"Fossil light," said the professor. "That's the technical name for it. I think it has a certain charm."
His student pulled away from the eyepiece of the great telescope and blinked. The ghost images of the night-time sky still troubled her, and it took a moment or two for them to fade to nuisances. "Charm, yes. But it just sounds so clinical to me. I mean, we put so much of ourselves into the stars. Hope. Fear. Stories of heroism." She lifted her coat from the back of her chair and shrugged it on. The air in the observatory had grown too cold for comfort. Then she pressed her face to the metal of the eyepiece once more.
The professor wandered over to his desk. A small lamp, shrouded in a piece of red plastic, cast a bloody hue on a stack of papers. "Is that why you decided to study astronomy?"
"In a way. My father, he was an anthropologist. He had books about the myths from different cultures. I used to read them in my bedroom."
"And you noticed how every culture seemed to put their stories into the stars?" The professor peered at his student over the top of a budget report.
"Exactly. So I thought there must be something inherent in how people thought about them."
The professor thought for a moment. "So, why did you end up studying astronomy rather than anthropology?"
The student glanced back over her shoulder before returning her attention to her observations. "My tutor was an idiot. Worse. I took his advice."
"And it's too late to change now?" The professor's words carried a note of disapproval.
"I have very good reasons to keep up with my studies."
"Such as?"
The student thought for a moment before answering. After all, she wanted to sound like a professional, especially when talking to her supervisor. "I think I can say that maintaining a distance from things has helped me appreciate better what they mean to me."
"Ah. I think I understand." The professor smoothed out the budget report and started reading it again.
