Sphere

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During the preparation of this manuscript, I received help and encouragement from Caroline Conley, Kurt Villadsen, Lisa Plonsker, Valery Pine, Anne-Marie Martin, John Deubert, Lynn Nesbit, and Bob Gottlieb. I am grateful to them all.

For a long time the horizon had been a monotonous flat blue line separating the Pacific Ocean from the sky. The Navy helicopter raced forward, flying low, near the waves. Despite the noise and the thumping vibration of the blades, Norman Johnson fell asleep. He was tired; he had been traveling on various military aircraft for more than fourteen hours. It was not the kind of thing a fifty-three-year-old professor of psychology was used to.

He had no idea how long he slept. When he awoke, he saw that the horizon was still flat; there were white semicircles of coral atolls ahead. He said over the intercom, “What’s this?”

“Islands of Ninihina and Tafahi,” the pilot said. “Technically part of Tonga, but they’re uninhabited. Good sleep?”

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