Do you have the same beautiful shooting stars there in Zeugma that we have here? I know you’re studying these things, so it must be an exciting time for you. I can’t believe how glorious they look, even during the day, and it’s rather strange and wonderful to think of my children growing up to take such sights for granted. They’ll be amazed to hear from their father that there was once a time when the sky was so much emptier!
Your sister Lucia
11
The morning after her first appearance with Eusebio in the Variety Hall, Yalda woke early and went out to see what the papers had made of it.
A boy on a nearby corner was selling City Skin, so she bought a copy, but after flicking through the sheets three times it was clear that the end of the world didn’t rate a mention here. She went back to ask the boy for Talk; he’d sold out, so she waited while he dusted his chest with dye and made a fresh one for her.
“I’ll pay you the same for just the news and entertainment sections,” she offered impatiently.
“We’re not allowed to do that,” he said, summoning the memory of another sheet onto his chest.
“Why not?”
“The advertisers don’t like it.”
When he’d finished, Yalda took the whole bundle from him and walked around the corner before discarding the financial advice, restaurant reviews and railway timetables. She had to search the remainder twice before she found what she was looking for.
Last night our spies were at the Variety Hall, where the preternaturally plump Professor Yalda regaled a non-paying (!) audience with news of civilization’s impending demise. In a performance mixing the illusionist’s art with the terrors of geometry, the bountifully bulky Professor attempted to tie fleet-footed Mother Time in knots, leaving many observers wondering at her motives.
If the audience was unpersuaded by her message of doom, the attempt that followed by Councilor Eusebio to attract supporters (or even volunteers!) for his Ride Beyond the Sky was greeted by a veritable uproar of disbelief and derision. To anyone willing to back this venture: we have a design for Mechanical Wings gathering dust in our cupboard, awaiting only the life-giving touch of a gullible investor.
In the interests of sanity, Talk consulted Professor Ludovico of Zeugma University, who explained that the Hurtlers bringing such angst to last night’s double act are in fact nothing more than Spontaneous Excitations of the Solar Miasma. Despite its alarming appearance this phenomenon can do no harm to anyone, given that said Miasma is unable to interpenetrate our own plentiful atmosphere.
Ten more nights of this unprecedented madness remain. If the customers were paying then this cheerless and unscrupulous diversion would quickly close for want of funds, but Talk urges the next best outcome: an empty hall, to shame these charlatans into silence.
When Yalda reached the apartment Daria was awake, so she showed her the piece.
“I wouldn’t pay too much attention to Talk,” Daria said loftily. “Their idea of pushing the intellectual boundaries of journalism is to cover a literary salon.”
“What’s a literary salon?”
“An event where people who can’t read or reason gather to reassure each other of their own importance.”
Yalda said, “But anyone who reads this will think the whole thing’s some kind of… investment scam!”
Daria was amused. “Anyone who’d take this uncomprehending babble seriously was already a lost cause: they were never going to help you improve the Peerless, let alone volunteer for the ride.”
“Maybe not,” Yalda conceded. “But—”
“But you want everyone in Zeugma to understand what’s at stake?” Daria suggested.
“Of course. Don’t you think they’re owed that?”
Daria said, “I’ve been in the business for ten years, and I’ve had notices far worse than this. Believe me, the people who are truly curious will still come.” She rolled the sheet deftly into a cylinder and launched it across the room. “Just forget about it.”
Lidia had worked a late shift and was still asleep; Daria agreed to take the children to school. Yalda did her best to follow Daria’s advice, but when she reached the university Giorgio had more bad news for her: the senior members of the department had voted to refuse Eusebio’s offer to fund a new observatory. What’s more, they were taking their title over the land to Zeugma’s Council, seeking an order forbidding Eusebio from interfering with their present use.
Giorgio said, “If the telescope is raised entirely above the atmosphere it would actually improve the quality of observations. So if you can get the right wording on the order…”
Yalda was in no mood for jokes. “I thought you were going to persuade your friends to vote for this! Whatever they think of Eusebio’s rocket, a bigger telescope would be a worthwhile trade-off, surely.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Ludovico had more favors to call in than I did.”
Yalda didn’t doubt that Giorgio had kept his word. But he was still trapped in the kind of anesthetized state from which she’d taken so long to emerge herself. When he argued the physics with her, he accepted that the orthogonal cluster theory of the Hurtlers was as plausible as any alternative—but he still couldn’t bring himself to take the threat seriously, to look at his children and imagine their extinction.
Yalda had a lecture to deliver for the introductory optics course. As her students dutifully recorded her diagrams and equations for the laws of thin lenses, she felt like someone handing out useless trinkets at the edge of a raging wildfire. But she was forbidden from discussing Eusebio’s project during her lessons, or holding recruitment meetings on the campus. If any of these bright young men and women wanted to know the truth about the matter, they’d have to make the effort to turn up for the night’s unscrupulous diversion.
At lunchtime, as Yalda entered the food hall she saw Ludovico coming out of the pantry, his arms laden with loaves for a group of fellow diners. She hung back to avoid crossing his path, but he saw her and approached, calling out to her in a booming voice pitched to attract as much attention as possible.
“Professor Yalda! I’m surprised to see you here! I thought you’d left us for the entertainment business.”
Yalda humored him with a desultory buzz, but couldn’t help adding, “It seems everyone has two jobs these days; I see you’ve gone into journalism, yourself.”
“I was consulted by journalists,” Ludovico replied stiffly. “As a noted authority on the Hurtlers, not a paid employee.”
Yalda said, “Forgive me, but I must have missed all your learned publications on ‘Spontaneous Excitations in the Solar Miasma’. Perhaps you can rectify my ignorance on the topic by explaining precisely what that phrase means?” Everyone in the hall was watching them now, through rear eyes or front.
Ludovico said, “Gladly. One particle of the solar wind expels a fast luxite, which strikes another, prompting it to do the same. And so on. Other, slower light is emitted as well. That is what the Hurtlers are: long chains of activity arising within the gas itself, mediated by fast-moving particles of light.”
Yalda bowed her head in a gesture of gratitude, then feigned deep contemplation for several pauses—contemplation that failed to dispel her puzzlement. “But why are these ‘chains of activity’ parallel to each other? Why are these ‘spontaneous excitations’, these random events, all lined up in exactly the same direction?”