Authentic Science Fiction, No. 23 — page 53: what you’re looking at

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

CHAPTER FOURTEEN The Riddle of The Graves HUS we brought our journeyings-into full circle. We climbed into the ship and moved the lever which auto- locked all space ports. Observation screens— Sapa eaae pdintoatic and ultra-violet—showed no movement across the wide plain or in the pink sky. Young Hartneil—who once took a special course of study in scout ship flying and invariably assumes the role of pilot on such occasions—seated himself at the controls and began to set meters ticking, coloured signal lights winking in pre- paration for departure. “T think,” I said, doubtfully, “we ought to report now. Just in case—” The others looked at me. “Do that, Pop,” said Hartnell. “As you say—just in case. Though I might tell you I can handle one of these flying beetles as well as the next man—” “No reflection,” I said, hastily. “It—it’s just that damned Machine of Revelation—” | 7 They watched in silence while I launched the call-sign on its radio journey across empty wastes to Old Growler. Over millions of miles impulses sped at the speed of light—186,000 miles a second—yet a minute and a half elapsed before answer came. ! 102 THE SINGING SPHERES 103 “Controller,” said the ship, unemotionally. For all the in- terest he showed I might have been calling up the equipment department to order a dozen nuts and bolts. “Preliminary report before official recording,” I told him, and briefly outlined what had happened since our landing. Two points caused a slight manifestation of interest—the Machine of Revelation and the unfortunate political situation in which we’d become embroiled. When I confessed our activities in the latter respect—for Inter-X men aren’t brought up to conceal facts, however unpleasant—Tubby and Hart- nell crowded closer, making faces and gesticulating to ensure I should present our case as strongly as possible. They had good reason, too, because the controller made no secret of his disapproval. “You say the present ruler of Kardoon is friendly?” he asked, at last. I thought of little Pinky, perched on the tall throne between the orange and green spheres of his chief advisers, with the council pedestals curving away to either side. “Yes,” T said, “definitely friendly.” He then switched inquiries to the Machine, for which I was extremely thankful. ‘You say all prophecies have materialised save the picture of the graves?” Even controllers can sometimes be stupid. If the episode of the graves really had been fulfilled, how could I be talking to him? From the corner of my eye I saw young Hartnell grinning and making absurd gestures of derision. “That is correct,” I said, solemnly. “Report is being for- warded now in the event of mishap at take-off which might lead to burial of present personnel as recorded by the machine.” | He actually became human for a moment, “You mean to say you actually believe in this machine’s capabilities?” “We're not really enthusiastic,” I pointed out, carefully, “but what else can we do?” “Wait.” Then we knew that a slight hubbub must have developed Gomilchooks: co