Keene had in fact been prepared for something like this. The Kronians and their supporters had been reconstructing this kind of scenario for years from interpretations of ancient records and geophysical evidence written all over the planet, and they had been ridiculed or ignored. Now Keene was hearing it as if it had all been discovered the previous night. What he needed now was actual figures for how close the encounter would be, magnitudes and intensities, estimates of what they would mean on the scale of events. Hixson walked him around the other offices and lab areas to meet the scientists and analysts, some with computers on-line to the tracking stations, who summarized the latest findings and provided printouts. One of them produced a series of telescopic images of Athena moving clear from the disk of the Sun. The body of the planetoid itself was obscured by the enormous tail now pointing Earthward, twisting and contorting into fantastic plumes and braids. It brought to mind, uncannily, ancient depictions of the grotesque, multi-armed goddess, Kali, advancing across the heavens to wreak destruction upon the world. More images taken at radio wavelengths revealed structures of magnetic fields and particle streams extending across half the sky and already engulfing Earth.
They went back to Hixson’s office to discuss the implications and for Keene to complete his notes. Hixson’s last words as Keene was about to leave were to ask when a public announcement would be made. “I don’t know,” Keene replied. “That’s what this information is wanted for. I just report back.”
“What are your own plans?” Hixson asked him. He made it sound as if he was hoping to hear of something official that he might be included in.
“Plans?” Keene could only return a blank look.
It was only when he was in the elevator on his way back down to the lobby that the full realization finally sank home that this was real. It was going to happen, and he was going to be here when it did. And for the last thirty-six hours he had been too busy and too tired to give any thought to what he intended to be doing about it.
* * ** * *
People had begun arriving to start the day when he emerged into the entrance lobby. The sky outside had cleared, but to Keene the morning still had a cold, bleak feel about it. His pilot was in the reception office, on the far side of a glass partition wall, leaning on the counter and talking to a woman who had taken off her coat but not yet hung it. The pilot said something as Keene came into view, and the woman looked in his direction. It seemed she had been waiting for him. Keene entered. A sign on the counter carried the name Christie Jones.
“Hi. Are you Dr. Landen Keene?” she greeted as he entered.
“I am he.”
“What’s going on? Anything exciting? From what I’m hearing, it sounds as if half the place has been up all night.”
“It’ll have to keep for now, I’m afraid. What can I do for you?”
Christie consulted a scribbled note. “I’ve got a strict instruction not to let you go. Somebody wants to talk to you.”
“Who?’
“It doesn’t say. Not someone who works here. He’s waiting in Room 108. I’ll show you the way.”
“I’ll try and keep it brief,” Keene told the pilot.
“No hurry, Doctor. The coffee’s pretty good here. So’s the company.”
Christie led Keene back out across the lobby floor, past the elevators, and along one of the ground-floor corridors. There was a display featuring models of orbiting space observatories and placards showing samples of images and other data obtained from them. “Your face looks familiar,” she said as they walked. “I’ve seen it on TV recently, haven’t I?”
“Sometimes I lecture on the College Channel,” Keene said.
“Yes, that must have been it. Wow, a real celebrity.”
“Hardly.”
They came to Room 108 and stopped. Christie tapped a couple of times. “Come in, please,” a voice called from inside. She opened the door, stood aside while Keene entered, and closed it behind him. A figure was standing by the window, wearing brown cords and a shapeless green sweater that looked as if they could have been for working in the yard. He was obviously tense, which perhaps explained why he hadn’t availed himself of one of the chairs while he waited. Keene’s jaw tightened. It was Herbert Voler.