Astounding Science Fiction, British Edition, December 1955 — page 25: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

IN CLOUDS OF GLORY 23 He moved his hands in an unsettled gesture. “I don’t understand how they knew,” he repeated, and dropped his hands into his lap. Demaris, mystified, stared across the room at Resvik, the contact, who had been there when he and Sath came in. Beside him, Sath was also frowning, trying to make sense out of the situation. Resvik was impassive. The Overchief seemed not to realize that Demaris and Sath had no idea of what he meant. He rambled on. “Almost exactly to the moment. As soon as we and Genis became pre- occupied with each other.” ‘ _ Sath cleared his throat and ventured the question. “‘Sir—I’m sorry, but | I’m afraid I’m a bit fagged out. May I ask you to repeat what’s happened?” The Overchief turned toward Sath. His gaze was weak and unsteady. He squinted across the room. “What? Oh, Sath— Yes. It’s Stain. I just got word. Their ships have been in Farla for the past month.” He gestured again, his palms slapping down on his thighs. ‘““There is no more Farla.” Demaris felt his facial muscles twitch in an uncontrollable surprise reaction. Then he became expressionless. Beside him, Sath was breathing erratically. Demaris looked at Resvik with careful deliberation. They were both in immediate, pressing danger. The Overchief’s previous line of speculation about him had been very close to truth. But the contact seemed unconcerned. “They moved in against almost no opposition,” the Overchief was con- tinuing. ‘““What they did meet was hopelessly indecisive, unorganized, and lacked any initiative whatsoever. They moved in rapidly, set up bases, and are now completely consolidated. It would take years to undermine them to the point where we could hope to engage them successfully.” Sath had obviously gotten well past his initial shock, and his mind had _ been working rapidly. ‘“Well, sir, that is a setback, of course. But we have an efficient and well-directed staff, apportioning credit to Tjetlyned Todren, who deserves it. It seems to me that the immediate institution of a vigorous program would—” The Overchief cut him off with a muddy waving of his hand. “‘No, no, I appreciate your enthusiasm, Tjetlyn Faris, but this is a defeat...a defeat—” he repeated in a barely audible mutter. ““We have been bested—” *“But, sir—”’ Oddly enough, the Overchief displayed no surprise or anger at Sath’s repeated overreachings of privilege. He merely shook his head hopelessly, and Sath must have realized there was no purpose in pressing the point. He shot Demaris a baffled look, but found no help there. Resvik addressed himself to the Overchief. “‘Sir, if you'll find the time to conclude that business we spoke of—” The Overchief started at the sound of his voice. Obviously, he’d com- pletely forgotten the man was there. He stared bewilderedly at Resvik for a moment before he collected himself. “Yes, yes, of course— Tjetlyn Faris, Pll speak further to Griol Resvik and Tjetlyned Todren.” “Yes, sir.” Plainly baffled and shocked at the Overchief’s irresolution, Sath slipped out after one more fruitless look at Demaris. Demaris continued not to speak, mainly because he had no idea of what COMIC OOOL<S.COMi