Trascendental Numbers

Transcendental Numbers

by Carl Sagan

By human standards it could not possibly have been artificial: it was the size of a world. But it was so oddly ant intricately shaped, so clearly intended for some complex purpose that it could only have been the expression of an idea. Gliding in polar orbit about the great blue-white star, it resembled some immense, imperfect polyhedron, encrusted with millions of bowl-shaped barnacles. Every bowl was aimed at a particular part of the sky. Every constellation was being attended to. The polyherdral world had been performing its enigmatic function for eons. It was very patient. It could afford to wait forever.

…

The old Motorola radio was on the shelf where she remembered it. It was very big and heavy and, hugging it to her chest, she almost dropped it.

On the back were the words “Danger. Do Not Remove.” But she knew that if it wasn’t plugged in, there was no danger in it.

With her tongue between her lips, she removed the screws and exposed the innards. As she had suspected, there were no tiny orchestras and miniature announcers quietly living out their small lives in anticipation of the moment when the toggle switch would be clicked “on”.

Instead there were beautiful glass tubes, a little like light bulbs. Some resembled the churches of Moscow she had seen pictured in a book. The prongs at their bases were perfectly designed for the receptacles they were fitted into. With the back off and the switch “on”, she plugged the set into a nearby wall socket. Is she didn’t touch it, if she went nowhere near it, how could it hurt her?

How did the music of the orchestras and the voices of the announcers get in the radio? On the air? Is radio carried by the air? Image by Megan Jorgensen (Elena)

After a few moments, tubes began to glow warmly, but no sound came. The radio was “broken”, and had been retired some years before inn favor of a more modern variety. One tube was not glowing. She unplugged the set and pried the uncooperative tube out of its receptacle. There was a metallic square inside, attached to tiny wires. The electricity runs along the wires, she thought vaguely. But first it has to get into the tube.

One of the prongs seemed bent, and she was able after a little work to straighten it. Reinserting the tube and plugging the set in again, she was delighted to see it being to glow, and an ocean of static arose around her. Glancing toward the closed door with a start, she lowered the volume. She turned the dial marked “frequency”, and came upon a voice talking excitedly – as far as she could understand, about a Russian machine that was in the sky, endlessly circling the Earth.

Endlessly, she thought. She turned the dial again, seeking other stations. After a while, fearful of being discovered, she unplugged the set, screwed the back on loosely, and with still more difficulty lifted the radio and placed it back on the shelf.

Carl Sagan, Contact