The Diploids and Other Flghts of Fancy
Page 22
“They don’t—?”
Suddenly, in his mind’s eye, the Times began to see again the play he had just seen—but the actors were moving at blurring speed, the words jerking out in fluting, dizzying streams, thoughts and decisions passing with unnoticeable rapidity, rippling faces in a twisting blur of expressions, doors slamming wildly, shatteringly, as the actors leaped in and out of the rooms.
No—faster, faster—he wasn’t visualizing it as rapidly as it was, an hour of talk and action in one almost instantaneous “squawk,” a narrow peak of “noise” interfering with one single word in an Earth broadcast! Faster… faster… it was impossible. Matter could not stand such stress. Inertia—momentum—abrupt weight.
It was insane. “Why?” he asked. “How?”
Nathen laughed again harshly, reaching for the mike. “Get them out? There isn’t a lake or river within hundreds of miles from here! Where did you think they were?”
A shiver of unreality went down the Times’ man’s spine. Automatically and inanely, he found himself delving in his pocket for a cigarette while he tried to understand what had happened. “Where are they, then? Why can’t we see their spaceship?”
Nathen switched the microphone on in a gesture that showed the bitterness of his disappointment.
“We’ll need a magnifying glass for that.”