Cold air blew through the open dome of the observatory and swirled around the telescope. The astronomer shivered in the early hours after midnight. Even colder was the liquid nitrogen used to keep rogue electrons in the detector from overwhelming the faint signals from distant stars. Only 77 degrees above absolute zero, it could freeze skin on contact. Drops of nitrogen sizzled as they overflowed the reservoir and evaporated on his protective leather gloves.
He returned to the warmth and light of the observing room where images from the detector were routed to the computer. It was an ancient machine, older than all of the graduate students and some of the junior faculty. A small cathode-ray tube monitor was divided into two windows: images from the detector on one side and command line interface on the other.
The astronomer grunted. He hadn't planned to refill the liquid nitrogen and had lost precious time when the target star was directly overhead and the confusing effects of the Earth's atmosphere were at a minimum. In trying to discover planets, every bit of additional noise was a burden.
The latest image flashed on the screen. It was the same familiar pattern of stars he had come to know so well. A field of white dots scattered randomly across the frame. The brighter stars appeared larger and the fainter ones smaller. The target star lay just below the center of the image, otherwise unobtrusive but for the fact that it was only 12 light-years away and a promising host star for planets. That is, if it had any planets. Like a gold panner searching for tiny flakes in a stream, he was looking for tiny dips in brightness as a planet passed in front of the star.
The night wore on and the telescope leaned steadily toward the west to follow the setting star. By now he had collected over a hundred images. In a few minutes he would abandon this star and move on to another. He yawned, took another sip of coffee, and looked perfunctorily at the screen.
Something was wrong with the pattern of stars, as if it were made of rubber and great hands had stretched and deformed it. Even as he watched the next image appeared. The pattern had become almost unrecognizable as all of the stars rushed toward the edge of the image. All except one: the target star. In disbelief he hurriedly typed a command to take another image. Several desperate seconds later the display refreshed. There stood the star, all by itself in a sea of utter black. Then the star blinked, perhaps only a glitch in the old computer screen.
The astronomer's heart beat faster but his head became foggy, unable to decide what to do next. Time seemed to stand still until his ears began to throb, gently at first but growing to become uncomfortable. A chill ran down his spine. He blinked.
There on the screen was the same familiar pattern of stars with the target star unchanged in its proper place. The throbbing in his ears remained, however. In following the star westward the telescope had tipped over at a dangerous angle. This set off an alarm that turned off the telescope. Through the small window of the observing room the sky was faintly gray with the approaching dawn.