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.Andthe funny thing was he kept thinking over and over again, inanely, as if it had any bearing: What thehell was a swibble? 23On the subsurface level of Lanferman Associates, more or less directly beneath the mid-California town of San Jose, Pete Freid sat at his extensive work-bench, his machines and tools inert,silent, off.Before him lay the October 2003 copy of the uncivilized comic book, The Blue Cephalopod Manfrom Titan.At the moment, his lips moving, he examined the entertainment adventure, The BlueCephalopod Man Meets the Fiendish Dirt-Thing That Bored to the Surface of Io After Two BillionYears Asleep in the Depths! He had reached the frame where the Blue Cephalopod Man, roused toconsciousness by his sidekick's frantic telepathic efforts, had managed to convert the radiation-detecting portable G-system into a Cathode-Magnetic Ionizing Bi-polar Emanator.With this Emanator, the Blue Cephalopod Man threatened the Fiendish Dirt-Thing as it attemptedto carry off Miss Whitecotton, the mammate girlfriend of the Blue Man.It had succeeded inunfastening Miss Whitecotton's blouse so that one breast and only one; that was International Law,the ruling applying severely to children's reading material was exposed to the flickering light of Io'ssky.It pulsed warmly, wiggled as Pete squeezed the wiggling-trigger.And the nipple dilated like atiny pink lightbulb, upraised in 3-D and winking on and off, on and off.and would continue to do sountil the five-year battery-plate contained within the back cover of the mag at last gave out.Tinnily, in sequence, as Pete stroked the aud tab, the adversaries of the adventure spoke.Hesighed.He had by now noted sixteen "weapons" from the pages so far inspected.And meanwhile, NewOrleans, then Provo, and now, according to what had just come over the TV, Boise, Idaho was missing.Had disappeared behind the gray curtain, as the 'casters and 'papes were calling it.The gray curtain of death.The vidphone on his desk pinged.He reached up, snapped it on.Lars' careworn face appeared onthe screen."You're back?" Peter asked."Yes.In my New York office.""Good," said Pete."Say, what line of work are you going to go into now that Mr.Lars,Incorporated, of New York and Paris is kaput?""Does it matter?" Lars asked."In an hour I'm supposed to meet with the Board down below in thekremlin.They're staying perpetually subsurface, in case the aliens turn their whatever-it-is on thecapital.I'd advise you to stay underground, too; I hear the aliens' machinery doesn't penetratesubsurface."Pete nodded glumly.Like Lars, he felt somatically sick."How's Maren taking it?"Lars, hesitating, said, "I haven't talked to Maren.The fact is, I brought Lilo Topchev back withme.She's here now.""Put her on.""Why?""So I can get a look at her, that's why."The sunny, uncomplicated face of a young girl, light-complexioned, with oddly astringent,watchful eyes and a tautly pursed mouth, appeared on the vid-screen.The girl looked scared andtough.Wow, Pete thought.And you deliberately brought this lad back? Can you handle her? I doubt ifI could, he decided.She looks difficult.But that's right, Pete remembered.You like difficult women.It's part of your perverse make-up.When Lars' features reappeared Pete said, "Maren will disembowel you, you realize.No coverstory is going to fool Maren, with or without that telepathic gadget she wears illegally." Lars said woodenly, "I don't expect to fool Maren.But I frankly don't care.I really think, Pete,that these creatures, whatever they are and wherever they came from, these satellite-builders, haveus."Pete was silent.He did not see fit to argue; he agreed.Lars said."On the vidphone when I talked to Nitz he said something strange.Something about anold war veteran: I couldn't make it out.It had to do with a weapon, though; he asked me if I had everheard of a device called a T.W.G.I said no.Have you?""No," Pete said."There's absolutely no such thing, weaponwise.KACH would have said.""Maybe not," Lars said."So long." He broke the connection at his end; the screen splintered out. 24Security, Lars discovered when he landed, had been even further augmented; it took over an hourfor him to obtain clearance.In the end it required personal, face-to-face recognition of who he was andwhat he had come for on the part of a long-time, trusted Board assistant.And then he was on his waydown, descending to join what might well turn out to be, he realized, the final convocation of UN-WNatsec at its intact fullness.The last decisions were now being made.In the middle of his discourse General Nitz took a moment, unexpectedly, to single out Lars andspeak to him directly."You missed a lot, due to your being away at Iceland.Not your fault.Butsomething, as I indicated to you on the phone, has come up." General Nitz nodded to a junior officerwho at once snapped on an intrinsic, homeo-programmed, vid aud scanner with a thirty-inch screen,parked in one corner of the room, at the opposite corner from the instrument which linked the Board,when desired, with Marshal Paponovich and the SeRKeb in New Moscow.The set warmed up.An ancient man appeared on it.He was thin, wearing the patched remnants of some peculiarmilitary uniform.Hesitantly he said, ".and then we clobbered them.They didn't expect that; theywere having it easy."Bending, at General Nitz' signal, the junior officer stopped the Ampex aud-vid tape; the imagefroze, the sound ceased."I wanted you to get a look at him," General Nitz said to Lars."Ricardo Hastings.Veteran of awar that took place sixty-some years ago.in his view of it, at least.All this time, for months, yearsperhaps, this old man has been sitting every day on a bench in the public park just outside the surfaceinstallations of the citadel, trying to get someone to listen to him.Finally someone did.In time?Maybe.Maybe not We'll see.It depends on what his brain, and our examination has already disclosedthat he suffers from senile dementia, still contains by way of memory.Specifically, memory of theweapon which he serviced during the Big War." Lars said, "The Time Warpage Generator [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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.Andthe funny thing was he kept thinking over and over again, inanely, as if it had any bearing: What thehell was a swibble? 23On the subsurface level of Lanferman Associates, more or less directly beneath the mid-California town of San Jose, Pete Freid sat at his extensive work-bench, his machines and tools inert,silent, off.Before him lay the October 2003 copy of the uncivilized comic book, The Blue Cephalopod Manfrom Titan.At the moment, his lips moving, he examined the entertainment adventure, The BlueCephalopod Man Meets the Fiendish Dirt-Thing That Bored to the Surface of Io After Two BillionYears Asleep in the Depths! He had reached the frame where the Blue Cephalopod Man, roused toconsciousness by his sidekick's frantic telepathic efforts, had managed to convert the radiation-detecting portable G-system into a Cathode-Magnetic Ionizing Bi-polar Emanator.With this Emanator, the Blue Cephalopod Man threatened the Fiendish Dirt-Thing as it attemptedto carry off Miss Whitecotton, the mammate girlfriend of the Blue Man.It had succeeded inunfastening Miss Whitecotton's blouse so that one breast and only one; that was International Law,the ruling applying severely to children's reading material was exposed to the flickering light of Io'ssky.It pulsed warmly, wiggled as Pete squeezed the wiggling-trigger.And the nipple dilated like atiny pink lightbulb, upraised in 3-D and winking on and off, on and off.and would continue to do sountil the five-year battery-plate contained within the back cover of the mag at last gave out.Tinnily, in sequence, as Pete stroked the aud tab, the adversaries of the adventure spoke.Hesighed.He had by now noted sixteen "weapons" from the pages so far inspected.And meanwhile, NewOrleans, then Provo, and now, according to what had just come over the TV, Boise, Idaho was missing.Had disappeared behind the gray curtain, as the 'casters and 'papes were calling it.The gray curtain of death.The vidphone on his desk pinged.He reached up, snapped it on.Lars' careworn face appeared onthe screen."You're back?" Peter asked."Yes.In my New York office.""Good," said Pete."Say, what line of work are you going to go into now that Mr.Lars,Incorporated, of New York and Paris is kaput?""Does it matter?" Lars asked."In an hour I'm supposed to meet with the Board down below in thekremlin.They're staying perpetually subsurface, in case the aliens turn their whatever-it-is on thecapital.I'd advise you to stay underground, too; I hear the aliens' machinery doesn't penetratesubsurface."Pete nodded glumly.Like Lars, he felt somatically sick."How's Maren taking it?"Lars, hesitating, said, "I haven't talked to Maren.The fact is, I brought Lilo Topchev back withme.She's here now.""Put her on.""Why?""So I can get a look at her, that's why."The sunny, uncomplicated face of a young girl, light-complexioned, with oddly astringent,watchful eyes and a tautly pursed mouth, appeared on the vid-screen.The girl looked scared andtough.Wow, Pete thought.And you deliberately brought this lad back? Can you handle her? I doubt ifI could, he decided.She looks difficult.But that's right, Pete remembered.You like difficult women.It's part of your perverse make-up.When Lars' features reappeared Pete said, "Maren will disembowel you, you realize.No coverstory is going to fool Maren, with or without that telepathic gadget she wears illegally." Lars said woodenly, "I don't expect to fool Maren.But I frankly don't care.I really think, Pete,that these creatures, whatever they are and wherever they came from, these satellite-builders, haveus."Pete was silent.He did not see fit to argue; he agreed.Lars said."On the vidphone when I talked to Nitz he said something strange.Something about anold war veteran: I couldn't make it out.It had to do with a weapon, though; he asked me if I had everheard of a device called a T.W.G.I said no.Have you?""No," Pete said."There's absolutely no such thing, weaponwise.KACH would have said.""Maybe not," Lars said."So long." He broke the connection at his end; the screen splintered out. 24Security, Lars discovered when he landed, had been even further augmented; it took over an hourfor him to obtain clearance.In the end it required personal, face-to-face recognition of who he was andwhat he had come for on the part of a long-time, trusted Board assistant.And then he was on his waydown, descending to join what might well turn out to be, he realized, the final convocation of UN-WNatsec at its intact fullness.The last decisions were now being made.In the middle of his discourse General Nitz took a moment, unexpectedly, to single out Lars andspeak to him directly."You missed a lot, due to your being away at Iceland.Not your fault.Butsomething, as I indicated to you on the phone, has come up." General Nitz nodded to a junior officerwho at once snapped on an intrinsic, homeo-programmed, vid aud scanner with a thirty-inch screen,parked in one corner of the room, at the opposite corner from the instrument which linked the Board,when desired, with Marshal Paponovich and the SeRKeb in New Moscow.The set warmed up.An ancient man appeared on it.He was thin, wearing the patched remnants of some peculiarmilitary uniform.Hesitantly he said, ".and then we clobbered them.They didn't expect that; theywere having it easy."Bending, at General Nitz' signal, the junior officer stopped the Ampex aud-vid tape; the imagefroze, the sound ceased."I wanted you to get a look at him," General Nitz said to Lars."Ricardo Hastings.Veteran of awar that took place sixty-some years ago.in his view of it, at least.All this time, for months, yearsperhaps, this old man has been sitting every day on a bench in the public park just outside the surfaceinstallations of the citadel, trying to get someone to listen to him.Finally someone did.In time?Maybe.Maybe not We'll see.It depends on what his brain, and our examination has already disclosedthat he suffers from senile dementia, still contains by way of memory.Specifically, memory of theweapon which he serviced during the Big War." Lars said, "The Time Warpage Generator [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]