It was huge, burning with a blue-white radiance. There was a mating, and the nine worlds were born in a rush of supernal fire.
And there was life. Not on the nine burning planets. But in free space, little globes of fire, bits of the Sun itself shocked somehow to intelligence in the vast explosion of energy.
The picture blurred. The colors of the floating light were dulled and dreamy.
"There were many of us," it sighed. "We were like tiny Suns, living on the conversion of our own atoms. We played, in open space...."
Dim pictures washed the screen, glories beyond human comprehension—a faded vision of splendor, of alien worlds and the great wheeling Suns of outer space. The voice murmured:
"Like Suns, we radiated our energy. We could draw strength from our parent, but not enough. We died. But I was stronger than the rest, and more intelligent. I built myself a shell."
"Built it!" whispered Avery. "But how?"
"All matter is built of raw energy, electron and proton existing in a free state. With a part of my own mass I built this world around myself, to hold the energy of the Sun and check the radiation of my own vitality.
"I have lived, where my race died. I have watched the planets cool and live and die. I am not immortal. My mass grows less as it drains away through my shell. But it will be a long, long time. I shall watch the Sun die, too."
The voice was silent. The colors were ashes of light. Falken was stricken with a great poignant grief.