Shifting Sand

by Christopher Kempke

Copyright (c)1990

Star of wonder,
Star of night,
Star of royal beauty bright.

The explosion was first noticed by a pair of lovers in the great American desert, but they had other things on their mind and the incident was quickly forgotten. A few other people noticed it in the next few minutes, and eventually one of them was curious enough to call the planetarium. After the phone call, things happened quickly.

The Arizona telescope was appropriated from its mechanical wanderings across the night sky, and carefully aimed at where a new point of light billowed in the heavens, near the southern horizon. Aaron Gregory was the first at the viewplate, and his soft whistle was enough to bring his collegues to silence. Years of experience allowed him to pull all the details he required in a moment, he was not long at the telescope. He said nothing as the rest of the men and women filed by. When they were done, they turned toward him almost as one, expectant. Gregory shrugged, lifted a coffeepot next to him, and poured himself a cup.

The pot was finished well before the meeting was.

``Black holes don't explode.''

``Of course not. We're all having a mass hallucination.''

``Maybe something near the hole?''

``It's the same distance away to the precision of our instruments, and there's no sign of pull on it at all. Nothing to indicate that there's a hole nearby.''

``Check it with a radioscope?''

``Too much interference from the explosion. But I could tell you what the results would be. There's no black hole there, only a supernova.''

Gregory cleared his throat, bringing silence to the room. ``So we know what happened. Anyone care to speculate how?''

The meeting dissolved in chaos once more.

The press the next morning had plenty of ideas. Most prevalent among them was that the unexplained phenomenon was a sign from God, regardless of its cause. The tabloids expounded on a number of other options, as well. The astronomers continued to be perplexed.

``God moves in mysterious ways,'' one of the journalists suggested to Gregory at the fifth conference in as many hours. Gregory gave him a look that would melt glass.

``God, my friend, has nothing to do with it. This is a strictly natural phenomenon.'' His voice carried the strain of many hours without sleep, and the distinct impression that he did not regard the journalist as his friend.

``All natural phenomena are His work,'' said another voice. Gregory turned to face a priest. His face remained taut for a moment, then relaxed. ``Perhaps, yes. But that's not the explanation that I'm after.''

``What more explanation do you need? There is, after all, a precedent. The night of our Saviour's birth, some two thousand years ago.''

``Has been satisfactorily explained without recourse to a divine being. Are there any more questions of a _scientific_ nature?''

Another reporter raised his hand, and the conference stumbled on.

The first time Gregory got to relax was as his plane lifted into the air en route to London. He shuffled through the pages of numbers in front of him for a time, then gave up, put them down, and closed his eyes.

It was fully six hours when he awoke the garbled speech of the plane's intercom system.

``We are experiencing some navigational difficulties. There is no danger involved, and no equipment vital to our safety has been damaged. However, this flight will be some hours longer than previously planned, and we may have to make an additional stop. Trans-Atlantic airlines and your flight crew apologize for the inconvenience. We will keep you posted on further developments. Arrangements are being made for those of you with connecting flights.''

Gregory smiled. He would miss his meeting, certain to cause consternation among his international associates. The thought filled him with some glee, for the invitation had stressed the urgency of the meeting in the typically British, overzealous way, and without the data he carried, they had nothing to discuss. They would just have to wait.

He gradually became aware that the man next to him was staring at him, a look of puzzlement on his face. Gregory turned.

``You, or somebody that looks like you, were in the newspaper this morning.''

Gregory extended his hand. ``Aaron Gregory. I'm an astronomer, and yes, a charming image of me was all over the paper today.''

The man nodded sagely. ``I'm Raphael. Pleased to meet you.''

``No last name?''

``In my country, last names are generally considered secret. A bit of a quaint custom, but it's ingrained.''

Gregory nodded, trying to place Raphael's accent as he continued to speak.

``You're the guy who discovered the supernova, aren't you?''

``Not really `discovered.' I have done the most work on it, though.''

``Why does this supernova get so much attention? The one ten years ago didn't even cause a stir.''

``Mainly because we think a black hole exploded to form this one. All scientific rationale says that that's impossible. We're looking for a way of understanding how it happened, or, if it didn't, what did.''

``And? What do you think?''

``Personally? I'm not sure. We don't really know much about black holes. My suspicion is that we just had the theory wrong, and that explosions are possible. Bunches of my collegues, however, are spouting theories that energy is being `warped' in from other regions of space. That one just doesn't ring true to me. If it's possible, it should be happening all the time. Of course, I would once have said the whole thing was impossible.''

``What if it is?''

``Impossible? I don't understand; we saw it happen. In fact, it's bright enough to be seen in the daytime if you look in the right place. There's no doubt that it's there.''

``But not everything has an explainable cause.''

``No, but I have to attribute it to nature or God. And I'm quite a devout athiest.''

``Yes, yes indeed you are. Funny how it works out that way, sometimes.'' Raphael's tone was enigmatic, and Gregory could not make sense of the statement. He was about to ask, but Raphael spoke first.

``Excuse me a minute, but nature calls.'' He rose and walked toward the back of the plane. Suddenly tired, Gregory was asleep before Raphael returned.

A jarring sensation woke him, and apparently a number of the other passengers as well. The plane lurched heavily to one side, scattering trays, books, and people. There were a few moments of stunned silence, then a voice on the intercom.

``The plane has been crippled by some equipment failure. Unfortunately, this will require our making a forced landing. There is a desert below us which will offer safe landing areas. However, to minimize the risk of injury, we request that you all take crash positions. The flight attendents will review the procedure with you now. Please remain calm, the danger is slight. We will be landing in roughly ten minutes.''

``Desert?'' The voice, from the man in front of Gregory, was breaking. ``There are no deserts in Europe. We're all going to die!''

``Look out your window,'' Gregory said. ``If that's somebody's flower garden, I think they need to water it more often. Obviously we're not over Europe.''

Below was a stark expanse of sand next to the blue of the ocean. Gregory remembered hearing that there were only a few places on earth where deserts existed adjacent to the sea, but he could not think where they were. He gave up the effort and turned to watch the flight attendent. Beside him, Raphael spoke a prayer in a surprisingly calm voice. Gregory heard his name in it. However, he didn't get a chance to comment before he had to put his head between his knees and a pillow between himself and the next seat. The plane continued its downward descent.

• * *

Westward leading,
Still proceeding,
Guide us to thy perfect light.

The three days following the crash became more and more tense as it became obvious that no rescue was on the way. Nothing in the wreckage worked, including the radio, and there was only an occasional plane overhead, much too high and fast to spot the people in the desert below. The days were hot, the nights cold, and the food gradually vanished. Gregory remained somewhat detached from it all, assuming that they would be found eventually, but it appeared that starvation was a more likely possibility.

Midnight came for the fourth time since the crash. Gregory sat with a blanket over him, his back against the smooth metal of the plane, staring at the brilliant supernova that shone high in the heavens here. From this information and the positions of the stars he had deduced that they lay rather close to the equator, though probably not as far south as Africa. It embarrased him not to be able to guess closer, but his specialty, astrophysics, didn't include much study of the constellations.

Raphael appeared from the night and sat beside him.

``Still fascinated by the star?''

``It seems brighter every night. It should be decreasing in intensity by now. It's been almost a week.''

``Still think it's a natural phenomenon?''

Gregory sighed. Raphael continued.

``The last time a star shone this brightly in the heavens, people followed it to Bethlehem.''

``You don't follow stars. Only a very few stars stay in the same place throughout the night. You'd end up walking straight east for a while, then straight west. Not a productive evening.''

``Perhaps not, but there's almost no food here, certainly not enough for another day. And I'm not sure I really want to be around when these folks start looking for `alternative' food sources.''

``You want to leave?''

``I don't think we have a choice. And night's the best time for travel.''

Gregory shrugged and stood up. ``Let's go meet our deaths, then. Which direction?''

Raphael shook his head, and fixed Gregory. ``You decide.''

Gregory turned his vision heavenward. ``We'll follow the star, then, for a while. That ought to be the direction of the sea, anyway. I don't suppose we're taking anyone with us?''

Raphael simply shook his head again.

Seventy-five dunes later, the night had begun to fade, and the star had long ago slid over their heads and below the horizon. Gregory was tired, more a product of the shifting, uncertain footing than the distance.

``We should probably find a place to rest for the day,'' he said, looking for such a place without much success.

``Not necessary,'' Raphael said. ``Listen.''

Barely audible over the sand was the sound of ringing bells. Gregory turned his head slowly until he could fix on the sound.

``It's still ahead of us.'' The two men picked up their pace. As they topped the next dune, they saw the source of the sound and could hear it clearly. Nestled in a narrow valley between two dunes lay a village, mostly just a collection of goats and houses, but in one corner stood a church whose bells were ringing to herald the morning. Two kilometers or so beyond, the dunes stopped. Though the sea was invisible from this point, it was clearly there.

They descended toward the village, and were met by a throng of people bearing food and water, and speaking rapidly in a language that Gregory could not understand. He turned to Raphael, who grimaced, and responded in a similar tongue, though very slowly.

``Not similar enough,'' he said at last. ``I still can't understand them.'' Accepting the water, they followed the party down into the village itself. There, they were directed by hand signs to one of the larger houses.

Within sat maybe a dozen people, all with wrinkled faces and ancient eyes. They looked up as the two travellers entered, and one smiled. He spoke in the same language that the villagers did, softly, and very slowly. Raphael shook his head and attempted a response. A look of understanding came over the elder's face, and he said something back to Raphael. The two began to converse, slowly. Finally, the elder waved to a villager, and began to talk rapidly to him. Raphael turned to Gregory.

``I told them about the others at the plane. They know the desert, so they will bring them here. But they also said they were expecting us, and that tonight would be the last night of our journey. Something about a child being born, and rambling about the bright star.''

``Guess what religion these people practice? What else would they think when a bright star shone in the sky for a week? Tell him we are not oriental kings, and ask him how we can get back to civilization. `Where are we?' wouldn't be a bad question, either.''

Raphael nodded and began to speak to the elder again. The man listened impassively, then opened a pouch beside him, handed its contents to Gregory. Gregory accepted it, and looked down. Sparkling in his hands was a diamond perhaps eight centimeters in diameter, cut only roughly, but still the most impressive stone he had ever seen. Raphael, too, was stunned for a moment, then listened as the elder spoke.

``He says that we need not be ashamed of having no gift. This is from his people, and we should offer it to the child tonight.''

Gregory tore his gaze away from the stone. ``Where is this child?''

Raphael conversed briefly. ``He says we need only follow the star.'' He paused briefly. ``He said that if we do not find the child in a single night, he admits his mistake and we may keep the `pretty rock.' ''

``We can't take their diamond. We will find no child. But if it's that important to him, I won't begrudge him one night.''

Raphael smiled and relayed this information, then turned back to Gregory. ``In that case, he invites us to take part in a feast tonight. I hope you like goat,'' he added in an undertone. Gregory smiled and bowed to the elder. ``I'd be delighted,'' he said, and though the language could not be understood, he hoped the gesture would be universal.

• * *

...bearing gifts, we travel afar,
Field and fountain,
Moor and mountain,
Following yonder star.

Night brought them to the top of another dune, bearing not only the diamond, but clothes of goatskin made for an infant, water, and Gregory's Polaroid, which he used to take a picture of the quaint middle east villiage in the fading light. ``My colleagues aren't going to believe any of this,'' he remarked, and Raphael smiled.

Above them in the sky, the supernova glowed with a brilliant light, the brightest thing in the clear desert night. Taking their bearings from it, the two men began a steady stride. An escort from the village followed them for a time, then bowed once as a group and turned back. Gregory waited until they were out of sight before he spoke.

``So what do we do now?''

Raphael frowned, and looked at him. ``What do you mean?''

``I mean, if we go back and tell these people we found nothing, they'll be crushed. On the other hand, I wouldn't feel right leaving their gifts out in the desert -- it's too likely they'd find them again. And I wouldn't keep them.''

Raphael shrugged. ``We have all night. Why worry about it now?''

Gregory nodded. ``But we have to worry about it sometime.'' He stopped speaking, looked quizically at the sky. The supernova hanging there had suddenly expanded to about twice its previous size, with a corresponding increase in brightness.

``That's not possible,'' Gregory said.

``It seems to be,'' Raphael countered. They kept walking. An hour passed, and the star became steadily brighter.

``A double star,'' Gregory said at last. ``There were two stars there, and the explosion of one made the other unstable. That's why it's getting bigger.''

``Fascinating. To think it's happening now, in our lifetime.''

``It isn't. It took the light of those stars centuries to get here. The actual explosion happened ....'' He stopped.

``How long ago?''

``About two thousand years. I was just thinking that it was kind of an odd coincidence. But it's not really.''

Something on the next ridge caught his attention. Though it was unclear in the light of the double supernova, there was an obvious imperfection in the smoothness of the desert. He pointed, and they picked up their pace. As soon as they could make it out, they ran.

At some time in the last couple of days, a woman and her infant child had crossed this dune in the other direction on a mule. The beast now lay in the sand, unmoving, and the woman and her child rested against it. Both showed signs of dehyration, but both still breathed. Raphael uncorked a flask of water and held it to the semiconscious woman's lips. Gregory lifted the infant and gave it some water as well.

Raphael looked at Gregory for a long moment.

``It's a good thing we were here,'' Gregory commented as they helped the woman to her feet. He still held the child in his arms, sound asleep but breathing deeply.

``Coincidence, I'm sure.'' Raphael said, but his tone was completely expressionless.

Gregors laid the Polaroid photograph of a small child on the table in front of him, where the other men could see it. They gathered around, pushing aside astronomical maps and sheets of equations to make room for the rest of his pictures.

``And so there was a child where the star led,'' Gregory finished, pushing back his chair.

One of the others looked at him strangely. ``I thought you were an Athiest.''

``I am.'' He lifted the photograph of the child and slid it to his questioner. ``But does it really matter?''

Christopher Kempke is a dangerous, psychopathic Computer Science graduate student with too much time on his hands. Attempts to lock him up have resulted only in a temporary confinement at Oregon State University, where he can be reached as kempkec@mist.cs.orst.edu on good days, and not at all on bad.