Authentic Science Fiction, No. 23 — page 10: what you’re looking at

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

16 THE SINGING SPHERES " Well,” said Hartnell, “T'll admit I’ve never seen anything quite like these before—” ~ Think they’re—dangerous?”’ He shrugged. “Mr. Fuzzy-bubble over there—” he jerked a thumd in the direction of the departing sphere—‘seemed to think we were. At least, it proves one thing—” “Oh?” I said. “What?” He stared curiously for a moment. ‘“Didn’t you notice, Pop? That row in the inter-com—these things cause it! You heard the howl when that one jumped about just now—” I stared. “J thought it was just my nerves playing tricks,” I confessed, rather sheepishly. “Well,” said Tubby, “let’s get on and see if we can’t quieten ‘em a bit. This whistling’s wearing me down.” “A lot louder now, too,” admitted Hartnell. At last we were able to see the objects at close quarters. Their general appearance did not change, but we finally esti- mated their size fairly accurately. The spheres varied be- tween fifteen inches and two feet in diameter. They clung motionless, except for a faint twinkling of the outer envelope, and they were definitely responsible for the ringing sound we ali heard. By now the noise had become so intense I won- _ dered how long I might endure it. Suddenly we saw No. 1 returning from its journey to the cliffs. It hung before us a few seconds—changing colour more rapidly, I thought—then moved off slowly again in the direc- tion from which it had come. It halted, moved a few yards, paused once more, floated on again. monotonous whistle on the inter-com altered its note very slightly. “What in Altair is it doing?” I asked. “Why,” said Hartnell, “don’t you see? It wants us to follow!” He paused, thoughtfully. “Only,” he added slowly, “I don’t think we'll waste time that way.” And each time the. CHAPTER THREE Nursery For a Dying World OUNG Hartnell’s gift of generalship has formed a notable feature of our past adventures. I suppose it boils down to an instinctive talent for doing the right thing at the right time, but in the present case I confess I’d have gone off after the floating bubble, anxious to co-operate in the interests of human knowledge. Yet when we came to analyse the situation, Tubby and I could see quite clearly how the land lay. We could ask our- selves several interesting questions. Why were the spheres so obviously guarding the valley-entrance? Why had they dodged to and fro with such agitation when they somehow saw us approaching across the enclosed plain? If they viewed us with suspicion—as, no doubt, they had every right to do— wouldn’t they try to divert us from the valley? Finally— what did the valley itself contain? “Come on, then,” said Hartnell. “Let's wander through that gap in the rocks and see what they’re up to.” He might have been suggesting a pleasant Sunday afternoon’s walk in- stead of preparing to stick his neck into unimaginable perils, and Tubby followed him just as calmly. For my part, I wished we’d followed Mr. Fuzzy-bubble out across the desert. More spheres popped into sight from somewhere until when we reached the narrow cleft of rock there must have been fully a dozen clinging like limpets to the clifi-face. “Take no notice,” said Hartnell. “Ignore ’°em and keep going.” It was all very well for him to talk like that. I looked at the nearest pair, now scarcely a dozen yards away. ‘The noise over the inter-com became indescribable. Ringing and whist- ling sounds multiplied themselves to a shrieking crescendo. “T’ve—I’ve got to switch off!” I gasped. “I can’t stand it any longer—” “No, Pop, no!” said Hartnell, urgently. “We might need to talk to each other in emergency—” 17 GComicbooks.co