The Star Virus

The Stator shook and buckled. Captain Shone hung on to his quivering desk with one hand, manipulating controls with the other and giving orders through the intercom at the same time. There came another, heavier crash that caused the control gallery to keel over and almost toppled Shone from his seat. Rodrone glanced up, and even from this distance he knew that Shone was sweating.

The frequency of the Stator's firing increased. The flat hoarse sounds of the big guns echoed almost desperately through the metal and air of the ship.

Rodrone began to feel concern. He climbed to his feet, ventured forward. "How's it going?" he called uncertainly.

The floor vibrated under him as the Streall scored another hit. The magnificent navigation picture behind Shone winked suddenly out.

It was followed by all the lights in the control room, including those on the desk console.

Captain Shone shouted and cursed in the darkness. The noises of battle continued. Rodrone decided to take no further interest until the outcome was known, and he dropped his head and let his mind drift to other thoughts.

He was still in that revery twenty minutes later when the lights came on again. Shone was grinning down at him.

"Come out of your sulk. We've won. They were patrol craft—there must be a Streall system nearby. What's more, we've got a prisoner."

He learned that Jermy, rigging a spaceraft from an emergency rocket motor, had crossed over to the wreck of one of the alien vessels and had brought back a survivor. Rodrone stepped forward as they herded it into the control gallery.

It seemed to be a specimen in good condition. The long armadillo-like body and broad, pointed snout were a healthy blue color. Natural skirts of hide reached from the sides to the ground so that it seemed to glide along, but Rodrone knew that beneath them were six legs and a pair of arms which folded underneath the chest.

Its sapphire eyes regarded Rodrone, then swung to the lens which still lay on the floor of the control gallery.

"So it is true. You have it."

Rodrone nodded.

"And what do you intend to do with it?"

He had no qualms about revealing his purpose. "I intend to understand it."

"How?"

"There must be a way."

An explosive sound came from the Streall, like a cat's sneeze. "Ridiculous. That is only for the Streall."

"Do you understand it?" Rodrone probed.

"I? Of course not. I am only an engineer, a drive engineer on a patrol ship. The lens is completely understood only by those who live on the Contemplation Worlds."

At this Rodrone became agitated. It had already occurred to him that the secrets of the lens might be beyond the ingenuity of the human intellect to uncover. If that were so, then any risk would be worthwhile.

"Where are these Contemplation Worlds?"

"That is unimportant to you. Your only sane action is to deliver the lens to its rightful possessors, the Streall."

"Not until I understand what its uses are," Rodrone suggested speculatively. "Perhaps then I would be persuaded to give it up."

The Streall sank to the floor in a resting position, like a Sphinx, its skirts spreading around it. "If that is all you want, then go to a Contemplation World. The philosopher there can perhaps explain it to you. Afterwards, you will give it up."

"I said I might."

"There will be no choice. Ships will be arriving soon. They will follow you to the Contemplation World. But if you do not go, you will never achieve your ambition."

Rodrone laughed at how neatly the Streall had led him into a dilemma.

"This is crazy," Shone said. "We're not going anywhere. We're stranded!"

"We have a faulty space drive," Rodrone told their prisoner. "We don't know how to repair it. Perhaps you would have better luck. If you can put it in order, we will proceed to the Contemplation World, as you suggest. That is, if Captain Shone agrees."

Shone shrugged characteristically. "We're walking right into a trap, but okay."

The Streall rose. "It is better for the lens to be on a Streall world than to be lost in space. Show me your drive."

IX

The Streall engineer did not tell them what he thought of the Stator's propulsion unit, but half a day later he had brought it into working order. After a journey of a few more days they were hovering above the Contemplation World.

It was a desolation, a planet covered in red rust. A tiny blue sun glittered in the sky, giving the atmosphere an icy appearance and reflecting off the scattered lakes in the southern hemisphere.

The Stator sank down under the Streall's direction. The creature had already artlessly confirmed what Rodrone already knew by rumor: that the planet had a population of one; that was the usual case with Contemplation Worlds. The philosopher dwelt in underground chambers, devoting himself to philosophy and science.

Before they landed Rodrone put in one last call on the Stator's space-tensor transceiver. They were near enough to Skelter for communication now, and he had already summoned the squadron to his assistance.