Greg Bear - The Forge of God

“I have to go home,” Reuben said to nobody or nothing in particular.

He was allowed to finish his walk home.

Arthur was delayed three days unexpectedly in Las Vegas to speak informally with three congressmen from the House Judiciary Committee. His first evening back home, back with his family and the river and the forest, he sat on the living room throw rug, legs curled into a lotus. Francine and Marty sat on the couch behind him. Marty had laid the fire in the grate all by himself, lighting the carefully placed tinder with a long match.

“Here’s what’s happening, really, as much as I know,” he said, raising himself on his arms and sweeping his locked legs around to face them. And he told them.

The heater came on at midnight and blew warm air over Arthur and Francine as they lay in bed in each other’s arms. Francine’s head rested on his shoulder. He could feel her eye movements as she stared into darkness. They had just made love and it had been very good, and against all his intellectual persuasions, he felt good, at home, at rest. Not a word had been said between them for fifteen minutes.

She lifted her head. “Marty—”

The phone rang.

“Oh, Christ.” She rolled out of his way. He reached across her to pick up the phone.

“Arthur, Chris Riley here. I’m sorry I woke you up—”

“We’re awake,” Arthur said.

“Yes. This is a bit of an emergency, I think. There are some guys in Hawaii who’d like to talk with you. They heard I knew your home number. You can call them now or I—”

“I’d like to be incommunicado, Chris, at least for a couple of days.”

“I think this could be very important, Arthur.”

“All right, what is it.”

“From the little they’ve told me, they might have found the — you know, what the press is talking about, the weapon the aliens might use against us.”

“Who are they?”

“One is Jeremy Kemp. He’s a conceited son of a bitch and hell to deal with, but he’s an excellent geologist. The other two are oceanographers. Ever hear of Walt Sam-show?”

“I think so. Wrote a textbook I read in college. He’s pretty old, isn’t he?”

“He and another fellow named Sand are with Kemp in Hawaii. They say they saw something pretty unusual.”

“All right. Give me a phone number.” He switched on the light over the nightstand.

“Samshow and Sand are on board a ship in Pearl Harbor.” Riley enunciated the number and name of the ship for him. “Ask for Walt or David.”

“Thanks, Chris,” Arthur said, hanging up.

“No rest?” Francine asked.

“Some people think they might have found the smoking gun.”

“Jesus,” Francine said softly.

“I’d better call them now.” He got out of bed and went into the den to use the extension there. Francine followed a few minutes later, wrapped in her robe.

When he had finished with the call, he turned and saw Marty standing beside her, rubbing his eyes.

“I’m going to San Francisco this weekend,” he said. “But I’ve still got a couple of days with you guys.”

“Show me how to use the telescope, Dad?” Marty asked sleepily. “I want to see what’s going on.”

Arthur picked the boy up and carried him back to his bedroom.

“Were you and Mom making love?” Marty asked as Arthur lay him down in the bed and pulled the covers over him.

“You got it, Big Ears,” Arthur said.

“That means you love Mom. And she loves you.”

“Mm-hm.”

“And you’ll go away but you’ll come back again?”

“As soon as I can.”

“If we’re all going to die, I want you both here, with me, all of us together,” Marty said.

Arthur held his son’s hand for a long moment, eyes moist, throat gnarled with love and a deep, inexpressible anguish. “We’ll start with the telescope tomorrow, and you can look tomorrow night,” he finally said in a harsh whisper.

“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.”