Peter was surprised when Kasiko came through the door. With the exception of the Christmas party the other night, he had actually not seen him, in or out of the office for months, because during the school year, Peter only worked weekends.
Kasiko didn’t waste time with small talk. “Peter, you know some of the people at the party were very impressed with you. They agreed to ask you to join them as my assistant.”
“You mean the scientists?”
“Yes, they are doing some important work for the United Nations and I handle the security for the committee.”
“What’s the committee?”
“First you have to sign this and swear not to divulge the work that you may be called upon to do.”
“Sign what?”
“This it’s a non-disclosure agreement.”
Peter read the paper, then signed and dated it.
Kasiko knew this was more for effect since Peter was way under the age of consent, but he felt it would make the desired impression. “The first thing I need you to do is tonight, when no one is around, make five copies of this.” Kasiko handed Peter an envelope and dangled a key on a chain. “Here’s the key to my desk. Leave the copies in the bottom drawer and put the key under my phone.”
“Sure.” Peter held up the envelope. “What is this?”
“It’s just something we need five copies of, no questions asked. Can you do that?”
“Yes of course, tonight, later.”
“Thank you, and welcome to the committee.”
Kasiko took the envelope back, put it in the lower desk drawer, locked the desk, and handed Peter the key, adding, “Remember, when no one else is around.” Then he left.
The 11 o’clock net feed was the only story tonight. Other than that it was an unusually slow news night. That meant the 8-to-12 shift would be leaving early. The 12-to-8 shift would be light. Peter was working a double again so that he could make $37.50 a shift, times two, in one night during school months. That was a ton of money for a 14-year-old in the late ’60s.
By 11:30 p.m., Peter was the only one in the whole newsroom. The manager, domestic film desk, and exec producer of local news were down in Hurleys, the watering hole located on the 6th Avenue and 49th Street corner of the RCA building. So popular was Hurleys with the hard drinking men of journalism, that a special yellow phone was connected from under the manager’s desk to a phone in the table’s booth. In case of any emergency, Peter’s orders were clear: ring up the yellow phone. The execs had an elevator operator standing by and could teeter into the newsroom within 40 seconds of Peter’s call.
When the news manager left at 20 after 11, Peter checked on the “nightman” and saw he was in an office typing. The coast was now clear; this was the time. He unlocked the desk and retrieved the gray envelope with the blue interlocking NBC logo. Inside was an oak tag file folder, which contained something called a galley proof. It was pages of a book. It looked to Peter as if someone opened a book and placed it down flat on a Xerox, so that both adjoining pages could be read across. Peter took half the pages and set them in the document feeder. He then set the digital nixie tube display by turning a knob beneath each number. He turned the right-most knob five clicks until the number above read “005.” Maybe because he felt like a secret agent just then, he then turned it two more times just to see the 007 in thin, red gaseous numbers. Then, for some reason he didn’t understand, he set the display to 010 and pushed the sort button and then the start button. Papers started slotting into the 10 sort bins as the machine clunked and ca-chunked along. When the first half of the original had passed through, he tapped down and smoothed the last half and placed it in the feeder. Soon he had 10 copies of something called, Harmonic Epsilon. He put the five copies and the original in the big envelope Kasiko brought. It was a tight fit but he got them in. He placed them in the desk drawer, locked it, and pocketed the key.
The other five he put in a similar gray NBC envelope and spent the next hour trying to figure out what to do with it. First, he put it on a shelf behind the Rexograph machine. Ten minutes later, nervous that it would be found, he moved it to below the Reuters machine. Twenty minutes later, he moved it behind the Xerox machine. He had never felt this guilty or self-conscious before. He moved the envelope five more times before he finally decided to hide it in the men’s room under the sink. At 7:55 the 8 a.m. shift was in and Peter signed out. He went to the men’s room, retrieved the stuffed envelope, and slid it under his winter coat. He headed for the elevators feeling as though he’d robbed a bank. Only when he was safely aboard the uptown Lexington Ave. local did he abandon his usual place in the front car looking out the front window of the train and risk peeking into the envelope.
Harmonic Epsilon
by
Blake C. Lathie
1968 Auckland, New Zealand.
Printed in Hong Kong.
He turned to the first page.
I have never been abducted by aliens, nor have I ever chatted in Venusian with a green skinned, extra terrestrial; in fact, I’ve never even seen a flying saucer! That’s not what this book is about. This book is a call to anyone reading it to refute or reinforce the evidence I have stumbled upon which supports the existence of UFOs. I have taken these mathematical formulas as far as I can with my rudimentary knowledge of math; maybe someone out there with access to the new, large calculating machines can further the work or, again, refute it.
That sent a chill down Peter’s spine. It was an ominous opening for not only the book but for the next chapter of Peter’s life. He flipped through the pages and saw lots of mathematical formulas. There were charts, maps, and tables. Normally after a double shift Saturday night, Peter got off the train on Gunhill Road and went straight to the 9 a.m. Sunday mass at Immaculate Conception. On this day, he went right home and started reading. He read about the Bermuda Triangle, Easter Island, the Lines of Nasscar, Vortexes, and the Grid. The Grid was the principle argument in the book. Somehow, the Grid was inexorably linked to other physical phenomena of the Earth. The Grid’s effect on man was considerable but unknown to the world. In fact, except for the postulates presented in the book in his hand, the Grid didn’t exist. The geometry and power of the Grid was a discovery awaiting revelation, until this book put it together.
There was little in this book that Peter had ever heard before. Even the math was strange. It was centered on a number system based on 2.73 or Epsilon. Some of the equations were navigational; others dealt in something called harmonics that he hadn’t a clue about. At 2 p.m., his phone rang.
“Peter, it’s Kasiko. You didn’t leave the key under the phone.”
“Aw, shit! Damn it! I’m sorry. I did lock the drawers, right?”
“Yes, you did that.”
“Mr. K, I’m so sorry. Do you want me to run in there right now and bring you the key?”
“No Peter, I have another key. Bring your key by my house tonight. A few members from the committee are meeting around 7 p.m.”
Peter hung up the phone with relief. He’d screwed up, but now he got a second chance to meet with some of the men on the committee.