Authentic Science Fiction, No. 23 — page 41: what you’re looking at

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

78 THE SINGING SPHERES “See anything coming, Pop?” Brown rocks, rosy sky, masses of soap-bubble spawn—that was all. No greenish guards or other alarming visitors glinted against the landscape. Little spheres floating free of their stones moved slowly and hesitantly near the ground. “All quiet,’ reported Tubby. “Look, there’s Hartnell’s little friend, Pinky.” “The one you nearly trod on? Where?” ‘““Doesn’t seem to be making much progress—”’ Whereupon the coin dropped with a resounding clang simultaneously in all our minds. Pinky! Through the morynium visor of his helmet, I saw Hart- nell’s eyes literally bulge. A small, tenuous, pink sphere— save for Makkub the only bubble of its type on the planet! One was born every seventy years—and we had stumbled upon it unaware. “Well, well!’’ said Hartnell, softly. “Now we can make matters hum!” “Look here,” I told him uneasily, “we keep sticking our noses into politics. J don’t like it He took no notice. Ail thought of descending into the dark incubator caves forgotten—which was a comfort, at least—his only concern now lay in ways and means of hitting back at Makkub. ‘The controllers, had they known, would have liked it even less than I did. “Come on,” said Hartnell, ‘‘or we'll lose him. If he once hides among all those others—” _He set off almost at a run, Tubby and I following with some reluctance. The same Providence that is supposed to look after chil- dren and drunken men saved the wandering spheres from our heavy boots. At least, we had no memory of treading on any during that staggering, ridiculous pursuit which finally brought us close again to little Pinky. Once more curiosity had him nuzzling our ankles and he prodded so strongly against my heel I feared he might meet the same fate as the guards in the Place of Execution. “Stand still!” yelled Hartnell. “You'll damage him!” “I am standing still!” I said, irritably, because the entire proceedings began tounnerve me. “But how in Altair do you think you’re going to get him away from here?” He regarded me pityingly. “The Mattus, of course! What THE SINGING SPHERES 79 sort of things do human kids like? Chocolate? Ice-cream? Nice, brightly coloured fruit and similar stuff, don’t they? - Just conjure up big dollops of the Kardoon equivalent, Pop, and lure him to follow us.” It was utterly fantastic, of course. “They don’t eat,” I said, stuffily. ““What’s the good of offering even an entire confectionery counter to a—” He made a gesture of mingled impatience and despair, say- ing I was a gross, unimaginative materialist. “I know that! All I’m trying to suggest is that you produce some suitably enticing thoughts. I can’t go into details—that’s your job—” “Perhaps he won't like me. Children have unreasoning prejudices, I'm told—” He said that this was only making difficulties and I should either get on with the proceedings or let him try the Mattus himself. To some extent he was right. I didn’t fancy the idea at all. | “He might turn out to be a little Makkub—” Hartnell’s expression could not have been more pained if I'd deliberately insulted his favourite nephew. “AII right,” I said, hurriedly. “Tl try.” In the course of our wanderings the Mattus thought-trans- ferer has provided many uncanny mental experiences—some exhilarating, some horrific, others quite entertaining. Yet none, I think, is quite comparable in any way with the affair of little Pinky. (Needless to say, this absurd epithet stuck to him throughout subsequent events in the same way that we never knew Fuzzy-bubble’s real name.) We had already learned, of course, that the spheres entered their world in a moderately adult state. Physically—if such a description can be applied to a fragile, shimmering globe of pure force—they expanded, moderately after coming loose from the rocks; mentally they were already adolescent, re- quiring only a brief general education in the incubator caves, after which they took their places in society as adult citizens, with duties allotted according to their aptitude. I held out the Mattus rod gingerly and switched on, not knowing quite what to expect. First impressions were utterly confused—as well they might have been—yet over this chaos spread a queer blanket of helplessness, bewilderment and, pecularly enough, contentment. The mental atmosphere might be likened to that when a man finds himself half-awake Gomilchbooks.com