The Big Eye (13 page)

 

 

Carol stirred and lifted her head from his shoulder. "How far is it
to Palomar?"

 

 

"Only a little way. We'll be there in a few minutes now."

 

 

Carol pressed her nose against the car window and stared out into the
night for a minute. Then she asked: "David, why did they pick this
isolated mountain for an observatory, anyway?"

 

 

"For two reason," he answered. "In the first place, the 'seeing' is good."

 

 

"The seeing?"

 

 

He laughed at her blank look. "Astronomical argot. It refers to the
degree of unsteadiness of the image in the observing instrument, as it's
affected by the atmospheric refraction of light rays. And the atmosphere
itself here is clear the year round -- makes for ideal observation. It's
comparatively windless. Oh, there are storms during the winter, of course,
but they're pretty short -- blow over fast."

 

 

"You said there was another reason why they built it here."

 

 

"Yes. Palomar's almost earthquake-proof."

 

 

"Why?"

 

 

He grinned down at her. "Are you really interested?"

 

 

"Of course I am. If I'm going to marry an astronomer and live up in
the observatory colony, I've got to know something about my husband's
business! Now then, Doctor, you were saying about earthquakes . . .?"

 

 

"Well, it's a little technical, but you asked for it. You see, darling,
a few million years ago the flat top of Palomar was on a level with the
plain round it."

 

 

"Well, I must say it's changed since then," she murmured. "It's certainly
grown up to be a big boy."

 

 

"And still growing. Geological forces from within have pushed it up until
now it's six thousand feet above sea level. This mountain happens to be
a solid rock of granite, bounded by two fractures, and it can't be shaken
very much by any faulting or quake tremor from within. Any shock spreads
through it in a fast-moving wave which has a very small force -- too small
to damage seriously the instruments and 'scopes in the dome."

 

 

"Thank you. Doctor," she said gravely.

 

 

He grinned and bowed his head elaborately. And at that moment they
plunged out from among the trees and into the open, on the summit of
the hill. Carol gave one quick gasp.

 

 

"Palomar," said David.

 

 

The great central dome leaped out of the ground and thrust itself upward
with almost breath-taking suddenness. With the great burnished hemisphere
reflecting the sky in a silvery sheen, it looked like a half section of
some fantastic, inverted dirigible. Behind the central dome, like some
infant it had spawned, stood the tiny dome that housed the eighteen-inch
Schmidt camera, and distantly, on an outer ridge, glinted the dome of the
forty-eight-inch. The powerhouse topped another rise, flanked by a brood
of shining water tanks. A cluster of small buildings and houses hugged
the slope of the mountain, close to the dome. It was an austere sight,
and yet a kind of silvery fantasia, a geometric fairyland.

 

 

"Well, Carol, how do you like it?" There was a note of pride in David's
voice.

 

 

She groped for words. "I -- why, it's ahnost fabulous, David -- it takes your
breath away! It looks just like one of those pictures you see in nursery
books about the Wizard of Oz or Puss in Boots. You know, where the king's
castle is balanced on top of a mountain, surrounded by little cottages
perched crazily around on the sides, and a winding road going up."

 

 

David grinned. "Come to think of it, it does look like that."

 

 

As he spoke he saw that the dome of the big building was up, and for
a moment it didn't register. This was a clear night, the sky nearly
perfect. Then suddenly he remembered. The Old Man wasn't running any
takes of the sky tonight. He was closeted in his study with the big
shots of the world's observatories and discussing . . .

 

 

What?

 

 

With mounting excitement he drove through the gate of the high wire
fence and parked the car in the yard. They stepped out into the sharp,
sub-zero cold, and once out of the car, the heavens seemed to come
down and blaze and crackle about them, so that the stars seemed almost
tinselly artificial in their brightness, and Carol almost fancied that
she could actually hear them pop around her shoulders.

 

 

They walked halfway around the great, squat, round building before they
came to a small door, not much bigger than a house door and almost lost
in the massive circular wall. Through this, after identifying themselves
to a sergeant at the door, they entered a foyer tastefully and simply
furnished in early American and softly lighted by hidden lamps. The
reception room beyond the foyer was in the celestial motif, topped by
a miniature dome supported oi oval arches.

 

 

A stout man with iron-gray hair, ruddy-cheeked and neatly dressed in a
suit of shiny alpaca, rose from a desk and came forward to meet them.
It was obvious that he was dead tired. His face was lined with fatigue,
and there were shadows under his eyes,

 

 

"Hello, Francis," said David. "Dr. Dawson still in the study with the
others?"

 

 

"Yes, Dr. Hughes. I didn't dare disturb him -- even to tell him you were
here. They've been in there for hours."

 

 

"Maybe I'd better not barge right in then. I'll wait till they've
finished." David suddenly remembered that Carol was at his side. "Oh,
darling, this is Francis, our steward, receptionist, and general
major-domo of Palomar. He arranges for all the earthy wants of
this stargazing colony, and if you ever need anything, call on him.
Francis -- this is Carol Kenny."

 

 

The stout man smiled. "In a way I've already met her face to face, sir.
Welcome to Palomar, Miss Kenny."

 

 

Carol looked puzzled for a moment until David grinned and said: "Francis
is a great radio and television fan. One of your admiring public. He's
seen your lovely face on the video screen many a time. In fact, he never
fails to keep me posted when you're scheduled to go on."

 

 

"Oh." Carol looked gratefully at Francis. "Thank you for reminding him.
And of course he's written a lot about you in his letters. He spent half
of one whole letter raving about the veal paprika you serve."

 

 

Francis blushed. He was obviously pleased as he took their coats and hung
them in a closet. When he turned back David looked at him solicitously
and said:

 

 

"You look all in, Francis."

 

 

"It has been hectic, sir. Getting all those phone calls through
for Dr. Dawson -- ordering extra food and setting up extra cots in the
auditorium -- and then of course arranging for Tom and Guido to drive
the station wagons down to San Diego to meet the planes and pick up
the astronomers as they came in." Francis shrugged. "Well, sir, you can
imagine, none of us have had much sleep in the last twenty-four hours."

 

 

"How's Dr. Dawson taking it?" David was concerned. "You know he can't
stand too much, Francis -- not with his heart."

 

 

"Yes, sir. I know. Mrs. Dawson phoned the observatory here from the house
three times in the last hour. She's tried to get through to the doctor,
and I know she wants to get him home for some rest, but he won't talk
to anyone. He's just locked himseff in the study with the others, and
he hasn't had a bite to eat since early this morning."

 

 

David thought of the galaxy of names closeted with the Old Man. Then
he asked:

 

 

"Did you say, Francis, that Varanov of the Pulkovo Observatory was here?"

 

 

"Yes, Dr. Hughes."

 

 

"Funny they let him leave Russia at a time like this."

 

 

"He wasn't in Russia, sir. We located him in Mexico City. He was working
on something with Professor Martinez down there. Dr. Dawson had some
trouble with the officer in charge of the military guard here. At
first he wouldn't admit Varanov into the observatory, but finally Dr.
Dawson won out." Then the steward abruptly changed the subject. "Was
it really terrible in New York, sir? The radio and television have been
broadcasting all kinds of stories."

 

 

"It was bad, Francis," admitted David. "But not as bad as a lot of
people think. The buildings weren't damaged, outside of the windows,
and those people who got hurt were caught in the streets."

 

 

Francis shook his head. "I don't know. Dr. Hughes, up here we're so far
from everything. They say the Soviets are responsible, that they've got
some kind of new and terrible weapon. But I don't know. I just don't
understand how it ever got to this. Another war, after the last one
. . ."

 

 

Suddenly the steward remembered his duties and turned to Carol.

 

 

"Oh. You must be tired after your trip. Miss Kenny." And then to David:
"I've saved her one of the small guest cottages, sir."

 

 

"Thank you, Francis," said David. "I appreciate it."

 

 

"And so do I," added Carol. "But somehow I'm not the least bit tired
right now "

 

 

She broke off abruptly as a tall, regal-looking woman with snow-white
hair came through the foyer door.

 

 

"Well, David!" Her bright eyes showed relief as Francis hurried to her
and helped her off with her coat. "We were half afraid you weren't coming
back!" Then she looked at Carol. "And this is Carol."

 

 

"Carol," said David, "this is Mrs. Dawson."

 

 

"You're right, David," Emily Dawson looked at Carol apprais-ingly. "She
is lovely. And I'm glad you came, Carol; this young man was eating
his heart out." She took Carol's hands in her own and smiled warmly.
"Welcome to Palomar."

 

 

"Thank you, Mrs. Dawson."

 

 

Emily Dawson had met the Old Man when he was a student at Harvard.
David could never look at her without thinking that she must have been a
beauty in those days, in the days of her youth. Her features were chiseled
so straight that they were almost severe, but her warm smile and the
gracious welcome in her lively blue eyes belied any reserve. Her hair
was startling, almost showy in its whiteness, and her skin was smooth,
delicate in texture, and gave the illusion of being almost transparent.

 

 

It struck David, as he watched Emily Dawson and Carol standing together,
that the Old Man's wife was still a beauty, in a great and gracious way,
in a different, antique frame.

 

 

Those who knew the Old Man said she provided the only earth-bound
competition to the stars in his affection. She fussed over him, worried
about his food, bought his clothes, saw that he carried his heart tablets
in every suit. And, as Mrs. Dawson once said to David:

 

 

"I'm not a wife to the doctor, David. I'm just his caretaker."

 

 

But she was his wife. The Old Man was utterly helpless without her. And
now Emily Dawson was holding Carol at arm's length and smiling into
her eyes.

 

 

"Well, my dear! You're going to be an astronomer's wife. How do you
think you'll like it?"

 

 

"I think I'll like it very much."

 

 

"Wait, child, wait!" The Old Man's wife shook her head dismally.
"You'll be the most miserable woman in the world in a little while. No
sensible girl in her right mind should marry an astronomer."

 

 

"But why not?"

 

 

"Astronomers work nights, my dear. You'll never have any social life.
If you want to go to the theater, you have to consult the weatherman
and make sure you buy your tickets on a cloudy night. If you want your
husband to take you to a concert, you pray for rain. Sometimes, when the
weather is clear and you've been home alone night after night, you could
scream for a few friendly clouds to come along and cover the sky, so that
your husband can come home from the observatory and keep you company."

 

 

She shook her head again, dolefully. "Take the advice of an old woman,
Carol. Learn to knit or take up solitaire -- anything to occupy those long
evening hours. Otherwise you'll be horribly bored and start thinking
of how nice it would be to be married to someone in the plumbing-supply
business."

 

 

David grinned at the Old Man's wife. "Before Carol has a chance to answer,
Mrs. Dawson, and before you have any more chance to break up my happy
home before it begins, Vd like to put my two cents in."

 

 

"Yes?"

 

 

"I've known you for a few years, and I can't remember ever seeing you
knitting, or playing solitaire either. And I'd be willing to bet you
aren't bored."

 

 

The phone buzzed. Francis answered it and then stiffened tensely at
his desk.

 

 

"Yes, Doctor," Francis was saying. "Yes, sir. Dr. Hughes is here. He
just came in with Miss Kenny. Yes, I'll tell him. What was that, sir?
Bring the small radio into the study? Yes, Doctor, at once."

 

 

Emily Dawson went to Francis quickly. "Tell the doctor I want to speak
to him."

 

 

She took the phone. "Charles, you've got to stop. You've got to come
home and get some rest. ... I know, I know. It's important, it's always
important. But this time, Charles, you're overdoing it. I don't know
what you're up to -- you've never told me -- but nothing is that important."
She listened for a moment and then hung up.