Transcribe
Translate
Spaceways, v. 3, issue 6, whole no. 22, August 1941
8
More information
digital collection
archival collection guide
transcription tips
8 S P A C E W A Y S THE INSIGNIFICANT INVASION [handwritten 6] by FRED HURTER and dAMON kNIGHT (Extract from the personal records of Richard Snerg, pioneer of space) To begin with, I want to say that getting lost was an extremely dirty trick on the part of the Alien Invaders from the Blue-Green Stinking Star. In these latter days, now that we have had time to look at the whole matter dispassionately, we who have passed through the fire of those terrible days when the world waited, waited for the invasion that did not come, believe that any inhuman monsters worthy of the name would at least have shown us the courtesy of attacking on schedule, with the usual rape and bloodshed, bloodshed predominating by a slight margin. We have grown to expect it. But did they even show up at all? No! Why, even today--but I am getting ahead of my story. Silly of me, eh? Well, to go back to the beginning: my justly celebrated ship, The Bedbug of Space, was the cause of it all. Being only an amateur, naturally I built the whole thing myself, in utter secrecy and a barn. And like the ass I was and am (all we heroes are asses, naturally) I set out secretly and alone for my trial flight to the lower left-hand corner of the Great Nebula in Andromeda. My ship was equipped with rockets for navigating through the atmosphere, gravodynes for the Solar System, photopulsors for interstellar space, wheels for traffic, and woolen underwear for cold nights. I also had meteor detectors, asteroid deflectors, disintegrator guns, heat guns, vortex gun--and hay fever. In face, that was my main reason for leaving the earth and venturing into the limitless depths of space--so as to have a place to put all my dirty handkerchiefs. On the eventful night, I stepped out of the house at about ten o'clock and two feet higher than I should have. "-------------------- that doorstep," I said. Then I gave the broken step a vicious kick and hopped into the barn which stood, or rather drooped, a short distance from the house. The sight that met my eyes was I switched on the lights would have surprised the innocent passerby. In fact, I have been unable to get quite accustomed to it myself. I daresay no cracked inventor in the world's history ever managed to build a contraption so radical in design and revolting in appearance as the Bedbug of Space. By devious routs I clambered up the side of the machine and entered through a tiny airlock. When I sealed the door behind me, I realized that I was alone as no man had even been alone before. I was completely isolated from all mankind! Oh, well, what with my hay fever and my halitosis, I had been pretty well isolated for some years anyway. "So who cares yet?" I said in my native Norwegian, and flipped the starting lever. The ship trembled slightly. I might have known it would. Resolving mentally to be different next time and build a ship that would shake your guts out in the takeoff, I strolled over to a porthole. The greatest voyage in history had begun. I was off for thirteen chapters! For four long weeks I hurtled through space, spending my time in the uneventful routine of the void--dodging meteorites, chasing comets, locking myself out of the ship and battering my way in again--until I thought I would go mad, mad with the monotony of it all! So I did. I went mad, and found it very diverting for the next week. I built crazy inventions and brewed horrible concoctions and made stink bombs and laid plans for blowing up the earth--but after a week it began to pall. I decided to mop up the mess and become sane again, and today I am the intelligent, refined person everybody knows. No one would ever suspect that only a few months ago I was a 97-pound madman. About this time it occurred to me that I ought to be getting somewhere near my destination, the lower left-hand corner of the Great Nebula in Andromeda, by now. Accordingly, I did something I had no done since the takeoff. I looked out the window. And sure enough, just whizzing by on the starboard quarter was a large juice blue-white sun, with seventeen and 3-4 planets, plus state tax. "Too hot," I said, and scooted on by. In swift succession large quantities of
Saving...
prev
next
8 S P A C E W A Y S THE INSIGNIFICANT INVASION [handwritten 6] by FRED HURTER and dAMON kNIGHT (Extract from the personal records of Richard Snerg, pioneer of space) To begin with, I want to say that getting lost was an extremely dirty trick on the part of the Alien Invaders from the Blue-Green Stinking Star. In these latter days, now that we have had time to look at the whole matter dispassionately, we who have passed through the fire of those terrible days when the world waited, waited for the invasion that did not come, believe that any inhuman monsters worthy of the name would at least have shown us the courtesy of attacking on schedule, with the usual rape and bloodshed, bloodshed predominating by a slight margin. We have grown to expect it. But did they even show up at all? No! Why, even today--but I am getting ahead of my story. Silly of me, eh? Well, to go back to the beginning: my justly celebrated ship, The Bedbug of Space, was the cause of it all. Being only an amateur, naturally I built the whole thing myself, in utter secrecy and a barn. And like the ass I was and am (all we heroes are asses, naturally) I set out secretly and alone for my trial flight to the lower left-hand corner of the Great Nebula in Andromeda. My ship was equipped with rockets for navigating through the atmosphere, gravodynes for the Solar System, photopulsors for interstellar space, wheels for traffic, and woolen underwear for cold nights. I also had meteor detectors, asteroid deflectors, disintegrator guns, heat guns, vortex gun--and hay fever. In face, that was my main reason for leaving the earth and venturing into the limitless depths of space--so as to have a place to put all my dirty handkerchiefs. On the eventful night, I stepped out of the house at about ten o'clock and two feet higher than I should have. "-------------------- that doorstep," I said. Then I gave the broken step a vicious kick and hopped into the barn which stood, or rather drooped, a short distance from the house. The sight that met my eyes was I switched on the lights would have surprised the innocent passerby. In fact, I have been unable to get quite accustomed to it myself. I daresay no cracked inventor in the world's history ever managed to build a contraption so radical in design and revolting in appearance as the Bedbug of Space. By devious routs I clambered up the side of the machine and entered through a tiny airlock. When I sealed the door behind me, I realized that I was alone as no man had even been alone before. I was completely isolated from all mankind! Oh, well, what with my hay fever and my halitosis, I had been pretty well isolated for some years anyway. "So who cares yet?" I said in my native Norwegian, and flipped the starting lever. The ship trembled slightly. I might have known it would. Resolving mentally to be different next time and build a ship that would shake your guts out in the takeoff, I strolled over to a porthole. The greatest voyage in history had begun. I was off for thirteen chapters! For four long weeks I hurtled through space, spending my time in the uneventful routine of the void--dodging meteorites, chasing comets, locking myself out of the ship and battering my way in again--until I thought I would go mad, mad with the monotony of it all! So I did. I went mad, and found it very diverting for the next week. I built crazy inventions and brewed horrible concoctions and made stink bombs and laid plans for blowing up the earth--but after a week it began to pall. I decided to mop up the mess and become sane again, and today I am the intelligent, refined person everybody knows. No one would ever suspect that only a few months ago I was a 97-pound madman. About this time it occurred to me that I ought to be getting somewhere near my destination, the lower left-hand corner of the Great Nebula in Andromeda, by now. Accordingly, I did something I had no done since the takeoff. I looked out the window. And sure enough, just whizzing by on the starboard quarter was a large juice blue-white sun, with seventeen and 3-4 planets, plus state tax. "Too hot," I said, and scooted on by. In swift succession large quantities of
Hevelin Fanzines
sidebar