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upheld.
    True, Crown House had rarely been as empty as it was at present. Laurence Eddington lived alone, without benefit of wife (divorced), children (one, with Maggie), or servants (both unaffordable and unnecessary at present). In fact, one would have to go back to the Second World War, when the male Eddingtons were in the services—officers all, of course—and the women in the volunteers, to find a comparable time.
    Had Chandliss known Laurence Eddington better, however, he would likely not have called him or expected much from the call. For though they had shared the same profession, it had meant entirely different things to them.
    A healthy allowance that preceded a healthier inheritance had made young Eddington’s choice of profession uncomplicated. Though the male Eddingtons were expected at some point to take an interest in The Business—as a child, Eddington had clearly understood it should be so written—until then he was free to toy with nearly any interest he might choose. His toy was astronomy.
    His experiences with the science promised to get off to a rousing start. A small observatory was built on the grounds, near the gardens, and the finest Celestron telescope arrived from overseas in time for his seventeenth birthday.
    Unfortunately, Eddington’s understanding of astronomy had been built on science-fiction movies and popular-magazine reporting on the Voyager planetary spacecraft; having never looked through a telescope before demanding one, he had failed to consider the weather of his home isle. It was less than a month before he quit in frustration, declaring repeatedly that had astronomy been forced to develop in England, it would now be on the verge of discovering Mars and Venus.
    Eddington soon learned, however, that the seemingly omnipresent clouds and fog were transparent to most radio frequencies, and promptly took up radio astronomy. Since backyard work was not considered practical, he studied astronomy rather than liberal arts in college, picking up the degree and the experience he would require for a post at a good European observatory. Though his professors and advisor questioned his dedication, no one could seriously fault his work. Eddington graduated cum laude—low for an Eddington, but acceptable—and went directly to the staff of Mullard Radio Observatory as an associate astronomer.
    And there stagnated. He had trouble getting instrument time approved for his own projects and was assigned instead to assist visiting astronomers. None of the older staff members sought his opinions, nor were they receptive when he forced his on them. He applied elsewhere, with no luck, and was considering quitting when Mullard closed.
    In the span of barely two years, most of the Eddington wealth evaporated. His father had believed in keeping money at work, and much of it was invested overseas—a mine here, an airline there, Argentine ranches, American computer firms—what wasn’t seized went bankrupt. Eddington fell from the ranks of the well-heeled to the just-getting-by, but as an Eddington should, he landed on his feet. His job at the fuel allocation center, securely located within the fences of the former RAF air station at Duxford, south of Cambridge, was as good a post as could be hoped for. It was fairly base work—clerking and “minding the machines”—but it would not suddenly disappear, not so long as the North Sea oil continued to flow. And the long bicycle rides commuting required kept him in good trim.
    In other areas, he had been less lucky. His parents had died in the London riots, caught in the streets the day, the hour, the Prime Minister announced the new energy laws—no private motorcars, no home appliances outside the kitchen basics, no broadcasting except Radio One, an hour of sanitized news a day, no lights after eight P.M., and all the rest.
    The marriage, which had started two years before the riots when Eddington was bored with his work, lasted five more and produced one