The Science Fiction anthology. Andre Norton

played into recorders. The atmosphere became unfriendly. Carson got more rattled still. He began to wave his arms and sputter.

      Lon Simpson treated him gently. He took him into the house to watch the converter at work. One of the colonists kept its large coil suitably stuffed with assorted foliage. There was a “hand” of cured, early—best quality—thanar leaves in an erratically cut tin can. Duplicates of that hand of best quality thanar were appearing in the small coil as fast as they were removed, and fresh foliage was being heaped into the large coil.

      “We expect,” said Lon happily, “to have a bumper crop of the best grade of thanar this year. It looks like every colonist on the planet will be able to pay off his debt to the Company and have credit left over. We’ll be sending a committee back to Earth to collect our credits there and organize an independent cooperative trading company that will bring out decent machinery and be a competitive buying agency for thanar. I’m sure the Company will be glad to see us all so prosperous.”

      It was stifling hot by now, but nobody noticed. The colonists were much too interested in seeing Carson go visibly to pieces before them. He was one of those people who seem to have been developed by an all-wise Providence expressly to be underlings for certain types of large corporations. Their single purpose in life is to impress their superiors in the corporation that hires them. But now Carson saw his usefulness ended. Through his failure, in some fashion, the Company’s monopoly on thanar leaves and its beautiful system of recruiting labor were ruined. He would be discharged and probably blacklisted.

      If he had looked up toward the western sky, squinted a little, and gazed directly at the local sun, he would have seen that his private troubles were of no importance at all. But he didn’t. He went staggering to his gyrocar and headed back for Cetopolis.

      It was a tiny town, with plank streets, a beamphone exchange, and its warehouses over by the spaceport. It was merely a crude and rather ugly little settlement on a newly colonized planet. But it had been the center of an admirable system by which the Cetis Gamma Trading Company got magnificently rich and dispensed thanar leaf (a milligram a day kept old age away) throughout all humanity at the very top price the traffic would bear. And the system was shaky now and Carson would be blamed for it.

      Behind him, the colonists rejoiced as hugely as Carson suffered. But none of them got the proper perspective, because none of them looked at the sun.

      About four o’clock in the afternoon, it got suddenly hotter again, as abruptly as before. It stayed hotter. Something made Cathy look up. There was a thin cloud overhead, just the right thickness to act something like a piece of smoked glass. She could look directly at the sun through it, examine the disk with her naked eye.

      But it wasn’t a disk any longer. Cetis Gamma was a bulging, irregularly shaped thing twice its normal size. As she looked, it grew larger still.

      Out on the ninth planet, Rhadampsicus was absorbed in his contemplation of Cetis Gamma. With nothing to interfere with his scanning, he could follow the developments perfectly. There had been first one gigantic prominence, then two, which separated to opposite sides of its equator. Then two other prominences began to grow between them.

      For two full days, the new prominences grew, and then split, so that the sun came to have the appearance of a ball of fire surrounded by a ring of blue-white incandescence.

      Then came instability. Flame geysers spouting hundreds of thousands of miles into emptiness ceased to keep their formation. They turned north and south from the equatorial line. The outline of the sun became irregular. It ceased to be round in profile, and even the appearance of a ring around it vanished. It looked—though this would never have occurred to Rhadampsicus—very much like a fiercely glowing gigantic potato. Its evolution of heat went up incredibly. It much more than doubled its rate of radiation.

      Rhadampsicus watched each detail of the flare-up with fascinated attention. Nodalictha dutifully watched with him. But she could not maintain her interest in so purely scientific a phenomenon.

      When a thin streamer of pure blue-white jetted upward from the sun’s pole, attaining a speed of six hundred and ninety-two miles per second, Rhadampsicus turned to her with enthusiasm.

      “Exactly in the pattern of a flare-up according to Dhokis’ theory!” he exclaimed. “I have always thought he was more nearly right than the modernists. Radiation pressure can build up in a closed system such as the interior of a sun. It can equal the gravitational constant. And obviously it would break loose at the pole.”

      Then he saw that Nodalictha’s manner was one of distress. He was instantly concerned.

      “What’s the matter, darling?” he asked anxiously. “I didn’t mean to neglect you, my precious one!”

      Nodalictha did something that would have scared a human being out of a year’s growth, but was actually the equivalent of an unhappy, stifled sob.

      “I am a beast!” said Rhadampsicus penitently. “I’ve kept you here, in boredom, while I enjoyed myself watching this sun do tricks. I’m truly sorry, Nodalictha. We will go on at once. I shouldn’t have asked you to—”

      But Nodalictha said unhappily, “It isn’t you, Rhadampsicus. It’s me! While you’ve been watching the star, I’ve amused myself watching those quaint little creatures on the second planet. I’ve thought of them as—well, as pets. I’ve grown fond of them. It was absurd of me—”

      “Oh, but it is wonderful of you,” said Rhadampsicus tenderly. “I love you all the more for it, my darling. But why are you unhappy about them? I made sure they had food and energy.”

      “They’re going to be burned up!” wailed Nodalictha, “and they’re so cute!”

      Rhadampsicus blinked his eyes—all sixteen of them. Then he said self-accusingly, “My dear, I should have thought of that. Of course this is only a flare-up, darling....” Then he made an impatient gesture. “I see! You would rather think of them as happy, in their little way, than as burned to tiny crisps.”

      He considered, scanning the second planet with the normal anxiety of a bridegroom to do anything that would remove a cloud from his bride’s lovely sixteen eyes.

      Night fell on Cetopolis, and with it came some slight alleviation of the dreadfulness that had begun that afternoon. The air was furnacelike in heat and dryness. There was the smell of smoke everywhere. The stars were faint and red and ominous, seen through the smoke that overlay everything. So far, to be sure, breathing was possible. It was even possible to be comfortable in an air-conditioned room. But this was only the beginning.

      Lon and Cathy sat together on the porch of his house, after sundown. The other colonists had gone away to their own homes. When the crack of doom has visibly begun, men do queer things. In Cetopolis some undoubtedly got drunk, or tried to. But there were farmers who would spend this last night looking at their drooping crops, trying to persuade themselves that if Cetis Gamma only went back to normal before sunrise, the crops might yet be saved. But none of them expected it.

      Off to the south there was an angry reddish glare in the sky. That was vegetation on the desert there, burning. It grew thick as jungle in the rainy season, and dried out to pure dessication in dry weather. It had caught fire of itself from the sun’s glare in late afternoon. Great clouds of acrid smoke rose from it to the stars.

      Beyond the horizon to the west there was destruction.

      Lon and Cathy sat close together. She hadn’t even asked to be taken back to Cetopolis, as convention would have required. The sun was growing hotter still while it sank below the horizon. It was expanding in fits and starts as new writhing spouts of stuff from its interior burst the bonds of gravity. Blazing magma flung upward in an unthinkable eruption. The sun had been three times normal size when it set.

      Lon was no astronomer, but plainly the end of life on the inner planets of Cetis Gamma was at hand.

      Cetis Gamma might, he considered, be in the process of becoming a nova. Certainly beyond the horizon there was even more terrible heat than had