Authentic Science Fiction, No. 23 — page 49: what you’re looking at

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

94. THE SINGING SPHERES (>? or the Wise Ones’ prophecy may be fulfilled prematurely “We can’t leave little Pinky!” said Hartnell. “They'll rip him to pieces!” He didn’t seem to grasp the fact that, what- ever happened to us, his “nephew” now enjoyed the status of supreme dictator on Kardoon. If we could only lie low until he established his authority over Makkub’s crowd all might yet end happily. ‘“Fandar will take charge here,” said Fuzzy-bubble. He grew increasingly apprehensive. “Come! We have no time to lose—” | We stumbled hurriedly to the exit with cries of baffled rage echoing round the great cavern. I saw how the same line of spheres who kad facilitated Pinky’s first entrance now held back the crowd while we escaped. A pitiful little voice sounded through the uproar as I cast a final, backward glance. Four attendants were firmly but gently placing a small, rose-red sphere on the tall, central throne between Pakkan and Zakkar. “Want to go with Uncle Hartnell!” said Pinky, plaintively. He might be a dictator, but he didn’t have his own way in all respects. | “Get moving,” I told Hartnell. “Your protege’s nicely launched on a successful career!” A slow grin spread over his face. “That’s right, Pop. Not every lad gets such a good start in life!” Then it seemed that all hell broke loose in the Great Halls and we were running for our lives through those black egg- shaped tunnels. CHAPTER THIRTEEN The Prophecy Is Fulfilled 4 UZZY-BUBBLE’S protecting spheres must have fought a rearguard action with the mob to cover our retreat, otherwise we would have been speedily overtaken during that sweaty, scrambling, nightmare journey, during which we tre- ceived no help save guidance. On the previous trip, although their treatment was impatient and ungentle, the guards had at least provided impetus with their force-beams for our flagging feet. This time we were obliged to haul ourselves by sheer, physical effort up those steep, curving banks—often only by forming a hand-to-hand chain—and when we tumbled through an entrance aperture the relief was often so great that we slid thankfully down the far side regardless of how precipitous the plunge might prove. Occasionally Fuzzy-bubble lent slight assistance—but only occasionally, and knowing what his effort entailed, I didn’t blame him. It couldn’t be particularly cheering to realise that every time he lifted one of us bodily up a slope a day or so became sliced from his allotted span of years. Never- theless, he did his best, and eventually we emerged blinking into the light of Kardoon through the incubator caves—lined with neat rows of little, glowing spheres—into the nursery. (hen across the spawning rocks, with their masses of soap- bubble growths, into the defile between the cliffs and eventu- ally to the wide plain. Nurse-spheres remained with the mob in the Great Halls, so that everywhere lay still deserted save for the new-born globes moving slowly and uncertainly a foot or so above the ground. “Heed well the skies!” cried Fuzzy-bubble. “Observer parties from the guards will be flying high, trying to locate us. So, while we hugged the base of the cliff, our eyes turned continually to that uncanny, pink firmament, trying to dis- tinguish against the glare any glint of floating bubbles. 95 Eomichbooks.com