Below the Orange antimacassar is a new chapter of Sherlock Holmes in Space. Something was going on last Tuesday, so there was no chapter posted. But now there is.
Our Chapters thus far:
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Putting Sherlock Holmes and a group of people together is unpredictable in the most mundane of surroundings. And a back-yard cookout in outer space aboard the SS Oligarch, several centuries in the future and who knows how far from Earth could hardly be called mundane. Nevertheless, Holmes was uncommonly outgoing. And it wasn't just the food, although the grilled chicken thighs lived up to, in fact exceeded, all expectations. The side dishes, too, were delicious. The respective efforts of the various guests were reflected in the shiny bottoms of the nearly empty dishes as everyone sampled everything. I confess, with some pardonable pride, that I was given several compliments on the meringues. But, I also confess, that I had some unexpected help in the form of a fresh berry compote topping. Brought by an unexpected late arrival.
"Don't feed that mangy mechanical dog until you've given me a chance," boomed a familiar voice. It was the Captain. Captain Haggard. "Mr Holmes, Dr Watson, I see you've met the 'In' crowd. I'm impressed."
"Aye, Cap'n," said Control, "They be hard workin' lads, so spare 'em the lash if ye please."
"Watch out Hag, Control's talking pirate, and you know what that means" said Otis as the pair went over to greet the Captain. In fact, it seemed, the Captain knew everybody there. And they all greeted him as they would an old friend who'd recovered from a serious illness. All except Evan. Holmes seemed to notice this too.
Those thoughts were momentarily sidetracked, though, by a series of events not common to an English picnic, nor, I'd imagine, to a North American picnic either. First, The Scream started its hideous racket. The reactions were as I expected. A mixture of horror and sadness. And there was more. Otis Ferg, Evan, Yvonne and Jerome each used a tri-fold as a recorder. "Pointless, I know," said Otis, "But maybe one of us will grab a useful sample one of these days." Doxy, though, pulled an elegantly machined device from a pouch, pushed two buttons, one of which made a slight sound signifying that some hidden mechanical object had been triggered, and a full reel on one side of the face of the machine, loaded with what appeared to be ribbon, began to turn at a fairly brisk pace depositing ribbon on an empty reel which appeared to be its counterpart on the other side.
"Analog for The Scream?" Jerome said to Doxy after the noise had finally ceased. "You are a die-hard, indeed."
Otis nodded sadly, "We can barely get anything on playback except white noise, and at least two of the tri-folds I hot-rodded myself. They have true 24-bit preamps feeding 32-bit converters into 128-bit files."
Evan said, "Yeah, to store as much audio information as a tri-fold can access you'd need a reel of tape the size of this backyard running at half the speed of the ship."
"Where do you store your information, Evan?" asked Sherlock Holmes.
"Same place as everybody, Mr Holmes. OMSF, we call it Old MacDonald's Server Farm."
"And that's something you program, Otis?"
"Actually, I don't Mr Holmes. It's what we call a 'blackbox.' Data go in, data go out. Came with the ship. I don't know how it works, furthermore, I cannot determine how it works. Orders of the S.I.T."
Yvonne said, "It's because of copyright concerns. Ever since we got perpetual copyright, the S.I.T. or its predecessors have insisted that protected materials be stored on the most secure device available at the time."
"Secure," said Jerome, "Meaning under the complete control of the Scientific Integrity Team, naturally."
"What other computer systems does the S.I.T. control?"
"None," said Otis. "Systems, you've met some of us, has responsibility for the computers that run life-support, navigation, public safety, business transactions and such. In short, everything except music and video. Oh, and books."
"And the check-sums you spoke about the other day, do they function with this blackbox as they do with other computers?"
"Identically, Mr Holmes. Even for the recordings of The Scream. Although they shouldn't because the ear clearly hears the difference during recording. But not on playback. The result is nothing but white noise. The eye clearly sees no difference on a graphic representation, too, in that case, the screen shows white noise during actual event of The Scream as well as the playback."
Doxy had been observing this exchange with a bemused expression. "And of course people such as I are dismissed as cranks and eccentrics. "Audiophools" is the term some engineers like to use."
Yvonne spoke sharply, "You mean the audiophools who are convinced they can hear an improvement by spending as much on a pair of hook-up wires as most people spend on an entire entertainment system? Or the audiophools who are convinced that hyper-expensive knobs make everything sound better. Knobs! But try to tell them that a double-blind test clearly shows those things make no difference whatsoever. Hah!"
"Let us hope, then, that you are never in a position of dealing with an autistic child," said Dixie, who had been rather quiet, "Their hyper-acuity is something you would no doubt attribute to an over-active imagination."
"I won't speak to the issue of hyper-acuity, Mr Holmes" said Doxy, "But if you and Dr Watson will take a look at the screen of this antique computer, you will see the waveform of the most recent Scream. A waveform that does not show up on the much higher resolution display of the tri-fold. Yvonne, you and your systems companions are welcome to look too. Unless you find that sort of thing too old school."