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Fan-Atic, v. 1, issue 3, May 1941
Page 21
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FAN-ATIC, Vol 1, No 3. May 1941. Page 21. THE ULTIMATE Continued. by Joe Gilbert And the toys found that by merely asking a question, the Ultimate would answer it. And so they asked. And the hours went by, and night came, and Dawn and there was morning and then night and still they asked unwearying. The Ultimate itself could never weary except perhaps of its immortality, and what were a few hours in the ceaseless cycle, the long, long cycle that is time, that is eternity . . . ? Transmutation . . . immortality . . . the secrets of time . . . the secrets of space . . . the secrets of . . . Knowledge. Ultimate knowledge. And with knowledge their minds took wings and soared up into the dark gulf of infinite space and hurtled on, shrieking challenge to the wheeling stars, the laughing suns, the colossal alpha and omega of birth and death and creation and life and the final futile smouldering embers ofa dead and cooling universe. And on and on and on . . . Beyond infinity. And still they asked, and still they learned and still the tape crept out of the machine, unhesitating, until -- until one of them asked the Ultimate what lay beyond death. And then indeed did the Ultimate hesitate and then was the machine silent for a long moment until the tape crept out again. And on it were four words, "I do not know." Engulfed, overwhelmed, sinking in a sea of knowledge, they asked the final, the great, the unsolved question -- what was life and what was its purpose? And -- the Ultimate told them. Told them, perhaps, while laughing at the greatest jest, the finest joke of all. That with all knowledge and power in their grasp, that with all the questions but one for the solution of which this puny little race had searched all the millions of years since its genesis, and had thought to search for billions more, answered -- because of the very nature of these creatures they would never be able to -- Then the Ultimate withdrew, delighting in his idle hour of aimless amusement, not forgetting, however, to think the tape out of existance. They were not ready yet. Would they ever be ready? The Ultimate did not know. Some . . . one perhaps knew. The Ultimate settled himself to ponder that last enigma, settled himself with a tiny sigh. Forever was such a long time -- Something deeper inside Stanley Knight than the man himself, the wonderful power that is the spirit of man gave him the strength to find his way to a telephone. He could not control his hands, and was unable to dial a number after knocking the receiver off the hook. He finally managed to dial the "0" that summoned the operator. In a voice that did not belong to him and had never belonged to him, he placed a call for newspapermen and doctors. And remembering the way a man named Pageant had giggled and drooled down his chin, he called another number. They would probably need those white-coated attendants. The Crestwood Sanitarium is a very pretty place with green, well tended grounds and fancy metal grillwork over the windows instead of iron bars. His fellow colleagues had considered it their duty to place Knight in a private sanitorium where he would at least get the best of care. (Continued on last page.) ((WASHINGTON IN 1942)) ((JOIN THE NFFF))
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FAN-ATIC, Vol 1, No 3. May 1941. Page 21. THE ULTIMATE Continued. by Joe Gilbert And the toys found that by merely asking a question, the Ultimate would answer it. And so they asked. And the hours went by, and night came, and Dawn and there was morning and then night and still they asked unwearying. The Ultimate itself could never weary except perhaps of its immortality, and what were a few hours in the ceaseless cycle, the long, long cycle that is time, that is eternity . . . ? Transmutation . . . immortality . . . the secrets of time . . . the secrets of space . . . the secrets of . . . Knowledge. Ultimate knowledge. And with knowledge their minds took wings and soared up into the dark gulf of infinite space and hurtled on, shrieking challenge to the wheeling stars, the laughing suns, the colossal alpha and omega of birth and death and creation and life and the final futile smouldering embers ofa dead and cooling universe. And on and on and on . . . Beyond infinity. And still they asked, and still they learned and still the tape crept out of the machine, unhesitating, until -- until one of them asked the Ultimate what lay beyond death. And then indeed did the Ultimate hesitate and then was the machine silent for a long moment until the tape crept out again. And on it were four words, "I do not know." Engulfed, overwhelmed, sinking in a sea of knowledge, they asked the final, the great, the unsolved question -- what was life and what was its purpose? And -- the Ultimate told them. Told them, perhaps, while laughing at the greatest jest, the finest joke of all. That with all knowledge and power in their grasp, that with all the questions but one for the solution of which this puny little race had searched all the millions of years since its genesis, and had thought to search for billions more, answered -- because of the very nature of these creatures they would never be able to -- Then the Ultimate withdrew, delighting in his idle hour of aimless amusement, not forgetting, however, to think the tape out of existance. They were not ready yet. Would they ever be ready? The Ultimate did not know. Some . . . one perhaps knew. The Ultimate settled himself to ponder that last enigma, settled himself with a tiny sigh. Forever was such a long time -- Something deeper inside Stanley Knight than the man himself, the wonderful power that is the spirit of man gave him the strength to find his way to a telephone. He could not control his hands, and was unable to dial a number after knocking the receiver off the hook. He finally managed to dial the "0" that summoned the operator. In a voice that did not belong to him and had never belonged to him, he placed a call for newspapermen and doctors. And remembering the way a man named Pageant had giggled and drooled down his chin, he called another number. They would probably need those white-coated attendants. The Crestwood Sanitarium is a very pretty place with green, well tended grounds and fancy metal grillwork over the windows instead of iron bars. His fellow colleagues had considered it their duty to place Knight in a private sanitorium where he would at least get the best of care. (Continued on last page.) ((WASHINGTON IN 1942)) ((JOIN THE NFFF))
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