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Fanfare, November 1950
Page 10
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IN THE FLESH BY PHILLIP DUKE The Kamina was growing. It was thriving in the pot of earth Herb Jensen had unknowingly supplied it with. It was thriving, and it found life good. Herb Jensen's ruddy voice rang out across the room: "You should see my ever-flowering verbenaias. Or my crockadilies. And my lampidsidium is just beginning to blossom. What flowers!" His wife Ida, in the next room, nodded her head wearily. She had learned to put up with her husband's flowers. "Flowers!" They track up the house, and that greenhouse he put in last year cost more than my fur coat. They were much too much of a nuisance. She never could understand why a successful master turbo-technician like Herb had his passion for plants. He had grown up in the cit, the huge barren city of 1986, and so far as she knew, he hadn't ever seen a flower until they had moved out here in the suburbs. Well, it was nice here, she thought. Even if Herb did spend too much time with his flowers and trackup the kitchen with mud from his greenhouse. She guessed it was just hers to bear, and God's Will, so she sighed and returned to her work while--- The Kimina awake. It had been a long journey. Very long. How long the Kamina didn't know. It had been asleep during the journey. It had left its own sun, its home, many aeons ago, but that it didn't know. The journey was a method of propagating the race. It had been chosen, among several others, to leave. Its vehicle had been a meteorite, its space-armor a tiny skin completely enfolding it. A tiny thickness able to withstand the zero temperature of space as well as the tremendous temperatures the meteorite had undergone in its plunge to Earth. A tiny skin that Earth Science could not hope to equal for a million years. It wasn't very impressive. At least now it wasn't. In its skin it was approximately a quarter-inch in diameter, a perfect round sphere. It lay buried two inches below the surface of a large container of 'Super Grow Earth' Type III right next to one of Mr. Jensen's flowering Verbenias. And it was happy. For its scientists had been correct. They had predicted mathematically that somewhere int he universe it would find a suitable environment. And it had. If its environment had not been perfect, it would have remained dormant. But it hadn't! page 10
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IN THE FLESH BY PHILLIP DUKE The Kamina was growing. It was thriving in the pot of earth Herb Jensen had unknowingly supplied it with. It was thriving, and it found life good. Herb Jensen's ruddy voice rang out across the room: "You should see my ever-flowering verbenaias. Or my crockadilies. And my lampidsidium is just beginning to blossom. What flowers!" His wife Ida, in the next room, nodded her head wearily. She had learned to put up with her husband's flowers. "Flowers!" They track up the house, and that greenhouse he put in last year cost more than my fur coat. They were much too much of a nuisance. She never could understand why a successful master turbo-technician like Herb had his passion for plants. He had grown up in the cit, the huge barren city of 1986, and so far as she knew, he hadn't ever seen a flower until they had moved out here in the suburbs. Well, it was nice here, she thought. Even if Herb did spend too much time with his flowers and trackup the kitchen with mud from his greenhouse. She guessed it was just hers to bear, and God's Will, so she sighed and returned to her work while--- The Kimina awake. It had been a long journey. Very long. How long the Kamina didn't know. It had been asleep during the journey. It had left its own sun, its home, many aeons ago, but that it didn't know. The journey was a method of propagating the race. It had been chosen, among several others, to leave. Its vehicle had been a meteorite, its space-armor a tiny skin completely enfolding it. A tiny thickness able to withstand the zero temperature of space as well as the tremendous temperatures the meteorite had undergone in its plunge to Earth. A tiny skin that Earth Science could not hope to equal for a million years. It wasn't very impressive. At least now it wasn't. In its skin it was approximately a quarter-inch in diameter, a perfect round sphere. It lay buried two inches below the surface of a large container of 'Super Grow Earth' Type III right next to one of Mr. Jensen's flowering Verbenias. And it was happy. For its scientists had been correct. They had predicted mathematically that somewhere int he universe it would find a suitable environment. And it had. If its environment had not been perfect, it would have remained dormant. But it hadn't! page 10
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