“Harold.” Charlie’s voice.

“Yes, Charlie? It happened again?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Same as the others?”

“Right. No record there was ever a star there anywhere.”

“Same signature?”

“We don’t quite have the details down yet, but it looks like it.”

A nova. But not really. Not the right intensity. Not the right spectroscopic reading. And no evidence of a star having been in the neighborhood. He shook his head. Can’t have a nova without a star. “Where?”

“Near the Golden Crescent.”

“On a line with the others?”

“Yes.”

And that was what really chilled him. There had been three earlier events. On a line, as if something were marching through the sky.

“Did we catch it at the beginning? Or was it running when the package opened up?”

“At the beginning, Harold.”

“Okay. Pipe it through.”

He rearranged his pillows. A starfield winked on. The Golden Crescent, nursery to a thousand newborn stars, floated over his dresser. To his left, great smoky walls fell away to infinity. The Mogul, a small, dim class-G, was close enough to illuminate the clock. And the long arm of the Milky Way passed through the center of the room.

“Five seconds,” said a recorded voice.

He pushed himself higher and watched a dazzling light appear over the dresser. Brilliant and blinding, it overwhelmed everything else in the sky.

It looked like a nova. Behaved like a nova. But it was something else.

He ran it a few more times before closing the record. They had this one from the beginning. If it was like the others, the light would sustain itself for sixty-one days before shutting down.

THROUGH HIS WINDOW the lights of the Washington Monument were a distant blur.