In Extremis: Two Novels by W.H. Collier

STANLEY’S

COMET

By W. H. COLLIER

DAY 7

The television camera sprang to life, revealing a studio set of a cozy den. There was a faux fireplace and shelves of faux books. There were two comfortable-looking chairs on either side of the fireplace and, on the floor before them, an oval rug of a vaguely American Indian weave. Two men were seated in the chairs, one portly and avuncular, wearing a royal blue sweater vest over a white shirt and red tie, the other dark-haired, thin and severe, wearing an austere black suit, white shirt and thin black tie. In bold yellow letters visible only to the home audience were the words, Sunday Morning Live, with Lew Saunders. The background music came to a halt, and the camera zoomed in on the face of the older man.

Welcome back, the man said with a warm smile. It’s a gorgeous summer’s morning here in New York and around much of the country. So, relax and have a second cup while we chat with our guests and find out what’s going on in your neighborhood and around the world.

Lew gave the camera another big smile as it panned back to bring the second man into view.

Our next guest is Dr. Herschel Stanley, an astronomer with the National Aeronautic and Space Administration.

Formerly, the other man said.

Lew turned from the camera to his guest.

I resigned my post with NASA just this morning, the man said.

Okay, Lew said. In any event, welcome to Sunday Morning.

The man nodded.

Dr. Stanley, I understand you have some rather exciting news for us. It seems you’ve discovered a brand-new comet.

Well, the comet isn’t new. It’s been around since the formation of our solar system. But the discovery is new, yes.

Right, Lew said. And is the comet to be named for you?

As the discoverer, yes.

So, how did you make this discovery?

Quite by accident, Dr. Stanley said, crossing his legs. I was searching a region of the sky to view an area of suspected star formation near the center of our galaxy. There was a smudge on several of the prints. After further investigation, I determined that the smudge was in fact a comet.

Amazing, Lew said. Now, how would our viewers go about seeing Stanley’s Comet.

At the moment, it is obscured by the sun. But, by Wednesday it should be quite visible.

Is there anything particularly unusual about this comet? Or would you consider it to be an ordinary, run-of-the-mill comet?

No. No. It is quite unusual.

In what way?

For starters it is very large; many, many times more massive than an ordinary comet, if there is such a thing. And, because of its highly eccentric orbit, it is traveling at an incredible speed.

Lew nodded his head and pursed his lips in a show of amazement.

I also understand, Lew said, that we are going to have something of a ‘close encounter’ with the comet.

Well, Dr. Stanley said as he adjusted his glasses, if you consider a direct hit a ‘close encounter’, then yes.

Lew flinched.

Are you saying the comet is actually going to strike the Earth?

That is correct.

My gosh. Couldn’t that be dangerous? I mean, weren’t the dinosaurs wiped out by a comet or something?

Yes and sort of. The best evidence is that the K-T event, that is, the event that caused the extinction of the dinosaurs and half the other species of plants and animals on the planet at the end of the Cretaceous Period, was caused by an asteroid that struck the Yucatan Peninsula some sixty-five million years ago.

Well, do you expect there to be much damage?

Lew, this comet is as big as the State of Delaware and is traveling at a million kilometers per hour. Do the math.

Uh, I can’t. I mean, I don’t know how.

Dr. Stanley leaned back in his chair and stared for a moment at the ceiling.

Think of it this way, Lew. The K-T asteroid is to this comet as a Daisy BB gun is to a Katushka rocket launcher.

That doesn’t sound good.

Dr. Stanley raised an eyebrow.

Well, when is the collision supposed to occur?

This Saturday at 11:32 P.M. Eastern Standard Time.

My, God. Where?

At a point in the Pacific Ocean about 843 kilometers west of San Diego.

Well, thank goodness it’s not going to strike land.

It really doesn’t make any difference. The effect of the impact will be worldwide.

But won’t the ocean slow the impact?

A bit perhaps, but not significantly.

I don’t understand. Why wouldn’t it? Lew said, giving him a quizzical look.

Let me explain it this way, Dr. Stanley said. Imagine a thick-walled, concrete and steel bank vault, say twelve feet long, by ten feet wide, by eight feet high. And let’s say you fill the vault to the top with iron barbells. Then you hoist the vault up to the observation deck of the Empire State Building. And let’s assume that it had rained earlier in the day and as a result the pavement is now covered by a thin film of moisture. Then, say, you push the loaded vault off the observation deck and it hurtles one hundred stories to the ground below. The film of moisture on the pavement will slow the impact of the bank vault by roughly the same degree that the Pacific Ocean will slow the impact of this comet.

So, then, Lew said, visibly shaken, what amount of damage can we expect?

Dr. Stanley crossed his legs and thought for a moment.

Imagine, if you will, that the Earth is a hot apple pie just out of the oven, with the pie crust representing the Earth’s crust and the gooey, bubbling filling being the magma. Now, think of the comet as a bowling ball. If you were to raise the bowling ball high over your head and smash it down onto the pie with all of your might seven or eight times, the condition of the pie will give you a good idea of what the Earth will look like after the collision.

That’s awful, Lew said. So, what does this mean for us? Bottom line.

Dr. Stanley shrugged his shoulders.

Complete and utter annihilation of all life on Earth.

You cannot be serious, Lew said with a gasp.

As the proverbial heart attack.

Are you saying there is no chance whatsoever of anyone surviving this?

Well, if you can tread molten lava for a million years or so, enough of a bit of crust might re-form to pull yourself out onto. But, since the atmosphere will have been blown away, you will have to hold your breath.

Lew sat back in his chair speechless. After a moment he continued.

Dr. Stanley, if this is true, why hasn’t there been an announcement from the government?

They have their reasons, I suppose, Dr. Stanley said. The argument is that an official acknowledgment would only cause panic. I mean, if everyone is going to die in a week, what’s the point.

Then why have you come forward?

Well, I think everyone has the right to know. There might be things people want to do before the end. Anyway, the news was sure to leak out eventually. If someone is to tell the world, it might as well be me. It is, after all, my comet.

Well, Lew said, perspiration now visible on his forehead, we are going to have to check out your story.

Do that.

Lew looked to the camera then back to his guest.

Dr. Stanley, thanks for coming here today. But I cannot say it has been a pleasure.

I’m only the messenger, Lew.

Stanley Caldwell leaned back in his recliner in the den of his two-bedroom, wood framed house, his mother’s house that is, on Dalrymple Lane in Baton Rouge, Louisiana, and he considered what the man on the television had just said. He reduced the volume with the remote while the Sunday Morning Live show was on commercial break.

Mom, he said to the petite, well-coifed woman in her mid-sixties who was standing in the kitchen. The guy on T.V. said a comet is going to strike the Earth.

Mrs. Caldwell put down the dishrag she was holding and came into the den. She walked up to the front window and stared intently up into the sky.

Who would have thought it, she said after a moment. It’s such a beautiful day.

It’s not coming until Saturday.

Oh, she said, that would explain it. But I guess we should bring the potted plants inside.

If what the man was saying is true, Stanley said, I don’t think it will matter much.

Well, like I always say, it’s better to be safe than sorry.

But, Mom, I think it… .

Stanley.

Stanley let out a breath of exasperation.

Okay. I’ll bring them in this afternoon.

Mrs. Caldwell smiled.

Now, she said, let me fix you breakfast.

We just had breakfast, he said, pointing to the tray on the end table and the plate with the syrupy remains of his French toast.

Oh, she said, then how about some lunch?

We just had breakfast, Stanley said, vainly pointing again to the dirty dishes. I think I’ll just wait until lunchtime.

Suit yourself, she said, shrugging her shoulders.

Mrs. Caldwell walked back to the kitchen, while Stanley turned the volume back up with the remote. He scanned the channels for more news of the comet but found none. After a moment, he got up from his chair and brought his dishes into the kitchen. His mother, who was dressed as if she were going out for an evening on the town, was, nevertheless, vigorously scrubbing down the cabinets and counter tops with the dishrag, as she had been doing for the better part of an hour.

Mom, he said, placing the dishes in the sink, you’re going to wear the paint off the cabinets.

Well, like I always say, you can’t be too rich or too tidy.

She poured dish soap onto his plates and began washing them.

You don’t have to do that, he said. I’ll do them later.

Too late. I’m already done.

Mom, you’ve been cleaning things all morning. Why don’t you come into the den with me and relax for a while?

I couldn’t possibly stop now with the house in this state.

What are you talking about. The house is spotless. It was spotless before you got started.

Stanley, I can’t relax until I get everything done, and I have a list of things to do a mile long.

And when you finish that list, you’ll just make another.

Well, there always seems to be more to do. Like your room, for instance. I’ve just got to get in there and get it organized.

Mom, I’m thirty-four years old. I think I can take care of my own room.

That will be the day.

Stanley grabbed his mother by the shoulders.

Mom, you’ve got to slow down a bit. Please come sit with me in the den. At least for a little while.

Mrs. Caldwell took a deep breath and exhaled loudly. She then followed her son into the den and took a seat on the sofa next to Stanley’s recliner. Stanley sat and picked up the remote.

What channel do you want to watch? he said.

It doesn’t matter. There’s nothing on worth watching.

How do you know? You haven’t even looked.

There never is.

We’ve got 700 channels. Certainly, there’s something on one of them you would like to watch.

That’s the problem. There are too many channels. It’s all so confusing. Did I ever tell you there used to be only two channels in Baton Rouge?

I believe you’ve mentioned that a time or two.

Things were so much simpler then. You could turn the television on to one channel and see that you didn’t like the program, then switch to the other channel and see that you didn’t like that program either, and that was that. Then you could turn the set off and go on about your business. But now, it takes forever to get through all those channels to find out there’s nothing on. But by the time you get to the last one, new shows are starting on the channels you’ve already been through, and so you have to start all over. It can go on that way for hours. It’s quite maddening.

Stanley turned the television off.

Okay, he said. Let’s talk instead.

About what?

About anything.

Like what?

Like anything.

I don’t know how we can have a talk if we don’t know what we’re going to talk about.

Mom, can’t a mother and her son just have a conversation? Do we really need a written agenda first?

You don’t have to get testy. I just thought you might have something in particular you wanted talk about.

No. Nothing in particular.

Mrs. Caldwell thought for a moment.

How’s work? she said at last.

It sucks.

Stanley. Watch your language.

Sorry. It’s just that it, well, sucks.

I told you you should have been a doctor.

That’s a lot easier said than done.

Not that there’s anything wrong with being the assistant manager of a copy shop. As long as you give it your best. Like I always say, if I were a ditch digger, I’d be the best dern ditch digger they had. That’s the way you get ahead in life. But I still wish you had been a doctor. It’s not too late you know.

It’s pretty late.

Mrs. Caldwell shrugged.

Oh, by the way, Stanley said, A friend of yours was asking about you at the shop the other day.

Oh, who?

The lady with the gray streak in her hair.

Who?

You know, the one with the hair that looks like a skunk. She drives that old Lincoln.

I don’t know who you’re referring to.

I hate that, he said. I’m good at remembering faces, but I’m terrible with names.

That’s funny, she said, I’m just the opposite. I can remember names but not faces. For instance, there’s this name, Agatha Christy. I know I know that name, but I can’t for the life of me put it with a face. And then there’s this name, Oliver Caldwell, that keeps rattling around in my head like a penny in an empty piggy bank. I can remember that name just as clear as a bell. But who he is or why I should know him, I haven’t a clue.

That was Dad, Mom.

Oh, she said, mulling over the bit of information. My dad or yours?

Mine.

I see.

And Agatha Christy is the author of the book you’re reading, Stanley said, pointing to the paperback on the coffee table.

Mrs. Caldwell thought for a moment.

You see, she said, You’re not so bad at names after all.

Stanley smiled.

Now, Mrs. Caldwell said, are we through talking?

I suppose.

So what are we going to do now?

Relax?

You’re so boring, Stanley, she said. Oh, I know what we can do. Let’s go bike riding.

But, Mom, it’s getting hot outside. Let’s wait till this afternoon.

Please, Stanley, please.

Her eyes were wide and full of innocence. She looked for a moment like a little girl. Stanley couldn’t resist.

Okay. But only for a little while.

Weee, she said. Let me get my things.

Mrs. Caldwell jumped up and ran off to her bedroom. Stanley walked to the kitchen, took his keys from the key hook and waited at the back door. In a moment his mother appeared. She had added a string of pearls to her blue dress and black pumps, and she had covered her head with a scarf. She carried a large handbag and was wearing the long white gloves she had recently found in a box in the attic and that she had taken to wearing whenever she left the house, which was not very often anymore.

You look nice, Stanley said. The perfect outfit for a bike ride.

Why thank you, Stanley, she said.

They exited through the kitchen door, and Stanley locked it behind them. He walked into the storage room in the back of the carport and up to the bicycle mounted on the wall. It was a large, heavy, girls-style bike that his father had shown up with one day when he was very young. At the time, he remembered, it was taller than he was. The pink and purple paint was chipped and peeling in places and the chain and sprocket were a bit rusty, but, after all these years, it remained quite serviceable. The brand and model names were stenciled across the chain guard in shiny silver letters reading, Schwinn Lady Comet. He thought for a moment about the comet and wondered whether it really would hit the earth.

Let’s go, Stanley, his mother said from outside.

Stanley unlocked the chain lock and took the bike down from its mount. As frail as she might appear, his mother was in very good shape. She could ride the bike for hours at a time. However, as her sense of direction had diminished, she would often get lost. On a number of occasions he received calls from total strangers living miles away informing him that his mother and her bicycle were in their front yards and requesting that he come retrieve them. So now he locked the bike and forbad her from riding it unless he accompanied her.

Stanley wheeled the bicycle out of the storage room and down the driveway. He handed the bike over to his mother and told her to wait for him at the corner. She placed her handbag in the front basket, got on and rode off. Stanley returned to the carport and got into his old Ford Fairlane. He started the engine and backed out into the street. It was only a little after ten, but already the day was growing hot. Since the air-conditioner had been out for a couple of years now, he rolled down the front windows to let in a little air. At the corner, his mother waited dutifully beside the stop sign. When she saw him approach, she stuck out her left arm with her forearm pointing upward, giving the signal for a right turn. She rode at a slow but steady pace along the quiet, shady streets. Stanley followed behind at idle, with his foot off the accelerator and near the brake. She turned onto Ingleside Drive then Claycut, careful to give the appropriate turn signal at each corner. As he drove, Stanley listened to the radio and observed the neighborhood where he had lived his entire life, other than the year in the dormitory during his short, unsuccessful enrollment at LSU. For the most part, the houses were old, though not yet old enough to be considered quaint. It was just an older, working-class neighborhood.

After a while, the street on which they were traveling ended at Baton Rouge High School. His mother turned right, and they traveled along the athletic fields that he had so assiduously avoided during his high school days. He thought about his school friends, most of whom he hadn’t seen for years. He realized he really didn’t have many friends anymore, his contacts now being largely limited to his mother and his fellow employees at work. He decided that, eventually, he would have to start thinking about, perhaps, getting out more.

They continued along the nearly deserted streets. After an hour or so, they turned back onto Dalrymple Lane, and soon they were home.

DAY 6

It was 3:00 in the afternoon, and Applewhite was gone for the day. It was these precious few hours during the workweek when he was left in charge of the Lobdell Boulevard branch of Just Copies Etc. that Stanley felt professionally fulfilled. It was his show now, and things would be run the right way. His way. It was his opportunity to achieve, to make his mark, to show his stuff. It was also his chance to catch up on the soap opera he had gotten hooked on when he was bedridden for a couple of weeks following his hemorrhoidectomy.

There was no one in the store now except him and Sandy, who was busily going about her chores. She looked particularly fetching today in her tight jeans and short, sleeveless top that revealed several inches of midriff. It was his favorite of her outfits, other than the shorts and halter that Applewhite had deemed unprofessional and forbidden her to wear to work again. He watched her go about her business for a moment, her short blond hair bobbing up and down as she hurried about, her trim figure revealed as she reached for items on the upper shelves. Things had certainly picked up since she had begun working there a month ago. Now, he almost didn’t dread going to work every morning. Stanley would like to have asked her out but was unsure of doing so because of their age difference. She was only nineteen, making him fifteen years her elder. But that really wasn’t all that much, he thought. He might be thirty-four chronologically, but he was no more than twenty-one emotionally, he assured himself. Besides, his own father was twenty years older than his mother, and they had been a perfect match, except that he had grown old and died while she was still relatively young. Yet, if he asked her out and she refused, it would create an awkward and uncomfortable work environment that would deprive him of the only pleasure he derived from his work. He needed an indirect approach. He thought perhaps of having a group of friends casually drop by the shop at closing time and asking her to join them for a drink. That would be innocent enough, and a refusal would not be considered a snub. Only, he didn’t have a group of friends. He would have to think of something else.

Sandy, he said. She turned to face him, flashing the perky smile he was so fond of. I’ll be in the office. Buzz me if you need anything.

Sure, she said.

Stanley entered the office and closed the door behind him. He plopped down into the desk chair and felt the power and prerogatives of management. He liked it, he admitted to himself. On the desk was a framed photo of Applewhite and his three teenaged daughters. Applewhite was pear-shaped, with narrow shoulders, large belly and prodigious hips and buttocks, as were his daughters. Lined up as they were, they looked like a set of tacky Christmas bells. With the barbecue poboy he had eaten for lunch still churning around in his stomach, he thought it advisable to turn the photograph face-down onto the desk, which he did.

Stanley switched on the tiny television that Applewhite kept on his desk and manually changed the channel selector to the station that played his soap. To his chagrin, it appeared that regularly scheduled programming had been preempted for some sort of press conference. He tried the other networks, but they too were carrying the event. Stanley resigned himself to the fact that television scheduling had given way to executive privilege. He propped his feet up on the desk and listened in. The President of the United States was standing behind an eagle embossed lectern speaking to a crowd of reporters and photographers. President Jennings was a short man but barrel-chested and robust. His features were chiseled and handsome, and he exuded competence and confidence.

Vitamins, President Jennings was saying, are the key to good health, and the good health of the people is the key to prosperity. And so today, this Administration has submitted to Congress a bill that would establish the nation’s first comprehensive vitamin supplement benefit package, which we call ‘VitAmerica.’ Under this plan, vitamin supplements will be made available at no charge to our seniors, children under the age of thirty, women, preferred minorities and others with special vitamin needs, including the disabled and union workers. There will be no deductibles, no co-pay, no means testing and no obstacles whatsoever to access to the quality vitamins that our people need and deserve.

The President gave the camera a sincere and determined look.

This plan is historic not only because it establishes the first ever vitamin benefit but also because it signals a new vision of the role of government. For how better to say we care than by the gift of good health.

The President smiled benevolently into the camera.

Now, we’ll open it up to questions. Roger? he said, pointing in the direction of one of the shouting reporters.

Mr. President, what information do you have regarding the comet?

Comet? the President said.

Yes, Stanley’s Comet.

Oh yes. Stanley’s Comet.

Several sources have reported that it could or perhaps will impact with the Earth, the reporter said.

No, no, no. Any reports to that effect are completely inaccurate. True, the comet will make a near Earth approach, which should provide quite a show, but I can assure you there will be no collision.

The President flashed his winning smile. Another barrage of questions followed.

Yes, he said, pointing into the crowd.

Is the government taking any precautions with regard to the comet?

None, the President said. There is absolutely no need to do so.

Well, are you planning to take any action at all?

Yes, in fact I am. As many of you know, my son, Timmy, is something of an amateur astronomer. So, we plan to set up his telescope on the front lawn of the White House and have a look, just like millions of other fathers and sons all across the country. Now, if we could get serious for a moment, would anybody like to ask a question about the VitAmerica plan?

Charlie, the President said in response to the rush of questions.

You stated earlier, the reporter said, reviewing his notepad, that the comet would make a ‘near Earth approach’. Just how near is a near earth approach?

Not very, the President said with a note of impatience. Look, it will be ‘near’ in an astronomical sense but not ‘near’ in a practical sense.

But, how near is ‘near’?

At least a quarter of a million miles, which, if you were a jogger like me, you would know is not nearly near. Certainly, not near enough to cause any alarm.

The President stepped back from the lectern a bit and opened his arms.

Now, people, we called this press conference to discuss the vitamin plan. Isn’t anyone here interested in vitamins? Sally, he said with a nod in her direction.

Is there any chance that the comet will strike the planet?

No, he said. That will be all. Good evening.

With that, the President turned and strode quickly away followed by his entourage.

A newscaster appeared on the screen. Soon guest commentators appeared as well, and they began discussing the President’s vitamin initiative. Stanley checked his watch. If they would hurry up, the network could air the final half of his soap. Stanley watched impatiently as they discussed the pros and cons of the plan. On and on they went. Vitamins this, and vitamins that. Talk, talk, talk. Yak, yak, yak. Blah, blah, blah. Stanley yawned widely.

The office door opened, and Stanley sprang startled and confused to his feet. He must have fallen asleep, apparently for a good while. Applewhite stood in the doorway and stared at him harshly. Stanley blinked and tried to clear the cobwebs from his mind.

Is this a bad time? Applewhite said. If so, I can come back.

No, sir. This is fine. I mean, I was just watching the President’s speech, Stanley said, pointing to the television.

To his surprise, the commentary had ended and a cartoon was airing instead.

Which one is the President, Applewhite said, staring at the little screen, the cat or the mouse?

Uh, the speech just ended.

I see.

Vitamins, Stanley said.

Pardon?

The speech. It was about vitamins. And the comet.

Oh, comet, shmomet, Applewhite said. Every lunatic and nut case in the country is talking about the comet.

But the news people were asking the President about it.

And what did he say?

That it wasn’t going to hit the planet.

See there, Applewhite said. They are just trying to create news where none exists. Whatever happened to the concept of responsible journalism. They are going to frighten people to death. And there’s no telling what they might do if you scare them sufficiently.

Through the open door, Stanley could see Sandy standing lovely in the sunlight from the storefront window, and a germ of an idea began to form in his mind.

I see what you mean, Stanley said.

Applewhite righted the picture frame that had been laying face-down on his desk.

If we are going to be sharing a desk, he said, you may want to set up a few photos of your own family.

No, sir, Stanley said. I don’t have any anyway. Photos, that is.

Then do me the courtesy of leaving mine put. Okay?

Yes, sir.

Now, don’t you have something you could be doing before we close for the day?

Yes, sir. I’ll get right to it.

Good boy.

Stanley left Applewhite’s office and walked to the sale’s counter where Sandy was standing.

Sorry, she said quietly. I was with a customer and didn’t see him coming.

Don’t worry about that, Stanley said. I can handle Applewhite.

At that moment, Applewhite exited the office carrying a load of papers.

Caldwell, he said. Check the toner on all the machines before you leave.

Yes, sir.

Applewhite left the building through the front door. Stanley checked his watch. It was a couple of minutes before closing time, and it would take at least an hour to check the machines.

Would you like me to stay and help you? Sandy said.

I guess I could probably do it by myself.

Okay, she said. Anyway, I have to meet some friends for a drink.

Well, Stanley said, thanks for offering.

Not a problem, she said.

Sandy grabbed her purse and was out the door. Stanley checked and filled the toner. When he was done, he locked the front door, set the alarm and turned out the lights. He left through the rear door and locked it behind him. Outside, it was still blazing hot. Stanley unlocked and opened the front door of the Fairlane. He left it open for a minute to allow some of the hot air to escape. He got in and rolled down the two front windows and one in the back, the fourth having to remain closed as the cranking