Authentic Science Fiction, No. 23 — page 46: what you’re looking at

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

88 THE SINGING SPHERES Makkub actually used up some of his precious energy to hover a couple of feet above the throne. “This is how the Wise Ones’ prophecy is fulfilled! How farseeing and saga- cious is their undying influence, for their action doubly affects the destiny of our race. The crime of these misshapen strangers not only leads them to their deaths; it also estab- lishes my leadership beyond doubt. Hail to the Wise Ones! How inscrutable are their ways! Now summon the execu- tioners—that all men here assembled may witness the Act of ~Justice!”” _ During our adventures on many worlds we had known occa- sional tight corners, yet in each case we could perceive a gleam of hope. More often than not it was young Hartnell who produced some ingenious escape manceuvre, but this time he had to confess himself baffled. We were powerless against the force-beams of all those massed spheres, which would be turned against us in any escape attempt, and there was no hope of repeating the trick with the gravity-reactors. A group of ominous green spheres detached themselves from somewhere in the background and floated towards us. The silence of horrible anticipation now hung over that great black hall as we stood there with obscene radiance from thousands of living bubbles reflected on our suits. A hushed multitude waited to see us torn in pieces. “Well,” said Tubby, “this looks like it, ’'m afraid—” “Never mind,” said young Hartnell. “We’ve had quite a good run—” “Been nice knowing you both,” I said, trying not to choke. I saw their faces, pale and strained, through the helmet visors. Hartnell grinned faintly. “Say goodbye to Fuzzy- bubble for me—” _ The green spheres grouped themselves for business, choos- Ing positions where they might fix their repulsor beams to the walls. I hoped it would be over quickly. I didn’t feel afraid so much as depressed. It seemed such a shame that all Our opportunities of carving Man’s frontiers farther across the shimmering galaxies with Inter-X should be cut short in such sordid, useless fashion. My heart warmed with nos- talgia towards all the familiar things aboard Old Growler— THE SINGING SPHERES 89 even the controllers. I wondered vaguely whether they would write anything complimentary in our obituary reports. I closed my eyes and waited. A sudden, isolated squeaking sounded over the inter-com, followed by a collective sigh of awe. Makkub giving the executioners the go-ahead sign, no doubt. For a split-second nothing happened. Then a prodigious uproar tore at our ear-drums, bringing acute physical pain, so magnified by the tension that I thought those green spheres had actually begun operations. But the head remained safely on my shoulders and I opened my eyes. again. A cluster of spheres piled themselves high across the entrance on our left, which I remembered as leading to the laboratory tunnels. “What in the name of Procyon’s happening now?” de- manded Hartnell, blinking with relief. “T don’t know,” said Tubby, thankfully, “but it looks like a reprieve !”’ And, indeed, the executioners no longer paid us attention. They were putting their force-beams to better use in hauling at the melee—without much success, so far as J could See. Then suddenly the milling globes parted, and through the gap came Fandar, followed by four other yellow spheres bear- ing smoothly aloft none other than little Pinky! I could easily have wept with relief and delight. “Good old Fandar!” exclaimed Hartnell. “He did it, after all!” “Pity Makkub hasn’t got a face,” said Tubby. “Td like to see his expression right now!” Holding the Mattus rod often proves inconvenient, but it has compensations. Now, for instance, I enjoyed an ex- clusive picture of that evil, red sphere’s “expression”—twisted with astonishment, terror and baffled rage. Sometimes I may be a trifle slower than young Hartnell to recognise opportunity, but at that moment there was no ex- cuse for hesitation. “See, all men,” I said, straining to make Gomichbooks:.com