blue as the evening sea, made no sound. It was as soundless as Halley's Comet had been, two years ago.
His mother must have been thinking of the Comet, too, because she said the same thing she'd said back
then. "It seems like the end of the world…."
Why did she say that? Why did she twist her hands together and shield her eyes? Guilford, secretly
delighted, didn't think it was the end of the world. His heart beat like a clock, keeping secret time.
Maybe it was the beginning of something. Not a world ending but a new world beginning. Like the turn
of a century, he thought.
Guilford didn't fear what was new. The sky didn't frighten him. He believed in science, which
(according to the magazines) was unveiling all the mysteries of nature, eroding mankind's ancient
ignorance with its patient and persistent questions. Guilford thought he knew what science was. It was
nothing more than curiosity…tempered by humility, disciplined with patience.
Science meant looking—a special kind of looking. Looking especially hard at the things you didn't
understand. Looking at the stars, say, and not fearing them, not worshiping them, just asking questions,
finding the question that would unlock the door to the next question and the question beyond that.
Unafraid, Guilford sat on the crumbling back steps while the others went inside to huddle in the parlor.
For a moment he was happily alone, warm enough in his new sweater, the steam of his breath twining up
into the breathless radiance of the sky.
~~
Later—in the months, the years, the century of aftermath—countless analogies would be drawn. The
Flood, Armageddon, the extinction of the dinosaurs. But the event itself, the terrible knowledge of it and
the diffusion of that knowledge across what remained of the human world, lacked parallel or precedent.
In 1877 the astronomer Giovanni Schiaparelli had mapped the canals of Mars. For decades afterward his
maps were duplicated and refined and accepted as fact, until better lenses proved the canals were an
illusion, unless Mars itself had changed since then: hardly unthinkable, in light of what happened to the
Earth. Perhaps something had twined through the solar system like a thread borne on a breath of air,
something ephemeral but unthinkably immense, touching the cold worlds of the outer solar system,
moving through rock, ice, frozen mantle, lifeless geologies. Changing what it touched. Moving toward
the Earth.
The sky had been full of signs and omens. In 1907, the Tunguska fireball. In 1910, Halley's Comet.
Some, like Guilford Law's mother, thought it was the end of the world. Even then.
The sky that March night was brighter over the northeastern reaches of the Atlantic Ocean than it had
been during the Comet's visit. For hours, the horizon flared with blue and violet light. The light,
witnesses said, was like a wall. It fell from the zenith. It divided the waters. It was visible from
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