The walls of the Royal Observatory at Greenwich were breathing.
Eleanor Blackwood saw it first thing on the morning of November third, eighteen hundred and eighty-eight. She had been awake since midnight, her eye pressed to the brass telescope, recording the peculiar anomalies in the cosmic background radiation that had been troubling Dr. Pendelton for three months. The data made no sense. The patterns were too regular, too deliberate, to be natural...
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