Authentic Science Fiction, No. 23 — page 25: what you’re looking at

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

46 THE SINGING SPHERES one upon the other in masses, following no particular pattern but mounted in ledges of polished stone unlike any we had seen before. From the centre of this maze stretched two con- voluting cables, ending at the foot of a white, upright rod about five feet high—almost similar, in fact, to the “throne” upon which Makkub had squatted. The rods, in turn, were placed about five feet apart and wedged into two large pillars of that same unusual stone. Only one other part of the machine could be definitely distinguished—a trumpet-shaped tube, some three feet in diameter, which curved into the bowels of the machine. Its orifice opened somewhere near the door by which we had entered the hall. I looked at the great, complicated mass of apparatus that had squatted there through an incredible span of centuries and felt myself grow cold. Four spheres—two mauve and two pale lemon—moved for- watd to rest on either side of the upright rods. “They are the operators,” said Fuzzy-bubble. “It is their duty to focus and control the machine to best advantage when the ceremony begins.” | The sensation of tense expectancy became insufferable. We were all waiting—waiting. I felt as though I were waiting for an execution. Then Makkub began a long, ceremonial explanation of why we were there earlier than usual—“Just as though every- body didn’t know already,” said Hartnell—and a good deal of ritual bobbing, weaving and gliding ensued. After this, his six blue bearers brought Makkub to a posi- tion immediately in front of where we stood and he addressed me directly through the Mattus. “Now, O strange and in- explicable monsters,” he said, “shall we see whether any powers you may possess can be employed for the welfare of my people—whether your arrival in our domain is to prove good or evil.” Obviously, Fuzzy-bubble had told him the purpose of the Mattus rod, and I thought rather indignantly that he might at least have warned me. However, Makkub didn’t seem to expect comment—I was too overwhelmed by surprise and by his arrogant personality to give one, anyway—and moved his entourage to one side. ‘The climax was due to begin. Immediately, a sphere floated through the aperture from the outer hall, bobbed slightly as though in homage to Mak- THE SINGING SPHERES 47 kub and cried: “We who die salute the Wise Ones.” Then it darted into the queer, trumpet-shaped tube. I felt my heart thud in sympathy, and nausea welled hot and bitter in my throat. Then another sphere appeared, bobbed briefly and followed the first. Then a third ... anda fourth...anda fifth . . . and a sixth—all following at intervals of about two seconds. We waited, hardly knowing what to expect. The masses of coiled tubes in the lower part of the machine slowed first—mainly crimson and purple, as though power caused them to become red-hot. The sacrificed spheres began to move faster and I saw pastel shades of rainbow radiance spreading throughout the apparatus until the entire, massive edifice pulsated softly with light. “Very nice, ’m sure,” said Hartnell. “But what’s it sup- posed to do?” I watched for a little while in the hope that I might learn something by following the operators’ movements, then cursed myself for a fool. ‘There were no visible controls, of course —the four spheres manipulated hidden, internal sections of the contraption by means of their force-beams. And then the Machine of Revelation—apparently warming up—commenced to work. First sign manifested itself as a vague, purplish radiance creeping along the upright rods. It gtew in volume, thickened with white fumes and gradually spread across the gap. Within a matter of seconds I could have sworn it solidified, forming a tangible plate or screen five feet square, opaque as floating cloud. And upon this back- ground faint images began to form. “Now, said Fuzzy-bubble, in a low, tense manner, “comes the Moment of Truth.” Coloured lines flashed suddenly on a small plaque below the upright rods. “It is the second day—” We recognised the Kardoon landscape quite easily, with its brown, inhospitable cliffs, although the precise location escaped us. From a break in the jagged rocks poured spheres by the hundred, urgency demonstrated by their crowded, jostling, agitated flight. ‘Then the picture faded. “Well,” said Hartnell, drawing a deep breath, “that might be anything—”’ The coloured lines changed hue. Fuzzy-bubble came on the Mattus again. “It is still the second day—but rather earlier, I think.” Eomicbooks.com c 3