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Fantasy Aspects, issue 2, November 1947
Page 17
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FROM SPARX PUMPING STATION by G. TIMOTHY ORROK The building spans the canal at its narrowest point, taking in all ten of its component streams. It is perhaps fifteen feet in height, but any closer inspection is halted by the centuries-thick mat of heavy vines, which strive for light as urgently as the roots suck at the water which flows past. It is built of a light-colored concrete, which is impervious to anything but an atomic bomb. Even this has begun to flake off, under the incessant incursions of the creeping tendrils of the plants. Around its base the roots mingle in a tangled knot, save only where the waters of the canal enter, smoothy and certainly, already under the influence of the mechanism within. The vegitation hangs in leafy festoons across the channel. On it perch a few rodent-like animals, picking away at the tiny leaflets and the insects that live there. These Mars rats are delightful creatures, with fat bellies, sparkling eyes, sharp but pleasant faces, and much keener brains than might be expected in such a race. The Mars rat has seven fingers, two opposable, on each of his six feet. Yet none of these ffet have become hands. Why not? Why is it that one race grows great, and builds pumping stations that live for milleniums, while another must sit in the branches of trees, and eats insects with its marvelous feet? Alas, the Mars rat is content with its lot, and, being content, he cannot advance. Only he that strives can grow. . . . . The canal waters pulse evenly from the outlet of the station, and flow on, slowly and smoothly, rippling under a low hanging vine, eddying around a huge rock, and continue on their course, straight and true. A small but brilliant sun shines in the sky, through an atmosphere that is seldom anything other than clear and cloudless. A small bird whizzes by, flapping its wings at a tremendous rate to stay aloft in the extremety tenous ocean of air. Suddenly it closes its wings, and plummets to the surface of the canal to sieze some choice minnow. Its larger cousins sometimes feast on the young of the Mars rat, as predators always triumph over the incautious. From the bird's viewpoint, above the thicket, the canal is seen to stretch out for miles on end, the several channels merging into the wide strip of vegitation in the far distance. On and on it goes, straight as an arrow, and with much more steadfastness of purpose. The canal is not to be turned aside at the whim of a vagrant wind, or deflected by a chance tree or boulder. The sun falls lower in ---- (page 17) ----
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FROM SPARX PUMPING STATION by G. TIMOTHY ORROK The building spans the canal at its narrowest point, taking in all ten of its component streams. It is perhaps fifteen feet in height, but any closer inspection is halted by the centuries-thick mat of heavy vines, which strive for light as urgently as the roots suck at the water which flows past. It is built of a light-colored concrete, which is impervious to anything but an atomic bomb. Even this has begun to flake off, under the incessant incursions of the creeping tendrils of the plants. Around its base the roots mingle in a tangled knot, save only where the waters of the canal enter, smoothy and certainly, already under the influence of the mechanism within. The vegitation hangs in leafy festoons across the channel. On it perch a few rodent-like animals, picking away at the tiny leaflets and the insects that live there. These Mars rats are delightful creatures, with fat bellies, sparkling eyes, sharp but pleasant faces, and much keener brains than might be expected in such a race. The Mars rat has seven fingers, two opposable, on each of his six feet. Yet none of these ffet have become hands. Why not? Why is it that one race grows great, and builds pumping stations that live for milleniums, while another must sit in the branches of trees, and eats insects with its marvelous feet? Alas, the Mars rat is content with its lot, and, being content, he cannot advance. Only he that strives can grow. . . . . The canal waters pulse evenly from the outlet of the station, and flow on, slowly and smoothly, rippling under a low hanging vine, eddying around a huge rock, and continue on their course, straight and true. A small but brilliant sun shines in the sky, through an atmosphere that is seldom anything other than clear and cloudless. A small bird whizzes by, flapping its wings at a tremendous rate to stay aloft in the extremety tenous ocean of air. Suddenly it closes its wings, and plummets to the surface of the canal to sieze some choice minnow. Its larger cousins sometimes feast on the young of the Mars rat, as predators always triumph over the incautious. From the bird's viewpoint, above the thicket, the canal is seen to stretch out for miles on end, the several channels merging into the wide strip of vegitation in the far distance. On and on it goes, straight as an arrow, and with much more steadfastness of purpose. The canal is not to be turned aside at the whim of a vagrant wind, or deflected by a chance tree or boulder. The sun falls lower in ---- (page 17) ----
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