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Sparx, v. 1, issue 5, October 1947
Page 5
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SPARX TAKEOFF! by Tim Orrok An old box car stood on a spur track; in the comforting dryness of its interior two glowing cigarette tips alternately smouldered, and burst into furious combustion. ONe of these made a slight arc to one side, it was apparent that its possessor was peering out at the weather. It was not a spectacular storm; a thin, warm, misty rain was falling. The grotesque conglomeration of helter-skelter houses, flat cars, great hooded airplanes, and stock piles of various sorts cast muted shadows in the glare of powerful floodlights in the center of the area. The onlooker removed the cigarette from hi mouth and spoke nervously. "I hope they get off tomorrow, Jim." "Of course they will." With quite and reassuring certainty the other continued: "The weather men say there's no chance that this'll last through tomorrow noon." The first man swung his legs over the edge, and let himself down, grunting gutterally as his boots sloshed in the mud. "Gad! You wouldn't have thought they could find a place as muddy as this for the takeoff." His companion sniffed with contempt for "them," and followed somewhat reluctantly. He cursed as water splashed over his legs, then queried: "Going to lock at the ship again, Fletcher?" "Sure. I want to see it again before next summer." They splashed through the muddy trickles that ran beside the train to a hastily laid plank, and proceeded in the general direction of the floodlit field. They rounded the corner of a shed, and the fist man sighed audibly. Before him, in a distance rendered bright through the drizzle by the great floods, was a titanic cigar shaped object. It rose perhaps two or three hundred feet into the air, but it seemed with the floodlit mists flowing about it, a much greater, rather intangible thing. Rightfully it might seem so, too, for this war to the first of the great interplanetary vessels. The first man spoke in a reverent tone. "I wish I could go." "You and half a million others. Most men on earth would put their souls in hock for a chance to hit the moon in that ship." "The moon. . .I suppose that man has always longed for the moon; and now it's ours." There was a swirl in the mist as a line of trucks suddenly broke into staccato roars, they sped out into the field, towards the ship that shimmered in the distance. The second man followed them with his eyes, his mind full of deep and sober thought. "The moon and the planets. . .then, perchance the stars. . ." He threw down his cigarette, and it hissed angrily in a puddle. He ground it beneath his heel in a nervous action. "Provided," continued the first man, 'that somebody else hasn't gotten there first. You can't hope that there aren't any other sen- (More on page the sixth.)
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SPARX TAKEOFF! by Tim Orrok An old box car stood on a spur track; in the comforting dryness of its interior two glowing cigarette tips alternately smouldered, and burst into furious combustion. ONe of these made a slight arc to one side, it was apparent that its possessor was peering out at the weather. It was not a spectacular storm; a thin, warm, misty rain was falling. The grotesque conglomeration of helter-skelter houses, flat cars, great hooded airplanes, and stock piles of various sorts cast muted shadows in the glare of powerful floodlights in the center of the area. The onlooker removed the cigarette from hi mouth and spoke nervously. "I hope they get off tomorrow, Jim." "Of course they will." With quite and reassuring certainty the other continued: "The weather men say there's no chance that this'll last through tomorrow noon." The first man swung his legs over the edge, and let himself down, grunting gutterally as his boots sloshed in the mud. "Gad! You wouldn't have thought they could find a place as muddy as this for the takeoff." His companion sniffed with contempt for "them," and followed somewhat reluctantly. He cursed as water splashed over his legs, then queried: "Going to lock at the ship again, Fletcher?" "Sure. I want to see it again before next summer." They splashed through the muddy trickles that ran beside the train to a hastily laid plank, and proceeded in the general direction of the floodlit field. They rounded the corner of a shed, and the fist man sighed audibly. Before him, in a distance rendered bright through the drizzle by the great floods, was a titanic cigar shaped object. It rose perhaps two or three hundred feet into the air, but it seemed with the floodlit mists flowing about it, a much greater, rather intangible thing. Rightfully it might seem so, too, for this war to the first of the great interplanetary vessels. The first man spoke in a reverent tone. "I wish I could go." "You and half a million others. Most men on earth would put their souls in hock for a chance to hit the moon in that ship." "The moon. . .I suppose that man has always longed for the moon; and now it's ours." There was a swirl in the mist as a line of trucks suddenly broke into staccato roars, they sped out into the field, towards the ship that shimmered in the distance. The second man followed them with his eyes, his mind full of deep and sober thought. "The moon and the planets. . .then, perchance the stars. . ." He threw down his cigarette, and it hissed angrily in a puddle. He ground it beneath his heel in a nervous action. "Provided," continued the first man, 'that somebody else hasn't gotten there first. You can't hope that there aren't any other sen- (More on page the sixth.)
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