Not to love and live
But to question what Fate
Or the Gods may give...."
Terra—20th Century.
"I for one, have no intention of being sterilized by—shall we say—remote control!" The sardonic voice paused for emphasis. That would be Astran, Julian thought as he entered the great Hall, vast enough to encompass an army. The satirical tones were all too familiar; he had heard them many, many times during the years he had risen from a mere Astro-operative, through the successive stages of "Facet," Section-Facet Arch-Guardian; Techno-Star and finally had become Control-Facet, representing the flat, top-most facet of the stupendous jewel that hung above the Dais of the Dekka. "Dekkans," the voice continued, "despite my great age, I can think of less inglorious ends than to die impotent!" The flaming glory of the immense diamond cut in the shape of a ten-point double star, veiled the speaker.
"Perhaps we're not facing a conscious enemy at all—that is, none that we have been able to discover," Astran amended with a dry chuckle distilled of acid. "And believe me, the resources of the Dekka are anything but negligible! However, it may be that through a weakening of our race as a whole because of our existence under a different environment than Earth, we have succumbed to a microorganism native to these Moons, which originally were too alien to fit in mankind's metabolic processes. But now, now that through centuries of adaptation we have subtly changed. It ... whatever it is, filtrable virus, microorganism, or whatever, has had a chance to take hold. All of you know the effects of the disease—hypertrophy of pigmentation glands—silver hair and eyes, as well as its one single deadly result—sterility!" Astran paused on the ghastly thought and let it sink in.
"Our scientists have been unable to isolate the germ, it must be a filtrable virus ... that is their problem. But, if as I suspect there is a ... what was it the barbaric, ancient Romans called it?... a Deux ex machina behind it, then, by the perdurable glory of our Moon, gentlemen, I pledge a holocaust that'll dwarf Jupiter's Red Spot into insignificance!" The capacity for destruction in Astran's cold, dispassionate voice was awesome.
In the ensuing silence, Julian's mind trained to the apex of its wide-awakedness, felt the horror-vibration that swept the audience of Dekkans. He saw the coruscating streamers of living fire that blazed from the stupendous double star, and, with a feeling of shock saw that ahead of him an Astro-operative's mask had slid imperceptibly to one side, enough to expose a tell-tale silver tide that had reached half-an-inch above the hair-roots!
Casually almost, Julian moved with his strange, smooth elegance over the ethereal blueness of the safiro-plast flooring, and the imperturbable gaze of his frigid eyes probed into the suddenly startled glare of the man. Without warning his hand flashed out and came away with the torn mask. A wealth of hair that had been tinted gold but showed unmistakable silver at the roots and parting cascaded to his shoulders.
The narrow face of the Mutant, with its thin, high-bridged nose and silver eyes, flushed crimson as he was exposed, and the long claw-like hand darted to his side, groping for the deadly Power-rapier that was de rigeur. All in one sinuous motion he lunged with the weapon that described a silver vortex under the fulgurant star. In the utter silence Julian, too, had drawn.