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Fantasite, v. 2, issue 4, November-December 1942
31858063099612_005
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THE FANTASITE............................5 T. BRUCE YERKE LONG STREAKS of cloud drifted silently across the bright summer moon, while the silver lines of breakers washed over the sands of a gently rising beach. The silver tones of the waves and sand were etched sharply against the black of the vast, rolling Pacific and the ragged shadows of sagebrush on the deserted California shoreline. The beach rose calmly and smoothly, disappearing into the clustering sagebrush from which, several hundred yards inland, the Dome rose sharply against the sky. It had once been an observatory, but now it house a great squatting mechanism that swallowed up most of the interior. Near the top a young man in uniform, his head covered by earphones, sat cradled among girders and huddled over gently glowing dials. His tense body crouched forward on his precarious seat as his wan face watched the pointers and lights before him. Below him was shadowy darkness, plunging down through the morass of girders and wires to a large platform, on which stood an instrument board with a lighted square of translucent glass panel that stood out unnaturally bright in the cloistered gloom. [large bubble letters in middle of page: The Kings Depart. ] Around it were silhouetted three figures--two in officers' uniforms and one in a laboratory smock--that stood still and gazed as if hypnotized. Near the upper right of the glowing panel was a black square with red hair lines crossing the center. Spread with seeming casualness over the rest of the glass were faint green eddy-lines. Near the center a bright red dot was slowly moving over the square. Old Foster, the seated civilian in the smock, leaned forward, his high forehead covered with nervous sweat and his blue eyes, hard and grim. A buzzing suddenly started behind the board. Old Foster's hand moved deftly in the half-light and pushed some buttons higher up on the instrument case. The buzzing stopped, and General Paul Renault, the taller of the uniformed men, released a slow, drawn breath. Then a ticking started up somewhere, coming from nowhere. Tick, tick, tick.... a strange unclocklike ticking, harsh and muted, that accelerated and deepened in tone, tick, tick, tock tock tock. Lieutenant Boyd, the smaller officer, nervously jerked his head up to stare at the man near the top of the dome, who simultaneously moved a dial. The ticking stopped, and after a second or two the officer lowered his gaze to the lighted panel. Slowly the soft hum of the vast mechanism that clustered around them was becoming audible. It seemed to roar powerrrr powerrrrr powerrrrhrrrrhrrrrh.... Meanwhile the red dot progressed slowly but perceptibly, occasionally wavering a trifle, but continuing toward the etched square. "Much longer, John?" asked the General. Old Foster didn't look up but just watched the dot and pushed buttons whenever a buzzing started. His blue eyes never winked. Finally he spoke tonelessly: "It has been thirty years, Paul. And now you fret over an hour or so.... Has it passed midnight, Lieutenant?" The Lieutenant, shadowy and tense in the glow from the panel, looked sharply up at a wall-clock half visible above the board. "12:06, sir; August 24th now." Tick tick tick tock tock tock tock-- "Oh, stop it," the General sputtered testily. "Mmmmmmmph," the man in the girders muttered down, and pushed things. "August 24th," Old Foster murmured. "August 24th, 1972." The date called up memories to these men, memories of that same night thirty years before--the night the Japanese released their flying wings over Seattle, San Francisco, Los Angeles, and San Diego simultaneously....the night the assault on Australia and India began, to end three weeks later. The night also, that the young chemist John Foster would have married Florence (next page)
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THE FANTASITE............................5 T. BRUCE YERKE LONG STREAKS of cloud drifted silently across the bright summer moon, while the silver lines of breakers washed over the sands of a gently rising beach. The silver tones of the waves and sand were etched sharply against the black of the vast, rolling Pacific and the ragged shadows of sagebrush on the deserted California shoreline. The beach rose calmly and smoothly, disappearing into the clustering sagebrush from which, several hundred yards inland, the Dome rose sharply against the sky. It had once been an observatory, but now it house a great squatting mechanism that swallowed up most of the interior. Near the top a young man in uniform, his head covered by earphones, sat cradled among girders and huddled over gently glowing dials. His tense body crouched forward on his precarious seat as his wan face watched the pointers and lights before him. Below him was shadowy darkness, plunging down through the morass of girders and wires to a large platform, on which stood an instrument board with a lighted square of translucent glass panel that stood out unnaturally bright in the cloistered gloom. [large bubble letters in middle of page: The Kings Depart. ] Around it were silhouetted three figures--two in officers' uniforms and one in a laboratory smock--that stood still and gazed as if hypnotized. Near the upper right of the glowing panel was a black square with red hair lines crossing the center. Spread with seeming casualness over the rest of the glass were faint green eddy-lines. Near the center a bright red dot was slowly moving over the square. Old Foster, the seated civilian in the smock, leaned forward, his high forehead covered with nervous sweat and his blue eyes, hard and grim. A buzzing suddenly started behind the board. Old Foster's hand moved deftly in the half-light and pushed some buttons higher up on the instrument case. The buzzing stopped, and General Paul Renault, the taller of the uniformed men, released a slow, drawn breath. Then a ticking started up somewhere, coming from nowhere. Tick, tick, tick.... a strange unclocklike ticking, harsh and muted, that accelerated and deepened in tone, tick, tick, tock tock tock. Lieutenant Boyd, the smaller officer, nervously jerked his head up to stare at the man near the top of the dome, who simultaneously moved a dial. The ticking stopped, and after a second or two the officer lowered his gaze to the lighted panel. Slowly the soft hum of the vast mechanism that clustered around them was becoming audible. It seemed to roar powerrrr powerrrrr powerrrrhrrrrhrrrrh.... Meanwhile the red dot progressed slowly but perceptibly, occasionally wavering a trifle, but continuing toward the etched square. "Much longer, John?" asked the General. Old Foster didn't look up but just watched the dot and pushed buttons whenever a buzzing started. His blue eyes never winked. Finally he spoke tonelessly: "It has been thirty years, Paul. And now you fret over an hour or so.... Has it passed midnight, Lieutenant?" The Lieutenant, shadowy and tense in the glow from the panel, looked sharply up at a wall-clock half visible above the board. "12:06, sir; August 24th now." Tick tick tick tock tock tock tock-- "Oh, stop it," the General sputtered testily. "Mmmmmmmph," the man in the girders muttered down, and pushed things. "August 24th," Old Foster murmured. "August 24th, 1972." The date called up memories to these men, memories of that same night thirty years before--the night the Japanese released their flying wings over Seattle, San Francisco, Los Angeles, and San Diego simultaneously....the night the assault on Australia and India began, to end three weeks later. The night also, that the young chemist John Foster would have married Florence (next page)
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