Genre Science Fiction. Page - 7

"But, Rod, I've been waiting to hear what he's found out ever since he went away," Fawzi protested in a hurt tone.Brangwyn and Colonel Zareff joined them. They were close friends, probably because neither of them was a native of Poictesme. The town marshal had always been reticent about his origins, but Conn guessed it was Hathor. Brangwyn's heavy-muscled body, and his ease and grace in handling it, marked him as a man of a high-gravity planet. Besides, Hathor had a permanent

ou so desire. But take your spears and go."She crossed to the little knoll and picked up the spears. She held one out to him, the one that bore the emerald point. "This," she said, "to remember--Suarra." "No," he thrust it back. "Go!" If the others saw that jewel, never, he knew, would he be able to start them on the back trail--if they could find it. Starrett had seen it, of course, but he might be able to convince them that Starrett's story was

't," said Edwards."You're on," said Carter. "Let me in," suggested Ives. "And I'll take one of it," said McGuire. "Come one, come all," said Edwards cheerily. "I'll live high on the collective bad judgment of this outfit." "To-night isn't likely to settle it, anyhow," said Ives. "I move we turn in." Expectant minds do not lend themselves to sound slumber. All night the officers of the Wolverine slept on the verge of

to a low birth rate. Now, supplied with great quantities of iron by their unremitting industry, they were moved to prodigies of multiplication.The chairman of the Dail Committee on the Condition of the Planet Eire had spoken of them scornfully as equal to mice. They were much worse. The planetary government needed at least a pied piper or two, but it tried other measures. It imported cats. Descendants of the felines of Earth still survived, but one had only to look at their frustrated, neurotic

ding. Speaking into an audioscriber, a machine that transmitted his spoken words into typescript, he repeated the names of the candidates as they passed."Cadet Candidate Tom Corbett," announced Tom, and Herbert repeated it into the audioscriber. "Cadet Candidate Astro!" The big Venusian stepped forward. "What's the rest of it, Mister?" inquired Herbert. "That's all. Just Astro." "No other names?" "No, sir," replied Astro. "You

magining that, I'm right there with you."He went back to the main building to get Gail and Captain Moggs. They went out to the 'copter hangar together. "I've talked to the radar and loran operator," said Soames. "I explained that you wanted to see some crevasses from the air, and I'd be wandering around looking for them on the way to the rookery. He will check on us every fifteen minutes, anyhow." * * * * * The 'copter went up the long, sloping, bulldozed snow-ramp.

a few weeks before, but the idea had spread through the crew like wildfire. Now, I couldn't afford drastic action, or risk forcing a blowup by arresting ringleaders. I had to baby the situation along with an easy hand and hope for good news from the Survey Section. A likely find now would save us.There was still every reason to hope for success in our search. To date all had gone according to plan. We had followed the route of Omega as far as it had been charted, and then gone on, studying the

ed. We were at war.There was no craft near us, and our surface speed is nearly twice that of our submerged, so I blew out the tanks and our whale-back came over the surface. All night we were steering south-west, making an average of eighteen knots. At about five in the morning, as I stood alone upon my tiny bridge, I saw, low down in the west, the scattered lights of the Norfolk coast. "Ah, Johnny, Johnny Bull," I said, as I looked at them, "you are going to have your lesson,

stro, turning red with embarrassment, "we're going to Venus.""What's so unusual about going to Venus?" asked Strong. "We're going hunting," replied Astro. "Hunting?" "Yes, sir," gulped the big Venusian. "For tyrannosaurus." Strong's jaw dropped and he sat down suddenly on the nearest acceleration cushion. "I expected something a little strange from you three whiz kids." He laughed. "It would be impossible for you to go

ntry. It might, I thought, be the Happy Future, or Utopia, or the Land of Simple Dreams; an errant mote of memory, Henry James's phrase and story of "The Great Good Place," twinkled across my mind, and passed and left no light.The man I saw wrote with a thing like a fountain pen, a modern touch that prohibited any historical retrospection, and as he finished each sheet, writing in an easy flowing hand, he added it to a growing pile upon a graceful little table under the window. His