Authentic Science Fiction, No. 23 — page 18: what you’re looking at

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

32 THE SINGING SPHERES. claimed aloud in sheer amazement. In what must have been the most gigantic, ellipsoid cavern of that entire subterranean system were assembled untold thousands of spheres, banked upon one another in layer after layer, like prodigious, shining masses of soap-lather. Their colours, winking and glowing, changed kaleidoscopically and unceasingly. But we were whisked quickly through this multitude and gently deposited in an open space where spheres of obvious importance rested upon a weirdly shaped structure that graded them according to rank. Situated.centrally were three solid, white obelisks, the principal pillar about six feet high and the others slightly shorter. On these rested the biggest globes we had seen so far, and they perched there so pom- pously and incongruously that I was seized with an insane desire to giggle. Thrones for counsellors of lesser import- ance extended in a semi-circle to either side—always this emphasis on circles, spheres and ellipsoids, I noticed—and I managed to recognise Fuzzy-bubble an instant before he moved into the area where we stood. Yet when I looked again at the great red sphere occupying the central obelisk I never felt less like laughing. It might weil have been a huge, round, menacing face staring back at me with hostile curiosity. I understood quite well in that moment why his arrival had brought a sudden hush to the assembled populace, eliminating the awful, high-pitched sing- ing from the inter-com. None of us had much desire for talk- ing—even young Hartnell and Tubby, who have metaphoric- aly thumbed their noses at puffed-up pomposity in many corners of the universe. We sensed no definite, active evil— merely guarded hostility and an unmistakably powerful per- sonality. I forgave Fuzzy-bubble for speaking of “The Pre- sence” in capital letters. Without any particular enthusiasm —but duty is duty, after all—I switched on the Mattus. In the instant that contact was made there crowded upon me all the usual impressions of such occasions—curiosity, coupled with a certain amount of revulsion at our personal appearance and a small amount of natural enmity. Yet it was necessary for me to make an effort to shut out extraneous images and concentrate upon the principal characters. Fuzzy-bubble, after bobbing several times respectfully at the foot of Makkub’s tall, narrow obelisk, embarked on a THE SINGING SPHERES 33 speech of explanation, setting the inter-com faintly squeak- ing and whistling again. “O mighty Makkub,” he said—and I hope it’s quite clear (hat in all our associations with the spheres of Kardoon no word passed, but that I am roughly translating mental im- pressions and emotions into understandable language—“these are the strange creatures who have come from another world and whom I have brought into your presence.” Even without the Mattus I could have sensed the attention of that multitude focused upon us like thousands of great, coloured eyes. “In many ways they are inferior to us—yet in the crisis which has come upon our beloved Kardoon I would be fail- ing in my duty as Counsellor of Scientific Inquiry if I did not ascertain whether some of their knowledge might be of use to LIS. Mention of “the crisis” brought a respectful hush, followed by a vague murmur of agreement with Fuzzy-bubble’s suc- ceeding sentence. He referred, of course, to the way his race was dying out. “In preparation for this, I have allowed the strangers to gaze upon our precious nursery, that they may understand the manner of our birth, so different from their own—” On either side of Makkub, occuping the two slightly smaller obelisks, rested a green sphere, and another of bright orange. The green sphere bounced up and down with rage so vio- lently that for one absurd moment I feared he might punc- lure himself, but his paroxysms of fury pulsed through the Mattus with sufficient strength to make me definitely alarmed. “How dared you!” he roared. “How dared you imperil the future generations by allowing these gross animals to gaze into our sacred ground? ‘Their filthy radiations may spread polson— _ The green sphere—his name was Pakkan—had done a good p> of spreading poison, too, and the multitude hissed with lOrror. “No, no,” said Fuzzy-bubble, hastily. “That is not so! |, personally, vouch that such a thing is impossible—” He was a bit late with his protestations, however, and the damage had been done. JI saw Makkub’s crimson perimeter vibrating visibly. “If these creatures’ force-beams have con- comicbooks.co