Authentic Science Fiction, No. 23 — page 9: what you’re looking at

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

14 THE SINGING SPHERES irridescent bubble. Idly, I closed one eye. Heat-haze caused reflections from the gay bubble, making a second pin- point appear on the opposite cliff-face, I opened the eye again. The second little bubble didn’t vanish. I squinted in various ways, trying to make them dis- appear or multiply and they obeyed in a thoroughly amusing fashion. I managed to increase the reflections to six before suddenly realising that the whole business was rather childish and then closed both eyes, prepared to doze. But the irritating whistle still sounded in my helmet—- louder, if anything, and developing discordant harmonics. “It's hopeless trying to sleep with this row,” complained Tubby. “In any case, we’d only wake up with more un- deserved hang-overs.” ~ Try focusing on that piece of mica or whatever it is shin- ing in the valley,” I suggested. “It'll wink back with all the colours of the rainbow. Highly entertaining and no strain on the intellect—”’ He did so. “I can see four—” — I made it four, too—which was rather a peculiar coinci- dence. “Now it’s only two—” He was right. There were a pair of the twinkling pin- points, glowing violet, orange, green and yellow in quick Succession and providing a welcome, colourful contrast after the terrain’s monotonous shades of dull brown. “I make it four again,” said Hartnell, suddenly. He was right. There were four. I felt the hair slowly prickling in the nape of my neck. “Not—not lamps? Not something signalling to us?” In the silence—except for that maddening ringing noise— the sweat trickled coldly down my spine. | “Well,” said young Hartnell, brightly, “we'd better go and find out!” No one can deny that Inter-X rewards its men well from a financial standpoint. There are, indeed, times of slackness and boredom when I often think it’s a shame to take the money; on other occasions—such as when we wade through Steaming swamps wondering whether something may jump out and grab us by the ankles or when we walk across an open plain to determine the source of strange signal lights—the salary isn’t a penny too much. Now and again I’d willingly THE SINGING SPHERES 15 forego all my back pay to be safe and sound once more aboard Old Growler. This was one of those days. We snapped down the telescopic visors in our facepieces _ and stared unwinkingly as we walked. The four shining o jects remained suspended on the cliff like lamps at the mouth of an old-style sailing harbour. They were definitely circular or spherical. ae" When we had approached within half a mile, two of them moved—not like soap bubbles, floating aimlessly in the hot air, but with definite impetus. With a speed that might have deceived us but for the visors, they vanished behind a rocky ledge. ; Zsa Bon ghing Procyon!” exclaimed Hartnell. “Did you see hat?” ri certainly had; Tubby, in fact, had done more and caught the whole proceeding with his telescopic eee Through the whistling I heard his cameras whirring softly. The remaining guardians of the valley—tfor this they appeared to be—stayed firm at their posts. Before long we were able to let the visors snap back and take a good look at them with normal eyesight. As we had imagined earlier, these objects were spherical or nearly so, with a soft, confused outline of rapidly-changing colour. Moreover, they were quite transparent, and the weathered stone to which they clung could easily be seen hrough their substance. Twas when we stood no more than a hundred yards dis- tant that one of the things slowly detached itself from the rock and floated towards us. The motion was leisurely—quite different from the agitated swoop to shelter made by the others. Goggle-eyed, I watched it move slowly nearer. “What in Andromeda is it?” asked ‘Tubby. The thing bobbed suddenly, as though in alarm or menace, and my nerves almost literally shrieked with suspense. Then it resumed floating quietly—not towards us, but moving off Me our left, where brown cliffs rose sharply on the far side of the basin, and at no more than walking pace. We waited until it was nearly out of sight, and when we looked towards the valley-mouth again four others had joined the lone sentinel. Eomicbooks.com