Free Old Earth by Gary Grossman

Greenland and North America.”
    “Very good. Next answer—three isotopes of lead that are contained in meteorite samples.”
    “I know,” shouted Leslie Cohen. “What’s the best measure for determining Earth’s age?”
    “Take it further, Ms. Cohen.”
    “Well, the baseline comes from critical estimates of when common pool matter was formed and then uniformly distributed in the solar system. Over eons, pronounced changes in the isotopes occurred. Computing these changes against the uranium-to-lead ratio gives us the ability to determine how much time has passed since galactic pool matter became separated.”
    Cohen stuck her tongue out at her boyfriend. The others laughed.
    “Very, very good. Double Jeopardy, where everything doubles. Are you ready?”
    “Yes, Dr. McCauley,” said Tamburro.
    “Yes, doctor,” smirked Chohany.
    “The answer is, They think you’re crazy !”
    “Got it!” Six of the seven yelled in unison. Rodriguez was trying to figure it out.
    McCauley held up his hands, not certain whom to go to. “Looks like a tie, so, ladies first.”
    “Ms. Cohen?”
    “Easy. Young Earthers.”
    “Incorrectly stated.”
    “Who are Young Earthers?” Al Jaffe said.
    The group laughed.
    “No laughing gang. They’re serious about their beliefs, so no editorializing for now.”
    “I’ll do my best,” Jaffe offered. “Well, according to them, smarty pants scientists…”
    “Snarky.”
    “Sorry, Dr. McCauley. Many scientists maintain that Earth, as a whole, has to be as old as any of its parts. If we were to light birthday candles, we’d have about 4.55 billion, about the same number, give or take 1%, we’d place on the solar system’s cake. But Young Earthers or Ultra-Creationists base their beliefs in strict biblical interpretations and by the rate at which rivers deposit metals into the oceans. They claim that the true age of the oceans and therefore Earth is merely, I don’t know, more or less six or seven thousand years.”
    “Theology over geology?” McCauley asked. “Isn’t there room for both?”
    “Science demands strict testing. Religion requires strict beliefs,” Jaffe continued taking the middle of the road.
    “And we’ll never be able to resolve the interpretation of the word day, ” Lobel said. “Twenty-four hours or eons?”
    “It’s not open to interpretation,” Cohen shot back.
    “Then how come this debate doesn’t go away?” McCauley proposed. The professor encouraged the argument and recognized that they would no more solve the question now than anyone on a college campus or church pulpit had before.
    Trent said, “It’s all part of a political agenda.” He was showing his stripes. “Lots of different kinds of politics. Government, the church, even academia. They’re singing the chorus led by others. And who knows who else is out there in the shadows pulling strings?”
    McCauley had the distinct impression that Chohany suddenly broke her eye contact.

Thirteen
    OCTOBER 1, 1632
FIRENZE, ITALY
    “Galileo Galilei?” the priest asked barely able to hide his nervousness in the home of the famed scientist.
    The sixty-eight-year-old Galileo was unmistakable as he stooped before the priest in the anteroom. His twisted white beard flowed to collar length. A receding hairline pushed almost halfway back across his scalp. Galileo wore loose fitting pants and a thick, gray shirt with a ruffled, dirty-white collar that was pulled up over his neck to keep him warm. He looked old and certainly in ill health, but it was the scientist’s piercing brownish black eyes that warned the priest to measure his words carefully.
    “Yes, and what is the occasion of your unscheduled visit?”
    “By order of his Eminence, Pope Urban VIII, you are hereby ordered to present yourself to the Supreme Sacred Congregation of the Roman and Universal Inquisition at the Holy Office.”
    “With what authority do you present such contrivance?” Galileo defiantly demanded.
    “I am the