Science is basically an inoculation against charlatans.

Host: The observatory stood like a lonely cathedral beneath the night sky, its great silver dome half-open to the stars. The air was sharp, cold, and quiet — the kind of silence that hums with thought. Inside, the faint buzz of the telescope’s gears turning was the only sign of life.

The room smelled faintly of metal, paper, and dust — the perfume of centuries-old curiosity. Through the wide observation window, a wash of starlight spilled over the floor, touching the edge of a cluttered desk, where old notebooks, glowing screens, and coffee rings blurred together in academic chaos.

Jack leaned against the railing, his grey eyes fixed on the constellation charts glowing on the console. His voice was calm, but edged with that dry skepticism that always followed him.

Jeeny, seated near the telescope’s eyepiece, traced her finger over a glass lens, her dark eyes catching the faint reflection of infinity.

Pinned on the board beside them was a quote written in thick black ink, illuminated faintly by the soft blue of the screen:

“Science is basically an inoculation against charlatans.”
— Neil deGrasse Tyson

Jack: (quietly) “An inoculation, huh? I like that. A shot of reason to ward off infection by fools.”

Jeeny: (smiling) “And yet, you still don’t believe in vaccines of the mind.”

Jack: (shrugs) “Because no one wants them. You can’t vaccinate people against what they want to believe.”

Jeeny: “That’s not what science is for, Jack. It’s not about changing what people believe — it’s about showing what is, regardless of what they want.”

Jack: “And yet half the world still thinks the Earth is flat. We’ve mapped the stars, walked on the moon, and somehow we still fall for astrology apps.”

Jeeny: “Because facts don’t fight feelings. But science — real science — doesn’t argue. It just waits. Like gravity. Like truth.”

Jack: (smirks) “You make it sound patient. I think it’s exhausted.”

Host: The lights flickered, then steadied. Outside, the stars burned brighter against the darkness, each one an ancient witness to the human struggle for understanding.

Jeeny adjusted the telescope slightly, her face illuminated by a distant sun that had died a billion years ago.

Jeeny: “You know what Tyson meant, right? Science doesn’t protect us from charlatans because it’s moral. It protects us because it teaches us to ask — to doubt, to test, to measure.”

Jack: “Maybe. But what happens when the charlatans wear lab coats? When they use the same tools — data, statistics, polished graphs — but twist them just enough to sell a lie?”

Jeeny: “Then we test again. And again. That’s the inoculation — not blind faith in experts, but constant skepticism.”

Jack: “Funny. That’s what makes me sound cynical when I say it.”

Jeeny: “Because you use skepticism as a sword. Science uses it as a compass.”

Host: A faint gust of wind slipped through the crack in the dome, whispering through the silence. Somewhere far below, the world was still noisy — opinions buzzing, feeds updating, headlines arguing. But here, in the temple of the stars, truth moved slower, quieter, like light crossing impossible distances.

Jack’s voice lowered, thoughtful now.

Jack: “Do you ever get tired of defending science? Of reminding people that it’s not a religion, not a god?”

Jeeny: “No. Because it’s one of the few things we’ve built that admits when it’s wrong. That’s not weakness — that’s integrity.”

Jack: “But most people don’t want integrity. They want certainty. That’s what the charlatans sell — answers without the burden of evidence.”

Jeeny: “And that’s why science is the antidote. It doesn’t promise comfort. It promises clarity — even when the truth hurts.”

Jack: “You sound like you worship it.”

Jeeny: (softly) “I don’t worship science. I respect it. Worship is blind. Science is sight.”

Host: The stars shifted above them, the dome rotating slowly with mechanical grace. The light caught in Jeeny’s hair, glinting like dark water under starlight. Jack stood by the console, arms folded, lost in a long silence that felt less like defiance and more like contemplation.

Then, finally —

Jack: “You know what I hate? The way people treat science like it’s a menu. They pick the parts they like — the medicine, the Wi-Fi — and ignore the parts that make them uncomfortable.”

Jeeny: “That’s not new. People have always wanted miracles without discipline.”

Jack: “Maybe that’s why charlatans thrive — they sell the shortcut to wonder. The illusion of knowledge without the work.”

Jeeny: “And science demands work. It demands humility. That’s why it scares people — it strips away magic and leaves only truth.”

Jack: “But isn’t there magic in truth?”

Jeeny: (smiling) “Exactly. The kind that doesn’t need tricks to survive.”

Host: The telescope adjusted again, settling into position. Jeeny bent forward, her breath fogging the lens for a moment before clearing — a tiny, human imperfection in a universe of cold precision.

Jack watched her, then looked toward the endless dark outside.

Jack: “You know, maybe Tyson was wrong about one thing.”

Jeeny: “Oh?”

Jack: “Science isn’t an inoculation against charlatans. It’s the reason they exist. Every time we push the boundary of knowledge, someone shows up pretending to sell the next leap.”

Jeeny: “Then maybe that’s proof we’re doing something right. You don’t get parasites without life.”

Jack: (laughs softly) “That’s... disgustingly poetic.”

Jeeny: “So is evolution.”

Host: The laughter faded, replaced by a gentle quiet that filled the observatory like oxygen. Outside, a single meteor traced a silver line across the black expanse — fleeting, beautiful, indifferent.

Jeeny looked up from the telescope, her eyes wide, luminous.

Jeeny: “You see that? That’s science, Jack. Not equations or data — just wonder that doesn’t need a lie to exist.”

Jack: “And faith without superstition.”

Jeeny: “Yes. Faith in the idea that truth, no matter how small, is worth finding.”

Host: The dome began to close, the motor’s hum blending with the soft murmur of rain returning outside. The stars disappeared, but their memory lingered, painted in the afterimage of two pairs of eyes.

Jack switched off the monitor, plunging the room into a soft half-darkness.

Jack: (quietly) “So... science as an inoculation.”

Jeeny: “Yes.”

Jack: “Then what’s the booster shot?”

Jeeny: “Curiosity.”

Host: The rain thickened, whispering against the glass. A distant rumble of thunder echoed like the heartbeat of something ancient and enduring.

The two of them stood in silence — not the silence of ignorance, but the silence of understanding, the pause between discovery and reverence.

And as the last light blinked out, Tyson’s words seemed to linger in the air like an incantation of reason:

That science, in all its imperfect beauty,
is humanity’s armor against deception —
not because it never errs,
but because it dares to admit when it does.

The storm passed,
the night breathed,
and beneath the quiet,
truth — patient, luminous, unyielding —
kept watching the stars.