Science fiction; Short stories; Space ships -- Fiction; War stories
They floundered erratically, their co-ordination shattered. Even any
evidence of intelligent guidance was missing.
The _Cleopatra_ flashed by, not even deigning to fire a shot at them.
Strike shuddered as he watched them in the scanners. In his mind he
could see the senseless, churning masses of flesh that lived mindlessly
within the black hulls. His thoughts flew far afield to an icy world
that had turned suddenly into an uninhabitable desert with temperatures
soaring past the melting point of lead. He saw a dull red sun pulsating
in cosmic agony, blossoming out into a menacing ball of white flame
as its internal fires leaped to freedom through its shattered crust.
He saw a star spending its failing substance prodigally in one bright
carnival of destruction. And he saw its planets writhing as the sudden
blast of heat speeded molecular velocities to the speed of escape and
sent great clouds of superheated chlorine hissing into the void.
But best of all, he imagined the horrible death of a _thing_ that was
the sole co-ordinator and reasoning agent for a race of ugly tentacled
creatures. Strykalski saw the death of the Eridan group-mind....
Old Aphrodisiac settled herself wearily onto the ramp of the Hamilton
Field Spaceport. Her valves opened with a sighing sound. It was as
though the ship herself had given voice to her contentment. She was
home.
The lights of the Administration building glittered against the dark
backdrop of the California hills, and the field lights flamed against
the stillness of the night.
Strike and Ivy stood near the open port. "It's all over, Ivy," he said,
"We're safe now."
Ivy raised her eyes to the sky where the stars flecked the night. Below
Orion hung the jewelled thread of Eridanus.
The girl drew a shuddering breath. "It's a terrible thing to ... to
murder a star."
Strike remained silent. There was nothing to say.
It would take tardy light more than fifteen years to bring news of the
sudden flare of reckless life in that small star ... an orgy that would
sap its last reserves of strength and leave it a dark and frigid ember
in the lonely void.
End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Starbusters, by Alfred Coppel
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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