Astounding Science Fiction (British Edition), April 1944 — page 31: what you’re looking at

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

THE BEAST 29 He must have slept while that thought was still forming in his mind. His first, intense thought when he wakened the second time was: A man named Morrison—in the center of the Moon. He had the abrupt conviction: Got to find out more about the whole business. Those men came from Earth, and have been here a long time. There was a sound beside him. A thin, familiar face bent over him. “Uh!” said Morrison, “you’re awake again. I’ve been waiting, listening to you talking in your sleep. You talked a lot. I’m supposed to report everything you say.” Pendrake started to nod half to himself, his mind merely taking in the words; and then the greater meaning of them, the mental picture of someone—out there— someone named Big Oaf giving orders, cun- ningly receiving the reports of spies, grant- ing temporary stays of execution—abruptly he felt outraged. He sat up. “Look here,” he began, “who the devil—” His voice was clear and strong, but it wasn’t that returned strength that stopped him short. 3 Below him was a town set in a garden of trees and flowers. There were broad Streets, and he could see men and—queer! —uniformed women. He forgot the people of the town. His gaze soared from horizon to horizon. There was a green meadow on the far side of the town where cattle grazed. Beyond, the ceil- ing of the cave swept down to a junction with the ground at some point below the cliff, a point invisible from where he sat. It held him for a moment, that line where a radiant cave sky met a cave horizon. Then his gaze came back to the town, to the gorgeous town. A hundred yards away it began. First there was a line of tall trees heavily laden with large, gray fruit. The trees sheltered the nearest of many build- ings. The structure was small, delicate- looking. It seemed to have been built of some shell-like substance. It glowed as if light was inside it, shining through its translucent walls. Its design was more that of a shapely bee’s nest than of a sea shell, but the resemblance to the shell was there, too. The other buildings that glinted tantaliz- ingly through the trees differed widely in details, but the central architectural motif, and the basic glow-material was ever present. “The town’s been like that,” Morrison’s voice said, “‘since I came in 1853, and Big Oaf says it was like that when he—” Pendrake turned. The mention of dates was staggering, but he caught at the wedge they offered. “And he’s been around a million years, you said.” The thin face twisted uneasily. The man _ looked hastily around. His hand crept to- ward his knife. Then he caught Pendrake’s eye, and he let go of the hilt. He was trembling. “Don’t repeat that,’’ he whispered desper- ately. “I was mad to tell you, but it just came out, that’s all. It just came out.” There was no mistaking the fear. It was real, and it made everything else real, the million years, Big Oaf, the eternal town below. For a long second Pendrake stared at the way the weakling’s face was working, then he said: | “I won’t say a word, but I do want to know what it’s all about. How did you get here onto the Moon?” Morrison shifted. A bead of sweat ran down his cheeks; Pendrake felt a stark in- credulity that any man could be so fright- ened. “T can’t tell you,’ Morrison said in a panicky voice. “They'll throw me to the beast, too. Big Oaf’s been saying that there’s too many of us here ever since we ab- ducted those German girls.” “German girls!” Pendrake ejaculated; and stopped himself short, his eyes nar- rowed to pin points. That accounted for the women in uniform he had seen in the streets. But what a hornets’ nest these cave dwellers were stirring up for themselves— Morrison was continuing in his sharp tone: “Big Oaf and his cronies are mad for women. Big Oaf’s got five wives now, not counting the two that killed themselves and he sent another kidnaping expedition out. When they get back—well—he’s just waiting for a chance to kill off all the decent men.” The picture was clearer now; the missing details fundamentally unimportant. Pen- drake sat grim and cold, seeing the cataclysm that had brought hell to the Moon’s garden of Eden. The stupid fools, Morrison and the others, he thought furi- ously, waiting like a bunch of frightened sheep for the slaughter, even humming hap- pily during mindless moments. He parted his lips to speak—and was cut off by a bull voice behind him, roaring: “What’s this, Morrison? The prisoner strong enough to sit up, and you haven’t cComicbooks.€c©