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Fantascience Digest, v. 2, issue 4, May-June 1939
Page 6
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Page 6 FANTASCIENCE DIGEST ed a call early this evening from Doctor Gronburg, asking me to carefully inspect our destination planet thru the telescope in the control room. I half rose from the eyepiece couch in amazement as the three-quarter crescent swam itno the lens field. Instead of the familiar impenetrable blanket of clouds hiding the surface markings from view, there now appeared a sharp image of the planet itself, and surrounding it like a crown was a halo of constantly changing colors. I couldn't stand looking at it for more than a few seconds at a time. The play of those colored lights was maddening. Gronburg's voice came over the phone, asking me what I though of the sight. The only answer which came to my mind was that. due to some freak trick of refraction, the planet had taken on this strange appearance. The doctor didn't seem impressed, told me to keep his phone frequency open during my period of duty in case he wanted to contact me with further information. Then there was the radio. Ever since passing thru that moment of blackness, the receivers had been dead. By that I don't mean that they were not operating, but simply that all television and phone transmissions from Venusian and Earth stations had ceased. From one end of the broadcasting spectrum to the other, there was only silence---the cathode screens glowed with a faint green phosphorescence, innocent of any image. The operators tested and retested the apparatus, but could find nothing wrong. However, their calls, to all appearances remained unanswered. When the screens in the main salon had gone blank in the middle of a news transmission, Alice had come hurrying to find what the trouble was. As she stood there in the hatch, its oval framing her slim loveliness---as the lights in the control room touched her auburn hair with living flame---well, it was hard to lie, but I couldn't have 200 passengers going crazy with unfounded fear. She accepted my explanation of a "dead spot" without question. I'm getting worried. But It'll all be history when we reach Venus. Something to tell my grand-kids about. June 18. I must be mad. Gronburg must be mad. Otherwise, how can we believe our eyes. A scant 12,000 miles ahead hangs the huge bulk of Venus. For millions upon millions of far-seeing earthmen, the planet of new hope---a life giving globe of promise---a battle field for the conquerage of new frontiers. But now....... It hangs before us....DEAD. Its atmosphere a solid, glittering shield of frozen gas. I hope Gronburg can give us some glimpse of reason in this nightmare of fantasy. True. Gronburg's report lies before me, not clearing, but fogging our dilemma further. For according to his findings, altho the atmosphere is a solid, and altho there remains no hope of the existance of any life as we know it, the thing we see before us will not occur before the passage of at least two million years. Later the astro-physicist scrapped his own report. "I can't give you an accurate scientific plan of date with that "all wrong" example before me," he explained to me. "Two million years," he growled, "is a mad man's figure. Any student of natural science knows that an extension of twice that amount would still be far
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Page 6 FANTASCIENCE DIGEST ed a call early this evening from Doctor Gronburg, asking me to carefully inspect our destination planet thru the telescope in the control room. I half rose from the eyepiece couch in amazement as the three-quarter crescent swam itno the lens field. Instead of the familiar impenetrable blanket of clouds hiding the surface markings from view, there now appeared a sharp image of the planet itself, and surrounding it like a crown was a halo of constantly changing colors. I couldn't stand looking at it for more than a few seconds at a time. The play of those colored lights was maddening. Gronburg's voice came over the phone, asking me what I though of the sight. The only answer which came to my mind was that. due to some freak trick of refraction, the planet had taken on this strange appearance. The doctor didn't seem impressed, told me to keep his phone frequency open during my period of duty in case he wanted to contact me with further information. Then there was the radio. Ever since passing thru that moment of blackness, the receivers had been dead. By that I don't mean that they were not operating, but simply that all television and phone transmissions from Venusian and Earth stations had ceased. From one end of the broadcasting spectrum to the other, there was only silence---the cathode screens glowed with a faint green phosphorescence, innocent of any image. The operators tested and retested the apparatus, but could find nothing wrong. However, their calls, to all appearances remained unanswered. When the screens in the main salon had gone blank in the middle of a news transmission, Alice had come hurrying to find what the trouble was. As she stood there in the hatch, its oval framing her slim loveliness---as the lights in the control room touched her auburn hair with living flame---well, it was hard to lie, but I couldn't have 200 passengers going crazy with unfounded fear. She accepted my explanation of a "dead spot" without question. I'm getting worried. But It'll all be history when we reach Venus. Something to tell my grand-kids about. June 18. I must be mad. Gronburg must be mad. Otherwise, how can we believe our eyes. A scant 12,000 miles ahead hangs the huge bulk of Venus. For millions upon millions of far-seeing earthmen, the planet of new hope---a life giving globe of promise---a battle field for the conquerage of new frontiers. But now....... It hangs before us....DEAD. Its atmosphere a solid, glittering shield of frozen gas. I hope Gronburg can give us some glimpse of reason in this nightmare of fantasy. True. Gronburg's report lies before me, not clearing, but fogging our dilemma further. For according to his findings, altho the atmosphere is a solid, and altho there remains no hope of the existance of any life as we know it, the thing we see before us will not occur before the passage of at least two million years. Later the astro-physicist scrapped his own report. "I can't give you an accurate scientific plan of date with that "all wrong" example before me," he explained to me. "Two million years," he growled, "is a mad man's figure. Any student of natural science knows that an extension of twice that amount would still be far
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