A Vomit of Diamonds by Boripat Lebel

through a hole in
the large mirror where it forms an image; this image is then sent
to the computer and displayed on the monitors in the office
downstairs,” and here he turned back to face his audience, “Almost
all modern telescopes are setup in this arrangement,” he added for
good measure, as if to remind them that it was still a worthy
telescope despite its years.
    “ It doesn’t look like it’s
from the forties,” Minho critiqued. “It’s been repainted,” Sarah
explained. “And also modernized,” chimed in Karl, indicating the
spaghetti of cables that ran around the floor; “It used to be that
you had to come up here and move the telescope manually. Now I can
just tell the computer to do it,” said he, in hint of relief in his
tone. “Do the original controls still work?” Maxine asked, gazing
at what appeared to be a monitoring console taken from a hydropower
station of yore. “Sure,” said Karl, “they still work. Do you want
to see?” Everyone nodded. “Okay then,” was his easy
reply.
    The dashboard was covered with a
variety of buttons, toggles, meters and whatnots, for which Karl
gave a quick run-through. Then, to begin his demonstration in high
showmanship fashion, the lights were turned off with a switch.
“Well that was dramatic,” Balzac mouthed to Perry. Next, a button
was pressed, and the roof made a blood-curdling screech as the
shutter slid open; whence starlight flooded in like a sunbeam
through a prison slit. Another manipulation resulted in the coming
to life of the telescope. It was a slow and noisy process, as the
tube was large and the controls awkward. Someone, probably Maxine,
suggested cuing in the famous soundtrack from “2001: A Space
Odyssey”. Ultimately, it took a few starts and stops before the eye
could be aligned with the peep-hole. “That is why I use the
computer,” said Karl, decidedly.
    Back in the control room downstairs
wherein concluded their tour, the docent turned with good nature to
his visitors; “Do you have any questions for me?” he asked. “I do,”
Maxine said pertly, “Do you get bored here all by yourself?” Karl
chuckled amiably; everyone took this as an affirmative.
     

XVII
     
    “The Dome”, as it was called by the
locals, was a gigantic domed tower, shell to a telescope spanning
five meters in diameter; thus making it the largest spyglass at
Coonabara Observatory. “Whow,” exclaimed Minho, craning his neck
heavenward. “And this is only five meters?!” Maxine chimed in,
thinking about the famous Keck domes in Hawaii which housed
ten-meter telescopes.
    At the entrance, a warehouse-sized
door, they were received by a man in his mid-forties with a portly
figure and sunny personality. His name was Eric. And he reminded
Bouchard of the titular robotic blue cat in Doraemon. “Hello,
hello!” said Eric, beaming widely. “Hi Eric,” Sarah replied,
representing the team, her serious smile at breaking point. “So
good to see you!” said he to Sarah, then to the rest:
“Welcome!”
    The Dome differed somewhat from the
previous facility presided by Karl, in that the paneled corridors,
designated areas and bustling activity therein, all gave the
observatory a weaponized space station impression versus the
latter’s Dr. Frankenstein’s house. And unlike the latter’s tube,
The Dome’s telescope was hollow and held in place by a thick
horseshoe-shaped grabber, itself propped up on a base frame that
could have past for a bronze sculpture in Sweden.
    “It looks like an ion cannon,” Balzac
observed, leaning over the balustrade which encircled the
structure. To arrive here they had ridden an elevator to the fourth
floor, and then climbed an extra set of stairs. The others, aside
from Zimmerman, seemed surprised and amused by Bouchard’s remark;
not expecting such a reserved and grave-looking young man to say
such things. “Ha, ha,” Eric laughed; “Actually, someone once
compared it to the inside of a Death Star!” Bouchard