Ava cut him off. “Gabe, wouldn’t the recorded information have deteriorated by now?”
“Maybe. It matters how often it was played and by what method. Unfortunately, playing a mechanical recording hastens its destruction. Most of Edison’s recordings on tin have deteriorated, but they were played often. I suspect gold would preserve data just fine. Besides being ductile, gold is unreactive. Therefore, it resists corrosion and tarnishing.”
“Enough to last millennia?”
“It’ll be forty thousand years before Voyager approaches a planetary system. If NASA expects those recordings to last that long, then two thousand years seems possible — even on Earth.”
“Can we play these disks? Obviously, a phonograph won’t work. Nothing would fit, and the needle would probably destroy them, but could we reverse-engineer an ancient playback device?”
“Why do all that? Why not just capture the data to a PC running good audio software?”
“How?”
“It depends. You could use an optical scanner or a light-contact technique. Optical is easier and usually results in a better sound. Unlike bouncing a laser beam off a record, optical scanning isn’t susceptible to dirt, damage, or wear. On the other hand, light contact is quicker and more authentic.”
“What do you mean ‘authentic’?”
“Optical-scan results require digital filtering, meaning somebody guides the process. In effect, he or she decides how the final recording will sound, but now there’s some cutting-edge software incorporating precision optical metrology with slippery pattern recognition algorithms—”
“Speak English!” Paul barked.
“Okay, sorry. I’ll back up. Let’s say you break a wax record. Now you can’t play it with a needle, right? But the information is still there — it’s stored mechanically. Once upon a time, two geniuses at Lawrence Berkeley Laboratories got bored studying subatomic particles and used their scanner to optically ‘read’ etchings in damaged antique records. They scanned the physical objects, digitized the images, reintegrated them, and calculated what a stylus would do. The experiment turned out beautifully.”
“Would that work on our disks?”
“I don’t see why not. The Berkeley software is hard core. It was designed to find Higgs bosons. If we had a really good scan, I could model the artifacts’ undulating grooves and extract the audio data. I can even enhance the result to remove scratches, noise, or whatever, but I don’t see how any of that’s helpful.”
“Why not?” Ava asked.
“Because I can’t do anything without scanned images. Photos won’t work. We need much greater detail. Given the point density required, we’d need a high-res scanner suitable for soft, delicate surfaces—”
“Would a Metris LC15 Laser Probe suffice?” Paul asked, enjoying the silence that followed his question.
Once Ava was dressed, she and Paul took a cab to the university. As they were hurrying to the computer center, Paul told her that their hotel room had been robbed. To his surprise, she wasn’t crushed. In fact, the news didn’t seem to faze her. She remained enthused about their current project. After logging into the system using Clarkson’s password, Ava called Gabe. Over the phone, he explained how to use the 3D scanner. She relayed the instructions to Paul, who carefully scanned both disks.
The resultant mountain of digitized information was too large to transmit by phone. Ava attempted to send it via the secure e-mail interface but the system crashed. They were stymied until Gabe suggested saving and transmitting each scanned file individually. It was tedious, but following Gabe’s directions to the letter, Ava completed the task. When Gabe confirmed receipt, Ava heard excitement in his voice. She knew he couldn’t wait to begin his analysis. “Okay, just one last thing,” she said.
“What? What?” he asked.
“Gabe, I really miss you. It’s beyond wonderful hearing your voice again. I was scared that something bad had happened. Thanks for everything you’ve done. You’re a true and loyal friend, and I’ll never forget it.”
Gabe tried to reply, but the words caught in his throat. He felt tears welling up. Self-conscious, he handed the telephone to Jess and turned away, struggling for self-control.
“Hello? Gabe? Are you there?”
Grinning, Jess said, “Ava, this is Jess. Gabe will be just a moment. He got something in his eye and he’s run to the loo.”
They talked for a while. After bringing her friend up to speed on everything happening in Boston, Jess mentioned that Ava’s parents and teachers were becoming concerned about her extended absence.
“Please tell them not to worry. I’m okay, and I’ll be home soon.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course! The situation is under control. For heaven’s sake, we have first-class tickets on the next catamaran to Italy. How cool is that?”
When Sheik Ahmed heard the mobile phone, he smiled. He’d been eagerly anticipating this call. Finally, he had good news to report.
Before it could ring twice, Ahmed had answered. “Master?”
“Yes.”
“We have the jars. Shall I bring them to you personally?”
“No.”
To Ahmed’s surprise, the master did not sound pleased.
“The clever little troia is close to the secret. She must be exterminated immediately. Spare no expense. Utilize any resource. Stop at nothing. Kill her now.”
For perhaps the first time, Ahmed detected a human emotion in the master’s voice. He must be furious, thought the sheik, but then he reconsidered. Fury wasn’t quite right. He’d heard something more, something hidden underneath. Was it possible? Ahmed wondered: Was the master afraid?
Embarrassed that he’d teared up during the phone call, Gabe retreated into his work. After several hours he located and downloaded the software necessary to read the scans. While the parallel processing algorithms monopolized his available computing resources, Gabe decided to eat. He pondered a momentous decision: pizza or Thai? As he vacillated between the two enticing options, he checked his inbox. It contained an urgent e-mail from durmdvl.
“We have a problem. I’ve been snooping on DeMaj Corp so that if it located our friends, I’d know. As of last night, none of our spiders had detected a single usage of the term Malta, Valletta, or bishop. We know someone found Ava (and sent the assassin), but nary a word about it was uttered or typed on the DeMaj network. That doesn’t scan. I’ve drawn 2 conclusions, both of which are scary. (A) Someone other than DeMaj sent the killer, meaning we’re facing an unexpected enemy. (B) The bad guys found her in Malta almost immediately. They set up an ambush in less than 24 hours. Therefore, they have already compromised her new phone, they have a spy in the Malta police, immigration/customs, or both.”
“If that’s true,” Gabe realized, “they’ll know Ava’s itinerary.”
Paul and Ava strolled down Pinto Road through Valleta, then checked in at the Sea Passenger Terminal. The catamaran wouldn’t depart for an hour, so they sat down on a bench to wait. Eventually Paul asked, “Would you explain something?”
“I’ll try.”
“How could ancient people have done all this stuff?”
“What stuff?”
“Well, for example, how could they make recordings? I understand it’s physically possible, but they didn’t have the necessary technology—”
“Ancient people had all kinds of technology. Thales of Miletus wrote about electrostatic phenomena in 550 BC. Heron of Alexandria invented a working steam engine in the first century.”
“A steam engine? Seriously?
“He called it an aeolipile. The basic principle is jet propulsion. Heat up water in a sealed metal cauldron. Water boils into steam. Steam shoots out from two jets, rotating a ball.”