Dave spent his time at the compact reflector, peering into his frequently changed eyepieces and setting up one photograph after another. The instrument was his own design, with a revolving optical flat tempered for space temperature that could be suspended out from the ship and rotated, effecting nearly a 270-degree field for the telescope.
"Take a look," Dave said. At the time, he thought there had been a slight edge to the astrogator's voice.
"Don't tell me you brought me up here again to admire colors in another variable," he had grumbled.
"You won't admire this a bit," Dave replied.
"Where're we looking?" he asked, slipping into the seat behind the eyepiece assembly.
"Space," Dave murmured. He was sighting in the finder and made azimuth adjustments.
When the field slid to rest Hiller viewed once more the gripping vastness of black wantonly perforated with intensely glaring stars. It was impossible to study the closer ones; their brightness and energy coursed pain along his optic nerve. Rather, he let his gaze wander over the distant sprinkling of light that marked milestones toward infinity.
"Notice that hazy part in the upper field," Dave was saying.
He found it, a faint stellar gauze wisping before the stars. It appeared to be moving. But that kind of rapid movement was out of the question; it would have to be too close.
"Now, I'm tripling the power," the astrogator informed him.