The Star - Arthur C. Clarke, ebook, Temp
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The Star
Arthur C. Clarke
It is three thousand light-years to theVatican . Once I believed that space could have no power over
faith. Just as I believed that the heavens declared the glory of God's handiwork. Now I have seen that
handiwork, and my faith is sorely troubled.
I stare at the crucifix that hangs on the cabin wall above the Mark VI computer, and for the first time
in my life I wonder if it is no more than an empty symbol. I have told no one yet, but the truth cannot be
concealed. The data are there for anyone to read, recorded on the countless miles of magnetic tape and
the thousands of photographs we are carrying back to Earth. Other scientists can interpret them as easily
as I can--more easily, in all probability. I am not one who would condone that tampering with the truth
which often gave my order a bad name in the olden days.
The crew is already sufficientlydepressed, I wonder how they will take this ultimate irony. Few of
them have any religious faith, yet they will not relish using this final weapon in their campaign against
me--that private, good-natured but fundamentally serious war which lasted all the way from Earth. It
amused them to have a Jesuit as chief astrophysicist. Dr. Chandler, for instance, could never get over it
(why are medical men such notorious atheists?). Sometimes he would meet me on the observation deck,
where the lights are always low, so that the stars shine with undiminished glory. He would come up to me
in the gloom and stand staring out of the great oval port, while the heavens crawled slowly round us as
the ship turned end over end with the residual spin we had never bothered to correct.
"Well, Father," he would say at last. "It goes on forever and forever, and perhapsSomething made it.
But how you can believe thatSomething has a special interest in us and our miserable little world--that
just beats me." Then the argument would start, while the stars and nebulae would swing around us in
silent, endless arcs beyond the flawlessly clear plastic of the observation port. It was, I think, the
apparent incongruity of my position which, yes, amused the crew. In vain I would point to my three
papers in the Astrophysical Journal, my five in the Monthly Notices of the Royal Astronomical Society. I
would remind them that our order has long been famous for its scientific works. We may be few now, but
ever since the eighteenth century we have madecontributions to astronomy and geophysics out of all
proportion to our numbers.
Will my report on the Phoenix Nebula end our thousand years of history? It will end, I fear, much
more than that. I do not know who gave the nebula its name, which seems to me a very bad one. If it
contains a prophecy, it is one which cannot be verified forseveral thousand million years. Even the word
"nebula" is misleading; this is a far smaller object than those stupendous clouds of mist--the stuff of
unborn stars--which are scattered throughout the length of the Milky Way. On the cosmic scale, indeed,
the Phoenix Nebula is a tiny thing--a tenuous shell of gas surrounding a single star. Or what is left of a
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 star . . .
The Rubens engraving of Loyola seems to mock me as it hangs there above the spectrophotometer
tracings. What would you, Father, have made of this knowledge that has come into my keeping, so far
from the little world that wasall the universe you knew? Would your faith have risen to the challenge, as
mine has failed to do? You gaze into the distance, Father, but I have traveled a distance beyond any that
you could have imagined when you founded our order a thousand years ago. No other survey ship has
been so far from Earth: we are at the very frontiers of the explored universe. We set out to reach the
Phoenix Nebula, we succeeded, and we are homeward bound with our burden of knowledge. I wish I
could lift that burden from my shoulders, but I call to you in vain across the centuries and the light-years
that lie between us. On the book you are holding the words are plain to read. "AD MAIOREM DEI
GLORIAM," the message runs, but it is a message I can no longer believe.Would you still believe it if
you could see what we have found?
We knew, of course, what the Phoenix Nebula was. Every year, in our galaxy alone, more than a
hundred stars explode, blazing for a few hours or days with thousands of times their normal brilliance
before they sink back into death and obscurity. Such are the ordinary novae--the commonplace disasters
of the universe. I have rocorded the spectrograms and light curves of dozens, since I started working at
the lunar observatory. But three or four times in every thousand years occurs something beside which
even a nova pales into total insignificance.
When a star becomes a supernova, it may for a little while outshine all the massed suns of the galaxy.
The Chinese astronomers watched this happen in A.D. 1054, not knowing what it was they saw. Five
centuries later, in 1572, a supernova blazed in Cassiopeia so brilliantly that it was visible in the daylight
sky. There have been three more in the thousand years that have passed since then. Our mission was to
visit the remnants of such a catastrophe, to reconstruct the events that led up to it, and, if possible, to
learn its cause. We came slowly in through the concentric shells of gas that had been blasted out six
thousand years before, yet were expanding still. They were immensely hot, radiating still with a fierce
violet light, but far too tenuous to do us any damage. When the star had exploded, its outer layers had
been driven upward with such speed that they had escaped completely from its gravitational field. Now
they formed a hollow shell large enough to engulf a thousand solar systems, and at its center burned the
tiny, fantastic object which the star had now become--a white dwarf, smaller than the Earth, yet weighing
a million times as much. The glowing gas shells were all around us, banishing the normal night of
interstellar space. We were flying into the center of a cosmic bomb that had detonated millennia ago and
whose incandescent fragments were still hurtling apart. The immense scale of the explosion, and the fact
that the debris already covered a volume of space many billions of miles across, robbed the scene of any
visible movement. It would take decades before the unaided eye could detect any motion in these
tortured wisps and eddies of gas, yet the sense of turbulent expansion was overwhelming. We had
checked our primary drive hours before and were drifting slowly toward the fierce little star ahead. Once
it had been a sun like our own, but it had squandered in a few hours the energy that should have kept it
shining for a million years. Now it was a shrunken miser, hoarding its resources as if trying to make
amends for its prodigal youth.
No one seriously expected to find planets. If there had been any before the explosion, they would
have been boiled into puffs of vapor and their substance lost in the greater wreckage of the star itself. But
we made the automatic search, as always when approaching an unknown sun, and presently we found a
single small world circling the star at an immense distance. It must have been the Pluto of this vanished
solar system, orbiting on the frontiers of the night. Too far from the central sun ever to have known life, its
remoteness had saved it from the fate of all its lost com- panions .
The passing fires had seared its rocks and burned away the mantle of frozen gas that must have
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 covered it in the days before the disaster. We landed, and we found the Vault.
Its builders had made sure that we should. The monolithic marker that stood above the entrance was
now a fused stump, but even the first long-range photographs told us that here was the work of
intelligence. A little later we detected the continent-wide pattern of radioactivity that had been buried in
the rock. Even if the pylon above the Vault had been destroyed, this would have remained, an immovable
and all but eternal beacon calling to the stars. Our ship fell toward this gigantic bull's-eye like an arrow
into its target.
The pylon must have been a mile high when it was built, but now it looked like a candle that had
melted down into a puddle of wax. It took us a week to drill through the fused rock, since we did not
have the proper tools for a task like this. We were astronomers, not archaeologists, but we could
improvise. Our original program was forgotten: this lonely monument, reared at such labor at the greatest
possible distance from the doomed sun, could have only one meaning. A civilization which knew it was
about to die had made its last bid for immortality.
It will take us generations to examine all the treasures that were placed in the Vault. They had plenty
of time to prepare, for their sun must have given its first warnings many years before the final detonation.
Everything that they wished to preserve, all the fruits of their genius, they brought here to this distant
world in the days before the end, hoping that some other race would find them and that they would not
be utterly forgotten.
If only they had a little more time! They could travel freely enough between the planets of their own
sun, but they had not yet learned to cross the interstellar gulfs, and the nearest solar system was a
hundred light-years away. Even if they had not been so disturbingly human as their sculpture shows, we
could not have helped admiring them and grieving for their fate. They left thousands of visual records and
the machines for projecting them, together with elaborate pictorial instructions from which it will not be
difficult to learn their written language.We have examined many of these records, and brought to life for
the first time in six thousand years the warmth and beauty of a civilization which in many ways must have
been superior to our own. Perhaps they only showed us the best, and one can hardly blame them. But
their worlds were very lovely, and their cities were built with a grace that matches anything of ours. We
have watched them at work and play, and listened to their musical speech sounding across the centuries.
One scene is still before my eyes--a group of children on a beach of strange blue sand, playing in the
waves as children play on Earth.
And sinking into the sea, still warm and friendly and life-giving, is the sun that will soon turn traitor
and obliterate all this innocent happiness.
Perhaps if we had not been so far from home and so vulnerable to loneliness, we should not have
been so deeply moved. Many of us had seen the ruins of ancient civilizations on other worlds, but they
had never affected us so profoundly.
This tragedy was unique. It was one thing for a race to fail and die, as nations and cultures have done
on Earth. But to be destroyed so completely in the full flower of its achievement, leaving no
survivors--how could that be reconciled with the mercy of God?
My colleagues have asked me that, and I have given what answers I can. Perhaps you could have
done better, Father Loyola, but I have found nothing in the Exercitia spiritualia that helps me here. They
were not an evil people: I do not know what gods they worshiped, if indeed they worshiped any. But I
have looked back at them across the centuries, and have watched while the loveliness they used their last
strength to preserve was brought forth again into the light of their shrunken sun.
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 I know the answers that my colleagues will give when they get back to Earth. They will say that the
universe has no purpose and no plan, that since a hundred suns explode every year in our galaxy, at this
very moment some race is dying in the depths of space. Whether that race has donegood or evil during
its lifetime will make no difference in the end: there is no divine justice, for there is no God. Yet, of
course, what we have seen proves nothing of the sort. Anyone who argues thus is being swayed by
emotion, not logic. God has no need to justify His actions to man. He who built the universe can destroy
it when He chooses. It is arrogance--it is perilously near blasphemy for us to say what He may or may
not do.
This I could have accepted, hard though it is to look upon whole worlds and peoples thrown into the
furnace. But there comes a point when even the deepest faith must falter, and now, as I look at my
calculations, I know I have reached that point at last.
We could not tell, before we reached the nebula, how long ago the explosion took place. Now, from
the astronomical evidence and the record in the rocks of that one surviving planet, I have been able to
date it very exactly. I know in what year the light of this colossal conflagration reached Earth. I know
how brilliantly the supernova whose corpse now dwindles behind our speeding ship once shone in
terrestrial skies. I know how it must have blazed low in the East before sunrise, like a beacon in that
Oriental dawn. There can be no reasonable doubt: the ancient mystery is solved at last. Yet O God, there
were so many stars you could have used.
What was the need to give these people to thefire, that the symbol of their passing might shine
aboveBethlehem ?
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