“Yeah sure,” said Kyle. “I knew that.”
“So,” said Bjorn.
“So,” said Kyle.
“Do you want to do the honors, or should I?”
“Um,” said Kyle.
“You know what? I think you should do it. You’ve earned it.”
“Have I?” said Kyle. “I mean, I have. I’ve earned something.”
“Follow me,” said Bjorn. Kyle followed. Bjorn clearly had logged some quality observatory time in the past. He navigated the various moving spheres, blocks, control stations, and panels with blistered and exposed wiring easily, as though he were merely strolling through his own bio-hazardous bedroom. Kyle’s bedroom boasted nothing so exciting as biohazards or exposed wiring. He recognized that he was perhaps a little under-prepared for such an adventure. As Bjorn skipped blithely ahead, Kyle placed one foot in front of the other, and tried to keep all appendages as close to his body as possible.
He reconvened with Bjorn in the middle of the observatory. Bjorn stood before a large, cylindrical tube that stretched floor to ceiling, sort of like a hokey movie periscope. Like said hokey movie periscope, he had his eye firmly pressed to an eye-piece that extended from the tube. He looked up as Kyle shimmied between two the remaining, free standing electronic devices that separated himself from Bjorn. One hummed melodiously. The other glowed like a giant space heater. Kyle thought he smelled something burning as he squeezed past. Maybe it was his hair.
“There you are,” said Bjorn. “Thought you might have fallen into the sump.”
“Not this time,” said Kyle.
“Take a look,” said Bjorn. He moved aside. Kyle peered into the eyepiece. At first he didn’t know what he was looking at. The resolution was grainy, and the lighting poor. He squinted.
“It’s a cloud?” said Kyle.
“It’s the cloud,” said Bjorn.
“Right,” said Kyle. “Like I said.”
“Let’s get rid of the fucker,” said Bjorn.
“Great,” said Kyle. “Sounds like a plan.”
“How do you want to do it?” said Bjorn.
“Um,” said Kyle.
“Would you like to hear your options?”
“You bet,” said Kyle.
“We can blow the cloud away, or we can blow the cloud up. Which do you prefer?”
“If we blow it away, where does it go?” said Kyle.
“
“I have an aunt in
“A man after my own heart,” said Bjorn. He began to punch a code into a nearby, partially completed display panel. Only half the keyboard was present, as were two buttons, a red one and a green one. The green button wasn’t lit. Kyle guessed that, like the missing second half of the keyboard, the green button wasn’t working yet. “Alrighty,” said Bjorn. “Here’s your big moment. You ready?”
“I’m ready,” said Kyle.
“I mean, are you really ready? Don’t wuss out on me now, Kyle!”
“I’m really ready!” said Kyle.
“Are you the man, Kyle?”
“I’m the man!”
“That’s what I want to hear!” said Bjorn. “Push the goddamn button!” He pointed dramatically to the red button, which was, even as he spoke, flashing attractively.
“I can! I will! I’m the man!” said Kyle, and he pushed the red button.
Nothing happened. “Well,” said Kyle, “that was sort of anticlimactic.”
“Look through the eyeglass,” said Bjorn. He sighed.
Kyle looked through the eyeglass. There was the cloud, white, fluffy and grainy, against a backdrop that could, possibly, be a blue sky, if you looked at it the right way. At first nothing happened. He heard the machine hum behind him grow. Nearby, the singing electronic device waxed operatic. Something rumbled deep within the observatory. The room shuddered. Everything fell silent.
It happened so quickly he almost missed it. A flash of red light burst across his screen, directly into the cloud. The cloud internalized the laser for a second, ruffling its fluffy feathers like a distressed chicken. Then it burst. One minute it was there. The next minute it was gone. Kyle had completely vaporized the cloud.
Kyle stared at the empty space for a long moment. Nothing there but space, space that might or might not be blue, depending on how you looked at it. “Well,” he said.
“That’s enough of that,” said Bjorn. “Time for lunch.”
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