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Spacewarp, v. 5, issue 2, whole no. 26, May 1949
Page 12
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"This is over our heads, Vogan," Kela whispered. He went to the communication machine. "This must be reported to our Master immediately!" * * * * * HER LOVELY FACE set in a mask of determination, the Priestess dialed the communication machine before her. The prismatic colors of the view screen highlighted the beautiful planes of her face with every color of the spectrum." "Igor fails me," she thought wildly, "and now -- on top of everything -- von Heine's body stolen. What will the Master say?" The Master said plenty when his dark visage appeared on the screen. "If it were not that you are Priestess of Kartan, I would kill you!" he ranted. "Karten is close to defeat, and you must do something!" "I will try," the Priestess murmured, soft lips trembling. "And quit trying to vamp me!" the Master shouted. "I am one who can take you or leave you!" "Igor has failed me completely," the Priestess changed the subject. "I ask you to cease thinking him, Master, and manifest in his stead someone who will be especially suited to grope with this new problem and bring about the defeat of hated Daaleta." "I will do it," the Master nodded. "Do you have any special requirements?" The Priestess dropped her head. "Make him big and handsome, Master -- with a soft, black beard!" The Master smiled. "I think I know what you want," he shook his head. "But don't forget your mission!" With that, the Master's face faded from the viewer and the machine went dead. As the Priestess turned around, the door opened and a tall, dark, bearded man came in. "I der new Igor am!" his baritone voice rumbled pleasantly. "I am to help you, my Priestess, and -- " his eyes roved lingeringly over her body -- "I think my work I am going to like! Haff you beer in der cooler, perhaps?" Fire ran in the Priestess' blood and flamed in her eyes. "The Master is clever indeed!" she murmured softly, handing Igor a bottle of beer. *** * *** WHILE the Priestess was getting acquainted with her Igor, the people of a pleasant city in the Midwest would have been very interested in a certain black Nash traversing their streets, had they only known what its back seat contained. One of the two men in front glanced back. There, apparently asleep, lay a German named...von Heine! The man turned back and gazed in steely silence at the road ahead. They were passing a particularly modest white house with a big oak in the front yard. And just as the car passed out of sight, a tall, slender fellow with a foul-smelling pipe in his mouth stepped onto the front porch of this house. He squinted his eyes at 13
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"This is over our heads, Vogan," Kela whispered. He went to the communication machine. "This must be reported to our Master immediately!" * * * * * HER LOVELY FACE set in a mask of determination, the Priestess dialed the communication machine before her. The prismatic colors of the view screen highlighted the beautiful planes of her face with every color of the spectrum." "Igor fails me," she thought wildly, "and now -- on top of everything -- von Heine's body stolen. What will the Master say?" The Master said plenty when his dark visage appeared on the screen. "If it were not that you are Priestess of Kartan, I would kill you!" he ranted. "Karten is close to defeat, and you must do something!" "I will try," the Priestess murmured, soft lips trembling. "And quit trying to vamp me!" the Master shouted. "I am one who can take you or leave you!" "Igor has failed me completely," the Priestess changed the subject. "I ask you to cease thinking him, Master, and manifest in his stead someone who will be especially suited to grope with this new problem and bring about the defeat of hated Daaleta." "I will do it," the Master nodded. "Do you have any special requirements?" The Priestess dropped her head. "Make him big and handsome, Master -- with a soft, black beard!" The Master smiled. "I think I know what you want," he shook his head. "But don't forget your mission!" With that, the Master's face faded from the viewer and the machine went dead. As the Priestess turned around, the door opened and a tall, dark, bearded man came in. "I der new Igor am!" his baritone voice rumbled pleasantly. "I am to help you, my Priestess, and -- " his eyes roved lingeringly over her body -- "I think my work I am going to like! Haff you beer in der cooler, perhaps?" Fire ran in the Priestess' blood and flamed in her eyes. "The Master is clever indeed!" she murmured softly, handing Igor a bottle of beer. *** * *** WHILE the Priestess was getting acquainted with her Igor, the people of a pleasant city in the Midwest would have been very interested in a certain black Nash traversing their streets, had they only known what its back seat contained. One of the two men in front glanced back. There, apparently asleep, lay a German named...von Heine! The man turned back and gazed in steely silence at the road ahead. They were passing a particularly modest white house with a big oak in the front yard. And just as the car passed out of sight, a tall, slender fellow with a foul-smelling pipe in his mouth stepped onto the front porch of this house. He squinted his eyes at 13
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