Submitted for the November 2025 prompt: Celestial Signals

I hadn't been certain before, but tonight I had proof. It was definitely getting brighter. I couldn't wait to show Phil.

 

"Honey, are you still playing with that old thing? Come inside and go to bed!"

 

That old thing was my Celestitech XQ3 Photographic, twenty years ago the top-end amateur barrel telescope and the perfect tool for my present task. I could compare images from successive sightings and, from that data, determine—

 

"Honey?"

 

She sounded irritated. "Just another minute, dear."

 

"It's a work night!"

 

Hooray. Another day of accounting in my nice neat cubicle in the nice neat office with my nice neat colleagues. I'd rather be doing this any day, despite the cold and damp, the discomfort and the—

 

"Honey?!"

 

Sigh. "Yes, dear."

 

I powered down and put on the heavy cover. It was designed for the outdoors. It'd be just fine until my next observation. Maybe I could sneak out after midnight, pretend to need the bathroom.

 

"Honey!"

 

Oops. She was mad now. "I'm coming! You wouldn't want me to leave the cover off and have to buy a new one."

 

Her reply was inaudible, but I could guess. Waste of money, waste of time. She'd come to hate outer space with a fervor approaching the religious.

 

She was in bed already when I got there, covers pulled up to her neck and a disapproving scowl on her face. Funny, I never realized just how much she looked like her mother until now. I smiled and started to say something, but she just glared and snapped the light out, leaving me to find my way in the dark.

 

"Still just a dreamer. I shoulda listened to Mother and married a real man."

 

We'd had that fight before, and there was no winning it, even though her mother had been my biggest supporter back in the day. I'd been a high-salaried rocket scientist in the heady days of exploration before the Mars Project went bust. Everyone loves a big paycheck.

 

I stumbled to the bed and got in. She'd already stolen the blanket, which is why some wise man long ago invented flannel pajamas.

 

* * *

 

There was no time to get the message sent until my break, and I didn't hear back from Phil until lunchtime. I ate at my desk so as not to miss his call.

 

"Hey, Jerry. Didn't you know astronomy is for losers now?"

 

I chuckled. "Cut it out. You sound like my wife. You saw the photos?"

 

"Yeah, and I passed them up the line. Still got a friend or two in Management. Looks like you've really got something there."

 

"I know, right? From the positioning, it seems to be in a stable orbit, a bit high for a satellite but—"

 

He cut me off. "I can't discuss this, old buddy. Office politics. You know how it is."

 

"Yeah. Yeah, I understand." I did, too. When they shut NASA down, Phil had moved over to NOAA and the government's weather satellite program. All these years later, space was still a taboo subject in his circles.

 

* * *

 

That night I got my scope programmed while I was waiting for the spaghetti water to boil. My wife didn't notice, or at least she didn't say anything about it. Either way, that's a win. I managed a perfect al dente too, which meant she had nothing left to complain about. That put her in a bad mood that lasted clear through to bedtime.

 

Whenever you win, the rules change. Marriage as a metaphor for life.

 

Ah, well. At least she had the evening news to complain about.

 

I snuck out once more while brushing my teeth. The scope was tracking the object perfectly. Tonight it was brighter still, a red disc under magnification.

 

I left the cover off on purpose. Tonight's images would be worth risking a bit of damp.

 

* * *

 

Phil called me again at lunch. He wasn't happy.

 

"You really blew things up around here, old buddy," he told me.

 

"Last night's pictures were even clearer! I got—"

 

He cut me off. "Doesn't matter. I've been officially warned off. Shouldn't even be calling you, but I need to make this crystal clear: Don't send me any more pictures."

 

"But... What happened?"

 

The disgust in his sigh was clearly audible. "You tripped over something political, is what happened. My boss's boss has been read the riot act by half of Congress this morning, and word is the shit's gonna roll downhill. I've decided to come down with a stomach bug so I can miss the fallout."

 

"Jeez, I'm sorry, man. I thought you could use this, maybe do some good."

 

"Yeah, I know." He chuckled wryly. "Guess that's not company policy these days."

 

* * *

That evening I blundered big, saying Yes, dear to a question that should have been an indignant No. She went to bed in a huff, which had the unexpected benefit of leaving me free to tend my scope. There was dew under the lens, but I had my polishing cloth.

 

While reassembling the armature, I saw the object come slowly over the horizon. It was clearly a circle, and I thought I saw some white against the red. It seemed... recognizable. Familiar, almost.

 

It was well up before I got the eyepiece adjusted. It was expanding very quickly now, and I had to lower my magnification two whole clicks.

 

I looked.

 

Then I blinked and looked again.

 

Thirty seconds later I was inside the house, dragging my protesting wife out of bed. "I'm not going outside!"

 

"You won't have to. Here, the window."

 

I pulled the blinds aside and pointed.

 

There, exactly where Orion's belt should have been, was a dime-sized red bottlecap shape with the cola's brand name clearly visible. It was the planet's first-ever orbital billboard advertisement.

 

Just goes to show. Enough donations to Congress, and the sky really is the limit.

I looked down at my wife's face, pink under the reflected light.

"How pretty!" she said.