EPILOGUE
Arecibo Observatory
Arecibo, Puerto Rico
Dr. Mary Caldwell moved the mouse back and forth to wake up the computer. The screen came to life and began displaying the data collected overnight. The radio telescope outside her window was a thousand feet in diameter—the largest single-aperture telescope in the world. It was sunk into the ground, looking almost like a smooth gray plate that sat on a high plateau overlooking the green forested mountains beyond.
The first rays of sunlight were peeking over the mountains, into the dish. Mary never missed watching the scene, but it wasn’t the same now, mostly because of the people they had lost.
Before the plague, there had been a dozen researchers manning the observatory; now there were three. Arecibo had been losing staff for years due to budget cuts. The plague had gotten the rest.
Yet Mary returned for her shift each day, as she had done for the previous six years. She had nowhere else to go, and there was nowhere else she wanted to be. She knew the U.S. government would get around to withdrawing their power allocation any day now, but she had decided to stay to the end, until the last lights went out. Then she would venture out into the world to see what sort of work there was for an astronomer.
She would have killed for a cup of coffee, but it had run out weeks ago.
She focused on the computer. There was… She clicked one of the data feeds. Mary’s throat went dry. She ran an analysis, then another. Both confirmed that the signal was organized. Not random cosmic background radiation.
It was a message.
No, it was more than that: it was the moment she had waited for her entire life.
She glanced at the phone. In her mind, she had rehearsed this scene for the last twenty years, since she had first dreamed of becoming an astronomer. Her first instinct was to call the National Science Foundation. But she had called them—once a week since the outbreak. And gotten no answer. She had also called SRI International—with the same results. Who to call? The White House? Who would believe her? She needed help, someone to analyze the transmission. The SETI Institute in Mountain View, California? She hadn’t tried them. She’d had no reason to… Maybe—
John Bishop, another scientist on the project, stumbled into the office. He was usually only sober for about an hour after he woke up.
“John, I found something—”
“Please God tell me it’s more coffee.”
“It’s not coffee…”
AUTHOR’S NOTE
What a difference seven months makes.
That’s how long it has been since I uploaded my first novel, The Atlantis Gene, to Amazon’s Kindle Direct Publishing—the platform where any common scribbler with the time and desire can make a book available to “the world.”
You and the other folks reading this note are “the world” to me.
And I want to hear what you think. I’m currently debating several things, in particular how long this series should be. I’ve created a short, three-question poll that will determine where it all goes.
Click the link below to add your voice:
http://www.agriddle.com/feedback/plague/1a
Last but not least: thank you for reading. This novel took me a lot longer to write than I ever imagined. I hope it was worth the wait. And I hope the next one will be even better.
Until then, take care and thanks again,
- Gerry
A.G. Riddle
PS: As always, feel free to email me ([email protected]). Sometimes it takes me a few days, but I answer every single email.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
It’s mind boggling how many people I need to thank.
One thing I’ve learned is that writing is a lot simpler when you’re just writing (and not “being a writer”). I love writing, but being a writer, boy that’s time-consuming!
But there’s a growing group of people who have helped me to focus on writing and to do my very best during those hours when I’m typing, pacing, and thinking (that’s what it looks like when I’m writing).
At home, Anna ensures that I bathe regularly and maintain some social function (helpful when writing non-Atlantean characters). And now she’s become involved in this riddled writing adventure, performing proofreading, marketing, and pretty much everything else except for stringing sentences together (I have to earn my keep somehow).
I also want to thank:
My mother, for her guidance and encouragement, as always.
David Gatewood, my outside editor extraordinaire, for turning this manuscript around faster than a quantum cube.
Juan Carlos Barquet, for the truly brilliant original artwork for The Atlantis Gene (and soon to be Plague).
Andy Barzvi and Kristyn Keene at ICM Partners, for helping me navigate the dangerous post-apocalyptic wasteland known as “the publishing industry.”
And finally, two groups I’ve never met.
The first: you. Readers who stick around for the Author’s Note and the Acknowledgments, visit the web site, sign up for the email list, write reviews on Amazon, and sometimes, write me a note after they turn the last page.
Hearing from you all over the last seven months has been an experience I can’t describe. And I will never forget. It has truly been the most rewarding part of this entire endeavor. I simply can’t thank you enough for supporting my work this early in my career.
And: to my beta readers. I’m sorry I didn’t get this to you sooner, but I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart. You are: Andrea Sinclair, Annette Wilson, Christine Girtain, Dave Renison, Dr. Andrew Villamagna, Drew Allen, Jane Eileen Marconi, Joe O’Bannon, John Schmiedt, Joseph DeVous, Markel Coleman, Richard Czeck, Skip Folden, Steve Boesen, Ted Hust, Tim Rogers, Tina Weston, and many others.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
A.G. Riddle spent ten years starting and running internet companies before retiring to focus on his true passion: writing fiction. He lives in Parkland, Florida and would love to hear from you: AGRiddle.com