Fire Pattern

EPILOGUE

It was a fine day in Whiteford, and the whole town was ablaze with sunlit familiarity, glowing with that aura of humdrum comfort, security and sanity which is special to small communities on summer mornings.

Jerome walked to the window of his office and stood for a moment, contentedly looking down through the trees at the activity in Mayflower Square. It was sinfully early to be considering taking the rest of the day off, but in the few months that had elapsed since he had married Anne Kruger and assumed joint editorship of the Examiner the workload had become extremely light. The major world stories—such as the dramatically sudden achievement of nuclear disarmament—were not the Examiner’s province, and even local crime had all but ceased to exist.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Anne slipped her arms around him from behind and pressed her face against the hard muscles of his back.

“Yes, but we were at the lake on Tuesday,” he said. “We really ought to try working a full week some time.”

Anne laughed. “Remind me to get you a box of anti-Puritan pills. I’ll go in and have a word with Bernard—I’m sure he won’t mind taking over.” She broke free of Jerome and left the office in search of the deputy editor.

Jerome returned to his desk to wait for her, and on an idle impulse opened one of the drawers and removed a thick file. Its cover bore the single word: QUICKSILVER. The Examiner’s readership tended to be more interested in local flower show results than in space flight, but he had made a personal collection of cuttings relating to the Quicksilver mission and its sensational return to Earth.

He vividly remembered his sense of disbelief when, back in late January, it had been disclosed that the rescued cosmonaut had claimed to be a member of a human colony which had been established on Mercury in prehistoric times. The mysterious spaceman had died of heart failure soon after his arrival on Earth, but apparently there had been time for him to convince some people that his story was true. World interest had been so intense that three major members of the space club—the USA included—were currently preparing new expeditions to the first planet.

Jerome opened the folder and flicked through it until he reached a photograph of the dead astronaut. He had studied the dark-bearded Christ-like face many times, wondering why it continued to fascinate him. He was quite certain in his own mind it was that of a Russian who had come so close to death on Mercury that he had been driven mad by the ordeal, but did some unacknowledged part of him want to believe otherwise?

“Right, I’ve fixed it with Bernard,” Anne said as she came back into the office. “We can play hookey for the rest of the day.”

Jerome looked up at her and smiled. “I’ll buy you a soda for that.”

“You’re at that picture again!” Anne came to his side and looked down at the photograph. “I think you’re starting to believe he really did come from Mercury.”

“Don’t be childish, Anne,” Jerome sighed. “I mean, is it likely?”

“Then why do you keep looking at his picture?” She nudged his shoulder playfully with her hip. “I’m beginning to think I’ve got a rival.”

“Never.” Jerome closed the Quicksilver file and dropped it into his waste bin with a flourish which was meant to indicate finality. “I know when I’m well off.”