"You can stop giving me the stink eye anytime now Wendy," Montana-Bob said irritably. "I really haven't done anything wrong."

"Sure you haven't," Wendy Testaburger sneered. "Where should I start, actually?"Bob was finally realizing why she and Stan had broken up so many times. "First of all," she said. "You're publishing the second story from the second song you heard first. That's cheating right there!"

Bob pinched the bridge of his nose. "Okay…first of all, just for the sake of accuracy: This is actually the second story from the third song I listened to; but I can explain! The first song was Nazareth's 'Rose in the Heather', and it's a fucking instrumental…so I got no inspiration from that at all! The second song was nice and all and I started writing a story about it, but I wanted to find out what the next song I was going to write a story about was, so I listened to it. I can't help it if I had such a cool idea that this story practically wrote itself."

"Sure it was easy! You stole the story from Arthur C. Clarke!"

"I did not 'steal the story from Arthur C. Clarke,'" Bob snapped. "In case you haven't noticed, Windy, there's probably about four hundred billion pieces of literature floating around out there…in print, scribbled inside notebooks, on fan fiction sites... There's probably not a single good idea that hasn't been done more than once. All I did was take a really great idea, write a whole new story around it, and repackage it as a South Park crossover. This is no different than what they did with the movie 'Oh Brother, Where Art Thou? which is just a creative retelling of Homer's 'The Odyssey. Heck, Wendy, this story was made into a 'Twilight Zone' episode!"

Wendy seemed to consider this.

"And besides, Mr. Clarke's 'The Star' was originally published in November of 1955. It's been reprinted a bunch of times because it's so great that it needed to be…but not so much lately. If nothing else, this may be a way to bring this story to a few people who otherwise never would have had the opportunity to experience it. That's not to say that a casual reader wouldn't be better served finding Mr. Clarke's story and reading it; but a fan of South Park might enjoy this version more."

Wendy still didn't seem convinced. "Well, all right," she said grudgingly. "But I'm going to be watching you."

Chapter Track: Losing my Religion – R.E.M.

Crossover with: Short story 'The Star' by Arthur C. Clarke

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the above.

Pastor Kenny McCormick was almost startled out of his chair when the soft knock came at his cabin door. Even though he had hoped this knock would come tonight, it still startled him. He finally looked away from the crucifix on the wall next to the computer monitor. He'd been staring at it for over an hour, hoping to hear the calm, soft voice that he had come to depend on to guide him for most of his life. He was pretty sure he would never hear that voice again.

Kenny stood, every movement a careful measured effort in the one-sixth gravity they maintained aboard the starship. He made his way across his tiny cabin and unlocked the door and opened it, eager to see the man who was waiting on the other side for him.

"Hey, Butters," Kenny said, trying his hardest to sound cheerful.

Ensign Leopold 'Butters' Stotch was trying to look happy as well. The events of the past two weeks had weighed as heavily on him as it had on the rest of the crew, perhaps more so, and it showed in the haunted look in his eyes. It was something they had all been struggling with, and just in the past hour Kenny had discovered a final piece of the puzzle. If you knew what I just learned, Kenny thought. You might turn and walk away right now.

The knowledge Kenny possessed and would soon have to share would rock worlds and shatter the foundations of some of mankind's oldest institutions. He wished anyone but he had made this discovery.

"Hey Kenny." Butters was the only member of the crew who called him by his first name. Everyone else either called him 'father' or 'Pastor McCormick.' Chief Engineer Cartman called him 'Preacher', usually with a sneer. He's going to have a field day in a few hours, Kenny thought.

Kenny stepped back as Butters came into his cabin. "Gonna have trouble sleeping again tonight?" They made their careful way to Kenny's desk.

"I don't think I'll ever be able to sleep again, Kenny," Butters said sadly. His impossibly blue eyes were shiny and downcast. He'd given up trying to look cheerful the moment Kenny had closed his door.

"It's been a really difficult couple of weeks," Kenny said. They sat down on opposite sides of the desk, Kenny already pulling open the large drawer at the bottom and taking out two small brandy snifters and a bottle of brandy. He poured their glasses half-full, the amber liquid flowing like thin syrup in the low gravity.

"Kenny." Butters said simply. They raised their glasses across the desk and gently clinked them together.

If he knew it would work permanently, Kenny would reprogram an airlock to malfunction and step into the vacuum of space and die while his blood boiled inside his veins and his eyes burst from his head. Or he would find a way around the engine room's multiple defenses and walk into her reactor core and incinerate himself. Or he would kill himself any way he could…but it wouldn't matter. He would just come back the next day, and still be facing the same terrible knowledge that right now only he possessed. If he didn't share his discovery, someone else would; but it would be remembered across the span of the galaxy that man had colonized as his discovery.

"I just feel so awful, y'know?" Butters said. "If only they'd had just a little more time…"

"I know how you feel," Kenny replied, looking anywhere but at Butters. He wanted to share his new knowledge, but decided not to; the troubled ensign would know soon enough anyway.

"We came all the way out here to find out if there's other life in the universe; at least now we know there used to be." Leave it to Butters to try to look for the good in any situation.

"I keep thinking." Kenny sipped his brandy. "Maybe they only showed us the best of themselves, you know?"

Butters shook his head sadly. "I don't think so, Kenny."

They sat in comfortable silence, taking some comfort in each other's presence.

Their mission had started out routinely enough: Investigate a star that had gone supernova eons ago, thousands of light years from earth, learn what they could about it and the space surrounding it, and ultimately decide how and if it could be exploited for profit. Even before they had reached the dead star, however, their attention was drawn to something else much more interesting.

On their way in, they had chanced upon a single planet orbiting this burned out cinder. It was this former sun's Pluto, orbiting at the distant edge of darkness where it had mostly withstood the blast of its sun's demise. They had aimed their instruments toward this insignificant ball of rock expecting to find nothing of interest, but instead their attention was drawn to something completely unexpected.

They had discovered the monolith.

Rising above this dead world like a misplaced Washington Monument, it had probably been twenty miles tall before the heat from the exploding star had melted it down to a stump a quarter its original size, like a forgotten candle. It was clearly the work of intelligence, and clearly intended to be a beacon to anyone passing by. Their original mission was abandoned to explore mankind's first evidence of intelligent life outside of its own cradle.

Five of them had gone down to the surface of this tiny moonlet. Once they'd sent word home of what they had discovered, two large research vessels were dispatched from earth and would arrive within the week traveling at maximum speed, many times that of light.

What they found buried in caves deep beneath the monolith was a veritable Smithsonian Institute of artifacts, treasures left behind tens of thousands of years ago by a civilization who had known for years that their sun was dying and their days were numbered. They discovered paintings and sculptures made by a race that didn't look much different than man, only they had learned to cooperate with each other, and created a magnificent society where the individual was rewarded for his work and everyone could prosper, and no one did without. They had carried these treasures from their own world much closer to their treasonous sun to this distant planet for safekeeping.

They discovered countless pages of carefully preserved texts and documents, as well as simple primers that allowed them to easily decipher the language. There was enough material buried within these pages to keep scholars busy for generations, but they had read enough already to learn about the tragic final years of this civilization.

They were advanced enough to send ships to other worlds within their own solar system…but they didn't yet possess the secrets of interstellar travel that could have allowed at least a few of them to escape the coming cataclysm and continue their race; so instead they had left this memorial behind for some future explorer to find. It was their only way to let someone else in the universe know they had once lived.

The most haunting image of all was an enormous mural that had been constructed to survive the harsh conditions of space for however long it took for someone to discover it. They had inscribed a title over it, which translated to roughly The Final Sunset, and depicted hundreds of them lined up along the shore of a beautiful turquoise ocean, while their bloated and angry sun hovered just above the horizon. They were of all sizes, children and adults alike, doing the equivalent of holding hands as they looked toward the sea.

Kenny had set this picture as his computer desktop, and realized suddenly that they were both staring silently at it. He raised the Brandy bottle questioningly, and refilled their glasses when Butters nodded.

Butters raised his glass to Kenny's computer. "To them," he said, draining his brandy in two gulps.

"To them," Kenny responded, emptying his glass as well. They looked at each other sadly. In another life, one where most of Kenny's hadn't suddenly turned into an enormous lie, perhaps they could have found comfort together in each other's arms. He knew Butters wanted him that way, and was pretty sure Butters knew he returned the feelings. Perhaps tomorrow we can, Kenny thought. But I don't think you'll want me anymore.

As if Butters had read his mind, he said: "Kenny, if there's anything you need-" he nodded as if to emphasize anything. "Y'know, if you just want to talk, or anything at all. My cabin is right down the hall."

Kenny nodded and they bid each other good night. Butters was a bit unsteady after two drinks, and Kenny hoped he would be able to sleep. At least if he fell, he wouldn't injure himself in the low gravity.

Kenny didn't just attempt to tend to the spiritual needs of the crew; he also had degrees in astronomy and astrophysics, and as such it was his job to crunch the numbers of all the data they had gathered. He now knew precisely when this star had exploded, and when its light (traveling six trillion miles a year) had finally reached earth, to blaze for a few hours like a searchlight in the night sky. This knowledge made a mockery of what Kenny had devoted his life to, and made it impossible for him to ever again believe in a just and merciful God, or in a universe where things, even terrible things, happen for a reason. What had happened here was beyond senseless, and Kenny was suddenly infuriated by it.

He raised the bottle to his lips, the liquid flowing slowly into his mouth in the microgravity. Once it hit his throat, it lit a fire inside him that went all the way down. He kept drinking anyway until the bottle was almost empty before he had to stop.

"Why, God?" Kenny asked, staring at the crucifix, his voice raspy from the liquor scorching his throat. "Why did you do this? It's not bad enough that I can never die? And that I'll always be the one who discovered…" He trailed off; he could find no words to finish that thought. Instead he cried out helplessly, "They were a far better people than we can ever hope to be! You should have destroyed our sun instead!"

He tipped the bottle up again and didn't stop swallowing until it was empty. He realized he had probably just drunk enough to die from alcohol poisoning, and even though he knew he'd be back in a few hours, he would welcome the brief respite.

"God!" He screamed and hurled the empty bottle at the crucifix as hard as he could. It hit the wall harmlessly without breaking and dropped gently to the floor. "There's three hundred billion stars in the galaxy you could have destroyed." He scanned his desk for something else to throw. "Why did you have to use this one, just so one day it would shine over Bethlehem?"