Authentic Science Fiction, No. 23 — page 50: what you’re looking at

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

96 THE SINGING SPHERES I remember thinking we had quite enough to occupy our attention apart from that. Hampered by ihe whipping Mattus rod, I stumbled in the wake of Hartnell and Tubby, wonder- ing whether they felt equally exhausted and depressed. Despite latest Mark V air-conditioning, the Bergmann suit had grown so stifling that I feared a puncture, which wouldn’t have been surprising, anyway, considering how the fabric had been abraded—especially on shoulders and hips—during un- derground clambering. Punctures mean leaking oxygen, and even the normal 100-hour supply won’t last long at that rate. I was sticky all over with sweat and didn’t think I could go much farther. “If he’s taking us the long way round to avoid passing the main entrance,” said Hartnell, discouragingly, “we've a tidy stretch to cover yet.” This, naturally, failed to cheer me overmuch, and in some ways I wasn’t at all sorry when Fuzzy-bubble cried “Listen ! They're coming! I can hear the flight director’s orders!” _ We dodged into a convenient fissure, where overhanging rock screened us from view, and lay down. The rélief was heavenly. It didn’t last long, however. “Quick! They will seek us here! Move farther into the cliffs!” Climbing over and around great boulders, slithering and cursing across loose scree, diving all the time beneath shel- tering precipices, I completely lost sense of direction. At length, when the fissure came to an end, we hauled ourselves gingerly to the topmost rock and peered out. Kardoon’s familiar landscape spread itself to our gaze in uncannily familiar fashion. The scene of a flat plain en- closed by cliffs repeated itself, producing the impression that we “had been there before,” yet unidentifiable by landmarks. ~ Then, while we watched, a crowd of spheres poured from somewhere among distant rocks and set a course with un- mistakable purpose. “It is the main force of guards!” cried Fuzzy-bubble. I heard young Hartnell catch his breath—and in the same instant all of us knew why the view proved so easily recog- nisable. THE SINGING SPHERES 97 “The picture!”” breathed Tubby, in a low, awed voice. “The picture in the Wise Ones’ machine!” It was there, just as we had seen it earlier in flickering, un- certain images—the rugged, desolate land, the coloured sky and the soaring clusters of spheres. Fuzzy-bubble’s reaction mingled sympathy with satisfac- tion. “What have I told you, O strangers? ‘The Wise Ones’ prophecies are always fulfilled.” “Look!” said Hartnell, grabbing my arm. “Look, they’re not coming this way after all! What’s the idea?” “Probably a false alarm from the spotters. Maybe they’ve seen a piece of mica shining on the ground and think it’s one of our helmets.” ~ Maybe you're right, at that, Pop.” I could see he was thinking deeply. “You know—lI’ve got, an idea!” } ) ae uneasiness gripped me. “Don’t do anything fool- ish— He grinned, Whereupon J feared the worst. “You and Tubby stay here with Fuzzy-bubble. I won’t be gone long—” “Listen!” I said, desperately. ‘‘Listen—what are you up to now? If it’s any more of your hare-brained tricks—” He was all wide-eyed innocence. “Tricks, Pop?” “You know very well what I mean.” “Don’t go away,” said Hartnell, He slithered quickly and easily among the rocks and be- came lost to sight. Tubby and I looked at one another for a tense drawn-out moment. “What’s he up to?” I shrugged. “You know Hartnell” “Always has to do things the hard way,” agreed Tubby. “All we need do is to lie here and keep our heads down and the spheres’ll get fed up with looking for us and go under- ground again.” Poor Fuzzy-bubble was completely baffled by the proceed- ings, but at least he appreciated the good sense of staying under cover. Gomichbooks: co