believe it or not, boys, I feel like somebody who has glimpsed El Dorado, and I’ll go on trying to find it again if it takes all my life. I refuse to believe it could only happen once in a lifetime.”
Dave and Bruce got to their feet, both of them yawning somewhat with boredom.
“From here on, Chris, it’s your pigeon,” Bruce said. “If you recapture the lovely lady let us know. Personally I don’t think that fluke will ever happen again.”
“Not even in a thunderstorm?” Chris asked, reaching for his jacket.
“Well, now….” Bruce mused and pursed his lips. “I suppose that, given the identical electrical conditions, you might be successful in repeating the effect. Too much to say right now. Hope for the best, eh?”
“And if there isn’t a thunderstorm within a reasonable time whilst the summer lasts I’ll try and conjure up similar electrical effects for myself,” Chris decided. “Darn me if I won’t!”
* * * *
For several weeks afterwards, whilst Britain at least enjoyed clear