Authentic Science Fiction, No. 23 — page 56: what you’re looking at

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

108 THE SINGING SPHERES He shrugged. “I don’t suppose it did—it merely recorded the scene at that particular spot at that particular time in the future.” He switched on the grin again. “The Machine wasn’t wrong, after all, was it?” I shook my head slowly. “Everything we saw on that screen came true—everything!” a “If only I’d recognised those markers as bits of casing—” said Tubby, doubling his fists and making threatening | motions. Young Hartnell laughed with a curious intonation. know, that’s the funny part about it—I did!” ‘dl We'd made our official report and received rendezvous in- structions. Nothing lay before us save a couple of days’ tedious journeying back to Old Growler and the subsequent prospect of unpleasant interviews with our superiors. “Probably a court-martial,” I said. life with intent—that’s how they'll frame the charge.” “T wouldn't be surprised,” said Hartnell, “if they dont. forget any charges when they open the pedometers and see how busy we’ve been. Exceptional devotion to duty—and all that.” “There’s some impressive mileage, admittedly—” He nodded mysteriously. “More than you think, Pop.” 71 I stared. “You can’t fake the pedometers—they’re sealed!” ‘a His lips curved in a pleased manner. “Not*to a force- — beam! I had a look at the mileage indicator when I took ~~ my suit off. The mechanism must have ticked round like ~ mad when they were hauling us through those caves! a “Anyway, I didn’t intend to kill those guards,”’ he went on. “T only wanted to make ’em let go. Besides, your affair with Makkub was sheer accident and he got nothing less than he deserved.” He sighed. “Poor little Pinky. He’ll think his Uncie Hartnell’s dead. Wonder if he’ll miss me—” I was still thinking about the forthcoming interview. know how fussy they are about intelligent life—” “Vou 1 way.” “You | “Taking intelligent b) THE SINGING SPHERES 109 “Intelligent? Those bubbles?” “Why, aren’t they?” I said, surprised. He pretended to consider the matter. “I suppose so, in a The well-known grin lit up his lean, tanned face. “But if they’d got real intelligence wouldn’t they have asked themselves one question when they saw the graves?” “What question?” demanded Tubby. “How, with all three of us supposed to be dead-- did we bury ourselves?” THE END. a a RE Sel All characters in this story ave imaginary and no reference is intended to any living person. (Copyright 1952.) n Eomichboo (E <SiiGO