The Star Virus

In the communicator room he found Clave and Kulthol. The redhead was scowling and rubbing the stubble on his chin. Clave, for all his death's grin, looked a little stunned.

The communicator screen was blank, but odd squawks came from the speaker, breaking eventually into intelligible speech. When the Streall spoke to one another it sounded like a cat spitting; when forced to use human speech, they made grotesque gobbling noises in a travesty of the human voice.

"You will please answer."

Rodrone noticed that the transmit key was still switched off. "Don't answer," he said. "Just let the signal fade."

"It doesn't show any sign of fading, chief," Kulthol told him gruffly. "They seem to have an angle that keeps space-tensor contact going for as long as they like."

"Well how in hell did they find us?" Clave shrugged. "I'd say they just tried hard." That might be possible, he realized. Under pressure from the Streall, a Jal-Dee investigation could eventually have come up with an informed guess. "What did they say?"

"Don't tell me you can't guess."

The room was beginning to fill up with curious visitors. Rodrone stepped forward and flicked the transmit key. "Repeat your message."

The gobble voice came through again in exaggerated and weird inflections which the speaker probably imagined were human ones.

"You possess an article we desire, stolen by you while in transit to us. We desire the return to us of the article."

"Why?"

A pause. "We will pay."

"What do you offer?" Rodrone asked, intrigued.

"Name your price."

"We don't wish to sell."

"One million tons of a material known only to us, lighter than and of a tensile strength superior to any man-made material"

"No."

A pause. "One complete planet, uninhabited, eight thousand miles diameter, temperature, atmosphere and humidity equitable with Terra-standard, organically developed, already surveyed for minerals. Suitably placed for human trade routes."

"No." Rodrone was enjoying this incredible game.

"Then we offer secrets of Streall science unknown to mankind."

Now he was interested. "Will you advance, in speculation, a full explanation of the object we hold and a set of instructions for operating it?"

"No."

"Then there's no trade."

"A cluster of twenty solar systems, comprising a total of a hundred and five usable planets and assorted moons, in the Karaga region currently controlled by us. The cluster contains a number of inferior but able races amenable to manipulation. Ownership will be guaranteed to you and your descendants, with stipulations for defense against all comers?”

"Listen to that!" breathed Crule. "Our own empire!"

"No!" said Rodrone harshly.

"But how can we turn down an offer like that?"

"No!" His refusal this time was directed at his own people. At this, the gobble voice was silent for a moment. Then:

"Wait. We have new offers."

Evidently Redace's evaluation of the lens had been totally inadequate. These fantastic attempts to buy it could only mean that its importance was equally fantastic;

He waited attentively to hear what they would offer next. But over a minute passed with no further sound from the speaker. He began to feel restless; then he noticed that a tingling sensation was passing through his body, as though trains of unaccustomed impulses were passing along his nerves.

At the same, time a thought, a compulsion, was growing in his mind. "Make a trade," the compulsion urged. "Strike a bargain."

For a while the urge seemed to have the insistence of hunger or sexual desire. "All right," he started to say, but when he opened his mouth nothing but a wailing croak came out.

Alarmed, he moved his hand to his head—or tried to. The movement produced only an uncontrolled, shuddering shake. His body no longer worked properly.