“So what you own is half a comet,” said George Sutter.
Tim laughed, quite genuinely. “The day you own half a comet, George, I’ll buy all those bonds you keep trying to sell me. And buy your drinks all night.” He downed his scotch rocks in two swallows.
When he looked up he’d lost his audience. George was headed back to the bar. Julia had Senator Jellison’s arm and was steering him toward new arrivals. The Senator’s administrative assistants followed in her wake.
“Half a comet is quite a lot,” Maureen said. Tim Hamner turned to find her still there. “Tell me, how do you see anything through the smog?”
She sounded interested. She looked interested. And she could have gone with her father. The scotch was a warm trace in his throat and stomach. Tim began telling her about his mountain observatory, not too many miles past Mount Wilson but far enough into the Angeles Mountains that the lights from Pasadena didn’t ruin the seeing. He kept food supplies there, and an assistant, and he’d spent months of nights watching the sky, tracking known asteroids and the outer moons, letting his eye and brain learn the territory, and forever watching for the dot of light that shouldn’t be there, the anomaly that would…
Maureen Jellison had a familiar glazed look in her eyes. He asked, “Hey, am I boring you?”
She was instantly apologetic. “No, I’m sorry, it was just a stray thought.”
“I know I sometimes get carried away.”
She smiled and shook her head; a wealth of deep red hair rippled and danced. “No, really. Dad’s on the Finance Subcommittee for Science and Astronautics. He loves pure science, and I caught the bug from him. I was just…You’re a man who knows what he wants, and you’ve found it. Not many can say that.” She was suddenly very serious.
Tim laughed, embarrassed; he was only just getting used to the fact. “What can I do for an encore?”
“Yes, exactly. What do you do when you’ve walked on the moon, and then they cancel the space program?”
“Why…I don’t know. I’ve heard they sometimes have troubles…”
“Don’t worry about it,” Maureen said. “You’re on the moon now. Enjoy it.”
■
The hot dry wind known as the Santa Ana blew across the Los Angeles hills, clearing the city of smog. Lights glittered and danced in the early darkness. Harvey Randall, his wife, Loretta, beside him, drove his green Toronado with the windows open, relishing the summer weather in January. When they arrived at the Sutter place he turned the car over to the red-jacketed attendant, and paused while Loretta adjusted her smile before moving through the big front doors.
They found the usual mob scene for a Beverly Hills party. A hundred people were scattered among the little tables, and another hundred in clumps; a mariachi group in one corner played gay background music and the singer, deprived of his microphone, was still doing pretty well telling everyone about the state of his corazon. They greeted their hostess and parted: Loretta found a conversation, and Harvey located the bar by searching out the thickest cluster of people. He collected two gin and tonics.
Bits of conversation ricocheted around him. “We didn’t let him on the white rug, you see. So the dog had the cat ‘treed’ in the middle of the rug and was pacing sentry duty around the perimeter…”
“…was this beautiful young chick one seat ahead of me on the plane. A real knockout, even if all I could see was her hair and the back of her head. I was thinking of a way to meet her when she looked back and said, ‘Uncle Pete! What are you doing here?’”
“…man, it’s helped a lot! When I call and say it’s Commissioner Robbins, I get right through. Haven’t had a customer miss a good option since the Mayor appointed me.”
They stuck in his mind, these bits and pieces of story. For Harvey Randall it was an occupational hazard of the TV documentary business; he couldn’t help listening. He didn’t want to, really. People fascinated him. He would have liked to follow up some of these glimpses into other minds.
He looked around for Loretta, but she was too short to stand out in this crowd. Instead he picked out high-piled hair of unconvincing orange-red: Brenda Tey, who’d been talking to Loretta before Harvey went to the bar. He made for that point, easing past shoals of elbows attached to drinks.
“Twenty billion bucks, and all we got was rocks! Those damn big rockets, billions of dollars dropped into the drink. Why spend all that money out there when we could be—”
“Bullshit,” said Harvey.
George Sutter turned in surprise. “Oh. Hello, Harv…It’ll be the same with the Shuttle. Just the same. It’s all money thrown down the drain—”
“That turns out not to be the case.” The voice was clear, sweet and penetrating. It cut right through George’s manifesto, and it couldn’t be ignored. George stopped in midsentence.
Harvey found a spectacular redhead in a green one-shoulder party gown. Her eyes met his when he looked at her, and he looked away first. He smiled and said, “Is that the same as bullshit?”
“Yes. But more tactful.” She grinned at him, and Harvey let his own smile stay in place instead of fading away. She turned to the attack. “Mr. Sutter, NASA didn’t spend the Apollo money on hardware. We bought research on how to build the hardware, and we’ve still got it. Knowledge can’t go into the drink. As for the Shuttle, that’s the price to get out there where we can really learn things, and not much of a price at that…”
A woman’s breast and shoulder rubbed playfully against Harvey’s arm. That had to be Loretta, and it was. He handed her her drink. His own was half gone. When Loretta started to speak he gestured her silent, a little more rudely than he usually did, and ignored her look of protest.
The redhead knew her stuff. If careful reason and logic could win arguments, she won. But she had a lot more: She had every male’s eye, and a slow Southern drawl that made every word count, and a voice so pure and musical that any interruption seemed stuttered or mumbled.
The unequal contest ended when George discovered that his drink was empty and, with visible relief, broke for the bar. Smiling triumph, the girl turned toward Harvey, and he nodded his congratulations.
“I’m Harvey Randall. My wife, Loretta.”
“Maureen Jellison. Most pleased.” She frowned for half a second. “I remember now. You were the last U.S. newsman in Cambodia.” She shook hands, formally, with Harvey and Loretta. “And wasn’t your newscopter shot down over there?”
“Twice,” Loretta said proudly. “Harvey brought his Air Force pilot out. Fifty miles of enemy lines.”
Maureen nodded gravely. She was fifteen years younger than the Randalls, and seemed very self-possessed. “So now you’re here. Are you natives?”
“I am,” Harvey said. “Loretta’s from Detroit—”
“Grosse Pointe,” Loretta said automatically.
“—but I was born in L.A.” Harvey could never quite bring himself to tell Loretta’s half-truth for her. “We’re scarce, we natives.”
“And what do they have you doing now?” Maureen asked.
“Documentaries. News features, mostly,” Harvey said.
“I know who you are,” Loretta said in some awe. “I just met your father. Senator Jellison.”
“That’s right.” Maureen looked thoughtful, then grinned broadly. “Say, if you do news features there’s somebody you ought to meet. Tim Hamner.”
Harvey frowned. The name seemed familiar, but he couldn’t place it. “Why?”
Loretta said, “Hamner? A young man with a frightening grin?” She giggled. “He’s a teensy bit drunk. He wouldn’t let anyone else talk. At all. He owns half a comet.”
“That’s him,” Maureen said. Her smile made Loretta feel part of a conspiracy.
“He also owns a lot of soap,” Harvey said.
It was Maureen’s turn to look blank.
“I just remembered,” Harvey said. “He inherited the Kalva Soap Company.”
“May be, but he’s prouder of the comet,” Maur
een said. “I don’t blame him. Dear old Dad could have been President once, but he’s never come close to discovering a comet.” She scanned the room until she spotted her target. “The tall man in the suit with white and maroon in it. You’ll know him by his smile. Get anywhere near him and he’ll tell you all about it.”
Harvey felt Loretta tugging at his arm, and reluctantly looked away from Maureen. When he looked back someone else had snared her. He went to fetch another pair of drinks.
■
As always, Harvey Randall drank too much and wondered why he came to these parties. But he knew; Loretta saw them as a way to participate in his life. She didn’t enjoy his field trips. The one attempt to take her on a hike with their son had been a disaster. When she went with him on location she wanted to stay in the best hotels, and if she dutifully came to the small bars and gathering places Harvey preferred, it was obvious that she was working hard to hide her unhappiness.
But she was very much at home at parties like this one, and tonight’s had been especially good. She even managed a private conversation with Senator Jellison. Harvey left her with the Senator and went to find more drinks. “Light on the gin, Rodriguez. Please.”
The bartender smiled and mixed the drink without comment. Harvey stood with it. Tim Hamner was alone at one of the little tables. He was looking at Harvey, but the eyes were dreamy; they saw nothing. And that smile. Harvey made his way across the room and dropped into the other chair at the table. “Mr. Hamner? Harvey Randall. Maureen Jellison said I should say ‘Comet.’”
Hamner’s face came alight. The grin broadened, if that were possible. He took a telegram out of his pocket and waved it. “Right! The sighting was confirmed this afternoon. Hamner-Brown Comet.”
“You skipped a step.”
“She didn’t tell you anything? Well! I’m Tim Hamner. Astronomer. Well, not professional, but my equipment’s professional. And I work at it—anyway. I’m an amateur astronomer. A week ago I found a smear of light not far from Neptune. A dim smear. It didn’t belong there. I kept looking at it, and it moved. I studied it long enough to be sure, and then I reported it. It’s a new comet. Kitt Peak just confirmed it. The IAU is naming it after me—and Brown.”
For just that moment, envy flashed through Harvey Randall like a lightning strike. It was gone as quickly; he made it go, shoving it into the bottom of his mind where he could pull it up and look at it later. He was ashamed of it. But without that flash he would have asked a more tactful first question. “Who’s Brown?”
Hamner’s face didn’t change. “Gavin Brown is a kid in Centerville, Iowa. Ground his own mirror to build his telescope. He reported the comet at the same time I did. The IAU rules it a simultaneous sighting. If I hadn’t waited to be certain…” Hamner shrugged and continued, “I called Brown this afternoon. Sent him a plane ticket, because I want to meet him. He didn’t even want to come until I promised to show him around the solar observatory at Mount Wilson. That’s all he really cares about! Sunspots! He found the comet by accident!”
“When will we see this comet? That is,” Harvey backtracked, “will it be visible at all?”
“Much too early to ask. Wait a month. Watch the news.”
“I’m not supposed to watch the news. I’m supposed to report the news,” said Harvey. “And this could be news. Tell me more.”
Hamner was eager to do that. He rattled on, while Harvey nodded with a broadening grin. Beautiful! You didn’t have to know what all the words meant to know the equipment was expensive, and probably photogenic to boot. Expensive and elaborate equipment, and the kid with a bent pin for a hook and a willow stick for a rod had caught just as big a fish as the millionaire!
Millionaire. “Mr. Hamner, if this comet turns out to be worth a documentary—”
“Well, it might. And the discovery would be. How amateur astronomers can be important…”
Hooked, by God! “What I was going to ask was, if we can make a documentary on the comet, would Kalva Soap be interested in sponsoring it?”
The change in Hamner was subtle, but it was there. Harvey instantly revised his opinion of the man. Hamner had a lot of experience with people after his money. He was an enthusiast, but hardly a fool.
“Tell me, Mr. Randall, didn’t you do that thing on the Alaskan glacier?”
“Harvey. Yes.”
“It stunk.”
“Sure did,” Harvey agreed. “The sponsor insisted on control. And got it. And used it. I didn’t inherit control of a big company.” And to hell with you, too, Mr. Timothy Comet Hamner.
“But I did. And this would be worth doing. You did the Hell’s Gate Dam story too, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“I liked that one.”
“So did I.”
“Good.” Hamner nodded several times. “Look, this could be worth sponsoring. Even if the comet never becomes visible, and I think it will. Lord knows they spend enough of the advertising budget sponsoring crap that nobody wants to watch. Might as well tell a story worth telling. Harvey, you need a refill.”
They went to the bar. The party was thinning out fast. The Jellisons were just leaving, but Loretta had found another conversation. Harvey recognized a city councilman who’d been after Harvey’s station to do a show on a park that was his current goal. He probably thought Loretta would influence Harvey—which was correct—and that Harvey had influence over what the network and its Los Angeles station did—which was a laugh.
Rodriguez was busy for the moment and they stood at the bar. “There’s all kinds of excellent new equipment for studying comets,” Hamner said. “Including a big orbital telescope only used once, for Kahoutek. Scientists all over the world will want to know how comets differ, how Kahoutek was different from Hamner-Brown. Lot of scientists right here. Cal Tech, and the planetary astronomers at JPL. They’ll all want to know more about Hamner-Brown.”
Hamner-Brown resonated in his mouth, and Tim Hamner obviously loved the taste. “You see, comets aren’t just something pretty up in the sky. They’re left over from the big gas cloud that formed the solar system. If we could really learn something about comets—maybe send up a space probe—we’d know more about what the original cloud of gas and dust was like before it fell in on itself and made the Sun and the planets and moons and things like that.”
“You’re sober,” Harvey said in wonder.
Hamner was startled. Then he laughed. “I meant to get drunk just to celebrate, but I guess I’ve been talking instead of drinking.” Rodriguez came over and put drinks in front of them. Hamner lifted his scotch rocks in a salute.
“The way your eyes glow,” Harvey said, “I thought you must be drunk. But what you say makes a lot of sense. I doubt we could get a space probe launched, but what the hell, we could try. Only you’re talking about more than a single documentary for something like that. Listen, is there a chance? I mean, could we send a probe into the comet? Because I know some people in the aerospace industry, and…”
And, thought Harvey, that would be a story. Who can I get for editor? he wondered. And Charlie Bascomb’s available to do camera…
“Jellison, too,” Hamner said. “He’d be for it. But look, Harv, I know a lot about comets, but not that much. It’s all guesswork right now. Be a few months before Hamner-Brown gets to perihelion.” He added quickly, “Closest point to the Sun. Which isn’t the same as the closest point to the Earth…”
“How close will that be?” Harvey asked.
Hamner shrugged. “Haven’t analyzed the orbit yet. Maybe close. Anyway, Hamner-Brown will be moving fast when it rounds the Sun. It will have fallen all the way from the halo, out there beyond Pluto, a long way. You understand, I won’t really be computing the orbit. I’ll have to wait for the professionals, just like you.”
Harvey nodded. They lifted their glasses and drank.
“But I like the idea,” Hamner said. “There’s going to be a lot of scientific pressure for studies of Hamner-Brown, and it wouldn�
�t hurt to push the idea with the general public. I like it.”
“Of course,” Harvey said carefully, “I’d have to have a firm commitment on sponsorship before I could do much work on this. Are you sure Kalva Soap would be interested? The show might pull a good audience—but it might not.”
Hamner nodded. “Kahoutek,” he said. “They were burned on that one before. Nobody wants to be disappointed again.”
“Yeah.”
“So you can count on Kalva Soap. Let’s get across why it’s important to study comets even if you can’t see them. Because I can promise the sponsorship, but I can’t promise the comet will deliver. It might not be visible at all. Don’t tell people anything more than that.”
“I have a reputation for getting my facts straight.”
“When your sponsor doesn’t interfere,” Hamner said.
“Even then, I have my facts straight.”
“Good. But right now there aren’t any facts. Hamner-Brown is pretty big. It has to be, or I couldn’t have seen it out that far. And it looks to get pretty close to the Sun. It has a chance of being spectacular, but really, it’s impossible to tell. The tail could stretch way-y-y out, or it could just blow away. It depends on the comet.”
“Yeah. Look,” Harvey said, “can you name one newsman who lost his reputation because of Kahoutek?” He nodded at the puzzled look that got. “Right. None. No chance. The public blamed the astronomers for blowing it all out of proportion. Nobody blamed the news people.”
“Why should they? You were quoting the astronomers.”
“Half the time,” Harvey agreed. “But we quoted the ones who said exciting things. Two interviews. One man says Kahoutek is going to be the Big Christmas Comet. Another says, well, it’s going to be a comet, but you might not see it without field glasses. Guess which tape gets shown on the six o’clock news?”
Hamner laughed. He was draining his glass when Julia Sutter came over.
“Busy, Tim?” she asked, but didn’t wait for an answer. “Your cousin Barry is making a fool of himself out in the kitchen. Can you get him to go home?” She spoke low and urgently.
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