“Come, sit down. We’ll eat,” Franziska said. She poured the wine. Then she sat, took her wine glass, and toasted him.
His phone vibrated again. Just quickly checking to see who it is... [email protected].
“Geez, Peter!” Franziska exclaimed. “You really are impossible!”
She put her wine glass down on the table with such momentum that it clinked, and several drops splashed out.
Oh, now he’d overdone it.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s just because of—”
“Because of those fucking stars, right? I almost think you’d rather look at them than me anymore.”
At least they don’t get upset when I check my mail.
Now he had to soothe Franziska. “Please just calm down, honey. I’m really sorry, and it won’t happen again.”
“I am the calm person! You don’t get it, do you? You don’t understand how humiliating it is when your own husband is more interested in the distant stars than in you.”
“That’s not the point at all. I was just checking something out, and I wasn’t distracted from you for a second. I was right here with you.”
“All the way here, with me? If you were, you wouldn’t keep sending me out into the nightlife with a handsome, Spanish-speaking director! I think you want to get rid of me so you can trade me in for your stars for good!”
“Not at all, Franziska. Now you’re really exaggerating. You’ve been meeting up with Greta and José all the time.”
“Because you never have time for me! I can’t sit around every evening waiting for the amateur astronomer to return from his stalking. But what I do doesn’t even interest you. That’s the worst! I was away for three nights. A normal person would show a minimum of jealousy! I’d be jealous! And you don’t even ask me if I slept with José!”
What would happen if he told her about his strange dream? Franziska would probably explode, and everything would be over, because she wouldn’t feel taken seriously. Peter sometimes had such impulses. Better to end it that way... or not?
“And, are you?” he asked.
Hmm, maybe that wasn’t very smart either. He didn’t want to know the answer. But if it was important to her, then he had to ask.
“Am I what?”
Now she reminded him of his German teacher in elementary school, who always insisted on complete interrogative sentences. Was this some kind of game to her?
“Have you slept with this José?”
“Well, that’s a clear question at last. How nice that I was able to pique your interest after all.”
But that was not a clear answer, my darling. And at the same time, it is, because if it were, you’d admit it. Then it occurred to him. She must be frustrated because the director turned her down. He was either a faithful husband, or gay. Or, more likely, José had the hots for Greta. Her friend, who had been single since he’d met her, was ten centimeters taller than Franziska, and she was a master at arousing desire, whether in men or women, often without fulfilling it, as far as he knew.
Greta seemed indifferent toward him, perhaps because she knew he didn’t like her, or because she simply wouldn’t have it any other way. This José, however, must have fallen for her, especially since Greta was also blond, which, at least according to the usual clichés, should fit his prey pattern. His wife would undoubtedly provide more substantial conversation, but if the man was looking for adventure, that probably wasn’t the most important thing to him. It was understandable, if not enjoyable, that Franziska took her anger about this out on him. That must be the explanation, so he spoke up.
“I’m sorry José wasn’t interested in you,” he said.
Crap. He needed less than a second to realize his mistake, because Franziska turned red in a flash. She swallowed a few times, then slowly reached for the wine glass with her left hand, took it between her fingers, and threw it just over his head and against the wall. The red wine splattered through the dining room.
Franziska left the room, her face bright red and her lips pressed tightly together. Shortly afterward, Peter heard her car engine.
Franziska was not back for the evening news. She was probably crying on Greta’s sofa while her friend was reproaching her for not having separated from him long ago, now that the children were out of the house. Peter tried to clean the shelf, the floor, and the wall. He succeeded with the shelf and the floor, but the wall still had a few stains.
He was alone, but that had its advantages. The sky was clear, which promised a great evening of observing. It was not as bitterly cold as it had been the past few nights. Some warm air was coming their way, which might be bad for viewing after tonight, but he didn’t dwell on that thought because he just wanted to see if a star was still shining or not.
In the meantime, he’d entered the coordinates into his optimization algorithm. The computer had printed him a new list in which the stars were sorted in such a way that the telescope needed as little time as possible to switch. All that was missing now was a direct link between the telescope and the computer, and a program capable of confirming the existence of a star from a photograph. That would be a good project for the weekend, if Franziska didn’t return by then.
Then there was the message from Melissa Holinger. He’d been saving it as if it were the longed-for promise from a lover to spend the night with him. That was how it felt when he opened it. It would depend on its contents how intensively he would deal with this subject that had grown so close to his heart. Somehow, Franziska was right. The stars were almost more important to him than she was. He also hardly thought about their relationship when he imagined how the seven stars lined up on the spherical shell.
And the sun.
“Hello, Mr. Kraemer,” wrote the astronomer.
It was already clear it was not an automatic answer.
“I apologize for taking a little longer. But I didn’t want to answer you before I had checked your thesis at least once.”
Very sensible, the woman. She had not immediately classified him as a nutcase.
“I have to admit one thing in advance: I thought it very unlikely that you could be right. Mail from amateur astronomers, please don’t misunderstand me here, is often full of obvious errors or unsubstantiated claims. This is not the case with you. The seven missing stars are indeed on a spherical shell.”
Ha! And the sun?
“It would be interesting to discuss why that is. Perhaps you already have an explanation. People outside the field often provide refreshing ideas. I would consider your observation as a whole to most likely be a coincidence. That may disappoint you, but without another plausible explanation, it is simply the most likely possibility. It may seem unlikely to you, but consider this: If you look at the 200 billion stars of the Milky Way as a whole, you’ll find thousands and thousands of ways to put spherical shells through any seven of them, or even the logo of a burger chain, or whatever figure you choose.”
That didn’t sound very optimistic.
“What can you do? It’s quite simple. The more stars you find that lie on this spherical shell, the more probable it becomes that you are really on the track of a phenomenon rather than a coincidence. But please don’t limit your search to the spherical shell itself. That would be self-deception. Every disappeared star you find away from the shell is a witness against your thesis.”
That was true, of course, and he wouldn’t have thought of taking such a roundabout path.
“And what about the sun? you will ask. You yourself write that there is an essential difference between the sun and the stars that are no longer to be found: the sun still shines. And it is by no means the only visible yellow dwarf on the spherical shell you describe. Therefore the position of the sun here also speaks against your theory. Unless one assumes that all the yellow dwarfs on the spherical shell will also disappear sometime in the future. I think that is impossible. In our paper, which you have, we also discussed some other explanations for these strange failures.”
A few tips and final salutations followed, as well as a request to contact her with further news. All right. She didn’t believe him, but accepted him as a legitimate source. That was something, at least.
He closed the computer, reached for his freshly printed list, and ran into the hall to get warm. There was a lot to do!
March 4, 2026 – Passau
Peter yawned. It was only Wednesday, and the week was already dragging. Franziska must have spent the night with Greta again. Now that he was pretty sure she hadn’t started anything with that José, he also knew why she had no problem sleeping in Greta’s cramped bed. It would be free because Greta was staying at the director’s hotel. Hopefully he’d be leaving for the next big city soon. When Greta needed her own bed again, Franziska would be back.
It was already kind of strange without her. He took until breakfast to figure out what he meant by that. The more appropriate word would be lonely. He required peace and quiet in the morning, but now he had too much of that. It was comforting to have someone puttering around in the living room while he was relaxing in the kitchen drinking his coffee.
Maybe his wife would be back in the afternoon. It looked like it would be another sunny day. She couldn’t miss that. Greta lived in an old, crowded part of town, and Franziska loved the sun.
Spring was moving in now, which meant an end to the long, clear winter nights, but as long as he could be out stargazing at all, he was less interested in the image quality.
While in the kitchen clearing the dishes, Peter came across his list where he’d left it the night before. He’d worked through two pages and proved that the new algorithm worked well. All the stars on the list were still in the sky. He wondered if he should take a shortcut by limiting himself to the spherical shell. But Holinger was right—doing so would invalidate his research. It would make it a self-fulfilling prophecy.
Peter pulled open a drawer and hid the list inside. There was no way he could work with the telescope if Franziska came back today—that much was clear. Maybe it would be good for both of them if she spent a few more days with Greta? That way, she might learn to appreciate her former life again.
Her former life. It sounded like it was over. A shiver ran down his spine.
The front doorbell rang just as he was checking the mock exam for the 8th grade. Peter rushed downstairs and opened the door to an impassive Franziska. He beamed at her, but she did not return his smile.
“Sorry. I left my set of keys at Greta’s apartment.”
“No problem, come on in. It’s nice that you—”
“I just want to get a few things, and then I’ll be on my way.”
“You can go ahead and—”
Her gaze fell on the telescope still in the hallway, and her face transformed into a scowl. “Oh, have you been looking up at the sky again? I hope you’re having fun with it.”
It sure didn’t sound like she wanted him to have fun. He hated this passive-aggressive tone. He was about to ask her to stay a little longer but decided he was not in the mood for her bitching. He was not going to put up with it.
“Yes, it’s quite fascinating,” he said. “This researcher from Stockholm, Holinger is her name, gave me some important clues. I was afraid she was going to laugh at me.”
Franziska took off her boots but made no move to take off her jacket. “So you found someone to talk to. That’s nice.” She turned away from him and ran upstairs.
“We correspond by e-mail,” he said, loud enough for her to hear.
“That’s much better than talking directly to each other, isn’t it?” Franziska exclaimed from the second floor.
“No, of course it’s not,” he countered. “I do talk to myself sometimes.” That was not exactly true. He only weighed thoughts against each other in his head. But it sounded dramatic.
“Poor you. I used to do that when you were out among the stars.”
Hmm. He’d never heard Franziska talking to herself. She came down the stairs with a filled bag in her hand. That was quick. Usually, she spent hours thinking about what to wear.
Peter was startled. If Franziska no longer cared, all sorts of things must have changed. He had to do something.
“Stay here, please,” he said. “Let’s talk... in peace.”
“But I’m not feeling peaceful. Our relationship isn’t working,” his wife said, “and I need some time to myself right now. Don’t be mad. It’s not you. And right now is a perfect time. I’ve got Greta’s apartment, and everything’s going smoothly at school, so all I have to do is show up for class. I’ve never had so much time to think about my life.”
So Greta was out with the director. But what Franziska was saying sounded even more threatening than a fling with a younger lover. She seemed to be questioning her whole life. Was this her midlife crisis? He didn’t want to change his life, and Franziska was part of it. Wasn’t it normal to be annoyed with each other sometimes?
“Yes, then,” he said, “I hope it’s good for you. I just wanted to tell you that I—”
“I know, Peter. As I said, it has nothing to do with you. It’s about me. You can’t help me with that, except to leave me alone for a while.”
“How long?”
“Don’t expect to see me for at least a week. Greta has gone to Berlin with José. I can use her apartment for that long.”
“I see.”
“I know you don’t understand, my darling. That would be a miracle, and I’m not asking for that. After all, I don’t understand myself. That’s why I need some time.”
The passive-aggressive undertone had disappeared. Franziska now reminded him again of the woman he’d met so many years ago, except that there were some noticeable wrinkles on her face. She stopped in front of him and stroked his cheek. Her hand was warm. He would have liked to hug her now, but didn’t dare.
“Well, I’ll be on my way.”
She turned away, slipped on her boots, and reached into her coat pocket. She seemed irritated for a moment, then remembered that the set of keys was in Greta’s apartment.
“Can you get into Greta’s apartment without a key?” he asked.
“Yes, there’s always a key under her doormat.”
“Good.”
She turned to him and opened her arms for a hug.
Peter was confused. The confusion was similar to when he was first in love. It was a long time ago, but he remembered it well because it was so intense. This confusion was a little different, though. It sat heavily in the back of his mind.
Working helped him whenever he was confused. But, he could distract himself even better by looking into the infinite distance of space. He didn’t even have to use a telescope for this, but it helped because the need for careful handling took extra concentration.
The telescope moved to the first star. He had made a note in the list for each candidate, whether or not it was on the spherical shell. This one was not. The telescope jerked, then moved east briefly and returned. The smartphone vibrated. A star glittered in the exact center of the image—that it was a yellow dwarf was not visually apparent. To verify, he would have to record the spectrogram. The telescope might have found the wrong star, but this was unlikely. Peter checked the surroundings. There was no other star of comparable brightness within a few degrees. No, he could cross this candidate off the list.
Then it was the next one’s turn. The telescope only took 20 seconds before it stopped again and his cell phone vibrated. This star was still shining, too. At least it existed 57 years ago, when the light he now saw left the star. He was looking into the past, something he had never been as aware of as he was now. All the missing stars that he’d discovered so far were at least 40 light-years away from Earth. So the event that wiped them out must have happened more than 40 years ago. Didn’t that mean that the sun was safe for a long time?
Not necessarily, he continued in his mind as he searched for the next star. This was a process that could take a while. First it had to spread through the
universe and reach a star. Then, once there, it had to somehow affect the star in such a way that, if it succeeded, the star eventually vanished.
The star catalog that the Stockholmers used was only ten years old, so at that time the lost stars still existed. Now they were gone, telling him the process took ten years at most.
No, that was not true. It could still be in progress with other stars. Holinger had named some yellow dwarfs that were on the spherical shell and had not disappeared. What if the process had something to do with size? Perhaps it was gradually consuming the victims. A larger star would thus last longer. Or maybe someone was building massive structures around these stars, Dyson spheres that shielded all radiation. Something like that would undoubtedly take more time for larger stars. The sun was somewhere in the middle, size-wise. Its activity changed in a known 11-year cycle. There was no sign, at least at present, of the action of any process that would cause it to go extinct.
The vanished stars would then have had to be smaller than the sun. Peter hadn’t taken a close look at their masses and diameters, but from memory, he knew that 47 Ursae Majoris is—was—a bit bigger than the sun. So, his nice theory, like any theory can, failed with the first rebuttal. Holinger was right: He had to uncover more stars that could no longer be detected. The more specimens he had, the more likely he would be to ascertain their similarities.
His cell phone vibrated and Peter looked through the eyepiece. A small star was there, shining brightly.
He immediately entered the next coordinates.
01 44 4,08 -15 56 14,9
Lrf! V xabj sebz jurer V pnzr
Vafngvnoyr nf sver
V fuvar naq pbafhzr zlfrys
Rirelguvat V gbhpu gheaf vagb yvtug
Rirelguvat V yrnir vf abguvat ohg nfur
V nofbyhgryl nz gur sver
March 5, 2026 – Passau
The Beacon: Hard Science Fiction Page 7