Authentic Science Fiction, No. 23 — page 27: what you’re looking at

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

50 THE SINGING SPHERES him, discouragingly. “I’m ready to believe him, too. After all, how can they fake pictures of things that haven’t hap- pened?”’ . “You don’t think the whole affair’s a large, unpleasant hoax? Only the select few from the council have a chance to see the thing working, remember. Suppose Makkub waits till something happens, then sends the counsellors out to tell the populace it was exactly as the machine predicted.” Automatically—forgetting the darkness—I shook my head. “That won’t work. Fuzzy-bubble believed in the machine, right enough. He couldn’t have deceived the Mattus—” This rather took the wind from Hartnell’s sails, but he hadn’t finished. “Or suppose the focus was wrong. Fuzzy- bubble said the machine goes several days ahead—yet all we saw is due to happen in the next few hours.” Now as I remember this was not quite accurate. The first two scenes—the flight of spheres and the Great Hall assem- bly—were definitely timed to occur shortly; after that the coloured-line indicator ceased to register. ‘So,’ I said, “we still don’t know whether we’ve a few hours or several days to live. Or any time in between.” | “The entire machine might have run amok,” said Hart- nell, hopefully. “Suppose that scene of the graves isn’t due to take place, maybe, for fifty years—” Tubby sighed. “There’s an awful lot of supposing going on. “Once I get off this damned, dreary planet,” I said, fret- fully, “I’m going to take good care never to come back to be buried here—whether it’s fifty or a hundred years from now!” Hartnell declared he’d never encountered two more miser- able and pessimistic individuals than Tubby and me. He said that if we refused to be cheered up by his highly in- telligent speculations concerning the true nature of the Machine of Revelation we might at least stir ourselves to take escape action instead of merely sitting inside an over- sized egg-shell moaning about cruel Fate. Tubby grunted. ‘““There’s half a dozen bubbles hanging round the entrance. Stick your head outside and you'll be slapped flat on your face by a force-beam!” This damped Hartnell’s enthusiasm a little, but he perse- vered. I got the impression he would have concentrated more easily had he been able to pace up and down the floor. THE SINGING SPHERES 51 Curvature made this both uncomfortable and impossible, so he resumed squatting in brooding silence. Wishful thinking became replaced by hopelessness. : “What d’you think they’re going to do with us?” asked Tubby. | Gloomy reflections were interrupted by sudden whistlings and chirrupings over the inter-com. We had scarcely time to sit up inquiringly before Makkub himself—without his six blue bearers or attendant counsellors—floated into the room. His deep red radiance reflected in sinister fashion from the walls and bathed our suits in a fierce, eerie glow. “Well, well,” said Hartnell, softly. “Why this lack of pomp and circumstance? Has he come to strike a private bargain—or just to gloat?” We didn’t have to wait long to find out. Staring rather ap- prehensively into the round, crimson “face” of Kardoon’s hereditary ruler, I switched on the Mattus. His personality hit me with the force of a thrown brick. “Now, O misshapen ones from beyond the limbo, have you seen your fate in the Machine of Revelation? You will never return to the strange, undesirable world whence you sprang, but lie here on Kardoon, with those curious mounds to mark your resting place. That is the meaning of the pictures displayed by the Wise Ones’ wonderful engine. The Council of Interpretation has thus decided, and its verdict cannot be gainsaid.” I knew Hartnell and Tubby were bursting with curiosity, so I took time out to tell them what was happening. “Those graves—”’ : “Yes?” “Theyre ours, all right!” Hartnell considered this for a moment. ‘In that case, Pop, tell the over-stuffed balloon a few home-truths—deflate him a bit! If we're near the end we might as well have a run for our money!’ There was a good deal of common sense in this, no doubt. so I swallowed once or twice to help pluck up my courage, and said: “O Makkub—we are not of Kardoon. We do not admit that the pictures in the Machine of Revelation con- cern us—” Instead of deflating, he began—literally—to swell and blaze with indignation. “Blasphemy!” he shouted. “An insult Eomichooks.com