DIY History | Transcribe | Hevelin Fanzines | Fantascience Digest, v. 3, issue 1, whole no. 12, January-February 1940

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Fantascience Digest, v. 3, issue 1, whole no. 12, January-February 1940

Page 8

Page 8                     FANTASCIENCE DIGEST

But there was something wrong now. There was still something wrong, only it was different now from what had been wrong before. 

   What is the matter with me, he asked himself, while the mole burrowed in a universe of noise. I wanted to be a musician, but there was no good music to play, and I didn't know what good music was, and I didn't cared whether I lived or died., for I had no purpose. I felt empty, and sometimes I thought that I was going to discover what good music was, but nothing ever happened, for I was not great enough. I had no purpose, and I didn't care whether or not I came back from the test job. 

   But now I know what good music is. I heard it in the machine, and all of a sudden I am filled. I am satisfied, and living can mean something new, for in that music there is something that can be life itself. 

   Now I know what is wrong. Before I didn't care. Now I care. Now I care whether I come back from the test or not, but I know I won't, for you never come back.

   You never come back. The machinery rattled it out. The motors hummed it forth. The generators whined the song. 

   Then he was underneath the enemy, and their detectors sounded him out, and their forces beat into the ground. His ears and his bones ached from the sonic waves; the humped metal around him grew hot from the induction beam. Relays thumped, and the mole shrieked as the neutralizers gobbled up, and dissipated the energy.

   The time was come now, and his hands reached out to the levers that jutted from the machines. Jerking and grinding, the mole slowly edged to face upwards. It was near the surface, and then it was through, breaking the ground to meet a hell of explosives and forces. The fury of the enemy was concentrated on him, but his armor held.

   Now the neutron blast. The new beam that could not be deflected, and that had the power of a battleship behind it/ It screamed out like an incandescent knife, and it cut through buildings and forts and tanks, and the little, shouting people than ran from its path. The people did not even flare as the beam struck them. 

   Why was he shooting at these people? He had nothing against them. But he was too tired to wonder more than vaguely. The squat torpedo that was his mole made a molten lake of the enemy camp, and his job was nearly finished.

   The enemy had a new weapon, too. It exploded on, beneath, all around the mole. The concussion beat Lieutenant J to his knees, the force lifted the mole onto its tail end. The neutron blast in the nose of the mole out into the planet; the mole fell as the rock was torn from its path.

   Now it was the end, and Lieutenant J knew it, as the noise pounded at him. The screaming noise of the inferno without mingled with the music that was in his head. It roared and it roared, and it asked the question of life and it answered the question and it gave peace and excitement and love and joy and sorrow, and it mounted up higher and higher, until the outside noise and the inside noise was one, and the cylinder of the mole merged with the molten inside of the planet that came spurting up the tube to meet it.

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Page 8 FANTASCIENCE DIGEST But there was something wrong now. There was still something wrong, only it was different now from what had been wrong before. What is the matter with me, he asked himself, while the mole burrowed in a universe of noise. I wanted to be a musician, but there was no good music to play, and I didn't know what good music was, and I didn't cared whether I lived or died., for I had no purpose. I felt empty, and sometimes I thought that I was going to discover what good music was, but nothing ever happened, for I was not great enough. I had no purpose, and I didn't care whether or not I came back from the test job. But now I know what good music is. I heard it in the machine, and all of a sudden I am filled. I am satisfied, and living can mean something new, for in that music there is something that can be life itself. Now I know what is wrong. Before I didn't care. Now I care. Now I care whether I come back from the test or not, but I know I won't, for you never come back. You never come back. The machinery rattled it out. The motors hummed it forth. The generators whined the song. Then he was underneath the enemy, and their detectors sounded him out, and their forces beat into the ground. His ears and his bones ached from the sonic waves; the humped metal around him grew hot from the induction beam. Relays thumped, and the mole shrieked as the neutralizers gobbled up, and dissipated the energy. The time was come now, and his hands reached out to the levers that jutted from the machines. Jerking and grinding, the mole slowly edged to face upwards. It was near the surface, and then it was through, breaking the ground to meet a hell of explosives and forces. The fury of the enemy was concentrated on him, but his armor held. Now the neutron blast. The new beam that could not be deflected, and that had the power of a battleship behind it/ It screamed out like an incandescent knife, and it cut through buildings and forts and tanks, and the little, shouting people than ran from its path. The people did not even flare as the beam struck them. Why was he shooting at these people? He had nothing against them. But he was too tired to wonder more than vaguely. The squat torpedo that was his mole made a molten lake of the enemy camp, and his job was nearly finished. The enemy had a new weapon, too. It exploded on, beneath, all around the mole. The concussion beat Lieutenant J to his knees, the force lifted the mole onto its tail end. The neutron blast in the nose of the mole out into the planet; the mole fell as the rock was torn from its path. Now it was the end, and Lieutenant J knew it, as the noise pounded at him. The screaming noise of the inferno without mingled with the music that was in his head. It roared and it roared, and it asked the question of life and it answered the question and it gave peace and excitement and love and joy and sorrow, and it mounted up higher and higher, until the outside noise and the inside noise was one, and the cylinder of the mole merged with the molten inside of the planet that came spurting up the tube to meet it.