The Star Virus

Rodrone was hanging in space, yet it was not space as he knew it. It was atomic space, where energies hum and flash with an urgency not known in the slow-moving macrocosm. Although there was no sound, he heard things with his mind—in fact he had no body. He heard a huge grinding noise, which his instinct told him was the change in quantic states of subatomic particles. Then he penetrated further into the great swirl of the atomic galaxy, extending his mind into the very atoms themselves.

Worlds existed within those atoms. They were not the same as planets, there was nothing corresponding to that spatial phenomenon, but they were analogous. And in these worlds, analogy creatures lived.

He recognized that these creatures were identical to the creatures of the macrogalaxy, in that there was a one-to-one relationship. He could not understand how the relationship was maintained, or how the one remained always identical to the other—but what, after all, was cause and effect? Physics had already proved that they didn't exist.

With a thrill, he realized that this was the world of possible change. This was the meaning of indeterminacy. There was a hint of split paths, as a result of which mutually contradictory events existed simultaneously.

This was the point of contention. In the macrocosm only one out of all the possibilities could become actual. The makers of the lens had carefully prepared their drama and written the script of galactic history, but they had been unable to eradicate indeterminacy from the atomic world. Thus they were faulted by the nature of things. Thiswhirl, Rodrone saw, was becoming the rogue galaxy, splitting up into its own fragmentary playlets as the cancerous energies of man radiated through the Hub. And this was what he wanted! In that disorganized Hub, nearly everything that could happen did happen somewhere. So what if some of it was bizarre? He thought of the deadliners, of Mard Sinnt and his son… but even so, it pleased him more than the vast, orderly system that the Streall wished to institute at the behest of the makers of the lens. The indeterminacy of the atomic world was what made the lens—and through it the real world, the macrocosm—subject to alteration by the action of purely mental forces. All that was needed, in fact, was to cross the protective force-field surrounding it. This the Streall had done—unwittingly, for the both of them! Rodrone felt the presence of the Streall philosopher now, like a powerful, adult system of mental vectors arrowing through the abstract, evanescent realm, bent on change. He intended to enter the past and form a mirror-barrier around an electron that somehow had become too energetic. In this way he could prevent the spread of man.

For a bare moment Rodrone was appalled at his own foolishness in letting the mind of the philosopher loose on the lens. Then, in a flash, he was after him, plunging past humming atoms and speeding transient packets of neutrino energy. He felt the Streall philosopher's mind ranging alongside his. When either tried to move the other knew it and moved his own powers in to block him. A tussle developed, each trying to confine the fight to themselves and not spill energy that might detonate suns.

For a long time they seemed to altercate, kicking each other up and down the scale of discreet energy. Rodrone knew that it was a life-and-death struggle; but the philosopher's mind was stronger, and he felt himself beginning to vanish, to disperse into a fading wave, leaving the philosopher free to remake the cosmos.

Nevertheless, Rodrone won. Because he was a philosopher, and had lived for so long in solitude, the Streall had become detached from physical things. Unlike Rodrone, it never occurred to him to transfer part of his attention back to his body existing in the physical macrocosm. He hardly knew it when Rodrone burned him down with his handgun.

Rodrone did not leave the lens immediately. Their struggle had not been without consequences. Two dissonant energy systems that already reverberated faintly through the lens had been exacerbated. He knew what they signified: the confrontation between man and Streall. He hung, bewildered, as they resonated, pinged and sang around him like an unholy chant, aware that he could kick events one way or the other.

Something like a wicked, mocking laugh echoed from Rodrone's mind. They had tried to destroy man's freedom. So why not? Why not war?

The discordant clashes of energy mounted in intensity, making his consciousness vibrate. Then he withdrew to the underground apartments.

The remaining Streall had fired at Rodrone with a silver slab which now lay on the floor, its pale beam still emitting. Captain Gael Shone had stepped in to take the shot in the stomach and then had killed the Streall with his own handgun.

Sana pressed herself against the wall, wide-eyed, holding her dress to her bosom. Rodrone glanced at her briefly, then knelt to the captain.