Signal 87

24 June 1958
I am urgently writing this as a follow-up to a letter I received from you on July 16. Time is of the essence, and we must move quickly before the truth is erased. Blue beret liquidators under the command of Gen. Hoyt Bradley have already begun terminating large aspects of our project. On July 26, my superior, Col. Jerome Hutchins, was dismissed from El Toro and moved to a desk job in New York. We were ordered to turn in all of our research. Consequently, I am unable to attain a copy of the videotape recording, or any supplemental documentation. Security has tripled. Authorization clearance is required on every floor. As of now, my clearance level has not changed, but I expect it to once the project is formally dissolved.
Fortunately, I was able to secure a copy of the videotape transcript. However, by the time you receive this letter, the probability of any remaining evidence of our project would have been classified or incinerated. So that we are clear, I wish to keep my anonymity from you and those interested in these things. The course of this letter will detail facts only, as any personal statements of emotion or speculation might imperil my identity. Our project was staffed by 15 senior officers stationed at MCAS El Toro, and I am one of the lower-ranked personnel that was granted access to the full project. I am entrusting you with this information because I am left with no other option. I am only one man and cannot fight the future alone. If the videotape recording is what we believe it to be, then we have very little time to stop what might already be coming for us right now.
On January 5th, at 03:00, our UHF antenna intercepted an unusual broadcast signal. The video, which was heavily distorted by noise, showed a woman in her late 20s, sitting against a white brick wall. She was scared, panicking, and holding a gun. She spoke directly to the camera, which was unmanned, before she fell over, along with the camera, and was attacked by something off-frame. The broadcast lasted exactly 9 minutes and 17 seconds before it cut out. We split our team in half. Seven of us would work to remove the noise, while the other eight analyzed the picture itself.
The woman was wearing a broad-shouldered, tweed dress jacket, which had been torn and stained with blood. Beneath it, she wore a cream-colored turtleneck, which was also ripped. Together with bruises and lacerations on her arms, neck, and face, we concluded that she was violently attacked by an unknown aggressor. Additionally, the background provided no evidence to indicate where she was broadcasting from, but a bulletin board was identified on the wall to her left. We scrubbed through the entire 9 minute video and noticed a black wristwatch on her left hand. Due to generational loss, we could not extract a clear picture of the watch, but the outline, the proportions, and the color resembled a calculator instead of a clock face. We designated it as the “Tracy Watch” due to its likeness to the watch worn by Dick Tracy.
On January 15, the noise at the beginning of the broadcast, where the yet-unknown woman turned on the camera, was thoroughly cleaned. The date and time were printed on the bottom left corner of the picture. 05 AUG 1987, TRT: 01:26:11:04. At first, we thought it was a hoax. Then on January 16, we received our frequency analysis. As a base point, civilian equipment broadcasts at a standard of 45.75 MHz. Our highest frequency for federal and commercial aviation ranges between 800 and 851 MHz. The radio band on that broadcast was 560 GHz. It verged on the infrared. The equipment needed to produce that strong of a signal exists only in the theoretical. Neither the United States nor the Soviet Union have the technology necessary to distribute a signal that strong.
Col. Hutchins contracted a communications expert from UCLA on January 20 to further analyze the picture. The expert noted several details. 1) the grain seen in the higher contrast areas does not denote film grain, but something else. He explained film grain is very pin-point-like, or granular. The grain in the broadcast is larger, blob, or cloud-like. 2) the color is wrong. Color film stock, even degraded or transferred film stock would have a higher dynamic range, whereas the broadcast is mostly washed out. 3) the frame rate of the broadcast is not interlaced, meaning there was no conversion from 24 fps to 60i. The broadcast was originally shot at 60 fps. 4) the presence of faint scan lines. We concluded that the woman was using a tape-based camera, and not a film camera. Though several videotape instruments are available, they are mainly relegated to the commercial sector. It is highly unlikely and implausible that an independent station has the funds or the power needed to run that kind of equipment.
On February 9, the audio and picture were clean enough to hear. At 14:39, we played the full broadcast for a second time. A transcript was hastily typed. At 14:52, Col. Hutchins informed Major General Powell that the contents of the broadcast detail a potentially apocalyptic scenario by extraterrestrial invaders. At 15:00, the course of our study was officially named Project Arclight. The broadcast was given the code name “Signal 87.” News of our discovery reached Washington, and on February 11, Project Arclight was designated as 1.4(e) TOP SECRET, falling under the purview of Gen. Hoyt Bradley.
Please find a copy of the transcript on the next page.
***
EYES ONLY
TRANSCRIPT OF SIGNAL 87
NZJ at 14:51-15:03
9 February 1958
What happened in the past ninety-six hours, I can't even describe—I don't even know where to begin! We first started noticing these strange artifacts embedded beneath the scan lines of our SFN signal. We thought it was radiation from a solar storm or something, but the signal was—it was evolving. I don't know how else to explain it! It was just... it was almost like it was alive! We tried switching microwaves, but it was everywhere! Whatever this signal was, it assimilated all our radio and broadcast signals: AM, FM, stereo, everything! We checked with all our affiliates—even our satellite cable distributor—and they had nothing on their end! It was just us! We were unintentionally transmitting subliminal ultrasound frequencies, the kind only dogs can hear. And before we knew it, we started hearing these... these gargling sounds coming from our speakers. It was so loud you could hear it over the broadcast audio—it was horrible. Then Carl—oh, god, Carl... he thought it was interference. Just a tangled pirated UHF or something, but it wasn't. The artifacts.. the sounds... it was all information layered in the polarization modulation of our SFN. The signal was so low on the hierarchy, we didn't notice it at first, but over time it prioritized itself. We analyzed just one frame of our broadcast, and we were finally able to capture an image of the signal. But it wasn't a signal. It was an electrogram! An electric recording of a living organism! I know this sounds crazy, believe me, but that signal was somehow transmitting organic matter through the air! It was teleporting something directly to us! The sounds, the weird patterns in the modulation; it was them! We were seeing and hearing them! Then, four or five hours later... they came.
The signal fried our antenna. It even fried all our relay stations. It overwhelmed the system, and the surge knocked out power for the whole San Diego area! Once the city reset the grid, every electrical device in the greater metro area was charged! I know this sounds insane—I know—but this is how the invasion started! They used our antenna to get into the grid! If you touched any device like a TV, or a microwave, or a computer... lights or toasters... anything with electricity, the static discharge transfers their body into yours! They start to grow inside of you, and when they're done growing, they just... pop out! I've seen it happen... I... this is how most of us died. They either rip through your stomach or tear through your neck. God, there's always so much blood! Sometimes they have tentacles; sometimes they have claws or wings; sometimes both! They're parasites! Some of us who were exposed to the teleportation process became really sick. People started developing leprosy or radiation sickness or something—I don't know what to call it. It's like a mutation or something. People become disfigured; mutated with boils and tumors, and rashes. The symptoms show up six hours after exposure. After ten, the tumors rapture, and they die. Just like that. That's what happened to Harkin—our tech director—my friend. They're calling it Fibonacci's Disease because the tumors... they make this horrible, spiral pattern. What this virus does to the body is indescribable. And the bodies... they don't... they don't look human anymore! They look like monsters! They almost look like them. Just mounds of flesh, and claws, and teeth, and wings. You can't even see their faces. They had to use dental records to identify some of them. Some were so badly mutated, their teeth were falling out. You'd almost forget they were people.
Oh, god, the medical tents; they're all bloodbaths! The city was put under immediate quarantine by presidential executive order. FEMA, the CDC, EMD, WHO—they were all here, but they couldn't do anything. Most of them died out because humans aren't viable hosts, but a lot of them lived. The man in charge of all this—who put us under occupation—General Lance Rogaurd, he's not just here to kill these things. I think he wants all of us dead. He started these bug hunts; ambushes designed to flush out and destroy these things. It must've made him crazy or something because he's killing all of us now, even the ones who aren't sick! I've seen his men kill by the hundreds; dumping the bodies into mass graves in Balboa Park; lighting them on fire; salting the graves. You could smell the bodies everywhere. You could see the ash fall like snow. The ovens are the size of trailers. There are dozens of hospitals and triage tents packed with bodies... and the carnage... it's just so horrifying! They'll walk into a hospital and just start shooting people right in their beds! Dr. Flowers, his medical adviser, he's just as crazy! I've seen his experiments. He purposely infects people with Fibonacci's! I don't know why, but he wants to keep these things alive! Preserve them for some study or something. He has one caged up, and... I've seen him feed people to it. The guy from FEMA, Beckner, that's how he went. I don't know what's going to happen anymore. I keep hearing about Operation Fallen Angel, and I think they want to nuke the city! I don't know if this is an isolated incident, or if it's the whole world! I just hope I can tell you the truth of what happened here... that we were invaded by something... that innocent people were killed by our own military... or by those things! I'm using their signal to broadcast this recording, hoping that someone—anyone--can help us. I'm going to die, and in these last moments, I'm telling you the truth. The facts. It's my duty as a journalist. And this is my final report. I don't want to be eaten by them. I've seen how they do it. They spray you with this yellow acid, and they... they drink you. They drink you like you were some kind of goddamn soda or something! I don't want to die that way. I don't want to die! I don't want to—but I am. I just have to... it's the only way now. I'm Laura Daniels, for CNR San Diego. Oh, god, they're here! No! No! No, god! No! Oh, god! God! No!
End of broadcast.
***
A formal communication line between us, the Centers for Disease Control, and the World Health Organization opened up on February 12. They were just as confused as we were. There is no record of Fibonacci's Disease yet, and the symptoms described by the woman, Lauren Daniels, do not match any symptoms of any known illness. Furthermore, the degree of mutation mentioned in the broadcast exceeds known mutative disorders, even those caused by radiation. The Centers for Disease Control concluded that altering the genetic makeup and physiology of a body to the extent mentioned is entirely impossible. The broadcast was dismissed as science fiction.
At 04:13, on February 13, Hutchins made a sudden call, which was diverted to LANL, inquiring about the validity of the three military persons mentioned in the broadcast. Currently, Lance Rogaurd is a Captain in the Eighth Army, under Gen. George Decker. However, Dr. Flowers and Beckner are indeterminable. When questioned, Capt. Rogaurd seemed confused by the information we presented, and denied any accusation of endangering civilian life. The fact remained: the campaign he would carry out against the invaders would not transpire for another thirty years. This was not the General Lance Rogaurd from the broadcast. Not yet.
On February 29, we sent two personnel in plain clothes to KFMB, which is the only television network in the greater San Diego area. They denied any knowledge of the broadcast—how it was produced, or who Lauren Daniels is. However, the station manager recognized the name Harkin. Bob Harkin is currently one of the network's writers. We talked to him, and while he did not relinquish any new relevant information, his ambition to oversee telecasts conformed to his inevitable position as tech director in 1987.
Enhancing the recording also allowed us to see the fate of Lauren Daniels. At approximately 08:45 in the broadcast, she holds the gun up to her head, at which point something appears to grab her legs from under the frame. She falls over, firing the weapon, but not before grabbing the camera. The bullet narrowly misses her head. They both hit the ground, and Lauren Daniels moves out of frame except for her empty hand. She screams and begs. A spraying sound can be heard off-camera. Her screams and begging become more gargled. Her hand twitches for a few brief seconds before coming to a stillness. Then finally a yellow liquid, mixed with what appeared to be blood, can be seen running beneath the hand, across the floor, and hitting the camera. The hand is quickly pulled back out of frame, and the recording ends.
One final assessment. We determined that a part of the noise distortion on the broadcast was due, in part, to some kind of background radiation caused by additional microwaves. These microwaves were too powerful to be terrestrial. We applied the Alpher-Herman model, which was conclusive. On March 15, our first measurements of the Dicke radiometer verified the presence of background microwaves lingering in space. Part of the distortion on the broadcast was cosmic radiation. The signal, therefore, was transmitted through time and space.
We spent the next several months parsing through the broadcast in secret. We were careful not to mention the concept of time travel in any capacity. Officially, we were researching early breakthroughs in radio technology for overseas combat. In early May, someone breached our project. Strange men showed up to our lab, and asked Hutchins to brief them on our discovery, and why we did not disclose it to the proper departments. Our project was audited and deemed a risk to national security, which prompted me to reach out to you and your team.
After your third letter, on May 24, Bradley was ordered to inform an unknown authority in the US Air Force directly regarding our progress. This happened for several days until June 2, when an Air Force envoy came to our lab to reclassify our work under Project Echo. An engineer from Bell Labs visited our office on June 3. He reviewed our research and approved total government oversight. On paper, Project Echo's objective was to establish a communications satellite.
Throughout June, the Air Force coordinated with JPL on the wholesale transfer of Project Arclight to Project Echo, which allowed instances of data to leak from the highest-security systems to less-high-security systems. That is why I can provide a transcript.
Dr. William Pickering, director at JPL, and the unnamed engineer from Bell Labs began compiling our research. They are set to deliver a presentation to high-ranking authorities within the US Air Force and the National Committee for Aeronautics later this month. If their findings compel a doomsday scenario, as expected, then it would require the inception of a new federal agency. Additionally, as per the conditions of the project's transfer, unnecessary components—those of us who worked on the project—are to be debriefed or liquidated.
I urge you. Time is not on our side. Once Project Echo begins, the truth will be buried. Signal 87 is a bleak and horrifying message from the not-too-distant future. Efforts are underway to stop the scenario from happening at the expense of civilian loss. Our history is written for us. Our future can no longer be predicted. It is now invented. If Project Echo is a success, and the apocalypse from 1987 is obstructed, then we failed in preserving the truth.
What will happen to those of us involved in the project—even those questioned by our staff—I cannot say with certainty. I have already taken the necessary procedures to ensure my work is known should something happen to me. I urge you to do the same. Until such time, I will continue to provide as many details and information without jeopardizing my identity.
If this is my last letter, then I die in the pursuit and preservation of knowledge and truth. You may find my obituary in the coming months. I hope not.
Take care.
Category:Beings
Category:Science
Category:Reality