Chapter 2:

With His Head in the Stars

The window seat of the DC-10 allowed for a good view, but aside for the shiftless ocean and the blinking light at the end of the wing, there was nothing to see. William’s legs were cramped. He’d forgotten to bring anything to read; his I-pod was at home in his desk. All that he had in his carry-on were his papers on Lucifer 6 and two old issues of Astronomy Today, both of which he’d read from cover to cover, twice. He had his laptop, which sat in front of him, his battery down to the last couple percent, and he’d already killed the spare.

Next to William sat an unkempt Australian who was going to see the Vatican for the first time and kept asking what kind of waves rolled in off the Mediterranean. He hoped they were big enough to surf. William smiled a queasy, uncomfortable smile. There’d be one wave, he wanted to say. Big, like God, rolling off the ocean, a boiling tsunami that would engulf the city and drown millions. You could surf it right into the Piazza. You could surf it right up to the pope’s window. But he wouldn’t say it. Instead, William made a show of pressing his headphones onto his ears as the Australian yammered on.

The Australian knew his in-flight friend was troubled, but did not know how. Instead of bothering William with questions, he simply offered his best advice. “Just ride it out, man,” he said, reducing the unending complexities of life to a surf analogy.

William was going to Rome in a last ditch effort to save the people. He was going to convince them of imminent danger, of a rock that would cook them, shake their city to dust, and drown them all at the same time. It was the endgame and he had to try if he wanted to assuage the immense guilt he carried—it was just a question of how. The city itself was a lost cause. The buildings, the history, the actual physical structures would be purged from the land by the inexorable chaos of Nature, the zealous anger of God, the destructive force of Whatever. Even the ruins would be ruined. But the people could be saved. This was his redemption: if he could save the people, he could forgive himself for not doing more to deflect Lucifer 6. He could forgive himself for tainting his friendship with Valerie. He could forgive himself for breaking his parental obligation to Haley; to be a living example of strength, courage, and grace. He could forgive himself for cheating on his wife. This was his way back. He had to do this.

But for now, and for several more hours, he could do nothing but sit; bored, edgy, and sleep deprived—all of which made him irritable. He struggled through yet another game of Minesweeper and shifted his weight in hopes that any movement might lessen the cramps in his legs.

The guilt was overwhelming, guilt for what he’d done in lieu of what he should have done. He had not taken enough action, had not forced those in power to pay enough attention to the consequences of failure. Instead, he managed to compromise both friendship and marriage. William had to atone, had to make good through works.

When William first arrived home from the Fifth Season, a plan started to form. He gathered what materials he had on Lucifer 6 and found a flight out of Cityopolis only four hours out. Packing as fast as he could, William prepared a bag for maybe a few days travel. He said goodbye in a rush and ran out the door, leaving before Emily could possibly talk him out of it. Perhaps she had not noticed the luggage in hand as he walked past. Perhaps she expected an explanation before he left.

He had to admit, Emily could be oblivious of others, either not taking note of what was happening, or not lending much weight to their actions. Indeed, he wished she had tried to stop him, to talk him out of leaving. He wished she would have come running out of the house, taken a place behind his car, and refused to get out of his way until he could explain what was happening. Then, after much frustration, some anger, and even a regrettable bit of yelling; he would have relented. He would have stepped out of the car, that he might get Emily out of the way and be off as quickly as possible—but she’d have the power to make him stay. He would refuse to tell where he was going, or why—only saying that he had to go, that he would be back, and that he loved them both so very much. This, of course, would not be enough for his wife. She was not the type to roll over. Instead, she would wrap him in a hug as he stepped out of his car, pressing her cheek against his. Holding him as he tried to push her away, she wouldn’t let go until he gave into her embrace and was content to simply hug her back. In the end, William would acquiesce. He would tell her everything. Emily would wail and moan. For several nights she was likely sleep at her mother’s. Then he’d wait until she finally decided whether or not she would leave, stay, or kick him out...

But that’s not what happened. He left, and she had barely noticed. He’d snuck away without even saying goodbye. She’d only glanced out the window with a confused and worried look. She’d called him twice and sent him three texts, which he could not figure how to answer. He quibbled with his phone, wanting nothing more than to see his wife—and yet, here he was, halfway to Italy, in a last ditch effort to save the Imperial City with a half-baked plan.

He needed to convince the Romans to leave everything and make for the hills. But how? He planned to gather a crowd and shout at the Piazza San Pietro, or climb the Arch of Constantine and yell it there. Yet, the only response he could imagine was the police surrounding the arch, convinced he must be suicidal, and trying to talk him down. Would anyone be convinced? Might there be some, maybe perhaps a couple that would believe him? Would they hear the truth of his words and exodus inland, to Switzerland or Austria, abandoning their homes, because they’d realize that each other is enough, and that it was prudent to march several hundred miles on the urging of a mad American?

Not only would he not convince everyone, it was unlikely he’d convince anyone, especially the authorities. The authorities would simply corral him and lock him away. He’d spend his last hours in a Roman jail, trying to gain an audience with the pope, screaming his warnings. But then, someone is always prophesying the end, and when the end finally comes, some unsavory yahoo will have undoubtedly predicted it. One for ten thousand, he’ll say. But this one time I’m right—and I’m right in a big way!

The plane touched down after a mere eleven hours in the air. William hadn’t slept since he woke next to Valerie. As much as he tried to focus his thoughts on saving the Romans, he could not pull his mind from the mess of the relationships he’d left at home. Sorrow and agitation crowded his mind at a time when he needed all his faculties of reason and planning. I’m sorry, Was just about all that ran through his head. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.

Yet, he wasn’t sorry for everything. For one, he felt he’d somehow done right by Valerie. He had opened himself to her, allowing her the only thing he’d never allowed her before. He loved her, he realized, and the idea frightened him, because now his love was split. He didn’t know how to reconcile this dilemma. There was conventional wisdom, of course: make a choice, one or the other, Valerie or Emily. But this seemed inadequate, an overreaction, a permanent solution for a momentary lapse. It seemed rather drastic to simply cut someone out of his life for one night of misjudgment. Yes, he’d slept with her. But was it really so dramatic as all that? He had not slept with her to get at Emily, or because he no longer loved his wife, or even because there was something notably missing from the relationship. No. William was quite happy in his life, with his wife and work. There were simply extenuating circumstances. No one could deny that! He’d been under a lot of stress—was still under a lot of stress!

Yet, in his head, these excuses sounded cheap. Extenuating circumstances. Stress. What a load of shit.

It was too much to think about, his mind whirring in circles, repeatedly hitting on the same points. He betrayed Emily. He loved Valerie. He missed Haley. Things had changed. He’d never be happy again. Over and over, William asked himself the same questions. How much damage would this cause his marriage? What would Valerie expect from him? Could he keep both women in his life without further exacerbating the situation? Would his daughter ever forgive him?!

William stepped through the airport, following the other passengers, not really interested in where he was going. He took the train into the city, where the day was getting on. He walked out of Roma Termini, a weird conglomeration of mall and train depot, and wandered the streets. The buildings were old, ugly, and heavily tagged. There was trash everywhere, blown about by a light breeze. The air was filled with the reek of people and their garbage. A thousand motors ran up and down the crowded streets. Horns and angry foreign words of dubious worth crowded William's ears. Rome was not the urban paradise he had expected.

William bought a map, paying far too much, despite a good exchange rate. It didn’t take him long to wind his way to the Coliseum. The sun was setting by the time he arrived. The air was cooling. There were few pedestrians and too many cars. William wandered about, noting the Arch of Constantine, from which he would shout words of prophecy. You must leave your city! You are all going to die! What would the pope think of such open competition? Cloistered in their automobiles, most people wouldn’t even hear him. They’d simply stare, as if he was mad, and indeed, to do such a thing, he would be. Most of them would not even understand, he realized. How many of them knew his language?

As it was, nobody paid him any attention—unless they were trying to hawk him something. Indeed, it seemed only the buskers and street performers had time for him. He realized that none of these people wanted saving. They wanted eight euro for a pirated copy of Hancock or Me and Marley. They certainly didn’t want the inconvenience of a modern Cassandra.

William realized he couldn’t do it. Standing here before the Arch, he couldn’t even believe he’d considered it! It wasn’t because he was scared. It was only because he realized nobody would believe him. There wouldn’t be a few wise souls touched by the conviction of his words. There would only be those that mocked his seeming delirium, those calling out, “Jump! Jump!” If the modern world had enough of anything, it had enough cynicism, and rightfully so. There was an endless array of hucksters, charlatans, confidence men…

William wondered if perhaps the best move would be to tuck tail and turn home. At least there he would be surrounded by those he loved—consequences be damned. Let the world burn!

But then, perhaps he should stay in Rome and suffer the fate of the Romans, to witness firsthand the destruction of Lucifer 6. It was certainly a romantic suggestion. How appropriate that he should die with those he could not save, caught in the blinding flash as the asteroid streaked by, suffocating in the weltering heat, his organs popping as shockwaves rolled over the city. William would be exonerated in the moment of his destruction, a prophet unheeded—except that he would not speak.

As romantic as that was, William felt if was rather contrived that he should sacrifice himself in the company of strangers he could not understand, that he didn’t know the first thing about; simply because he did not possess the authority, the cunning, or the strength to save them. How melodramatic and pointless such sacrifice would be...

William’s head hurt.

He stopped in a little shop, one of the hundreds that served vintage cappuccinos. Adding one raw sugar, he downed the coffee and ordered a second.

Staring at the steamed milk and espresso, William pondered. Where should he go? It was not a question of how to spend Rome’s final day. He had more immediate concerns. He had to think of a place to sleep. The night was fast approaching and his head was heavy. He could not be treated with mere caffeine for long. His body craved a bed. He needed deep dreamless sleep.

But that wasn’t quite it. Any random bed wouldn’t do. He needed his bed. He needed the security of a place he called his own. He needed home. After an hour of moping, scuffing his feet, and staring blankly into shop windows, William decided he was going home. He plotted a course back to the Termini and began walking. He caught the midnight train back to the airport, which at this late hour, was sparsely inhabited. He stretched out across two seats, pressing his face to the window, despite the greasy hand prints, and stared out at the city of Rome.

It was an old city, not in a manner of being prestigious or settled, and especially not graceful. It was degenerate, dirty and deteriorating, in the same way as St. Louis, Pittsburgh, or Detroit—only for so much longer. Perhaps the city needed a good catastrophe to clear away the stagnant waste and allow for new growth.

But such thoughts made William feel guilty. How many would have to die to satisfy his sensibilities? Yet, at such a late hour, could he blame himself for a little distemper?

In the airport, William walked slowly, passed by the other occupants of the train, until he was alone on the platform. He meandered toward the ticket counters, of which only one was open. He looked up at the clerk and was shocked to see such a beautiful creature staring back at him. The clinging black low-cut blouse emphasized her svelte frame. The olive hue of her skin, the raven hair, her midnight eyes. She looked tired, a bit set upon—but intelligent. Her nose was a classic Roman hook, turned down slightly and dominating her lightly made-up face. Her hair, pulled back in a ponytail, showed a hint of a tattoo wrapped around the side of her neck, disappearing around the curve, whispering of innocence lost. What he could see of the tattoo appeared to be three points of a star.

“I need a flight back to Cityopolis,” William said, keeping his eyes on the clerk’s.

“Cityopolis,” the clerk replied in thickly accented English, her voice strong and slow and touched by a smoker’s habit. “Which airline?”

“Any.”

“Next available flight?” She asked, her voice touched with concern—or perhaps simply cautious about misunderstanding him. She stared in his eyes, seemingly trying to understand his troubled soul.

“Yes please,” William answered with a glance. He tried not to look at her, as alluring as she was. He found the girl’s voice sultry, mesmerizing. She was born to speak.

“Cityopolis,” the clerk repeated, her eyes darting to and from the screen. “I have…” she pursed her lips.

William noticed his attention slip from the clerk’s eyes to wander over her face, past the rude nose, down to her neck, to the bit of tattoo. He explored the bit of inked flesh, and wondered at the star. He caught the scent of flowers, the light tug of her perfume, and also a hint of coffee on her breath. There was something magnetic about this beautiful creature. He stared as an impulse filled his soul. He wanted to tell her about Lucifer 6. He wanted to save her from the coming catastrophe.

“I have a few seats on a flight out tomorrow,” said the clerk, raising her head and catching William’s eyes with her own. He was surprised that she didn’t flinch away from his stare, but met it with her own.

“No. I have to go now,” William stated—not quite a demand. He had to get out of here. He could do nothing but drive himself mad in this foreign land.

“I can route you through another city,” she added and quickly tapped at her terminal. “I have a flight to New York in an hour and fifteen minutes. But the only seats are first class. Otherwise, I have a flight out at 4:15 A.M. that stops in Paris, then Boston.”

“How much?”

“The first class is nine hundred and eighty five euro. The 4:15 is seven hundred and twelve,” she said in her thick accent.

William didn’t have to think about it. He didn’t even know why he’d bother to ask, “An hour and fifteen minutes, you say? Which gate?”

“C-35.”

William smiled as he gave her his card, “thank you.”

The clerk ran the card and smiled back.

“What’s your name?” William asked, not wanting to endure the silence, and not wanting to interrupt it with more pertinent facts. He most certainly didn’t want to glance down at her name tag, which sat so very dangerous atop her ample breast.

“Penelope,” she said, still smiling. She offered a hand and William took it in his. Her skin was smooth and cool. He held it, keeping her hand. To his surprise, she did not pull away.

“Can I see your tattoo?” He asked. “It’s a star?”

She looked him in the eye, thought about it for the briefest second, then turned and lifted her ponytail. “It’s the Big Dipper and the North Star. My father was a fisherman. It seemed a fitting tribute.”

“Was?” William asked, tracing a light finger over the pattern of ink, over the soft olive skin.

“I’d rather not talk about it,” she admitted as she leaned into his caress. “Do you always see with your fingers?”

With a pained smile, William tapped the large star and mouthed its name again, “Oh, Polaris...” he said as he pulled his hand away.

“No,” she turned and stared. “My name is Penelope.”

“Penelope,” William smiled. “Well, the proper name of the North Star is Polaris—though it’s not always the North Star.”

“So you say,” she retorted.

William shook his head. “The North Star changes. It’s a title, like mayor or president.”

“No, it’s always been Polaris” Penelope countered. “The stars don’t move. If they did, who could possibly use them for navigation?”

“Well, they barely move,” William countered. “And Polaris will remain the North Star long after we’re dead. But it is not always the North Star.”

“And how does that work?” Penelope began. “Do they all meet up and fight it out?”

William smirked at her snark. “No, nothing so dramatic as all that. But due to precession of the Earth's axis, different stars are closer to the north celestial pole, over time.”

“Due to what?” she stared. “Are you making this up?”

“Think of the world as a spinning top. Tops rarely spin perfectly straight. There’s always a bit of a wobble. Like a top, the Earth has a bit of wobble in its spin. This is called precession. It was discovered by Isaac Newton some three hundred years ago—so I’m definitely not making this up. However, most people never notice because a complete cycle of precession takes nearly 26,000 years. That’s why Polaris has been the North Star as far back as anyone can remember, and is likely to be so for another hundred generations or so.”

Penelope smiled. “So your saying it’s okay if I still call it the North Star, just for a day or two?”

“Yes,” William returned the smile. “Yes it is.”

“How do you know so much about the stars?”

“I’m an astronomer,” William smiled. “I study the sky.” He bit his lip. He so wanted to tell her about Lucifer 6, but he was convinced she’d think he was a quack, and then she wouldn’t even believe him about Polaris! “Maybe, I should find my gate,” he hedged and took a step back.

“Yes,” she agreed, turned away from him, and continued to talk. “I’ll show you where. I’m due for a break anyway.”

“I can find it,” William shrugged.

“Nonsense,” Penelope smiled. She pushed through a door, said something in Italian to an unseen coworker, and quickly walked around the counter. William was wrong to think she was pretty. No. She was absolutely gorgeous. “I’ll show you the gate,” she smiled. “Besides, I need to practice my English. Were you here on business?” she asked as she led the way.

“Yeah,” he grudgingly admitted.

“Must not have gone well,” Penelope gave him a comforting smile. “What with you leaving early.”

William shrugged. “I realized nothing good would come of it. It was a mistake to come here in the first place,” He admitted.

“That sounds terrible,” she frowned. “Whatever it is that’s bothering you, it seems best if you simply forget it.”

“If only I could,” he shuddered.

“Did you see any sites?” She changed the subject.

“I stopped by the Coliseum,” William admitted. “There was a little coffee shop that seemed quite nice,” he shook his head. “I wouldn’t call this a satisfying visit.”

“It sounds as if you had an awful time of it,” Penelope said with a commiserating smile. “Well, there's room for improvement,” she said as she leaned into him. Abruptly, she stopped him with a quick, smooth gesture. William didn't realize why until she had her lips pressed against his, her tongue fishing his mouth. She wrapped herself around him, nails pulling down his back. William just managed to keep his balance, as he corrected for her momentum. Then, he found the sensation of this pretty girl pressing in on him immensely pleasant. He didn’t think of how strange it was that he should be kissing the ticket girl in the middle of the airport, or that she should wrap her hands around his head and pull him into the women’s room. The door popped open and smacked the wall with a bang. Still gripping his shirt, she hopped up on the counter, legs spread, and pulled him to her. “You feel it too? This electricity?”

He ran his hand up her leg, under the tight black skirt, inching back the material, as she wrapped her legs around him. She bit his lip and moaned in his ear.

But William did not think of her alone. Instead, he remembered his wife. Instead, he remembered Valerie, and the way he loved them both. He remembered the reason he was in Italy, to save the lives of millions, that would ignore and persecute him if he should tell the little truth that he knew—then wondered at the strange impulsive attention of Penelope—as his hand sat unmoving at the juncture of her waist and thigh. We’re all going to die, William thought, but he knew at once that he was wrong. William would live, safe at home with his wife and child—while Penelope would die.

No longer pressing in on the girl, William moved his hands from her legs to her face and gently kissed her on the forehead. She unwrapped him, understanding that this would go no further, deciding simply to lean back against the mirror.

He smiled at her, and said the first stupid thing that came to mind, “This has nothing to do with you.”

“Yes it does,” she refuted. “It has everything to do with me.”

William could not refute her logic, and so, he tried a different approach. “I’m married,” he confessed.

“I know,” she said, taking his left hand in hers, she spread his fingers and laced her own fingers between them. “Your ring,” she noted.

Now it was his turn to give a quizzical look. “Then, why?”

“You are kind, troubled, and you know the stars,” she stared into his eyes. “But mostly it is because you have something for me, and I thought… I thought it was...” she blushed.

He blinked. “What do you think I have for you?”

“I dunno,” Penelope shrugged. “I still have to see.”

“It isn’t sex,” William said, as much for his own benefit, then stared her up and down. A part of him said, too bad.

“I just though, most people as distraught as you, it's usually girl problems,” Penelope shrugged. “I just thought it might bring you out of your funk. You're smart, sweet, strangely magnetic, and who doesn’t like a good humping?”

William stared at this strange, incomprehensible creature. What was he to make of her?

“Whatever is weighing on your mind, I do not envy you,” Penelope stated, her expression sad, but understanding. “You should go,” She added as she dropped his hand. “Whatever it is that you have, perhaps you should take it with you.”

But William did not let her go. Instead he caught her hand and squeezed it. He stared into her eyes as a flush of fear washed over her. Suddenly she worried. Now that she had told him no, would he force himself upon her?

“Do this for me,” he began with a fervor. “Leave the city! Leave as soon as you can, and go inland! Go north and don’t stop until tomorrow! If nothing happens by tomorrow, nothing is going to happen and you can come back home.”

“What are you talking about?” Penelope asked.

“There’s… Something is going to happen and Rome is going to burn. That’s why I came here, but I can’t save the city! Who would believe me! But you might believe me! Perhaps I can save you!” he stared. “Go north! Go as far and as fast as you possibly can!”

“Okay,” Penelope hesitated, knowing that she was supposed to work tomorrow. If she ran off with such short notice they were bound to fire her. “I have family near Venice,” she added, and began to calculate whether or not she would actually go.

“Good, that’s good! Much better than Rome,” William noted. “Leave,” he stated yet again, “As soon as possible, as soon as you get off work, and take anyone that is willing to go with you!”

For several long seconds, Penelope stared back at him. Then, she snorted and shook her head. “No,” she said. “Whatever you fear, I cannot let it frighten me.”

“But you will die!” he pleaded.

Penelope shrugged. “I will join my father, and all the others that went before me, if that is my path. But I will not live in fear.” She ran a hand through his hair and stared at the kind man once more. “I will leave, because I need a change. I’ve needed it for a very long time. But I will not go because Rome is going to burn. I will leave because I have been here for too long. It has made me callous. I am not who I am supposed to be,” she told him.

William stared at her, confused.

“Rome isn’t yours to save—but maybe I am,” she whispered. “I will go, because it is best for me,” she said. “And you—you must save what you can. You must save yourself,” she whispered, then kissed his cheek. “Thank you,” she smiled. “How strange is it that you should come halfway across the planet just to wake a girl up?”

William stared at this strange luscious beast. “Is that why I’m here? Just to shock you out of a funk?”

“I told you there was an electricity about you,” she smiled. “Can you think of any other reason?”

She stared into his eyes.

“Or perhaps you’ve changed your mind? Do you want have sex with me after all?” she licked the side of his face.

William nodded, then shook his head. With a smile, he dropped her hand, gave a slight wave, and stepped out of the restroom, heading left.

“Wrong way!” she called to him. As the door swung, she saw him step back the other way, toward his gate.

Penelope sat on the counter in the restroom, curious about this strange sad American with his baseless warning. She might claim otherwise, but there was a fear in her heart. It was why she hooked up with men on their way out, because the men of her life were always leaving. But perhaps it doesn’t have to be so… she thought. If a man as troubled as you can deny me for a wife halfway around the world, then there must be other good men worth having, worth keeping. For several seconds Penelope sat and longed for a love worth keeping. Then, with a huff, she hopped off the counter, turned to face herself in the mirror, and adjusted her rumpled skirt. She checked her make-up, fixing the light smudges, and prepared herself mentally to return to work—after all it was her last day, and she wanted to look good for it.

As William marched to his gate, a strange thing happened. Quite suddenly, his agitation dissipated. He felt nothing but a sudden peace, and all seemed well with the world. He found his gate, nearly an hour before boarding time. He leaned back in a chair, as comfortable as he could, and without meaning to, he promptly fell asleep.

An indeterminate amount of time passed. There was no way to know how long he slept. Someone nudged him, and William woke with a jolt. He opened his eyes to find a flight attendant standing over him. At first he thought it was Penelope, and all sorts of questions popped into his head, but he quickly realized he was wrong. It was just another dark-haired and pretty Italian, dressed in black.

“What flight?” asked the attendant in a thick accent.

“Uh,” William fumbled for the ticket. Still groggy, he passed it to the attendant.

She took it, turned it over, and gave William a frown. “They’re about to close the gate,” she stated, and pointed at the causeway. “It’s a good thing I woke you.”

“Yes it is,” William agreed. He glanced down at her name tag, took his ticket, and added with a smile. “Thank you, Penelope.”

“You’re welcome,” she smiled back and gave a little wave. For half a second, she wondered if she knew him—but no—she’d never seen him before.

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