DIY History | Transcribe | Hevelin Fanzines | Fantascience Digest, v. 2, issue 5, July-September, 1939

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Fantascience Digest, v. 2, issue 5, July-September, 1939

Page 8

Page 8                           FANTASCIENCE DIGEST

one long since dust and ashes -- narrated perhaps to one who was a remote descendant. Jon and Rey both listened in rapt silence to the strange and desperate account. There were vivid descriptions of how the scientists had discovered that the atmosphere of Zitra was rapidly being devitiated by some cosmic disturbance, of many attempts to create it in the laboratory, and finally of a desperate resolve to shoot rockets to Llyria containing the seeds of life, along with plans, equipment, and all things vital to that life. Adequate preparations were made to cause normal awakening and functioning as such time when Llyria should reach a state of balance suitable to preservation and continuance of the race under favorable circumstances. Nothing had been overlooked. The expedition had departed, and those who remained to speed the flight of the spaceships perished quickly from suffocation. As the dying voice concluded, "and I, the last of my race on Zitra, give you who may -- who WILL someday understand this recording -- the blessings of a man proud to have done his part toward creating a race of supermen upon another planet. May your course be upward to the stars!"

As the voice of Jon the Thousand and First faded away the two explorers stood in silence still, each honoring the heroism of those who had remained to perish that other might live, and each inspired with the inner determination that soon HIS life would be sacrificed that the other might rocket to safety by using all the gretite cartridges.

Their need for haste, however, shortened their revery. After all, their portable atmospheric condensors would only last a day or so. Briefly, they flew over other portions of the dead city, examining with interest the many items which attracted their attention, and then repaired again to the wrecked space-ship, each hoping that by some means they could prepare it for even a short flight.

There was nothing navigable about the splintered shell of their ship, however, and their eyes soon confirmed what their minds already knew for a certainty.

Wearily, Rey lay down on the stony ground.

"My air is thinning," he remarked carelessly. "I've got only enough to last me until day after tomorrow, at the most. "How about you shooting out to the base at the other side of Agemmon and pulling a rescue act. They knew you there, and will give youa special-flight job back to Llyria. You can contact Zak and cover your tracks some way so's the Emperor's men won't hold you for questioning, and then fly back and get me. With that recording disc we took, Zak can change the religion of a world in just about three circuits. By the time we get back, we'll be the popular heroes. When Zak broadcasts that disc on a secret wave all hell will break loose!  The Emperor will loose his royal skin and the priests won't even have any skin to lose -- they'll be flayed alive! So how about it?"

Jon sat down with a thump of his metal suit. His face was stonily disinterested. "You're full of jeet-sap," he said surlily. "You're going back! Not me. The man who returns has just about as much chance of rescuing the other as Jared has of escaping the Threshold of Execution. Nobody's going to give up special-flight ships to stray officers who

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Page 8 FANTASCIENCE DIGEST one long since dust and ashes -- narrated perhaps to one who was a remote descendant. Jon and Rey both listened in rapt silence to the strange and desperate account. There were vivid descriptions of how the scientists had discovered that the atmosphere of Zitra was rapidly being devitiated by some cosmic disturbance, of many attempts to create it in the laboratory, and finally of a desperate resolve to shoot rockets to Llyria containing the seeds of life, along with plans, equipment, and all things vital to that life. Adequate preparations were made to cause normal awakening and functioning as such time when Llyria should reach a state of balance suitable to preservation and continuance of the race under favorable circumstances. Nothing had been overlooked. The expedition had departed, and those who remained to speed the flight of the spaceships perished quickly from suffocation. As the dying voice concluded, "and I, the last of my race on Zitra, give you who may -- who WILL someday understand this recording -- the blessings of a man proud to have done his part toward creating a race of supermen upon another planet. May your course be upward to the stars!" As the voice of Jon the Thousand and First faded away the two explorers stood in silence still, each honoring the heroism of those who had remained to perish that other might live, and each inspired with the inner determination that soon HIS life would be sacrificed that the other might rocket to safety by using all the gretite cartridges. Their need for haste, however, shortened their revery. After all, their portable atmospheric condensors would only last a day or so. Briefly, they flew over other portions of the dead city, examining with interest the many items which attracted their attention, and then repaired again to the wrecked space-ship, each hoping that by some means they could prepare it for even a short flight. There was nothing navigable about the splintered shell of their ship, however, and their eyes soon confirmed what their minds already knew for a certainty. Wearily, Rey lay down on the stony ground. "My air is thinning," he remarked carelessly. "I've got only enough to last me until day after tomorrow, at the most. "How about you shooting out to the base at the other side of Agemmon and pulling a rescue act. They knew you there, and will give youa special-flight job back to Llyria. You can contact Zak and cover your tracks some way so's the Emperor's men won't hold you for questioning, and then fly back and get me. With that recording disc we took, Zak can change the religion of a world in just about three circuits. By the time we get back, we'll be the popular heroes. When Zak broadcasts that disc on a secret wave all hell will break loose! The Emperor will loose his royal skin and the priests won't even have any skin to lose -- they'll be flayed alive! So how about it?" Jon sat down with a thump of his metal suit. His face was stonily disinterested. "You're full of jeet-sap," he said surlily. "You're going back! Not me. The man who returns has just about as much chance of rescuing the other as Jared has of escaping the Threshold of Execution. Nobody's going to give up special-flight ships to stray officers who