" . . . the director has said. Still, no one is quite sure as to the announcement that is scheduled during the press conference next Friday. Speculations have been made, but there is no proof to suggest what the topic of the announcement might be. We will bring more to you as this develops. This is-."
Don switched off the television and glanced down at his brother. Charlie hadn't moved from the coffee table, it seemed, since Alan had called him over two days before. He was now draped over piles of books and papers, fast asleep.
"Still asleep?"
Don looked up at his father's entrance. "Yeah, hasn't budged," he whispered. "He's gonna have a hell of a sore neck when he wakes up, though."
Alan sat down on a chair near his sons. "He can't keep this up, Don. He's going to make himself sick if he doesn't rest and eat."
"I know, Dad, I know," Don replied. "I've talked to him, but he won't listen. He says his project is due by next Monday. Maybe he can hold out till then, then take a break."
Alan sighed wearily. "Maybe he can, but I don't think I will. Do you know what all this is?"
Don looked down at Charlie's papers, debating what he should reveal to his father. "A little," he admitted. "It's pretty important, I can tell you that. And he said he was fairly close to a breakthrough. Just a couple more days."
The phone suddenly rang, making both men jump. Alan quickly snatched the receiver, but it was too late. Charlie's head lifted off of his book, and he blinked tired eyes, confused.
"Hello?" Alan asked, slightly irritated at the caller for disturbing his son's precious sleep.
"Hey," Don said softly, leaning forward and lightly patting his brother's shoulder. "Why don't you go on up to bed? You're obviously tired, and a good night's sleep might help you tomorrow on this."
Charlie shook his head and picked up his pencil. "I'm okay. I have to get back to work on this."
Alan held the phone out to Charlie. "It's for you. It's Larry."
Charlie took the phone, then turned his eyes back to his notebook. "Larry. Hi. What's up?" A pause. "Yeah, I got that, too . . . No, I'm pretty sure it's accurate . . . The latest sequence? Hang on."
He rifled through several of his books before finding a smaller notebook, which he set on top of his notebook. Don and Alan watched as he rattled off a series of numbers neither of them recognized or understood, then hung up.
"Larry's working on this, too?" Don asked.
Charlie nodded, setting the little notebook off to one side. "Yeah, I asked for his help. I needed him to help me back up my data. He got a later start, getting his clearance and all, but he's catching up to me pretty quickly."
"Okay, enough shop talk for tonight," Alan decided. He reached down and lifted as many of Charlie's books as he could. "You, young man, are going to eat something, and then you are off to bed. You can finish this tomorrow."
"Dad, I'm on a schedule!" Charlie protested, gathering the rest of his notes to him.
Alan shifted Charlie's work more securely in his arms. "I will give this back to you tomorrow. Don, take your brother into the kitchen and make him a sandwich. Make sure he eats it, then get him to bed. I'm putting these somewhere safe."
Don his a grin at the look on his brother's face and stood. "C'mon, buddy, you heard him. Let's go."
Charlie huffed. "I'm not a kid. I can take care of myself."
"That remains to be seen," Don replied, reaching down and taking Charlie's arm. "Up you go."
Charlie climbed slowly to his feet, wincing as his muscles unfolded. He had been sitting in the same position for a long time, and his body was letting him know just how uncomfortable it had been. Charlie took a couple steps toward the kitchen, but wavered slightly. One hand flew to his head as he blinked furiously.
Don was at his side in an instant. "Charlie? You okay?"
Charlie's hand dropped, and he straightened. "Fine. Just got a little light headed for a minute there. It's passed."
Don frowned at him. "That's probably because you haven't had anything in your stomach for a while. You can't let yourself go like this, Charlie. It's not healthy."
"I'm fine," Charlie insisted, continuing on to the kitchen.
"Yeah, you look fine," Don shot back, eyeing his brother's gaunt form. Already rail thin, the weeks of little food had taken their toll. Charlie had lost weight, and it was blindingly obvious.
Don grabbed a chair and set it in the kitchen by the counter, then pointed at it. "Sit."
Charlie sank into it obediently, not bothering to comment. He watched as Don rustled through the fridge, pulling out ingredients for a sandwich. As an afterthought, he took out a bottle of water and tossed it to Charlie.
"So, how much more do you have to go?" Don asked as he fixed two sandwiches; one for Charlie, and one for himself.
"I'm not sure," Charlie replied, taking a swig from the bottle. "I've been able to confirm that there is a signal in the satellites, and that it isn't random. I'm going to call my contact tomorrow with an update. As for the source, it depends on a number of variables."
"Such as?" Don prompted. He handed Charlie one sandwich, then hopped onto the counter next to him and took a bite of his own.
Charlie bit into his sandwich, chewed thoughtfully, and swallowed. "First, I need to determine the direction of the signal. It'll be easier to find out where it's destination is. Once I do that, I can probably track down its source. Then I need to work out the nature of the transmission language. That'll help determine whether or not the sender is from Earth or not."
"How can you tell that?" Don asked.
"The complexity of the variables being transmitted," Charlie answered. "An extraterrestrial source might be more unfamiliar with our method of communications. Math is a constant; you can't really change it. But how you relay it to another person is the tell. A person is more comfortable communicating to another because we know how to do it. An extraterrestrial doesn't."
"Do you have any thoughts as to which it might be?" Don asked. He finished his sandwich and rubbed the crumbs off of his hands, then brushed off his jeans.
Charlie shook his head. "Not without working through the numbers. I really can't say one way or the other. It's too soon to develop a theory just yet."
Don watched his brother work through the sandwich, taking note of the slow movements. He knew his brother was exhausted; Charlie would probably fall asleep the minute his head hit his pillow. A small wave of irritation rose in his stomach. He wondered how Charlie could forego his own health in favor of math, but then caught himself. He had done the same in the past when working on particularly trying cases. Alan had been there, calling him on it, and he had been right.
But it was different with Charlie, if for no other reason than he was his little brother. Don knew that the thought was unfair, but it was true. He didn't like the thought of Charlie not taking care of himself. It only cemented Don's beliefs that Charlie was unable to handle real life. So goal-oriented in the world of academia, his own social development and exposure to life had been hindered. How would Charlie really react when presented with a real problem that had nothing to do with math?
Charlie finished his sandwich and stood. Moving the chair aside, he glanced up at Don.
"I don't suppose I could convince you to go get my notes from Dad, huh?" he asked.
"Not a chance," Don replied, hopping down. "Sorry, buddy, but I'm siding with him on this one. Now let's get you upstairs to bed before Dad comes looking for you."
"I'm telling you, I'm fine," Charlie told Don, following his brother up the stairs. "I'm not even tired. I'll probably lay awake all night, thinking about this, and that'll be a whole night's worth of work wasted."
Don only grinned and shook his head.