Star Maker, Olaf Stapledon [top rated books of all time .TXT] 📗
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recuperate. Bvalitu, for his part, at least in the early days of our
partnership, was inclined to resent my power of watching his dreams. For
though, while awake, he could withdraw his thoughts from my observation,
asleep he was helpless. Naturally I very soon learned to refrain from
exercising this power; and he, on his side, as our intimacy developed
into mutual respect, no longer cherished this privacy so strictly. In
time each of us came to feel that to taste the flavor of life in
isolation from the other was to miss half its richness and subtlety.
Neither could entirely trust his own judgment or his own motives unless
the other were present to offer relentless though friendly criticism.
We hit upon a plan for satisfying at once our friendship, his interest
in my world, and my own longing for home. Why should we not somehow
contrive to visit my planet together? I had traveled thence; why should
we not both travel thither? After a spell on my planet, we could proceed
upon the larger venture, again together.
For this end we had to attack two very different tasks. The technique of
interstellar travel, which I had achieved only by accident and in a very
haphazard manner, must now be thoroughly mastered. Also we must somehow
locate my native planetary system in the astronomical maps of the Other
Men.
This geographical, or rather cosmographical, problem proved insoluble.
Do what I would, I could provide no data for the orientation. The
attempt, however, led us to an amazing, and for me a terrifying
discovery. I had traveled not only through space but through time
itself. In the first place, it appeared that, in the very advanced
astronomy of the Other Men, stars as mature as the Other Sun and as my
own Sun were rare. Yet in terrestrial astronomy this type of star was
known to be the commonest of all throughout the galaxy. How could this
be? Then I made another perplexing discovery. The galaxy as known to the
Other Astronomers proved to be strikingly different from my recollection
of the galaxy as known to our own astronomers. According to the Other
Men the great star-system was much less flattened than we observe it to
be. Our astronomers tell us that it is like a circular biscuit five
times as wide as it is thick. In their view it was more like a bun. I
myself had often been struck by the width and indefiniteness of the
Milky Way in the sky of the Other Earth. I had been surprised, too, that
the Other Astronomers believed the galaxy to contain much gaseous matter
not yet condensed into stars. To our astronomers it seemed to be almost
wholly stellar.
Had I then traveled unwittingly much further than I had supposed, and
actually entered some other and younger galaxy? Perhaps in my period of
darkness, when the rubies and amethysts and diamonds of the sky had all
vanished, I had actually sped across intergalactic space. This seemed at
first the only explanation, but certain facts forced us to discard it in
favor of one even stranger.
Comparison of the astronomy of the Other Men with my fragmentary
recollection of our own astronomy convinced me that the whole cosmos of
galaxies known to them differed from the whole cosmos of galaxies known
to us. The average form of the galaxies was much more rotund and much
more gaseous, in fact much more primitive, for them than for us.
Moreover, in the sky of the Other Earth several galaxies were so near as
to be prominent smudges of light even for the naked eye. And astronomers
had shown that many of these so-called “universes” were much closer to
the home “universe” than the nearest known in our astronomy.
The truth that now flashed on Bvalltu and me was indeed bewildering.
Everything pointed to the fact that I had somehow traveled up the river
of time and landed myself at a date in the remote past, when the great
majority of the stars were still young. The startling nearness of so
many galaxies in the astronomy of the Other Men could be explained on
the theory of the “expanding universe.” Well I knew that this dramatic
theory was but tentative and very far from satisfactory; but at least
here was one more striking bit of evidence to suggest that it must be in
some sense true. In early epochs the galaxies would of course be
congested together. There could be no doubt that I had been transported
to a world which had reached the human stage very long before my native
planet had been plucked from the sun’s womb.
The full realization of my temporal remoteness from my home reminded me
of a fact, or at least a probability, which, oddly enough, I had long
ago forgotten. Presumably I was dead. I now desperately craved to be
home again. Home was all the while so vivid, so near. Even though its
distance was to be counted in parsecs and in aeons, it was always at
hand. Surely, if I could only wake, I should find myself there on our
hilltop again. But there was no waking. Through Bvalltu’s eyes I was
studying star-maps and pages of outlandish script. When he looked up, I
saw standing opposite us a caricature of a human being, with a frog-like
face that was scarcely a face at all, and with the thorax of a
pouter-pigeon, naked save for a greenish down. Red silk knickers crowned
the spindle shanks that were enclosed in green silk stockings. This
creature, which, to the terrestrial eye, was simply a monster, passed on
the Other Earth as a young and beautiful woman. And I myself, observing
her through Bvalltu’s benevolent eyes, recognized her as indeed
beautiful. To a mind habituated to the Other Earth her features and her
every gesture spoke of intelligence and wit. Clearly, if I could admire
such a woman, I myself must have changed.
It would be tedious to tell of the experiments by which we acquired and
perfected the art of controlled flight through interstellar space.
Suffice it that, after many adventures, we learned to soar up from the
planet whenever we wished, and to direct our course, by mere acts of
volition, hither and thither among the stars. We seemed to have much
greater facility and accuracy when we worked together than when either
ventured into space by himself. Our community of mind seemed to
strengthen us even for spatial locomotion.
It was a very strange experience to find oneself in the depth of space,
surrounded only by darkness and the stars, yet to be all the while in
close personal contact with an unseen companion. As the dazzling lamps
of heaven flashed past us, we would think to one another about our
experiences, or debate our plans, or share our memories of our native
worlds. Sometimes we used my language, sometimes his. Sometimes we
needed no words at all, but merely shared the-flow of imagery in our two
minds.
The sport of disembodied flight among the stars must surely be the most
exhilarating of all athletic exercises. It was not without danger; but
its danger, as we soon discovered, was psychological, not physical. In
our bodiless state, collision with celestial objects mattered little.
Sometimes, in the early stages of our adventure, we plunged by accident
headlong into a star. Its interior would, of course, be inconceivably
hot, but we experienced merely brilliance.
The psychological dangers of the sport were grave. We soon discovered
that disheartenment, mental fatigue, fear, all tended to reduce our
powers of movement. More than once we found ourselves immobile in space,
like a derelict ship on the ocean; and such was the fear roused by this
plight that there was no possibility of moving till, having experienced
the whole gamut of despair, we passed through indifference and on into
philosophic calm.
A still graver danger, but one which trapped us only once, was mental
conflict. A serious discord of purpose over our future plans reduced us
not only to immobility but to terrifying mental disorder. Our
perceptions became confused. Hallucinations tricked us. The power of
coherent thought vanished. After a spell of delirium, filled with an
overwhelming sense of impending annihilation, we found ourselves back on
the Other Earth; Bvalltu in his own body, lying in bed as he had left
it, I once more a disembodied viewpoint floating somewhere over the
planet’s surface. Both were in a state of insane terror, from which we
took long to recover. Months passed before we renewed our partnership
and our adventure.
Long afterwards we learned the explanation of this painful incident.
Seemingly we had attained such a deep mental accord that, when conflict
arose, it was more like dissociation within a single mind than discord
between two separate individuals. Hence its serious consequences.
As our skill in disembodied flight increased, we found intense pleasure
in sweeping hither and thither among the stars. We tasted the delights
at once of skating and of flight. Time after time, for sheer joy, we
traced huge figures-of-eight in and out around the two partners of a
“double star.” Sometimes we stayed motionless for long periods to watch
at close quarters the waxing and waning of a variable. Often we plunged
into a congested cluster, and slid amonest its suns like a car gliding
among the lights of a city. Often we skimmed over billowy and palely
luminous surfaces of gas, or among feathery shreds and prominences; or
plunged into mist, to find ourselves in a world of featureless dawn
light. Sometimes, without warning, dark continents of dust engulfed us,
blotting out the universe. Once, as we were traversing a populous region
of the heaven, a star suddenly blazed into exaggerated splendor,
becoming a “nova.” As it was apparently surrounded by a cloud of
non-luminous gas, we actually saw the expanding sphere of light which
was radiated by the star’s explosion. Traveling outward at light’s
speed, it was visible by reflection from the surrounding gas, so that it
appeared like a swelling balloon of light, fading as it spread.
These were but a few of the stellar spectacles that delighted us while
we easefully skated, as on swallow wings, hither and thither among the
neighbors of the Other Sun. This was during our period of apprenticeship
to the craft of interstellar flight. When we had become proficient we
passed further afield, and learned to travel so fast that, as on my own
earlier and involuntary flight, the forward and the hinder stars took
color, and presently all was dark. Not only so, but we reached to that
more spiritual vision, also experienced on my earlier voyage, in which
these vagaries of physical light are overcome.
On one occasion our flight took us outwards toward the limits of the
galaxy, and into the emptiness beyond. For some time the near stars had
become fewer and fewer. The hinder hemisphere of sky was now crowded
with faint lights, while in front of us lay starless blackness,
unrelieved save by a few isolated patches of scintillation, a few
detached fragments of the galaxy, or planetary “sub-galaxies.” Apart
from these the dark was featureless, save for half a dozen of the vague
flecks which we knew to be the nearest of the alien galaxies.
Awed by this spectacle, we stayed long motionless in the void. It was
indeed a stirring experience to see spread out before us a whole
“universe,” containing a billion stars and perhaps thousands of
inhabited worlds; and to know that each tiny fleck in the black sky was
itself another such “universe,” and that millions more of them were
invisible only because of their extreme remoteness.
What was the
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