Part 24 (1/2)

Lisa moved busily among the WW&FE employees, issuing orders. To the captain of the tug, she reminded, ”Remember, get out past the twelve-mile limit before you sink her.”

Finally, she turned to her husband.

Danny stood contritely by, his heart and mind obviously elsewhere. out when Lisa rounded on him, he snapped to attention.

'Leese, before I set out on this final charade, I just want to say how grateful I am that you're allowing me to bow out of this whole enterprise. I just couldn't swallow any more.”

'I'm sure that's what your girlfriend was just about to say when I barged in.”

'Leese, please! I explained all about that.”

Lisa laughed, and it sounded like ice floes clinking together. ”Oh I'm not angry anymore. I just couldn't resist a little dig. What a rack! She makes me look like Olive Oyl. Tell me-did it feel like getting your d.i.c.k stuck in the sofa cus.h.i.+ons?”

Danny made to turn away, but Lisa stopped him. ”Okay, I went over the line there. Sorry.

But look-I had something made up for you just to show I still care.”

Lisa accepted from the hovering Jake a modern orange life vest.

”This is a special vest, Danny, just for you. Look, it's even got your name on it.”

”Why, thanks, Leese.”

”Let's see how it fits you.”

”Gee, do I have to put it on now?”

”Yes, you have to put it on now.”

Danny donned the vest, and Lisa snugged the straps tight, like a conscientious mother adjusting her toddler for kindergarten.

”It's very heavy. What's in it? Lead?”

”Not exactly. Oh, look-they're loading the wheelchairs now. You'd better get on board.”

Danny aimed a kiss at Lisa's lips, but she offered only her cheek. Danny walked away. At the top of the gangplank, he turned and waved, bulky in his life-saving gear.

Within minutes the whole armada was steaming out to sea, including the iceberg, nowstripped of its scaffolding and under tow by a second tug.

When the fleet disappeared from sight, Lisa said, ”Well, that's that.”

And then she walked slowly to the Weeping Wall, selected a hot pink teddy bear, and hung it tenderly, her eyes dry as teddy's b.u.t.tons.

Greg Benford's resume, outside of writing, is impressive enough for two physics professors (he teaches at UC Irvine and is a fellow at Cambridge University, and an adviser to the White House Council on s.p.a.ce Policy and NASA, to give a partial list) but if you add in his prodigious writing achievements, such as two Nebulas, the John W.

Campbell Award, among others, his nineteen novels (including the cla.s.sic TimescapeJ, numerous short stories as well as various nonfiction work-well, the way I add it up, there must be at least three of him.

Thank heaven one of him was around when I asked for a story for Reds.h.i.+ft; you'll note how it slyly incorporates his Cambridge University experience.

Anomalies.

Gregory Benford.

It was not lost upon the Astronomer Royal that the greatest scientific discovery of all time was made by a carpenter and amateur astronomer from the neighboring cathedral town of Ely. Not by a Cambridge man.

Geoffrey Carlisle had a plain directness that apparently came from his profession, a custom cabinet maker. It had enabled him to get past the practiced deflection skills of the receptionist at the Inst.i.tute for Astronomy, through the a.s.sistant director's patented brush-off, and into the Astronomer Royal's corner office.

Running this gauntlet took until early afternoon, as the sun broke through a shroud of soft rain. Geoffrey wasted no time. He dropped a celestial coordinate map on the Astronomer Royal's mahogany desk, hand amended, and said, ”The moon's off by better'n a degree.”

”You measured carefully, I am sure.”

The Astronomer Royal had found that the occasional crank did make it through the inst.i.tute's screen, and in confronting them it was best to go straight to the data. Treat them like fellow members of the profession and they softened. Indeed, astronomy was the only remaining science that profited from the work of amateurs. They discovered the new comets, found wandering asteroids, noticed new novae, and generally patrolled what the professionals referred to as local astronomy-anything that could be seen in the night sky with a telescope smaller than a building.

That Geoffrey had gotten past the scrutiny of the others meant this might conceivably be real. ”Very well, let us have a look.” The Astronomer Royal had lunched at his desk and so could not use a date in his college as a dodge. Besides, this was crazy enough to perhaps generate an amusing story.

An hour later he had abandoned the story-generating idea. A conference with the librarian, who knew the heavens like his own palm, made it clear that Geoffrey had done all the basic work correctly. He had photos and careful, carpenter-sure data, all showing that, indeed, last night after around eleven o'clock the moon was well ahead of its...o...b..tal position.

”No possibility of systematic error here?” the librarian politely asked the tall, sinewy Geoffrey.”Check 'em yerself. I was kinda hopin' you fellows would have an explanation, is all.”

The moon was not up, so the Astronomer Royal sent a quick e-mail to Hawaii. They thought he was joking, but then took a quick look and came back, rattled. A team there got right on it and confirmed. Once alerted, other observatories in j.a.pan and Australia chimed in.

”It's out of position by several of its own diameters,” the Astronomer Royal mused. ”Ahead of its...o...b..t, exactly on track.”

The librarian commented precisely, ”The tides are off prediction as well, exactly as required by this new position. They s.h.i.+fted suddenly, reports say.”

”I don't see how this can happen,” Geoffrey said quietly.

”Nor I,” the Astronomer Royal said. He was known for his understatement, which could masquerade as modesty, but here he could think of no way to underplay such a result.

”Somebody else's bound to notice, I'd say,” Geoffrey said, folding his cap in his hands.

”Indeed,” the Astronomer Royal suspected some subtlety had slipped by him.

”Point is, sir, I want to be sure I get the credit for the discovery.”

”Oh, of course you shall.” All amateurs ever got for their labors was their name attached to a comet or asteroid, but this was quite different. ”Best we get on to the IAU, ah, the International Astronomical Union,” the Astronomer Royal said, his mind whirling. ”There's a procedure for alerting all interested observers. Establish credit, as well.”

Geoffrey waved this away. ”Me, I'm just a five-inch 'scope man. Don't care about much beyond the priority, sir. I mean, it's over to you fellows. What I want to know is, what's it mean?”

Soon enough, as the evening news blared and the moon lifted above the European horizons again, that plaintive question sounded all about. One did not have to be a specialist to see that something major was afoot.

”It all checks,” the Astronomer Royal said before a forest of cameras and microphones.

”The tides being off true has been noted by the naval authorities round the world, as well.

Somehow, in the early hours of last evening, Greenwich time, our moon accelerated in its...o...b..t. Now it is proceeding at its normal speed, however.”