The Hammer of God

“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.