Tomorrow morning he would fly to Vandenberg and be introduced to the "evidence." That would be the biggest moment of his life, bar none, and yet here he was on the edge of tears.

His best friend might be dead within a year.

"Shit," he said softly.

"All right," Francine said, putting down her own book and rolling to lay her head on his shoulder. He closed the notebook and stroked her forehead. She wound her fingers through the thick salt-and-pepper patch of hair on his chest. "Are you going to tell me? Or is it more security stuff?"

"Not security," he said. He ached to tell her about that. Perhaps in a few weeks he could. News was leaking rapidly; he suspected that soon even the Death Valley find would be public knowledge. Everybody was too excited.

"What, then?"

"Harry."

"Well, what about him?"

The tears started to come.

"What's wrong with Harry?" Francine asked.

"He has cancer. Leukemia. He's working with me on . . . this project, but he might not see it through to the end."

"Jesus," Francine said, laying her palm flat on his chest. "Isn't he getting treatment?"

"Of course. He just doesn't think it will save him."

"Five more years. We keep on hearing five more years, and it won't be a killer anymore."

"He doesn't have five years. He may not have one."

Francine hugged him closer and they lay together in silence for a moment. "How do you feel?" she finally asked.

"About Harry? It makes me feel . . ."He thought for a moment, frowning. "I don't know."

"Betrayed?" she asked softly.

"No. We've always been very independent friends. Harry doesn't owe me anything, and I don't owe him anything. Except the friendship, and ..."

"Being there."

"Yeah. Now he's not going to be there."

"You don't know that."

"He does. You should have seen him."

"He looks bad?"

"No. He looks pretty good, actually." Arthur tried to imagine one's entire body a battleground, with cancer spreading from point to point, or through the blood, unchecked, a kind of biological madness, a genetic suicide aided by mindless, lifeless clumps of protein and nucleic acid. He hated all errant microscopic things with a sudden passion. Why could not God have designed human bodies with seamless efficiency, that they might face the challenge of everyday life feeling at the very least internally secure?

"How was the visit?" Francine asked.

"We had a good couple of days. We'll see each other tomorrow, too, and that's all I can tell you."

"A week, two weeks?"

"I'll call if it's longer than a week."

"Sounds like something big."

"I'll tell you just one more thing," he said, aching with greater intensity to reveal it all, to share this incredible news with the person he loved most on Earth. (Or did he love Francine less than Harry? Different love. Different niches.)

"Don't spill the beans," she warned him, smiling slightly.

"No beans, no cats, just this. If it wasn't for Harry, right now I'd be the happiest man on Earth."