Jack McDevitt - Standard Candles

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JACK McDEVITT - Standard Candles

The observatory was warm in the mist. Light spilled out of the administrative

windows on the second floor, and played against the moving trees at the edge

the parking lot.

Carlisle was driving too fast, kicking up gravel, alternately flooring and

releasing the pedal. He was impatient with the long uphill climb. The wipers

sloshed back and forth, and the branches shut off the sky.

There would be a short staff tonight, because of the overcast. But he didn't

care about viewing conditions: the Andromeda galaxy could have been blazing

overhead, flooding the mountains with light, an d he would not have been more

excited.

His printouts had worked their way out of his inside jacket pocket. He pushed

them back down, affectionately. The numbers were gorgeous, and they flowed

through him, and warmed him. My God, how he loved blue stars.

The road went up and up, and at last he bounced out of the forest and rolled

into the parking lot. He jerked to a stop beside Boddiker's van and was out of

the car, not caring about the cold drizzle, not stopping to lock up. He

climbed

the three concrete stairs at the front of the building, caught his breath, and

went inside.

Toni Linden was standing by the coffee machine. He waved the printout at her

and

said "I've got it -- "and kept going.

Lowenthal was not in his office, so Carlisle went hunting for him and found

him

down in the lower level control room arguing with Boddiker. Boddiker's thin

features were in their negative mode, and the little red spot that always

showed

up on his crinkled skull when he got excited was glowing. His voice was high

and

he was jabbing his index finger at the Director. Carlisle didn't know what it

was about, and didn't care. He did not back out of the room as a respectful

young postdoc should have, didn't even wait for them to recognize him, but

simply excused himself and shouldered into the conversation. "I think we've

got

a new standard candle," he said.

Judy had also been part of that night. He'd known her only three weeks, but he

had already fallen victim to every familiar romantic symptom: his voice

betrayed

him in her presence, she completely dominated his thoughts, and the knowledge

that she was seeing other men drove him wild. He had even come to accept the

improbable notion that a higher power had designed events to bring them

together. All he needed to do was find a way to hold onto her.

Even now, fifteen years later, she could jack up his pulse. He'd been right:

Judy Bollinger had been worth any effort. Unfortunately, he had only recently

come to understand what that really meant.

She had blue eyes that he could never quite see the bottom of. A trim jogger's

body. And a smile that was once again troubling his nights. Carlisle,

returning

to the observatory for the last time, considered the varieties of that

resonant

gaze.

In their early days, she had worn her auburn hair short. Judy was about

average

size, but because Carlisle was tall she had to reach for him, and she had a

trick of standing on her toes, stretching toward him and holding her mouth up

be kissed, funneling everything she had into her lips.

On that night of nights, when he had so much to celebrate, he had hesitated to

call her. It was, after all, late on a weekday evening, and he was still

treating her carefully, anxious to do nothing that might damage the

relationship. Don't be overeager. Patience counts, whether one is measuring

the

distances between stars. Or pursuing a beautiful woman.

But it was an opportunity to impress her.

He had used the phone in the conference center.

"Hugh?" She sounded pleased to hear his voice, and his spirits soared.

"I'm at Kitchener," he said. "Things are happening." His tone had undoubtedly

been self-important.

But she chose not to notice. "What is it?"

"Judy, I've had a major breakthrough. I've found a standard candle."

"Are you sure?" She had sounded delighted, as if she knew what a standard

candle

was.

"I thought we might celebrate."

"I'm on my way. Wait for me."

And she was gone before he could explain he was thinking about Saturday.

He parked in the slot marked DIRECTOR, got his empty cartons out of the trunk,

and paused before letting himself into the building. The mountaintop was

still.

He had stood out here that night, watching her lights come up the access road.

(The road was dark now, cold and untraveled, save for the contractors who came

in the daylight to remove everything that was of value.) Her white two-door

Ford

came out of the trees right there, and she'd parked over by the reserved

spaces,

under the security lights at the supply entrance.

The security lights were out now. For good. The Foundation had started closing

down Kitchener's operations two years ago. Much of the action had gone to the

southern hemisphere, where there was less light and pollution and a richer

field

for investigation. Carlisle supported the action, had even dissuaded Lowenthal

from campaigning against the vote.

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Jack McDevitt - Standard Candles

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