Anomalies (750-Word Challenge)

This story was written for the 750 Word Project 2025. Below this line are exactly 750 words:

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In Chernobyl, there's a scene where General Nikolai Tarakanov watches a robot, built to remove radioactive graphite, fail within seconds of deployment, and he realizes robotics will not carry the day; instead he must order five thousand men to don insufficient protective gear and head out, a few at a time, in 90-second intervals, to clear the graphite by hand.

Each man was only supposed to go once, but one sortie was insufficient. Some went as many as six times. Imagine knowing a single trip onto that roof probably wouldn't be enough to kill you. Imagine being the man who went from being commander to executioner, ordering others to gamble with their lives.

I doubt you can. I sure as hell can't. So why bring it up?

Because I'm about to put on the headphones.

* * * * *

In August 1977, Jerry Ehman was going over data recorded by the Big Ear radio telescope a few days earlier, and made a startling discovery. Big Ear had registered a 72-second anomaly, originating from the constellation Sagittarius. In a sea of paper peppered with widely-spaced numerical designations for the intensity of the signals, the one Ehman found read "6EQUJ5": it started strong, rose to an intensity beyond numerical representation with 'E', climbed to its peak at 'U', then fell until it vanished. It's known as the "Wow signal" because Ehman circled the six-character string and wrote, "Wow!" beside it.

Wonder what it sounded like? Maybe it was a minute's worth of extra-terrestrial soap opera, some intergalactic version of Seinfeld. Something ultimately about nothing. A joke where the audience walked out before the punchline.

We'll never know. We never found it again. Like that Simon & Garfunkel song accused, we were hearing without listening. I can't help but think whoever sent it was disappointed. So they tried again.

* * * * *

They call it the Phobos/Deimos Signal.

We found it emanating from the vicinity of Mars, which is how it got its name. Maybe whoever is sending it knows our mythology enough to have selected the origin deliberately, to make sure we're paying attention. Well, they have our total attention now.

You've felt it yourself, prickling at the back of your skull. Like bass thumping from a party down the street: not enough to wake you, but loud enough to keep you up.

Who the hell would do something like that on purpose?

Initially, scientists studying it went nuts. Long-term exposure to the Signal causes irreversible damage to the neocortex. While all mammals have one, humans' are the most developed. Make something specifically to disrupt the neocortex, the target most susceptible is us.

Coincidence?

No idea. But I'd say somebody did this to make sure we were listening.

* * * * *

Which brings me to the headphones.

After several scientists studying it punched their own tickets, we figured out a few things. The more you're exposed to it, the more damage it causes. We learned it operates on some anti-Heisenbergian nonsense where the less it's observed, the stronger it gets. The more powerful the signal, the more damage it causes, and soon it reaches a point where it's the only thing you think about.

Catch-22: can't study the signal without losing your mind, can't ignore the signal without making it worse for everybody. Only way to understand is to listen, but don't listen too long or...

So, Tarakanov. He couldn't send a few guys to sweep up the graphite, because they'd keel over in minutes. But he could send out five thousand men, one after another, ninety second intervals, until cleanup was complete. That's where the headphones come in.

We've isolated the signal. We have our equipment monitoring it. Now we're serving out our rotations, in three hour increments, paying the attention it demands. The more people listening, the less damaging it is to any one person, including all the people working to decipher it.

We're hoping it's like radiation: a little exposure distributed across a large enough population, minimizes the damage. The headphones are our lead apron, allowing us to shield everyone else from the signal's effects.

But like the suits worn at Chernobyl, it's not good enough. Some will die in its twisted game of Roulette. Somebody's number always comes up, even if it isn't likely to be yours.

Maybe by the time you read this, they'll have figured out the Phobos/Deimos Signal.

Maybe next time, it'll be your turn to put the headphones on.