The Radio Telescope – Part 2: Clear Sky

The night of the meteor shower was cloudless.

By midnight, the Atacama sky was so thick with stars it looked like frost. The Milky Way arched overhead, bright and detailed, with dark lanes of dust cutting across it like rivers. Every few seconds, a meteor flashed silver and died.

Paula and Leila lay on blankets on the observatory roof, wrapped in ponchos, with a thermos of hot chocolate between them. The dishes stood below like silent sentinels. The desert was perfectly still. A faint cold wind smelled of dust and distant snow.

"I've worked here nine years," said Paula, "and I've never come up to watch."

"Why not?"

"I was always inside, looking at screens."

"Looking at the stars."

"Looking at the data about the stars."

Leila laughed softly. A meteor streaked low across the sky, bright green, trailing sparks. They both gasped.

"Make a wish," whispered Leila.

"I'm an astronomer."

"Do it anyway."

Paula closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, Leila was watching her, not the sky, and her face was soft and unguarded in the starlight.

"Can I ask you something?" said Leila.

"Yes."

"May I kiss you?"

"Yes," said Paula, laughing. "And if you say stop, you must analyse the microwave data for a week."

"That's a cruel and unusual punishment."

"I know."

Leila kissed her, cold nose and warm mouth, a gloved hand rising to Paula's cheek. Paula kissed her back with slow certainty, her fingers curling in the wool of Leila's poncho. Overhead, the meteors fell like quiet applause, and the whole sky turned.

When they parted, both of them were smiling.

"Green?" asked Paula.

"Green," said Leila. "Very green."

The observatory logbook has an entry for that night, in two handwritings: Detected: one signal, unexplained. Source: human. Status: ongoing.

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