Astounding Science Fiction, British Edition, December 1955 — page 43: what you’re looking at

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

THE WAITABITS 41 of the tracks. He’s to do that before taking a look at the town.” He turned to the others, added, “‘Shallom should have a panorama of the whole area taken on the way down, but it won’t provide the details Ogilvy can get us.”’ Pascoe, again standing at the port, asked, ““How much slower is slower?’’ **Bh?”’ “When a thing is already creeping as though next year will do, how can you tell that it has decided to apply the brakes?’’ He elucidated further, “It may be my imagination but I fancy that train has reduced velocity by a few yards per hour. I hope none of its passengers suffered injury by being slung from one end to the other.”’ Leigh had a look. The train had now gone something less than half a mile from his observation point. The tedious speed and slight foreshortening make it impossible to decide whether or not Pascoe was correct. He had to keep watch a full fifteen minutes before he too agreed that the train was slowing down. During that time the helicopter took off with a superfast whoosh-whoosh from whirling vanes. Soaring over the track, it fled ahead of the train, shrank into the hills until its plastic-egg cabin resembled a dewdrop dangling from a spinning sycamore seed. Contacting the signals room, Leigh said, “Put Ogilvy’s reports through the speaker here.” He returned to the port, continued watching the train. All the crew not asleep or on duty were similarly watching. “Village six miles along line,” blared the speaker. “‘A second four miles farther on. A third five miles beyond that. Eight thousand feet. Climbing.” Five minutes later, ‘“Six-coach train on tracks, headed eastward. Appears stalled from this height, but may be moving.” “Coming the other way and at similar crawl,” remarked Pascoe, glancing at Walterson. ““Bang goes your sick people theory if that one also holds a bunch of zombies.”’ ‘Altitude twelve thousand,”’ announced the loud-speaker. ‘““Terminal city visible beyond hills. Distance from base twenty-seven miles. Will investigate unless recalled.” Leigh made no move to summon him back. There followed a long silence. By now the train was still less than a mile away and had cut progress down to about one yard per minute. Finally it stopped, remained motionless for a quarter of an hour, began to back so gradually that it had inched twenty yards before watchers became certain that it had reversed direction. Leigh leveled powerful glasses upon it. Definitely it was returning to the base of the bluff. “Funny thing here,” bawled Ogilvy from the wal1.“‘Streets full of people all struck stiff. It was the same in those villages now that I come to think of it. I went over them too fast for the fact to register.” ‘“That’s crazy,”’ said Pascoe. ‘““How can he tell from that height?” “Ym hovering right over the main stem, a tree-lined avenue with crowded sidewalks,’’ Ogilvy continued. “‘If anyone is moving, | can’t detect it. Request permission to examine from five hundred.” Using the auxiliary mike linked through the signals room, Leigh asked, y ce ce CORMIC DOSE COR