Transcribe
Translate
Spaceways, v. 4, issue 1, whole no. 24, December 1941
9
More information
digital collection
archival collection guide
transcription tips
SPACEWAYS 9 IF I WEREWOLF "That's easy, here you are," said the rabbit. "The Zongain symbol for danger is a red triangle surrounded by three dots. Now get to work, before it gets too light." Satisfied, I got out of bed and hastily put on a few cloths. When I felt a trifle warmer, I sat down in a chair and tried hard to imagine the rabbit changing into Art Widner. For a while, nothing happened, but then suddenly a lot happened at once. The rabbit began to grow, and as it grew, it changed. The ears shortened, the legs began to alter, the fur turned dark, and in almost no time at all, there was Art Widner, large as life. I did think that his ears seemed a little longer and more, well, rabbity than I remembered them, but, reflecting that he might be somewhat touchy on the subject, I kept this discovery to myself. At any rate, Art waited only long enough to arrange a rendezvous with me at the P&G plant the following midnight, and hastily departed to seek his car, and, eventually, home and sleep. That day, having nothing much better to do, I thought a good deal about the things I could do if I were wolf, and I'll admit I felt quite attracted. Of course, it would be necessary to master the process, for if, like Art, I were stuck with some inferior and unwished for shape, there wouldn't be much point in the whole procedure. This led me to wonder if perhaps the virtues of the "pebble" Art spoke of might not have been somewhat diluted by his brew of gin. Or, again, it might have been merely his inexperience. Midnight would tell the tale. We met as we had agreed, and Art at once drove us out to his place, bringing with him two quarts of his potent liquor, and also the "pebble" itself. This was a curiously black stone, black with an almost savage intensity, and without the polish and lustre black surfaces frequently have. In shape, it was a rhombohedron, and on each of its eight faces an engraved rune could be made out in bas relief. In darkness, it was wholly invisible, and even in light, it seemed to cast around itself an aura of shadow. I held it in my hand, closing my fist over it firmly, and seemed to feel a tingling in my blood—a tingling which in a short time had spread over my entire body. It was something the way I feel when reading truly great poetry, only intensified beyond all description. I closed my eyes and thought for no reason of a line I love, which runs, "Above the cold Cordilleras hung the winged eagle and the moon...". Dreamily, I repeated this a second and third time—and became vaguely aware of pleasant and delightful changes within myself. Then, all at once, I came awake, to the top of each feather, gazing on the night world for the first time through the eyes of the eagle I had become. Art gasped, as he noticed the change, and the car careened crazily along the edge of an embankment, but he grinned and regained normal control as he received my anguished mental scream, "Take it easy!" I was impatient to try my wings, but I help the crystal in my claw, and it seemed only fair to give Art his chance. Fortunately, in a short time the car was safely parked in Bryantville, and Art had grasped the black rhombohedron. Under the full force of the crystal's radiation, Art let his body flow to the lines of his thought, and within moments we regarded each other, eagle and tiger, alien in superficial shape, yet of the same race, and united in thought. "Two!" I thought to him, "And in time we will found a new race, or perhaps reestablish an old one, long thought extinct. But first?" "First, the fans," he replied. "We must get them to join us—united, our powers will be irresistible. Can't you imagine"—and he lashed his tail from side to side—"the effect of a mass visitation to Palmer some suitable night? Ah, the changes that would result!" I heard a rumbling purr, like boiling water in a radiator, issue from the feline form beside me as he pondered such bliss. "Who's first? Trudy?" I asked, unfolding my wings to admire their five foot spread. At the question, the tiger leaped lithely into the air, and, alighting, streamed with unbelievable speed toward the distant West Haven outpost. Rising into the cool sky, I kept easily above him, as we shot onward at
Saving...
prev
next
SPACEWAYS 9 IF I WEREWOLF "That's easy, here you are," said the rabbit. "The Zongain symbol for danger is a red triangle surrounded by three dots. Now get to work, before it gets too light." Satisfied, I got out of bed and hastily put on a few cloths. When I felt a trifle warmer, I sat down in a chair and tried hard to imagine the rabbit changing into Art Widner. For a while, nothing happened, but then suddenly a lot happened at once. The rabbit began to grow, and as it grew, it changed. The ears shortened, the legs began to alter, the fur turned dark, and in almost no time at all, there was Art Widner, large as life. I did think that his ears seemed a little longer and more, well, rabbity than I remembered them, but, reflecting that he might be somewhat touchy on the subject, I kept this discovery to myself. At any rate, Art waited only long enough to arrange a rendezvous with me at the P&G plant the following midnight, and hastily departed to seek his car, and, eventually, home and sleep. That day, having nothing much better to do, I thought a good deal about the things I could do if I were wolf, and I'll admit I felt quite attracted. Of course, it would be necessary to master the process, for if, like Art, I were stuck with some inferior and unwished for shape, there wouldn't be much point in the whole procedure. This led me to wonder if perhaps the virtues of the "pebble" Art spoke of might not have been somewhat diluted by his brew of gin. Or, again, it might have been merely his inexperience. Midnight would tell the tale. We met as we had agreed, and Art at once drove us out to his place, bringing with him two quarts of his potent liquor, and also the "pebble" itself. This was a curiously black stone, black with an almost savage intensity, and without the polish and lustre black surfaces frequently have. In shape, it was a rhombohedron, and on each of its eight faces an engraved rune could be made out in bas relief. In darkness, it was wholly invisible, and even in light, it seemed to cast around itself an aura of shadow. I held it in my hand, closing my fist over it firmly, and seemed to feel a tingling in my blood—a tingling which in a short time had spread over my entire body. It was something the way I feel when reading truly great poetry, only intensified beyond all description. I closed my eyes and thought for no reason of a line I love, which runs, "Above the cold Cordilleras hung the winged eagle and the moon...". Dreamily, I repeated this a second and third time—and became vaguely aware of pleasant and delightful changes within myself. Then, all at once, I came awake, to the top of each feather, gazing on the night world for the first time through the eyes of the eagle I had become. Art gasped, as he noticed the change, and the car careened crazily along the edge of an embankment, but he grinned and regained normal control as he received my anguished mental scream, "Take it easy!" I was impatient to try my wings, but I help the crystal in my claw, and it seemed only fair to give Art his chance. Fortunately, in a short time the car was safely parked in Bryantville, and Art had grasped the black rhombohedron. Under the full force of the crystal's radiation, Art let his body flow to the lines of his thought, and within moments we regarded each other, eagle and tiger, alien in superficial shape, yet of the same race, and united in thought. "Two!" I thought to him, "And in time we will found a new race, or perhaps reestablish an old one, long thought extinct. But first?" "First, the fans," he replied. "We must get them to join us—united, our powers will be irresistible. Can't you imagine"—and he lashed his tail from side to side—"the effect of a mass visitation to Palmer some suitable night? Ah, the changes that would result!" I heard a rumbling purr, like boiling water in a radiator, issue from the feline form beside me as he pondered such bliss. "Who's first? Trudy?" I asked, unfolding my wings to admire their five foot spread. At the question, the tiger leaped lithely into the air, and, alighting, streamed with unbelievable speed toward the distant West Haven outpost. Rising into the cool sky, I kept easily above him, as we shot onward at
Hevelin Fanzines
sidebar
