"These are the phrases we pulled from the recording and after many, many hours of shuffling the letters through every cipher cracker known," the man's chest puffed with pride, "one of our brightests managed to figure it out."
At this Mr. Billion seemed phased, interest piqued quite obvious in the way he shifted in his seat.
"And what does it say, Dr. Pines." One of the higher ups asked this time.
Another flicked wrist and more text appeared on the projected screen.
"Report 020014
Target confirmed. Movement with be made. Revelation will soon begin. Sign off, Brother Y."
The men and women around the table were silent as the words slowly registered. Dipper looked down at the tablet in his hand, the screen dimmed to its lowest setting, taking the pen from its holder and circling four words on the open text document.
What is the Target?
"What, or who, is the target mentioned in the intermission?" Another higher up asked almost sounding worried.
The main general cocked her head sideways. "What is "Revelation," Doctor?" She asked sounding out the word as if it were foreign to her.
"We have been trying to figure that out, but, with 'soon' of its appearance," Stanford's tone turned grim, "time may be limited."
Observing the anxious whispers spreading around the table, Dipper stepped briskly and silently towards the elder. Ignoring the steely eyes drilling into him when he was noticed, he leaned in close to Stanford's ear. "She won't sound the alarm, you and I know it, Uncle." Dipper whispered. "Not even the General of Defense nor the President with raise an alarm of a 'soon' Revelation."
The young adult didn't see a point to the meeting. All they had was a recording and a translation. Nothing concrete to even consider a serious threat.
"The numbers, Doctor," Mr. Billion spoke up over the whispers, bringing back attention to the subject. "What do the numbers mean would you suppose?"
His attention brought away from his nephew's warning. "Numbers?" A pause in thought before his brain jump started again. "Ah, yes, the report numbers." Stanford side turned to the projection screen, raising the remote in hand as a red dot circled the numbers. "At first we, as a whole, thought they were a date of some alien calendar," a heavy hand dropped on to Dipper's shoulder. "Then my nephew here wondered how long has this Revelation been in planning, how long has the sender been observing our kind, and," he paused suspensefully, "how long have they been among us?"
"Now, you're starting to sound like a conspiracy theorist." The General retorted quickly, relaxing back into her seat her smirk seeming forced.
Heads turned to her with clear feelings of insult, even Dipper glared at the woman.
"Ma'am," Dipper began brushing Stanford's hand from his shoulder. "With equalling respect you show us," he met her eyes evenly, "but we are conspiracy theorists." Pressing his free hand flat on the table surface and leaning on it. "Just with better resources, more money, and more intelligence." Shared agreement was shown with nods. "The government hire us for this research to communicate with beings beyond our atmosphere, beyond our solar system, to either bring peace to our planet or better defend it."
Stanford waited politely for a few moments before reaching forward to grip Dipper's shoulder again. "Thank you P-"
"I'm not quite finished, sir." Dipper growled sparing him the slightest glance then focusing back to the corporate morons on the other end of the table. "If anything and anything lives outside our reach, they are smart to avoid contact with our primitive, materialistic idiocy all because fools such as you and the rest of the board, the cabinet, and any other money grubby prick refuse to listen to the smart people." He stood again still meeting her gaze. "Would you like to know where the transmission came from, General?"
"Yes." The assistant general spoke up when she didn't, getting eyes directed at him. He didn't dignify any of them was a response.
Dipper finally backed away from the table remaining silent and allowing his uncle to retake direction of the meeting.
Another wrist flick and the screen changed to show a map with a red circle in place. Over the District of Columbia. Murmurs again came over the board members and the generals, again Mr. Billion seemed unphased but in thought. Stanford coughed into his hand for attention. "I did say that time may be limited." He said over the hushed table.
Cutting through the grim silence, through the anxious glances shared between board members, and startling everyone, was a laugh. Cruel and bellowed, as if it was held for a long period of time. Eyes directed quickly to the source.
Mr. Billion stood from his chair; his hands tucked casually into his coat pockets, a grin splitting his face in half. "Time is up." He declared.
