Jack Williamson - Star Bright

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STAR BRIGHT

Argosy, November by Jack Williamson (1908- )

Jack Williamson has been witness to the development of modern science fiction as reade

writer, and scholar. He has produced a solid body of work spanning fifty years, and has ha

little trouble in keeping up with the competition. Still writing today, he will always b

remembered for his "Legion of Space" and "Seetee" stories, although there is much more in hi

canon, most notably THE HUMANOIDS (1949) and that wonderful fantasy, DARKER THA

YOU THINK (1940, in book form 1948). The best of his short fiction is available in THE BES

OF JACK WILLIAMSON, 1978.

Jack did not include this story in the latter collection, although he did select it for MY BES

SCIENCE FICTION STORY in 1949. He

hould have, because even though tastes change, this i

a powerful story of hope, of desperation, and of a form of fulfillment.

(Once John Campbell took over Astounding and began to remold science fiction, many of th

tar writers of the previous decade fell by the way. There was the kind of slaughter we associat

with the pa

sing of the silents and the coming of the talkies. There were survivors, though, an

one of the most remarkable of these was Jack Williamson whose Legion of Space had dazzled m

teen-age years and who now went on to adapt himself, effortlessly, to Campbell's standards. IA)

Mr. Jason Peabody got off the street car. Taking a great, reieved breath of the open air, h

started walking up Bannister Hill. His worried eyes saw the first pale star come out of the tus

ahead.

It made him grope back wistfully into the mists of childhood, for the magic of words he onc

had known. He whispered the chant of power:

Star light, star bright,

First star I've seen tonight,

I wish I may, I wish I might,

Have the wish I wish tonight.

Mr. Peabody was a brown, bald little wisp of a man. Now defiantly erect, his thin shoulder

still betrayed the stoop they had got from twenty years of bending over adding machines an

ledgers. His usually meek face now had a hurt and desperate look.

"I wish—"

With his hopeful eyes on the star, Mr. Peabody hesitated. His harried mind went back to th

painful domestic scene from which he had just escaped. A wry little smile came to his trouble

face.

"I wish," he told the star, "that I could work miracles!" The star faded to a pale malevolent re

"You've got to work miracles," added Mr. Peabody, "to bring up a family on a bookkeeper'

pay. A family, that is, like mine."

The star winked green with promise.

Mr. Peabody still owed thirteen thousand dollars on the little stucco house, two blocks off th

Locust Avenue car line: the payments were as easy as rent, and in ten more years it would be hi

own. Ella met him at the door, this afternoon, with a moist kiss.

Ella was Mrs. Peabody. She was a statuesque blonde, an inch taller than himself, with

remarkable voice. Her clinging kiss made him uneasy. He knew instantly, from twenty-two year

of experience, that it meant she wanted something.

"It's good to be home, dear." He tried to start a counter-campaign. "Things were tough at th

office today." His tired sigh was real enough. "Old Berg has fired until we're all doing two men'

work. I don't know who will be next."

"I'm sorry, darling." She kissed him moistly again, and her voice was tenderly sympatheti

"Now get washed. I want to have dinner early, because tonight is Delphian League."

Her voice was too sweet. Mr. Peabody wondered what she wanted. It always took her a goo

while to work up to the point. When she arrived there, however, she was likely to be invincibl

He made another feeble effort.

"I don't know what things are coming to." He made a weary shrug. "Berg is threatening to c

our pay. With the insurance, and the house payments, and the children, I don't see how we'

live."

Ella Peabody came back to him, and put her soft arm around him. She smelled faintly of th

perfume she had used on the evening before, faintly of kitchen odors.

"We'll manage, dear," she said bravely.

She began to talk brightly of the small events of the day. Her duties in the kitchen caused n

interruption. Her remarkable voice reached him clearly, even through the closed bathroom door.

With an exaggerated show of fatigue, Mr. Peabody settled himself into an easy chair. H

found the morning paper—which he never had time to read in the morning—opened it, and the

dropped it across his knees as if too tired to read. Feebly attempting another diversion, he asked:

"Where are the children?"

"William is out to see the man about his car."

Mr. Peabody forgot his fatigue.

"I told William he couldn't have a car," he said, with some heat. "I told him he's too young an

irresponsible. If he insists on buying some pile of junk, he'll have to pay for it himself. Don't as

me how."

"And Beth," Mrs. Peabody's voice continued, "is down at the beauty shop." She came to th

kitchen door. "But I have the most thrilling news for you, darling!"

The lilt in her voice told Mr. Peabody to expect the worst. The dreaded moment had com

Desperately he lifted the paper from his knees, became absorbed in it.

"Yes, dear," he said. "Here—I see the champ is going to take on this Australian palooka, if—"

"Darling, did you hear me?" Ella Peabody's penetrating voice could not be ignored. "At th

Delphian League tonight, I'm going to read a paper on the Transcendental Renaissance. Isn't th

a perfectly gorgeous opportunity?"

Mr. Peabody dropped the paper. He was puzzled. The liquid sparkle in her voice was proo

enough that her moment of victory was at hand. Yet her purpose was still unrevealed.

"Ella, dear,", he inquired meekly, "what do you know about the Transcendental Renaissance?

"Don't worry about that, darling. The young man at the li

rary did the research and typed th

paper for me, for only ten dollars. But it's so sweet of you to want to help me, and there's on

thing that you can do."

Mr. Peabody squirmed uncomfortably in his chair. The trap was closing, and he could see n

escape.

"I knew you'd understand, darling." Her voice had a little tender throb. "And you know I didn

have a decent rag to wear. Darling, I'm getting that blue jersey that was in the window of th

Famous. It was marked sixty-nine eighty, but the manager let me have it for only forty-nin

ninety-five."

"I'm awfully sorry, dear," Mr. Peabody said slowly. "But I'm afraid we simply can't manage i

I'm afraid you had better send it back."

Ella's blue eyes widened, and began to glitter.

"Darling!" Her throbbing voice broke. "Darling—you must understand. I can't read my pape

in those disgraceful old rags. Besides, it has already been altered."

"But, dear—we just haven't got the money."

Mr. Peabody picked up his paper again, upside down. After twenty-two years, he knew wh

was to come. There would be tearful appeals to his love and his pride and his duty. There woul

be an agony of emotion, maintained until he surrendered.

And he couldn't surrender: that was the trouble. In twenty-two years, his affection had neve

swerved seriously from his wife and his children. He would have given her the money, gladl

but the bills had to be paid tomorrow.

He sighed with momentary relief when an unfamiliar motor horn honked outside the driv

William Peabody slouched, in ungraceful indolence, through the side door.

William was a lank, pimpled sallow-faced youth, with unkempt yellow hair and promine

uck teeth. Remarkably, in spite of the fact that he was continually demanding money fo

clothing, he always wore the same dingy leather jacket and the same baggy pants.

Efforts to send him to the university, to a television school, and to a barber college, had a

collapsed for want of William's cooperation.

"Hi, Gov." He was filling a black college-man pipe. "Hi, Mom. Dinner up?"

"Don't call me Gov," requested Mr. Peabody, mildly. "William!" He had risen and walked t

the window, and his voice was sharper. "Whose red roadster is that in the drive?"

William dropped himself into the easy chair which Mr. Peabody had just vacated.

"Oh, the car?" He exhaled blue smoke. "Why, didn't Mom tell you, Gov? I just picked it up."

Mr. Peabody's slight body stiffened.

"So you bought a car? Who's going to pay for it?"

William waved the pipe, carelessly.

"Only twenty a month," he drawled. "And it's a real buy, Gov. Only eighty thousand miles, an

it's got a radio. Mom said you could manage it. It will be for my birthday, Gov."

"Your birthday is six months off."

Silver, soothing, Mrs. Peabody's voice floated from the kitchen:

"But you'll still be paying for it when his birthday comes, Jason. So I told Bill it would be a

right. A boy is so left out these days, if he hasn't a car. Now, if you will just give me the su

money—"

Mr. Peabody began a sputtering reply. He stopped suddenly, when his daughter Beth came i

the front door. Beth was the bright spot in his life. She was a tall slim girl, with soft sympatheti

brown eyes. Her honey-colored hair was freshly set in exquisite waves.

Perhaps it was natural for father to favor daughter. But Mr. Peabody couldn't help contrastin

her cheerful industry to William's idleness. She was taking a business course, so that she woul

be able to keep books for Dr. Rex Brant, after they were married.

"Hello, Dad." She came to him and put her smooth arms around him and gave him a

affectionate little squeeze. "How do you like my new permanent? I got it because I have a dat

with Rex tonight. I didn't have enough money, so I said I would leave the other three dollars

Mrs. Larkin's before seven. Have you got three dollars, Dad?"

"Your hair looks pretty, dear."

Mr. Peabody patted his daughter's shoulder, and dug cheerfully into his pocket. He neve

minded giving money to Beth—when he had it. Often he regretted that he had not been able t

do more for her.

"Thanks, Dad." Kissing his temple, she whispered, "You dear!"

Tapping out his black pipe, William looked at his mother. "It just goes to show," he drawle

"If it was Sis that wanted a car—"

"I told you, son," Mr. Peabody declared positively, "I'm not going to pay for that automobil

We simply haven't the money."

William got languidly to his feet.

"I say, Gov. You wouldn't want to lose your fishing tackle."

Mr. Peabody's face stiffened with anxiety.

"My fishing tackle?"

In twenty-two years, Mr. Peabody had actually found the time and money to make no mor

than three fishing trips. He still considered himself, however, an ardent angler. Sometimes h

had gone without his lunches, for weeks, to save for some rod or reel or special fly. He ofte

spent an hour in the back yard, casting at a mark on the ground.

Trying to glare at William, he demanded hoarsely:

"What about my fishing tackle?"

"Now, Jason," interrupted the soothing voice of Mrs. Peabody, "don't get yourself all wroug

up. You know you haven't used your old fishing tackle in the last ten years."

Stiffly erect, Mr. Peabody strode toward his taller son.

"William, what have you done with it?"

William was filling his pipe again.

"Keep your shirt on, Gov," he advised. "Mom said it would be all right. And I had to have th

dough to make the first payment on the bus. Now don't bust an artery. I'll give you the paw

tickets."

"Bill!" Beth's voice was sharp with reproof. "You didn't—" Mr. Peabody, himself, made

gasping incoherent sound. He started blindly toward the front door.

"Now, Jason!" Ella's voice was silver with a sweet and unendurable reason. "Control yoursel

Jason. You haven't had your dinner—"

He slammed the door violently behind him.

This was not the first time in twenty-two years that Mr. Peabody had fled to the wind

freedom of Bannister Hill. It was not even the first time he had spoken a wish to a star. While h

had no serious faith in that superstition of his childhood, he still felt that it was a very pleasa

idea.

An instant after the words were uttered, he saw the shooting star. A tiny point of light, driftin

a little upward through the purple dusk. It was not white, like most falling stars, but palely green

It recalled another old belief, akin to the first. If you saw a falling star, and if you could mak

a wish before the star went out, the wish would come true. Eagerly, he caught his breath.

"I wish," he repeated, "I could do miracles!"

He finished the words in time. The star was still shining. Suddenly, in fact, he noticed that it

greenish radiance was growing brighter.

Far brighter! And exploding!

Abruptly, then, Mr. Peabody's vague and wistful satisfaction changed to stark panic. H

realized that one fragment of the green meteor, like some celestial bullet, was coming straight

him! He made a frantic effort to duck, to shield his face with his hand.

Mr. Peabody woke, lying on his back on the grassy hill. He groaned and lifted his head. Th

waning moon had risen. Its slanting rays shimmered from the dew on the grass.

Mr. Peabody felt stiff and chilled. His clothing was wet with the dew. And something wa

wrong with his head. Deep at the base of his brain, there was a queer dull ache. It was n

intense, but it had a slow, unpleasant pulsation.

His forehead felt oddly stiff and drawn. His fingers found a streak of dried blood, and then th

ragged, painful edge of a small wound.

"Golly!"

With that little gasping cry, he clapped his hand to the hack of his head. But there was n

lood in his hair. That small leaden ache seemed close beneath his hand, but there was no othe

surface wound.

"Great golly!" whispered Mr. Peabody. "It has lodged in my brain!"

The evidence was clear enough. He had seen the meteor hurtling straight at him. There was

tiny hole in his forehead, where it must have entered. There was none where it could hav

emerged.

Why hadn't it already killed him? Perhaps because the heat of it had cauterized the wound. H

remembered reading a believe-it-or-not about a man who had lived for years with a bullet in hi

brain.

A meteor lodged in his brain! The idea set him to shuddering. He and Ella had met their littl

ups and downs, but his life had been pretty uneventful. He could imagine being shot by a band

or run over by a taxi. But this…

"Better go to Beth's Dr. Brant," he whispered.

He touched his bleeding forehead, and hoped the wound would heal safely. When he tried t

rise, a faintness seized him. A sudden thirst parched his throat.

"Water!" he breathed.

As he sank giddily back on his elbow, that thirst set in his mind the image of a sparkling glas

of water. It sat on a flat rock, glittering in the moonlight. It looked so substantial that he reache

out and picked it up.

Without surprise, he drank. A few swallows relieved his thirst, and his mind cleared agai

Then the sudden realization of the incredible set him to quivering with reasonless panic.

The glass dropped out of his fingers, and shattered on the rock. The fragments glittere

mockingly under the moon. Mr. Peabody blinked at them.

"It was real!" he whispered. "I made it real—out of nothing. A miracle—I worked a miracle!"

The word was queerly comforting. Actually, he knew no more about what had happened tha

before he had found a word for it. Yet much of its disquieting unfamiliarity was dispelled.

He remembered a movie that the Englishman, H. G. Wells, had written. It dealt with a ma

who was able to perform the most surprising and sometimes appalling miracles. He had finishe

Mr. Peabody recalled, by destroying the world.

"I want nothing like that," he whispered in some alarm, and then set out to test his gift. First h

tried mentally to lift the small flat rock upon which the miraculous glass had stood.

"Up," he commanded sharply. "Up!"

The rock, however, refused to move. He tried to form a mental picture of it, rising. Suddenl

where he had tried to picture it, there was another and apparently identical rock.

The miraculous stone crashed instantly down upon its twin, and shattered. Flying fragment

stung Mr. Peabody's face. He realized that his gift, whatever his nature, held potentialities o

danger.

"Whatever I've got," he told himself, "it's different from what the man had in the movie. I ca

make things—small things, anyhow. But I can't move them." He sat up on the wet grass. "Ca

I—unmake them?"

He fixed his eyes upon the fragments of the broken glass. "Go!" he ordered. "Go away

—

vanish!"

They shimmered unchanged in the moonlight.

"No," concluded Mr. Peabody, "I can't unmake things." That was, in a way, too bad.

He made another mental note of caution. Large animals and dangerous creations of all kind

had better be avoided. He realized suddenly that he was shivering in his dew-soaked clothing. H

slapped his stiff hands against his sides, and wished he had a cup of coffee.

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Jack Williamson - Star Bright

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