Authentic Science Fiction, No. 23 — page 19: what you’re looking at

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

34 THE SINGING SPHERES taminated our one remaining nursery,” he boomed, “they shall surely answer to me—to me, Makkub!”’ Fuzzy-bubble trembled in turn—with unconcealed appre- hension. “Pardon, O Makkub—but these creatures possess no force-beams. In that respect they are primitive and in- comprehensible—” “Rxactly!” roared Pakkan. “You admit you do not un- derstand them! Therein lies the danger!” He appealed to the council. “Is not that what I said?” “I crave permission to explain,” began Fuzzy-bubble, with no smali agitation. “I have learned certain things, which our counsellors should know—” Hartnell came on the inter-com. “What in Altair’s hap- pening, Pop? Is everything all right?” “Why are they bobbing about like that?” asked Tubby. I told them matters weren’t exactly promising, but that Fuzzy-bubble was doing his best. “Well, don’t just stand there,” said Hartnell, rather un- reasonably, Tthought. “Say a piece on your own account and get Fuzzy-bubble to interpret—” ie Frankiy, the idea of breaking in on the discussion uninvited never entered my head over-awed as I was by the powerful personalities of Makkub and Pakkan. “AI right,” I said. “All in good time.” As it turned out there was no need to doso. That business of our being able to leave a marked resting place after death, instead of merely vanishing into thin air, caught Makkub’s imagination very vividly—in the same way that Fuzzy-bubble had been impressed. “Tt has been a source of sorrowful reflection to me,” he told the assembly, “‘that once the vital spark is expended there will be no means by which my loving subjects may express their gratitude for all the unremitting care I have devoted to their interests, for recollection—even of great ones—grows dim through the generations. But if it is possible to learn — from these strangers how a permanent memorial to my honour may be established, perchance their arrival here may be turned to good account.” Whereupon I breathed more easily and Fuzzy-bubble posi- tively swelled with relief. It was the old vanity and egotism showing itself, even out here on Kardoon, in the uttermost limits of explored space. Pakkan glowed even greener with THE SINGING SPHERES 35 chagrin, but the bright orange sphere resting on Makkub’s left spoke up to consolidate whatever position he held. “‘I—Zakkar—pronounce our ruler’s words to interpret a wish that rests in the minds of all of us,” he said, importantly. “Therefore I recommend to the council that these three monsters who have the temerity to travel from other worlds to investigate us—” he sniggered at such a foolish presumption on our part—‘‘shall themselves be investigated.” I didn’t like his phraseology over-much and Makkub pounced on the far-from-fiattering description. ‘Monsters are they, indeed. I heard just now the uncouth growling noises by which they communicate with one another. Ob- viously, they must be rated far below ourselves in culture and natural gifts—we who are descendants of the Wise Ones and who have been entrusted with their wonderful heritage. These strange creatures exceed us only in their ability to leave a permanent memorial of themselves. This knowledge they shall be forced to transfer to us.” He paused, while a tense, hushed assembly waited for his next words. “It is right that [, Makkub, should experience such honour. Then, when I am gone, there will be a place of pilgrimage in memory of me, where all men may come to worship.” It was quite dreadful, of course, and I really felt like taking Hartnell’s advice to join the discussion. Fuzzy-bubble bounced up and down in distress and took his life in his hands. “The unborn generations—’” he bleated, pitifully. “Should they not help us there. too, in the study of life-giving rocks? Although ignorant, perchance we may find aid—”’ “Our ruler has given his decision,” said Pakkan, in an awful voice. “How dare you question it?” Makkub’s over-weening vanity was shaken by this inter- ruption and he swelled visibly with rage. “It would be an even greater memorial,” added Fuzzy- bubble, with remarkable presence of mind. I held my breath, waiting. ‘“Makkub—the Father of His Race,” said Zakkar, reflec- tively, as though quoting some fulsome epitaph. “Truly a lasting tribute.” In that moment I forgave him his impolite descriptions of ourselves. And it became evident that Makkub was pondering the situation, too. His tenuous outer envelope shimmered and Gomilchbooks.co