Star Maker, Olaf Stapledon [top rated books of all time .TXT] 📗

had

been dominated by the culture of the Symbiotics, which had developed in

the exceptionally happy sub-galaxy. In spite of the horrors of the

imperial age, ours was therefore a culture having a certain blandness

which made telepathic intercourse with more tragic galaxies difficult to

establish. Further, the detail of basic concepts and values accepted by

our own galactic society was also largely a development of the marine

culture that had dominated the sub-galaxy. Though the “continental”

population of worlds was mainly humanesque, its native cultures had been

profoundly influenced by the oceanic mentality. And since this oceanic

mental texture was rare amongst galactic societies, our galaxy was

rather more isolated than most.

 

After long and patient work, however, our galactic society succeeded in

forming a fairly complete survey of the cosmical population of galaxies.

It was discovered that at this time the many galaxies were in many

stages of mental, as of physical, development. Many very young systems,

in which nebular matter still predominated over stars, contained as yet

no planets. In others, though already there was a sprinkling of the

vital grains, life had nowhere reached the human level. Some galaxies,

though physically mature, were wholly barren of planetary systems,

either through sheer accident or by reason of the exceptionally sparse

distribution of their stars. In several, out of the millions of

galaxies, a single intelligent world had spread its race and its culture

throughout the galaxy, organizing the whole as an egg’s germ organizes

into itself the whole substance of the egg. In these galaxies, very

naturally, the galactic culture had been based on the assumption that

from the one single germ the whole cosmos was to be peopled. When

telepathic intercourse with other galaxies was at last stumbled upon,

its effect was at first utterly bewildering. There were not a few

galaxies in which two or more such germs had developed independently and

finally come into contact. Sometimes the result was symbiosis, sometimes

endless strife or even mutual destruction. By far the commonest type of

of galactic society was that in which many systems of worlds had

developed independently, come into conflict, slaughtered one another,

produced vast federations and empires, plunged again and again into

social chaos, and struggled between whiles haltingly toward galactic

Utopia. A few had already attained that goal, though seared with

bitterness. More were still floundering. Many were so undermined by war

that there seemed little prospect of recovery. To such a type our own

galaxy would have belonged had it not been for the good fortune of the

Symbiotics.

 

To this account of the galactic survey two points should be added.

First, there were certain very advanced galactic societies which had

been telepathic spectators of all history in our own and all other

galaxies. Secondly, in not a few galaxies the stars had recently begun

unexpectedly exploding and destroying their girdles of worlds.

 

2. DISASTER IN OUR GALAXY

 

While our Galactic Society of Worlds was perfecting its telepathic

vision, and at the same time improving its own social and material

structure, the unexpected disasters which we had already observed from

afar forced it to attend strictly to the task of preserving the lives of

its constituent worlds.

 

The occasion of the first accident was an attempt to detach a star from

its natural course and direct it upon an intergalactic voyage.

Telepathic intercourse with the nearest of the foreign galaxies was

fairly reliable, but, as I have said, it had been decided that a

physical exchange of worlds would be invaluable for mutual understanding

and cooperation. Plans were therefore made for projecting several stars

with their attendant systems of worlds across the vast ocean of space

that separated the two floating islets of civilization. The voyage would

of course be thousands of times longer than anything hitherto attempted.

At its completion many more of the stars in each galaxy would already

have ceased to shine, and the end of all life in the cosmos would

already be in sight. Yet it was felt that the enterprise of linking

galaxy with galaxy throughout the cosmos in this manner would be well

justified by the great increase of mutual insight which it would produce

in the galaxies in the last and most difficult phase of cosmical life.

 

After prodigies of experiment and calculation the first attempt at

intergalactic voyaging was undertaken. A certain star, barren of

planets, was used as a reservoir of energy, both normal and subatomic.

By cunning devices far beyond my comprehension this fund of power was

directed upon a chosen star with planetary girdles in such a way as to

sway it gradually in the direction of the foreign galaxy. The task of

securing that its planets should remain in their true orbits during this

operation, and during the subsequent acceleration of their sun, was very

delicate, but was accomplished without the destruction of more than a

dozen worlds. Unfortunately, just as the star was correctly aimed and

was beginning to gather speed, it exploded. A sphere of incandescent

material, expanding from the sun with incredible speed, swallowed up and

destroyed every girdle of planets. The star then subsided.

 

Throughout the history of the galaxy such sudden effulgence and

quiescence of a star had been a very common occurrence. It was known to

consist of an explosion of subatomic energy from the star’s superficial

layers. This was caused sometimes by the impact of some small wandering

body, often no bigger than an asteroid; sometimes by factors in the

star’s own physical evolution. In either case the Galactic Society of

Worlds could predict the event with great accuracy and take steps either

to divert the intruding body or to remove the threatened world-system

out of harm’s way. But this particular disaster was entirely unforeseen.

No cause could be assigned to it. It infringed the established laws of

physics.

 

While the Society of Worlds was trying to understand what had happened,

another star exploded. This was the sun of one of the leading

world-systems. Attempts had recently been made to increase this star’s

output of radiation, and it was thought that the disaster must have been

due to these experiments. After a while another and yet other stars

exploded, destroying all their worlds. In several cases attempts had

recently been made either to alter the star’s course or tap its stored

energy.

 

The trouble spread. System after system of worlds was destroyed. All

tampering with stars had now been abandoned, yet the epidemic of “novae”

continued, even increased. In every case the exploding star was a sun

with a planetary system.

 

The normal “nova” phase, the explosion caused not by collision but by

internal forces, was known to occur only in a star’s youth or early

maturity, and seldom, if ever, more often than once in each star’s

career. In this late phase of the galaxy far more stars had passed the

natural “nova” stage than not. It would be possible, therefore, to move

whole systems of worlds from the dangerous younger stars and settle them

in close orbits round the older luminaries. With immense expense of

energy this operation was several times performed. Heroic plans were

made for the transformation of the whole galactic society by migration

to the safe stars, and the euthanasia of the excess population of worlds

that could not be thus accommodated.

 

While this plan was being carried out it was defeated by a new series of

disasters. Stars that had already exploded developed a power of

exploding again and again whenever they were girdled with planets.

Moreover, yet another kind of disaster now began to occur. Very aged

stars, which had long since passed the period when explosion was

possible, began to behave in an astounding manner. A plume of

incandescent substance would issue from the photosphere, and this, as

the star revolved, would sweep outwards as a trailing whirl. Sometimes

this fiery proboscis calcined the surface of every planet in every

orbit, killing all its life. Sometimes, if the sweep of the proboscis

was not quite in the plane of the planetary orbits, a number of planets

escaped. But in many cases in which the destruction was not at first

complete the proboscis gradually brought itself more accurately into the

planetary plane and destroyed the remaining worlds.

 

It soon became clear that, if the two kinds of stellar activity remained

unchecked, civilization would be undermined and perhaps life

exterminated throughout the galaxy. Astronomical knowledge provided no

clue whatever to the problem. The theory of stellar evolutions had

seemed perfect, but it had no place for these singular events. Meanwhile

the Society of Worlds had set about the task of artificially exploding

all stars that had not yet spontaneously passed through the “nova”

phase. It was hoped thus to render them comparatively safe, and then to

use them once more as suns. But now that all kinds of stars had become

equally dangerous, this work was abandoned. Instead, arrangements were

made to procure the radiation necessary to life from the stars that had

ceased to shine. Controlled disintegration of their atoms would turn

them into satisfactory suns, at least for a while. Unfortunately the

epidemic of fiery plumes was increasing rapidly. System by system, the

living worlds were being swept out of existence. Desperate research hit

at last on a method of diverting the fiery tentacle away from the plane

of the ecliptic. This process was far from reliable. Moreover, if it

succeeded, the sun would sooner or later project another filament.

 

The state of the galaxy was being very rapidly changed. Hitherto there

had been an incalculable wealth of stellar energy, but this energy was

now being shed like rain from a thunder-cloud. Though a single explosion

did not seriously affect the vigor of a star, repetitions became more

exhausting as they increased in number. Many young stars had been

reduced to decrepitude. The great majority of the stellar population had

now passed their prime; multitudes were mere glowing coals or lightless

ash. The minded worlds, also, were much reduced in number, for in spite

of all ingenious measures of defense, casualties were still heavy. This

reduction of the population of the worlds was the more serious because

in its prime the Galactic Society of Worlds had been so highly

organized. In some ways it was less like a society than a brain. The

disaster had almost blotted out certain higher “brain-centers” and

greatly reduced the vitality of all. It had also seriously impaired

telepathic intercourse between the systems of worlds by forcing each

system to concentrate on its own urgent physical problem of defense

against the attacks of its own sun. The communal mind of the Society of

Worlds now ceased to operate.

 

The emotional attitude of the worlds had also changed. The fervor for

the establishment of cosmical Utopia had vanished, and with it the

fervor for the completion of the spirit’s adventure by the fulfilment of

knowledge and creative capacity. Now that extermination seemed

inevitable within a comparatively short time, there was an increasing

will to meet fate with religious peace. The desire to realize the far

cosmcal goal, formerly the supreme motive of all awakened worlds, now

seemed to be extravagant, even impious. How should the little creatures,

the awakened worlds, reach out to knowledge of the whole cosmos, and of

the divine. Instead they must play their own part in the drama, and

appreciate their own tragic end with godlike detachment and relish.

 

This mood of exultant resignation, appropriate to unavoidable disaster,

quickly changed under the influence of a new discovery. In certain

quarters there had long been a suspicion that the irregular activity of

the stars was not merely automatic but purposeful, in fact that the

stars were alive, and were striving to rid themselves of the pest of

planets. This possibility had at first seemed too fantastic; but it

gradually became obvious