“So I can see them come,” Marty said.
Arthur could not lie. He hugged his son firmly and stood by the bed until Marty’s eyes were closed and he was breathing evenly.
“It’s one o’clock,” Francine said as he slipped under the covers beside her.
They made love again, and it was even better.
“Gauge! Bad dog! Dammit, Gauge, that’s a frozen chicken. You can’t eat that. All you can do is ruin it.” Francine stomped her foot in fury and Gauge slunk from the kitchen, berry-colored tongue lolling, ashamed but pleased with himself.
“Wash it off,” Arthur suggested, sliding past Gauge to stand in the kitchen door, grinning.
Francine held the thoroughly toothed but whole bird in two hands, shaking her head. “He’s mangled it. Every bite will have his mark.”
“Bites within bites,” Arthur said. “How recursive.”
“Oh, shut up. Two days home and this.”
“Blame it on me, go ahead,” Arthur said. “I need a little domestic guilt.”
Francine put the bird back on the countertop and opened the sliding glass door. “Martin! Where are you? Come chastise your dog for me.”
“He’s outside with the telescope.” Arthur examined the chicken sadly. “If we don’t eat it, that’s one bird’s life wasted,” he said.
“Dog germs,” Francine argued.
“Hell, Gauge licks us all the time. He’s just a puppy. He’s still a virgin.”
Dinner — the same bird, skinned and carefully trimmed — was served at seven. Marty seemed dubious about his portion of leg and thigh, but Arthur warned him his mother would not take kindly to their being overfastidious.
“You made me cook it,” she said.
“Anything interesting?” Arthur asked his son, pointing up.
“It’s all twinkly out there,” Marty said.
“Clear night tonight?” Arthur asked.
“It’s slushy and cold,” Francine said.
“Lots of stars, but I mean…you know. Twinkly like faraway firecrackers.”
Arthur stopped chewing. “Stars?”
“You told me only supernovas would get bright and go out,” Marty said seriously. “Is that what they are?”
“I don’t think so. Let’s go look.”
Francine dropped her wing in disgust. “Go ahead. Abandon dinner. Arthur—”
“Just for a minute,” he said. Marty followed. After hanging back by the service porch door for a minute in protest, Francine joined them in the backyard.
“Up there,” Marty said, pointing. “It’s not doing anything now,” he protested.
“It’s awful cold out here.” Francine looked at Arthur with an unexpressed question on her face. Arthur examined the sky intently.
“There,” Marty said.
For the merest instant, a new star joined the panoply. A few seconds later, Arthur spotted another, much brighter, a couple of degrees away. The sparkles were all within a few degrees of the plane of the ecliptic. “Oh, Christ,” he muttered. “What now?”
“Is this something important?” Francine asked.
“Daddy,” Marty said nervously, glancing at his parents, alarmed by the tone of their voices.
“I don’t know. I don’t think so. Maybe it’s a meteor shower.” But the sparkles were not meteors. He was sure of that much. There was one person he could call who might know — Chris Riley. Always Riley, a still point in the moving world.
In the darkened den, he dialed Riley’s home phone. On the first attempt, it was busy. A few moments later, Riley answered, breathless.
“Chris, hello. This is Gordon, Arthur Gordon.”
“My man. Just the man.” Riley paused to catch his breath. “I hear you set up a meeting with Kemp and Samshow. I’d like to be there, but it’s getting real busy here. I’ve been running out to the telescope and back. I should get a phone out there.”
“What’s happening?”
“Have you seen it? All through the plane of the ecliptic — asteroids. They’re blowing up like firecrackers! Since dusk, apparently. I just got confirmation from Mount Laguna and somebody left a message a few minutes ago from Pic du Midi in France. The asteroid belt looks like a battlefield.”
“Damn,” Arthur said. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Marty and Francine standing in the doorway, Marty with his arms wrapped tight around his mother’s waist.
“When is this task force going to come clean?” Riley asked. “Lots of people are really angry, Arthur. The President shoots his mouth off, and nobody else is talking.”
“We can’t be sure this is connected.”
“Arthur! For God’s sake! Asteroids are blowing up! How the hell could it not be connected?”
“You’re right,” Arthur said. “I’m flying to San Francisco tomorrow. How many sparkles so far?”
“Since I’ve been watching, at least a hundred. Got to run now.”
Arthur said good-bye and hung up. Marty was owl-eyed, Francine only slightly more restrained. “It’s all right,” he said.
“Is it starting?” she asked. Marty began to whimper. Arthur had not heard his son whimper in recent memory — months, a year.
“No. I don’t think so. This is far away, in the asteroids.”
“Are they sure it’s not shooting stars?” Marty asked, a very adult rationalization.
“No. Asteroids. They’re out beyond Mars, most of them between Mars and Jupiter.”
“Why out there?” Francine asked.
Arthur could only shake his head.
33
Minelli had spent the night lying in a lounger by the broad picture windows. He was there now, head lolling, snoring softly. Edward tightened the knot on the bathrobe he had borrowed from Stella and walked past the lounger to stand by the glass. Beyond a concrete patio and a dried-up L-shaped ornamental fishpond, frost whitened several acres of winter-yellow grass.
Coming here had been a good idea. Shoshone was peaceful, isolated without being cut off. For a few days at least, they could rest, until the crowds of reporters found them again. The few townspeople aware of their return were making sure nobody knew where they were. They spent most of the day indoors, and only Bernice answered the phone.
He heard Minelli stir behind him.
“You missed the show,” Minelli said.
“Show?”
“All night long. Like a parade of lightning bugs.”
Edward raised an eyebrow.
“No joking, and I’m not crazy. Out over the mountains, all night long. Clear as a bell. The sky twinkled.”
“Meteors?”
“I’ve seen meteors, and these wasn’t them.”
“End of the world, no doubt,” Edward said.
“No doubt,” Minelli echoed.
“How are you feeling?”
“Rested. Better. I must have given everybody a bad time back there.”
“They gave us a bad time,” Edward corrected. “I was feeling a little nuts myself.”
“Nuts.” Minelli shook his head and cocked a dubious glance at Edward. “Where’s Reslaw?”
“Still sleeping.” He and Reslaw had shared a middle bedroom.
“These folks are real nice. I wish I’d had a mother like Bernice.”
Edward nodded. “Are we going to stay here,” he asked, “and keep imposing, or are we going back to Texas?”
“We’re going to have to face the music eventually,” Minelli said philosophically. “The press awaits. I watched television a little last night. The whole country’s gone nuts. Quietly, mind you, but nuts all the same.”
“I don’t blame them.”