On waking, Archy was a little concerned how Helen would take it when she realized that 'The Dream' had survived another prodigious reality test, regurgitating numbers that pinpointed the appearance of another cosmic projectile.
Of course, she could choose to disbelieve him at the coming session; and place him with Ruby, The Radiator ('Ruby, Ruby, Ruby, Ruby!') as in denial both of brute reality and of a psychopathology zapping from some childhood complex.
He would understand this, entirely, he fantasized, as he was only beginning to realize the ramifications himself.
Granted that everything could be explained as perfectly natural, though, oh, so highly unlikely, on the material plane, in the realm of information, it looked at the very least pretty darned paraspychological. Wahdja-McCall-it?
Premonition? His big, empty, drowsing morning head flashed the answer.
But since he couldn't discount the dream vehicle it came in - a juggernaut of a lorry begob - he was stuck with worse prognoses - or 'I'm bonkers'.
Later, as he dipped a brown-bread soldier into the deep yellow of a Big-endian-sliced-top boiled egg, he stopped and gawped at the sound of his own name emanating from the radio.
It was, of course, Dr. McMillan being interviewed by a ravenous posse of world-class Journalists and cracking a little under the pressure:-
"It was an amateur UK astronomer, one of these little telescope and PC software guys, I would imagine: Archibald Kerr, in Nantwich, Cheshire, directed my attention to that part of the sky. He had the hopeful idea that this thing might be on a collision course with the first object. The angle would be right to knock it off course if it did actually collide, but that is such a slim chance. I think we have to discard that wishful thinking and regard this object as another threat until we get enough information on the trajectory to see if it will hit or miss the earth. Too close to call at the moment. Should be another few days, boys and girls!"
Oh, shit! He was the only Kerr in Nanwich. They would have him in no time. He unplugged his landline. The mobile was with him. He put it on Flight Mode.
Where could he run? Maybe he could crash at Rocky Rick's. Buy some booze to share and leave out the skunk on offer. That would not help his state of mind, or would it? But what would he say? Running from a woman? From the Law? Tell Rocky Rick everything? Blow the guy's skunked-out mind?
Suddenly he remembered the last time he had lost it, big time. Just after his Dad had died.
He had walked for a day and a half, stopping at times only to march off again. He had broken his anxiety by sitting by the river Weaver and falling asleep for some hours. He woke from a nightmare, however, and staggered off.
His next stop was to watch a Sci-Fi old film at a cinema he passed randomly. 'Zardoz', it was, with Sean Connery. Then he had walked for a long while more until he rested his tired head in a country graveyard on a grave.
Shaking the earth off his jacket, and realizing it was Sunday, after a few more hours of compulsive rambling, he had gone to a Quaker church (Very unlike most of the US variety of Quaker altogether, you know. Liberal. Pacifist. Everyone a priest. You don't even have to believe in God.) and just sat there in the circle in the silence, while people now and again got up and talked of the burden they bore, looking after old relatives, or coping with their troubles.
So. Here was his circle. Wherever he laid his head it seemed to claim him. There would be no running save for the river of time. It was in yellow paint, after all. His favorite color. The arrow pointed to the future and there was no stopping it. There never was.
OK. He switched his mobile back to normal mode. Dr McMillan only had his landline.
..............................
But these were world-class journalists and had their ways and means. When Archy returned from his morning swim, turning the final corner, he was astounded at the number of vans and the cameramen and the mike-toting on-the-scene brigade. There were police cars there. The road had been blocked off entirely and yellow diversions signs (Except for Access) had been thrown up.
"Will you go and stand by your front door, sir. It will be a lot easier for everyone!" cried a burly man, front-runner of a scrum of beef rushing up. "We'll get you there and we'll make sure you can retreat inside after you've had your say. MI5." He flashed a card. "We have an interest in keeping this civilized, as you might understand. It would be good if you would co-operate and accept our assistance."
Archy, nodding and dizzy, like those near-fatalities of surprise party victims, ran with the scrum and found himself flanked and supported by the front porch door of his semi. The neighbors were out in their front garden and waving. A row of cameras pointed through and over the separating hedge.
The journalists, miraculously, had already worked out some kind of pragmatic pecking order and bundled up their concerns.
"Bridget Kindle BBC."
Goodness! A senior Woman Star, normally the tops on world politics. There seemed to be only one serious matter on the whole world's mind now.
"Mr Kerr. Do you stand by your notion that this, what people are calling the 'Bright-stone' will knock out this big 'Dark-stone' and save the world?"
Wow! She got to the point fast enough! Silence ensued. The leaves rustled in the hedge.
"Well. I do believe that to be the case, yes. I believe it. But I can't give you any evidence at all for that right now. None at all. You will have to see how the trajectories are plotted by Dr MacMillan. You make sure you you ask about that. Maybe he he will have the answers soon."
"So was it simply the angle of possible impact which gave you the idea?"
"No. Not really. You are going to have to accept it as a conviction, a hunch. And I really don't think you will want to do that."
"But it's the hunch of the guy who discovered the Bright- stone. You'll betcha a lot of people want your opinion, Mr Kerr!" shouted a journalist from the back, adorned with a red maple-leaf.
"Are you a man of Faith, Archibald Kerr?" shouted a Midwestern USA voice.
"I think in the end, it will be a matter of trajectories, folks," replied Archy, rather shaken. "
"Where's your telescope, then,sir? Your neighbors say you ain't got one?" This a thin Southern States voice."
"Not here!" said Archy, with some truth.
"Is it true you're in group therapy for a broken heart?" An Oz accent.
The inevitable had occurred. Suddenly a moment of silence fell again. The privet leaves of the hedge said, "Shush!"
"What of it? What is it you want to know, apart from completely everything that has nothing to do with anything?"
"OK. Bridget Kindle. BBC. Do you consider the American and Chinese effort to divert or destroy the dark object will affect the collision you hope for?"
"I think that will be a question to ask, when you know the possibility of a collision from Dr McMillan. But If you want my unscientific opinion, then I would say no!. The objects will collide. Earth will be saved. The considered opinion, ladies and gentlemen, of an ordinary bloke, with no visible telescope, in group therapy for a broken heart. I have had enough for now. Good afternoon."
........................................
"You have my entire sympathy, and it is not often I would say that," said Helen, nodding her dry head in his direction. "Quite apart from the deep breaches of trust around the privacy of a citizen. I am also baffled by what seems to be a prima facie case of in-the-dark prediction on your part, conscious or unconscious; but I am pleased that you seem to be weathering it all.
"Yes. Turned out the team leader of those MI5 men went to my school. Bolding was the name. Cambridge Blue for the Rugby and a Law Scholar. Voice like a castrati. High in the clouds. Recognised me, of course when he came in to see how his men were doing. Voice went into the Mini-Ripperton range. Nearly blew my eardrums out! To think I used to be terrified of his hulking shape in the snow, rolling that giant snowball at our prefab classroom doors.
"But they were a bit baffled as to how I could have known about the Bright-stone, despite the fact that I certainly given Dr MCMillan the directions to look for it. After all they had the phone record of his live conversation with me. Thought at first I was covering for a shy astronomer friend. Grilled me for some time before they gave up. It was obvious I had no technology to speak of."
"So you didn't tell them about your recurrent dreams." Helen held her chin and peered at me.
"No. But I had to say something! Whatever I said couldn't possibly be believable. I concocted this story about looking up star maps and falling asleep over the computer and and kind of dreaming about something near Sirius. I just bluffed-fluffed about Dr McMillan's phone number. Never said I phoned him directly. I just said I looked up 'Contact Spacewatch' on Google. You can leave messages, apparently.
"Anyway. It threw 'em. Bolding clapped me on the back - sent me into a coughing fit - and called me a damned fraud, very jovially. Then he called me the jammiest bloke ever, went into a a short laughing hysteria and then scratched his head and frowned. He couldn't account for it at all. But they are keeping me in their sights in case they come up with some theory which will call into question anything about me they could get their teeth into."
"Wow!" said Hilda. "And you are doing interviews, now, and getting paid for it."
"Yes. Bolding got me a PR manager. Said he owed it to the old school to sort me out fit for the road. I can't see a long career. Cos it's all going to happen soon!"
"God dammit! My radiators are nothing to your dreams, Archy! You lucky bastard!" Ruby had to get in.
........................................
"Here! Archy. You want to see the Americans in action?"
"Oh! Did I miss something on the news? I am sure I am asleep on the couch in front of the TV," moaned Archy.
"No. You didn't miss anything," said Salad Face. They are not telling anyone live what is happening. If they are successful, they will show the record as if it were live. Sensible politics. If they are unsuccessful they will try to spin it like a ball the Chinese will have to catch. But I can tell you, you will wake to good news, whatever you see here now."
Purple Face ushered Archy towards a console. "Sit in this chair and let your mind go quiet and look at the the black screen. You know, it's kind of like doing those 3D Magic Eye pictures, or those 3D Viewer double-pictures with your bare eye. "
Archy smiled at him/her, squeezed a purple hand, then turned to the dark, dark screen.
Suddenly he was engulfed by the blackness of space and then the blinding dazzle of it, of the sun.
Immediately he was aware of being in a space suit with photochromic visors and more to adjust his vision and save his eyes. Yet he was floating in space. The terror of it near babied him. He could feel it about to vent his bladder and bowels; but then he felt a squeeze of his hand and knew Purple Face was somehow with him.
..................................