Avon Fantasy Reader No. 8 — page 33: what you’re looking at

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

THE MACHINE MAN OF ARDATHIA 29 to be a caricature of a man—or a child. I say caricature because, while the cylinder was all of five feet in height, the being inside of it was hardly three. You can imagine my amazement while I stared at this apparition. After awhile I got up and switched on all the lights to better observe it. You may be wondering why I did not try to call someone in. I can only say that thought never occurred to me. In spite of my age (I am sixty) my nerves are steady and I am not easily frightened. I walked very carefully around the cylinder and viewed the creature inside from all angles. It was sustained in the center of the cylinder, midway between top and bottom, by what-appeared to be an intricate arrangement of glass and metal tubes. These tubes seemed to run at places into the body, and I noticed some sort of dark fluid circulating through the glass tubes. The head was very large and hair- less; it had bulging brows, and no ears. The eyes were large, winkless; the nose well defined; but the lower part of the face and mouth ran into the small round body with no sign of a chin. Its legs hung down, skinny, flabby; and the arms were more like short tentacles reaching down from where the head and body came together. The thing was, of course, naked. I drew the easy- chair up to the cylinder and sat down facing it. Several times I stretched out my hand in an effort to touch its surface, but some force prevented my fingers from making the contact; which was very curious. Also, I could detect no movement of the body or limbs of the weird thing inside the glass. “What I’d like to know,” I muttered, “is what you are, where you came from, are you alive, and am I dreaming or am I awake?” For the first time the creature came to life. One of its tentacle-like hands, holding a metal tube, darted to its mouth. From the tube shot a white streak, which fastened itself to the cylinder. ~ Ah,” came a clear, metallic voice, “English, Primitive, I perceive; probably of the twentieth century.” _ i The words were uttered with an indescribable intonation; much as if a foreigner were speaking our language. Yet more than that .. . as if he were speaking a language long dead. I don’t know why that thought should have occurred to me then. Perhaps . “So you can talk,” I exclaimed. The creature gave a metallic chuckle. “As you say, I can talk.” “Then tell me what you are.” “Iam an Ardathian. A Machine Man of Ardathia. And you ... Tell me, is that really hair on your head?” “Yes,” I rephed. : | “And those coverings you wear on your body, are they clothes?” I answered in the affirmative. “How odd. Then you really are a Primitive; a Prehistoric Man.” The eyes behind the glass shield regarded me intently. (CO) CoOnniclooolkks