Lounge Act

19 hours to Thunderbolt – 2 p.m. Mountain

David parked in the long-term parking lot, grabbed his laptop bag and his duffle, and took the shuttle to the terminal.

Blackstone called. “It’s time, Professor. The panel will look stronger if you arrive at the conference together and unified. I’ve arranged for a private jet and have already contacted the others.”

David didn’t argue. Maybe he was too tired, and what was the point. Maybe something else had shifted.

As the terminal came into view, the sky began to dim again. Red dust—not as thick as before—fell like slow-burning ash. Why did it keep coming and going? Was it wind? Altitude?

Or something deeper?

He burst into the terminal, scanning the empty check-in counters. Clusters of travelers and employees huddled in front of overhead monitors, faces turned upward, transfixed.

“What’s going on?” he asked aloud.

A man in a gray suit turned, looked him up and down. David instinctively brushed at the red powder caked in his hair and clothes.

“They cancelled all flights because of the dust storm. Looks like you’ve been out in the middle of it,” the man said.

David stopped brushing, mid-stroke. Over the man’s shoulder, the screen showed video of Manny’s downed jet—its fuselage coated in red. The footage cut to a smaller plane smoldering at the edge of another runway.

Just yesterday, his own face appeared on those same monitors, confidently telling the world that the comet posed no danger.

“We’ll be in for some spectacular sunsets,” he’d said with a smile. He hadn’t mentioned the red dust because he didn’t know it would come close enough to shower the earth.

Why would he? No need to frighten people.

He turned from the televisions and walked into a nearby airport lounge. The place was half-empty, lit in amber tones. A bartender raised an eyebrow at him.

“Whiskey,” David said.

Astronomers had learned their lesson in 1910, when panic swept across the globe after scientists announced Earth would pass through Halley’s Comet’s tail. Newspapers reported suicides. People bought gas masks.

Nothing had happened. Since then, the astronomical community had been cautious, sparing the public details that might spark hysteria.

But this comet was different.

Most sungrazers didn’t survive. This one had. And it wasn’t just big, it was massive. Possibly planetary in size. It had passed so close to the sun that measurements were still unreliable. He’d run fresh calculations today back at the university observatory, but briefings interfered. So instead, he’d left early to make his flight.

Now he regretted it.

“I tried to tell you. You wouldn’t listen.”

David closed his eyes, groaned. Not now.

Manny.

The old man slid onto the barstool beside him like he belonged there. David had forgotten all about him in the chaos. “Why are you still here?”

“No flights out, but I’ll get one,” Manny pointed at the screen of a replica of the comet. “That’s not a comet.” Manny tapped the bar. “It’s a planet. And it’s going to cause earth-shattering destruction before it moves on. You can warn them. You still can.”

David’s throat tightened as the bartender placed his drink in front of him. “Warn them about what?” His hand trembled as he raked it through his hair and took a drink. It burned on the way down. “Manny, you’re not a scientist. You don’t understand how we track these things. We’ve been watching it for weeks. Every hour. We’ve got it under control.”

Manny leaned in, eyes bright and wild. “I may not know your math, but I know history. And we’re about to relive it.”

“Oh, please.” David exhaled hard. “I’ve devoted my life to studying space objects. Someone on my team has plotted this thing’s trajectory down to the minute. I know exactly where it’s going.”

“You mean the dust?” Manny asked, his voice quiet but sharp.

David stiffened. “Localized phenomenon. And besides, you spend your time digging up dusty myths,” he added, “telling stories and calling them science. Nobody takes you seriously.”

Manny raised a finger as if to reply, paused, and slowly withdrew it.

David lifted his drink but paused. The dust still swirled outside the lounge window like snow tinted with rust.

“Congrats on the name,” Manny said. “I hear they named the planet after you.”

David slammed the glass onto the bar. Whiskey sloshed over his fingers. “It’s not a planet. But it doesn’t matter now.”

Manny chuckled softly. “Funny how you showed up just when my plane went off the runway. Fortuitous.”

David stared at him, mouth opening then closing. He licked his fingers, unwilling to lose a drop of the liquid forgetfulness, and took another drink.

“I see you’re still skeptical,” Manny said. “Let me guess what happens next. Then what comes after that. Will you listen if I’m right?”

David sighed. “You’ve got five minutes. If this dust doesn’t stop, I’m headed back to Boulder.”

Manny pulled a few worn pages from his leather briefcase. A small photo slipped free and landed on the bar. David picked it up.

The young woman in the photo had intelligent brown eyes and an unmistakable calm. David felt a tiny zing to his gut and handed it back.

“Cynthia,” Manny said. “My daughter. She’s a scientist, like you. Caltech grad. Works on seismic modeling at Berkeley now.” He stared at the picture a moment before tucking it away. “She doesn’t believe me either.” He raised a set of papers. “Did you ever read my last paper?”

David looked away.

“Didn’t think so. I’ll summarize.”

David leaned in, despite himself. He must be drunk already.

“As this planet gets closer, the dust will mix with ash. It’ll poison freshwater: rivers, lakes, and reservoirs. We need to cover our water sources. Now.”

David straightened, not so drunk after all.

“We need food and water for weeks,” Manny said. “The rivers will turn to blood, fish will die. The food chain collapses. Then comes the birds. They’ll fall from the sky.”

David scoffed. “Birds falling from the sky? You’re quoting the Book of Exodus.”

“Exactly,” Manny said. “We’ve seen it before.”

David shifted, uncomfortable. “People will get sick?”

“Some will die.”

Outside the lounge, the red dust fell thicker.

“And you think, what? We all tape up our windows?”

Manny mimed the motion on the bar with his fingers. “Yes. Seal the houses. Get plastic and tape now—before the stores run out.”

David laughed, though it came out dry. He’d already advised his brother, Adam’s family in Salt Lake to to the exact thing. “We haven’t even analyzed the material yet. You’re jumping the gun, Manny. This kind of talk—”

“—will save lives,” Manny said. “Or would, if someone listened.”

Manny stood, voice rising slightly. “In days, this dust turns to hail-sized pebbles. Crops—destroyed. The noise—like artillery.”

A few heads turned from nearby tables.

David shifted uncomfortably. “You’ve watched too many disaster movies,” David muttered. “That’s not science.”

Manny ignored him. “Then come the meteorites. Communications down. Power grids fried. Satellites gone. Global blackout.”

“Stop. That’s not how it works. Most debris burns up in the atmosphere. Backup systems—”

“—Won’t matter,” Manny cut in. “We’re not prepared. This won’t be random. It’ll be systemic. Sheets of petroleum—”

“—Petroleum?” David said, incredulous.

Manny gestured with both hands. “Mixed with the hail. Friction ignites it mid-air. Flaming debris, all over the world.”

Patrons in the bar turned to listen. Conversations stopped. A glass clinked loudly in the silence.

“There’s no oil in space,” David said, trying to sound confident. “Dust, yes. Oil? No.”

“It’s happened before. Fires from heaven,” Manny said. “Look up Peshtigo, 1871.”

David blinked. “That was a forest fire.”

“No. It was ignition. A downpour of fire. That city wasn’t the only one.” Manny’s voice carried now.

“Then, bigger fragments. Like artillery shells. Flaming meteors. For days.”

“This is insane,” David said to the onlookers. “It’s a comet, people. We’ve seen them before.”

Manny pressed on. “Crops gone. Then earthquakes, tsunamis, volcanoes. All triggered by the gravitational pull of a rogue planet.”

“Gravitational—? Oh, come on.”

“Ever felt a real quake?” Manny asked the room.

“Northridge, ‘94,” someone offered.

“Loma Prieta,” another said.

“Those were warnings,” Manny said. “Nothing like what’s coming.”

David stood, frustrated. “You can’t say these things. You’ll cause panic.”

Manny climbed onto a low coffee table, arms spread like a preacher. “Clouds and smoke will cover the earth. Ash will choke the skies. Breathing will become—”

“Enough!” David barked. “You’re frightening people for no reason.”

Manny turned slowly, calm again. “This isn’t the end of the world. But it’s the end of the world we know.”

The crowd, now dense, hung on his words. Even the evangelists at the door had stopped handing out leaflets.

“The planet won’t hit us,” Manny said. “It’ll swing close, then pull ahead, entering the same orbit as Earth. A synchronized pass.”

“That’s not how orbits work.” David groaned. “You think they’ll just … align?”

“They’ll ‘dock,’ magnetically. When they do, Earth’s rotation slows. Water will rush toward the poles. Coastal cities—gone.”

David stepped back, hands in the air. “This is madness.”

Manny nodded toward him. “You know I’m right. The sun will seem to stand still. The stars will reverse. History repeats itself.”

Some in the crowd murmured in agreement.

David looked around, unsettled.

“Hope you’re not living north of a large body of water when it happens,” Manny said. “Gulf of America? The Mississippi Valley? Forget it.”

David shook his head, eyes on the door. “Are you done?” he asked.

“For now.” Manny stepped down. “I wouldn’t want to overwhelm you.”

Two airport security officers approached. One grabbed David’s arm.

“Hey, he’s the one making a scene!” David protested. “He’s the lunatic!”

The guard hesitated, then let go. Both men stayed to observe.

David turned back, furious. “Stop playing prophet, Manny. The sky isn’t falling.”

Manny pointed to the monitors overhead. “Yes, it is. Look.”

A silent hush fell. All heads turned to the screen.

SEATTLE: FIRE FROM THE SKY

David stared. Pebbles—glowing red—fell in dense sheets. Flames burst from rooftops. A voiceover described it as a mix of hail and fire.

The video cut to aerial footage from a news chopper. Fires everywhere.

Then, as quickly as it began, the rain of fire ceased.

David exhaled. His shoulders sagged.

“What you saw was just the beginning,” Manny said quietly at his side. “It’ll get worse. Travel will be impossible soon.” He placed a hand on David’s shoulder. “I’m going to that conference. Let me present my evidence. Historical record. Pattern after pattern.” Manny held up the briefcase.

David shrugged off his hand. “You’re not coming with me. I’m sorry I gave you a ride.”

He turned, pushing through the lingering crowd. The hush that had fallen after the news broadcast gave way to murmurs, whispers, and the flutter of paper from the evangelists.

Manny didn’t follow. When David glanced back, the old man stood still, clutching the briefcase like a relic, his expression unreadable. The red dust beyond the terminal windows swirled harder now, thick as fog.

David’s footsteps echoed as he walked back toward the main concourse. Somewhere deep inside, something cracked. He didn’t want to admit it—not yet—but a splinter of doubt had wedged itself beneath his practiced certainty.

He looked once more at the televisions. The Seattle footage looped again. Flames. Falling stones. Confusion.

Then he walked on, determined to silence that whispering doubt.