Astounding Science Fiction (UK Edition) — page 7: what you’re looking at

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

~ THE STORM 5 shook himself grimly and gave his full attention to the street ahead. . A fan-shaped pink fire spread skyward from two machines that stood in the center of the street. The flame was a very pale pink and completely pie i It looked elec- tronic, deadly. Beyond it were men in glittering uni- forms. A steady trickle of them moved in and out of buildings. About three blocks down the avenue a second curtain of pink fire flared up. There seemed to be no attempt to guard the sides. The men he could see looked at ease, confident. There was murmured con- versation, low laughter and—they weren’t all men. As Maltby walked forward,, two fine- looking young women in uniform came down the steps of the nearest of the re- quisitioned buildings. One of the guards of the flame said something to them. There was~ a twin tinkle of silvery laughter. Still laugh- ing, they strode off down the street. It was suddenly exciting. There was an air about these people of far places, of tremendous and wonderful lands beyond the farthest horizons of the staid Fifty Suns. He felt cold, then hot, then he glanced up at the fantastically big ship; and the chill came back. One ship, he thought, but so big, so mighty that thirty billion people didn’t dare send their own fleets against it. They— ’ He grew aware that one of the brilliantly arrayed guards was staring at him. The man spoke into a wrist radio, and after a mo- ment a second man broke off his conversa- tion with a third soldier and came over. | He stared through the flame barrier at Maltby. » “Is there anything you desire? Or are you just looking?” He spoke English, curiously accented— but English! His manner was mild, almost gentle, cultured. The whole effect had a naturalness, an unalienness that was pleas- ing. After all, Maltby thought, he had never. had the fear of these people that the others had. His very plan to defeat the ship was based upon his own fundamental belief that the robots were indestructible in the sense that no one could ever wipe them out com- pletely. Quietly, Maltby explained his presence. “Oh, yes,” the man nodded, “we’ve been expecting you. I’m to take you at once to the meteorological room of the ship. Just a moment—” The flame barrier went down and Maltby was led into one of the buildings. There was a long corridor, and the transmitter that projected him into the ship must have been focused somewhere along it. Because abruptly he was in a very large room. Maps floated in half a dozen anti- gravity pits. The walls shed light from millions of tiny point sources. And every- where were tables with curved lines of very dim but sharply etched light on their sur- faces. Maltby’s guide was nowhere to be seen. Coming toward him, however, was a tall, fine-looking old man. The oldster offered his hand. “My name is Lieutenant Cannons, senior ship meteorologist. If you will sit down here we can plan an orbit and the ship can start moving within the hour. The grand captain is very anxious that we get started.” Maltby nodded casually. But he was stiff, alert. He stood quite still, feeling around with that acute second mind of his, his Dellian mind, for energy pressure that would show secret attefnpts to watch or control his mind. But there was nothing like that. He smiled finally, grimly. It was going to be as simple as this, was it? Like hell it was. As he sat down, Maltby felt suddenly cozy and alive. The pure exhilaration of existence burned through him like a flame. He recognized the singing excitement for the battle thrill it was and felt a grim joy that for the first time in fifteen years he could do something about it. During his long service in the Fifty Suns navy, he had faced hostility and suspicion because he was a Mixed Man. And always he had felt helpless, unable to do anything about it. Now, here was a far more basic hostility, however veiled, and a suspicion that must be like a burning fire. And this time he could fight. He could look this skillfully voluble, friendly old man squarely in the eye and— Friendly? “It makes me smile sometimes,” the old man was saying, “when I think of the un- scientific aspects of the orbit we have to plan now. For instance, what is the time lag on storm reports out here?” Maltby could not suppress a smile. So Lieutenant Cannons wanted to know things, did he? To give the man credit, it wasn’t really a lame opening. The truth was, the comiclbooks CO