Authentic Science Fiction, No. 23 — page 38: what you’re looking at

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

72 THE SINGING SPHERES are all right. did it.” Young Hartnell is usually at his cockiest in times like these, but somehow we didn’t find it difficult to forgive him. On this occasion, he chose to be annoyingly mysterious. “Let the explanations wait, Pop. It'll help while away the long winter evenings. This is the problem now: Are we going to leave Kardoon with the job half-done?”’ He made it sound all very worthy and righteous, whereupon I threw back at him a remark he himself had voiced earlier. “What job? Not so long ago you were telling us how im- portant it is to get back to the ship with our information—” He grinned again. “Think what Makkub’s likely to do to poor old Fuzzy-bubble. Are we going to leave friends in the lurch? Never let it be said that—” “No politics,” I warned him. He made a rude noise. I tried again. “Let’s leave before that picture of the three graves comes true—” | In the end, of course, we had no option but to agree. “For the second time,” said Tubby, “what now?” “Fuzzy-bubble or Fandar might spy out the land. Maybe they’ve heard already what’s happening.” I passed on the query via the Mattus. “Oh, yes,” said Fuzzy-bubble. “All men are called to the Great Halls. Makkub has summoned another emergency But thanks, anyway. Now tell us how you assembly in honour of those who are to be sacrificed. There 4 is murmuring among the people—yet they are helpless—” “Murmuring?” inquired Hartnell. “That’s good! What he really means is that they’re screeching their heads off!” “Be thankful it isn’t sounding very loud in the inter-com, anyway.” “But don’t you see—with all of ’em listening to Makkub somebody might creep near enough to find out what it’s about. We can’t do it because we’ve lost the Karlin line—” Fuzzy-bubble volunteered for this rather dangerous job, THE SINGING SPHERES 713° while the rest of us remained hiding in some convenient comer of the rocks. Not wishing to stray too far from the main entrance, we arranged a rendezvous near the cleft leading to the nursery and it was here, with considerable misgivings, that I watched him float away. We arranged for him to transmit a low note, recognisable over the inter-com, in case of trouble. Whether this provided him with reassurance I don’t know, but even if the signal came I wasn’t optimistic about being able to form a rescue squad. CHAPTER ELEVEN “Can You See It? Look—Down There!’ ror the time being, then, we had nothing to do save sit in a secluded pocket of the rocks and hope no searchers would find us. Fuzzy-bubble had departed on his unenvi- able but necessary mission, leaving Fandar feeling rather dejected and alone. I tried to cheer him up over the Mattus, only to find he was in no mood for conversation. “At least,” said Tubby, “we could pass the time hearing what Hartnell did with that gravity-reactor. I don’t like not knowing things—” } 7 I looked at Hartnell curiously. “Just how did you do it?” He laughed, enjoying being mysterious. “Give your thanks to old Isaac Newton—” Remembering how I'd thought of this venerable twentieth- century scientist while we were toiling up that ridge, with the gravity-reactor harness cutting our legs so painfully, this seemed very much of a coincidence. I still didn’t understand though. “Newton made a rule,” said Hartnell, “Quite a number of GEomilichbooks: co =|