Every Friday, Alma’s mother asked her the same question: “Anything fun planned for this weekend, Alma Llama?”
Every Friday, of course, Alma said, “Not a thing.”
But today, after she climbed into her seat and buckled her seat belt, she had a new answer. “Not really,” she said. “But on Tuesday afternoon, there’s another Astronomy Club meeting. It’s a lecture. On star … nuclear … physics? Or something like that.”
“Wow!” her mother cried. “Heavy stuff! And you’re going to—” She snuck a sideways glance at Alma. “You’re going to go?”
Alma nodded. “Yes,” she said. “I think I like astronomy. A lot.”
Her mother beamed. “That’s wonderful. That’s really wonderful, Alma Llama Ding Dong.”
Alma smiled back. Until her mother took a left turn instead of a right turn—toward the house instead of toward the office.
“Where are we going?” Alma asked.
“Home!” Alma’s mother said. “Dad and I thought we would work from there this afternoon for a little change.”
Any other day, Alma would have welcomed a chance to escape the boredom of the office and supervised homework time. But since she had spent the entire day planning her visit to the Fifth Point, this was the worst possible news.
She tried to think of a good reason she’d want to go to town, but there wasn’t one. All she could do was crane her neck around her seat and watch through the back window as the tower of the Fifth Point grew smaller and smaller as they drove farther and farther away.
After dinner that night, Alma took out the quintescope. She cleaned the cones and the glass, even though they didn’t need to be cleaned again. She put the pieces together and then took them apart. Put them together, took them apart. Over and over until she could do it easily.
She thought as she worked, thought about the red-gold light that had washed over her and the gold-gold light that had spilled from the Starling. She thought about where the Starling might be now and whether she would come back tonight. She hoped so. More than anything, she hoped so.
Her parents were heading to their room for the night when Alma finally put the cylinders gently back into their velvet-lined beds.
“Time for sleep, Alma Llama,” her mother said.
“Sleep is very important,” her father said. “You remember the doctor said that.”
“I remember,” Alma said. She shut the lid of the quintescope’s case and latched it. “I’m ready.”