The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Towering kudzu vines are wrapped around a series of freestanding satellite dishes in a deserted clearing, their metal surfaces reflecting a faint blue-green glow from the sky above. Umm, the air's humid, like it's about to rain, and there's this pungent smell of ozone and gasoline burning somewhere in the distance. Like, somehow the kudzu's leaves are adjusting the position of the satellite dishes to track the binary star system that's still visible next to the mid-morning sun, their movements eerily quiet despite the size of the equipment.