The Beacon: Hard Science Fiction

wasn’t at all like that. She was candor personified. If she had slept with this José, she would have told him so as soon as she got home. She couldn’t keep something like that to herself. That was good, because he always knew where he stood with her—unless, this time, she didn’t say anything.
But he needed to interact with another woman now: Melissa Holinger, the astronomer from Stockholm University. Her name didn’t sound very Swedish, but Villarroel, who was presumably her mentor, didn’t seem to have been born in Sweden either. For women scientists in particular, moving from institute to institute was simply part of their career. Maybe he should make a change, too. With the seemingly endless years at his high school, his enthusiasm was starting to wane.
His hobby, astronomy, was the perfect balance. The universe was simply so huge that professional researchers couldn’t always keep an eye on everything. Amateur astronomers discovered new asteroids, comets, brown dwarfs, or even planets every year. Even when it was raining outside he could still be a discoverer, because NASA and ESA research missions shared their data on the web, and often relied on amateurs to detect previously undiscovered celestial bodies.
Melissa Holinger. He wanted to write to the astronomer. Peter opened his notebook and put his feet up on the coffee table. Franziska would scold him now if she were home. He logged in and opened the paper that the SPACE editor sent him. Holinger’s e-mail address was there in the footer. He copied it, started a new message, and pasted her address into the recipient’s line.
What should he write to her? He had no idea what scientists thought of receiving mail from laypeople. Did they get a lot of messages from obscure UFO researchers and hobbyists with no prior training who’d made up their own theory of relativity? He certainly didn’t want to be pigeonholed in that way, but how could he prevent it? He did not possess one scientific certification. He may be a math and physics teacher, but he really couldn’t know how significant his discovery was that all seven stars and the Earth were on an imaginary spherical shell.
He simply had to try. If she didn’t read his message, he would be out of luck. Life would go on.
“Dear Dr. Holinger,” he wrote in English.
“I’m a math and physics teacher in Germany,” he typed.
No. How would it look if he started with himself? Immediately quite unprofessional.
“I was very excited by your publication in Nature Astronomy on February 10.”
Too slimy.
“Your publication in Nature Astronomy on February 10 has put me on a track that may be of interest to you as well.”
That was better.
“I had already made similar observations regarding Sigma Draconis and 47 Ursae Majoris.”
He deleted the sentence. It sounded as if he wanted to dispute Holinger’s discovery. It was best if he simply stated the facts.
“It is possible to spin up a spherical shell so that all seven candidate stars lie on its surface. Of course, this may be a coincidence, but perhaps important conclusions can be drawn.”
He would leave that to Holinger.
“What is particularly exciting about this is that our sun also finds a place on this spherical shell. I am aware that it is not one of the extinct stars.”
A little humor never hurt.
“But still, it seems remarkable to me. I would be pleased if you could include this train of thought in your reflections. I will continue to follow your research with great interest.”
For the conclusion, he ought to suck up a bit. That way, Holinger might be more likely to keep him in the loop. He added good wishes, skimmed the text again, and sent the message.
Outside, a fierce wind drummed raindrops against the windows. He was glad that he didn’t have to be out and about in Munich’s nightlife at the moment.
On the other hand, it was a shame he couldn’t use the night for observations. He fetched his list of stars to work off. Then he used a star catalog to add more yellow dwarfs. After all, it was unlikely that such a phenomenon would be confined to a 60-light-year radius around Earth.
Peter woke up because he was cold. He looked at the clock. At midnight, the heating turned off, and it was shortly after two. His list and pen were on the carpet. He must have fallen asleep in the middle of work. He shivered, rubbed his hands together, picked up his things, and left the room.
“Alexa, living room off, hallway on.”
The light in the living room went out and it got bright in the hallway. He closed the door behind him. Franziska’s shoes and jacket were missing, so he knew she was not back yet. He went upstairs, got ready for bed, and went back to sleep.

March 3, 2026 – Passau
“Peter, Peter, wake up!”
Franziska leaned over the bed and shook him by his shoulders. She was wearing sunglasses and shiny red lipstick, things he could clearly make out despite it still being quite dark in the room. He assumed it to be a dream—a lucid dream, something that was happening to him more and more frequently. He could usually decide how these dreams would proceed. Only, Franziska somehow eluded his control in these dreams.
“What is it?” he asked. “It must be really early!”
“I slept with José!” said Franziska.
“What?”
“I slept with him!”
“So, did you sleep well?”
“Not slept! Had sex. Fucked! You know what I mean.”
He should probably have gotten excited at this point, but it was just a dream. It was not worth it. It wasn’t real. At best, Peter was curious to see what Franziska would come up with next. Hopefully, she wouldn’t start filling in the details.
“That’s good,” he said. “Now go to bed and get some rest.”
She shook him by the shoulders again. “Is that all you have to say? Aren’t you even interested in who I go to bed with?”
“Yes, of course, my darling. And it’s not who,