Star Maker, Olaf Stapledon [top rated books of all time .TXT] 📗
- Author: Olaf Stapledon
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comprehension.
To return to my story. How long I spent in debate with myself I do not
know, but soon after I had made my decision, the absolute darkness was
pierced once more by the stars. I was apparently at rest, for stars were
visible in every direction, and their color was normal.
But a mysterious change had come over me. I soon discovered that, by
merely willing to approach a star, I could set myself in motion toward
it, and at such a speed that I must have traveled much faster than
normal light. This, as I knew very well, was physically impossible.
Scientists had assured me that motion faster than the speed of light was
meaningless. I inferred that my motion must therefore be in some manner
a mental, not a physical phenomenon, that I was enabled to take up
successive viewpoints without physical means of locomotion. It seemed to
me evident, too, that the light with which the stars were now revealed
to me was not normal, physical light; for I noticed that my new and
expeditious means of travel took no effect upon the visible colors of
the stars. However fast I moved, they retained their diamond hues,
though all were somewhat brighter and more tinted than in normal vision.
No sooner had I made sure of my new power of locomotion than I began
feverishly to use it. I told myself that I was embarking on a voyage of
astronomical and metaphysical research; but already my craving for the
Earth was distorting my purpose. It turned my attention unduly toward
the search for planets, and especially for planets of the terrestrial
type.
At random I directed my course toward one of the brighter of the near
stars. So rapid was my advance that certain lesser and still nearer
luminaries streamed past me like meteors. I swung close to the great
sun, insensitive to its heat. On its mottled surface, in spite of the
pervading brilliance, I could see, with my miraculous vision, a group of
huge dark sun-spots, each one a pit into which a dozen Earths could have
been dropped. Round the star’s limb the excrescences of the chromosphere
looked like fiery trees and plumes and prehistoric monsters, atiptoe or
awing, all on a globe too small for them. Beyond these the pale corona
spread its films into the darkness. As I rounded the star in hyperbolic
flight I searched anxiously for planets, but found none. I searched
again, meticulously, tacking and veering near and far. In the wider
orbits a small object like the earth might easily be overlooked. I found
nothing but meteors and a few insubstantial comets. This was the more
disappointing because the star seemed to be of much the same type as the
familiar sun. Secretly I had hoped to discover not merely planets but
actually the Earth.
Once more I struck out into the ocean of space, heading for another near
star. Once more I was disappointed. I approached yet another lonely
furnace. This too was unattended by the minute grains that harbor life.
I now hurried from star to star, a lost dog looking for its master. I
rushed hither and thither, intent on finding a sun with planets, and
among those planets my home. Star after star I searched, but far more I
passed impatiently, recognizing at once that they were too large and
tenuous and young to be Earth’s luminary. Some were vague ruddy giants
broader than the orbit of Jupiter; some, smaller and more definite, had
the brilliance of a thousand suns, and their color was blue. I had been
told that our Sun was of average type, but I now discovered many more of
the great youngsters than of the shrunken, yellowish middle-aged.
Seemingly I must have strayed into a region of late stellar
condensation.
I noticed, but only to avoid them, great clouds of dust, huge as
constellations, eclipsing the star-streams; and tracts of palely glowing
gas, shining sometimes by their own light, sometimes by the reflected
light of stars. Often these nacrous cloud-continents had secreted within
them a number of vague pearls of light, the embryos of future stars. I
glanced heedlessly at many star-couples, trios, and quartets, in which
more or less equal partners waltz in close union. Once, and once only, I
came on one of those rare couples in which one partner is no bigger than
a mere Earth, but massive as a whole great star, and very brilliant. Up
and down this region of the galaxy I found here and there a dying star,
somberly smoldering; and here and there the encrusted and extinguished
dead. These I could not see till I was almost upon them, and then only
dimly, by the reflected light of the whole heaven. I never approached
nearer to them than I could help, for they were of no interest to me in
my crazy yearning for the Earth. Moreover, they struck a chill into my
mind, prophesying the universal death. I was comforted, however, to find
that as yet there were so few of them.
I found no planets. I knew well that the birth of planets was due to the
close approach of two or more stars, and that such accidents must be
very uncommon. I reminded myself that stars with planets must be as rare
in the galaxy as gems among the grains of sand on the sea-shore. What
chance had I of coming upon one? I began to lose heart. The appalling
desert of darkness and barren fire, the huge emptiness so sparsely
pricked with scintillations, the colossal futility of the whole
universe, hideously oppressed me. And now, an added distress, my power
of locomotion began to fail. Only with a great effort could I move at
all among the stars, and then but slowly, and ever more slowly. Soon I
should find myself pinned fast in space like a fly in a collection; but
lonely, eternally alone. Yes, surely this was my special Hell.
I pulled myself together. I reminded myself that even if this was to be
my fate, it was no great matter. The Earth could very well do without
me. And even if there was no other living world anywhere in the cosmos,
still, the Earth itself had life, and might wake to far fuller life. And
even though I had lost my native planet, still, that beloved world was
real. Besides, my whole adventure was a miracle, and by continued
miracle might I not stumble on some other Earth? I remembered that I had
undertaken a high pilgrimage, and that I was man’s emissary to the
stars.
With returning courage my power of locomotion returned. Evidently it
depended on a vigorous and self-detached mentality. My recent mood of
self-pity and earthward-yearning had hampered it.
Resolving to explore a new region of the galaxy, where perhaps there
would be more of the older stars and a greater hope of planets, I headed
in the direction of a remote and populous cluster. From the faintness of
the individual members of this vaguely speckled ball of light I guessed
that it must be very far afield. On and on I traveled in the darkness.
As I never turned aside to search, my course through the ocean of space
never took me near enough to any star to reveal it as a disc. The lights
of heaven streamed remotely past me like the lights of distant ships.
After a voyage during which I lost all measure of time I found myself in
a great desert, empty of stars, a gap between two star-streams, a cleft
in the galaxy. The Milky Way surrounded me, and in all directions lay
the normal dust of distant stars; but there were no considerable lights,
save the thistledown of the remote cluster which was my goal.
This unfamiliar sky disturbed me with a sense of my increasing
dissociation from my home. It was almost a comfort to note, beyond the
furthest stars of our galaxy, the minute smudges that were alien
galaxies, incomparably more distant than the deepest recesses of the
Milky Way; and to be reminded that, in spite of all my headlong and
miraculous traveling, I was still within my native galaxy, within the
same little cell of the cosmos where she, my life’s friend, still lived.
I was surprised, by the way, that so many of the alien galaxies appeared
to the naked eye, and that the largest was a pale, cloudy mark bigger
than the moon in the terrestrial sky.
By contrast with the remote galaxies, on whose appearance all my
voyaging failed to make impression, the star-cluster ahead of me was now
visibly expanding. Soon after I had crossed the great emptiness between
the star-streams, my cluster confronted me as a huge cloud of
brilliants. Presently I was passing through a more populous area, and
then the cluster itself opened out ahead of me, covering the whole
forward sky with its congested lights. As a ship approaching port
encounters other craft, so I came upon and passed star after star. When
I had penetrated into the heart of the cluster, I was in a region far
more populous than any that I had explored. On every side the sky blazed
with suns, many of which appeared far brighter than Venus in the Earth’s
sky. I felt the exhilaration of a traveler who, after an ocean crossing,
enters harbors by night and finds himself surrounded by the lights of a
metropolis. In this congested region, I told myself, many close
approaches must have occurred, many planetary systems must have been
formed. Once more I looked for middle-aged stars of the sun’s type. All
that I had passed hitherto were young giants, great as the whole solar
system. After further searching I found a few likely stars, but none had
planets. I found also many double and triple stars, describing their
incalculable orbits; and great continents of gas, in which new stars
were condensing. At last, at last I found a planetary system. With
almost insupportable hope I circled among these worlds; but all were
greater than Jupiter, and all were molten. Again I hurried from star to
star. I must have visited thousands, but all in vain. Sick and lonely I
fled out of the cluster. It dwindled behind me into a ball of down,
sparkling with dew-drops. In front of me a great tract of darkness
blotted out a section of the Milky Way and the neighboring area of
stars, save for a few near lights which lay between me and the obscuring
opacity. The billowy edges of this huge cloud of gas or dust were
revealed by the glancing rays of bright stars beyond it. The sight moved
me with self-pity; on so many nights at home had I seen the edges of
dark clouds silvered just so by moonlight. But the cloud which now
opposed me could have swallowed not merely whole worlds, not merely
countless planetary systems, but whole constellations.
Once more my courage failed me. Miserably I tried to shut out the
immensities by closing my eyes. But I had neither eyes nor eyelids. I
was a disembodied, wandering viewpoint. I tried to conjure up the
little interior of my home, with the curtains drawn and the fire
dancing. I tried to persuade myself that all this horror of darkness and
dis tance and barren incandescence was a dream, that I was dozing by the
fire, that at any moment I might wake, that she would reach over from
her sewing and touch me and smile. But the stars still held me prisoner.
Again, though with failing strength, I set about my search. And after I
had wandered from star to star for a period that might have been days or
years or aeons, luck or some
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