Avon Fantasy Reader No. 12 — page 124: what you’re looking at

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

smashed to bits! When industrial centers were smashed by air-raids, what is the logical answer? Build factories and plants in out-of-the- way places, far from the arm of the airplane!” “I suppose you'll say that’s how this factory was built?” “Yes! And perhaps there are still more throughout the arctic!, Cities of living dead, still making bombs and bombers after all these cen- turies. ‘They started something that they could not finish. They'll keep on building those bombers till the machines are worn out and become dust!” “But the people—the people!” Weaver protested. “The people!” Millet snorted, “Did you hear the phonograph dron- ing over and over again: you must work—-you must work—you must work! Over and over again for two hundred years! It enters into the blood; The child is born and hears those words; you must work—you must work—-you must work! He spends his days in the factory—watch- ing and watching until the day that his father dics. Then he too goes up to bis position—working—working—working. Not knowing why, nor caring to. know!” “But the same planes are taken apart!” “One factory was built for producing planes. Another for disman- tling the wreckage of planes that were shot down or brought in from the outside. This went on for generation and generation until it be- came mechanical. And when contact with the outside world finally died, what was more natural than that the process should continue? And it goes en—and on—and on!” “But what of the food, what of their supplies and clothes and power?” | Millet shrugged and gestured vaguely. “There are some smaller factories on the other side of the city. They must be bakeries and auxiliary plants. Grain, supplies . . . supplies were Jaid in from the surpluses to last for hundreds of years. ‘These cities expected isolation. ‘They were places of perpetual seige.” A shiver went down Weaver's spine. “Horrible!” he said. “Something must be done about it!” Johnson said, indignant. “What?” “Stop the factory! Find their source of power—shut it off!” Millet laughed, “The men would die! They’d go raving mad! You cant stop a thing that’s been in the blood for two hundred years] Touch the power plant and they'd rip you to pieces like a wild animal whose food you try to steal!” “There must be somebody in the city who is intelligent and who has not become a machine,” Weaver said. “From the beginning there was some master, some commander who guided things. His descend- ant might be here. Find him.” 122 . comicbooks. com wy