Astounding Science Fiction, British Edition — page 86: what you’re looking at

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

84 the transmitter. His tentacular fingers sought its minuscule activator. There was little object, but still— He had never seen a civilization destroyed. All civilizations previously analyzed had evinced at least one redeeming feature, presented at least one area of healthy tissue into which the curative philosophy could be injected. He had never seen a civilization destroyed and he realized with sudden clarity that he never wanted to see one destroyed, and that above all he did not want to be instrumental in the destruction of this one. Perhaps, somewhere, there was healthy tissue. Perhaps, if he looked long enough, he could find it. His fingers fell away from the trans- mitter. He began expanding his field. Another chaotic canyon. It was much like the other, though there seemed to be more confusion. But that was probably due to the time of day. He had difficulty finding a practi- cal station but finally established him- self in an unfrequented alleyway. His first two subjects were moun- tain climbers. The fear motive in each case was typically predominant. His third subject represented a curiously recurrent pattern—the forest symbol, with the vague remembrance of a clearing that, in some cases, had the aspects of a garden and in others.a grassy meadow. The next three subjects were moun- tain climbers again. In despair, Ghan tried another section of the city. And another— Mountains and forests and dimly remembered gardens, and fear and hatred and bewilderment— A tall man of noble mien passed Ghan’s station—There was a great plain covered with monolithic statues. He was traveling across the plain, through the maze of statues, bowing before almost all of them, kissing the ASTOUNDING SCIENCE FICTION stone feet of others. In the distance a great obelisk pointed into the sky, its peak half obscured by fleecy clouds. It was white and shining and beauti- ful. Here at least, Ghan thought, was a possibility. Presently the man realized that he was not alone on the plain. There was furtive movement all around him, and once he came upon another man pay- ing homage. Quickly he slipped be- hind another statue, swiftly kissed its feet, then hurried in a wide detour, bowing and kneeling and kissing, around the other man. He breathed more easily when he was sure he was ahead, but when he looked at the obelisk again it was just as distant as before—just as remote. Ghan’s own mind had become an arctic steppe. For a moment the sym- bol had misled him, but only for a moment. The symbol was just another mountain; a two-dimensional moun- tain. The obstacle was not height, but ceremony; the goal was still dominance, but it was disguised as apotheosis. And the motivating factor was the same. Fear. He returned to the summerhouse. It was afternoon and a slight wind was coming over the white fields. The sky was still clear and blue. He reached for the transmitter and his fingers again sought the tiny activator. And then he paused. Beside the transmitter there was a folded sheet of tablet paper weighted down with a stone. Wonderingly, he picked it up. On its outer surface, laboriously printed, were the words, “Mr. Gan.” He unfolded the paper. Around its border a series of curious designs had been painstakingly pen- ciled. At first glance they appeared to connicloooks.c© nn