A Vomit of Diamonds (8 page)

When the door flew open, Bouchard saw
hair before he saw Dr. Macnamara — an Einstein puff. “Enter!
enter!” said an old man with a kind countenance and smiling eyes,
enthusiastically motioning for them to step in. The office was
small and cluttered with the fingerprints of professorship. “Sit,
sit,” he insisted, making more seating room by pushing things away
on a spare table. Then rubbing his hands together like one does
when anticipating a succulent pig, he said: “Now, what can I do for
you?” His guests eyed each other uncertainly; this was going to be
interesting.

At one point while deep in answering a
smart question from Perry, the phone rang. Dr. Macnamara shuffled
over to answer it. Meanwhile, Bouchard turned to Zimmerman; “So are
tailless comets common?” he asked. “I think they’re quite rare
actually,” said Perry; “most comets in our solar system have ice on
them, hence the tails.”

“I’ll be back Sarah,” said Dr.
Macnamara suddenly, setting down the receiver; “Josh asked me to
record a movie for him on the tele. It starts in half an hour!” So
saying he grabbed his keys and made an exit. “Just like that?”
Minho commented drily. “He’s known to be a bit, unpredictable,”
Sarah decided, not sure what to make of this event either; “However
if he’s driving all the way back home,” and she checked her watch
with a frown, “then he’ll probably won’t be back anytime soon.” Ten
eyebrows were raised. “Surely Dr. Macnamara isn’t driving all the
way down town just to record a movie on TV?” Annika spoke for them
all. Sarah only smiled seriously in response to this; your guess is
as good as mine, it said. “He is not unlike,” Balzac reflected in
amusement as the events transpired; “the Ingenious Gentleman of La
Mancha galloping on his dying steed to save a misrepresented damsel
in distress.”

Suffice it to say here, by the time
the other group came over for their turn with the famous but absent
Dr. Macnamara, the good knight had not yet returned from his quest.
“Just imagine his expression when he comes back and sees a
different set of faces in his office!” Maxine mused, chuckling at
the prospect; which, sadly, she was not to be part of.

As the group walked over to its
next engagement, the main conversation revolved around the point of
creation. And though Bouchard did not understand the astrophysics
behind it all, he could however appreciate its philosophical
significance.

“
General relativity assumes that
inflation occurred due to quantum fluctuations at the Big Bang
singularity,” Perry explained; “resulting in the appearance of
energetic particles in empty space, an event which is possible
because of the Heisenberg uncertainty principle.”

“
Yeah, and before the Big Bang
there was nothing, not even time,” Minho interjected,
matter-of-fact; cosmology being a topic of great interest to him.
“The laws of physics didn’t exist either,” Maxine joined in, not
one to be left out.

“
What about the quantum correction
model?” Annika asked Perry, inviting him to finish explaining the
differences. “The quantum correction model predicts no
singularity,” said the latter. “I.e. no bang,” Minho interjected
again. “Yes,” Perry agreed, not offended by these interruptions;
“the concept surmises that the universe didn’t have a beginning and
is also unlikely to end in a big crunch.”

“
But I thought the cosmic microwave
background proved the Big Bang theory,” Maxine returned, citing the
discovery of heat waves believed to be remnants of the divine
explosion. “It does to an extent,” Sarah allowed, weighing in on
the discussion; “However if we’re being entirely honest here, the
Big Bang theory only accurately describes events after the initial
singularity, not at or before the point itself. The math gets a bit
fuzzy as time approaches zero. That’s why the quantum correction
model hasn’t been thrown out the window yet.”

XXI

Anon, the group stopped in front of
their last telescope for the night, and perhaps the final telescope
for astro camp itself. The building was irregularly shaped: a cubic
barn about four, five stories tall with a slanting roof. A general
pause ensued whilst all eyes inspected this alien structure. “It’s
not your typical design,” Sarah confirmed, sensing the general
confusion through the dark; “But that’s not the coolest part,” she
added with a playful grin, “see there.” Bouchard followed her
pointing finger, trying to discern what it was she meant. “It’s
sitting on a disk,” Minho observed with his usual bluntness. “Yep,”
said Sarah, nodding; “the platform rotates the telescope as it
tracks an object in the sky.” Maxine whistled appreciatively. “That
whole thing?” Balzac thought, speechless.

“It was built during the early
eighties,” Sarah narrated, matter of fact; “As you can imagine,
pretty futuristic for its time. Today the telescope time is mainly
given to postgrads collecting data for their theses. So I suppose
you could say it’s been turned into a sort of training facility.”
The young ones looked hopeful. “What’s the telescope’s diameter?”
Perry asked, his expression contemplative. “Two point five,” was
the answer; “modest by today’s standards.”

A marked hatchway allowed
outsiders within, and through this portal they entered the edifice.
Sarah entered last and closed the door shut behind her. All
was
darkness
.
“Well this is just awkward,” said Maxine flatly. “Any source of
light can potentially ruin your results,” came Sarah’s voice from
somewhere, “so the darker it is around your telescope the better.
Only the control room is light-proof, sort of. Now,” she said,
switching to a more commanding tone, “there’s a stairway that leads
to the control room. But you need to be really careful climbing
it.” So saying, she made her way to the front of the group to find
this ladder.

One hand gripping the cold
rail while the other pinched the jacket of the person in front of
them, they slowly made their way up the stairs. “A caterpillar
train climbing a cave wall,” Balzac analogized to himself, his feet
landing uncertainly on the next step. Who knew the life of an
astronomer could be so much to the advantage of Hades; one misstep
or a wrong turn, and you could find yourself drinking
from the Lethe. As if reading what was on all the
young minds, Sarah confirmed: “There’s been a few accidents. But
mainly b
roken hips and a few bruises, that
sort of injury. Nothing serious.” From her tone, she could have
been talking about getting a paper cut while working in a paper
mill. “That’s. Nice?” Minho remarked, in front of Bouchard. “Sarah
doesn’t wear hiking attire for show,” Balzac observed,
inwardly.

The Moirai sisters must have been in
an indulgent mood this darkling eventide, for the train arrived at
its terminus corporeally intact. There was a general sigh in the
air as Sarah opened a door at the top and ushered them within.
“This must be the red light district,” Maxine cracked up, causing
everyone to laugh; for the small closet-like room they had just
entered was dimly lit by a single red light bulb. “Decontamination
chamber,” Sarah corrected with a serious smile; “Need to let your
eyes readjust to light before we enter the control room.” The party
stood still for a moment, Sarah timing their
acclimation.

Through the adjacent door they finally
arrived at the promised land. This room was slightly warmer than
outside. “Thank the Borg,” thought Balzac. A grey-haired woman came
up to greet them. She was the principal controller. “Hanah’s been
here since the beginning,” said Sarah, introducing them to the
grande dame.

The control room could have passed for
Karl’s office were it not for the large operating station at the
side, complete with antique monitors, buttons and joysticks. “It’s
like a video arcade,” Perry commented with a boyish grin. Hanah
chuckled good-naturedly, as a grandmother does at her grandson’s
jokes. “Of course,” said she, in a wistful manner; “these days it’s
just a few clicks on the computer.” So saying she shook the mouse,
waking the computer up from its power nap, and dropped into her
chair. “Saturn should be visible tonight,” was the
suggestion.

Shortly after clicking in a few
commands, the building began to shake. Balzac spun in confused
surprise; “What the Borg?” thought he. Everyone else, apart from
the seniors of course, appeared equally as unprepared as Bouchard
was for this turn of events. Perry and Minho each muttered a
startled “whoa” while Maxine shared some choice words. Annika held
onto the station for support. The structure was making its famed
rotation.

When all came to a standstill, Hanah
furiously inputted some more commands and voila! a mini Saturn
appeared on the screen, rings and all; albeit in black and white.
“Aww, no color?” said Minho, disappointed. “Sorry,” Hanah replied,
smiling regretfully; “The photos you see on posters have all been
photoshopped.” For some reason this revelation — that of a thing
pizzazzerized to appeal to a wider audience — made Bouchard think
of raisins covered in chocolate; decidedly the only tolerable way
to eat mummified grapes.

Some minutes later, when the novelty
of mini Saturn began showing signs of decline, Sarah consulted
Hanah, asking: “Is it ok if I take them up top?” The latter thought
this a great idea and so readily consented. “Up top?” Maxine voiced
with renewed interest, her eyes rolling to the ceiling.

Being perfect gentlemen, the ladies
were allowed to go first. In the meantime, Hanah invited the three
remaining males of the species to settle themselves in the lounge
corner; made up of threadbare sofas, a used coffee table and near
it, a kitchenette whence midnight stimulants could be prepared. For
entertainment Hanah opened up a conversation, which, to Bouchard’s
disadvantage, progressed from easy to technical rather fast. But so
as not to appear disengaged and thus offend their hostess, he
listened in on the wise exchange with a caveman’s wonder. This went
on for more than fifteen minutes.

XXII

They all heard the comedienne before
they saw her burst through the door. Minho thought out loud;
“Finally!” said he in an exaggeratedly exasperated voice. The boys
walked over to join Sarah.

The door opened out onto a railed
balcony. “Oh Borg,” thought Balzac, as he emerged into darkness,
the July breeze splashing over his face like a bucket of iced
water. “We’ll stand here for a few seconds,” Sarah commanded; “so
our eyes get a chance to adjust.” A dozen foggy breaths later the
four began to slowly make their way up the stairs, eyes partially
blind and hands gripping the icy balustrade with appropriate
concern for tomorrow. “This is bloody dangerous,” Minho decided out
loud.

When he reached the top, Bouchard
could just make out a railed bridge spanning across the summit of
the slanting roof. They shuffled over to its center. “We’ll stop
here,” said Sarah: her command was obeyed immediately; “and hold
onto the rails. It’s windy.” She did not have to tell them twice.
Looking down from the bridge, Bouchard could just make out the
silhouette of a telescope poking out slightly from the roof’s
aperture. “It’s like looking into the eye of a Cyclops,” Balzac
said to no one in particular. “Um, Balzac?” Perry whispered beside
him. “What is it?” returned the other, still trying to make out the
giant black eye below; “Do you see something?” There was a
momentary pause. “Try looking up,” came the suggestion. Bouchard
did; and his jaw dropped. The Milky Way in all its sinewy
resplendence and sparkling excessiveness appeared to him like a
vomit of diamonds on a carpet of infinite darkness.

XXIII

Silence reigned for some time over the
four humans standing atop the barn-shaped observatory out in the
Coonabara Ranges, the sheer awesomeness of space and infinity
overloading their sensoria beyond comparison with any past
experience. “Bloody hell,” Minho gasped at last, first to break the
silence. “Pretty much,” chimed in an equally awed Perry. “To be
sure,” said Balzac, gazing fixedly at the spectacle with fanatical
worship, as if beholding a vision of Venus stepping out of her
shell. Sarah smiled at the youths’ short but loaded responses; she
agreed with them all.

“Ready to go back?” Sarah asked after
another five minutes had elapsed. “So soon?!” Balzac returned,
reluctant to move from the view despite feeling like his blood was
congealing from within. “Well,” said Sarah uncertainly, there was a
schedule to follow on the one hand; “A few more minutes then,” was
her final offer. This extension appeased him for the
moment.

X
XIV

The five disciples dropped off at the
guest house, Sarah proceeded on to the barracks and there prepared
to call it a night; for tomorrow promised to be another long drive
back to Canberra. Her recruits on the other hand joined their
fellow comrades in the living-room, whence another soirée was
extemporized. Biscuits and tea were provided, courtesy of the
Coonabara Observatory kitchen.

Naturally, Madame la
Comedienne was the lady of her household; as involved as
Madame Geoffrin of the rue Saint-Honoré when
presiding over her famous dinners on Wednesdays, whence the
intelligentsia of Europe flocked over to her salon to make love to
philosophy, and she, its head mistress, directed their thoughts as
a hypnotist influences the minds of others with mesmerism, or drew
out their opinions as a surgeon-in-charge extracts a tumor from the
brain. All this is to say that Maxine
ensured conversations flowed in surplus, that everyone was
included and amply teased.