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Fantascience Digest, v. 2, issue 4, May-June 1939

Page 8

Page 8                      FANTASCIENCE DIGEST 

word, led me to the center of the salon's polished floor and lifted one corner of a table cover which covered the spot. The un-palatable sight marked the place of her death---she'd been dancing when........when the tragedy occurred, surrounded on all sides by 200 people. 

   I questioned the fellow who had been her partner---in my mind a constant image of the thing of blackness I had seen pressed against the observation port.
   
   For the log I record his answer--little as it was.

   "We were dancing," he gasped, "when suddenly the lights seemed to grow dim---then, Oh God!" Here he buried his face in his hands, sobbed between twisted fingers:

   "--- she just fell apart in my arms. And it was so cold, so cold."

   That was all I could get out of him. As I left the room he was moaning about the cold---and the many "eyes" or something like that. 

   June 20. It got two more. This time during the rest period. We found Shorty Martin, a mechanic, huddled in a rocket nacelle; the other, a young colonist named Richman, died in him room before the eyes of his wife and four year old daughter. It's dangerous for me, the commander of this ship, to believe in, or even think of the thing I saw coming out of the solid depths of the Venusian atmosphere. Better to believe, as does our medical department, that these terrible deaths are due to some unknown disease.

   June 21. Earth bound. Gronburg tells me that all of the constellations have changed greatly in shape. I noticed the red, sullen appearance of the sun, but after all that's happened, wouldn't trust my own judgment. Everything is wrong. The only thing that keeps me sane in the fact that the safety of my crew and passengers lies in my hands. My only thought is: reach earth, and as speedily as possible.

   June 23. No fatalities during the chronometer paced night. Only one day remains before we land. I talked to Gronburg during the early evening hours (system of lighting in all space cruisers provides for an artificial twilight) and dark hour pacing  telling him how glad I'd be when the ship was safe in the sub-hangers of International field. I wonder why he avoided my eyes?

   June 24. We've reached earth, but only Gronburg was prepared for the sight that met our eyes. We came to rest in a desert of dustres dust that exploded into great clouds of scarlet as we struck. Above us, instead of the soft, familiar vault of blue, stretches a sky of desolate violet in which the stars shine, unabated. Of trees, or grass, or animal life, or habitations, or least of all, man, there is no sign.

   I sent out two men, protected by space suits, to see if they could find any signs of life; more to keep the spirits  of the crew and passengers up than anything else. One of them came back three hours later, exhausted from fighting his way thru the dust. The other is still missing as the copper sun sinks behind the faint haze surrounding the western hills.

   Gronburg came to my stateroom tonight. His eyes fell on this last entry in the log, as he laid a mass of papers on my desk.

   "June 24," he smiled. "Perhaps, but not 2149 A.D."
(over)

Saving...

Page 8 FANTASCIENCE DIGEST word, led me to the center of the salon's polished floor and lifted one corner of a table cover which covered the spot. The un-palatable sight marked the place of her death---she'd been dancing when........when the tragedy occurred, surrounded on all sides by 200 people. I questioned the fellow who had been her partner---in my mind a constant image of the thing of blackness I had seen pressed against the observation port. For the log I record his answer--little as it was. "We were dancing," he gasped, "when suddenly the lights seemed to grow dim---then, Oh God!" Here he buried his face in his hands, sobbed between twisted fingers: "--- she just fell apart in my arms. And it was so cold, so cold." That was all I could get out of him. As I left the room he was moaning about the cold---and the many "eyes" or something like that. June 20. It got two more. This time during the rest period. We found Shorty Martin, a mechanic, huddled in a rocket nacelle; the other, a young colonist named Richman, died in him room before the eyes of his wife and four year old daughter. It's dangerous for me, the commander of this ship, to believe in, or even think of the thing I saw coming out of the solid depths of the Venusian atmosphere. Better to believe, as does our medical department, that these terrible deaths are due to some unknown disease. June 21. Earth bound. Gronburg tells me that all of the constellations have changed greatly in shape. I noticed the red, sullen appearance of the sun, but after all that's happened, wouldn't trust my own judgment. Everything is wrong. The only thing that keeps me sane in the fact that the safety of my crew and passengers lies in my hands. My only thought is: reach earth, and as speedily as possible. June 23. No fatalities during the chronometer paced night. Only one day remains before we land. I talked to Gronburg during the early evening hours (system of lighting in all space cruisers provides for an artificial twilight) and dark hour pacing telling him how glad I'd be when the ship was safe in the sub-hangers of International field. I wonder why he avoided my eyes? June 24. We've reached earth, but only Gronburg was prepared for the sight that met our eyes. We came to rest in a desert of dustres dust that exploded into great clouds of scarlet as we struck. Above us, instead of the soft, familiar vault of blue, stretches a sky of desolate violet in which the stars shine, unabated. Of trees, or grass, or animal life, or habitations, or least of all, man, there is no sign. I sent out two men, protected by space suits, to see if they could find any signs of life; more to keep the spirits of the crew and passengers up than anything else. One of them came back three hours later, exhausted from fighting his way thru the dust. The other is still missing as the copper sun sinks behind the faint haze surrounding the western hills. Gronburg came to my stateroom tonight. His eyes fell on this last entry in the log, as he laid a mass of papers on my desk. "June 24," he smiled. "Perhaps, but not 2149 A.D." (over)