DIY History | Transcribe | Hevelin Fanzines | Sun Spots, v. 4, issue 3, whole no. 15, February 1941

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Sun Spots, v. 4, issue 3, whole no. 15, February 1941

Page 5

February, 1941   SUN  SPOT S   Page 5.

Martin opened it; stared at the excited looking young patrolman standing in the corridor. "guess what happened to me, Lieutenant! Tamerlane, the Robin-Hood space pirate captured my one man cruiser. He told me to give this parcel to you. Said he had just captured me to use me as his messenger. Ain't that some nerve!" The young mans face was a study in excitement.

But Martin paid him no attention. He was staring at the small package covered with gay wrapping paper. He took it from the boy. The little tag announced, "To Lt. Martin".

"Shall i open it for you?"

"No thanks. I'll do it my self."

Fumbling, he tore away the wrappings. Then Martin snorted. Inside the neat cardboard box was a lump of stale cheese and pinned to the smelly mass was a note penned on mauve-tinted paper. . . He read it.

"The Brotherhood is glad your leaving, you G__ d___ b______ ! You can't get out too soon to suit us you tinhorn badge-tooter! Things will be a lot easier when your gone, you lousy s__ o_ _ b_____ !" It was signed simply "Tamerlane."

Suddenly Martin smiled. He sniffed the cheese as if it were some fine perfume. Carefully, he folded the note and placed it between the pages of his battered report book, his fingers tucking it in reverently as if it were a citation for valor.

[[underline]]THE END[[end underline]]

[[underline]]THE IRONY OF IT ALL[[end underline]]
By
G.de la Ree, & R.Plotkin

I wasn't alone in the cabin of the battered old space-freighter [[underline]]Luna[[end underline]] for more than three minutes. Someone was sneaking in out of the woolly Venusian night fog--in through the rear starboard port, which was unlocked. Turning noislessly in the dark, I watched the stealthy little creature drop to the floor and move toward the paper-strewn control desk. My right hand jerked out my rado-gun; my left switched on the lights. 

The stranger gasped and looked at me through a wisp of fog that had blown in with him.--short, wiry, ferrety, about half my size. His brown overcoat redeemed the the pallor of his face ever so slightly. Judging by his bald head, he was almost an old man; by his agility in wriggling through port-holes, he was young.

"Don't move!" I warned, stepping quickly forward. He goggled at my gun, and shot up his hands. "What are you doing here?" I demanded.

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February, 1941 SUN SPOT S Page 5. Martin opened it; stared at the excited looking young patrolman standing in the corridor. "guess what happened to me, Lieutenant! Tamerlane, the Robin-Hood space pirate captured my one man cruiser. He told me to give this parcel to you. Said he had just captured me to use me as his messenger. Ain't that some nerve!" The young mans face was a study in excitement. But Martin paid him no attention. He was staring at the small package covered with gay wrapping paper. He took it from the boy. The little tag announced, "To Lt. Martin". "Shall i open it for you?" "No thanks. I'll do it my self." Fumbling, he tore away the wrappings. Then Martin snorted. Inside the neat cardboard box was a lump of stale cheese and pinned to the smelly mass was a note penned on mauve-tinted paper. . . He read it. "The Brotherhood is glad your leaving, you G__ d___ b______ ! You can't get out too soon to suit us you tinhorn badge-tooter! Things will be a lot easier when your gone, you lousy s__ o_ _ b_____ !" It was signed simply "Tamerlane." Suddenly Martin smiled. He sniffed the cheese as if it were some fine perfume. Carefully, he folded the note and placed it between the pages of his battered report book, his fingers tucking it in reverently as if it were a citation for valor. [[underline]]THE END[[end underline]] [[underline]]THE IRONY OF IT ALL[[end underline]] By G.de la Ree, & R.Plotkin I wasn't alone in the cabin of the battered old space-freighter [[underline]]Luna[[end underline]] for more than three minutes. Someone was sneaking in out of the woolly Venusian night fog--in through the rear starboard port, which was unlocked. Turning noislessly in the dark, I watched the stealthy little creature drop to the floor and move toward the paper-strewn control desk. My right hand jerked out my rado-gun; my left switched on the lights. The stranger gasped and looked at me through a wisp of fog that had blown in with him.--short, wiry, ferrety, about half my size. His brown overcoat redeemed the the pallor of his face ever so slightly. Judging by his bald head, he was almost an old man; by his agility in wriggling through port-holes, he was young. "Don't move!" I warned, stepping quickly forward. He goggled at my gun, and shot up his hands. "What are you doing here?" I demanded.