“Can your statistics unburn my pizza?” Georgie asked, fanning the smoke detector with a National Geographic .

Sheldon ignored him. He retrieved a flashlight, a notebook, and his most prized possession: a small, illegally modified Geiger counter he’d built from a ham radio kit. “We have an opportunity,” he said. “The night sky, unspoiled by light pollution. I’ve calculated that a true dark-sky event occurs once every 3.7 years in zip code 75901.”

Mary fumbled for candles. George grumbled about the fuse box. And Sheldon? Sheldon stood absolutely still in the living room, eyes wide, processing the sudden absence of electromagnetic radiation.