"And?"
I hesitated long enough to make him hold his breath, waiting for my
answer. "No soap. Every variable star I've examined is a real star."
He let out his breath in a long, disgusted puff. "Ahhh, you were
kidding all along. I thought so."
"Yes," I said. "I suppose I was."
* * * * *
Time dragged along in the weather dome. I had managed to smuggle a
small portable telescope along with me, and tried to make observations
whenever possible. But the weather was usually too poor. Rizzo, almost
in desperation for something to do, started to build an electronic
image-amplifier for me.
Our one link with the rest of the world was our weekly radio message
from McMurdo. The times for the messages were randomly scrambled, so
that the chances of their being intercepted or jammed were lessened.
And we were ordered to maintain strict radio silence.
As the weeks sloughed on, we learned that one of our manned satellites
had been boarded by the Reds at gunpoint. Our space-crews had put
two Red automated spy-satellites out of commission. Shots had been
exchanged on an ice-island in the Arctic. And six different nations
were testing nuclear bombs.
We didn't get any mail of course. Our letters would be waiting for
us at McMurdo when we were relieved. I thought about Gloria and our
two children quite a bit, and tried not to think about the blast and
fallout patterns in the San Francisco area, where they were.
"My wife hounded me until I spent pretty nearly every damned cent I
had on a shelter, under the house," Rizzo told me. "Damned shelter is
fancier than the house. She's the social leader of the disaster set. If
we don't have a war, she's gonna feel damned silly."