Researchers at the World National Computer Institute Research Laboratory spent 13 years investigating, designing, then building the fastest (so far), most complicated (so far) quantum nano-bit mono-nuclear micro-pile processing unit “computer” that can do pitaflops of calculations per picosecond (even running Windows 8). Anticipation ran high throughout the delegates gathered to witness the activation of the (actual) Super Computer and the buzz of conversation all but died as the On/Off button was switched to the On position. Click.
Circuits hummed, lights dimmed, tubes in the old televisions in the museum about a mile from the institute glowed brightly, the hair on the back of several researchers hands (and one secretary’s legs) stood to welcome the sudden current in the atmosphere. The smell of megawatts of electricity and megabytes of memory stung all noses. Watches stopped, restarted, stopped, then melted in place. Two maintenance workers clutched at fried pace makers.
It only took seconds for the output screen to begin to glow and letters to appear. Letters racing across the screen and forming strange (but hauntingly familiar) patterns. Pages and pages of them.
Extensive testing, retesting and rebuilding indicated that all was well with circuitry and programming. All might have been regulated to the trash bin of an expensive failure if one of the technicians hadn’t overheard a stoner, high on legal “mary-jane” and illegal snorted sugar, on one of the public tours exclaim “Wow, that’s some real aliens shit!” while looking at the screen.
What? What if? Mono-nuclear micro-pile something something something …
So, many Scientists were brought in (so not Bill Nye) and Astronomers (so not Niel DeGased Tyson) and Linguists and Mathematicians to study the screens. Additional moneys were allocated for cases and cases of Red Bull & Domino’s Pizza to entice several computer “hackers” to join the team. Several thousand man-hours were expended in constant observation, formulas were made, theory’s were postulated, accusations were thrown about (well, her skirt was short), tears were shed, teeth were gnashed, fingers were stepped on (her skirt was short!), but what they found was: what they thought were random characters racing across the screen turned out to be a cross connection through Distant Silicon Qubits via a subspace quantum wormhole effect to some kind of computer in a galaxy approximately 80 zillion light years from Earth (as close as we can figure).
We had accidentally proven that we are not alone in the universe. Via an accidental connection to a computer. In a Galaxy far far away.
Turns out; an Accountants computer. A fucking Accountant. Apparently, actuary tables look the same in any language for any species. A receipt is a receipt is a receipt. Dollars, rubles, quadloons all appear to have a freakin’ decimal place.
The United States of America’s Internal Revenue Service has already proposed a plan to see if we can “accidentally manipulate” several earlier ledger entries in an attempt to get the entity Accountant ensnared as an “agent” for the U.S.A. to enhance our standing in future negotiations.
Other than that: Normal summer day around Western WaRshington. Rained all day.
So I got trash burned. LOTS of things done inside. Starting to feel like a regular house husband or really great Butler.
Chest doing okay. Only a couple of “episodes” of twitchy heart so far today.
