Jane said, “Who’s BOB?”

Henry smiled. “A VDAP computer program. For rapid analysis of time-series data in crisis situations. Okay. And I’d like to order up regular aerial surveys to map the changing extent of the thing. My shoe-leather metrics really aren’t good enough. Later we should think about acoustic flow monitors if there are lahars, microbarographs—”

Jane said, “That sounds like it detects changes in atmospheric pressure.”

“So it does.”

“Why that?”

“Because it’s a good predictor of a volcanic explosion.”

“…Oh.” She was looking at the pool rim. “Look at this,” she said. She pointed to a patch at the rim of the pool, where bare rock showed through the grass.

A foot-wide patch of rock was — Henry thought, shielding his eyes against the sunlight — glowing.

The rock flashed. Henry jumped back. He’d felt heat on his face.

When he looked again, the rock was changed. It had turned to the fine silvery dust, characteristic of the rest of the pool.

“Holy shit,” Henry said. “Did you see that?”

Blue said, “At least we know how it spreads now.”

Jane looked from one to the other. “I can’t quite read you two,” she said. “You are interested in all this. Fascinated, even. But, underneath that… You’re afraid, aren’t you?”

Henry and Blue exchanged a glance.

“Why?” said Jane. “Do you think this is a volcanic event? Arthur’s Seat has been dormant for a third of a billion years. Do you think it’s becoming active now?”

“We don’t know. This isn’t like any volcanic event we’ve faced before.”

“Then what is it?”

“We don’t know that either.”

She nodded. “And that’s what’s frightening you.”

“Yes,” Blue said. That is what is frightening us.”

“The growth rate has been maintained for weeks,” Henry said. “The pool is still pretty small now, but it’s not going to stay that way.” He regarded Jane. “We have to be ready to face that.”

“I understand.”

Blue was studying the air. “It is blowing away.”

“What?”

“The dust. Spreading in the breeze.”

Jane asked, “Is that important?”

“I don’t know.”

Blue was glaring at the dust, his face a sour mask.

“So,” Henry said. “What do you think, old friend?”

Blue sniffed. “This is something which should not be here It is like a cancer, on the face of a good friend.”

Yes, Henry thought. That was exactly it.

Something new. And unwelcome.

Bad news.

They made their slow way down the Seat.

13

One more time to make love. Maybe the last time.

I have to stop thinking like this, thought Monica Beus. I’ll finish up doing a countdown…

But still, here was dear old Alfred, as tender and gentle as he ever was, and, in the cool mountain air that filled Monica’s apartment here in Aspen, they coupled like two elderly spacecraft gingerly docking.

Athletics, it wasn’t.