"Congratulations are in order, young lady."

Astrea Starr looked up from the tattered manuscript she was reading as Mr. Findlay's graying head popped around the corner.

"They're going to let us do it, all right," he smiled. "We're heading to Monticello this very afternoon, and it's only right that you come along."

He patted the frame of her office door and was off again. Mr. Findlay never stayed still for long.

Astrea exhaled, bowed her head slightly and gave silent thanks - seven months of painstaking research, careful transcription and not a little intuition had finally paid off.

Somewhere, th ghost of Benjamin Banneker smiled.

Astrea joined him. It wasn't every day you had a chance to make a major historical find. There was a time, she knew, when the only people of her color at Thomas Jefferson's home worked in Mulberry Row, the one thousand-foot-Iong industrial strip of the estate, or in the fields. That the architect of democracy could own slaves was one of the oddest inconsistencies one could imagine.

Yet he also welcomed educated blacks as friends, especially one who was, like Jefferson, Mason, mathematician, astronomer and architect - a man named Benjamin Banneker.

It was in exploring this seeming discrepancy that led Astrea to her discovery.

Given the sheer number of people who had studied the home, never mind the man, it seemed highly unlikely that Monticello still held any secrets.

And perhaps all the more unlikely that Astrea Starr should uncover one.

Her official title was Assistant to the Director of the Museum of American History, Smithsonian Institution - a lofty appellation indeed for someone who had yet to vote in her second Presidential election.

Yet Arthur Findlay saw something in her that no one, not her teachers, not even her parents, had glimpsed before.

Mr. Findlay was a judge at a competition called Odyssey of the Mind, a competition her teachers and parents had discouraged her from entering. After all, her grades were fair, but nothing to write home about; the only subject she excelled in was American History.

But Odyssey wasn't intended to measure rote memorization - it was designed to promote creativity and originality and critical thinking. The Odyssey was to traditional science fairs what quarterbacking the Redskins was to a pick-up game at recess.

Astrea spent months on her project - a detailed exploration and demonstration model on the birth of stars in the Eagle Nebula. It caught the eye of the judges and her fellow competitors alike, winning her the coveted "Ranatra Fusca" medal - first prize!

It was the first time she had actually won at anything.

Findlay saw to it that she reapplied to college - and when she had to drop out to help pay her mother's medical bills, it was Arthur Findlay who hired her as his assistant.

Astrea strove every day to make sure that Findlay's trust in her was not misplaced - but his announcement would sure make it difficult to keep her mind on her work for the rest of the morning.

"Now why would there be a dumbwaiter in that wall?"

Earl Grayson, holder of the prestigious Endicott Professorship of History at Virginia University, folded his arms and gazed questioningly at the young black woman before him.

"When Jefferson returned from Paris he tore half the house up in order to renovate it. In doing so he changed the relation of the upper to the lower stories - there was no longer any access below, so he had it sealed up."

The professor bit his pipe and grinned.

"Now, Earl." Mr. Findlay said sternly. "You signed off on this, too."

The workman thumped on the wall. "Sounds pretty solid, miss."

"It's the nogging. There's brick insulation in the floors and ceilings, too." She glanced at Mr. Findlay. "My research is good - it's in there."

Mr. Findlay turned to the woman from the Park Service. "Ms. Hayes? Shall we proceed?" She nodded her assent, and the workman began cutting.

The quartet watched quietly as the man cut along the template that Astrea had drawn. They were united by their love of history and their apprehension at seeing a hole cut in the wall of Thomas Jefferson's private study.

The workman carefully set aside the rectangle of wood and plaster, leaving an opening in the wall exactly four feet high and two feet wide. Inside the wall itself was a second wall, of brick.

Professor Grayson, the workman, and the lady from the Park Service all looked at Astrea, disappointed. Even Mr. Findlay seemed ill-at-ease.

After a moment of uncomfortable silence, the Professor spoke. "It was a good try, young lady. There's just been too much done to the house over the years."

Astrea walked slowly toward the wall. "You know Jefferson loved gadgetry. Dumbwaiters hidden in the fireplace, two-faced clocks that tell the day as well as the time, five or six pantographs to copy his letters."

She knelt on one knee, and ran her hands over the crunIbling brick. "Remember how when you walk into the parlor, pushing one door swings the other open as well?"

With a gentle shove the brick "nogging" swung back a few inches and up into the wall.

Astrea brushed the dust from her knee and smiled.

"Counterweighted chain-and-sprockets."

Mr. Findlay beamed.

The professor clapped her on the shoulder so hard she almost fell over. "Wonderful!"

Inwardly, Astrea breathed a sigh of relief. She had been nearly certain that this area of the house had been left intact since 1799, but there was always the possibility that records were inaccurate or incomplete.

Once the bricks had swung up and away, the chains for the dumbwaiter were clearly visible.

The links were large and thick, an encouraging sign. Still, there was no guarantee that anything remained hidden down below.

"Nervous?" Mr. Findlay asked softly. Astrea nodded.

Then she took a deep breath and pulled on the chains.

There was some resistance at first, and Astrea had to use all her strength to get the chains to move. With each pull the rust and debris of nearly two centuries dropped away, and the dumbwaiter picked up speed. By the time it reached the level of the study it moved with hardly any effort at all.

The quartet offered a collective, excited gasp. There on the platform were three very dusty boxes of varying sizes, and what appeared to be a long tube wrapped in cloth.

The telescope! Astrea's heart skipped a beat. Jefferson's telescope!

Only after the boxes were moved gingerly to the center of the floor did anyone relax.

The professor shook his head. "I've got to admit - when Art ran this by me I thought it was Cracked. Since when did Jefferson keep things secret?"

He extended his hand. "A marvelous piece of research - I apologize for having doubted you."

"Thank you, sir."

"1 think," Findlay said, "we should bring these back to the Castle before we open them."

He put a hand on Astrea's shoulder. "Would you give George a call? Ask him to bring the "A" truck, okay?"

The woman from the Park Service stepped forward. "I'll show you where the phone is."

Astrea was disappointed to leave, even for a moment - but she was the junior member of this little expedition. She would do well to remember that.

When the women were gone, the professor said, "Yessir, a fine piece of work."

"Let's get one thing clear, Earl." Findlay's face darkened. "This is a Smithsonian project, not Virginia's. I invited you along as a courtesy."

"Why, of course, Arthur - "

He held up his hand. "I know your reputation - and I don't mean as an expert on Jefferson."

Grayson scowled as Findlay went on.

"That young lady did a lot of work - used sources you and I wouldn't dream of. Whatever's in those boxes, it's her strike. I don't want to open a journal and see your name on top of the page."

"If you're so concerned about my 'reputation', why did you invite me along?"

"It was her idea."

"Her -?"

"She loved your History of Monticello."

Findlay paused and glanced toward the door - he could hear the two women climbing back up the stairs.

He glared at Professor Grayson.

"I never told her it wasn't all yours."

The whine of a vacuum filled the room as Astrea and Mr. Findlay pulled on thin rubber gloves and white smocks, each marked with the Smithsonian's "sun" emblem. The gloves were necessary to protect artifacts from the oils of the skin; the smocks were simply to keep their clothing clean.

Standing to one side were Grayson and Chief Archivist Ruth MacCorkindale. They were clad in similar Smithsonian smocks, though Findlay had pointedly forgotten to provide Grayson with gloves.

Astrea had never been in the Operating Room before. She had pictured the table covered with a wide variety of exotic tools - and there were a number of them - but most of them were surprisingly pedestrian: hammers, chisels, brooms, a crowbar.

The technician fInished vacuuming the dust from the colonial-era crates, nodded to Findlay, and left. For reasons that Astrea had never quite understood, it was against the rules for anyone to operate the vacuum except for a qualified technician - even though it said "Craftsman" on the side of the vacuum. .

Astrea felt a slight chill in the room, and it wasn't just the climate control system. Ruth had been less than friendly to her Astrea on her first day on the Job - and "the Cork" hadn t warmed to her since.

MacCorkindale, a slightly rotund woman with a cherubic face that belied her less-than-angelic personality, held a clipboard on which to record the contents of each box. She used a bizarre form of shorthand that she would later transcribe (and expand upon with great verbosity) to the Smithsonian's computer catalogue.

"All right, then." Findlay took out his tape measure. "Box One. Sixteen inches by ten inches by ... four. Hinged. Box is apparently made of cherry. Sealed with wax."

Astrea kept glancing over at the long bundle she believed to contain a telescope. It would certainly be no great revelation that such a learned man as Thomas Jefferson would have owned such an instrument - after all, it had been nearly two centuries since Galilee Galilei had turned his telescope toward the heavens.

But a letter from Benjamin Banneker to Jefferson, then Secretary of State, reference was made to "a device that would unlock the secrets of the heavens and the power of the stars". Unlike more common telescopes, this one supposedly sported seven lenses. Banneker offered the gift of "a new science"; Astrea's knowledge of optics wasn't particularly great, but that was an invention she would like to see.

Mr. Findlay carefully unsealed the fIrSt box.

"More letters for you to transcribe, Astrea!" he said cheerfully. "Ten, eleven, twelve sheets of writing on parchment, ink, personal correspondence ... apparently by the same hand."

Each page went into its own, loose-fitting plastic bag. Ruth then slapped on a sticker with an alphanumeric code keyed to her list.

Astrea noted that on some of the pages every line was tilted at an identical angle, usually a sure clue to a pantograph copy.

"One booklet entitled Pennsylvania, Delaware, Maryland and Virginia Almanac and Ephemeria, dated 1791. You were expecting that, weren't you?"

Astrea smiled.

"Six, seven more sheets of writing on parchment, ink, apparently by the same hand, but not the same hand as the first bundle." He looked up at Ruth. "Did that make sense?"

"Perfectly." Ruth bristled.

"Bundle number one. Canvas cloth encasing ... a telescope. Intact." He looked helplessly at Astrea - she was the one with an interest in astronomy.

"Three-inch reflector," Astrea noted, trying hard to mask her disappointment. It was still Thomas Jefferson's own telescope, an antique close to two hundred years old, and in fine shape. It just wasn't what the correspondence between Banneker and Jefferson had led her to believe.

Odd - it wasn't like either man to use such hyperbole.

"Box two. Fifteen by fifteen by twelve. Crate fastened by iron nails. Wood is oak - Maryland oak. Hand me that crowbar there, Astrea." He turned quickly to Ruth. "That last part doesn't -"

Ruth sighed. "I know."

"One brass lantern, one ... trowel? Also brass, both with cherry handle. One ... what is this, mercury? One level with unknown liquid. And one cloth ... it appears to be an apron."

Ruth looked up from her copious scribbling. "Come again? An apron?"

Mr. Findlay held up what did appear to be a workman's apron - but one decorated with tassels and gold braid, and embroidered with many peculiar designs.

"One apron. Decorated."

He looked from Astrea to Ruth to the Professor Grayson.

The professor momentarily looked as if he had swallowed a persimmon.

Ruth held the frame of her glasses and squinted. "Jefferson was - you know - that way?"

Mr. Findlay sighed.

Astrea stifled a laugh, unsure if her superior was joking or not - though she couldn't recall ever hearing Ruth tell a joke. Astrea recognized the item as a Freemason's apron - she had seen engravings in which men wore similar garments and she knew that Jefferson had been a Mason.

Surely Professor Grayson had to know that. Why then, Andrea wondered, the odd reaction?

"Let's put that one aside for now," Findlay said. "Box three."

Out came the tape.

"Twenty-five by... twenty-five by ... twenty five. Exactly. Cherry, reinforced with brass. Double key lock. No ... key."

"So we can't get it open," Astrea said.

"Oh, no no no. We could just fill it with wax or THERMNAME, let it harden, make a some keys, hope they work..."

He slid the tray closer and poked among the tools.

"Or - " he held up some kind of multi-pronged pick, "we do a little Cary Grant."

Astrea and Ruth looked at each other.

"It Takes A Thief."

"You, uh, sure that was Cary Grant, Art?" said Grayson, leaning over his shoulder.

Findlay didn't answer. He jostled his instrument a bit more until there was an audible click, then chose a smaller probe from the tray.

"Don't look so surprised, Astrea. Waiting for molds to be made requires a bit more patience than I can muster... "

"And" added Grayson, "he did run with the M Street Boys."

Better company, thought Findlay, that some you keep.

There was a satisfying click, and Findlay carefully opened the box.

"One leather portfolio, containing ... nineteen, twenty pages ink on parchment. Some kind of... ?"

"It's a map, Mr. Findlay!" Astrea said excitedly. "A map of the stars!"

"Hmm. And these?"

Over the past few years, Astrea had done enough transcriptions to become quite fluent in "Colonial English". Two words jumped off the page at her - "new science".

"I think it's an astrological treatise of some kind."

"You mean 'astronomical'," Ruth corrected.

"No." Astrea looked up. "I don't."

"Well, we'll get copies to you soon as we check for photosensitivity. This looks right up your alley."

He placed the portfolio aside. "Hmm, rags of various colors, apparently used as packing ... seven. And one ... oof ... very big ... "

He put a large, thick glass platter down on the table.

"Thing."

Astrea drummed her fingers on her desk as she paged through photocopies of the material from Monticello. She didn't need to actually read any of the papers to recognize the handwriting - she had read both Jefferson and Banneker often enough.

It was at this desk, while transcribing and cataloguing a small cache of Jefferson's letters (pantograph copies, more accurately) that she had discovered a letter praising Banneker's "splendid almanac of the heavens". She had a keen interest in astronomy, and knew most of the major players, but this man's name was new to her.

Astrea had found it curious that she had not heard of him before, not in the history texts at school, nor in her treasured astronomy books. Yet Jefferson evidently thought quite highly of bim.

Curious, as much about this almanac as about the man, Astrea decided to look him up - and was surprised to learn that he, too, was black. Considering Jefferson owned well over two hundred slaves, this put a whole new spin on their relationship.

Everything you would want to know about Jefferson was readily obtainable, but information about Banneker could be found only in snippets that required some doing to find. And the more Astrea searched, the more she read, the more Astrea felt a special kinship with 'The Man Who Loved the Stars".

Benjamin Banneker was one of the unsung geniuses of Revolutionary America - a self-taught inventor, mathematician, and astronomer. That he remained largely unknown was likely more the result of his race than of his accomplishments.

As a young man, he invented one of the first clocks in the colonies, a clock that kept perfect time until his death. In his prime he published at least six almanacs, filled with tides, eclipses and other astrononncal information he had calculated. And in his waning years he wrote introspective essays on the evils of slavery and corresponded with major political figures regarding African-American rights.

Perhaps his most lasting contribution was to the city of Washington itself.

He served as assistant to Pierre L'Enfant, the fiery French architect who was hired to design the layout of the Capitol. When L'Enfant grew exasperated the young government, and it with him, he returned to France, taking with him the plans to me uncompleted city. It was Banneker who, at the behest of Thomas Jefferson, recreated those plans from memory.

His almanacs showed remarkable insight for a man living in the late eighteenth century - all the more amazing considering he had not completed eighth grade.

Given Astrea's academic struggles, she found that especially encouraging.

Now she had access to the very first of Banneker's almanacs, the telescope he had built for Jefferson, and even more of the letters they had exchanged. To think she was getting paid for this!

So far, none of the letters she had skimmed made reference to the strange object that now lay on her desk.

Maybe it was some strange Masonic relic. Freemasonry, she knew, generally used builders' tools as symbols to teach moral truths - though how this would fit in was anybody's guess.

The object, whatever it was, fascinated her.

It seemed to be made of crystal; certainly the heft was about right.

There were seven concentric, translucent rings, set one inside the other; each ring was about half an inch thick. The center circle was rounded slightly on each side, so that if viewed on edge the center extended a good quarter-inch past, on each side, the plane of the rings.

The rings, and the center circle, were separated from each other by thin layers of silvery-white metal, metal that had not lost its luster in centuries.

Barely visible under the harsh lights were the odd markings in the rings themselves, patterns immediately familiar to Astrea. They were some kind of stellar cartography; admittedly the exact patterns were unlike anything she had seen during a short lifetime of studying the skies.

Astrea's vision began to blur. She stretched and glanced at the clock over the door - she had been staring at the find for hours. She hadn't even noticed when the last rays of sunlight vanished outside her window.

What with the drive to Virginia and the excitement of the afternoon's discoveries, it had been a very long day. She sighed and turned off the light - there would be time enough in the days ahead to examine the day's treasures.

She started for the door, then stopped.

In the darkness, the patterns in the mysterious object were much easier to see. In fact, they seemed to glow faintly in the dim light.

Astrea slid the jacket off her shoulders and carefully picked up the weird artifact. No doubt about it now - those were definitely stars. But such an odd arrangement... in seven rings...

"Heavens," she sighed. She flopped back into her chair and closed her eyes. A moment later she bolted upright, eyes wide open.

"Heavens", exactly!

In Ptolemaic cosmology, the space surrounding the earth was divided into seven concentric circles - or heavens!

Excitedly, she held the artifact at arm's length, clutched in both hands. Benjamin Banneker had claimed he had discovered a key to the cosmos. This could be it!

For long seconds she stood staring into the intricate patterns inside the crystal, scarcely daring to breathe. Only then did she realize that the artifact was now warm to the touch.

Then, the outer ring ... moved.

It moved!

The metal, the silvery-white metal between each crystal ring, was solid no longer! The heavy crystal ring had glided smoothly over the now viscous metal.

Nearly giddy with exhilaration, Astrea gingerly moved the outer ring a few inches clockwise, until constellations in both rings appeared to be in proper relation to each other. Then she slowly rotated the next ring until it was aligned with its fellows.

She was beginning to see the pattern. She had to force herself to think not in terms of what she knew, modern astronomy, but in terms of how men many centuries dead viewed the heavenS.

When two rings were aligned properly, meaningless marks came together to form phrases, written in minuscule script. The words seemed to form in front of her eyes, and as she turned the rings she read them to herself.

As if a daze, Astrea rotated each ring in turn. And each time a ring was aligned with its fellow, the markings seemed to become slightly brighter.

But as she turned the seven aligned rings into position around the center circle, the markings suddenly became dazzlingly bright. For a moment streams of light appeared to pour in through the window and into the strange device - then there was a flash of silvery-white light and a dull booming, like a thunderclap. Astrea was thrown to the floor!

She lay on her back and blinked, momentarily blinded by the flash. Even dazed, she was aware that she felt... different.

She was no longer tired, but energetic and strong - like she felt when she got up after sleeping late on Saturdays. Her clothes didn't seem to fit - her floppy wool sweater no longer felt quite so voluminous, but her skirt was now loose around her waist.

Dimly she heard a voice call "Astrea?"

"Astrea," she mumbled.

Again there was a flash, though this time it seemed centered on her chest, flashing out to envelop her in silvery-whlte light.

She was standing in the darkened room, rubbing her eyes, when Ruth walked through the door.

"Astrea, are you still here?"

"I was just leaving. Guess I got kind of caught up in those letters ... "

"Huh. Well, you certainly had good luck today."

Astrea thought she detected an emphasis on "luck", but she decided to give Ruth the benefit of the doubt.

She pulled on her coat. "We did find some nice items."

"Like that apron?" Ruth smiled triumphantly. "It's used in some kind of WORD by the Masons!"

"Ohh. So that's what it is ... "

Astrea followed her out and shut the door.

What neither woman noticed, lying on the floor of the darkened room, was the odd crystalline device - in pieces. The rings and centerpiece lay in a lifeless jumble, and the silver metal that had once separated them was nowhere to be seen.

ign="justify">By the time the bus dropped Astrea off near her home, it was going on ten.

She had been puzzling over that business with the crystal gizmo and the odd flashes of light.

She was very tired - no doubt her imagination was running away with her.

Astrea had been giving serious consideration to getting some sleep, but all thoughts of rest vanished when she took off her sweater.

Her blouse was missing several buttons, and the seams at the yoke and shoulder were separated.

Something had happened, all right.

She began flipping madly through the pages of notes she had piled on a card table in her bedroom. What was that verse about calling on the power of the stars? She had assumed it was meant metaphorically, like those overly-wordy poems in Mrs. Haveshaw's class, but given all that had happened today ...

When Astrea looked up it was as the bells of the National Cathedral chimed a dozen times.

She closed her notebook and placed it on the pile of loose papers.

This "new science" of Banneker's sounded more and more like some kind of magic, but what little info she could find reminded her of Passages in the Bible. If one called on this "power of the stars" he would "gain their strength, and no harm shall come to hilll from sword or beast". And, in order to use this power, one purportedly had to be "pure of heart, strong of faith, noble of purpose".

She stood in her room, feet apart, and extended her arms out to her sides. This, she assumed, was "taking the form of a star" - she hadn't a clue as to how else she was going to do that.

And as Astrea concentrated, a five-pointed star of silvery light appeared on her chest, then almost instantly expanded to engulf her entire body.

Astrea blinked away the dots in front of her eyes. She felt as she did before - stronger, more powerful.

Impulsively she grabbed hold of her father's old easy chair - and lifted it off the ground as easily as if she had picked up a box of cereal. She stared at the tattered recliner in her hand.

It worked.

Sweet heaven, it worked!

This was... terrific! Incredible!

No, this was awful!

Think how people would react.

The minute she used this ... power, Astrea Starr would be on display - a scientific curiosity, a freak, prodded and poked and studied. Any chance of a nice private life, for herself and her family, would be gone forever.

Dejected, she put down the chair and dropped into it.

She liked the life she had. There had to be some way she could use this gift without ruining her life.

And without ruining her clothes, she thought, looking at the torn shoulders of her blouse. She definitely needed something with more give, like her old gymnastics costume...

Costume...

As in disguise.

What if no one knew it was her?

What if she created a sort of alternate identity, an alter ego of sorts - at least until she discovered the full extent of this power she evidently now wielded?

The more Astrea thought of this idea, the better she liked it.

Think of all the good she could do!

And should problems arise, she could stop anytime simply by not donning that disguise.

Astrea started sketching in the back of her notebook. If she was going to wear a disguise, it should be one that lets the public - and the police - know that she's on their side, and not some sort of outlaw.

Folks tend to react poorly to people in masks - maybe she could get away without one; after all, she was bigger and more muscular in this form.

She held her crude drawings at arm's length. A flag motif - that would work.

She just needed to come up with a name to go with it. .

Astrea smiled.

After all that had happened today, she couldn't wait to see what tomorrow would bring.