Astronomer v. Astrophysicist

The Astronomer sits on the torn chest of the fallen Astronaut and waits until dark.

The moon rises and the sun falls and the stars show.

Hey! says the Astronomer. Look at Venus!

The Astronomer spends an ungodly time looking at Venus.

What's that over there? It's the moon!

The Astronomer affectionately regards the moon for what seems like forever, but what's actually just over an hour.

Then the Astronomer's lifts his head, sees something, and jumps to his feet.

Pleiades!

The Astronomer stands, head back, staring up at Pleiades.

When he wakes the next morning he can't move his head out of an upward-gazing position. At least not without causing severe neck pain.

This might be the worst pre-duel ailment a guy could suffer, he says. But at least it's not raining.

It starts to rain.

The Astrophysicist trundles in on an all-terrain wheelchair. This is strange given that he seems perfectly healthy. Hale, even. He holds a black umbrella over his head.

Hello there! the Astronomer gurgles.

Fuck off! says the Astrophysicist.

Excuse me?

I said sod the fuck off, you cunt!

Hey, listen, guy -

No, you listen, guy - I'm right angry because I just learned one of my postgrads very well fucked what could have been the greatest discovery since the multiple universe theory, and I'm not back at the uni to see to the flaying of that miserable twat!

The Astronomer chuckles. I know all about that, he says.

Few years back a student of mine leaned against a nine-foot stone Aztec lunar calendar, knocking it off it's mount, sending it rolling down and out the lab, down the stairs, out the street, and onto the highway. A mile later it shattered to bits, to powder - gone! A millennia old - gone! Dust! Also killed a couple of road workers.

The Astrophysicist laughs. It's a horrible mocking laugh.

You stupid git, you worthless rubbage-person. Mine wasn't some soft science bullshit, no loss of materiel. I thought I'd achieved a comprehensive mathematically based cosmography, the Theory of Everything, the TOE - all boiled down to one elegant equation! But it's shit because of his error! Gone! Years of work - gone! Dust!

The Astrophysicist looks at the Astronomer, then looks up. What the fuck are you looking at, anyway?

Neck pain.

You are an ass, aren't you?

You know, a nice guy would let me borrow his umbrella.

Like fuck he would. It's time to shoot. And I'm picking the best fucking pistol. If you don't like it, you can try wrestling it from crippled hands.

Fine.

The Astrophysicist negotiates his wheelchair over the roots of the oak to the table. He picks his gun and drives out to the field. The Astronomer pats the table until he feels a pistol, takes it, and follows the Astrophysicist. They take their places on the field.

The Astronomer tries lower his head. Stabbing pain. No go. O Pleiades please guide this my bullet, he prays.

They raise their guns. Their guns go off.

Astronaut v. Astronomer

The Astronaut walks back to the oak.

He reaches into a pocket of his jumpsuit and pulls out a tube labeled "Clams in Garlic & White Wine". After examining the nutrient content, he eats the tube's contents, rolling gently as the course progresses. Then he pulls out a tube labeled "Simple Country Salad" and eats that. Then he pulls out one labeled "Acorn-Fed Virginia Country Ham With Pineapple-Grapefruit Dijon Glaze" and eats that. Then one that reads, "Roasted Asparagus with Thyme" and eats that. Then "A Very Simple Sweet Potato (Or Yam)" and eats that. Then "Scalloped Potatoes, Onions and Garlic" and eats that. Then "Garlic Herb Butter" and eats that. Then he pulls a Mars bar hidden in his sock, beneath his trouser leg, and eats that, too.

Then he takes a nap. Then he wakes and the Astronomer's standing nearby.

Hello there, says the Astronomer. Have a nice nap?

Yes, says the Astronaut, I sure did.

The Astronomer's a genial man in late middle-age, with thick brown-framed glasses, and white hair capped by a tweed touring hat. He wears a grey and green coat, a beige scarf.

Boy, the first thing I thought when I walked out here was what a fine place this would be to erect an observatory. It's remote, so there wouldn't be much light pollution. What do you think?

The Astronaut tells him it sounds like a good idea.

Holy moly! the Astronomer says, clapping his gloved hands together, looking up. What a view!

You know, says the Astronaut, I'm -

From NASA, huh? Heck that's great. Met the chief of your scientific branch not to long ago when I was down in Mexico. Archeoastronomy, you know. Great fun. Students love it.

Oh, I -

And he was a great guy, the chief, let me tell ya!

He -

You know most people think that only the Maya or the Aztec or the Inca practiced astronomy. Not true! North American tribes did, too! Mostly through traditions passed down by the Maya or Aztec. Along with blood rites!

The Astronomer discusses the astronomic practices of several North American tribes. The Astronaut listens patiently. Finally, about nine hours later, as night falls, the Astrologer decides they should get to the task at hand. So they both get their pistols and go to the field.

They raise their guns. Their guns go off.