"David is failing math."
Aerospace engineer Roger Joyson could hardly believe his ears. His son David, who had always anted to be a scientist or engineer, had the science grades and intelligence to do it, and generally made B+s and A grades in school, was failing fifth-grade math.
As Roger sat in shock with his mouth gaping open, Joanne elucidated.
"Ms. Rainesworth says he isn't too solid on his multiplication tables. Today, he showed her his steps for multiplying 26 by 16, and he said that six times six was thirty-two. I pointed out that he's never been very good with rote memorization, and she wondered if the two of us could go over multiplication tables with him.
"But he always does his homework by the time you get home, and I'm not much of a teacher when it comes to anything. I'll ask him how he got his answer, and I won't be able to understand his answer. Sometimes he's mumbling, sometimes I can't concentrate hard enough to understand his process in my head and what's wrong with it. Other times, I'll ask him to try a question three times, and he'll get three different answers and think they're all correct, l tell him the answer will always be the same, he'll ask why, and I won't know the answer."
"Well, then I guess it's still up to Ms. Rainesworth," said Roger.
"And luckily, there is a solution: I'm going to put him in the after-school remedial group on Mondays and Thursdays," said his wife.
Roger was aghast. "Not Thursdays!” he abruptly shouted, bringing the car to a screeching halt at a red light. “The junior astronomy club meets Thursdays! If we take him out of that, how's he going to learn about the universe around us? The school curriculum sure isn't helping much! Put him in for Mondays, but leave Thursdays alone!”
“I don't think he really enjoyed astronomy anyway," was Joanne's reaction. "I know you just love sky watching, but I don't, most people don't, and David doesn't either. Besides, arithmetic is far more important."
"No, it isn't!" Roger argued against this latter point for quite some time, but was eventually convinced. Still, he resolved to ask his son that night what he really thought of astronomy. He would do it at dinner, so that Joanne could hear it firsthand.
But first, there was a far more important matter to be dealt with. Chiron, Saturn and the moon would all be in perfect conjunction that night. Roger, an astronomy enthusiast whose mind had been on the conjunction most of the day, hoped he could set up his new high-end telescope in time to watch it and take a photograph.
The telescope could zoom in by a factor of half a million, detect and amplify the light of eighth-magnitude stars, compensate for all but the thickest cloud cover, send photos and coordinates to a connected computer and identify 20,000 objects in its database. It was the greatest thing an enthusiastic sky watcher could hope to own.
When he arrived home, Roger assembled the telescope with amazing speed and precision. But when he came to the dinner table that evening, he had two pictures in hand.
The first was the conjunction. Joanne glanced at it briefly and gave it an unenthusiastic "mm-hmm," and David revealed his true opinion of astronomy by yawning. Roger would have been dismayed were it not for his excitement about the second photo: a rocky planetoid.
"This object isn't in the database," he said.
"In the what?" David had never heard of a database.
"The telescope doesn't know what it is," his father translated, "which means it's something rarely seen! I sent the coordinates to my computer, so I can look it up online later."
As they continued to eat, the topic of conversation soon changed to David's math grades and the remedial sessions he would join the next day (a Thursday). When Joanne finished eating and excused herself to check her e-mail, there was little for David and Roger to talk about.
"The Internet connection's down again," she called out. This was bad news for everyone: Joanne never wanted to miss a day's worth of e-mail, Roger had hoped to research his planetoid immediately after dinner, and David had hoped to play some online games with his friends. Roger, though, was probably the least affected: he kept himself pleasurably occupied exploring all his telescope's features. He was amazed at how clearly he could see all the planets and their moons, at the resolution and clarity of the telescope's photos, and at how every heavenly body he had ever heard of was in the database.
Before dawn, though, Roger was reminded of his mysterious minor planet by a nightmare. He was in his yard watching it on his telescope, when a passing comet struck it. It began growing larger, and Roger had to zoom out to keep it in view. Knocked off its orbit, it began streaking toward Earth. Roger only had a brief glimpse of it before it struck him on the head, knocking him out.
Roger awoke panting and drenched in sweat. He glanced at the time on his mobile phone: 4:40. He had slept less than four hours, but his tiredness was blocked out first by fear and then by excitement. He leaped out of bed and booted up his computer.
“Honey, what are you doing?” Joanne had just awoken.
“I just had a nightmerrible— I mean terrible nightmare,” said Roger rapidly, in a manic flurry of words. “I have to planetoid thing on look up Web.”
“What planetoid thing?” asked Joanne.
“The one I found last night,” Roger said, opening a web browser.
“Honey,” said Joanne, tired and annoyed, “what’s the big deal about some stupid chunk of rock a billion miles away from here?”
Roger didn’t seem to hear her. “WHAT? what do you mean, server not found?” he shouted at his computer. The Internet connection still wasn’t working. After a few frantic attempts at resetting it, he eventually returned to bed, but he could not fall asleep again and instead read his new issue of Stargazer Magazine.
While reading the six pages of feature articles about the previous night's triple conjunction, he felt triumphant at having captured it in a digital photograph especially when he learned that it would be the last one visible in Toronto for thirty years. Between the magazine and a particularly demanding engineering problem, he eventually managed to forget the unknown object for the rest of the day.
When he arrived home for supper, the discussion centered on three topics: the malfunctioning Internet connection, plans for the weekend, and David's first day of remedial math. Roger could not even get a word in edgewise about the news from Stargazer, but he was consoled by the knowledge he could discuss astronomy on Saturday: this was when his astronomy club met.
When the time came to pack for his meeting, Roger took his magazine, knowing that it was a good conversation piece, and reached for his conjunction photo. Finding the planetoid photo as well, he was struck. Of course! That thing. He knew he had to show it to his friends at the club. Packing it, he knew he would be the life of the party, bringing everyone lots to talk about.
Another thing that cheered him was the certainty that the planetoid could be identified with the club's reference books, which far exceeded the ones in the house. He was so zealous about his day at the club that he packed two lunches without realizing it, ran three red lights along the way, and parked his car on the wrong size of space, at such a sloppy diagonal that it occupied three.
Roger then rushed into the building as quickly as he could and shouted, "Guys! Guys! Look at this thing!" He showed them his photograph. "Anyone know what it is?”
"Oh, that's the asteroid Gaprix," said the club president.
"No, it's one of the moons of Mars," said another member.
"No, it's asteroid Alpha-17, from the Alpha Centauri system." was the vice-president's opinion. Everyone in the club thought it was something different, but when Roger tried to settle it using the reference books, he proved them all wrong. The coordinates of his planetoid did not match those for anything they named ... or any other object listed in any of the books.
"What if it was unknown?" suggested Roger, hit with a flash of inspiration. "Maybe I’ve discovered a new asteroid!"
"Don't be ridiculous." said the club's president. "Everything close enough to Earth for a backyard telescope to see, at the zoom factor you've got recorded, would have been picked up by a big observatory ages ago."
Roger was ready with several examples (though none of them all that recent) that contradicted this point. "But what about—"
"Look, we don't have any more time to spend on this. We have a four-hour agenda, and we have to get through it all!”
Even though there wasn't time to discuss Roger's planetoid, there was plenty of time to discuss the conjunction, and all the articles in Stargazer. After the agenda had been finished, Roger was glad he had packed a second lunch, because he missed afternoon tea and would be late for supper as well.
Still, when he pulled out the photo of his planetoid again, everyone seemed to agree with the president's earlier response, and pointed to the fact that he had not been able to check an Internet database. This was, luckily, the only bad thing that happened all day, and Roger drove home generally happy.
The next morning, when he came to breakfast, Roger had exciting news. The Internet connection having been fixed the previous day (although, after club and supper, Roger was too tired to use it), he had confirmed his suspicions.
"Wow! That's totally cool, Dad!" said David, upon hearing the news.
Roger hugged him. “Ahh,” he said. “See, maybe you do like astronomy after all.”
"David, I hate to burst your bubble," said Joanne, "but your dad's wrong. The observatories have the entire sky covered, and their telescopes can see a lot further than any amateur's telescope could."
Roger countered, "But this is the best telescope money can buy!"
“It's not," Joanne said. "It's the best telescope money can fit in our backyard, and that isn't the same thing at all."
"What if Dad's right?" said David. He did not understand what his mother was saying.
“That's the spirit, son," said Roger, patting David on the back.
His wife would have argued further, but she had a lot of cleaning to do around the house that day and needed to get started: instead, she resigned herself to waiting for someone to show — at least to David — that Roger was wrong. Mrs. Rainesworth would succeed at this task when David brought it up in science period the following day.
The excited man took breakfast into his room and phoned NASA. When he gave the coordinates, a woman told him that the object he was talking about did not, could not, exist, and that his telescope must not be working properly. On the one hand, Roger was angry that NASA had jumped to conclusions so readily, and seemed unwilling to even consider the possibility of an amateur making any discoveries. Still, he had to admit that the operator might be right.
Through the rest of the morning, afternoon and evening, he remained quiet about the topic. During lunch and dinner, he had trouble listening to the table conversation, and said nothing. He enjoyed the matinée movie they went to, although unlike most movies he watched, he remembered very little about it afterward.
But after dark, Roger could test the accuracy of his telescope's coordinate-measurement system. The tests were rather simple, and almost every telescope-owning enthusiast knew about them. (Even those who didn't had a chance to learn them every April, when the steps were reprinted in Stargazer.) He was vindicated! His telescope was working.
He e-mailed everyone at his club whose address he knew, as well as astronomy professors at the local universities. In his e-mail, he described the reaction from NASA and sent all the photos and coordinates that he'd brought to the club, and the ones for that night. He explained that on Saturday night it had been too cloudy for even his telescope to find the planetoid. He had difficulty sleeping or working during the first half of that week, as he eagerly anticipated responses.
Editors of the local newspapers responded on Monday and Tuesday. Two said their readers weren’t interested in astronomy; a third said she would have to confirm the story with a reliable source, which was not possible just yet. This made Roger all the more anxious to have one of the professors confirm his discovery.
The club president was next to respond, with CCs to the whole club, saying: "Since you sent your e-mail, 14 of the 31 club members, myself included, would like you to leave the club if you continue to insist that you discovered this planetoid yourself. Many believe that your photograph is actually a known moon of an extrasolar planet, and we all think you must have either fudged the coordinates or did a poor job of checking their accuracy. If you do not retract your statement, we will vote at the next meeting on whether to expel you."
Roger's infuriated reply was, "If this is the club's attitude to new discoveries being made by members, 1 will save you the trouble of expelling me: I resign from your club." (He put the last five words in red text, having decided it would make a stronger statement than the usual bold, italics and capitals.)
Only two of the professors that Roger wrote to responded. One wrote, "I need to see proof that these coordinates are real. Unfortunately, I won’t have time after dark in the foreseeable future to check them. You have no idea how much work it is to chair the curriculum committee."
The second, however, said, "Suppose I come to your home the next clear night, and you show me the object that you claim is unknown."
While Roger did not know if Professor Hiedels was serious about this proposition, he was only too happy to accept. Since a clear sky was predicted for Friday night, this was the day for which he extended the invitation. By the time the professor came over, Roger had already found the planetoid on the telescope. He had merely to point Professor Hiedels toward the place his telescope was set up.
"Hmm," the man said, looking at it. "Looks like a moon of Jupiter, or of one of the known extrasolar planets. The coordinates don't look quite right for any of them, but frankly I don't trust just anyone's telescope not to be tampered with. Let's set up my telescope, and you can find it for me there."
Roger inwardly reciprocated the professor's distrust, but when he came to the telescope he found his planetoid.
"Hmm," said the professor. "It's interesting, but it's probably not a new planetoid. It might just be a meteor that's going to burn up in some planet's outer atmosphere." Roger went into a lengthy explanation of why the object he had located couldn't be a meteor.
"Your proof isn't sound, I only have one trustworthy set of coordinates to go on, and there are a number of other complications," said Professor Hiedels. "Seeing as you did not even minor in astronomy at university, you have no credentials showing that you know what you're talking about. In short, you haven't proven the existence of a previously undiscovered planetoid. Good night."
Roger was crestfallen. Here was a university professor telling him that he was wrong. discounting his proof, and probably in a position to convince everyone else to do the same. There was very little hope that even his family would give him credit for his discovery. Worse, science might not have the benefit of even knowing about this potentially important object. Suppose his nightmare came true and it actually collided with Earth? The next night, he learned that he would not even be able to take any more photos of it for posterity, as it had gone under the horizon.
Perhaps it was best that the planetoid was under the horizon, for this helped it to fall under the horizon of poor Roger Joyson's mind. He began to focus his attention and telescope on other things. There was good news: he had just received a promotion and raise from work, and David progressed so well in math that he had been able to leave the remedial session (although he declined to rejoin the junior astronomy club). Roger would even get a three-week vacation during the summer school break, and have enough money for an unforgettable trip to Paris.
But a few weeks later, while reading the newspaper, Roger was unpleasantly reminded of his rejected discovery. A Yale University astronomer had just "discovered" the same object and named it for himself! The photographs were identical; the recorded coordinates (once adjusted for the different location of the telescope) matched. Roger hastily showed the article to his wife and son.
"These photos are identical! And look how closely these coordinates match!” he said.
"I don't understand the math around those stupid coordinates," said his wife. "And the photos look the same to me as all the other asteroids you've ever shown me.”
“Me too," said David. "I still think Ms. Rainesworth was right."
Roger was crestfallen. His friends from the astronomy club still did not believe him. He did not use his telescope ever again, and sent it to his Australian niece as a birthday gift. He canceled his Stargazer Magazine subscription and donated all his issues to the library. The pages discussing the new planetoid, however, he first tore out and destroyed with the office shredder. The former astronomy enthusiast considered them unworthy even of donation.
Over the next few nights, Roger found that looking up at the night sky brought him to tears, so he stopped doing it. Soon, David had to go into a remedial science group. He had begun to struggle once his class entered a unit on astronomy. After a few weeks of depression, he decided he needed a new pastime. He would learn to play chess.
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