Authentic Science Fiction, No. 23 — page 40: what you’re looking at

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

716 THE SINGING SPHERES That must be it, of course—Makkub was completely, hope- ssly insane. | i . Hartnell rose to his feet and shuffled impatiently. I oF t care if a hundred controllers were shone ie ‘me over e dio right now—I’m going to do some ing! SBut what?” I said, helplessly. We can’t even get down there. We'd break our necks in the first cavern—" H He looked at me in that peculiar way of his and grinne again. “There’s another way down—” Tubby and I stared. at aE don't know whether it’s easier or not, but ifs worth in Sei Ey f hat in the name of Orion are you talking about? “Through the nursery!” Then T remembered how we had seen those new-born bubbles rising uncertainly from the clusters on the life-giving rock to be shepherded by nurse-spheres into an aperture ot the far side of that basin—to the incubators, Fuzzy-bubb e had told us, to learn about the strange society of which they were now members. ° < “We might,” I said, doubtfully, “except for the guards— He grinned. “We'll surprise ’em with the gravity-reactor oe 7 ion such as Fandar, however, assured us that for an occasio Makkub had now decreed, a hundred per cent. attendance bhi essential—nurses, guards and all—save for those absent Y special permission. He seemed confident that the only spheres who might be excused were those detailed to keep an Ss. vie . oT ceRor,” he said, “any new-born citizens will not travel far from the nursery, and what is there to be guarded against, since Makkub believes you to be sitting in the Place of Execu- tion, awaiting ceremonial dissolution and later being placed in the graves which the Machine of Revelation has foretold as awaiting your remains?” ASP had delivered himself of this long-winded senti- ment, I tried to ask him about the geography of the incubator caves, because there wasn’t much use making our way in that direction if the descent on the other side proved too precipl- tous. Apparently, however, he had never been in that section he labyrinths. of ef “well. asic on.” said Hartnell, “or we'll be too late. THE SINGING SPHERES 17 Leaving Fandar among the rocks in case Fuzzy-bubble should return—someone had to stay and the three of us didn’t like the idea of being separated—we advanced as far as possible under cover of defiles until we reached the nursery entrance. No guardian spheres were in sight, and for a few moments we stood looking into that bright, incredible spawn- ing ground, with the faint, eerie cheepings sounding in our helmets. “There’s the way in,” said Hartnell. ‘Right at the far side.” Clusters of infant spheres covered the stones so thickly that at times we were obliged to pause and map out the next stage of the journey by observation. Here and there smallish globes moved along in a lost, helpless, uncertain manner, a few inches from the ground, obviously not knowing what to do in the absence of nurses. Once Tubby almost stepped on a small bubble which floated across our path. “Mind your big feet,” said Hartnell. ‘You nearly flattened little Pinky there.” It might have been curiosity which attracted them towards us. Although newly entered upon existence, their monoton- ous, rocky surroundings must already have proved familiar, and the sight of strange things moving nearby could have stimulated the natural inquisitiveness inherent in all young creatures. ‘Therefore they seemed to take a perverse delight in thrusting themselves against our ankles and I only hoped we wouldn’t be subjected to any experiments with infant force- beams! We paused at the aperture—another funnel-shaped hol: about six feet across. Hartnell shoved his head inside and shone the beryllium torch downwards, grunting with satisfac- tion. “Not too steep, after all—about eight feet sheer drop, then it flattens out quite rapidly. We ought to be able to slither down without much trouble.” Typically, he didn’t bother with the problem of how we could get out again. “No spheres hanging about at the far end?” I inquired, cautiously. “You ought to be able to see ’em glowing—” “Black as the inside of the Old Ones’ museum on Krellig,” he said. I thought he might have chosen a happier analogy. Even after all these years I sometimes wake sweating in the - e ght through dreaming of what happened to us in that terrible place. He turned and gazed once more across the stony basin. comicbooks.com