Cryptographer v. Curator

The Cryptographer asks Pepple what he plans to broadcast. Pepple looks at him, then up at the antenna attached to his home.

That's not a broadcasting antenna, explains Pepple, it's to receive radio signals. It needs to be high to clear the walls of the valley.

Funny you mention radio, the Cryptographer says. I was just talking with... - he turns back to the grounds, where the Undertaker, waist-deep in a newly dug grave, is hard at work - I was recently talking about a signal I listen to on the AM band, between registered stations.

Pepple says he knows the one. It's the same station he listens to. It's why, he says, I asked the Undertaker to help me set up the antenna.

The Cryptographer, pleased to be together with a fellow aficionado, begins talking rapidly about his experience with the station (extensive), how he came across the station (by chance), and the time he spends trying to decipher the code (nights, weekends, when not at work for his corporation).

What do you do for the corporation?

That's classified, says the Cryptographer. Then he considers where he is and the slim likelihood of Pepple contacting his HR department. Well, he confides, try to crack the codes used by other corporations, mostly. I'm in a large department.

Have you found a pattern?

The Cryptographer grows very serious. The only patterns that I've noticed have to do with slight variations in the theme of the phrases spoken during the two equinox. It gets somewhat violent. I have theories on other events throughout the year, but it's too early to tell whether these are valid or not.

And you? the Cryptographer asks.

I listen to it because others listen to it.

Not many know about it.

People to the east do, says Pepple, and people to the west do: it's taken as religion in the east and entertainment in the west.

Pepple returns to his cabin to continue listening to the signal. The Cryptographer waves to him as he walks back to the grounds. Pepple nods through his small window.

The next day the Curator arrives. It's a sunny morning, very hot and humid. The Curator's a stout man. He sweats profusely, gasping for breath as he walks across the grounds. He pats himself down a handkerchief on reaching the oak, leaning back dramatically against the trunk.

My gracious, he sighs. What a journey that was.

After calming himself, he reaches in his pocket and hands the Cryptographer his card. It reads:

Head Curator
African Collection
Museum of ----------

The Cryptographer apologizes for a lack of card on his part.

It's fine, it's fine, young man, he says. I'm disappointed enough as it is to forget your very mild transgression. You see, I only recently heard a favorable ruling in favor of our museum, securing our possession of all items in our present collection - with the exception of one rather coarse jeweled crown. You would think I'd be jumping for joy. Until I received the telegraph demanding my attendance, I was! But now - what a shame, what a loss to be sequestered far from the museum.

He paused.

I don't suppose you're a person who believes that artifacts of historical importance belong in the hands of nations ill-equipped to safeguard them?

The Cryptographer says he hadn't given it much thought.

Well, if you were I'd challenge you to a duel even before the duel we are, by duty, bound to perform! Why, if I could count the times I met a man whose heart bled in ignorance for those countries. Not knowing as I do that half of all the historical treasures in their native land are either stolen or sold to poachers and smugglers, who resell them to private concerns god knows where! No, sir! Thomas Bruce was right in his relocation! And we're right in ours!

The Curator collapses back against the oak. It's several minutes before he's able to stand and select his weapon.

They raise their guns, their guns go off.

Cricketer v. Cryptographer

I think I've wasted my life, says the Cricketer above the drone of crickets, on cricket.

The Cryptographer nods.

It's a silly sort of profession to keep in this country, he continues.

The Cryptographer reluctantly agrees.

What's more, it's a boring game, isn't it? I wish I'd never been approached by the Coach and the university's Financier. I could be in Trinidad now. The money wasn't as good, but life was grand. I see that in retrospect.

Though the Cryptographer's occupation is somewhat obscure, it's an occupation that's necessarily obscure, and thus would be obscure anywhere. It's obscurity that he's fascinated by.

There's a radio channel that emits on a frequency just between two stations on the upper band of the AM dial, he says. And on this station there's repeated a series of phrases, sometimes a series of numbers coupled with words, or letters coupled with numbers, or numbers coupled with phrases, or phrases coupled with words, that together make no apparent sense at all. I've spent the last several years trying to decode them.

Have you?

I don't know, says the Cryptographer. At times I think I might have. Others times I don't.

The Cricketer asks where the signal's broadcast from. The Cryptographer hesitates.

One locality, he says, seems to emit from around this area. Maybe near the great wind turbines to the north. But I've heard that other locations mirror the same phrases exactly. They're scattered across the world.

In an odd circumstance, it's just then that Pepple - with the questionable help of the Undertaker - erects a tall aluminum transmission antenna connected directly to his cabin. The two duelists watch as their two counterparts regard their work from a distance, wipe off their hands, and part ways.

As for the duelists -

They raise their guns, their guns go off.