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Southern Star, v. 1, issue 4, December 1941
Page 22
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The quietly pathetic little tale of a courage that was greater than all space and more eternal than time itself. . . . 5[[?]] [[underline]]THE VOICE OUT OF SPACE[[end underline]] --by... - South Carolina - [[underline]]Harry Jenkins, Jr[[end underline]]. The [[underline]]Southern Star[[end underline]], queen of the newly-founded Planet Lines, cruised through the infinite darkness of space on its monthly trip to Mars. Outside of the ports the blackness loomed threatening, ever prevalent. There beside the rear port hole stood 19 year old Philip Van Dyke, III, heir to the millions of the illustrations Van Dyke, II, owner of the Planet Lines. The few gleams of light which invaded the passageway, lit up the features of the youth. His sandy hair stirred in the constant stream of oxygen that whirred from the Brunson suppliers. His slim body leaned against the Dura-plate as he hummed softly. He was a perfect reproduction of his father except for one thing -- his eyes. They were blue in the dim haze of the space-ship, in direct contrast to his fother's grey. It was then that he heard the Voice for the first time. Out of the empty void it came and resounded throughout the ship, crashing, thundering, sounding on his ear-drums. "Hello there, [[underline]]Southern Star[[end underline]]! Hello there, how're tricks this trip?" The voice revealed certain youthful tones, a feature strangely incongrous with the long out-moded slang. Philip went in search of the Captain and found him in the cabin gazing unconcernedly into space ahead. The captain was a veteran of the spaceways, and he wore the rejuvenated style of side-burns. His determined jaw was set squarely below his Roman nose and dreamy eyes. But all space captains had dreamy eyes. "Captain?" Philip said. "Captain Brown, what is that noise, or voice that I hear?" "You mean that voice you heard a little --" He was interrupted by the insistent calling of the hidden voice. "Who's on board this time? Any celebrities, eh, kid?" Philip noticed the Captain's face contract and his whole body shudder as if in instinctive response to the Voice. The captain moved wearily toward the huge microphone set in the wall of the control room. He reached a bony hand toward the conglomeration of wheels, dials, and switches that comprised the control board and flicked one isolated switch. Philip watched closely, fascinated by the changing emotions of the old-timer. "Hello there in space," the Captain spoke into the mouthpiece, "hello there in space, Captain Brown talking. Celebrities on board include Philip Van Dyke, III. How has traffic been progressing? Any wrecks or disasters? The Voice was slow in answering, as if a definite lenth of time was required to assimilate the few words of the Captain. "Not Van Dyke, III? The one that George told us about trip before last?" Philip gasped audibly at this reply, for George was the name of his father. "Yes," answered the Captain, "the same. And a strapping young fellow he is, too. Makes me feel every bit of my 84 years. George should be proud of -- his -- son --" Philip approached the aged space navigator as he lumped over the microphone sobbing. "What's the matter, sir?" Is there anything wrong? Can I help?" The old man looked up into his eyes and smiled. "No son, there's nothing you can do. I'm just getting sentimental in my old age, I imagine. But run along now. Run along before I chase you out. you ought to
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The quietly pathetic little tale of a courage that was greater than all space and more eternal than time itself. . . . 5[[?]] [[underline]]THE VOICE OUT OF SPACE[[end underline]] --by... - South Carolina - [[underline]]Harry Jenkins, Jr[[end underline]]. The [[underline]]Southern Star[[end underline]], queen of the newly-founded Planet Lines, cruised through the infinite darkness of space on its monthly trip to Mars. Outside of the ports the blackness loomed threatening, ever prevalent. There beside the rear port hole stood 19 year old Philip Van Dyke, III, heir to the millions of the illustrations Van Dyke, II, owner of the Planet Lines. The few gleams of light which invaded the passageway, lit up the features of the youth. His sandy hair stirred in the constant stream of oxygen that whirred from the Brunson suppliers. His slim body leaned against the Dura-plate as he hummed softly. He was a perfect reproduction of his father except for one thing -- his eyes. They were blue in the dim haze of the space-ship, in direct contrast to his fother's grey. It was then that he heard the Voice for the first time. Out of the empty void it came and resounded throughout the ship, crashing, thundering, sounding on his ear-drums. "Hello there, [[underline]]Southern Star[[end underline]]! Hello there, how're tricks this trip?" The voice revealed certain youthful tones, a feature strangely incongrous with the long out-moded slang. Philip went in search of the Captain and found him in the cabin gazing unconcernedly into space ahead. The captain was a veteran of the spaceways, and he wore the rejuvenated style of side-burns. His determined jaw was set squarely below his Roman nose and dreamy eyes. But all space captains had dreamy eyes. "Captain?" Philip said. "Captain Brown, what is that noise, or voice that I hear?" "You mean that voice you heard a little --" He was interrupted by the insistent calling of the hidden voice. "Who's on board this time? Any celebrities, eh, kid?" Philip noticed the Captain's face contract and his whole body shudder as if in instinctive response to the Voice. The captain moved wearily toward the huge microphone set in the wall of the control room. He reached a bony hand toward the conglomeration of wheels, dials, and switches that comprised the control board and flicked one isolated switch. Philip watched closely, fascinated by the changing emotions of the old-timer. "Hello there in space," the Captain spoke into the mouthpiece, "hello there in space, Captain Brown talking. Celebrities on board include Philip Van Dyke, III. How has traffic been progressing? Any wrecks or disasters? The Voice was slow in answering, as if a definite lenth of time was required to assimilate the few words of the Captain. "Not Van Dyke, III? The one that George told us about trip before last?" Philip gasped audibly at this reply, for George was the name of his father. "Yes," answered the Captain, "the same. And a strapping young fellow he is, too. Makes me feel every bit of my 84 years. George should be proud of -- his -- son --" Philip approached the aged space navigator as he lumped over the microphone sobbing. "What's the matter, sir?" Is there anything wrong? Can I help?" The old man looked up into his eyes and smiled. "No son, there's nothing you can do. I'm just getting sentimental in my old age, I imagine. But run along now. Run along before I chase you out. you ought to
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