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Sparx, v. 1, issue 5, October 1947
Page 10
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10 SPARX THE LITTLE FLOWER by Vincent Williams Of course the Old Martians, who at present occupy the Syrtis Major cities, and some other portions of the planet, would not give any of their technical knowledge to the upstarts from the third planet, mainly, so they said, because of Galactic ethics. But the older, deserted cities, like Hryndal, where the huge shells of buildings soared skyward for a mile, contained a few well preserved gems of records and models and these were therefor pillaged by Earth's eager minions. Among them had been a peculiar diagram, which some one had decided was a robot. It had been photostatted, and then sent to the museum at First Landing. The stats went down to Earth, where they were passed from one skeptical and busy tech to another, until they finally gravitated to the third sub-basement, where some one had rented Thaddeus Crane a small but interesting laboratory... The perfect robot sat upon the floor of Crane's lab, as Crane soldered the last connection. He had modified the schematics to use standard parts, but he was sure that it would still work. The multi-bank integrator circuits which he had rescued from an old calculator were lined up against the wall (and on into the next two rooms) and connected to the robot by some obscure rapport that had something to do with a whip antenna that plugged into a large and complex tube whose irregular contour peered from behind a smooth expanse of metal which had once been an automobile fender. Crane peered into the innards of the beast, where long lines of tubes and wires spiraled up around a central column of some sort which Crane thought was the "logic" chamber. The machine was constructed on the chassis of a very old car, and parts of it alleared in odd places; the logic chamber had once been a muffler. Crane slammed the door shut, and the interlocks on the door turned the thing on. He waited for it to blow up, or do something, but it refused to budge. After considerable thought, he went over, and closed the laboratory circuit breaker. Things began to happen fast. The big dynamo in the corner of the lab began to whine; all dots of red and orange. The rodot hummed gently, and the lights very slowly returned to normal. "Well,' siad Crane. The robot exhibited its main reflex with great pride. "What?" it inquired. Within it, relays clicked like a row of dominoe falling down one by one. Crane was very pleased indeed. "I dub you Chrysanthemum!" he intoned. "Yeah," said the machine in a rather sarcastic fashion. "Chrysanthemum." "Flower." ((Up, and to the right))
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10 SPARX THE LITTLE FLOWER by Vincent Williams Of course the Old Martians, who at present occupy the Syrtis Major cities, and some other portions of the planet, would not give any of their technical knowledge to the upstarts from the third planet, mainly, so they said, because of Galactic ethics. But the older, deserted cities, like Hryndal, where the huge shells of buildings soared skyward for a mile, contained a few well preserved gems of records and models and these were therefor pillaged by Earth's eager minions. Among them had been a peculiar diagram, which some one had decided was a robot. It had been photostatted, and then sent to the museum at First Landing. The stats went down to Earth, where they were passed from one skeptical and busy tech to another, until they finally gravitated to the third sub-basement, where some one had rented Thaddeus Crane a small but interesting laboratory... The perfect robot sat upon the floor of Crane's lab, as Crane soldered the last connection. He had modified the schematics to use standard parts, but he was sure that it would still work. The multi-bank integrator circuits which he had rescued from an old calculator were lined up against the wall (and on into the next two rooms) and connected to the robot by some obscure rapport that had something to do with a whip antenna that plugged into a large and complex tube whose irregular contour peered from behind a smooth expanse of metal which had once been an automobile fender. Crane peered into the innards of the beast, where long lines of tubes and wires spiraled up around a central column of some sort which Crane thought was the "logic" chamber. The machine was constructed on the chassis of a very old car, and parts of it alleared in odd places; the logic chamber had once been a muffler. Crane slammed the door shut, and the interlocks on the door turned the thing on. He waited for it to blow up, or do something, but it refused to budge. After considerable thought, he went over, and closed the laboratory circuit breaker. Things began to happen fast. The big dynamo in the corner of the lab began to whine; all dots of red and orange. The rodot hummed gently, and the lights very slowly returned to normal. "Well,' siad Crane. The robot exhibited its main reflex with great pride. "What?" it inquired. Within it, relays clicked like a row of dominoe falling down one by one. Crane was very pleased indeed. "I dub you Chrysanthemum!" he intoned. "Yeah," said the machine in a rather sarcastic fashion. "Chrysanthemum." "Flower." ((Up, and to the right))
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