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Southern Star, v. 1, issue 4, December 1941

Page 14

6 "-- THIS IS THE TALE OF ATZOR --"

by

-- Tennessee--     [[underline]]Art Sehnert[[end underline]]     - Article -

Michael William the Third, Grand Ruler of the Planet Zoltan, looked at the tense, expectant faces seated around the table with him. The greatest men of all Zoltan's three continents were gathered here to decide finally what was to be done. A cosmic cataclysm that would wipe out all semblance of life on the planet, a cataclysm that would make the heretofore fertile plains of Zoltan nothing more than barren rock, bleak and desolate, had been discovered by the Royal Astronomers seven months before. A catastrophe that could not be avoided. That fact faced Michael William the Third and the eleven men seated here with him.
For a great long while no one spoke, for the things that were in the minds of these twelve men who controlled the destiny of Zoltan's millions, went too deep for words.
Then Michael forced himself from his lethargy, rapped slowly on the table with his huge, bronze hand, and said in a tired voice, "Well, Gentlemen, what have you decided?"
Frederick Saben, provincial governor of the country Rochlem, was the first to speak. "Sir, by pressing every space craft in my country into service, we might be able to transport three quarters of the people in my province to this other planet, this Samarkand. If only we knew that Samarkand would sustain life -- however, that is a chance we shall have to take."
Someone asked, "What about the other quarter of your population?"
Frederick Saben turned to the man, and there was a perceptible tightening of his jaw. "They will have to die," he said very simply.
Michael William the Third spoke now and there was a sterness to his voice that brought all eyes erect. "That cannot be; better to die than to carry such a deed on our consciences." There was a half-hearted murmer of protest from a few members of the group. Then Saben stood up. "This is no time for idealism. Think of your own son, Michael, surely you don't want that to happen to him and there is the princess Jean and the Empress Helen, would you have them die?"
And so it went for days and days with Frederick Saben prevailing in the end. 
It was swiftly decided that all the aged and the infirm would remain on Zoltan and wait the horrible death that was coming so swiftly; for it was only three months now, and the great migration would have to take place some time before the catastrophe struck. The time was indeed short, and all Zoltan was a beehive of activity and even those who were remaining behind worked hard at the task of preparing the great host of space ships for the long journey. Never before had a space ship attempted to make such a flight for it was a five year journey to Samarkand, and, previously, there had been no need for colonizing another world. Hence, the data concerning Samarkand was quite meagre. It was simply a cure or kill remedy, and the people knew it. They realized, too, that if an eighth of the population ever reached their destination, it would be blind luck.
Twenty-eight days before the deadline the multitude of ships were ready to leave in relays of six each. There were last minute checkups, delays, farewells, but every ship managed to leave safely. Forty-eight hours after they had gone, it came. Out of the great nothingness that was space it burst and surchared the atmosphere of Zoltan with deadly impulses that killed all living things.
And so Zoltan died.

Saving...

6 "-- THIS IS THE TALE OF ATZOR --" by -- Tennessee-- [[underline]]Art Sehnert[[end underline]] - Article - Michael William the Third, Grand Ruler of the Planet Zoltan, looked at the tense, expectant faces seated around the table with him. The greatest men of all Zoltan's three continents were gathered here to decide finally what was to be done. A cosmic cataclysm that would wipe out all semblance of life on the planet, a cataclysm that would make the heretofore fertile plains of Zoltan nothing more than barren rock, bleak and desolate, had been discovered by the Royal Astronomers seven months before. A catastrophe that could not be avoided. That fact faced Michael William the Third and the eleven men seated here with him. For a great long while no one spoke, for the things that were in the minds of these twelve men who controlled the destiny of Zoltan's millions, went too deep for words. Then Michael forced himself from his lethargy, rapped slowly on the table with his huge, bronze hand, and said in a tired voice, "Well, Gentlemen, what have you decided?" Frederick Saben, provincial governor of the country Rochlem, was the first to speak. "Sir, by pressing every space craft in my country into service, we might be able to transport three quarters of the people in my province to this other planet, this Samarkand. If only we knew that Samarkand would sustain life -- however, that is a chance we shall have to take." Someone asked, "What about the other quarter of your population?" Frederick Saben turned to the man, and there was a perceptible tightening of his jaw. "They will have to die," he said very simply. Michael William the Third spoke now and there was a sterness to his voice that brought all eyes erect. "That cannot be; better to die than to carry such a deed on our consciences." There was a half-hearted murmer of protest from a few members of the group. Then Saben stood up. "This is no time for idealism. Think of your own son, Michael, surely you don't want that to happen to him and there is the princess Jean and the Empress Helen, would you have them die?" And so it went for days and days with Frederick Saben prevailing in the end. It was swiftly decided that all the aged and the infirm would remain on Zoltan and wait the horrible death that was coming so swiftly; for it was only three months now, and the great migration would have to take place some time before the catastrophe struck. The time was indeed short, and all Zoltan was a beehive of activity and even those who were remaining behind worked hard at the task of preparing the great host of space ships for the long journey. Never before had a space ship attempted to make such a flight for it was a five year journey to Samarkand, and, previously, there had been no need for colonizing another world. Hence, the data concerning Samarkand was quite meagre. It was simply a cure or kill remedy, and the people knew it. They realized, too, that if an eighth of the population ever reached their destination, it would be blind luck. Twenty-eight days before the deadline the multitude of ships were ready to leave in relays of six each. There were last minute checkups, delays, farewells, but every ship managed to leave safely. Forty-eight hours after they had gone, it came. Out of the great nothingness that was space it burst and surchared the atmosphere of Zoltan with deadly impulses that killed all living things. And so Zoltan died.